Soul Heart

"Soul, this isn't healthy," Death the Kid started plainly, taking a seat on the bench next to the black-and-red scythe. "The length you've been in your weapon form is obscene. You're a human being before you're a weapon." Kid paused and reached into his pocket, drawing out a folded piece of paper.

"I talked to Liz and Patty about it, and they say it must be hard on you to stay in this form for so long," he explained, fiddling with the paper a moment, and not for the first time debating whether or not to open it and read the contents. "I asked them what it felt like to be a weapon, because your situation made me realize that I had never bothered to consider what went into shape-shifting.

"Does it hurt? Does it take a lot of practice or does it come naturally? And the question we've all been asking… how long can a scythe stay in weapon form?"

Kid leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees a moment, contemplating these questions—these very questions he had thrown at his father in frustration when they started to realize there would be no "fixing" Soul.

He set the piece of paper on the bench beside him, looking around for something else he hadn't thought to bring. Spotting a sturdy looking rock he plucked it off the ground, brushing it off, before setting it on top of the paper, weighing it down.

"Just in case the wind picks up or it starts to rain," Kid pointed out with a slight smile, leaning back in his seat again. He let silence pass between them for a time, hoping against all reason that Soul might speak up, or at the very least the scythe would pick up the rock and paper. After a few minutes it became apparent the paper tempted him no more than Kid's presence.

"Black Star said he saw you walking out here and just sitting on the bench for hours before you transformed," Kid revealed, not expecting but still hoping for a reaction. "Tsubaki is mad at him—legitimately angry—because she thinks he could've stopped you, if only he'd approached you while you were still human…

"I'm afraid to admit it out loud, but I don't think any of us could have stopped you—or any of us can bring you back."

He stood up suddenly, stretching his arms above his head. He walked across the basketball court, to the center, and then turned to look at the hoop. Talking wasn't helping anything, but maybe he just wasn't talking about the right thing yet.

There had to be a way to bring Soul back—a way that wasn't impossible.

"You know what I love about basketball?" he called over, knowing full well he wouldn't get a response even if Soul wasn't in his current state. "It's a rather symmetrical game. Even number of people, one perfectly round ball, two hoops mirroring each other, and a perfect shot…" Kid jumped up like he was making to shoot a basket with an invisible ball. "…It's beautifully symmetrical, wouldn't you say?

"I think that's the real reason I always played with you guys, not so much because I loved to hang out with you all," he continued, letting his hands fall to his sides. "I'm the son of a death god, after all. What need do I have for relationships when everyone I'll ever know will die before me?

"I keep wondering if that's what sets me above, makes me different, but it's not my lack of relationships. It's the lack of contributing to relationships. Patty and Liz are so loyal to me, but out of all of us, I know for a fact I'm the meister who most treats my partners like weapons, rather than humans.

"Is that why, Soul? Not only because Maka gave you her heart, but you gave her yours. She never saw you as a weapon. But that's the catch isn't it? You never saw her as just a meister. You…" he trailed off, turning slowly away from the hoop to face the motionless scythe. "I envy you for having the ability to give up your heart to someone.

"But giving her heart doesn't have to mean ceasing to live with her, does it? I honestly don't know, but I wish I did, if only to help out a friend and feel like I actually have the ability to give something back." Kid slowly walked back to the bench, eyes never leaving the cold steel blade, hoping to see Soul in its gleam.

"The letter's from Maka," he revealed. "As far as we know, it's the last thing she gave anyone—the last words she 'spoke.'" He paused again. "And they're for you, Soul. At least read what she had to say before you throw your life away completely, waiting for someone who is—!" Kid almost lost his temper, but caught himself at the last second. "Don't wait up for her this time, Soul," he whispered.

He allowed two tears to escape his eyes, without a sound, before turning away once again and making his way back home. He would check tomorrow, but he doubted Soul would go home, let alone look at the letter. He'd done all he could, though. Only Maka's words might reach him now. Might.

It started to rain several long minutes after Kid left, and for the first time in a week, Soul moved.

He broke out of his weapon form with a gasp of pain. He'd never sustained that form for so long before, and it was indeed rather suffocating—being unable to move or breathe. With shaking hands he tossed the rock aside and shielded the little piece of paper hidden beneath. He hunched over it to protect it from the rain and unfolded it.

