Chapter Text
When Roxas was a child, he always dreamed of living in the city. His parents had taken him there only once, when he was about 7, but he was always struck with the memories of large, glassy monoliths and the bustle of all kinds of people as they went about their day. He remembered the smell of hot chocolate and pretzels and the bright neon flashes of huge billboards high above as they displayed the latest fashion. He remembered the cars and the trains and all those people. His parents grumbled about the crowds but Roxas, for his own part, loved it.
Even then, he loved to people watch and as they sat on a bench in the huge park that overtook nearly half the city, he was able to really study the people passing by. Some jogged, maybe with a stroller or maybe with a dog, headphones nestled over their ears and a tape player strapped to their waists. Some walked casually, chatting with a friend or by themselves, immersed in their own thoughts. There were all kinds of people that passed through the park that day with all kinds of differences but the one that Roxas noticed the most was the wild and varying shades of hair. He remembered seeing an older boy with hair as blue as the sky above them and a young woman who looked about 25 with hair a pale, baby blue that reminded Roxas of his baby room. There were pinks and purples and so many blues that Roxas’ own blonde seemed so very, very boring in comparison.
But what Roxas remembered the most was the red. In a sea of so many colors, the bright red stood out as if it was a fire itself. It seemed to call to him somehow, even distracting Roxas from his very delicious sea salt popsicle as he stared through the crowd. It was magnetic, that red, drifting through the crowd and Roxas saw nothing else but that red and the boy who the red belonged to. Magnetic, was the right word, even if Roxas didn’t actually know that word at 7. Red hair like spiky fire and eyes as green as spring grass. The boy was laughing about something…something Roxas wished he could hear, willfully ignoring his ice cream as it dripped onto his fingers.
He was drawing nearer now and Roxas could hear his voice and he let his head tilt, still staring almost unashamedly.
“Oh Roxas, honey, your ice cream is dripping,” his mother’s voice cut into Roxas’ reverie and just like that he snapped out of his daze to stare at his hands.
“Sorry momma…”
“It’s alright honey, here,” she reached over, digging out a tissue from her purse and proceeding to clean off his fingers while Roxas let his eyes rest on their hands, almost guiltily. It was probably good that his mother cut into his staring because all in all, it was probably creepy to stare at a stranger.
When Roxas ventured another peek up, the red haired boy was almost eyelevel, passing by their bench with his tall and rather lanky father. Roxas must have made a noise but suddenly those bright green eyes landed squarely on him and he felt his world stutter to a halt. He couldn’t hear his mother crooning something to him or his father grumbling about the drive back home. All he saw were those eyes and that hair. Another noise betrayed Roxas before he could stop himself and the red head grinned suddenly, giving Roxas a wink before his father grabbed him by the hand, disappearing into the crowd.
To this day, Roxas remembered that red hair, and green eyes and practically blinding grin. And maybe it was one of the little side motivator as to why Roxas chose to move to the city almost as soon as he had the money and secured a job. Of course, he’d be foolish to actually think that red haired boy would A. even remember him or B. even be around the city anymore. It was huge and teaming with life and Roxas didn’t actually hold out any hope that he’d run into the owner of that blinding grin ever again.
Still, Roxas was nearly 26 now and both lived and worked in the city proper. It turned out having a mom with connections to the theater industry could theoretically help her child get their foot in the door. And it more than theoretically helped. Roxas, of course, couldn’t just let himself coast in without relying on his own merits so did his damn best to get through college with flying colors. That helped. As did his accrued knowledge of lighting design and Roxas got the job he never really thought he’d ever get.
His mother had cried when he moved and his father insisted that if he ever needed anything…ever… they were just a phone call away. And Roxas missed them quite a lot but it was…nice. It was nice to have his own place that he could decorate how he wanted and his own routine that wasn’t dictated by anyone else.
