Hello all and welcome to my baby. What you'll be reading is its third and last re-write. I started in high school and posted it on a different account which I've long lost the login info for. Anyway, I never finished it and honestly, it was really bad. I mean, we've all be there, right? I'm happy to have finished this little confection and send it out into the world.

Note: I've just revamped the chapters and done just a little more editing, so if you happen to notice some differences, that's why. I'm happy with it! So, hope you enjoy :)

"Guess how many fucks I give about your menopause! Just guess!"

The two ladies looked at the boy with horrified expressions, shock and terror beating their voices into submission.

"That's right! No fucks. None at all. Kindly stop talking about it," he said, turning and collapsing back into his seat. He sighed deeply.

Roxas Clavella was not wont to yell at perfectly strange women on the bus, but today was a special kind of day. Firstly, it was a Monday. Secondly, the women behind him were talking about things far too private for public transit and that sent him catapulting over his sanity quota for the week. He wondered absently if he should apologize, but then thought better of it. He had too much pride to apologize for something for which he felt no remorse. Thirdly, over his less-than-spectacular weekend, his sweet, darling, idiot brother had totaled their car. Sora always called it "their car" but it was Roxas's. Roxas had been working for the past three years at Cid's Canteen to be able to afford it and sometimes he let his precious, adorable, pea-brained little brother drive it. This had proven to be a lapse in judgement on Roxas's part because Sora wrapped it around a tree on Saturday. Sora babbled about seeing a dog or something that had apparently enraptured him and made him forget he was operating heavy machinery.

In any case, Roxas was now exiled to the city bus.

Sora, Roxas's cherubic, lovely, fart-faced brother, had the luxury of not having a part-time job. Their father, Cloud (Mr. Clavella to you, peasant), who was vaguely loving and also vaguely ambivalent to his sons, found it to be a wise decision to eliminate anything that could possibly distract Sora from his schoolwork, which included a part-time job. A scholar, Sora was not.

Roxas, on the other hand, was gifted in his studies and didn't have to work particularly hard to excel. I've heard tell that people like that exist. This meant he could shuffle onto the conveyor belt to hell that is lifelong employment at the ripe old age of fifteen. Cid owed Cloud a favor, they were old army buddies and Cloud caught a grenade or reattached Cid's arm for him or something. Every time the subject was broached, Roxas got so bored that he couldn't possibly keep listening. So, Roxas was begrudgingly employed and began his journey bussing tables at the Canteen. He worked his way up to cashier and now that he was eighteen, he was working the bar. Cid's was a fairly popular spot, they held events weekly and the restaurant was doing well. Unfortunately for Roxas, that meant late nights working the bar and having, if he was lucky, five hours of sleep until school the next day. Cid was gracious enough to allow Roxas to end his shift at 11:30 in order to catch the last bus home. On the bright side, now that his car was gone, he'd be getting off work earlier and could maybe start to have a life or something. Our boy having a life was a stretch, but anything could happen.

Roxas was snapped out of his reverie when the bus jolted to a halt. Only four more stops until he was home and, god, did he need a shower and his warm, soft bed. He smelled like he'd run a marathon and then dipped his clothes in the deep fryer. Roxas mentally begged whoever was getting on to sit anywhere but next to him. He hoped at least if his resting bitch face didn't warn people away, his stench certainly would.

Two men climbed onto the bus, carrying what looked suspiciously like milkshakes, and plopped into the front-most seats. They were laughing jovially- the men, not the suspected milkshakes. If these guys started up on the menopause talk, they would die. Roxas assured himself that prison would be worth it.

"That guy was SO PISSED!" the one that spoke had spiked up blonde hair and a light, friendly voice. Roxas didn't like him. How dare he have a nice demeanor! On a day like today!

The other man let out a low chuckle. A shock of red flickered over the seat with the movement. The man was slouched low and Roxas- without craning his head and deigning to care- couldn't see anything about him. "After the guacamole incident, I'm surprised they still let us play there."

