Diclaimer: Do not want. Well, I do. But, sadly, I don't have. Kingdom Hearts isn't mine.
A/N: Sorry for the less than desirable writing and slight cracktastic theme around this chapter. Next will be better:D
And I promise this isn't as crazy as it seems right off the bat.
Chapter 1: Situations are irrelevant
Axel chewed on the stick in his mouth as he stared at the rotating mix of clothes, water, and detergent absentmindedly. Really, he should've thought to wash his clothes before packing up and hauling ass out of his parent's place a few states away. It would've made things a whole hell of a lot easier, that's for sure.
But here he was, stuck doing laundry on the last Saturday before he was to start his first semester at Hollow Bastion University. Saturday night, to be exact. What he should've been doing was enjoying the night life and living it up at a local club or bar. He knew a few people in the area, and maybe he could've met up with his roommate…whom he had, oddly enough, yet to meet.
He had moved into the apartment a week and a half ago, finished unpacking last night, and had been stuck at the Laundromat since eight in the morning doing laundry. It was now twelve hours later, and there he sat with a pocket still full of quarters and bags undoubtedly gathering under his eyes.
College life sucked already. He missed the days where his mom would shout down to him to come grab his laundry basket sitting on the worn brown couch of their living room, piled to the brim with carious articles of his clothing. And he used to complain about having to fold them himself. This was so much worse. So, so much worse.
They say you don't appreciate something until it's gone.
Groaning quietly, he leaned back in his seat and stretched his long legs in front of him, taking the time to examine his sneakers. God damn, the things were nasty. In his senior year of high school he had, apparently, thought it was cool to write all over the toes and sides of his converse in any bout of boredom. The ending result was them looking like a heaping pile of tattered shit, littered with crude doodles of flames and 'profound' lyrics and quotes.
With his first paycheck, shoes were going to be bought.
Axel squinted at the digital clock across the small Laundromat and sighed as the small red hand ticked on by. The washing machine dinged and he hoisted himself from his seat to switch the load around. After shoving in another load, his second to last, he noted with glee, and putting the previous one in an adjacent drier, he tossed the cleanest of his clothes into a nearby basket and took up his seat once more. Oh yeah, this was the life.
His last load was running in the drier and he had sprawled himself across the expanse of five chairs, arm thrown over his eyes, when the door to the Laundromat flung open for the first time since his arrival earlier that morning. Apparently, no one else deemed Saturday 'laundry day'. Whatever, more for him. Because he knew that only the coolest kids did their laundry on Saturdays rather than hanging out with their friends and being social—honestly, who wanted to spend their time doing that?
So, naturally, the person who walked in must have been apart of the cool kids club. And if he wasn't? Well, Axel would just have to invite him. They could go out for dinner and discuss the next club meeting. Perhaps they could even have it at the Laundromat the following Saturday. It could become a tradition! Oh, joy, happy day.
"Motherfucking ball sacks,"
Axel suppressed a surprised snort at the sudden profanity that flew out into the silence. He moved his arms slightly and cracked open an eye to see…an ass wiggling in his face. Well not in his face, per se, and it wasn't exactly wiggling, but it was still there. More like on the other side of the Laundromat, remaining perfectly still as the owner of said ass bent over to pick something up off the floor.
"Sorry about that," The person said as they straightened up, holding the retrieved object between their ear and shoulder as they rummaged through their pockets. It would be safe to assume the person was a male, or a testosterone-filled girl…Axel bet on the first.
"Yeah, I just dropped my phone," The man (boy?) said into the device as he ran a hand through a mess of frighteningly spiky blonde locks—like Axel was one to talk with his own head of dangerous crimson spikes. He made his way over to one of the machines and popped in two quarters. He bent down once more and began rummaging through what Axel presumed to be his laundry bag as he continued to talk on the phone. "I'll just be a bit…An hour tops…Oh, because you're so busy…Uh huh, sure," He gave a small laugh as he slammed the door of the machine closed and stabbed at the start button after staring at the contraption for a few moments and messing with the knob.
"Yeah, I'll be quick. See ya," he shook his head slightly as he pocketed the phone. Muttering something under his breath he turned and leaned against the wall of washing machine and driers. He was raking a hand through his hair again when his gaze landed on Axel. "Uh…hi?"
