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She feels his hot breath on the back of her neck, her nostrils filled with the stink of whisky. His burning skin is pressed against the length of her, and she can feel him taut and trembling, like an overwound watch spring about to break.

“Oh, fuck…” he groans, “oh, fuck, fuck, fuck…” and she screws her eyes shut, pretending that this was what she had wanted; that this was what she had always wanted.

[x]

It had ended like all the best parties do, with just the two of them and a bottle of whisky, and by the time the bottle was half empty they were laughing together over some stupid thing Marluxia had tried to do to Zexion and she was starting to think that this time… maybe… this time… But by the time the whisky was two-thirds gone he was staring silently into the middle distance and gripping the edge of the window frame so tightly that the seams on his gloves had started to split. And before she could stop herself she’d said

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, give it up already! He’s not coming back!”

And just because he was drunk, and only because he wanted her to shut the fuck up and be quiet, he had grabbed the back of her head and kissed her savagely. And just because this time she didn’t want him to be able to change his mind and back away and run, she bit his bottom lip, hard, and stuck her hands under his coat, feeling the little muscles of his midriff tense as he flinched under her fingers.

[x]

“Oh fuck…”

She can feel him like electricity; like a storm about to break. She can feel his scalding tears wetting her shoulders and she doesn’t care. She doesn’t care that the name he’s about to say isn’t hers, and will never be hers. She feels like a sheet of paper laid across embers, twisted and charred and about to burst into flames at any second. And she doesn’t care.

Like she doesn’t care that to him all she is is just another way of forgetting.

[or not forgetting]

Larxene hesitates just for a second before slipping through the door marked XIII. A leer that’s meant for a smile cracks her face, and she pauses to admire herself at Roxas’ dressing table. Mirror, mirror, on the wall she thinks, who’s the most dangerous bitch of them all? She frowns, wondering if it wasn’t actually Marluxia, before the sound of voices in the corridor brings her back to herself. Little bitch, I’ll teach you to try and steal my man.She giggles at the thought of what’s coming, and slips under the bed.

Peering out from under the valance, she sees the door open, and pulls back into the darkness, trying not to notice the cast-off socks and boxers among the dust bunnies. The mattress above her creaks and sags, as someone sits down on it. Someone else closes the door. Oh, shit….

“Roxas…”

Larxene stops smiling.

“Roxas, please.” Please?

“What?” and this voice is as bruised and ragged and helpless as all of Vexen’s failed replicas rolled into one. “What do you expect me to do, Axel?”

“Stay.” Larxene’s lungs are on fire, about to burst, but Axel finally speaks again. “Stay, Rox.”

Shit, he’s crying. Larxene wants to turn her head, because there’s dust in her eyes and they’re starting to sting.

“Axel, we’ve…”

“What? We’ve what?” Now his voice is shaking, and Larxene can tell that he’s trying not to shout. The dust in her eyes is making them water, and she wants to wipe them, but she daren’t. “We’ve this.” She can’t see his gesture, but she’s watched him for long enough to know exactly what he just did. The bed creaks as Roxas shifts, sags as Axel sits.

Roxas is crying now too, and it’s the worst sound she’s ever heard, worse even than when she beat the other Riku to death. She wants to get up, to hold them both, tell them it’s okay, that they’re Nobodies for fuck sake and it isn’t supposed to be able to hurt, that the jealousy and lust and revenge are just games they play, just ghosts of things they used to feel, just memories. And the fucking dust under Roxas’ bed is getting in her eyes and it’s really starting to piss her off and “I’ve got to go,” Roxas says.

Larxene feels something in her chest that should have been her heart missing a beat.

“I know,” Axel says. “I know. I know. Stop saying it. I know. Just shut the fuck up and stop saying it.”

The bed creaks again, and sags again, and Larxene squeezes her eyes shut as tight as she can because they’re stinging too badly from the dust, and watering too badly from the dust, and she tries not to listen to what’s happening because she feels like she’s intruding at a funeral, and normally with funerals she’s the cause, not the mourner, and even though she’d wanted to be the cause of this one, she hadn’t wanted it to be like this.

Not even she had wanted it to be like this.

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