Disclaimer: Clearly if I owned Kingdom Hearts, I'd be writing the canon storyline instead of fanfiction, and stopping with all the bullshit side stories.

Author's Note: I don't usually take requests (or should we call it a 'trade' in this case hurr hurr hurr hurrrrrrr?), but I cannot deny the section's best AkuRoku author a fic :3 For you, risokura –heart- I HOPE ITS OKAY O-OH GOD ASDFGHJKL –FLAILS-

HIDE

"What are you, a pussy?"

"Excuse me?"

You roll your eyes at me and exhale so sharply that your stupid blond fringe blows up for a second, before sprawling itself in front of your baby blue eyes again, "You're a pussy, clearly. You've become the very thing that you hate because you're too terrified to introduce me to your family. Don't be gay!" You pause for a minute, adding thereafter with furrowed eyebrows, "By 'gay', I mean 'dumb', by the way. I'd never want you to not be gay in that se –"

"Roxas, just shut up."

You laugh and then turn the page in your stupid psychology textbook. You know that I'm uneasy, but you've got no idea why – and frankly, I'd like to try and keep it that way, because my reasons for freaking out will just have you shake your head and then demand that you get taken into some kind of whimsical adventure to the source of this problem.

There's an innocent text on my phone from my parents – they're travellers and all – saying that they're stopping over before going into the next state. And that's nice, but they don't know that their only son is gay and has been since he was fourteen, and has a boyfriend that he's quite happy with for the last two years.

And then you speak, closing the book entirely, "So are you going to tell me what's wrong yet, Axel?"

Fed up with your stupid, airy attitude, I throw my phone at you and then childishly cross my arms, sinking further into the chair. It's a problem I don't want to deal with, but I'm gonna ultimately have to. I mean, this is my apartment, so they'll be coming here no matter what. Your parents are like five states away, I can't ask you to fuck off for the evening because I'm… a pussy, as you said.

You throw the phone back at me and then stand, heading out to the kitchen to make yourself what's gotta be your seventh coffee of the day, "So what's the problem? I can just study in my room for the test coming up."

"That's impolite to you and my parents."

There's an amused gurgle, "Since when were you concerned about morals and being courteous, Ginger Nuts?"

I glare, and then answer, "They're my parents, and you're my boyfriend. You're the only ones I try to be polite to."

"Even then you fail pretty hard at that when it comes to me. What did you say last night?" you wonder out loud, wandering back into the room as the kettle slowly begins to hiss in the background, and there's a small, taunting smirk on your face as the words leave your lips, "'Stop being a pompous bitch and su –'"

I throw the nearby cushion at your face, and in response, you chuckle a bit, returning to the kitchen thereafter. It's when you return do I bite out with a sharp exhale, "It's a problem because they don't know that I like dick. I'm open to everyone in the goddamn world except for them. They still think that I think that tits are the shit."

You're now seated opposite me again, sipping your stupid coffee, and you look up at me with your stupid blue eyes, "If you don't want them to know, or aren't ready to tell them yet, then it's pretty simple what the solution is – I'm your coffee-holic roommate who has no life and spends all of his time with his nose in his books for University. It'll be fine. Call 'em up."

They got here too quick oh God oh God oh God and – "Have fun cookiiiiing!"

And then, quickly before I go to open the door, I hiss at you, "Shut. Up."

The door handle's a bit of an ass as I swing it open, and once I see my parents there, I force a smile to my mouth. Hopefully they don't notice that I'm a nervous little shit, and hopefully they don't notice that I'm kinda trembling because of this aforementioned nervousness; and my Mama says, "My boy…"

"Yeah, hey," and then I glance at my Father, giving him a sharp nod.

What's the issue, I'm sure you're thinking. Why not tell them that I'm gay? Because frankly I dunno how they'd act. I dunno if they'd flip out or disown me or try and shove a woman into my face or what. My parents… are sorta old fashioned. Okay no, very old fashioned, so old fashioned that my Mother even refrains from questioning my Father about anything, because he's the man and he knows the best.

I step aside and gesture to the skinny little shit standing by the red, leather couch, "Guys, this is Roxas. He's my roommate. He's studying psychology at the local University and likes his coffee far too much. He really wanted to meet you guys before," my nerves get the best of me as I look over my shoulder, "going back to his room and studying like a motherfucker."

