It was an unspoken truth.
Kidd didn't take it too well when he was told outright.
"It's common knowledge, Kidd."
"That's just how things work."
He grit his teeth and pulled the comforter up over his head, his short gasps for breath quickly heating the enclosed space.
"I'll just not be a full Shinigami, then. Yeah. That'll work fine."
"Kidd. Your dad can't do this forever. You have to step up eventually."
No. No, I don't. Stop it.
A rough knock sounded at his door.
"Kidd, I know you're in there. Come out."
He ignored her, instead choosing to allow himself to sink deep, deep, deeper into the mattress. Maybe he could disappear that way.
The handle jiggled as Maka tried to open the door, and upon realizing it was locked, she grew angry.
"Kidd, we're all here for you, and you choose to just mope around in your room?"
He heard her take a deep breath, and then his door flew open, the lock ripped from the wall and hanging off of the door, useless.
He shifted under the comforter.
She stood there for a few moments, eyes wide, and guilt crept up on and engulfed her.
How was she supposed to know he was taking it this bad?
"…Kidd?"
He remained silent, jaw set, preparing to talk his way out of the hole he'd dug himself.
Maka sat down on his bed and hesitantly placed a hand on where she hoped was his shoulder.
"Kidd…" she swallowed. "I know it's hard right now…believe me, I do. When mama died, it was the worst thing I'd ever gone through. Papa told me she left, and kept buying postcards and sending them to me, signing them with her name. I only found out she died a year ago.
"You still have time, Kidd. You can say your goodbyes, do what you need to do…but it's going to happen whether you're ready or not. You have the opportunity to by ready. And you won't be alone afterwards. If you think you're just going to lock yourself up in your room and cry about it, you've got another thing coming.
"Look…we all care about you—Liz, Patti, Black*Star, Tsubaki, Chrona, Soul, me…and especially your dad. He doesn't want this. Spend the time you've got left with him together."
He was tense under the blanket, and shaking. Carefully, she peeled it back from his face, where his grip on the fabric had loosened immensely.
Tears stained his cheeks and his eyes were squeezed shut.
"Sit up," she said, and he pushed himself up with his elbows, his eyelids parting ever so slightly.
"Come here," she murmured, arms outstretched, and he slowly leaned forward until the bridge of his nose rested on top of her shoulder and his hands clutched the arms of her shirt.
He cried.
He cried, but this time, he knew he'd be okay when he stopped.
He had people who loved him.
And that was enough to dull the pain.
