Soul 'Eater' Evans slumps against the white-washed wall after closing the hospital room door behind him. He needs to be out here; even if the hallway is too bright for his liking, with tile floors that match the emptiness of the walls, and smells sterile in a way that will linger with him on his way home and for the rest of the day. The need to escape rises up in him, feral, but he pushes it down.
None of it should bother him anymore. Yet when he comes here every day, the bright white almost blinds his eyes whenever he looks at it, and the smell makes his nose wrinkle. He's so sensitive to the extraneous senses; sometimes he thinks his life would be easier if he was blind and deaf. A life of misery, sure, but it would probably be better than his life currently.
It's been two years since he had to start coming here, but each visit still feels like the first one, which is ridiculous. As sad as it is, the mental ward in the hospital has become a second home to him.
A headache begins to pulse behind his left eye, and deciding that he can't stand here outside the room any longer, he heads toward the exit of the hospital, giving in to the need to escape. With his hands shoved in his pockets, body slouched forward as he walks, his typical headband speared in his snow-white hair, and red eyes downcast, not much about him has physically changed. But there's an empty space beside him, and it's that empty space that drains him. Ironically, it's that empty space beside him that keeps him moving, too.
Soul runs into Spirit on his way out. He is headed to where Soul just left, and the two exchange a nod once their eyes meet. "Any change?" Spirit asks, uncharacteristically solemn, and Soul bites back a bitter laugh. Change? As if.
"No."
And that's the end of their conversation. Spirit signs it at the nurse's desk, not even bothering to flirt with the pretty girl behind it, and Soul slumps out the hospital doors. Spirit's lucky he even got the single word; Soul usually communicates in grunts and head movements nowadays.
It's drizzling as he walks back to his apartment. Maka wasn't that bad today; he's seen her much worse before, with her arms strapped down to her sides so she didn't make herself bleed as she thrashed around. The hospital staff had learned. On her bad days, or really, the days where there is no Maka left, she needed to be strapped down or she would rip herself apart.
Being alone is what Soul prefers. It gives him plenty of time to focus on his regrets, each and every single one of them, and the list seems to grow every day. He regrets each time he called her tiny tits or bookworm, or anything that made her insecure about herself. He regrets not appreciating her more, regrets not talking to her more when he had the chance to. The regret that hits him every second of every hour of every day, though, is letting her plunge into the black blood, because they planned for escape from it; and while Soul himself escaped its clutches, Maka descended into true insanity.
He escaped. She did not.
It was his black blood, after all. It was his own madness that somehow swallowed her and spat him out. Sometimes, he remembers nearly drowning in it, and maybe it's his fault, maybe he pushed it onto her to escape from it himself.
It should have been him, it should have been him, IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN HIM.
But it wasn't.
When he gets to their old apartment, he unlocks the door and steps in, and locks it once again behind him. Being back home almost depresses him as much as being in the hospital. While he is lazy, Soul generally picks up after himself, although it did help to have someone nag him a little, not that he would ever admit that. But ever since the disastrous final battle with Crona beneath DWMA, Maka has been in the hospital, and he has completely lost the will to clean. Take out containers litter the dining room table and the coffee table by the TV; the sofa is a mess of both clean and dirty clothes; plates and forks and knives are currently drowning in the sink, and the whole apartment needs a good dusting and vacuuming. But without his Maka breathing down his neck, Soul just creeps into his bedroom, the only place he keeps semi-neat, and sleeps. Even if the nightmares keep him up for most of the night anyway.
The next day dawns as Saturday, and Soul knows he will spend it in the hospital with Maka. He ignores his friends' usual requests to hang out; they want to distract him from his insane meister. He knows, deep down, that they care just as much about her as he does, but they are worried about him. Even Black Star is mildly concerned by his behavior.
There is only one place for him today, though.
Today seems to be a good day. Maka is almost lucid, judging by the soft smile curling her lips up as she sees him. Her ashy hair is down, which is also a good sign; if she is having a bad day, it's usually tied up and back to prevent yanking. She isn't restrained to the bed, either. Her arms rest gently at her sides.
Hope flutters in his heart, along with a little bit of something else – okay, a lot of something else. When Maka smiles at him like that, Soul can't help but face the realization of how in love with her he is. Not that there is much he can do about that now.
My fault.
"Hey," she speaks softly, voice a little rough-around-the-edges from yesterday's screaming.
Soul pulls a chair from the table up to her bedside. "Hey," he replies, expression contorting into a typical frown. "How are you feeling today?"
