Kingdom Hearts 2 (Axel/Roxas)
Title: Put Your Hands Into The Fire 1/2
Author/Artist: Di (whitereflection)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: AU, m/m sex in part 2
Word count: 11,477 total
Summary: Growing up, settling down, loving your best friend, loving fire; sometimes it really is that easy.
Prompt: July 9, 38. Kingdom Hearts 2, Axel/Roxas: Pyromania - "Burn, baby, burn"
A/N: For Kat, Coyo, and caffeine ♥ And with all my thanks to animadri for being a gracious person and wonderful mod. Extra thanks to Coyo and a rl friend of mine for betaing.
I have a soundtrack, of sorts, to go with the fic. Links to songs can be found in the text, or there's a zip of all five here: PYHitF ST zip
Second part to follow in a moment. So hoping I haven't screwed anything up on either half. *crossing fingers*
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"I'd like you to consider exactly why again, Axel. Could we try once more? I just need you to clear your mind, let everything else go, focus on only one thought: why do you want to burn things?"
"I said I don't want to burn things."
"Axel...."
"I'm serious. Are you listening to me? I don't want to burn things. I want to burn. I. Me."
"You're looking to burn you, is that what you're saying? Then let me restate the question. Why do you want to burn yourself? Are you needing to hurt yourself? Are you feeling a need to punish yourself for something, or is it to distract yourself from things you're feeling that you don't want to?"
"What? No. What the hell? You're not listening again. That's not what I'm saying at all. I don't want to burn things, I don't want to burn me. I'm not looking to hurt myself. Strange as it may seem, I like me. What I said was I want to burn. I want to burn. You see what I'm saying? No reason. I just want to. It's the way it should be. The way I should be."
"Hm."
"You still don't understand, do you. Look, what's so hard about it? I. Want. To. Burn. Small words, short sentence. Easy to fuckin' memorize. Why don't you get it? Why don't any of you get it?"
"Let me...let's approach the question of why a different way. Perhaps that would help us make some progress."
"Goddamnit."
-----
{Songs:Ohia -- Whenever I Have Done A Thing In Flames}
Nobody got it. Nobody ever got it. Not his parents, not his teachers, not the counselors, psychiatrists, psychologists, or therapists they sent him to. He'd been perfectly open and honest about what he was, who he was, what he felt, ever since his so-called 'obsession' started, and they still never could comprehend what he said. Their eyes glazed over, their ears sealed shut, and the only words that filtered through were the labels they themselves applied to him. They feared him; they for him feared him. All because of what they believed him to be.
Pyromaniac. It always came back to that word.
But didn't they see, couldn't they understand? He wasn't looking to destroy things, or to hurt himself or others. He wasn't psychopathic, or cruel, or overwhelmed by loneliness, sadness, or rage that needed an outlet. He didn't want to set the fire--he wanted to be the fire. He wanted to be the light, the heat, he wanted to sway and leap and dance and burn.
That was all. What was so hard about that concept? What was so bad about it? Some men wanted to be women; some women wanted to be men. He was a human that wanted to be flame.
To be honest, there was one person who was different. Who, while he didn't understand, didn't try to put words in Axel's mouth or beliefs and thoughts in his head, didn't try to jam him into a category where he didn't fit just because he didn't make sense.
Roxas. His best friend. The friend he'd had almost all his life, who'd lived next door, played with him, fought with him, been there with him, and for him, longer than he even had memories. The one--the only one--who had never gotten weirded out or scared by Axel's fire 'thing'--who outright said he didn't understand it, but only because he wasn't Axel. Who instead simply accepted that it was a part of Axel, was what made him him. Axel's eyes were green, his hair was red, he liked his food spicy, his music loud, he was good at science, he was flame in a human being's skin. It was as simple as that.
He wasn't Axel's friend in spite of him being a sort-of pyro, but just because Axel was Axel. Just like he'd always been Axel. And Axel loved him for it.
Loved him as a friend, of course...but sometimes he thought more than that even, maybe.
They were where they usually hung out most afternoons: in Axel's living room, books and papers and backpacks piled on the coffee table. They'd finished their homework for the day, and now Roxas was stretched out on the faded green plush couch, with Axel curled up at the other end facing him. Axel's long, gangly legs were drawn up so his knees came up to his chin, his feet wedged into the crack of the cushions between the back and seat of the sofa, and he was listening to Roxas read.
Though Roxas was a year behind him, they both were in junior English, Axel in the regular level class and Roxas in the honors course. When he'd complained at the beginning of the year that the books he was assigned to read were always more boring than those Roxas was given, the other boy had taken to reading Axel his assignments aloud--though whether to prove Axel right or wrong, he was never sure. They'd discovered that they liked doing it, and it had become habit. Sometimes Axel provided editorial comments regarding the books (with Roxas muttering something about 'peanut galleries' under his breath), though mostly he just listened, sometimes imagining the characters and worlds of the stories, other times just closing his eyes and drifting somewhere between awake and dozing to the sound of Roxas' voice.
Today it was Walden, or Life in the Woods, by Thoreau. The late afternoon sun was still bright through the windows, and Axel was drifting. Eventually he roused when he realized that Roxas had stopped speaking. Cracking open one eye, he peered over his knees at the other boy, arching an eyebrow to question the silence. Roxas was gazing at him, lost in thought, the book resting forgotten in his lap.
"Have you ever thought," Roxas finally murmured, "of maybe giving them what they want?"
"Huhph?" Axel's reply was muffled against his folded arms, but mostly he was still letting the questioning eyebrow do the talking. Roxas knew what the expression meant. He always did.
"You know, like with your therapist. And your parents, that sort of thing." Axel had ranted earlier about his latest counselling session, about how the moron had just kept pushing at him for answers other than the true, valid ones he'd given. As usual, it had been a total waste of time. Roxas must have been pondering it since then. "Maybe it's worth giving them something they can understand and that they believe they can fix. Throw them a bone, see if it'd get them off your back?"
"What, you mean play along like I'm the bad little pyro they keep saying I am?"
"They're not saying you're bad. At least, I know your parents aren't." Roxas poked at Axel with one foot, and Axel pondered stealing his sock if he kept it up. "And I'm not saying you're bad, or that you should act that way. Just...." He paused for a moment, mulling over his words, upper lip caught between his teeth. "It's freaking your parents out right, not having something that's a solid reason that can be fixed?"
"Well, yeah. I mean, yeah, but it's always like that." Suddenly restless, Axel unfolded himself from the couch and began to pace in meandering patterns around the room. "Maybe it's been a little worse lately though." The fruitless sessions that left him more and more pissed off did seem to be making his parents more and more worried. It seemed like they always looked pained, serious, were always speaking in hushed tones to each other when they thought he was out of earshot. It twisted his stomach to see them like that--he wasn't looking to hurt them, wasn't trying to cause them problems by just being himself. He'd always tried to be a good kid, really he had.
Roxas nodded at him. "Right. That's why I was wondering...it's not something I'm saying you have to do, but maybe think about it. If they just can't understand what's going on and it's scaring them, maybe give them something that they do understand. Something that's a this-is-definitely-it diagnosis, that they can treat and feel is under control."
"So lie?" Now Axel was speaking with the "Oh, really?" eyebrow, but Roxas just stared back, his jaw getting that determined jut to it.
"Would you rather keep beating your head on a brick wall trying to prove you're in control of yourself and that they have nothing to fear from you? Or would you have them come to believe it on their own and not have to struggle with them about it all the time? This has gone on for years, and nothing ever changes." Sitting up, he dropped the novel into his backpack, blue eyes following Axel around the room as he continued to pace. "I'm not saying to do anything really awful, just little things. Give them the answers they want and expect."
"They're expecting me to set fires."
"So set some." Roxas shrugged as Axel sputtered. "I'm serious. We find some junk somehere in the neighborhood that people might be considering an eyesore already, so maybe even if you get in trouble, they'd be thinking 'Ha, I wish I could've done that myself'...."
We. Roxas had said we. Axel stared at his friend for a long time, turning over in his head the oddly significant feeling that 'we' had. "Eyesores, huh?"
"Like that woodpile in the Thomas' yard that they've never gotten around to using for firewood. Ray Ludaka's always bitching that it'll get a termite infestation and spread to his place. Or there's that shed on the corner lot that's halfway falling down. I've heard Mom complain that the neighborhood's called the landlord over and over to do something about it, but he never does."
"You've put a lot of thought into this."
Roxas looked away, and when he spoke it was almost too quiet to hear. "I don't like seeing you like this all the time. Every year it's the same, and it's...wearing you down. I don't want them to panic and drug you into a coma, or send you to one of the juvenile hospitals or...." Trailing off, he shrugged again. "I want you to be able to be you, without people giving you hell for it."
Axel loved him like a friend. Like a best friend. Of course. And he loved him more than that even, for sure. The warmth in his heart said so.
