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Alternative title: Winner takes all, or a birthday duel, or some other title that makes sense because I don’t give a shit
The day has been a never-ending spectacle of one-upmanship. What starts innocently enough, a juvenile taunt, has escalated into a full-blown battle of pride by late afternoon.
“You aren’t even tough enough to try this hot sauce.” Axel smirks, gesturing broadly at his meal.
Roxas is sick of Axel lording his affinity for fiery foods over him. Any time they find themselves tucked into a new restaurant or trying out the latest food truck, Axel would order the spiciest thing on the menu so that he’d have it all to himself while also enjoying whatever Roxas had ordered as well.
The ordering of hot wings on Roxas’ birthday is the final straw.
“Oh yeah?” It maybe isn’t the wittiest rejoinder he’d ever uttered, but his follow up is fairly definitive. Chomp.
The dares, that day, progress quickly to more physical feats of fearlessness, or stupidity, depending on who you asked. Unfortunately those who would view it as the latter were scarce on the ground.
“Bet you can’t climb all the way up that tree.”
Is answered with a scoff, success, and then a no-I’m-not-out-of-breath-I’m-just-panting-like-this-because-I’m-exicted challenge of: “Bet you can’t do 50 push-ups without stopping.”
As their lack of willingness to admit defeat doesn’t ebb, even as they find themselves needing to take a few breathers, the dares began to shift away from physical feats of strength and more towards willingness to submit themselves for public humiliation.
“Bet you can’t go up there and sing a song in front of all these people.” (While not in tune, no one can deny the sheer train-wreck-itude of Roxas’ rendition of A Woman’s Worth.)
“Bet you can’t cut a chunk of your hair off.” (Axel’s hair is so thick, unfortunately, that even while he can see the clump of hair in Axel’s hand, Roxas isn’t entirely sure where it had been cut from even moments after it was removed. This is solved in the next round of dares when Axel lets Roxas cut a chunk out of his hair -- and he takes it from the front.)
They go back and forth— bitterly egging each other on until the source of the battle is all but forgotten.The battle bleeds on simply because the memory of a peaceful time is too foreign a concept in the war torn city of their friendship. And besides, They Are Just Like That.
It isn’t that they really had anything to prove, but it’s just too easy to push each other’s buttons. Best friends, rivals, what different does it make? A little tease here, the occasional rib there— all resulting in the same prize: glorious attention and tension-filled promises of more, more, more.
They aren’t quite sure why the promise of more bickering settles in so nicely between feelings like contentment, joy, and desire, but they also don’t much care to think about things like that when there are more pressing things at hand like jumping contests, or chasing squirrels, or trying to catch the most birds in twenty minutes.
Axel and Roxas loiter at the top of Twilight Town, peering down at the city below. Axel huffs, blowing a now crudely cut chunk of his hair out of his face. Roxas knows how much Axel obsesses over his hair— and is none too secretly delighted with the distress that dare has caused — Axel should’ve known that it was only a matter of time before he had come for it.
Roxas smirks and crosses his arms, more smug than he has a right to be given the bruise darkening his arm where the blasted tree had gotten him. “You got nothin’ else? That means I win.” He drops his skateboard to the ground and rolls it back and forth with a foot as he waits.
“Hold on, I’m thinkin’,” Axel snarls back. He needs a good challenge, something Roxas would be an idiot to take on. This secret maneuver was how Axel has managed to secure his seat as Fastest and Strongest and Coolest in their circle for so long. Sure, maybe it isn’t quite playing fair to dare Roxas to jump off the clock tower or swallow something that definitely would send him into anaphylactic shock, but Axel can’t stand to lose.
It’s not like Roxas would ever actually do it, anyway. Not like Axel would ever let him do it.
But he also isn’t about to let Roxas win just because he can’t think of a new dare this time, or because it’s his birthday. No, he has to think of something good.
There is honor even among thieves, unfortunately, and there is just one thing the two always agreed upon when creating dares: no repeats. That kept the game exciting and kept them on their toes.
This rule seemed innocuous at first, but over the years and throughout their struggle for ultimate superiority over the other, new ideas for these stunts are becoming harder and harder to come by.
