The only thing that renews Soul'sslackened pulse from its perpetual state of debility is Maka's fevered gaze.

It's true that she embodies incandescent flames. Maka Albarn would crumble to filthy dust if she didn't stand for all she believes in. She would be damned if she didn't fight tooth and nail to defeat any obstacles blocking her path. Built to withstand frustration, defeat, and even heartbreak, she's not one to put on a mask and hide - she's the type of risk-taker that charges right at the enemy, swallowing her fear with a strong-willed, ornery 'hmph!'

So when she finds Soul slumped in the darkened intern office, his hands threaded through his hair as if to keep the chaos confined to his head, warmth surges up his body from his toes. Though it's only been a week since they really looked at one another, no amount of time can undo the bond they've formed. If he closes his eyes, it's like they're at the cafe again, and he can fool himself into thinking she's leaning in to peck his dimple instead of contorting her lips in worry.

Soul is anything but calm, cool, and collected. He's a magnet for anxiety, self-doubt, and failure. How he managed to attract all the angelic goodness that constitutes Maka is beyond him. It's probably the world's way of pranking him, but the fact that she instinctively knows where to find him just ten minutes before their first live airing of the evening news touches a delicate part of him that wants to burst into tears.

She knows how to string together words that would otherwise be meaningless in any other combination. It's not fair that she's gifted in soothing the chaotic pit of hell his head has turned into thanks to the final internship project. After all, he's the one who royally messed up. Not only did he willingly sacrifice someone he didn't deserve in the first place, but he couldn't supply closure, couldn't do anything but waste her time.

Forgiveness isn't something that Soul deserves, but she's been summoned by his soul's frantic wavelength like a rescue team. And he can't turn her down; he needs her desperately, needs her like he needs peace and quiet and sleep.

"Hey," she says lightly. The tension between them is expected - they hadn't broken up on a good note. Asking him if he's okay would be useless - it's obvious by the way he's swaying back and forth that he's on the verge of an irreversible breakdown. Soul loves that her voice sparks goosebumps on his skin. He's convinced that she's his main cause of fear and happiness, and that's absolutely fine with him.

Everything in balance.

Maka sinks down next to him when he doesn't muster a response. Even though she doesn't wrap an arm around his shoulders and pull him close, her presence has the same effect - the tense muscles in his body let loose like he's been shot with a tranquilizer gun. The type of loneliness that persists now is one that tricks him into believing he's uncared for, unworthy, and fated to be half empty.

Mental isolation isn't easily cured, but being with Maka helps.

"I had some coffee this morning and I thought of you," she begins, tucking her hands underneath her thighs. True to her aesthetic, she's dressed in a skirt that is an inch away from being deemed too short. It's a sign of his distress that even this doesn't manage to pause the storm of emotions maiming him.

Soul doesn't deserve to be on her mind, but he doesn't say this. He's forgotten how to speak.

She offers him a hand. It hurts. Why does she choose to be gentle with him when he's the one who ruined the beautiful thing they had? Accepting that she may genuinely care for him in spite of his flaws is difficult. Not letting people in, not believing the best in himself, and being afraid of reaching his full potential are what have defined him in the past. But does it have to carry over?

The edges of Maka's hand blurs. Maybe it's the tears. Maybe he's dissociating. An emergency alarm is going off inside him, and his body's shutting down, preparing for disaster by feigning calmness.

"It's okay to be nervous," she says softly. "Come with me?"

Cowering in a broom closet won't challenge his limits. Maka's not forcing him to go through with finishing the internship; she's only providing support despite their breakup. "Just because we broke up, doesn't mean I don't care about you," rings in his head like a mantra.

So he takes her hand. She may still be rightfully bitter and angry and hurt. Part of her may not be able to forgive him for trying to shove her toward Wes as a poorly conceived defensive mechanism, but all of him wants to be by her side, and if that means being on live TV, then so be it.

