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kinkfest2008-06-15 10:55 pm
kawaiigami.livejournal.com) wrote in kinkfest2008-06-15 10:55 pm
Entry tags:
Better Than Imagination [Kingdom Hearts, Axel/Roxas, PG]
Title: Better Than Imagination
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kawaiigami
Rating: PG (language)
Warnings: The craziness my brain comes up with.
Word Count: 2,790
Prompt: Kingdom Hearts, Axel/Roxas: Reunion - I'll never leave again
A/N: a. Was supposed to be done the 13, many apologies.
b. This fic gave me FITs. >_< I'm still not quite sure how it turned out. *wrings hands*
Most children have imaginary friends growing up—friends that they insist are there though no one else can see them. Roxas was no exception to this rule, and so his family became very familiar with “Axel” from the day he brought home a picture he’d drawn that he insisted was of himself and a redheaded boy by that name. They listened to everything Roxas told them about his friend—how Axel liked to keep his hair kind of long, liked spicy food, would argue with the teachers sometimes, and didn’t really like to play with the other kids a lot. He’d play with Roxas, though, and make fun of anyone who made fun of him. Once Roxas got into trouble for repeating something Axel had said.
Once Roxas learned how to write, he started writing stories about things he and Axel did together. The events were always something you might expect from an elementary schooler: looking for seashells at the beach, going to see fireworks, arguing and making up. Sometimes there were others in the stories—people with names like Demyx and Xigbar—but Axel was always there. When Roxas was in third grade his mother started to get anxious that maybe he was taking the whole thing too far, but his teacher had reassured her that Roxas was fine; he had plenty of other friends after all, like Namine. Then in fourth grade Roxas got into an argument with a classmate, insisting that it wasn’t all make-believe, these were things he remembered that he and Axel had really done. The fuss created over that drove Roxas into silence on the subject.
After he started middle school, Roxas didn’t write as much. He was too busy with schoolwork, taking both judo and karate, and hanging out with Namine, Hayner, Pence, and Olette. When he did write anything not for class, he wrote about sparring with Axel (wearing long black coats and using some of the weirdest weapons ever) until they were both almost too tired to move, laughing at the bruises and shallow cuts they’d dealt each other. Sometimes, just sometimes, he’d start to think he was a little crazy, but whenever he talked to Namine, showed her what he’d written, she’d show him the drawings she’d made of Axel and other people whose names they knew even without ever having met them.
In high school, the memories (term used for lack of a better word) became stronger and more detailed. The story of gathering seashells and sea glass was expanded to include laying on the beach and being held by Axel afterwards: feeling if not totally safe, then safer, and less empty, than usual when his friend was there. Axel went from being a boy the same age as him to a young man five years older—his best friend whose teasing remarks sometimes made him go red in the face; who sometimes looked at Roxas like he wanted something, only Roxas couldn’t tell what. It took him a year to figure out what Axel had meant by those glances.
The summer between sophomore and junior years was his worst ever. It was the one in which he’d done the most writing/remembering: fighting alongside Axel against shadows (Heartless), patching each other up afterwards, (potions tasted terrible), and then how everything had gone horribly, irrevocably wrong. He spent much of that summer barely speaking to Riku—not that Riku particularly minded, but it worried Sora—and sniping at his twin and best friend, while feeling awkward around the others. Christmas had come and gone before Roxas realized what Axel had meant by “the only one I ever liked.”
And even as they faded, they promised to meet again someday, Roxas wrote the last line of his latest story and put down his pen, scowling a little. Nineteen years old, a sophomore in college, and here he was still writing stories about him and the “imaginary friend” he’d had since preschool. Not as often now, the memories (he was sure that was what they were—they felt too real to be figments of his imagination) having mostly been recorded in notebooks that even Sora wasn’t allowed to read without permission, though they occasionally discussed what they remembered.
A glance at his watch told Roxas that he needed to get going if he was going to make it to class on time. He absently packed up his things and hurried out the door of his dorm, what he’d written today still on his mind. See you later, partner. Right. Too bad they hadn’t said when they’d meet.
Ugh, writing this sort of thing always put him in a bad mood. Mostly because it was damn unsettling to have memories of unknown origin about a person that, as far as Roxas could tell, he’d never met yet knew as well as he knew himself. Add that to the tight feeling in his chest whenever he wrote or the empty, hollow feeling he got afterwards, and you had one generally unpleasant experience. The only thing that made it worth the few memories that conveyed a feeling almost like happiness.
