Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in this story. At all.

Warning: Shounen-ai, homosexual relationships, etc, etc.

Author's Note: Well, you guys voted and here it is: Pipe Genie. Except this was re-titled to Smoking Lamps because I like that better. Just so you guys know, if you haven't looked at the poll, 25 voted for Smoking Lamps, 21 for Minor Miracles, and 17 for Money Shot. I'm not sure when, but eventually Minor Miracles and Money Shot will be written. When I finish this story, I'll set up a new poll and have you guys vote again.

Remember to review. You guys voted to see this story, so please, please, please leave feedback. Let me know what you like or don't like, what you think about the premise, what is good and bad about the first chapter, etc. I think at this point everyone knows how I feel about feedback, so I won't yammer on too much about it.

Oh, and one more thing: For those of you who don't know, Hookah is a type of instrument used for smoking flavored tobacco called shisha. I had a long, Wikipedia-esque description here, but then Aindel S. Druida suggested I just say this: It's the thing the caterpillar in Alice in Wonderland is using to smoke. That's much simpler. Thanks, Aindel!

PLEASE NOTE! This story begins in first person perspective. I know a LOT of people don't like first person perspective so the story continues in third person. However, at some points, I will switch to first person.

When I switch to first-person perspective, it is AXEL'S perspective. It will ALWAYS be AXEL'S perspective.

Onward to story.

Summary: Roxas hates his family. He hates that his mother and father are separated. He hates his mundane job. He hates his girlfriend. He hates being gay. He hates that his best friend is dying of cancer. He hates, and hates, and hates, and one day his girlfriend buys him a Hookah pipe to cheer him up. And even though he doesn't smoke, he decides to light up anyway because it makes him sad to see his beard cry. So he breathes in and then he breathes out. And before he can accurately comprehend what the fuck is going on, a drop-dead gorgeous genie named Axel is sitting on his bed, yammering about three wishes. And before Roxas can wish his beard away and his life back to normal, Axel tacks on the addendum: "But I'm binding us together and if you make your three wishes, we'll both be stuck in that Hookah pipe for eternity."

Smoking Lamps
•••

•••

By: Freekiwi

1 – It's Natural to be Afraid

This story begins at his end.

Roxas is sitting in his mother's bakeshop, staring blankly into a cup of black coffee. He doesn't drink his coffee black and he never has, but the gravity of the situation currently pervading his usually melancholy world seems to make him forget that small factoid about himself.

"Roxas…"

He looks up, his eyes filled with the deepest hurt and the most sincere look of longing ever to be witnessed on a single human being. He looks like he wants to cry for lack of anything better to do, but he doesn't because he's a man and he doesn't believe it's a man's job to cry. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and he swallows thickly. That hurt, that longing… It morphs into fear and possibly regret and I reach out to him, lay my hand on his, and he curls his fingers against the tabletop and looks away. He's ashamed. I don't know of what, but he's ashamed. And I know better than to prod him for information because I know he doesn't know himself any better than I do.

"Roxas…"

"I've always lived his dream."

The words are hushed, but articulated. It's a thought that's been in his head since the beginning of our endeavor. He feels selfish. All his complaining, his whining, his incessant insistence that things are terrible for him because they aren't the way he wants them now makes him feel obtuse upon reflection. But what does he expect? You can live a hundred times over and still miss the chance to count your blessings and be happy, prosperous, that things are, at the very least, working out in a manner that doesn't involve illegalities, death, or betrayal.

"Roxas, it isn't your fault."

His eyes narrow. He's thinking, calculating, trying to offer a response that voids my assertion that he couldn't have done anything. I curl my fingers against the back of his hand, my nails leaving lingering lines as they touch his delicate skin. His other hand comes to grip the handle of his coffee cup, but he doesn't lift the mug to his lips nor does he make any move to indicate he wishes to drink. He stares into the black liquid, a metaphor for the abyss in which he is currently mired, and sighs in a way that sounds suspiciously like "goodbye."

"I know what I can do," Roxas says in this controlled, overt manner. All the conviction he feels, but usually ignores, flows through him and into his head. His eyes, the hurt and longing gone, show something unreadable. They offer a window into some state that I'm not completely aware exists because I have never dealt with anyone like him before.

We make eye contact. I know I lack the emotion, the ardor, and my eyes don't scream the way his do. What makes him human and what makes me a genie isn't his lack of magic power, but it is my lack of human sentiment. I am hardened by centuries of selfish behavior, and actions wished for without remorse when the consequences are woefully dire. He is, for our intents and purposes, still innocent, and his heart still beats to the rhythm of others.

He is in sync in a world where synchrony is rare because everyone is attempting to make their own paths that are usually filled with selfish desires made up of greed, hatred, and anger. He isn't perfect, but I know his past transgressions keep him awake at night. And this is more moving, more impressive, than anything I've ever had the pleasure of witnessing.

"Come on," he says as he slips his hand from under mine and stands. "I know what I can do."

There's the edge of a smile lingering on the corners of his lips. All the negativity that suffused his mind and encompassed his being is gone and what's left is a man who has decided his own fate. He is no longer the dutiful son and rightful heir, the good friend, the dubious boyfriend, the agitated, disenchanted youth waiting for something better.

He is different because he has made his own choice. And I know that with all that conviction beating through his heart, replacing his blood, and filling him with a confidence he hadn't known could exist for him, there is little I can do to stop him.

I don't move so he says, "It's natural to be afraid."

But fear is never natural for a genie.

