The streets were empty as Soul walked hunched and alone to Death City Cafe. It was a weeknight and people were settled in their homes, getting ready for another early morning; windows lit with the muted glow of television screens, families sitting together on coffee-stained couches, lovers holding each other tucked between cool cotton sheets— all of the quiet things that mark the end of the day. All of the things Soul had missed for years. And yet here he was, not even twelve hours into his first day home, and he'd already managed a fight complete with angry storm-out. Soul scrubbed his hands over his face hoping to clear his muddled mind, but only succeeded in itching his nose.

The vinyl seat squeaked in protest as Soul slid into the corner booth of the Cafe and ordered two double-decker club sandwiches. He tapped out a text on his phone, and by the time the waitress brought their late-night dinner to the table, Black Star was sitting opposite his dispirited friend.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Hmm?" Black Star grunted through chewing cheeks.

"About her boyfriend."

"Ah. She told you?"

Soul nodded stiffly.

Black Star spoke around the chunk of sourdough in his mouth. "Did you fight?"

Soul heaved a long sigh. "A little."

"I mean, come on man, you can't really expect that's gonna be the first thing I bring up after I haven't seen you in three years." He shrugged and tore off another bite of sandwich.

"You could have warned me."

"Soul, you're my best friend and I'm happy as hell that you're home. But the you-and-Maka situation isn't really my area of expertise. How could I tell you that your girl's with someone else?"

A bitter rush of air escaped from Soul's chest and burned through his throat. "She's not my girl. Never was, I guess."

Black Star licked some stray mayo from his fingers and shifted forward to rest his forearms on the table. "Listen, it really sucked when you left. It was hard on everyone. I'm not trying to make you feel bad, and no one blamed you because it was your job, but it was still rough. We'd all always been together. And Maka— I mean, of course it was the worst for her. She was in a bad way. She tried, you know, but we were all worried about her. She just wasn't the same. It was like that for a long time."

A thick guilt seeped from Soul's sick heart through his veins, down to his stomach, his legs, up through his shoulders, and finished with a sting in his stiff fingertips.

"Then she met Matthew and slowly she was okay again. He seemed good for her. No one really thought it would ever get too serious. But they're still together."

Soul cleared his throat. "For how long?"

"About six or seven months now. He's an alright guy."

"Great." Soul gulped down the rest of his water and stood with a heavy breath. "So what now." More a surrender than a question.

"Are you gonna eat that?" Black Star gestured to the remaining half of Soul's sandwich.

"Nah, go for it."

"Look, you were gone for a long time. It's gonna take some time to get used to having you back. Especially for Maka. Just give it time, she'll come around. When it comes down to it, you matter more to her than anyone. You gotta know that."

Yeah. Right.

The next few months were long and bland. Maka was gone all the time. She worked too hard and rested too little, and when she did finally find time for sleep she spent most nights at Matthew's house. Which left Soul to fill his time on his own. He slept alone, woke alone, ate alone, and watched Netflix alone. He'd already gone through the entire series of some medieval drama with lots of blood and boobs, and was now trying a comedy series about everyday office workers. Soul had hoped it would lighten his mood, a fruitless effort. He was mud; damp and dark and shapeless. Existing. Alone. He was home, surrounded by the familiar smells and sounds that used to bring him comfort, but now they were nothing more than a vanilla candle burning in the kitchen, a bath towel warm from the dryer, a whirring dish washer set to heavy-clean. They were just things, facts without meaning. Like him. Alive, but without meaning. Alone. After a while, it was easier to be out of the house than it was to hope Maka would come home to spend time with him. She never did.

February hemorrhaged into March, then April, and by the time Memorial Day rolled around, May had been warm and dry for weeks. There was no sign of the April rains that had brought the Yuccas and Prickly pears to bloom; only the sun in a cloudless sky, baking the days one after another.

Maka was standing alone at the sliding glass doors of their quiet apartment. Soul had come home late—or early, depending on how one looks at two hours past midnight— and then left again early. He couldn't have had more a couple hours' sleep. Maka didn't understand how he could do it. And he'd never liked mornings. At least, not before. But a lot of things were different now. They were rarely in a room at the same time, which was more often than not Maka's doing. She kept herself busy and out of the house, just as she had done when Soul was gone and she couldn't bear to be home without him. She'd been doing that for so long, it was like she couldn't remember how to just be in the moment, still and quiet in the morning in the one place she'd ever called home. And even when she did manage to make time to be home, it was Soul who was gone. Long nights and early mornings seemed to be his thing now. Maka didn't know where he went. She thought about it more than she meant to.

