A/N: I do not own Soul Eater or Falling in Reverse's 'The Drug In Me Is You.'
Thanks: .Evans, Infinite Freedom, Soultaker2018, fortheking0fblood, Café.nina, waytheballbounces (again), fireprooflawyer (again), Killing Kunoichi (you practically have own private spot in my 'thanks' list because you're my number one supporter, woo!) and Tenbris for favouriting/following/reviewing. 20 reviews, sweet! Thanks!
Tenbris has a SoMa one-shot collection up at the moment too called 'Staccato.' It's really well written (puts me to shame a little, I'll admit), so go check it out!
Thank you for your support so far everyone, and enjoy.
TEN – CAN'T YOU SEE
If we are born to die
And we all die to live,
Then what's the point of living life
If it just contradicts?
- "The Drug In Me Is You", Falling in Reverse.
Soul stared down at the blank paper before him, a scowl on his face. A pen lay mockingly over the clean lined sheet, daring him to write something, anything. Beside this traitorous piece of paper and pen was the source of all of his troubles – Stein's stupid written assignment. Across the top was printed one question, their subject of writing:
What do you live for?
Really, Soul thought irritably as he stared down at his lack of process, what's the point of this crap anyway? The task had nothing to do with their current unit of work – Wavelength Interpretation – or anything else. It wouldn't help him to better his education, it wouldn't keep him alive out on the battlefield, and it certainly wouldn't stop his meister Chopping him on the head every time he so much as breathed too loud. If this was the case, then why the hell was he being forced to write the damn paper?
More importantly, why was it so hard?
The question, although irrelevant, should have been relatively simple. It should have been something that Soul could easily sit down and answer, keeping just inside the word limit because over-excelling was uncool. That was what he usually did for assignments. While lazy and unwilling to participate, he'd admit, he wasn't stupid. If he'd tried, he'd probably be doing very well in Stein's classes. But being the cool guy he was, he spent his classes sleeping and bugging his meister, rather than taking copious notes. He'd normally get this assignment done in no time.
So why couldn't he?
He couldn't answer either of his own questions, let alone Stein's. Soul let out an irritated growl and, in a fit of spontaneous anger, seized the offending sheet of blank paper. Screwing it up between his hands, he proceeded to throw the ball across the room. It disappeared out of sight under his bed and he stretched his arms, yawning. The stupid assignment could wait – he needed a drink and some food, pronto.
As Soul emerged from his bedroom, his eyes fell on his meister. She was stretched out across the couch with a grin on her face, reading something or other. It must have been a new book, because he didn't recognise it as one that had connected with his cranium yet.
"How's the paper going?" she asked without removing her nose from the pages.
He scratched the back of his head, shrugging. "You know. The usual."
"In other words, you haven't started it."
"Yeah, pretty much."
He made his way over to the fridge and toed it open, searching for the milk carton. The sound of Maka bookmarking her page and laying the book aside made him sigh in annoyance – she was about to go into full lecture-mode, he knew it. For some reason, she was on his ass about doing this one particular paper, and she wasn't letting him rest until he'd completed it.
"Soul, you seriously need to get this done," she said, standing slowly. He rolled his eyes. "It's contributing to our overall results this term and it's due . . ."
" . . . In a week," he supplied, moving past her to take possession of the couch. "And how far away is a week? Oh yeah," he said sarcastically, "it's a whole week away."
"Don't be an idiot," she huffed, hands on her hips and looking down at him. "You're just slacking off, aren't you? I need you to actually do this assignment, because our grades are shared, and you'll bring down my average."
He snorted. "I'm so glad you're concerned for my academic benefit. It's touching."
Maka punched him in the arm. "Ugh, you have no consideration for anyone but yourself, Soul!" She moved to snatch back her book, but he put his hand on it to keep it down. It was no use providing her with a weapon while she was so close to him. That was like asking to be Maka-Chopped.