Roxas would wake up early, stumble to the bathroom and stand in the shower for a good half hour, sometimes almost falling asleep under the running water. He’d eat, pack his bag for the day and run off to the subway because if there was anything living in the city had taught him, was that driving was for lunatics and that his driver’s license was mostly for show and for booze. If he REALLY needed it, he could bum a ride from a friend but Roxas didn’t leave the city much and when he did, public transport was usually his go-to.
“You’re officially a city kid now, Rox,” his friend Hayner had teased him once, making a light move to punch the air, “even Pence has a car.”
Roxas shrugged. “Cars are for polluters, now get off the stage. The stars are rehearsing.”
Hayner had laughed at him, cradling a long coil of wire before stumbling backstage, letting the coil slowly unfurl behind him. Roxas would have to scold him on his carelessness later.
And at this point in his life, Roxas didn’t even really WANT a car. The subway was just fine by him, even if sometimes it was too crowded or too noisy or too smelly. For a people watcher however, the subway was the prime watching grounds for all sorts of neat and interesting people. Roxas liked the buskers, stopping if he had time to listen and tipping as often as he could. He practically became a regular and after months of this, snagged quite a nice friendship with a taller, green eyed brunette.
This morning, Roxas found the busker already set up in his usual spot, sitar nestled lovingly in his lap. He spotted Roxas before all of him was even down the escalator and eagerly waved him over. Roxas couldn’t help the faint smile that broke his features, adjusting his backpack and trotting over.
“Mornin’, Dem. How’s the music business?”
The young man, whose full name was Demyx, beamed sheepishly. “What can I say, Rox, loving that spotlight,” he snickered and Roxas ‘pffftt’ed at him under his breath. Demyx’ sheepish grin remained.
“You just don’t appreciate my genius, Roxas,” he sniffed theatrically. Roxas tutted.
“You know for a fact that’s not it. I keep telling you to come try out.”
That sheepish grin turned nervous. “Isn’t that abuse of your power?”
“What? No. I said, ‘come try out.’ Not ‘come in and I’ll give you a job’, Dem. It’s your own merits. ‘Sides, what makes you think I have that power to abuse anyway? Not like I’m the director.”
Demyx sucked in his cheeks. “I’m…not good a memorizing things, Rox. This is more my speed.”
Roxas sighed. They’d had this conversation several times already and he should have known that this would still be Demyx’ answer even if he hoped his friend had reconsidered. Still, he supposed it was true. He couldn’t actually imagine Demyx on stage in a professional setting. He’d likely be a mess. But that wouldn’t stop Roxas from trying to think of ways of helping his friend out. Busking was no way to live.
This morning he was running a bit late though, so he dug around his wallet, shoving a $50 into Demyx’ hands.
“Call me, okay? We’ll talk later.”
Demyx gaped at him, peering at the money between his fingers. “Roxas...”
“It’s cool. Just…call me alright?”
Demyx nodded after a moment, sheepish grin back on his face.
“Th…thank you…”
“You bet,” Roxas nodded, giving Demyx a little wave, “you’ll have to play me your new composition next time, alright?”
“You bet,” Demyx echoed and Roxas snorted, turning on his heel and running for the train. He hated being late.
The train wasn’t packed but was full enough for there to not be any open seats. Roxas didn’t mind much, leaning against a pole by the doors, arm wrapped around it to stop himself from wobbling as the train jolted into motion. The trip itself wasn’t particularly long but it was long enough to allow Roxas to plan out some things especially in regards to work. When he’d normally people watch, Roxas let himself to stare at the screen of his phone, digging out a stylus and scribbling on the screen. The cues had changed so he’d need to tweak his own cues and they had moved some of the marks so Roxas would have to adjust. It was no big deal really, you had to be flexible about this kind of thing.
Roxas stared at his phone so intently that he barely even noticed that someone had wheeled a bike onto the train at the next stop, stopping to the side of the doors and grabbing the pole just above Roxas’ head.
