A/N: Another thing I am working on that was originally supposed to be a oneshot but ended up being multiple parts and parts of parts. Technically the story is two parts, but each part has little pieces that make it go together. So far I think I'm expecting 4 parts in part 1 and 2 parts in part 2.

Disclaimer: I'm done for today. No crazy funny comments or sarcasm for now. Soul Eater isn't mine and neither are the lyrics from the song "Falling" by Florence + The Machine.

I've fallen out of favor

And I've fallen from grace

Fallen out of trees

And I've fallen on my face

Fallen out of taxis

Out of windows, too

Fell in your opinion

When I fell in love with you

Part 1of Part 1: Falling

The high-pitched squeak of his drenched slacks against the taxi's plastic seat covers really irritates his ears and grates on his fraying nerves. On the edge, his left ass cheek catches and he practically falls out of the taxi and into a puddle, further drenching himself.

The rain doesn't help and continues to dampen things. Literally. It dampens his already shitty mood and his dismayed spirits. His clothes and his shoes. He's almost positive his silken boxers and white socks are soaked through and through, too. It's pouring down resolutely without a care in the world and, if the dark broiling mass of charcoal clouds suspended overhead are any indication, it doesn't plan on stopping. Apparently the weather knows no quittin' time and he, like the majority of the population, left his umbrella at home due to the bright, yellow sunshine pouring in from his window this morning.

The young man growls lowly to himself as he peers into the rowdy bar. It's a Wednesday night so it's not too busy and crowded, but there's a substantial amount of patrons occupying booths and standing in small packs along the dance floor. Their faces and features are indistinct and blurry from the raindrops drifting lazily down the glass pane, but one distorted shape catches his attention. His eyes are drawn to a frighteningly bright patch of white hair placed atop a fairly fit figure sitting straight and tall at the bar counter. It's an odd position, being all prim and proper at a bar of all places, but their genetics and heritage are hard things to beat down. He does it better than the person he's spying on, feeling strangely akin to Alice staring through her looking glass, but then again he wasn't "okay" with all of "it" whereas his elder brother had no trouble sliding into the place set for him by their parents.

With these thoughts darkening his mind, he's just about to turn around and walk away when lo and behold his crappy day gets worse. The lounger at the bar with the deafening ivory hair waves emphatically. The action is warped through the wet window, but it's not so bad that he can claim he never saw it. Thus, he is forced to open the door with bells on the handle, making jangling sounds that no one hears over the thudding bass, and saunters to the countertop.

Soul Evans is not looking forward to this "nonchalant" talk his brother begged him for. He knows their family. He knows Wes and, though Wes isn't as much of a prick as their father, he inherited the "I'm gonna get everything I want out of you whether you like it or not" gene, so he knows any discussion they have tonight will be anything but nonchalant.

It's not like he wasn't expecting it either. Between his phone ringing nonstop from his mother and grandmother's countless calls and Wes' multiple emails insisting they meet up because they "haven't seen each other for a while" and "should really catch up," it was only a matter of time before one of them caught him like shooting a fish in the proverbial barrel. In their minds, he's well overdue for an Evans family therapy session; or is it an interrogation? Either way, Soul's always been the oddball and the people who care (aka Wesley, his Nana, and his mom) demand he keep in touch and participate in family events.

So perhaps missing his dad's birthday celebration this year wasn't the smartest decision of his life. Maybe that was sort of asking for it. But, sometimes there are more important things in life than appeasing relatives. He fell out of his family's opinion ages ago, so it doesn't bother him much to fall a little more. However, he knows that some care and he figures the least he can do now is sit through Wes' questions and, if he's feeling up to it, provide reasonable answers. A couple might even be true this time around.

"Well, there's my lil brother bear!" Wes promptly stands long enough to pull his brother into a crushing hug that conflicts with his lean, lanky stature. Soul suffers through the legal constriction before he starts to pull away.

"Hey, now. You can let go, Wes. I'm here, alright? And look! I'm only…thirty minutes late. That's a record for me, dontcha think?"

His brother laughs jovially, the picture perfect smile with simple straight teeth gleaming, before nodding and patting the bar stool next time. Soul languidly falls into his spot, somehow appearing effortless in his every action so unlike his brother's charismatic and thought out demeanor.

"You're right. Thirty minutes is practically early for you, bro. In fact, it was getting to that point in time where I wonder if you're going to show at all. I was already making plans to track you down and drag you here against your will."

Wes finds Soul's signature smirk blazing to life with the brilliance of a burned out light bulb being replaced. It's a genuine smirk, close to an actual smile, and he's slightly shocked at how quickly it comes into play. Normally, it takes five minutes of nitpicking and describing any failures of their father or stories from their grandmother before he dared show his happiness but whatever he's remembering, as his glazed eyes indicate, quickly brings him to life.

