Kingdom Hearts Fan Fiction ❯ Moped Romance ❯ Track 2: Radar ( Chapter 2 )

Title:   Moped Romance [2/12]
Pairing:  Axel/Roxas, background Riku/Sora

Warnings: Boys speaking Italian, language, Roxas being a whore, highly embarrassing moments, high-speed races through Roman traffic, Larxene.
Rating:  R.
Beta:  the BetaMistress alovelysilence
A/N:  Inspired by experiences had by a good friend of mine while we were studying abroad in Rome, Italy, in the spring.
Disclaimer:  I don't own Kingdom Hearts, but I do get a kick out of writing for the fandom. I also do not own any of the songs mentioned; they belong to their respective artists and labels. In this chapter, Britney Spears and the Pussycat Dolls.

Summary: Lost on the back alleys of Rome one night, Axel finds a savior in a young blond on a moped. A love story with subtitles.

In this chapter: Axel tries to piece together what happened the night he can't remember, and finds the answers are closer than he expects.

Language notes:

Buon giorno - good day

Cappuccino - espresso with steamed milk and foam

Caffè corretto - shot of espresso with liquor, in this case sambuca, a licorice-flavored alcohol

Cornetti - sweet croissants, sometimes filled with jelly, cream or nutella

Via del Corso - main shopping street in Rome

Piazza - street square

 

Track 2 - Radar

 

The black eye Axel sported over the next week was the topic of intense gossip within the group of study abroad students as well as the internationals in their Italian class; half just wanted to know who Axel picked a fight with and lost, while the other half used the opportunity to invent wild stories to fill in the rather large gap. Axel would entertain each of their new theories (sometimes multiple times a day) in hopes that one might spark his memory, since he honestly didn't remember anything after leaving the bar. Sometimes his brain would supply a color - cerulean, which was crazy; why that exact shade, why not just blue? And who the fuck remembers the names of specific color shades other than an art major (which he wasn't)? The females on the trip - excluding Larxene, but including Marluxia - were in their element, all telling their own versions of a tryst gone wrong.

 

Larxene on the other hand arrived at his apartment the morning after while he was still asleep and began banging pots and pans together a few feet over his head. For days she referred to him as `the imbecile.' Xigbar - Axel had the unfortunate luck of having the bastard for a roommate - was just as bad if not worse; when Axel was first dragged back into the apartment by Demyx and Zexion, Xigbar took it upon himself to personally stuff Axel in the tiny shower - fully clothed - and turn the dial to `freezing.' Hung over and very, very confused, he had almost shattered the glass pane by flailing. Somehow he'd managed to crawl back into his bed after the incident, but Xigbar still took pleasure in shooting his head with the Nerf gun he'd procured. Lexaeus and the other guys didn't care much, but got a kick out of it just the same.

 

Axel wasn't really sure why he hung out with the bastards anyway. At least Demyx and Zexion had had the decency to bring him back up rather than leave him in the street.

 

“I know I would've,” Larxene said briskly as they walked towards the espresso bar. “You would have been out there all day with a sign saying `free to any home.' No way I'd drag your sorry ass up six flights.”

 

Axel rolled his eyes. “Nice to know you'd hang me out to dry.”

 

Larxene snorted. “You called me at three in the morning. I was occupied. I gave you directions, you passed out on your front step, and you want me to get you back up to the top floor? I'm sorry hun, but you'd have to pay me for that kind of service.”

 

“And what about this black eye?” Axel gestured to the bruised skin. It had healed since then, there was only a little bit of discoloration now. “I picked a fight with someone. I'm a happy drunk, that doesn't fit.”

 

“And all you've got is that Demyx and Zexion found you on the sidewalk, at five o'clock, drowning in your own vomit, so that doesn't really help.”

 

“Xigbar never fails to remind me, thanks.”

 

“Though I'd have to give you credit, you did actually make it to your door. You have absolutely no sense of direction. And you were smashed.”

 

“Absinthe is the enemy.” Axel reminded himself.

 

“I'm willing to bet someone got you here,” she said, matter-of-factly. “Did you ever think of that?”

 

“Maybe,” Axel considered. “But then . . . why didn't I make it in the door?”

 

“Maybe you threw up on this person and passed out,” Larxene suggested, smirking. “I'd punch you in the face and leave your pathetic ass for less.”

 

Axel frowned. “That would suck . . . royally. I wish I could remember.”