Soul,

I'm sorry I gave this to Kid instead of you, but I knew you'd open it as soon as I wasn't looking, and then you'd chase after me. I can't let you do that this time—and don't you dare think that's me trying to be selfless or stupid or whatever. This is something I have to do, and I know what the risks are, why else would I write this stupid letter? I guess I'm dancing around the subject though, must be annoying you, huh?

I just can't be light about this, Soul. It's not something to be taken lightly, contemplating my own death—it's hard to sit down and actually do, even though I know I risk my life on a daily basis with you. It's different going in and knowing that it won't end the same.

There won't be any close calls. No maybes. No ifs. Not this time.

But Soul, that's the important thing here.

It's not going to be your fault. There was nothing you could do to stop me or argue with me or trap me or anything like that. Don't you dare start up as you read this, thinking 'Yes, yes there was a way,' because no, no Soul, there wasn't.

But you can't be miserable if things go wrong. If they don't turn out right and I—if I don't come back when I say I will, then you can't wait up for me, okay? You're an amazing weapon, any meister would be lucky to have you, so don't be selfish.

Don't keep yourself locked away from everyone just because of me. Don't do that to yourself, and don't do that to me. I'll never be able to get over the guilt if I trap you with my own actions.

My actions, my consequences—not yours.

You know, since Kid will have this letter, and I know he won't peak at it if I ask him not to, maybe… It's so hard to think of these words as my last; I'm really struggling with it, so sorry if there are any stains on the paper—great now you're knocking on the door, wondering why I'm blubbering.

Not if, but why.

You know me too well sometimes Soul, and I guess you'll get your answer once you read this, huh? I'm getting off track again, sorry.

If these really are my last words to you, then I should tell you something that I know I'll regret if I don't say. Who knows, maybe you'll read this and already know. Maybe you've known for a long time. I just wish I could be more confident of your reaction—when it comes right down to it, I'd rather tell you face to face than through a letter.

So much for being brave.

I wish there was an easier way to say this—even in writing it's hard to do. Maybe you'll think I'm just kidding or… I hate doubting your reaction. I always thought I knew you so well, too. Okay, no more hesitating, but you have to promise to tell me how you reacted? I want to know if I was right.

I love you, Soul.

Death, that sounds cheesy and awful. You're probably cringing right now—I'm cringing from writing it, and I'm clearly the more romantic-minded of the two of us—right?

But I do.

You've been my best friend since we teamed up, you've always been there for me, you never doubted me—and maybe most importantly you never gave me a reason to doubt you. I think it's safe to say we both have our baggage that we never told each other about, but you probably caught onto what I never wanted to say aloud. Trusting someone is hard for people like us, isn't it?

I may have known more about you than I let on, by the way. Sorry.

It was a brotherly love for the longest time, Soul, but I think our friends made the difference there. I started to realize that I didn't get the same feeling I got from you when I looked at Kid or Black Star. None of them acted the same way together we did, and I started to notice it more and more. Tsubaki didn't blush when Black Star talked to her, Kid never thought twice about fighting with Liz and Patty.

They didn't act like us, Soul, did you ever realize that?

I guess there's no good way to end a letter like this, except for on the happiest note possible, because if you're reading it then you have enough bad news already. So don't be scared or cry or do anything un-cool like that. Don't mope or be angry or refuse to take on a new meister or anything stupid like that. If you have to cling, cling to the fact that I loved you Soul.

You made me better.

Always,

Maka

P.S. If you really want to know, I bet you had the stupidest look on your face when you read the confession part, then you had a stupid kind of sad grin, and then you cried—maybe not full-blown, but I bet you shed a few tear drops. Did I get the reaction right? Well, stop blubbering then, Soul!

Soul's fingers released their tentative grip on the piece of paper, and he didn't even bother to watch it as it fell, the wind catching it shortly before it touched the ground. His hand fell back to his side and he slowly tilted his head up to the sky, the clouds shifting restlessly as the downpour of rain drenched all below them.

Rain trickled down his cheeks as he opened his mouth in a wordless cry.

He wanted to scream, but his voice refused to shatter the peaceful night. He wanted to run, but his legs refused to disrupt the calm of the water pooling on the ground. He simply wanted to move again, but he couldn't, not yet.

Not yet.

"Maka," he whispered, finding his voice at last before falling back to his seat on the bench. This time he didn't bother transforming; he wouldn't be here much longer, probably. He felt his shoulders droop, his hands shake, and for now he had to stay here, just a while longer.

Not yet, a little more, a while longer…

Don't leave yet… I need a little more time with you… please stay a while longer.

Don't leave me yet.

"Maka."