Chapter 3: Take The Long Way Home


'Wooo hooo witchy woman, see how high she flies, woo hoo witchy woman she got the moon in her eye...'

Soul opened one eye and glared at his cell phone, willing it to stop ringing. He knew that it wouldn't, though, because his mother was nothing if not stubborn and if he didn't pick up the call he could expect a text, a voicemail, an email, and three Facebook messages to the tune of ARE U DEAD? CALL UR MOTHER.

"Hello?"

"And when were you going to tell me about this new mystery girlfriend of yours?" Anneliese "Annie" Evans demanded.

Soul squinted at his alarm clock; 7:04 am. A perfect time to get interrogated by his mother about his phony relationship. "How did you even - "

"I may be old but I'm not blind, Soul. I can read the internet perfectly well," she quipped. "Besides, Wes told me last night when we were at dinner."

That fucker. Their mom must have been laying into Wes about something - probably that story in The Post about him and some French Prime Minister playing hide the baguette on a romantic tropical island getaway - and he dodged it by throwing Soul under the bus. Amazing that she had enough restraint to wait until the morning to call him and demand answers about Maka. "Mom -"

"God, I hope she's better than that last girl you dated," Annie said. "You could practically see the dollar signs in her eyes whenever she looked at you. And she's a lesbian now, oy."

"Mom," Soul groaned. "It's too early for me to explain why everything you just said is wrong."

She humphed, clearly unconvinced. "I'm not judging. I'm just saying. When can we expect to meet Maka?"

"The relationship is still new - "

"All the more reason for us to meet her. I have to see who my son is associating with," Annie insisted. "You're my baby boy. Is it so wrong for me to take an interest in your life? Your father and I aren't going to be around forever-" Soul groaned again but his mother was on a roll and there was no stopping her now, "- we're not as young as we used to be. We're turning a corner. Who knows how many years we have left? Is it so wrong to want to have some grandchildren?"

Soul snorted. "Who knows, Wes probably has a few kids running around out there. You might be a grandmother and not even know it."

"Bite your tongue!"

He knew it was a mistake to pick up the phone and engage in any of this. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry."

Annie paused thoughtfully. "I see this girlfriend of yours went to Columbia. At least she's got brains."

"Oh my God, you researched her?"

"It doesn't take a genius to use Google, Soul," Annie said coolly. "I had to make sure that she didn't have a criminal record. She's certainly accomplished. Graduated at the top of her class, wrote numerous academic articles, and even has a book published. I bet you didn't know she teaches a Women's Self Defense Class." His mom was insufferably right, as per usual. "She's different from your usual type."

Soul rolled his eyes but didn't take the bait. He didn't have a type - he just dated whichever girls approached him first. It wasn't exactly the best strategy, because none of his relationships could ever make it past the six month mark. There was a certain lack of interest on his part that made intimacy nearly impossible and just going through the motions didn't exactly endear him to any of his exes.

He honestly couldn't blame them for ditching him.

"Fine, Mom. You've won. You can meet her." Three weeks from never, you emotional terrorist.

"That's wonderful, honey! Bring her by on Friday night for Shabbat dinner. Bubbe's going to be so excited."

"She's not Jewish," Soul whined, almost pleadingly, in a last ditch effort to get his mom disinterested in this charade of a relationship.

His mother was an unstoppable force of nature and she would not be swayed. "That's alright. I can look past it."

"How liberal of you," he muttered.

"What was that?"

He flinched; for all his bravado and "coolness", Soul just wasn't brave enough to open the floodgates of his mother's wrath. "Nothing, Mom. See you Friday."

Soul could practically hear her smiling in triumph. "Good. And Soul?"

What next? Soul braced himself for questions about the tightness of his pants, if he was eating enough, and one more lecture on how his motorcycle was a death machine."Yeah?

"This is just a mother's opinion -" Soul winced, "- but you really need a haircut. I'm not telling you what to do but that hair's gotta go."

Soul was a grown ass man. His mom could bully him into meeting Maka, she could bully him into dinner with his relatives, but he was not going to be bullied into getting a haircut.

