a/n: Hai guys plz don't kill me. Okay, so I've been working on this off and on, when suddenly it snapped together---and don't bother telling me it's not original, because I know it's not. There's a lot of playing with words here, so I hope you can appreciate it for what it is. smfTHAT is dangerously close to being updated, and if fate smiles then The Cool Guy will get updated around the same time. I haven't forsaken them, not at all! Anyway, you guys know the drill, KH is the property of Square and Disney. I hope you enjoy reading.
What, when, and other four-letter words
I had my reasons.
That's not a standard answer. With anything else…anyone else, I wouldn't bother. It doesn't make what happened any easier to think about, or any easier to say, "I couldn't do a thing." Because I could, and I was the only one around.
I could, is what I tell myself…and still I had those reasons.
In the first place…It had been especially dark that night, in a place where night was eternally static, and I knew it was merely a trick in my storming mind. Somehow, knowing didn't make it any better. Or any less effective.
The night our lips crashed together was an accident. I'd been leaning forward, so had he, it was a fleeting moment during which our depth perception got skewed by the sudden lightning strike. We stayed that way, our lips barely touching. Then Roxas accidentally leaned forward even more. His cheeks were rosy, his breath was hot, and the kiss was feverish---in the morning we decided that no, it hadn't actually happened.
We had twelve more accidents within the next two days, building up to the day I accidentally stumbled into Roxas's morning shower; we accidentally got locked in and stayed there a few hours. All, of course, on accident.
We laughed about it afterwards, how clumsy our movements had been, how funny it was when I freaked out because I thought I'd burned Roxas, how much we loved keeping this lovely secret from the others.
It got harder and harder for me to picture my best friend, my lucky 13, my Roxas, as this dangerous mystical key to our existence. As our sacrifice and salvation. Roxas wasn't power to me anymore, he was tousled blonde hair and blue eyes and a sarcastic but determined smile.
Maybe that's why it hurt so much to see him so distant and alone, later. I was the only one who knew that Roxas was more than his destiny. The only fucking one, and still I didn't lift a hand.
I had yelled at him earlier. Who do you think you are, I'd been asked.
I was mad. Frantic, even, and I hadn't been watching too closely.
Hell. I never thought I'd have to keep a close watch. After all, I was so close to him, so dear to him, so clear to him, so near to him. So everything.
The neon glow from decrepit signs high above cut across his pale skin, and to me he looked even younger than he was.
We were all young---so young. So fucking young we belonged anywhere but where fate had put us--- yes, but he was no more than a child, a child wrapped in that black guise and wise blue eyes, eyes that demanded deference.
"What are you in for, kid?" I hadn't been especially interested in the newbie's answer. I remember I'd just come back from a mission of sorts, and I was all out of sorts, and I was—sort of---looking for something to do. I remember thinking how funny he looked, standing there, with his small---so small---hands tucked into his dark sleeves, with a dark scowl that didn't suit a sweet, baby-faced kid like him. So I told him so, leaning down and looking down my nose. To this day, I don't think I'd have seen that fist fly even without my hood hanging over my eyes. I grinned at him, wiped the blood off my nose with my sleeve, and stuck out a hand. "I'm number 8," I said.
"Lucky 13," the kid had answered, looking at my hand like I had some fatal disease.
"What? Not good enough for you?" I'd been teasing. Kind of. When I think back, though, I probably had homicide in my eyes---I always did, back then, the threat of violence lingering behind my eyes like an old friend with a promise and a gun.
"Damn straight you ain't," he said. But he grinned. When I saw that brat grin, well. I decided I liked him. It had been two years since I'd decided to like anything. The experience was a refreshing one.
We were all nothing, nothing but intelligence hearkening back to nature.
"How can you say you're still part of us?"
"Me? If we're talking about betrayal, then---"
It was dark and we were both mad. Really, it was fear that we had both reacted to. Uncertainty. Things that even people who didn't exist didn't want to linger on.
He was going to disappear, vanish into that uncertain night, and I couldn't bring myself to restrain him. It was my fault. I'd turned around---for what, a minute?---and when I came full circle I was looking at someone who wasn't close to me at all. I should have listened to his profound utterances. Should have been next to him when he talked in his sleep. Now Roxas had a different goal.
