A/N: Next chapter will be the last! I wanted to make this a short story since my mind still can't take fics with greater lengths (which means greater plots and greater use of words which I find kind of difficult, not to mention giving use to all characters). Hope the chap is of your liking!
Chap. 4
`» Illusions, Eye Cheaters – Crazy Stairs «´
`»0«´
In those minutes Soul stood there, leant against a wall, patiently waiting with a never ceasing gaze for the moment his meister would appear and descend to him. There was a little preoccupation, a tiny something nagging his brains and tempting him, demanding his lazy feet to get a move on and start walking already.
It's called anxiety, a beast that grows by the second.
And can you blame the teen? It's been – and he checked the street's clock for the fourteenth time – ten minutes since Maka ran off to get her things. Does it take that long? Packing bags he means, because in no way she would delay this much, not when her feet left him with that nervous quickness she's so known of.
It's only normal to be nervous, even a cool guy like him can feel the usual 'butterflies in my stomach' sensation once in a while, stumbling, fluttering and wreaking damage below his skin. But anything would be better than the dreaded feeling he's presenting right now - it's bending his lungs and making his willpower diminish as his hands twitch, already prepared to snake their way up his body and grab a certain place above his heart.
Most of all, in this spare time Soul found returning his train of thoughts to the same thing over and over again something inevitable. Next time the bookworm asks for some silence for her brain to work at one hundred percent, he's actually going to give what she asks, shut his yap and give her credit. Because man… Did this thinking hurt.
He'll give her another two minutes. Any more would be suicide.
What would someone expect of a guy who's about to spill his guts to a girl he cares about? And not just any girl, but Maka. Probably the only female he has ever come to meet who repels any kind of close relationships. He's not the one to talk much about it either, because he once thought being alone would be another cool point on his favor, plus, there was no need to worry about others when he stood as company to himself only. But that's beside the point, before the day he first played the black grand in front of his partner.
Glancing one more time to the skull-shaped clock he sighed, rubbing the sweat of his hands in his trousers and gently poking his lower lip with fear of leaving a gash. He muses inside and allows his mind to change the topic, thinking of how scary he might look if blood left his mouth like crimson string. Perhaps like a monster, what with his burgundy eye color and spiky teeth. If Maka saw him in that state she wouldn't even think twice before replying with a shaking head at his offered kiss-
Stop. Thinking. About those things. God… In his mind, lamer than this was impossible.
Finally, a familiar wavelength spiked from the top of the stairway and his heart skipped a beat, suddenly feeling very giddy to get the whole ordeal done so that she could reject him and send him to move on with his miserable life. Soul isn't one to think positive, by worsening the upcoming scenarios he's able to come with a proper escape route and resolve in the best way possible. He just hopes that it doesn't get to that, because there will be a lot of awkwardness and lame words.
At first he sees a dot, but Maka's features then occupy his focus and he can distinguish her figure in the distance. Her graceful steps ease him and his nerves, but his body remains as rigid as ever. There's something wrong with the way the girl moves, each foot placed below looks soft and with no noise to join, but her arms are robotically crossed behind her back and her eyes shine with a nightmarish shadow.
And where's her shoulder bag? Oh no… Shinigami help him if she pulls a 'I changed my mind' kind of speech. She sounded as nervous as him back then! Well, probably because it was her first time skipping an afternoon worth of classes but still, must she do this today?
Somewhere in the depths of his soul he understood something was wrong and couldn't help but cringe. Great, she's really calling it off. It was worth a try at least, but it might be better to follow her to class as well. Meh, he's not that depressed, he'll get another shot when they arrive home if the Gods allow such fate.
Soul walked to the enormous stairway and climbed until he reached the middle, halting when two cold hands grabbed him by the shoulders and made him stop on his tracks. He raised his head and took in the image of a pair of mossy green eyes and dampen black lashes. Strange, she seemed so sad yet had no reason to be in such state. It made his beating lung thump a bit faster, sensing how low key her soul worked on at the moment. In one swift moment Maka enlaced her fingers with his, creating an intimate physical contact with no need of further gestures.