Roxas dug around in his backpack, fishing out another book--a worn, very thumbed-through copy of Jack Kerouac's On The Road. He gave Axel a pointed look until Axel shook his head with a wry half-smile and flopped back down. This time he was the one to sprawl out, his head resting on Roxas' cross-legged lap, as Roxas began to pick out Axel's favorite quotes, the ones that had caused him to fall head over heels for the book months ago. And like he did every night they studied together like this, he ended with the one that Axel loved best of all, the one he wrote down inside of every book he owned, that he at times wrote on his arm, just to see it on his skin.
"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes 'Awww!'"
Eyes closed, listening to the low cadence of Roxas' voice, Axel drifted again. "I'll think about it," he whispered as Roxas finished. "What you said...I'll think about it."
Later, as he was leaving, Roxas dug something out of his cargo pants pocket and pressed it into Axel's hand. "Found it at the bookstore," he said. It was a magnet, just a big flat black square, and Axel only faintly registered the sound of the door closing as he gazed at the orange and yellow text, rubbing a thumb over the words. He read it, that favorite Kerouac quote, out loud, just to hear it again (even if it was just his own voice). A few seconds pause, and he made a beeline for the kitchen, sticking it in a prominent place on the refrigerator's freezer door.
It made his parents do a double-take when they got home. Then his father just turned away, and his mother got that pinched look on her face, even as she rubbed a comforting hand across Axel's shoulders. "You had a good day, hon?" she asked.
"Yeah. Roxas came over to study."
"Good, good," she murmured. Axel knew his parents liked Roxas. Maybe he wasn't some adolescent knight in shining armor like that one too good for his own...well, good, cousin that sometimes visited Roxas. But they knew as well as Axel did that Roxas was one of the most decent people a guy like him could have as a friend--and more likely than not his parents believed Roxas was a healthy, stable influence on him. And in general, he was. Except when he was suggesting Axel set fires to help clean up the neighborhood and to help clean up his life.
-----
The magnet stayed on the fridge for years. It was never moved, not even adjusted, not until the fridge finally died and they had to get a new one, and it left a thin black line where its edges had been when they finally peeled it off. As much as it might have made his parents twitch when they'd first seen it, it had become a symbol to them of progress, hope, and success. Because, to his not-quite-surprise, Roxas' idea worked.
Axel didn't change his tune all at once. He wasn't stupid (and really, for all their lack of understanding, neither were his parents or the psychiatric people they took him to see). Hedging a few answers here and there, 'revealing' a little more each time, giving way a little more each session as they got him to 'finally open up'--and a small fire set in a neighbor's backyard woodpile that interestingly enough got him in surprisingly little trouble.
"It's okay, it's okay," his mother had crooned, hugging him after fire crews left. It was so easy to make himself tremble. "We'll beat this, honey. We'll beat this yet."
A yard away he could hear Ray Ludaka's booming voice, and he wished Roxas were there to hear it, because it was as if they'd written the scene together, like for a play, and the adults were actors going through the motions. "Thank your kid for me, Fred. Keep 'im away from my house," har har har went his laugh, and really, if the guy weren't such an ass, he'd be jolly, "but thank him. If I'd've had the guts, I woulda torched that wood myself. Always was threatening Barry I'd do it. If I ever got termites, I was gonna send him the damned bill. Your boy, though, he's an odd sorta all right."
And so Axel 'Got Better'. Basically. It was funny how seeing a counsellor for 'behavior modification therapy' wasn't much different than the visits he'd had for so many years before; except these always ended with a 'We're making so much progress. Your parents are so proud of you!' He always answered, "I'm proud of me, too," and grinned. He'd felt freer then than he had in a long, long time. Little white lies, he thought at times, imagining flames curling lazily through his center as he always did, could do a world of good.
There was, however, one instance that made Axel wonder how well he'd really truly done in acting the pyromaniac people thought he was (and why his parents and the psychologists and counselors he'd visited never caught on). One grey day he sat outside of the medical building, waiting for his parents to pick him up after a session, when someone moved just into his peripheral vision. At first Axel just ignored whoever it was, pegging it for some office employee out for a smoke break--in fact, the person did light up a moment after leaning against the wall near where Axel sat.
"You're doing good, kid."
Axel blinked up, then stared despite himself. It was a man, short and obviously older, with the salt-and-pepper dark hair pulled back into a harsh ponytail--and with scars scoring his face and neck, including a particularly vicious one running under an eyepatch. Lord knew what his skin was like under the areas covered by clothing.
Belatedly Axel realized he was gawking. "Uh, sorry. What?"
"Said you're doing good. Seen you around a lot over time. Looks like you're finally getting the hang of it all. Think you were probably close to being referred to me, but looks like someone gave you the sorta advice I would've already."
Axel boggled. This guy was one of the psychologists or psychatrists in the building? Crap, one of the really specialized ones from the sound of it. Then he swallowed as realization prickled over his skin. This guy knew....
But he was just blowing smoke rings as if he didn't have a care in the world, like what he was implying to Axel was no big deal. "That's the thing. Person like you, or like me, gotta keep the fire banked. So to speak. Keep everyone happy. And you gotta learn to do so not just to your own satisfaction, right, but so that everyone who's watching ya like a hawk's comfortable around ya. Believes you're not a danger to yourself and others. Funny how much of a song and dance it can be, eh?"
Distantly, he felt himself nod. Oh man, there was no way he was actually having this conversation. No way could some doctor be talking to him like this. "Um. Yeah. Kinda."
"One bit of advice for ya. Not like doctor to patient or anything, but just something from someone who maybe knows how it feels. Something to keep in mind as you're learning to walk the tightrope. Controlled burn. Learn the concept. Figure out how to make it work for you."
"Controlled burn? I don't...."
"Figure of speech, kid. Mostly. Kinda fitting for you, though. But hear me out. A controlled burn, for your forest or prairie management types, is about setting fire to areas according to a precise plan, with emergency procedures established in advance, contingency plans. Keeps the ecosystem healthy and prevents wildfires from going out of control and causing true destruction. Makes sure fire happens where it's needed, and doesn't go where it shouldn't. Now consider that there's something in your life that you need while at the same time you're having to walk the walk under watchful eyes." And now Axel really wondered, even though he was trying not to, how completely scars covered the man's skin where people couldn't see, and how many of those were new. "So what can you do to set up a controlled burn for yourself?"
He gave Axel a meaningful 'Eh?' look, took one last drag off his cigarette, and tossed it to the sidewalk, grinding it out beneath his dress shoe. Then he turned on his heel with a careless wave. "Hang in there, dude. Gimme a holler if things get rough for ya again. Dr. Braig's office."
Rounding the corner of the building with quick steps, he was out of sight before Axel uttered a hasty, "Later...."
Then Axel was alone, left to ponder the advice the guy--the doctor, rather--had given. He thought about the fire he could practically feel spreading under his skin, the flames he almost see dancing around his body according to his command--and the craving he had that it be real and not just wished-for. He stared at his hands and wondered. What sort of substitute could fool the mind, convince the heart, satisfy the soul?
-----
{Institute -- Bulletproof Skin}
Axel's dreams always involved fire. Always. Only his nightmares lacked flames.
It was dark, and storming, and they were running as fast as they could. But no matter where they went, those things still kept up, chasing them into every hiding place, popping up out of every shadow. They moved like they were made of flowing mercury, but were black as night, eyes glowing like sick-yellow moons, and their claws skittered sharp on the pavement. They wanted Axel. He didn't know why--but he did know he was utterly terrified.
"Get back!" Roxas shouted, suddenly skidding to a halt, slamming him back against the rough brick of the alley wall. Just ahead an inky puddle glittered near a sputtering streetlight, and the things boiled up out of it, tumbling, scuttling, coming for them, for him. Axel twisted around to run back the way they'd come from, then swore.
"They're behind us!"
Now Roxas cursed, low and under his breath, and he gestured abruptly with both hands. A flash of light blinded Axel, and as the spots cleared from his vision, he saw that Roxas wielded...weapons. Something. Something like weapons, but not.
And then Roxas leaped at the creatures under the streetlight with a growling, almost feral, yell, slashing at them with the...keys, those couldn't be keys, who would fight with something like that? But the yellow-eyed things were shrieking and dying, and they were tearing at Roxas as they fought back, but he was just decimating them.
The world wobbled before Axel's eyes, going blurry, then too sharp. For a moment it looked like Roxas was wearing all black, a long coat that swirled about his body as he fought--no, he was just in his normal clothes. But as he blinked, Roxas was changed again, now in something white and black and khaki, and there was a glimpse of black/white checks as he spun around and dashed towards the creatures coming from behind them. Then, wait, he was just in jeans and a t-shirt again. What the hell...?
"Axel! Get out of here! Go!"
Shaking his head to try to clear his vision, Axel nodded, sprinting out of the alley. Damn it, why didn't he have weapons or some way to fight, too? Why was he helpless? Wasn't there anything he could do? But even as these thoughts burned in his mind, he ran, with the sound of Roxas battling behind him.