His hair, his life, his rules.


Soul walked out of the hair salon and rubbed at the newly shaven side of his head.

It wasn't his mother's words that prompted the haircut, he reassured himself. He was planning to get one anyway.

The salon just so happened to be right next door to BIG*STAR GYM where he was supposed to meet Maka for lunch, songwriting, and groveling for her to please take pity on him and meet his family before his mother had an aneurysm. Soul shielded his eyes and looked up at the huge, grinning visage of ex-bandmate and good friend Blake "Black*Star" Barrett, wincing as he squinted. The gold and sequins on the awning of the gym surrounding his very lifelike figure was blinding and it was quite literally the tackiest thing Soul had ever seen.

In short: it was exactly Black*Star's aesthetic.

Why Maka chose to work out here was a mystery. Soul couldn't understand how anyone would be able concentrate with the walls of Black*Star's "motivational" posters and statues all over the place. It felt like Big Brother was watching you, if Big Brother was a 5'5" brick house action star with ridiculous blue hair and a laugh only a mother could love.

Soul texted Maka that he had arrived and sat down on a blue velvet couch next to the biggest and gaudiest sports drink machine he had ever seen. He didn't even know that drink machines could be bedazzled but if anyone would commission one, it would be Black*Star. Black*Star's motto of "Go Big or Go Home" clearly included merchandising and although it often gave Soul some serious secondhand embarrassment, his friend had done alright for himself.

Soul had been a little bummed about not seeing Black*Star in months, what with his friend's shooting schedule and numerous infomercial appearances and book signings, but now he remembered, vividly, as he stared at all of posters with Black*Star's face on it, why distance made the heart grow fonder.

"Hey! Sorry, did you wait long?" Maka jogged over to him, throwing a towel around her neck.

It took Soul a few moments to respond because he was absolutely mesmerized by her abs, which were gloriously on display thanks to the innovation of the sports bra and shorts combo. "Nah. Was just sitting here and marveling over the classy decorating job 'Star did on this place. I think I saw a shag carpet and an inflatable couch in the lounge area."

"That's nothing. There's a heated pool downstairs shaped like his face," Maka said. "I can't bring myself to go in it. His eyes follow me everywhere. Oh!" She suddenly reached over and starting touching his hair, brushing her fingers through the longer parts on top and rubbing the shaved sides. "You got a haircut, it looks so good!"

In the short time he had known her, Soul had come to realize that Maka had little concern for personal space. More surprising, he didn't hate it, which was odd for someone like him who preferred to keep a five foot barrier - both emotionally and physically - between him and other people at all times. It wasn't like Maka was trying to shove her hands down his pants like some hormonal fangirl but he was hyper aware of how close she would get to him, how easily she could drop a hand on his shoulder, or grab his hand to pull him somewhere.

Soul decided that, like most everything else in his life that he was too lazy to psychologically unpack, he would just repress these less than platonic feelings for the foreseeable future.

"Stop that, you're messing it up," he complained, trying to save face. Yes, touch me more could only lead to awkwardness, so Soul batted her hands away even if it had felt heavenly. "Also, you need a shower. You smell."

Maka huffed, cheeks round and chipmunk-esque with indignation. "Rude! I was just about to go shower and change but I wanted to say hi first. Now you're going to have to wait even longer."

She turned tail and stomped off towards the locker room. Maybe that was a little mean, Soul realized, but he panicked and his default defense was snark. Maka had made it perfectly clear that this relationship was strictly business and Soul wasn't about to fuck up everything they had worked for because he was going through late-late-late puberty and was finally noticing - really noticing - girls.

Or, really, one girl in particular.

Besides, Soul had already learned the consequences of mixing business and pleasure. It was a mistake that he wasn't willing to repeat, no matter how cute Maka was. Their job came first; fucking up yet another potential relationship would have to wait.

