Son of the Moon

Author’s Note: Sorry about the delay. I was working on a Kingdom Hearts oneshot, which is now posted on FF. It’s sweet, fluffy, and romantic. Eurgh. XD Yet I’m very, very proud of it. It’s set at a carnival in autumn, imbued with sentimental romance, and doused with fluff. Oh god, I can no longer call myself a man. XD It’s called “Starlight, Starbright,” ‘cause the fic itself isn’t drippy and gooey enough as it is. XD If you want something coo-worthy, there’s a link in my profile.

The writing for this chapter didn’t go as swimmingly as usual, which added to the unfortunate delay.

Thank you, Anorexic Muffinz, TheVastOrganizationMemberXenjn, Megumi Sparx, and LostinThought.

Anorexic Muffins: XD When I wrote it, I was also thinking about several future events in the story, while listening to Imogen Heap sing “Hallelujah.” “lol sex on the beach” – “lol I didn’t notice until it was posted.”

TheVastOrganizationMemberXenjn: Want to try changing your review style a bit? Like, maybe inverting some words. Just to keep me on my toes?

Megumi Sparx: Thank you! I want to try to be realistic in areas of emotion and crap. It makes me very happy to hear that, thus far, I have accomplished my goal. About the “outside the norm” gestures of affection—I know. I’d be thrilled if some handsome man rigged up a Spiderman-esqu series of ropes/webs in my front yard to show his dedication. XD

LostinThought: I am a fan of The Killers; I’m not just using select lyrics. I have it in mind to save “Human” for a very important chapter of this fic. ;3 Too bad that chapter can’t come for a little while. I think my favorite song is “Spaceman.” Have you heard/do you like that one?


A number of people on FF and AFF were disappointed by the lack of Roxas and Axel in the last chapter. You will be appeased very soon—chapter seven will be predominantly Roxas and Axel (I’m sure no one will complain then). For now, we have a chapter that focuses on Riku/Sora and the Roxas’ progression towards getting his head out of the sand/his bum.

Enjoy. Pleasant dreams.


Son of the Moon
Chapter six: ‘Promise me he’s not your world’

~*~

‘Let me wrap myself around you,
Let you show me how I see,
And when you come back in from nowhere
Do you ever think of me?’

—The Killers, “My List”

~*~

Riku drifted out of the dark sea of sleep on a peaceful wave. The soft shore upon which he woke was soft, smooth, and warm. Riku nuzzled his face into the pillow—Sora’s pillow—and took in the brunet’s scent. Sora’s smell wasn’t of apples or cinnamon or any distinguishable ingredient, but a light, pleasant musk. Riku preferred it to all the stupid, flowery, overly sweet French perfumes in the world. He took another whiff, not thinking about the low level of creep in this action. He sighed contentedly.

He would have continued this had he not realized that if this was Sora’s bed, that meant Sora was nearby—Riku reached over to Sora’s side of the mattress, but his hand felt only cool, empty sheets. The silver-haired male opened his eyes to discover that he was alone in the room. His face fell, disappointed. He buried his face in the pillow for a minute, jerked his head up to peer at the clock on the floor by the bed, and reluctantly decided not to go back to sleep. It was only nine in the morning, but Riku knew that when his best friend woke up, neither of them had much chance of getting back to sleep. Sora’s internal clock was an anti-sleeping-in fascist and Sora got bored, so he usually woke Riku up to entertain him. Riku, who admitted that he had a weakness for indulging Sora at his expense, never stopped him. That was why it was strange that Sora was awake but he hadn’t woken Riku.

He cast his aquamarine eyes about the room. Other than a bureau, bookcase, and desk, the medium blue walls were mostly covered with college flyers, college statistics, editorial columns on various careers, job applications, SAT tutoring and dates, and scholarship forms. Sora’s bulletin boards were overflowing with papers, and Riku knew the brunet hadn’t put them there.

Riku got up, stretched, and wandered over to Sora’s desk. There were more piles of papers, much like those devouring his walls. Riku peered around the piles and found that hidden behind them were childhood memories. Not memories, really, but objects he remembered finding with Sora when they were little: a few crystals from somewhere on the Destiny Islands, a reed fan Wakka showed him how to make, a very old wooden sword, seashells, and the remnants of what might have been a kite. Riku took the toy sword in hand and examined it: it was far smaller and more crudely shaped than the ones they’d used last night. This toy sword was probably Sora’s first. Riku hadn’t seen his first one in years.

Riku looked to the side of the desk. There were more things from their childhood in a pile on the floor, surrounded by more papers. These papers were strewn haphazardly as though Sora had gutted the area to preserve a place for his things. It looked a bit like desperation.

The silver-haired male couldn’t think of anywhere better to put the toy sword, so he carefully placed it in the front of the pile on the floor. The pile looked cornered. Riku pushed some of the papers back with his feet to give the personal objects some breathing room.

Sora’s mattress was decidedly far from the cluttered walls and piles. It vaguely reminded Riku of a small, unprotected island.

(XXX)

Sora took the glass measuring cup out of the microwave and poured the bubbling water into his orange mug. A plume of aromatic steam puffed into his face as he stirred the water with the powder. The tin of his beloved ‘French Vanilla Café’ winked at him from the edge of the counter. He lightly pressed his hands on the mug, careful not to press harder lest he burn himself, and enjoyed the warmth. His thoughts drifted to the previous night. Sora smiled a little and felt something inside do a little somersault.