Blonde guy drew back. "Okay, you know that wasn't my fault! Who just leaves a mortar and pestle just lying around like that?! It's basically a weapon!"

"Only for you, Dem," the other answered. "Now pipe down, I'm exhausted. We've got a final tomorrow."

Blonde guy shrugged. "Okay, ya grump."

The next four stops passed without incident and Roxas was grateful for it. He was damn tired. As the bus started to crawl, Roxas stood and grabbed his bag. The women behind him cowered and he narrowed his eyes at them. He contemplated giving them the stink eye, but reconsidered; his mythical and deadly evil eye would have definitely been overkill.

Roxas plodded to the front of the bus. He was in the middle of adjusting his bag on his shoulder when the bus lurched to a hard stop, sending Roxas barreling forward and then tumbling back onto the grimy bus floor. He raised his head to glare daggers at the bus driver but instead saw a hand in front of his face. When he looked up further to see what was attached to the hand (could have been anything), he saw what that shock of red was. It was this guy's hair. He had it pulled back in a low ponytail, but seemingly it was trying desperately to get free because it spiked out wildly in every direction.

Roxas took the hand cautiously and was pulled to his feet. The guy considered him for a second and then raised an eyebrow. A short eyebrow. Who has short eyebrows? Just this guy, probably.

Our boy kept his head down, muttered a quick and barely audible 'thanks', and rushed off the bus. Drizzling rain hit him as he started off into the night. The walk home was quick, less than ten minutes. As he quietly entered his father's house and closed the door behind him, he sighed and tried to shake the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Plastered in the center of his mind was the memory of the guy's eyes. They were the most vivid green eyes he'd ever seen; bright, shining emerald windows to the soul. If Roxas didn't think it was the gayest thing to think ever, he'd think they were dazzling, too.

"So, wait," said Sora through a mouthful of cereal. He swallowed and continued. "The bus driver said what to you?"

Roxas rubbed his temples tiredly. "It was more about the intent than what he actually said."

"What you're really telling me is that he didn't say anything." Sora shoveled another spoonful of Cinnamon Toast Crunch into his gaping maw.

"No, he didn't," Roxas answered primly. "But he obviously made me fall and look like a klutzy dumbass on purpose."

Sora dropped his spoon and looked very seriously at Roxas. "I've always known bus drivers to be a vengeful breed. I completely believe you."

"You better," Roxas grumbled. "You're the reason I have to take the damn bus in the first place."

Sora gave his brother a sheepish smile. "Someday I might even make it up to you."

Roxas regarded Sora with a pungent air of disdain. "Doubtful." He took a bite of toast and sat in a pool of his own hopelessness. "You said you saw a dog or something, and then a tree grew in the middle of the road?"

Sora slapped a hand on the table. "Okay, for the last time, here's what happened," he began. "I was driving and it was 2pm on a Sunday so obviously I had peanut butter all over my fingers. I had an itch on my leg and went down to scratch it and couldn't figure out how to scratch with peanut butter fingers and when I looked back to the road there was a dog RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME, so I had to swerve to avoid it, and there were trees everywhere so, of course, I hit a tree. Would you rather I killed a dog?"

"I would rather you never been born," grumbled Roxas.

Sora brandished his spoon at his brother threateningly. "I will use this."

"Now, now, children," their father entered the room and began fixing himself breakfast. Extraordinarily, he managed to both acknowledge their presence and also somehow ignore them almost completely. Our boys' father, Cloud, was a man of unimpressive height, but ridiculously impressive hair, both traits he graciously bestowed upon his sons. As well as looking similar -you know, in the cute, demure, but will also kick your ass sort of way- they also inherited his emotional stunted-ness and his inability to express feelings in normal, healthy ways. Thus, he and his sons showed care and love by way of trading apathetic remarks and mildly offensive digs, as you'll gather, I'm sure. "If you're going to kill each other, do it outside. I just cleaned."

Roxas stood and cleaned off his plate. "We've got to go anyway." He shot a withering look at Sora, who was chugging his cereal milk. "You know, to catch the bus."