The things Roxas already killed were in pieces, melting back into the rain-slicked asphalt beneath the streetlight. But as Axel ran by, something snaked up and clawed at his leg, catching at his jeans, and he slammed hard to the ground. "Fuck!" Twisting around, he jerked his leg hard to try to free it, but already more black ooze twined up and over him, like vines of living shadow. It trapped his arm and his other leg and even as he bucked against it, spread tentacles of dark around his waist, holding him fast against the street. And then suddenly it wasn't just dark ooze anymore, it was those things, he was covered with those creatures--and they were clawing at him, ripping through his clothes and oh god it was like they were trying to dig down through his skin to his heart....
He screamed, he roared, he raged, straining to fight back. Somehow through it all he heard Roxas yelling at him, echoing as if from very far away, "Axel! Axel! Damn it, you've got power, use it!"
Use...? But he didn't have...oh, that. He couldn't do that. People hated him for that power. They were scared of it, it was bad if he used it, he had to keep it locked away, hidden, don't do it, don't use it, oh god his chest was ice, and those things, they were chittering and jeering and laughing at him oh god he was dying....
"Damn it, do it, Axel!" Roxas' voice was suddenly close, loud and clear and resounding as a clocktower bell. "It's okay! Let the fire out, Axel. Do it! NOW!"
It was okay...? He could...? Time skidded into slow motion, and his breathing became long, drawn-out rasping in his ears. His eyes fluttered slowly closed, and he focused inwards, sinking down, down within himself to where those things hadn't yet reached. The moments between his breaths drew out even longer, and his heartbeat resounded in his head. There! And suddenly there was light and heat and ignition and joy and oh yes, his blood blazed....
He arched, convulsed, and the world exploded into inferno.
Then Axel woke.
His breath was ragged, gasping, harsh in the still quiet of night, and he blinked, dazed. He should be burning. There...there should be fire. Where did it go...?
But the groggy fog of sleep gradually cleared, and realization set in like a cold weight in his chest. Dream. Not real. He wasn't...he couldn't...not real.
A sound almost like a whimper clawed out of his throat before he could stop it. He slapped a hand hard over his mouth, gritting his teeth, grimacing against the prick of moisture at the corner of his eyes, as loss shuddered through him, a sharp, cold ache, and it was forever-long minutes before he could get himself fully under control.
But his heart still hurt. Maybe those things had gotten it after all.
He stared at the ceiling for awhile, wondering vaguely if he would be able to get to sleep again or if he should just get up. But even when he decided he would get up, he still didn't move, a heavy, empty sort of lethargy weighting him down like lead. His thoughts wandering in aimless circles, Axel held up one hand in front of his face, flexing and stretching his fingers. If he squinted, just so, he could almost sort of maybe nearly see the flickering outline of flames....
He made a disgusted sound. Fuck. Idiot. Axel shifted onto his side with a huff, swatting at his clock radio--ah jeez, it was only 3:18--to turn it on. But just as he grabbed the blankets to pull them back up, he froze at the music playing.
"...Bullet-proof skin to keep you alive, Burn, baby burn, Strung out on a wire, So don't burn baby burn baby burn...."
Fuck. Axel threw back the covers and was out of his bed like a shot, throwing open dresser drawers and digging through his shirts. Not there. Laundry pile, no, not there either. He raced downstairs to the basement, not there, not there, dryer! Yes! He pulled out an old t-shirt, a plain white one he'd once written on with an extra-wide tipped black magic marker, the sort used for posters; it had 'Mr. You're On Fire Mr.' in his angled scrawl down the front. His quarry successfully in hand, he backtracked to the kitchen, digging around in the junk drawer for that same black marker, mentally crossing his fingers that it hadn't dried out.
Spotting it, he grabbed it and knelt with a dull thud next to the kitchen table, shirt stretched out on the linoleum between his knees and two legs of one of the chair. On the empty white back, he wrote in uppercase with careful strokes: BURN BABY BURN BABY BURN. Axel looked down at it, regarding it for a long while, brushing his hand over the cloth to smooth it. Finally he stood and wandered back upstairs to his room. Though the quote shirt reeked with the heady, chemical scent of fresh marker, he yanked off the tank top he'd been wearing and put on the other one instead, twisting it around the wrong way so the back was in front. When he looked down, he could see the words he'd just written, black letters bold against the dull white.
Burst of manic energy fading, Axel flopped back down on his bed. He pulled up the covers, then after a moment shoved them back down again. He tossed and turned for awhile, tried focusing on the music coming from the clock radio, then tried not focusing on it. He hugged his arms around himself, as if trying to press the t-shirt fabric closer to his skin. Finally he gave a defeated sigh, fumbling for his cel phone on the nightstand, dialing Roxas' number while trying not to notice the numbers on the face of the clock.
"...'o?"
"Hey."
"...? nn tuhfug...? Ax'l? What th' hell?"
"I'm sorry. I know."
"Damn...." He heard Roxas groan grumpily, mumbling dark things to himself as he forced himself fully awake. "Three thirty? No, three thirty-one. Jeezus, Ax. I've got the PSAT tomorrow. Today. You've got the ACT."
"Yeah. Sorry," he apologized again. "I just...I needed...." Needed what? He wasn't exactly sure. The urge to talk to Roxas had suddenly been as much an itch beneath his skin as was the craving for flames. "I...." He swallowed, let out a deep breath, then started again. "There was...I had this dream."
Roxas was silent a moment. Then, "Good dream?"
"No. And yes." And then Axel was telling him about the things, and about Roxas fighting, and the fire, oh man, the fire, and about waking up. Roxas listened.
"I wish it would have been real," he said when Axel finished. "I'm sorry it wasn't."
"Yeah, me too."
"Except sounds like we probably would've been dead after. That part woulda sucked."
Axel snorted. "Eh. Yeah. I suppose."
"But still. The rest woulda been cool."
Axel smiled, and there was that warmth, starting in his chest and spreading lazily through the rest of his body. "Yeah. Woulda been."
They talked like that for awhile, quietly. Axel lay on his side, cel phone held loosely so it rested between his ear and the pillow, watching the numbers on the clock radio change. Eventually Roxas grew silent and stayed that way; Axel reached over and turned off the music and listened to the soft sound of Roxas breathing. In time, he fell asleep.
He woke in the morning to the impression of a phone face indented on his skin, a phone that was drooly, and a mother who was crabbing at him for letting his cel batteries drain. But he was cheerful anyway, and when he left the house to go do the ACT exam he was wearing the quote shirt, back still facing front.
-----
{Snow Patrol -- Signal Fire}
Most people expected these sort of things to be hard. To be difficult. To be something you had to work at, that took effort. Not something that all but landed in your lap.
Asking Roxas out to a movie rolled off his tongue so smoothly, so easily, that Axel had nearly finished asking the question before he realized he was even speaking. Which, in a way, was a good thing, because that meant the panic didn't set in until after. Because he'd asked like asking for a date, like "Would you like to go out with me to...", not like one friend asking another friend to hang out.
Roxas gave him a look across the mall food court table. A look. He'd grinned, then said, "Sure."
So easy. Surely it couldn't happen that easily. Could it?
That Friday night, Axel tried to dress up a bit. Had Roxas ever seen him in anything really nice before? They'd known each other practically forever. So maybe occasionally, like when their families went out for dinner somewhere decent together, or when there was some special school program. But it sure wasn't often, and it definitely wasn't when it was just the two of them. Checking himself in the mirror, Axel noticed his palms were damp. His mental fires were restless, nervous.
But it was worth it, because when they met up to head to the theater, Roxas gave him that look again. Axel wasted most of the evening being distracted, as he began to wonder if Roxas really did consider it as much of a date as he, if he truly had picked up on the different way Axel had asked. He was maybe a little dressed up, too, and Axel thought maybe he caught a whiff of something like cologne. But did he really...? Or was Axel just reading too much into it?
Axel honestly couldn't say afterwards what the movie was really about--but he did have a great mental list of reasons proving and disproving them both on the same page about it being a date. Then, as they walked back home, a mildly vexed Roxas had begun poking Axel in the side until he came clean about what was bothering him.
"Eh heh...yeah. Um. About that." So Axel admitted what he'd been stewing about all evening and exactly what his intentions were in asking Roxas out. Embarrassment became a hot thing creeping up his neck, and he started to apologize--man, he hoped Roxas would be a pal and not hold it against him, and...
Axel had very expressive eyebrows, but Roxas did as well, and at that moment his seemed to be indicating that Axel was being kind of a dork. With almost excruciating patience, he revealed that he had indeed known exactly what Axel's intentions were, and yes, he had the very same intentions, so if Axel would just chill out and relax, maybe they could test out some end-of-date kissing before they got home and thus in sight of their parents.
Goddamn. Well then.
So he'd chilled out. Or at least done a convincing enough job of acting like he was, though he was admittedly grinning like a loon. And then Roxas had pulled him close, one hand tugging at Axel's shirt collar, and Axel had leaned down, and....
Roxas tasted of popcorn, saltwater taffy, and cherry coke. And perhaps a little bit like fire.