“MMBEEERGH!” he yowled and jerked his hands away from the mug. The sharp, hot pains in his palms brought his brain back to reality. Sora whined and licked the stinging areas on his hands. When the pain subsided, he filled an empty glass with water from the tap and took his medication.

The brunet felt soft, furry bodies rubbing against his legs. He looked down to see Mim and Mer, the two younger cats of the three, looking up at him with their large, pretty eyes. They were ponying up for breakfast, most likely, though unlike some cats, Mim and Mer weren’t only affectionate when they wanted something.

Sora glanced around for the third cat—an older female of pristine white fur he called ‘Madame de Beaumont’—but she was nowhere in sight. He shrugged and filled the cats’ food dishes. There were only two food dishes for the three cats because Mim and Mer were completely content to do everything together at the same time, even in the same place. This tendency of theirs even extended to one of their most loathed activities—baths—but it was a true display of rare, feline loyalty. Sora thought it wasn’t so much goodness of character, but that there was something wrong with them.

Mim and Mer were brothers from the same litter, which might have given some small, far-fetched explanation for their dynamic-duo behavior.

Sora turned around when he heard footsteps on the stairs. Even five minutes out of bed, Riku looked good. His face was freshly washed and his silver hair was newly brushed. His biceps were peaking out of the sleeves of his t-shirt. It was a good distraction.

In fact, all of Riku was a good distraction from his life. For the past several months, Sora felt like a capital city, slowly being encroached upon by a vast, unconquerable army. Sometimes, Sora couldn’t see past the SAT flyers and college fair notices. The sharp, thin edges were cutting up his eyes and he could smile like he wasn’t bothered, but when he did that he often felt like he was hiding the demolition of a building. There were a lot of things Sora had to do, a lot of things he had to be, and all that pressure made his kneecaps buckle.

Sora was a happy, smiley, quirky goof, but inside him there were mines—deep mines, with only flimsy DO NOT ENTER tape to deter visitors. Those mines were filled with precious things like rare stones and metals. They weren’t precious because he liked jewelry, they were precious because they were things that were very tender; they could hurt him easily if slightly disturbed, so he had to defend them. Sora wasn’t a brawny-bodied, emotionally complex, impenetrable dark tower of a sentient being, so a considerable part of protecting those paining things was to hide them. Sora kept quiet about these internal combustions and, by keeping them secret, he kept them safe. If someone close to him lit a match and saw the glinting gold, then Sora would show sharp things—fangs and claws—that he didn’t really have. He wished he could hide himself along with the things in his chest. He was trying.

Sora was afraid of growing up; there was a sensitive, cowering part of him that sorely needed his childhood back from the hands of time that took it. If he could go back, he swore he’d appreciate it this time.

The brunet was generally kind, and fully capable of sympathy and empathy for others, but he was also selfish. That was not surprising, considering his age, and this trait didn’t make him a poor excuse for a person. But it explained why he sometimes failed to see Riku as a person rather than a ticket out of a psychologically uncomfortable place. When Sora saw Riku, he saw his best, closest friend, but he also saw an escape route, which made him sigh with relief and think you-can-get-me-out-of-here.

Riku distracted him from the social pressure to become an adult. Riku’s company could suspend him in a current time setting that was safe and separate from Sora’s life, a little part of the world free from the echo of you-have-a-time-limit. Riku could also return the brunet to their childhood, with the summer sun, sand between their toes, and childish games. Then Sora would recall the fleeting, blissful days when he regularly hid behind Riku, who always protected him when he was afraid.

Like Roxas, Sora was not emo or bursting with angst and depressing poetry. However, unlike Roxas, Sora was in need of a few things, like time to lick his internal paper cuts. Like the realization that the world was not going to end when he entered the adult world. Like the knowledge that no one was would point a proverbial gun at his head if he stumbled a little as he tried to walk forward. Like the understanding of progression, the old adage: one day at a time.

Sora, caught up in what felt like a web of steel threads, found it hard to remember these things. He kept thinking about how succeeding in college, keeping a job, and depending on himself was going to be so difficult because he was so god damn handicapped by his ADD. But Sora kept forgetting that he had a mild case and that the A’s on his report cards actually meant something, especially since he had a learning disability.

Back to reality—Sora felt like he was on a speeding train to the front row in his head, right behind his eyes. The brunet mentally swept the cobwebs out of his hair and brushed the splinters of fool’s gold off of his clothing.

“Morning,” Riku said from the doorway to the kitchen. He stretched. The hem of his t-shirt rose a little, revealing a bit of his muscled abdomen. Sora internally crooned.

“I’m surprised you didn’t wake me up,” Riku said and leaned against the stone-topped kitchen island. He sniffed the air and recognized the scent of Sora’s stupid drink. He snorted.

The brunet shrugged and turned back to his mug. Riku ogled him. The elder male steeled himself and approached Sora from behind. His fingers trembled a little as he gently touched a strand of the brunet’s hair. Riku ran his index finger over its smooth softness. The silver-haired male looked down at Sora with a charged expression on his face when the brunet turned his head towards him.