When Maka returned some fifteen minutes later clean and damp, Soul gifted her with a bottle of water. Even though it had Black*Star's face plastered all over it, the peace offering had earned him her forgiveness. They walked out of the gym together and headed to Soul's apartment for another attempt at song writing and, more importantly, the next episode of Spirit Rider. Soul had apparently fallen prey to a slightly overdone storyline with extremely likable characters. He blamed Maka, who only grinned and welcomed him to fan hell.

"- I mean, it's obvious that Rider only acts like such an asshole to cover up all of his insecurities, you know?" Soul threw out casually. He knew his analysis was on point; he might have stayed up until three am scrolling Tumblr to see what other fans thought. "And they make a good team because he's not sure of who he is, but he's sure of the things he does and Mika is sure of who she is, but not always sure of the things she does -"

Maka abruptly stopped and yanked Soul down by his shirt. He hunched over, looking around wildly. "What the hell, Maka? What's wrong?"

"I- I thought I saw someone I knew." The hand digging into his arm was shaking and her face went deathly white. She ground her words out through a clenched jaw. "Ugh."

Soul slowly straightened and looked around, body tense in case he had to attack or defend which was a ridiculous thought because Maka was undoubtedly stronger than he was. They were in front of a bookstore and the streets were fairly empty for a Tuesday afternoon in the summer. Unless Maka had beef with a four year old eating ice cream on the corner, Soul had no idea who she was referring to. "Who?"

She made a noise at the back of her throat that sounded suspiciously like a growl and tugged him, hand still on his arm, to keep walking. "Him," was all Maka said, nodding towards the cardboard cutout of Noah Brubeck, author of The Girl in the Black Trenchcoat, advertising his book signing event on Saturday.

"Wait, wait. Maka. Hold on." He tugged her to walk at a more reasonable pace because he was out of shape and starting to get out of breath from the power jogging. Maka slowed and let go of the death grip she had on his arm. "What's up?"

"I don't want to talk about it," she said, voice tight and high.

"Okay."

"O-okay?" Maka blinked up at him.

"Yeah. Everyone's got things they don't want to talk about." Soul stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans to avoid the temptation of holding her hand. He knew someone as prideful as Maka wouldn't want his pity or sympathy and he understood - too well - wanting to keep insecurities and secrets close. Soul was curious what her deal was with an author fifteen years her senior but he could wait for answers. "It's cool."

Maka gave him the tiniest of smiles. "You're a nice guy, aren't you."

"Don't go spreading that around," he said as they started up their walk again, "I've got a rep to protect. I was the bad boy of 2Kool4Skool, you know."

She choked out a laugh and slid her arm through his and Soul didn't mind one bit.


X-Calibur. 7:30pm. Be there wearing the clothes I left you in your apartment. And stop pouting, you big baby, one night out won't kill you.

Soul was in the middle of texting Wes a quick "eat a dick" when Maka smacked his shoulder lightly. She informed him that although they were not club people by any means (understatement of the century, Soul thought), they would be graciously accepting Wes' invitation. One Night in California was a huge anniversary event for the club and there were going to be gossip bloggers and paparazzi by the dozen. Wes insisted that they needed to be seen together in public and if they were going to do this fake dating thing, they were going to do it right.

Maka Albarn half-assed nothing, which was both frustrating and incredibly hot.

"Come oooon," Soul whined. He hoped that he would be able to appeal to her nerdy and introverted side. He was not too proud to beg. "Let's just stay home and watch Spirit Rider and eat pizza. Wes could probably photoshop our faces onto randoms at the club."

Maka threw the bag of clothes that had mysteriously been left on the couch at him. How in the hell did Wes keep getting in? Soul never made him a key. Probably seduced the doorman, that asshole, Soul thought. "No way. We're going. Get dressed."

Soul opened the bag, pulled out a pair of pants, and scowled. "I am not wearing studded leather pants. What'd you get?"

She held up a sparkly scrap of material that was more hole than dress. "Uh. This monstrosity. I don't even want to know where your brother got this from."

"From his own closet, probably."

They looked at each other and burst out laughing, throwing the clothes aside. "Might as well go as we are," Soul sighed. "We're staying for one hour and I'm not dancing."