"For your information, I've been trying to write this damn thing for the last hour," he said in a low voice, making her pause in her advances. "I just have no idea how to answer the stupid shit."
She raised an eyebrow. "It isn't that hard, is it? I mean, you don't even have to research anything! I did mine in an hour flat." She still sounded pissed.
"That's because you excel at everything," he said curtly, taking a sip from the milk carton and missing her blush. "And it may be easy for you, but I can't figure out what I should write."
Maka looked perplexed. "Doesn't everyone already know the answer to the question?"
"Honestly," he blew out all of his breath in a sigh, "I really don't."
Colour rose in her face and suddenly she was facing slightly away from him. "How can you not know?" Her arms crossed instinctively, and he got the vague feeling that his words had pissed her off somehow. "Are you stupid or something?"
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me!" She stepped forwards, glaring down. "How can you not have a reason for living?" Her volume rose at his incredulous expression. Soon they would be in an all-out shouting match. "You just aren't trying, like always! I mean, everyone lives for something!"
"We aren't all like you, you know!" he said in an equally loud voice. If she wanted to fight, so be it. He was already feeling shitty; she was just stoking the proverbial fire. "We don't all think about this shit all the time! In case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly fucking following in my parents' footsteps, am I? I'm not trying to be better than my mother – hell, the only thing dangerous about her were her words!"
"Shut up!" she screeched back, diving for the book, which he moved out of the way once more. This caused him to stand. They were in each other's faces, tempers high, anger brewing.
"Why should I? It's true! You've got the rest of your life completely planned around your mother's, good for you! It's not my fault you're a control freak who over-analyses everything!"
"Oh yeah?" she replied shortly and viciously. "Well it isn't my fault your parents didn't hug you enough as a kid! Don't project your stupid childhood screw-ups on me, Soul Eater Evans." She sneered out the last word.
He faltered, took a step back. Maka didn't know that much about his childhood; the constant disappointment he caused, the coldness of his father's eyes, the preferential treatment given to Wes. "I can't believe you'd say that. That's low, even for you."
"Even for me?" She didn't even pause. "You're the jerk who always points out everyone else's flaws! You know what? Maybe that's why you can't do the assignment task! Maybe you just don't have an answer, Soul!"
Soul paled instantly as he took in her words. Maybe you just don't have an answer. "Well then," he bit out, and his voice sounded savage and angry even to his own ears, "if I don't have a reason to live, maybe I just won't bother. Will that make you happy, or would you just prefer me to go throw myself off of the nearest building?"
Before she could answer, he turned and seized up his keys from the kitchen bench. "Don't bother waiting up. If you get it your way, I won't come back. Hell, maybe you can wear that black dress again at the funeral." He threw the words over his shoulder, slamming the door loudly behind him.
The needle inched past one-hundred-and-forty as he revved the bike handle harder. Flicking back his wrist, he allowed his cycle's engine to accelerate, pushing him forward through the empty streets with alarming speed. All he wanted to do was drive, drive fast, away from her and her stupid words - !
Because really, what the Hell did she know? Maka was a genius (ask anyone), and she'd figured out her reason to grow stronger, to persist, many a year ago. Sure, her ideas about living had changed a little during their partnership – he'd been sliced open by Crona, she'd taken down the Kishin, but whatever. The point was, she knew exactly why she lived, what her life's purpose was and how she could achieve her next goal.
He really didn't. If he was being honest with himself, the only reason he'd ever really tried to do anything was for Maka's sake. It was his job as a weapon to keep her alive and happy, ready to take down the enemy and prepared for battle. Anything that didn't concern his meister or his friends, or the good of Death City, really wasn't in his best interests. He hadn't tried as a kid because trying earned him disapproval and comparisons to Wes. He hadn't tried on Shibusen's orientation day, because he had been under the belief that there was no meister waiting for him. However, since that fateful day when she waltzed on into his life and kicked his ass, he'd started to try. At first just a little, to keep her there and stop her from yelling at him with her high-pitched annoying voice. After that it had been a bit more, as he started to grow fond of her. The amount he tried increased steadily in reaction to his feelings for her – a sense of protection, a sense of familiarity, accepting that she and the rest of Spartoi were his family, falling in love with her.
