Who: Axel
burning_viii, Val
pointedly, and Roxas
gold_keybladeWhen: Late this morning
Where: Chez Nobody
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: teh s3xx0r
Summary: Everybody lies and everybody cheats, but the truth catches up in the end. Also, no one wanted to tell Roxas how he got those burns.
In the end, no one answered his questions. They helped him unwrap the bandages when his hands shook too much to do it himself, they made appropriate noises when he winced over the burns and foisted curatives on him, and told him he had forgotten for a reason, and had nothing to offer about the bit of information Makubex had discovered for him, and generally were no help at all in regards to the giant blank spot in his memory of the previous day.
That mattered, but not as much as the fact that they stayed with him, and their simple presence made the panic quieter in the back of his mind. They were safety, and they stayed the whole night for him in a tangle of warmth and reassuring weight and solid reality, and he clung because he needed them.
His earlier protests had been regarding convention, that people didn't just pick up two lovers because they couldn't make up their minds. He was a Nice Boy. That was what people in the town had called him. Nice Boys didn't get involved in such things, and not with dubious redheads, and not with older women who were also secret agents.
Then again, maybe that told him something about the self he didn't know. And that entire argument seemed far away and unimportant when he was in the moment, tucked securely between them, hiding his face against Axel's neck and Val's fingers carding softly through his hair.
Maybe it was wrong. Maybe it would have been wrong back home, but he wsn't back home, and he was being subjected to forces and events that he didn't understand, and they were the only things that made everything else go away. If the blackouts were somehow a sign of his being sick or dying or possessed, the only time it didn't matter was when he was with them.
So he slept that night. And didn't worry, for once, that he would wake up somewhere unrecognizable, with blood on his hands and clothes again. They wouldn't let him. They wouldn't let him disappear.
They did let him shift around in his sleep, mostly because they were doing the same thing, and by the time the morning had spent itself and it was already edging into high noon, he was no longer the one in between, but very contentedly and obliviously breathing against Val's shoulderblade, his palm cupping her heartbeat.