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The Game of Life:
The dirty blonde shivered, breathing visibly into the crisp winter air. Tiny drifting flakes tickled with sharp coldness at his exposed neck, keeping his face low against the wind, chin bouncing on his chest. His arms were beat red from the nipping blizzard of snow- Demyx had no clue why he didn’t grab a jacket for the six block walk to Roxas’s house. They couldn’t undo what happened anyway, and the message to be delivered was one most would want to wait to hear. He kicked away a large chunk of ice, his pace becoming brisker as it seeped through his shoes, nipping further at his toes. The east side wasn’t a regal neighborhood, it was one of the worst in the area, so when a half hanging tavern sign came before him, he gave a few second glance to double check it was his destination.
The musician rapped on the hollow door, examining the chipped corners that allowed the blustery draft in. “H-Hey Roxy….! Open!” he ordered, leaning close to the wood, feeling his warm breath reflected back onto chilled skin. The sounds of eerie winter were interrupted by a thunder of footsteps, and a half-assed grin crept over his face.
“… Demyx? Goddamnit! Why the hell are you he- where is your jacket!” the blonde tugged him in, recoiling at the touch of frozen skin. He was toasty under three jackets, two spring weight and one winter tough. Roxas tugged the outer most off, revealing a dirty sharpietized pull over from underneath. Demyx recognized it, smiling even further. A man’s mock of boobs had been drawn on the front, obscene phrases littering the back. He didn’t know Roxas had kept that token of his first night of getting high.
“Dems, snap out of it.” The teenager in question blinked slowly, aqua orbs slowly sliding over Roxas, noticing the thick jacket in his outstretched hand. His lips were achingly chapped so he decided on nodding thanks, slipping his arms through the tattered sleeves as the younger boy lead up the stairs.
“Come on, were getting you warm, your so rosy it’s not funny,” he barked sharply over his shoulder, leading Demyx forward through the dimly lit hallway.
“S-Since when d-did you care so much?” the musician jeered, wringing his frozen hands together. His fingers were slow to response, and suddenly they tingled as life was worked it’s way back into them.
“Since you showed up like that. Your fucking frozen man, I swear that ice on your eyelashes too.” Demyx laughed weakly, only Roxas would take that into notice, and then be gay enough to voice it. The boy envied his eyes, while in turn the older wished for his clear crystal ones. Axel had ended the eye love fest by interjecting blue eyed blondes where dumber, easier to bang. That ended the whole subject from public conversation. He wiped self-consciously at his eyes – CROW FOOD there was – dragging his hand back through faux-hawk. Roxas’s lithe hands pressed to his back, ushering him into the small cluttered filled room. “How long did it take you?”
“About T-twenty minutes, I ‘ess..”
“Dumbass,” Roxas hissed, “Good way to get yourself killed. Why the hell didn’t Ax stop you?”
“… He was busy.” Demyx surveyed the room, not often invited deep into the complex where the blonde lived. It was different from the loft he and Axel shared- it seemed like a room, with a tidy bed mainly for just sleeping, with little tell tale artifacts of life, also with no underlying smell of drugs and sex. He sat down on the checkered bedspread – practically everything Roxas owned was checkered – watching as Roxas turned up the heater. “Don’t waste money on m-me, Roxy.”
“Tough shit I am. Hey, lean over and wake Sora up would you?” Roxas jerked his thumb over his shoulder, motioning of the far side of the bed. Demyx blinked slowly, leaning backwards to peek over the side of the single-size bed. Wedged between the wall and bed frame was a small shape, buried under a thick mound of blankets.
“Hey, Sora, wakey wakey,” the dirty blonde thrusted his legs around the side, sliding down into the crack, straddling the shape. Demyx playfully stroked an exposed ear, watching the brunette whimper at the touch. Sora was Roxas’s younger twin by a few minutes, but yet didn’t affiliate much with the east side gang. He had the privileges to hang with the barons, and spent his time bouncing around amongst the rich drug dealers that used him basically as a sex-slave. Riku was the greatest example, apparently his best friend, but Sora often resisted any help to try and part him from the high-end thugs. He continued stroking at the younger boys ear, watching the total uke responses he gained in return. “Dude, if he does this in his sleep, w-what’s he like awake?”
