Disclaimer: I do not own.
A/N: I updated and I feel accomplished because of that. This contains portions of violence (but nothing too graphic).
(Shattering plates, raised voices, and slamming doors)
It's how their relationship works. Volatile, turbulent and chaotic. That's them.
People will think that their relationship was bad, destructive, even. They both try scar each other the best they can, both physically and emotionally, because they're equally fucked up in one way or another. She's got daddy issues and he's got an inferiority complex.
Maka saw him through the semi-open door when she got lost in someone else's family home (a friend of her papa's) and still the music was loud and clear. She could feel the music at the very tips of her soul, coaxing out things she never knew that lived inside her. There was something about the piece that left her weak in the knees and spell bound. Clashing of sounds, creating atonal symphonies for demented orchestras.
Nearing the end, he must have realized he wasn't alone and proceeded to stutter out of the seat and try to excuse himself from the room and blurt out directions back to the main lobby.
(Crashing waves, blood red eyes and sleepless nights)
Everyday since then, she saw him more often. Fancy dinner parties. Dance lessons. Summer vacation.
(Stolen glances, quick smiles, and shy hello's )
It was beautiful, the tension that surrounded them both.
/
We're all attracted to what destroys us.
/
She tries so hard to be like her Mama, but she still feels her father's blood pumping through her veins.
It's dangerous, her anger. It's the type of anger that builds up in her throat, boiling and clawing at her till' her eyes water from the effort of keeping her facial expressions normal. It chokes her, makes breathing harder and makes her want to scream at the top of her lungs just to rid herself of the sensation. She takes it out on him, but Soul wasn't the type of guy to take everything face down either, he gave it back as good as he can. It wasn't a surprise when she found out they almost have the same number of bruises and scars. It was a fucking match made in heaven.
She's getting off on this. The tension, passion and anger in their every move. She feels the high it gives her, falling down the pit of self destruction at breakneck speed.
It wasn't healthy, it wasn't normal and it wasn't someone sane would do.
If she was sane, she would've left him after she got her first bruise. If she was sane, she would've told someone about this. If she was sane, then she would've known it was impolite to sneak in on other people. If she was sane, she would've closed the goddamned door and went on her merry way.
(Creaking mattresses, suppressed moans, and a clusterfuck of what-ifs)
She's learned to control her impulsiveness through the years of training and experience. It molded her to harness that steadfast focus that comes with the adrenaline rush. But when it comes to him, her whole being gets transformed to one of his composed pieces.
/
He still manages to surprise her.
His brother just died, an accident during one of his concerts, a raging fire.
(Agonizing cries, late night talks, and his tear-stained face)
In that black room, the same room where she heard him play for the first time, he made love to her quietly on the piano. No bruises, no hurried pace, no power-play. Quiet moans and gasps of pleasure. She misses this. She misses them. And judging by the look in his eyes, he misses this too.
(Bare skin, soft kisses, and lingering touches)
Back to the time where they were just two jaded souls finding peace in one another.
(They still are)
And they both become undone.
fin.
