What are you so afraid of?

Roxas wasn't overly excited about today. He wasn't anxious about it, but he wasn't exactly thrilled, either. It had been a really long time since he stepped foot in a shop, almost five years to be exact. But, his best friend, Hayner, had convinced him to at least try. He wasn't sure how strong this attempt was going to be, and he had zero expectations of a positive outcome, but still... he knew, in his heart at least, that it was important. All the self sabotage, unhealthy coping mechanisms and avoidance behavior in the world hadn't quite shaken the feeling that he had been doing something undeniably wrong for five years. Or was it six? He couldn't even remember anymore. He couldn't remember the last time he even picked up a pencil for his own enjoyment. He couldn't remember the last time he had a real idea for a painting, let alone a fucking tattoo.

He had been sitting in his car for about twenty minutes, idly watching a man in his early to mid thirties, sitting isolated on a restaurant patio, nursing a whiskey drink. It was odd that he was alone on one of the busier streets downtown at six o' clock, but he looked genuinely content, even satisfied, sitting there in solitude. Roxas chewed on the inside of his cheek and felt something similar to jealousy looking at him.

It was sunset now, approaching twilight. Roxas always loved this time of day, mostly for the colors, the warm summer sunset that looked the way vanilla ice cream and sweet cherries taste. He tried to reach out to it with his mind to find the strength to get out of his stupid car and walk the twelve steps to the door, under a gleaming neon 'TATTOO' sign, and into his fucking nightmare to talk to an old "friend" he was sure didn't really want to help him.

He could always do this another day...

"Fuck it," he muttered, taking the key out of the ignition of the old silver Jeep, and finally getting out.

The air was so warm and sweet. God he loved it, but it didn't make him feel better as he walked.

He opened the door with already clammy hands. His heart was pounding now, and he really hoped he wouldn't choke and gag in there. The worst thing that could happen was a dismissal and another dead end. What was he really so afraid of?

The smell of disinfectant, the deep purple walls covered in traditional American flash, the knick-knacks and oddities tucked onto corner shelves and table tops, the bright buzzing sound of a running tattoo machine, the mellow music playing just slightly too loud... It was deeply nostalgic, but he couldn't help the bitter taste in this mouth at the realization that it wasn't as comforting to him as it once was.

"Hey, can I help you with something?" A young man, probably his age, with a friendly demeanor asked him.

"Yeah, I'm just looking for Xigbar, is he around?"

"Oh yeah, he's actually tattooing right now, he's in that last booth closest to the window," he said, pointing.

"Okay, cool, thanks."

The young man nodded his head and went back to his drawing at the front desk.

"Kiddo!" Xigbar exclaimed with a toothy grin as he walked up, glancing up with one eye from his work briefly. "Long time no see."

"Yeah, it has been." Roxas tried his best smile.

"How have you been?"

"I guess I can't complain. I hate my job, but who doesn't, right?"

"Ohh, can't say I hate mine, dude. I'm living the dream over here. Opening up this shop in the square has been the best decision I've ever made."

"That's awesome man, I'm happy to hear it." And he really was. He smiled, a real one, and hoped he could be so lucky one day.

"So what are you doing now? You said something in your message about wanting to get back into tattooing. That's a hell of a break you took."

Roxas could hear the judgement. You took too long. You always take too long.

"Yeah, I'm working for a dental lab right now, doing stuff with plaster, stone, and wax. Apparently they like artists for that stuff, but it's not the most creative thing in the world. Shit, it's just not me, ya know?"

"Yeah I feel that, little dude. Hey let me finish up here and we can talk, it'll only be about twenty minutes. You can just hang out in the back or something, we have a pretty sweet break room set up."

"Okay, cool."

Roxas meandered through the shop, feeling very awkward. He didn't know what he was doing here. He'd done maybe... two? Three? No, two tattoos in the past two years, only for a couple of friends that really bugged him about it. He had nothing to show, not even any recent drawings save for some passionless watercolor flowers he'd given to his mother for Christmas six months ago. He hoped he could talk his way into Xigbar giving him a chance, helping him get back into the business somehow, anything, but now that he was here, he felt really stupid. What did he even have to offer other than a pathetic kind of desperation? He plopped onto the black suede couch behind the curtain separating the break room from the rest of the shop, and he could feel his ears get hot. He was really feeling like an idiot now. Xigbar probably couldn't even remember any of his work from the time they spent together at that shop, that last shop Roxas ever stepped foot in before...

