AN: I always thought Kid and Tsubaki would be good friends, but we never really saw that – so here's a fic for it. It can be seen as shippy or friendly. Post-manga, some spoilers.
these will not be ruins
They leave the city in slow succession: the open road calls to them and gobbles them up. First it's Soul and Maka, acting vaguely on Academy orders, and then it's Liz beside Patty, taking the first vacation they've been granted since they first met Death the Kid.
Black Star is the one to leave last – he tires of only fighting street battles, challenging unsuspecting first-years to entirely one-sided brawls in the Academy's courtyard. He wins every time but that still isn't enough, and his reason for going involves a desire to make his body its own Weapon.
He doesn't take Tsubaki. He has no need to, not when he's heading to the depths of Eastern Europe for the sake of training his soul – but he tells her to relax while he's gone, take a break. She's earned it, after years of loyal service to the superstar himself, and he's so adamant he'll return that he offers her a solemn fist-bump in farewell.
Instead, Tsubaki demands a hug.
She'd entertained the idea of peace and quiet before, sometimes wondering how tranquil the apartment would be if Black Star went on holiday. Of course, she'd always feel guilty about wishing her meister would go away for a bit, so she never really worked out a plan of action for what she'd do if the chance arose.
She tidies, at first. Fixes things. Black Star is a hurricane so their home is a natural disaster, with dents in the cutlery and chunks of plaster kicked out of the walls. It takes perhaps a week or so for her to get everything in order – or as close as she can to it, Black Star's mark never fully removable.
At the end of that week, early on Sunday morning, she schedules a call with Black Star himself. Or, more accurately, she orchestrates a group call without telling him: Maka and Soul share a screen from Damascus, where it's night-time for them so they're just about to turn in, and the Thompson sisters answer with the skyline of Detroit behind them from their hotel window.
Liz tries to add Kid, but he's busy. He's a fully-fledged God now – and Gods aren't fond of video calling.
Despite Spirit's advice that invading Russia in winter is never a good idea, it's where Black Star seems to be heading. He's got Siberia in mind, the land of endless ice and snow, as the place he'll teach his soul a samba of destruction. Tsubaki knows better by now than to caution him, so she simply smiles, nodding along while Black Star tells everyone how easily he'll navigate the most impossible terrains.
It's the last call she'll receive from him for a while, because the alps of Switzerland don't have very consistent reception.
Tsubaki is aware that, of their little group, there's only her and Kid still lingering around the city. The notion of visiting him crosses her mind, but he's the Reaper now and he's going to be preposterously busy – too busy for her to visit with cakes and tea and a desire to chat.
He must have the finest chefs at his disposal, these days.
Perhaps she should've gone with Black Star – she should've put her foot down, insisted, demonstrated a degree of assertion she's never cared for off the battlefield. Or perhaps she should be going somewhere herself, trawling the globe with only a backpack and a smile. Not everyone in this world would be kind to a young girl travelling by herself, but she's found such men to be cowards, scared off immediately by the sight of a human turning into a samurai sword.
She packs half a suitcase, one night, when the silence becomes too deafening. Kim is in Canada and Yumi is in Tokyo and Crona is in the moon, watching with a certain sense of sympathy whenever Tsubaki stares at the sky because she's got nothing else to look at.
Someone needs to remain. In the end, Tsubaki doesn't go anywhere.
Nerves aren't the thing holding her back: someone has to remain.
The city is their stalwart, their glue. It's something they all have in common. It's the home that displaced homes, a patchwork of every land and language beneath the sun. No matter where they go, the horizons they yearn to taste as little victories on their tongue, someone has to be here.
In the back of her mind – shrouded, not secondary – she thinks of Kid, now a silhouette in his manor's window; intangible. People wait for hours to catch a glimpse of it, but she wonders if he'shappy, or if he feels their loss, if he's waiting for the day he can seek them again only to find there's nobody left at all. Her heart aches for the disappointment she imagines he'd suffer, and it might not ever be the case but she can't have that on her conscience.
Tsubaki has seen him broken, battered; she's seen him shot down so harshly she'd thought him dead, within fleeting little eternities. Fearing someone else's death more than her own is commonplace when it comes to her comrades, and though very little will kill the Reaper... she's well aware things will still make him a bit upset.
