Shorties

Axel pressed against the alley wall, wrinkling his nose against a putrid smell and trying to ignore the grime, and a spot of tackiness just under his palm. A pile of trash blocked his view from the street—and, hopefully, hid him from passerby as effectively—but he could hear the heavy thuds of booted feet passing by. A set paused at the mouth of the alley, and he held his breath, shrinking closer to the wall. He quelled the urge to adjust his scarf. He'd secured it before heading out for the night, obscuring his vibrant hair, and if it had come loose, now wasn't the time to fix it. After, once he'd made it out—

The footsteps resumed, receding from the alley, and Axel let his breath out in a slow, measured exhale. He waited, counting to thirty, just to be sure, before slinking around the trash and peering past the edge of the building. The sentries were moving on, their backs to him, but he kept close to the blackened brick, darting between pools of shadows, as he made his way in the opposite direction. A glance, every so often, to check that they hadn't turned back, and that there weren't more in the area.

His target came into view a few blocks later: a warehouse hulking on the banks of the river, its windows darkened for the night. Still, street lamps cast pools of yellow light at regular intervals, and another patrol would be by before too long. He knew a place where there was a gap in the fence, though, and if he made it through it and behind the corner before the patrol, he would buy himself another half an hour.

It had been a lean fall, and work had been getting harder and harder to find. Prospective employers were tightening their belts for the winter, and so Axel had turned to scavenging, taking the leavings of others and turning around to sell them to those even worse off.

Problem was, the factories had been tightening things up, too. Scraps that were once designated for the trash heaps were being put to other uses.

Axel ducked behind the corner of the building and let his shoulders relax a fraction. It was darker, on this side. Better for cover, at least. The trash heap was there, smaller than it had been a week ago, and Axel frowned as he scanned it for anything useful. He pulled his scarf over his face before setting to the task of rummaging around. Even with the lingering scent of the vinegar he'd soaked it in, the smell of rubbish set his teeth on edge.

A sound to one side made him freeze in place, his eyes searching the shadows for its source.

There was another sound, something metal clattering against flagstones, and a muffled curse. Axel narrowed his eyes at a small figure huddled a few feet away, crouched in front of the nearest door. The person was preoccupied, retrieving whatever they'd dropped, and hadn't noticed Axel.

Axel crept forward, studying what he could see of them in the dark. They didn't have the stature and poise of a sentry. Perhaps a supervisor for the warehouse? But they'd come around the back, rather than using the well-lit front entrance.

There was another curse from the other person, and then grubby hands came into view, fiddling with the lock.

Ah.

"Oi." Axel's voice was just loud enough to travel to the other's ears. "What're you at, there?"

They jumped, turning, and Axel had a moment of thinking that such an angry expression didn't belong in such a young face. "What's it to ya?"

"I was here first. This place is mine."

The kid scoffed. "Yeah? Then why ain't ya inside?"

Axel climbed the rest of the way off the trash pile to tower over the boy's personal space. He pulled his scarf from his face. "Because, I ain't looking to get caught."

The kid shrugged. "Then don't. But ya know, the good stuff's inside."

"That would make you a thief."

The kid crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow at Axel. "Because y'ain't a thief? What're ya, then, a trash collector?"

"A scavenger, and I'd like to be able to come back. Burglaries mean higher security, means less trash to collect."

The kid rolled his shoulder in a shrug. "I ain't gonna live off trash, ya hear?" He turned back to the lock.

Axel sighed. "Look. Kid. What's your name?"

The kid gave him a sidelong glance, before setting a pick to the lock.

"Fine. I'll tell you mine. Axel. Look, I'll help you out, if you don't break in. I can survive the whole winter on this place alone, but if you want a place to loot, I know just the place—" Axel closed a hand around the kid's wrist.

Later, Axel would blame the fact that the kid looked too young and innocent to have much fight in him, but he knew better. It was the cherubs that ruled the streets, after all, pretty grubby faces getting them out tight spots, fooling their marks as much as Axel had been fooled. It was a quick movement, skinny wrist twisting in his grip and a flash of metal as a knife was leveled at him.

Icy blue eyes stared up the blade to meet Axel's. "Right. Axel. How 'bout ya take yer trash and go?"

Axel studied him a moment, before backing off with a nod. "Alright." He could easily overcome the kid, probably, but he hadn't come prepared to fight a street rat. Instead, he slunk into the shadows, out of sight, and watched.

The kid darted into the building, soundless except for a light scrape of hinges. A patrol passed the warehouse. A bell chimed the hour—still the small hours of the morning—before he reemerged, the bag at his side fuller than when he had entered, and the kid made his way for the gap in the fence. From his vantage point, Axel saw the next patrol heading that direction. He glanced back at the kid. He was too relaxed, he couldn't know that the patrol would be nearly on top of him when he reached the fence—

It was that cherub's face, Axel would again say, that made him act so rashly. It would become a common excuse. He hurriedly rearranged his clothing, yanking down his scarf, to look less like a criminal and more like someone who'd fallen on hard times. He glanced between the patrol, and the kid, coming through the fence, gauging the timing.

"Cousin, there you are!" Axel strolled into the street, fixing his gaze on the kid, as if he hadn't just come from burglarizing the warehouse. It succeeded in pulling the sentries' attention to him, rather than the clink of the fence. "Your mother was worried sick, and sent me out to find you!" Axel glanced at the sentries. "Excuse me, sirs!" Axel grabbed the kid, pulling him to his side. "How lucky you're here! I'm afraid I've gotten all turned around looking for my cousin, here. Could you tell me which way it is to Thirteenth Street?"

"I outta knife ya for that," the kid hissed, once the patrol was out of sight. He pulled out of Axel's grip.

Axel gave him a lopsided grin. "Sure. Next time I'll just watch them arrest you."

Axel received a surly look in reply. And then: "Roxas. My name." Roxas looked him up and down. "Since ya wanted to know so bad."

Axel raised his eyebrows. "Roxas." He grinned. "Well, I take it you aren't going to knife me."

Roxas's expression softened for the first time since their first encounter earlier that night, lips turning up into something like a smile. "Nah. Not this time."