For myxbeautifulxlove's challenge.

AU Roxette.

-doubleblink- This is so messed up.

Anyway, hope you guys like it. I tried. -grin-

Oh, and thanks, Rachael, for beta-ing! (And Chris, too)

Disclaimer: this a trick question? Because I so know this one, otherwise. What is "I do not own Kingdom Hearts"?

People said love could be expressed as a feeling of falling head over heels for that special someone.

He doubted it was meant to be taken so literally.

It was a terribly beautiful sense of freedom, though, his body vaulting through the air in acrobatic flips, his deadly grace bringing the water and the end closer and closer. And there were screams from above, honking of horns, from the bridge that was behind him, but he didn't care. Sure, the distance wasn't high, wasn't harmful enough to cause fatal damage, but once the horrific and yet perfect descent ended, he promised himself he wouldn't surface.

It was over. And he was so, so relieved.

And maybe he was in love with the feeling of the end, because life had been a failure and he wanted to let go.

Forever, all his life, he'd wanted to let go, but he'd held on tight, tighter, tighter still until the anguish burst and he shut himself down, his thoughts a plague and his actions draining the youth and vigor from his eyes and movements. He wanted the water, the icy, piecing, murky water, and he wanted that poison promise at the bottom, on the sand, where it would clutch him and hold him down and he would disappear.

Forever wasn't so terrible.

But there was a new chorus of screams, and as he was flipped onto his back his eyes widened through the strangely beautiful sway of the blonde bangs over his face as a second form, lithe and beautiful, dove off that bridge, after him. And he wanted to shout, tell her it was stupid, that it was a lost cause, that he wanted – how he wanted – this, and she shouldn't waste her life, but the water struck his body and there was pain and his voice left his body as the iciness sank into his mind and he drifted…drifted…drifted downwards, mouth open in a delayed shout and bubbles trailing to the surface. He winced in the eerie blue of the darkness, the sun shining above yet rejecting – shunning – him as he fell further away, arms extended to her. He was losing consciousness fast, and he felt so guilty, so, so guilty, to know that his last attempt at freedom consequently brought another life with him.

But in the end unconsciousness won over, and he no longer wished to fight it.


It was a shock, a pain, and a pressure on his chest that had him swirling back into a haze between life and death.

It was lips on his that chased death away.

His mind snapped to, and his lungs burned as he choked and he choked until he coughed up the water still trying to drown him. And he jolted to the side, spitting the remnants of bitter destruction onto the sand, body convulsing and hands shaking. His body hurt, hurt so bad, and he didn't doubt the bruises he probably had, because his back hurt that much. And he closed his eyes tight, a shudder of cold passing through him.

And then there was a slap on his head, and he was so startled that when he made to turn he fell back onto his back…and he moaned.

"You stupid excuse for a human being," was the only justification for the unexpected blow he received.

Wincing, he blinked open his eyes, the sun blinding him momentarily. But his vision adjusted and he saw her, the brunette who'd jumped after him, striking green eyes alight in a fury and wild brown hair matted to her face, dripping wet. He cringed, looking away from her death-glare, but he couldn't escape her. She was insistent, and actually took his face in both of her hands so he would look at her.

"You're a moron, I hope you know," she hissed.

"Undermining a suicidal person's self esteem isn't the best route," he said so casually, with a ghost of a smile.

But there was such anguish in her eyes at his words at what he'd said that his smile slipped and he felt bad, so, so bad, for making such an angel, who'd dove from heaven to save him, upset.

Cringing, he tried to sit up, but such a great amount of pain seized him that he fell back and writhed slightly, hand searching hers and then squeezing hers for comfort. He hurt so bad, and death…no, the life before his attempted death would've even been better than this…this…suffering.

"How could you…try to kill yourself?" Her voice was so small that he, even despite his agony, opened his eyes and stared at her straight, trying to make her understand.

She didn't owe anything to him – not by a long shot – but he didn't want to disappoint her anymore.

So he attempted another shadow of a grin for her, and at last she was smiling through her tears. Because, he told her…

"Guess I'm just stupid."


She'd agreed. Agreed so much he'd been indignant…but not quite because she saw to it to stick around, to make sure he didn't "be stupid" anymore. And though his problems didn't disappear, kept haunting him more so that he found himself staring back down into the water, the same spot on the same bridge, more often than naught, her hand never left his, her encouragement never left her eyes, and he felt he owed her to at least try to live.

But living was hard.

Of course, it infuriated her when she stumbled into his apartment, happy smile on her face and groceries in her arms, to see him staring at a full bottle of sleeping pills on the counter as he sat there, tears in her eyes and head in his hands. It infuriated her to hear him talk about his worthlessness, how he didn't want to fight anymore, how he was done. He had innumerable bruises on his cheek, never getting the chance to fade because he kept saying something stupid, which made her slap him once more. And he grew angry with her, because she was so fiery, so insistent, so hard to put up with.