There's trouble to be had with refreshing experiences, even if I didn't realize it at the time. When I met him, I didn't know who he was or what he was—or what plans we had for him. There was a time when I was completely, sickeningly loyal, mindlessly obedient and perfectly content to keep doing menial tasks for my superiors. Day in and day out not a thought went through my mind.
The day I met Roxas, well, that had been interesting, but it doesn't really mark that day... The day I started thinking was unbelievably clear. I even know the exact moment it all began. We drew lots to decide who got to work with the newbie—I'm pretty sure Larxene cheated, because even then we all had problems with each other---but it doesn't matter.
I found myself sitting comfortably on a roof in a world far away from the one that never was, lazily monitoring the aftermath of my handiwork, with lucky 13 beside me. So, I turn to the kid to ask him what he thought of our ruthless line of business---because he'd kept quiet even when some blood splattered on his cheek, and I didn't know what to make of it---and while I was in the middle of nastily making a comment on his lack of reaction, what does he do? Kid pulls out some ice cream, from somewhere in his cloak, and presents me with one of these creamy blue bars like we're two brats in a sandbox. He has the gall to smile, when I ask him where the hell that came from.
"There's a kitchen," he said. "I looked for three days, up and down those massive corridors. You'd think no one ever ate ice cream." I'd seen him at it, too. He'd been wearing that ill fitting scowl. I'd thought he was merely brooding, or looking for someone to kill. And instead…
"…no one ever eats ice cream." I informed him, taking a bite. I tried to think if I'd ever been to the kitchen before. I hadn't.
"Well, it looks like you don't. You're so skinny."
"I'm skinny? You're the one who looks like he's twelve."
Roxas shoved me off the roof. It wouldn't be the last time, and it wasn't even the first time, and I remember being supremely pissed off---and then, well, his hand was grasping mine. The little bastard was pulling with all his might.
One night---and it was one of those nights when I lay awake, thinking things I knew I shouldn't be thinking (something I began to care less and less about)---I heard a muffled sound. It was doubly muffled through the wall, and lazily I checked the clock. It was half past three. I knew of several people who would be awake, a few of them ones I wouldn't want to run into in the dark while I couldn't watch my back. It's funny. The minute I began to doubt the others, making me a person who couldn't be trusted, I stopped trusting everyone else.
Wandering around, then, would be a gamble---but I was pretty sure I knew who was making the noise, so, gamble or not, I threw on my cloak, never minding the zipper, and let myself into Roxas's room. His room was pitch black, which was weird. A few days before that he had confided in me that he didn't like the dark. Which was also weird.
"We're born out of darkness," I'd said. "If anything you should love it. It's a part of you."
"Why would I love something just because it's part of me?"
His eyes had flicked away from my inquiring gaze then, but he'd already said it---the words were mine to replay in my head as many times I liked, though it only took once for me to realize his self-loathing.
After that slight epiphany, I never looked at him the same way. And since I wasn't looking directly at him, what I saw was not the usual sham. Roxas was different.
I'd already guessed what the sound was. He caught sight of me, expecting me to be all sharp words and sharp phrases, expecting me to demand who the hell he thought he was, crying like that. When we were all in the same fucking, sinking boat. He expected me to reprimand him; and I think he wanted it too. Because if I had done that, then he could have lashed out at me. The outcome of that would have benefitted him, whether he managed to push me away or plug up his tears with anger. Roxas was always lashing out, it would have made the situation normal, which would have made it okay.
But I didn't say the words that were burning on my tongue. No. I swept him off his feet and held him tightly to my chest, and if I had a heart it would have been thumping---because when I saw his shoulders heaving, when I saw those tear stained cheeks, I felt.
It wasn't a memory of feeling, nor wishful thinking. I was standing there, feeling, heady in my excitement. I wanted to dance, to jump, to run to my superiors and shout blasphemies that would really be outlines of the conversations I'd been having with Roxas and in my head.
I wanted to be locked that way for an eternity. In that perfect instant, I came to several conclusions about my own existence. One, I didn't give a damn about Kingdom Hearts and Organization XIII, not when Roxas was in my arms and I could feel him there, and not just physically. Two: I didn't give a damn about anything else, either.
Were I an angel, this would surely have marked my descent into hell. As things stood, I was only a nobody, and had nowhere to fall.
Eventually I noticed that he was touching my face. His fingers came away wet. "I made you cry," he said.
