Pretty Rich Boys

part xxv.

Scott's hand was big around mine, his fingers completely swallowed mine and his palm was almost twice the size. But his hand was warm and it made me feel safe. 

We walk silently down the path and I kept ducking my head as small groups of costumed trick-or-treaters pass us. I was a slobbery wet mess drowning in tears and Scott's black coat. It was comforting though and soft to the touch. It was expensive which was only expected coming from the heir to the Cameron Group. 

It smelt like him; which was oddly more comforting than its warmth. He always smelt clean and reminded me of fresh laundry straight out of a tumble dryer. I wanted to cover my room in the scent. 

Is that weird? Eh, fucking probably. 

I sniffle and wipe my nose, causing Scott to mindlessly glance down at me. He doesn't say anything but he squeezes my hand slightly. I never knew how comfortable silence could be until I met Scott. 

Suddenly, a boy dressed as Naruto who was riding a bright red bike turns into our path. He was laughing to his friends behind him and obviously didn't see us. 

We stumble to a stop as Naruto-boy slams on the breaks of his bike and skids to a halt right in front of us. 

"Whoops, sorry—" He starts to say as his eyes rise up the length of the towering, glaring tree in front of him. I could see all source of life drain from the poor boys face as he makes eye contact with Scott. Then, "SATAN!" 

He starts screaming and his friends join in soon enough. They all turn around on their bikes and high-tail it the fuck away from us. I let out a genuine laugh at the sight of them running away as fast as possible. 

"Satan?" Scott chuckles as he glances down at me. 

I nod with a small giggle, "You do give off that vibe." 

"Come on," He smiles softly with a roll of his eyes and tugs on my hand, "It's around the corner." 

I let Scott continue to guide me to the secret destination he had not yet informed me of. We enter into silence once more, comforting and enjoyable. I couldn't help but keep glancing down at our intertwined hands and every so often I saw Scott. 

Whether he was looking down to make sure I was still there or the fact that he couldn't believe we were actually holding hands, I'll never know. But he did take a few too many bashful glances down at our locked hands. 

Soon we turn onto a more quiet street, less young trick-or-treaters and more adults dressed in suits that looked more expensive than my house. We walk for a few more minutes before Scott pulls me up some cement steps and towards a revolving glass door. 

I slowly glance up at the eighty-something storey structure in front of my and right at the top, I could just make out the illuminated sign of "The Cameron Group" with the classic triangular insignia beside it.