Too bad the memory had to hit today—he’d been looking forward to this Shakespeare class session. They were meeting at the theatre of a neighboring university that was putting on a production of The Tempest to get an idea of the play from a different perspective. The Tempest wasn’t Roxas’s favorite Shakespeare play (that would have been MacBeth), but at least the theatre visit was a change from the prof’s droning lecture style and could be interesting. Roxas made it to the theatre and took a seat just in time. What felt like two seconds later Shay turned from speaking with the director to address the class.
Roxas listened carefully as the director gave her speech. She discussed her role in the production and why she’d made the decisions she had, then turned it over to the costume and set designers, who did much the same thing. A few of the actors discussed their roles and what they liked/disliked about their characters (Roxas thought the guy playing Caliban had a pretty good sense of humor, but Prospero’s actor was a bit full of it.). Roxas took the chance to jot down a few notes while the director explained that the lighting designer—an MFA student—would be a little late due to class. A few whispers among his classmates sitting near him indicated said lighting designer had made his appearance, so Roxas looked up and…went deer-in-headlights still.
It was too much of a coincidence, one hell of a coincidence that this would happen on the same day he’d remembered the whole “we’ll meet again” deal. But there Axel was: same red hair (maybe a little tamer than Roxas remembered), same green eyes, still too damn tall and skinny (though maybe not as skinny as before), same voice. His attitude apparently hadn’t changed much either, judging from the way he talks to the class. He’s still as cocky as ever, with smartass answers to dumb questions and totally at ease speaking to a group of strangers. In fact, if Roxas hadn’t noticed the brief (very brief) flash of surprise when their eyes met, he would have sworn Axel didn't remember him at all.
Roxas might as well have not heard the rest of the class for all the good it did him—he was too busy trying to regain mental functioning after his surprise. He was used the idea of Axel, the Axel that had existed in his heart and memory since he was four years old. The flesh-and-blood reality, however, was another story. Fortunately, recovering from this shock kept him from executing his knee-jerk reaction of wanting to drag Axel aside and bitch him out for having been such an idiot and making him wait so damn long.
Eventually Axel finished, then the sound designer said a few things, and Shay announced that they were free to leave. As the rest of his classmates scattered to talk to the speakers, Roxas packed up his things. Just as he finished, he felt a hand on his shoulder and heard a familiar voice say his name questioningly. He turned to see Axel, who was smiling a bit awkwardly at him. Roxas felt the corners of his mouth quirk up involuntarily. “ Hi Axel.”
A look of relief passed over Axel’s face before his smile widened into a grin. “Well, look who remembered.” He laughed when Roxas snorted, then went on. “Got any more classes this afternoon?”
“No. Why?”
“I don’t either, so…” Axel shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “You want to go get some ice cream?”
At the core, Axel was as Roxas remembered him. Like Roxas had noticed in the theatre, he looked about the same and his overall attitude hadn’t been altered. He acted the same way toward Roxas, too—trying to tease information out of him, ruffling his hair, putting an arm around his shoulders as they walked. Roxas even glanced out of the corner of his eye to catch Axel giving him a look that make his stomach flip-flop and his cheeks burn before he turned his attention back to his neglected ice cream (which tasted weird because his mind told him it should be sea salt when in reality it was vanilla). In those moments, it was the world around them that felt out of place.
At others Axel himself felt out of place, like the stranger Roxas knew he was in this life. This Axel was less guarded, smiled more often; not smirked, smiled. Roxas listened to him talk about the theatre—something he’d never known Axel to be interested in— and his family, wondering if this was what his other had been like. He mulled that thought over while Axel coaxed him into talking about his life. Slowly he told Axel about Sora and their parents, how he was a black belt now in judo and karate (Axel didn’t seem surprised at all), and his writing. Axel expressed an interest in seeing what Roxas had written of his memories, but shut up when Roxas told him he’d show Axel the notebooks when Axel told Roxas how he’d remembered.
From there the conversation turned to the memories themselves and Roxas allowed himself to relax. It might not have been pleasant living with the memories of someone he had never met, but now that person was here, and talking with him like they’d never been apart. So Roxas let himself slip into what was familiar territory for both of them. It made things easier to think that they weren’t meeting for the first time, but just picking up from where they’d left off a lifetime ago.
