chokethewind: (Roxas&Axel- Memory)
[personal profile] chokethewind
Title: This Frenzied State [4/?]
Rating: M
Genre: Drama/romance
Pairing: Axel/Roxas (AU)
Warnings: Abuse of miscellaneous Final Fantasy characters. Seriously. Any mischaracterization is obviously all my fault.
Summary: When Roxas stands on the edges of buildings, he tries to see into some eternity. When Axel stands on the edges of buildings, he tries to see how he'd survive a fourteen floor fall.
Author’s Notes: Yes, set schedule? I suck, I know. To my defense, this was the part where I was originally very shaky, plot-wise, and had to go back over everything a lot to figure out what I was doing. Some of it may still be wrong. >.> This part is pretty short, but the next one is going to be pretty long and hopefully, up a lot quicker. Thanks to everyone reviewing, you all make my day, really.



“It’s Thursday night. We always go do parties on Thursday nights.”

Roxas had one time heard a man describe killing someone like some sort of orgasmic bliss, something that was supposed to the purest and most wondrous feeling in the world. Shrugging into his coat, he figured that whoever had said that probably had at one point in his life had to deal with someone like Demyx.

“Roxas, come on. It’s been ages since you’ve been out. Invite your girlfriend!”

“Naminé isn’t my girlfriend,” he said automatically, shouldering his messenger bag and surveying the small cubicle. If something was ever lost in here, he reasoned, it would take approximately fourteen seconds to recover it.

“Well invite her! She’s cute and if she’s single I know a couple of guys looking to pick up a hot babe.”

The look that Roxas gave him could have made global warming feasible but Demyx was thicker than those fancy trees up in Canada and so he hammered on, “And there will be girls and lots of people and come on, Roxas. What have you got to do tomorrow night that’s so important? Get ready for work on Friday? You haven’t had a Thursday off in forever, come and chill with us.”

“Have I ever,” Roxas said, massaging a temple, “given you the impression I enjoy your company?”

“Of course you have!”

Roxas had to smile at that, a genuine, tired smile. “Fine, fine. What’s so special about this time, anyway?”

“We got a disco ball,” Demyx said, seriously, as they headed toward the elevator. “Lots of flashing lights, so if you or your friend is prone to seizures I’d probably stay away. Are you serious, though? You’re really going to loosen up and let us put a few drinks in you?”

“You make it seem like I don’t have a life at all,” Roxas objected.

“Yea, I know. I mean, what, you do?”

The punch that Demyx aimed at him was high and missed anyway.

“No, I promise you’ll have fun. I mean, I know everyone. Everyone’s a lot more fun when they’re with alcohol.” Demyx was grinning, about all eighteen hundred of his perfect white teeth showing. “And don’t worry, it’s not like we won’t let you drink any.”

“Thought you said it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“It’s not,” Demyx continued impatiently, punching the down button with little regard, though Roxas wondered if Demyx had ever actually pushed the up button, not that it mattered to him, because the elevator didn’t take you to the roof anyway, though, admittedly, an elevator with a direct connection to the roof would be quite handy, though he hadn’t seen many, if any, of those ever. “I’m just saying, we’ll get you some. Chill out little dude, I promise we’ll go ahead and take care of your underaged ass.”

“You’re so cool,” Roxas intoned, “when I grow up I want to be as cool as you.”

“Oh and hey, we’re thinking about hitting Miami the week before Christmas,” Demyx said, as they exited the elevator on the other end. “Me and a couple other guys. Were you interested in coming?”

“Why would I want to go to Miami in the middle of winter?”

“Because it never gets hot in Florida, duh, Roxas.”

“But they have hurricanes and national disaster areas, why would anyone want to go there?”

“Fine, don’t say I didn’t invite you. Do you want a ride?”

“Nope, got mine, thanks.”

“That piece of wood hardly classifies as a ride, you know.”

“And your car classifies?”

“Very funny. See you tomorrow. Get your party hat on.”

Roxas made a face at him and turned in the opposite direction, dropping his board to the ground and hopping on. A few quick strokes took him directly past the few shops that lined the street and he passed a mother herding a group of children toward the bookstore, directing them to stay out of the way of the delinquent skater kid. He considered stopping to sign autographs or at the very least run over the smallest one but a proud delinquent such as himself never showed any care for the media’s attentions. True rebels, such as himself, did not attract attention or stir the public’s pot. That was for the younger ones, the lower rebels without any dignity. Roxas had left their kind long ago.

