AN: It has been many, many moons since I've written any fanfic, but I figured it might be a good breaker of writers block - so here we go! I felt like writing something smutty, but got to the smutty bit and decided to go for something a bit longer instead (although probably not epic long in the end. I guess we'll see.)

Disclaimer: Don't own Soul Eater.

Warnings: Eventual lemon, although I'll probably post the dirty bits elsewhere with a link.

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since Maka had last spoken to him out of anything other than absolute necessity. And even then - curt words, half sentences dripping with quiet venom.

He could feel the threat in those few words he coaxed out of her, could feel the tension. The pain? He hadn't meant to hurt her like that. He hadn't MEANT it at all.

Nothing else had changed, really. They still shared a tiny (was it really so small? It had never felt that way before) apartment. They still sat next to each other in class. They still resonated with all the power they had ever had. Maybe stronger, even. Stein had noticed, Soul could tell, but the doctor hadn't said anything. Surely he had also noticed the silence.

Everyone else had noticed and gotten over it already. At first it was all hushed whispers of 'What did Soul do?' and 'Why doesn't he apologize?' and 'Well, you know Maka. She's just... You know how she gets.'

The comments against Maka had earned growls and soft snarls from Soul (when she wasn't there, of course) and soon enough everyone was keeping their thoughts quiet one way or another on the matter. Black Star had tried to cheer him up a total of once, but Soul had brushed him off. It wasn't Black Star's problem.

But this, it was getting to be too much. It was going too far. He could FEEL her every time they fought, every time she linked her soul with his. He could feel the pain laced with betrayal and it hurt so bad. It hurt so bad to feel her and not be able to touch her or talk to her.

But he had never touched her before, had he? Not really. He had held her when she was hurt, carried her when she could no longer go on. The only time he ever really initiated contact with her when he wasn't transformed was when she was at her worst - her weakest, the opposite of the embodiment of Maka Albarn.

And now that he couldn't, well, of course he wanted to. He wanted to be near her. He wanted to feel the warmth of her body, comforting and stable, next to his own. He wanted to be able to reach out and smooth his hand down soft, pale skin and know she was still there.

Instead, all he had was cold and empty space. Did he really just think the apartment was too small? It was too damn big.

The door creaked open and a rush of cold wind bit at his neck. Soul turned just in time to see Maka slip past, almost unnoticed except that he could never not notice.

It was too much. It had to end. "Maka-"

But of course, Maka was not nearly as on board with that plan.

Her door clicked shut before he could get out anything other than her name. How did she do that? How did she stay so mad, so long? It wasn't natural to be able to do that.

But, his mind chided, it's not natural, is it? Maka doesn't do this. She doesn't stay mad. She can't. She's never been able to stay mad at YOU. Just... Her dad. Just her dad. And that's why isn't it?

"Damn it. I AM a cool guy. I didn't cheat on her. We weren't even going out, fuck."

But how would he feel if the tables were turned? If he caught her with someone else in her hands, some other weapon - resonating souls, bonding, binding to each other?

It hadn't been like that. He hadn't wanted to. He regretted it - not fighting with someone else, exactly. He had done that many times since he had become a Death Scythe. It had felt weird, but not wrong, and Maka hadn't minded.

But he had never let someone else in like that. Not... Not in there. Not in his mind. Not into the black room. Not into his soul. And he was sure now that it was never happening again, even if Maka never ever forgave him.

Stein had asked him to help another student after class. A girl, younger than him, younger than Maka. But old enough to know better. She knew what she was doing. She hadn't actually needed help.

"Soul Resonance!" She had caught him off guard, right out in front of the school.

She was quick, and more powerful than probably even she thought she was, and she had caught him off guard, damn it. He had opened up to her without even meaning to. And then he had freaked out, receded into his own mind. She followed.

How do you kick someone out of your mind? It should be easy, shouldn't it. But Soul was in mental shock. He could feel his soul quivering in uncontrollable discomfort and fear. Little Imp was practically cackling with glee - the madness threatening to suck this girl in, eat her up, swallow her whole, absorb her essence. Her perfume was sickly sweet and cloying in the black room and he wanted it out.

Then he had felt it - warm and comforting, a favorite song breaking through the painful scratches of a broken record. Maka's soul and sunshine. Maka's confusion. Maka, betrayed. Maka breaking. Little Imp laughed harder - the other girl looked around and grinned, awkward, pretending this was normal and she knew what she was doing. She reached out for Soul and he wanted to shove her away with feral strength.