 

“Someone in this city hates your living guts,” Larxene chuckled. “That's new.”

 

“Oh come on,” Axel snorted. “You're just mad I interrupted your `me time.'”

 

“That does contribute to it,” Larxene admitted smugly. “But please, you know me better than that.”

 

“Unfortunately, I know I do,” Axel muttered. “Look, let's just get our coffees and head to class.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Larxene ducked into one of the bars on the street.

 

The bartender looked up expectantly. “Buon giorno.”

 

Larxene nodded to him. “Buon giorno. Un cappuccino e,” she glanced over at Axel, who was still shivering. “E un caffè corretto. Sambuca.”

 

The bartender nodded and began preparing their drinks. Larxene dodged chairs and tables on her way to the counter, where she pulled a few Euros from her pockets. Noticing Axel wasn't sidling up beside her, she turned to find him still in the doorway, with a confused look on his face. “What's up with you?”

 

For his own part Axel was on a completely different planet. When he walked in and saw the bartender, something about him . . . was oddly familiar. He was tall and muscular, with straw-colored hair that stuck out every which way and yet, still managed to frame his long face. He had a couple earrings and a tribal tattoo of a wolf's head on his upper arm, all of which made him look completely out of place in his sleeveless ribbed sweater and bright red apron. It was his eyes that completely knocked Axel off-center; they were the same bright, cerulean blue he'd been trying to place for the last few days.

 

What the fuck.

 

“Axel,” Larxene prompted, jarring him out of his own mind. “Get your ass over here, I'm not paying for your addiction.”

 

Axel steeled himself as he approached the counter, mentally preparing himself. This was serious business; he had a feeling he might have met him before, but couldn't quite place him. Axel-logic dictated that therefore this guy might know what happened to him that night, though he hoped he wouldn't get another black eye out of it.

 

The bartender put his caffè corretto in front of him, but Axel just stared at him, boring holes into his face until he looked up and caught Axel's gaze.

 

“Ti conosco?” Do I know you?

 

The bartender just stared right back, one pale eyebrow perfectly arched. “No,” he grunted.

 

Axel deflated. “Oh.”

 

Larxene snorted derisively somewhere to his left. “Pay the man and drink.”

 

Axel forked over the Euro and change, then picked up the tiny espresso cup containing his personal crack and drank the entire thing in one fell swoop. The effect was instantaneous: Chuck Norris landed a side kick right to his breastbone and the warmth spread out from there all the way to his toes in a full-body shudder. Axel shook his head quickly; all evidence of his previous shivering was gone, he even felt . . . perky.

 

“Ugh,” Larxene commented, helpful as always.

 

“What?”

 

“You look like you just jizzed in your pants,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Keep that to yourself, thanks.”

 

Axel was about to retort when the door opened again and a teenager walked in, headphones blaring.

 

Confidence is a must

Cockiness is a plus

Edginess is a rush

Edges I like `em rough

 

He was wearing a black knitted hat, enormous dark sunglasses and a leather jacket with a scarf, and smelled vaguely of petrol. The teenager went straight for the bartender, not even acknowledging Axel or Larxene's presence. And fuck, who wanted Britney Spears screaming in your ear like that?

 

A man with a Midas tough

Intoxicate me, I'm a lush

Stop, you're making me blush

People are looking at us

 

“Dové Tifa?” the newcomer asked, turning down the headphones slightly.

 

The bartender jerked his head towards a door near the back of the café and started making what Axel assumed to be the kid's usual order, since he didn't say anything else. The kid suddenly hopped up until he was leaning over the clear counter where a pile of cornetti and other delicious-looking things were piled. He was reaching for one of them when a spoon flew from the direction of the bartender and whacked the kid on the hand; there was a sharp yelp and a grunt that clearly meant `Don't even think about it.' The kid cursed viciously, shaking his hand and scowling.

 

I don't think you know, know

I'm checking it so hot, so hot

I wonder if he knows he's on my radar, on my radar

And if I notice you I know it's you

Choose you don't want to lose you're on my radar, on my radar

 

“Axel,” Larxene tapped him upside the head, recapturing his attention. “We have to go.”

 

“Yeah,” Axel said belatedly.

 

Axel took one last glance at the kid and the bartender, who were bickering now, and walked out the door onto the cobblestones. His attention was caught by silver Vespa, the rear bumper covered in various stickers. Somehow it felt familiar, as if he knew he'd seen it somewhere before . . .