He’d never run over anyone though. That was a one day goal.

He considered dropping by at Naminé’s, since her place was closer and she would probably feed him but she had told him she would be busy tonight, getting ready for his big, grand art show. He hadn’t yet seen the painting of himself, something that he was contemplating either torturing her to get or admitting defeat with his tail between his legs. The question was more about whether he would be recognized at the art show and feel flattered or feel horrified that Naminé had gotten his likeness completely, totally wrong. He had complete and utter faith in her art skills; he had less faith in his own good look skills.

Ultimately deciding that she was probably working on his painting and that any distraction would cause an unfixable mistake on his face and he’d be mentally scarred for life by the art critics who would praise her work and condemn her model, he slid by her apartment building aiming toward his own. He reached it in less than ten minutes and he hustled upstairs out of the thick weather, tossing off his jacket onto his couch and falling on it, feeling a bit exhausted. Valentine jumped up a second later, demanding to be petted, and Roxas obliged, the cat curling up on his chest in her favorite position. He fished the cell phone out of his pocket, realizing he hadn’t checked it at all since he’d gotten his last break and reprimand from Lexaeus about his absence on the phone. He briefly pondered the enigma and not very likely chances of someone getting a hold of his extension and stalking him. Seriously, who would stalk him? The most likely answer was Demyx and after much careful reasoning, Roxas had ruled him out, the primary reason being Demyx probably wasn’t smart enough to dial the number right three times in a row. Other than that, he really had no idea who would be doing it. Perhaps Lexaeus had been right and he was simply being paranoid. Some sort of hysteria produced by his own brain that had to do with his inability to cope with improbabilities.

Something like that.

He had a message blinking in the corner and so he dialed his voicemail, stroking his cat’s ears gently.

When he had finished listening to the single message, he got up, went to his bedroom, found a warmer jacket, and called work, indicating he wouldn’t be able to make it the next day. He called a cab next, for the train station, and then put enough food out for Valentine to last the next day.

When he was finally in the cab, he called his mother back and asked what time she had been taken to the hospital.

__

“I’m not taking you to the airport.”

Reno’s voice was flat.

“You don’t have to.”

“Or back to my apartment.”

“That’s fine too. Aerith will.”

“You’re going to break Grandma’s heart.”

“I’ll be back for Christmas, Reno. I already have that ticket bought.”

“I gave you back your cigarettes.”

“They weren’t yours to take.”

“You owe me for that door.”

“Put it on my tab, sweetie.”

Reno had taken boxing classes when he was little, for some reason, probably because Angela had thought her precious boy needed to be able to defend himself in case something ever happened to him. Most of what he’d learned had seeped out of his skull, or he had just never learned it in the first place; he was horribly clumsy and had a bigger tendency to trip over his own feet than actually successfully fend off an opponent. Reno was good at one thing, though, and his punches still always landed true and strong and fast. Axel had grown accustomed to them and was pretty acutely aware of when one would be thrown his way, so when Reno’s fist came shooting out from his side, fast like a snake, he’d been able to dodge most of it, though it still landed squarely in his shoulder, hard, like Reno always hit. At least it hadn’t been his head.

“Grow up.”

Apparently the brotherly moment they’d shared in the cemetery was over, because Reno was glaring at him with utter disgust written into every feature on his face. Ouch.

“No, Axel, you grow up. Hiding from something isn’t going to make it go away. You’re still part of this family.”

“Yes, and that’s a joyous occasion indeed.”

Reno bared his teeth. “Takeshi Stone was your father too and he had a name and a reputation and none of that means anything to you. You’re acting like an ungrateful eleven year old that didn’t get his favorite toy on Christmas.”

“I didn’t get what I wanted when I was eleven,” Axel reminded him. “I wanted a light saber. A glowing light saber. And I didn’t get it.”

“Fuck off, Axel. Go back to New York.”

“I fully intend to.”

“Fine,” Reno snapped, spinning on his heel and marching away back to the white tent where everyone else was. “Fine, just go.”

Axel watched him walk away with something like dismay on his face, and then he followed. People were starting to disperse now, trailing back to their cars, but his grandparents were still there, clutching each other, and so were Angela and Aerith and Tifa. Reno was immediately stopped by Tifa, who looked at him worriedly with a bitten lip. Aerith was watching Axel in confusion, so he turned in the opposite direction and went toward his grandparents.