"You did," I said. It was four in the morning. If anyone heard us, suspicions might start rising. The walls around here had more than ears. "You really did!"
We started whooping and shouting anyway.
I glared daggers from my lofty white seat; I knew that through the gloves my hands were growing hot and white-knuckled.
"It's not your decision to make, 8. You're not his caretaker."
"So what? It's got nothing to do with him. This is too important to go to the newbie. Let 2 handle it. He loves shit like this."
"You seem to be misunderstanding me. I'm not asking you, I'm commanding you. It is my right, and this is your duty."
"Go fuck yourself! I SAID, he's not--"
"Shut up, Axel. I'll do it." He said it without looking at me, and I left the room in a rage, not even bothering to see him off.
For a long time, all I bothered to think about was getting back at the others. I can't even say that I was motivated by hatred, since by then I wasn't feeling anything. I was, however, thinking plenty. I was thinking more than anyone else, even Vexen with his experiments, and Zexion with his books. Neither was a match for me. Hell, sometimes I wondered if the Superior himself was a match for me.
It didn't matter. Sure, he had mattered, but then he'd shrugged me off.
I realize now that he had done that in a fit of confusion. Because Roxas was different…and he actually felt things…he had a lot to deal with. Now all he wanted was for me to come after him. But he had too much pride to ask me…and I was too far gone, looking in the other direction.
And so our penultimate encounter ended in a screaming match. My lungs are stronger, mind, but for a little guy, Roxas sure can scream. I was petty enough to be pleased that around the other nobodies he was merely cold and harsh, speaking quietly. When he was pissed off at me, though, the whole World that Never Was knew about it.
And you guessed it---the bastards laughed.
I'd always wondered why the universe decided to make my element fire, something so bright and warm, when I know I'm dark and cold.
We were just sitting, staring out into that forever darkness, when I said something to that effect to Roxas. It was only a few days before the meeting when he would shove me away. He put a finger to his lips, getting this look of childish concentration that made me want to smile.
"But you're not cold, Axel. You feel very--"
"Nope, kid. I don't feel at all."
"Shut up."
"It's the truth."
"I don't give a damn. I'm not gonna let the universe push me around, not anymore---and you shouldn't either."
And now I wait for him in the alley---I'd only turned around, I swear---and his dark shadow is illuminated by those neon lights as he strides by me like I'm not even there.
"No one would miss me."
What a stupid thing to say. What a joke. What an assumption, one so wrong I paused and wondered where exactly the lightning would strike. (Wondered if I could make it to him before it happened. Wondered why I couldn't make my legs move.)
"That's not true—
I hadn't meant to walk in on him. It's not like he was in his room, or anything---I had just as much right to walk there as he did. He'd been crying, I think. I should have run to him, apologized, anything but what I, in all my arrogance, decided to do. I stalked right past him. My gaze deliberately shut him out, I walked by him like he wasn't even there. I had my foot on the threshold when he chucked his keyblade at the back of my head.
That's when the shouting started.
I think we were both secretly relieved, even though it was too late.
I pause, now, and my posture slumps. I can't stop the barrage of memories---and why isn't he stopping, and why aren't I stopping him?
Roxas was a sensitive guy. I could tell, behind that exterior, was a person who wasn't nearly as badass as he wanted us to think---a person that I wanted to know. And wasn't that simply amazing?
I had my reasons. My reasons for not stopping him, for not dragging him back to that sinking ship. I guess at first I thought it was because I didn't deserve him, after letting him push me away. It was dark, we were angry, and it was all my fault, for not reaching out---
Fuck. Just, fuck this shit. Not reaching out? "Turning around for a fleeting, figurative moment, only to see his retreating back"? "It was too late"?
Blaming my own actions on the darkness, and the fact that we were arguing?
For Roxas and I, bickering was life. So was darkness, when I think about it. So, yeah---I was worried about what would happen, if the Organization decided to bloody him up.
But really?
I didn't have any reasons for not stopping Roxas.
All I had were reasons to let him go.
a/n: yep...well, I mean, I warned you in the beginning, right? (my fav part, when Roxas chucks his keyblade at Axel's head. XD ) What can I say...understand that I'm an AU author. So, when I write something canon, I'm gonna make stuff up. A lot of stuff. Anyway, this is the first thing I've written that's Axel in first person. If you could drop me a review, I'd be really grateful! If you managed to get through this, you may as well press the button...it's right to your left...