A/N: FFFFFFFFFFF. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME, I'M SO SORRY.

I realize that this is a story that won't have any scheduled updates- rather, it'll be a miracle if it updates at all. But I promise if I ever do discontinue this that I'll post my plot line, so you guys don't have to not know where it was going to go. So, unless the update is labelled 'plot line', the story is still a go!...

Just, you know, a really slow go. So for my WHOLE THREE REVIEWERS, THANK YOU FOR BEING PATIENT AND LOVELY. ;3; I'll do my bestest to beat myself into updating better. I'm sorry if it feels a little raw- I figure you guys would have wanted this now as opposed to later, even if it's not nit-picked. There's an extra seven pages in this as an apology, and that's on size eleven font. ;D So this is quite a fat chapter.

I now know more about Jesse McCartney than I've ever cared to know- he's five foot ten on estimate, he's coming out with his own cologne, and he's naturally a brunet. However, he's still more adorable as his long-haired-moppy-blonde-she's-no-you self.

...However, his new haircut doesn't stop me from wanting to have sexy times with him. ;D -LOL TMI WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME, EVERYONE. I'M SO SORRY FOR BEING ALIVE.

So, here's to continuing to mutilate Jesse McCartney's love life! ;D Please tell me you've heard body language; it's pretty much his fifth best song ever. Huhuhu~ GO, MY LOVELIES. READ AND CRY.

Also, I'm sorry: I suck at working timelines. Axel starts working on March 13th, not June 13th. –orrrrz- I am quite the derp, so so so sorry.

Disclaimer: Along with not owning Kingdom Hearts, I also don't own Jesse McCartney. If I did, I wouldn't be wasting my time writing fanfiction. I'd be wasting time in bed with him. ;D OP THERE I GO AGAIN~

Chapter 2: Body Language

Those three months were apparently some of the busiest of the year. I definitely joined up at the right time. It was right in the beginning of what Xigbar called concert season, which was pretty much the ideal time when all the high-end bands came to play in Edmonton. It meant good business because the concert halls were always looking for last-minute hands, and clubs and bars always needed more security for the high traffic after performances. Everyone had mixed feelings about this at XIII.

Of course everyone was generally happy, because business equaled profit. But our opinions split down the road from there. Xigbar was evidently pleased with the new pull in of business, and clubs were opening every year so it was just another opportunity to get the company's name out. Xaldin thought the whole thing was distasteful, people shelling out money for entertainers. But he felt the same way about hockey and football season, too. Good to know he wasn't bias.

Lexeaus, true to his practical side, didn't care as long as he was being paid. Luxord saw it as an opportunity to be the social moth that he was. Larxene hated all the teenage squealers, but looked at it as a chance to try and bang a celebrity. I'm not sure if she ever succeeded with that.

Demyx was reasonably ecstatic, because to him it meant meeting some of the greats and the to-be greats. I know he practically pissed himself in excitement when we were working a pub one night and Johnny 'Bon-Jovi' walked in. Dem is a real music guy, actually, so I can see why he'd be thrilled about concert season. He plays guitar and sings, and he wanted to know how to get to the big stages like the celebrities.

But how did I feel about all this?

I fucking hated it.

Maybe I was still bitter over my lack of future in the arts, I don't know. What I do know was that I was good at what I did, I had all this artistic energy pent up and ready to be thrown into the world, and the only thing I was missing was a connection.

And yet B!mb0 down the block could puke into a microphone, have it auto-tuned, and her name would be plastered all over the world because Uncle Joe was a music producer or some shit. And don't even get me startedon the teen idols; the boys with the androgynous long blonde hair that just stood there, looked pretty, and wrote the music that the record companies told them to write.

In contrast, I loved artists who I knew worked their asses off to be famous, like Ozzy and Death Cab and RHCP and Eminem. But if you just popped into the scene with absolutely no effort, like the Disney pop tarts, I felt as if you had no right to be there. I abhorredDisney pop tarts for this single fact. I abhorred Disney pop tarts for everything possible, really, and I made that loud and clear to all of my colleagues.

I remember waiting for a club shift to start, and I was chilling in the lounge with the rest of my colleagues. We entertained ourselves by playing cards, the little stereo system in the background blaring the top forties. They could be hits and misses, but like the skills of the Oilers, they were mostly misses.

Demyx, Luxord and I were just getting into things when this god-awful dime-a-dozen song intruded on the background noise. The lyrics were average, at best, with such memorably eloquent phrases such as, "But then I saw her at the corner store- so I ran on over just to grab the door" and, "one day she started textin' me, asked if she could borrow that recipe". Of course I thought, 'who the hell is writing this crap this time?', when Demyx suddenly stopped dead-cold with this deer-in-the-headlights look on his face. His jaw fell ajar. "I think I know who this is." He uttered, as if to answer my mental query. Upon mentioning this, I took a second listen to the song. There was something about the syrupy, smooth voice that echoed something familiar to me. Silently, I noted, it wasn't autotuned. Impressive.

Suddenly Demyx brightened like a kid on Christmas day. "Oh my God, it's Roxas McCartney!~" He nearly shrieked, turning the radio up. Larxene groaned in the background. Luxord chuckled. Even Xigbar and Xaldin couldn't help sharing a grin. I deadpanned.

