A/N: Hello lovelies, how are you today? I've come to you with a not-so happy tale with our favorite non-canon couple from Soul Eater. Fair warning, it's apparent that it is angsty and will give you feels, so..read at your own risk, yeah?
Disclaimer: I do not own the Soul Eater-verse...if I did, you would know xD
Anywho, yeah. Get on with reading the story, stop reading this nonsense, y'hear?
She would've thought that living without Soul would be a welcome thing, something like a relaxing trip to the spa (or library). With him gone, she wouldn't have to cook the food just right, so he would be pleased. She wouldn't have to bother with spending too long in the bath (usually just because she was too caught up in her novel while soaking up the hot water) and getting yelled at, and she wouldn't have to deal with Blair mauling him in the bright and early mornings. Overall, she was pretty sure that without Soul in their apartment, life would be peaceful, just once.
But the problem was the key word. Their apartment. Not hers. Not his. Theirs. And without both main occupants, the apartment is strangely lonesome and quiet, what without the constant drone of one of his video games, or the soft music that would drift from his ajar bedroom door while he was focusing on something. There was no deep voice yelling at her to stop freaking out about something – or to comfort her when sleep wouldn't take her during a storm. There was no one to get mad enough at to Maka Chop, and surprisingly, she missed doing it, because it was some kind of thing between the two of them. Almost like affection, really. She didn't really hit anyone else with her books, much. There was also the fact that there was no grumbling coming from the couch in the other room for her to finish making dinner – and certainly no groan of oh-its-my-turn-again when she would remind him it was his night for dinner.
Maka didn't like the silence, the emptiness. And it kind of shocked her, because she realized she was missing Soul. Missing him wasn't something she was used to feeling. He was usually always there, and usually ending up getting on her last nerve, and she would wish she had some alone time. But this alone time was suffocating.
She would wake up in the middle of the night, crying, because she had dreamt that wherever Soul was now, he was dying. Needing her. Lost. The dreams changed every night, each more terrifying than the last. She was afraid she might not last until he came back, which led to her wondering why she was suddenly so dependent on him.
~_/\_/\_/\_~
3 years. 3 years he had said, and then he would be allowed to come home for a brief visit. When he had told her, Maka couldn't hide the fact that three years without her beloved partner was treacherously long, and that the words "brief visit" made it sound like it wasn't going to be home any longer.
She should've known, really. She was supposed to be prepared for this kind of thing, ready to let her partner go once she had achieved the ultimate goal in turning Soul into a Death Scythe. She knew Shinigami-sama would send him away to distant places where he would be fighting against forces Maka didn't like to imagine. She knew all that. So why was she stifling her tears in her pillow the night before he left?
The morning he was supposed to leave, Maka had meant to get up early and make him one last homemade breakfast before he was sent away for three years to fight. She was going to put on a brave face for him – because she knew he didn't want to leave anymore than she wanted him to – and tell him to be cool, but careful, too, as he strode onto whatever bloodstained battlefield he was forced upon. But when Maka woke up that morning and hurried into the dark kitchen, there was a note on the table. All it said was:
Maka-
I'll be back soon. Three years isn't so long. Don't miss me too much.
-Soul
She had dropped the note in great haste, hurrying to his bedroom across the little way from hers. The door was half open, and she pushed it aside, and then faltered. His bed was empty, and made (which wasn't a regular thing for him to do, and it only made her want to cry, because it only made the room more Soul-less) and the posters were still tacked on the walls. His desk was cleared of everything, every last sheet of music he had ever written, and every note and paper. His closet stood open and bare, making the room seem so much less alive.
But the one thing Maka couldn't understand is why she was so hurt by the fact that his only last words weren't what he felt about leaving – about her – they were just empty words attempting to mask the irreplaceable void of Soul.
Maka had run off towards Shibusen, the demented sun not having even come up yet, and in her nightgown no less, determined and desperate to see him one last time before he was gone. Arriving at the empty school, a stitch in her side and breathing heavily, she quickly ran to find the Death Room, where hopefully Soul was still at. Without knocking, Maka burst through the door and through the guillotine hallway, only to stop at the end, no one but Shinigami-sama there. And he had just been on his mirror – with Soul. She had only one last glimpse of her partner, his ruby red eyes drooping with exhaustion and unwillingness to leave, his shock of white hair not even combed properly.
"Maka-chan?" Shinigami-sama asked in confusion, seeing her bending over, trying to catch her breath and not cry at the same time.
"I – ", Maka paused, staring at the ground. She opened her mouth a few times to say something, but found she didn't have her voice anymore. But, just as she was forming the words on her tongue, her detested, redhead oaf of a father came bumbling into view and spotted her.
"MAKA~!" he shouted, flying towards her. With a terrified and tearful look at him, Maka dashed away, trying not to let the tears fall.