"Touch her, Soul," cooed little Imp.

And Soul did. He reached out, grabbed her wrist hard, burning red angry welts into her skin. She squealed; Maka disappeared.

/*No.*/

Soul dragged the girl to his chest, glared at little Imp. He grabbed both her hands in his, looked into her eyes, leaned close to her cheek.

"Stop this or I swear on I will rip your soul out of your chest and swallow it whole."

It was just a threat. Anyone with half an ounce of experience would have known, but she was still so green and naive. Her eyes went wide, her jaw slack, and unattractive fish of a girl.

"You, I - I don't know-"

"You better learn how. Now."

He was frantic like a rabid dog, terrified, shaking, hackles raised, out of his mind. She didn't move. He might have barked, growled, snarled, bared his teeth.

And then he was back, in front of the school, Stein holding tight to the scruff of his collar, the girl cowering behind the professor eyes wide and watery. "He- he-" she started, but Soul growled at her again and she squealed.

"He reacted very poorly to the situation for someone of his level," Stein said. "But you shouldn't provoke wild animals if you don't plan to fight back."

She looked petulant. Soul let his anger recede minimally, his soul contracting around himself, a pulsing cocoon.

Stein let go of him and the girl squealed again, pushing herself against Stein's back as if he were the only thing between her and unimaginable death. Maybe she wasn't so far off, Soul thought.

"Your partner seems to have run off in quite a state, Soul. Maybe you should go make sure she's alright. We can discuss this tomorrow. Ms. Rose, if you'll come with me - it may be time for some remedial lessons indeed."

Soul looked around for the first time, noticing the crowd that had gathered, Maka's face absent. He paid no attention to the girl chittering excuses at Stein as he turned heel and headed towards his apartment, intent on finding Maka - finding comfort.

But Maka wasn't home when he got there. He locked the door and wandered back to campus, checked the library, checked the towers where she frequently gazed out over Death City, checked her normal training spots. Lord Death hadn't seen her, and nor had Sid or, though it pained to ask, Spirit.

"What have you done with my darling Maka, you hoodlum? No- wait- what sort if indecent thoughts have you chasing after her at all?"

Soul grabbed Maka's father by his tie and pulled him down tight. "Have. You. Seen. Her. you freak."

"I, no, I haven't," Spirit winced when Soul let him go, straightening his tie. "Is something wrong?"

A rare moment lacking melodrama. Soul shook his head. "It's nothing, old man. Just wanted to ask her what she wanted for dinner. My night to cook."

He left before Spirit could wax sentimental about the lovely dinners he would share with his daughter when she was younger and put up with him in the room for long enough to eat. He fought to keep his worry in check.

She didn't come home that night, but Black Star was sitting on the step when he got back.

"Yo! Soul!" he called, and Soul grunted in acknowledgement, letting them both in.

"Black Star."

"Hey! Dude! What did you do to Maka, man? She's over at our place actually taking Tsubaki's attention away from a God like me!"

"I didn't do anything," Soul snarled, and Black Star almost flinched.

"Wow, dude. Sorry I asked. But something's got her panties in a twist. Tsubaki said I should let you know Maka probably wouldn't be home tonight. I was gonna ask if I could crash at your place since that girl talk is horrible, but think I'll just go chill at Kid's," he huffed. "Later, Soul."

Black Star's departure was more blessing than anything. Soul flung himself down on the couch and sighed. He thought about dinner, but it wasn't actually his turn to cook. "Stupid Maka," he grumbled.

His sleep was fitful, and without Maka there to wake him he trudged into class an hour late, bags under his eyes, stomach grumbling. It was a little consolation to note she looked the same. He sat next to her, and she didn't object, just put her head in her arms and didn't raise it until the bell rang. Tsubaki was glaring when they left.

Black Star sidled up to him. "So, uhm..." he started, nervous in a very un-Black Star way.

"What?" Soul snapped.

"Just, is it true? What that underclassman is saying? I mean, she's saying you and her-"

Soul stopped dead. "Saying we /*what?*/"

"That you two got... You know. Intimate."

"We what?"