It was a bit of a shock, I wouldn't lie. Where did the cheesy-ass, 'I want you and your beautiful soul' prepubescent lyrics run off to? It was as if the pop star was trying to be… hip. As I continued to listen, I had it confirmed; it was a song about comparing love to a drug. I grinned.

Disney must have been having a fit.

"I didn't know that a Disney startlet was even allowed to stoop that low," I commented with a sardonic grin, "this song is suck crap. Who is he trying to be, the next A-kon?"

Demyx, who had been hip-knocking to the song the whole time, gave me the dirtiest look I'd ever seen from him in my life. It wasn't really that terrifying, but I gave him props for trying. "He is not," Water Boy huffed indignantly, "He's breaking away from Disney." The smile on his face was practically shit-eating.

"Jumping from the frying pan into the flames, I'd say." I raised the stakes in our poker game, "He's an idiot. The only guy worse than him is Vennie Bieber, and that's 'cause he's a midget Roxas McCartney."

Demyx plopped down at the table and chucked a poker chip at my head. I caught it with a swift hand and put it in my chip pile with a satisfying click. "You're just bitter," Demyx retorted, "He's doing better than any of the other Disney stars are. You never hear bad news about him!"

"You never hear news about him period." It was worth the look on his face to have him kick my shin. "And he's still a Disney star, and he still got in because he had connections. Remember that stupid Struggle Street boyband he was in the nineties?"

"He's also the only guy from that band who had a surviving career after they disbanded." Demyx folded. It was just me and Luxord now. "Do you know why they disbanded? Because the managers tried to make the band members quit school and their parents wouldn't let it happen. I'm proud of him, frankly, and none of your pissy talk is going to make me think differently." His little insult made me choke on a chuckle.

"Now boys, calm it down." Xigbar reminded us with a stern look. We were the last employees who'd ever duke it out, but I couldn't blame him for being cautious.

I wasn't letting Demyx's opinion have any leeway on my own, though: "That was their parent's decision, Dem, not the kids'. I'm sure that any kid would have chosen wooing girls over school any day." I spread my cards to the table. "You lose, Luxord. Full house."

One week later, I walked into work, and I just felt that something was up. When I entered the building, everyone I passed flashed me this awful smile, the 'I know something you don't know' sort that made you grit your teeth. I didn't feel like playing guessing games that day, so I took a seat in the lounge, eavesdropping on a petty argument between Xigbar and Demyx.

"But Xig, I really, really like him! Like lots! Why does he get to go if he thinks the guy's stupid?" Upon being aware of my presence on the couch behind him, Demyx glanced behind his shoulder and beamed. "We're talking about you," and went back to the conversation.

At least he was honest.

"Demyx, Axel is going just for that reason. If I know he won't maul the poor kid from excitement like you, he fits the bill." My stomach tensed a little at this. I didn't like the direction of this conversation… "On top of that, Demyx, you should know how hard it is to pay off college bills. Red needs this." Xigbar acknowledged me with a half-glance. I guess he wasn't as comfortable talking about someone who was in the same room as Water Boy was. Xigbar's chin cocked up as he remembered something. "And, hey! How many times have I pulled strings so you could do work for people you like? Jim Carrey, Coldplay, Relient K…" Xigbar cocked an eyebrow at him. "Yer a spoiled brat sometimes."

Demyx's face wrinkled either in offense or in contemplative thought. Finally, he dismissed, puffing out his cheeks with a held in sigh before smiling placidly. "Yeah, I guess that's fair." I couldn't tell if he was mad or not, until he scooted his chair around to face me in creaky grinds. "You'll get me something autographed, right bud?" He beamed.

Oh lord. Here we go. "Autographed? By who?" I was almost afraid to ask. I ran a hand through my fiery mane, a sort of distracting tick for me.

"Axel, Roxas McCartney's—" FUCK. "—tour is down one guard, and they need a last minute replacement for tonight's show. I told them I'd be sending you."

I left no time to hesitate. "Give it to Demyx." Water Boy practically wet himself in happiness, but his hopes were dashed by Xigbar's unmoved expression.

"Don't you dare tell me your taste of music is making you refuse this, Axel. That's a shitty attitude and I expect a hell of a lot better from you." His frown was stern and he ushered me over. Effectively putting my foot in my mouth, I grabbed a chair and tucked myself in.

"I know you've been complaining about bills lately," he started, lowering his voice, "and I've been looking for something that'll help you out. I know you'd take a shit on this guy if you could, Axel, but this job is paying big."

Attempting to control my laughter from the shitting remark, I breathed, "Big like… Big like how?"

"Six hundred and eighty bucks."

That shut me up. That was more than enough money to cover the three hundred I needed for my rent, and with more to spare for other things… I ran my hand through my hair again. I felt a ghost of a smile on my lips. "S-so uh… What does this job entail…?" See, I told you he looked out for me.

Xigbar smiled. He knew he was getting ground with me. "You're just a stage guard. Nothing you haven't been acquainted to before. If you're lucky, you might actually get to meet the kid." He bore his feral grin at me. I knew Scarface was getting some sort of sick entertainment out of this. I wrinkled my nose at him in response.

