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Just a Boy

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It's hard to believe that the first time I met him was two years ago. Reflecting on past memories; the good and the bad, the intense highs and the utmost lows, there's very little in which he plays no role.

I guess you could say that the past couple of years for me have been somewhat episodic, ever since he stepped into my life. And although I would never admit it out loud, I hoped that he would be a constant; the one person who would remain a permanent character in my life's bizarre drama.

The night I first met him had been a cool night, a late summer's breeze danced along the coastal shore whilst the sun painted golden red hues onto the sky's vast, auburn canvas. However, as it was, I wasn't given the chance to admire the beautiful sunset from the safe confines of my veranda. No, instead, I was trapped in a small claustrophobic bar, on the outskirts of town, praying to God that nobody would realise that I wasn't the twenty-one year old student that I was pretending to be, but instead, a seventeen year old high school student.

---

The second I walked through the doors, and into the dark room that was glowing with old orange bulbs, it hit me. A sharp stench of beer, heavy liquor and something else that I didn't want to think about, drenched my lungs and triggered a light-headed dizziness that took over my body.

I headed over to the first empty table that I could find; a small circular table stained from years of spilt beer and misused coasters, near the back of the room, and sat down, dropping my bag to the floor at my feet and casting my eyes curiously around the small, glowing room. The room was gradually filling with unfamiliar faces, all crowded around tables or hovering about the dark musty walls, slapped with posters and flyers that were months past their concert dates.

I ran a hand through my strawberry blonde hair, wrapping the loose curls around my finger as I waited, and waited …

Laughter filled the air and the bar to the left of me was soon swarming with smiling people, happy and warm with their pints of beers and gossiping friends.

And waited.

Most of the tables in the bar were now occupied, but I wouldn't dare say that the bar was crowded. Merely … contentedly full.

Just as I was about to get up and leave; my patience breached, the bar lights dimmed to a dull glow and all of a sudden, the laughter and buzz of voices drifting across the room calmed to a low hum. A spotlight flickered brightly onto the stage, a stark contrast to the darkness, in which we were all currently drowning.

All except the young man up on stage, idly straddling a single wooden stool, an acoustic guitar balanced on one knee, and an arm thrown casually over the stringed neck.

His rare amethyst eyes radiated with a captivating surge of energy, as he smiled confidently at the audience. I stared at him, taken back by the intensity of his presence in the room. He had a way of looking out at the crowd, taking in every single person, and yet seeming as if his attention was solely diverted onto you. I was riveted, glued to my seat and unable to flee the room as I had previously intended.

He cleared his throat and leant closer to the microphone positioned before him, shaking his mane of dark, wild hair as he did so.

"Hey guys, I'm Kira," He greeted roughly, his voice low, slightly coarse, and yet soothing at the same time. The kind of tone that would attract attention in even the most crammed full parties. He shifted the guitar on his lap, leaning closer into the spotlight, his eyes sparkling luminously. "This is my first time playing solo, as you may know already," he grinned at a large group of younger people gathered close to the stage, who called out to him, laughing and cheering cries of encouragement. "So I've decided that I'll only play three songs." He paused, his eyes scanning across the room, as if in search of something, or someone in particular. Lost in thought, I didn't realise for a few seconds, that his gaze had locked with mine, and that I was staring steadily back into his alluring, amethyst orbs. Gasping, I quickly averted my eyes to my lap, before glancing back up. But he had already moved on, his gaze elsewhere.

He laughed." However, these songs are my own, and you all have the pleasure of being the first to hear them."

Strumming his fingers against the strings of the guitar, he played the first soothing chord, slowly, gently … as if testing the waters.

"This first song's called 'Chancing'."

---

The melody was still ringing in my mind like some sort of enchanting metronome that I knew was going to be etched into my head for days. I'd be humming it in the shower first thing in the morning, on the bus to school, during lectures. I stepped out into the open air; the bouncer giving me an odd look as I struggled through the heavy doors, my phone continuously ringing in my hand. I smiled at him awkwardly and motioned to my phone, before ducking over to the side and into a slim, back alley.

"Hello?" I knew who it was, even without glancing at the caller ID; I didn't know why I was bothering to answer. I already knew the rehearsed lines in this drama, and lately they seemed much too overused.

"I am so sorry, Lacus," he breathed, sounding quite the opposite. "I got held up at work, again. My damned boss keeps giving me extra tasks and then-"

Bored, I cut him short, "Marcus, I don't care. Where are you?" I asked, withdrawing all of my annoyance, frustration, emotions from my voice.