••••••••••••••

Demyx was decorating a guitar-shaped cake when Roxas walked over and began a litany of everything that was wrong with his world. This list included his girlfriend (Demyx delightfully called her Fuzzy in reference to the fact that she was a beard), his separated parents, his father's new girlfriend who happened to only be a year older than himself, his lack of a future that he had chosen for himself, and his disgust with the messy patrons of his mother's bakeshop.

"I wish I was this guy," Demyx stated wistfully once Roxas had stopped his harangue. "Thirty years of a dedicated life to music."

He leaned over and looked at the cake. A little smirk made itself known on his lips and he raised his brows. "Uh… Demy? You spelled 'years' wrong."

He looked at the cake, at the misspelling, and his shoulders sagged. "It's the cold," he defended. "The cold is messing with my head."

Roxas snorted. "Right. When I get sick, I spell 'years' with two E's too."

A pout crossed the mohawked boy's face and he grabbed a nearby spreader and began to smooth away the words he had written. Lucky for him, the frosting on the cake and the frosting he used for the writing was the same color. His mistake could be easily fixed and no one would notice what a terrible speller he could be.

Demyx wasn't stupid. He just sucked at spelling. His penchant lied in music, not academia, and he swore up and down that his job at Roxas' mother's bakeshop was just a temp gig.

But it wasn't exactly a secret that Demyx also really liked to bake and he liked to decorate and it just so happened that he was a really, really good cook. Originally, he had started coming into the bakeshop to perform at open mic night. Roxas, who had been his best friend since third grade, had mentioned that if Demyx worked at the shop, he could play at open mic night for free and avoid having to pay the cover charge.

It was a win-win: showcase his music and get a paycheck.

"You know, if you're sick, maybe you shouldn't be decorating a cake…" Roxas mumbled. He watched as Demyx began to spell out 'Happy 30 Years' again, this time with precision and skill.

"Y-E-A-R, right?" he asked, ignoring Roxas' contention that he shouldn't be at work with a cold.

"Uh, don't forget the 'S.'"

"Right!" His eyes narrowed in concentration as he made the curve of the 'S.' He was much better at decorating cakes than Roxas, but this wasn't so much skill as it was Roxas could have given a shit about cake decorating or the bakeshop. He didn't like baking. He was decent at it, he guessed, but only because his mother had pretty much been training him to take over the shop since he was seven.

He didn't want to take over the shop. He wanted to go to college. He wanted to forge his own path. He wanted to make mistakes and learn life lessons and experience what school was like sans the possibility of detention and late slips. He wanted to live on his own and exist by himself. But his mother had a way about her that just made Roxas feel so damn guilty for wanting to do anything that had nothing to do with her.

"Oh, Roxy…" she would say. "Your father left me and you're all I have left."

It wasn't true, but he felt especially bad for her because his father's girlfriend was… Young. Vibrant. Pretty. Her face wasn't hardened by smoking lines and decades of hard work. Her hands weren't permanently wrinkled from washing so many dishes. She didn't have scars left from burns and knives. She had an itty-bitty waist and was happy to be a lapdog. She seemed so content not to forge her own path. She seemed happy being, what Roxas deemed, a sidekick.

Not that his father was a superhero by any means.

"There," Demyx said proudly. "How's it look?"

Roxas shook his head to clear his thoughts and then craned his neck to look at the cake. "It's crooked."

Demyx gave him a look and eyed the cake suspiciously. After a moment, he declared, "No it's not."

A little smile crossed his lips and he gave his friend a pat on the butt. "I'm messing with you. It looks good, Demy."

"Thanks. Now I just have to –" A sudden, powerful sneeze overcame him and Roxas' skin lined with goose bumps as he felt the spray from Demyx's mouth and nose wash not only over him, but the cake as well.

"Fuck!" the blond yelled as he used the back of his hand to wipe his nose. "God…" He paused. "Do you think they'll notice? It adds flavor, right? It builds immunity, right?" The cake had to be ready by three and it was already two. He didn't have time to bake another cake and decorate it.

Roxas was busy wiping his arm off with the towel from his apron pocket. He was rubbing so hard, his skin was beginning to turn red. He wasn't a germaphobe, but he doubted anyone liked being sneezed on.

"You need to go home," Roxas insisted.

"No!" Demyx wailed. "I'm fine! I just… sneezed. Don't go all 'zombie apocalypse' on me. And besides, it's like a free vaccine! People eat this cake and then they won't get a cold."

He made a face. "That's… not how vaccines work, Dem."

He mumbled something that sounded like, "Yea, I know, I was just hoping you didn't know…" and made a move to scrap the cake. However, as he set down his decorating piece and made a move toward the cake, a vacant look came over his face. His eyes seemed to un-focus, his lips parted slightly, and he could hear Roxas' concerned voice, but it sounded so far away.

"Dem?" he asked. "Demy, hey, man –" His words dried up in his throat as a thin trail of blood leaked from Demyx's nose. The towel Roxas had used to wipe his arm was immediately pressed under the blonde's nose and he had just enough time to place his hand on the small of the tall boy's back before Demyx swayed and lost consciousness.

Roxas broke his fall.

••••••••••••••

Zexion was less than pleased when he arrived at the hospital. As a medical student, he almost never had any free time. He spent the majority of his day in lecture and then he studied and studied and studied until his eyes began to hurt and his hand began to cramp. He had, at one point, concluded that he had four free hours a day if he slept only six hours a night. Those four hours included bathing, eating, and spending time with Demyx.

"What happened?" Zexion asked when he found the other's room.