"Yeah, whatever. So when's this thing again? Tonight?" I was in to do a gig at the nightclub Flash tonight, something I wasn't really that inclined to doing anyways as the owners of Flash were frugal assholes.

"Right on the money, kid." Xigbar clicked his tongue and flipped through a clipboard he'd been fiddling with. They want you for six so they can run you through everything you need to do. The concert starts at seven and ends at eleven, which means you'll prolly be making it back here at around midnight-ish." Six hours. It was five right now, which meant I had about half an hour to until I needed to head out.

Demyx took this opportunity to pipe in with his goldfish headphones. "Hey. Hey, hey Axel." He prodded my arms with the fluorescent objects. "You're my bud right? You'd get these signed for me, right? 'Cause, you know, you're my best pal?"

Thirty minutes, I reminded myself. Thirty minutes to steel myself up for this trial.

"Oh? Oh hey, I'm Axel Carson. A-X-E-L, got it memorized?"

"Absolutely, A-X-E-L got-it-memorized. I'll just show you where the others are."

Just keep smiling, Red.

Just. Keep. Smiling.

I was led from the sky-blue and slate waiting room into a hallway in the back, which came off as dingy in comparison to the waiting room. The rafters were visible, the walls a simple porous concrete with maroon pipes crawling up its surface. Two lefts, a right, another left… I didn't understand how tour staff didn't get lost in the mazes.

My temporary boss, a man with pale blonde hair and ice-blue eyes, introduced himself: "My name is Cloud Strife. I'm the Personal Security Manager on Roxas' tour, which pretty much means that anyone under my lead deals with Roxas personally- so stuff like getting him to and from destinations, keeping supervision during autographing sit-outs, or keeping supervision over potentially 'high risk' areas such as stairwells to the stage or entrances to VIP rooms." Cloud gave me a stony, searching gaze. "It's evidently a very important job."

"Oh, yes. I would imagine." I nodded calmly, resisting the urge to run my fingertips through the tied-up mess that was now my hair, as I was at a loss as to what to say next. Thankfully, Cloud filled it in for me.

"I'm told that your company is the best in this city." His searching gaze followed up and down my body skeptically, and I couldn't help but feel as though I was being examined like a piece of fruit for any visible blemishes. I couldn't tell if he had found any yet, if there were any to be found. "And I'm also told that in your company, you are the most suited for this job." He flicked his gaze up to me. I realized now that he was actually a few inches shorter than me, but his personal presence made him seem far taller. Now that was doing the job right.

If this had been me three months ago, I'm sure I would have blubbered on about how I could be glorified sometimes but that didn't necessarily make it the case. But under Xigbar's hand, I'd transformed from socially-awkward string bean to a self-confident guy who sure as hell could hold his own. Biting away an urge to smile, I straightened my already-strong posture and gave a firm nod. "Yes, sir. You can have confidence in my abilities to fill the position you need."

"That's what I like to hear." While he bore what looked like an almost-relieved smile, I could still read a troubled look in his eyes. I could infer that he wasn't too set on the idea of letting some 'street punk' fill in for such an important job, so in hopes of clearing something up, I continued, "I'm going to guess that this isn't something you'd do in your protocol normally, huh?"

Cloud ran his fingertips up through his hairline to his loose cowlicks, exhaling a hefty sigh. "What we normally do is we send off a message to upper management and they fly someone in for us. Normally, we also have a back-up replacement for occasions like this. But…" His eyes narrowed at the halls in front of us, and he took another left suddenly. I skipped a little on my feet to catch up. "The hand you're replacing was lost because of his inappropriate behavior, and our replacement is already covering for someone who had to take leave. There's no time to fly someone in."

"So you're stuck between a rock and a hard place."

Cloud's lips tipped to a light smirk. "I haven't heard that one in a while. Sure, let's go with that." His biceps fell slightly lax as some of the tension released from his body. "You seem like a guy with a good head on his shoulders. I hope," His gaze was hard then, piercing, "that aspect translates into your work ethic." He paused at a solid, grey-painted door. "Here we are, Axel."

The security room was of equal quality as the back-door hallways were, white plaster and grey tiles reflecting just how little money the stadium owners put into this room. Which was practical, after all, as it was just a staff room. It had a selection of mismatched furniture, of which consisted of three couches, a half a dozen metal lawn chairs, two fold-up tables with coffee and possibly-stale Tim Horton's confections, and a little wooden coffee table in the center of the couches.

The amount of people in the room made it feel slightly crowded. Among the men in the room, one of them piped up. "Oh hey! Strifey, you caught yourself a fire-crotch?" My eyes shot to the source of the voice, some guy with messy silver hair that hung in dead strings around his face. If he hadn't spoken, I wouldn't have been able to tell if he was a guy or a girl. At a loss for answers, I looked over to Cloud for some sort of cue.

Strife sent him a look so sharp that it could cut diamonds. The offending guy sat up suddenly, beaming like a child on Christmas day. "Axel, that's Kadaj, our…" The blonde eyed Kadaj with stern contemplation, "our… 'Comic Relief'."

I realized that he wasn't the only guy with silver hair in the room. This would be confusing. I forced a good-natured grin to my lips. "'Sup." It wasn't the first time I'd been called Fire-Crotch, so I wasn't too affected. He didn't reek of any malicious intent, so I let it drop.