Well, hello there, beautiful.
Axel bit back the particularly…creepy remark as he sat up. Over twelve hours in a Laundromat would do that to you. Drive you crazy, that is. To the point where such creepy comments even crossed your mind. And then, you proceeded to actually think about how crazy you must be going to have thought such a thing in the first place. And then you start thinking and thinking about it…
"Yo," Axel greeted briefly as he limited himself to taking up only two chairs. For the record, his ass was not that big. It was quite small, in fact. To the point where people thought they were original when they made anorexic and bulimic jokes, going around calling him 'twiggy'. Ha ha, so fucking funny. Well, thing was he would rather be scrawny (not to say that he was, or anything, no. He definitely had some muscle definition going on…somewhere. It just took a bit to find it) than morbidly obese. Funny thing was that the very same people who seemed to enjoy making fun of his weight (or lack thereof) were just that.
"You don't look like a hobo," the blonde commented offhandedly. Axel stared at him blankly.
"Because…I'm not?" he tried, eyeing the other warily.
"Then why were you sleeping there?"
"Not sleeping," Axel jabbed a thumb over his should at the machine the two machines that were rattling with his clothes inside. "Laundry."
"Ah," the blonde said as he plopped down into one of the chairs that were set up back-to-back with Axel's row. "This is a Laundromat, isn't it?"
"No, it's a gay strip club," Axel rolled his eyes.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you? I mean, you're obviously a flamer,"
Axel snapped his attention to the blonde, lips parted and ready to snarl out a nasty response when he noticed the small smile playing across said blonde's face as he eyed Axel's red hair. Hardy har, motherfucking, har.
"Funny," Axel hissed.
The blonde shrugged, "I thought so, too," He looked as if he was about to say something else when the front door flew open once more. Oh ho ho, so now the party was really starting. The secret night life of the Laundromat was finally coming to light and revealing itself to Axel. Score!
…God, he needed to get out of this place.
The blonde grimaced as a thin man walked in, the few chains that hung on his jeans rattling. He was tall, probably just a few inches shorter than Axel, with platinum hair that fell past his shoulders and bangs falling into his poignant aquamarine eyes. A small smirk curled the man's thin lips as he looked at the blonde.
"Rox, my man," he greeted as he strolled over to the blonde—presumably 'Rox'. He wasted no time in stripping off his shirt, exposing his milky, toned, Axel noted with a tinge of jealousy, abdomen to the world as the tank top underneath rose up. Wasn't there something about public indecency?
The blonde, however, seemed completely unperturbed.
"Give me fifty cents," the silver-haired man said, holding a ring-adorned hand out.
Rox raised a brow, "My, my, Riku, is business that bad? Seems pretty cheap, even for you,"
"Shut the fuck up," the other snorted, snapping his fingers. Rox just stared at him, a light smirk ghosting his lips. Riku rolled his eyes and glanced over his shoulder at the rumbling machine behind him and a moment later was ripping open the door prematurely. The blonde was up in an instant.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"Cleaning my shirt," he replied shortly, shifting through the articles of clothing inside. "These are whites, right?" He answered his own question a second later when he pulled out a pair of checkered white and black boxers. "Yup, Saturday is tight-y white-y day,"
"What the hell, Riku?"
"I fell in a puddle," the silverette said simply, tossing his shirt in and closing the door once more.
"I fell into a puddle. My shirt needs to be cleaned,"
"You look perfectly fucking clean to me," the blonde spat.
"That's because it dried. Still reeks, though,"
"You couldn't have gone home and changed?"
"…Could've. But I didn't,"
Silence. And then…
"You fell into a puddle?"
"Not exactly…" Riku said, tossing his hair over his shoulder.
"More like it fell on me,"
"Riku…" the blonde sighed. "What the fuck,"
"A car drove by and splashed water up on me,"
Rox rolled his eyes. "Why didn't you say that in the first place?"
"I thought you'd understand," he replied with a shrug.
Amidst the…bantering of the odd pair, Axel's machine started dinging. He quickly rose to his feet, eager to get out of the Laundromat, and began shoving the last of his dry clothes into one of his many laundry bags. Five trips back and forth to his shitty old sedan, and he was finally loaded up. Fleeting words reached his ears as he left the small building.