X

"I was so worried, I didn't think you were coming," Wes sighs in relief as Maka leads Soul onto the set. There is a flurry of movement: equipment being moved, lights turning on and off, crew members scuttling across the room. "Both of you."

"We're here now," Maka hums brightly.

"I can... see." Wes's eyes flicker to Maka and Soul's clasped hands. He doesn't rattle off anything about obeying the rules. Soul doesn't waste time wondering why - it's not like Wes would hand them pink slips at this very moment, five minutes before air time. He needs them to fulfill their duties. Come what may after the airing - if Soul survives.

Makeup artists frantically surround him, fast at work to make him camera-ready. Soul sweats so much that one of them chastises him for it. "I can't control my glands," he scoffs.

"You're going to have to," all of them reply simultaneously.

For an instant, Soul contemplates sprinting away. They couldn't all possibly catch him, right? His arms and legs are long, proportionate for someone of above average height, but he's not sure he's coordinated enough to maneuver around anyone that may try to tackle him into submission (Wes, Wes, Maka, Maka, and Wes). Staying put and going through with it seems to be his best option.

Controlling his limbs is impossible by the time he's directed to take his position behind the desk. Practice sessions with Wes weren't horrible per say, but Soul walked away from those discouraging sessions with a sense of inevitable doom. It must reek off him like radiation because Maka - airbrushed to otherworldly perfection, her hair down and smoothed - angles her chair to face his instead of the camera.

"I'm so sorry," she says in a hushed tone. "I didn't keep my promise to you at all. I should've helped you - I was angry. I'm so sorry."

Soul can't bear to look at her when she's the placing blame on herself; she is faultless, and she doesn't owe him anything. But she refuses to accept this when he croaks it out. He feels like he's hanging off a cliff, his desperate fingers slipping the harder he tries to hold on. When the camera woman begins to countdown the seconds until they're live, a blitz of hysteria overcomes him, and when he's coming down from the high, he's left unfeeling.

He's a marionette with no puppeteer.

Maka thrives off the challenge, though. "Hello, this is the channel five evening news. I'm Maka Albarn." She pauses; Soul's too disoriented to process that she halted the spiel Wes has them reading from the monitor to give Soul a chance for his introduction. About a second passes before she realizes that he's out for the count. She tries, bless her heart: "And this is my partner, Soul Evans."

"Evans?" a discombobulated voice from the crew half shrieks. "Like Wes Evans?"

Beside Soul, Maka cringes. Even from his periphery, with all the too-bright lights blinding him, he can sense that the slip-up shakes her composure. She's not easily flustered, so this is physically painful to witness. "Uh, today's news…" Her chest rises and falls rapidly, breathing too erratically.

It would be irrational to believe that his stage fright has contaminated her - it isn't contagious, it isn't contagious, it isn't - but nothing about any of the past four months has been rational. He's been holding her back, but now's his chance to use the moment to his advantage. "Breaking news: boyfriend who broke up with his girlfriend out of fear is regretful."

Maka's apprehensive gaze flits over to him. "Girlfriend doesn't understand," she says softly.

"Boyfriend, uh, thought he wasn't good enough. Thought he was going to lose her, so he broke up with her before it could happen. He's an idiot."

"He really is!" But there is no rancor polluting her tone, though. She's taking deeper breaths, composing herself. "I think there's a chance of rain right now."

Oh no. "Like an angry storm with hail and flying objects, or a tragic one, or…?"

"A nice spring shower," she says, blinking back tears. It doesn't take much for her to gather her bearings. She clears her throat, shifts in her seat, and continues on, offering the camera a rejuvenated smile.

X

"That was a disaster," Maka wails as soon as they're off the set. But she looks at his sideways, smiling shyly. "But it was worth it."