My Mother never liked my potty mouth; as expected, she hits me across the head with her purse, "Axel, don't you dare swear! Apologise to this young man right now! Oh," she pauses, tucks some of her hair behind her ear and then bows a little at the midget, "It's nice to meet you, Roxas."

You accept my half-assed apology and manage to keep his laughter at bay long enough to greet my parents and then totter off to one of the rooms in the back. It's when you get into your little cave do I hear you break down in laughter at how I was 'man-handled' by such a 'sweet lady'. And my Mother caught it too, giggling in that stupidly childish voice that she likes to don on when given the opportunity.

They've seated themselves in the kitchen as I go around making pasta and praying that I don't burn down the kitchen. My Father's silent for a majority of the process, merely watching me busy myself about – and I swear I can hear him think 'when did my son turn into such a woman' simply because I'm attempting to cook. My Mother's prattling on about how so and so got a haircut the other day and how it looks awful because it makes the person look like –

"Don't you talk enough at home?" My Father suddenly snaps, and my Mother subdues entirely.

"I don't wanna be mean," I interject, stirring the spaghetti and casting a quick glance at him, "But this is my place. If she wants to bang her gums about some haircut or the mall, then let her. You guys have got your own ideals, and you can utilise them in your own home; but please respect mine while you're here. Let her talk."

And so she goes on again, and I almost regret it. But it's my Mom, I'm happy to let her chat so much.

It's when I finish cooking and then go to set it on the table do you decide it's magically a good time to come and join us, because you're 'hungry and need to eat'. Judging by the body I've seen beneath those clothes several times, it'd be pretty fuckin' hard to believe that you eat like a horse.

And then there's a look in your eyes as I start to serve everybody. Your eyes lock with mine for a few fleeting moments as I dump the food onto your plate, and the words are almost as loud and clear as though you're saying them to me right then and there.

'Tell them.'

You don't wanna be 'the roommate', do you? Was just an idea to try and get them in the door instead of running away or something. I… don't want you to be 'the roommate' either but I don't think you realise how hard this could be. Your parents accepted you and I for who we were within moments, and then your Dad made this kick ass cup of tea, and your Mom came back with biscuits and thanked you for introducing me to them. And then she told me to get a haircut. Pfft.

"Psychology, hmm?" My Father asks you, twisting around your fork so it can trap more spaghetti strands, "Why that particular field?"

"I had some issues when I was a kid," you say tentatively, "My Uncle, mainly… But the person I met who helped me through those times was a really sweet, nice old man. I remember thinking as a kid, 'I want to be like him when I grow up. I wanna help people'. I'm not exactly strong, so I can't be like a fire-fighter or something, but I'm told I'm pretty clever, so this is the path I chose."

There's a small 'hmm' – I'm not sure if it's a good or bad one – before my Father continues to stuff his face with my mediocre cooking. He then looks to me from the corner of his eyes, but my plate's way too interesting. It's got swirly patterns in it and shit. I fucking love swirls.

Then you nudge me under the table, tell them now you're saying. But I refrain. I'm too terrified.

It's almost as though God – or whatever supernatural, big ass force outside of this tiny ass universe is out there on his giant throne with bitches hanging off of him – is trying to will be to tell my parents, though. My Mother starts speaking about gays, of all things, "They recently allowed gay marriage in New York. A lot of my friends are totally against this, saying that homosexuals are the product of the devil. Well and truly!"

I almost want my chair to magically grow teeth and then eat me alive.

My Father looks to my Mother with an approving smile, and its here that I know now that I'm not going to get accepted either way, "They are too different from straight men and women anyhow. I don't think any man should care about his appearance as much as a gay man does. Besides, marriage is supposed to be between a man and a woman – not two womanly men."

And then you cut in, and I almost want to strangle you, "I know a lot of gays."

My Mother seems a bit annoyed by the sudden topic, but she knows she brought it on herself and she's trying to be tolerant, "Do you now?" A small nod, "And what do you think of them?"

"Best people I know, really," you say, putting down your fork and looking at my parents straight in the eyes, "They're really funny and sweet, and always try to cheer you up whenever something's wrong. You can always trust a gay man with your money, because he's not going to steal it."