"Shit," he hissed as he swerved out of the way of a street vendor's cart. He hadn't been paying attention to the road and had nearly crashed out as a result. The wood of the cart came within a hairs-breadth from scratching his Road King's paint, but he'd managed to dodge the obstacle. With a sigh and a groan, Soul gently let his wrist relieve its tension. If he wrecked on the bike now, that'd really make his life.
Oh yeah, what life? He bitterly remembered Maka's insults. While Soul didn't know what he lived for, he did know he had some kind of purpose. The only problem he had with writing his essay was the fact that he was a massive cynic.
After all, we're born to die, right? Soul grinned slightly. That needed to be a song lyric. Still.
If he had to be brutally honest, he didn't want to think about why he was alive. He just wanted to enjoy the limited time he had. He was a weapon, he had a meister, and together they were going to take out evil until one of them died. Maka would probably carry on when he died, as he'd obviously go first.
The average life expectancy for a weapon was anywhere between twenty and forty years, due to the missions they took. Soul had come very close to dying on a fair few occasions. For some reason, his life kept being preserved. He didn't know why, but something was telling him that the moment he questioned it, it'd be that time. The time when he didn't make a recovery from an injury.
And then there'd be no more Maka. No more resonance. And that, to him, sounded like the most accurate version of 'Hell' he could picture.
Besides, if he didn't have her, who would be there to argue with?
Maybe that's my reason for living, he thought with a shadow of a grin. Because someone's gotta' make fun of her chest size.
With another sigh, bringing his count to twenty million, he turned the bike's handlebars around. It was time to go home.
Maka buried her face in her pillow as her bedroom door opened, allowing a wedge of yellow light to slant across her face.
She'd been on the verge of sleep when Soul had returned home, and was glad of her position in bed so that she didn't have to face him. The things she'd said had been awful, no matter how badly he'd taunted her. If she weren't so proud, she would have followed him and apologized. However, she was Maka Albarn, so she chose to sit on the couch, cry a bit, and then stew over her angry emotions instead. He just elicited these kinds of emotions in her – fury, hurt, love, all of it. She liked to express it in Chops instead of words; although, Soul definitely didn't pick up on 'love' through book-to-the-head incidents. That was her secret.
Now she tried to squint against the onslaught of illumination as the door opened wider. A silhouette blocked the obtrusive light a moment later, and the door shut quietly behind him. She didn't know what he was doing in her room at this time of night, but she was starting to get too tired to care. Almost too tired, anyway – she was a teenage girl, after all.
"Soul?" she half-moaned, still letting her eyes readjust. A quiet grunt was her only reply as her weapon approached. The bed sheets ruffled a little and the mattress sunk down as he climbed into her double-bed (thank Death she'd bought a bigger one last month). "What the Hell are you doing?"
"'M' going to sleep," he replied through a yawn, his back to her. As an almost afterthought he breathed out, "Sorry."
She didn't reply, but her hand moved of its own will across the sheets to find his. After a moment of searching her fingers found his and she laced them together with a sigh. "You know I'm going to Chop you in the morning."
"Maybe I'll go into a coma while I sleep and avoid it," he wearily chuckled, his hand tightening over hers for a moment. "Goodnight, Maka."
"Night, Soul."
They fell asleep like that, hands clasped together like kids, and Maka's finished paper for Stein's class sat on the desk nearby as a witness. The paper explaining why she lived – to grow stronger for her partner, for Soul.
Lame lame lame lame lame lame lame.
I actually updated within 2-3 days this time. The next may be a bit late as I've got speeches and tests coming up, but I'm estimating Tuesday to Wednesday. Okay, bye.