Dust particles floated lazily through the air, suspended in the rays of light that filtered through the blinds. She pressed her hand to the sun-warmed glass and focused on the feel of it against her fingertips. It was barely past breakfast time but the sun had been up for hours now. The cool in the air that lingered from the night before had dissipated, replaced by the growing heat of the day. It was still and quiet in the way that allowed for too much thinking. Too much feeling. Too much doubt. Soul had been home for months now, but things weren't right. Maka wasn't happy. She was lonely. And so was he. She didn't need soul resonance to know that.

Too much time for thinking. Too much regret.

It was her fault they were so distant, her fault she was unhappy, her fault Soul was unhappy. She'd been so cold. So aloof.

Maka was afraid.

Of what?

Too much thinking.

Of hurting again.

But wasn't she hurting now?

It's not like that. This is different.

Right?

Too much doubt.

Maka went to the kitchen and dumped a half-empty coffee pot in the sink. She had managed her way through one mug, but it had soured in her stomach and she decided against a refill. She rinsed the glass pot before carefully measuring out enough grounds for another full brew. She then flipped a filter into the brew basket, poured fresh water into the reservoir and tapped the self-start switch for 7:00 a.m. Maybe it would taste better tomorrow.

Matthew had to cancel lunch plans with Maka due to some last minute work meeting, thus providing an opportunity for the day. It'd been several days since Maka and Soul had actually spoken to each other, and she was looking to correct that.

She was tired of being lonely for him, tired of being cowardly. Maka tapped her phone screen awake and typed out a text for Soul. A single word, five letters, and a question mark: Lunch?

Her thumb hovered stiff over the screen. Send. Send. Send it send it just send it. Maka's heart fluttered in a, crooked way, sending warm, tingling blood through her stiff body. They hadn't been alone together since the day he'd come home. Not for any significant amount of time anyway. There was always someone else around, Black Star or Tsubaki or Kid, someone else to keep conversation light. To get in the way of things she didn't want to talk about, to sit between her and Soul so he couldn't spend all his time looking at her, trying to see into her. How it unnerved her. How she longed for him to peel her away, to reach her raw soul wrapped in the layers of denial and distance she'd contrived through the years. To touch her in the way that only he could. But his eventual disappointment and how he'd look away in frustration every time only served to remind her that she had forgotten how to let him in, that she'd forgotten how to open herself to the world. To anyone.

It's just lunch.

Maka hit send. The phone chirped once for success and once again a minute later for Soul's reply: Sure.

Soul was seated at a window-side table for four, waiting a little less than patiently for his Maka to arrive. Maka. Just Maka.

He idly wiped away the condensation gathered on the sides of his water glass. The air in the restaurant was cool and filled with the sounds of a busy lunch service. The tinny ring of silverware clinking against ceramic plates, straws sucking at iced tea, laughter from a far corner table with balloons tied to the chairs. It was a nice place with dark carpet floors and matching stained cherry wood everywhere. A little fancy for what was likely supposed to be a casual lunch, maybe, but they had good pasta and the best salad bar in town. Maka had always liked coming here for special occasions, and Soul more than considered today to be such an occasion. They'd rarely spoken beyond household necessity since he'd been home, and even more rarely at Maka's initiation. She'd done everything humanly possible to avoid him, working her efforts into a well-oiled routine of work-gym-Matthew-sleep-work-rinse and repeat. Soul certainly didn't expect an invitation to lunch, much less an invitation to a lunch that was just the two of them. Not that this was necessarily anything like a date, they'd done everything together once upon a time. Movies and dinners and flowers and picnics under the stars. They'd danced at parties, fast and slow, and everything in-between. They even lived together for damned death sake. Soul and Maka. Always together. They'd been that way for so many years, for as long as Soul considered life to hold any sort of meaning for him. And for a long time it was enough. She was his partner and his best friend and the only person out of the seven-something billion crawling around the globe whose soul fit with his own. She was more than anyone else had ever been for him, more than anyone else ever would be.

And somewhere along the way, everything about their relationship had melted into something new and strange for him. The way he looked at her grew desirous out of innocence, and his heart started to thump sideways when she laughed. His mouth would run dry when he'd catch sight of her pink and damp from the shower, wrapped in nothing but an over-sized towel. His hands started aching when hers weren't around to fill the spaces between his fingers with her own. He wanted her close and bared to him, skin to skin every morning. He wanted to be everything for her. He knew that everything had changed, that he'd changed. But Soul didn't care. He liked being in love. With her.

