Roxas finds his body settled in a chair of a cubicle, the office room completely shut of light save for a few rays peeking through blinds and creating designs along the dark colored carpet. Tentatively, his fingers brush over that little box he'd received just prior, picking at the glue of the ribbon plastered on the top.
When he finally wills himself to strip away the colorful paper, he's left with something akin to a ring box, velvety and promising. He thinks it's still some kind of joke, but nothing stops him from flipping the lid out of curiosity, and when his eyes meet with an orb just as vibrantly blue as those irises he owns, his half-heart stops.
"This ..." He utters in a strained hiss, throat closing and eyes burning. "This is a joke, isn't it ...?" And still he fishes it out, holding it up into the dust filled air to get a better look, the light winking a painfully bright shine along the edge, the memories flowing back like acid in his brain.
It hurts, it hurts so bad that he's doubling over in that chair with tears waterfalling down his cheeks, heart throbbing with longing, fear, and pain.
How could you do this to me ...?