Author's Notes: The quotation on top is from the poet Clementine von Radics. If you like poetry, I recommend all of his. I do not own Soul Eater (if I did, there'd be no boob madness). I wish I had had more time to work on this story but unfortunately life gets in the way of art all the time. I edited this story to the best of my ability but there may still be some errors in here which I apologize for tremendously. It is a simple story but I hope those who do read it enjoy it nonetheless. Thank you. :]
"I will love you when you are a still day.
I will love you when you are a hurricane."
It isn't the first day of autumn, but it feels like it.
The sky is stained with ashen clouds that aren't thick enough to cover all of the pinpricking stars overhead. Fragments of an eventide sky strike through the scudding gray, a raging swirl of orange and faded ocean blue. The wind sticks to his skin but chills his bones at their aching core.
He's glad he opted for his threadbare scarf as he trots after his uproarious roommate. He chirps nonstop about the party – the "legendary rager" – that they're about to "crash." Soul half-listens, picks up on "hot sorority chicks" and "bottomless kegs" but otherwise tunes out.
He focuses on how off-kilter it is to be away from home, away from high-class chatter and milling servants behind each swinging door. Instead, he is surrounded by blooming scholars his own age with no stifling curfew, or unbearable need to have near-flawless etiquette at oversized dinner tables that keep his family as far apart as he feels from them. He feels like he can breathe for the first time in years and the night air is so crisp. It cleans his lungs out and makes his spirit lighter. The world seems to change color, like the curling edges of the old leaves above them. This could be a good year as long as he can stay balanced and above the dark waters of his own mind.
His roommate leads him down a small side road just a few hundred feet from one of the vine-threaded campus buildings. A shoddy remix of an antiquated song spills out of an open door and grates Soul's ears. He swallows a deep breath to calm his nerves, which fray like old ribbon at the sounds that swell in the house they enter.
Three boys near-knock him over on their way out of the crooked door. Beer they splashed mid-altercation stings his skin and leaves a yeasty scent behind. He crinkles his nose as he stands behind his roommate in the keg line.
"Black Star," he groans as he observes all of the steroid-stuffed jocks, "this is nothing like you said it would be."
"Aw, come on," he replies with a froth-rimmed mouth, "give it more than five seconds before you skip out on me, bro."
"I'm gonna regret this," he mumbles as he watches his roommate attempt to converse with an ebony-haired girl two times his height. The beer spirals into his stomach like a lukewarm poison. It tastes like it has been aging in the basement for years, a bit like sprinkled dust and mold. It wouldn't surprise him if the keg had been rotting away downstairs for months. This is a frat house through and through: from the signed sports jerseys hanging on the walls to the lace thong draped on the ceiling fan.
With Black Star ensconced and enchanted by the sophomore sorority girl, he sneaks outside to soak in some more cool, fall-brushed breezes. The porch boards creak like ancient tree limbs underfoot, and his heart leaps into his throat for a moment when he steps over a rusted nail jutting far out from the foundation. He wonders how the building even stays intact, especially when the alleged DJ cranks up the volume on his weak playlist and the house shudders in fear.
Soul places his red solo cup on the banister and looks out. All the houses on the street are well-lit and alive, even as midnight falls.
He jumps when he hears the screen door screech open. He turns a perplexed sanguine stare onto the stranger, a dishwater-blonde girl half his size. She throws him a calming, semi-shy smile and moves to stand beside him.
"Sorry if I scared you," she says.
"It's fine. You're too small for me to feel threatened, anyway." He grins.
She glares, her green eyes thrumming with unhindered irritation. "I'm tiny, but I bet you five dollars I could kick your ass."
He laughs. "I actually bet you could."
Her smile reaches her eyes this time, and she holds out her hand for him to shake. "Maka."
He shakes it with a weak grip, afraid her hand is as fragile as it looks in his own. "Soul."
A group of guys hustle down the sidewalk toward the party, all raucous laughter and playful shoves.
He watches her eyes widen in the dim light. She turns to him, gaze pleading and jolted. "I need you to do me a favor. You can say no, though," she murmurs.
The group approaches, rapid and already drunk.
"What is it?" He leans closer the quieter she gets. Their noses near-touch. A small hint of vanilla drifts from her skin.
"One of those guys is my douchebag ex. Think you can kiss me quick while he walks by?"
His heart hammers against his ribs – so hard it is like it is trying to break through - and he licks his dry lips. He can feel his body shaking a bit, but he surprises himself – and possibly this beautiful half-stranger – and slides his hand over one of her cheeks and moves in to kiss her as if he already has a hundred times before. As if this is natural between them, these two people who just met under an hour ago.
She leans against his hand as he kisses her. And it does feel natural. It feels like the whole world falls into place in this piece of time. Like things in the universe shifted around them to make this work; like souls melding and lining up.
After he hears them slam their way into the party, he opens his eyes and breaks the kiss. Her cheeks are as red as his, her viridian eyes luminescent. He's not the best kisser, but she makes it easy. And he's relieved she looks like she enjoyed it as much as he did.
He clears his throat. "Hope that helped," he says to absolve the lingering tension.
"Yeah," she replies, a grin forming. "I think it did. That was pretty convincing I'm sure."
"Not sure if he saw, though. My eyes were closed."
The smile swings through. "My eyes were closed, too. So I don't know. Certainly made this shitty party a bit more fun. Thanks, Soul."
"My pleasure." He smiles back. He likes the way the way she whispers his name, the way she laughs. She's making all of this way too easy for him.
"Maybe I'll see you around campus?" she asks, and she rocks on her heels a bit.
"I hope so," he says before he can restrain himself.
"Me too." She throws him one last smile before she goes back inside.
He watches a few red-sullied leaves flutter to the ground and pulls his scarf tighter. The air is so different here.
He could get used to it.