Back in the kitchen, the darkness slowly lifting as the sun gradually rose, Maka noticed in her hurry to see if Soul had really gone, she hadn't seen the headband beneath his stiff, emotionless scrawl. She picked it up, staring at the thing he used to wear around his forehead every day, with the words "Soul" and "Eat" on the front. An even smaller note was taped to the inside, and she pulled it off.
to remember me by. don't forget me.
Tears threatened to spill over. He left her his favorite headband. He had always kept it where he kept the rest of his "precious" things: inside his pillowcase (which she had happened upon one day while cleaning their apartment very thoroughly). She clenched the headband in her hand, squeezing her eyes shut.
"Please come home soon, Soul."
~_/\_/\_/\_~
Soul is lounging lazily on their couch, his arms behind his head as he stares off into the distance, not really listening to Maka's chatter. It's only been a few months living together, and already Soul's learned not to tune in much.
"…and when I finally make you a Death Scythe – " she had been saying, but Soul looked over at her and cut her off.
"When I'm a Death Scythe, I'll be the coolest guy in the entire school," he told her for the billionth time. She smiled.
"And you'll get to travel all over the world! You'll get to visit all those countries…" Soul glanced at his partner and saw a familiar faraway look, and he guessed she was imagining what it would be like to visit all the places in her books. She looked at him excitedly.
"You'll tell me all about it when you get back from those trips, right, though, Soul?" she demanded happily of him, grinning brightly. He looked away before she thought he had too much interest in the matter.
"Nah, I don't think I will," he said easily, staring up at the ceiling lazily. Maka pouted, standing, and left the room, practically slamming her bedroom door shut. "I'll write to you."
~_/\_/\_/\_~
For a moment, Maka can pretend like he'll be back any day, as if he's just recovering from a wound and will be let out of the hospital the next day. But soon enough, she can't hide the fact that without Soul, she is useless. She can't even fight.
She can't take it anymore, so finally, one night when she's just finished a tragic movie where the hero dies in battle, his lover left to mourn him, she calls him, hoping against all that he has his phone with him, the one she had made him get just the year before.
She clenches her fists waiting for the ring to sound, so he can pick up, and she can hear his voice. But then she hears a tinny piano tune coming from his abandoned bedroom and she stiffly goes to his room. Inside a desk drawer, his phone is ringing, with her name flashing on the screen. She gives up, and doesn't try to find another way to contact him.
~_/\_/\_/\_~
It had been three years, finally. For a month, Maka awaited his arrival anxiously, expecting him to appear in the doorway, scarred and beaten, but glad to be back home, but he never showed. She asked Shinigami-sama, but he didn't know when Soul would really be back. But he promised her Soul would return soon, and to just wait patiently.
~_/\_/\_/\_~
It wasn't three years that he returned. Nor was it four, five or six. Eight. Eight long, lonely years passed before Maka even received word from him. It was a letter from him, several pages thick. The way it appeared, it looked more like a journal. It was. Every entry was an overview of the countries he visited and everything that had gone on. But to her despair, and sinking heart, his last entry had been titled three years before, the last sentence saying:
I'll be home soon, I promise.
~_/\_/\_/\_~
Even after she received the journal he had penned, it was two more years before he came back. He didn't appear in their doorway, scarred but happy, and he didn't silently appear. He certainly didn't come with any sort of fanfare, and he didn't inform Shinigami-sama when he would be coming. But he did. And Maka wasn't expecting it.
The moment she learned he was back home, Maka ran out of the middle of class, going to the first place she expected him to go. But in the Death Room, there wasn't anyone, not even Shinigami-sama himself. Perhaps he had gone to meet Soul on his re-entry to Death City? But as she tore through the hallways, determined to be there, too, she was stopped by the school nurse, Nygus.
"Maka-chan." It wasn't a question as to why she wasn't in class. She must know why. "You'll want to come with me." Maka's confused, and sees sympathy in Nygus's eyes. Fear grips Maka's heart as she follows behind Nygus – out of Shibusen. They go down the streets until they come upon the city's hospital. Maka's stomach drops, and she hopes desperately that if he's injured, the afflictions are sustainable.
Inside, Nygus directs her to where Soul is, and Maka tears off without a backwards glance.
She overtakes the doctors and nurses rushing someone to a room, and Maka doesn't pay attention except to the fact that a hand is dangling lifelessly from the bed, clutching a necklace that had been missing from Maka's jewelry box for ten years. She comes to a halt and tries to push past the doctors and nurses, but they won't let her through.
