Chapter Five: A Small Delay

Author's Notes: You might have noticed I abandoned the one-word chapter naming system. It might come back, it might not. Also, formatting on for some reason does not allow me to use the divider bar anymore. It makes me sad, but there's no helping it. I'll be using multiple dashes for now. Also! I'm looking ofr a beta, since I'm well-aware my typing sucks liek woah. If you have an interest, e-mail me at "miiko (underscore) ashida (at) yahoo . com" (remove the spaces). Thanks for reading, everyone, and I hope you continue to be entertained! (I'm so ashamed at how long it's been since an update, but the original chapter I had planned in this one's place got eaten when my computer died.)

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"This is your place?" Roxas asked in awe, staring up at the colossal two-story, river rock-sided house where Axel had driven them to. No way a biker punk like Axel could afford a place like this on his own! Unless appearances really were deceiving, and he was secretly a super-rich heir to some big hotel family (thank God he wasn't a bimbo, at least) who rebelled in hopes of finding some sense of self away from his parents' luxurious lifestyle, and just happened to also enjoy the benefits of their money. Either that, or he was the weekend boytoy of some big, well-to-do lawyer, who was probably old, grey and portly and – ew. Roxas derailed that train of thought in a hurry. Either way, he didn't like the indication this house presented, because Brain pointed out yet a third possibility too…well…normal for either Roxas or his Subconscious to conceive of, with their boundless imaginations. What if he's breaking and entering somebody's house? He is in a gang, you know.

All too aware of that minor detail, Roxas frowned at Brain. Maybe it really is his house. You never know.

You seem a little skeptical of that, yourself, Brain reminded him with what would have been raised eyebrows on a physical manifestation. Roxas groaned inwardly and kicked it. He really, really disliked the idea that Axel was a criminal. Being in a gang? Well, that was okay, as long as they didn't hold up little old ladies (though Axel sort of seemed like the type of robber who'd end up getting pounded twenty feet into the dust with a handbag, like in the cartoons), or go around cat-calling at young women and boys (now that, the last part, Roxas could envision Axel doing, but he'd probably end up with a bunch of hormonal teenagers attached to every appendage for his troubles). If it was a motorcycle gang, that was even kind of cool (Especially since it means he wears leather all the time, added Subconscious unnecessarily, licking its proverbial lips), since Roxas loved anything with two wheels and a motor. However, that was pretty harmless stuff – mostly for show. But breaking into someone's house was really, truly bad. It was the sort of thing that went on your permanent record, even if you were just in the vicinity at the time, like a drinking party or vandalism or being the lookout while your best friend decided he wanted the thrill of screwing his girlfriend in the erstwhile-unoccupied teachers' lounge (no, wait, Roxas had 'been in study hall, working on algebra' for that last one, because Hayner didn't want to admit he'd been nervous enough to want a lookout) – things that got on your transcript, things that got the police involved, the school, or worse – your mom.

Roxas shuddered a little, simultaneous with Brain, Subconscious, and Instincts, at the thought of his mother discovering he'd done any of those things (only the last of which he actually had), especially in addition to breaking into the house of some people he didn't know to discuss the possibility of a 'history' (and his mom would catch on pretty quickly to what kind of 'history' he meant, too) that he couldn't remember with some dyed, pierced, leather-bound, biker-gang-belonging twentysomething who'd recently been in a shootout.

Heads would roll enough as it was if she got wind he'd skipped school. Particularly if that skipping was to allow the other offences. Roxas winced; he really hadn't thought this through at all, and now he was sort of regretting getting on the bike (cool as it was) with Axel (hot, leather-clad, possibly serendipitous, and awesome as he was). Nonetheless, as though his feet weren't really his own, when Axel unlocked the door (ah! A key! So it really was his house! Good! …well, Roxas wasn't positive it was a good thing, but at least it was unincriminating for other parties involved) and gave Roxas a tiny wink, he felt himself moving forward, into a stranger's house. Into a stranger's life. And somehow, he felt that the stranger wasn't Axel – it was himself.

It was almost as if ever since he'd met that Luxord guy earlier, something, or maybe several somethings, had been building and beginning to spiral out of his control.

