Shorties

Roxas replaced the phone in its cradle carefully, taking a deep breath. His exhale was shaky, and he stared at the phone, remembering Axel's protests when he'd plugged the phone into the wall, because really, who needed a land line these days, when everyone had cell phones? Roxas pulled the iPhone out of his pocket and placed it next to the hulking plastic shape of the telephone, giving both one last glance before he turned and walked into the bedroom, steps mechanical.

His eyes were open, but he barely saw the suitcase he pulled from the closet, or the clothes he tossed into it. Couldn't feel the cut that split his finger as he pulled up a floorboard, to retrieve the backpack hidden there, until he saw the blood welling, and even then he couldn't be bothered to do more than stick the injured digit in his mouth.

He was shaking, he realized. It was a fine tremor that he didn't notice until he pulled his wallet from his pocket, and couldn't resist flipping it open to gaze at the worn photo there. His face felt hot, his eyes prickling and throat tight as his eyes rested on the glossy replicas of him and Axel. He traced the curve of Axel's face with a fingertip. That was all he allowed himself, before snapping the wallet closed again and setting it next to his phone.

Fifteen minutes, the man on the phone had said.

Roxas pulled his boots on and moved to sit on one of the stools at the breakfast bar, suitcase at his side, backpack already slung over both shoulders, waiting. If he was lucky, the second call would come before Axel returned from work, and his extraction would be smooth, painless.

As painless as it could be, being ripped away from the life he'd created these past few years. He'd had to build it from the ground up, had to change his appearance, his name, everything. It hadn't been easy, and he'd been lonely. Too afraid, at first, to form new connections. And this was why.

He was about to do it again, all over again.

He tried to breath past the lump in his throat, tried to ignore the queasy feeling of his stomach. He could do it. If he didn't, it wasn't just his life that would be at risk. It would be Axel's, too.

He wasn't surprised when he heard the sound of footsteps in the hallway, halting at the door, and then the jangle of keys. The sound of the lock disengaging. Still, he tensed, eyes still fixed on the floor. Of course he wouldn't be lucky. The phone call had already shown him that much.

"Hey babe." Roxas bit his lip at the sound of that voice, warm and deep and familiar. The voice paused, Axel's eyes probably lighting on the suitcase, the backpack. Roxas's hunched posture. Then, hesitant, questioning: "Roxas?"

Roxas's tongue felt heavy in his mouth, so he let it dart out, wet his lips. Still, he couldn't summon the words to say. What could he say.

More panicked now, "Roxas? What's the matter, did something happen?" The thump of Axel's satchel dropping to the floor, the handful of steps crossing the space between them, and then Roxas was staring at slim legs wrapped in denim. "Roxas, talk to me. Look at me."

Roxas felt his teeth clench, suppressing the desolate noise that was guaranteed to come out if he opened his mouth. Shook his head slightly.

The denim legs bent at the knees, and then Roxas's view was of Axel's face. Pale skin. Green eyes, filled with concern. Purple tattoos like inverted teardrops. He had to ball his hands into fists to stop himself from touching. "I have to go." It came out in a whisper, all that he could manage around the lump in his throat.

He saw Axel process this, saw him glance at the unfamiliar backpack, the phone and wallet sitting abandoned on the counter. "Go where? For how long?"

Roxas squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop the burning, hot feeling building there, but instead he only succeeded in allowing the first tear to trickle down his face. He shook his head again, drew in a slow, measured breath.

"Roxas." Warm hands, with long, slender fingers, closed around Roxas's wrists, and he tensed in Axel's grip. "Roxas, you're…you're not leaving me. Are you?"

Roxas's eyes reopened, wide, the tears spilling down his cheeks, to land on his thighs. What was he supposed to say? He didn't have an explanation. He had never prepared one. Had never planned to see the stricken look on Axel's face right now.

The sound of the phone ringing—the land line—cut across the thick silence. Axel stared at the phone, the one he'd never heard ring before, not once, his hands still wrapped around Roxas's wrists, brows drawn down.

"I have to answer it," Roxas murmured, pulling out of Axel's grasp. He had to fight, found he didn't have the strength, and instead had to let out his voice again. "Let go." It was a hollow, empty sound, now, and he couldn't bring himself to say Axel's name. The phone rang again, three more rings, before Axel reluctantly released him. The phone was cold in his hand. "Hello." Roxas listened to the voice on the other end, the description of the vehicle waiting for him, that would be pulling up in a moment. That he would receive further information from his driver. Offered his own acknowledgment of "Understood," and then replaced the receiver once more. For the last time.

Axel was still watching him. There was a desperation in his eyes now, understanding having dawned on him that Roxas was leaving, with only a backpack and a small suitcase, and his cell phone still discarded on the counter. "Who was that?" Roxas closed his hand on the handle of his suitcase, and took a deep breath. "Roxas!" Axel's voice was rising, almost shouting.

"I have to go." He turned to the door.

"Roxas, wait!"

"I can't." He kept his voice low, because if he didn't, he'd be yelling, screaming, crying. Shook off Axel's hand when he tried to grab him again, to stop him from leaving.

"Roxas!"

Roxas took another breath, and focused on his directive. Forced himself to turn Axel's protests into white noise as he walked down the hallway, one step at a time. Forced himself to ignore the man at his back, trying everything in his power to make him stay.

It was for Axel's protection, as much as his own. That's what he kept telling himself, to keep his feet pointed in the right direction. It wasn't until he'd been ushered into the black sedan, a man in a black suit preventing Axel from following, until after the door was closed, that he allowed himself one last look at the man he loved.

"Roxas, don't go! Please! Please don't go!" His voice was muffled through the car door, but Roxas could still see his face clearly enough to see the tear tracks on his cheeks, mocked by the purple tattoos there.

As the car pulled away, Roxas curled into himself, finally allowing himself to come undone, voice spilling out in a heartbroken wail. He tried to bury his face in his arms, but the black hoodie he wore was Axel's, had his scent, and he felt himself crumble.

"We can make you forget."

Roxas looked up through his tears. He hadn't noticed the petite blond woman sitting in the seat opposite him. She offered a small, serene smile.

Roxas contemplated the ache in his chest as he looked at her. Wondered if he could do it again, the starting over, the new life, with thoughts of Axel lingering.

His voice came out thick. "What do I have to do?"