Axel leans his back against the fence, arms crossed, and glares at the cobblestones. In front of him, Roxas begins to skateboard aimlessly in a zig-zag, arms spread carelessly behind his head as he waits for his next challenge.
“Alright— bet you can’t” Axel looks from the skateboard to the steep hill at the other side of the clearing. “Bet you can’t skate down that hill...” — But that had been done before, so he quickly adds, “backward.”
Roxas flips the skateboard up to grab the edge. “Dude, what?”
Triumph! Axel grins at him and flexes a freckled arm. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” His crown safely secured, Axel hums victoriously to himself.
Roxas growls in annoyance and stomps angrily to the edge of the small park where they’ve decided to conclude their day. He considers the challenge. The hill is steep, so much a nightmare to climb, in fact, that they favor the trolley in lieu of walking.
Roxas is reckless but not stupid.
Axel congratulates himself again on a battle well-won and glumly mourns his now-ruined clump of hair. Serves Roxas right to lose after that stunt. What an utter brat.
Roxas grits his teeth and lets out a harsh breath. It’s his birthday and he’ll be damned if Axel is going to win again. “Alright,” Roxas says abruptly. He rolls his shoulders and bends down to stretch his legs, pumping them a few times to get his blood really flowing.
“Wha-?”
The skateboard clatters to the ground and Roxas shifts around, facing Axel.
“Roxas, you’ve gotta be kidding.”
The blond shrugs and places a tentative foot on the top of the deck, rolling it back and forth, testing the bearings. He leans his weight onto his left foot and grins at Axel.
It’s his day, after all. He is not going to let Axel win without a fight.
Axel flounders as he recognizes the resolve in his friends eyes and watches in horror as Roxas seems to kick himself backwards in slow motion. The force propels him over the hill, and Axel can only watch, stunned, frozen in place.
Roxas bends down, shifts his weight toward the back of the skateboard in an effort to keep himself from flying off. The black road shimmers in the dying sunlight, and Roxas looks up to see Axel chasing after him.
His fingers wrap around the curve of the board, letting the grit of the grip tape fix his fingers to the spot as he focuses on balance.
To his left and right, trees blur by in a whirl of green and brown as he nears the halfway mark. The plummet to the bottom has been terrifyingly quick and invigorating. He lets loose a whoop, adrenaline pumping through his veins.
Axel sees the dip in the ground before Roxas reaches it, naturally, because Roxas is still looking up, smugly, while Axel is frantically chasing after.
The rocks jam under the trucks and send the skateboard rearing up. The speed of the collision sends Roxas flying off wildly. It only takes a blink for him to land -- and he barely feels the impact as the adrenaline pads his nerves -- but he’s got too much momentum and almost as soon as he’s hit the ground he’s rolling into the bushes that line the path. Brambles and sticks scrape across him and slow him down until he crashes to a stop -- face full of dirt.
He barely registers the sound of wings -- birds frantically fleeing the scene as he crashes into their homes. As he gingerly tries to move -- the roll over so he’s at least looking up, he hears something else crash through the bushes. He wiggles toes and fingers delicately, testing to make sure that, yes, he’s alive and nothing is broken. Above him the sky is a riot of orange and red, but the gentle breeze feels like sandpaper against his raw skin.
“Roxas!” Axel shouts, breaking just as many branches during his entrance, though taking less damage for it. He hesitates, inspecting the aftermath and unsure how best to help. The tumble is pretty bad — he can scarcely believe it— but he sighs in relief when he sees blue eyes peer curiously back at him.
Roxas is a mess of scapes and future bruises, and the slash across his forehead will probably leave a scar if he doesn’t take care of it quickly. The blood is so red against his pale hair, and despite the shit-eating grin, Axel finds himself shaking with concern over his friend.
Head wounds bleed a lot. Logically, he knows this, but the panic seizing his heart short-circuits his brain and assures him that this is The End. Goodbye, dearest friend and best of scoundrels — gone entirely too soon. Their time together will be the highlight reel when his life is finally up.
“Dude, what?” Roxas says choking out a laugh.
Axel can’t keep his eyes from jumping from one wound to the next. Rocks are embedded in Roxas’ forearms, pressing tiny little flecks of black against his sunburnt arms. Axel finds his gaze fixed on the blood dripping and -- there is a rush in his ears, like the ocean or an army marching on him and he feels like he’s floating and -- he falls down to his knees. The pain of the landing doesn’t shake his panic.