--

He glanced at his clipboard, frowning at the only name without a red check mark next to it. Wanless, Roxas. Being absent on the first day was a black mark on Marluxia's record for the rest of the year, unless you had a suitable excuse. Maybe the kid did. Waving a hand absently, he called out "Olette!" toward the field churning with soccer-playing PE students. A girl with long-ish, curly brown hair popped out of the crowd, jogging over to him. She gave him a friendly smile and a hug, even though she'd already done so at the beginning of class.

"Yeah, Coach?"

"You know this Roxas character?"

"Yeah! We hang out all the time." She giggled. Marluxia frowned. He didn't like girls from his team – even ex-players – having romantic entanglements. To most people it seemed that he took an obsessively hard line on the subject, but that sort of thing could be extremely damaging to performance in the game. Olette was a serious girl, one of his best, and she'd never seemed like the type, but her eyes lit up when he mentioned Roxas. Shaking off the annoyance prickling him as he thought of her and this boy, off in some corner (right before an important game, even!) giggling and making out, Marluxia asked,

"Does he ever skip school?"

She laughed, doubled over and put her hands on her knees. "Skip? Roxas? Hehe. His mother would skin him alive and boil him for supper. No, Roxas wouldn't skip." Then her face took on a different expression. "Is he supposed to be in this class?"

"Yes. And yet he is not here."

"Oh, maybe he's sick! He's kind of frail." She tapped her lip thoughtfully with one finger, a distant look in her eyes.

"Well, you can go back to the exercise. Undoubtedly you've gotten out of shape since last season."

She flinched. They didn't talk about 'last season'; it wasn't either of their finest hours. Olette still felt she might have done the wrong thing, but Marluxia just pretended it had never happened. For that, she was grateful: Coach was one of her favorite people in the world, even more than her boyfriend (because you can't count on a boyfriend, but Coach was always there), and she thought she might just die if he didn't like her anymore.

Thankfully, they were still close enough for a little teasing, which he showed by tapping her on the head with his clipboard. "Go on, get out of here. I didn't mean that."

"Really? You sure my legs aren't fat?" She twisted, as though trying to see imaginary cellulite on the backs of her thighs.

"I don't care to look at your legs if they aren't injured, Olette," he said sternly, tapping her again. She grinned and jogged back toward the field, waving. He sighed. Rubbed his temples. Sighed again. Olette was a wonderful girl, incredibly athletic, kind and smart and pretty. But she'd hurt him fairly badly, and he suspected he might have hurt her, without realizing it. He certainly hadn't meant to.

It was going to be much harder than he'd thought, working in proximity to her again – this time as her teacher.

--

"We can talk in a bit," Axel said to Roxas once they had gotten to the house's living room (it was huge! Roxas felt a little self-conscious), and abruptly turned, heading toward the stairs. "I'm going to get a shower."

"Hey! This is important! Can't it wait?"

"Nope. Sorry." Axel grinned flippantly back at him, then darted up the stairs. Roxas glared after the retreating head of red hair, which suddenly turned around and bounded back toward him. Axel paused at the foot of the stairs, then made up whatever question was in his mind and shot forward. His arms closed around Roxas' shoulders, and they were suddenly cheek-to-cheek. Roxas stiffened, breathing in that leather smell mixed with something else – cologne or shampoo or something. It smelled sort of good. Axel squeezed him once, then let go, still grinning like a madman.

Roxas feigned offence. "What was that about?"

"I dunno. I just got this feeling that I should do it, is all." And with that he flashed back up the stairs.

What a weirdo, Roxas thought. What a sweet guy, amended Instincts. What a hot ass! added Subconscious dreamily, watching Axel's backside disappear around the divider at the top of the stairs. For some reason, this made Roxas incredibly grumpy. He really didn't feel like sharing Axel with the other parts of his mind, even if they were basically himself. Wait, who said anything about 'sharing'? He isn't yours to begin with! You don't even know him! objected Brain, surfacing from its Axel-hug-induced coma.

He just feels…right. What do you all know, anyway? replied Roxas sullenly.

What do you know about him? parried Subconscious archly.

And Roxas realized with a sort of sinking feeling that the answer to that question was a resounding not much.