Just... before.

He nervously picked up a flash book from the coffee table. 'Damn, they have so much flash on the walls, why do they need more in a binder like this?' Roxas wondered. It was all the same, just traditional flash, bold lines, solid colors. Roses, anchors, naked ladies. Nothing more, nothing less.

He flipped through the book until Xigbar finally wrapped up the piece he was working on. He listened to the whole routine of bandaging the fresh wound while explaining the aftercare process, taking the money and hopefully a tip, and sending the customer on his way. It was so routine to his ears, but he could tell it was becoming something more novel, more like something he'd always hear but never say.

Xigbar pushed the curtain back and sauntered around a moment later.

"So, you came here to talk, kiddo, now let's talk." Xigbar leaned a shoulder against the doorframe and crossed his arms.

"Yeah, I mean it's like I explained in my messages before. I just want to reconnect with some people in the industry, and figure out what my next move is. I know I took a long break-"

"Long is an understatement. five years, at least? This craft is about consistency kid, you can't just quit for years and come back and expect to get anywhere with it."

Roxas grit his teeth.

"Listen, I'm not going to go into detail about what happened, but I didn't do what I did for no reason. I went through some really rough shit right before I left, I got into a bad situation, and I told myself that I would come back when I was ready. It took longer than I thought, but I'm ready now. I haven't felt this hungry in a long time. This is what I'm supposed to do, I know it. It's the only thing that's ever made me happy."

Roxas saw it in Xigbar's eyes that he didn't buy it. Anger flared up in his chest and he could feel his cheeks heat up just like his ears. He hoped it'd go unnoticed.

"Consistency is key. You've got to make it work, persevere, make it happen, even if you don't have a shop or a booth, even if you have to set up at your house and tattoo for fucking free, you do it because you love it."

"I'll do anything that I have to do."

"Do you have pictures of any work you've done recently, or even before? Tattoos or drawings or anything?"

Roxas' anger wavered and now he just wanted to melt through the floorboards.

"Not on me no, but I just started a piece on a friend a few weeks ago-"

"Did you take a picture?"

"Well no, because we didn't get to finish it, and he hasn't shown up to let me finish it yet."

"You gotta push harder than this. You've got to be hungrier than this. How can I tell you anything off of nothing?"

Roxas pulled his lower lip between his teeth and bit down. He had expected something like this, but he didn't expect it to hurt this bad.

"Do you have your certs? CPR and first aid-"

"Yeah, bloodborne pathogen and infection control, I have it all, I just finished it last month."

"Well that's a start, and it shows you're serious." Xigbar walked over to the couch and sat on the other side, propping his feet up on the table.

"I am serious. I haven't been more serious about this in a long time- honestly, I'm more serious now than I ever was before."

Xigbar seemed to contemplate his words, but Roxas still had this nagging feeling that he wasn't being taken seriously at all.

"I know you didn't walk in here today to ask for an apprenticeship. I don't even know what you're capable of at this point, so I can't really give you any more answers or advice, other than to just... tattoo. Tattoo your heart out, whether you're in a shop or not. That's the only way you're going to make any progress with this. If you had a little portfolio together and could prove to me that you could pick a piece off the wall and do it, I'd give you that booth right there, right now," he gestured to the empty first booth, by the door.

Roxas glanced at that vacant booth, just waiting for someone to claim it, and felt absolutely mocked. It seemed so far away, so unattainable. He wished he hadn't come now, but at least he would leave learning a lesson or two, as foolish as he felt.

"Get a portfolio together, okay? Anyone else in town you know, you need to go to them and talk to them. Get serious."

"Yeah. I'll do that."

"Good. Listen I hate to run you off, but I have a lot of drawing to do for tomorrow-"

"Oh no, it's cool, I'll leave you to it. It was really cool seeing you again," he said, standing up from the couch.

"It was good seeing you too. I hope I helped at least a little or gave you some kind of advice you can use."