The loud speaker dinged above them, blurting out some garbled nonsense followed by “STAND CLEAR OF THE CLOSING DOORS” before the train jolted into movement again. Roxas still had some time. The hand above his head slid slightly before adjusting and Roxas shifted to give the other person more space as said person muttered a quiet apology.
Roxas replied with a “’S okay,” without even looking up from his screen and shifted again, making sure he wasn’t hogging the pole to himself. Other people needed balance too.
He was so focused on his scribbling that Roxas nearly missed his stop as the train ground to a halt at 42nd street, the voice on the intercom garbling out some gibberish that was just enough to snap Roxas into the moment. He fumbled with his stylus, shoving it back into his phone and just barely managed to squeeze through the doors before they closed in his face. And it was in that moment of panic and disorder that Roxas saw…or THOUGHT he saw…a bright flash of red. He stared, blinked and just like that, it was gone.
Honestly, he was being dumb. Loads of people had red hair and being so fixated on someone he saw only once when he was 7 was ridiculous. Frowning at himself, Roxas took the escalator 2 steps at a time and pushed through the turnstiles. He was already running behind schedule and that just wouldn’t do.
Rehearsals went…fine, he supposed but Roxas was still too distracted by thoughts of flame red hair to pay too much attention to what he was doing. Which wasn’t great if you’re supposed to be coordinating the lighting cues and his director gave him a great big talking to. Hayner dragged him out for drinks later that night.
“Ya know, Roxas, if you’re too distracted to actually do this gig you could always go for something easier,” Hayner teased over his gin and tonic, making Roxas grimace.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure you think you’d do a way better job or something,” he grumbled, making Hayner snort.
“Nope!” his friend said easily before taking another sip of gin, swirling the glass in his hand. Olette peered between them, carefully cradling her Margarita.
“Is something wrong, Roxas? You do seem kinda…space-y lately…” she asked gently, pushing a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear. Roxas sighed. He didn’t realize he was being so obvious.
“Well…have you guys ever…I dunno…seen someone only once but they like…left such an impression that sometimes you can’t help but think about them?”
“Like a famous person?” Hayner asked. Roxas shook his head.
“No…just a normal person…”
His friends considered it, Roxas eyeing them over the rim of his glass. Olette was the first to break the silence. “Once I saw a girl so pretty, I forgot how to breathe.”
Pence snickered next to her. “Was it in the mirror?” he asked with a wiggle of eyebrows and Olette blushed, smacking him in the arm. Roxas snorted loudly.
“Real smooth, dude,” he snickered, Pence grinning brightly while Olette continued to blush, taking a hurried sip of her drink.
“No, you absolute terrorist,” she grumbled at last, “I saw her on the subway like…months ago…I still think about her…”
“You’re too bi for your own good, O,” Hayner snorted.
Olette sighed theatrically, pressing a hand to her cheek. “I know. It’s a curse.”
Pence peered at Roxas. “Did you have a gay staring experience on the subway too, Roxas?” he asked, only half teasingly but Roxas felt his cheeks burn just slightly.
“No,” he said quickly, “nothing like that. And it was a…while ago …” for a moment, Roxas trailed off, frowning at himself, “ah…nevermind. It’s probably really stupid anyway.”
“Roxas..?”
“It doesn’t seem stupid if you’re so distracted by it you can’t light faces correctly,” Hayner said incredulously, taking another sip of gin.
Roxas considered. He COULD tell them he kept thinking about some red haired boy that he literally saw once when he was 7. He COULD also tell them how he kept thinking he saw that boy everywhere now. But it was likely seem more than a little crazy. Roxas shook his head and managed an easy smile.
“It’s really dumb, I promise. Besides…the marks were moved like…last minute and I didn’t have a chance to re-adjust.”
It was more than a blatant lie but Roxas decided he didn’t quite feel to admitting everything to everyone right now. Especially when it was something fairly stupid and more than a little odd. He’d sit on the memory for ages if he had to, until someone came along that would hopefully knock it out of him.
