burned into my brain are these stolen images
by. Poisoned Scarlett
act eight
He wants to capture her music and put it in a box all for himself.
The curtains that retain his fears no longer induce that anxiety they usually do, no longer make his palms sweat or bring along those feelings of inadequacy. At the moment, the stage is in chaos, staff and dancers alike setting up for the next scene while he merely switches music sheets and waits for his cue. His eyes stray to the center of the stage, where he can spot Maka adjusting the flower in her hair and wiping away any sweat that had gathered on her collarbone. She takes a breath and then she looks at him, catches his stare, and smiles sweetly in the way that makes his heart hurt because it'll only be a matter of time before he won't be privy to her secret little smiles.
Marie is excited about it, crooning that Maka deserves the largest stage the world can offer. Maka had been the only one in over four years to work with renowned director Madam Arachne, Marie had told him excitedly. She had been the only one and with good reason, too. He knows she deserves it more than she thinks she does because perfection is unattainable but she comes close, with split seconds that are indistinguishable from lifetimes for him.
Maka hurries over to him before the show starts, stopping by his piano. "Soul, Marie asked me to tell you to speed it up a little!"
"A little?"
"We're running late tonight!"
He checks his watch. "By two minutes. It's not gonna' kill anyone if we let the audience out two minutes late."
"Well, you know how Marie is," Maka smiles sheepishly. "She likes to be punctual."
"Uncool," he mumbles. "I'm gonna' play like I usually play. I don't need the girls to get thrown out of whack 'cause I'm playing faster."
"They can dance at a faster rate!" Maka defends.
He leans in, looks up, and grins when he notices she has drawn a little closer in response, green eyes softening in the way he hasn't noticed until that night in the dance studio, that night when he saw the warmth she carried for him in her eyes and her hands and her mouth. "But Tsugumi can't. And you gotta' be perfect from here on out, Maka, your admittance depends on it," he reminds her and she draws back at that, her brows creasing. He frowns. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing, it's just..." She looks at him and he can't read her, can't understand the sadness she shows, and before he can ask, Hiro is running over to them with his arms flailing. "Oh, it's time!"
He grabs her wrist before she can go. "We'll talk about this later."
She hesitates but nods, letting her hand squeeze his once before hurrying over to her spot as the curtains are drawn.
He turns back to the piano and the music begins again. It goes on like this for the rest of the night, with him taking breaks in between scene changes to crack his back or crack his knuckles. He watches her scramble to get everyone in the correct order, watches her hiss out commands and always look at him directly when it's time. It's usual, nothing out of the ordinary, but this time when the show ends and everything wraps up, there is a coldness in the air that dries his skin and makes every move feel as if he is pushing through a storm. It doesn't help that Maka asks if she could speak to him privately, none of the humor he had previously known visible in her eyes.
"So," he starts once they're outside, rubbing the back of his neck as she stands before him, contemplatively. The silence makes him shift. "What's up?"
"Just give me a second," she tells him.
He arches a brow at her subdued tone but nods, waiting for her to collect her thoughts. There's ice in his ribcage and there's weakness in his gut, like he just ate bad sushi and he doesn't think he'll make it to the nearest toilet. He takes in a slow breath, releases it, and relaxes his jaw because it's starting to ache. The weight he feels can't be explained; no combination of twenty six letters can describe it. Or if they can, he doesn't have the faintest idea of how. That weight inside him takes a plunge when she finally looks at him, determined.
"I'm going to take it, the offer from Arachne!" She tells him words he knew all along but they feel like a blow to his gut when they come from her. Her voice doesn't waver; it's even, confident as she always is. "Arachne said she would pay for my plane ticket and my lodging as well if I accept. I don't have to worry about getting an apartment and I'll be...I'll finally achieve my dream. I'll be where my mama wanted to be when she was my age."
He nods.
She doesn't know what she expected, but it's not this.
"Alright. Cool."
"Cool?" Maka repeats with an edge of disbelief, searching his eyes for something, anything. She doesn't find what she's looking for. "That's it? Just cool?"
"What else do you want me to say? It's not like I didn't expect this!"
"Excuse me?" She hisses, cold anger flashing through her eyes.
He knows he put his foot in his mouth at the sight. "I didn't mean it like that."
"Then what did you mean? I didn't expect you to be happy about it but I really didn't expect nothing at all! You could at least pretend that you'll miss me!" She spits.
"Don't go sticking words in my mouth. You should know better than to think I wouldn't miss you," he says sharply and she presses her lips together, green eyes dark. He sighs. "Look, I always knew this was gonna' happen, since Maire told all of us that you auditioned for the first time. That's why I didn't want to get involved with you. That day at the studio, I had just convinced myself to give up on you because I knew you would be accepted. They'd be crazy not to accept you, Maka, you're incredible. But then you had to go..." He growls, frustrated with how his words didn't mesh together like he wants them to. He hopes he doesn't ruin it anymore than he already has. "I could have just been hung up on you if we hadn't done that. I could've gotten over you but now I won't—I can't!"
"Yes, you can."
"No, I can't."
Maka looks unconvinced.
Soul scowls at her skepticism "No, I can't. Y'know how guys always say there's that one girl they can't forget, no matter how many more they go through or who they marry? There's always that one girl they'd go back to if they could?" He looks at her, into doll-eyes that will haunt him for lifetimes to come. "That's you. You're that girl."
"...No, I'm not," Maka breaths out a laugh, shaking her head cynically. "No. It's not. It's not me. You'll find someone else and you'll forget about me because that's what happens, Soul, there is never just one!"