Roxas sucks in a breath and tentatively presses himself up to a sitting position, careful to test the integrity of bones as he goes. Axel’s green eyes are clouded over and he teeters on his knees before wobbling to the side.
“Whoa!” Roxas says reaching out to try to steady Axel. His already pale skin is nearly transparent and a shimmer of sweat breaks across the red-head’s brow.
Axel has never been great with the sight of blood. Typically he has enough wherewithal to stay far enough away or at least brace himself against something when an injury presents itself, but there was simply no time. Seeing Roxas spiraling across the road superseded any careful self-preservation techniques he may have learned.
Roxas touches a hand to his forehead and winces at the sting. Axel is wearing a stupid bandana-looking scarf around his neck, and Roxas tugs it off to wipe the gore away from his face before pressing it to the wound. Serves him right for thinking that looked fashionable in any sense of the word.
Axel’s eyes flicker back and forth wildly, scanning Roxas to confirm he’s actually alright. His hand flutters out and brushes his friend’s cheek, not quite believing that he’s conscious and actually well enough to be snickering at him nearly fainting. Roxas starts at the touch, a rush of heat flooding across his face, and turns away quickly for fear of Axel catching his lapse in control.
“You okay?” Roxas asks, voice breaking as he tries to quell the panic rising in his chest.
“Uh, yeah. Fine. Are you?”
Roxas nods and the movement hurts enough that he groans a little. At the sound, Axel forces himself up and tries to focus on anything not oozing. He settles on Roxas’ eyes because those are the exact opposite of pain and guilt and worry and everything else fighting for control of his mind.
Roxas looks away quickly, letting out a nervous laugh. “You musta hit your head on the way down or something.”
Axel doesn’t know what to say or do. He’s just so overcome with relief that Roxas is okay and relatively in one piece that he could almost kiss him. He wants to.
But that isn’t a line they’ve crossed before, and he’s not sure now is quite the time or place. He’s not sure what the time or place even looks like. If it even exists.
Roxas finds himself entertaining similar thoughts, but he’s not sure if Axel would tolerate that kind of tectonic shift in their relationship. Which scares him more than the hill -- but he’s never let fear stop him -- and the thought of it is tantalizing.
Axel brushes matted hair out of Roxas’ face and worries over the scrapes. His voice is resigned when he clears his throat and admits defeat. “Alright, you win.”
Roxas chews at his lip and is torn between accepting this first sweet victory and wanting to push the game just a little further.
“I didn’t even get to challenge you back!”
Axel quirks an eyebrow in question. “Okay...?”
Roxas considers for a moment, running through a list of dares that would easily make Axel admit defeat, like maybe running through traffic or swallowing a sword, but feels his resolve wavering as he sees the way Axel stares at him.
So, maybe nothing that will do more bodily damage to the two of them today. Next time, maybe, but today is painful enough for the both of them. Around them, fireflies flicker and the scent of crushed grass seems to deepen as the sky darkens.
He’s not sure if it’s a concussion or just blood loss, but, hey, life is short, so Roxas gives in for once.
“Alright, bet you can’t kiss me,” he grins mischievously.
Axel’s eyes widen a fraction, hand slipping down his friend’s face gently, mouth gaping. He’d be lying if this exact moment hadn’t played in his head a thousand times (albeit in a decidedly less fight-club-esque fashion) before.
The hesitation is enough to pry a little whooping cry of victory from Roxas’ throat as he proclaims, “Okay, now I really win. Fair and square.”
Axel frowns, considering the loss of his title. He sighs in defeat and admits it as such before smiling across the space.
“What’re—”
He makes sure to touch softly, for fear of causing any unnecessary pain, as he cups Roxas’ jaw and pulls him closer.
“Okay, you win. Game’s over,” he says quietly before pressing his mouth against the winner of their duel.
The only thing Axel hates more than losing is disappointing Roxas. Yeah, he let him win this time, sure — he had to after forcing him to catapult down a fucking cliff — but there isn’t anything in the rules that said he can’t use this opportunity to congratulate Roxas on his victory.
It’s Roxas’ birthday, after all.