"I'm just leaving my apartment now, sweetie … I'm so sorry."

I didn't reply. Obviously, I wasn't going to believe that he was truly sorry, otherwise he wouldn't continuously stand me up like this. I glanced down at my watch; it was nearly half eleven.

"How long have you been waiting?" A door slammed in the background.

"Only since nine thirty. But really, sweetie, it's no big deal." I mocked him, bitterly.

"I'll be with you as soon as possible, I promise baby." I hung up and exhaled noisily as I rested against the cold brick wall behind me, and stared up into the sky wondering why I even bothered with Marcus. He was so … draining. I suppose that's what I get, though, for dating a guy four years older than me.

I was startled from my thoughts as a door beside me, which I hadn't even noticed was there to begin with, suddenly swung open, the chatter and noises of pint glasses clinking against each other drifting out into the night as a dull yellow light leaked through the gap. There were a few muffled voices, laughter and then a boy stepped out, calmly pushing the door closed behind him.

Although he was barely standing two metres away, he didn't seem to notice me. Either that or he just didn't care to acknowledge my presence. I hoped it was the former, because as I stared at him, it suddenly clicked to why he looked so familiar.

He sighed heavily, shaking his head of unruly hair as he withdrew something from his back pocket - a packet of cigarettes, and fumbled to remove one from the case. As he lit up, he turned in my direction, and then, noticing me, frowned a little, his mysterious eyes seemingly clouding over before he shook his head and laughed lightly.

My eyebrows raised and I averted my gaze, realising that I'd been staring.

"Would you like one?" He prompted his hand towards me, still holding his packet of cigarettes. His voice was quiet, yet deep.

I screwed up my nose, "No thanks. I don't smoke." I bit my tongue to withhold myself from adding that it was a vile, dirty habit, and that I didn't understand why anyone would possibly want to do something so grotesque to themselves.

He shrugged in a suit-yourself manner, and drew in heavily from his cigarette, the end of the little white stick glowing a fierce amber in the dark. From the corner of my eye, I watched as he slumped against the wall, and scuffed his shoes against the gravelled ground.

I wondered whether to venture back inside, or wait on Marcus where I was, before deciding on the latter. It would probably cause too much commotion scurrying in and out of the bar, and the last thing that I wanted to do was to draw unwanted attention to my underage self.

Awkwardly, I inclined my head towards him slightly, attempting to make eye contact, but he ignored me. "You were really amazing up there."

He chuckled lowly and took another, longer drag.

"No really," I continued, taking his laugh as self-doubt. "I've never heard anyone play ... or sing, for that matter - with such strong emotion. It's really moving."

He laughed again, before dropping his cigarette to the ground and smothering it with the heel of his foot, the stones crunching beneath the pressure. He slowly lifted his gaze up to mine, and even in the darkness, his eyes glowed mysteriously with poise and mirth, as if they held a dark secret. I was intrigued, and tempted to rouse some form of conversation out of him when my phone started buzzing. I started at the vibrations quivering down my leg, and scrambled to remove it.

"If you enjoyed it so much, why don't you stay a little longer?"

Cell phone in hand, I froze – the phone left unanswered, the screen glowing luminously and shedding fragments of the alley into light. The boy to my right towered over me; he was smiling strangely, with an odd mixture of irritation, curiosity and amusement.

"I – um … Who says I'm leaving?" I inhaled deeply as my phone rang off – Marcus would be so mad – tasting the salty, sea air in my mouth.

"Am I wrong to assume so?" He cocked his head to the side, his eyes darting to my phone and then back to me.

I bit my lip and hesitated, weighing my options. I could easily go back inside, but then again, Marcus would undoubtedly venture in to seek me out. Also, I didn't know anyone here. I didn't know this boy either, much to my abysmal dismay, and would only feel out of place again.

"You can't judge my talent on merely two songs." He quirked an eyebrow and nodded his head towards the door he had emerged from.

"I can't?" my cell was ringing again; Marcus's name blared brashly on the screen, the black font contrasting starkly against the white LCD screen. It was almost as if he were here in person, attempting to drive me away from this handsome boy by the cuff of my sleeve.

"You can't." He said, "It would be simply too offensive." Shrugging, he then took a backwards step away from me; towards the door, I was losing him already. My heart thumped, I yearned to follow.

I shook my head. "I can't. Not tonight." I sounded unsure, even to myself, and he seemed to have noticed this too, for he suddenly smirked at me, his smile slightly lopsided.

"A shame," he shook his head, in pretence sorrow – or was it real? - And I smiled sadly, also backing away now. I didn't know what else to say, so I simply nodded my head, and turned away. I had to leave before I changed my mind.