Cloud took the opportunity to make introductions. "Everyone, this is Axel Carson." He gestured a hand from me to the rest of the guys in the room. "Axel, this is my crew." He started picking off names for the faces I was attempting to commit to memory.

"Riku."

"'Sup?"

"Zack."

"Good to meet'cha!"

"Seifer."

"…"

"Hayner."

"Don't mind Seif. He's on his man-period."

"Good one, chicken wuss. Get that one from Cosmo?"

"Actually—"

"Boys, shut it. Terra."

"Good to have you."

"Vanitas."

"Hey, hot stuff."

I did my best to stifle a smile at his brashness.

"And then those two are Yazoo and Loz, Kadaj's brothers. They keep him in line." Cloud smiled a thin, dry smile at the pack. They gave him simultaneous thumbs-up. "There's also Leon, but he'll be joining us late."

Vanitas bore a wide smirk, showing off his canines. "It's 'cause Cloud gave him a good ass-plowing last night. I'm jealous." The black haired teen reclined in the couch he was sprawled on, tipping his head back into his palms set behind his head. "Only Leon could get leave 'cause of sex."

The crudeness of this remark made me shoot a glance back to Cloud, who to my surprise was absolutely unfazed by Vanitas' commentary. "Good for you, Vanitas. You just volunteered yourself to tour Axel around the building while the rest of us break before the show."

Vanitas' eyes fell to me for a moment with a ghost of a grin before he assumed an aloof, apathetic look and rose from his seat as if he owned the place. "Yes, Mr. Strife." He approached me, grabbing my wrist with a touch of a smirk. "Let's get going, hot stuff." I felt my stomach twist in excitement and uneasiness as he led me from the room.

Apparently, Vanitas getting sent to work with me was all his idea. He thought I looked interesting, he said, and he was bored of hanging around his crowd for so long.

I had to admit, he was pretty striking himself: Raven black hair spiked up in every direction, with these intense hazel eyes that gave me an eerie reminder of Xemnas I realized this was cause of a coyly-applied set of colors to his eyes. He donned the dark grey 'Security' polo that the rest of the employees wore, but he had rebelled with obviously non-regulation black jeans with various unnecessary snaps. His face was littered with tiny gold studs; little replacements for what I assumed were more outstanding pieces of jewelry, showing that he still had to follow some regulations under no circumstances

I can't remember a whole lot about what he ended up showing me, mostly because he didn't really show me much to begin with. Actually, we spent most of the occasion making out in the bathroom stalls. Yeah, I know, too much. But he was pretty hot and I wasn't going to deny someone like him.

But time permitting, we didn't have a whole lot. After a half an hour passed, we had to make ourselves presentable, and I spent most of the walk back attempting to will a hard-on away. I was happy for my adolescent years, otherwise I'd've had no practice with this. But we made it back safe and sound, and the real work resumed as usual.

We had scarcely fifteen minutes before everyone needed to be in their according locations. The room was lit up with this unspoken agitation, kinda like when a class will be dismissed in five minutes and everyone begins packing up their things early. Kadaj was tapping out a hasty little rhythm on the couch armrest. The two rivals were bickering with less momentum now that their audience was no longer fresh.

Cloud, being a guy who took his job seriously, was reviewing the floor plan for all who cared to listen. I couldn't help but smile. Mr. Strife was almost polar opposite of Xigbar in terms of looks, but their values seemed to be the same. Cloud acknowledged me with a nod, and, without having to think much on the subject, I sidled up to the blonde to get a good look at what my job was entailing.

While we were reviewing, I noticed that Cloud made a point to refer to everyone by name. I assumed it was for my benefit, so I made sure to try and connect name to face as best as I could. Cloud, Zack, Terra, Vanitas… Heifer and Sayner, and um… Ah, forget it. I had the people on my division memorized, so I couldn't really be bothered by much else. I wasn't surprised at where I was placed tonight.

"Again, Carson, our break will be handling the upper left stage complex. Terra and Zack are taking the bottom stairwell, and we are taking the top of it."

It sounds like a big deal, but it really isn't. There's at least four other levels of security that any high risk would need to pass through to get to us. What we really handle is emergencies that can occur on-stage, such as medical concerns with stage hands or accessories like dancers and singers, falling props and safety hazards, or the very rare chance of a fan that could sneak up stage. If anything did happen to Roxas, though, it was our foremost responsibility to handle that.

In that consideration, my role was fairly vital, and I was curious as to why I'd been placed in it, until I remembered that Cloud was the one accompanying me. I figured that it was because, if anything did go wrong with me, he could make sure first-hand that I didn't jeopardize anything. Smart move.

Cloud, upon the run-down concluding itself, clapped his hands. "Alright, men, let's keep it safe out there tonight." It was everyone's cue to get up and get ready to leave. As I stood there, feeling slightly at loss while everyone set themselves up with gear, one of the silver haired guys approached me. He was already donned in his holster and shirt, something he probably already had put on beforehand. "Come on, I'll get you your stuff." He threw his head behind his shoulder. "Cloud, where are the shirts?"

"In the box underneath the table."