"You can't forget a face like yours," he tells her with an ironic smile. "At least, I can't. I won't."
"Time will make sure of it," she coolly tells him and he snorts.
"Wanna' know a fact?" He asks suddenly and she furrows her brows at the sudden change. "Did you know that the average adult will sleep with an average of five people but will only fall in love twice, sometimes with the same person?" He looks at her and doesn't let her look away."Fun fact for that massive brain of yours."
She gives him a long look, bright green eyes shining under the light of the moon, her jaw tight and her hands bunching the sleeves of her sweater into her fists. And he thinks that it's fine if she doesn't believe it; if she walks away from here thinking he was lying through his teeth. He decides it's fine because maybe it's for the best, if one of them didn't believe it, if it's her who didn't because she has purpose and ambition and she is a masterpiece in the making while he is a devil-may-care love-sick fool who only has his sheet music, a dusty piano, and her image burned into his brain. She will always be his midnight answer, his jukebox sweetheart. She will always be his blond-haired ballerina with the princess-cut emerald eyes and a smile sweet like vanilla and it doesn't matter who she thinks he'll end up with, if he'll forget her and move on, she will always live through his deplorable music and mismatched tunes whether she likes it or not.
She darts her eyes away and furiously rubs the back of her hand over her nose, then her wrist covers her eyes. It's a sharp intake of air that makes him realize that the brightness in her eyes was really due to tears and he can honestly say this was not what he intended; this was the complete opposite! He was supposed to tell her how he felt, not make her cry!
"Are you crying?"
"NO!"
"You liar! You're crying!" He runs a hand down his face when she drops her own from hers, revealing tear tracks and misery. "Look, Maka, I didn't mean to make you cry just—this wasn't supposed to make you cry!" He hisses, agitatedly running his fingers through his hair. How does he handle crying girls? How does he handle broken wind-up dolls? Who does he need to go to for guidance, who does he need to go to for help? "That was...I didn't wanna' make you cry. That wasn't my intention!"
"What else did you expect?" Maka cries out, incredulously. "You just told me I'd be your...your only one! You even used a bogus fact!"
"That is not a bogus fact," he scowls.
"Show me proof!"
"I don't have it—look, fuck that, we'll talk about the validity of internet facts later! I don't know what I expected, alright? I just...I needed you to know that before you left. I needed you to know how I felt. So, there. Now you know. It's off my chest and I can keep on living my life," he blows out air, just wanting this night to end already. "...without you."
Maka groans and shakes her head, dropping her face in her hands. "You're not supposed to say that!"
"What, it's the truth!"
"But that just makes me want to stay!"
"You can't stay just cuz I want you to stay, Maka."
"I know. I know this is the opportunity of a lifetime but, Soul..." She sighs, shoulders slumping. She looks at him, forlornly. "So are you."
There's a pregnant pause before he speaks again, words carefully collected this time:
"Arachne won't wait for you but I will. That's why you have to go out there and make a million bucks while I stay here and keep the bed warm for you," he smirks, a weak attempt at humor.
Maka drops her eyes to the ground grimly and wipes away her tears for the boy who has wormed his way into her heart and made her want to believe in love again. She tells herself not to cry because she promised herself to never cry for a boy but this boy is different—this boy has his heart stitched into his music and it echoes through the complicated halls of her heart, hitting the core with painful accuracy.
"I don't love you," she tells him. She breathes out slowly. Here she goes; she's going to tell him. She owes it to him. "But I know I can and I want to."
"...Jesus fucking Christ, anymore dramatic? You nearly gave me a heart attack!" Soul snaps and Maka blinks, looking up to find his head tipped back to look at the moon, his fingers digging into his eyes because when she said she didn't love him, he very nearly felt the ground beneath him give out. "So let me get this straight! You don't love me...yet?"
"I kind of do but at the same time I don't."
Soul gives her a candid look. "Can you be anymore complicated?"
She glares. "I can try."
"Great."
"Look, I don't love you like you love me," Maka loudly states, deciding she'd break it down for him. "I don't love you so much yet but I can, do you understand now?"
"Just answer me this," he decides, simply. "Do you love me?"
"Yes."
"Alright. Cool. Don't say anymore; that's all I need to know!" Soul flatly says. "I'm set for the rest of my life."
"That's not funny, Soul," Maka mutters. She sighs and looks sideways, to the backdoor of the theater. She still needs to return and gather her things before they closed down for the night. She looks up at him suddenly, weighing the pros and cons of her next idea. Does she really want to do this? It's already out in the open that they both hold deep feelings for each other. After a second, she decides she might as well take a risk for once in her life. "Can I...spend the night with you?"
"Sure, if you want."
"What about...the week?"
"...I'm cool with that."
"...A month?"
"Maka, where are you going with this?" He asks, warily.
Maka exhales, cheeks reddening. "I just want to be with you for as long as possible before I leave. Can I?"
He snorts out a laugh, ignoring her furious look because his chest feels light and the night chill feels warm to him. "Why couldn't you just say that? Quit complicating everything, s'not cool. You can stay for as long as you want—as long as your dad doesn't come breaking down my door, I need my deposit back."
She beams. "Okay!" She steps forward and his hand is already up to meet hers, their fingers tangling together. Perfect. "Let's go buy some take-out while we're at it, too! I haven't eaten anything since lunch time!" she grins endearingly, a smile that lights up where ever she stands. It makes his chest feel tight and his blood thin and his fingers reflexively squeeze hers as if anything less would be wrong.
He thinks the word he's looking for is adoration but that's more from him to her, not her to him.
Yet.