 

“I swear, I'll leave you here,” Larxene snapped. “Fucked up sense of direction or not.”

 

“Yeah, fine,” Axel snorted.

 

* * *

 

The weekend finally arrived several days later, and Axel kidnapped Demyx to go looking for a leather jacket on Via del Corso. Other than Zexion, Demyx was the only guy whose Italian was almost spot-on and was willing to play translator every once in a while. The only condition for this trip was that they find and raid the store with the wall of kick-ass Converse, which Axel was more than happy to oblige.

 

It was a mildly cold Saturday, and already crowds of people were milling about spending whatever paychecks they'd received. Axel had already been into two stores advertising `VERA PELLE,' but most of their coats were geared towards women; Axel's torso was too long for one of their regular jackets, and the longer coats just looked damned weird.

 

“Maybe you should just face facts,” Demyx said. “You'd make a much better woman. Girls would kill for those hips.”

 

“How would that solve the problem of not having a leather jacket?”

 

“Well, you'd have boobs,” Demyx said, as though this made perfect sense. “And then you could wear one of those!” he pointed to a cropped leather jacket in a store window. Axel glared at the jacket, then at Demyx.

 

“That makes no sense whatsoever.”

 

Demyx shrugged. “You never said the solution had to.” Then he grinned. “You hear that?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Someone's playing the Pussycat Dolls. Really loudly.”

 

“Huh?” Axel murmured distractedly, but sure enough the music caught his ear. “Oh. I guess so.”

 

“It's coming from up ahead, let's go check it out!” Demyx proceeded to grab Axel's wrist and run until they came up on a small piazza, where a small crowd had gathered. “When I Grow Up” was blasting, though it was occasionally interrupted by fits of clapping from the crowd. Axel craned his neck and stood on his toes to see over everyone else until he found the center; a group of four teenagers, three boys and a girl, were performing a highly choreographed dance to the song on a mat that had been taped down to the cobblestones.

 

All four were dressed in jeans, flexible enough for them to move freely in as they danced, short-sleeve shirts that would have been suicidal if they weren't moving so fast, and hats. The girl's shirt was tied at the small of her back, and her hair was done up in a short brown braid.

 

The song moved into a remixed dance sequence, and three of the dancers vacated the square off to the side, leaving one of the boys in the center. He broke into a routine that leaned more towards breakdancing, and one particular move had him upside-down in a kind of posed and unbalanced handstand. As he held the pose his shirt fell up towards his chest revealing a well-toned stomach, and Axel had just enough time to appreciate that view - several females in the crowd were catcalling - before he shook his head ever so slightly. His hat fell off, and he shook his short, ash-blond hair out to get rid of any hat-hair he might've had before he broke the stance to shove the hat off to the side and out of his way. Then he leapt back up and resumed the routine until he was replaced by one of the other boys. The blond snatched up his hat and raised his arms, accepting the catcalls and applause for his performance. Axel watched as his eyes scanned the crowd, then he felt déjà vu alias Chuck Norris delivering a kick to his solar plexus - the kid's eyes were that cerulean blue he knew was haunting him.

 

Well then. Contestant number two.

 

The last two dancers performed their solos and finished their combined routine with the song. The audience that had surrounded them started clapping and shouting, and some were already digging into their pockets as the blond made a circuit, holding his hat out to collect money.

 

Axel pulled out all the change he had and waited until the blond came reached him. He smiled and extended his arm to put the change in his hat when the blond suddenly snatched the money out of his hand, a dark look on his face.

 

“Per miei stivali,” he snarled.

 

Axel blanched. “Huh?”

 

The blond looked like he was going to continue, but seemed to think better of it. He threw Axel a nasty look and continued to make his way around the circle.

 

“What was that about?” Axel asked, still dumbfounded.

 

“He, uh . . . said something about his boots. He took the money for his boots.”

 

“That kid knew me,” Axel said, trying to figure this out. “But I've never met him before . . . or at least I don't think I have. He looked eerily familiar.”

 

Demyx's eyes widened. “What about Larxene's theory? That you threw up on someone after they brought you home and they punched you?”

 

“Oh God.”

 

Demyx whistled. “If that gave you a ride home and you puked on him . . . damn you suck.”

 

“Thanks, Demyx.”

 

“Anytime.”

