It's been two months.

Two months since he woke up to silence, and walked outside to find the air was different than it had been before. The atmosphere… it had been light and shimmering, glowing with the golden sunlight shining from the heavens. The sunshine had gleamed against his dirty, messy blonde spikes, sparkling and glowing; his cerulean eyes radiating amazement and hope and astonishment, as opposed to the fear and brokenness and dead look they had before. No heavy tension had stayed to linger above his head. Just the clear, crisp clouds, puffy and round and cottony, drifting away across the sky lazily yet contendedly, as though even they knew that things had just changed, that hope was not a distant memory or a kind of dream that you knew you had, even though you could not remember it once you woke up.

He had still been able to smell the shameless shame and the coppery blood and the cascaded tears and the stark death; hear the broken cries and the pitiful screams that called out to the wind in a mere whisper and the stinging shouts and cruelty that made his ears pound and ache. The screams that still reverberated with his every being, that he knew would be haunting him for a long, long, perpetually long time.

Then the men found them.

They had serious and determined faces, professional and observant and quick, but their eyes were not filled with the cruel desire to kill and torture- they had been filled with relief and hope and a heroic gleam that screamed to him plain and simple: things were going to be alright.

They had felt like zombies being brought back from the dead as they followed the sodiers out, their skin pale and sunken and their bones poking clearly out of their hollow, malnourished bodies, many left unclothed, some with shaven heads, all sympathetic to gaze at.

Had they become zombies? That awful, awful place had surely killed more souls than lives, tortured more spirits than destroyed them. And now, these walking dead, being brought back into life…

Maybe.

And it had only been two months.

Roxas steadily climbed down the steps, bones still weak and aching, but better nonetheless than he had been not too long ago. In one hand was a chisel, the other hand pocketed in his old, worn out, and overused jacket.

He walked—sauntered, even—down the sidewalk, making a turn and continuing in his stride, rounding off of blocks and corners here and there for a good fifteen minutes until he reached a small spot on the edge of the town where a path lay, cutting into the dense forest. The blonde didn't hesitate or stop or change in the slightest, just continued down the path, knowing exactly when to duck and side-step to avoid getting hit by a low hanging branch.

Just walking on, chisel in hand and face blank, Roxas paid no attention to any of his surroundings until, after eons of walking along the winding path, stopping abruptly. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply, slowly, preparing himself.

Then he stepped through the slight, slight opening that had been standing at the end of the path in front of him, and he was in a vastly large meadow. Grass grew magnificently, reaching Roxas' knees, swaying softly in the breeze that blew gently around him. Wildflowers grew, grasshoppers flung from tall blade of grass to tall blade of grass, and the occasional butterfly passed overhead. It was quiet but not uncomfortably or eerily, just content and peaceful and relaxed.

Roxas liked it here. In fact, Roxas loved it here. It was one of the few places nowadays where he could be completely relaxed, in his sweetly simple silence, left to his thoughts, but where his mind didn't dare to invade thoughts with memories from… well, from two months ago, to say at the least.

Ever the walker, he strode through the field until he reached the spot where the wild daisies were growing, where the grass was not a foot tall, where it was flat and clear. In the middle of the mini clearing, a large, perfectly rounded rock lay soundlessly. Roxas smiled a sad, soft smile while he leaned down and positioned himself in front of it, chisel in hand, and pulling out a small but firm stone from his pocket.

He wordlessly began to chisel away, engraving words into the resting stone.

As he finished, long later, he heaved a heavy and almost broken sigh as he stood up, pocketing the rock in his coat and his chisel safely in his hand as it had been before. He turned around and walked out through the entrance to the forest, making his way back to the apartment he shaired with two other tenents: his twin brother, Sora, and Sora's long time lover and wife, Kairi.

It had been one year.

One year since he had woken up to silence, had walked outside to find the air was different than it had been before. The atmosphere that was light and shimmering, glowing with the golden sunlight shining from the heavens. The sunshine that had gleamed against his dirty, messy blonde spikes, sparkling and glowing; his cerulean eyes radiating amazement and hope and astonishment, as opposed to the fear and brokenness and dead look they had before. No heavy tension had stayed to linger above his head. Just the clear, crisp clouds, puffy and round and cottony, drifting away across the sky lazily yet contendedly, as though even they knew that things had just changed, that hope was not a distant memory or a kind of dream that you knew you had, even though you could not remember it once you woke up.

Still able to smell the shameless shame and the coppery blood and the cascaded tears and the stark death; hear the broken cries and the pitiful screams that called out to the wind in a mere whisper and the stinging shouts and cruelty that made his ears pound and ache. The screams that still reverberated with his every being, that he knew would continue haunting him for a long, long, perpetually long time.

When the men had found them.

