Roxas approached the front door at a snail's pace, eyeing it as though it were ready to swing ajar at any moment. He knew it was some ungodly hour and, mostly out of spite, he pretended not to care. But, if he was being fully honest with himself, he was really just far too afraid to pull out his phone to check, knowing an inbox full of unopened text messages and a voice mail box exceeding capacity would probably be waiting for him. He groaned, relenting merely to peek at the time, for curiosity's sake—y'know, after he was finished being temporarily blinded by the backlight of his phone. 5:53. Damn, had he really been out that long? Roxas mussed his hair a little sheepishly, chalking it up partly to that thirty minute goodbye session in the car in front of Demyx's house. And people say they hate goodbyes.

Of course, as suspected, immediately a notification that he had 13 unread messages, 8 missed calls, and 5 voicemail messages popped up, before he could dismiss it. Roxas rolled his eyes, exasperated. He was seventeen, practically eighteen. It was no longer Sora's job to supervise his Friday nights like some kind of overzealous babysitter. Frankly, it was none of his business whether or not Roxas was off throwing rocks at redheads or catching ghost trains. And it was definitely not his business whether or not Roxas was kissing said redhead, but that was beside the point.

With an easy flick of the thumb, Roxas deleted the messages without reading a single one of them. He sighed, smiling a little at the nice, tidy sight of an empty inbox. A clean slate. However, the smile quickly dissipated when he raised his eyes towards his adversary once again—the front door. He readjusted his gait, squaring his knees like he was readying for a battle.

Roxas steeled himself, taking in a breath. Sure, deleting messages was easy. But facing Sora in person? Not so easy. Roxas mentally pictured being able to delete Sora with a swipe of the thumb. Or at least being able to put him on mute. He quirked his lips into the semblance of a smile again at that. Shortly after, remembering the situation at hand, he shook his head. He spent way too much time mulling over inner monologues in his head. It was now or never. Well, not really, but he ought to go inside now anyway. Besides, he had nothing to worry about. Surely Sora had fallen asleep by now. Right?

Roxas crept towards the door, reaching into his jacket pocket and, upon meeting the feeling of cool metal against his hand, retrieving a small key. As delicately as he could, he turned the key in the socket and pressed his body weight against the door, listening for the soft pop of it dislodging from the doorway. He let out a breath that had long overstayed its welcome in his lungs.

Roxas peered into the darkness of the entryway, shutting the door behind him as softly as possible. He wandered into the living room which, too, was shrouded in darkness. He sighed softly out of relief. He was about to turn to meander down the hallway and collapse into the reprieve of his bed when he heard a creaking noise from the direction of the kitchen. Roxas flinched, purposely keeping his eyes closed for several moments longer, willing himself to pretend that he hadn't just heard that. It was probably just a figment of his sleep-starved imagination. At least, that was what he thought until he heard it a second time. And by that time, Roxas's heart was beating so hard against his chest, he could swear that he felt a bruise forming.

Against his will—and, really, what was new—his eyes opened and his legs began moving mechanically, of their own accord, toward the kitchen. Clearly, his mind no longer listened to reason at all. People are supposed to run away from danger, not toward it. Unless, of course, they're in a horror movie and are destined to die. Great. Roxas rounded the corner, all the while visualizing all the ways that this situation could go horribly, horribly wrong. Like finding Sora welding a cage to stick Roxas in for the rest of his life so he wouldn't go out and kiss strangers until 6:00 AM on a Friday night. What he found, instead, was the sight of Sora sitting upright at the kitchen table. Roxas could feel the individual hairs on his arms all stand up on end, his lungs seizing. Immediately his brain began scrambling for some sort of excuse. (Not an apology, though, mind you.) Um…he, uh, fell asleep during detention and accidentally got locked inside the school? Or he could say that he got kidnapped. That might be a little more accurate. That's when he looked closer, squinting his eyes in the darkness. Well, it was Sora, he'd gotten that much right. And he was sitting sort of upright.

