Title: idk My bff Zexion?
Genre: Kingdom Hearts, AU
Rating: PG14
Pairing: Zexion/Demyx, Axel/Roxas
Summary: "Hello…? Is Roxas there?" "Nah, but he'll be back from ballet practice soon, who's this?" "Axel… Why do you have Roxas's phone?" Roxas should know better than to leave his phone with Zexion.


A small buzz alerted the pale-haired teen to the fact his friend had forgotten his phone, again.

It wasn't enough that Roxas's visits were inconsistent and could happen at any time of the day or night, but the boy was incredibly forgetful and prone to leaving everything in a trail behind him as he went.

Zexion sighed, one hand tucking his oddly-colored hair behind an ear—not that it was of any use, as it fell back right afterward—while the other hand dug into the masses of… junk under his bed—vaguely wondering how it had gotten there, considering Roxas had never been within a foot of his bedroom for months.

He retrieved the cell phone, now loudly declaring a blasphemous collection of beeps, in a vague tune resembling the "Little Mermaid", now that it was free of its cloth-related prison.

Eying it with a certain mix of distaste, fondness, and mischief, Zexion flipped it open with his thumb, holding the phone to his ear, "Yo." He smirked, carefully mimicking one of Roxas's friend's voices.

"Hello…? Is Roxas there?" Came the slow response, obviously confused, the boy's tone was melodic but a tint of amusement that seemed to just be a permanent part of his voice.

Zexion fingered the various charms that hung from the phone—What was with Roxas and star-shaped fruits anyway?—as his expression remained the same flat smirk, "Nah, but he'll be back from ballet practice soon, who's this?"

"Axel... Why do you have Roxas's phone?" The boy seemed almost annoyed, but in a teasing way.

Ah, that's whathisface's name. Zexion shook his head, silently laughing at the luck of his victim. "Well you know—I like my men in tights, and what else would a good boyfriend do?"

The silence was as loud as it was solid, then the boy on the other side let out a squawk, "WHAT?"

"Oh yea, Roxas was supposed to tell you. I guess he didn't. The boy'd forget his own head if it weren't screwed on—but that's what makes me love him so." Zexion continued nonchalantly, his smirk growing at his revenge against his friend.

The other friend of Roxas's sputtered, "I—wait, what? No, no, no, that's—WHAT? I don't—ACK!" There was a loud clunk and then the line went dead.

Zexion snapped the phone shut, with a snort. "That'll teach him to leave his stuff here." The pale boy murmured; tossing the phone onto his desk with a crack as the battery cover went flying.



The slate-haired teen tilted his head slightly at the tiny raging blond on his doorstep—not, of course that he himself was any taller, much to his own irritation. "Yes? Would you like your phone back now, Roxas?"

The whirlwind of sparks and boiling blue eyes shoved past him.

Zexion followed, silent but his amusement clear upon his face. Roxas was throwing a temper in the middle of the apartment's living room. Blond hair was embedded between clawed fingers, face red in his fury, and all his limbs practically twitching in anger.

The older of the two watched the younger quietly until the blond was done growling and spitting enough to jerk his sharp glare to his friend, his hands at his sides in shaking fists.

"You are such a bastard, you know?" Roxas's voice was soft, but not unlike the harsh smoke of a forest fire.

That got Zexion's attention, "Oh really?" He curled his voice like a smug cat's tail, but there was a barely perceivable bit of guilt in it. Perhaps he was taken things too far then.

Roxas's hands shook with his control, but he raised a quivering hand to his hair, rubbing it viciously instead of pulling at it for once. "Yes, really," He growled, than straightened again, shooting another blue glare Zexion's way. Contrary to his body language, he continued in a calm tone, only an underlying rumble showed his rage, "You really fucked up with me right now, Zex."

Pushing pale-colored hair from his eyes, Zexion knew that in this state, moving backwards would only push his friend further over the edge—so instead he crept forward, in a smooth fashion that hid the bubble of nervous worry in his stomach. "That's my job, Rox. I fuck things up—you ought to know that by now." His voice was thin as silk, rolling from his tongue.