"Got it." I followed him over to the table and watched him duck under it, rifling through the contents of the box and chucking out the various items he figured he needed. He threw the shirt up to me, instructing me to don it. I slid the slate polo over my black tank top, flopping it at the rims. It was a bit too big for my tastes, but I wasn't going to ask for a better one. "So, Axel…" He started, plucking up the objects on the floor and setting them beside the coffee maker. "What's there to do in Edmonton?" He asked with a cool, friendly smile. Ahh, small-talk.

"Well, do you want cheap tourist attractions, or real fun?" I glanced at Cloud, who was tucking his shirt in. I grabbed the hem of my own, debating if I should follow suit, but my colleague noticed my intentions and waved it off.

"Gimme both." He unwound a black belt with various pockets and loops, tossing it at me.

I strung the nylon belt through my jean loops, tightening it at the waist. "West Edmonton Mall."

He handed me the corresponding objects that went on the belt, introducing me to what they were by name: flash light (something he called a torch), a security guard's baton (ASP, whatever that meant), a little first aid kit about the size of a lunch box, pepper spray. "And?"

"West Edmonton Mall. The answer's the same for both."

He chuckled. I wondered if I'd just made a joke. "World's largest indoor shopping mall, right? I guess it's better than the world's largest nickel."

I gave him a questioning look. He laughed. "Yeah, it's exactly what you think. Sudbury, Ontario, man. It's bigger than it sounds. You got it lucky here though, uh…" His teal eyes pondered mine quizzically, as if he'd be able to find the answer in my own.

"Axel."

"Yeah, Axel. I'm Riku, again, if you're like me and forgot."

Riku! Yeah. Riku, Riku, Riku. Got it. "It's okay; I can be pretty bad with names, too." I ran my fingertips through my ponytail, glancing away. Some of the employees had already begun to file out of the room.

To finalize the ritual, Riku handed me a three-piece headset. "This part goes on your ear, this goes on your shirt, and this goes in your pocket. There's a button on the ear set that you can use to talk, and there's also one on the pocket piece." With a smirk, Riku patted me on the shoulder. "Ready to rock?"

"I thought he was a pop star." I muttered with a grin as I clipped the headset on. A part of my brain started to press, a reminder of how annoying the night was supposed to be. I wrinkled my nose slightly.

"Pfsh, right." He chuckled. "I like you, man." Cloud was waiting for me at the doorway. The stoic blonde nodded at me, arms crossed. Let's go, he seemed to say. I started to walk towards him, but before I could, Riku grabbed me by the upper arm. "One more thing: that kid, Vanitas?"

I cocked an eyebrow at him. Here we go. "Yeah? What about him?" I kept my face in rehearsed neutrality.

Riku lowered his voice, bowing his head beside mine as he tied his long, silky hair back in a loose ponytail. "It's your choice, but I'd keep away from him. He's bad news."

I opened my mouth to question why, but Cloud interrupted my query. "Men, we're going. Hop to it."

Glancing back to him, I nodded with a hurried walk. "Thanks for the tip," I murmured, picking up my pace to catch up with Cloud. I kept my eyes to the halls in front of us, which were beginning to fill with sounds of last-minute preparations, like an orchestra warming up before their symphony.

Or a four year old opening the cupboards to find the wooden spoon so he can start banging on pans. Yeah, that analogy felt far more fitting. I can't believe I'm doing this.

I can't believe I'm doing this.

The crowd was shrieking, their separate voices melding into one chaotic crescendo of pure noise. Didn't they realize that no single one of them could be heard individually? Didn't they realize that this kid didn't give a shit about them as separate persons?

Light shows bounced off and up and over and around again, their colors blinding and obnoxious. We were tucked into just the right position to be blinded every time a strobe light made its way around, and I was constantly plagued with spots in my vision.

The floor rumbled, reverberating underneath my feet from the turbo-bass. I'd long gotten over the way my knees shook under the reverberations, but earlier in the show it was difficult to maintain firm footing. Being that close to a sound system could not have been healthy. It was a mess of light and sound and nose. So. Much. Noise.

Speaking of noise, the pop tart was just finishing his song. Thank God.

"Heh, thank you, thanks guys. You know…" He tilted his head around. I couldn't see his face, but I could tell he was being blinded by the spot lights in front of his vision. "You guys are… fantastic. The cities I've been to have nothing on Edmonton."

And the crowd shrieked. Horrendous noise. I rolled my eyes. They say that about every city they go to.

The blonde handed off his mic to a stage hand while he unzipped his jersey jacket, sliding it off of his arms to reveal a black sleeveless tee. He glistened with sweat, the droplets of moisture reflecting the light like glitter. I couldn't help but chuckle to myself. How many rabid fans, I wondered, would kill for a view like this?

"It's getting hot up in here," The blonde tipped his head back, running his fingertips through his hair with a smooth sigh, something he made a show of exhaling into the microphone. The fans jittered with overwhelmed, high pitched sounds of joy. You could hear his breathing in the microphone. He chuckled breathily and slung his jacket over his shoulder, the metallic material impairing my vision as it bounced light.

"You know... Every time I'm up here like this, it never ceases to amaze me how impossible it feels. I think to myself…" The blonde paused to himself. I could hear a smile in his voice. How annoying. "Wow, am I one lucky guy. 'Cause I sing for you guys, you know? The youth. I sing to say, 'hey. Go for your dreams, even if you think they're impossible'. Because even if they're impossible… I think, every single one of you has it in themselves to accomplish that."