"Eh, just the doctors overreacting, you know?" Demyx pulled his IV out of his hand and flung it away from himself. He yanked the covers off his body and stood, only to wince in slight pain when he realized he had electrodes still attached to his skin. A grunt passed his lips as he began to yank them off, but Zexion reached out and grabbed his wrists.

"Stop it! They have you set up for a reason. You need to be compliant or they will be less inclined to help you."

"Help me with what?" the blond whined. "I'm fine. I'm just not over the cold and I overdid it today."

Roxas, who sat in a nearby chair, crossed his arms and watched Zexion. They got along sometimes, but it was clear they weren't really compatible. He and Zexion played nice for Demyx's sake, but there was strain between them. Roxas was under the impression Zexion thought he was better than everyone else and Zexion confirmed his suspicions by acting like he was better than everyone else.

"Demyx, lie down," the medical student said forcefully. "You don't just pass out from a cold. You've been sick for almost two weeks now." He placed his hands on the taller boy's chest and tried to gently coerce him back down.

But Demyx wasn't having it, so he grabbed Zexion's wrists and directed them off his body. "I'm fine. I don't have insurance, Zex, you know that. We need to get out of here before they decide to bill me for like… a heart transplant or some shit."

Roxas snickered from his seat and endured a shit-eating look from Zexion.

"We'll figure out a way to pay the bill. What's more upsetting to me than a hospital bill is you being seriously ill and –"

"Is everything okay in here?" Demyx's nurse, a brunet male by the name of Sora, poked his head into the room curiously. "Your heart rate was fluctuating a little strangely and… Oh, I see why…"

Demyx looked away, somewhat embarrassed by his actions. "They're trying to kidnap me, you know," he said jokingly as he indicated to Zexion and Roxas. He raised his boyfriend's arm in the air and said, "This one here took out my IV!"

Zexion yanked his hand away from the taller boy and glared at him. "He's joking," he defended thinly. "Are you his nurse? What's going on?"

Sora walked into the room and shut the door softly behind him. "Well, we can't say for sure, but his white blood cell count is… dysfunctional. Are you his…" The nurse hesitated. "Father?"

Zexion looked wildly offended and Roxas began to laugh loudly from his seat.

"I… I do not look old enough…" Zexion felt a blush invade his cheeks and he balled his fists. "No, I'm a… close friend." He knew better than to out himself and Demyx in a hospital. Though prejudices weren't supposed to exist in the medical setting, he knew they did and he thought it would be much more beneficial to them if they kept quiet about their inclination toward men.

"Sorry," Sora mumbled awkwardly. "Your concern for him just seemed, uh… Never mind. Demyx, based on your symptoms and the results of the blood panel, I think the doctor would like to do a bone marrow examination."

Roxas jumped up from his chair. He and Zexion, in unison, asked, "Why?"

Zexion crossed his arms and took a large step away from Roxas. The blond rolled his eyes and made a mental note to tell Zexion that he was an immature fuckhead later.

Demyx sighed and flopped back down on the hospital bed. He pulled the rest of his electrodes off and placed his arms behind his head. "I don't have medical insurance. Can we skip the dramatics and just send me home? I know that ambulance ride was expensive. It would've been cheaper to rent a stretch limo."

Roxas looked away to hide his smile. Zexion was becoming increasingly annoyed with his boyfriend's unconcerned nature. He didn't want to say what he thought could be wrong because he didn't want to admit that Demyx could actually be seriously sick. However, given they wanted to do a bone marrow examination, he had a funny feeling in his stomach that things were heading down a dangerous path.

"It's… a routine test. We –"

"It's not a routine test," Zexion snapped. "You think he has cancer, don't you?"

Demyx jerked up into a sitting position. "What?"

Roxas looked suddenly uncomfortable and he began to pace the length of the very small room. He did this when he was nervous or when he didn't know what to say. Sometimes he just paced because he felt that if he didn't do something, he might very well explode.

"Let's… let's not jump to conclusions," Sora said calmly. "Based on the blood panel, the doctor just thinks it would be best –"

"I don't have insurance," Demyx reminded them from his side of the room.

"It's okay. Hospitals do payment plans that –"

"Listen to me, you little twit." Zexion gripped the front of Sora's scrubs and yanked him close. "Don't feed me bullshit. I –"

Roxas placed his hand on Zexion's shoulder and gave him a little tug. "Zex, calm down," he said much more gently than he really meant to. "He's just the messenger."

Hesitantly, he released the nurse and tried to compose himself. "Excuse me." He bowed his head and left the room, leaving a concerned Demyx and a seemingly stoic Roxas behind. Sora looked a little roughed, but not at all shocked. He hated delivering bad news. No one ever took it well. And because he was a man, people didn't feel as badly being rather rude to him.

"Let's say you don't examine my bone marrow…" Demyx offered. "Then what?"

Sora frowned slightly. "Then… you could have leukemia that's going untreated. You have a much better chance of fighting this if we catch it early. But –"

"You know," Roxas interrupted. "It's a lose-lose, Demy. You'll either die from the cancer or you'll die under the mountain of debt you'll be drowning under from trying to treat it."

Demyx knew he shouldn't have laughed, but he did.

One way or another, he was going to be spending the rest of his life dealing with the hospital and all the wonderful things it had to offer.

••••••••••••••

"I hate everything."

Naminé grimaced and tried to hold Roxas' hand, but he really wasn't having it. After a small tiff between Zexion and Demyx at the hospital, Demyx reluctantly scheduled an appointment to have his bone marrow examined. He insisted he'd rather be dead than go through all the horrible cancer treatments and, more importantly, the debt he would accrue, but Zexion didn't care and insisted that there were no fates worse than death.