Roxas snarled at him, lashing out with his hands at the air before controlling himself again. Otherwise he didn't react to his friend's movement, "I should know that. We've known each other from elementary school—that's a long time." He kept his voice calm, but just underneath was a flow of lava that threatened to overwhelm the both of them, "You haven't fucked up this bad since Riku."

The name was like a whip, and Zexion flinched, but continued to move forward. "Nine years since last, then. Better than the three before," He murmured now within a few meager feet of the blond.

Blue eyes threatened to pierce though him, sharp like a blade. Then, just as suddenly as it all began, the small boy dropped like a puppet cut from his strings. Anger had pooled into the sand and all that was left was glass.

The older of the two caught him, holding the other close as tears welled up in blue eyes—although he knew better than to expect them to fall. "Shhh. Rox, it'll be okay."

Roxas dug his forehead into his oldest friend's shoulder, turning his head from side to side in a negative. "No. No, it won't." His voice was rough with unshed tears, "He… hates me."

His arms were loose and cold, but that was how Zexion was. He couldn't wrap his arms around his oldest and dearest friend in comfort—he just didn't work that way.

Perhaps that was why they worked so well together, why they had stayed friends throughout all the grief and betrayal. Both had fucked up countless times. They were fragile, but sharp like glass. There wasn't room for normal friendship between them.

Still, they found comfort in each other's coldness. "Who?" Zexion's voice was barely a whisper, as if afraid to speak any louder—an odd notation, considering this was his apartment and his alone.

Roxas didn't answer right away; instead he shoved his head deeper into the unfeeling glass that was his friend. When he did answer, he barely could be heard. "Axel…" A sharp laugh left the small blond, empty of amusement, "Demyx… all of them."

Zexion patted the other's head distantly, unable to put any real friendship into the action.

They remained like that—stiff, cold, and broken in each other's arms—before they both straightened and stood.

Roxas shoved the plastic chair out, making a loud screech along the tiled floor, as he flopped down at Zexion's breakfast table.

With a quiet grace, the other teen slipped into his own chair, hands curling on the table in front of him.

If it weren't for the icy tension, it might as well have been any other time Roxas visited.

Said blond didn't have any problem with snatching up one of the apples in the basket on the table and biting into it with a crisp crunch. Regardless of the stiffness in his limbs, he was sprawled quite comfortably in the chair, one leg bent up on the seat and an arm wrapped around it.

The other boy didn't spread himself as far, instead keeping himself coiled tight—not that he ever loosened as Roxas did. His hands lay still on the table until he opened them as an offering. "What happened?"

Roxas sighed, a deep heaving thing, made to control and still the anger still snaking inside him. "…Demyx was the one who called." He began

"Another school friend?" Zexion curled his hands around each other again. "Not one I've met." He nodded to himself. True to such said before, both had fucked up each other one too many times, both kept their distance from the other most of the time, separate from each other's friends—yet the pull of their strange friendship kept them visiting one another. Roxas would always find him, no matter where he hid, and he would do the same for Roxas. Still, they kept a certain distance from each other's lives.

"Yes," The blond shrugged, "He's one of Axel's friends." Blue eyes shot another glare, colder now from the molten glass that had pierced his eyes before. They quickly dropped back to the table as he continued, "He didn't know you were joking." Roxas stated harshly, because it was fairly obvious at this point, "The idiot ran to Axel and chattered out everything." His voice was cold and that—if nothing else—made Zexion's head snap up. "And Axel came to me to… ask." He growled, eyes nearly boiling again as he looked up into the other's cool gray eyes.

The pale-haired teen lowered his eyes, "Shit." He murmured softly, "He didn't know?" Looking up again, moving his head in a jerky fashion, muscles stiff with sudden dread and his stomach twisted in guilt.

"No." Roxas spat, "I didn't want anyone to know."

The blond snapped his head back away from cold fingers that had touched his cheek softly. "Are you ashamed?"