"Killjoy." She looked down at herself, adjusting her modest skirt and brushing off her thin sleeveless top. Not exactly clubwear but it would have to do unless she wanted to dress like a Spice Girl. "I have some lipstick in my bag but I'm sort of hopeless at it."

Soul shrugged. "You look fine without it."

"Fine? Gee, thanks. Just what every girl wants to hear." She stuck her tongue out at him. "Could you help me with my makeup? I'm sure you have some experience. And you've got those steady musician hands," Maka teased.

"I don't -"

"Please?" Maka's eyes were wide, lips pouting cutely. She dug into her purse and handed him the tube of lipstick before he could refuse. "Could you please just try?"

He squinted at the lipstick in his palm. Soul was half tempted just to smear it all over her mouth and laugh, because he was embarrassed and intrigued at the prospect of getting this close to Maka without repercussion. Was she messing with him? She couldn't be that oblivious to his budding crush. "Don't blame me if it looks terrible."

"Mmm."

Soul leaned in close, resting his free hand on her shoulder. She smelled like crisp, clean, sensible dollar store soap and the ends of her long, soft hair tickled the back of his hand. He could feel the sharp ridges of her collarbone under his thumb and the heat of her skin and Soul took a moment to gather his wits. He was a man on a mission and if the Lord was testing him in the form of lipstick application, he was going to pass, damn it.

He started with her upper lip, carefully tracing the deep V of her cupid's bow. Filling the rest in carefully, Soul moved down to her bottom lip, which was comically pouted, he supposed, to make his job easier. So far so good, he thought with satisfaction. He had managed to stay in the lines and not make her look like a circus reject. The creamy lipstick went on smoothly and Soul took his sweet time making sure that everything was even and admiring her face.

"Just - you know." He pressed his own lips together, miming what he needed her to do. Maka immediately responded and then puckered comically. "Hold on, I just need to -"

Later, this would be remembered as the Beginning of the End.

The night that Soul Evans fucked up royally and there was no turning back.

Soul moved his thumb to the crease of her mouth, the little corner between top and bottom, intending to innocently clean up any lipstick that had escaped his carefully drawn lines. Her eyes fluttered shut and Soul forced air through his lungs, counting the freckles on the bridge of her nose to get a grip on himself. The moment his fingertip touched her bottom lip, soft and smooth and slick with lipstick, his heart thudded uncomfortably. Soul was so glad that Maka's eyes were closed because he could feel a violent blush travel from his ears to his neck.

The next thought he had was traitorous, unbidden: What would it feel like to ruin his careful handiwork with his fingers, his mouth?

"Good?" Maka asked, opening her eyes.

"Yeah. You're good."

She squeezed his arm in thanks before making long strides to the doorway to slide her ridiculously heavy boots on.

Soul rubbed his fingers together absently, still warm from her lips and oily from the lipstick residue.

Just business, he reminded himself for the millionth time. Just business.


Soul could only describe X-Calibur as Medieval Times meets a strip club.

Coats of arms and velvet scrolls lined the wall. There were elaborate weapons and armor and the place might have looked respectable if it weren't for the beautiful men in cages on each of the round tables. They were all wearing barely there chainmail booty shorts and thongs, grinding happily to the music being spun by ex-band member and good friend, Kilik Rung.

"I want to go home," Soul said immediately.

"We just got here!" Maka exclaimed. "By the way, what's the etiquette? Should I tip this guy dancing next to us? Everyone has to earn a living." Without waiting for an answer, Maka turned to the man in the cage. "Excuse me. Can you break a $20?"

Soul rubbed his temples. The pounding music and throngs of people weren't doing anything for his anxiety and general distaste for socializing. After the man in the cage kindly broke Maka's $20, he thanked her for the tip and Maka pulled Soul away so they could sit on some velvet couches in the corner.

"It's a little quieter over here," Maka said, smooshing against him in the too small chair. "Augh, hold on." She threw her long legs over his lap and settled comfortably. "There, much better."