But around the same time, Maka changed too. She started sitting farther away on the couch. She stopped hugging him as often and held his hand even less, until she eventually stopped altogether. They were the same in every other way except for the physical distance she wanted. They'd do movies or dinner or picnics under the stars, but they never touched. Not anymore. Maka still wore his shirts, but she stopped taking them from his room, opting instead to take them straight from the dryer. They still ate and sang and laughed together, but Maka always made sure to leave plenty of empty air between them. Soul had always been comfortable in varying stages of dress around Maka, and she'd never seemed to mind. But around the time he started wondering how it would feel for her to kiss the place where his neck dipped into his chest, she started to blush and dart away when Soul would emerge bleary-eyed and blinking from his room in nothing but low-slung pajama pants. At first he enjoyed the way it affected her, until he realized she never smiled with the blush, instead she would get flustered and uncomfortable. He started covering up more. Things changed, in small, opposite ways for each of them. Soul couldn't keep from licking his lips whenever he caught sight of how she chewed on her own when she was concentrating or nervous. He wanted more than anything to taste them, supple and small and soft in the sort of way that twisted his insides into tight, quivering coils. But Maka couldn't stand to think like that; she'd shudder away whenever his lust leaked through their connection from his soul to her own. His intentions were honest and clear, but, despite whatever kind of longing, warm desire he would feel slipping from her unguarded soul late in the night, so were Maka's. She didn't want romance. She didn't want that red kind of love. She wanted the life they'd always had, and he wanted her, in whatever way she'd have him. So he reigned it in as tightly as he could, and Maka built a box where she packed away the one piece of her he cherished more than anything under the sun. Then she tucked that box away in a quiet corner of herself where no one ever went. Not even Soul. And that's how they were. Close and comfortable and full of love for one another. But never romantic. Never in love.

It'd been harder since he'd been back. Living without her, losing Maka for so long had done things to him that Soul couldn't undo. His soul bled and bent and bruised when she was pulled from within him; the whole they made together torn in two. The years that followed he spent violently, overwhelmingly undone. Incomplete. It was dark in him where she'd been the light. Cold where she'd been the sun. And his need for her consumed him, colored everything he did. He overworked himself, pushed too hard, he needed to come home. Ultimately, his time away was successful. As a weapon, he was as strong as he'd ever been, able to successfully resonate with Lord Death whenever called upon. But what did all the power and training and soul-eating matter when he'd lost his own meister. And as a man, he was different. He was weak kneed and tired and desperate. For her. He'd come to know what life was without Maka; it was grim and joyless and far more empty than he ever imagined possible. Soul had planned to try again when they were reunited, to show her how completely he needed her. How hopelessly he loved her. He had expected some hesitance, but he had always been hopeful that eventually they'd be able to test the waters together. And even if she still wasn't interested in the rings and the skin-to-skin and the kisses, at least they'd be together again; entwined as one soul, fully whole and alive. And he would worship her like no one had ever worshipped another. He would gladly fall at her feet every day for the rest of his life.

Soul hadn't expect Matthew. He hadn't expected that Maka would want nothing to do with him at all. That her soul would be on lockdown, and there'd be nothing more waiting for him at home than a roommate. A woman who barely spared time to look his way. He didn't expect she'd fill her life with someone else, someone who could never know her the way he did. He didn't expect to ever hate someone just off of jealous principle. But, here they were. Here he was.

So yeah, maybe he jumped the gun this morning when Maka texted him out of the blue. Last-minute reservations at Al Dante's was no doubt overkill. She'd only texted him a word, a non-complicated question between friends. Not a proposal, not a confession of love, not even a promise they'd be what they had been. But it was time alone with her. Time that she had asked him for. And he'd be damned if he let it slip through his fingers. Soul was going to make the most of it. Maka was all he needed, all he wanted from life. He craved so badly to be that for her, but he'd take anything she was willing to give. He'd take friends at lunch. Even if the low-volume soundtrack floating from the speakers tucked into the ceiling was decidedly romantic. Even if he was noticeably underdressed for a place that offered champagne in crystal glasses before the sun had even made its way past the middle of the sky.

On second thought, maybe his faded jeans and Nirvana t-shirt were a good thing. It'd be very easy to come on too strong in such an intimate environment. Perhaps he already was. The last thing Soul wanted to do was scare Maka away again. Maybe he had been a little too intense the first few weeks after he came home. Like it or not, Maka had a boyfriend. And of all the things he disliked about himself, Soul had to believe he wasn't a total shitbag. Taken is taken. And as long as Maka was happy, it could be enough for him. It had to be. It was all that was left. Her happiness. And his quiet love. And maybe every now and then, something would sift through the cracks of his self-control.

Like champagne with lunch.