It felt like pre-soccer tournament nerves, only worse, and better.

Riku hesitated. He was momentarily frazzled by the way that one direct touch made his heart nearly strangle itself in his chest. He felt slightly dizzy. Riku glanced at Sora’s position: he was fenced by the kitchen counter and Riku’s body. His heart was puffing up useless nothings, so Riku swatted his brain away and moved to close the distance between their faces.

He stopped when Sora suddenly turned and knelt to open a cupboard close to the floor. Sora’s movement was swift, smooth, and executed with the practiced perfection of a machine.

Riku quickly backed off and tried to think about something other than that odd exchange. He leaned against the kitchen island again, running a nervous hand through his hair.

Sora hid his amused smile behind his lips. He pulled a large, red plastic bowl, a glass measuring cup, and measuring spoons out of one cupboard and a box of pancake mix from another. Sora stood and plucked a wooden spoon from the utensil box on the counter. Sora grinned childishly at Riku.

“Two eggs and vegetable oil,” he directed brightly. Riku rolled his eyes, but he obeyed.

Sora was not in the mood for pancakes. Besides, by the time he was done making them, his ADD medication would have kicked in, which had a side-effect of suppressing his appetite. As a result, the smell of food, especially traditional breakfast food, would make him mildly nauseous. However, this was not his concern. He didn’t need to finish making pancakes—he only wanted to make use of his tongue and the thick, white batter.

(XXX)

Roxas rolled out of bed. And it wasn’t such a good idea, he soon realized, because he rolled out of bed and onto the hard floor over three feet below his mattress. The blond groaned. He was too tired and in too much pain to get off the floor for a few minutes. After he recovered, he trudged into the bathroom, did his thing, and then downstairs to the kitchen. His dad was there, reading some catalog of products for the funeral industry.

Needless to say, Roxas’ hearse did, at some point, contain a corpse in a box, but it had been years and five cans of disinfectant spray since the last one. But by Roxas’ seventeenth birthday, he no longer cared about the history of his present. He loved his Deathmobile.

Roxas settled heavily on a chair at the kitchen table. It was after eleven.

Roxas’ dad, Alexander, was a blond-haired man of Dutch descent minus the accent and memorable wooden shoes, who was almost perpetually dressed in a crisp, professional business suit, and was the current head of the family business. Since Roxas hit puberty, he didn’t bother talking very much with his father for, as he saw it, there was little about which they could talk.

“Morning, Rox,” his dad said. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah,” Roxas answered, scratching his head and trying to figure out if he ate the last of the cereal the other day.

“Are you going to do anything with Axel this weekend?”

“Umm, no,” the younger blond said absently. He got up and poked around in the cabinet where they kept their cereal. “Where’s mom and Bar Bar?”

Bar Bar was his nickname for his little sister. As Roxas glared into the cruelly empty space of the cereal cupboard, he realized it was an odd time to notice that he generally avoided his little sister. Or maybe not avoided, that sounded too deliberate. He just didn’t talk or do much to her much because, again, he saw little about which they could talk or do together.

Bar Bar was eight years old, born after Roxas was old enough to play Legend of Zelda, so he suggested they name his new little sister Sariah. Somewhat surprisingly, his parents liked it.

“Adela took Sariah to the library pick up books for a school essay,” his dad said, then one of his eyebrows rose speculatively. “What? No Axel again? This is the second weekend in a row that I don’t have him mooning over the science-fictiony equipment in the basement. Is he ill?”

The corpses were prepared and cared for in two rooms in the basement. Axel thought the tools, wires, tables, cosmetics, cleaners, and miscellaneous other bottles were cool.

Roxas rolled his eyes. If anyone wound up giving Axel a job, it would probably be Roxas’ father, because he had been acquainted with the nutty redhead for long enough to trust him, generally, and know that he wasn’t actually a psycho. Axel had a general interested in the funeral industry, too, which didn’t hurt.

“No, Axel’s fine, it’s just…” Roxas trailed off, not knowing what to say. He couldn’t recall if his dad knew he was dating Hayner, or even if Roxas brought him home to meet the family.

He shuddered at the sound of that. “Meet the family”—like Hayner was going to be installed there. Roxas was unsure as to why the thought so repulsed him.

“What’s up?” his dad asked helpfully. He folded the catalog and placed it on the table to give Roxas his full attention.

“Er, how much do you know about my social life right now?” the adolescent blond asked. He went to the fridge and opened some drawers. He wasn’t trying to avoid the topic, he was just trying to find something other than—ew, moldy cheese.

Alexander thought for a moment, then said, “I know you’re best friends with a good-hearted nut, close friends with a gaggle of teenagers of debatable sanity and questionable origin, and are dating a young man from school who possesses a remarkable handbag. I also know that your best friend loathes said boyfriend to such an extent that I wake up every day half expecting to find his corpse in the care facility downstairs. How was that?”

“That’s about everything condensed,” Roxas replied, mildly surprised. “Right, so, Axel saw Hayner and me making out at school a couple of weeks ago and, well, he already knew I was dating Hayner, but he’s been acting really strangely since.”

His dad raised his eyes at Roxas’ use of the word ‘strange’ to describe Axel. Roxas clarified:

“Stranger than usual. Then I learned from Riku that Axel is attracted to me and he probably has more feelings about me than just that.”

