Olette keeps her memories close to her. The Twilight Town gang.
Author's Note: Olette is a favorite character of mine. This is my attempt to show how Roxas affected her. Take it as friendship or pre-romance, whatever you prefer.
She ran gentle fingers over blank pages eager to be made into something beautiful. The components of her memory book lay neatly on the table, and she would occassionally lift her eyes from her work to reach for the scissors with glue-stained hands. A box beside her contained all of the most precious ingredients: a yellow ribbon from a balloon Roxas had given her--
"Can I have two, please?" the young blond said, handing over the munny and receiving two balloons. He gave the yellow one to Olette, who tied the end of the ribbon around her finger so she wouldn't lose it, and kept the blue one for himself. As thanks Olette bought cotton candy, and they licked the sweetness off her lips as they enjoyed the end of summer festival. Olette cheered as Roxas won a few prizes from the festival games, including a plastic barrette which he hurriedly gave to her.
--a wooden stick left over from Pence's favorite ice cream--
Sweat stuck uncomfortably to her neck as the sun beat down, hot and unyielding. It was the hottest summer she remembered, and all she had really wanted to do was sit inside in the air conditioning and read, but Pence had showed up at her door bearing two sea salt ice creams and a big smile.
"Don't sit inside all day," he said, waving the dripping ice cream in front of her. "It's beautiful outside."
"It's too hot," she said, but followed him anyway. They walked beneath an eggshell-blue sky, lazy and quiet as children and dogs ran past. They reached the plaza in front of the train station and leaned against the fence. The city spread out below them like spun gold, fading into rolling green hills.
"Hey, Olette?" Pence asked after a moment. She turned, and watched the ice cream drip down his hand. He didn't seem to notice. He met her eyes and finally noticed the cold liquid splashing onto his shoes. He spent the next few minutes trying to clean up the puddle, and when she asked him what he was going to say, he just replied, "Nothing."
--a token Hayner had won in a game of cards.
"That's not a king, you idiot, that's a jack!" Seifer said as he squinted at the cards Raijin had placed on the table. It had been, surprisingly, his idea to play cards that night, although there was only one small lightbulb in the usual spot to see with. Hayner sat hunched over his hand, frowning thoughtfully. Roxas was next to him, scratching the back of his head in puzzlement as he considered his own cards. Pence was concentrating on the table, muttering something that sounded like, "...two Aces, then I'll..." Olette's gaze met Fuu's, who simply glared, and then sighed and looked down at the cards in her hand. She didn't have anything worthwhile that would help, although she could tell by Hayner's expression that he had something up his sleeve.
Seifer tossed a few cards onto the table.
"Full Station," he said smugly, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. Hayner bit his lip, nervously appraising his hand. He had only two cards left, and it didn't seem like they were good ones. But Olette wasn't fooled.
"VICTOR," Fuu said sharply, making everyone flinch.
"Looks like no one can beat me," Seifer said, reaching for the small pile of gil and trinkets in the pot.
Slowly, a grin spread across Hayner's face. He raised the cards for everyone to see. Twilight Double. An instant win for the one to play it.
When the fun was over and Hayner had collected his prize, and Seifer's posse had departed after calling him a number of unsavory names, Olette decided to head home. It was getting late, and she really wanted to start on her summer reading.
"Hey, Olette! Wait up!" Hayner called, catching up to her. He handed her the token.
"You beat Fuu with that Sunset Double; you should get her prize. His brown eyes were strangely serious as he handed it over to her. She smiled as she thanked him.
None were more special than the others, because each one told a unique and different story.
The pages were not looking so empty now; little reminisces lay in white pools of glue, and the scent of paper and art permeated the air.
But something was missing. Out of the box she pulled a packed of photographs, slightly crinkled on the edges but clear. Each moment was captured in a camera lens, irretrievable and precious. She glued the photographs of the gang--Hayner, Roxas, Pence, Olette--next to the other pieces.
She stopped and considered her work. She smiled at the countless memories caught in the pages of the scrapbook. But it still needed a title. She took an orange marker and wrote the name in neat, looping letters across the top of the first page: "Memories."
The next day, Olette woke up shaking, a strange and unexplainable feeling of loss in her chest. When she opened the scrapbook again that morning, she found some pages blank. Something wasn't right. There was a distinct lack of blue.