It was awkward at first, but mostly just because they were unpracticed; surprisingly quickly it was as if they'd kissed time and time again before, perhaps in other lifetimes, on other worlds. Not, mind you, that Axel was going to turn down more practice. Ever. Practice makes perfect suddenly became his motto. Whole lotta practice.
The honking of a passing car had startled them apart (oh yeah, crap, public...), and Axel felt rather gratified to see Roxas looked as ruffled as he felt. Though he wondered as they walked the rest of the way home, his arm draped casually-and-yet-not across the shorter boy's shoulders, if Roxas had discovered--as he had--that a kiss could ignite a trail of flame from the lips to the heart, to the soul...and to other places. But when Roxas tugged him off the sidewalk when they were still a block from home, into the hidden-from-view spot between the Printz's lilac bushes--where once upon a time they used to play with cars and action figures and pretend it was a fort--he decided Roxas had indeed discovered it. And it seemed that he wanted to see how close he could get to making Axel truly burn.
He could come close. He could come very, very close.
Axel loved his best friend. Loved him in so many ways, he honestly couldn't describe them all.
And so it went. No worrying about whether they were going to ruin their friendship by being more, no angsting about being gay. They were together all the time before; they were together all the time now, after. Everything was different and yet exactly the same between them as it always had been. And the world in general responded...with a giant shrug. If Axel expected the kids at school to freak out, it didn't happen. No mocking, no hazing, no nothing--it was like them getting together was no big deal. He started to wonder if people assumed they were an item already.
It was the same with their families--no big deal, and the implication that it was somehow no great surprise. Axel wasn't sure how 'the great revelation' had gone for Roxas and his parents, but for him....
They were out in the back, he and his father, doing yardwork. His dad was raking, and Axel was in charge of burning the leaves (technically against the city code, but his parents asked him to do it every year, anyway, and if anyone ever asked him what family meant to him, he'd say it was times like that). Standing near the old, battered metal trash can where the leaves smouldered, Axel was watching the lazy swirl of smoke in the chill autumn air, breathing in the scent and letting it cling to his hair and clothes. His father leaned on the rake, regarding Axel for a long moment, and Axel looked back, arching an eyebrow in silent question.
"So. You and Roxas...?"
"Uh. Heh, yeah."
"Huh. You guys happy? You happy?"
"Well, yeah. I am. We are." Axel couldn't help the bit of 'well, duh' tone that crept into his voice. It was like...geez, of course. Could there be any doubt?
His father nodded, as if to himself. "Good." He started raking again, before chuckling dryly, "Your mother thinks it's cute." Axel rolled his eyes, but couldn't help but grin. They were silent for long minutes again, just the metal scrape-hiss sound of the rake, and the crackle of leaves and the crackle of fire, until his dad spoke once more. "I don't think I really have to say this, considering it's you and him, and I know you both, and I trust how you'll treat each other. But I'm gonna say it anyway. Be safe. Whatever you guys're doing, be safe. Be careful. Don't do anything that'll hurt each other."
Then the man seemed to focus extra thoroughly on forming a leaf pile, clearing his throat a couple of times very deliberately. "And ah.... No, ah, funny business while your mother and I are around, right? By all rights, I should say 'Don't do anything at all' but you're teenagers and there's all those hormones and...and stuff. So you guys'd do it anyway, maybe just because you were told don't. But definitely not when your mother or I are in the house. I don't wanna hear anything or see anything. And don't take it like it's some anti-gay thing--"
"I wasn't." Axel was struggling desperately to keep a straight (ha ha) face, but oh man, he didn't know whether to collapse to the ground and howl with laughter, or just crawl under the deck and die.
"Right. Good. Just don't wanna ever have to think, 'Gee, that's my boy, the one whose diapers I've changed and whose butt I've wiped off--"
"Daaaaad." Oh god. Dying under the deck it was.
"...who used to run naked through the house when we had company over when he was supposed to be asleep--"
Oh no. They had photographs of that, didn't they? Acknowledging the existence of a relationship meant his parents were going to drag out the naked baby/toddler pictures, weren't they?
"...yep, that's my son, fruit of my loins, with the boy next door, playin' polish the sausage."
"DAD!" God. Parents. Axel's face was burning hotter than the leaves, and he stuck out his tongue and flipped his dad the bird. To which, his father gave a sharp bark of laughter. "Ass."
"Hey. I don't wanna hear anything about asses. And put that thing back in your mouth, you don't know where it's been."
"Oh yeah, I do know. Want me to tell ya?" Yeah, maybe he was doomed, but he could still go down fighting. Or something.
"Shut it!"
"Every last little place it's been...?" Bwahahaha.
"Not listening! La la la la...!" His father had dropped the rake and made a dramatic show of sticking his fingers in his ears, then threw leaves from the pile at Axel when Axel started making bizarre, exaggerated, crass hand gestures, and it all degenerated from there.
Eventually they'd gotten back to work, but his father had still smirked at him, occasionally waggling his eyebrows, at one point commenting that at least he didn't have to worry about Axel knocking Roxas up. And Axel was struck with exactly where he'd inherited his weirdness and odd sense of humor from (as well as his mess of red hair, though his dad's was short and shot through with grey). Between Axel and his folks, Roxas was in for a hell of a ride.
Well, not like that. Well, maybe. With Axel that is. Not his parents. Right. Anyway. Definitely his dad's fault he was weird. Damned genetics.
-----
So easy. It was all so easy. Like life was presenting him his future on a silver platter, and he could take all that he wanted. Growing up Axel never would have considered himself to be all that lucky, but now, now he had the awe-inducing feeling that he was the luckiest bastard in the world.
There was only one worry gnawing at Axel, only one wrinkle that disturbed the otherwise smooth path ahead: what would happen after graduation? He was a senior, Roxas a junior, and there wasn't much time left. Where would each of them be going? Would they have to try to muddle through some sort of long-distance relationship thing? Or would they have spent nearly their entire lives around each other, and have just gotten involved, become a couple for heck's sake...only to have to drift apart?
Axel couldn't imagine a time without Roxas around. He literally couldn't wrap his brain around the concept. Who would there be to be understanding, even when they couldn't truly understand him? Who would accept him, really accept every aspect of him, even the parts he had to keep secret and pretend were gone? Would would read him Kerouac until his chest went warm and reminded him that the hearth of his heart was still there?
He had friends. He knew that, over time, new friends would come, old friends would go or maybe stay; and that if it ever came down to it, he could even find another best, closest friend if he had to. Maybe even another best friend that he could love.
But he didn't want to. And there would never be another Roxas, ever.
One day as it grew closer and closer to application deadlines and his mind swam with brochures and suggestions and helpful advice and recruitment mailings, he ended up on a tour of the local university, herded around like clueless cattle or maybe cats with some of his schoolmates. It was a no big deal place, really, one of the three universities in the state, and not even the main one in the capital city. He'd never really considered it. After all, wasn't it normal to head out of state after graduating, get away from the family, spread your wings, that sort of thing?
But as they were led through the student union building by some perky student guide who was pretending to be enthusiastic about the food court, two words on an 8 1/2 x 11 photocopied flyer--one of dozens of papers posted on one wall--somehow caught his eye.
"Prescribed burn"
Axel stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide, then made his way closer to read more, the rest of his tour group forgotten.
The page was a call for volunteers to help with the prescribed burning (controlled burn, the words from that one psychiatrist guy echoed back into his head) at a local prairie preserve. It was an ongoing project with associated research opportunities and fire training (fire training), and....
And at that moment, Axel had the impression of some climactic movie scene--cue the chorus of angels, bring on the bright sun from the skylight to beam down upon that flyer. He reached out with careful hands, pulled the paper away from the staples fixing it to the wall, and folded it in half once before running to catch up with his class. He didn't put it in his pocket though; that would mean he couldn't keep looking at it every few minutes, a wildfire of ideas and plans sparking in his mind.
He was restless on the bus, jittery on the ride home, but then Roxas finally came over for the usual study and homework session and words poured out of Axel like they never had before. Words like ecology majors and fire and forestry service careers and he'd always been good with science, always had a thing for it.... Then he was showing Roxas the flyer he'd taken, fingers running over the text and illustrations about the prescribed burning almost like a caress.
Roxas took the paper from him, reading it more closely. Axel felt winded, wobbly, like he'd just sprinted a mile, but despite that he realized he was holding his breath.
"Oh, the university in town? I'd go there."
"Gah?" The words in Axel's head tangled into a knot--but hope suddenly burned bright.
"They've got a good English program. Bachelor's, master's, and PhD. I'd go there, if you do."
Axel deflated, literally sagged against the wall, overwhelmed by a tidal wave of relief. Then he pulled Roxas to him, and if Roxas wondered at all at the fervency of Axel's kiss, he didn't say anything--just gave back as good as he got.
There it was, that was that. The rest of his life lay open and shining before him. Axel wasn't a religious guy, but he believed beyond the shadow of a doubt that there was something, someone up there who liked him and was blessing him with way more than he deserved. How else could he explain it all happening so incredibly, perfectly easily?
