So much for hibernating, Roxas thought. He maneuvered lethargically through the hallway until he found what, through half-shut bleary eyes, appeared to be his locker. With precision and speed akin to the likes of the undead, Roxas turned the dial until his locker, with an audible click, slid open. He wasn't sure that zombies could actually turn the dial on a lock, but if they could it would probably look a little something like that. He caught a glance of himself in the mirror that sat in the back of his locker and grimaced. Speaking of zombies, he thought, pawing at his mussed up hair in an unsuccessful attempt to look at least a little put-together. He wiped at his wilting eyes as his mind wandered back to the previous night.
It had been a long night. After Roxas had gotten home, he had traipsed straight to his room and collapsed into bed. He had needed this reprieve all day, but especially then, after his run in with a certain emerald-eyed hitchhiker. He'd snuggled in his covers and began to succumb to the throes of sleep, pulling him from consciousness. As soon as his eyes shut, however, images of red flashed into his eyes, followed by piercing green. And suddenly he was reliving it all over again. Axel's face in front of his, his expression fading from one of his signature smiles into a look of soft intensity. His eyes were trained on Roxas, looking into his eyes, skating over his cheeks, and finally focusing resolutely on Roxas's lips. Roxas could feel Axel's eyes sliding over him and he shivered. Axel's hand found Roxas's hair. Again, Roxas sucked in a sharp breath, feeling Axel nearly closing the distance between them. Only this time, Axel didn't pull back.
Roxas had awoken with a start, a staccato beat hammering in his chest. He looked around, a mystified expression on his face. Relief flooded his senses when his gaze met the familiar landscape of his room. He groaned audibly, smothering his face into the pillow. Why did he have to take that route home today? Why did Axel have to be at that crosswalk at that intersection? And, most of all, why couldn't Roxas get him out of his head? I mean, sure, Roxas was 17 and, yes, he hadn't had a girlfriend since Naminé in the 5th grade, but that didn't automatically mean that he was—er, that he batted for the other team. He was just…selective. At least, that was the word his mom had used, her hands tentatively rubbing his shoulder, placating him after he'd come home on a tear one day, angst-ridden teenager shrapnel scattering in his wake. "I couldn't kiss her," he'd mumbled into the pillow. His mom had assured him that this was normal. And, for the time being, Roxas was reassured.
Now, he wasn't so sure. He'd just had a dream that he was kissing another guy, for Christ's sake. He groaned again. Now was not the time to be having an identity crisis. Roxas took a deep breath, decidedly brushing the subject off, chalking it up to weird teenager hormones and sleep depravity. He could really use a girlfriend, he thought. And some sleep.
"I'm starting to think you could really use a hot date. You're so uptight."
Roxas sighed, the redhead's words reverberating in his head. He curled the pillow to cover his ears, a futile attempt to block out the voice. He'd spent the rest of the night with his eyes plastered to the ceiling, because every time he closed his eyes, visions of red were dancing in his head.
Roxas snapped out of his thoughts, returning his attention to the locker in front of him, as he began to mechanically maneuver textbooks around. He narrowed his eyes. Where were his car keys? He fisted his hand in his pocket, fumbling around trying to feel for the cool metal of his keys. His hands brushed by something small that made a crinkling noise. He stopped, pulling out the culprit. His stomach dropped.
""458-0813. Call me (;
-Axel"
He stared at it. There, in all its crumpled glory—or infamy, rather—was the note. Feeling it tangibly in his hands reminded him that yesterday's events weren't just something out of an elaborate dream. It also reminded him that he was wearing the same pants as yesterday. He was losing it.
"Hey, Roxas!"
Roxas turned towards the voice, recognizing, amidst the herd of people meandering through the hallway, Hayner pushing through, waving his hand in the air. Roxas quickly fisted the note into his pocket. He ran a hand through his hair again, hoping he looked at least a little more rested than he was. More accurately, hoping that he didn't look like someone who'd been having deranged fantasies about some oddball hitchhiker.
"Hayner" he replied, "What's up?"
He caught Hayner's eyes glancing inquisitively at Roxas's pocket.
"What's that?" He pointed towards part of the paper sticking crookedly out of Roxas's pocket.
Roxas blanched. "…That's…um, my locker combination," he said slowly, tacking on an embarrassed smile at the end. That was the best he could come up with?
"Roxas, you haven't memorized your locker combination by now? We've been in school like, what now, five months? " He laughed, frogging Roxas in the arm playfully.
Roxas shrugged sheepishly, rubbing his arm. At least he bought it. There was no way he was discussing this whole ordeal with any of his friends right now. He could barely mull it over with himself.
"Anyway, we're going to Xion's Cones for lunch. You game?"
Roxas brightened a little. A little sea salt ice cream in his system would do him some good.
"Yeah, for sure," Roxas smiled. Then his face promptly fell slightly with embarrassment. "But—um—do you think you could give me a ride just this once? I sorta lost my keys," he said, another sheepish look on his face.
Hayner laughed. "Roxas, you're a mess."
He had no idea.