I heard the door open, his feet move inside. I sighed regretfully, wondering whether I'd made the right choice.

---

It's hard to remember to breathe when I'm watching them perform. His voice, so rich; so full of emotion, so alluring. I find myself being caught up in the whirlwind of lyrics, and their soulful, deeper meanings enlaced between the lines. And their music … so heart-rending. I'm taken back with wonder every time I hear them play. My heart, crushing beneath my collapsing ribs with aching memories, my eyes stinging with bitter tears as the world before me blurs.

I smile sadly up at them from the back of the room, though it's impossible that they might see me. The hall is so vast and cram-packed with anxious, obsessive fans that are obstinately and stubbornly attempting – and failing – to push their way to the front … to the stage. There are two girls standing to the right of me, giggling to each other as they discuss how 'fit' and 'sexy' the band members are. I roll my eyes at them as I'm reminded of the days when the band wasn't so well-known, when it was just them in a room, a few scattered other people, and me.

---

There was music, a faint hum of a familiar song ringing in the back of my head. I ran down the stairs to the underground, knowing that the odds were heavily against me and wondering why I was even bothering to try. I had already missed my train. But, if it was delayed ... there was still a chance. The place was empty. I could tell, as I neared the bottom steps and my eyes took in the glowing LED notice board hanging from the ceiling that I had indeed, missed my train home.

Cursing, I dropped my schoolbag to the ground as I slumped onto one of the nearest benches, its paint chipped with age and the metal bars underneath rusted and corroding. It wasn't the comfiest place to wait for the next train – which would take another three hours to arrive, but I didn't have much of a choice.

The music was still drifting through the underground, tugging at my mind, and I decided, after sitting idle for fifteen minutes, that I would take a walk and investigate where it was coming from. It was so captivating. Picking up my bag I wandered indolently around the passages, following my ears and taking my time, it wasn't as if I needed to rush for anything.

I could hear his voice by now, it was clear and bold, echoing with an upbeat twang through the subway.

My father would undoubtedly kill me, for being home so late. I would have called and let them know, but there was no reception for my phone in the station tunnels.

I rounded a corner, the music now resonating loudly in my ears and my heart thumping as I came to recognise the tune. I halted, the dim but fierce lighting accentuating the busker's features as the grey stone of the tunnel enclosed around his form. His eyes were closed; he appeared lost in thought, in his own words, his own melody.

Kira.

I held my breath, I didn't want to disturb him; but I knew that it was too late to turn back now. I walked towards him; towards the dark black, open guitar case lying on the ground, its velvet interior filled with scattered coins, and even a few notes. I reached into my blazer pocket.

His eyes snapped open and I fought not to stare into them. A light grin was tracing the corners of his lips as I dropped a few pound coins into the case.

He stopped playing. "Wow."

Biting my lip, I looked up to him, tugging at the strap of my bag.

He didn't take his burning amethyst eyes off me, and it was rather unnerving, standing underneath his fixed gaze. Pinned in place.

"It was all I had," I muttered, glancing down and wishing that I hadn't ridden myself of most of my spare change that morning. "But, however, I do think that I've now heard a fair amount of your work to be able to judge you properly, and I was rather taken by your last-"

He shook his head, beaming, "I didn't think I was worthy of such praise." He appeared sincerely pleased. "You've just made my day." He suddenly bent down, crouching to the ground and packing away his guitar. Without looking up, he added, "I never did find out your name by the way …"

Shuffling, I hoisted my bag further onto my shoulder, holding it tightly to stop it from slipping off, "Lacus … Lacus Clyne."

I studied him in his faded band t-shirt and jeans as he shrugged into his leather jacket. He pulled the guitar case across his shoulder and held a hand out to me.

"Shall we go then, Lacus?"

I partly reached out to take hold of his hand, large and open, compellingly inviting, before faltering. What was I doing?

"Where?" I asked hesitantly.

"Now, that," his eyes glinted mischievously in the lights as he grabbed hold of my hovering hand, "would be telling." And suddenly I was flying along behind him, half jogging to keep up with his long strides, feeling as though someone had accidentally hit the fast-forward button on my life and that I was leaving the past far, far behind.

I knew then, that things were going to change.

A/N - okay, so this is kind of different than most of my others. And yes, Kira is smoking. And it's bad. Very bad, and obviously ooc for the one that most of you know, but I'm just trying to adapt their images to the story - which should hopefully be quite short. So bare with me, please :) and review to let me know what you think. Thanks!