For the second time this week—like a cruel case of déjà vu—Roxas sat in front of an intersection with his head slumped against the steering wheel. His head was swarming, stinging, like it was a hornets' nest mistaken for a piñata. For the second time this week—as he probably should've expected from the first experience—Roxas was startled from his headrest of choice by a jarring car horn.

Ejected from the asphyxia of his thoughts, he nodded numbly, taking one last sidelong glance at the empty grassy area underneath the stop sign. To what end? Not one. Simply to torture himself with the fact that Axel was not sprawled underneath it, tattered bag in tow, waiting for him to show up and fix everything. The longer he held the glance, the more the empty space seemed to mock him for even considering it. Axel didn't want to see him. Axel wanted so badly not to see him that he threw his things together and left. And yet Roxas had somehow entertained the hope that maybe, just maybe, those stupid, ridiculous, abnormally red spikes would be waiting for him there.

The jarring honk returned, followed by a rather angry revving of an engine. Roxas snapped out of his stupor, hitting the accelerator and shaking his head.

He was the stupid, ridiculous one.


Somehow Roxas made it home, despite the little voice in his head pointing fingers at him, forcing him to relive the moment over and over, just to look at the momentary hurt in Axel's eyes, right before they turned cold.

He trudged through the doorway, his every step taking longer than he wanted, but he didn't exactly have the energy to go skipping to his room. Already beginning to mentally check out, he could almost tangibly feel the embrace of his bed. The thought gave him some bizarre sense of satisfaction. It was the only surefire way to wind his thoughts down—to turn them off completely.

He wandered up the stairs and was about to momentarily up his pace as he passed by his brother's open door, when he noticed an odd sound. He listened more closely, the sound growing louder as he edged towards Sora's door. It was…sniffling? Wait, was Sora actually sick? What—was he psychic too? He makes an excuse that Sora's sick and suddenly he is. Well, geez, maybe he should go make an excuse about making up with Ax—oh just stop it. He rolled his eyes at himself, his own optimism making him sick. It was just him deluding himself. Again. All he got from that was getting honked at and hope-sick.

Then he noticed something else—mumbling.

"—n't understand…—'m sorry."

He peered in, finding a cross-legged Sora sniffing and blubbering on his bed, hunched over and staring dejectedly at something in his hands.

Roxas suddenly felt very uncomfortable and incredibly guilty—like he was seeing something he wasn't supposed to see. He wanted to look away, feeling awkward for gawking at his brother as he fell apart. But, weirdly, he couldn't look away. It was…alien. He'd never seen his brother sob like this before, had never seen him unravel or crumple, had hardly ever seen him falter. It should've felt good—to see his brother finally act human. Instead, it felt like someone had gutted a hole in the pit of his stomach.

Roxas looked at him—with his hands shaking, his shoulders warped, his face tear-streaked. Even the spikes of his hair looked deflated. It was like watching someone take the batteries out of your favorite childhood toy. One minute it was scurrying across the floor a thousand miles a minute, chirping and singing and humming—and the next minute it was silent and unmoving in their hands.

It was wrong.

He couldn't stop his feet from crossing the invisible barrier separating him from Sora's room. Couldn't stop himself from sitting on the edge of the bed next to Sora and forcing himself to look at the semblance of his brother. Couldn't stop his arms from encapsulating his brother and holding him quietly for a moment.

"Roxas? Is—is something wrong? D-do you need anything?" Sora quickly sputtered, pulling back and holding Roxas's shoulders, his eyes frantically searching as if he expected Roxas to have some dire injury that might cause him to bleed out right there in front of him.

The corners of Roxas's mouth upturned slightly at the same time that his heart gave a painful squeeze. Here he was, an emotional wreck, and his first thought was to ask if Roxas was okay. Granted, Roxas hadn't entered the interior of Sora's room or given his brother a hug in—Jesus, a long time—but, still, it was just so characteristically Sora.

Roxas let out a shaky laugh. "I should be asking you that."

Sora mimicked the smile, letting out a laugh that seemed to morph into a sigh of relief and hiccup hybrid. The strange noise seemed to startle him, causing him to laugh and make the noise again.

The two of them shared a look and then simultaneously fell into hysterics.

Moments later Roxas seem to sober, looking at Sora with some scrutiny. His face was blotchy but the look in his eyes was buoyant and bright again. It brought a surprising calm upon Roxas. For once, Roxas was putting the smile back on his brother's face, rather than trying to wipe it off. If he was really honest with himself, Sora was never the problem…just a convenient substitute target.

"No—seriously, are you sure you're okay?" Roxas repeated, wondering if this moment of brotherly love could somehow repair the years' worth of angsty bullshit that he had pulled. Probably not, but it was a start in the right direction. Lord knows that he needed someone on his side in this shitstorm he'd created for himself.

"I'm actually feeling a lot better. Thanks for your twintuition."

Roxas let that statement hang in the air, narrowing his eyes as he processed it. "…twintuition? You do realize that you're older than me, right?"

"Yeah…but there's not really a good word for that."

"Uh. Bro-wareness? Sib sense?"

"Shhhh. Don't ruin it."

"Are you even going to tell me why you were upset in the first place? I honestly was mentally preparing myself to get ready for a dramatic monologue, so—"

Sora sat up a little straighter and Roxas was almost ready to put his foot in his mouth.

"I've got a better idea. How about you tell me about this certain redhead you were—how did you put it? 'Swapping spit with'? I knew it was something eloquent like that," Sora quipped, punctuating liberally with air quotes and finger points before setting his head on his hand and looking at Roxas expectantly.

Roxas looked at him, blinking a few times. Oh. Right. Axel. Yep. Definitely foot in mouth. Fighting the feeling of the air being knocked out of him, he tried to come up with some sort of witty quip or excuse or just something—

And then the doorbell rang.

"Saved by the bell," Sora half-laughed. He tugged the collar of his shirt upward slightly to wipe at his eyes and cheeks before hopping up with renewed energy. Damn, he really bounced back fast.

"I'll go get it. But we're talking about this later," Sora said, pointing between him and Roxas with a partly joking, partly brother-turned-parent voice.

"Yeah, yeah," Roxas said. As Sora left, the silence left his mind to wander. Abruptly, he perked up. Ever the infuriating optimist—except for, y'know, when he was exactly the opposite— his mind had suddenly conjured the image of Axel standing at the doorstep. He was about to lunge off the bed and run down the stairs when he noticed a crumpled piece of paper lying on the side of the bed. He leaned over, plucking it up and smoothing it out in his hands. Was this what Sora had been hunched over before he'd walked in?

He turned it over and could've sworn he physically felt the guilt meter scale inside of him break. It was an old picture of Sora and him. He smiled down at it wistfully. They'd been having a play sword fight with sticks, when Roxas had accidentally gotten hit in the face. The aftermath was this picture of him being nearly smothered by the zeal of Sora's apology hug. You couldn't even tell it was after a play battle, aside from the small scrape on Roxas's forehead. Both of their faces were just scrunched up in laughter.

Dammit. He really did need to tell Sora about the 'certain redhead'. Even if it was painful. Because that's what Roxas owed him, to tell him about his fucked up life and let Sora smother him in the zeal of a consoling hug. It wasn't pity or sympathy. It was just brotherly. And Roxas was an idiot.

And maybe, just maybe, if he was behind that door, Roxas wouldn't have to tell him about Axel, the one that got away, or Axel, the old flame. Maybe he could tell him about Axel, his …boyfriend?

God, did he really just think that? When did his thoughts start resembling the cliffhanger narration for a soap opera?

Lord.