Bam.

Sometimes he found it hard to breathe.

With his father dead, leaving the changing world resting on his shoulders, who could really blame him? There were reforms to be made, disruptions to deal with, and citizens to try to keep happy. Peace with the witches was hopeful and exciting, but it was still delicate. The bond of trust was still being built.

Death the Kid, in what little spare time he had, often found himself just trying to get his lungs to function properly. His hands would shake, legs felt weak and wobbly. He sucked in air, but it never felt like enough.

The corners of his mouth turned down deeply. Now was not a good time for this.

He was huddled against the hallway wall, hands pressed to his chest, eyes wide, breathing slow and ragged. He was supposed to be enjoying himself. Music drifted softly, soothingly from the livingroom. Over it, he could heard the chatter of his friends, light banter and easy conversation.

It was Soul's birthday and Maka had invited some people over to celebrate.

He was touched to have made the list-too many people would have tipped the night from good to stressful for Soul. Kid was honored, really, but even with the smaller group, it was still overwhelming to the reaper.

It was almost infuriating that after battling the Kishin, Kid was being bested by a fucking social event. As if pizza, soda, and laughter were an imminent threat and sitting a few feet away from his friends was going to kill him.

He felt pathetic and it was only causing the tightening of his chest to worsen. His anxiety attacks were only ever exacerbated by him worrying about the fact that he was having anxiety attacks. It was a vicious cycle.

Kid closed his eyes and tried to focus on anything other than the palpitations of his heart and the weakness of his knees. He focused his attention to the sound of the music, beating smooth and effortlessly, something from Maka's collection.

No matter how hard he tried to clear his mind, thoughts struggled up to the surface, claiming whatever territory he had won. They swirled in his brain, whispering about how futile his work was, how his friends didn't actually like him, how he was disgusting and how could anyone actually like him?

It was all too much. Kid was wavering where he stood, eyebrows drawn down, teeth clenched, eyes squeezed shut.

Would his mind ever shut off?

Was he ever going to get a second of relief?

The world around him was spinning, tilting on its axis and he was drowning. Kid pulled in a shaky breath, trying to will his lungs back to life. If he tried hard enough, they would start working again. He felt like he was dying, his organs malfunctioning, rebelling. Even his heart no longer wanted to be a part of him.

His hands found the doorframe of the bathroom, knuckles white as he clung to it to stay upright. Panic was rising in his chest, pressure building, threatening to shatter his rib cage and destroy his spine.

"Hey," the word barely managed to reach his attention.

"Kid?" Maka's voice was low, a whisper meant only for him. He felt her fingers, small and delicate and gentle, touch his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

He sucked in a breath of air, hating how pointless it felt. He was a god, a lord of death, but it felt rather like he was becoming a victim of it instead.

Maka peered at him, and Kid could feel her looking past his body, straight into his soul as she tried to determine what the problem was. She must have found it, too, because she bit her lip in a frown.

"I'm sorry," she said, stepping closer, thawing his body where she pressed against him. "It's a lot, I know. I should have realized that it might be too much."

"No," he almost choked on the word, fumbling to respond, "It's okay. I'm okay."

The corner of her mouth tugged up, expression empathetic. "No you're not. And that's fine. I understand, Kid. You don't have to be so hard on yourself."

His grip on the frame tightened, his forehead dipping to touch the wood beneath his fingers. His head felt dizzy. The world was spinning around him, the atmosphere crushing him. Maka squeezed his shoulder, resting her forehead against his arm.

Kid drew in a ragged breath, surprised by the sudden contact. After a few moments, it calmed him a little, the wave of anxiety rising in his chest fell short, pacified by the warmth of Maka pressed against him. Kid could feel her wavelength, calm and soothing, diluting itself through his body.

Maka had never been anything but determined and kind, willing his pain away through sheer force of will. They had been fighting together for years, watching out for each other on the battlefield was reflexive. Why wouldn't it carry over into their day to day lives? Why had he never thought that it was possible?

He felt his heartbeat slow-just a little. Only enough for his blood to stop roaring in his ears and for his mind to return to earth.

"You're okay," her voice was soft and genuine and it almost broke his heart to hear the sincerity.

When the sob shook through his body, Kid wasn't expecting it. He hadn't cried in months and now certainly didn't seem like the best timing, but Maka didn't mind. She reached up, hand pressing against his chest as she whispered, "Shh, it's okay. Everything is going to be okay. You're okay."

She didn't protest when he wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her neck. Maka rubbed slow, deliberate circles on his back, murmuring against the curve of his neck. She could feel the tremble of his breathing and the shaking of his hands and it broke her heart to know that he was going through this.

That she hadn't noticed.