"I mean, her words. Not mine. Obviously not how I'd put it-"

"Put what, God Damnit? We didn't DO anything. She got too close with Soul Resonance and I told her to fuck off. What ever the fuck she's saying is a god damned lie," Soul pushed past Black Star, picking up his bag. "For fucks sake - Maka! Damnit, get back here."

He didn't actually catch her until evening. She snuck away to the library and Soul was caught by Lord Death, who asked that Soul be a little more discrete than his unfortunate single-use partner. By the time he opened the door he was so damn tired of the words "Nothing happened," that he was considering actually murdering the entire class below him just for peace.

Maka was home, her bag slumped by the door, a few extra books stacked neatly beside. The smell of something delicious and warm was in the air, and for a moment it felt like everything had already blown over. But in the kitchen, Maka still refused to meet his gaze, spooning a helping of soup into a bowl and balancing it precariously as she whisked past him to pick up her bag and books.

"Maka!"

She turned just a fraction at her bedroom door, barely stopping, but it was enough.

"Damnit Maka, you can't believe that shit. I didn't - not with."

Maka laughed, but it was dry and lacking mirth. "I know, Soul. I was /*there*/. Or maybe you were too busy to notice," and then she was in the room, door latching and lock clicking behind her.

"Maka," he hissed, but didn't follow her farther.

Of course she didn't believe the rumors. But maybe, just maybe, what had happened was even worse.

He went to bed hungry again, stomach gnawing penance, eyes refusing to close until the sun was peaking over the horizon.

And for two weeks it had continued like that. He had finally managed to quash the rumors with the help of some purposeful glares and enlisting the help of his friends, who cheerfully tried their best to pretend nothing was amiss once the fires had been dealt with.

And now here he was, desperate, unable to forgive himself, unable to ask for forgiveness. Kid had taken him aside that morning briefly, and Soul got the feeling it was the only thing the Reaper was going to say on the matter.

"Listen, Soul," Kid had said. "You need to either fix this, or move on. For the time being you're still able to resonate with her, but when the anger and passion finally die, you'll have nothing. You'll be weak. Both of you.

So, fix it. Or don't. I have plenty of room if you need a new place to stay."

A new place to stay. Finality. Never partnering with Maka again. Maybe never hearing her laugh directed at him again. Never partnering with the coolest person he knew. Losing her. His best friend. His... Maka.

"Damnit," he growled. "That's it. This is it."

He walked to her room. He raised his hand to knock, but she wouldn't open it for him, so what was the point. He'd break the door down. Hand on the handle, ready to throw his shoulder against the door, he twisted his wrist violently and forced his shoulder into - nothing?

The handle turned like an oiled gear under his palm, the door swinging open, Soul stumbling through in a display of un-cool mis-footing, barely saving himself from a 10-point face plant. Maka looked up dully. She was not amused.

"Fuck, Maka!" he growled. "Let me explain! Nothing happened, I didn't even want-"

Maka turned over on her bed, pulling her book so she could read facing the wall, long legs curled up below her body, pale and perfect in the dying sun.

"Maka," it came out almost a whine, and he winced.

"Please," he whispered.

Still, she didn't turn, refused to outwardly acknowledge his presence. But they were both so on edge, wound so tightly that their souls were flaring like soft downy fur before a summer lightning storm.

He felt her soul... Twitch. It was the only way to describe it. Flex just barely, her tight control slipping to reach out to him just barely. Surely not on purpose, but still...

It was affecting her just as much, this separation. Of course it was. He could feel her pain every night, as raw and red as his own. But she... Could he? How could he fix this? Could he? Please, please, let him fix this.

He reached out tentatively with his soul, felt hers quiver under the scrutiny, the warm bath feeling that washed over them both and Soul /*willed*/ her to not push him away.

He moved forward, encouraged at least by her lack of protest. /*This is a fine line you're walking, Soul Eater.*/ Would she push him away if he pushed her too far? Under any other circumstance he would say yes. But she was barely the Maka he had known two weeks ago. Had he seen her taking notes in class even once?

What was the worst that could happen, at this point? She pushed him away for good? No, the worst that could happen - he could hurt her again. He almost turned away. Almost packed his bags and headed to Kid's, content to give up this fight and leave Maka to start over with someone new.

But...

He couldn't. The last embers of a sinking sun were setting her hair ablaze in golden fury, the soft peaks of shadows below her shoulder blades - so small, so delicate. So strong. Her legs, her arms, her shoulders - her body, a perfect instrument of balance, precise motions. A machine of destruction Soul could never match.