As the afternoon led on into evening, they moved to Axel’s apartment. Axel surprised Roxas again (but in a good way) by actually cooking; curry that normally would have had more spices but Axel toned it down for him. Still lulled by that feeling of familiarity, of continuing something they’d already started, Roxas let himself be talked into watching a movie. One movie turned into two, then three, when, for some reason, Roxas wasn’t ready to go home yet and Axel proved more than happy to let him stay.
Roxas did his best to stay awake. Maybe it was because of the part of his mind that still insisted on labeling Axel as a stranger even when his heart said otherwise. Maybe it was the feeling that if he fell asleep he’d wake up to find that this had all been a very elaborate, detailed dream. Hell, maybe he just wanted to see how Fantastic Four ended. Despite his best efforts (because he really should try to stay up long enough for Axel to take him home), he found himself nodding off, his head on Axel’s shoulder.
Roxas panicked for a moment upon waking up in an unfamiliar room, sitting bolt upright and throwing back the blanket someone had covered him with while he slept. Then the events of the previous day came back him to him in a rush. Class. Meeting Axel. Talking. Movies. Falling asleep—without having called Sora. Shit. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. Still turned off from class yesterday. Turning it on, he groaned at the number of new text and voice messages. Apparently Sora hadn’t been the only one trying to reach him last night. Which meant there was at least one message chewing him out for worrying his twin, though whether from Riku or Kairi was anyone’s guess. Roxas scrolled down his contact list to Sora’s name but paused before hitting the “call” button.
How was he going to explain what had happened? True, nothing so terrible had happened, but the explanation sounded strange any way he tried to phrase it in his mind. Sora and the others knew about Axel, but how would they react to finding out he was here? Roxas smiled ruefully. Like that’s even the most important question.
No, the million-dollar question wasn’t how his brother and friends would react, it was what was going to happen now. Axel had been happy to see him yesterday, and he’d felt the same, but…exactly how strong a tie were memories of a friendship in a past life that Roxas was pretty sure they’d both rather forget? Not that everything had been bad—well, okay, Axel had been the only good part as far as Roxas was concerned…and why the hell was he sitting here acting like a hormonal teenage girl, anyway? Roxas closed his phone and jammed it back into his pocket.
After a quick glance around the apartment, he found Axel on the balcony that opened off the living room. Slowly he slid the door open, closed it behind him, then joined Axel, resting his arms on the railing that wasn’t at a good height for either of them. They stood like that, not looking at each other while Axel played with a Zippo lighter, flicking it on and off. Finally, after what seemed like an incredibly long time (but was probably not even a minute), Axel spoke. “Fireworks.”
“What?” Roxas looked at him, but Axel kept looking straight ahead, his face carefully blank.
“You asked how I remembered, right? Well, that’s it. Fireworks. Started when I was about five or six—the first time I can really remember seeing them. Had fun, too. Just felt like someone else should have been there.” Here he looked down at Roxas and his lips quirked up in the ghost of a smile. “You can probably guess how it went from there. Nobody ever knew why I always claimed a whole box of sparklers. Probably all thought I was nuts."
“What did you think?”
Axel rolled his eyes. “Like hell I know, Roxas. I was kind of busy at the time.”
Roxas couldn’t help laugh at that, and the mock-hurt look Axel gave him. “Sorry, that just sounded like something you’d say.” His expression sobered. “Or at least, like something the you I remember would say.”
The awkward silence that followed was broken, again, by Axel. “I’m not him, you know,” he said softly, studying the now-closed lighter lying in the palm of his hand. “At least, not exactly. If that’s what you’re looking for, then…” He trailed off, and Roxas could only guess he’d been going to say “You'd better leave,” but couldn’t bring himself to.
And Roxas thought that maybe that would be a good idea. His mind told him that he had no reason to stay; he and Axel were strangers, with no real connection in this life. The problem was his heart’s warning that he’d left once and everything had gone to hell, don't screw up a second chance. He shifted closer to Axel, reached out, and closed Axel’s hand around the lighter. “I’m not exactly the same, either.” When Axel only raised an eyebrow, Roxas sighed. “I’m not leaving, Axel.” Not again.
There was a tense moment or two before Axel realized what Roxas meant, but the look on his face afterwards was worth it. Axel pulled Roxas into a hug so tight it hurt, only loosening his hold a fraction when Roxas squirmed in protest. Roxas satisfied himself with returning the hug with one equally as fierce.
