23…24…25…26…27…DONE.
"Alright, Eater! New personal record!"
"Sweet!" Exhaling as he lengthened his muscular arms, Soul "Eater" Evans gave his training partner a broad grin as he released the pull-up bar and thumped onto the gym's aging carpet. High-fiving the blue-haired loud mouth he called his best friend, Soul chuckled, "Third one this week. Nowhere to go from here but up!"
"You got it, bro!" Black "The Star" Barrett crowed, slapping his buddy on the back as the other began to unwind a layer of bandaging surrounding his hands and forearms. "There's no one in this town who can take you, not even a big shot like me can knock you out!"
"Keep training, Star." The albino athlete laughed, re-wrapping his appendages with a new set of stark white bandages. "You could kick me hard if you really tried-"
"Hey, Eater!" Kilik "Big Pot" Rung strode over to the pair, holding out the gym's only cordless phone. "Some chick wants to talk to you."
"Really?" Soul smirked, grabbing the device from the heavy-lifter's hold. "Hello, Soul 'The Eater' Evans, here, how may I help you?" After a chorus of yeses, uh-huhs, and a final "sure, how about tomorrow at 6:30? Here, at the gym," Soul ended the call and handed the receiver back to Kilik.
"Well?" Black Star cocked a brow, and Kilik displayed just as much confusion. "Who was that?"
"I was just asked to do an interview tomorrow with some reporter named Albarn-"
"Wait! THE Maka Albarn?!" Another gym regular, Kim "Witch of the West" Diehl, approached the trio. "The sports reporter?! She's interviewed all of the greats!"
"Really?" The three youths inquired in unison.
"Oh yeah! She interviewed Justin "The Priest" last month, and I heard she's getting a joint interview with "Eagle Eye" Azusa and Marie "The Hammer" next week!" She explained breathlessly, her eyes shining in awe. "To interview the world's greatest fighters… "
"And the world's next greatest tomorrow!" Black hollered, grabbing his best friend's neck in in the crook of his arm as the foursome chattered excitedly about the next day's events.
"Holy crap it's 6:25 already?! She'll be here any minute!" Soul carefully lifted the bar back onto the weight rack and sat up in the reclining chair, quickly wiping the perspiration from his brow and cheeks. "Can't let a famous reporter like her see me looking like….this…" He quickly began to unwind the sweat-drenched bandages encasing his hands and forearms, silently praying that he could put on new ones before she- His ears perked up as he heard the familiar jingle of the front doors being opened and closed. "Crap….too late. Ah well, she'll just have to meet the real Soul Evans, then…" He speedily re-attached the wrappings and rose when two figures rounded the weight rooms front wall.
"Right over here, Miss Albarn." He heard the gym's manager, Sid Barrett, instruct. "Soul Evans, meet Miss Maka Albarn, reporter for Nevada Sports."
"Hi, Soul." She reached forward and shook his hand with a nice, firm grip, hardly seeming to notice the clammy nature of it.
"H-Hey." He tried to flash her a grin, only able to produce what must have looked like a pained grimace.
What had come over him all of a sudden? It wasn't like him to get nervous around women at all. He'd always been self-confident and bold around the opposite gender, but for some reason, something about this Maka Albarn set him off his kilter. Maybe it was the fact that she wasn't at all what he'd expected, some suited up, tight-lipped, middle-aged lady reporter who wanted nothing but the facts and moved on. He guessed Kim had forgotten to mention that she was the youngest successful sports reporter in not only the United States, but also the world, for she was roughly his age, maybe a year younger, and he was only 22! Or maybe it was the way her jade eyes drilled him, confident but also kind, friendly, even. Those emerald pools were giving him a real run for his money. Once Sid finally left them, Soul gestured to the only decent chair in the room, perching himself on a nearby weight bench.
"Thanks." She gave him a friendly beam and gracefully sat, tucking her black skirt beneath her. Taking a recording device from her small red purse, she began, "Well. I'm so glad to finally meet you! I've heard some great things about you, Soul. Or, would you rather I called you 'Eater?'"
"S-Soul is fine…" He swallowed and pinked just a bit, hardly able to sit still as her bright green eyes threw him a questioning glance.
"Alright then. Let's get started!"
Almost ninety minutes later, Soul found himself grinning from ear to ear, a chuckle threatening to filter past his throat as Maka relayed to him the story of how she had to get eight stitches on her forehead because a disgruntled mother bird had pecked her for playing too close to her nest. "My papa cried for three hours!" She giggled, lifting her ash-blonde bangs as she declared, "And the scar is still there today."