 

* * *

 

“Fuck,” Axel muttered as the tiny alley opened up, not to the main but to an even tinier alley. He stopped and pulled the map out of his back pocket, examining it as closely as he could to see if he could pick out the alley he'd walked down. He was sure he was close to the main road, he could hear the cars and blaring horns. But whenever he followed his ears towards the sound, all it brought him was a tinier alley and a dead end.

 

Why was he cursed with a horrible sense of direction?

 

“Fuck,” Axel swore vehemently, cursing the late midday `naptime' everyone in the program was so excited about, though he couldn't see why having a legit excuse to sleep during the day was so awesome when he couldn't even find his apartment in the first place. He was supposed to find a grocery store to pick up some food for the apartment, but the place was nowhere to be found. The only place he'd found that was open was a little café, where none of the patrons or waiters spoke English or could decipher his Italian. Axel ran his fingers through his hair agitatedly, hissing at the hopelessness of the situation and the overwhelming déjà vu.

 

“Scusami,” a gruff and vaguely annoyed voice came from behind him, accompanied by a hand pushing his shoulder roughly. Axel whirled around and had to look down slightly to meet the other man's crystal clear blue eyes. Wait . . . oh, fuck.

 

“It's you,” Axel breathed.

 

The blond looked mutinous, his eyes narrowing dangerously. Then he shoved Axel in the shoulder roughly to get past him.

 

“Hey,” Axel started. “A-aspetta, per favore? Uh, fuck, um, puoi mi aiutare?” At least, that's what he thought would translate to `Please help me find a main road, I have no idea where I am or if I've entered into mafia territory or not,' or in the least Wait, please, can you help me?

 

The blonde stared at him. “Perché?” he asked petulantly.

 

Axel froze and took the whole picture in, from the guy's leather jacket - complete with checkered detail, scarf, old jeans and boots to the be-stickered silver moped he was guiding. Axel shook himself out of his observation ignored the butterflies in his stomach to put his hands up and say “Sono perso,” miserably.

 

The blond stared. “Che?”

 

This was what frustrated him more than anything; he hated trying to translate what he wanted to say. “Fuck it. Parli inglese?” Do you speak English?

 

The blond looked dubious. “Some, yes.”

 

“Better than nothing,” Axel let out a tense breath. “Look, I know you hate me. I'm sorry I threw up on you, or your shoes, whichever. But I really, really need help.”

 

“So?” The blond pushed the kickstand out on his moped and leaned back against it, pulling out a cigarette. “You threw up on my shoes, I owe you nothing.”

 

“You got to punch me!”

 

“You deserved it.”

 

“I was drunk,” Axel said miserably. “I'm sorry.”

 

The blond was silent for a while, and when Axel looked up he found the kid staring at him contemplatively while taking a drag on the now-lit cigarette.

 

“You don't remember anything, do you?”

 

Axel shook his head. “I've been trying to figure out what happened that night. I wasn't sure how I made it to my front step in one piece. And I knew I pissed someone off, I had a nasty black eye for a week.”

 

“I have a good right hook.”

 

Axel smiled wryly. “Every once in a while I'd see someone who, now that I've met you again, looks like you or has similar features I'd get this really annoying déjà vu. But I remembered, actually remembered, the color of your eyes. I remembered how blue they were . . . I just didn't have anything else to connect with that yet.”

 

The blond stared at him like he'd never seen him before, all traces of animosity gone. The cigarette was burning away, forgotten, between his fingers.

 

Axel was the one who broke the silence again. “I, uh, I know I'm asking a lot, but will you tell me what happened that night?”

 

The blond hissed and dropped the cigarette, crushing it under his shoe. “You are lucky my English is good.” He paused, scratching his ear. “I saw you sitting on the sidewalk. I asked if you were lost. You were also drunk, not a good combination. I gave you a ride to your apartment, then you acted strange. Almost like . . . then you puked.”

 

“Like what? It was probably the absinthe - I could have been seeing things.”

 

The blond raised an eyebrow. “Like you were going to kiss me. Then -” he leaned to the side and mimed puking, complete with retching sounds.

 

“Oh.”

 

“Si.”

 

“Wow, I really do suck.”

 

The blond chuckled and nodded, regarding him curiously. “Com'è ti chiami?” he asked.

 

“Eh?” Axel started. He was distracted by the thought that yes, Larxene had been right, and yes, he'd really screwed up but the kid was still talking to him with no signs of imminent punching in the air.

