She had always wondered about him.

They went to school together, and so she'd seen him nearly every day of her life since she'd entered the ninth grade. And she'd wondered, wondered about his hair and his eyes and the flowers he always had and why, why did he hang around that Larxene so much? She didn't like Larxene. Larxene always talked down to her for no reason. She'd done nothing, but Larxene apparently hated her for it. So she wondered why he hung around Larxene so much, because he wasn't mean like that. He was just cold, silent- but not when he talked to her. He sat next to her in art class, and so they'd talked, once or twice. And when he talked to her, his voice was soft and warm, and his eyes shimmered a little more and his hair, his silly pink hair, shone a little pinker. And when he talked to her, he smiled.

She had always wanted to know him.

They lived on the same street, two houses apart, and so she'd seen him sometimes, out in his garden. He grew all sorts of wonderful things- lilacs and lilies and roses and daisies and even a cherry tree, and when it bloomed in the spring she'd see him sitting out under it, letting the pink petals swirl around him and land on his shoulders and contrast the dark, dark clothes he always wore. And she'd wondered, wondered about him and how he could look so sweet and why did he like flowers so much? She'd thought boys were to macho for that, and she'd thought it was stupid, stupid and childish, what was wrong with flowers? And of course she'd heard the people at school teasing him about it, and she'd been angry at them, and she'd almost, almost gotten up and told them so. But he would just glare and them and walk off, and she'd feel proud of him for some reason, proud that he was so free and wouldn't let them take that away. And when he was brave like that, she smiled.

She had always wanted to help him.

She'd seen that his life was hard. His papa was a deadbeat and a drunk and a gambler and his mama was a timid, weak little thing, as the people whispered when he walked by. In a tiny little town like Oblivion, everybody knew if your papa was a deadbeat and a drunk and a gambler and your mama was a timid, weak little thing, and they thought it was their business, and so they talked about it, and they thought you didn't know but you did, how could you not when it was your papa and your mama? And she'd wondered, wondered why his poor self was stuck with all that trouble and why nobody reached out to help him and why did they blame him for that, it seemed, because of course it wasn't his fault, it wasn't like his papa was a God-fearing church-going good honest man and his mama was a strong, capable thing before he was born. They'd always been like that, her mama had told her so, and so why didn't anyone help the poor boy, couldn't they see he was weakening? And when she thought about him crying all alone, she cried too.

She had always wanted to kiss him.

She'd watched him shyly as he walked home in front of her, his head down and his steps quick because he was just trying to get home quick, so maybe he could not get hit by his papa for being late. She knew his papa did that, because she'd seen him show up for school with funny bruises that hadn't been there before, and she'd felt so sad, bone-crushing heart-numbing voice-cracking sad, and she'd just wanted to reach out and spin the boy around and kiss him, and tell him don't worry, somebody loves you, just because your papa doesn't doesn't mean I don't! And she'd wondered, wondered what he would have said and what he would have done and if he would have kissed her back, because sometimes she almost thought he liked her. And so one day do you know what she did? She, her, sweet little Naminé Avram, the quiet girl with the good grades and the clean house and the pretty face, she'd grabbed his arm as they walked back from school and she'd kissed him, he, him, silent Marluxia Roulon, the cold boy with the black clothes and the deadbeat papa and the flowers, and at first he'd been surprised and tried to jerk back, but then he'd relaxed and his eyes had closed and he'd kissed her back, and it had been perfect, just absolutely perfect. And when he'd walked her home that afternoon and she'd invited him in and introduced him to her papa and her mama and her brother Roxas and they'd all liked him fine, just fine, she hugged him and she smiled and she whispered up, 'cause he was so much taller, "I love you."

.x.x.x.x.

Okay, that was spontaneous, I'll tell you that. I was just reading all these Maraminé- or is it MarNam? Or Namiluxia? Whatever- and I decided, what the hey, I'll just start writing and hope something happens. And, what do you know, it did! And I'm really happy with this. It's my fist ever with this pairing, and it's waaaay different from my usual style, but it turned out really well, in my opinion. :3 So, um, review please? I'd love to know what you think. :)

'Cha!

-Dawnstep