-----
Continue to second half
Author/Artist: Di (whitereflection)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: AU, m/m sex in part 2
Word count: 11,477 total
Summary: Growing up, settling down, loving your best friend, loving fire; sometimes it really is that easy.
Prompt: July 9, 38. Kingdom Hearts 2, Axel/Roxas: Pyromania - "Burn, baby, burn"
A/N: For Kat, Coyo, and caffeine ♥ And with all my thanks to animadri for being a gracious person and wonderful mod. Extra thanks to Coyo and a rl friend of mine for betaing.
I have a soundtrack, of sorts, to go with the fic. Links to songs can be found in the text, or there's a zip of all five here: PYHitF ST zip
Second part to follow in a moment. So hoping I haven't screwed anything up on either half. *crossing fingers*
----------
"I'd like you to consider exactly why again, Axel. Could we try once more? I just need you to clear your mind, let everything else go, focus on only one thought: why do you want to burn things?"
"I said I don't want to burn things."
"Axel...."
"I'm serious. Are you listening to me? I don't want to burn things. I want to burn. I. Me."
"You're looking to burn you, is that what you're saying? Then let me restate the question. Why do you want to burn yourself? Are you needing to hurt yourself? Are you feeling a need to punish yourself for something, or is it to distract yourself from things you're feeling that you don't want to?"
"What? No. What the hell? You're not listening again. That's not what I'm saying at all. I don't want to burn things, I don't want to burn me. I'm not looking to hurt myself. Strange as it may seem, I like me. What I said was I want to burn. I want to burn. You see what I'm saying? No reason. I just want to. It's the way it should be. The way I should be."
"Hm."
"You still don't understand, do you. Look, what's so hard about it? I. Want. To. Burn. Small words, short sentence. Easy to fuckin' memorize. Why don't you get it? Why don't any of you get it?"
"Let me...let's approach the question of why a different way. Perhaps that would help us make some progress."
"Goddamnit."
-----
{Songs:Ohia -- Whenever I Have Done A Thing In Flames}
Nobody got it. Nobody ever got it. Not his parents, not his teachers, not the counselors, psychiatrists, psychologists, or therapists they sent him to. He'd been perfectly open and honest about what he was, who he was, what he felt, ever since his so-called 'obsession' started, and they still never could comprehend what he said. Their eyes glazed over, their ears sealed shut, and the only words that filtered through were the labels they themselves applied to him. They feared him; they for him feared him. All because of what they believed him to be.
Pyromaniac. It always came back to that word.
But didn't they see, couldn't they understand? He wasn't looking to destroy things, or to hurt himself or others. He wasn't psychopathic, or cruel, or overwhelmed by loneliness, sadness, or rage that needed an outlet. He didn't want to set the fire--he wanted to be the fire. He wanted to be the light, the heat, he wanted to sway and leap and dance and burn.
That was all. What was so hard about that concept? What was so bad about it? Some men wanted to be women; some women wanted to be men. He was a human that wanted to be flame.
To be honest, there was one person who was different. Who, while he didn't understand, didn't try to put words in Axel's mouth or beliefs and thoughts in his head, didn't try to jam him into a category where he didn't fit just because he didn't make sense.
Roxas. His best friend. The friend he'd had almost all his life, who'd lived next door, played with him, fought with him, been there with him, and for him, longer than he even had memories. The one--the only one--who had never gotten weirded out or scared by Axel's fire 'thing'--who outright said he didn't understand it, but only because he wasn't Axel. Who instead simply accepted that it was a part of Axel, was what made him him. Axel's eyes were green, his hair was red, he liked his food spicy, his music loud, he was good at science, he was flame in a human being's skin. It was as simple as that.
He wasn't Axel's friend in spite of him being a sort-of pyro, but just because Axel was Axel. Just like he'd always been Axel. And Axel loved him for it.
Loved him as a friend, of course...but sometimes he thought more than that even, maybe.
They were where they usually hung out most afternoons: in Axel's living room, books and papers and backpacks piled on the coffee table. They'd finished their homework for the day, and now Roxas was stretched out on the faded green plush couch, with Axel curled up at the other end facing him. Axel's long, gangly legs were drawn up so his knees came up to his chin, his feet wedged into the crack of the cushions between the back and seat of the sofa, and he was listening to Roxas read.
Though Roxas was a year behind him, they both were in junior English, Axel in the regular level class and Roxas in the honors course. When he'd complained at the beginning of the year that the books he was assigned to read were always more boring than those Roxas was given, the other boy had taken to reading Axel his assignments aloud--though whether to prove Axel right or wrong, he was never sure. They'd discovered that they liked doing it, and it had become habit. Sometimes Axel provided editorial comments regarding the books (with Roxas muttering something about 'peanut galleries' under his breath), though mostly he just listened, sometimes imagining the characters and worlds of the stories, other times just closing his eyes and drifting somewhere between awake and dozing to the sound of Roxas' voice.
Today it was Walden, or Life in the Woods, by Thoreau. The late afternoon sun was still bright through the windows, and Axel was drifting. Eventually he roused when he realized that Roxas had stopped speaking. Cracking open one eye, he peered over his knees at the other boy, arching an eyebrow to question the silence. Roxas was gazing at him, lost in thought, the book resting forgotten in his lap.
"Have you ever thought," Roxas finally murmured, "of maybe giving them what they want?"
"Huhph?" Axel's reply was muffled against his folded arms, but mostly he was still letting the questioning eyebrow do the talking. Roxas knew what the expression meant. He always did.
"You know, like with your therapist. And your parents, that sort of thing." Axel had ranted earlier about his latest counselling session, about how the moron had just kept pushing at him for answers other than the true, valid ones he'd given. As usual, it had been a total waste of time. Roxas must have been pondering it since then. "Maybe it's worth giving them something they can understand and that they believe they can fix. Throw them a bone, see if it'd get them off your back?"
"What, you mean play along like I'm the bad little pyro they keep saying I am?"
"They're not saying you're bad. At least, I know your parents aren't." Roxas poked at Axel with one foot, and Axel pondered stealing his sock if he kept it up. "And I'm not saying you're bad, or that you should act that way. Just...." He paused for a moment, mulling over his words, upper lip caught between his teeth. "It's freaking your parents out right, not having something that's a solid reason that can be fixed?"
"Well, yeah. I mean, yeah, but it's always like that." Suddenly restless, Axel unfolded himself from the couch and began to pace in meandering patterns around the room. "Maybe it's been a little worse lately though." The fruitless sessions that left him more and more pissed off did seem to be making his parents more and more worried. It seemed like they always looked pained, serious, were always speaking in hushed tones to each other when they thought he was out of earshot. It twisted his stomach to see them like that--he wasn't looking to hurt them, wasn't trying to cause them problems by just being himself. He'd always tried to be a good kid, really he had.
Roxas nodded at him. "Right. That's why I was wondering...it's not something I'm saying you have to do, but maybe think about it. If they just can't understand what's going on and it's scaring them, maybe give them something that they do understand. Something that's a this-is-definitely-it diagnosis, that they can treat and feel is under control."
"So lie?" Now Axel was speaking with the "Oh, really?" eyebrow, but Roxas just stared back, his jaw getting that determined jut to it.
"Would you rather keep beating your head on a brick wall trying to prove you're in control of yourself and that they have nothing to fear from you? Or would you have them come to believe it on their own and not have to struggle with them about it all the time? This has gone on for years, and nothing ever changes." Sitting up, he dropped the novel into his backpack, blue eyes following Axel around the room as he continued to pace. "I'm not saying to do anything really awful, just little things. Give them the answers they want and expect."
"They're expecting me to set fires."
"So set some." Roxas shrugged as Axel sputtered. "I'm serious. We find some junk somehere in the neighborhood that people might be considering an eyesore already, so maybe even if you get in trouble, they'd be thinking 'Ha, I wish I could've done that myself'...."
We. Roxas had said we. Axel stared at his friend for a long time, turning over in his head the oddly significant feeling that 'we' had. "Eyesores, huh?"
"Like that woodpile in the Thomas' yard that they've never gotten around to using for firewood. Ray Ludaka's always bitching that it'll get a termite infestation and spread to his place. Or there's that shed on the corner lot that's halfway falling down. I've heard Mom complain that the neighborhood's called the landlord over and over to do something about it, but he never does."
"You've put a lot of thought into this."
Roxas looked away, and when he spoke it was almost too quiet to hear. "I don't like seeing you like this all the time. Every year it's the same, and it's...wearing you down. I don't want them to panic and drug you into a coma, or send you to one of the juvenile hospitals or...." Trailing off, he shrugged again. "I want you to be able to be you, without people giving you hell for it."
Axel loved him like a friend. Like a best friend. Of course. And he loved him more than that even, for sure. The warmth in his heart said so.