Maka shrugs, lips pressing into a thin little line that makes his heart ache. "Almost normal. I was hoping you would be coming in today. I…wanted to ask you about something." She's beating around the bush, and he knows it. Still, he soars – Maka is practically normal today. As normal as an eighteen year old, insane meister can be. At least she isn't cackling yet.
"What do you want? I'll get you anything you need. Anything," he replies almost a little too earnestly, because he would go to the ends of the Earth and beyond for her, and reaches his hand over and curls it over hers gently. Hand-holding is normal for them too, on her good days. Before her descent into madness, they held hands often, even when he didn't need to transform. It just felt right, and it's yet another sign of her lucidity.
Her emerald eyes gaze into his own before faltering, and she glances away. "It's dangerous. Like, I honestly don't even want to try anymore, because it's dangerous for you. For me, it's really not. I mean, can I get any worse?" Maka forces a harsh laugh as she babbles, and Soul rubs his thumb on the back of her hand reassuringly.
"I'll do anything for you. Go anywhere for you."
Those strong words, followed by the smirk that used to send her heart racing, convince her to ask. She breaks her hand from his and places it on his cheek, watching as his red eyes flutter close and his breath hitches in his chest. Her eyes intent on his closed ones, she strokes his cheek gently with her thumb, watches as he swallows hard. This is all they both ever wanted, though deep down, they'll probably never admit it.
"I want to try Soul Resonance."
Soul blanches, and draws back. Immediately, the risks anoint in his mind: this could drive her over the edge, he could be drawn into the madness too, to name a few. But Maka's already read the doubt on his face, and she's practically drawn up charts to convince him into saying yes. Briefly, he wonders how she had time to think about all of this.
"Listen, I know you've tried before-"
He had, when she was first brought in. But Soul Resonance doesn't really work when only one person is trying.
"-but I wasn't lucid like I am now!" She grows impatient, letting out a huff, fingers tightening and relaxing spasmodically. He's tempted to cover them with his own. "I know it's dangerous, for both of us, but who knows when I will be this sane again? It's been weeks since we've even been able to have a normal conversation!"
Maka must be able to keep track of her lucid moments; she either notices the time passing while she's insane, or makes note of when she is sane. Maybe both.
"It's going to have to be soon, or now. I'm starting to drift." Her voice is firm, even if it cracks a little at the end, and Soul is once again in awe over Maka's strength. She is steel beneath skin, and his angel in disguise. He can see that she is drifting; it's obvious in that twitch of her fingers. "Soul, you're so strong, I know we can do it. I know we can."
Soul leans in close enough that their foreheads brush, and he's going a little cross-eyed keeping his eyes on hers. "You are the strongest person I know, and I can't be strong unless you are by my side. So please," he breathes out against her skin, "don't ever leave me ever again."
Maka has no chance to respond, because with a kiss like fire on her forehead, Soul stands so abruptly he knocks his chair back, and starts pacing. He's exhausted from lack of sleep, antsy from coffee he probably should not have had (he doesn't even like coffee), and anxious from the fucking insane thing they are about to do. Soul knows that last time he attempted Soul Resonance nothing really happened, besides Maka screaming and laughing at his poor attempt; it had been a one-sided try. This seems even more risky, and warning bells are ringing in his ears.
The last bad decision he made allowed Maka to lose her sanity in the first place. What could the consequences of this be?
"Fuck. Okay. Shit. Let's do this." Maka bristles at the language, but relaxes when he agrees, and he pushes away his nerves. Soul extends his hand, and is pleased to see that it's not trembling. Maka's is, though, and it only proves that they need to hurry.
As emerald meets crimson, Soul steadies his soul wavelengths. He's been keeping up with training when he hasn't been tucked inside the hospital, and usually practiced with Black Star and Kid, when he felt up to it, of course. So it's no issue turning back into a weapon.
Maka looks a little goofy, sitting up in a hospital bed, holding a massive scythe over her head. The nurse he hadn't even noticed in the back corner is watching carefully, her thumb hovering over her walkie-talkie in case she needs back up. Soul only just realizes that if Maka cracks now, she could do some serious damage with him before he transforms back. Too late now.
With steely determination in her eyes and a firm grip on his shaft, she looks like she's about to go to war, despite the dress and setting. A flash of pride burns him inside. This is his Maka.
"Ready?" Soul appears on the blade, shirtless, scar in full sight. Maka's eyes narrow on it, and a slow grin spreads across her face.
"Always."
They match wavelengths like it hasn't been two years. And with a determined yell of, "Soul Resonance!" it happens.