 

“Your name,” the blond grinned, his eyes crinkling in a way that Axel found . . . really cute. There was a swooping sensation in his gut that he definitely wasn't used to. So maybe the kid was cute. “What is it?”

 

“Axel.”

 

The blond nodded. “Roxas. So, sei perso?”

 

Axel scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, I guess so.”

 

“Where are you going?” Roxas asked.

 

“My apartment,” Axel explained. “Over by the -”

 

“I remember,” Roxas chuckled. “You are very, very lost.”

 

Axel hung his head sheepishly. “Sempre perso.” I'm always lost.

 

After a moment of consideration the blond spoke again. “Come with me. I'll take you there.” With that he threw a leg over the moped and motioned for Axel to sit behind him. At Axel's hesitation Roxas turned around and gave him a sly grin. “I promise I'm not going to rape you. Andiamo!” Let's go!

 

Axel snorted and got on right behind the blond, putting his feet on the lower ridge. It was a small moped, definitely not built for two people and considering he was probably twice Roxas' size it was a snug fit; Axel had to lean back to keep himself from pressing against the his body at every point.

 

“Hold on,” was the only warning he got before the younger man revved up the engine and the moped took off down the tiny side streets, Axel barely clinging to his waist to keep from falling. Roxas seemed unperturbed by the close proximity of carts and tables he nearly could have run into, and would take the most unexpected hairpin turns down alley after alley.

 

“Your English is really good,” Axel commented over the roar of the motor.

 

Roxas laughed. “I don't like the grammar. Very confusing.”

 

“Yeah, it's terrible. Even for native speakers. Half the time I don't know if I'm saying the right thing.”

 

“Why would the English make a language so hard even they don't know how to speak it?”

 

“I have no clue,” Axel grinned widely at the back of the boy's helmet.

 

Roxas took a hard left, swerving into a busy intersection and cutting off a large red tour bus. Axel looked back, alarmed, as the bus driver honked at them; the moped promptly accelerated and Axel had to grab hold of his companion's waist to keep from falling off.

 

“Never drive here unless you know what you're doing,” Roxas called back good-naturedly. “And even then, you'll probably die.”

 

“Do you know what you're doing?” Axel asked nervously.

 

“Mostly,” Roxas answered.

 

“That's good to know,” Axel snorted. “Roman traffic scares the shit out of me.”

 

Axel couldn't see, but he had a pretty good feeling the blond was grinning. A few seconds later, Axel couldn't tell if it was intentional or not, Roxas pulled over into the opposite lane to pass a Smartcar and almost drove headfirst into another car speeding towards them.

 

“SHI-“

 

Axel tightened his hold around Roxas' waist in preparation for the impact; he mentally tallied up a list of apologies and shout-outs to people for making his life an awesome twenty years, and briefly considered a will before realizing he didn't have time for one. But instead of the bone-crushing collision he expected, Roxas jerked back into their lane just in time to avoid the car. The redhead blinked. Still alive . . .

 

“Tutti ok,” Roxas chuckled.

 

“You're nuts!”

 

Roxas laughed outright.

 

“Was that necessary?”

 

Roxas tilted his head down for a second, then up again. “Forse.”

 

Axel gave him a confused look, trying to remember what `forse' meant. “Oh.” Maybe. He cleared his throat, realizing his arms were still wrapped tightly around Roxas' waist and loosened them. “Sorry.”

 

Roxas shrugged. Axel took in the sights as they drove; he could see the Vatican's dome about a half a mile ahead when they pulled off the main street and drove into a more residential area with the same winding streets that Axel immediately recognized as his neighborhood.

 

Roxas slowed in front of his building; somewhat reluctantly he let go of the blonde's waist and dismounted the bike. Roxas put it in idle as Axel got off and tried to shake the nerves from such a harrowing trip . . . and the idea of asking if Roxas wanted to come inside for a drink. He had saved him from wandering the backstreets of Rome twice, after all . . . and last time he'd puked on him. Axel swallowed his nerves; his throat felt surprisingly dry. “Would you . . . uh, like to come inside?”