That's never nice.
Processions have become a regular occurrence, and Tsubaki can scarcely make her way to the town square's market because of them. People line the streets in their masses to catch a glimpse of their God, the city's defender and decider of death, a young boy with knowing eyes.
Not long ago, Tsubaki visited diners with him, shared popcorn with him when they all crammed into Maka and Soul's apartment for movie nights, Blair curled up in her lap – mostly as a cat.
Omnipotence changes people.
It's by chance that it happens: she's attempting to squeeze her way through families and couples to reach the harvest stall, her magpie's eye set on the juiciest collection of berries she's seen for some time. They'd go well atop a cake, she thinks, or in a pie. She wants to buy her groceries and run along home.
Someone has other ideas, and she realises this when a hand descends from the heavens to seize her by the elbow. She tenses, yelps, glances back over her shoulder to see who's grabbing her – perhaps she shoved someone a bit too harshly, and she's just about to apologise when her mouth falls open in shock.
A gloved hand has her, clad in white, emerging from a splintered robe of tattered dark fabric. It's thin and thick all at once, the wind whipping through it like water between untamed rushes, while its wearer regards her with gleaming amber eyes and a cocky little half-grin.
Tsubaki isn't the only one frozen in place, the crowds around them parting to watch with amazement. The Reaper never descends from his carriage, never walks amongst his citizens to pick one from the crowd – this girl must really be something special.
"I'll pay for those," the Reaper announces, glancing towards the berry-vendor with an almost apathetic air. "I would appreciate a bag for them; and you're not busy, Tsubaki, are you?"
While she weakly shakes her head, Tsubaki wonders how Kid knew what she wanted to buy – then scolds herself for such a silly thought. He knows her, after all.
Everything's new, but some adjustments are minimal. The statues that guard the Gallows Mansion door (both the same, one on each side) are different, now, former Grecian sculptures replaced by solid-gold soldiers.
This is a world Tsubaki doesn't belong in, but she has to admit it was fun, being escorted through the city in the Reaper's grand coach. Citizens from all walks of life waved to her, bouncing with joy when she waved back.
Kid doesn't wave. He is the master of composure and he prefers to keep it simple, a solemn smile offered here, an acknowledging nod aimed there. Tsubaki is almost in awe of him by the time she's directed into his lounge, following two burly guards she's never met before, but after marching in he does something so utterly Kid that she can't help but beam with glee.
"Your helmets aren't symmetrical," he insists – and with a burst of sudden force, he draws to full height, bringing the edge of his flat hand firmly down upon one guard's head. The chop at least flattens the abnormality in the poor man's helmet, but the way he clutches at his temples, anguished, prompts Tsubaki into offering a more sympathetic smile.
She thinks Kid is shaping up like his father. She thinks Kid got taller.
Dutiful, Tsubaki stays silent after the guards are gone, hands folded neatly in her lap as Kid scuttles around the room to adjust things. He spends what feels like an eternity on aligning a painting, and Tsubaki is just about to make the foolish mistake of telling him it doesn't matter when he finally decides his work is done.
He takes the chair opposite hers. He sits ankle-on-knee, presses his fingertips together, and smiles at her like he'd done in the marketplace.
"I'm sorry," is all he says.
It's a blessing he spoke first; Tsubaki wouldn't know how to start a conversation with him. He carries himself with even more grace than he had before, and she is keenly aware of the fact she isn't simply talking to a quondam classmate. She is gazing upon the cold elegance of Death itself.
"You have nothing to apologise for," she says, hand-waving the notion. "I really wasn't busy. It's nice to see you again."
"That's precisely what I'm apologising for," Kid replies, raising one brow. "I haven't made the time to see you in weeks, and for that, I'm sorry. It's really my responsibility to make sure we don't lose contact, but I've been failing in that area."
Tsubaki shakes her head. "You've got things to do. Important things. I'd rather see you keeping the world safe than wasting time on me."
"It's not a waste." Kid tips his head back, silent for a moment. She wonders if she said something wrong before he adds, "You're a good friend of mine, though I haven't been acting like that's the case. I vowed, when I took this position, not to forget what brought me here."