Luckily for him, his friends finally got distracted with talks of other things and Roxas nursed his bourbon quietly, idly listening to the conversation and providing the occasional quip. When they finally parted ways, Roxas was pleasantly buzzed, clambering down into the subway at 1 in the morning and feeling thankful that the next day was a free day for him.
The train was relatively empty that night and Roxas flopped down in a seat by the door, leaning his cheek on the pole beside him. It was a pleasant feeling, this buzz and Roxas kind of reveled in it, his brain foggy but still thinking. He should…call his parents at some point…it had been a while.
Halfway through the ride, Roxas was made aware of someone wheeling their bike onboard once more, leaning it just beside the door and Roxas blearily peered up. He wondered why someone would bring their bike on the subway anyway…didn’t that…defeat the purpose of having a bike? It was a nice bike too, by the looks of it, expensive, and likely drove pretty smoothly. Roxas grimaced. His bike was an old piece of crap that he really should look into getting replaced.
He must have made a noise though cuz he heard the owner of the bike chuckle. Roxas blinked.
“’S a nice bike,” he murmured, pushing himself to sit up straight.
“Yeah, it does alright,” came the response from the bike’s owner and Roxas had to ponder on that voice. It was smooth like butter and quite pleasant to listen to and Roxas closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again he couldn’t help but frown at himself.
“Sorry…” he muttered. The bike’s owner chuckled above him.
“No harm done.”
God…that voice. And maybe it was the booze helping him but Roxas could’ve just drifted off, listening to that voice for hours. The sound of the loudspeakers above garbled out the name of a stop and bike’s owner shifted.
“Get home safe, yeah?” he said and when Roxas looked over, he saw slender pale fingers gripping the bike’s handlebars. Slowly, he let his eyes travel up those pale hands to black clad arms and up, up to the bike owner’s face. Roxas felt like he was dreaming and what he was dreaming of was red hair. It shone almost like a halo and framed the man’s pale face in layers, pulled back from his eyes in a rather artful bun. His eyes were emerald green and crinkled at the corners as he smiled. Roxas saw…or thought he saw… small, tear shaped markings beneath those emerald eyes.
Roxas swore he heard himself wheeze, blinking and rubbing at his eyes. He was imagining things…this was all an alcohol induced dream. By the time he tore his hands away from his eyes, the doors of the train were closing with a loud “STAND CLEAR OF THE CLOSING DOORS” and that man…that red haired figment of Roxas’ imagination was wheeling his bike to the escalator, peering at Roxas through the window just as the train picked up speed and soon, the red haired man was gone, his image swallowed by the darkness of the tunnel.
It took Roxas all of his effort to pull back into the moment and even more effort to stumble from the train and down the street to his apartment at his own stop. Before he knew it, he was home, collapsed face first into his pillows. That…that was real…that really happened. Roxas couldn’t find his breath and shoved himself up, rolling over onto his back to blearily stare at the ceiling.
“Oh my god…” Roxas breathed to his ceiling. Oh my god, he was real. He really existed…that boy from so many years ago…that boy who was now a very tall…and very handsome man who just HAPPENED to live on Roxas’ line. Roxas could remember him so clearly now as if he stood above him right now. Those eyes…and that red…RED hair.
Inhaling sharply, Roxas smacked his hands to his face. Oh god, he’d made such a creepy fool of himself that he was SURE that he’d never, EVER get the chance to talk to him ever again. Good job Roxas, you big idiot. You blew it before it even began, his mind berated him and Roxas had to hold back the urge to scream into his palms. It was just like him to ruin his own opportunities before anything actually happened.
Big, BIG idiot.
So annoyed was Roxas at himself that he hadn’t even noticed as he drifted off, having not showered and not changed with his hands still pressed firmly to his face. When he dreamed, he dreamed of fire and light laughter echoing on the air. Roxas burned.