• You need to breathe. It's impossible, and almost comical how hard it suddenly is to complete such a mundane task. When? When did it get so hard? No, don't answer, instead gulp in the precious oxygen and count to five.

    You know when.

    Stop.

    Count.

    Release.

    Funny, your erratic heart is such a polar opposite to how slowly you're forcing your breaths to be. It's quite like how white your knuckles are, gripping your knees for dear life; such a contrast from your dark eyes, once so pure and blue.

    Count, again. Now. Because so easily you have forgotten.

    Things hadn't always been like this. When had something altered? Can you pinpoint an exact moment in time where life had begun to diffar? And then, you remember. Lips vibrate softly in your ear, as though they were there, such a long time before, "You've changed, Roxas." You can't help but shiver from the memory of the beautiful redhead that had given it to you. Why had this person named Roxas changed? You try to remember, but you really can't. And that stung.

    Life had gotten harder. Everything was just so difficult anymore, and it pained him. Roxas knew Axel would be waiting at home, in his favorite armchair, as always. Going home was easy. Staying out and facing his love when he returned late would be extremely hard.

    He went out; he drank. He came home, late enough for certain members (there was only one, really) to have already gone to bed. So why was there a light on?

    "Where were you?" Axel's face was calm and serious, well, not that the other could tell. He could only guess by the tone of voice. In fact, that sentence could have ended at, 'the tone', because everyone knows that stern tone you receive when you've greatly upset someone. Children get it from their parents when they've disobeyed them, and just the same lovers get it from their others when they are disappointed.

    The tension is so thick you could slice it with your left hand. It's too much for this so-far-beyond-sobered Roxas, and he does the unthinkable. The night and the pain and the shame is exactly what he had been trying to get rid of, so he throws back his blond little head and he laughs. His eyes were closed, so he didn't see when Axel narrowed his ever-so-slightly. "You're completely drunk!"

    This Roxas stops laughing long enough to give Axel a stare that a person would be hard pressed to find any traces of wastedness in, and then covers his mouth. The redhead stands up, afraid he is about to ruin the carpets with vomit. Instead, however, the slightly smaller boy's eyes crinkle at the sides, and he begins to not even laugh this time, but giggle. He just can't stop. Roxas is on the floor now, with tears in his eyes he's laughing so much, and Axel just can't help but smile at the sight before him, so innocent, so happy. And though he knows there must be more to the story, considering he knows the blond better than to drink on such a night, he decides he'd better let it slide this once. If, for no other reason, than he simply won't be getting out any information.

    Just as this memory leaves you, you see a fleeting moment of something absolutely beautiful: the redhead from your nightmares and dreams is now next you on the floor laughing too.

    You think about it. Your breathing quickens once again, but this time it isn't as bad. It's fast, but something about the pattern makes your heart flutter rather than sink. Still, you don't know. You don't seem to know anything, anymore.

    You breathe in, count to five, breathe out, count to five. It's easier this way.

    It's easier this way.

    "Axel..." You can see the old Roxas again. He's even better looking than in your last memory. His hair shimmers in the summer twilight, his eyes are that bright blue that axel always loved. Speaking of, the sultry redhead is back, and he looks good too, much better than you (now or then), but you always thought that. He moves closer to Roxas, and your heart rate speeds up again -breathe- but Roxas pulls back. "We should stop seeing each other. It's easier this way."

    Axel's mouth forms a tight line, and he looks down, at the small space between their bodies. "What do you mean?" He asks this, but by the looks of it he already knows the answer.

    "Loving someone... it's hard. It's even worse that we're both guys. We'll be humiliated forever. I just don't know if this will work."

    "You don't want this..."

    "You're right, I don't-"

    "Then knowing your answer, I won't take no for an answer."

    "Axel.."