Roxas dug around in his backpack, fishing out another book--a worn, very thumbed-through copy of Jack Kerouac's On The Road. He gave Axel a pointed look until Axel shook his head with a wry half-smile and flopped back down. This time he was the one to sprawl out, his head resting on Roxas' cross-legged lap, as Roxas began to pick out Axel's favorite quotes, the ones that had caused him to fall head over heels for the book months ago. And like he did every night they studied together like this, he ended with the one that Axel loved best of all, the one he wrote down inside of every book he owned, that he at times wrote on his arm, just to see it on his skin.
"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes 'Awww!'"
Eyes closed, listening to the low cadence of Roxas' voice, Axel drifted again. "I'll think about it," he whispered as Roxas finished. "What you said...I'll think about it."
Later, as he was leaving, Roxas dug something out of his cargo pants pocket and pressed it into Axel's hand. "Found it at the bookstore," he said. It was a magnet, just a big flat black square, and Axel only faintly registered the sound of the door closing as he gazed at the orange and yellow text, rubbing a thumb over the words. He read it, that favorite Kerouac quote, out loud, just to hear it again (even if it was just his own voice). A few seconds pause, and he made a beeline for the kitchen, sticking it in a prominent place on the refrigerator's freezer door.
It made his parents do a double-take when they got home. Then his father just turned away, and his mother got that pinched look on her face, even as she rubbed a comforting hand across Axel's shoulders. "You had a good day, hon?" she asked.
"Yeah. Roxas came over to study."
"Good, good," she murmured. Axel knew his parents liked Roxas. Maybe he wasn't some adolescent knight in shining armor like that one too good for his own...well, good, cousin that sometimes visited Roxas. But they knew as well as Axel did that Roxas was one of the most decent people a guy like him could have as a friend--and more likely than not his parents believed Roxas was a healthy, stable influence on him. And in general, he was. Except when he was suggesting Axel set fires to help clean up the neighborhood and to help clean up his life.
-----
The magnet stayed on the fridge for years. It was never moved, not even adjusted, not until the fridge finally died and they had to get a new one, and it left a thin black line where its edges had been when they finally peeled it off. As much as it might have made his parents twitch when they'd first seen it, it had become a symbol to them of progress, hope, and success. Because, to his not-quite-surprise, Roxas' idea worked.
Axel didn't change his tune all at once. He wasn't stupid (and really, for all their lack of understanding, neither were his parents or the psychiatric people they took him to see). Hedging a few answers here and there, 'revealing' a little more each time, giving way a little more each session as they got him to 'finally open up'--and a small fire set in a neighbor's backyard woodpile that interestingly enough got him in surprisingly little trouble.
"It's okay, it's okay," his mother had crooned, hugging him after fire crews left. It was so easy to make himself tremble. "We'll beat this, honey. We'll beat this yet."
A yard away he could hear Ray Ludaka's booming voice, and he wished Roxas were there to hear it, because it was as if they'd written the scene together, like for a play, and the adults were actors going through the motions. "Thank your kid for me, Fred. Keep 'im away from my house," har har har went his laugh, and really, if the guy weren't such an ass, he'd be jolly, "but thank him. If I'd've had the guts, I woulda torched that wood myself. Always was threatening Barry I'd do it. If I ever got termites, I was gonna send him the damned bill. Your boy, though, he's an odd sorta all right."
And so Axel 'Got Better'. Basically. It was funny how seeing a counsellor for 'behavior modification therapy' wasn't much different than the visits he'd had for so many years before; except these always ended with a 'We're making so much progress. Your parents are so proud of you!' He always answered, "I'm proud of me, too," and grinned. He'd felt freer then than he had in a long, long time. Little white lies, he thought at times, imagining flames curling lazily through his center as he always did, could do a world of good.
There was, however, one instance that made Axel wonder how well he'd really truly done in acting the pyromaniac people thought he was (and why his parents and the psychologists and counselors he'd visited never caught on). One grey day he sat outside of the medical building, waiting for his parents to pick him up after a session, when someone moved just into his peripheral vision. At first Axel just ignored whoever it was, pegging it for some office employee out for a smoke break--in fact, the person did light up a moment after leaning against the wall near where Axel sat.
"You're doing good, kid."
Axel blinked up, then stared despite himself. It was a man, short and obviously older, with the salt-and-pepper dark hair pulled back into a harsh ponytail--and with scars scoring his face and neck, including a particularly vicious one running under an eyepatch. Lord knew what his skin was like under the areas covered by clothing.
Belatedly Axel realized he was gawking. "Uh, sorry. What?"
"Said you're doing good. Seen you around a lot over time. Looks like you're finally getting the hang of it all. Think you were probably close to being referred to me, but looks like someone gave you the sorta advice I would've already."
Axel boggled. This guy was one of the psychologists or psychatrists in the building? Crap, one of the really specialized ones from the sound of it. Then he swallowed as realization prickled over his skin. This guy knew....
But he was just blowing smoke rings as if he didn't have a care in the world, like what he was implying to Axel was no big deal. "That's the thing. Person like you, or like me, gotta keep the fire banked. So to speak. Keep everyone happy. And you gotta learn to do so not just to your own satisfaction, right, but so that everyone who's watching ya like a hawk's comfortable around ya. Believes you're not a danger to yourself and others. Funny how much of a song and dance it can be, eh?"
Distantly, he felt himself nod. Oh man, there was no way he was actually having this conversation. No way could some doctor be talking to him like this. "Um. Yeah. Kinda."
"One bit of advice for ya. Not like doctor to patient or anything, but just something from someone who maybe knows how it feels. Something to keep in mind as you're learning to walk the tightrope. Controlled burn. Learn the concept. Figure out how to make it work for you."
"Controlled burn? I don't...."
"Figure of speech, kid. Mostly. Kinda fitting for you, though. But hear me out. A controlled burn, for your forest or prairie management types, is about setting fire to areas according to a precise plan, with emergency procedures established in advance, contingency plans. Keeps the ecosystem healthy and prevents wildfires from going out of control and causing true destruction. Makes sure fire happens where it's needed, and doesn't go where it shouldn't. Now consider that there's something in your life that you need while at the same time you're having to walk the walk under watchful eyes." And now Axel really wondered, even though he was trying not to, how completely scars covered the man's skin where people couldn't see, and how many of those were new. "So what can you do to set up a controlled burn for yourself?"
He gave Axel a meaningful 'Eh?' look, took one last drag off his cigarette, and tossed it to the sidewalk, grinding it out beneath his dress shoe. Then he turned on his heel with a careless wave. "Hang in there, dude. Gimme a holler if things get rough for ya again. Dr. Braig's office."
Rounding the corner of the building with quick steps, he was out of sight before Axel uttered a hasty, "Later...."
Then Axel was alone, left to ponder the advice the guy--the doctor, rather--had given. He thought about the fire he could practically feel spreading under his skin, the flames he almost see dancing around his body according to his command--and the craving he had that it be real and not just wished-for. He stared at his hands and wondered. What sort of substitute could fool the mind, convince the heart, satisfy the soul?
-----
{Institute -- Bulletproof Skin}
Axel's dreams always involved fire. Always. Only his nightmares lacked flames.
It was dark, and storming, and they were running as fast as they could. But no matter where they went, those things still kept up, chasing them into every hiding place, popping up out of every shadow. They moved like they were made of flowing mercury, but were black as night, eyes glowing like sick-yellow moons, and their claws skittered sharp on the pavement. They wanted Axel. He didn't know why--but he did know he was utterly terrified.
"Get back!" Roxas shouted, suddenly skidding to a halt, slamming him back against the rough brick of the alley wall. Just ahead an inky puddle glittered near a sputtering streetlight, and the things boiled up out of it, tumbling, scuttling, coming for them, for him. Axel twisted around to run back the way they'd come from, then swore.
"They're behind us!"
Now Roxas cursed, low and under his breath, and he gestured abruptly with both hands. A flash of light blinded Axel, and as the spots cleared from his vision, he saw that Roxas wielded...weapons. Something. Something like weapons, but not.
And then Roxas leaped at the creatures under the streetlight with a growling, almost feral, yell, slashing at them with the...keys, those couldn't be keys, who would fight with something like that? But the yellow-eyed things were shrieking and dying, and they were tearing at Roxas as they fought back, but he was just decimating them.
The world wobbled before Axel's eyes, going blurry, then too sharp. For a moment it looked like Roxas was wearing all black, a long coat that swirled about his body as he fought--no, he was just in his normal clothes. But as he blinked, Roxas was changed again, now in something white and black and khaki, and there was a glimpse of black/white checks as he spun around and dashed towards the creatures coming from behind them. Then, wait, he was just in jeans and a t-shirt again. What the hell...?
"Axel! Get out of here! Go!"
Shaking his head to try to clear his vision, Axel nodded, sprinting out of the alley. Damn it, why didn't he have weapons or some way to fight, too? Why was he helpless? Wasn't there anything he could do? But even as these thoughts burned in his mind, he ran, with the sound of Roxas battling behind him.