"Hah! As if you could. We both know you only won those fights when we were little because you'd whap me in the head with your bow! You never fought fair. But, nowadays, I think I've learned how to not fight fair, too. I'm pretty sure I could take you."

"Oh I don't know…"

Wes trails off with a suggestive look and a prod at Soul's abdomen.

"You look like you've gained a couple of pounds, bro. Are you pregnant or have you just forgone working out?"

"Oh, whatever! Out of the two of us, I'm in better shape. I'm still young and dashing. You…what are you now? Thirty-eight or somethin'?"

The elder Evans is delighted to see his brother's smirk growing, but pretends to be offended nonetheless. It's how these things usually start. It's how Soul usually acts around his family and other people he doesn't trust. Contact is initiated through playful bouts of sarcasm and insults that virtually mean nothing. Wes is content with how things are turning out currently. He'll allow another few rounds of comfortable badinage before progressing to his purpose of the meeting.

"I'll have you know I just turned twenty-eight last year, Soul! I am not old, no matter what you and your little merry band of 'gods' or whatever that blue-haired monkey thinks he is says I am. These are prime years for a man…not that you would know. Since you're mom's baby girl and all."

Soul waves his comment off as though he's too cool for it but his cheeks helplessly color at the statement. It's been a long standing joke between the two brothers that their mother always treated Soul, not merely as the baby of the family, but as the daughter she'd never have. Analissa Evans never really meant to emasculate her youngest…but throughout the years they noticed an interesting pattern when she was stressed about him. She tended to act like any flustered mother hen would when she hasn't seen her baby in a while…only she didn't seem to remember that said baby was a twenty-two year old man completely capable of fending for himself.

"Shut it, Wes."

There's a lull in the conversation and red on red. The time is almost upon them and Soul is very aware that his next question will bring about his own doom (figuratively speaking). He's the one opening the can of worms this time around, but he is curious. Due to his absence from the party, he hasn't seen or heard from his family in a year. He clears his throat and Wes takes great notice of how he unsuccessfully attempts to shake off the slouch he adamantly held onto as a habit of rebellion for years.

"…Speaking of, how is mom? And Nana? They doin' okay?"

The elder brother straightens out of his nonexistent lounge to reply, already prepared for his transition to the heart of the matter.

"They're both doing fine. Mom's been busy working on the Summer Masquerade Gala, you know how she is with that stuff, and Nana is…well, she's Nana. She thinks she isn't a day over fifty and that she can go around taking taekwondo classes and going to sparring tournaments on the weekends while she does everything else on weekdays. Lately, I think she mentioned working at a local theater for some show and volunteering at the homeless shelter. I believe she also talked about visiting some punk over at Shibusen U who's hasn't been answering his phone and has been doing God only knows what…"

Wes stares pointedly at Soul, one fine arched eyebrow raised like a salute to whoever enjoys interrogating and torturing younger brothers. Said younger brother has the decency to appear guilty, ducking his head and avoiding eye contact, before sighing heavily.

"Yeah, I know. I'm a punk and an ass and all that. I should have returned their calls and tried to meet up with them. Things have been…hectic lately, but I promise-"

Soul finally meets his brother's expectant gaze, eyes burning through the hazy, smoky air wafting around them in the bar, to insure that Wes understands he means every word.

"I promise I'll be better at keeping in contact. I swear I'll go and visit them soon."

He waits for his brother's approval, waits for the sign that he's dismissed and forgiven, but instead of any more interrogatives or any indication of hearing his sincere promise, Wes suddenly inches closer to him. His eyes widen slowly and he utters an extremely girlish squeal.

"Oh my God, James Soul Evans! Who is she?"

This is when Soul freezes, jaw locked tightly closed and eyes large and shiny like freshly polished silver plates. He was expecting more questions, not stupid enough to believe that Wes would let him go that easy, but he was not anticipating this. As a rule of thumb, Wes no longer asks about Soul's numerous girlfriends. A young man in college with the intimacy issues acquired from years of family scrutiny? One can only imagine how many different asses he goes through a week.

This idea that Soul goes through girlfriends the same way an American teenager goes through a pack of gum is merely reinforced by the new female attached to his arm every family occasion. The women are generally blonde with a large bust to compensate for their lack of a brain upstairs. His pick of these so-called appealing women is partially to infuriate their father who believes Soul should be looking for a prominent woman figure to be his wife. If he won't be a musician like his mother and brother, then he is supposed to become a politician like his father. Blonde bimbos do not look good in politics.

The other half of his mindset is his need to be safe. To be the controller of the relationship. If a woman isn't on par with his cynical, intellectual self, then it makes her easy to deal with. Makes it easy to break up and move on. Makes it easy to never feel and fall in love.

But, Soul has been unnaturally calm and collected tonight and Wes is hopeful that he has put two and two together because…that could mean…

"…I don't know what the hell you're talking about, Wes."