Soul's coming down from his adrenaline rush, hands trembling. Maka steadies him by reaching out for his hand, guiding him down the stairs. Sitting next to her while she led the first segment of the news had numbed the negative thoughts throwing bricks at him. 'You're so useless' and 'you can't do anything right' didn't faze him as much as they normally might, all because he had depleted his energy baring his soul on live television. But his anxiety soars when he notices Wes making a bee-line for them.

"Into my office," Wes says, face stoic. The pair follow him out of the room, Wes beckoning Liz from her position behind the monitor. This may be the first time that Soul's stumped on how his brother feels, what he's about to do - Wes's anger is rarely sparked, but what if this is one of those moments?

He closes the door gently. "Elizabeth, what are the viewers saying?"

"Liz, Wes," she corrects him, jumping up to sit on his desk, typing away furiously on her phone. "Gimme a minute."

Soul takes it as a bad sign that Wes doesn't glance at him or Maka. His tendency is to think the worst, of course, and he definitely hates thinking that his brother could be blood-pressure spiking pissed. This is his television station, after all, his work, his baby.

"I'm so sorry, Wes," Soul says. It feels like his ribs are cracking. Disappointing his brother while simultaneously ruining his television station's reputation is his biggest regret in life thus far. "You don't have to say anything - just fire me."

"No!" Maka squeezes his hand. "Wes, don't fire Soul. I'm resigning as of right now. It's my fault that the evening news was messed up!"

Torment is apparent on Wes's face, but just as he opens his mouth, Liz pipes up. "Why don't you just hire both of them?" She raises one eyebrow incredulously. "You can do whatever you want, Wes. You're the boss. Do whatever you want."

Wes freezes, eyes narrowed, chin rumpled. Evidently, from the way he seems to stop breathing, this idea isn't one that has crossed his mind. Part of Soul groans internally because he's sure Wes is going to adopt the idea, and another part of Soul wants to pop one of his lungs screaming. He and Maka have allotted so much time and effort and arguments in their attempt to fumble through the internship, and Soul signed himself up for hell trying to make Maka look good. To hear a simple, hassle-free solution makes him want to rip his hair out one strand at a time.

"Yes, yes, this is a fantastic idea, Eliza-"

Soul and Maka both start: "What?"

"LIZ, Wes, my name is Liz!"

"-And my little brother and his girlfriend Miss Maka can spend more time together!"

It's like being struck by lightning. "Girlfriend?" Soul chokes out.

For the second time in the span of a minute, Wes looks more confused than ever. "Yeah… You two made up just now, right? So it's back on? My SoMa ship must live on."

Soul scratches his head. He can feel the inkling of a migraine sneaking up on him. "I thought you liked Maka?"

Wes's eyes bug out almost comically. "What? No - I mean, she is very precious, but anyone with a brain could see that you two have a thing going on."

Liz is laughing to herself. "Yeah, just like no one knew you and Soul are related. You two are practically twins. Everyone suspected… except Tsugumi, she's a little lost-"

Soul, still shell-shocked from Wes's response, ignores Liz's smartass comments. "Okay, but you were asking her out to dinner dates and practically stalking her!"

"You weren't talking about her, so I had to do my own investigating! Can you blame me for wanting to know my future sister-in-law?"

Maka half cries and half giggles, hiding her face behind her free hand. "I can't believe that everyone knew about us…"

"I can't believe you guys are this stupid," Liz mutters, shaking her head.

It's like a million ice cubes are being shoved down Soul's throat, because jolts of cold are shooting down to his stomach. In his humble, biased opinion, he and Maka had handled the situation with meticulous care - except for the two or three times they were caught in the act, but he's giving them a maximum of four freebies, because they avoided looking at each other for eight hours a day sometimes. How could it have been obvious?

"It was written all over your body language," Wes explains after taking a looking at Soul's face. "I might be your boss, but I'm also your brother. I've known you since before you were born. I know you."

Soul can't speak fast enough. Starting an argument with Wes isn't his priority, especially when he's sort-of made up with Maka. They're the two most important people in his life, and it's like a knife to the gut any time he's at odds with them. But, Soul is physically incapable of letting the comment slide. "Wes, you know I hate attention. Why would you make me go on live television?"

