Catalysts
(SoMa Week 2014)
Day Four
Loyalty
And she thought she had insecurity issues.
Really, he shouldn't have been reacting as badly as he was. It was immature, it was childish, it was stupid, he was stupid, he deserved this because he was a Death-damn idiot –
But he digressed.
He should have expected it. How could he not? It wasn't as if they were kids anymore, stumbling blindly through the world of death and killing. It was the eve of her eighteenth birthday and his had elapsed half a year prior. Technically they were adults. He shouldn't have expected to just go on living the same secluded little life he'd enjoyed for the past six years, living with no cares besides the pressure of nearly having his life ended on a mission every alternate Sunday. What did he think was going to happen? What did he suppose their lives would be like now, seeing as there was no threat from Asura and the witches hadn't planned any sort of revolt against their treaty so far?
He should have seen it coming. He was pretty sure a part of him had seen it coming. But that didn't mean he'd truly accepted the idea. When it had first occurred to Soul that Maka might want to have interaction with other people outside of their close-knit group of friends and him, he'd scowled and tucked the thought away in the furthest reaches of his mind. Out of sight, locked away in a drawer where it could no longer bother him.
That drawer would never stay locked forever. Eventually he'd have to open it up again and let all of his fears and pain spill out. Still, he didn't think it would burst open on its own accord, not this soon.
The dark space behind his ear, the echo in his head that was the Black Blood's presence inside him, whispered maliciously. The Oni cackled as it threw its bulbous head back in a roaring laugh, sitting comfortably in the plush and gilded Black Room.
'You ought to have known this would happen.'
He'd been hopeful, and it had been his undoing. While he'd carefully built up an ornate mask, concealing all of his emotions and hiding any sort of affection under a flat gaze, a little part of his icy lump of a heart had gotten into his mind and set in poisonous thoughts. It had whispered to him that maybe the reason Maka didn't seem to show any sort of romantic interest in anyone was because she already had an interest in someone else. Someone like . . . him. Perhaps she was holding out for him while he messed around in the dirt of his stupid emotions, keeping her heart locked up because it was him she wanted to give it to.
'You have to be kidding me!'
But obviously that had been a stupid thought. Perhaps he should have stuffed it away in the drawer and embraced the other, hated idea. It would probably have saved him a lot of pain in the long run; no matter how broken he would have felt in the beginning.
Could have, should have, would have, didn't. It was the same monotonous cycle that ruled his life. Only now, it had managed to worm its way into the one area of his existence that hadn't been bleak and unexciting. It had taken hold of his fancies and run with them, letting them tangle like a kite string, until he didn't have enough sensibility to detach himself like normal before it was too late. He'd fucked up this one, because he'd actually cared. It wasn't like his stupid piano or the Evans estate, and it wasn't like his snotty parents or his talented yet decent older brother.
Death City, being a weapon, Shibusen, his friends, she mattered to him. And that was always the part that made everything go wrong.
'Did you really think she could actually like someone like you?'
What a stupid notion. His startling and somewhat unfathomable popularity aside, what did he have going for him? He was the Last Death Scythe. So what? It was just some sort of fancy title proclaiming him to be a slightly sharper butter knife than the rest in the drawer. He was able to control the insanity of his Black Blood. That just made him a ticking time bomb full of issues that nobody would want to wade through. His piano? Just some sort of cheap trick, something to give insight onto just how pitch-black his fucked up soul really was. His looks were terrifying, what with his stupidly pale hair and weird sharp teeth and red eyes that looked like the blood spilled by his sickle blade on the pavement . . .
Why he had 'fangirls', he didn't know. There was not one single attribute about him that could be classed as appealing. Even his Death-damn personality was a drawback – he was a haughty, aloof and arrogant bastard to boot, with a tongue sharper than his jaws. It was a miracle he even had friends, let alone admirers.
So that brought him back to the question – how could he think it was him she'd want after all this time? He should have known this was coming, he should have, but here he was. Feeling bitter, petty and pathetic. Betrayed, like something had been stolen from him.
It was a miracle nobody had claimed her before. If he hadn't spent so much time with his head up his ass, thinking he was top shit, he'd have made the move some time ago. Well, he would have at least taken a step towards the move, because he was stuck in the Hellhole of the 'Partner-Zone' and still trying to claw his way into the safer area of the 'Friend-Zone.' Maka may not have developed the figure of Tsubaki Nakatsukasa over the years of her adolescence, but she'd certainly developed something, and it was enough to draw in the attention she'd been lacking throughout her board-flat junior life. No more could he call her straight-down, because she had curves now. Maybe not the ostentatious kind, but the ones that had to be felt to be properly appreciated, and that hinted without fully disclosing and giving away all of the good information. He was pretty sure the day he noticed all of these changes in his meister was the day his notion of being infinitely cool disappeared forever. He was not, evidently, the kind of guy to go after a figure with a perfect set of breasts and a cinched waist. He wasn't like Black*Star or Kilik. No, he was one to stare at Maka Albarn's legs until she turned around from cooking dinner, and he was one to fall asleep to be greeted by the images of a thin and small body, rather than a tall sensuous figure.
Blair would probably cry if she ever found out, but since he hadn't gotten a proper nosebleed in almost six months, it looked like she was starting to get the picture.
