Chapter 1 – Her.

A/N: FINISHED THE VERY FIRST CHAPTER. Sorry if it took so long… :(((( I got caught up in life and college… and a lot of other things. Anyways, I don't know Maka's course would be that involves with a lot of paperwork and what not (although college gives a lot of paperwork and thesis, like my course does only that my course consists of lab reports and such) and Soul is a bit OOC here but uhm yea... ANYWAYS, Read, Review, Favorite, Subscribe! ENJOY

Disclaimer: I don't own Soul Eater, The Stranger by Albert Camus and Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka

She ignored me like the plague after breakfast.

She probably thinks I need time to myself.

Aside from all that, though, I gotta say she's got a pretty decent house. She's got a cool sofa and table with her red plushy couch she slept on the other night. In front of that, she's got a huge flat screen tv that her dad bought. She's got a normal kitchen with all the pans, pots and plates in cabinets and a refrigerator full of food for the week. She's got a dining table for four people, but she only has two rooms, each has a double sized bed, a table and a shelf. It's not fancy-looking and all, but it's okay enough to live in.

Unlike ours.

I'm pretty sure all of you people can guess how we live: huge mansion, spaceous rooms, chandeliered lights (whatever you call it), extravagant food. You name it. All of these are true facts. Why? It's because we can afford them. No harm in that right? We have an easy going life style. But music was something we needed to take really seriously.

Usually, before breakfast we had to play any piece that we had mastered with perfect precision and accuracy. After breakfast, we practice each major and minor octaves. I also practice with some jazz music. Then we move on to the short pieces, preludes, sonatas, and others and we practice and re-master each and every one of them. My repertoire comprises pieces from Beethoven, Schumann, Mozart, Bach, Liszt, Chopin, Schubert, Debussy, Brahmms and Tchaikovsky. There are also countless of anonymous pieces and original works of mine.

Practice and composing aside, party, balls and performances were where we go to often. In formal parties and balls, my parents would go from one person or group to another, always socializing and talking about news and nonsense. Sometimes, when asked, they go over to the center of the room or a stage and perform in front of the crowd. Wes, on the other hand, performs at every formal party and ball. Rarely does he sit down to chat with the folks or dance with the ladies. Everywhere, back in my home town, everyone knows us not just because of my parents, but because of him. He was brilliant, awesome, magnificent. He really is. I know I don't like his attitude right now, but if there was one person would could knock off Bach, Mozart and all those dead composers, it's my brother. he was precise and accurate with every single piece he had played on. No guy could play like Wes Evans.

And me?

Well.. sometimes I attend. Sometimes I don't. My parents were always hard on me whenever I'm on the piano. People talk to me like I had no worth in the name of the Evans family.

"You never really listen do you?"

"You can't hit that note right."

"Why can't you compose a better piece than Wes?"

"You're only a Wes wanna-be. Get over yourself."

Pretty much that was the life I was in. Always under the shadows of my big brother, always the boy being scolded by his parents, always the one who's never good enough for the family.

But right now... I'm here in this strange city where people don't know much about the Evans family. Although, I may have two jobs here, I don't know what else to do. I'm on my own now, with money that could be spent on a new apartment.

It feels new and strange here... I was always used to walking through the huge hallways, listening to my brother's violin whenever I needed a break from my work. I was always used to my parents' appraisals of my brother and their disdain of me. But looking at these plain white-painted walls of Maka's home... all of those memories felt insignificant now. There was no violin playing or any parent praising but the sound of the TV and Maka's singing were heard.

This is all so new.

And I like it.

"OI lazy ass! Cook something for dinner!"

And then there was her.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah..."

It was already five in the afternoon. I hadn't realize that because I was sleeping on the sofa all day, thinking and dreaming of the life I had and was going to have while she had been doing much of the sweeping, scrubbing and washing.

"Well?" And now, she stood in front of me, with eyebrows raised and arms crossed. I rolled my eyes and imitated her pose. She sighed and placed her hands on her hips.