Maka Albarn's legs were the danger zone and Soul knew that he needed to abort immediately for fear of doing something stupid like running his fingers along smooth, muscular calves and thighs. He distracted himself by flagging down a wandering waiter and ordering milkshakes, since this was a dry club. It would have been preferable to drown his troubles in some gin but since that wasn't an option, sugar would just have to do.

"I wrote some more lyrics. Wanna see?" Maka asked. She opened her cellphone and leaned closer to him. "Here, read."

"We spent just two months in reverie, now you'll only be part of Calgary," Soul read. "What? What happened in Calgary?"

Maka groaned. "What? Stupid autocorrect! That should be my memory, not Calgary," she giggled. "Why would they be in Canada?"

"I don't know, you're the lyricist. Poutine? Hockey? Socialized health care?"

"Oh my God," a new voice said and Maka and Soul looked up from the cellphone to find Wes standing in front of them, looking positively aghast. "You have got to be kidding me. You two are impossible. You're sitting in a club and working on a song? And what happened to the clothes I left for you?"

Soul crumbled up a napkin and threw it at Wes. "In the garbage, where they belong."

Wes rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I see I'm going to have to take more drastic measures. If I can't get scandalous photos of you two dancing on tables in leather pants, we're going to need something else." He motioned for the two of them to move closer together. "Kiss."

"What?!" Maka and Soul gasped, perfectly in unison.

"You heard me. Kiss. And make it look believable for goodness sake," Wes said. "Let's go, I don't have all night. Do you know how many people in here I need to avoid?" The bartender, a chatty man with silver hair who kept talking over the customers, leered at Wes. Wes looked away quickly. "I'm going right into the line of fire for you two."

"Well maybe if you didn't sleep with anything with a pulse -"

Maka turned to Soul. "Fine. Let's do it. It's just one kiss. One picture, right?"

Wes nodded a bit too eagerly for Soul's liking. "Yes, just one. One picture and then you can go home."

Soul's mouth went dry. He wasn't ready for this. He was never going to be ready for this. And it wasn't because he was disagreeable to the thought of kissing her- just the opposite. Soul had probably wanted to kiss her since the moment she threatened to kidnap someone and hold him hostage so she could win a cooking show. Soul felt guilty; he couldn't help but feel like he was doing something underhanded by agreeing to this.

But if Maka was agreeing...

"Just one," he agreed begrudgingly. Soul tossed her legs off of his lap, for reasons - most of them having to do with the potential for accidental, embarrassing erections and his traitorous penis that had a mind of its own. "No tongue."

"Ew," Maka slapped his arm lightly, grinning. "Don't be gross. Just shut up and kiss me."

Jesus H. Christ. Soul leaned in and gave Maka the quickest, most chaste peck that he could muster. He tried not to concentrate on how soft her lips were on his, definitely tried not to think about the shot of pleasure that hit him right in the gut at the mere contact.

"Oh, come on. I kiss my grandmother with more passion than that," Wes complained.

Soul scowled. "Leave Bubbe alone, you perv."

Wes held up his cellphone, intent on getting his perfect picture. "Once more, this time with feeling, Solomon."

"Oh for frick's sake!" Maka grabbed Soul by the shirt and pulled him to her, her mouth clumsily landing on his. He was frozen, unsure where to put his hands and his brain going a million miles a minute. There was only static and airplane noises and Soul hadn't realized that she released him until she was reaching over to wipe her lipstick off his mouth.

Wes grinned. "Now this I can work with."


"You really didn't have to walk me home," Maka said, amused. "Now you're going to have to take the train all the back to your place."

The long walk from the club to her apartment gave Soul time to contemplate all that had happened. He prided himself on being cool and collected but the kiss, fake as it was, had shaken him. She had no trouble laying one on him, in public, in front of his brother. Could it be that Maka actually had feelings for him? She didn't seem like the kind of girl who just went around kissing strange men for the hell of it, even if it was for the sake of her career.

And if she did have feelings for him, what was he supposed to do about it?

