Since so many of you have been asking for an update, I've decided to go back and edit this up a little bit in an attempt to get myself back into the flow for such an update. I hope you enjoy the edited story as much as you've enjoyed what I already had, and I hope to get you that update soon. Happy reading!

*-insert copyright stuff like 'these characters aren't mine' etc.-*

One-Thirty was about the time of day when the students attending the small college in Twilight Town stopped being lifeless rag-dolls. Bravery and energy made themselves clear as notes slid across white marble floors and an almost middle-school enthusiasm bloomed. Of course, there were the few who didn't dare let their childish instincts get a hold of them.

A younger looking blond-haired boy sat in the first row of his English class, three seats from the door. He was nineteen, very smart for his age, and already a junior. His name was Roxas and he hunched over his work, scribbling down notes and doodling on the edges of the graphite-smeared paper.

When the bell finally rang, the class cleared out. In the back of his mind, Roxas knew he was alone and, more importantly, that he was free to go- but his pencil kept moving across the paper to finish an absurdly detailed dragon eating problem number thirteen. Only when his teacher cleared his throat (a little too loudly) did Roxas realize that it was time to pack up and head home. He carefully folded the doodle ridden paper and placed it in his messenger bag with his other belongings.

Before he could make his exit, his teacher called him to his desk. Immediately he figured he'd get shit about his constant doodling, and the straight face he received upon his arrival at the desk was not reassuring. "Yes, Professor Axel?" He asked uncertainly. He was met with silence as Axel continued grading the stack of papers in front of him. "Am I in trouble?"

There was a pause- a moment of thick tension as Roxas tried to come up with all of the things he could have done wrong besides doodling- and then Axel looked up with a kind smile. "Quite the contrary. I just wanted to let you know that you got the highest grade on the last exam and that you continue to show exceptional progress in my class. You're probably the best English student I've had in a long time. Keep it up."

Roxas wasn't at all sure what to say. He wasn't expecting that at all- especially not from Axel. He just sort of stood there for a minute, trying to process that he was the best in the class- that he had managed to impress one of the hardest teachers in the school. When he finally realized that Axel was staring at him with an almost worried look, his face flushed crimson and the weirdest noise- like a hiccup- came from his mouth.

"T-thank you!" He said, wringing his hands around the strap of his messenger bag. "That… really means a lot coming from you."

"Oh? And what's that supposed to mean?" Axel inquired, a red eyebrow cocked. Roxas' face burned a little hotter and he turned toward the door to make his escape. As he fled down the hallway, he could hear the most genuine laugh come from the classroom; from the hardest teacher on campus.

When school let out, it was customary for Roxas to head down to the park a few blocks from his house. He would stay there until it was dark and he was sure his mum was passed out on the couch. His favorite part about the park was the tire swing, which he would swing on until a group of little kids would hassle him to give them a turn. Reluctantly, he would oblige and leave them to his favorite thing while he found a quiet place to draw. Call it childish or immature, but sometimes he wanted to tell the kids to piss off so he could have the swing all to himself.

Today was like any other, though Roxas was disappointed to find that the tire swing was already taken by a usual group of children. He sighed to himself and found a bench in the shade, far away from everybody. He pulled out his sketchbook and started a drawing of a monster he had seen in a dream- a heartless, he called it. He had barely finished the guidelines when a football sailed right onto his lap, muddying his sketchbook and knocking the pencil out of his hand.

He was too shocked to find himself angry. He just kept looking at his ruined sketchbook and at his hand and wondering where the hell his pencil got away to.

"Hey lamer." A voice said somewhere in front of him. He couldn't quite make out anything past the unbidden tears that were forming. "Oh my god, Larxene, he's crying! Whassa matter, lamer? Did I mess up one of your shitty little doodles?" The sketchbook was pulled from his lap and the boy (who Roxas finally realized was Seifer, one of the losers in his class) flipped through every single drawing, sneering and laughing and making fake gagging noises.

"Put it down." Roxas growled. "Now."

Seifer put a hand to his chest, a look of mock fear in his eyes. "Or what? You gonna cry me to death? Get a clue, lamer, you can't do shit to me. Right Larxene?" He threw his head back in uproarious laugher as Larxene gave a matter-of-fact nod.

"I said. Put. It. Down." Without thinking, Roxas threw a punch, hitting Seifer straight in the jaw. He could tell by the feel of the punch that it was weak. He could tell by the smile on Seifer's face that not only was it definitely weak, but a huge mistake. "Shit."

"Shit is right, fuckface!" Seifer said. And right then, he tore Roxas' sketchbook in half and stomped on the pages and threw his fist right into younger blonde's stomach. Roxas staggered back, already crying because his sketchbook was completely messed up now and he could never get those drawing back and god, his stomach hurt. "You're such a little pussy. Fucking worthless teacher's pet. Can't draw for shit. You're literally nothing, so why are you even alive?"

This time Seifer's foot made contact with Roxas' jaw and he collapsed into the mulch, groaning at the white hot pain that spread through his face. Everything went completely silent and somewhere in the background of the silence was a girl whispering 'holy shit seifer' and a boy saying 'shut the fuck up larxene' and then there was a sharp pain in his side and the sound returned and Roxas was sobbing.

He lay there like that for a while, blood dripping from his nose and his lip into a small puddle in the mulch. He tried to keep his eyes open- he really did- but every time he caught a glimpse of the red-stained woodchips or the corner of a sheet of paper from his sketchbook, he just wanted to close his eyes forever and forget this ever happened.

After some time, he heard the voice of a child and the familiar voice of an adult, but he didn't have the energy to look up and see who it was. All he knew was that the voice got closer and exceedingly thicker with what was probably concern or worry. He was barely conscious when he felt his body being lifted from the mulch and carried across the park.

"Who did this?" The man kept asking. "Oh my god, Roxas, who did this?"

But the unconsciousness had already taken him.