"Were you crying?" She has, there was no need no ask the stupid question. But as a secondary effect of being hand on hand his brain worked at a slower pace, purposely throwing in the most ridiculous phrases a man could ever spout. And then his meister slips out a tear, and the fog that momentarily tormented him cleared in a snap. "What's wrong?"
As one of Soul's hands take both of hers, the other one grabs a slim shoulder and shakes it with slight fear. When her lids close in agony the Demon Scythe enters in troubled mode and panics. He faintly trails the once pink-cheek and pinches it lightly, if only it would give them some more color.
Maka shakes her head into his palm and lets ash-blond hair tickle his skin, knuckles relaxing at the feeling. This was getting too close, too warm to be considered as simple meister/weapon interaction.
And that's how they spent the next moments. Spirits connected through their hands, irises locked together and time flew by while the little angel admired his eyes and he, the devil, admired hers. It was incredibly uncomfortable, standing outside the Academy in a spot where anyone and everyone who decided to take a stroll could spot them and judge the sight. They looked like – like a couple.
But still remained the ugly truth, and her face was getting wetter by the second. "Mak-"
"Why do you lie?" Another unanswered question, another wall she planted around her heart. Moments ago she had been fine, eager to skip classes with him. What had changed?
"I…" Soul takes precious seconds to ponder, not sure of how in the name of Lord Death this girl comes up with these sort of questions. "I lied? What are you talking about, I didn't lie to you."
She forms a fist and presses it into his chest, right in the middle. "Why do you want to take me away from the Academy, tell me what do you really want."
As she found out? Maka is a smart girl, clever enough to understand second intentions even if he's the one gifted in those types of skills. The white haired boy blushed a shade of dark red and thought of how bad it would be if he told her what truthfully laid in his heart. When he takes too much in formulating a decent answer she launches another question.
"You couldn't move today because of the Black Blood right? It wasn't numbness or anything alike." And what she says left him in a worse, tangled state. "You even lied to nurse Naigus." She laughed bitterly, and her smile faded into a frown. "Why? Why Soul?"
Inside his being, the young weapon could feel the inspection of every bit of his soul. Standing in front of Maka, as she thoroughly examined what was left of his sanity, a thick atmosphere involved time and space. With nothing better to do, he stared.
Her irises widened, returning to their half lighted, sad state after realizing that her fears were all right. But she wasn't ready to give up, what she has heard could have been a lie as well. So the blond took a deep breath and slumped a bit forward as to look better into the truth. The Imp's words make a return. "Is it true that your hands are worth millions Soul? Does your blood hide more than what you say?"
Soul stood in silence and his body fought against his urges to run away. The hands that were once clasped so tightly left signs of diffidence and faltered.
"Is your name Soul Evans?"
The weapon squared his shoulders.
Beside him Maka sniffled and tried to swallow a sob, her throat whimpering and releasing unwanted noises. They didn't echo, they were small but significant; they made his mood sadden along with the technician. It didn't come in disguise that her realization took a heavy weight out of his back, but at the same time, something didn't feel tight.
The ash-blond meister moved backwards and took one step up the stairs. When her body was turned sideways and Soul finally felt movement, he grasped his meister's hands once again and begged silently for her not to leave, to give his poor self another chance. To his surprise her pink lips curved up at the corners and he could honestly state that she was grateful for the gesture, amused by his try. However, she shook his warmth away and brushed salty water out of her vision.
"I'm not angry with you." The blond explained as she waved wet strands out of her sight. She thought of her answer and frowned. "I take that back. I'm actually very pissed, as you would say. But not because of your name, only partially. I mean- Hmmmm… Just, give me some time, please?"
The white haired teen nodded and watched her retreat with the same mechanical movements as before, but while she remained in ear range he inquired. "When can I come looking for you?"