She started crying again when he said that he was going, that he had a test tomorrow night and he thought he could skip out and really couldn’t. He said that he was proud of him for being so brave and then making the tough choice to go and take his test even though he was probably hurting inside, but it was noble and what his father would have wanted. She eventually quieted and slipped him a discreet bill that he didn’t even bother to look at because he knew what it was. He told them that he’d see them at Christmas and that seemed to cheer them up quite a bit. They said goodbye and then he went to where Reno and Angela were, talking quietly amongst themselves, the tears having been dried on her face for awhile.

“Reno tells me you’re leaving early.”

Her voice was merciless and the glare on Reno’s face had not gone away.

“Yea. I really should head back. I’d probably just be an extra body at the mansion anyway.”

“The house is large enough to accommodate everyone. You don’t have to leave. We’re expecting you.”

He shrugged a little helplessly in her general direction. “I’m sorry. I really need to go back.”

“You would think you would have more respect for your father on the day of his funeral.”

Trust her to get straight to the point. He had nothing to say to that.

“His estate will be cleared up in the next month,” she continued, in that same icy tone of hers that she always seemed to have stockpiled in her reserve just for him. “You may or may not be required to attend. If you are, I trust you’ll be able to make arrangements to get back out here on your own.”

Trust her as always, the point being that the stipend he was getting would pay for the ticket and she would not touch anymore of his father’s money in his behalf until the estate was taken care of. It was nice to know he was loved.

With nothing else to say, he gave her an awkward kiss on the cheek which seemed to repulse her, hugged Tifa, and simply looked at Reno, who simply looked back, that same glare still blazing in his emerald eyes. He tugged on Aerith’s arm, asking her quietly if she would take him to the airport, and she obliged immediately with a quiet nod. Without another word to any of them, they marched away through the grass toward her quietly worn Civic.

“I don’t want you to go, Axel.”

Like everything about Aerith, it was said with quiet countenance.

“I know you don’t. And if I could hide out with you, I’d stay, but I know you want to go wine and dine with the others at the mansion and that’s the one place I don’t want to be, even if you’re there.”

The smile that tugged at the corners of her lips was a sad one. “I don’t blame you. The gossip is all there’s going to be tonight. She looked ready to kill Reno when he started talking about you.”

“I know. I could have just quietly sneaked through the evening being a foreign cousin but not now.” He shook his head and cast a glance behind him toward the white tent, where the rest of the people gathered there were now starting to disperse like the ones before then. The shock of red hair was easy to spot, as Reno traipsed back toward his car, Angela following him and saying something to his backside. Perhaps they were arguing. Or perhaps Angela was just commiserating the loss of having a treasured son at the big shebang tonight. The first was the most likely, of course. “I guess he wanted to just edge in a word against his mother.”

Aerith, who had been walking, her head down, looked up now. “I don’t think it was just because of his mom, Axel. Reno’s a lot more caring than you give him credit for.”

He remembered what he had said about his mother, about the money, and thought about if it was true. It probably wasn’t. It couldn’t be. Angela would surely find out and put a stop to it if she knew. His mother wouldn’t tell him, though. She never told him anything, not since she’d sobered up a few years ago and stopped blabbing about her sex life in front of him, which he was glad to have had a stop in, but she revealed more than she ever remembered and probably more than Reno even knew.

“I’m sure,” he said, perplexed. “But I don’t understand why he wants me to stay. I explained to him, very calmly might I add, the situation and how I am oh so shy in front of people and he still doesn’t get it.”

“He’s got a thick head like you,” she said, again that little smile tugging at her lips as they reached the car and she unlocked the doors. “I thought you’d know that.”

“Thick head like me? Baby, my head’s so soft a bird could break it.”

She laughed at that and they got into the car. Aerith, unlike Reno, was a calm, normal driver, and as the afternoon started to turn the clock into evening, she rolled down the windows to let the breeze float through. It really had not been funeral weather at all. Rain would have been far more appropriate. They made it back to Reno’s apartment in under twenty minutes and Axel used Aerith’s spare key to unlock the bedroom and change from the hot suit into a pair of jeans and a shirt. When he came back down the stairs carrying his suitcase after making a quick phone call, Aerith was frowning at him.

“The both of you,” she said, shaking her head as they pulled out of the apartment complex. “You need to eat more, Axel.”