    One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

    Breathe. Count. It was becoming a steady rhythm that grew ever simpler as you felt your mind decay and your memories disappear. It is good to have something steady to hold on to; when you feel your world is changing. Why is it, then, that simple things like that were in your mind, and yet all the shattered pieces of a past you fought for for so long weren't?

    Think. Do you remember a much simpler time? Maybe. It had existed, you are sure of it. You could bet your life on it, not that your life would be an incredibly high bet anymore.

    "Why?" Such a sad voice, speaking. Such a tragic, morose, depressing, heartbreakingly unrecognizable voice speaking. His face is in his hands, and you get the feeling he can't bear to look up. When he does, you know why. When he does, he looks into the mirror across the room. When he does, you see yourself. Eyes, sunken into pale skin. Dark eyes, covered in shadows and anguish. Hair that had once had such a bounce and spike was now plastered against a sweaty forehead.

    The boy's head twists, mimicking your heart, when you see the speaker. It was Axel, again. That man who was always right there. Why? Why was he there again? "Axel," The boy hardly spoke. He was afraid to say such a pure name. "Axel... I,"

    "Don't apologize, if that's what you were about to do." Green eyes gazed emotionlessly through blue. "I don't want to hear it."

    "I'msorry."

    "It doesn't mean anything. You don't love me anymore."

    "Wait. Axel, I... I..." But the boy knows the truth, and so do you. Axel gets up to leave. Block the door! Get up! Chase him, dammit! But Roxas doesn't move, and you curse yourself over and over.

    Count! Count! You're keeled over on the floor, your head pounding. What had happened? It was only a memory.

    Your mind curses you. Your heart curses you. Why didn't you chase him? Why didn't you care?

    One. Two. Three. Four. It wasn't working. Was there a time you were happy? Find that memory, find it. Find it. Don't die yet.

    "Happy birthday, Roxas." A woman with blond hair and blue eyes smiles. She must be Roxas' mother. "Sixteen. Oh, won't you ever stop growing?" She can't keep the smile off her face, and you can't help but mirror it.

    "It doesn't matter how much he grows, he'll always be a shrimp to me," A tall boy jokes in the back. His green eyes and red hair look like... Roxas knew immediately who he was.

    "Axel! I can't believe you made it! I thought you were still on vacation with your family!"

    "We were, but I couldn't miss your big day." He watched the blond woman leave the room before turning back to Roxas. In a whisper he added, "Don't you think you're old enough now to tell her you're gay?" Eyes drop, pulling you from admiring the redhead's beauty.

    "I don't know. I don't want to think about it today, okay? Wanna come up to my room?" And he does. You watch, your heart speeding up again as Axel creeps up behind Roxas and hugs him. The boy made an annoyed noise in the back of his throat, but Axel doesn't leave. He nibble's Roxas' ear, and kisses the back of his neck. You feel feathery touches ghosting your ears and neck.

    "Happy Birthday, Roxas."

    "I love you, Axel."

    Your heart swells to the bursting, and suddenly you have to see him. Where was he? Your mind drifts back to the memory of his leaving, but there was no way that was possible. He couldn't have left forever. Surely he'd be back.

    Fool, your mind argues. He betrayed you!

    And another piece of the puzzle comes into focus. A still body, eyes closed peacefully. The world could have ended and Axel wouldn't have cared - he was already beyond death. He died on you.

    He's a traitor. A weakling. Nothing to worry about.

    Who? Who killed him? No, don't ask. You know the answer. An answer so terrifying you have to remember, again, to breathe. In and out.

    "Come on, Axel! Just this once...." And this time, the person in the memories really is you. Not someone so impossibly far behind you. Your voice is amused and playful and all things happy, but your eyes are dead. "Don't leave me, again. Please? We can have fun together!" Axel appraised you. This was your last chance to make things right, and you both knew it. You wondered if Axel really wanted to leave so badly. He left last time, but came back. No, you assured yourself, he didn't want to leave. He'd came back, after all. He'd keep coming back.

    Where was he now, then? Your mind mocked you.