My Father scoffs a little, shovelling more food down his gullet, "Surely your girlfriend thinks they are a little strange?"

"I don't have a girlfriend, actually," you say, jutting out your chin and sitting up straighter, "I'm gay."

It's like the heat's being turned up in here. At least on my face. Fuckin' hope it doesn't show.

"That's… nice, Roxas," my Mother says, awkwardly staring at her reflection in the fork, because she can't really think of much else to do. She can feel my Father beside her stiffen a little before relaxing, deciding that eating's the best thing to keep doing to break up the awkward conversation.

"Yeah. I've got a boyfriend. Really sweet guy. A bit of an ass sometimes but I don't wanna change that part of him, because he always makes for a great laugh. Sometimes I wonder if he's truly happy with me, but, I shouldn't concern myself with such small stuff."

My Father's sick of the conversation – clearly – and then looks to me, noting how uncomfortable I'm feeling. He takes this as a great sign and then speaks, "What about you, Axel? Have you got yourself a hot, blonde, Swedish lady? Is she a model? Baby blue eyes?"

"Um…" My throat's going to fucking collapse in itself.

I've got a homophobic Father and a Mother who's not used to change. Both are kinda terrified of it. Both are old fashioned. And you – AGAIN – are nudging the shit out of my leg, trying to get me to fuckin' say something. But your eyes are really gentle, because you know that I'm uncomfortable, but you need to say it anyway.

You're right… I need to say it anyway.

"Well," I begin, "I'm in a relationship, yeah. Blue eyes, check. Blond hair, check. Swedish? From what I've heard, yeah. Model? Model student, perhaps. But lady? There's nothing ladylike going on there," I exhale sharply, "It's all. Man." And I know you're going to use that against me in the future because I have called you nothing other than a woman.

My Father furrows his eyebrows, confused; my Mother clears her throat and looks at me, trying to make quiet sense of the situation, and so she asks, "Is she a bodybuilder, Axel?"

Bodybuilder? That's rich, Mom.

"No," I breathe, and you grab my hand from under the table.

"Then I don't understand what you mean," My Mom says.

Biting the bullet, I lift our hands onto the table, still clutching your hand until your knuckles become a deathly white. It sounds like my Father's stopped eating, and I wonder if my Mother's gonna faint or not, "Mom, Dad… Roxas is my boyfriend."

She doesn't faint, but she looks like she's about to. I can't read the look on my Dad's face.

"You're gay?" he eventually bites out, and it almost looks like rage is settling in, "But I thought…"

"Dad, I never liked women. They're too bitchy and false – no offence, Mom," Well, she kinda is…

You merely grip my hand tighter as my Dad continues to speak, "But… you're not a womanly man. At all. You are nothing like the other homosexuals I have seen…"

"Not all gays are effeminate, most of them are like other heterosexual men!" I snap back, before pulling back the frustration and the nerves, "Sorry, I was just really nervous about telling you… Didn't know what you'd think. But here I am, your son, for all to see…" My voice morphs into a mumble, "I hope you can accept me for who I am."

There's silence, and I just want to fucking hide.

My Mother reaches across and places her hand on top of both of ours, making me freeze over entirely. You've got a knowing grin on your face as I look up to her, and she starts to speak, "I will always accept you for who you are, my son. I might be uncomfortable in such… new ideas… but… you are my son, and I will learn to get used to it and accept them. I'm sorry that we made this awkward," she looks to Roxas and then back to me, "You snagged a good one."

Okay, one down, one to go.

There's a gentle exhale from my lips, "Dad…?"

He hesitates for a few moments before nodding as well, placing his hand on top of my Mother's, and it feels like I'm flying, almost, "I'm with your Mother on this one, Axel. You can never be a disappointment to me, even if a lot of your values and morals are different from mine. I suppose… it's time for me to get out of my old rut and see the world for what it is."

So, this table's a pretty comfortable pillow. It's also a nice place to bury my huge ass smile in.

"We've got a chess table out in the living room," you interject, sliding your hand out from the pile and standing, just as the other two do. You lead them into the other room and continue to talk, "I don't want to brag, so please excuse me for doing so, but I'm apparently an exxxcellent chess player. Would it be cool with you if we had a few games?"

Yeah, this table's awesome. My boyfriend's awesome. Life is now entirely awesome.