Who had serious and determined faces, professional and observant and quick, but their eyes were not filled with the cruel desire to kill and torture- they had been filled with relief and hope and a heroic gleam that screamed to him plain and simple: how things were going to be alright.

Feeling like zombies being brought back from the dead as they followed the sodiers out, their skin pale and sunken and their bones poking clearly out of their hollow, malnourished bodies, many left unclothed, some with shaven heads, all sympathetic to gaze at.

They might've become zombies in that place… That awful, awful place that had surely killed more souls than lives, tortured more spirits than destroyed them. And now, these walking dead, being brought back into life…

…Just maybe.

And it had only been one year.

The blonde man with thouroughly clean and lively blonde spikes that swirled upwards on his head, naturally defying gravity like they did, with light tan skin that was smooth to the look and touch, wearing laid back yet still nice clothes, swiftly plucked a loose rose from the bouquet in the simple glass vase that was settled on the dining room table. Glancing around once, he carefully stuffed the rose in his jacket against his chest, to make sure that nobody had witnessed the event. Lord knew that Kairi would kill him for it.

Speak of the devil, the auburn haired woman walked out of the kitchen and toward the blonde, smiling softly and asking him in her sweet voice, "Going out again?"

The blonde need not reply, but nodded softly and sadly, sighing and looking at the floor. Kairi bit her lip and averted her gaze, but stood next to him and put her arms around him in a gentle hug, which he returned after a moment of hesitation.

"I know it's been hard, Roxas… And," she paused, thinking for a few moments before speaking again, "and… I don't know what else to say."

Roxas shook his head, letting his arms drop as they both simutaniously pulled back, and replied, "It's fine, Kai. There's not much to say anyway."

Kairi gave him a sad, lopsided smile before pulling back completely, glancing toward the vase of roses for a moment before returning her gaze on the blonde with a grin, "And I won't yell at you for taking a rose… just this time." Her grin didn't leave her face even as she walked past him into the closest bedroom, where the soft wail of a small child had sounded.

Roxas remained where he was standing, lost to his thoughts, when he heard Kairi cry out to the house, "Sora!"

At once, the spikey brunette tumbled quickly out of the kitchen and made his way after the room where Kairi was, the young child crying loudly as the auburn haired woman tried to pacify it.

This broke Roxas out of his gaze and he remembered his initial train of thought, heading toward the door and opening it, stepping out into the chilly autumn air, and walking away from the small blue house, down the sidewalks, turning corners here and there, down the winding forest path and into the meadow, where he found himself kneeling in front of the now engraved stone on the patch of perfectly flat grass, and placing the lone rose in front of him. He leaned down and kissed the engraved stone before breaking into a story, letting his words be carried away by the soft breeze, talking of news and Sora and Kairi and their child, and his work and his home and just life in general, while the rose rested on the stone and patiently listened as only a rose could to the words spoken by the blonde.

It's been three years.

Three years since he woke up to silence, and walked outside to find the air was different than it had been before. The atmosphere… that was light and shimmering, glowing with the golden sunlight shining from the heavens. The sunshine had gleamed against his dirty, messy blonde spikes, sparkling and glowing; his cerulean eyes radiating amazement and hope and astonishment, as opposed to the fear and brokenness and dead look they had before. No heavy tension had stayed to linger above his head. Just the clear, crisp clouds, puffy and round and cottony, drifting away across the sky lazily yet contendedly, as though even they knew that things had just changed, that hope was not a distant memory or a kind of dream that you knew you had, even though you could not remember it once you woke up.

Still able to smell the shameless shame and the coppery blood and the cascaded tears and the stark death; hear the broken cries and the pitiful screams that called out to the wind in a mere whisper and the stinging shouts and cruelty that made his ears pound and ache. The screams that still reverberated with his every being, that were always haunting his dreams and that he knew would continue to haunt him for the rest of his life.

Three years since he had been found by the men.

Found by the men with serious and determined faces, professional and observant and quick, but their eyes were not filled with the cruel desire to kill and torture- they had been filled with relief and hope and a heroic gleam that screamed to him plain and simple: hope would not be lost, and things would be just fine.

They had felt like zombies being brought back from the dead as they followed the sodiers out, their skin pale and sunken and their bones poking clearly out of their hollow, malnourished bodies, many left unclothed, some with shaven heads, all sympathetic to gaze at.

Had they become zombies? That awful, awful place had surely killed more souls than lives, tortured more spirits than destroyed them. And now, these walking dead, being brought back into life…

Quite, quite possibly.

It's been three, whole, fucking years, plus some months. And while all the others had been able to fake a smile and begin their new lives, Roxas was still just a zombie in a now living body.

After all… how could you live again when your heart had been ripped out of your body?

