It wasn't so much that he planned it.

It was more that he missed…things.

He couldn't quite think.

And that It.

Ever elusive.

Fucking. Fucking It.

It was just that he missed Olette.

He had thought, dumb and obnoxious and stupidly, predictably, teenage as that was, he had thought he'd sort-of-maybe-kind-of cared or loved or something-ed her.

He had thought, naïve and helpless and wanting as that was, that she might have kind of given a fuck about him too.

He was halfway into anger because that was the easy way to go. The way he had always been so heavily—oh God he gets…he gets fucking hot when his vision starts to bleed red—heavily predisposed. Physical violence and wrath, the things the drugs had turned into lethargy and apathy.

He could almost hate her for dumping him. Could seriously almost blame her for not even trying to understand. For being selfish. He was just trying to help someone.

An irritating, grating, high-pitched, make-my-ears-bleed voice piped up in the back of his head and asked him why.

He didn't give a fuck about Axel.

Axel was just as bad Olette! Just as selfish. Not understanding that he was just trying to help, not accepting. Ungrateful son of a bitch!

But it was really just that he missed Olette.

He stumbled past anger and collapsed into the delicate place situated between depression and acceptance.

You don't know what you've got till it's gone.

Hah-fucking-hah, right back at you, Joni Mitchell, you greedy fucking useless cunt.

The very first night after it happened he dreamt about her.

Her skin was warm and smooth under his fingers and her eyes were pregnant with emotions that he hoped he was mirroring.

The quiet happiness flickering within her rosy cheeks.

The gentle sweep of hair, curving perfectly, gracefully, to the line of her neck.

Silent understanding between two old friends.

Words spoken only with the brush of her lips.

The way she let him in because she trusted him.

The moment she changed, in a flash of moonlight, from the simple girl he'd always known, into the sultry woman who was his own by choice. His and hers.

The deep smell of sweat and her vanilla shampoo.

He woke up the very first night, panting like a stallion and as hard as rock and gasping.

Gasping: scared and miserable and alone.

His room was a sway of shadow figures all around him and, having kicked himself from beneath his blankets, the bed was cold.

Axel wasn't there.

Roxas…he let out one dry sob and whispered curses to night.

That bastard couldn't even be there to console him after two years of his life just up and bid him goodbye.

The more he tried to take his breathing back under control, the more he tried to ignore his cock between his legs, the worse it got.

The more he thought about kissing her, on that very bed.

The more the frenetic energy built up inside of him, suffocated him and the room got too warm in a way that was nothing akin to anger.

With jerking, fumbling, movements he pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater and generally didn't give a fuck about who he woke up as he went down the stairs and to the front door where he stole Sora's shoes and went out into the cold.

He slipped twice on the walk, but got up each time, nursing his stinging red palms.

The small slights were really nothing to his cock still waiting, heavy and taut, between his legs.

Something about the night and the silent snowflakes falling from the sky gave him a modicum of comfort, enough to cool the fever that had settled onto his heart, which in turn pumped his blood and spread that heated infection with terrifying efficiency.

Though, he couldn't stop thinking about her.

Brown hair, blue eyes, slender legs and breasts that weren't big but fit her frame.

Breasts he had touched and traced with his own hands, his own tongue.

Things he'd told her because he'd cared and he couldn't just…give her up like this, but she'd…he'd…he'd left her alone and that was as good as hurting her and he couldn't really forgive himself for that.

He slipped again.

His pants were already wet and he was cold and shivering, but he didn't get up.

He titled his head back and stared at the sky.

He wanted a star to wish on, something to make him feel like this would all change in the morning.

The sky ignored his desperate plea for reprieve.

Instead he got Axel.

"Heh…heh-heh." Red hair and pallid skin and green eyes and everything that wasn't Olette.

Axel knelt down beside him in the snow and poked him, once, twice. When he didn't get a response he leaned in closer.

"What is it, Axel." Maybe his voice was more of a growl than a question and maybe he smacked Axel's hand away because it was his damn fault.

"Play in the snow with me, Rox."

The request who so pitifully, innocent and earnest and eager that Roxas was really actually intrigued. It sounded like…something that would help, but what would Axel know?

"No."

The redhead pouted, crawled away, leaving a trencher in the snow. It was quiet and Roxas could only hope he'd gone away.

Until the first snowball hit him and he whipped around like a shot and lunged at the older boy before he could even think.

It was just the wrong thing to do, the wrong time to press his buttons.

He wanted to, possibly, throttle Axel, watch him suffocate with a drug-hazy smile on his face.

He could hear it all in his head, how he would shout and scream and generally act a bitch, but it would feel so good.

Fuck you! Greedy, selfish, good for nothing, son of a fucking bitch!

The warm flesh under his fingers, Axel's scrawny windpipe breaking under the enraged force of his own fingers.

There was really no room for Axel to grab him by the coat, his fingers wet and numb and shaking and Roxas could have pulled away if he'd realized what Axel was about to do.

Axel smiled at him, sharp and strange, and then he moved up to Roxas, pressed their mouths together and didn't put his tongue in the blonde's mouth, for once.

He stilled smelled rank, like pot and beer and piss and sweat and three week old, moldy, Burger King.

And he did shove him, hard, but their knees where all tangled and when he shoved it didn't get him away. Axel rolled over so he was flat on his back, frozen to the bone and horny and angry and lonely and it was no damn excuse.

For him to cry. Just like Olette had.

"Damn it, Axel!"

Axel's thigh was rubbing against his crotch and the redhead leaned down and pressed his lips to Roxas' jaw, no kissing, no licking, just a calm, soothing nuzzle.

"I love the snow…" he whispered, pulling Roxas closer so that there was a warm little pocket somewhere around their stomachs.

"I hate the snow! I hate the cold! God, I hate you!" But it was still between quiet little chokes that were mortifying but he couldn't get it to stop, because it was just simple, wretched, loss. Something Axel should have known all about, something Axel should have felt bad about making him suffer.

Axel kissed him again, rubbed against his hip and breathed out like a noxious cloud.

"Get off, Axel, get off." He begged, because it felt good and because Axel was nothing like Olette and he hated himself for thinking that was exactly what he needed right now.

The cold bit through his pants and was getting in through the unzipped front of his coat and his extremities were making great haste in going numb. He knew Axel was suffering the same problem, Axel was fumbling to get his hands buried inside Roxas' clothes and was humping faster for friction and more, more, more heat.

"A-axel." His teeth chattered, and then his stuttered breath was lost to a wild moan. The redhead had somehow fumbled open the catch of his pants, somehow stuck his freezing cold fingers inside and caressed his erection like it meant something. Something that made every part of him seize up and shrink away.

Snowflakes crowned the top of Axel's head and he looked like someone Roxas could care about, someone who wasn't a crack addicted prostitute ruining both their lives.

Axel laid his body flush overtop him and let his hot breath ghost his neck.

The snow made disgusting wet slushing noises beneath him and he ground his hips down.

The heat Olette had left him with.

Only Axel and his fucking snow were going to take it away.

One moan.

One snowflake on his tongue.

"Damn it…Axel…"

"I love the snow, Rox."

Two grunts.

Two shivers throughout his body.

They both came in their pants, making everything twice as wet and, very quickly, twice as clammy.

Roxas tensed his thighs around Axel's and breathed.

Watched the clouds rise to hang over the nighttime canvas.


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