“I eat like a pig.”

“Well, then eat like two pigs. You’re so thin.” To prove her point, she jabbed her fingers into his side and he recoiled, startled. “There. I can probably feel your ribs if I tried.”

“So? Do we have a problem?”

“Have you seen a doctor lately?”

“No, my obi-gyn doesn’t feel the need to see me regularly, says my lack of periods is totally normal for a growing boy of my age.”

She fixed him with a pointed stare and he dropped his eyes. “No, not lately. I feel fine. Very healthy. Fit as a fiddle and just as strong, too. I’m perfectly okay.”

Still frowning deeply, she returned her eyes to the road. “Fine. But you should see a doctor, Axel. Just in case.”

“Yea, I probably have cancer.”

“Axel!”

“Just kidding, just kidding.”

He’d managed to book a flight out of the smaller airport, so that he didn’t have to deal with the circus that was Los Angeles International. Aerith expressed her guilt at not being able to accompany him and wait for him until his plane took off, but he told her to go ahead and go enjoy herself at the mansion, because the food was probably going to be fantastic. She did not look at all pleased by that comment so he instead focused on Christmas and said he’d be around for a whole week instead of just a few days this time. She hugged him in the drop off lane and sent him on his way.

Security took about half an hour, but he was cleared for check in and like he always thought when he got on a plane, he felt like he should just life his head and suddenly shout something completely inappropriate like, “Praise Allah!” Entirely inappropriate and it would probably put him into a jail cell for a few years out of his life which he might have considered last year but right now he had his whole life ahead of him. He boarded the plane and fought his way into his window seat. He was pleasantly jammed up against an obese customer and when he discretely inquired about moving, he found out that the plane was packed and there were no seats available. He took out his music player, plugged in the small white earphones, and leaned against the window, looking out into the darkening sky.

They’d be in the air for seven hours and he’d step off the plane at six in the morning, back in Brooklyn. He’d been able to purchase a Greyhound ticket for eight and he’d be at the bus station by seven. Closing his eyes, he leaned heavily against the window, trying to ignore the sweating man beside him and the crying baby a few rows over. Just like sheep, the wandering all gathered on this plane and bleated about their woes. A quick round of nerve gas would take care of that. That would have been far more effective than ever slamming any type of plan into any building. Biological warfare was Axel’s favorite. Aside from simply burning a place, that was it.

The plane roared to life and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, nails digging hard into his own palm until the plane righted itself and they were cruising. The seatbelt lights went off but Axel kept his on, eyes still closed, forehead pressed against the window. He could already feel the indention marking into his forehead but that was fine. He was drifting now, light as air, and as he did he could hear a voice in his head, an echo of a voice really, and it was deep and sorrowful and there was a hand running over his fevered forehead, whispering that everything was going to be okay, everything was going to be okay, just be still and calm down. And there was a zoo and the backseat of a car where he was crying and somebody else, somebody else with messy red hair just like him sitting in the front standoffishly, but they were driving and he felt it like he was floating, floating now, and then he was sweating again, fevered and in pain, but the hand was cool and that voice was calm and it was echoing something, something that was three words but not exactly three thoughts, one thought, and it might have been I love you but it would have been just as fine if it were whispering you’ll be okay.

__

He smelled like smoke, which irked him, because for one, he didn’t smoke, and secondly, if he went into that room and his mother smelled him, she would throw a hissy fit and Roxas not in the mood for a hissy fit at the moment. There had been no seats left on the bus and Roxas had taken the only one left—the aisle seat that had been to the slightly obese passenger who was already drooling on the window and who smelled like smoke.

There had been no stops because the trip was only a few hours long and because the driver seemed in a particular rush to get into the city so the nervous man who had awakened about an hour into the drive had taken a cigarette and was rolling it around in his mouth, though he hadn’t lit it. Roxas had been passed out, half falling out into the middle aisle and lost somewhere between a land of dreams and a land of shadows when he felt undeniable movement at his side. He’d nearly shouted for the cops when he’d woken up, half convinced the man was trying to rape him in his sleep, but as it was he only had to go to the bathroom. Roxas had stood to let him pass, sat back down again, dozed for about ten minutes, and stood up when he returned to let him pass again and when he sat back down again, the smoke smell was stronger than before.