    Focus, focus back on the memory. It was important. It had to be.

    He is disgusted with you. Fun? His eyes accuse you. Your mind is dead, your body is scarred. Your sleeve rides up a bit, revealing faint red lines. You follow his gaze and giggle wryly. Couldn't he understand? Cutting felt real. It was this affair that was fake. Or so you had convinced yourself.

    But you had managed to drag him out of the house. Maybe now things would be better.

    You went, this time both of you. You drank; you let your guard down. And, secretly, you hoped. You hoped that by taking this simultaneous step forward, you both might be able to go back. To a better time. You hoped, that just maybe, you would recover.

    It was selfish, really. In hindsight.

    The night flew from young to old in the blink of an eye, both of you so far beyond wasted. You practically crawled closer to the redhead, grabbing his arm when you lost your balance.

    "Whaddya say we gettoutta here?" A slinky smile crept across your face as you mumble almost incoherently. He nods, most likely unable to do anything else.

    You slip behind the wheel. Axel narrows his eyes. He's more drunk than you. You should drive. Before he can object (which wouldn't really be soon anyway, considering he still appeared to be assessing the situation) your foot hits the gas and you back out of the parking lot.

    "What are you doing?" The lump next to you finally speaks up.

    "Driving."

    "You're drunk."

    "So are you."

    "Not as drunk as you."

    "But still drunk."

    "It's a mute point."

    "Don't use big words when I feel like hell." You can't help but cast a sideways glance at the man next to you and laugh.

    And, suddenly, you feel like hell too. Your vision blurs and your head is killing you. You just want to close your eyes. Sweat drips down your face and a giant weight has been dropped on your entire body. The night suddenly feels like it's been way too long and you just can't help but close your eyes for a bit.

    And then your heart jumps, and so do you. You already know the rest. You don't want to see it anymore.

    But the memory isn't over, and soon you're swallowed whole once again.

    You open your eyes to find your forehead pressed into the steering wheel. You wouldn't be surprised if there was an imprint, or because of the amount of pain your head was in, a bruise. You look around. What had happened? All around you were trees. The road is quite a distance away, and you wonder how you got here.

    You remember last night, and that there had been another body next to you.

    In the silence, you fear the worst.

    You turn your head mechanically, afraid to look. Broken glass. Half of the windshield was shattered. You easily guessed they'd hit a tree somewhere on his side. Red meets your eyes. All you see is Axel's red hair, his face his somewhere in the tangled mess of the windshield. His shirt is red. Had he been wearing a red shirt? You lift his arm a little. No. Areas where the blood hadn't dripped were defiantly white.

    Axel was dead. You were a murderer. Your mind laughed at you. You know you must be a really screwed up person when even your own mind is laughing at your stupidity. The thought makes you want to chuckle a little too, in a cynical little way. You open your dried lips, and a throaty wheezing came out. Maybe your body was mocking you too, withering up on you. You didn't deserve to laugh after murdering a person.

    Then you realize you weren't sad because you loved him, but sad because you were a killer. And you laugh again. Maybe you weren't ever really in love. Maybe you were in love with the idea of being loved, but was it ever anything more? Possibly in the beginning, when life was different, when you were different. Perhaps.

    Breathe, you remind yourself.

    But you can't. The weight of not-loving and apathy and guilt and regret and this damned world pile on you. You scream. And it feels real. And for a minute, you're okay. Okay, content, but not happy. You may never be happy again.

    You sit. You count. To five, like you've been doing. Just as you've trained your mind to count. Just as you've trained your mind to renew.

    After a few minutes of not remembering, you feel better. Things will get better. You can start over. Begin a new life. No more worries.

    Slowly, ever so slowly, you forget. You can't die, because A... what's-his-face won't want you, and you can't live, because you're a murderer and society won't want you. Instead, you settle for the only thing you can do. The only thing you know how to do.

    You breathe.