It's been a year, but every single day, he looks back on the moment it happened through a clouded, confused mind's eye. Everything had been so normal - he'd been in weapon form at that very moment - and then it had just slipped away.
The only physical pain had come when he crashed on the ground beside Maka. And the rogue witch laughed, saying she'd taken back the piece they'd stolen from the witches in the first place. She had not tried to kill them after that - only left, cackling, off to kill someone whose continued existence wouldn't have been torture, probably.
And after that, he had never transformed again, because he couldn't. Maka still blames it on herself, he can tell, because the idiot has to shoulder everyone's problems as her own.
They had worked so hard to find a solution. He endured hours and hours of poking and prodding by Stein, Maka had read and reread every book known to man; all the witches and sorcerers they could entice from every corner of civilization had even looked at his soul.
But the weapon in him had been taken away forever.
It only took him a couple of months of seeing her watch other weapon/meister pairs fight together, wistfully, before he told her to go ahead and try wielding someone else. She shouldn't be held back because he can't fight anymore. She has a fire in her soul and it should be stoked by battling madness and evil, not dampened by being stuck in some office of the DWMA. With a kind of excited uncertainty, she had accepted, asking what was going to happen to him, to them - she wanted to be at his side, wanted him by her side, even if they couldn't fight together anymore; and she'd sworn, again, that someday they'd find a way to undo it.
"So we will," he'd said, grinning and ruffling her hair when she gave him a tender hug, proud of how good an act he could still put on.
Besides, he had a feeling that if he didn't offer first, she would eventually bring it up, and that would hurt a lot more.
It's been a few years since the Battle of the Moon. Before he lost his ability to transform, Soul and his meister had been slowly drifting closer together, touching more, teetering on the edge of an adult relationship. Since he lost his weapon skills, though, they've been thrown off. They still live together, but things are more awkward. They're still technically able to resonate, and at first they had done so very often for comfort; but no one has initiated that in months because it's always a bit embarrassing to ask. They tiptoe around each other. They're kinder, gentler, more polite.
He misses the arguing and honesty.
They have a bigger apartment now and there's a piano in it. It's a real piano, since he can't transform anymore. If he resonates with Maka and they use her Soul Perception, his music still seems to carry some magic to it, an ability to influence hearts and minds, but this is nearly useless in a fight because one can't just haul a keyboard out onto the battlefield. Now he simply plays the piano. He's proud, because he is good at it; it's his passion in life, and people love his music, and he uses it to the best of his ability.
Every day, in one capacity or another, he does the thing he loves most as a job. Usually he sticks close enough to home to come back to their apartment at night, but occasionally it brings him across the country - or around the world.
It's not enough.
At this moment, he sits on the bench, staring at the keyboard. He misses flying. He misses the feel of the air resistance on his blade. His misses the feeling of an evil soul sliding down his throat. He misses practicing with Maka, her hands on him, getting all sweaty and gross and needing a shower afterwards, the spark in her eyes when they come up with a new technique, the slump of her shoulders when they have to quit before she's mastered everything she wanted.
She's out practicing with someone else now (he's not sure who). She hasn't really committed to a new partner, yet. There are a few old friends she's practiced with, gone on missions with, as well as some new ones. She certainly won't wield just anyone. And, he's noticed, everyone she practices with is a girl. When he had first observed this, Liz had wondered out loud whether Maka was afraid of replacing him, and when his mouth dropped open and he'd asked what she meant, she had flushed uncharacteristically and brushed him off.
Maka has confided in him that nothing else feels quite as good as wielding him, but she also says she doesn't know what else to do.
She's practicing with Tsubaki today. Tsubaki isn't going to become her partner or anything like that, as she's happy with Black Star, but she is certainly willing to help, and for that Maka is grateful. It's embarrassing to be on what she thinks of as the "baby course" - a moving-target setup designed for people who are still growing used to their weapons - but Maka isn't one hundred percent accurate with either Tsubaki's throwing star or chain scythe form yet, and she doesn't want to move on until she is.
It's weird using something other than a traditional scythe. She's getting used to it, though. Maka figures that even though she prefers scythes, there's no reason to remain exclusively a scythe meister anymore, and for that reason she should practice with a wide variety of weapons.
Practice has never felt quite so much like work.
Oh, on some level, it always has been. But now it's decidedly bitter work. She refuses, refuses to stop fighting on the front lines against madness just because her partner no longer can, but he's still there, still alive and breathing, and she knows he misses it too, so each time she picks up another weapon, she feels like she's leaving him behind. He wouldn't want her to feel this way, and it's not like she can just throw in the towel, but it still hurts in the place where they used to resonate on a constant basis. She doesn't feel that lightness after practice anymore - instead, she just looks ahead and sees infinite hoops to jump through until she's good enough to move on to something else. To more hoops.
"Maka?" Tsubaki asks, concerned. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah, just the usual," Maka murmurs.
Tsubaki hums in understanding.
For a long while now, Maka has been considering her confession - namely, whether or not she should make it at all. Soul misses her, and Maka can't let go of the idea that his feelings are deeper than camaraderie, more vast than simple weaponhood. Doubts about his feelings do still hold her back; she is still a little afraid of rejection, in case her perceptions are inaccurate. But she is also concerned about what will be best for Soul, because engaging him in a different kind of relationship could really mess with his mind, or worse, hold him back from-
From leaving.