And Demyx had mumbled, "Except being the boyfriend of a medical student…" which had earned him the silent treatment.

Roxas had left them sometime after that for fear he would wind up in the middle of some horrible argument. He knew Demyx well and he knew the blond would insist and insist and insist all the way up until after the bone marrow examination was done that he didn't need help and that he was fine. Aside from his penchant for music, he had a penchant for ignoring problems. Anything that could even be construed as negative, Demyx acted as if he were blind to them. And if there was no possible way for him to ignore the negativity, he pretended like it didn't bother him and that he was happy regardless of what was going on.

It was total bullshit.

Naminé sighed and placed her hands in her lap. She and Roxas were sitting at a nearby park on a bench, a good distance between them. One would think she would be used to Roxas and his reclusive behavior or that perhaps she would finally get sick of it and break up with him, but she loved Roxas more deeply than she had ever loved anyone and she had convinced herself a while ago that, no matter what, she could make this work.

He slipped his hands into the pockets of his jacket and stared at nothing.

"Everything will turn out all right in the end…" Naminé offered gently.

Roxas' eyes narrowed. "Gee, I feel better," he grumbled sarcastically. "Any other fortune cookie bullshit you wanna bestow on me, Nam?"

Her cheeks heated to a light pink and she gripped the hem of her dress and looked at her feet. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I… I'm just not sure what to say. I feel badly, Roxas. I wish there was something I could do for you."

He rolled his eyes. "I know what you can do. Don't give me a shitty, optimistic outlook on a situation that no one knows how it will turn out."

Her blush deepened and she turned her head away from him. "Sorry," she mumbled again. She opened her mouth to assert that she only said what she had said to make him feel better, but after being with him for nearly two years, she knew better than to defend herself. Roxas couldn't have cared less about what she had to say and why she kept saying things was a mystery to both of them.

"I have to go back to work," he lied. He didn't have to, but he wanted to get away from her and he wanted to do something mind-numbing so he would stop lamenting over Demyx and his possible sickness.

"Oh, well…" She looked over at him and hesitantly said, "I was thinking maybe we could go do something together? Maybe it would cheer you up?"

Roxas stood up from the bench and shrugged. "No thanks. I want to be alone."

Naminé watched him as he walked away with his shoulders sagged, his brow furrowed, and a deep look of resentment plastered on his features. By now, she knew better than to expect a goodbye or a hug or a kiss, but that didn't mean she wasn't deeply bothered whenever Roxas lurked away from her with hatred in his eyes and a longing for something else – something that clearly wasn't her – in his heart.

She watched him until he was out of sight and then she sighed and removed her cell phone from her purse. Her relationship with Roxas hadn't always been so messy, strained, and difficult. In fact, when they began dating and up until about six months ago, they had been inseparable and Roxas would have gladly moved mountains if it made her happy. Naminé didn't know what happened, but her boyfriend had become sullen. His attitude dropped to an all time low. He suddenly became very fed up with everyone and everything that wasn't Demyx.

It was as if he had been holding some deep loathing for all humankind and one day, he just broke and released his negativity into the universe.

She dialed Kairi's number and pressed the phone to her ear. It rang a few times before the auburn haired girl answered.

"Hey, Kai? It's Nam. Want to go shopping with me? Roxas needs some cheering up."

She snorted into the phone. "Yea, like he can be cheered up…" she stated miserably. "Yea, I'll come along."

Naminé smiled. "Great! Meet me on East Street in fifteen minutes."

Roxas' loathing probably wasn't helped by the fact that Kairi, Naminé's best friend, was currently dating his father.

••••••••••••••

Sometime between sunset and night, Roxas' attitude had taken a dire turn for the worse. His mother had ended up closing the bakeshop at six instead of seven and as they were cleaning up the floor and tables, Roxas had to endure a lecture about customer service and how it was inappropriate to swear at customers, refuse service to customers, and make comments under his breath about them.

"I know life isn't the smooth sailing ship you want it to be, but you have it a lot easier than many other people."

Roxas gripped the mop so tightly, his knuckles turned white and he practiced a supreme bout of self-control by not throwing his mop down and telling her how much he hated it when people told him how much worse his life could be. He was aware his life could be worse. He knew he wasn't under the worst conditions. But it certainly didn't make him feel any better about his circumstance. It made him feel worse – like he was being petty and stupid.

And sometimes he was and he knew it, but he really didn't need to feel bad with the added bonus of feeling guilty for feeling badly.

"Your father left me for your friend and –"

"She is not my friend," Roxas snapped, the venom in his voice almost toxic. "She's Naminé's stupid friend. Don't accuse me of being friends with that… that home wrecker."

His mother glanced at him from the table she was cleaning and shrugged. "If it weren't for you and Naminé dating, she never would have been introduced to your father."

Roxas' jaw was set and he twisted the mop handle in his hands. "Don't blame me for Dad being a self-indulgent whore. If it wasn't her, it would've been… fuck, I don't know, Olette?"

His mother scrubbed a speck of something off the table and shook her head, a few strands of loose hair falling against her stone-hard face. "I'm not blaming you. I'm simply saying that some people have it worse than you and sulking about Demyx isn't going to help."

"By some people you mean yourself," he snapped. "And I'll sulk all I want, thanks. Demyx could have cancer and he could die from it. At least you aren't going to die from Dad's past transgressions."

She put a hand on her chest and clutched her heart. "A broken heart is a very real condition," she told him. "I could go to sleep tonight and my heart may very well lose its will to continue pumping because my husband and my son are on a crusade against me."