Now here he was in the hospital, boredly watching the minutes tick away, trying to fight away the yawns that were constantly wracking his body. There was a coffee machine downstairs, the receptionist had said, but he might be allowed in to see his mother at any moment and she had been constantly asking for him since she’d arrive and just between him and the receptionist, she’d said that his mother was starting to becoming increasingly irritating for the doctors to handle and that she hoped he knew that and that they were counting on him to shut her up.

The receptionist looked young and Roxas didn’t want to ruin her life by writing a complaint letter, but he was irritated. He smelled like smoke, he was tired, and he had to be on a bus the next morning to go back to Sunnydale to get into work on time and couldn’t his mother have chosen to do this on some other day? One of his off days? Never?

That was asking far too much of her, obviously.

It would probably be too uncouth of him to ask the young receptionist for any body spray. He hadn’t thought to bring any cologne since he was only planning on being down here for a few hours, but the smell of smoke was thick and his mother would probably get into a rant about that for two hours. Roxas brightened. If she carried on with that gem for a bit, then she probably wouldn’t exploit out any other gems. That would be absolutely brilliant. Resigned to the fact that smelling like an ashtray was going to save his life, he slumped back into the uncomfortable chair, trying to doze off for a few moments.

“Roxas Hart.”

Oh, he’d just closed his eyes.

“Roxas Hart, your mother’s waiting for you.”

He opened his mouth but stifled the groan. Shouldering his backpack, he went to the reception desk and she buzzed him through, pointing vaguely at some room in the back before turning her head back to the magazine she was reading. All she needed was some loud, crackling gum and bright red lipstick, maybe some high-heeled spiked boots, and she’d be all set and good to go to appear in some old movie with secretaries and bosses. Though he was only wearing his skate shoes, they still clicked loudly on the shiny linoleum floor. It was mainly quiet and he wondered why it had taken so long to bring him back to greet his mother. The room she was in did not immediately present itself to him; the receptionist had been quite, quite vague in her pointing. He felt like a balmy faced intruder as he cautiously looked into a room and then back out upon realizing it was not his mom. The patients who were awake would glare at him, as though condemning him for intruding upon their privacy; the quiet ones were out like lights. She must obviously be awake though, and he had nearly made it all the way down the hall before he came upon her room.

It was her voice that stopped him and he froze, listening to her speak. She was talking to her doctor, it seemed like, and rattling off a list of complaints about twelve thousand in depth. It was too cold, she was paying good money, the blankets were too rough and not warmed up, she was hungry, she wanted to sleep, her IV hurt, she wanted a painkiller, where was her cell phone, had one of those perverted wack jobs that they employed in the public health system taken a looksie at her private parts when they shifted her into the hospital dressing gown? The doctor was trying to answer fast as he could, but they just kept coming, faster and faster, and Roxas felt sorry for the poor man, but not so sorry that he immediately stepped into the room to rescue him. He was, after all, not his mother’s keeper.

The tirade went on for another few minutes until Roxas looked back and realized the magazine reading receptionist had put down her magazine and was staring back at him, watching him incredulously. Great. Fantastic. As far as he was concerned he could stand out here all day and listen to his mother jabber, because any jabbering at someone else was better than a jabber aimed in his general vicinity. But she was watching him as though judging him and he contemplated flipping her off, but instead sucked up his breath and went forward, turning the corner sharply into the patient room.

“Roxas!” There was no mistaking the glee in Azuela Hart’s voice. “Roxas, you came!”

“Of course I did Mother,” he said automatically, going to his bedside and ignoring the doctor completely. She looked like she always did—big frizzy blonde hair to match big frizzy pale blue eyes, a thin body curled up underneath the white sheet and two different IV’s running into the same arm. He cast a glance at them but decided to ignore them and instead leaned over the railing, kissing her cheek. She immediately stiffened at the act and her welcoming blue eyes had turned instantaneously accusing. “Roxas Hart, you smell like smoke. When did you start smoking? You know that’s bad for you!”

“I don’t smoke, Mother.”

“Then why do you smell like it?”

“Because I was sitting next to someone on the bus—“

“Turn out your pockets this instant!”

“Mother, calm down. The doctor needs to—“

“This instant!”

She was staring at him petulantly and he looked to the doctor helplessly but the doctor looked back with no sympathy, as though blaming Roxas for his mother’s behavior. “Doctor, what’s the problem this time?”

“Nothing yet,” he said, shrugging. “She checked herself in because she thought she was having a heart attack—“

“I had a heart attack you quack! You were there!”

