A/N: I actually wrote this a while ago, after reading RosalynAngel's "Good Enough" and various standalones. I'm rather jealous of her writing ability; I want to write Axel/Riku like she does! I've been calling it Axel/Riku, but in my mind, I think "Rixel." But that sounds like all sorts of nastiness (like an STD, yanno?), so let's just forget about that.

Dedication: Static Lull, that lovely chickadee. She spoils me (not that I'm complaining). Her writing is teh awesome, and I like to spread the appeal of her stories everywhere. GO READ HER STUFF. And, yeah, RosalynAngel. Go 'head with your bad self.

Aphrodite Rides the Subway

you are my dream, please come true

It's raining, but not like it usually does. It's not that overly-polite tap-tap-tap rain against the top of your umbrella. It's the full-out THUMP THUMP THUMP; rude rain throwing itself against your pretty little umbrella, whether you like it or not.

So I'm sitting there in the safety of the waiting area of the subway, perfectly dry and shaking my mom's spastic eyesore of an umbrella into at least a slight resemblance of what it's supposed to be. The subway line's mostly empty—no one really takes the train at two in the morning. Usually it's just me and the crack-heads, chatting it up until sunrise or until I have to leave to go pretend to work and they scamper off to their dealers for their next fix.

But today, there's someone new. Besides for the junkies and me, the Jobless Wonder. It looks like two girls; a tall, thinly muscled one with silver hair, and another one, scrawny and a redhead. You can just barely see their profiles, but you can easily tell that they're attractive. Comely. Pretty. Whatever. I'm just saying they look nice, okay? I didn't walk up and go, "Hey, ladies, wanna spend a night with the stallion?" I'm not into that. And besides, they look a little preoccupied, what with the whole holding-hands-hushed-voices thing. Maybe they're a couple. Maybe they're not.

…Maybe I'm just nosy.

Hey, maybe they're in the mafia. That'd be cool. Maybe one of them would turn around and say in this dead-sexy accent, "You know too much, you deliciously gorgeous man. As much as I would like to bang you, I must not give into temptation! Die, mortal!" and then she'd lift up her skirt (the gun in the garter thing never gets old. Never.) and bam, there's a bullet about to make nice with my face. And it'd totally miss me, yanno? I'd roll out of the way and be all, "HA!" and the silver-haired girl would be all "Oh, you brave, brave man. Have a kiss!" And there'd be fireworks, and the crack-heads would rise in a heavenly chorus, and-and-

But the train comes, and the silver-haired goddess doesn't shoot me or kiss me or speak in a Russian accent. Pity. I haul my sorry ass onto the subway and wish that someone would waltz up to me and shoot me (okay, no, more likely gently maim me) so I don't have to go stand outside K-mart and act like I still work there.

Silver-haired goddess gives me a weird look as I crash-land into the seat next to her ( she so wants me). Up close, her face has this distinctly masculine look to it. Kinda strange, but still impossibly hot.

"Soooo…" I say, scooting nearer. She looks freaked out, and I back up a bit. "Are you really that flat-chested, or is this your first time cross-dressing?"

Oh, geez. God, please send down a streak of lighting to smite me where I stand. I seriously didn't mean to say that.

While I'm waiting for a benevolent bolt of lightning to kill me, Miss Lovely purses her luscious lips and grumbles, "I'm a guy, you dumb fuck."

Oh.

Oh.

I think about it for a minute (how is someone that pretty a guy?), look back at the walking wet dream, and forge on. "Oh. Um. I just…well, it's not every day you get to see a beauty riding the subway. It's mostly just the executive jerks and the crack-heads. Gotta love those crack-heads, man, they sure know how to have a good time…what with their fondness for crack and, er…crack. Yeah. Good stuff." Well, that was a lovely start, now, wasn't it? So lovely, in fact, that I think I'll impale myself with Mom's umbrella in front of this gorgeous girl (man. It. Thing. WHATEVER.) and call it a day.

Says the angel, "My girlfriend broke up with me. I broke up with her. Something like that."

"Eh?"

What the hell is she-HE- talking about? Way to go off onto a rambling tangent about nothing relevant at all. I'd question his sanity, but I haven't got much of my own to compare it to.

God's gift to humankind trolls on with, " I told her I wasn't sure if it was doing any good. She was okay, but…there wasn't anything there. And I wanted out, but she…well, you know."

"Er, no, I don't actually." I admit. "You're confusing—and scaring—the everlastin' shit out of me. Christ, all I wanted to do was get your digits. And, okay, have a nice tonsil-hockey session. I didn't want a friggin' dissertation on your romantic mishaps."

Okay, so I didn't say that. But I thought it. Instead, I opted to go all understand and therapist-like with a nice, "Hmm. Don't I know it."

"I'm sorry." mumbles the kid. " I didn't mean to dump this all on you. It must be depressing. No one wants to hear this kind of stuff at the crack of dawn…"

"You're right." I say cheerfully. "I'm thoroughly depressed now. I'm going to drown myself in my coffee cup and it'll be all your fault."

Aqua eyes narrow, and I realize that they're almost impossibly bright. Like…Crayola bright. Christmas-tree-light bright. "Dick." he scowls, looking insulted.

"Yeah, I've got one. Wanna see?" I quip. If he's mentally scarred for life, he deserves it, no matter how pretty his face is. Pardon me for not being affected by your stupid emo-trip.

