In a world made of twilight we sat on the rooftop of the abandoned cafe on the corner of my street. Axel strumming on his old guitar, playing songs I've never heard before, and probably never will again. His flame red hair held back by a grimy green bandana that matched his eyes, bright wicked green. I couldn't see his eyes at the moment though because he had them shut to the world as he was in his own world trying to share it with me.
Axel was like no other.
In truth we've never told each other much about ourselves, but we know so much more about each other from all the years we've spent together. It may surprise you I don't know his last name, or his middle name, or his age, I don't know whether he goes to school, whether he works or anything.
But I know Axel likes cats, he loves the sound of waves crashing on the beach, he loves the burn of the sun during those hot summer months, he hates the rain because he tells me the world is crying, he has a great sense of fashion – but never dresses fashionably, he claims this is because if he were to dress fashionably he would no longer be unique, no longer be Axel, I know he dyes his hair to get that perfect shade of fire truck red, I know he cried when he got his two tear drop tattoo's beneath his eyes, I know he wonders what's beyond this life, and I know he will always be my best friend.
The relationship we share is like no other relationship I have ever experienced, we know each other's words before they leave our mouths, I have no inhibitions when I'm around him, and we've done stuff I'm reluctant to repeat.
He was my first kiss; it was my first stolen kiss too.
I had been complaining that I had never kissed before when without a warning he planted his lips against mine. Briefly... sweetly. Before pulling back and telling me my problem was over and to shut up. Of course I was furious; he had stolen my first kiss. I remember I had wiped my hand across my mouth trying to remove all traces of Axel, I remember telling him that it didn't count because we didn't want each other. He laughed and told me it didn't matter, that a kiss was a kiss and that was that.
He infuriates me, he makes me laugh. I've cried over things he's said, I've felt sick to my stomach over things he's done. The memories scar me forever; whether that's a good or bad thing I don't know.
He taught me many things, one of which is rollerblading. You would not imagine the pain I had to suffer and the humiliation after Axel let me borrow his skates and proceeded to convince me that the best way to learn to skate is to start at the top of a hill and go down. Of course I believe him, the idiot I am. So I go to the top of this hill, him smirking behind me, he gives me a little push to start, and I'm off. It feels brilliant, the wind rushing through my hair, I feel so alive, like I'm flying. The feeling is short lived because next thing I know I feel like I'm dying and I hurt everywhere, and Axel is laughing and crying at the same time saying it was brilliant, but he's sorry, helping me up and bandaging my hurts. People think I'm insane because I still trust him after that. After all the shit he puts me through I still would never doubt a word he says.
He was the only person who's ever seen my scar. The scar on my chest, the scar over my heart, the scar in the shape of a heart.
He didn't give me shit for it, he simply asked 'Why?' So I told him my secret.
I get scared sometimes that I don't have a heart, that I'm so emotionless, that I'm heartless. Sometimes I can't find myself in me; I drown in my own body. One day I carved a heart into my chest over my heart, I clung to the pain, held myself in myself. The heart reminds me every day of who I am. It's my anchor, my way back to myself if I ever get lost again.
I admit I'm not really normal. But then again who really is?
Axel is a pyromaniac. Surprisingly enough it's one of the reasons I love him. I love the fact that he loves something so unpredictable. Fire can be warm and comforting, it's beautiful. But fire is also destructive and hard to control. Fire has no master. I've watched Axel play with fire. Sometimes it scares me the way he looks at it. I can't really describe it, but... he gets this strange look on his face, he's addicted, he's unresponsive. The only thing he see's is the fire.
I've seen him set himself on fire multiple times. He goes into a sort of trance when he does this. He doesn't seem to feel the pain of the burning, he just watches the flames lick their way across his skin... burning... scarring...
I always stop him. I hated myself when I realised that I didn't stop him for his sake, I stopped him because I was jealous of the fact that he never gave me that much of his attention...
Axel is a dreamer, he's not always there. There always seems to be a part of him somewhere else, a part that dreaming, reminiscing, wishing.
When I say I love Axel, I don't mean in the normal concept. In fact I'm not sure if the way I love him even has a concept. I'm not attracted to him, I don't want his body. I just... love him.
He's my music, my heartbeat. I love him sort of like a part of me. He's my rhythm. I feel him; he is me, in some sort of twisted way. He's part of the air I breathe; Axel is in my veins, keeping me alive. It's hardly a healthy sort of love, it's not an addiction... it just is.
A lot of people don't understand how we can live our lives not knowing the 'important' things about each other. But I ask you... do last names really matter? Do jobs really matter? Do I really need to know all these... material facts about him? Those aren't Axel, they aren't the person he really is, just what the world tries to make him.
Axel is this boy I know, I love. He is most often seen in skinny patchwork jeans, some scuffed up pair of converse, plaid/stripy/spotty/floral shirts, a leather vest over the top, his long hair is usually tied back by something, a bandana, a necklace, whatever he feels like that morning, he's a clasher, and it's intentional, he'll never wear something that actually goes together if he can help it. He's the boy with the old guitar covered in graffiti, it's chipped, the strings have been broken multiple times, it has random stains on it, but it's his guitar. He's the boy with the half smirk always on his face. A wicked expression that has mothers shielding their children from him, afraid he's going to influence their 'babies' into doing some sort of demonic thing. He's the boy always running for the future with his head in the past, who never seems to rush and just watches. He's got some rhythmic vibe that just pulsates from him; I think it's what life would feel like.
I'm not sure if we'll ever get to know each other better in the ways considered conventional and all that. But we don't need to know each other like that. I think that by the time we've learnt all we can from this world, when we are wrinkled on the outside, a wrinkle for each thing we know, when we have gummy smiles and can't remember what's what anymore. The one thing we will have is each other. And by then I will know what his heartbeat sounds like, his breath, I will know every inch of his body; I will know the exact curves of his shadow. And he in turn will know me inside out, upside down, and everywhere.
I can't express how much he truly means to me. The whispers of the wind through our hair, the shine of the moonlight on our skin; they may have an idea. The blackness surrounds us like Axel's tunes, the moonlight illuminates the person I know better than myself, I can feel the wind chilling us to the bone, but I don't care, even though we both have goose bumps, we are sharing the last of our little body heat, breathing the same air, living in the same life, but each having one of our own, on a rooftop we've claimed as ours with the future at our feet, and the past behind, supporting us like the wombs we came from. In this life, in past lives, in future lives 'Axel' and 'Roxas' those are two names you are guaranteed to hear together. We are each other's hearts, truly and forevermore.