“And,” he continued, voice rising over hers, “we found out she wasn’t but she’s a bit dehydrated and we put a sedative—“

“I’ll have you sued you fucking quack!”

“—in there too so she’s fine. Dr. Paean should be down in about half an hour to talk this all over with her. There’s really nothing else I can do. Do you have any questions, Mr. Hart?”

“No, thanks though,’” Roxas offered, massaging his temples and already looking around for the chair. It was one of the plastic ones. Damnit. Last he’d been here they had been the comfy throwback ones, donations from some sort of organization that the head doctor had seen fit to put into patient rooms, so thoughtfully. This was a regular plastic chair though and he wanted to just sight again but instead he offered his hand dejectedly. The doctor shook a little hard and Roxas took it back, grasping at the chair. “So she’ll be okay until Dr. Paean gets in, correct?”

“Yes, sir. She’ll be fine. The sedative is wearing off but we’re keeping a minimal amount—“

“I don’t want a sedative! Let me out!” She weakly thrust her fists out but Roxas automatically grabbed her narrow wrist and pushed it back down onto the bed.

“Thank you,” he said loudly, “we’ll be fine now.” The doctor left, cast a glance back at Azuela Hart, and took off out the door like his feet were on fire. Roxas let his mother’s hand go and went back to adjusting the chair, shoving it back against the wall and to the side so he could put his feet up on the sink. This chair wasn’t so bad. It reclined a little, even.

When the doctor was gone, his mother immediately sat up straight, looking him in the eye. She had lost a little more weight than when he had last seen her, he thought dismally. Not that it had been long—she’d had a relatively good streak lately, and the last time he had been here had been about three weeks ago. His pocket had been relieved, and he’d even started to hope, just hope, that she might be making progress. But there was this now, and her voice on his machine had been demanding.

Then again, he should have expected it. Next week was the week, and she steadily declined as that time approached. He had begun to hope that maybe this time she was getting out of it, so it would be normal, this year, but he saw now it was only the fight before the fall. If it was a fight at all. The calm before the storm. You were supposed to get worse before you got better, but she never got better. Just worse and worse.

“So what’s it today?” he asked her now, working hard to keep the sarcastic tone out of his voice.

She peered at him. “What do you mean? I had a heart attack, Roxas.” Immediately her voice went hushed, and her eyes seemed to water. Roxas wanted to close his own, but resisted nobly. “A heart attack,” she went on, with an amazed slant to her words. “I mean, Roxas, you could have been coming here to decide on funeral arrangements.” And her voice slanted downward toward cracking and if Roxas had been a better son, he might have stood up and comforted her. As it were, he stayed where he was, and instead looked at the floor. Speckled with black dots, linoleum floor. He wondered if she’d had this room last time, or if the tiles had the same pattern, just repeated, every room. He squinted, trying to see if there was any pattern he recognized, but it had been three weeks and he didn’t remember.

“I mean, I know that man didn’t think so,” she continued on, “but I just felt it in my bones. I remembered the way your father looked and I looked in the mirror and I swear I saw death looking back at me and I got so scared Roxas, so scared.” Her voice was raw and misty, and Roxas sighed and stood up, going over to the bed to encircle her with his arms. Immediately she started to cry, arms going to clutch him weakly around the shoulders, tears dampening his shirt unpleasantly.

“What would you have done without me? I can’t leave you, you’re all alone here, and I—I don’t want you to be along, Roxy, I can’t bear the thought of you having to be here, with your mom and your dad, and I don’t want to leave you yet either.” Her voice was cracked, but she was still sobbing out words, harder and faster and Roxas clutched her like the good son he was. He could have pointed out he’d be fine. Could have pointed out he didn’t need her, he was fine by himself, and he thought it was the other way around, she needed him more. Could have pointed out he considered walking off buildings to see if it was really the hard jolt at the end that killed him, or the fall.

But he didn’t say any of that, because that obviously wasn’t what she needed to hear. He held her, and let her soak his shirt, and when she was finished, he sat back on the creaky little chair and looked at the speckled floor again. She was drying her eyes with a tissue, sniffling, and when that was done she settled her sharp gaze on him, and the moment was gone.

“HAVE YOU BEEN SMOKING, ROXAS? THAT KILLS YOU, YOU KNOW.”

So would she, he was sure, one day.
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chokethewind

December 2012

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