They paused as they heard front door open and close, followed by footsteps and the little voice of Bar Bar. Roxas’ little sister ran through the kitchen, latched onto their dad’s leg for a quick hug, and went to her toys. Adela strolled into the kitchen shortly after.

“Hi, mom,” Roxas said, then returned to his conversation with his dad. Alexander tried to give him some words of comfort and insight which only succeeded in making Roxas sigh in exasperation.

“Look, thanks for listening, but I have a date with Hayner tonight and I don’t need to be thinking about Axel’s ‘feelings’ all day and night.”

Both Adela’s and Alexander’s eyebrows rose.

“Feelings? I didn’t know Axel had those,” Adela said with an amused smile.

“Mom,” the young blond whined. His mother came over and kissed him on the cheek.

“Come on, Rox Pox, let me have a sense of humor.”

“Don’t call me that, please. At least not in front of people or Bar Bar. It’ll follow me forever.”

Adela smiled and ran her hands through Roxas’ hair. “But you’re still an angsting teenager. I have to remind you that you’re my favorite plague. Back to your love life: you make dates with Hayner sound like a job.”

Roxas nearly agreed, then mentally smacked himself.

He stalked—angstily—out of the kitchen. He missed the mischievous look that passed between his parents.

(XXX)

The memory of Sora and that pancake batter was haunting Riku hours after he stopped licking that stupid spoon. Riku kept imagining his best friend lapping up all that white substance with his tongue, and his body was responding enthusiastically. It was distracting him from beating Sora at Mario Party. Not that Riku was really liked Mario Party—the overall type and style of the game was not his favorite; he preferred games such as the Legend of Zelda series for the violence, puzzles, and the overall epic feeling of being the only one who could save the world.

Riku glanced at Sora, who sat beside him in front of the small television in his bedroom. He seemed relatively content with their current activity.

One at a time, the silver-haired male wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. Neither of them mentioned the previous night. What if Sora didn’t remember it?

Still, the pancake batter thing seemed like an obvious tease. And Sora could tease, he knew that. Maybe the brunet just wanted to bother him.

Sora’s cell phone rang.

‘Just for now, just for now…
I know we’ve all had a bumpy ride.
I’m secretly on your side,
Just fo—‘

Sora paused the game and fished his phone out of his pocket.

“Ye—us? …Um, I dunno when,” the brunet said, then turned to Riku. “My mom wants to know how and when your parents want you back?”

“They said I could stay through Sunday night.”

Sora turned back to the phone. “He says his parents are fine with him spending Sunday night, if that’s fine with you. He’ll take his stuff with him in the morning. …Jah, ‘kay, love you.”

They returned to the game. Riku’s stomach arched as though it had a sinuous spine at the memory of the word ‘love’ coming from Sora’s mouth. Riku glanced from the television screen to Sora’s face a few times, then paused the game. They were both quiet.

Riku set his controller down and turned to his best friend, supporting his weight on his left hand. Sora looked at him curiously with his large, blue eyes.

It seemed like such a silly thing to catch Riku up in the snares of what-if-I-don’t?

‘How did you know?
It's what I always wanted.’

He leaned closer to Sora and daringly cupped the brunet’s cheek in his hand. Riku tilted Sora’s face towards him and kissed him.

‘You can never have too many of these…’

There was a live-long moment in limbo during which Riku felt like everything in his life was only a sideshow leading up to this moment, but it ended when his lips made contact with Sora’s cheek. The rushing feeling in his head stopped and he opened his eyes.

Sora rolled to his feet and stood. He grabbed his jacket from the hanger over the door and walked out of the room.

“It’s boring inside. Let’s go for a walk or something,” he called back at the silver-haired male. “Turn off the PS2 for me, okay?”

Riku remained on the floor for a long moment, bemused, before some misplaced parts of his brain returned to headquarters. He turned off the television and the game console, and snatched his jacket from his bag in a motion that seemed impatient, nervous, and frustrated.

‘Will you quit kicking me under the table?
I’m trying! Will someone make her shut up about it?
Can we settle down, please?’

Riku followed Sora to the door and they walked outside together. Riku kept shooting pointed, curious looks at the brunet, who seemed to be unaffected. The silver-haired male sighed quietly, disappointed.

At least I don’t have to look at Bowser’s spiky ass anymore.

They walked down Sora’s driveway and turned down the street. The two males were quiet on the outside—inside, Sora was carefully washing his smugness in a bath of ice water. Meanwhile, Riku wanted to bash his handsome, silver-haired head into a tree in exasperation.

Riku congealed a little inside. He wanted Sora’s attention. He got ahead of Sora, turned, and walked backwards so he could smirk at him.

“Let’s race. See how out of shape you’ve gotten,” Riku challenged. His aquamarine eyes brightened a little at the rise he got out of Sora.

“I can still beat you, you smug soccer-jock! Remember the tortoise and the hair?!” Sora shot back and quickened pace, antsy to begin. The old competitive spirit was rising between them again. “Where to?”

“That trail entrance nearby,” Riku answered. No sooner had he said that than Sora shot off; Riku laughed and ran after him. He overtook Sora in a very short time and beat him to the entrance of the trail by a long shot. Riku leaned against the wooden posts marking the trail for a while before he caught sight of the brunet. Sora trudged up to him, sulking, with his arms crossed over his chest and a dejected pout on his face. Riku shook with laughter—it was a long time since he last saw that expression on his face.