"Looks, I gave you a place to stay, so you might as well help me with all the chores. This house is not as huge as your 'oh-so-wonderful mansion'" I rolled my eyes again, "but this is your home now. You may as well leave and waste all of your money if you want to find a more fancy apartment than this, or you could start cooking." I could get up and do what she wants to do, but then I could just lie here and stare at her bright green eyes. But when she realized I wasn't getting up, she did what no woman could do.

"MAKA CHOP!"

(509-509)

A month had passed. I now learn that Maka is an undergraduate student at Shibusen Academy with a degree. Her dad is a Business professor at her school and is responsible for paying her rent. And as a undergraduate student, it means to say there's a shit load of homeworks, quizzes, projects and exams Maka's working on.

She's been pretty busy lately. From Monday all the way to Friday, I'm the one who wakes her up at five in the morning. Sometimes, I see her sleeping on her chair, with all the thesis papers lying on her table. Sometimes, I see her sleeping on her red plushy couch with a thick book in her arms. Other times I see her sleeping in the dining room with all the books and papers all over the table. And whenever she comes back home from school, she always has some take-out dinner for the two of us. Rarely does she eat with me, since after coming home, she goes back to her room just to study on whatever while she eats her share of dinner. In the end, I'm the one washing the dishes.

Even on Saturdays, she's always studying. In the morning, she gets up late. She eats out for breakfast because she knows that I suck at cooking. and when she comes back, she goes back to her room. Studying. Again. On Sundays, she goes out for grocery. Other than that, she's still studying. As usual. At any time of the night her light is always open. Whether it's the living room, the dining room or her bedroom, I know that she's studying.

In my side of the story, I have three jobs to keep. On Mondays and Wednesdays, I work as a cashier at the music shop. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I'm a waiter at Medusa's Tea Leaf express. On Fridays, I flip burgers at Patty's Burgers (HAHA, it rhymes). On the weekends, though, I make sure to clean up after her papery and book-ish mess... but today, I'm making my very first homemade soup. My co-worker Liz taught me how to make one in case if I get hungry or somethin'.

"Hey Soul..." Maka walked into the kitchen with a tired frown. She sluggishly dumped her bag on the dining table and sat down with a thud of her ass.

"Hey." I greeted back, turning my head a little in a small nod. I didn't start a conversation and instead turned my attention to my home made soup, knowing full well that she was too cranky to talk about it.

"So...?" She spoke after a few minutes of silence.

"What are you making?" She asked.

" Homemade soup." I replied, dousing a pinch of salt. "Liz taught me how." I added before she could assume that I was still a bad cook.

"Oh."

More silence.

"Was she from Patty's and Burgers?" She asked again.

"Mhmm, yea." I nodded my head.

And then more silence.

...This is weird. Beyond weird. By now, Maka would lock herself up in her books and papers while she eats a portion of the take-out dinner she bought for the two of us. But now, she's still sitting on that chair, still watching me pour and mix the ingredients of my very first home made soup. I wanted to ask her why she didn't buy herself dinner or why she didn't seem to want to go back to her room, but I decided against it. Not that I'm scared or anything, we just... don't talk much. We have nothing in common to talk about, I guess. She's on and on with the shit she reads and it's not my thing to indulge with the stuff she does. What should I talk about? Romeo and Juliet? The Notebook? No thanks. I'm not into that stuff and I'm pretty sure she's not good with music either.

But we're okay with not talking.

"Hey, Soul." Maka spoke again. This time, I turned my head to where she's sitting. I took note of those black baggy eyes, those pale white cheeks and those dry lips. But before I could say anything else, she asked,

"May I have some soup?"

And I sighed.

"Sure."

After cooking the soup, we ate it in silence.