He was just a weapon. She was the fighter, the front line, the conductor and lead in a perfect duet - perfection he could never match with someone else. He melded with her when they fought, her taking him into her body, molten steel meeting steel to cut the enemy down. He was just an extension of her. He was her. How could he leave?

Soul reached out a shaking hand to drop it on her shoulder, her body quaking under his touch, her heat soaking into his palm. He wanted to sigh. He let himself, gave up holding back, gave in.

"Maka," he begged, voice ragged like he had never heard it.

She buried her face into her pillow in response, an arm thrown over her face as if she wanted to hide, book forgotten. Her soul told a different story. Her soul wavelength expanded, trying to break free of the reigns she was desperately holding. She was scared, and was trying to mask it with indifference. It had worked for two weeks, but Soul wanted to break down that barrier. He wanted Maka back, wanted all of her.

Their souls were linked without Maka or even his consent - there was no choice in the matter; they were too close, emotions too pent up. And so Soul knew she could feel every pulse of violent energy that echoed through him, the soft beat of his own soul like a heart, thump, thump, in time with the blood rushing through his veins.

Sound mind, sound body, sound soul. Perfect harmony. He flexed their bond, coaxed her soul wavelength until it was as wild as his, even as she stayed hidden in the folds of her blankets. She was shaking and he let his hand drift down her arm to feel the vibrations, covered her clenched fist and squeezed gently, pulling her hand away from her face.

"Maka," he whispered, and she swallowed. "How many times do I have to say I'm sorry, Maka?"

She shook her head, a tiny whimper. Soul pinned her hand to the bed in front of her and let his body lower softly behind her. He let go of her hand and pressed gently against her stomach, pressing her back until she was snug against him, tense, unable to move on her own now perhaps.

He trailed his hand down, then, hesitated just at the end of her skirt (were they all this short?) before venturing bravely onwards, stroking firmly down her thigh, straightening her leg out against his own, feeling her skin warm under the pads of his fingers, quivering muscles under his palm. He stopped halfway to her knees and let his fingers trail across the sensitive skin of her inside thigh. Her breath and soul hitched, but she still refused to move her head, refused to acknowledge him with words.

"Say something, Maka," he growled softly into her ear. "Please."

He slipped his other arm underneath her body and reached for the hand that lay next to the book, fingers curled slightly. She was forcing this outward apathy, and the struggle flared inside her even hotter in response. Harmony - balance. In lying to him with her body she assaulted his soul with the truth.

"Please," she whispered finally, so quiet Soul would not have caught it if he hadn't been so in tune with her; his hand cupped the back of her hand, thumb brushed the back of her thumb, waiting - would she give in to her heart, or her head?

/*Please*/, he thought back, /*Please, Maka. Let me. Take me back.*/

"Stop," it was quiet, even softer than her initial plea, but it was firm, and held within it a thousand other unsaid words.

Among them, 'You're too late,' it said, and 'How could you?' and, worst of all, 'I trusted you, but now I don't.'

Soul pulled back, even as his own soul rushed forward. It encompassed them both, Maka's pure, strong soul pressed down until he knew it would crush them.

He pulled away, tumbled off the bed in a tangle of limbs that felt foreign, unknown, not his own body. He pulled back until his soul couldn't expand any further, and he ran.

He stopped only briefly in his room, throwing some clean clothes in a bag, his toothbrush from the bathroom. He worked on auto-pilot, shuffling into his shoes with comical speed and locking the door being him.

When Kid opened the door he looked neither surprised nor smug. Just Kid, and Soul was grateful. The guest room was more than comfortable, larger than his own, though it felt as cold as the stone cells in the labyrinth beneath the school as he set his bag down on the bed, looked out the window to the garden below.

"Don't give up yet, Soul," Kid said from the doorway before he disappeared down the hall.

But was it worth it to keep fighting? Or would he just hurt her more? Could he force himself to take that risk?

Yes, he thought. He had no choice. Even if it broke the both of them from the inside, his blood screamed 'Weapon!' and she was his Meister. He had no choice. He could only hope that neither did she.

It dawned on him, as he lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, that her bedroom door had not been locked. It probably had never been locked, not in all the two weeks they had been avoiding each other, waiting for him to try. He'd just have to get it right this time - before she locked him out for good.