Soon, either Sora would call and interrupt them, or Roxas would have to call him. Until then, though, Roxas was happy where he was, because even if Axel wasn’t quite the same as he remembered , he was still here, and real; and that was better than better than anything Roxas could have imagined.
Author:
kawaiigamiRating: PG (language)
Warnings: The craziness my brain comes up with.
Word Count: 2,790
Prompt: Kingdom Hearts, Axel/Roxas: Reunion - I'll never leave again
A/N: a. Was supposed to be done the 13, many apologies.
b. This fic gave me FITs. >_< I'm still not quite sure how it turned out. *wrings hands*
Most children have imaginary friends growing up—friends that they insist are there though no one else can see them. Roxas was no exception to this rule, and so his family became very familiar with “Axel” from the day he brought home a picture he’d drawn that he insisted was of himself and a redheaded boy by that name. They listened to everything Roxas told them about his friend—how Axel liked to keep his hair kind of long, liked spicy food, would argue with the teachers sometimes, and didn’t really like to play with the other kids a lot. He’d play with Roxas, though, and make fun of anyone who made fun of him. Once Roxas got into trouble for repeating something Axel had said.
Once Roxas learned how to write, he started writing stories about things he and Axel did together. The events were always something you might expect from an elementary schooler: looking for seashells at the beach, going to see fireworks, arguing and making up. Sometimes there were others in the stories—people with names like Demyx and Xigbar—but Axel was always there. When Roxas was in third grade his mother started to get anxious that maybe he was taking the whole thing too far, but his teacher had reassured her that Roxas was fine; he had plenty of other friends after all, like Namine. Then in fourth grade Roxas got into an argument with a classmate, insisting that it wasn’t all make-believe, these were things he remembered that he and Axel had really done. The fuss created over that drove Roxas into silence on the subject.
After he started middle school, Roxas didn’t write as much. He was too busy with schoolwork, taking both judo and karate, and hanging out with Namine, Hayner, Pence, and Olette. When he did write anything not for class, he wrote about sparring with Axel (wearing long black coats and using some of the weirdest weapons ever) until they were both almost too tired to move, laughing at the bruises and shallow cuts they’d dealt each other. Sometimes, just sometimes, he’d start to think he was a little crazy, but whenever he talked to Namine, showed her what he’d written, she’d show him the drawings she’d made of Axel and other people whose names they knew even without ever having met them.
In high school, the memories (term used for lack of a better word) became stronger and more detailed. The story of gathering seashells and sea glass was expanded to include laying on the beach and being held by Axel afterwards: feeling if not totally safe, then safer, and less empty, than usual when his friend was there. Axel went from being a boy the same age as him to a young man five years older—his best friend whose teasing remarks sometimes made him go red in the face; who sometimes looked at Roxas like he wanted something, only Roxas couldn’t tell what. It took him a year to figure out what Axel had meant by those glances.
The summer between sophomore and junior years was his worst ever. It was the one in which he’d done the most writing/remembering: fighting alongside Axel against shadows (Heartless), patching each other up afterwards, (potions tasted terrible), and then how everything had gone horribly, irrevocably wrong. He spent much of that summer barely speaking to Riku—not that Riku particularly minded, but it worried Sora—and sniping at his twin and best friend, while feeling awkward around the others. Christmas had come and gone before Roxas realized what Axel had meant by “the only one I ever liked.”
And even as they faded, they promised to meet again someday, Roxas wrote the last line of his latest story and put down his pen, scowling a little. Nineteen years old, a sophomore in college, and here he was still writing stories about him and the “imaginary friend” he’d had since preschool. Not as often now, the memories (he was sure that was what they were—they felt too real to be figments of his imagination) having mostly been recorded in notebooks that even Sora wasn’t allowed to read without permission, though they occasionally discussed what they remembered.
A glance at his watch told Roxas that he needed to get going if he was going to make it to class on time. He absently packed up his things and hurried out the door of his dorm, what he’d written today still on his mind. See you later, partner. Right. Too bad they hadn’t said when they’d meet.
Ugh, writing this sort of thing always put him in a bad mood. Mostly because it was damn unsettling to have memories of unknown origin about a person that, as far as Roxas could tell, he’d never met yet knew as well as he knew himself. Add that to the tight feeling in his chest whenever he wrote or the empty, hollow feeling he got afterwards, and you had one generally unpleasant experience. The only thing that made it worth the few memories that conveyed a feeling almost like happiness.
