A/N: Hey all! This is my entry for this year's Resbang challenge-when my artists post their art, I will post a link on my profile page. A few chapters will switch POVs but that will always be marked with a line break. Additionally, this fic is unique in that you can make your own choices at the end of some chapters, which will affect how the story ends, so be on the lookout for that~ Other than that, happy reading!


Tacenda (n: things better left unsaid.)


"Maka!"

You jerk awake at the sound of your name and glance at the red-haired man in the driver's seat from underneath your eyelashes. Yawning, you deliberate for a moment whether to answer your father or feign having fallen back asleep.

He doesn't give you a choice, wagging a finger at you while wearing a grin brimming with manufactured cheeriness. "I can see you're awake."

Rubbing your eyes blearily, you grunt and sit up without returning the smile, rolling out the kinks in your neck. You stifle another yawn and peer out the window-there aren't many other cars on the street but it isn't too surprising considering the sun is barely peeking out over Death City's skyscrapers.

"Maka."

You scowl. "What is it?"

He holds out a cup. "We're going to be getting some real food soon but I thought you should have a pick-me-up."

You accept it grudgingly. "You haven't explained why you woke me up this early. Or why we're going into the city." Sniffing the cup gingerly, you take a small sip. The bitterness of black coffee sweeps over your tongue and leaves your mouth burning. You shudder slightly but continue to drink-it's a taste you somehow manage to love and abhor at the same time.

Your father shakes his head. "I can't ruin the surprise now that we're almost there." He taps on the brakes a little too hard as the light in front of you changes from green to yellow. "And I thought you'd want to spend a little quality time together before your junior year of high school begins." His grin spreads wider. "I remember that was a busy year for me."

You snort. "Please spare me the details."

"I wish I could forget some of them myself." His laugh is the same one he cracks after telling a terrible pick up line to the checkout girl at the store.

Unamused, you narrow your eyes and ignore your father's subsequent attempts to prod you into conversation. When he finally gives up and turns up the radio volume, you pretend the slight slump in his shoulders doesn't bother you and spend the rest of the car ride staring out the window and drinking your coffee.

"Breakfast time," your father announces as he pulls to the side of the street and parks. He points to a diner crammed between two high rises. "I hope you're hungry because the buffet here is to die for."

You mumble out something that sounds like a reply as you step out of the car, tossing the empty coffee cup into the trash. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice your father scrambling to get to the door but you reach it first, pulling it open just as he's reaching out to grab the handle.

The pink-haired waitress (whose skull-shaped tag names her as Kim) standing behind the greeting counter doesn't bother straightening up as you two enter. "Welcome to Deathbucks Cafe. Home of the famous Deathbucks pancakes," she says in a voice dripping with boredom. She roots around for menus. "They're die-licious."

Your father's laugh is loud enough for you both as Kim leads the two of you to an empty booth. She plops down a menu in front of you. "Your server will be Jackie."

You immediately pick up the menu as Kim walks away and examine it much more thoroughly than you should. However, you can only look at it for so long-the silence between you two isn't as easy to ignore here.

Placing the menu down, you drum your fingers against the table and look around. Save for the waitresses, the diner is completely empty, the song playing on the loudspeakers made nearly inaudible with garbled static. Looking back down at the menu, you reread the same line over and over without taking in anything.

Your father speaks. "Excited to be starting school tomorrow?"

You shrug. "It'll be nice to see my friends and visit the library."

"That sounds ni-" He struggles briefly. "Fun."

You bob your head and you both lapse back into silence.

"Oh!" Your father exclaims loudly, making you start. He rummages in his jacket pocket, pulls out a badly wrapped package and holds it out eagerly to you. "I almost forgot."

You take it and turn it over in your hands. "What's this?"

"A back to school gift." He taps his fingers against the tabletop and leans forward. "Open it!"

Slowly, you unwrap the package, unsure what to expect from your father. Your eyes widen at the sight of the pair of gloves lying in the wrapping, gleaming white in the diner's fluorescent light.

You hold them up and look at your father, the empty and polite "thank you" you had prepared vanishing from your tongue.

"I noticed your old ones were starting to get holes," your father says. His voice inches up in pitch. "And I had no idea what else you needed so-"

"I like them," you interrupt, surprised to find you mean it completely. You pause and add, "I really did need some new ones. Thank you."

For the first time, the smile that breaks across your father's face is genuine. "I-"

At that moment, a waitress you assume is Jackie walks up to your booth, pulling a notepad from her apron. "Welcome," she says with a warm smile. "Are you ready to order or will we be waiting on your wife?"

Your hands clench around the gloves and the smile on your father's face disappears.

"It's just the two of us," he says quickly, throwing a glance at you.

"Oh, I'm so sorry." A faint blush appears on her face. "I thought because of your ri-"

"Not your fault." Your father waves off her apology, his smile back in place. He looks down at the menu. "I think I'll have the unlimited pancakes."

Jackie nods and looks to you.

"I'll have the same." You push your menu to her and stuff the gloves in your coat pocket, appetite gone.

She scribbles on the pad, snaps it shut and takes the menus. "I'll be back with some coffee for you two." With that, she bustles away.

Your father clears his throat, a clear hint of wanting to talk which you refuse to answer. The awkward tension that constantly freezes and melts between you and him has turned into a sea of broken glass and it's not something you particularly want to deal with this early in the day. You stare down and trace patterns on the table. Maybe if you don't move, you won't get cut.

Your father apparently thinks otherwise. "Maka-"

You cut him off. "You should really stop wearing your ring. It confuses people."

"It's perfectly normal to keep on wearing your ring after a divorce." You can't see his face but you hear the facade in his voice drop. "Your mother and I were together for a long time. It's hard to let something like that go."

"It's been over two years," you reply, narrowing your eyes and raising your head. "I'm sure Mom doesn't have hers anymore so there's really no point in wearing it." You don't give him a chance to respond. "Anyways, the time to have worn it was when Mom was here."

You ignore the hurt that flashes in your father's eyes and scoot out of the booth. "I'm going to wash my hands."

The bathroom is empty, which is lucky for you.

Closing the door, you lean your head back against it and breathe deeply. Mixed in with the hurt feels something like regret and it pricks at your skin like burning metal.

Blowing out the breath you were holding, you walk to the sink and twist the faucet's handle to full blast, sticking your fingers in the icy jet of water. You hold them there until the cold turns into knives and even then you wait for another beat before turning off the water.

You wiggle your fingers and wince, letting the tingling numbness pass before massaging the life back into your hands.

As your skin color returns to normal, your gaze trails up to your face in the mirror. You stare at yourself, absently reaching into your pocket and pulling out the gloves.

The buttery smoothness of the gloves caresses your skin as you pull them on. You fan out your fingers in front of you, checking out your reflection. While the gloves are loose on your wrists, the lining is warm, which will come in handy during winter.

You blink once as you feel the corners of your mouth curving upward.

Hastily, you peel the gloves off and shove them back in your coat. Without another glance to the mirror, you exit the bathroom.

As you round the corner on your way back to the booth, you hear your father chatting animatedly with Jackie. His voice is free in a way it never is when he's talking with you.

You tense but continue to walk, swallowing hard. You don't know when you stopped hating your father (if you ever hated him at all in the first place) and when you started just being stubborn.

When he pats your hand as you slide back in your spot, you scowl sourly before pulling away. But before you start cutting your pancakes, you steal a peek at him, opening your mouth slowly. Then he looks up and you snap your mouth shut and look back down to your plate.

You begin to eat without tasting anything.

And at this point, you don't know which reality you prefer.