"I knew you could do it," Wes says simply, clapping a hand on Soul's shoulder. "I knew you could do it, and you did. I was a little worried you would have an anxiety attack on live television, but I also had faith that you're stronger than you think."

Typical Wes. His belief in Soul when Soul has below zero self confidence touches the part of him that craves love and affection. Little things like this truly mean the world to him, although his limited vocabulary prevents him from articulating this. All he can do is nod. Maybe later he'll yell at Wes ("don't ever make me face my fears ever again what is wrong with you") but right now he's too choked up to fathom words.

And, Soul is proud of himself. That in itself is a miracle. Feelings that don't pierce his organs are rare, but appreciated. Right now, as he stands numbly, hands locked with Maka's, everyone's eyes trained on him like he's a museum exhibit.

Breaking the awkward moment, Liz doesn't bother to glance up from her phone. "Our website is going crazy - the viewers loved them! Besides the few jokes about Soul's hiccups, everyone's saying they want the 'lovely couple' to stay. Hire both of them, Wes… just don't let them be alone together."

"Why?" Wes starts to ask, but is interrupted by Soul hiccuping noisily. Wearing down Wes Evans isn't a difficult task when the well-being of his brother is concerned. He rubs the nape of his neck, scrunching his face in thought. "I guess I could just revoke the 'no office romance' rules just a bit…"

Behind Wes, Liz's eyes glimmer like sunlight hitting ocean waves. Soul considers warning his brother about his 'secret' admirer but decides in a split second that he shouldn't stand in the way of a potential relationship (or hookup). He'd bet his motorcycle that another office romance is on the horizon. Maybe he should make it his first task as an official employee to make 'please knock before entering' signs.

From beside him, Maka blushes vibrantly. "Thanks, Wes. For everything."

Ever the courteous gentlemen, Wes nods and bows, the corners of his lips twitching with the strain of smothering a smirk. Maka doesn't notice, too enthralled with ravenously searching Soul's face like she's reading her favorite book. She's tearing up the longer they stare at each other.

"This whole mess was a huge misunderstanding… We're all idiots," Maka laughs, sniffling. She glides the side of her index fingers along her under eye, wiping away silent tears, brave face activated, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and the special shade of pink that colors her creamy skin every time she leans in to kiss him.

Not this time, though. Soul Evans has learned a thing or four from her in their time together (and time apart, even if it was short-lived, thank goodness). Looking into her green eyes grants him courage that fills his energy reservoir. It happens in slow motion, as all life-changing moments do. His lips tingle and his heart beats like a slow drum, and all he can see is Maka and how her eyelashes catch the ray of light just perfectly when she blinks.

"I'm an idiot," Wes is mumbling to himself in the background. "Sign your names here and just kiss already. We have to practice for the morning news. Don't think I'm letting you two slide by without completing the project!"

The sound of papers shuffling don't distract Soul from cupping Maka's tear-streaked, blotchy face. Sealing the deal with Wes's television company can wait - he's on a mission: Screw Up, But Not Too Much. Not that he considers resting his forehead on Maka's a mistake, but it's definitely against company rules. Neither of them are sticklers, though. She poises her hand over his, gently worrying her bottom lip in anticipation.

Maybe pausing is a little too teasing (she wrinkles her nose for a second, a flash of impatience crossing her face). Soul finds too much enjoyment in teasing her, though, even if his nervousness can be blamed on her. She makes his stomach flop and his heart summersault, his veins constrict and he goes lightheaded.

He rests his forehead on hers. "I'm kinda nervous… Mind if we continue this when there aren't so many people around?"

"Of course," she says, sighing contently and closing her eyes. "We have a lot to talk about, anyway."


notes: the end! thanks for reading. please let me know what you thought via reviews, PM's, or anything else! thank you so much.