Too bad the memory had to hit today—he’d been looking forward to this Shakespeare class session. They were meeting at the theatre of a neighboring university that was putting on a production of The Tempest to get an idea of the play from a different perspective. The Tempest wasn’t Roxas’s favorite Shakespeare play (that would have been MacBeth), but at least the theatre visit was a change from the prof’s droning lecture style and could be interesting. Roxas made it to the theatre and took a seat just in time. What felt like two seconds later Shay turned from speaking with the director to address the class.
Roxas listened carefully as the director gave her speech. She discussed her role in the production and why she’d made the decisions she had, then turned it over to the costume and set designers, who did much the same thing. A few of the actors discussed their roles and what they liked/disliked about their characters (Roxas thought the guy playing Caliban had a pretty good sense of humor, but Prospero’s actor was a bit full of it.). Roxas took the chance to jot down a few notes while the director explained that the lighting designer—an MFA student—would be a little late due to class. A few whispers among his classmates sitting near him indicated said lighting designer had made his appearance, so Roxas looked up and…went deer-in-headlights still.
It was too much of a coincidence, one hell of a coincidence that this would happen on the same day he’d remembered the whole “we’ll meet again” deal. But there Axel was: same red hair (maybe a little tamer than Roxas remembered), same green eyes, still too damn tall and skinny (though maybe not as skinny as before), same voice. His attitude apparently hadn’t changed much either, judging from the way he talks to the class. He’s still as cocky as ever, with smartass answers to dumb questions and totally at ease speaking to a group of strangers. In fact, if Roxas hadn’t noticed the brief (very brief) flash of surprise when their eyes met, he would have sworn Axel didn't remember him at all.
Roxas might as well have not heard the rest of the class for all the good it did him—he was too busy trying to regain mental functioning after his surprise. He was used the idea of Axel, the Axel that had existed in his heart and memory since he was four years old. The flesh-and-blood reality, however, was another story. Fortunately, recovering from this shock kept him from executing his knee-jerk reaction of wanting to drag Axel aside and bitch him out for having been such an idiot and making him wait so damn long.
Eventually Axel finished, then the sound designer said a few things, and Shay announced that they were free to leave. As the rest of his classmates scattered to talk to the speakers, Roxas packed up his things. Just as he finished, he felt a hand on his shoulder and heard a familiar voice say his name questioningly. He turned to see Axel, who was smiling a bit awkwardly at him. Roxas felt the corners of his mouth quirk up involuntarily. “ Hi Axel.”
A look of relief passed over Axel’s face before his smile widened into a grin. “Well, look who remembered.” He laughed when Roxas snorted, then went on. “Got any more classes this afternoon?”
“No. Why?”
“I don’t either, so…” Axel shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “You want to go get some ice cream?”
At the core, Axel was as Roxas remembered him. Like Roxas had noticed in the theatre, he looked about the same and his overall attitude hadn’t been altered. He acted the same way toward Roxas, too—trying to tease information out of him, ruffling his hair, putting an arm around his shoulders as they walked. Roxas even glanced out of the corner of his eye to catch Axel giving him a look that make his stomach flip-flop and his cheeks burn before he turned his attention back to his neglected ice cream (which tasted weird because his mind told him it should be sea salt when in reality it was vanilla). In those moments, it was the world around them that felt out of place.
At others Axel himself felt out of place, like the stranger Roxas knew he was in this life. This Axel was less guarded, smiled more often; not smirked, smiled. Roxas listened to him talk about the theatre—something he’d never known Axel to be interested in— and his family, wondering if this was what his other had been like. He mulled that thought over while Axel coaxed him into talking about his life. Slowly he told Axel about Sora and their parents, how he was a black belt now in judo and karate (Axel didn’t seem surprised at all), and his writing. Axel expressed an interest in seeing what Roxas had written of his memories, but shut up when Roxas told him he’d show Axel the notebooks when Axel told Roxas how he’d remembered.
From there the conversation turned to the memories themselves and Roxas allowed himself to relax. It might not have been pleasant living with the memories of someone he had never met, but now that person was here, and talking with him like they’d never been apart. So Roxas let himself slip into what was familiar territory for both of them. It made things easier to think that they weren’t meeting for the first time, but just picking up from where they’d left off a lifetime ago.
As the afternoon led on into evening, they moved to Axel’s apartment. Axel surprised Roxas again (but in a good way) by actually cooking; curry that normally would have had more spices but Axel toned it down for him. Still lulled by that feeling of familiarity, of continuing something they’d already started, Roxas let himself be talked into watching a movie. One movie turned into two, then three, when, for some reason, Roxas wasn’t ready to go home yet and Axel proved more than happy to let him stay.