From deep within, Soul opens his eyes. The little demon is long gone at this point, but when Soul glances down at himself, he's in the same black suit. He glances around the small room he's always appeared in; it's the same, piano still in place, small dancing floor.
But now he has to find Maka, and she clearly isn't here.
Soul walks steadily over to the large, oak doors in the corner. He pushes them open without hesitation, because he knows Maka will be in there, he can feel it. Soul marches onto the solid black, polished floor, and makes his way to the center of the room.
He can't make out Maka in the distance, and when he looks behind him, Soul notices that the walls are gone. It's just empty space, black all around, and the damn floor. A fine mist hangs in the air, although where it came from, he isn't sure. He's the only one there.
And then he looks down.
From what looks like miles beneath the floor, now clear enough to see through, he can see a light, approaching quickly. He knows without confirmation that it's his meister. "Dammit, Maka!" Soul shouts and drops to his knees, pounding on the floor with his fists. "Maka! Come on!"
Soul can make her out now, see her mouth hanging open in a determined snarl, her hand stretched out in front of her, reaching for his. She's coming for him. He knew she would be.
But she's slowing down now, and Soul knows the black blood won't let her go so easily, and she needs help. With a guttural shout, Soul releases all of his pent-up feelings: his fear of losing her, his own anger at both himself and her for letting this happen, his loneliness, and most importantly, his love for her, his hope that someday they'll be normal together; and he sends all of those mixed feelings down to her, like a ladder for her to climb up on to him.
And because he knows that won't be enough, he plunges his hand down through the floor, sinking shoulder deep into the black blood, reaching deep within for his meister, for his love.
"MAKA!" Soul screams, reaching desperately for her, and yes, she's almost to him, almost there, her fingers are brushing his, yes -
No.
In the physical world, Soul feels himself slip from Maka's grip and clatter to the floor.
She's never dropped him like that.
"SOUL!" Maka screeches, their fingertips brushing, aching to clasp hands, and then suddenly, she's sucked back down into the depths and Soul is blown out of the black blood, spat back out once again, landing with a thud on the solid, black floor, and she's gone.
"No…" Soul whispers, eyes closing, the black closing in; and he's woken by a scream.
Back to himself in the physical world, Soul sits up like he's been struck by lightning, eyes wide, jaw slack, "Mak-"
She interrupts him with a scream unlike anything he's ever heard; it's blood-curdling, a long, never ending wail, and oh my god, he ruined everything again.
Maka shrieks again, tightening her fingers into her long hair and yanking hard, intent on destroying herself. Her bloodshot eyes are bulging out of her head, her mouth wide open. She thrusts her hands away from her, palms out, like she's trying to push something away. "No no no NO!" She screeches, letting her hands drop before twitching them up to her face, digging her nails into the skin below her eyes, and dragging them down the lengths of her cheeks. Trails of blood follow her nails.
The nurse is rapidly talking into her walkie-talkie, no doubt calling for backup, but Soul can't wait for help. Leaping up from the floor, Soul lunges for Maka, grabbing her hands and yanking them back from her face. She fights him, and damn, she's still as strong as ever. Soul meets her wide, bulging, rolling eyes with his own, and as soon as they make contact, Maka collapses on the bed. "No, don't!" She shrieks, curling on herself, away from him, and Soul realizes she's afraid of him.
He hovers uncertainly over her, keeping her twisting, clawing hands in his so she doesn't try to hurt herself again, even as her nails dig into his skin and break it. The screams dissipate into slow, shuddering sobs, and she shakes beneath him. Soul has never seen her cry like this before. She's close to hyperventilating, whole body violently shivering, sobs battering her like a hurricane.
Someone grabs the back of his shoulder and pulls him forcibly away, and Soul doesn't even have it in him to fight back. He's unceremoniously shoved away, towards the door, and Soul obeys, walking towards it, letting himself out. He's followed by Maka's voice, breaking in her pleas, "please, just kill me, let it end, let it end," and her sobs grew more high-pitched and hysteric. "LET ME DIE!" Maka screams, voice high and feral sounding, like a cornered animal, and Soul flinches, letting the door to her room slam shut behind him, blocking out the noise.
Shaking, Soul slowly sinks to his knees on the cold floor. All he can hear is his beloved meister's pleas to die, echoing over and over again in his head. He had done that to her. He knew it.
His fault, he agreed to it, his fault, she's gone for good now, another regret to top the rest…
Soul can't help but think that this time, Maka won't ever be surfacing from her crazed mind ever again.
And, deep within, he knows it's his own fault. Again.
