Music Code Here
» Here for the Rescue||


“Of course. That’s fine.” He whispered out as he used his phone as a flashlight to see where they were going. He rubbed the smaller’s arm as the a/c unit started to appear in front to them. Perfect timing for his phones light to go out. He let go of his hold on the blonde as he pulled back the temporary light called his phone. He frowned in the darkness as he heard that Roxas had packed everything. This was really bad if he did that. “You know that’s fine.” He replied gently.

Axel leaned down and snatched up the duffle bag, pulling the strap over his shoulder and settled it against his arm. Crouching down, his fingers gripped what they could of the bottom box of the last two boxes. Tilting it up until he had enough room to slip his under and grip them better. Standing up with both boxes in hand and duffle bag over his arm, he followed his best friend back out the same way he came and to his car that was parked next door.

Setting the boxes carefully on the ground near his trunk, Axel fished for his car keys, finding them in his pants pockets where his hands where last. Unlocking the drunk, he helped Roxas first, loading his boxes into the trunk before moving to get one of the ones off the ground and placing it in the trunk. With no more room, he shut the trunk up and proceeded to unlock his car as he opened one of the back doors placing the two duffle bags and last box in the back seat.

Shutting the door, he moved back to the driver door, climbing in his vehicle again and started the car. “I’m glad I could help you.” He barely whispered out as he flipped the heat on high for the blonde and let the radio fill the silence between them as they drove away from that house for the last time. 

This was it, he was really leaving.  While the idea had been something to keep him going for nearly a year, Roxas had planned on waiting until graduation, as he at least wanted his diploma to help him off his feet.  But tonight, tonight broke all barriers of patient planning and the blonde had been shoved off an emotional cliff that he wasn’t about to climb back up to sit on the ledge, not again.  So he hit the ground running, hardly even thinking coherently as he gathered the last of his belongings into boxes and bags.

He watched as Axel set his things into the car, retreating once the trunk was closed to hide in the safety of the familiar passenger’s seat.  His paranoia still crept throughout his brain and his frozen fingers ached from carrying the boxes.

As they drove away from an empty room and a letter that wouldn’t be found til the next afternoon, Roxas stared at the digital clock on the radio’s screen, glancing away every now and then before returning his intent stare.  Someone had once told him that to know if you’re dreaming, you should stare at a clock and look away; if the time was completely off than before, then you were dreaming, and Roxas wanted be anything but asleep.

He finally relaxed after checking the clock over a dozen times, uncurling from his ball in his seat and pulling his scarf from his face to his neck, fingers curling in the fabric for warmth.  He reached over for the volume when the commercial break started, turning it down before falling back into his seat with a frown. There was moment of silence before he spoke.

"Her necklace," his voice wavered a bit, "he broke it. Crushed it to pieces."  The boy swallowed a lump in his throat to keep himself steady as he pulled out a corked bottle from his pocket and looked it over. His eyes forewarned tears as they took in the assortment of broken and whole cowry shells and the coil of black chord stuffed into the glass bottle - the last gift from his mother, now destroyed by a jealous outburst.

"And … I hit back again …" He lowered his hands into his lap, fingers smoothing over the cool glass carefully as if it, too, were going to break at anything more, but said no more. His throat felt swollen and tight, and as he turned to look sideways at his friend, his hood slid across a still-healing wound with a stinging sensation.