"…Then lick it off, I don't give a damn!"
College…was just as boring as it was made out to be. Not made out to be by those crazy crack-heads who were drunk 57% of the time and high the other 43%, who partied every night and just barely managed to coast their way through each semester—undoubtedly with some help from mommy and daddy. No, college was just like those people with bags under their eyes and hands shaking from coffee-overdose said it was. It was hell.
The professors were either crazy, slightly off their rocker, or boring as all fuck. Then there was always the prized teacher who might as well come in with a squirrel tail hanging out of their mouth and blood splattered all over their clothes. Because he swore to motherfucking god that Prof. Seymour was a werewolf or some other mythological shit.
As it turned out, Mister Physco 'look-at-my-abs-I-like-to-take-my-shirt-off-in-public-places' ended up being a regular occurrence for him. With his shirt on, of course. Granted, Axel had wanted to slam his nose into face and rip his entrails out the first week, but he wasn't so bad after a while. Dare he say…they actually got along. It was a last resort type thing for the both of them, having to see each other's stupid face (Riku was the only one with the stupid face, for the record. Axel was one-hundred percent stupid face free) every day and not really having anyone else to talk to. And of course the threat to be suspended for the semester if they started one more verbal brawl was always a good push in the right direction.
Axel hadn't seen much of Blondie-what's-his-face around campus. Correction, he hadn't seen him at all. It wasn't much of a surprise, and didn't dwell on the subject too long. It had been a traumatic experience, any way.
The thing that bothered him the most was that a month into the school year, and he was still roommate-less. Not that he minded or anything, but it was kind of…unsettling. He didn't know who the jerk off was but still found himself zoning out at random intervals during lectures wondering if the guy had been victim to an axe-murderer and if AxeI was next.
Well, whatever. More room for him and no one to nag him for having his shit all over the place.
Tuesdays were work days. Work days meant sitting behind a counter from 4 to 8 at night, being bored into fucking oblivion whilst he imagined little goblins skittering through the shelves and close-lining each other. And then there was always the option of doing his assignment for the weekly lab. Which was exactly what he was doing when Demyx, in all his bright, sun-shiny, faggot-filled glory, trounced into the used book store where Axel worked.
God damn, he loved that man.
Demyx flashed a grin as he slammed a steaming cup of whatever-the-hell it was in front of the redhead and hopped up to sit on the counter. He swung his legs back and forth as he tilted his head back, grinning.
"Demyx, marry me, will you?" Axel asked after taking a long swig of the drink. If it made him a flaming homosexual for loving caramel macchiatos, then so be it.
"Sorry, mate, I'm saving myself for someone sexy," he drawled, kicking his feet up and practically laying across the counter. Not like anyone was planning on buying anything any time soon. The only time people ever came in was when their Lit. Professors decided to be funny and assign them some ancient piece of text to read over the weekend. And even then, being the poor college students they were, they would sit in one of the aisles for the entire day and read it there.
"I am sexy," Axel gasped, appalled. "I'm…I'm the sexiest thing since sex came to sexy-town!"
"My ass," Demyx laughed as he rolled onto his back and snatched a book from atop on of the nearby return piles he had yet to reshelf.
"Story time," he hummed to himself, flipping through the book. He cleared his throat as he held the book high above his head.
"Once upon a time there was a man named Meyd. Meyd was, naturally, drop dead sexy because he was the prince of party rock and everyone wanted his hot bod. One day, Meyd was bored as fuck so he went to go visit his not-as-sexy-but-still-pretty-damn-hot friend Lea. As it turned out, Lea was pretty fucking bored to. In the end, the two fine-ass men said 'fuck it' and went off to party all night," he closed the book and tossed it in the general direction of behind him. "The end,"
"Sorry, Dem, but I have to finish my shift," Axel said, glaring at the words before him. When ions bond in the hazardous environment of blah mother fucking blah…
"Obviously, I was talking about some hot guy named Meyd who probably has super sexy hair, and his friend Lea. God, Axel, not everything has to be about you," Axel snorted as Demyx made an attempt at some lame flip of hair over his shoulder. In the end, it only looked like he had some unfortunate form of turrets since his dirty-blonde fohawk thing barely reached past the nape of his neck.