"Actually, yeah, you did," Roxas said while he wandered back to the front entrance. He really did learn something, in all honesty- never show up empty handed or you will feel like an asshole.

"And hey, if you're looking to make more connections, I have a friend who runs a shop on the northeast end of town. You know Five Points?"

"I've heard of them, but I've never been there. I've heard good things, though."

"Yeah check it out, go up there and ask for Lexaeus. He's really cool, he'll hook you up."

"Yeah, I'll talk to him," Roxas said with a forced smile, saying his final goodbye and walking hurriedly to back to his car.

Well, that was it. Xigbar wasn't going to take him in, and he didn't really have a plan B.

He grabbed the steering wheel tight and exhaled hard. His heart was pounding even harder, filling his solar plexus with a crushing disappointment. He wanted to choke slam himself onto something sharp. He knew this was a terrible idea, but he did it anyway. He guessed that had to count for something in the end... right? He tried. That was more than he could say for the past several years.

Plan B... He wasn't sure if he actually wanted to talk to Lexaeus. He sort of kind of knew a few people that worked there, but didn't know how well he'd vibe with them.

That was always the hang up. He was so scared of making the wrong choice that he never made any choice. It was a vicious cycle of indecision that kept him right where he was, unhappy, empty, unsatisfied, never quite himself.

He started his car and finally pulled away. It was mostly dark now, save for a gentle touch of blue on the horizon. The stars were peaking out from the night sky, the city lights were gleaming at him beautifully while he drove through evening traffic, getting lost in the hypnotic stopping and going.

He hated this town, but it was what he had right now. He had to make the best of it, but if he was being honest, he just didn't have the energy or the patience anymore.

All the worst things that had ever happened to him, happened right here in Twilight Town.

"So...?"

"If I talk about it, I'll break something."

"Yikes. That bad?"

Roxas took a long drag from his cigarette and didn't respond. Being a smoker had become a bit of a challenge in 2018. It was a dying pastime, really. You couldn't even smoke in bars anymore. Roxas considered himself a textbook hedonist, and had also never really been about self-care or longevity, so he got what enjoyment he could out of the little things, carcinogenic or not.

Hayner idly kicked at the gravel lining his driveway in the suburbs just outside of town. He shared a three bedroom duplex with Roxas and the other two members of the usual gang, Pence and Olette. Pence slept on a futon in the living room, while the other three had rooms to themselves. They were all pretty much millennial stereotypes- fresh out of college with nothing to show for it but obnoxious student loan payments. Even with the four of them splitting the bills, it was tight at best, chaotic at worst. Roxas was the only one who didn't finish college (he may or may not have been kicked out during his first semester), and ironically enough, made more money than the other three.

Roxas reached up and ran a finger down the crease that was forming between his brows. A constant reminder that he wasn't eighteen anymore, a piece of knowledge that had him dodging an existential crisis on the regular. He was twenty-five, but he honestly didn't feel it. The years had snuck up on him abruptly and left him feeling like some sort of perpetual teenager.

"It could always be worse."

"Don't fucking start, Hayner, I swear to god..."

"Dude, you have got to start thinking more positively about this-"

"Every time I think things could be worse, they really do get worse. I'm not about to jinx myself with your positive-mental-attitude bullshit."

"You've already jinxed yourself with your shitty attitude, dude."

"My attitude isn't shitty, it's fucking realistic."

Hayner didn't have a response to that, so he defaulted.

"Can we just go get a few tall boys and pretend today didn't happen for either of us?"

"Yeah, but we have to go inside and ask Pence what he wants, because you know he hates PBR."

"He's such a bitch," Hayner complained as he walked up the porch steps to yell into the living room for drink requests.

"All I'm saying is that men really don't fucking get it. It's not about the money or his looks, it's the talent and the weirdness, and he's so funny!" Olette slurred her words just slightly, gripping her cheap, canned beer to her chest, smiling up into the ceiling.

"You cannot tell me that you think that dirty gas station attendant looking motherfucker is attractive because he's funny," Hayner said, cracking open another for himself.

"He's funny and his voice is sexy and he actually writes all of his own shit! That is sexy!"