Roxas felt a vein in his head throb. "I'm not on a crusade against you! I'm here, aren't I? I'm wearing this stupid apron and spending my days working in this stupid bakeshop doing what you want me to do, aren't I?" He slammed the mop into the dirty water and sent water sloshing all over the floor. "I'm living your dumb dream."

"Just like any son should do," she snapped. "I gave you the greatest gift of all: life."

It didn't feel like a gift. Roxas wasn't, by any means, suicidal. He didn't want to die and he was actually quite fearful of death. It wasn't his life that bothered him so much sometimes. It was the life of others that irked him to an incomprehensible degree.

"Whatever," he growled. He removed his apron and threw it onto a table. He quickly mopped up all the water from the floor and wheeled the mop bucket to the back where he dumped it down a drain on the floor. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he ignored it though he would have very much liked to yell at Naminé for Kairi's existence.

"You know…" His mother came to the back and dropped her soiled rag into a waste bin. "I don't blame you for your father. I don't even really blame Kairi," she stated honestly. "I just wish it had never happened and I still love him so I would like to think that maybe Kairi has some sort of… way about her that just brainwashed him."

Roxas set the mop bucket upright and then picked up the mop, removing the head and tossing it into the garbage. "She didn't brainwash him," he said unsympathetically. "They're all just…" He searched his mind for a word. "Shameless."

To Roxas, a lack of shame was synonymous to lacking a soul: a terrible trade-off that only lead to the degradation of character and moral value.

••••••••••••••

She saw the Hookah pipe before any other and it was the one she wanted as soon as she walked into the shop. The base was glass, red in color with an odd, green patterned design of inverted triangles. The pipe was silver and the hose coming off it was red and green and reminded her of Christmas. The ceramic bowl at the top was red, but the shape wasn't circular. It was more… triangular which only heightened her interest in the oddly shaped pipe.

"Is that one for sale?" she asked, pointing to the coveted pipe that sat in the back room.

The owner of the shop, a fellow with silver hair and deep, sea-green eyes, smirked. "Sorry, dear. That pipe happens to be very special."

Naminé frowned. "I'll pay you $200 for it."

This drew a derisive laugh from the man. "We have plenty of other fine Hookahs for much cheaper. Don't waste your time on that particular one."

Kairi touched Naminé's arm. "Come on, let's just go. Roxas doesn't even smoke."

The blond dismissed her with a, "I've seen him smoke before."

"If it's the color you're interested in, we have many red and green pipes." He made a motion to one side of the store where a few pipes sat, red and green in color, but lacking the design and the aura of the pipe that sat in the open back room.

"How come you won't sell that pipe?" Naminé asked curiously.

"Curiosity killed the cat, dear."

"I guess it's a good thing I'm human, then."

The owner laughed and she felt the hair on the back of her neck rise when he gave her an up and down look. His eyes seemed somewhat catlike and he looked like an animal ready to pounce. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips and she looked at the nametag that sat on the right of his shirt.

"Listen Mister uh… Riku," she began. "My boyfriend is kind of… upset… And I think that pipe would really cheer him up."

Riku raised one single, silver brow. "Cheat on him?"

"What? No!" she blushed. "I would never do such a horrible thing!"

Kairi suddenly had the urge to meander away and she began to look around the shop, trying to find a different pipe that Roxas may like. She didn't know much about him other than that he had a proclivity, lately, of making Naminé feel very badly about their relationship. Whether it was on purpose or not, she wasn't sure, but she tried her best to stay out of it now that she was dating Roxas' father.

He already hated her to her core. She didn't want to make things worse by acting like his mother, especially since they were nearly the same age.

"Look, dear, I can't sell that pipe to you."

"Why?" Naminé asked.

"Because the base of that pipe is rumored to be cursed. The symbol of the inverted triangle was a sign of femininity and it is said that a woman, upon being betrayed by her husband, slit his throat and carved the inverted triangles under his eyes as a sign of female power. She then carved an inverted triangle on her own hand – her left hand – so everyone would know her power. She burned her husband's remains and placed the ashes in that very base. She buried it eight miles from her home and when it was rediscovered, it was used as the base for a Hookah pipe because no one knew the legend behind it. It's said that anyone who smokes from that pipe will be cursed by the ghost of the woman's husband, seeking revenge for his wife's past disobedience."

Naminé's eyes were glued to the pipe.

"So, as you see, dear, I can't sell you that pipe for fear you or your boyfriend will be cursed."

She opened her mouth to argue, but the door of the shop opened and Riku's demeanor changed from one of catlike astuteness to eagerness and fondness for the brunet man who had just entered the store.

"Sora," he said happily. "How was work?"

The boy in scrubs came around the counter and embraced Riku, pressing a small kiss to his mouth. "I'll… tell you later," he responded, noticing the two girls and releasing Riku from the embrace.

"Purchasing a pipe?" Sora asked happily.

"Trying to," Naminé responded politely.

"Trying?" the brunet asked.

"I want that pipe." She pointed to the one in the back and Sora craned his neck to look at it. "Your boyfriend won't sell it to me."

Sora rolled his eyes. "Sell the damn pipe, Ri."

His shoulders sagged and he sighed. "You ruin the ambience of everything. I had a whole thing going! The pipe was cursed and this dude had shit carved on his face and then he was burned… I was trying to create hype and you just… Never mind."

Naminé's eyes narrowed. "So… Basically, you just lied about the pipe being cursed?"

"A little bit," Riku admitted with a smirk. "Do you want it for your boyfriend or not?"