Roxas did his best to stay awake. Maybe it was because of the part of his mind that still insisted on labeling Axel as a stranger even when his heart said otherwise. Maybe it was the feeling that if he fell asleep he’d wake up to find that this had all been a very elaborate, detailed dream. Hell, maybe he just wanted to see how Fantastic Four ended. Despite his best efforts (because he really should try to stay up long enough for Axel to take him home), he found himself nodding off, his head on Axel’s shoulder.
Roxas panicked for a moment upon waking up in an unfamiliar room, sitting bolt upright and throwing back the blanket someone had covered him with while he slept. Then the events of the previous day came back him to him in a rush. Class. Meeting Axel. Talking. Movies. Falling asleep—without having called Sora. Shit. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. Still turned off from class yesterday. Turning it on, he groaned at the number of new text and voice messages. Apparently Sora hadn’t been the only one trying to reach him last night. Which meant there was at least one message chewing him out for worrying his twin, though whether from Riku or Kairi was anyone’s guess. Roxas scrolled down his contact list to Sora’s name but paused before hitting the “call” button.
How was he going to explain what had happened? True, nothing so terrible had happened, but the explanation sounded strange any way he tried to phrase it in his mind. Sora and the others knew about Axel, but how would they react to finding out he was here? Roxas smiled ruefully. Like that’s even the most important question.
No, the million-dollar question wasn’t how his brother and friends would react, it was what was going to happen now. Axel had been happy to see him yesterday, and he’d felt the same, but…exactly how strong a tie were memories of a friendship in a past life that Roxas was pretty sure they’d both rather forget? Not that everything had been bad—well, okay, Axel had been the only good part as far as Roxas was concerned…and why the hell was he sitting here acting like a hormonal teenage girl, anyway? Roxas closed his phone and jammed it back into his pocket.
After a quick glance around the apartment, he found Axel on the balcony that opened off the living room. Slowly he slid the door open, closed it behind him, then joined Axel, resting his arms on the railing that wasn’t at a good height for either of them. They stood like that, not looking at each other while Axel played with a Zippo lighter, flicking it on and off. Finally, after what seemed like an incredibly long time (but was probably not even a minute), Axel spoke. “Fireworks.”
“What?” Roxas looked at him, but Axel kept looking straight ahead, his face carefully blank.
“You asked how I remembered, right? Well, that’s it. Fireworks. Started when I was about five or six—the first time I can really remember seeing them. Had fun, too. Just felt like someone else should have been there.” Here he looked down at Roxas and his lips quirked up in the ghost of a smile. “You can probably guess how it went from there. Nobody ever knew why I always claimed a whole box of sparklers. Probably all thought I was nuts."
“What did you think?”
Axel rolled his eyes. “Like hell I know, Roxas. I was kind of busy at the time.”
Roxas couldn’t help laugh at that, and the mock-hurt look Axel gave him. “Sorry, that just sounded like something you’d say.” His expression sobered. “Or at least, like something the you I remember would say.”
The awkward silence that followed was broken, again, by Axel. “I’m not him, you know,” he said softly, studying the now-closed lighter lying in the palm of his hand. “At least, not exactly. If that’s what you’re looking for, then…” He trailed off, and Roxas could only guess he’d been going to say “You'd better leave,” but couldn’t bring himself to.
And Roxas thought that maybe that would be a good idea. His mind told him that he had no reason to stay; he and Axel were strangers, with no real connection in this life. The problem was his heart’s warning that he’d left once and everything had gone to hell, don't screw up a second chance. He shifted closer to Axel, reached out, and closed Axel’s hand around the lighter. “I’m not exactly the same, either.” When Axel only raised an eyebrow, Roxas sighed. “I’m not leaving, Axel.” Not again.
There was a tense moment or two before Axel realized what Roxas meant, but the look on his face afterwards was worth it. Axel pulled Roxas into a hug so tight it hurt, only loosening his hold a fraction when Roxas squirmed in protest. Roxas satisfied himself with returning the hug with one equally as fierce.
Soon, either Sora would call and interrupt them, or Roxas would have to call him. Until then, though, Roxas was happy where he was, because even if Axel wasn’t quite the same as he remembered , he was still here, and real; and that was better than better than anything Roxas could have imagined.