The things Roxas already killed were in pieces, melting back into the rain-slicked asphalt beneath the streetlight. But as Axel ran by, something snaked up and clawed at his leg, catching at his jeans, and he slammed hard to the ground. "Fuck!" Twisting around, he jerked his leg hard to try to free it, but already more black ooze twined up and over him, like vines of living shadow. It trapped his arm and his other leg and even as he bucked against it, spread tentacles of dark around his waist, holding him fast against the street. And then suddenly it wasn't just dark ooze anymore, it was those things, he was covered with those creatures--and they were clawing at him, ripping through his clothes and oh god it was like they were trying to dig down through his skin to his heart....
He screamed, he roared, he raged, straining to fight back. Somehow through it all he heard Roxas yelling at him, echoing as if from very far away, "Axel! Axel! Damn it, you've got power, use it!"
Use...? But he didn't have...oh, that. He couldn't do that. People hated him for that power. They were scared of it, it was bad if he used it, he had to keep it locked away, hidden, don't do it, don't use it, oh god his chest was ice, and those things, they were chittering and jeering and laughing at him oh god he was dying....
"Damn it, do it, Axel!" Roxas' voice was suddenly close, loud and clear and resounding as a clocktower bell. "It's okay! Let the fire out, Axel. Do it! NOW!"
It was okay...? He could...? Time skidded into slow motion, and his breathing became long, drawn-out rasping in his ears. His eyes fluttered slowly closed, and he focused inwards, sinking down, down within himself to where those things hadn't yet reached. The moments between his breaths drew out even longer, and his heartbeat resounded in his head. There! And suddenly there was light and heat and ignition and joy and oh yes, his blood blazed....
He arched, convulsed, and the world exploded into inferno.
Then Axel woke.
His breath was ragged, gasping, harsh in the still quiet of night, and he blinked, dazed. He should be burning. There...there should be fire. Where did it go...?
But the groggy fog of sleep gradually cleared, and realization set in like a cold weight in his chest. Dream. Not real. He wasn't...he couldn't...not real.
A sound almost like a whimper clawed out of his throat before he could stop it. He slapped a hand hard over his mouth, gritting his teeth, grimacing against the prick of moisture at the corner of his eyes, as loss shuddered through him, a sharp, cold ache, and it was forever-long minutes before he could get himself fully under control.
But his heart still hurt. Maybe those things had gotten it after all.
He stared at the ceiling for awhile, wondering vaguely if he would be able to get to sleep again or if he should just get up. But even when he decided he would get up, he still didn't move, a heavy, empty sort of lethargy weighting him down like lead. His thoughts wandering in aimless circles, Axel held up one hand in front of his face, flexing and stretching his fingers. If he squinted, just so, he could almost sort of maybe nearly see the flickering outline of flames....
He made a disgusted sound. Fuck. Idiot. Axel shifted onto his side with a huff, swatting at his clock radio--ah jeez, it was only 3:18--to turn it on. But just as he grabbed the blankets to pull them back up, he froze at the music playing.
"...Bullet-proof skin to keep you alive, Burn, baby burn, Strung out on a wire, So don't burn baby burn baby burn...."
Fuck. Axel threw back the covers and was out of his bed like a shot, throwing open dresser drawers and digging through his shirts. Not there. Laundry pile, no, not there either. He raced downstairs to the basement, not there, not there, dryer! Yes! He pulled out an old t-shirt, a plain white one he'd once written on with an extra-wide tipped black magic marker, the sort used for posters; it had 'Mr. You're On Fire Mr.' in his angled scrawl down the front. His quarry successfully in hand, he backtracked to the kitchen, digging around in the junk drawer for that same black marker, mentally crossing his fingers that it hadn't dried out.
Spotting it, he grabbed it and knelt with a dull thud next to the kitchen table, shirt stretched out on the linoleum between his knees and two legs of one of the chair. On the empty white back, he wrote in uppercase with careful strokes: BURN BABY BURN BABY BURN. Axel looked down at it, regarding it for a long while, brushing his hand over the cloth to smooth it. Finally he stood and wandered back upstairs to his room. Though the quote shirt reeked with the heady, chemical scent of fresh marker, he yanked off the tank top he'd been wearing and put on the other one instead, twisting it around the wrong way so the back was in front. When he looked down, he could see the words he'd just written, black letters bold against the dull white.
Burst of manic energy fading, Axel flopped back down on his bed. He pulled up the covers, then after a moment shoved them back down again. He tossed and turned for awhile, tried focusing on the music coming from the clock radio, then tried not focusing on it. He hugged his arms around himself, as if trying to press the t-shirt fabric closer to his skin. Finally he gave a defeated sigh, fumbling for his cel phone on the nightstand, dialing Roxas' number while trying not to notice the numbers on the face of the clock.
"...'o?"
"Hey."
"...? nn tuhfug...? Ax'l? What th' hell?"
"I'm sorry. I know."
"Damn...." He heard Roxas groan grumpily, mumbling dark things to himself as he forced himself fully awake. "Three thirty? No, three thirty-one. Jeezus, Ax. I've got the PSAT tomorrow. Today. You've got the ACT."
"Yeah. Sorry," he apologized again. "I just...I needed...." Needed what? He wasn't exactly sure. The urge to talk to Roxas had suddenly been as much an itch beneath his skin as was the craving for flames. "I...." He swallowed, let out a deep breath, then started again. "There was...I had this dream."
Roxas was silent a moment. Then, "Good dream?"
"No. And yes." And then Axel was telling him about the things, and about Roxas fighting, and the fire, oh man, the fire, and about waking up. Roxas listened.
"I wish it would have been real," he said when Axel finished. "I'm sorry it wasn't."
"Yeah, me too."
"Except sounds like we probably would've been dead after. That part woulda sucked."
Axel snorted. "Eh. Yeah. I suppose."
"But still. The rest woulda been cool."
Axel smiled, and there was that warmth, starting in his chest and spreading lazily through the rest of his body. "Yeah. Woulda been."
They talked like that for awhile, quietly. Axel lay on his side, cel phone held loosely so it rested between his ear and the pillow, watching the numbers on the clock radio change. Eventually Roxas grew silent and stayed that way; Axel reached over and turned off the music and listened to the soft sound of Roxas breathing. In time, he fell asleep.
He woke in the morning to the impression of a phone face indented on his skin, a phone that was drooly, and a mother who was crabbing at him for letting his cel batteries drain. But he was cheerful anyway, and when he left the house to go do the ACT exam he was wearing the quote shirt, back still facing front.
-----
{Snow Patrol -- Signal Fire}
Most people expected these sort of things to be hard. To be difficult. To be something you had to work at, that took effort. Not something that all but landed in your lap.
Asking Roxas out to a movie rolled off his tongue so smoothly, so easily, that Axel had nearly finished asking the question before he realized he was even speaking. Which, in a way, was a good thing, because that meant the panic didn't set in until after. Because he'd asked like asking for a date, like "Would you like to go out with me to...", not like one friend asking another friend to hang out.
Roxas gave him a look across the mall food court table. A look. He'd grinned, then said, "Sure."
So easy. Surely it couldn't happen that easily. Could it?
That Friday night, Axel tried to dress up a bit. Had Roxas ever seen him in anything really nice before? They'd known each other practically forever. So maybe occasionally, like when their families went out for dinner somewhere decent together, or when there was some special school program. But it sure wasn't often, and it definitely wasn't when it was just the two of them. Checking himself in the mirror, Axel noticed his palms were damp. His mental fires were restless, nervous.
But it was worth it, because when they met up to head to the theater, Roxas gave him that look again. Axel wasted most of the evening being distracted, as he began to wonder if Roxas really did consider it as much of a date as he, if he truly had picked up on the different way Axel had asked. He was maybe a little dressed up, too, and Axel thought maybe he caught a whiff of something like cologne. But did he really...? Or was Axel just reading too much into it?
Axel honestly couldn't say afterwards what the movie was really about--but he did have a great mental list of reasons proving and disproving them both on the same page about it being a date. Then, as they walked back home, a mildly vexed Roxas had begun poking Axel in the side until he came clean about what was bothering him.
"Eh heh...yeah. Um. About that." So Axel admitted what he'd been stewing about all evening and exactly what his intentions were in asking Roxas out. Embarrassment became a hot thing creeping up his neck, and he started to apologize--man, he hoped Roxas would be a pal and not hold it against him, and...
Axel had very expressive eyebrows, but Roxas did as well, and at that moment his seemed to be indicating that Axel was being kind of a dork. With almost excruciating patience, he revealed that he had indeed known exactly what Axel's intentions were, and yes, he had the very same intentions, so if Axel would just chill out and relax, maybe they could test out some end-of-date kissing before they got home and thus in sight of their parents.
Goddamn. Well then.
So he'd chilled out. Or at least done a convincing enough job of acting like he was, though he was admittedly grinning like a loon. And then Roxas had pulled him close, one hand tugging at Axel's shirt collar, and Axel had leaned down, and....
Roxas tasted of popcorn, saltwater taffy, and cherry coke. And perhaps a little bit like fire.
