When Roxas had finally wrenched himself from his bed and from the slew of stormy thoughts predicting his impending doom, given himself a half-hearted inner pep talk, and popped in and out of the shower, he realized he'd totally exceeded Olette's twenty minute time limit. So, he decided to bypass meeting up at Olette's altogether. No big deal. First hurdle of his web of lies? Easy. He thumbed out a message.

Roxas:
"Hey Lette, what's the address? Meet you guys there, ok?"

He really should've recognized the address when she'd responded. He really should have noticed when he waltzed right up to the place, squinting up at the sign that identified it as a place called Déjà Brew. But no, it wasn't until his nose crashed (in the heavenliest sense of the term possible) into a thick fog of espresso and spice, that he'd realized exactly what coffee shop his friends had picked out. But really, how was he supposed to know? The last time he'd set foot in the place, he'd stumbled in through some back alley way, his eyes trained on an older man that he'd still had major suspicions about, quite distracted by thoughts of—you guessed it, it's becoming a recurring theme here— his readily-approaching demise. And maybe there were also some repressed thoughts on sexuality (and the actually rather enjoyable view of walking behind Axel) mixed in there. Anyway! Not the point.

Roxas glanced around, his senses clouded and his feelings mixed. He was starting to wonder if he'd been conditioned to associate the smell of espresso and spice with other sorts of steamy things. He repressed the thoughts as quickly as he could, forcing himself to think about grandmas, spiders, dead puppies—anything to prevent his unfortunate impulsive male anatomy from making this situation more awkward than it already was. Besides, being at the place where Roxas and Axel had their first date while on a fake first-date with someone else really made him feel like he was digging up some bad voodoo—like digging up ancient burial grounds bad. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to think of something he could do to right his karmic balance again. Uh—apologize to Sora? No. Tell his friends about Axel? Hell no. Oh shit, speaking of which—Roxas grabbed at a nearby newspaper, crumpling it in tense hands in front of his face as he angled his head downward, casting the fringe of his hair over his eyes as much as possible. After an overly-dramatic screening of the room like something out of a spy movie he'd seen once, he could safely determine that he recognized none of the employees. No blond doe-eyed boys singing Shakira and destroying coffee machines like nobody's business. No highly attractive redheads with emerald eyes (not that multiple exist anyway, since it seems Roxas has some very selective tastes. Who knows? Maybe he's an Axelsexual). He let out a sigh of relief and thanked his lucky stars—which were hardly ever lucky, to be honest.

"No way! He didn't!"

Laughter erupted from somewhere in the room.

"You really convinced him to model a dress for you?"

"Yeah. He turned beet red. I drew it in one of my first sketchbooks, I think. You know, come to think of it, I might actually have that one in my bag—"

Roxas quickly zeroed in on and located the conversation, walking up as fast as he could. If what he thought he'd overheard had been any indication, he needed to get to that table and fast to save himself from impending embarrassment. He just needed to get there before his lucky stars turned into rusty tails-side pennies.

"Hey! Sorry I'm late, guys. Can I squeeze in here, Nam?"

Naminé looked up with surprise before immediately looking downward, a bashful smile on her face. She stopped rummaging in her giant bag—bulging with notebooks and sketchpads—pulling her hand back and patting the space beside her for Roxas to sit.

"Aw c'mon—Roxas, you have the worst timing," Hayner complained.

Roxas shrugged, actually quite pleased with what he saw as excellent timing, moving to sit in the empty space next to the tiny blonde girl. Olette shifted, giving Hayner a pointed look. He involuntarily flinched before opening his eyes and raising an eyebrow at Olette.

"What, no punching-of-the-Hayner this time? What gives?"

Olette gave an exaggerated eye roll, moving to flick Hayner between the eyes. She smiled. "There. Happy? Geez, and here I was trying to make a good impression on Roxas's girlfr—"

"And Hayner decides to go all S&M on you? Yeah, welcome to our dysfunctional friend group, Naminé," Roxas quickly cut in, not wanting anyone to use the G-word around Naminé, considering, as far as she knew, she wasn't his girlfriend. Still, if he was going to have to act, he was going to make it count. He mustered up a suave wink and a laugh. "Don't worry, the S&M is optional." Wow, Axel was really rubbing off on him.

"Yeah, that's mainly an Olette and Hayner thing," Pence agreed.

Hayner gave Pence a look that could kill. "Oh yeah? It doesn't have to be. Er—at least, the smacking around part. C'mon, Pence, slapbox with me."

Olette quickly put her hands out between the two of them. "No! No. No flailing limbs when I'm sitting between you two. I'm not taking the collateral damage. Especially since both of you have the worst aim."

"Okay, but he has to pay for my coffee," Hayner said, leaning back and crossing his arms haughtily.