"That's crazy." Soul breathed, running his mind over the last hour and a half. The interview had started out as just that, but before long they'd digressed into more personal and humorous pursuits. He'd learned more about her in this time than he'd learned about some of the other gym members in years of side-by-side training. Clenching and releasing his intertwined fingers, he suddenly noticed her eyeing his bandages. It was coming. He could feel it in her lingering, almost longing, gaze. He held his breath as her lips moved to form the dreaded question…
"Soul, what's your favorite type of food?"
What?
"U-um Italian. Love me some of that pasta…why?"
"Well…I was wondering if maybe…you'd like to get a bite to eat sometime." It was her turn to take on a pinkish hue as he gawked, slack jawed, but elated.
"Sure, I'd love to!" He flashed her a shark-toothed grin, chortling when she broke into a relieved and noticeably excited smile.
"Great! So, how's this Friday at 7 at…Reviano's sound?"
"Yeah, Reviano's is my favorite!"
"Awesome! So, I'll…see you then…"
"Yeah…" He trailed off as he watched her rise, her long, slender legs and petite hips beautifully complemented by her knee-length skirt. "See you then."
"No way! You got a date with her?"
"More or less. She just asked for dinner, but I guess-"
"That's totally a date, bro! You scored big on this one!"
"Yeah, yeah, I guess so…"
Black's raucous guffaws filled the weight room as he watched his friend blush under his mirthful gaze; he slouched next to Soul on the bench, suddenly sobering, and murmured, "So…did she, uh, ask about…you know…"
"No, amazingly enough, she didn't. It's like she somehow just….knew that it was a sensitive thing. Like she could read my mind, or my soul or something, and see that it's an off-limits topic."
"Wow. Maybe she really is a keeper then."
Friday night, 3 minutes 'til seven, and he was still pulling on his nicest slacks and trying to tie his only black tie.
Great. Their first date and he was already going to be late.
Or…was it really a date, or just making up for the lost interview?
Either way, Soul found himself speeding off on his motorcycle at 7:02, praying that by some small miracle, the punctual being that was Maka Albarn would be late.
Pulling up to Reviano's at 7:23, Soul hopped off his bike and sped through the front door, adjusting the collar of his crimson button down shirt when he finally spotted her through the Friday night crowd. She was wearing a sleeveless, thigh-length little black dress with red heels and bold red lipstick. It was a date. Totally a date, and he suddenly felt his body heat up about 20 degrees.
"H-Hey!" He called, strolling toward her.
"Hi." She smiled, tighter than before, but still with a hint of sweetness.
"Sorry if I kept you waiting…"
"No, no! I just got here, actually…My, um, father needed me for a bit."
"O-oh. Alright. Let's go then." When he held out his elbow to her, she giggled and wove her arm through his, and they set of for their table.
"No way! You fought three guys, three consecutive matches, all in one day and you beat them ALL?"
"Sure did." He grinned toothily, munching on a garlic roll.
"Wow….you really are the next big thing, huh?"
"You could say that."
She merely hummed in reply, picking at her Fettuccine Alfredo as a shadow swept over her features, but the moment was only fleeting, for he was immediately graced with her jovial presence before he could ask what was amiss.
"Soul…" Her tone was mismatched with her features, a serious pitch to her relaxed countenance. "I have something I've been meaning to ask you, but….I don't know. It felt wrong until now."
The garlic roll suddenly felt thick and sour in his throat, nearly causing him to gag.
"Why do you wear those bandages on your hands…all the time? I mean, I could understand in the gym, but even here, out to dinner? What, are you expecting an opponent to jump up from his table and try to sock you in the mouth?" She smirked.
His deep blush partially hidden by the dim lighting, Soul had a choice to make. Trust her now, and risk hurt later? Or lie to her now, and hope she's around later to fully trust?…
"It, um, helps keep me motivated." He was lying through his teeth, and it was a pathetic lie, at that. "It's like, uh, method acting. I keep them on at all times to keep me pumped."
"O-oh…I see." She'd seen right through him, and he knew it. "That's, um, a great idea. I've interviewed a few athletes with superstitions like that…"
"Cool."
The rest of the meal went on like this, with feeble attempts at small talk, their banter long since put to rest. That shadow crept back onto her face by the time they left later that night, and it would stay there even after she was home and in her own bed.