She raised her head and fixated her vision on a certain spot at the top of the Academy's ceiling. Same as this morning, Soul glanced up as well and found nothing unusual, not even a jumpy Black Star to lighten the mood. Maybe he'll look for the Dark Arm's meister when he's had enough space between him and the scythe technician, after all, he owns him some explanations.
Just like before, Maka's neck called his attention and begged with no noise for a touch of comfort. The little minx… And she still placed wired fences around her body, because he forgot he was a cool guy and never told her about his past. And why should she be interested in it anyway? Why was she so troubled over that fact in his life? It was not something light that should be hid from a partner (specially her), things regarding his past should remain of no importance however – because she once stated that it didn't matter if he had an alias. His actions proved him worth of trust, and that was all she could ever ask for.
"Whenever you feel like it."
What they live is a partnership, simple as do, re, mi. – Too bad she doesn't understand music as much as he wishes to.
But he nods, because at least her words didn't sting between their bond.
`»0«´
"Soul?" Death the Kid stops near the entrance of the Academy's Library and examines the white-haired weapon with stern golden eyes. The scythe in question doesn't even raise his head to glance at his pal and decides to only wave a hand as if signalizing that he's listening. "What are you doing here?"
Soul remains immobile in his spot at the study table near a bookshelf, face hidden between his forearms. Kid didn't understand what was troubling his friend; like most things born from of experiences, he doesn't comprehend certain basic emotions natural of human nature. He titled his head to the twins that stood faithfully behind him and reminded that, however, the position he today stands allows more understanding of hearts that flows with sensations.
He made a sign for his weapons to follow and continued his inquisition as he approached Soul. "For you to be here it must mean Maka has gone missing. Is the situation grave enough for me to worry or do you have everything under control?"
Liz pinched the bridge of her nose and signed for Patty to bonk her meister on the head; it seemed she was doing that a lot today, so she just settled on having her sister do what she declined and the young Thompson so eagerly accepted. "Of course it's something to worry about Kid!" Liz screeched, ignoring the fact that she was present in public area known for its silence. Patty laughed. "She's missing Azusa's speech, Azusa's. You know as well as I do that two nerds combined with each other tend to love communicating in codes." She shuddered.
"MY HAIR PATTY! FIX THE BACK OF MY HAIR RIGHT NOW!"
"Hee~ Hee~"
Strange, no one seemed to budge into this little interaction of theirs, seemingly their noise must not be loud enough. "Hey, can you keep it down? I'm trying to concentrate here."
This seemed to silence the trio, and Soul hated that his voice transpired enough tenseness to quiet what was probably the most disturbed pairing of DWMA. He rested his cheek on the once cold surface of the desk (now humid because of his breath) and glared ahead at no particular book, irritated because it was the second fresh feeling he lost today.
The first being his meister's flesh of course. It was always cold to the touch, and his often hot body found relief in her presence. His glare softened at the memory of her cold cheeks suddenly turning warm under layers of salty water, the moistness of her tears still burning at his fingers.
Somehow, something went horribly wrong today, and in this particular horrid moment he can count them by finger: he made a mess by leaving a problem related to the Black Blood hidden, let Black Star escape from punishment while being put out by a shot on the ass (that, by the way, still stings), unintentionally upset his meister, his stomach's growling because he hasn't eaten since this morning-!
"Gaaaaaaaahhh" He's on the verge of having a mental breakdown.
Kid traded a glance with his weapons before sitting in front of his friend, both Thompsons approaching in a symmetrical way behind and placing their hands on the chairs back. "Do you need to vent out Soul? I can be of assistance in that way."
A guttural chuckle erupted from the depths of Soul's throat, pearly-whites poking beneath cherry lips as he thought of the best way to 'vent out' things to Kid. They weren't good ideas, the main reason being that the Library was not a synonym of talk or noise of any sort actually, and if Maka ever saw him chatting in a place that was practically her sanctuary. "Nah, it's fine."
In reality, he is only at this particular space for a fact that he thought he knew all too well about his technician. He reflected about things, he really did, but in all honesty Soul didn't know if he was ready to face his soulmate again. Because he came here looking for the girl, hoping in vain for her comforting presence along with fresh skin to put down his flames of anger, the ones which are slowly eating his insides from the insides out.
