Here, have a short fluff piece that will make you feel ill, it is so sickeningly sweet. Happy 1:35am, all.

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At the time, it had seemed like a good idea.

"We're best friends," Roxas had said, all blonde and smiling and making it difficult for coherent thoughts to happen. "What could go wrong?"

So they had moved in together, and that was that.

Well; that was almost that.

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Axel wakes up. Its 3am, his toes are cold and he is pretty sure he can hear noise in the kitchen. Sighing, he opens his eyes to consider the possibilities. It is either: a) his mental best friend, b) his mental best friend's equally mental twin brother, c) his mental best friend's equally mental twin brother's slightly-less-but-still-quite-mental boyfriend, or d) a rapist.

Once he has convinced his body that getting out of bed isn't a terrible thing, he puts on three pairs of socks, wishing their crappy heaters weren't quite so crappy. He had originally opted for four pairs, but reconsidered once realising that, in the event of a rapist being in his apartment, the ability to run would probably be a good thing.

3am was never a good thinking time for Axel.

"Fuck's sake," he mutters, wrapping the doona from his bed around his shoulders like a cloak and heading down the hall, shaking slightly as he makes his way towards the noise. It is even more freezing outside of his room; Axel wonders if it is possible for your body to become so cold that it turns right around and becomes hot again. He also wonders if it is possible to be so tired that your brain just stops working. Oh, he is going to fucking kill Roxas.

"What are you doing, asshole?"

The asshole in question looks up, blue eyes wide and blonde hair so messy that Axel considers asking him when he started allowing small bushland creatures to live on his head. Rox is sitting cross legged on a wooden chair. He is wearing a jumper that looks suspiciously too big for him and as he raises an eyebrow and points to the steaming mug on the table in front of him, Axel thinks he has never put quite this much effort into refusing to think something is cute before.

"Tea," he says, as though that is the obvious answer. "Why are you wearing three pairs of socks?" Axel blinks; he is still trying to get used to the fact that it is 3am and he is no longer sleeping.

"I was cold," he answers finally, pulling his blanket-cape closer to his body. "Why are you drinking tea?"

"Sorry, did I wake you up? I couldn't sleep."

"You are crazy," Axel tells him, leaning against the doorframe as he gazes at the blonde sitting in front of him.

"Probably," Roxas agrees easily, lifting the mug to his mouth and taking a sip. He licks his lips as he places it back on the table and Axel is a good boy and tries very, very hard not to stare. Roxas pulls the sleeves of his (Axel's) hoodie over his hands and shrugs. "It's fucking freezing, Ax. The heater in my room is broken."

"So you decided to make tea and not sleep?" Sometimes he is honestly overwhelmed by how fucking weird his best friends mind is.

"Axel," Roxas says, staring at him seriously. "It's the middle of winter. It's fucking snowing. If I try to sleep in that death trap of a freezer, I will wake up dead. We don't have a couch yet. I am so tired I've reached the point of being awake. It's fine."

"Rox," Axel sighs, rubbing a hand over his face before glancing at the clock on the wall. "It's ten past three in the fucking morning."

"Thank you for that, wanker, I'm aware."

Axel sighs; Roxas raises an eyebrow.

"C'mon, then," he offers, extending a hand that Roxas barely hesitates before grabbing. He is lead by the redhead to his bedroom, not bothered to do anything much but huff with laughter as he is pushed, face first, onto the bed.

"If you die of hypothermia, I'm going to be pissed," Axel informs, covering the blonde with a jumper, a scarf and a book of matches for good measure. Roxas is laughing into the pillow too hard to answer. Tired Axel reminds him of Drunk Axel, and Drunk Axel is absolutely precious and he kind of wishes he had thought to film this or something.

"Don't need matches, idiot," he responds once he turns onto his back, grabbing onto his friends hand and tugging him down to the bed next to him. Once the cape is once more a doona (and arranged over the two in a fashion that Tired/Drunk Axel deems acceptable) the redhead finally settles down, lying on his side with his bright green eyes struggling to stay open.

"Warm enough now?" He finally asks, and Roxas is overwhelmed with the sudden desire to touch the tattoos on his face, or maybe kiss them, or maybe kiss something else, or- Apparently, Axel isn't the only ridiculously tired one in the room. He shifts closer to his friend instead, yawning as he leans his forehead against his collarbone and throws an arm over his hip to press his cold fingers to the strip of skin between Axel's pyjama pants and t-shirt.

"Now I am," he decides, and Axel wonders if he has always struggled this much with breathing properly.

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Look, guys, I never promised it wouldn't hurt your eyes.