And there's the Soul he's accustomed to. Harsh. Fierce. Defensive and brutally shutting the world, and everyone in it, out. His red eyes have hardened to the consistency of metal and are quick to pierce and cut like the edge of a blade. Wes berates himself for not noticing how soft and open the red had been, only realizing it by the sudden regression to the Soul of their childhood. But this reaction does the opposite of what it is intended to do and instead of backing off, his elder brother marches forward. Quite frankly, Wes is beyond fascinated. His hypothesis has just been reinforced by his brother's angry snarl of a response and he's determined to find out what, or more likely who, has transformed his brother.

"Can it, Soul. I figured there was a lady friend involved when you skipped out on Dad's party, but now…she's not a one-night stand, is she? You're actually seeing someone."

"I don't know where the hell you get these ideas, but I am not seeing anyone! I bailed on our dear old pop's birthday bonanza because Kid, Star, and I decided to throw a house party instead and between my friends, hot babes, and beer and our stick-up-his-ass-wears-disapproval-of-me-like-fuck ing-cologne father, I'd rather be with them! That's all! Now, are we done here? I have something to do tonight you know-"

Soul begins to stand up, his brow furrowed in that disheartened angry-at-the-world expression that his older brother thinks is starting to look too comfortable on his face again. Wes grabs his wrist and tugs hard, refusing to let him go.

"You're not going anywhere, lil brother. You owe me that much. Now...Sit. Your. Ass. Down."

The younger male is forced to sit back down or be yanked to the ground and he does so with a furious glance at Wes. He pulls his hand out of the other's grip and bares his abnormally sharp teeth.

"What? What do you want?"

Wes stares into his brother's eyes and watches so many conflicting emotions flicker in bloody depths that for a moment he is stunned with the knowledge that Soul can feel that much. The youngest Evans has always pretended to be apathetic as if the world and everything in it bored or angered him; it isn't until this moment that Wesley Evans realizes he fell for his brother's superb poker face. Somewhere along the way, he placed the very same idiotic judgment his father had on Soul's undeserving shoulders—that he was a lazy, immature kid that didn't care about anything but partying, drinking, and ass.

"…Who is she, Soul?"

Soul grinds his teeth together and refuses to reply.

"Come on, bro. I know there's a girl involved. First, I figured you didn't come to Dad's party because you were afraid our parent's would approve of her. But now…now I'm thinking…maybe you didn't bring her to the party because you're afraid our parents won't approve of her."

Soul flinches and tries to cover the action up by huffing agitatedly and crossing his arms across his chest. He gnaws on his lower lip contemplatively, cringing slightly when he bites too hard and slices the soft tissue. He glances every which way, as though scared that one of the drunken carousers around them might try and eavesdrop, before exhaling loudly.

"Look…it's nothing, Wes, she just…we…I…I don't even know anymore."

He dips his head down and Wes is shocked to see…tears in his brother's eyes? Wes quickly backpedals. It's not that possible, of course. He must be seeing things. Because James Soul Evans doesn't cry. Hasn't cried. Ever. Yet the increased glare of the light on his corneas does look suspiciously like watery eyes. To say that Wes is surprised would be a grievous understatement. If one thing is clear, there is a girl and whoever she is, she hasn't merely captured his little brother's attention as he originally thought…but his little brother's heart. The defensive and loner Soul…has fallen for someone.

"…How'd you meet her?"

Soul throws his head back instantly, teeth glittering as they're exposed to the dim light. He laughs bitterly, but with a bit of gusto as though he actually means it. It makes the entire action that much more real and hard to watch. Wes can almost hear the young man's heart breaking.

"God, Wes. I always got into trouble, you know? Always. Between the two of us, I was the troublemaker and it's not any different today. If you can believe it, she was, hah, is a one night stand type of thing…until she wasn't anymore, you know? I wasn't supposed to…like her as much as I do, and now…at the beginning, I was scared I wouldn't be able to get rid of her, right? And now…now I'm scared because I don't want to get rid of her? Isn't that crazy? Haven't I dug myself in some deep shit this time, Wes? Aren't I in trouble?"

The young man with the bitter smile squeezes another mirthless chuckle out of quivering lungs before turning to glimpse his brother's reaction. It's like the roles are reversed. Soul is in Wes' face inquiring for his thoughts while Wes is solid ice, unbelieving of the change in the other's attitude. The thought of whoever this girl is rings in his mind once more before he decides that Soul needs more than an Evans lecture from a man who's merely nothing but a kinder version of their father. He needs an older brother, someone to listen to him and advise him. So, he forces warmth back into his posture and meets Soul's dark gaze. His mouth lights up with a brotherly, conspiring grin in the hopes that his younger brother will finally open up to him.

"That doesn't really answer my question, Soul."

So Soul softly smiles and tells him how they met.