He speaks as though this was all voluntary, that this wasn't his destiny from birth, but she supposes the alternative isn't quite true either. The kishin became a kishin to avoid that responsibility, so really, only Kid could do it.
"We tried to call," Tsubaki says, apprehensive. "When we caught up with each other, recently – I can tell you what everyone's doing, if you like."
Kid's smile shifts into a grimace. "Was that the call devised for Black Star, perchance?"
"Yes." Tsubaki's grin is a creature of embarrassment. "And I suppose he was doing most of the talking, too, now I think about it."
"Do forgive me, but I suspected that would be the case so I wasn't inclined to pick up."
"Oh," Tsubaki says, and then, amused, "I understand."
"Mm." Kid's eyes slide shut, nose pointed upwards in the manner of a contented cat. "If anything interesting was said, I'd like to hear it. Liz and Patty have been sending me postcards."
He gestures to the mantelpiece behind him, and then the mantelpiece behind Tsubaki. She dutifully glances at each one, only to see the same set of postcards propped up in mirroring arrangements.
"They send two of each," Kid elaborates, without having to open his eyes. It's like he can sense Tsubaki's bewilderment, or perhaps he's been asked about it before by nosy guards.
"That's... nice of them," Tsubaki replies. "They were in Michigan when I last spoke to them."
"Now they're in Texas. For girls fond of Stetsons, it's a wonder they'd never visited the place most renowned for them – though I daresay Patty is enjoying the food there more."
Tsubaki giggles. She emits it against her hand, as is only polite in the company of a deity, but feeding frenzies with the Thompsons are events she's all too familiar with.
She misses them. Not the mealtimes, that is.
Kid must've asked for tea, because it arrives, perfectly-timed, during a pause in conversation. Two uniform-bearing maids set the tray down on the table between Tsubaki's chair and his, eyes fluttering open when he sits forward to begin pouring Tsubaki a cup.
"You still enjoy green tea, don't you?"
"Yes." Tsubaki smiles again, softly. "But I thought you didn't like it."
"You're my guest," he says, "and if knowing your meister has taught me anything, it's that I'm extremely tolerant."
Tsubaki laughs again. She forgets to hide it, this time, but Kid responds by matching it.
Their meeting is cut short by a stuffy, suited man arriving to talk business with the Reaper. Tsubaki expected it, on some level: she gives Kid her usual thank-you-for-having-me, and when she gets home, she finds a brown paper bag stuffed with berries on her doorstep.
She makes a pie with them in the end, saving some for herself before boxing the rest for Professor Stein. With Marie on a scouting mission in Fiji, he'd forget to feed himself properly if someone didn't send him reminders.
Now that there's nothing left to clean in her apartment, it's baking she throws herself into next – she has to do something to keep busy. She'd never thought of herself as particularly bloodthirsty, but she has to admit: with all this peace around her, she's beginning to miss the chaos.
Tsubaki idles hours away at a time on browsing high-end stores, snapping up the finest kitchen equipment money can buy. There are recipes in her books she'd never had the time to make before – but now, if there's something she has in spades, it's time. And she has money, too; she's not spending her EAT graduate pension on anything else.
To think, a pension at the age of eighteen. But she's saved the world multiple times, and that's a lifetime of work for anyone.
Her parents receive the fruit of her labours, mostly, small bakery inventories sent at a time to them across the sea. They end up posting her a letter that states, kindly but firmly, how much they enjoy receiving gifts from their darling daughter – but they've received quite enough now, so would she perhaps consider a baking sabbatical?
The next time Kid catches her, it's really by chance: she's taking a walk through the city's woodland and so is he. His head is down, body wrapped in a cloak that's different from his usual, and he's taking every step to hide his identity but Tsubaki would recognise those unimpressed sniffs anywhere.
Walking is her new thing. She wanders about not to think, but to escape the notion of thinking altogether; she doesn't have to contemplate anything while she's aimlessly admiring the scenery. Death City is pretty, in its balance of the industrial and the whimsical – Kid really lucked out on the godly domain front.
Between two gnarled trees of equal height, they appropriately pass each other. The path beneath their feet is one well-worn by previous amblers, Kid following it north while Tsubaki follows it south.
"Kid?" she says, without really thinking, to the hunched figure trying to hurry past her.
"Blast," the figure declares, drawing up to full height – and its hood slips away to confirm her suspicion.