Imagine his shock when his bloody irises found no traces of Maka in her usual spot, the one he's sitting at right now. Moments ago, before Kid's arrival, he ventured inside the place, searching between bookshelves for a shadowed ash-blond, scythe meister, leaning against a row of books and mourning over her idiot of a partner who remains with trust issues, even after all this time. He rubbed his temples and sighed, reconsidering the meaning of word 'trust' and what it really meant.
Maka – even though being a boy, she trusted him from the start, when her hands clasped his in a shake of partnership. Plus, she was the one who raised the hand, not him. The white haired weapon chuckled once more at his silliness, only now seeing clearly, recognizing that in their life he was the one who hasn't found enough faith to deepen a relationship. And he was hoping it would last while some things remained in secrecy, what a joke.
The young Shiningami shifted on his seat, warning the male weapon that yes, he was still here. "Do you need anything at all? Some words of encouragement, a pat on the back…" He glanced at his crestfallen face. "…maybe something to eat?"
Again, Soul waved a hand in front of his head. "No need." And then he returned to his previous position.
When Death the Kid poked his head (just a slight touch of course, so to not worsen the sad symmetry of his snowy hair), he knew his 'help', so to say, wasn't going to end there. "Talking helps Soul, it really does." He oh so predictably mentioned while folding hands on top of the table. "And that's why I'm offering my ears to you."
He laughed. "Man, that sounds so wrong."
While the trio exchanged a glance, the white haired weapon leant his back on the chair, rolling his shoulders to shake all grogginess away. Talk, the one who needs a talk is Maka. Or maybe a sweet chat, hell he doesn't even know if what she really needs is a scold or something similar. Should he call Spirit for help-?
Nah… He'll refrain from rash decisions.
But a talk doesn't sound as bad as he initially wondered. When it's Kid the one who asks him, calmly, with no rush for a faster, brighter future where everyone's collected and in high spirits, something clicks and suddenly a light switches on.
Maybe he hasn't placed things the right way; all that clouded his vision up until this moment were images of his meister and the feeling of warm tears under his touch. He came searching for her when his internal clock stroke exactly one hour. Up until then he had been sitting at nowhere in special, fist below his chin clenching and unclenching as the same pictures burned behind closed eyelids every time he gave his eyes some rest.
The first spot he decided to arrive – the Library. But it had been a foolish idea, relying on the same place for so long and then coming to the conclusion that by telling him to follow when he felt ready she meant, underlined of course, that she was not hiding her skinny ass behind rows of literature. And then he sat down again, on the same spot she always rested when the reading-bug came to plague her while on the Academy. His own seat would be where Kid is at now, where he would admire her skidding her eyes as she read phrase after phrase, awaiting to leave together and do something more productive with his meister.
When his pianist fingers started a rhythmic tap on the wood of the table, the music came into his mind. Music… Strange, why did the thought of it made his spine tingle in a more insidious way? Maka ran away – no, she didn't run away (because that simply wouldn't be Maka), she gave their partnership a small rest because she somehow figured out his last name and the implications that it brought altogether. Who was the smarty pants that thought it would be a good idea to spill out his personal life? The only one who knows is Lord Death, seeing as students are allowed to have alias with no further questions in this weird school.
Figures she would be mad, or sad, or whatever state Maka was in. Soul doesn't know the extent of her knowledge, nor how deep she is into his past. All that he understood was that his hands were of great value and that this morning's accident was no numbness but an act of the Black Blood. Once again, who could have leaked such things? No one knows about such things except for him, himself and Soul Eater together with the one who looks like him but has a name that ends in 'Evans'.
..except for him, himself and Soul Eater together with the one who looks like him but has a name that ends in 'Evans'.
He slapped his forehead. Of course. Of course it would come down to that.
What was left to figure out was the why.