“Need to brush up on being a better loser?” Riku teased, grinning, when Sora reached him. The brunet ignored him and went into the trail. Riku followed him, allowing the younger male to keep some distance between them, though not because Riku cared about Sora’s injured pride which, if he knew Sora, wasn’t really injured. He allowed the younger male to walk ahead of him because it allowed Riku to have a nice, long, uninterrupted gander at his ass. Riku shifted uncomfortably; his pants were getting tight. Sora’s bum was infinitely better than Bowser’s, although such a comparison didn’t give an accurate picture.

Sora huffed his way along and turned off the main path. Riku followed him to a river with a series of wet rocks for a bridge. When the silver-haired male saw what Sora had his eyes on, he sped up and grasped the brunet’s elbow to help steady him. Sora glared at Riku and jerked his arm out of his hold. Riku made a grab for his arm again, but the brunet leaped forward to evade him. Sora’s shoe stuck a little on one of the rocks and he weaved precariously over the river. He tried to regain balance by stepping onto the next rock, but he slipped, lost his balance, and fell onto his bum on the riverbed. The brunet let out a loud yowl as pain rocketed up his spine and the cold water ran over his skin.

“I think I broke my coccyx!” Sora wailed. Big, fat tears began rolling down his cheeks. He cried easily, but only at physical pain as far as Riku knew. He never saw him crying for any other reason.

“Oh, baby, I love it when you talk dirty,” Riku said, snickering at Sora’s pathetic grimace. He leaned over and hefted the brunet up and onto the riverbank. Once Sora was in front of him, Riku’s expression changed.

“That’s what you get,” Riku said, abruptly gruff, repeating something he remembered telling someone else. When he thought about it, he didn’t know about whom he meant when he said that—‘that’s what you get.’ Did he mean himself for loving a goofy, loony, almost lifelong best friend? Or did he mean Sora for being himself? For being the person that Riku loved?

Riku stood the brunet before him and unzipped their jackets. He pulled off Sora’s cold, drenched jacket and shirt off of him and zipped him into his jacket for warmth. Sora stared up at him, wide-eyed, with his wet, bare chest pressed against his best friend’s warm t-shirt.

“This is what you get,” Riku repeated softly, running his thumb over Sora’s cheekbone. He wrapped his hand gently around the back of the brunet’s neck and pressed his lips to Sora’s.

‘Lie down,
Deep breaths:
Count to ten,
Nod your head.’

Riku shivered internally and smiled against Sora’s lips—it was warm bliss.

His smile grew wider when he felt Sora’s lips move against his. Sora ran his fingers through Riku’s hair and it nearly made him purr.

‘I’m secretly on your side…
Just for now, just for now.’

That first kiss turned into much-needed making out, and it was well deserved on Riku’s part for putting up with Sora’s shenanigans and not backing down at his teasing. The two males pressed close, happily consumed in one open-mouthed kiss after another. This was going very well--Riku hadn’t imagined a result like this, but then he was male so it was a bit much to expect him to think through anything. Riku and Sora spent the next twenty minutes lip-locking, standing inside Riku’s jacket, beside a river, with the brunet’s soaked shirt and jacket lying on the earth at a small distance. It was an odd picture, but then so were the two people orally swapping bodily fluids.

Eventually, Riku released the brunet—well, as much as he could, since Sora was still within the confines of his outer clothing. He pulled away for two reasons: because Sora was shivering and needed dry clothing of his own, and because Sora was doing something really, really awesome with his hips that Riku wasn’t complaining about but, well, he'd have kill Sora if he didn’t stop.

“Let’s get you home and into some warm clothes,” Riku said, smiling. His gruffness from moments ago dissipated without a trace—Sora was making him weak in the knees.

It took awhile to shuffle home. Neither of them could move very quickly, connected as they were.

(XXX)

Roxas showered, brushed his teeth, and spent a wee bit longer than his usual five seconds quaffing in front of the mirror. When satisfied, he leaned on his hands, grasping the white rim of the sink.

‘I pack my case, I check my face.
I look a little bit older,
I look a little bit colder.’

He sighed. For some reason, Roxas felt weary at the prospect of company tonight—Hayner’s or otherwise. But really Hayner’s, especially Hayner’s, because he was going to have his company tonight. Roxas would rather stay home and hang out in his bedroom, listen to some good music, maybe take a walk later. He would much rather do nothing, be nothing for a night, together, with someone.

The blond glanced at the digital clock on the bathroom counter. He had a few minutes before he had to leave. Roxas reluctantly stood, walked into his bedroom, and got dressed. When everything was on and he had no chance of being arrested for public indecency, he sank onto the edge of his bed and fiddled with his cell phone. He was waiting for an excuse. For a second, Roxas wished that Axel had ESP so he would know to call and save him from the hours ahead. Axel was loyal; he’d do that. Then, Roxas and Axel could go somewhere and just hang out—they didn’t need to do anything. Plans were nice, but sometimes he just wanted to lie in the back of his hearse with the trunk door open so he could enjoy the fresh breeze on his face with Axel beside him. Looking up at the stars was too cliché—starry skies were more Axel’s thing. Roxas snorted at the thought.