Unfortunately for him, despite the developments to his meister's body being a godsend because living with her gave him an all-access pass to stare at her as much as he could without being detected, he wasn't the only one who noticed. By her seventeenth birthday, letters were piling in her locker with names and partner requests scribbled in ink darker than his soul. He remembered just how irritated he'd been to see those little pieces of paper. How dare anyone else at Shibusen have the audacity to request taking away the most important thing to him? He'd never been sentimental, but she was one thing he wanted to hold onto and was stubborn to release. Wes had never had a share in Maka; nobody else had had a share of her wavelength. As much as he saw her as an independent and individual person, there was still that part of him that insisted she was his. Finally, he'd understood the reason his partner had gotten so snippy at him when the paper had started to clutter his locker. They'd gone through so much together, and just the idea that the option was there to switch over and start again with another wavelength and another weapon was infuriating.
If he looked back, Soul would probably notice the beginnings of a co-dependency problem in the making. Too bad that realisation hit him like a fucking train wreck right when everything he'd been secretly hoping for was taken away.
As much as his stomach had knotted and his eyes had blazed, there was always a cooling and soothing jet to put out the inferno. Maka may have taken it one step further than him and actually read a request whenever she received it – he got too many to bother and the idea of even caring about anyone else was ludicrous – she never properly considered any. She got flattered easily, but the blush on her cheeks wasn't one of betrayal. He'd been content to allow the stupid little fucker one-star kids their fantasies of a kickass and experienced meister. Since they could never have her, he'd at least give them that.
And then the note had drifted down onto the cold metal through the slots, landing innocuously beside her books. It was not a partnership request. It was a love letter. For her. His meister. And when she read it, she didn't discount it like she did all the others. She didn't show it to him, instead taking it to Liz and Tsubaki. One gushed, the other smiled proudly. Patti had even crowed about it, giving a rib-crushing hug.
While her ribs were crushed, his heart mirrored the action.
'Stupid fool! You shouldn't have held out so long. Anyone can see you aren't worth waiting for.'
She was out on a date, wearing a dress that brought out her ass like no tomorrow and just the right amount of eye-shadow to turn those beautiful green orbs into something smokier and dangerous. She'd smiled at him and asked him to check her outfit for her before she left, and it had taken all of his best efforts not to pin her against the wall and rug her up in his hoodie or something. At least then there would be some kind of distinct message that she was his, in his mind. As it was, he'd merely glanced up lazily and ignored the tightening of his throat, informing her of the crookedness of the left chopstick in her artfully messy bun, before going back to the television. What else could he do? Tell her she wasn't allowed to go because he was a creep who sort of loved her desperately, but only realised he couldn't keep her all to himself like a spoilt child when she went away and left him alone?
That wouldn't be cool at all.
'Where has being cool ever gotten you? You're cold. You're unfeeling. You're nothing but a shell filled with useless life. What have you ever done to better anyone? She doesn't need you.'
Soul knew Maka wouldn't be home for another few hours and he was determined to fall into the bliss of sleep, but even that was not something he could claim. The Black Blood of the moon sang at his discordance and danced in time with the Oni's crooked waltz in his soul. He was a captive to his own bitterness and the sway of insanity always hanging over him like a cloud. What a loud of baggage for an eighteen year old guy. Nobody in their right minds would wait for someone like that. No matter what he and Maka had gone through together, he was her partner and that was all. Why hadn't he seen it before? She'd gotten over her prejudice of men somewhat and he'd let himself believe that he'd contributed to her cure, but it didn't seem that likely now. Maybe the walls had already been rigged with dynamite and he was just the fool who'd stumbled along with a burning match, sending the tall prison structure around her heart crashing down upon him and leaving a clear path for anyone else who wanted to walk right through and claim the prize.
The Oni laughed once more, taking a swig from its wine glass and snapping its fingers out of time to the bad music on the gramophone. Somewhere underneath layers of black and darkness, the moon joined in with its customary cackle. Maka was probably laughing somewhere, enjoying the company of a boy who was not him. And he could do nothing more than sit back and watch it all unfold, like he should have done before instead of letting warmth in. The drawer should have stayed shut.
He should have seen it coming.
"What are you doing still up?"
"Couldn't sleep."
"Oh . . . is it the Black Blood again?"
"Yeah."
" . . . "
" . . . So how was it, then?"
"All right, I guess. I don't know."
"What do you mean, 'you don't know'?"
"Well, it's not like it went badly – but I don't think I really like the guy that much, to be honest."
"Why?"
"He's just too nice."
"What does that mean?"
"I guess . . . I don't know. It's hard to explain. I think I'm going to tell him I'd rather just stay friends.
"Okay."
He did not dare pause and think about his next words. He'd dodged a bullet this time but next time he wouldn't be so lucky – not if he let something like this happen again. He had to seize the day, had to make the most of it. This could not go back into the drawer. Without missing a beat, he let everything go.
" . . . In that case, want to go out for dinner on Friday night?"
"What, you mean, like a d-date?"
She may not have been his, but if he played his cards right, he could just end up being hers. As he watched her blush, the moon went quiet and the Oni slouched away. There was only the sound of the poignant silence between them, a silence he was determined to break.
"Yeah – like a date. I guarantee I could give you a better time than that guy, anyway, because we both know there's nothing nice about me . . ."
And on Friday night, when her lips suddenly attached to his and he almost stumbled back from the surprise of actually meaning something to somebody, and the drawer rattled as the negative thoughts of her leaving him for someone else exploded in a shower of fireworks, he had to say.
He'd never seen it coming.
This update-a-day thing is killing me.