"Yes, please!" She smiled widely and thanked Sora who gave Riku a small slap on the arm for lying to his customers.

"I was trying to create hype! That pipe is cool and we could've sold it for a lot more than…"

Their conversation died out as Naminé left the store with her purchase and Kairi. The auburn haired girl had stayed quiet throughout their small adventure in the shop after the blond had mentioned the atrocity of cheating. Naminé, nice and good to her core, didn't know that Kairi had actually helped Roxas' dad cheat on his mom. She was under the impression that Kairi merely started dating the much older man after Roxas' parents had separated.

"Do you think he'll like it?"

Kairi shrugged. "Maybe…"

But she wasn't really sure of much anymore.

••••••••••••••

"Well… It's… uh… It's a pipe…" Roxas tried.

Naminé frowned. "You hate it."

"I don't… hate it," he mumbled, a grimace crossing his features as he fingered the long, red hose. "I mean… It's cool looking."

She shook her head. "I can take it back."

"No, Nam, it's okay. I like it…" He shrugged his shoulders and took a seat on the edge of his bed. He slept on a mattress on the floor because he saw no need for a box spring or a bed frame. When he sat, the pipe was slightly taller than him. The red, which looked better sitting in the shop, seemed too bright and somehow… sinister. The inverted triangles weren't so much a deep, evergreen color and more of the color of sewage.

It had looked so pretty in the shop.

Naminé tucked her hair behind her ear nervously. "Um… I just… I know that sometimes you smoke and I thought this would cheer you up and –"

She was doing that thing that Roxas hated. She was talking really fast and trying to defend herself and this was normally what she did when she was about to cry. He was usually fed up with his girlfriend and he routinely found himself very annoyed with her. But he didn't like seeing her cry. He didn't like to see anyone cry because it made him woefully uncomfortable.

"It's nice, Nam. I like it," he insisted. "It's just been a… weird day." The conclusion he came to wasn't a total lie. However, he certainly wasn't going to tell her that he didn't really like smoking and that the times he had smoked Hookah had been when he was intoxicated. That was really the only time smoking appealed to him.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

Naminé calmed down somewhat and nodded. "You're welcome."

They sat in an awkward silence and then Naminé mentioned something about needing to get home to her parents. She was still in high school unlike Roxas who had graduated the year before and Kairi, who had graduated a year before him. He nodded his head and, against his better judgment, stood up from his bed and gave her a little kiss on the cheek.

"Thanks," he said again. "I appreciate you trying to cheer me up."

That wasn't a lie. He did appreciate her effort. Though her effort usually went unnoticed because he was annoyed by the words coming out of her mouth, he sometimes stopped and tried to remind himself that she was the only one trying. Roxas had stopped trying about six months ago. He stopped trying to make things work. Naminé had set a precedent that he didn't need to try to keep her around.

She felt good as she left Roxas' house. It was an unusual feeling for her because she usually felt quite sullen whenever she and her boyfriend parted. He was generally upset at her over something and she was generally left trying to figure out how to fix something that she wasn't even sure was broken to begin with.

When she left, Roxas examined the pipe again. He looked in the large bag that the pipe had come in and grabbed the package of coals and the small package of shisha. He was a bit suspicious of the shisha when he opened the package and saw that it was red in color. Not somewhat red, but a very, very red that seemed to emit a glow. He didn't smoke often and he didn't know much about shisha, but he had a funny feeling in his stomach that it shouldn't be such a weird color.

Roxas took a deep breath and decided that, given all the things that were slowly going downhill for him, smoking some Hookah might actually help him relax. So he began to prepare the pipe and he decided, against his better judgment, that smoking the red colored shisha might make things better. He could use a hallucinogen, a good trip, maybe, to gain some sort of delusional perspective of life.

Or maybe he would get cancer and he and Demyx, if he really was sick, could spend the rest of their eternity sitting in hospital beds in matching gowns, shaving their hands, throwing up their lunches, and hoping for remission or death.

••••••••••••••

I was pale red smoke the first time he breathed me in and then breathed me out. I was touched by his tongue, his lips… The warm sensation stirred a feeling of awakening in the pit of my stomach and it was something I hadn't felt in almost three decades because I hadn't been awakened in years.

I was pale red smoke. And he was white, blond, blue-eyed, and seemingly dazed by God knows what. He watched with curious intent as I ceased to be smoke and became, instead, a pseudo-human with legs, arms, a torso, and all the delicacies that human beings possess. My feet touched his floor and I stretched, nearly a twenty-six year imprisonment giving me the stiffest neck imaginable.

He stared at me with a mixture of fear, loathing, curiosity… He gripped the hose in his hand and didn't take another draw. I cracked my neck, my fingers, and stretched my back before giving him a smirk and looking him up and down.

He was some young fuck. Some dumb kid who was dumbstruck by my sudden appearance. I didn't need to know him to know that he, like all the humans I've ever had the displeasure of dealing with, was selfish, lacking remorse for all past wrongdoings. And as soon as he knew who – excuse me, what – I was, he would try to wish away all his problems.

But I was done with wishes. I was done attempting to solve selfish problems for selfish humans who couldn't see past their own needs and wants. All humans did was want and want and want and they didn't care what their wishes would do to the ones they claimed to care about.

Wishing for millions of dollars, mansions, nice cars, to be kings and queens and rulers of countries or towns or states, to be loved unconditionally, to bring back people from the dead… They all failed to realize that it wasn't me who was making the mistakes when their wishes fell through. When they lost their millions to the government, their mansions foreclosed on and cars repossessed, their unruly people revolting against them, their loved ones suffering depression and eventual suicide, and the dead walking around like ghosts and wishing for death that wouldn't ever come…

Selfish wishes bring about negative outcomes and it isn't a genie's job to tell their masters.