"Kid! What are you doing here?" She tilts to one side, peering past him. "Shouldn't you be with your guards?"
"Tsubaki," Kid says, dismissing the question in favour of smiling. It's a weary thing, borne from relief, and she's oddly touched that he's satisfied to see it's her and not someone else. "Technically, yes. But they don't know I'm here – because I didn't tell them, that is."
Clasping her hands to her mouth, Tsubaki's face lights up. "Oh! You're sneaking out?"
"Precisely. I don't need guards, anyway – if any moron dared challenge me, I'd be the one protecting them. It's simply for show and I detest the principle."
"This is a weird place to sneak out to," Tsubaki says, arms lowering somewhat. "It's not the kind of venue I'd expect to find someone like you."
"That's why I chose it," Kid replies, amused. "Somewhere they wouldn't think to look – hm? And you're the first living soul I've seen out here, squirrels aside, so it's proved to be an ideal location for thinking." He sniffs, then goes on, "These days, my own thoughts aren't a luxury I can often indulge in."
Tsubaki bears her expected smile, stiffly. She won't tell him that's the opposite of what she's here for, so she says instead, "I see. I guess I should leave you alone, then—"
"No." She's almost taken aback at how quick Kid is to interject. "No, I wouldn't mind the company. It was regrettable I didn't have longer with you before, Tsubaki, so this is a perfect opportunity... if you'd like to."
He straightens up, watching her intently while his hands shift to rest behind his back.
Of course she'd like to.
"Of course I would."
"Good," Kid replies, and he spares a moment more on watching her with warm familiarity. It envelops her, soft and welcoming, and when he seizes her hand to drag her off down the northern track, she doesn't protest.
She's expecting a philosophical conversation, or endless venting about his work, but what she gets is neither of those things. He talks to her about the forest, naming the wildflowers and ranking them in order of pleasing disposition (symmetry, in layman's terms) – and he asks her how she's been. For all her parents' letters and Black Star's calls, that's not something she's been asked in a while.
With that tight smile upon her lips again, she tells him she's fine. He doesn't look like he believes her, but he doesn't press the issue.
This forest once dominated the landscape, but when the city sprang up that ceased to be so. Humans do that; they destroy and they build and things are never quite the same, the woodland path shifting into concrete once they reach the outside world again.
Kid, composure connoisseur, only breaks from courtesy when she worries about what his guards will say, if he wastes more time by escorting her back to her apartment. To hell with my guards is his response, with the demeanour of his more hysterical tantrums – and he sees her directly to her door.
He begins turning his hood up while she fumbles with her keys, and when she turns around to say goodbye, both he and his cloak of disguise are long gone.
Clothes become Tsubaki's latest distraction: spending time with the Reaper reminds her of how few she owns. Most things in her wardrobe are variations on her usual get-up, and she doesn't have what he has – evening wear, sophisticated styles.
It's not that she can't afford it. She's just never been the material type.
Still, it's fun to browse boutiques like she has something in mind, the fawning of shop assistants never ceasing to cheer her up. Death City's elite is more prone to recognising her, be it because of her association with Kid or, more often than not, because of the missions she undertook for the Academy. They give her expensive gowns and that's flattering, like they expect their labels to sell better because Miss Nakatsukasa herself was seen in them.
Dressmakers vow to tailor things for her, free of charge, using only the finest fabrics to complement her skin tone. She has such lovely hair, they all unanimously agree, as they weave ribbons and bows and all sorts into it.
One morning, she wakes to find a cream envelope in her letterbox, hand-delivered because there's only her name and no address. There is a card inside, black-and-white symmetrical, an invitation to Kid's one-year coronation party to be held at the DWMA.
The next morning, she wakes to find several envelopes in her letterbox, all from different boutiques offering her things to wear for the dance.
Black Star, regrettably, can't make it. He apologises profusely for how disappointed everyone must be that the real jewel in Kid's crown won't be present to expertly critique the buffet, but he vows to soon return in style to make up for it. Style in Black Star's eyes involves causing as much damage as possible, so the Academy isn't particularly pleased with either aspect of that response.