"Soul!" she cried out desperately, clawing through the crowd. She almost has a heart attack at the state of him. Covered in scars was the least of what he was, and blood seeped from seemingly everywhere. He was dying. Tears are falling down her cheeks without her taking any notice, and she sees him struggling to stay conscious. His red eyes are dulled and dead looking, and beyond that she can see that if he ever fully recovered – which Maka knew he wouldn't – he would be too affected by the war to ever be the same. His lifeless eyes meet hers slowly, and in the same hand as the necklace, she sees a slip of paper.
His fingers gradually unfold so she can pull the paper out of his blood crusted hand, but he holds onto the red stained necklace. He opens his mouth, still watching her. The way he was reacting reminded Maka of an elderly man crippled with slow movements and actions. His brain must've been damaged.
She holds back a sob, as he struggles to find the words to say.
"R….r-read…" he breathes, and Maka clings to his words. "…i…i-it."
He was losing it. She could see the life draining out of him, and she can't hold back the sobs anymore.
"Don…don't…" his words are like a whisper of air, and she can barely hear him. "c….c-ry."
Her chin wobbles and more tears stream down her pale face.
"Don't leave me, Soul. Please don't leave me," she begs of him, but it's as if he can't hear her. He's not listening. His red eyes shift from hers to the ceiling above and his mouth slumps open. What had happened to her obnoxious and cool-about-everything partner? His eyes slide shut, and before Maka can even attempt to figure out if he's still alive, she's shunted aside, told to stay where she was as the doctors rush him somewhere she's not allowed to go.
But she knows its no good. She sobs desperately on the floor, no longer able to detect Soul's already weakened soul. He was gone. She will never be the same.
~_/\_/\_/\_~
Year 1, Day 3
I can't believe I'm actually taking Liz's advice and keeping a journal while I'm away. What am I supposed to write in here? The horrors of what I have to go through every day? There aren't any words to describe it. I don't think I'll be able to come out of this the same.
I miss her. So much. I never thought being without my partner would be so devastating, especially for someone as cool as me, but it hurts to think about her, especially sitting in our apartment, all alone. I wish I had remembered to take my phone, but it's useless because I would've lost it eventually. I don't have much of anything I brought anymore.
I just hope these three years are over soon, so I can go back home.
Year 2, Day 86
Who am I fooling? If I come out of this unhurt, it won't be real. I had thought that fighting the kishin was difficult, but that's a walk in the park compared to this…tragedy. I'm haunted every night by the wailing children, the mutilated soldiers, the terror reigning constantly.
Just one more year, and I can escape, but I don't think even then I'll be able to erase the horrors of this place. I can't really keep a journal in this warfare, disappointingly. I rarely find times to write, as one might be able to tell by the first entry.
Year 6, Day ?
Its been six years. I get the feeling I'm never going to be able to go home – unless they send me in a matchbox. It gets steadily worse every day, and I've already just missed getting my head lopped off – five times.
I miss my friends. I feel like they were all just a dream. Just a nice, easy dream. Back in the days when the most important thing to be was being 'cool'. Right now, I could care less about any of that trivial stuff. It just matters that I stay alive, especially for Maka.
I miss her so much I feel like my heart is breaking. Its not just about her being my partner and best friend anymore. I think I'm in love with her. I've been recording all of the good stuff – which is all few and far in between – to send to her, to remind her I'm still alive. I sent it to her about a month ago, and I desperately hope she gets it.
Year Nine, Day ?
Nine years. I've all but lost all hope for returning home in one piece. I've decided that if I do return, the first person I'm going to see is Maka. I don't care about anything else anymore, really. After nine years, she's all that keeps me going. Not even Shinigami-sama can offer me any comfort or drive. She's my only drive. I have to come out alive for her.
I've been planning on telling her I'm in love with her, as soon as I get back. I don't know how I didn't realize it before. She's my sole reason to live, and I think I might die if she loved someone else. IF I came back to find her dead, or that she had forgotten me, I think I might just return here immediately and let myself be killed.
Year Ten, Day ?
I'm going to ask her to marry me. I hope she doesn't mind that I don't really have a ring, because I can't really buy much out here, and I plan on asking her the moment I lay eyes on her.
Maka Evans. I like the sound of that. I don't even care if Spirit disapproves, we'll elope if it comes to that.
I'll be home soon. Shinigami-sama contacted me the other night, saying it was about time I came home.
I love her. Imagine. I'd never have thought I'd ever develop feelings for my meister, especially since I'd never really dubbed her as my type. I guess she was all along.
If all goes well, we'll be married the moment I get home tomorrow.
A/N: Yeah...I'm pretty cruel. I know ;3 It's what I do, it's what I do...Anywho, review. Tell me what you thought, if I broke your heart, or made you laugh because it was so unbearably cheesy and OOC. Or if you're looking for a happier SoMa story, I could maybe do that...(all you hafta do is request~~)
If anyone's interested in being my beta just message me, I might be looking for one soon...
~emmazing