There was pain in his wavelength, sadness, embarrassment. He didn't want anyone to find him. No one was supposed to know about this. Kid was a mystery that never desired for someone to come along and solve him.

She clung to him, willing the hurt that clouded him to dissipate.

Maka corralled him into the bathroom and shut the door behind them, sure that he wouldn't want the others to see him so broken. She held him just as tightly as he held her, cooing her reassurances, breathing his name.

Maka wished that she was Marie, wished that she had a healing wavelength. She wanted to soothe him with more than just her words.

His body quaked with every sob that tore itself from his chest. He was stifling the sounds against her neck, trying to calm his own breathing. Every inch of him ached. He was exhausted, so utterly exhausted.

He was holding her as if the rest of the world was gone, wiped clean from existence. As if the only thing that existed was her and the aching in his chest. His face was still buried in her neck as seconds turned to minutes and his breathing finally started to calm.

Maka was petting his hair, running her fingers through it, her other hand still rubbing circles on his back. She could feel the trembling of his body lessen.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she hesitated with her words, afraid that they would send him flying away, close him off.

Kid never let anyone see himself when he was vulnerable. Maka had been worried about him ever since they'd gotten him out of Eibon's book. He never talked about it, never spoke a word about what he'd seen or done. Then his father had passed and Kid had to been thrust into carrying all the weight of the world alone.

Kid shook, arms wrapping tighter around her, fingers buried in the material of her shirt. Neither of them cared about the wrinkles it would leave.

"I want," Kid breathed, exhaustion evident in his voice, "to stop thinking."

Maka carded her fingers through his hair again, pressing her lips gently to the side of his head. She could feel the pain resonating off of him, his heart pounding in his chest. When she spoke, it was soft, earnest, "Then stop thinking."

He pulled back, escaping the circle of her arms to pace the area in front of her. He brushed his hair out of his face, hands fumbling restlessly. "I can't," he gasped out the words, "I just. I can't. My brain just won't shut off."

"Kid," she caught his hand in her own, studying him, aware of how his fingers tangled with hers so easily. They'd been fighting kishins together for so long that it only made sense they would fight this together as well.

His amber eyes snapped in her direction, panic rising in them again. They were wide, jaw slack, lips parted.

Maka watched him gulp down air, trying desperately just to get it to do its job. To seep into his bloodstream and allow his body to function. She could see him watching her, analyzing every movement she made-every slow, even breath, her feet shuffling as she shifted her weight, counting every blink of her eyes. He was putting so much effort into processing, every ounce of his mind was stuck, caught, captured by the world around him.

Her lip caught between her teeth was no longer a natural movement, it was a dozen questions of what it meant. Was she upset? Had he hurt her? Could that be discomfort? Lust? Unsureness? Thoughtfulness? What could that expression mean? What was the emotion in her eyes? He couldn't decipher it. He was absolutely overwhelmed. There were a thousand possibilities for what she could be thinking and

every

single

one

was flowing through his brain, clouding his thoughts, swirling ceaselessly. The world was under a fog, blurred by the racing of his mind.

Maka made a split second decision. "Kid," she whispered again, "Stop thinking."

She used their interlocked fingers to tug him forward, her other hand drawing his face down, pressing her lips against his. His eyes shot wide at the contact, surprise pulsing through his body as every thought drained from his mind.

If he were a different man, he would have pulled away. He would have told her that it was a bad idea. He would have receded back into himself, forgotten the contact. He would have stopped. If he were a different man.

But he wasn't.

High on the sudden clarity in his head, Kid pulled her against himself, circling his arms around her. His lips were careful, but adamant. A plea for her to not pull away, to let him exist in the world she'd created.

Everything fell away from him as he kissed Maka. The party, his frustration, his anxiety, the world was nothing but floating blackness surrounding him, illuminated only by Maka and her soul.

She'd only intended for it to last a second. Just long enough to short circuit his brain into turning off, but she was lost in his intensity, drowning in the calmness that overtook his wavelength. Kid never did anything halfway. The tremble of his hands ceased, fingertips running down her spine, sending goosebumps across her skin. He was there, all there, his wavelength pressing into hers, melding itself against her.

Maka's brain all but short circuited. She had seen him fighting, negotiating, governing. They had been friends for years, respecting each other in ways that other people couldn't. She knew Kid when he was strong, kind, compassionate. She had helped him through his days of obsessive compulsiveness and knew that he struggled with anxiety.

Maka knew Kid, heart and body and soul and all. When he committed to something, he never left it half finished. Everything about Kid had always been intense. It was a part of who he was.

But this.

This was different.