"No!" The younger teen snapped, then paused and again the anger slipped into smooth glass, "…Maybe."

Zexion stood and moved carefully to make himself a cup of tea. Roxas didn't protest—he knew better, just like Zexion knew not to move away when the blond was erupting, Roxas knew that Zexion would do small tasks to have time to collect his thoughts. The give and take of the situation soothed Roxas's nerves slightly.

"You're such a drama queen." The words shocked Roxas out of his thoughts and the tone made him turn to stare at his slate-haired friend. Zexion was smirking slightly, usually a bad sign for whoever was involved. "So, you like girls and guys. Get over it, seriously." He settled back into his chair, two mugs in hand, sliding one over to the blond.

Roxas snatched the tea, spilling a bit, as he glared daggers at the other, "Get over it? He hates me, Zex. Hates me." He growled, but it was lacking the fury behind it.

"I doubt that seriously," Zexion snorted, sipping his tea. "Drama queen." He added as a teasing afterthought.

Underneath the spiky blond hair, the boy's face further and further red. He jerked out of his chair, sending the cheap thing skidding across the small kitchen. "You're just a bastard. My best friend hates me, and all you can say is that I'm a drama queen!"

Taking another sip before setting his mug down with a smirk, "Maybe I'm a bastard, but at least I have the balls to go talk to my best friend before letting society decide his opinion for him."

Roxas snarled, but it was lackluster compared to those earlier. "Society didn't decide anything! He fucking hates me! I just know it!" His face was twisted and red and his hands were coiled at his sides, but Zexion was as calm as ever, not a twitch of guilt left in his expression.

"Then stop being a drama queen and go talk to him." The older boy's lips curled further into his smirk, "Unless… you're going to be a coward, now."

Roxas sputtered and growled, tearing his hands through his hair. After a few moments of half words and guttural, animalistic noises, the blond finally controlled his anger into his fists. "Fine," He ground out. "You're just a fucking bastard. I'm leaving."

"Good." Zexion nodded, smirk still present. "Go find him."

"Fuck you." Roxas slammed his feet as he went, and closed the door with a movement that nearly tore it off its hinges. Zexion was thankful it hadn't fallen; it had been expensive enough the last time.

On the bus ride to Axel's place, Roxas smacked his head into his hands. "Stupid manipulative bastard," He groaned, ignoring the voice in the back of his head saying 'I told you so'—that voice sounded far too much like Zexion for Roxas's taste.

Of course, it didn't help too much that Axel wasn't there.


The door was thrown open violently, its abused hinges complaining loudly. Zexion peered over the top of his novel at the entryway, knowing already who was there—only one other had the key to his apartment.

"Zex!" Loud and harsh as ever was the voice that belonged to the short blond, "You owe me." Roxas growled, shoving another person forward "Watch this one."

Said person stumbled and fell, flat on his face. His fall rather matched his hair, or so Zexion thought, dirty blond, gangly, and insane. Anyone might have been laughing at the ridiculous scene, but the only change was that one stale-colored brow rose.

"Him?" Zexion glanced pointedly at the mess of limbs strewn across his floor.

"Yes, him." Roxas snapped, not in the mood for his friend's cynical attitude. "Watch him." And with another growl, the small blond whipped away, pulling another person out the door with him, "Come with me, Axel." He snarled.

Said redhead didn't move from his wide-eyed stare at the smaller blond until Roxas snatched up his arm and jerked the lanky fire-head out the door with him.

The one on the floor flinched when the front door was heel-kicked closed. Slowly blue-green eyes turned and stared at Zexion. The slate-haired teen hadn't moved from behind his text, and now lowered his head back to indulge himself into his world of ink.

Muffled voices vibrated through the thin walls of his apartment. "I'M NOT A FUCKING BALLERINA!" was the only part that could be made out. Zexion recognized the tone in Roxas's scream and smirked slightly.