(509-509)

The next day, she went out, saying she needed to pick up a few things from school and have some quality time with her father, leaving me to clean her room. I don't usually do this (and this is the first time to do so) but today is an exception. She'd be bringing a bunch food with her dad and have dinner here and the place needed to be spotless by the time they get back. I don't mind doing these things today, since there's not much to clean. I've done them all yesterday.

Except for her room, of course.

There was nothing much to see, though. At the left side was her bed, with her pillows and blanket neatly tucked under he flowery cover. To the right were her cabinets and a vanity closet. Directly in front of me were two bookshelves and her desk, all lined with some thick and thin books and picture frames. The mess that needed compiling was the pile of papers, junk food wrappers and other items scattered across the room.

Why am I doing this again..? It's always the same question every time I clean up her mess. It's not like I owe her too much. She was only letting me stay here until I find a decent apartment all to myself. I didn't need to do all of this for her... Plus, I have three jobs to keep and that's more than enough to keep me busy and away from her.. I don't just do things for people and I'm not her maid or butler or anything... She does her set of chores too, only that I end up doing them cause she's busier than usual...

Maybe I am becoming a bit too comfortable with this arrangement. Maybe I was bored and I got nothing to do in my free hours (except for watching TV programs and writing music sheets from time to time). I'm not particularly bothered by this at all, but I wonder if I'm becoming a bit of fond of Maka for some reason...

Thump.I looked down and saw that a book fell from the shelf. I picked it up and curiously flipped it open to the first page.

"MOTHER died today. Or, maybe, yesterday; I can't be sure. The telegram from the Home says: YOUR MOTHER PASSED AWAY. FUNERAL TOMORROW. DEEP SYMPATHY. Which leaves the matter doubtful; it could have been yesterday."

Huh. Interesting. While holding the book in hands, I picked up another with my hand and opened to a random page.

"WHEN GREGOR Samsa woke up one morning from unsettling dreams, he found himself changed in his bed into a monstrous vermin. He was lying on his back as hard as armor plate, and when he lifted his head a little, he saw his vaulted brown belly, sectioned by arch-shaped ribs, to whose dome the cover, about to slide off completely, could barely cling. His many legs, pitifully thin compared with the size of the rest of him, were waving helplessly before his eyes."

...What the hell...? What kind of books does this girl read...? Sighing, I placed the two books outside and continued picking up her pile of papers.

I'll be reading them later (not that I have anything to do anyways).

(509-509)

By the time she came back, I was halfway across the first book. I'm not a fan of reading, but this one's pretty good. Just from where I was sitting I could hear the rustle of bags and the smell of Chinese food. I looked up and saw she was staring at me.

Oops.

"Is that my book?" She asked.

"Uh, yeah, uhm, sorry, I was curious." I stuttered and hid my face behind the pages.

"It's okay." I watched as she waved her hand carelessly, "As long as you put it back that is." I gave a small nod and went back to reading, hoping she wouldn't strike a conversation.

"So,"

I spoke too soon.

I looked up again and she was already sitting beside me.

"Yea?"

"How's the book?" She asked, not even asking if I finished cleaning her room (but I don't think she needed to ask anyway; she seemed so sure that I would clean her room properly).

"S'pretty cool. Although the guy's a little...?"

"Strange? Absurd?" She smiled, "Yea, he is. Which part are you on?"

"The part where he's in jail."

"Ah..."

"Where's your dad, by the way?" I asked lightly. From the corner of my eye, she looked away with a scrunched up face.

"He's... a little busy. He'll come by some time during the week." She replied hesitantly. I sighed. I knew something was up and whatever kept him "busy" hurt her a lot. Deciding to indulge her presence, I marked my page, closed the book and placed it on the coffee table.

"Come on." I sighed, "Let's eat." She smiled and stood up.

"Yeah, sure." She paused before saying, "Just stay there while I set up the food here. We are going to celebrate."

Huh? "What for?"

"For cleaning my room." And she turned around, leaving me to stare at her with a grin on my face.

I could get used to this.