And he called me a cream puff.

They could enjoy silence; Roxas and Axel could enjoy being still together, just thinking the same thought on pleasant replay: you-are-my-friend-and-this-is-it.

“It” was unclear to them as of yet—what was “it”? But they both supposed, quietly, that “it” meant this friendship was too good to end. They hoped. They really hoped. No bleeding hearts, just that it was too good to give.

Good god, don’t even. Pull it together before it even starts coming apart.

He let out a low whistle for nothing in particular. He wished he didn’t have to pick Hayner up in a few minutes—his My Chemical Romance album was calling to him. Roxas didn’t listen to them very often. He didn’t want to start a riot for anyone privy to his thoughts and he meant nothing bad about the rest of MCR’s music, but sometimes one of their more retardedly emo songs really hit the spot. Statement of fact, and it was a good thing. Roxas was not about to get into the rest of it. He only had one album of theirs, anyway.

Roxas closed his eyes. He imagined that fresh breeze on his face. Clean, cool, fresh air—quiet, peace, pretty colors if he chose to look, and his best friend by his side. Awesome. That was all he needed. Cool, deffo.

Just as he was sinking into this daydream, also similar to a few good memories, his cell phone let off its alarm—time to go pick up Hayner.

‘With one deep breath and one big step,
I move a little bit closer
For reasons unknown.’

(XXX)

The pick up and the ride to the restaurant was uneventful and quiet. The people in the parking lot of the diner gawked at Roxas’ hearse. In the corner of his vision, he saw Hayner bristle. He crossed his arms defensively over his chest and scowled, his handbag glinting in the light. Roxas suddenly needed a minute to pinch his eyes shut and imagine ramming his head into a brick wall with the force of a barreling train. Too bad he had to keep his eyes open and avert manslaughter.

Part of his brain did not agree.

Dude, dying to destroy the handbag would earn you, like, martyr status. Newest Saint and National Hero coming to your mangled corpse at the speed of light.

Not that Roxas was Catholic. He was kind of grateful, if firstly because it meant that Axel wouldn’t avoid him like the plague.

Not that Roxas was doing the same thing to him. Anyway, Hayner was moaning on about something.

“Do you like people staring at us?” Hayner asked, glaring at him. “Why can’t you take this thing to the dealer and exchange it for something normal?”

The speed of light, man—the speed of light! You following me?

Roxas sighed and kept his mouth shut. He had an answer for that sort of question, asked not for the first time by Hayner, but usually Roxas usually wasn’t bothered enough to silently reply.

Because I’m not normal. I guess you haven’t noticed, even though you stare at me like I’m severed in half sometimes.

He parked, pulled his key, pulled his seatbelt, pulled the door, and slammed it shut behind him. Once Hayner was out, he locked the hearse. Not that he expected anyone to steal that thing. They entered the restaurant and were soon seated at a booth. Roxas’ mind was drifting elsewhere, so his choice in drink and entrée were made while in autopilot.

Hayner began talking about work. Fashions for the new season were coming into the store, and Hayner was not looking forward to dealing with more obnoxious customers in the coming week. Roxas tried to pay attention like a good boyfriend. Unfortunately, he slipped too quickly into other, milder, more amusing thoughts before he could catch himself. His mind drifted to Axel from a time before all this trouble about his “feelings.”

(XXX)

Roxas first met Axel in the summer that he turned ten. He was with his family on the annual vacation in Twilight Town. Roxas still remembered his first sight of Axel: a twiggy boy with wide, wondering, glassy eyes, sitting on a tree branch, and all of this under a mass of fiery red hair. His hair was so vividly red that, initially, Roxas thought the other boy was on fire. Roxas on the ground below, decked only in a pair of dark swim trunks and dripping wet from a water balloon fight with the local kids, took one look at the other boy’s head and one look at the last water balloon in his hand and did the logical thing. He lobbed the thing at his face, hard.

Roxas was a good shot; he played pitcher for the little league back home. He knocked the redhead off the branch. The boy fell into the bushes below in a tumble of flailing limbs and, surprisingly, not a single sound of surprise or fear.

It was blisteringly hot. Roxas probably thought the other boy had combusted from the heat.

But when the green-eyed boy scrambled up from the bushes, his hair was still red, though darker from the water.

“Oh” was the best thing Roxas could say. Silently, he broadcasted a question that would have explained his previous action: you-weren’t-on-fire-were-you?

They stood on equal footing. And on equal footing, the young blond saw that the redhead was much taller than him. He was twelve, at least. Roxas swallowed nervously. This kid was going to hit him, he knew it. But the redhead was still; he just stared. After a minute, he echoed Roxas’ lame, bewildered greeting: “oh.”

Roxas saw something of interest on the older boy’s arm: a temporary tattoo. It was a glossy image of Spiderman, frozen in mid-swing from one building to another.

“You like Spiderman, too?” Roxas asked. The redhead stared at him, wide-eyed, as though confused, then nodded.

“I feel as weird as him, sometimes,” the taller boy said. Roxas beamed.

“Me, too.”

“I’m Axel,” he said, as though Roxas’ response confirmed something vitally important.

“Cool, I’m Roxas!” the blond said and grabbed the older boy’s hand in a vigorous, enthusiastic shake.