The boy on the floor had been slowly picking himself up when there was a harsh, fleshy thud against the door. The dirty blond whipped his head around to stare at the door now. "Is he going to be okay…?" He murmured the question under his breath.

Zexion shot the boy a quick glance, he knew that voice, and turned a page. "He'll be fine. I'm more worried about my door." He snorted, returning to his book.

What caught their attention next was the lowering of the muffled voices.

Zexion made a low sound in his throat, "Seems like it's working then."

"What's working?" The panicky teen sprung up from the floor, still watching the door carefully.

"I wonder who will top." The slate-haired boy continued to himself, ignoring the question posed.

The blond paled. "Who are you?"

Grey eyes, one visible, one not, swung to the fiddling teen with a cross between a mullet and a mohawk being birthed on his head. A smirk lighted upon his lips, "Surprised you don't recognize my voice, Demyx." He tilted his head slightly, mimicking Axel's voice again, "I'm Zexion—Got it memorized?"

Blue-green eyes widened like dinner plates and his mouth popped open. "You're that—"

"Yes," He cut the other off, glancing to the now eerily quiet door, "…Want to see my handiwork?"

Demyx just stared at him. His eyes touched upon the door, just as a loud guttural noise came muffled through the wood. "What the hell are they doing?" He yelped, dancing back a few steps—it wasn't a big room.

Zexion stood in one fluid movement, and drifted to the small window next to the doorway, fingering the thin curtain. "Want to see?" He smirked, a dangerous flash to his eyes.

Demyx reluctantly followed those few steps back towards the door. Closer, he could hear strange smacking sounds and low hisses from the cracks around the door. Almost against his will he leaned next to Zexion to peer through the tiny window as the slate-haired teen nudged the curtain to the side.

…Well that certainly wasn't something Demyx wanted to see being done between his two best friends.

The blond jerked back with a half yelp, but Zexion was ready and had the taller boy's mouth covered in record time. "Shhh. You'll ruin all my hard work." He crooned—voice like woven silt as he carefully maneuvered the mulleted blond away from the door.

Demyx struggled at the firm grip, obviously surprised that Zexion could drag him around like that. He did keep silent when the pale boy tossed him into a cheap plastic chair at a tacky breakfast table. A mug of steaming hot tea was slid into his hands.

"Drink," Zexion nodded towards the ugly-looking mug, slipping into his own chair in a way that seemed all too like a cat that's eaten the canary.

The blond just stared at the mug. It really was quite ugly—half melted looking actually. Blue-green eyes scanned the kitchen, nothing of any real worth sat in the room, more ugly mugs, ugly bowls, cheap plastic plates, a tacky yellowed microwave—it looked like it belonged in the 50's and probably gave people radiation poisoning—nothing seemed to match up with the graceful way the pale boy in front of him held himself.

The boy, whose grey eyes were still watching him, half-lidded, eyebrow quirked in vague amusement, "See anything you'd like?" Zexion chuckled, snapping the other from his thoughts.

Demyx sank in his chair. "Erm," He grunted a noncommittal noise and reached for his ugly mug. Making a face at the taste, he sat it back down. "Ahhyiiick. What the crap did you put in that?"

Grey eyes rolled, "Apparently you share tea appreciation with Rox. Zero respect for the gentle ways of tea leaves." The shorter of the two scowled momentarily, before his lips twisted into another smirk. "I suppose you don't like the comforting essence of Vanilla Chai then."

"Bleck," Demyx pulled his sleeve over his fingers and made a swipe at his tongue, trying to rid himself of the taste. Realizing he was being talked to, he snapped his head around, all too happy to use the conversation to ignore the slowly louder moans coming from the doorway. "You're the one who introduced Roxy to that stuff? He's forced it on everyone at school." The blond grumbled, slightly edging away from the now, constant background noise.

Zexion's lips quirked in amusement at the look on Demyx's face, then his expression blanked, "Really? He claims he hates the stuff."