He told her so often she was a pain, trying to chase her away, trying to get her to leave, but she stood firm – no matter if she was crying – and he was the one who had to storm out the apartment, slamming the door as he tried to get rid of his problems.

How ironic. He thought of her as a problem.

But then she was crying and running after him, clinging to his arm and telling him not to go, that he was so much better than he credited himself for, that he was her friend and she, she would miss him if he went back to that bridge. And he wanted to believe her, wanted to give her a true smile and wrap his arms around her and thank her, but he just ripped his arm from her grasp and walked back to that bridge, waiting for Fate to push him forward, over the ledge.

But somewhere along the lines of trial and error and failure and depression, Fate had become Olette, and she always stopped him.

"Roxas," she murmured to him all the time, "don't give up."

He wanted to, but those green eyes made him do otherwise.

In time, he found himself smiling at that. Only a little, but he was smiling. She just loved to use dirty tricks, didn't she?

After all, he couldn't resist those green eyes.


"STUPID!" she shrieked, beating her fists into his chest as he winced and pressed his hand against his wrist, trying to hide the blood.

It had been a bad day.

"HOW COULD YOU DO THIS, YOU IDIOT?!" she sobbed, shaking her head again and again as her blows weakened, and then her shoulders were shaking and she was sobbing against his chest, clutching his shirt in her shaking hands. And he had the decency to let his tears fall, because he hated himself for making her cry, and he didn't want this life.

She'd made him come back to it, and held him fastened to it, though. And he knew he shouldn't try to escape it, because it was a good thing, but outside of what they had…was nothing.

She whimpered against him, and he let his head fall on hers, his shoulders shaking as well as he whispered her name – "Olette, Olette, I'm sorry. I'm so screwed up, I'm so screwed up." – over and over and over again. And his tears slid and mixed into her unruly sea of beautiful brunette strands, and he wanted to hold her head closer to his chest but his hands were covered in blood and he was too tainted anyway to touch her.

He didn't deserve her.

"Why are you doing this?" she whispered, voice quivering.

"I don't know," he pleaded, voice cracking. "I don't know, Olette."

"Do you want…to get away from me?"

And she sounded so small that he stepped away, glaring at her with a furious expression.

"Why would I run from the one person saving me?"

She grabbed his wrist and glared back. "Does this look like salvation to you?!" she screamed, tears rushing down her face. "For all I know, I'm killing you!"

He moved forward, swiftly wrapping his arms around her and crushing her to him. He doubted she'd care about the blood. She'd dealt with worse on his behalf.

"I think," he whispered, shaking so badly, "you've got it mixed up, Olette."

"No…" she said wretchedly. "I'm not the one taking a blade to my wrists, am I?"

He choked and buried his head in her hair, and immediately she apologized profusely, afraid – so afraid – that her words would eventually drive him to further attempts at suicide.

He hated that he scared her so much, made her doubt herself so much. Because, in all honesty, he'd started breathing again when he'd met her.

In the literal and figurative sense.


"Don't die on me," she whispered as they were curled up on the couch, his breathing calm, her breathing wracked with quiet sobs. And he winced, drawing her closer – his friend, his girl, his secret love – so she could cry onto his shoulder. But she didn't. She was strong, after all.

She just wound her hands into his hair and whispered encouragement into his ears, telling him all the things everyone had ever said, and that he'd always blocked out, because insincerity could only be tolerated for so long. But now he closed his eyes, shivering as her breath and her words and her touch melted into him. And he wanted to love her – to make love to her – to claim her lips and make sure she wouldn't leave him, because life took things away, always stole things from grasp, to never be regained. But more so he wanted her to taste and breathe and live freedom, and for him to chain her down so much more was unthinkable…and inexcusable.

But he couldn't help but brush his lips over his forehead as she drifted off into his arms, and he smiled through his tears at her angel of a face. Touching her hair softly, he tried to promise himself that tomorrow would be different, that the pills would stay in the cabinet, the knife would stay in the drawer, the bridge would stay far away.

But when she disappeared – because she couldn't stay forever (and all he really wanted was a forever of his own) – that became too much of a difficult concept to grasp, and the pain exploded in his chest, eclipsing the love in his heart as doubt spread through his mind. The mist and darkness in his world suffocated him, and he wanted out, to the light, to the air he could breathe, to the freedom, always the freedom.

Why was he still trying to leave her, though?

"Olette," he said with the tiniest flicker of joy, warmth melting a little of the ice in his heart. And she gave a soft little squeak as she shifted in her sleep, warming the smile on his lips and ice in his heart more, so that the pain in his eyes softened just a bit.

He would thank her one day. No matter what, he'd see to it that she knew he cared. And he would pay her back. One day.

Maybe that was what hope was…it was something to look forward to, at least.