They smiled at each other. Roxas grinned widely, emanating the ecstatic nature of his thought: I-bet-you’re-just-as-weird-as-me. Axel returned the look with a small, timid smile. Roxas later learned that this was probably the first time that Axel ever had the chance to give another kid such a smile—first time getting to smile at someone willing to be his friend.

Olette, a brunette with a plain face, padded up to Roxas.

“Hey,” she chirped to him—not to Axel—“Wanna go play tag?” She glanced nervously at the redhead and tugged Roxas’ wrist meaningfully. “Somewhere else?”

Roxas glanced from Olette to Axel and saw the other boy’s fading smile. And Roxas would have done it anyway, but the redhead’s saddening expression only bolstered his conviction: he shook his head at Olette and hopped over to Axel’s side.

“I’m gonna play with Axel now. I’ll see you later,” Roxas said. He vaguely noticed the water droplets rolling down the redhead’s fair skin.

Olette hesitated, glancing from one boy to the other and then the narrow space between them, then walked back to where the other kids were playing.

Alone again, the two boys got acquainted. Their mouths exhausted their shared love of Spiderman, their limbs endured and grappled with the rough bark of the trees they climbed, and their feet were scorched by the sun-heated roads as they explored Twilight Town. They were mirror images, standing side by side behind the locked gates of the old mansion, and their thoughts were similar, half-formed fantasies of breaking in and finding ghosts. They talked about their similarly somewhat odd families.

Axel made Roxas feel at home with himself. The blond’s fears and anxieties were not yet fully unearthed from his subconscious, nor was he articulate enough to express them perfectly, but he was able communicate himself well enough to be understood. Axel never batted an eyelash at Roxas’ childhood secrets, so the blond felt relieved. Roxas soon learned that the redhead had no friends because he was, as the kids put it, crazy. Roxas learned that he was crazy—he learned just how crazy his new friend was. And in response to this knowledge, the blond only thought he was so lucky to have found his possibly, maybe, soon enough, sure enough, definitely best friend early in life—in the summer when he turned ten.

(XXX)

Roxas smiled absently into the air to the side of Hayner’s head.

“Um, are you listening to me?” said blond asked, his eyes narrow.

Roxas blinked and bowed his head over his plate. He stabbed the chicken with his fork, but ate little of it. The sauce had mushrooms in it—Roxas wrinkled his nose; he disliked mushrooms. He also disliked this restaurant. And for the moment, he disliked Hayner. This change of heart could have been a sign, could have meant something, could have heralded he arrival of an emotion more concrete, and Roxas could have dumped Hayner right there, but he didn’t. Wisely, Roxas acknowledged that this feeling stomping around obstinately in his gut would probably be gone tomorrow, or at least have weakened by then to something less obviously grouchy.

He paid attention to Hayner, though he was finding little pleasure in company tonight.

Hayner touched his hand. Roxas jerked his head up, wondering if he was zoning out again, but the contact was only affectionate. The check soon arrived. Hayner smiled at him, and Roxas, relieved, smiled back at him. They returned to Roxas’ hearse. No one was in the parking lot to gape at them, so Hayner relaxed.

Then Hayner wanted to do things, but not in the back of Roxas’ hearse, because, “Hello! It’s a hearse—dead people have been in here!” In response to this, Roxas sighed and flopped back against his seat. He felt tired, and told his boyfriend as much. He talked Hayner down to decrease the chance of receiving bothered, anxious calls from him later. In minutes, Roxas was pleased to be driving Hayner home. After they parted, Roxas felt relieved; now he could retreat to the comfort of his room. He drove home, whistling badly, but not bothered by the unattractive sounds coming from his lips.

Roxas thought about Axel and, for the first time in a couple of weeks, his mood did not darken. He decided something then: he was going to call Axel tomorrow, apologize, and ask to hang out somewhere. It didn’t matter where. Roxas’ lips curved in a sleepy smile; he felt free and mellow. He had no clue where his fear was hiding, or even if it was still alive. He felt as though he and Axel could survive this emergence of a heart with their friendship intact. Roxas was not yet sure how, but he could take the first step: he could reach out again and apologize. He could put an end to this, and he would.

Things were going to be all right. He felt free and easy—he’d finally gotten away from the pressure of Axel lurking with his insistent heart in hand around every corner, demanding that Roxas deal with something he only wanted to avoid. But now that Roxas had his space, he felt a bit better and the world was looking clearer, and all the sharp edges were disappearing. Roxas was going to patch this up on his own terms, now that he felt like he had a handle on the situation. No more irrational, emotional responses to Axel’s ”feelings.”

The blond arrived home and parked in the driveway. He didn’t go inside just yet; his mind drifted to the first time Axel saw his hearse. Pretty cool. Pretty damn awesome. Roxas was so proud of his birthday present, even if Axel was the only one impressed the way Roxas was. Axel had been out of town the day of Roxas’ birthday, so the two of them bunked off the day after, when Axel was in town, to have birthday cupcakes. Because apparently neither of them was gay enough already.

(XXX)

The day after Roxas’ seventeenth birthday, the blond proudly showed off his new hearse to Axel. The car was shiny and newly cleaned by his father—the smell of prepared corpses was gone, too, which was a plus. The redhead looked about the interior with wonder in his eyes. His knees were bent up under his chin because they were so long. He looked like a kid again, which made Roxas snicker.