"But there's no more time to duel on the matter anymore." At the entrance of the book sanctuary he stood, back against the door frame, body hugged by dark-glowing silk. It raised his monstrous hands and motioned him to lead the way, speaking in a sickly-delighted tone that no one but the Demon Scythe seemed to notice. "The lady awaits your arrival, and it is rude to keep the damsel tapping her foot in impatience. Tsk, tsk… Haven't your parents raised you better?"
Despite the current situation, he grinned a trademark grin that, no matter how many times Kid twisted on his seat to look behind him, revealed nothing to his confused, golden eyes. Soul took off from his seat and past the son of Death, giving him a sincere 'thank you for the clear up' even though he knew nothing of what was going around in this weird world he lives in. When his clothes disappeared behind the walls, Patty found her voice.
"Kiddo?" She asked pushing both of her meister's sleeves. "As Soul gone cuckoo? 'Cause he was moody when we got here and then started smiling like a maniac!"
Kid could only shake his head and muse over humans and how unreadable they could appear. "I'm sorry to tell you that I honestly don't know better than you do Patty." He blinked at Liz. "Bu I think I just sorted his mind or something as equal."
`»0«´
It's a mark Maka possesses.
It's one thing to mention her father when comparing other men, because the main male figure she got as a child was Spirit Albarn and his whorish sways, but if anyone tried to low Soul Eater the blonde would be the first one standing outside the accuser's house with a metal pipe in hand and a kitchen knife in the other.
But when it was a part of his own spouting things he was so sure of, what could she do? How should she react? How idiot of her to have made a scene worthy of a statue of worst-crying-scene-ever. She's no damsel in distress and she believes, with all her heart, that Soul was and still is the one she trusts.
Yes, but is his name really Soul?
The girl stretched her legs in front of her and raised her arms in the air, shaking of the laziness that tormented her body even though her mind could take nothing such. Her gaze darted from one place to another, landing on a particular instrument near the wall she sat next to. In one quick breath she brought her knees to her chest and snaked shaky arms around her legs, cursing the soreness that couldn't have come in worst time.
Who cares who he was? What matter is what Soul is and what he proves himself to be in front of the ones he worries about. No idiot would put up with her and her nerdy ways just to escape a dreaded past and become a Death Scythe – if so, there would be enough people to choose from here at DWMA. And Maka is sure that she was not just another strand of grass in the field. In all this time she had had a partner (and she still has), he had been worth her pain, her tears and her blood.
The instrument in her line of vision silently greeted her and her eyes stung.
"Come on!" The technician stubbornly rubbed her eyes. "Stop being such a baby!" Great, now she's talking to herself, reserved for those who lack sanity.
Being upset does not relate to him and how he's been hiding things from her, no, she's more worked up over… over something that clearly makes her cry every time she sets eyes on the piano that began all this, the same beautiful baby grand he played for her all this time ago.
Okay. So she's a little angry after hearing the Imp's mouth talk like he owned the world, can anyone blame her? She's acting like a spoiled brat yet she can't help it. Her head keeps nagging and hurting her psychologically because she keeps day-dreaming of her partner and her walking together while holding hands. Idiot, a complete idiot.
"He's annoying, don't you think?" Her stare was torn away from the black beauty and into a pair of bloody roses. She would have answered him, probably ask him why was he panting and sweating like a walking shower but the words were trapped, locked behind layers of rocks and dirt.
Yep, that would explain the dryness as well as the raspy feeling of sandpaper.
"Can I come in?" He asks, and she nods, but he doesn't move from the music room's door. And then she finally found strength and muttered a rehearsed phrase, a phrase that could explain her worries in a simpler way.
"I think I know why the Little Demon is out."
Soul took in a shaky breath, and nodded.
Ohhhh… What is it that Maka knows that's getting her panties in a twist?
Thank you so much for all the support until now! Since next chapter will be the last, I hope you've enjoyed things up until now. If you guess what's the main reason behind the plot and why the Imp can appear and disappear only to the eyes of this duo, then cuddos! I'll try to summon invisible, tasteless popcorn in your mouth.
Bye ~