Hope is a hard thing to kill.

Maka walked briskly through the doors two minutes to noon.

"Sorry I'm late. Good choice." She smiled breathlessly as she sat and scooted her chair closer to the table.

Soul chuckled. Only Maka would apologize for being on time. On time was late, early was on time, and late— forget it.

He'd never know all the time she spent picking her outfit for their lunch date. Not date. Not a date. Maka tried every combination of shorts, blouses, and skirts she had in her closet before settling on a sundress colored like lemonade. The shoulder straps were small, and the skirt was short, and all told it was a little more revealing than she would normally wear in the middle of the day. A lot of skin. But she counted on the heat to excuse what she hoped wasn't an obviously generous display of skin. In case of emergencies, she could always say she wanted to get a little summer color in her porcelain skin. She wanted to look good for Soul, wanted him to notice her looking good. She shouldn't. But she did.

"No biggie. I haven't been here very long." He'd been nearly half an hour early, but the lie came easily enough. Keep it comfortable, don't freak her out.

But the dress. The goddamn dress. It hugged tight over the soft shape of her breasts and tucked neatly around her waist, opening into a loose flutter around her legs. It did all the things a dress should when found on the body of a beautiful woman. Her skin was flushed and warmed from the sun and— everywhere.

Casual. Lunch. Friends. Friendsfriendsfriendsfriends.

But damn it all if he didn't want to taste her. To kiss her shoulders. To trace the curve of her neck with his tongue, warm and wet and slick on her skin. To take some of the soft flesh above her collarbone between his teeth and suckle until she was marked as his. Only his.

Soul was stiff in his chair and his breath came shallow. There was a flash in his eyes, a quick heat that sent shivers along Maka's spine. She swelled. He noticed. His lips opened in a loose part and Maka could see his tongue dancing along the notched line of his teeth. She'd always liked seeing his tongue work that way. On occasion, she'd wondered how that tongue would taste, how it would feel on her skin. It wouldn't be so hard to try in this dress. There was more than plenty of that available for him to choose from. A warm tingle sprouted deep within her; small and far from the surface, but warm in a way she'd forgotten. Warm in a way she'd never felt for Matthew. Or anyone else for that matter. Stop it.

Maka shifted in her chair and shook her mutinous thoughts away. "Hungry?"

Jesus God. "Course." Soul tilted his head back and took a long gulp of ice water to cool his tongue. And mind. And everything else.

Maka watched a wayward drop roll down his neck.

When he'd finally finished draining the glass, Soul wiped his mouth with his hand and then flicked away the drop that had landed on his shirt. He searched Maka's face; she was smiling, cheeks raised and lips pulled wide. It was beautiful. But it still didn't reach her eyes. They were dark and the skin around them was smooth, a separate part from the rest of her. A quick reminder of the state of things. The moment he'd been lost in wilted. Her dress, the sun, the special restaurant, the soft songs above them; none of it mattered. Maka was here, with him. Just not here. Not really. But it had to be enough— whatever she gave.

Soul offered a quick smile and flipped open his menu. "What do you feel like?"

The warm flicker in Maka turned to smoke that dissipated in a single breath. Some small piece of her—a piece buried deep within and behind all the walls— was...disappointed?

Maka leaned forward and spread her hands on the tablecloth. "Everything. I'm starving."

"We should get some champagne."

She blinked at him. "It's lunchtime."

Soul gave a shrug. "Eh. Live a little." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively with a coy smirk.

Maka snorted and giggled into her menu.

Etta James came on the overhead, crooning about her love at long last.

Soul cursed under his breath. For fuck's sake. Who runs the damn music.

"Okay. Let's do it. But I wanna say some things first, so you know that they're coming from me and not the champagne."

A jolt of adrenaline shot through Soul's body and pounded in his ears. This wouldn't be good. How could it? He'd come home three years behind the rest of the world. Maka had a boyfriend and her work and a life that moved on without him. He'd been trying to fit in somewhere—anywhere— for months, only to find there wasn't really a place left for him.

Maka leaned in and Soul mirrored her movement instinctively. She spoke slowly, thoughtfully, with purpose."I know that I haven't really been around since you came home. I guess I've kind of been avoiding everything, even you, and I know that's not...right. I hated being home alone a lot, when you were gone. I think it sort of just became a habit to be busy all the time."

Maka paused and sat upright. She exhaled a steadying breath. "But that's no excuse. I know it was hard for you too, to be away for so long. I'm sorry for being so distant and making things, you know, just— weird. You're my best friend, Soul. I miss you."