Sora just shrugged and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Bye, Daddy Downpour!" His father grunted at him and the brunette grabbed his backpack and the two brothers headed out.

Once safely on the bus, Sora pulled out his phone and starting clickity-clacking away. Roxas was quietly reading. For school or pleasure, you ask? I mean, I think it's weird that you care so much but okay. (For pleasure.) But, alas, Roxas couldn't concentrate with Sora beside him grinning and clacking. He closed his book and turned to Sora. "What could you possibly be talking about that is that amusing?"

Sora, still typing on his phone, said, "Riku's telling me about his band practice. Apparently they almost got into a fight with someone last night."

"Oh yeah, I forgot he was in a band," said Roxas. "What's he play again? Pretend I care."

Sora snorted and put his phone down. "He plays guitar. He said they're actually getting pretty good, they started playing a couple clubs and stuff in town."

"Stop beaming like you're so proud of him. It's disgraceful," Roxas glowered.

Sora rolled his eyes, but didn't stop smiling. "You can't stop me."

Roxas let out an intense and exaggerated gag. "When are you guys going to finally grow up and get together?"

Sora groaned and sank into his seat on the bus. "Maybe never! I keep telling you, he does not like me like that."

"Dude, you're just blind. He's loved you since the first grade," said Roxas.

Sora's voice flew up an octave. "If that's true then why haven't we been together since first grade?!" He buried his face in his hands, sighing exasperatedly.

"Because you're both idiots," Roxas said blandly. His brother was hyperventilating next to him, and Roxas found it to be a convenient time to go back to his book.

Moments passed and Roxas realized Sora was staring intently at him. Roxas chanced a slow sidelong glance at him, which Sora took as encouragement to speak more. A brave, but foolish choice.

"Roxxxx," Sora whined.

Roxas inched a little away from him and grimaced at him in response.

"Help," Sora whimpered.

Roxas looked fully at his brother's pathetic, pouting face. He sighed, closed his book, and leveled his eyes at Sora. "Okay. What's going on?"

"Riku's band is playing some gig on Friday and he invited me to go," he said.

"And?"

Sora huffed. "And, what does it mean? What should I wear? How can I make him love me?"

"Oh, my god," our boy uttered blandly. "You need to fucking chill. Dress normal. Be cool. Maybe take a break from pining for one night and make him pine a little."

"Wait, that's..." Sora cupped his chin and hummed. "That's actually good advice."

Roxas tsked. "Like you expected anything different. I am the master of advice."

"You are," Sora grinned. "Sooo, what about you?"

Roxas glowered at his brother. "What about me?"

"Got any secret crushes?" Sora grabbed Roxas's hands and began to mangle them. "Seen anyone kyoot lately?"

For the briefest of moments, the redhead from the bus's face flashed in his memory. He quickly banished the image. "No. I hate literally everyone."

Sora grinned and poked at Roxas's side. "Except...?"

"Except maybe our father," he said. "Sometimes."

Sora gasped and put a hand on his heart. "You are cruel."

Roxas shrugged and Sora patted his brother's hand like a grandmother. "You'll find someone good, even if I have to kidnap and torture the two of you."

"Oh boy," Roxas drawled. "You're making the whole prospect sound so appealing."

Sora grinned wickedly. "It's not love if it doesn't grow from terror."

When the bus arrived at school, our lovable brothers said their goodbyes and attended their respective classes. The day passed quickly. As a senior, Roxas was privy to certain freedoms, like two free periods. He used this time for his homework and naps. It's truly a rite of passage to find that one perfect nap place in your high school. Certainly there was nothing better than sleeping in one of the unused sound-proof music rooms the school had available.

A few months ago, Roxas had been accepted to the local university, Radiant Gardens State, at which point he began coasting through school and working. Our boy supposed it would be good to stay close to home, at least until Sora graduated. Couldn't leave that kid alone for too long. Once, when they were little, Roxas found a weepy Sora waist-deep in a thicket of saw grass trying to catch a toad. Roxas had stayed close by his brother ever since then. Saw grass would continue to be Roxas's mortal enemy.