She's never really going to give up on trying to get his weapon form back, just like she's never really going to give up on rescuing Crona from the moon. She will always have her eyes open for ideas and solutions. But she has to live reasonably, and logic has been telling her lately that Soul might feel he's wasting his time here. Maybe, if he's stuck as a civilian, he wants to take his talents back home. Maybe he wants to live somewhere it's a bit easier to be a professional concert pianist, live the life of a successful human with the additional wisdom he's gained in his years at Death City.
Still, she thinks as she leaves the locker room…
How many lives pass people by because they're too cautious? What if he loves her and she doesn't say anything and they fall apart, when all along things could be so much better? What if she could battle and still have him to come home to, and what if he wants to come home to her every time he finishes playing his music?
If he doesn't want those things, does she really think he's so weak he wouldn't choose his own path?
No.
If he rejects her, will it be worse than going forward in pain like this, perhaps letting him slip away without knowing?
...No.
The keyboard in front of his face is watery. He hasn't cried in years, but he supposes now is the moment, because part of himself is gone and it's taken the person he cares for most with it.
He doesn't even know if he still belongs here. Sure, he can be an ambassador, do office work and other boring shit, but he's no longer a Death Scythe. So much for the Last Death Scythe title he and his - his partner had been so proud of.
There's another possibility, which is confessing his feelings, confessing that he loves her so much it hurts. But he knows how much this whole thing has been hurting Maka, too, and can he really manipulate her into staying like that? She's so stubborn, she won't even officially dissolve the partnership in the first place, even if she would be happier in the long run. More than being alone he's afraid of dragging her down with him or of ending up in some kind of...loveless marriage, if she isn't in love with him as he is with her.
He loses one of the tears down the curve of his cheek as he realizes - hah. His mind would go straight to marriage, wouldn't it...?
There is a loud, urgent knock on the door.
"Hunh?" he grunts, wiping his eyes so fast he almost punches himself in the face. "Yeah, come in."
The door swings open as if the person on the other side is wielding a battering ram. She might as well be, because she's Maka, and she's - in tears? Her face is all red and wet, her eyes the incarnation of pain. Soul stands up, begins dashing to her.
"What's wrong?!" he asks as he runs, his previous problems pushed from his head. "What happened?! Maka?"
Before he reaches the doorway, she's rushed over and wrapped him in the new biggest hug he's ever received, burying her face in the shirt over his chest.
"I'm sorry, Soul, I can't - I can't stay out of battle. It's part of me," she sobs.
"That's - okay," he says, bewildered. They've already been through this apology.
"But I miss you," she continues. "I miss feeling really connected, and like we're real partners. You're such a safe place. I don't want to have to choose between my battles and my safe place!"
He isn't sure how much of a compliment this really is, nor does he know exactly how to respond. He settles for rubbing circles on her back and murmuring into her hair. "I was just thinking, actually, about how much I miss all that. We'll always be friends, Maka, you know that. Right?" Shit, the tears are coming back. He can't let them fall on her head or she'll know.
"Soul," she says, voice muffled, but he can feel the heat of her breath coming through his clothes. "I want to be your partner still. I want to be your partner of another kind."
His heart nearly stops in his chest. "Maka…"
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do, I'm not trying to force anything on you - but we can't be battle partners anymore and I don't want you out of my life. Ever."
He chooses to ignore his own tears and pushes her gently away enough to make full eye contact, but leaves his hands on her shoulders for reassurance. "What exactly are you asking, Maka?"
"Lovers," she whispers.
He doesn't know what to feel, what to think. "Just - just because we can't be battle partners anymore?"
"No! I mean, I've - I've felt that way always, really. But before I was afraid of messing everything up. I knew it was a risk, I wasn't sure how you felt." She sniffed, took a deep breath, and Soul's head swam. "I still don't know how you feel, but I think I'm free to ask because of what's happened. Maybe." She bites her lip and eyes him fearfully.
He tries to relax, un-tensing his shoulders and lowering both of his hands to hold both of hers, studies the ways their fingers intertwine. "I love you, Maka," he says at last. "But I don't want this to come from fear."
"It's not," she says fervently. "I told you! I always wanted to try this and I was just too scared." She starts tearing up again. "When we could battle together, I was afraid to say anything because I was afraid of ruining our partnership, and lately I've been afraid to say anything because I'm afraid of making you do something you don't want to do. But then that means I'm always scared! I think my only other option is to just slowly grow apart - and I will not let that happen!" By now she's shouting, gripping his hands.
"Shh, I'm right here," he chuckles, wrapping her in a bear hug of his own. He speaks into her hair. "I'll try anything you want. I trust you."
"I love you," Maka says fiercely.
He finds himself rubbing circles on her back again, and who started them swaying back and forth? Now he can't stop. He kisses the top of her head once, twice, again and again. Her shampoo smells sweet.
"Maka," he murmurs from the depth of his chest.
He doesn't have a plan; it just happens - he takes his hand and gently tilts her chin upward, and their lips meet, the kiss starting soft and warm before becoming more insistent and needy. For all he knows they could be standing there for a second or an hour, lips joined, tasting each other, before they come up for air, cheeks rosy, short of breath.
"You have some time?" Soul asks.
Maka nods, eyes drying.
"Let's - let's just sit together for a while."
And for the first time in too long, they resonate through the night.