Instead of breaking down the askew ice walls she erected around her heart, this thing they had only fortified them.
Soul genuinely ( foolishly he corrected himself ) thought that this thing they were sharing – he didn't know what to call it anymore – would push her to be a little less guarded, a little less repulsed toward anything male related, would make her barricade crumble slightly, but, to his dismay, he was wrong. Oh so very wrong, and the thought brought to his mouth a familiar, bitter taste. Eyes half lidded, he resumed observing the city, straddling his motorbike, head cushioned on crossed arms, resting on the handle.
They had always argued, really, but it never reached such astronomic levels where they would spit venom at each other with a feverish ferocity that rendered them inevitably hoarse for the rest of the goddamn night; where she couldn't stop until her violent sobbing broke her vocal cords; where he couldn't stop until he was so unbelievably enraged all he could think of was black poison eating up his decaying bones.
He hated it. He loathed how their once-never-grazed-before resonance began to falter, how she cried (such an under-the-belt move that launching him in a guilt trip that lasted for fucking days) , how she was slowly drifting away, her fear.
Her fear of him.
He knew that her father had left in her soul a wound which dept he couldn't even begin to comprehend, that she loathed betrayal and abandon more that she despised the Kishin Azura himself, that her faith in their thing between them was wavering at best, nonexistent at worst; but he was so stupidly in love with her, with the whole package she came with, despite the faults she hid behind that blinding cloak of bravery, and so help him he was going to make this thing work, damn it.
Or so he swore upon the stitches he wore proudly on his chest, the day they had confessed, centuries ago.
It was not really a confession by any means, Soul thought, more of a desperate call of their souls melting and merging and so delightfully intertwining together, of chapped lips caught in a bruised lock, of bloody hands roaming greedily, of hushed hope and muttered promises and whirlwinds of emotions making their heads spin. It has marked a new dawn, had paved the way to a new road to explore, but also, that was when the arguments turned to screaming matches to nuclear wars catapulting all common sense from the nearest exit and making them (her) oh so fucking blind to everything around them. He had run away from another explosive row where tears were shed on both parts, just as he ran low on sarcastic retorts and grinding his teeth was no longer enough to dissipate neither rage nor blistering feelings, not enough to refrain from punching the fucking wall in a desperate tentative to retrieve his lost manliness.
But it was not a time to dwell on manliness. Soul needed to get home - not back to her, not because his devotion was carved in his very core, not because he loved her despite the pain she inflicted him- but because he was a stupid little albino shit and it was so damn frigid he wasn't feeling his frozen nose anymore.
Maybe he could also stop by the bakery she loved and brandish the macaroons she swore by as a token of peace. Or Maybe not. She always could suspect him of sleeping with the cashier and getting away with rainbow colored goods. Soul just couldn't fathom how her synapses didn't fry with all the absurd, roundabout connections she made, in her little pretty head, between facts million years apart.
He found when he crossed the threshold that she didn't deem it necessary to switch on any light. He could've though she was away if he didn't feel her soul, wide awake, weirdly quivering in the back of his mind, warm but bitter like velvet stroked upside down. He came to a sudden halt in the middle of the hall, when a frightening and blunt truth hit him square in the face: how her giving him not the cold but frigid shoulder and leaving for a few days to let him drawn in loneliness has become such a saddening habit. He didn't like that. Not one bit.
That needed to stop. Right that fucking moment.
He spun around on his way to his room to go to hers ( she who will remain she-who-must-not-be-named in his head, because just thinking of her made him turn into a pathetic piece of hurt goo) fully prepared to pound on the door and wake the dead if it was what it took to bring out this voracious little nuisance of his from her cave. But his hand stopped inches from the wood, first frozen in the air like a sign for victory.
Though it wasn't victory he was tasting, but overwhelming sadness and stinging hopelessness, as he caught her faint whimpers and understood the quivering of her soul was not one of anger, but one of self loathe.
The sound of the opening door made her jump and rise from her bed, he knew, even though he couldn't bear to bring his gaze to her form. Her shattered and raw voice sounded to his ears like a desperate, broken melody.
"Soul …"
"Maka."
And as Soul Eater Evans spoke Maka Albarn's name, he looked up, taking in her trembling form, her wide, bloodshot eyes, haggard apparence, deep bruises-like line under her orbs and he came to ask himself whether Maka only ever bared herself and shredded her iridescent courage for transparent anguish for him alone.