Masters.

Wishes weren't meant to be granted. If this were the case, birthday cakes, shooting stars, and 11:11 would have wishes coming true all the time.

I was done with entrapment in my Hookah pipe. I was done with self-indulgent wishes. I didn't need to know this sniveling twit before me to know that he was just as bad as everyone else I've ever met.

His wishes would backfire and all I would have to show for it is another decade, century, millennia stuck in a pipe until someone else pushed me past their lips.

••••••••••••••

"You're a hallucination."

The tall, redheaded man that stood before Roxas smirked. "I wish I was, kid." He laughed at the nature of his joke, but then stopped when he realized the blond obviously didn't understand what he was getting at.

"It's a bad trip," Roxas concluded to no one in particular. He set the hose of his pipe down, used a pair of tongs to remove the coal from the bowl of the Hookah, and then he lied down on his bed and closed his eyes.

"You're not very hospitable."

Roxas put his arms behind his head. "I don't have to be hospitable to illusions. And unless you're going to give me the secrets of a happy life or some really sound advice to solve my problems, I'm going to go to sleep and when I wake up, pretend this never happened."

His lips slowly curled into a smirk. Humans were so selfish. They were always looking to solve their problems without worrying about the problems it may create for someone else. They were always more concerned with fixing their needs and having their own wants granted before giving a second look to anyone else.

"I'm not an illusion," the tall man said smoothly. "I'm a genie."

Roxas sat up and eyed the redhead up and down. "Right. And I'm not hallucinating."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Believe what you want, kid. It's really no skin off my back."

The blond looked at the other and his eyes narrowed. He removed his phone from his pocket and navigated to the camera function. Logically, a hallucination shouldn't appear on camera. So Roxas snapped a photo of the redhead and then promptly dropped his phone when the other appeared on screen.

"I hope you managed to get my good side," the man joked.

Scrambling off his bed, Roxas grabbed his phone and began to dial 911.

"I wouldn't," he warned. "I'll just disappear."

The blond hesitated and decided against calling the police. Instead, he decided to send the photo of the redhead to Demyx. Logically, if Roxas was hallucinating and seeing an image on his phone when it actually wasn't there, Demyx would be able to set him straight.

"What are you?" Roxas asked. He stood at the other side of the room, away from the redhead, and looked at him with grave suspicion.

"I'm a genie," he repeated. "And you're a bad listener."

He scowled. "Genies come from lamps."

The tall man laughed derisively. "I see you've gathered all your information about genies from Aladdin, haven't you? Don't feel stupid. That's apparently where many humans get their information."

Roxas blushed and didn't want to admit that, yes, he was deriving his knowledge about genies from Aladdin. His phone buzzed and he jumped, feeling extremely on edge from this whole ordeal. He should have known better than to trust something Naminé bought him. She had a bad habit of managing to pick out items that often became a hindrance to Roxas. He looked at the text message on his phone and the hair on his arms rose when he saw Demyx had texted back, "Neat! Who's your friend?"

"… You're real…"

The redhead indicated to himself. "It's Axel, actually."

Silence engulfed the room and Roxas stood, his back seemingly stuck to his bedroom wall. He was afraid to get close to Axel. He wasn't totally convinced this wasn't some horrible trip. Maybe getting some sleep would be the best solution, just in case he was having some fucked up daydream about genies.

"So, look, kid… Let's lay some ground rules. You get three wishes, got it? You can wish for whatever the fuck you want, despite what the genie in Aladdin says. The only thing you can't wish for is more wishes. That's not a rule for all genies, that's just my personal rule. I'm not bound to grant your retarded wishes, either. So if I think your wish is stupid, I won't grant it."

He didn't use to be quite so cynical. He also used to grant up to twenty wishes. But things began to decline the longer he was a genie and he became more and more disenchanted with all the people in all the time periods he had met. In the end, they all proved to want the same thing: love, money, and power.

"I… I actually get three wishes?" Roxas asked tentatively.

Axel gave him a look. "Nah, I just say shit for fun," he said sardonically.

Roxas pouted. "Don't be a dick. It's not like I've ever encountered a genie before."

Axel rolled his jade colored eyes and put his hands on his hips. "Look, just make your three self-involved wishes and let me get back to spending eternity by myself."

The blonde's hair bristled. "My wishes won't be self-involved."

Axel laughed. Like he hadn't heard that one before. "Go ahead, kid. Try as you might, your wishes will always be somehow centered around you."

Roxas glared. "So you're all knowing? Or is being an arrogant dickwad a prerequisite for cramming yourself into a pipe?"

Axel raised his brows. "Okay, what would you wish for?"

"I would… I would wish my Dad's girlfriend away."

"Oh yea, hey, that's not selfish," Axel said sarcastically. "I mean, she probably makes your dad happy and there are things like world hunger and animal abuse, but yea, hey, that's not a selfish wish at all. You've so far proved me wrong."

Roxas cheeks heated to a deep shade of red. "Go fuck yourself."

"Someone's feisty."

"What would you wish for?" Roxas snapped. "Freedom?"

Axel laughed and this didn't help the blush on the blonde's cheeks. "I think during my stay here, I'll destroy all copies of Aladdin so I can avoid these misconceptions in the future. Genies aren't allowed freedom. The best we can hope for is someone who doesn't wish their three wishes."

The blond crossed his arms. "I bet they're real inclined to keep you around," he said acerbically.