Once out of school, Roxas headed down the familiar mile-or-so walk to the Canteen. He was starting to dread this walk. He hadn't had to actually walk it since he bought his car (RIP), and he wasn't exactly welcoming it back into his life. He slipped on his headphones and let his mind wander as the music filled his head. He thought idly about how he would inevitably murder his brother sometime in the near future for some reason or another and have to figure out a plan for the body so that he wouldn't go to prison.

As he was considering dumping the body Dexter-like into the ocean, a flash of green passed over his mind's eye. He let the image of the stranger's eyes in his brain dwell. Why would our boy still be thinking about this rando? Such a mystery. Curiosity about the redhead spread like wildfire through Roxas's thoughts. A small voice in Roxas's head squeaked about hoping the redhead would be on the bus after work today, too. The louder, more sensible voice in his head snapped back at the little voice, demanding to know why that mattered and who exactly even cared about that scrub.

After about ten more minutes of brain argument later, Roxas had reached Cid's Canteen. It was vaguely western themed, but overall modern and hip, a real spot for the youth of the town to congregate. When our boy pulled open the door he was greeted with the salty, dense smell of fry oil and the radio turned to the same station it always was. The night began, then it had a middle, and eventually, an end. Since it had been a pretty slow night, Cid let Roxas off about an hour early. This didn't happen often; our boy was shocked and relieved. He might even get to read before going to bed! Or he could go to bed early! Or consume some sort of media! The possibilities were astounding.

Roxas excitedly gathered his bag and said goodbye to Cid before he could change his mind and he scurried out the door. Our boy then realized he didn't have to hurry anywhere. He started to stroll- maybe it was even a saunter. It was definitely a meander. He continued his leisurely pace to the bus stop and, unable to help himself, actually smiled. It's possible that our boy was feeling the rare, elusive sensation of having free time.

As Roxas waited, even his thoughts seemed to slow down. He was managing to think of precious little when the bus pulled up in front of him. He had the briefest flicker of excitement in his stomach as he thought of the redhead. 98.2% of his brain- the reasonable percentage- gawked at his utterly ridiculous gut. He chided himself, knowing that surely these are insane feelings to have about someone he doesn't even know. Our boy was feeling a cocktail of emotions: elation, confusion, embarrassment, a pinch of shame, and a dash of horror. He ambled onto the bus and sat, sipping on his tall, stiff, emotional drink.

As the bus passed the stop the redhead would have gotten on, Roxas realized that, of course, the redhead wouldn't be on the bus today. Our boy was riding an hour earlier than his usual time and –assuming that this guy was in any way predictable- he wouldn't be there anyway. Roxas sat, feeling weighed down as the concrete unpleasantness of disappointment filled his bones.

The bus reached his stop and Roxas started the walk home. Walk more trudge than saunter, stomach filled with more lead than butterflies.

The next day passed in much the same way: wake up, playful yet threatening fight with brother, go to school, learn (or not learn), complain about it, go to work. At the end of Roxas's shift at work, our boy had been cornered by Cid and told he had to work the coming Friday. Roxas tried every avenue to get out of this. He'd always had off on Fridays; Fridays, of course, were Roxas's day to lock himself in his room and be utterly alone and forget that he shared this world with any people at all. But APPARENTLY everyone and their dog decided to call out of work that Friday and Roxas drew the short straw. Cid had literally threatened Roxas with dismemberment if he didn't come in. He could have just settled with threatening to fire him, but no. As usual, Cid had to be a hostile-monster-type manager. On the bright side, Roxas had the odd pleasure of seeing the redhead and his friend again on the bus. Of course, he didn't admit to himself that it was at all a pleasure, but it was a small bright spot in his otherwise dull day.

Roxas's Thursday went a little more like this: angrily wake up, nearly murder brother, rampage through the town, killing hundreds, angrily learning, complaining about everything, begrudgingly going to work, poisoning countless patrons, bathing in the blood of his enemies.