"Sure, sure," Axel said, waving him off. After chewing on the end of his pencil for a few moments, he spoke again, "Hey, Dem…"
Demyx lifted his head slightly and looked past his phone at Axel. He cocked a brow. "Chyeah?"
"So…A mixture of morphine and an inert solid is analyzed by combustion with oxygen. The unbalanced equation C17 H19 NO3 + O2 to CO2 + H2O + NO2. The inert solid does not react with oxygen. If 4.0 grams of the mixture yields 8.72 grams of CO2 calculate the percent morphine and mass in the mixture…I balanced the equation and junk, but what do they want me to do now?"
The blonde blinked, a pained look crossing his face, "You're killing me, man," he groaned. "What the hell is that shit, anyway?"
The next time Demyx wanted to go hit on some girls at Radiant Garden, Axel would kindly, and with the utmost compassion, tell him to go fuck himself. Because those bitches were scary as fuck, and even if they hadn't been, their boyfriends were nearing seven motherfucking feet, and were made of muscle and protein shakes. Axel, personally, was skinny as all hell and, even though he made it a point to work out every now and again, he would've been snapped like a twig. Especially since Demyx would prove to be useless, having run like a little girl who shit his pants the minute the two burly men came insight.
Axel ran like hell, too, he had just tried to save some face before running away screaming.
The redhead slumped against the door to his apartment, panting heavily. He groaned as he fished his keys out of his pocket and fumbled with the small pieces, fingers still trembling from the sprint across town. Sure, he could've stopped running after the first two minutes when he realized the guys weren't following him, but where would the fun in that be? All he wanted now was to drag his scrawny ass to bed and lay there for a few hours.
After a good ten minutes of struggling, he finally managed to grasp the correct to and shove it into the lock, successfully entering his apartment. Score one Axel.
"Home, sweet, home," he mumbled, tossing his bag to the side. Tripping over himself, he made it safely to the adjacent kitchen and snatched a water bottle form the fridge before starting toward the hall. He would just lay down for fifteen minutes…an hour tops. Then he would haul ass out of bed and get started on his assignments for next week. Then again he did have the entire weekend to work on it, and he didn't have any classes tomorrow…
Oh decisions, decisions.
Proceeding down the hall toward his room, Axel Strey would admit that he nearly crapped himself. Not just for fun, or anything. And it wasn't like he couldn't control his bowl movements and needed Depends. No, he clenched his cheeks and dove into the nearest room because there was a murderer standing at the end of the hall.
Looking back on it later, he would admit that it had been a pretty bad ass dive, ignoring the fact that he had crashed into his desk head first. Because that was but a minor detail.
Axel poked his head out past the doorway hesitantly and peaked down into what was supposed to be an empty bedroom. Said bedroom was, in fact, not empty, and instead filled with a small figure that had his back to him, black hood pulled over his head, and a long, gleaming blade cradled carefully in his hand as he undoubtedly planned Axel's bloody demise. So, he had been wrong. The guy hadn't been an axe-murderer; he was more into the splicer-dicer type thing.
He still wasn't so chill with his life ending before he had gotten the chance to genuinely fuck it up.
An army crawl across the room later, and Axel had successfully gotten his hands on the aluminum bat that was propped up in the corner of his bedroom. The thing was beat up, scratched and dented from one too many baseballs, but he figured it would do a good enough job at knocking the murderer unconscious. And if it didn't, he could always run and scream like a little girl. Or jump out the window. Forget the fact that he was on the seventh floor, no bid deal, or anything.
Right about this time he imagined dramatic suspense filled music would played in the background as he crept down the hall. He would've started humming it, too, if he hadn't though it would blow his cover. Never mind that the guy should've heard him when he first slammed the front door or crashed into his bedroom, he was probably just waiting until the last minute to strike. It was too bad that Axel was well-versed in the ways of a being a motherfucking badass and couldn't be taken down so easily.
Which is exactly why, as he raised the bat high above his head, ready to go in swinging, a sudden pressure was placed behind his left knee and he went crashing to the floor.
"You're a pretty pathetic robber if that took you out," a bored voice said from above him as he rolled on the floor, trying to get the feeling back in his leg. He glanced up through narrowed green eyes to see a blonde devil hovering above him.