Soul and Maka will make it, currently travelling back from their latest assignment in Dubai, and Maka has already picked out ideal dancing shoes for the occasion. It's the promise of Maka's return that makes Spirit only too glad to attend as well – and wherever Spirit goes to make merry, Stein must follow to ruin things. Marie is delighted to come, but the baby means she isn't going to drink.
Considerably more tanned and variably less stressed, Liz and Patty promise to attend, too. Their travels aren't done but they miss their meister, hardly thrilled at being temporarily replaced by soldiers – so they'll come back for the dance before finishing their tour.
Tsubaki learns all this through letters, phone calls, video conferences set up by valiantly overcoming poor connections. She picks a navy gown and begins eagerly counting down the days.
When the big night finally arrives, a hired car pulls up to collect her.
She wasn't expecting one, yet she finds it patiently waiting when she steps outside, directed by a driver who doesn't say much but makes a point of calling her ma'am.
The Reaper's orders, apparently. She's a guest of honour.
The route to the Academy is one she knows well, but it's surreal to be taking it again. Red towers and black stone and balanced white embellishment, the building that defined so much of her youth. Despite her meek protests, the car drops her off right at the foot of the steps: she's forced to emerge before the arriving crowds, surfacing like a starlet with a doting entourage, but she certainly does receive a few second looks.
She knows all the shortcuts to the Academy from her home, but they're alleyways cars can't drive through. This is why she arrives late – fashionably – to the Reaper's introductory speech, his obligatory thanks and praises to his people and his staff.
With his father's cloak he prowls the stage: his mask is like a second skin. Or second face. Duality makes for symmetry.
He has the presence his father did, addressing a crowd while making each member feel focused upon. Perhaps it's the porcelain concealing his gaze, but the way he moves and winds makes for compelling viewing. To those who have never seen the boy he was, he looks like a figure with haunting eyes, someone who could steal life itself away from every muscle if he ever deigned to look at them – and for his citizens, that is enough.
But here is where the similarity ends: his father's approach was softly-softly, while he believes in nothing of the sort. Fervent gestures. Passionate pleas. He certainly sounds good.
"Once it was dead, see, I barely noticed the damage, and that's how I got this bruise."
So Maka says, unconvincing, pulling her cardigan over the red mark on her shoulder. Soul nods solemnly along, expression betraying nothing, but there is an amused gleam in his eyes that tells Tsubaki she isn't getting the full story.
They'll tell her soon, she knows – tell her what she already knows. But this night is about Kid, and they don't want to draw attention away from him with rather more accurate tales of hickeys.
"Sounds scary," Tsubaki says. "But I'm glad you could come – it's been far too long since I've seen you!"
"Hasn't it?" Maka chimes, brightening up. "We kinda thought you'd be bored without Black Star, but you look like you've been doing okay."
Soul grins. "I think Maka means you've been enjoying the peace."
"Mm," Tsubaki says, taking a sip from the glass a butler gave her. "I suppose so."
"We were surprised Kid invited us," Maka goes on – resorting to we so comfortably that it's a little bit cute. "We haven't heard from him at all! He's been busier than usual, I guess. I'm glad he didn't forget to unwind once in a while."
Tsubaki glances towards the stage, now occupied only by a chattering Sid and Mira. She considers saying something... but she can't think what.
"You wanna dance?" Soul utters anyway, before she has the chance to. He's talking to Maka, of course, regarding her with a fondness in his gaze; it's one Tsubaki recognises.
"But – Tsubaki is—" Maka begins, only for the girl in question to raise a hand.
"I don't mind. I should mingle for a while; I've been busy around the home lately so it'll be nice to catch up."
It's tiredly typical that they believe her so swiftly, Soul nodding and Maka beaming.
"We'll be quick," Soul assures her. "This is just a great song."
With that assertion, they're gone from her again; twirling couples engulf them and Tsubaki finishes her drink. She sets the glass down on a table behind her, well aware they're not going to come back – not when they said they would, anyway. They'll forget to.
The venue is an ocean of faces she knows and faces she doesn't, dancing prettily around her while she makes her way across the hall. She passes Liz and Patty arguing over a plate of empanadas, which surprises her: shouldn't they be with Kid?
Regardless, getting involved in food-related debates isn't on her agenda. She finds a safe spot by the stairwell, content in the knowledge she can watch the festivities without being interrupted – and that plan would've been perfect if an arm didn't decide to hook around from the stairwell to grab her.