Axel smirked. "Well, see… I've actually instated a new policy."

"A new policy…" Roxas' eyes narrowed. "You make yourself sound like a shop."

The redhead ignored his assertion. "It's an addendum I'm tacking on. Wish your three wishes, but I'm binding us together and if you make your three wishes, we'll both be stuck in that Hookah pipe for eternity."

Roxas stared and tried to assess all that was happening. A genie was, supposedly, standing in his bedroom. He was suddenly being given the chance to forge his own path by way of wishes. But the forging of his own path wouldn't matter if he would, eventually, be stuck with this redheaded asshole for the rest of his life.

"Do I get to be a genie?"

Axel was torn between irreverent amusement and annoyance. "That's… not how you become a genie."

His brow furrowed. "So what's the point? Your life sucks so you're going to make mine suck too?"

Bemusement crossed his features and he mordantly said, "My life sucks? God, it's a good thing you said something or I never would've known."

"Fine. I'll just… wish myself dead."

"I don't grant retarded wishes."

Roxas breathed out through his nose and Axel pictured him as a cartoon character breathing out steam from the anger he was feeling. He was like a teapot ready to burst and the redhead absolutely adored every moment of his uncomfortable state.

"So I'm just fucked, essentially? I wish three wishes and my life is over?"

"You'll be granted immortality."

Roxas felt like his head was going to explode. "So… so let me make sure I understand."

Axel held up a finger and then grabbed the blonde's desk chair. He wheeled it so it sat right in front of Roxas and then he took a seat, his legs crossed, and feigned extreme interesting in what the blond had to say.

"I get three wishes."

"Mhm."

"But if I make them, I'll literally be stuck in that pipe for eternity. With you."

"Mhm."

"But if I don't make three wishes, I'll be stuck with you until I die."

"Right."

Roxas stared. "You're an asshole. I'd rather spend the next fifty or sixty years with you chained to me than have to spend eternity stuck with you in that."

"Your tone is so insulting," Axel drawled. "That pipe happens to be my home and you really should be more hospitable to guests."

"You're basically threatening to stalk me for the rest of my life."

"Oh God, spending the rest of your life with a magical being who could grant your most wanted desires? Jesus, I'm a real monster, aren't I?"

Roxas clenched his fists and his jaw was set. "I wish you were gone."

"Wow, okay, bad listener…" Axel stood and raised his left hand, his palm facing outward. From nowhere, a megaphone appeared in his hand and he examined it before pressing the speaker button and placing the mouthpiece to his lips. "I don't grant stupid wishes."

Roxas put his hands over his ears and gave the genie before him the most hateful, shit-eating look he could possibly muster.

The megaphone disappeared in a puff of pale, red smoke and Axel stretched his arms. "Oh, right. Before I forget…" He reached out and grasped Roxas' left hand. Panic overtook the blond and he attempted to pull away, but found he couldn't. He wasn't sure whether this was magic or if Axel was just really strong.

Axel pushed Roxas' back against his bedroom wall. Fear was expressed in the blonde's eyes and he shut them tight as the genie advanced on him. Suddenly, he felt Axel's nose touch his own and his breath hitched in his chest. Their foreheads were touching. He could feel the genie's breath on his lips. He could feel how tightly Axel was gripping his left hand.

"Relax and take a deep breath."

Roxas obliged.

"Breathe it out."

He obliged again, but he didn't know why.

A sharp, horrible pain shot through his body and Roxas opened his mouth to say something, but the words wouldn't come. It was like having a bad dream. He needed to scream, but he physically couldn't. The pain didn't subside and only intensified and Roxas tried to jerk away from Axel, but he felt paralyzed.

A nasty burning sensation made the fingers on his left hand tingle. The feeling of someone – something – carving something on his left hand only added to Roxas' panic and fear.

He had never felt so terrible. He had never felt such intense, physical pain in his life.

And then it suddenly subsided and Axel pulled away. Roxas breathed deeply and quickly, feeling as if he had run miles and miles and miles. He slid down his bedroom wall and tried to block out what had just happened. His blue eyes met Axel's jade ones and he was shocked to see that the redhead now had two inverted triangles underneath his eyes.

"Your face…" Roxas managed to say. He looked at his left hand and stared at the inverted triangle that had been incised on his skin. "What the fuck? What did you do to me?"

"I was binding us," Axel said simply. "Walk it off, Cupcake. You humans are afraid of practically everything.

"It's natural to be afraid," Roxas snapped.

He hoped to God this was the result of some horrible tumor in his brain.

A/N: Okay so… first chapter completed. Just an introduction setting up the story. The main plotline, obviously, is the one surrounding Roxas and Axel. The second plotline surrounds Roxas, Zexion, and Demyx. And the third plotline is about Kairi and her relationship with Roxas and his family. Sora and Riku won't be in this much. I know, as of right now, Riku will appear again as will Sora, but I don't think there will be many scenes with them together.

Um… Don't forget to review. This took me so long to write because beginnings are always really difficult for me. Let me know what you guys think, if the idea is good, if it should be continued, if the changing perspective is okay… Just whatever's on your mind.

As always, Aindel S. Druida edited this for me so… Give her a big old thanks for the lack of mistakes in this. And while you're busy praising her masterful hold on English, give her profile a gander. Read her stories, ask her to beta for you, look at all the stories she's edited.

Thanks for reading. Don't forget to review. I do scrap ideas that aren't popular because there is no sense in laboring for hours over these things if no one really cares about it. Another update, if the story isn't scraped, should come about in December.

Thanks!