NOOOISSSE. I wrinkled my brow and tried to focus on other things. I looked over at Cloud to see if he had any cues to give me. He was busy talking to another security guard on his team. I couldn't make out a word he was saying, and their conversation in my ear was just another piece of noise. He'd been like this all night, actually, so I left him alone.

Figuring that he was still a part of my job, I kept my eyes on him. Roxas McCartney, the kid currently giving them some bullshit speech. The power of friendship, sparkles, rabbits, and chocolate covered cyanide. It would make me barf, if I wasn't so focused on the job.

"But anyway, enough talking. You guys wanna hear some MUSIC!" He threw his microphone arm out to the crowd. It felt like a tsunami of sound blasted in my direction. I'd been to many concerts in my life. ACDC was the loudest one. Yet somehow, I couldn't hear myself think over all this crap. Drums filtered into it, and the crowd went nuts.

"Oooh that body's like music to my ears, Oooh that body's like music to my ears." The pop star leaned in, hand cupped around his ear. His background dancers/singers joined in. The blonde's sleeves flipped around him over his shoulder as he entered a little dance routine while he sang. His voice wavered a little on what I knew was supposed to be a high note, and my lips tightened. This wasn't the first time it happened- yet I knew at that point, it being at least the seventh song in the set, that he would get better as the song moved on.

Talented fuck.

"Now I don't speak Spanish, Japanese or French, but the way that body talkin' definitely makes sense," He cooed into the mic, swaying his foot back, forth, changing his direction as if he had mutilated the Cadillac Ranch. His footwork looked impressive for someone who was singing, but I knew that it was just fancy tricks. The blonde spun around, the motion taking his windswept spikes up a level. His eyes locked with mine and he smiled, continuing to sing, "You make me wanna say, HEY!" He threw his arm out to the audience, and turned around. But by that point, the damage had already been done.

I had smiled back.

Of all times for my nervous ticks to rear their ugly heads, it had to be then. There I was, insulting this kid for everything I could find, and I'd fucking smiled.

"Oh well," I muttered under my breath. "I'm mocking him. He can pretend I'm another one of his stupid, undying fans." I was thankful for the sheer noise in the place, otherwise I'm sure I'dve been mauled by some nearby fan. I'd been itching to share these remarks with someone who agreed with me, but Cloud was my only companion- still being distracted by Kadaj making a scene, from what I remember.

"Parle vous francais? Konichiwa, come and move in my way," His pronunciation was wrong. I grinned with malice. Of course a pop star would botch the lyrics he wrote.

Overall, the show was awful, I annunciated in my head like some hot-shot critic, the music was nonsensical, his voice was off-key, and his dancing was poor to say the least. It's a concert, McCartney, not a rodeo show. I crossed my arms and leaned back into a metal beam, keeping eyes on any suspicious activity. It was going to be a dull night.

And, like I'd predicted, the night ended up being severely boring. Roxas eventually tossed his jacket into the crowd, sang about seven more songs, threw out a towel he'd wiped his face with, accidently hit one of his dancers in the face with his hand, and bullshitted to the fans some more. Of course, every single one of them ate it up with this undying loyalty contorting their faces. Oh, the cult of the pop star.

It was later into the night at around ten, when the show was 'officially' over and a sufficient encore was handed out, the stage closed. Now, the noise of the crowd was replaced with a different sort: the clanging, thudding, clacking and rumbling sounds of a stage set being disassembled. It was nowhere near as loud as the concert itself, but being reintroduced an environment that wasn't constantly sound made every other sound seem piercing and muffled at the same time. I picked a finger into my ear, feeling a little bit out-of-body in comparison to my environment.

That was when Roxas came jogging down the stage, slowing his pacing as he drew close. I was suddenly aware of how short he was in real life. He stood more than half a foot shorter than me at my six-foot-two. I wanted to laugh at that, but I kept a professional mask on.

"Hey, Roxas. Good job tonight." Cloud cocked a light eyebrow at him, his lips tilted up in a small smile. Roxas' smile took a run for Cloud's, apparently oblivious to how frazzled the security manager was. I felt my nose wrinkle a little at his inconsideration, but I stifled it. Just keep smiling, Axel.

Just. Keep. Smiling.

The pop star reached out to Cloud, and to my surprise, tipped him with a strong hug. "Saw you dealing with crap. Kadaj again?" He asked as the embrace was returned before pulling away. Strife, in response, rolled his eyes.

"He tried hitting on a fan that was sneaking around the security bars. Of course she wasn't going for it, and they made a scene all night." Cloud tilted his head down and ran his fingers through his hair. "Roxas, it boggles the mind that you chose to let your cousins work as personal security."

In response, the pop star grinned, twisting the collar of his shirt in his fingertips and using it to wipe the sweat off his brow. "And I've never felt safer. You guys wouldn't let me get hurt." I stopped short. So Cloud and Kadaj… were Roxas' family? In extension, I figured the other two silver guys and Riku were family, too.

Never was I as glad as to not have an audience for my mockery as I was at that moment. I have to wonder how badly my pay would have suffered for hating on my manager's cousin. I did what I thought was a subtle double-take between Cloud and Roxas. They were strikingly similar, of course they were.