Soul needed to seriously weigh the pros and cons of a foray into a romantic-type relationship with Maka.

Pros: She was adorable, smart, kind, charming, and didn't take shit. Good writer and partner, future collaborations could happen. Legs were otherworldly in a short skirt. Had good taste in television shows. Couldn't cook but was great at ordering out.

Cons: He would probably- no, most definitely- fuck this up and ruin a great friendship and business partnership.

Soul needed to at least have the decency to wait until they finished Kim's song to make an idiot out of himself. Maka wouldn't rest until it was done and he didn't want to make things awkward by being a creeper. He would just need to have some self control, take a few cold showers, and pretend that he didn't have any less than pure intentions towards her. Easy.

"Soul, I think we need to practice kissing."

Or maybe not so easy.

"What."

Maka leaned back against the door of her apartment building. She stared up at him through heavy lashes and Soul instinctively took a step forward to get closer. His mind screamed NO, YOU IDIOT but his body was saying FUCK YES, YOU LOSER, GET IN THERE. "Wes said it looked awkward. If people are going to believe we're actually dating it has to look natural, doesn't it?"

"W-who cares what Wes says?" Soul choked out. "He's a moron."

"Was it really that bad?" Soul's eyes were immediately drawn to Maka's mouth, now free of lipstick, bottom lip slightly jutted out into the tiniest of pouts. It was unfairly cute and Soul felt a bead of sweat roll down his neck that had nothing to do with the New York City humidity and everything to do with Maka Albarn seducing him outside of her apartment building.

The Lord was testing him and he was headed straight for summer school. "... no, it wasn't bad."

"Then come here."

Soul was weak. There was no way he could resist her with the way she was looking at him, how good her messy hair smelled, the sound of her voice quietly commanding him to come here. The startling realization that he had never been this excited for a kiss in his life was his undoing. All reason and logic and good intentions had flown completely out the window. All he could think about was her and the nauseating butterflies in his stomach and the rush of blood thumping in his ears.

He let her lead; however far she wanted to take it, Soul would follow willingly. Maka cupped his face with calloused fingertips, tugging him to her level. He gave in to temptation and rested his hands lightly on her waist, barely breathing for fear of doing something wrong and ruining the moment. This was not the aggressive kissing of confident models and actresses shoving their tongues down his throat for a photo op. This was something slightly more unsure, but achingly earnest.

"Are you okay?" she whispered against his mouth and Soul appreciated her concern but had no desire to stop the barrage of soft, chaste smooches punctuating every breath she took. He squeezed her waist in a silent affirmative of his okay-ness and his unwillingness to part from her.

It occurred to him sometime between kisses four and five that this was not practice, no matter how much he tried to convinced himself, and this was entirely, painstakingly real. And Soul was okay with that - but was she?

"Mmm... Maka," he breathed, pulling away slightly. "... meet my parents on Friday?"

She looked taken aback and rightly so. "Huh?"

That... was so not what he wanted to say. Soul wished there was a backspace button for talking because once again, he really needed to just delete himself immediately. Time for damage control. "My mom heard about the dating thing and she wants to meet you. She's going to nag me until the end of time if we don't give in."

"That's fine, I guess?"

Moment completely gone, Soul fumbled for the right thing to say. "It'll be just as uh, good friends. So. No pressure," he tacked on quickly. "You'll be doing me a huge favor."

Maka pursed her lips. "Right. As good friends. I understand. So, Friday, then? Just text me the details and what to wear. I'm assuming I shouldn't show up in Wes' sparkle nightmare. Thanks for walking me home. Night."

She turned and opened her door, shutting it gently behind her, leaving Soul alone with his many regrets.

Shitshitshit fuck his life. This particular self sabotage had happened in record time, even for a screw up like him. He wasn't sure if he could ever rebound from the "good friends" kiss of death. Goodbye makeouts with Maka, hello nights alone replaying his idiocy over and over again in his mind.

Soul groaned. "You suck," he whispered to himself. "And this is why you're gonna die alone."