The dirty blonde shivered, breathing visibly into the crisp winter air. Tiny drifting flakes tickled with sharp coldness at his exposed neck, keeping his face low against the wind, chin bouncing on his chest. His arms were beat red from the nipping blizzard of snow- Demyx had no clue why he didn’t grab a jacket for the six block walk to Roxas’s house. They couldn’t undo what happened anyway, and the message to be delivered was one most would want to wait to hear. He kicked away a large chunk of ice, his pace becoming brisker as it seeped through his shoes, nipping further at his toes. The east side wasn’t a regal neighborhood, it was one of the worst in the area, so when a half hanging tavern sign came before him, he gave a few second glance to double check it was his destination.
The musician rapped on the hollow door, examining the chipped corners that allowed the blustery draft in. “H-Hey Roxy….! Open!” he ordered, leaning close to the wood, feeling his warm breath reflected back onto chilled skin. The sounds of eerie winter were interrupted by a thunder of footsteps, and a half-assed grin crept over his face.
“… Demyx? Goddamnit! Why the hell are you he- where is your jacket!” the blonde tugged him in, recoiling at the touch of frozen skin. He was toasty under three jackets, two spring weight and one winter tough. Roxas tugged the outer most off, revealing a dirty sharpietized pull over from underneath. Demyx recognized it, smiling even further. A man’s mock of boobs had been drawn on the front, obscene phrases littering the back. He didn’t know Roxas had kept that token of his first night of getting high.
“Dems, snap out of it.” The teenager in question blinked slowly, aqua orbs slowly sliding over Roxas, noticing the thick jacket in his outstretched hand. His lips were achingly chapped so he decided on nodding thanks, slipping his arms through the tattered sleeves as the younger boy lead up the stairs.
“Come on, were getting you warm, your so rosy it’s not funny,” he barked sharply over his shoulder, leading Demyx forward through the dimly lit hallway.
“S-Since when d-did you care so much?” the musician jeered, wringing his frozen hands together. His fingers were slow to response, and suddenly they tingled as life was worked it’s way back into them.
“Since you showed up like that. Your fucking frozen man, I swear that ice on your eyelashes too.” Demyx laughed weakly, only Roxas would take that into notice, and then be gay enough to voice it. The boy envied his eyes, while in turn the older wished for his clear crystal ones. Axel had ended the eye love fest by interjecting blue eyed blondes where dumber, easier to bang. That ended the whole subject from public conversation. He wiped self-consciously at his eyes – CROW FOOD there was – dragging his hand back through faux-hawk. Roxas’s lithe hands pressed to his back, ushering him into the small cluttered filled room. “How long did it take you?”
“About T-twenty minutes, I ‘ess..”
“Dumbass,” Roxas hissed, “Good way to get yourself killed. Why the hell didn’t Ax stop you?”
“… He was busy.” Demyx surveyed the room, not often invited deep into the complex where the blonde lived. It was different from the loft he and Axel shared- it seemed like a room, with a tidy bed mainly for just sleeping, with little tell tale artifacts of life, also with no underlying smell of drugs and sex. He sat down on the checkered bedspread – practically everything Roxas owned was checkered – watching as Roxas turned up the heater. “Don’t waste money on m-me, Roxy.”
“Tough shit I am. Hey, lean over and wake Sora up would you?” Roxas jerked his thumb over his shoulder, motioning of the far side of the bed. Demyx blinked slowly, leaning backwards to peek over the side of the single-size bed. Wedged between the wall and bed frame was a small shape, buried under a thick mound of blankets.
“Hey, Sora, wakey wakey,” the dirty blonde thrusted his legs around the side, sliding down into the crack, straddling the shape. Demyx playfully stroked an exposed ear, watching the brunette whimper at the touch. Sora was Roxas’s younger twin by a few minutes, but yet didn’t affiliate much with the east side gang. He had the privileges to hang with the barons, and spent his time bouncing around amongst the rich drug dealers that used him basically as a sex-slave. Riku was the greatest example, apparently his best friend, but Sora often resisted any help to try and part him from the high-end thugs. He continued stroking at the younger boys ear, watching the total uke responses he gained in return. “Dude, if he does this in his sleep, w-what’s he like awake?”