 

Roxas stared at him, as if trying to work out the same thing and translate in his head simultaneously. In the end he uttered a vaguely indifferent noise and got off his bike, pushing it closer to the side of the street. He pulled his helmet off and locked it in the back compartment of the moped, glancing over at Axel briefly. Stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans, Roxas strolled over to the door, where Axel was fishing his keys out of his jacket. He pushed the door open and let himself and the blond in. Roxas followed him in to the small, enclosed courtyard and through another door where the elevator was. Axel shut the three doors behind them.

 

Italian elevators, especially the one in Axel's apartment building, were old and slow, and the sixth floor was a long way up. Once the elevator had begun to move Axel bit his lip and took the plunge. “Hey Roxas. Remember what you said back there, about me looking like I was going to kiss you?”

 

Roxas' brow furrowed; Axel couldn't tell if he was processing the translation for himself or unsure what he was talking about until the blond said vaguely, “Si.”

 

“Did you want me to?”

 

Another pause. “Forse.”

 

“Posso ti dare un bacio subito?” or what he hoped translated to, Can I kiss you now?

 

Roxas looked at him sharply.

 

“No puking, I promise.”

 

Roxas made a show of thinking. Then, smiling, said “Vieni qui.” Come here.

 

Axel took the one step needed to place himself right in front of Roxas, while the blond's impossibly deep blue eyes glittered in anticipation. Axel bent to kiss him, and Roxas met him more than halfway, wrapping his arms around Axel's neck as their mouths crashed together. There were teeth nipping at his lower lip, demanding entrance; Axel could only oblige and deepen the kiss. Roxas tasted faintly like cigarette smoke, something salty-sweet, and espresso; he couldn't get enough of it.

 

The elevator abruptly came to a shuddering halt, though neither of them paid any attention to it. Only when several shocked gasps and something that sounded like “Mamma mia,” did Axel turn his head just slightly, still engaged in the kiss. The elevator had stalled on one of the middle floors, and an Italian family clearly waiting to use the elevator was staring at them as they made out, jaws dropped and, by the looks of one teenage girl, entranced and a little flushed.

 

Roxas realized what had happened and pushed Axel away just far enough to jump, jarring the elevator out of its position. It groaned back to life and continued on its course, while they resumed their kiss.

 

By the time the elevator dinged, Roxas was flattened against the wall with Axel's leg firmly between his legs; Axel couldn't imagine moving from this spot for the rest of the night. Though leaving the elevator would probably be wise, Axel was still trying to reassemble his brain cells to think through the logistics of bringing Roxas into his apartment like this. His roommates were likely gone, at dinner or one of the bars already. Well, that was all he needed.

 

“Shall we move inside?” Axel asked, breaking the kiss. The blond nodded, and extricated himself from Axel to unlatch the doors.

 

At the exact moment that Axel's flatmates were opening the door to their apartment and filing out. Demyx yelled “Axel!” at the top of his lungs and lunged forward to attack him with a hug. Axel stared at them over Demyx's shoulder, completely stunned. “We were worried, we were just going to come out an find you!”

 

“Heh,” Axel chuckled. “Thanks. But uh, I'm here, I was rescued.”

 

“So we see,” Zexion said, eyeing the blond and their conjoined hands.

 

“He's pretty cute,” Xigbar commented, leering. “You were bringing him back here to fuck.”

 

“That's not really any of your business, is it?”

 

“It is when I'm your room mate and I'll videotape whatever I see fit. You know, I didn't know they made prostitutes this young.”

 

“He's not a prostitute, jackass,” Axel scoffed.

 

“Lay off him, Xigbar,” Demyx pouted.

 

“Look, I'll go,” Roxas spoke up for the first time, withdrawing his hand from Axel's.

 

“You don't have to, he's just an asshole who can't keep his mouth shut.”

 

“He's very annoying,” Zexion agreed, as though that settled the issue.

 

“How can he bring jailbait back here and not expect me to make fun of him? Jeez.”

 

Roxas was ignoring the whole exchange as he took out a piece of paper from his pocket and a little pencil, and began writing something. After a moment he took Axel's hand again. “I'll see you again,” he smiled, pulling Axel down to kiss his cheeks; Axel blinked as he felt a piece of paper being transferred into his hand. Roxas pulled away and waved before getting back into the elevator.

 

Axel opened up the slip of folded paper as Xigbar grumbled back into the apartment. His face broke out into a smile. “Hey Demyx.”

 

“Hmm,” his best friend answered.

 

Axel held up the piece of paper for him to see; there was the name of a club and a phone number written on it. “Have you ever heard of this place - Qube?”