At the close of his shift at work, Roxas was pretty sure the only thing keeping him awake was pure, unadulterated fury. He was so mad. Was it too much to ask for ONE CONSISTENT DAY OFF? He was way beyond mentally threatening to murder people. He was already seven years into his life sentence for mass murder at this point. Mentally. He plodded out of the Canteen and headed to the bus stop. Once Roxas's sweet little butt touched the station seat, everything went blurry and faded out.

He was shaking. Why was he shaking? Roxas gasped, and his eyes fluttered open; he whipped his head around, trying to take in his surroundings. He was on the bus. He looked up, the guy with the red hair had a hand on his shoulder and was bracing him.

"Hey, kid, it's okay," he said, and concern bloomed behind his eyes, which was unnervingly alluring to our boy. –

Roxas nodded- why, he wasn't sure. He rubbed his eyes and shrugged off the stranger's hand. "Thanks for waking me up," he muttered.

Redheaded guy straightened up and put a hand on his hip. "Your stop is next."

Roxas's eyes widened. He peered out the bus window and saw familiar landmarks under the strobe-like light of the passing lampposts.

"Oh," Roxas breathed. He looked up and saw the redhead was already back in his customary seat. Our boy sat frozen as the bus skittered to a stop and Roxas clamored to his feet in a tizzy. He sped to the door and paused for the briefest moment, turning to look at the redhead. He was looking out the window, but, sensing eyes on him, flicked his gaze over to our boy. A smirk gradually grew on his face and he saluted Roxas.

Our boy would be very proud of this when he thought about it later: he raised an eyebrow, as the redhead had done when they'd first seen each other, and gave him a small smirk of his own. Shoulders back, Roxas descended the few stairs, the picture of confidence and pride.

"Come onnnn," Sora prodded. "I'm sure it won't be that bad. When was the last time you worked a Friday?"

Roxas fixed his brother with a solemn gaze. "My first week there. It was so busy I had a panic attack in the walk-in freezer."

Sora pursed his lips. "Did you do that to…" his grin spread like a virus. "Chill out?"

"I am going to rip off your face and use it as a lampshade," Roxas said flatly.

His brother snickered uncontrollably. "Or maybe to cool off?"

"I hate you so much," Roxas head fell into his hands. "That's it. I'm just gonna quit."

Sora flapped a hand. "You're the best. You can handle it, and you'll make the megabucks."

Roxas groaned. "But I don't want to! I want to stay home and smash things with hammers!"

"Me too!" Sora said enthusiastically. "Although, I'll have to have Cloud pick up another hammer if we're going to smash things together, like, at the same time." The brunette's face lit up, and he grabbed his brother's elbow with both hands. "OH! Wait, what about the beach? Late night beach trip?!"

Roxas frowned deeply. He wanted to smash things and go to the beach without having to do the working part. He finally, sluggishly, met his brother's eyes and sighed like he was sighing out his will to live. "Okay."

The day passed too quickly for Roxas's liking. Despite his brother's enticing promise to smash things and go to the beach at the end of his night, Roxas wasn't at all looking forward to the rest of his day. He was standing outside the Canteen before he knew it. He hoped in vain that he could possibly get lucky and be mysteriously assassinated during this 's all about positive thinking.

As soon as Roxas was through the door, he immediately knew this night would be a different, special kind of hell. There was equipment sprawled along the floor and Cid was setting up a small stage with amps and wires and all those types of things.

"What's all this now?" our boy asked, obviously perturbed.

Cid grunted as his hoisted an amp on the stage. He looked up at Roxas and practically growled. "No dawdling. We're gonna be busy tonight."

"I mean," Roxas drawled as he walked around the bar and dropped his backpack on the floor. "That wasn't an answer, but okay."

Cid slapped a hand against the bulletin board on the wall and pointed to a flyer. The flyer was one that had been there nearly as long as Roxas had and honestly, it was pretty much just part of the wall at this point. It read, 'Open Mic Night at Cid's Canteen- Bands Welcome! Fridays from 10pm to 1am.'