It was awkward at first, but mostly just because they were unpracticed; surprisingly quickly it was as if they'd kissed time and time again before, perhaps in other lifetimes, on other worlds. Not, mind you, that Axel was going to turn down more practice. Ever. Practice makes perfect suddenly became his motto. Whole lotta practice.
The honking of a passing car had startled them apart (oh yeah, crap, public...), and Axel felt rather gratified to see Roxas looked as ruffled as he felt. Though he wondered as they walked the rest of the way home, his arm draped casually-and-yet-not across the shorter boy's shoulders, if Roxas had discovered--as he had--that a kiss could ignite a trail of flame from the lips to the heart, to the soul...and to other places. But when Roxas tugged him off the sidewalk when they were still a block from home, into the hidden-from-view spot between the Printz's lilac bushes--where once upon a time they used to play with cars and action figures and pretend it was a fort--he decided Roxas had indeed discovered it. And it seemed that he wanted to see how close he could get to making Axel truly burn.
He could come close. He could come very, very close.
Axel loved his best friend. Loved him in so many ways, he honestly couldn't describe them all.
And so it went. No worrying about whether they were going to ruin their friendship by being more, no angsting about being gay. They were together all the time before; they were together all the time now, after. Everything was different and yet exactly the same between them as it always had been. And the world in general responded...with a giant shrug. If Axel expected the kids at school to freak out, it didn't happen. No mocking, no hazing, no nothing--it was like them getting together was no big deal. He started to wonder if people assumed they were an item already.
It was the same with their families--no big deal, and the implication that it was somehow no great surprise. Axel wasn't sure how 'the great revelation' had gone for Roxas and his parents, but for him....
They were out in the back, he and his father, doing yardwork. His dad was raking, and Axel was in charge of burning the leaves (technically against the city code, but his parents asked him to do it every year, anyway, and if anyone ever asked him what family meant to him, he'd say it was times like that). Standing near the old, battered metal trash can where the leaves smouldered, Axel was watching the lazy swirl of smoke in the chill autumn air, breathing in the scent and letting it cling to his hair and clothes. His father leaned on the rake, regarding Axel for a long moment, and Axel looked back, arching an eyebrow in silent question.
"So. You and Roxas...?"
"Uh. Heh, yeah."
"Huh. You guys happy? You happy?"
"Well, yeah. I am. We are." Axel couldn't help the bit of 'well, duh' tone that crept into his voice. It was like...geez, of course. Could there be any doubt?
His father nodded, as if to himself. "Good." He started raking again, before chuckling dryly, "Your mother thinks it's cute." Axel rolled his eyes, but couldn't help but grin. They were silent for long minutes again, just the metal scrape-hiss sound of the rake, and the crackle of leaves and the crackle of fire, until his dad spoke once more. "I don't think I really have to say this, considering it's you and him, and I know you both, and I trust how you'll treat each other. But I'm gonna say it anyway. Be safe. Whatever you guys're doing, be safe. Be careful. Don't do anything that'll hurt each other."
Then the man seemed to focus extra thoroughly on forming a leaf pile, clearing his throat a couple of times very deliberately. "And ah.... No, ah, funny business while your mother and I are around, right? By all rights, I should say 'Don't do anything at all' but you're teenagers and there's all those hormones and...and stuff. So you guys'd do it anyway, maybe just because you were told don't. But definitely not when your mother or I are in the house. I don't wanna hear anything or see anything. And don't take it like it's some anti-gay thing--"
"I wasn't." Axel was struggling desperately to keep a straight (ha ha) face, but oh man, he didn't know whether to collapse to the ground and howl with laughter, or just crawl under the deck and die.
"Right. Good. Just don't wanna ever have to think, 'Gee, that's my boy, the one whose diapers I've changed and whose butt I've wiped off--"
"Daaaaad." Oh god. Dying under the deck it was.
"...who used to run naked through the house when we had company over when he was supposed to be asleep--"
Oh no. They had photographs of that, didn't they? Acknowledging the existence of a relationship meant his parents were going to drag out the naked baby/toddler pictures, weren't they?
"...yep, that's my son, fruit of my loins, with the boy next door, playin' polish the sausage."
"DAD!" God. Parents. Axel's face was burning hotter than the leaves, and he stuck out his tongue and flipped his dad the bird. To which, his father gave a sharp bark of laughter. "Ass."
"Hey. I don't wanna hear anything about asses. And put that thing back in your mouth, you don't know where it's been."
"Oh yeah, I do know. Want me to tell ya?" Yeah, maybe he was doomed, but he could still go down fighting. Or something.
"Shut it!"
"Every last little place it's been...?" Bwahahaha.
"Not listening! La la la la...!" His father had dropped the rake and made a dramatic show of sticking his fingers in his ears, then threw leaves from the pile at Axel when Axel started making bizarre, exaggerated, crass hand gestures, and it all degenerated from there.
Eventually they'd gotten back to work, but his father had still smirked at him, occasionally waggling his eyebrows, at one point commenting that at least he didn't have to worry about Axel knocking Roxas up. And Axel was struck with exactly where he'd inherited his weirdness and odd sense of humor from (as well as his mess of red hair, though his dad's was short and shot through with grey). Between Axel and his folks, Roxas was in for a hell of a ride.
Well, not like that. Well, maybe. With Axel that is. Not his parents. Right. Anyway. Definitely his dad's fault he was weird. Damned genetics.
-----
So easy. It was all so easy. Like life was presenting him his future on a silver platter, and he could take all that he wanted. Growing up Axel never would have considered himself to be all that lucky, but now, now he had the awe-inducing feeling that he was the luckiest bastard in the world.
There was only one worry gnawing at Axel, only one wrinkle that disturbed the otherwise smooth path ahead: what would happen after graduation? He was a senior, Roxas a junior, and there wasn't much time left. Where would each of them be going? Would they have to try to muddle through some sort of long-distance relationship thing? Or would they have spent nearly their entire lives around each other, and have just gotten involved, become a couple for heck's sake...only to have to drift apart?
Axel couldn't imagine a time without Roxas around. He literally couldn't wrap his brain around the concept. Who would there be to be understanding, even when they couldn't truly understand him? Who would accept him, really accept every aspect of him, even the parts he had to keep secret and pretend were gone? Would would read him Kerouac until his chest went warm and reminded him that the hearth of his heart was still there?
He had friends. He knew that, over time, new friends would come, old friends would go or maybe stay; and that if it ever came down to it, he could even find another best, closest friend if he had to. Maybe even another best friend that he could love.
But he didn't want to. And there would never be another Roxas, ever.
One day as it grew closer and closer to application deadlines and his mind swam with brochures and suggestions and helpful advice and recruitment mailings, he ended up on a tour of the local university, herded around like clueless cattle or maybe cats with some of his schoolmates. It was a no big deal place, really, one of the three universities in the state, and not even the main one in the capital city. He'd never really considered it. After all, wasn't it normal to head out of state after graduating, get away from the family, spread your wings, that sort of thing?
But as they were led through the student union building by some perky student guide who was pretending to be enthusiastic about the food court, two words on an 8 1/2 x 11 photocopied flyer--one of dozens of papers posted on one wall--somehow caught his eye.
"Prescribed burn"
Axel stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide, then made his way closer to read more, the rest of his tour group forgotten.
The page was a call for volunteers to help with the prescribed burning (controlled burn, the words from that one psychiatrist guy echoed back into his head) at a local prairie preserve. It was an ongoing project with associated research opportunities and fire training (fire training), and....
And at that moment, Axel had the impression of some climactic movie scene--cue the chorus of angels, bring on the bright sun from the skylight to beam down upon that flyer. He reached out with careful hands, pulled the paper away from the staples fixing it to the wall, and folded it in half once before running to catch up with his class. He didn't put it in his pocket though; that would mean he couldn't keep looking at it every few minutes, a wildfire of ideas and plans sparking in his mind.
He was restless on the bus, jittery on the ride home, but then Roxas finally came over for the usual study and homework session and words poured out of Axel like they never had before. Words like ecology majors and fire and forestry service careers and he'd always been good with science, always had a thing for it.... Then he was showing Roxas the flyer he'd taken, fingers running over the text and illustrations about the prescribed burning almost like a caress.
Roxas took the paper from him, reading it more closely. Axel felt winded, wobbly, like he'd just sprinted a mile, but despite that he realized he was holding his breath.
"Oh, the university in town? I'd go there."
"Gah?" The words in Axel's head tangled into a knot--but hope suddenly burned bright.
"They've got a good English program. Bachelor's, master's, and PhD. I'd go there, if you do."
Axel deflated, literally sagged against the wall, overwhelmed by a tidal wave of relief. Then he pulled Roxas to him, and if Roxas wondered at all at the fervency of Axel's kiss, he didn't say anything--just gave back as good as he got.
There it was, that was that. The rest of his life lay open and shining before him. Axel wasn't a religious guy, but he believed beyond the shadow of a doubt that there was something, someone up there who liked him and was blessing him with way more than he deserved. How else could he explain it all happening so incredibly, perfectly easily?
-----
Continue to second half