Shorties

Roxas woke in a tangle of limbs, the alarm of his phone sounding shrilly from somewhere on the floor.  He was comfortable and warm, and the thought of having to emerge from his cocoon made him snuggle deeper into the covers.

Except his alarm continued.

The man next to him was already stirring, a groan sounding in his throat, groping for the source of the noise, even if it wasn’t his alarm.  With a reluctant sigh, Roxas extracted himself from the bed to fumble through the clothes on the floor.  He swiped to dismiss the alarm, and stared at the phone, his brain still sluggish as he tried to remember what he’d set the alarm for.

“Time issit?”  The voice was slurred, and when Roxas turned back, the man was propped up on an elbow, vivid green eyes blinking against the light spilling through the windows, crimson hair highlighted by it.  Roxas felt a sudden twinge of guilt—he couldn’t remember the man’s name, though he was sure they’d exchanged names at some point.  He’d been drinking, but more likely the memory lapse was due to the night before.

Just the thought of it made his breath catch.

“Six.”  He remembered, then.  Not the man’s name, but the reason he had set the alarm.  “I have to go.”  He bent to the task of collecting his clothes, his back protesting the movement.  It was a good kind of pain, though.  “I have somewhere to be.”

The man watched him impassively.  Roxas wondered if he was thinking of something to say, to suggest a second meeting, or if he even cared.  Roxas knew better than to expect anything, and didn’t attempt to make conversation.  It would only serve to make things awkward, in his experience.

“Hey.”  Roxas looked up from buttoning his shirt, startled by the man’s voice.  “How about one more kiss?  For the road.”  There was a crooked smile on his lips, and Roxas thought it couldn’t hurt to oblige him—wanted to, in fact, and wanted more than that.  But to ask for more was to ask for complications Roxas wasn’t quite as sure he wanted.

But a kiss he could do, and once he’d finished with his shirt, Roxas turned back to the bed and bent to meet the man’s lips.  He tasted of morning breath, but Roxas found that he didn’t mind, especially when long fingers were threading through his hair, cupping the back of his head to deepen the kiss, and Roxas felt his heart quickening.

It took a great effort to pull away, and Roxas had to school his breathing before he could repeat himself.  “I have to go.  I’ll let myself out.”  The man flapped his hand towards the doorway, watching Roxas leave.

Roxas hurried to his apartment for a quick shower and fresh clothes, watching the clock as he went—the reason for his alarm, he’d remembered, was an early morning orientation at his new job. It was also the reason he’d gone out the night before—for luck, for celebration, for a last gasp before he became a corporate slave.

The building that housed the company was steel and glass, full of suits coming and going, the sound of boot heels and pumps clicking against the marble floors.  His stomach bubbled with nerves, but he swallowed them down as he went through the security checkpoint, and boarded the elevator.

The executive branch, where he would be working, was situated on the eighth floor, with a small, dark-haired girl at a reception desk.  She smiled when he came through the doors, and Roxas was surprised by how genuine it was.  “Hi, can I help you?”

“I’m Roxas Strife.  I’m supposed to be starting today.”  He quelled another wave of nerves, and tried to hold his hands still at his sides, rather than fidget or shove them in his pockets, as he wanted to.  He’d landed the job, but that was only the first step.  He would have to keep it, and he’d spent enough time working other jobs to know how hard that could be.

The girl—her name tag read Xion—nodded to the chairs ranged across from the desk.  “Have a seat, I’ll let him know you’re here!”

It was even harder to keep his hands still when he was seated, so Roxas smoothed invisible wrinkles in his blazer while he waited. He was pulling a stray thread from his pants when the voice greeted him.

“Roxas Strife?”  The voice was familiar, but it was when he raised his eyes that Roxas froze, his stomach dropping.  Green eyes, behind a pair of designer glasses.  Scarlet hair, pulled into a neat bun.  There had been tattoos there on his face only hours ago, Roxas thought absently, and even with them hidden with cover-up, his face was one to be remembered.  If not his name.

“Yeah.  That’s me.”  Well, if that wasn’t awkward, Roxas wasn’t sure what was.  Still, he came to his feet, watching the other for clues, for how it would play out.

“Axel Cendres.”  Axel offered his hand to shake, as if they were meeting for the first time.  This time, Roxas made sure to commit the name to memory.  “Welcome.  I’ll be training you over the course of the week.”

Roxas shook his hand, his skin tingling at the touch—or rather, of the memory of earlier touches.  “Nice to meet you.”  Their hands were joined perhaps a little longer than necessary, and then Axel was turning and guiding him through the glass doors to the office proper.

“How was your morning?”  Axel was looking over his shoulder at Roxas, and though his tone was neutral, the look in his eye said something else.  It was tentative, uncertain, but also hungry.

Roxas thought about it.  Honesty, he’d found, had always worked, and he let a little smile curl his lips.  “Well, I could’ve stayed in bed a little longer.”  He let the statement hang in the air.  No promises, but the suggestion was there.

Axel broke into a grin.  “Yeah.  I know the feeling.”