Soul's heart tripped over her words, fast, full and beating hard. The wires in his mind sparked and a smile lifted his cheeks before he could think better of hiding his ecstatic relief. It wasn't bad. It was the best thing he could have hoped for. No— better. She missed him. There was something left beneath all the brick and stone. Someone left behind the eyes that didn't see him. There was a little Maka left in the woman across from him. There was somewhere for him. No matter how small, he still belonged.

Smiling like an idiot, he scrubbed the back of his neck. Words bubbled and swirled within him. There was so much to say. But what could he say? What was safe? He settled on the truth. A condensed, one-dimensional, grossly understated version of it— but the truth nonetheless. "I miss you too."

Maka gave a satisfied nodded and relaxed in her chair. "So, champagne?"

" Yeah." Soul agreed with a smile.

The champagne was sweet and the lunch was long and filling. Salad, fettuccine, cheesecake. They took their time, laughing and whispering and watching birds through the window. It was almost as they had always been. A clever and intimate imitation. From the outside, all was right with the world. But her laughter, splendid and breathy and full, was only a sound around him. Not the vibration within his soul it had once been. Although he saw her smile, her happiness with the moment, he could not feel it. He could not share and magnify it with his wavelength, as he had for so many years before. Her soul, her being, was as separate from his own as the waiter who filled their glasses. It was strange, being with her in every way but the one that mattered most; the one that set them apart. Not just the connection of a weapon and a meister, but the connection of two souls in harmony. Two souls as one. The constant communication of shared thoughts and feelings and spirit. But here they were together, in the same place at the same time, souls each their own, just as ordinary people are. And it has to be enough.

Maka pushed a delinquent lock of hair from her face and stood with a sigh. "Well, I should get going. Matthew's coming to pick me up in a few minutes."

"Okay." Soul leaned to the side and pulled his wallet from a back pocket. "Lunch is on me."

"No, Soul, we'll split it." Her words were big and loose from two hours of sipping champagne.

"Don't worry about it. It's my treat." Soul stood and leaned around her to hand the waiter his card. God, she smelled good enough to make him dizzy.

"Souuul. I can pay for myself."

He shrugged. "Too late. It's done."

Maka put a balled fist on her hip and huffed through her nose. "Fine. But I owe you."

"Deal." He held out his hand.

Maka placed her hand in his and shook on the deal. His palm was rough with callouses that caught on her skin. She'd forgotten how they felt, his long pianist fingers that wrapped around her own and reached to her wrist. She'd forgotten the way her hand tucked into his, safe and surrounded by his sure grip. She'd forgotten about the nights when, tired and worn from long days of training, they'd fold together into the couch and he'd rest his hands on her knees, absent-mindedly stroking delicate circles with his thumb. She'd forgotten that despite his strength and size he'd always been gentle with her; his touch always washed in adoration. She'd forgotten how it felt to miss being held by him when he stopped. Because she had wanted him to. Why did I ever ask him to stop? It had to be the champagne, but Maka wanted to be closer— just for a moment. She stepped into him and pressed her cheek to Soul's chest. He was solid and warm. Maka stood with him, arms wrapped in a loose hug around his waist. She breathed him in; her nose crinkled with an unfamiliar smell. It was oaky, musky, and a little and spiced. It smelled like—

"Cologne?" Maka backed out of the hug and gave him a quizzical look.

Soul gave another token shrug. "People change. Try to keep up half-pint."

She smiled, all teeth and tongue and full cheeks. No eyes. Never the eyes.

She inhaled again. It wasn't overpowering; more the suggestion of a scent than a strong aroma. "I like it."

Red bloomed in Soul's cheeks. "Thanks." He didn't know if she'd notice. He wanted her to. Shouldn't— but did.

They stepped out of the doors together and into the afternoon sun. Some guy waved from the parking lot and Soul bristled.

"That's Matthew, he's taking me downtown. I can introduce you—"

"Nah. I'm gonna get going."

Maka made a noise like she was thinking. "Well...okay. See you at home?"

"Yeah, see you later. Have fun." Soul waved her off with as sincere a smile he could muster.

Maka turned with a skip and bounced into the passenger seat of a black late-model sedan. She wasn't leaving with Soul. She wasn't going to spend the rest of the day with him, walking lazily hand in hand along smooth downtown sidewalk. She was doing that with someone else. Someone who drove an expensive car. Someone who wasn't around when Maka's parents split, who hadn't held her brokenhearted and vulnerable and sobbing on the bathroom floor. Someone who would never know her the way Soul did, who could never blend with her soul the way he had.

But she was trying. He could try too.

A/N: Thanks for stopping by! Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Stay tuned. ;)

-BMX