Apparently, I wasn't subtle enough. My movement caught McCartney's attention, and the pop tart perked his glance in my direction. "And you're the new replacement, hey? I gotta say, thanks for keeping an eye on things while Cloud was busy." He ran a hand through his straw-colored hair, which fell in moistened points at his forehead. Like cousin, like cousin, I figured.

"Psh, it wasn't a big deal. I'm paid for it, remember?" I tried to keep my response from being curt. I flashed my money-winning smile at him. "Great show tonight. You wavered at times, but I'm sure your voice gets tired sometimes. I wouldn't know."

Apparently, my remark unsettled him a little. Saturated blue eyes opened up more to me, and his lips twitched with an indecisive smile. "You heard it too, huh? I keep telling my voice coach I'm doing that, but," The blonde laughed an empty sound, "he says it's a part of my 'natural' charm."

I gave him a grim smile, stuffing my hands in my pockets. Take that, pop tart. "I don't think so. This is the first time I've heard you live, but I'm sure people pay to see your real talent, not your 'natural charm'. Again though, good show." Suddenly, a hit of discomfort struck me. I felt Cloud's eyes on me, but I didn't dare look to analyze the look. If I lost my pay over some stupid remark…

He must have felt it, because he laughed. Not the hollow sort like before, but an all-out guffaw. "Oh, calm down! I'm not gonna bite your head off." He patted my upper arm and walked ahead. "C'mon."

Swallowing my fear, I looked at Cloud. To my surprise, he was wearing a full smile.

"That's the first time I've seen someone have the guts to criticize him," The stage manager uttered under his breath to me as we followed the pop star, his voice giving off a note of impression. "I approve." He walked forward, ahead of Roxas. My footing lost pace as I took in what he said. Did I just win bonus points?

After that was a grueling meet-and-greet. Fans paid big bucks to get a ticket to this shin-dig, and half of them were bat-shit crazy. I couldn't help but feel sorry for the guy, having to put on alluring smiles and casual laughs to the strangers who were telling him that they dreamt of having his kids someday.

Creepy.

Thankfully for all of us, it only lasted for an hour. After restraining a couple of fans sobbing about how they couldn't live without Roxas, McCartney bid them goodnight and we all got the hell out of there. After handing over equipment, and discussing my payment, we made our way to escorting Roxas back to his trailer.

"That… Jennica girl was pretty cool," the blonde quipped, "and Sam, and Shay, and James." He filtered through the slips of paper he was given by various fans, crumpling a few every so often and letting them fall to the floor in little paper crumbles. I laughed.

"Does that happen often?" I couldn't help asking. My mind prickled with excitement at the idea of this brat getting that kind of harassment every show.

"Actually, Edmonton hasn't been bad for it," He replied with a casual shrug, sticking the rest of his papers into his baggy grey jeans. "Often the bigger cities don't leave me with a lot of breathing room in the meet-and-greets. I like the smaller cities, because sometimes I get a chance to have real conversations with these people." He left his hands in his pockets as we made our way out to the trailers.

Cloud, Leon, Hayner, Seifer and Kadaj were walking ahead of us, Riku, Loz, Yazoo, Terra, Zack and Vanitas walking behind us. I was beside Roxas, due to the fact that he refused to stop talking to me. I bowed my head a bit into the collar of my polo, biting the inside of my cheek. It was difficult not to say something snarky all the time.

Cloud slowed to a stop as they neared a towering black bus, 'McCartney' streaking the side of it in a spidery silver handwriting. All of the tour buses looked identical to this one. I figured Cloud knew the pick based on the license plate number. "Alright, men, we have tonight here and tomorrow at eleven, we'll be packing up to get to our next destination. Use the night wisely, and if you're not here at eleven sharp, we leave without you. Got it?"

"Yes sir!" The personal security team barked, along with Roxas, in unison. I felt slightly out of place, and kept attention away from myself by glancing off to the distance. An hour after the concert let out, and there were still a few fans littering the streets. As the security guards broke away from each other, Cloud lingered behind. "So what's your game plan tonight, Roxas?"

"Hm. I dunno, sleep sounds cool. Sleep is what you want me to do, right?" He cocked an amused eyebrow at his taller cousin, who returned the look with sarcasm.

"But sleep isn't what you're going to do, is it." Cloud's voice was deadpan.

"Nah."

"Just going on the towns?"

I watched the conversation. Eventually, I tuned out. The few stars above us were masked by the piercing white fluorescent lamps above us. Cars on the nearby freeway created vortexes of dragging, smooth noise. I picked a finger into my ear again. I was still suffering the concert's onslaught of sound, the world feeling slightly muffled. I felt my ear pop, and I twitched my eye shut as the white noise smoothed out from the left side of my body. I took in a breath, stuffing my hands in my pockets. The evening smelled fresh. It was going to rain tonight.

"—Right, Axel?"

Oh. Someone was talking to me. "Huh? Sorry," I knocked the side of my head in emphasis, "Concert made it hard to hear. What'd you say?" I looked over at McCartney.

"I said, you probably know this city better than any of us. Wanna show me some last minute site tonight?"