This time, she's wise to it; she knows it's Kid before she even has the chance to look, his methods no longer a mystery to her. What she doesn't understand is why he's hiding from his own party, but he's never really been the sort of boy who made sense.
"Tsubaki," he greets, once he's finished dragging her away from the hall. "You look nice."
Her smile is one of bewilderment. "Ah. Thank you. But—Kid?"
"If you're going to ask what I'm doing, the solution is simple: I'm hiding."
"Yes," Tsubaki says, with a sombre nod. "I guessed that. But aren't you enjoying yourself? It's a lovely party, and so many people showed up for you. Even the drinks are... okay."
But Kid hardly seems to care about the state of his celebrations. Instead he states, simply, "Maka and Soul have begun a relationship."
Oh.
When even Kid notices something like that, it must be obvious – so Tsubaki doesn't think she's betraying them too much by grinning. "Mm. That's another thing I guessed."
"And Liz acquired a Texan penpal she's rather intimate with in conversation."
"Oh!" Tsubaki claps her hands together, eyes alight. "How sweet! I'm so glad for her; something like that could be just what she needs!"
"It's not a good thing," Kid snaps, folding his arms indignantly across his chest. "Not only does it threaten to make her less efficient, but it represents something... worrying, in our group."
Tsubaki frowns. Her chest aches for him as she tries to decipher what he means, and she manages a weak, "Kid."
"Hm?"
"Did – did you like Liz? I mean like her."
A peal of laughter wasn't exactly the response she expected to a question like that, but it's what she gets. Kid's head rolls back as his body shakes with it, and he extends one arm to place a hand good-naturedly on her shoulder.
"No! No, no; they're not my own sisters, but they've... become something like it, I suppose." His mirth fades into a kind smile, though the intensity of his gaze tells Tsubaki something still isn't quite right. "It's not an easy topic to raise around you, considering what I intend to ask, but don't you think it's all changing? I'm out of the loop, and I can't help it when I'm working but it's..." He searches for the word. "Frustrating."
"Changing," Tsubaki repeats, with an unsure stare. "Well. Everything does eventually. It's not like I didn't expect this from Soul and Maka, either, but I'm happy for them; really happy."
Kid supplies a noncommittal noise, eyes cast to the ground in thought. Something he said strikes her, then, in the uncomfortable lull, and she entwines her fingers amongst themselves.
"What did you want to ask me?"
"Ah. Yes."
He looks at her. Not properly, a lopsided glance while his hands slide into the pockets of his trousers. She notes his outfit – she'd thought it was a sharp black suit, clearly custom-made, but it isn't. It's navy, like hers.
It's clear he's embarrassed about whatever it is he wants to say, so she gives him her most supportive smile. This is something she regrets when he asks, with no trace of irony, "Are you in love with Black Star?"
Tsubaki splutters. Her cheeks burn with enough fury to match the cackling sun, and she waves her hands frantically before her, choking and squealing because she can't yet summon words. Kid watches this display in unhelpful silence, indifferent to just how mortified he's rendered his friend.
"No! No, no, no! He's like – my brother! I love him and I'd do anything for him but – that kind of love? No, no!"
"For someone trying to look believable, you're protesting a lot."
"Because I can't believe you asked me something like that, Kid! I've known him for years, now, and it's like we grew up together. If I loved him... I'm not that shy."
Kid's brows raise. "I'm not following."
Tsubaki fans her cheeks, willing herself to calm down. She directs her line of vision to the floor, the smallest little smile taking root amidst her embarrassment. It's bitter. "I would've told him, I mean. I know everyone thinks I wouldn't be able to – that I'm too shy. That I only want to do things around the home and that I – I prefer things when they're quiet, or—"
"I don't think that at all," Kid interrupts, reaching out. He presses his knuckles beneath her chin, gently lifting her head to meet her gaze... which only serves in making her more embarrassed. "You weren't quiet when we took down a demon together, were you? I only asked because it would interfere with my intentions if you were."
Tsubaki doesn't understand, but she doesn't pull away. "Intentions?"
"Why did you stay?"
"I'm – I'm sorry?"
