There were so many memories. So many photos together, so much time spent bonding, cuddling, crying into the soft fur. Maka wanted to both take down all the photos with her in them but also but even more up.

She could not look through those stupid photo albums without crying, but she could not pry her eyes away from them.

She was curled up on the couch, flipping through the pages for the sixth time that day. How she missed the softness of her fur, the warmth of her cuddle, the high pitch of her voice. How many times had she cried herself to sleep in the past only to be comforted by her? And what were those that compared to the amount of tears shed once she was gone?

Soul tried to hide his feelings, would brush it of saying she was just some cat that would never stop bothering them. But Maka knew better than that. When she would lie in her bed silently crying into her pillow, she could hear Soul through the wall. She could hear him break. Hear him shout, kick down his bedside table, and punch the wall. By morning he would be completely composed.

He was quieter than normal. He smiled less - not that there was much to smile about anyway.

He brought a cup of tea over to her place on the couch. He set it on the coffee table with a simple comment telling her she should head to bed soon.

She made no effort to look up at him or acknowledge his words. She just sat there, eyes fixated on the pictures in front of her.

Tears fell from her eyes, sliding down the bridge of her nose always falling onto the cushions. Never the pictures.

Her eyes burned and the lids started to grow heavy, she had almost disappeared from the harsh realities of the world and escaped to her subconscious where maybe, just maybe, she was still alive, when she heard a loud crash and a loud curse from the other room.

She slowly made her way over to her partner's bedroom. Her limbs were heavy with grief and sorrow, and the fatigue from her crying weighed down on her shoulders.

"Soul?" she rasped out. She had barely said a word the past few days, and she thought it might have been too quiet for anyone to hear.

The door swung open to show a face riddled with tears coming from crimson eyes. She had never seen Soul look so vulnerable; so torn apart; so broken. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. Instead he just fell forward, his face on Maka's shoulder, his whole body shaking from his sobs.

She rubbed calming circles into his back and they both lowered to their knees, weighed down by the anguish of their loss.

The silence of the apartment was torture as the darkness engulfed them, only fueling their sadness. Soul took a deep breath and picked his head up to look at Maka.

"She's gone, Maka," He didn't dare speak above a whisper, fearing that if he did, he would fall back into a fit of tears.

"I know, Soul. I know," she replied, not knowing of what else to say.

"When we first met her, we were the ones to kill her. But she still had eight lives left. What happened to all those? Where did they go?" His voice cracked at the last question, and he leaned his head back against the wall, looking away to hide the pain in his face.

"I don't know," she whispered barely audible.

She pressed her head onto his chest and he reclined back to lie on the floor. They were both too tired to move to a bed or the couch. They both stayed there, drowning in the quiet of their home, and drifting off to sleep.

That night, in her slumber, Maka relived the memories of all the times Blair had been there to comfort her when she needed a mother or sister figure. All the times she had pulled Maka's head to rest on those bosoms she often used for seduction purposes and obnoxious flirtations. But when she spoke with that soft voice and she sounded so sincere, it helped her through her tears and helped her feel much better.

Blair was in no way their pet. Blair was family.