When was the last time he'd looked forward to anything, anyway?



God no, God no, God no was all he could think as her body was tossed and he was running, running, running and not caring that cars were blaring at him. He was racing towards her, tears running down his cheeks as he watched her roll across the pavement, trying so hard to block out the screams that made this real, that made this true. She wasn't hurt, she wasn't hurt, she wasn't hurt! She was fine and angry and shouting at him, because he was stupid and had broken his promise again.

That was it. Dear God, that was it! Make it true. Make this true. Because what were the chances that she would get stuck by a car?

Slim to none.

"NO!" he screamed, tripping and regaining his footing. And then he was there, sobbing, pressing his fists to his eyes as he couldn't breathe – and for once, for once, he wanted to breathe, he wanted to be okay because he owed her that because she tried so hard – as he sobbed over her broken body. But she said his name, coaxed him to look at her, and then he was crying all over again, leaning closer and taking her bloody face in his grasp, tears falling onto her blessed cheeks and making her smile awkwardly.

"R-Roxas…" she whispered.

"Olette, Olette," he cried, shaking his head from left to right. "Nooo," he moaned. "Don't go. Not now. You're saving me, Olette. I need you. Don't go. Please don't go."

"I-I'm…so sorry," she tried. "I was…s-so mad and you…were going to the bridge again and I didn't…look both ways and….and…"

"Sh-shh," he stuttered. "N-no, Olette. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I love you. Hear me, Olette? OLETTE?"

There was a smile on her face. "I l-love you, too…"

He choked on his gasp and leaned down, pressing his lips on hers, trying to show her he loved her, trying to make all the months of abuse and fights go away. Because he loved her and he wanted her to be his forever, wanted her to be his eternity.

But he was too late, wasn't he? Too, too late...

He pulled away, shivering, and marveled at how she blushed even as her eyes fluttered closed. Her lips moved, the whisper trailing so faintly, a "…love…Roxas…" meeting his ears as the last of her breath followed. And he was screaming her name, screaming so loudly between the numerous kisses he pressed to her lips, which were so soft and still so warm. And even at the siren's deathly call he wouldn't believe, because she would never leave him. Never, ever, ever. And he kept kissing her lips, professing his love over and over, trying to call her back, because she was beautiful and everything to him, no matter how bruised and battered.

"My world…" he cried softly, kissing her again. "C-come back…"

Sobbing, he buried his head into her neck as people watched and murmured, as the paramedics came and lingered around him. But there was no pulse, no life, no love anymore, because she was gone and the world was dark.

Those green eyes would never shine for him again.

And he had nothing left to fight for.

She'd said he'd come so, so far. But if he'd come so far for this, for her to be stolen from him, he wanted it erased.

Pressing a last kiss to her lips he bid her good-bye…and a promise.

He was coming soon.


Tears falling down his face, he breathed in the chill of the twilit night, digging his nails into his palms as he memorized her face, her warmth, her touch, her kiss in his mind. She was waiting for him, beyond that icy water of a barrier, and there was nothing on earth that could be worth more than that heaven that held her. And so he let go, let the memories rip open his heart to make him bleed the love and sorrow and pain into the air through his breath. And he shut his eyes tight, resolve firm, arms out and reaching for her.

And then he was pitching forward, dancing through the air, retracing the path he'd made a small eternity ago.

Only, as he was flipping and sailing and flying and crying, he knew there would be no Olette, and that this was the end, this was finally the end, and he could let go. Still, the love came back and struck him a blow, and he screamed and he screamed in anguish as he plummeted towards the darkness, missing her, aching for her.

Dear God, dear God, dear God, just let heaven be real so he could have her again. That was all he wanted. Death could claim him so long as that death held her.

The crash was breaking, and he couldn't breathe as he was falling again, but he wasn't reaching for the surface any longer. He closed his eyes willingly, the last of the tears sliding from his eyelashes as the cold kept him conscious now, kept every bit of pain slicing his mind, making him live through his decision. And it hurt, and his body screamed to struggle, but he couldn't, because Olette was no longer there to persuade him to fight, and all he wanted was Olette, Olette, Olette.

He mouthed her name as water rushed into his mouth and lungs, and the bubbles kept trailing as darkness again sunk in. And he was still falling, farther, farther to the bottom, to the darkness that was death and hopefully the light within that darkness that was Olette.

Because she'd had him falling from the beginning, and he was coming to her soon.

'Olette. Olette, can you hear me? I love you. I'll always love you. I'm coming.'

Hopefully at the end, Olette would be there waiting.

Okay, okay. I do NOT promote suicide, just ta let you know. I just wanted to make something really angsty. And I think I succeeded, because I found this totally depressing.

Haha. That's nice, isn't it? "Here, read this. It's unbelieveably depressing. Enjoy." XD

Review, please, and tell me what you think. And I hope I met the guidelines all right.