"I call bullshit, I still think it's the money."

"Just because you're shallow doesn't mean everyone else in the world is too." Olette distractedly shook the bottom of her beer can, realizing with disappointment that it was empty.

"Post Malone is the human equivalent of a snot bubble and you can't change my mind."

'Congratulations' played on the stereo connected to Roxas' phone. He knew better than to get in on the debate. He agreed entirely with Olette, but knew Hayner would just write his opinion off on being a general bisexual slut, so it was best to keep it to himself.

"I like him," Pence chimed in.

Everyone laughed and jeered at Hayner. He threw his hands in the air and jumped to his feet.

"Goddamn it! Am I the only person in this house with any fucking taste?"

"Did you maybe think," Roxas finally started, "that maybe it's not everyone else? That maybe it's... oh, I don't know... you?"

Hayner groaned and walked back to the kitchen, separated only by a change from carpet to tile, and pulled the last four pack of tall boys from the fridge.

"Welp, one more for you two, and two more for me. Pence can have his fucking Seagram's Escapes," He said, breaking the beers out of the plastic packaging and handing one to Olette.

"Aww look, you still love me," she drunkenly cooed, taking the can with more grace than should be capable of a girl her size who had just slammed three twenty ounce beers.

"Yeah I know, I don't fucking get it, either."

"I love my fruity drinks and no one can tell me shit," Pence retorted.

"And why do you get two more? I'm the one who had a shitty day," Roxas asked.

"Because I'm the alcoholic in the group."

In all honesty though, if Roxas had anything left to be happy for, to feel stable and safe in, it was his friendships with the three individuals in that room with him. They were all damaged in some way, and no matter where their paths took them, they always ended up right back here, in Twilight Town, with each other. On most days, that was a comforting thought, because not many people could say they had friends like that. Some days, though... the uncanniness of it was starting to make Roxas worry that it was less of a blessing and more of a curse.

Why did they always end up right back where they started? It never, ever failed. Olette made it all the way across the country for maybe three months before being forced to come back when her mom died. Pence had a great job in Hollow Bastion right after he graduated for six months before the company unexpectedly went bankrupt and he had to come back. Hayner made plans to leave the fucking country with his last ex right before she dumped him and married the guy she'd been cheating on him with, leaving with him instead. Roxas... he'd had more opportunities than he could count, but he didn't have the luxury of blaming some hypothetical curse- he could only blame himself for not taking any of them.

Hayner had given him that beer, but he suddenly wasn't in the mood to drink anymore. He just wanted to sleep, a solid fourteen hour sleep, the kind that eats away hours of your life that you'd rather not face awake.

"Shit, I'm beat," he said, getting up and rubbing his tired eyes. He put the unopened drink back in the fridge.

"You okay?" Olette asked softly.

"Yeah, just tired. I'll see you guys in the morning."

Everyone said goodnight, and Hayner threw a can tab at him. Roxas rolled his eyes, but didn't respond. The only thing he had the energy for was to take off his clothes and collapse in his soft, warm bed.

He had been actively depressed about a lot of things for a long time, but that soul-crushing anguish had dissipated into a numb apathy. There wasn't much he could actually get excited about anymore. He missed that fluttering in his chest, the kind of anxiety that kept you awake in your bed the night before a big field trip at school. He felt so incapable of anything resembling caring. How far would that apathy go? Would he stop caring about Hayner, Pence and Olette? Would he stop caring about his family? His mom, his dad? Thinking about how low he could get scared him, but he also felt like it wasn't in his control, anyway.

He needed sleep. Thinking in circles like this never solved anything. Always in circles, never coming to conclusions... it was torture, but he didn't know of any other way to be.

He stared up at the dark ceiling, listening to the buoyant chattering across the apartment. The darkness seemed to close in on him, bringing all of his dark thoughts close, making him hyper aware of all of his fears, his fear of the future, his fear of getting old, his fear of never accomplishing what he wanted in life, his fear of losing his friends.

Yet even in the overwhelming darkness, through the quiet tears, there was always a glimmer of hope in his mind and heart. No matter how small it got, it was a light that never went out. He hung onto that hope desperately as he drifted to sleep.

He would feel better in the morning.