"Here." He drops his hand, then, gaze stern. "You remained in the city after the others decided to travel, and you've been keeping everyone in touch. They've all been telling me it's down to you – contacting them while I haven't had the time. You could've gone somewhere, Tsubaki; you could've left all this to someone else, but instead you made everyone look forward to seeing each other again at this terrible corporate party."
"It's not that bad—"
"Yes it is. Do you think anyone would care about my election a year on if I was a politician?"
Tsubaki can't help it; a giggle escapes her throat, restoring her sense of ease around him. The point he's raising is, nevertheless, uncomfortable... because it's true. If anything is the group's glue, its stalwart, it's her, despite how happy they'd be to move on and alter.
Her half-packed suitcase is still stuffed in the depths of her wardrobe.
"I need you," Kid is saying, and she looks up at him in surprise. The blush threatens to seize her cheeks again because he's a vision of sincerity. "I don't want to lose everyone – every friend I've made. I never thought I needed them before, but now they're all moving on elsewhere I miss them, annoyingly enough." He crinkles his nose, adding like it's an afterthought, "Even Black Star."
"I understand," Tsubaki says. "I miss them, too, when they're not around."
"Then is that why you stayed?" he asks, tone hesitant. "For me?"
Tsubaki opens her mouth to speak. She examines him, but she can't decipher what lies within his stare; the way he's looking at her isn't something she's seen on Kid before, though it's different to how Soul looks at Maka, nowhere near how Liz must look at her Texan mail.
She doesn't have to say anything, in the end. Briskly turning on his heel, Kid abandons the notion of waiting, beginning an ascent of the staircase when he calls over his shoulder, "Come with me."
That's an order from a God. Tsubaki delicately hitches her skirt, and does as she's told.
The heels were, in hindsight, a grave mistake, because it's a ridiculously long staircase and once she finally reaches the last step, the soles of her feet are throbbing. They are punishing her for making them do anything other than dancing tonight.
She's never used these stairs before, but it's a given there'd be a lone door at the top. When Kid holds it open for her, grinning smugly, the view beyond it makes her forget about her feet entirely.
This is the tallest tower in the Academy, right at the back but positioned to see everything. The city below looks like nothing she could describe; from this height, it's light and broth in one thick brew, stagnant water she could dip her toes into, if her legs went a little further.
The balcony does have railings, but she isn't going to be sticking her limbs through any time soon. Slowly, almost hesitantly, she makes her way towards the edge, clutches the railing in question with a grasp borne from one parts fear and two parts awe.
Kid comes to stand beside her, and she supposes her mood is an appropriate one.
"Lovely, isn't it? And so wondrously near-symmetrical that it's still soothing for me to come up here."
For every gold light in the west, there's another twinkling insistently in the east. She can't distinguish houses and bars from each other, couldn't tell neon lights from the glow of someone's soul.
"It's beautiful," she murmurs.
"It's mine."
Kid is smiling softly when she glances up at him, reminiscent of a proud parent. "All these people – all these lives I have to protect, until it's time. I don't begrudge it; it's what I'm here for... but I don't want you, and the others, to think I'm not still me because of it."
Tsubaki isn't sure how to respond to that. The man-made constellations mapped out across the faraway ground keep seizing her attention and holding it, so it takes her a moment to notice Kid's hand quietly coming to cover her own.
"You're good to me, Tsubaki," he says, quietly. "Perhaps when you shouldn't be. I was recently informed I'm the definition of insufferable."
Tsubaki chuckles, cheeks a pleasant pink. "Did Liz tell you that?"
"Patty, actually. Travelling has done wonders for her vocabulary."
"Nobody will forget about you," Tsubaki says, with conviction. "They understand you can't spend time with us whenever we want you to any more, but that doesn't mean you're not going to be our friend."
From the corner of her eye, she sees Kid turn his head to look at her. She looks back, turns her hand over to squeeze his willing own, and she can't tell if the light in his gaze comes from the heavens or the city. He carries the light of the whole world there, these days. The mysterious shores of an endless equilibrium.
Music wafts up from the depths of the Academy, shrouding their balcony in song. It's faint, all distorted music notes that settle in Tsubaki's hair, still something to listen to as they stand and watch the plains of life below them... but it's late.
One by one, the lights go out, and the band continues to play.
-x-