Demyx snorted. "Sure… hates it." He shook his head with a smile. The blond took an absent sip of the tea, paused, than spit it back into the cup with a grimace. "How'd'you know Roxy anyway?" Blue-green eyes turned on the slate-haired teen, "He just sort of stormed into the café and dragged Axel out—I cut work to see what the hell was going on. They looked ready to kill one another, really." His gaze flickered to the door and back, "Now I'm not so sure I should have bothered…"

Zexion leaned back in his chair, his movement similar to that of a Venus fly trap opening to wait its prey. "Roxas and I have been friends for a long time. We were in different grades, but we managed to find one another anyway." The smaller teen shrugged, ignoring the rest of the chatter. A languid hand brought the ugly mug to his lips, sipping at the warm liquid. The pause in conversation brought both their attentions back to their friends' 'bonding' as another breathy moan drummed through the doorway. The shorter of the two in the kitchen frowned, "I'm going to have to decontaminate my door after this." He murmured sourly.

Demyx sputtered and determinedly turned away from the door, facing Zexion with a taped-on grin. "You're really good at mimicking people's voices right?" His voice was a little high and slightly panicked as he tried to continue the conversation.

"Sure," Zexion's lips quirked upwards again, "I'm just oh-so-wonderful, you know, with mimicking people's voices." He said in Demyx's voice.

Blue-green eyes widened and the boy forcefully blinked before responding, "That's really crazy." A grin suddenly broke out on his face, settling there like it had been just waiting to spread out all this time. "Hey, can you teach me to do that, Zexy?"

A slate-brow quirked upwards, followed closely by a smirk, "Sure."

Somehow—certainly Zexion didn't think it was possible—that grin grew wider on tanned lips.


Roxas shot Zexion a strange look, than turned back to Demyx. "What did you just call Zexion?"

The taller blond paused, his lips pursed in thought. "'Zexy'? What? What's wrong with that?" He blinked at his tiny friend.

Roxas shook his head with a small grin, "Last time I called him that, I nearly lost my ability to have children." He frowned, shooting Zexion another look, this one more teasing but still with that contemplating undertone.

Axel slung his arm around Roxas's shoulders. "Well it's not like you'll be using that ability anytime soon, Roxy." Zexion snorted at the nickname. "Unless you want some arsebabies, of course." The redhead drawled with a lazy smirk.

Roxas's face had flushed at Zexion's knowing snort and now it seemed as if the spiky blond was going to faint from all the blood rushing to his head.

"Axel and Roxy sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G." Came a quiet voice, making all of their heads snap around, "First comes love, then comes marriage—then comes a baby in a baby carriage." Zexion chuckled to himself, his eyes flashing dangerously as the rest of his friends stared.

Roxas glared darkly at his old friend as Axel cracked into laughter next to him, "You might want to watch yourself, or you'll be the one having Demyx's buttbabies." He sneered.

At this, Demyx made a choking sound and Axel had to slap him on the back. Zexion scowled at Roxas. "Don't ruin my games." He growled.

The short blond winked, "Just doing my part to help." He twittered and grabbed Axel by the waist as Demyx began to breathe again, tossing a grin back at the slate-haired boy. "It doesn't always have to be just a game you know."

The newly-recovered, mulleted teen smiled nervously at Zexion, running a hand through the long hair on his neck. He then turned to stare at Roxas and Axel's PDA as the two grew farther and farther away. "Bunnies, the lot of them," He muttered sourly.

Zexion rolled his eyes, "C'mon, let's not get left behind." He snatched the musician's forearm and dragged him along beside him. He seemed to mentally pause for a moment, then continue, "Anyway, it'd be you who would have the arsebabies, not me." He said the same as if he were correcting Demyx on the weather outside.

The blond made an embarrassed gurgle as his face flushed, and although Axel questioned them once they caught up, Demyx wouldn't say why.


A/N: This bit was inspired by a wrong number call I got, where right after hanging up I realized how much fun it would have been to screw with the random unknown lady calling for 'Dennis'...

Plus, the idea of a puppetmaster!Zexion with horrid tastes in furniture was highly appealing. :3