The planet was turning on its axis, throwing away everything that she had ever come to know. His lips were insistent, forgetting all manners that he usually held dear. His hands on her hips weren't a demand, they were a plea. Everything in his kiss was hoping, wishing, begging for her to not let go. She could feel the wetness on his cheeks, a reminder of the tears that had just been in his eyes.

Maka was more than indulging him. She pressed closer to him, mind shot. The lines of his body were pressed against her, his fingers laced through her hair, his breath on her skin.

Maka couldn't breathe. Oxygen was failing to reach her lungs, being ripped from her body by his kiss. She was drowning in the intensity of his need.

She broke away from him gasping for air. Her hands were pressed to her chest, reeling until she bumped into the sink to catch her fall. Her knees were all but useless, weak and wobbly.

"Death, Kid," she swore between uneven breaths, eyes blown wide.

His face was flushed, shoulders pressed back against the wall opposite her. Kid shoved his hands into his pockets, staring at the ground. He could all but hear the roar of his blood rushing through his ears. The world was still blurred, vision impossible.

"I'm sorry," he breathed the words, barely loud enough for her to hear. His nerves were fried, everywhere he had touched her fizzling from the contact. He didn't raise his voice at all as he repeated, "I'm sorry."

He couldn't look at her. He didn't want to see the confusion and disgust and disdain that must have been clouding her face. Kid's hands trembled, mind went back to racing. He picked a spot on the floor and stared at it, determined to never look up at her ever again.

"Where do you feel it?" Maka's voice rang through his ears, soft and compassionate.

His eyebrows furrowed, shoulder blades pressed back further into the wall. "What?" he asked before he could stop the word from passing his lips.

"Your anxiety," Maka offered. "Where do you feel it?"

He startled, looking at her and the universe shrunk down to green, green eyes. He could feel her gaze on him, permeating the surface of his body, warm and kind, but analytic nonetheless. She was waiting, chest rising and falling patiently, giving him time to formulate a response.

His mind slowed. Her expression was unreadable, but the attentiveness with which she watched him was soothing. Kid wasn't used to having people paying this much attention to him.

Finally, he reluctantly raised his hand to point at the base of his throat. "Here," he said, the gestured down, pressing his palm against his sternum, "And here. It feels like there's a weight crushing me."

Maka's lip curled up on one side, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. "That's where I feel excitement," she told him, hands still pressed to her chest. "But for me it's not crushing. It's weightlessness."

Kid tilted his head to look at her, fingers curling into the fabric of his t-shirt. "Where is anxiety for you?" he asked, words still small and hushed, barely there.

Maka considered him for a moment, arms crossed over her chest. She pointed to a spot just below her belly button. "The pit of my stomach. It's a lot like nausea."

He nodded, feeling the air begin to return to his lungs, the shaking of his hands slow. "That's where I feel guilt," he offered absently.

Kid was still pinned in place under her gaze, green eyes furthering the blush across his cheeks. She was determined, but he wasn't sure to do what. He figured it was safest to just stay in place, try not to move, and hope that no one found them standing in the bathroom staring at each other like this.

"Guilt is here," Maka rested her finger directly over her heart. She blinked. Once. Twice.

Her expression was never guarded with him. Maka had always allowed herself to be vulnerable around Kid, never caring if he would judge her feelings and emotions. She let him know her in a way that few others did.

That, more than anything, was able to draw out the panic from his chest, blooming warmth in its stead.

He wanted to reach out and touch her again. Wanted to feel the warmth brewing under the surface of smooth skin, the strength of the muscles that comprised her. Kid was in awe of every strand of hair on her head, caught by the sound of calm, even breaths. Each time she inhaled, he felt another ounce of tension leave his body.

Air was filling his lungs again, oxygen being plucked from the atmosphere and distributed to the rest of his body. His vision calmed down, the world around him coming into focus.

A smile crept onto Maka's face as she watched him. It lit up her eyes, brightening the room around him, squashing down the residual worry that the panic would return to his system. Her wavelength was still resting against his, serene, cool, relaxed.

There was respect and, if Kid paid close enough attention, affection clouded there. There was no remorse or upset anywhere to be seen.

Maka pushed herself up, off the sink, brushing her fingers through her hair to smooth it. She reached out a hand to him and laughed when Kid hesitated to take it. The sound echoed through his ears, eliciting a smile of his own.

Her hand was soft and small, but strong. She laced her fingers through his, squeezing once to let him know that she was there, that even though his anxiety might come back later, in that moment everything was okay.

"Are you ready to go back?" her voice breathed confidence and encouragement over him. Her eyes were warm and inviting, everything about her expression hopeful.

Kid squeezed her hand back and nodded, but made no move towards the door until she drew him towards the familiar voices, never dropping his hand.