His lips quirk—just a little bit upwards, but it's good enough—"I'm Riku."

"Axel. A-X-E-L. Got it memorized?" I say. And I say it sexily. With a totally fake Russian accent that I've obviously pulled out of nowhere. "There's a special at K-mart on love today. You should drop by."

"I don't think so."

Well, damn. Okay.

I get up at the sound of the bell, realize it's not my stop, and sit back down. So, I guess I just suck at life. The one time Aphrodite rides the subway, and I can't get her interested. I bite my lip and ask Riku, " You wanna go out for a coffee or something? It's raining and it's cold, and yeah, it's raining. And…stuff."

Nice to know all those years of schooling did me good. Not.

"I don't drink coffee." Says Riku the Prissy Princess, looking away. Ouch. That's a one-two hit to the heart if anything.

I'm about to apologize and suffocate myself with my turtleneck when Riku adds smoothly, "But I could go for some chai."

The subway stops, and so does my train of thought. "Chai? You sure you're not gay?"

"I like tea." He says defensively.

"And I like boys with silver hair. Each to his own."

Now, I'm thinking this may or may not be going just a tad too far (obvious much?), but Riku grins, retorting, "I've always had a thing for redheads."

"Look, I'm not wearing a skirt or nothing for you, okay? I'm not gonna get fake knockers either."

"You bring the meaning of 'crude' to a new level, don't you? And I just thought you were odd because you were suffering from hunger-hallucinations or something. It happens to anorexics…and junkies."

"Aw, baby, you thought I was a junkie?"

"Are you?"

"Not unless you wanna be my crack, cutie."

And it's probably a little strange, that things are moving this fast. I wouldn't believe it, except for the fact that it's Riku. He makes things seem so effortless. Like it's perfectly normal to be flirting and clinging to someone you've just met on the subway. Unbelievable.

And that chick, Riku's ex-girlfriend, doesn't look like she believes it either. Her lip-gloss-shiny mouth is all but hitting the floor as she watches us get off of the train, flirting and shoving at each other like we're twleve all over again. Poor kid. I'd feel bad for her, if I was more sensitive and caring. Which I'm not, so I don't, so I just kind of smirk at her like "What now, Miss Thang?"

But in, y'know, a nice way (except not really).

Riku's done burning his lips on chai, sitting cross-legged on the wall outside of Cloud's Coffee Shoppe (You know a place is snooty when they feel the need to add another 'p' and an 'e' to their place.) Fair enough, most of it ended up into his lap, thanks to my shaky-as-hell grip. But he didn't seem to mind, really, just mopped it up with a napkin while I made some totally smooth remarks ("You look like you just peed yourself, man.") and he responded with some equally witty comebacks ("Shut up, freak.")

I scoot closer to Riku, spilling approximately one-fourth of my Passionate Green Tea down my sweater, and figure that now's as good a time as any, 'cause honestly when else would I ask, it's not like I'd ever see him again, so-"Can I kiss you?"

"…" Just those aqua eyes staring. They've got to be fake. No one has eyes that bright.

"Did you die? Or maybe you just didn't hear me. Hey, Grandma, turn your hearing aid on! I said, CAN I KI—"

Lip curling upwards, and he's definitely wearing chapstick. I can smell the waxy-cherry scent, we're so close. "I heard you the first time."

"Izzat so?" I respond, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear. "And here I was, thinking that maybe you were secretly deaf. Much like Helen Keller, but also not."

"How so?"

"Well, Keller was a fox." I supply, leaning closer to brush our noses together. "You're alright looking."

His nose wrinkles, and I have this strange, overwhelming urge to like, kiss his nose or something embarrassingly girly, but he's busy turning his head to the side so our lips can meet and wouldn't you know it, my hands are getting clammy and it's like I'm thirteen all over again, trying to kiss a girl and practically breaking into a rash when I'm about to do it. Thank god for Riku, who just puts a hand on my cheek and reaches forward.

Our lips are only millimeters apart and I can't stand it, so I jump the gun and lunge.

Cloud and his stupid Coffee Shoppe would've gotten a nice view of what passion looks like, if I had actually met Riku's lips, instead of the pavement.

And yeah, it would've helped if Riku hadn't moved at the last second.

He smirks, dumping what's left of his chai on my slacks. "Wet your pants, Axel?"

I swear at him colorfully before swiping at my pants and standing up, grabbing his hand. He hasn't won that easily, even though he's complaining about how my hands are cold and sweaty and gross. "Like my heart, darlin'. That's how it goes."

"Corny much?" he groans, but he doesn't seem to mind when I tug him closer for a kiss, smack-dap on the lips, no misses.

A/N: The Helen Keller thing is a quote from a friend of mine. Which I don't exactly understand 'cause she was actually pretty when she was younger. Anywho, this is a (failed?) attempt at comedy, seeing as the stuff I've been posting is angst-ridden. I LIKE TO LAUGH, OKAY? If I've ever laughed during a fic, that's a good sign.

Be nice and review, please. Because I updated during the small bit of space I accquired today, and I'm sick and dead tired right now. And besides, if what you wanted was some hardcore!angst, I'm planning on supplying you with a Roxas fic, after Euthanasia finishes and I'm at least a bit through Artificial Sweetener and Oh! Gravity. Ta, darlings!