Chapter Forty

~ Maka ~

We stood on the side of the road outside his house, the wind tugging frantically at the wine coloured skater skirt he nicked from his mothers wardrobe as well as the Jack Daniels tank top he fished out from the back of his wardrobe.

But as I stared down towards my feet, I saw the same two builder boots that were bound against my feet only the night before. The ones that I cracked into Black*star's jawline.

I smiled.

"You okay?" Kid asked, squeezing my hand gently.

I felt the butterflies in my stomach quiver with excitement, allowing them to burst to life for the one-hundredth time as I looked up at the scruffy black haired boy who stood beside me.

My smile widened with every second I remained staring into his eyes.

I whispered, "perfect."

Kid had sat me on the floor in front of him not half an hour earlier, sectioned the top half of my hair from the bottom, pulling the top part into a high pony tail, then twisting it ever so delicately in order to create that of an adorable but yet messy bun that perched on the top of my head.

As the wind brushed against the tip of my nose, I smelt the scent of the tall boy that stood beside me. That musky but yet sweetly smelling smell that I desired to stain every inch of in my forever existing memory.

I squeezed his hand like he squeezed mine, brushing the tips of my fingers against his warm palm as if I were able to feel everything that pulsated inside of him in that exact moment.

The memory of his lips against my mouth tingled throughout my body, bringing me back to that precious moment where I felt his arms around me, and his lips against my neck, and every ounce of passion that existed then existing within me now.

"Kid...?" I asked, turning my head to face him once again.

He turned to face me also, raising a dark eyebrow of his beneath his messy black hair, staring down towards me with his beautiful golden eyes.

I bit my lip, "where are your parents?"

He chuckled, "its only just occurred to that they're not here?"

"No," I protested. "I was just wondering..."

He smiled warmly, tilting his head up to face the sky and allow the sun to kiss his face, revealing that white scar of his that wrapped itself tightly around his jawline.

"I suppose its only fair, considering I know about your parents," he sighed brushing his thumb at my slightly bruised knuckles.

I was scared that maybe he'd hurt, that maybe I wasn't the only one hurting from their parents story. So quickly I used my spare hand and placed it on top of the other – that was already laced with his.

My thumbs brushed at both his palm, as well as the back of his hand, slightly catching the sleeve of his blue and black chequered shirt – the same one he wore when I saw him in the music store.

"My bastard dad," he chuckled. "Well, he walked out on both me and my mum when I was fourteen."

I squeezed his hand tighter, reassuring him that I too knew what it was like to have an ignorant father.

He used his left hand to grip at his hairline, his golden eyes staring directly to the concrete in front of us, as if he were waiting for something to suddenly appear beneath his feet.

I could tell he felt abandoned, the glimmer in his eyes questioning what it was that he did in order to deserve everything that's happened to him.

I knew because of how I recognised the exact same look – in my own eyes.

Dropping my right hand from his, I slowly reached up to grab his left, that still remained gripping tightly at his hairline, as if the pressure of the world around him caused him to cause himself destruction.

"Hey," I whispered. "It's okay..."

I buried my thumb in his palm, resting the tips of my fingers against his bruised and swollen knuckles ever so gently. Then I carefully lifted his hand from his hairline, allowing the strands of his hair to be free from his consuming grasp.

As strands of his hair dropped from his hold, I saw his eyes flicker back towards me, the silhouette of my smiling face burning in his pupils, whilst I brought our hands back down to his side.

His lips parted as he looked at me, once again revealing to me another one of his wounds, the blood dried split that curved round the right sound of his luscious lower lips.

My hand slipped from his as he wrapped his arm around my lower back, so he could pull me closer towards him and allow him to rest his bruised and cut up face against my shoulder.

"I reminded her – my mother – too much of him..." he chuckled nervously, as if he truly believed it would shatter his sorrow. "So, she packed up and left me, only leaving behind everything that didn't fit her, and everything she didn't need – including myself."

Still holding his other hand in my own, I squeezed it once again, as tight as I possibly could, in order to remind him of my presence in front of him, and that I wasn't going anywhere.

"I mean," he continued. "She wasn't a complete bitch about it."

I turned my head closer into his neck, "how?"

He exhaled deeply, slowly lifting his head from my shoulder. "Well, she still pays the bills from wherever the hell she is, and sends me money whenever she can."

I lifted my free hand from my side, reaching up to gently cup his neck with my fingers, feeling the tickle of his scruffy black hair stroke at my fingers.

"I'm so sorry Kid..." I breathed soft, proceeding to run my hand across his neck until my fingers combed into his hair.

He smiled lightly, "it's fine."

"It's not," I shook my head slowly. "Having two people choose to leave you – especially people so close to you – must have been so hard."

He looked back to the ground again, his soft hair reaching out towards me and tickling at my cheeks as he did so.

He nodded, "I felt alone for a long time..."

My cheek was graced by that of the sudden arrival of his warm palm, and the slightly brushing of his thumb tickling at my lower lip.

"And then," he continued, slowly lifting his head. "I found you..."

My head was pulled closer towards his, my nose millimetres away from his own, the tingle of his hesitant breaths stroking at my lips, and his lips just a breath away from mine.

I could almost taste him.

Suddenly a horn sounded from beside us, shattering that of the moment around us and destroying the passion that lead up towards a beautiful kiss.

We both abruptly turned our heads to face the black haired boy sitting in the blue Ford Fiesta,his long scar covered arm reaching out the drivers window, flicking ash from his cigarette onto the cracked pavement and staring at us with his curious smile and brown eyes.

"Chop, chop," he snickered. "We have somewhere to be."