Our spikey haired blonde walked toward the door, picking up the large, filled bag that had been lying next to it, and carried it over his shoulder. As he was about to reach for the doorknob and walk out of the house—as he refuses to call it home—a small voice spoke up from behind him. It was Namine, the pale blonde almost-three year old with delicate, pale blonde hair, who loved coloring with her crayons and colored pencils, Sora and Kairi's daughter who was born just a few months after her parents and uncle Roxas had arrived at their first home, the apartment, in the same city, near where their current house was.

"Uncuroskie," she said in her three year old voice, still not good at speaking and pronouncing, "Whur you go awr du time?" She stared up at him with her wide blue-violet eyes, the spitting color of her mother's, and cocked her head to the side curiously.

'Uncuroskie' couldn't supress a faint smile from appearing on his lips—he had become close with Namine in her currently short exsistence. "I'm going to go visit a friend," he said to her, leaning over and ruffling her hair ever so slightly before turning to open up the door and exit.

Roxas walked down the sidewalk, turning around corners here and there, and proceding down the winding trail in the forest, until he reached the meadow and made his way to the stone that lay peacefully on a patch of short grass and flat, clear ground, engraved with words that had lasted since he had first chiseled them in.

"W-well…" he began shakily, "I'm back again, like always." He was kneeling down in front of the stone, staring sadly, hopelessly, longingly at it. "And, ah… h-happy birthday." Without another word, he lay down on his back, staring at the sky, which was now beginning to turn orange, symbolizing that the sun was setting.

"Will you just take the bread, Ax--!"

He was cut off by the gentle touch of chapped lips pressed against his own, which shocked him for only a moment before he returned the kiss. When the two pulled away, the other was staring at him with the eyes that were filled with familiar hurt and pain and fear, but behind these foreground emotions was strong passion and caring nature. "Roxas, I'll be fine. It's your bread, you need it more than I do. I've been going fine this long in the same condition, have I not?"

The blonde frowned and looked at him concerned and worrysome. "…If you're sure… but--!"

He was cut off again by the rush of heat and the familiar fireworks that went off as the redhead kissed his forehead gently and earnestly. "Don't worry about me, Roxas, please. I'll feel bad knowing that you're worrying about me." Another kiss. " I'll see you again at twilight," the tall man said, sealing his words with yet another chaste kiss to the blonde's lips.

He watched the tall redhead turn and walk away, while his previous words replayed over and over in his mind, filled with hope and promise and love and care.

Roxas had been coming to this meadow, to this engraved stone, ever since it was chiseled on that one day three years ago. He would always visit, regardless of the weather: on cold or snowing or raining days, he would only stay a few minutes before trekking back to the house; on warmer days, he would spend countless minutes, extending to hours, with the stone; and on summer days, such as this one, he would bring supplies and camp out with the stone, as he was doing now.

The blonde turned on his side, and shifted so he was facing the rock. His bangs fell in front of his eyes, obscuring his vision. This made him think better, and he turned so he was on his back once again.

Warm fingers gently brushed the blonde spikes out of big cerulean eyes, smiling slightly when he found the gaze meeting his own; cerulean against jade, locking and filled with mutual love and adoration.

Those warm fingers left the silky bangs and moved down to caress his cheek, which the blonde leant into immediately, nuzzling the hand, and never once breaking eye contact.

The redhead leaned down and gently met the other's lips, pressing down gently but earnestly at the same time in a small kiss that was quick and soft but still overflowing with emotions that made their hearts go wild. When the redhead pulled away an inch, hot breaths still mingling, he all but whispered into his lover's mouth, "You're beautiful."

Roxas involuntarily shut his eyes and shuddered, a wave of hurt washing over him. Suddenly, it was as if the past three years worth of pent up emotion was erupting, and he felt tears begin to sting his eyes.

"Axel…" he whimpered softly, and that was when he snapped- the tears cascaded down his cheeks and he didn't fight the sobs that escaped loudly from his lips.

And… he cried. He cried and cried and cried, and then he cried some more. Three year's worth of tears made their way down Roxas' cheeks, and it seemed like they would never stop.

After hours of crying, the blonde lay there awake but unmoving, his eyes clenched tight and his heart beating achingly against his chest, tear stains dried saltily on his skin.

And then… he felt something. He felt something warm, even, gently brushing the bangs that were hanging in front of his eyes away. He could almost feel an electric shock, like fireworks erupting from the gentle skin the warmth passed over, and he was about to open his eyes when reality came crashing down on him again- of course it wasn't him. It was those stupid hallucinations again—the hallucinations he would get while laying in this spot that would make him hope and wonder if he would see his beautiful redhead if he opened his eyes. And he always did open his eyes. Except tonight. Tonight, he had finally come to realize that no matter how much he hoped, his redhead, is beautiful, beautiful lover, who was tall and thin and lanky but graceful with a mane of wild red spikes flying behind him in everywhichway and the most mesmerizing cat-like jade green eyes, his Axel, would not be there if he opened his eyes.