My brow wrinkled. The last thing I wanted to do was show Mr. McCartney around the town like some trophy wife. "Ehh, I'll pass. I'm kind of tired. Cloud's right. You should probably sleep, if you're leaving that early."

"Oh." His voice fell, almost crestfallen. That indecisive smile twitched at his mouth again, and he ran his fingers up through his hair. "You're probably right." He looked over at Strife. "That's not fair, getting someone to gang up on me!"

"Love you too, Roxas." Cloud cocked an eyebrow at the blonde pop star, holding a stern look to his face.

Roxas held this look with Cloud for a moment, but it didn't take long before he broke out laughing. He stuffed his hands in his pockets before traipsing over to the trailer door. "Fine, fine. I'll go to bed." He shrugged lightly, climbing the stairs. As he opened the door, he turned around to look at me. "Kinda sucks that we're leaving tomorrow; you seem like a pretty cool guy."

"No, you do too. Any other time, dude, but I have too many things going on tomorrow." Such as pulling my teeth out with pliers, or making toothpick castles, or painting my roses red- anything would be more pressing than hanging out with you.

Roxas shook his head lightly, his cerulean blue eyes catching mine. "Nah, I got it. Maybe we'll catch each other on some weird twist of fate?" Before I had a chance to answer, he let himself into the door. "Goodnight, Axel! It was nice meeting you."

…Funny, I couldn't remember telling him my name.

"Honey, I'm home," I called into the empty apartment. Silence stared back at me, echoing the sound of carelessly tossed keys on wood. I kicked off my black loafers and nudged them onto the straw doormat, filtering through the stack of mail I picked up at the door on my way up.

"Mr. Carson, we regret to inform you that your internet services will be cut off as of May 14th, 2011-" Flip. "Good day, Mr. Carson. Your outstanding payment of $236.67 has yet to be paid-" Flip. "College loan balance is-" Flip. "Outstanding sum of-" Flip. "If nothing is done about this issue, we will be forced to send our collectors."

My brows wrinkled. "Huh, so much for money to spare," I muttered, cyanide on my breath. I chucked the bills onto my kitchen table, the slips scattering upon impact. I looked at the microwave clock. As Xigbar had predicted, it read as, 12:06 a.m. I frowned. My stomach growled in response, and I immediately eyed the stove.

"Dinner time, Axel."

One pair of pyjamas, a set of fuzzy slippers, and a heaping bowl of kraft dinner with chopped hotdogs later, I flopped down on my sofa in front of the television and began the ritual channel surfing through infomercials. I sighed, sliding a finger through the black elastic holding my hair up before pulling it away. My hair fell in fatigued crimson strands that once stood as loose cowlicks earlier in the day. I shook my head out for good measure, and settled on an episode of Futurama. It was a repeat, but it served the purpose of background noise.

I shoveled in another scoop of KD and reached over to the side table, tossing a bright orange piggy bank into my lap. The Roxas concert was quite the turn-off, I realized. All of the noise and the magnitude of everything had sucked life out of me.

"Well, Quidlet," I murmured, my words wet from the food in my mouth, "looks like you're gonna have to go without supper tonight." My fingertips pressed against the smooth plastic flesh, the surface of which was littered with sharpie words and scribbles. I smiled as I lingered on the almost-illegible scraggle.

Astronaut, dinosaur, superhero, jet pack, the sun, one hundred dollars, Link… The handwriting got better as you followed down the pig's back. Police officer, fire fighter, television, telescope, paint ball gun. The writing leads into jot notes on the pig's behind. Animator, news anchor, tattoo artist, own apartment, driver's license, girlfriend, boyfriend, car, trip to Spain, new guitar… every single word was etched out, either with a check mark or a scribble. I flipped Quidlet over, producing a sharpie from the folds of the couch.

"Sometimes, Quid, it just feels like you and me against the world," Another bite of dinner invaded my mouth, noodles still piping hot and sharp with artificial cheddar. My mouth melted into the sensation. I uncapped the sharpie, eyeing the only unmarked word on the bank. It was on the bottom of its hoof, in embellished penmanship surrounded by stars and circles. It was written at a young age, and the stars around it grew increasingly better-drawn. My lime eyes narrowed at it in acceptance, and I pressed the tip of the sharpie to the last ambition on my childhood list in a haphazard scribble.

Rock star.

"That can't be my world." I murmured to the piggy bank. It stared back at me with bright blue pin-prick eyes. "No, it can't. Don't give me that look. It's too impossible. A one-in-a-million shot." My hand cradled the piggy bank's back as I set it on the side-table. I scoffed. "Besides, snobs like Mr. McCartney stink up the scene enough already. There'd be no point in being there." My fingers lingered on the back of the piggy bank.

I kept my hand there for a long time. Looking back, I figured I was scared that when my hand left the bank, so would all hope I had for myself and my future. Life would become something that fell to moving with the motions. I'd always be working to repay a debt that would continue to come.

But, eventually, I'd let go of the piggy bank- whether in pure distraction or in the loss of consciousness, and soon I'd fallen asleep to the sounds of Fry playing an opera for Leela on the holophone. My final thought was definite, and many a person would be able to find it true:

Our destinies are not given to us. Our destinies are defined by who can get the most names in a book before anyone else to present to the big man at the top of the chain.

And I was horrible at taking names.