" Soul … I .. I …."
"Shut up." He steeled his gaze even though moist cheeks kept gleaming under the moonlight seeping from her window, and took a deep breath, hoping he sounded sincere enough to her deaf ears.
" I didn't cheat on you. I never did. I never will. I am not your father, nor are you your mother. You are Maka Albarn, Scythe Meister, and I promised you and myself history will not repeat itself"
"I know … I know Soul ! But … But" She seemed insecure, like a caged animal forced to watch its peers being reduced to shreds, crazed hands flailing everywhere and anywhere.
"But what ? why are you so hell bent on making me leave ? Is that what you wanted me to do ? leave you ? if it makes you happy, I will, even if –"
"NO !" He couldn't leave her, he couldn't, not when he grounded her world and she couldn't afford to waste centuries vainly trying to learn how to breathe again. Not when she was just being accustomed to people staying by her side, not fleeing like they all, all seem to do at one point or another of her previous life. Her life before him; before Soul, who came smirking and lazily waltzing his way in, back curved and hair improperly messed up, who set up a jazzy beat to her days and put lenses on her colorblind eyes.
"Do you hate me ?" He hated how his voice broke at the end, images of second places and shadows and uselessness and self doubt turning into black shapes behind his eyelids. "It's okay if you do, you know, but quit leading me on, because I love you with all my being and I can't bear to watch you crumble in front of me. Don't force yourself for me. Maybe it'd be better if we sto-"
"No, Soul, I love you !"
It was the very first time Maka dared to utter it out loud. An outburst that seemed to baffle her, and made Soul's skip a (many) beat. She couldn't take it back, she didn't want to, not anymore. She was sure, however, that he wouldn't believe her, because that was it, she broke him, they were past the point of no retur-
But he did.
Soul believed her.
She was within the confines of his arms in a matter of milliseconds, secured against his beating heart, hands grasping tightly her silky hair, and suddenly he felt the brush of wings against his very bones and everything is bright again. He kissed her hard and sweet and passionate and gentle and every damn thing in between, and he kept thinking god he loved her so so much.
And Soul swore he heard the echo of her marble armor cracking.
Abruptly, they resonated, and it didn't feel like a fireworks or anything of the kind, ephemeral, surreal, but like a huge bonfire coming back to life in all clacking wood and warmth and light and passion and smells of burned pines glory. Hushed murmurs were shared between kisses :
" I love you, Soul, I'm so sorry …"
"I know, I feel it. I love you, Maka…"
"I know, I feel it. I'm sorry."
"Don't be."
"I'm scared."
"I know."
"I know you won't cheat on me, but I you can't .. I can't …"
"Take your time"
"I want to believe that we are not like them, but what I feel is so strong and it frightens me. I don't want to be left behind again."
"you will never be"
"You're near-perfect, I don't deserve you, and how can you sink to such a level , falling for a girl who has a phobia of love ?"
"I've always been a dim-witted little shit."
"I know I'm full of faults, and I don't have the most amazing body you will ever see."
"You're beautiful."
"I hate myself for being this cruel to you, hurting you endlessly, but I'll try, I swear I'll try."
"I know."
"I swear I'll try"
"I know"
"Again and again"
"I know"
And the night was spent with limbs wound in a tight embrace, Maka in her mismatched pajamas and Soul still fully clothed, cupping in their hands the faint glow of unwavering promises. And then, she ordered, her iron-clad self regenerating from ashes before his eyes, strong phoenix singing in the dark :
"You are not allowed to leave me."
"I will never, my Meister."
LOOK WHO'S BACK.
Please don't throw rocks at me. My life is hectic right now, and I feel like I'm being stomped by hundreds of elephants. To all the readers of the Cliché Laboratory Tour crack, I'm so sorry I didn't update, but my senior year (I'm in the French system) is awfully stressful and life is kinda messed up right now and UGH.
That said, I don't have any more time to sleep, let alone write. But Soma feels shocked me oh so suddenly in my physics class and TADA look at the word vomit. Also, I didn't understand the lesson we had today, and I have it in physics midterms and it's all YOUR FAULT, ANGSTY SOUL.
It's also 00:20 and I have class and a test I didn't work a single shit for because I was too busy typing this.
Now I should sleep.
End of Author Rant.
Don't forget to review !
Lady Weird.
Ps : I need a beta reader ! if anyone is up for the job …
PPS : please if you find mistakes, do tell me, I didn't proof read this thingy.