"Oh, so Roxas isn't the only one taking someone on a date here, then?"

Roxas's eyes nearly popped out of his head. He recovered as quickly as possible by letting out a laugh.

"I'll warn you, though, I'm not a cheap date." Hayner added, raising his head high and running a hand in his hair with exaggerated femininity. "And I definitely don't kiss on the first date. Well—" He laughed. "At least—not when it's Pence. No offense, dude."

"None taken."

"It's okay. Roxas doesn't either—kiss on the first date, that is." Naminé added, smiling graciously.

"Wha—hey! Don't tell them that!" Roxas protested.

"What? It's true," Namine replied, smiling wryly.

"Yeah, but you don't have to say it, you know, out loud." He complained.

Roxas was scrambling to pick up after this blow to his manly, woman-loving façade. (That's what he was going for, right?) He smiled, looking at Naminé with as much softness as he could muster—even if that meant imagining a much taller, tattooed, male red-headed version of her. Tomato, tomahto. He reached over, keeping his mind off the petite little girl actually sitting next to him, and took her hand in his. He made a blatant showing of placing their laced-together hands on the tabletop, in plain view of the others. It wasn't so bad, he guessed. Her hand felt cool to the touch and so abnormally soft. It was definitely not the searing touch that Axel gave. But it was alright.

She gave a small squeeze back, a smile appearing on her face that made the skin around her eyes crease slightly. It was kind of cute.

"Aw, look at them. Like an old married couple." Olette sighed dreamily, settling her face in her hand as she looked at them.

"Yeah, it's pretty disgusting," Hayner added. He looked at Olette, silently goading her with his eyes.

"I will not give you the satisfaction," Olette replied simply, putting her hand up in front of Hayner's face to silence him.

"Sweet."

"They are sweet." Olette agreed.

"No, I mean, how you're not going to hit me anymore," Hayner replied.

"So, when's the wedding?" Pence interjected.

Hayner choked. "I thought we were over this! There is no Olayner. No Haynette. Nada. Gross."

Olette gave him another squinting look. "What's that supposed to mean?"

A voice called from down the aisle of tables. "Sounds like some people could use some caffeine. Give me two seconds, guys, I'll be right there."

Roxas's head jolted up. That voice sounded familiar. Like ultra-familiar. In a way that made his nerves simultaneously ache all over and set themselves on fire. He involuntarily squeezed Naminé's hand. Hard.

"Axel?" The name slid off his lips before he could stop it. Jesus. Maybe this morning was a bad time to have that whole I'm-super-in-like-with-Axel revelation because now his face and name were intruding all over the place, slipping out from Roxas's thoughts without dilution. And now was quite possibly the worst time for that to be happening. Enter again: body rebellion. Exit: lucky stars. Joy.

"That's my name. Got it memori—Roxas?" The name spoke as it came closer, until it was coming from right next to and above him and was audibly more incredulous.

Roxas sucked in a breath, ready to word-vomit out some excuse. Something. Anything. But the words weren't coming. His mouth made a motion to speak, but nothing came. The panic was rising in his chest as he continued to stare straight forward at the negative space between Olette and Pence, not quite brave enough to look up into Axel's eyes. After all the lies that had slid off his tongue with ease, his mouth was now suddenly dry, his throat devoid of all vibrations. All he could think of were all the eyes that were now on him. Olette, Hayner, and Pence looking between him and Axel. Naminé looking between him and Axel. And finally, when he brought himself to look, Axel looking between him and Naminé. And then looking downwards. Onto the table. Narrowing. Roxas followed where Axel's eyes lay without thinking, landing on his hand laced with Naminé's.

"Your brother's really sick, huh? You had to stay home and take care of him?" Axel asked. Roxas noticed Axel's hands balling up, tensing, before he crossed his arms. "Sure looks like it." Axel's words were burning into him.

"I—" But again the words were lost on him. What could he possibly say? Nothing. There was nothing. Roxas started with nothing and would end with nothing. It was only fitting.

Axel shook his head, his eyes all fire and stone. And then he was turning, walking away, pulling off his apron and balling it up—his whole stance tense and animalistic and everything that chilled Roxas to the core.

"Axel, wait."

Roxas could feel the eyes of his friends burning into him. His legs felt suddenly leaden. His nerves were shot. He was forced, in his own fear, to sit paralyzed as the object of his affections—the only one to ever win his affections, the only one who didn't need to win them because he had been continually and inevitably pulled in by the gravitational pull that was Axel, the only one he'd ever felt anything for—disappear out of the door.

And then there were distant voices coming his way, a barely perceptible squeezing of his hand, blurred faces with amorphous expressions, but all Roxas could feel was cold, cold, cold.