Roxas inched a little closer, still cradling the same breath in his lungs. Axel was right—Roxas's lung span was actually kind of amazing. Through the blackness, he could see Sora materializing into visibility. He was sitting up, his head held upright by his arms. His elbows were resting against the table. He was posed almost like the condescending Willy Wonka meme, Roxas thought, momentarily amused. But he was also definitely asleep. His eyes were closed. His head was tilted sideways against his hands, resting heavily. His chest was rising and lowering in languid waves. As Roxas quietly observed Sora sleeping, his muscles visibly slackened. You know, when he was asleep, he wasn't so bad. Without the pitiful looks in his eyes and the unnecessary words of encouragement and sympathy pouring out of his mouth, he was actually quite tolerable. It was awake Sora that made Roxas want to dive under his bed and never come out. Or go out on the ghost train and never come back.

In the middle of this mental soliloquy, Roxas had failed to notice Sora slowly rousing awake.

"Erm—aah" he yawned, blinking and raising his head, squinting through the duskiness of the room. He leaned forward almost drunkenly. "R-Roxas? Is that you?"

Roxas merely stared. Speak of the devil.

"God, what time is it?"

Roxas briefly considered playing it off like he'd been home and had just gotten up for an early morning walk or something. The only problem was—he was still wearing the clothes from yesterday and he had no idea how long Sora had managed to stay up. Okay that was actually two problems. He shook his head. Whatever, let Sora fret a little. Having some actual real-life conflict might do some good for him, considering how little he experienced it.

"It's six."

"Jesus, Roxas, did you just get home? Do you know how long I was up waiting for you to come home—"

And the beast awakens. Roxas's vision shifted, taking quiet occupancy at the corner of a kitchen cabinet. It was easier if you didn't look at him.

"—at least could have called! I had no idea where you were!"

"Yeah."

"Yeah? Yeah." Sora let out a breath of frustration, placing his hands on his temples and stopping himself.

Oh look, Sora getting flustered about something. That's a first.

"Roxas, I know you don't think you have to listen to me. But I'm basically responsible for you and—"

"I know. Because I'm such a fucking liability to your perfect little life. Sorry that I'm your goddamn obligation. I didn't ask for our parents to run off and leave their kids behind for a business trip and then decide to never come back."

"Roxas—"

"You know, they probably figured that after raising a perfect kid like you, they didn't need to stick around for the other one. Anything after you would just be a disappointment, right?"

"Roxas, that's not—"

"Save it. I'm going to bed."

"Can you at least tell me where you were? Were you—were you being safe? You weren't, like, doing drugs or—"

"I was swapping spit with some redhead I found on the street." Roxas cocked his head, smiling sweetly. "Night."

And with that, Roxas turned around, feeling as though he'd gained the upperhand, and headed for his room.


Roxas lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He could feel his blood pressure slowly coming down as the minutes ticked by, distancing him further and further from his run-in with Sora in the kitchen. He let a sigh escape from his mouth, visualizing it like a wintry gasp of air rising into the atmosphere. The fact that he was imagining things was probably a manifestation of the fact that his brain was in dear, sweet need of sleep, but it also made sense. The cold comforted him. It reminded him of sea salt ice cream on his tongue and the way Axel's arms wrapped warmly around him when he'd begun to shiver from the night air. It made him picture the way the town had looked beneath their dangling feet, as they sat on the old clock tower, overlooking the horizon. It reminded him of the way his lips found their way to Axel's. Familiar. Natural. Like there was suddenly nothing more normal in the world.

It was Roxas's cold and pale melding into Axel's fire-red and searing heat.

Roxas sighed, curling into himself, letting himself fall victim to the throes of sleep. That's when he felt a buzzing sensation. Blearily and a little annoyed, Roxas reached for his phone. One new message. He flicked it open.

Axel:
"Hey, you didn't respond to my message. Did you make it home okay? Or are you already asleep, dreaming about me?"

Roxas shook his head, typing back.

"Both. Can I see you tomorrow?"

The phone buzzed in response before he could put the phone back down and wait.

"You bet. You know where I'll be."