"Huh," Roxas grunted. "And people actually come for this?"

Four hours later, our boy was in an insane tizzy. People were everywhere! Shouting drink orders at him! Shouting everything, so much shouting! If stopped at this moment, Roxas wouldn't even know his own name. He would only know fear.

As musicians and bands began playing, Roxas was given a respite, and the activity about the bar thinned. Barstools were occupied, but there were no longer swarms of human urchin clawing for the alcoholic nectar of the gods only our boy could provide. He wiped the bar down and leaned against it, watching a woman with long, dark hair perform with a ukulele. Generally, Roxas felt that ukuleles were just guitars for babies, and, since he wasn't a baby, didn't deem playing one acceptable, but this girl played well and was pleasant to listen to. Maybe next time he wasn't working a Friday he and Sora could come and watch.

The girl finished her song and smiled as applause filled the room. She slid off the stool she was sitting on and stepped off the stage, high fiving someone nearby and hugging another. The group at the foot of the stage was rambunctious, but in a fun-loving-big-ass-family sort of way. It sickened Roxas. How dare anyone be having actual fun when our boy was working.

The rambunctious group migrated up on stage and began plugging in guitars, fiddling with the amps, etc. More musician jargon. Cid then came on stage to announce them. "Alright, alright, settle down you varmints," he spat. "Next up is a crowd favorite, for some reason." He rolled his eyes as a few people whooped. "Fornaxis." Cid flourished unenthusiastically, and the whole bar exploded into applause.

One thing was glaringly obvious to Roxas one he actually looked at their faces of the band members. This was Riku's band. Our boy deducted this from the fact that Riku was strapping on his guitar and plucking a few strings experimentally.

Roxas looked around, now aware of who else should be here. His eyes locked on familiar chocolate brown spikes bouncing excitedly in front of the stage. Roxas rolled his eyes. Of COURSE Sora would be so caught up in his potential boyfriend he couldn't even come say hi.

"How're you guys doin' tonight?" Deafening shouts and clapping filled the room.

Roxas looked to the man at the microphone and blanched. Said man, who was twisting the stand higher because he was a tall freak, was none other than the redhead from the bus. You know. THE redhead. Owner of the green eyes that have been haunting our boy for the past five days.

Roxas hoped absently that the redhead would really suck and our boy would be so turned off that all of his stupid-ass feelings could go crawl in a corner and die.

"Alright, well, let's get started," the redhead nodded to the drummer- unmistakably the blonde he was on the bus with- and he clacked his drumsticks together rhythmically, signaling them to play.

Okay, so they sounded alright. Pretty decent. Roxas was still holding on to some fragment of hope that they would be horrendous and booed off the stage when the redheaded guy started singing. Unfortunately for Roxas, this was not the case. His voice was deep and sultry, yet also gravely; it was basically if sex had a singing voice. But sexier than sex. It took everything Roxas had not to go weak in the knees for this fool, like a fool.

They began to wrap up a few songs later. While the crowd was roaring their approval, Sora appeared in front of Roxas at the bar.

"Sooo?" Sora bounced on his heels. "He's pretty good right?"

"Who?" Roxas asked, terror striking his soul. "Oh, Riku. Yeah, he's pretty good."

"I mean, they're all good," Sora began prattling on about what he called the best band in existence. "Their bassist is something of a genius I've heard, or something…" Our boy didn't care to listen so neither do we.

Roxas interrupted him. "You're stalling," he said, grabbing Sora's face and smooshing it. "Find Riku and do the thing, you dingle."

Sora's lip trembled, but he nodded shakily.

The lights in the Canteen flickered on, and Cid shouted something about last call. The light was sobering after the hazy drunk din that had swallowed Roxas's surroundings. Our boy finally felt like he could breathe again. He started gathering his tips at the register as he hoped in vain that he'd never have to see another human again.

"Could I get a water?" a husky voice asked.