Roxas shook his head violently and clenched his eyes tighter ignoring the brushing, and, as he expected, it stopped in a moment. It was just the breeze, he told himself firmly.

Then, he heard something. His name. Oh no, not again. Yes, he heard it, a slow, gentle whisper, hardly audible, in his lover's voice, saying his name over and over again tantalizingly. Why? Why must I go through this? Along with the rustling of his bangs, hearing his name called out to him had also been a common occurance, and like his bangs, he had always fell for his mind's dirty little trick on him and snapped open his eyes in hopes of seeing Axel lying right there next to him. But not tonight. Not tonight.

When the names stopped, Roxas thought, The wind must really hate me today.

And then it was quiet, peaceful, and nothing, no hallucinations, no wind, not a single thing disturbing him from his depressing thoughts.

Until he felt the slightest, almost unnoticable amount of pressure on his cheek.

That… that was a rare one. It did happen sometimes, but not often.

Getting fed up, Roxas slammed his eyes open, ready to explode, and of course, there it was, yet another hallucination, just as he expected—the spitting image of his redhaired lover lying next to him and gazing at him lovingly. Perfect, he thought. Just perfect.

Filled with rage, Roxas yelled, "Why the hell do you keep coming back to me?! Stupid hallucinations! Just… just leave me alone! Just… leave me alone…"

Remarkably, tears brimmed Roxas' eyes once again and began to slide slowly down his cheeks—appearantly his body hadn't run out of water yet, which was a good thing, but at the rate Roxas seemed to be crying at that night, he wouldn't be surprised if he were to suddenly begin to shrivel up like a raisin. To try and supress himself and his actions, the blonde turned so he was lying on his stomach, face first into the ground.

But of course, the wind was just having too much fun watching poor little Roxas suffer, and soon he felt something lightly, gently gripping his shoulder, shaking it just a little bit, and then his name, "Roxas…" thrown into the wind softly.

With a sigh, Roxas turned his head and looked at the hallucination, glaring at it with both anger and depression. "I've really had enough hurt for one night, thanks," he said to the hallucination icily, then mumbled to himself, turning back to face the ground again, "…Maybe if I just died, the hallucinations would stop…"

And a moment later, he heard the voice whisper, "Roxas… please, don't die on me now…"

This… confused Roxas. He opened his eyes in confusion, but not a second later, the grip that was on his shoulder tightened profusly and, with great force, flipped him over on his back, and, this is happening in the span of three point seven-four seconds, folks, the hallucination descended upon him, straddling the blonde's hips and leaning over him, mouth pressed firmly to the blonde's, eyes closed. The blonde just continued to lie there in shock, thinking, This hallucination is rather aggressive… nah, I'm just dreaming.

The redhead hallucination above him pulled away just a quarter of an inch and mumbled against the blonde's lips, "You're not fucking dreaming, Roxas. I'm here."

Roxas' eyes widened in shock, looking at the, ah, supposed 'hallucination' who's face was currently hovering millimeters away from his own. His breath caught as he stared into those familiar jade orbs which were staring back intensely but lovingly at the same time. He was momentarily rendered speechless before he whispered, voice strained, "Axel…?"

Feeling his lover breath his name against his lips sent Axel gluing his mouth to the blonde's once again, who now closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around the redhead's neck, fisting and tangling his fingers into the red spikes, kissing back with equal passion and desperation.

Axel's tongue swiftly ran over Roxas' lips, who granted immediate entrance, opening his mouth wide for his lover's tongue to explore. Their tongues slid against each other, pressing at each other and playing with each other, swapping saliva and sucking the other's muscle passionatly, lustfully.

After the long, passionate, and exhilarating kiss, the two pulled back, panting into each other's faces, breaths mingling, eyes locked: one pair filled with love and joy, the other filled with equal happiness and amazement. Oh yes, Axel was definitely there.

And as soon as that single thought ran across the blonde's partially clouded mind, he all but attacked the redhead. He got up eagerly, the redhead pushed backwards so they were both sitting up facing each other, and the blonde removed his hands from Axel's mane. A slow smile began to play on Roxas' lips as his hands caressed the pale, smooth, tattooed cheeks of his redheaded lover, who, quite like Roxas had done long ago, leaned into the touch. Roxas pressed his lips lovingly to Axel's forehead, then his cheek, then his other cheek, and soon, he was placing lingering pecks all over Axel's amazing face.

When he deemed that he had kissed every inch, every centimeter, every millimeter of Axel's face at least twice, he pulled away, still holding Axel's face in his hands.

"Axel… Y-you're alive…" Roxas' voice broke while he said this, but did he care? Not really. You wouldn't either if you were reunited with the only one who held your heart.

"I know," his lover replied, leaning his forehead against Roxas's, and after placing one last, gentle kiss on the blonde's pink lips, he whispered into the night:

"We're alive."