“Damn, how did you manage to get this car?” Axel asked, amazed.

“I dunno, father’s a funeral director? I’m thinking of getting it painted. Maybe electric blue,” the blond answered. He patted the steering wheel, dashboard, and gear shift lovingly. And then the glove compartments, turn signal switch, and seats for good measure—as if the car wasn’t already uncomfortably aware of his love for it.

Roxas paused from his reverent petting when he noticed his best friend’s silence. The blond froze, then slowly let his eyes roll up. There, on Axel’s face, was a look of the most profound revelation. Like he’d just seen god.

“If this is a deathmobile, then you’re, like, a superhero!”

Roxas stared, wide-eyed.

“I mean, you got the car and everything!”

The blond wasn’t sure what the “everything” was, but probably neither did Axel. Nevertheless, Roxas gripped the steering wheel tightly, bracing for something he knew was coming. He could just hear the first, newly-conceived bits of it screeching out from the crack underneath the heavy, metal door to Axel’s inner brain.

The flaming tree rolled down the window and stuck his head out the window. He began hollering the tune to Batman at the top of his lungs, projecting directly at the young, easily frightened preppy girls crossing the street.

“DANANANANANA DEATHMAN!”

Roxas snickered, but when he saw one of the girls jump, terrified, and nearly slip into an open manhole, he nearly died. He guffawed in the driver’s seat and, for lack of anything better to express himself, slammed himself backwards into his seat and stomped his feet on the car floor. Axel beamed proudly in the passenger’s seat. But when the redhead reached over to fiddle with the gear shift, Roxas was suddenly dead serious and nearly gnawed off his hand.

Forever after, Deathman was the only superhero in Roxas’ destiny. But Deathman was then and would always be the very best and “most awesomest” one in Axel’s poorly written book.

(XXX)

strolled into the house feeling much lighter than when he left earlier that evening. He put his coat on the coat rack by the kitchen doorway. He heard his mother calling him from the family room, and he followed her voice. His parents were sitting on the couch, apparently waiting for him. As it turned out, they wanted to talk about Axel. Things quickly took a turn for the worse; Roxas’ willingness to close the gap he’d placed between himself and his best friend was crumbling under perceived accusations and pressure. He tried to deflect their questions and statements, but Adela and Alexander were insistent. Roxas’ Look-I-don’t-want-to-talk-about-him-right-now! didn’t stand a chance in Hell.

“We know you don’t want to talk to or see him,” Adela said, “but as you haven’t given us any reason as to why you’re resistant to seeing your best friend, we can only assume that your reason is too stupid or embarrassing to tell us.”

Roxas’ anger was sparked. Less than an hour ago, he was ready to contact Axel with the intent of fixing things, but now that he felt as though he was on trial, his plans were overshadowed.

“Fear is not a stupid reason!” he snapped back at his mother. “And that’s great parenting: calling your child stupid!”

“Fear of something can be valid, but this is your best friend. It seems to me that you’re afraid of fear. And no, I did not just call you stupid; I implied that you are intelligent because you understood that your reason was stupid, which is why you haven’t told us.”

The adolescent blond growled and buried his face in his hand.

“Whatever,” Roxas mumbled sourly. Between memories of Axel pressuring him, Hayner bitching at him, and his parents cornering him, Roxas was more than ready to retreat.

“Done? Good, then. Because Axel’s coming over for dinner tomorrow night.”

No more irrational responses be damned: Roxas let out a hoarse holler and ran into a wall. While the young blond was down for the count, his mother strolled over and took his car keys.

(XXX)

The end of chapter six.

To all my readers: if you can't leave a review, at least rate the fic. :3

Do not give me shit about the MCR comment. I was watching the Sora Show on youtube and it clicked.

Rox Pox. XD I wrote a term paper on smallpox. Really cheery virus. And America doesn’t have enough vaccines to deal with an outbreak, should variola major or minor sweep through the country. Bloody brilliant.

Question that doesn’t relate to this fic:
Clarification: I am not asking if you prefer Axel/Roxas (or vice-versa) or Riku/Sora (ditto).
The actual question: which is hotter, questionable sanity/obsession with love-interest (as seen in some presentations of Riku/Sora) or considerable age difference (as seen in Axel/Roxas)?

I like the substantial age difference, but I’m also intrigued by the whole “object of a mental asylum escapee’s love.” XD XD XD Because I tend to think that, in real life, Riku would stand a good chance of being a mental asylum escapee. Come on, you remember KH I. That boy could have used some medication…and a friend other than a lifeless shell of Kairi and a Heartless that looked so temptingly like Sora.

Not that everyone characterizes Riku as a person in need of some psychotherapy, but psychological issues/insanity is something I can’t disassociate from my idea of Riku from the game series. (Questionable sanity does not apply to Riku in this fic.)

Titles and bands:

The chapter title is an altered line from “Andy, You’re a Star” by The Killers.
The header, as noted, is from the song “My List” by The Killers from the Sam’s Town album.

Lyrics from “Just for Now” by Imogen Heap, from the Speak for Yourself album.
Lyrics from “For Reasons Unknown” by The Killers, from the Sam’s Town album.