By the time she's out the front door, Soul's long gone. She half expects to find him wheezing, hands on his knees, struggling to catch his breath on the porch. He's never been particularly athletically inclined or fit, so fight or flight must be one hell of a drug, she thinks, for him to be able to beat feet out of the premise so completely without Maka even having a chance to catch up to him. His hobbies include listening to music and sleeping; he's not a runner, her cat boy.

Her cat boy. The thought stings; she can't think things like that, not after witnessing Medusa's complete power over him, the way she'd completely disregarded his humanity and referred to him as nothing but cat. He's more than that, she thinks, guilty. So much more than a furry little friend with cute pink beans. He's human, too. First and foremost, he's human.

And, for the first time, she'd seen him afraid.

Real fear. Not childish horror, like the boogeyman or monsters hiding under the bed. Real, adult fear, something that had haunted him to his very core.

Cars whiz by on the road and Maka stands on the sidewalk, heart galloping in her chest, blood racing. He's nowhere to be found, but- but when he has nowhere to go, this homeless, lost boy, Maka doesn't even know where to begin looking. How can she? He's without a touchstone, and with the way he'd looked at her, she doesn't know if she'll ever understand him well enough to find him, either.

Hopelessness wells up inside of her. She could scream. She might just scream, just to keep herself from crying harder.

.

The ride back home is just as silent and tense as the ride to was.

Kid doesn't make any move to turn on the radio. Maka doesn't have it in her to take the passenger seat, not while Soul had sat there only hours ago, and so she plants herself in the back seat and stares out the window. Her head's too full to even entertain the thought of trying to hash out what'd just went down with Kid anyway, not while he grips the steering wheel so tightly.

She wouldn't know where to begin with him. There are too many layers to unravel, too many loose ends that frustrate her, too much everything. He'd put his hand over her mouth and tried to silence her. No matter the intention, it's still - it burns, the seething anger, and Maka swallows thickly and squeezes her hands down into her lap. She tries to remind herself that he'd just been looking out for her, that he'd been as terrified of Medusa as Soul had been, even if he'd taken no physical blows. That he'd been trying to protect her, just the same way she'd been trying to protect him, and she really ought to be thankful for his consideration.

But it's hard to be thankful when Soul had been there, too, just as much a victim of it all as Kid was. And it goes deeper than the physical part, that the vile woman had laid a hand on him. When it comes down to it, they're both trapped in her web, but Medusa hadn't said anything about locking the rat away.

Punished for being born. Maka might just scream after all.

Kid pulls into the driveway and shifts the car into park. Maka makes no moves to leave the car, still stewing in her seat.

He heaves a sigh and turns the key back in the ignition. "... We're home, Maka."

"... Okay."

It's stopped raining long ago, but Maka still can't help but worry if Soul's found somewhere dry to sleep for the night, or even if he'll find something suitable to eat for dinner. What will he do, she wonders, without her little part of roof to sleep on, without her leftovers to feast upon? Where will he go? Where can he go?

Maybe he'll find her old tent.

"I'll order pizza for tonight," Kid says, unbuckling himself. Maka still stares out the window. "Don't worry about cooking, really. I don't know about you, but I'm really not in the mood to prepare anything."

Soul won't be stealing her crust or pepperoni tonight, then.

"... He's here, isn't he?" she ends up asking, and the leather of Kid's seat squeaks beneaths him as he turns to look back at her.

Kid sighs. "Where else would he go?"

"I don't know. I don't know where he goes when he's not napping in the garden."

He purses his lips. The seat squeaks again as he leans forward to watch her, but Maka still can't meet his gaze. It's hard, trying to swallow down her anger; she wants to scream, still, and to scream at him in particular so badly, but it'd be unfair. He'd been trying to help, she knows that, and he hadn't even wanted to go in the first place, but it's still - Soul's missing and Kid is still more concerned about her wellbeing.

She doesn't need protecting. Not while she sits, unharmed, with a guaranteed roof over her head. Not while she has freedoms that they do not.

"I'm sorry."

It's not the balm she needs. Maka doesn't look up, just keeps staring out the window, hoping, haplessly so, that Soul will appear, legs dangling from a branch, nibbling on a carrot or something.

"Tell me about him," she says, then, nerves plucked like a guitar string.

Kid purses his lips. "Soul?"

Who else? Maka's blood still runs hot, a barely banked inferno. "Of course Soul! What did she mean about locking him away after graduation? You didn't mention anything about that! All he said- all he said about anything was if he beat you in a fight, God said he could be part of the zodiac!"

"He'll need a miracle for that."

"Now is not time for your pride!" she hisses, hands balled up into fists in her lap. She could just shake him, and the thought is as infuriating as it is scary; she's never thought about hurting Kid, or challenging him in this way, but today has her all messed up and all she wants is for things to go back to the way they'd been a month ago.

Goodness, she'd give anything to go back to trying to brainstorm ways to keep her boys from bickering with each other. What a simpler time, what a simpler her, to assume this was the extent of their curse. To be so happily ignorant, clueless, even. To not know that their so-called God was so controlling and power-hungry. Past Maka didn't realize the road she walked was a dead end.

Kid at least has the compassion to bow his head to her. "I'm sorry."

She thinks she might be sorry, too, but she's too heated to admit it. Docile, naive Maka might've been more apt to bow her head, too, and let bygones be bygones.

That Maka can't come to the phone right now. "What did she mean about locking him away?!"

"... He is the cat."

"I'm aware."

He's unreadable, now. Wears that mask of his quite primly, cheekbones immaculate as he looks down at her like this. More distinguished rat and less of the mistreated child of five minutes ago. "He's not one of us."

"As far as I'm concerned he is," Maka hisses, leaning forward now, too, nose-to-nose with the very boy she'd been trying so hard to defend only an hour ago, while God has spoken so terribly of him. How the times change, she thinks, still shaking all over. Fight or flight hasn't yet given up on her, and currently she feels uncontrollably balled up, like she might explode at any given moment. "He's afraid of getting close to people, Kid, just the same as you!"

"He's not," Kid says, flatly.

"Of course he is! He's never once- he can't hug me, Kid," she blurts.

"Do you think he wants to?"

That's… not the point. And this isn't the time or place for Maka to psychoanalyze why the first thing that'd come to mind was hugging her, either. "I don't know! It doesn't matter. He can't hug anyone, Kid. And even if he could, I don't think he'd be able to bring himself to do it anyway."

"I'm not afraid of getting close to people."

"Aren't you?" Maka asks, exhaling shakily. Kid budges back and it's all the proof she needs. "You don't like it when I'm this close to you."

He sits back, adjusts the collar of his polo shirt. "That's not true at all. I held your hand, did I not?"

"You never touch me first." And neither does Soul. "It doesn't- I'm not going to hurt you, Kid. I want to help you! God, I want to help the both of you, but you guys make it so hard sometimes. I just wish-"

"Wish what?"

"I wish you'd just get along! I wish- I wish there was a way to support him and support you at the same time!" It's hard on her, to care so deeply for such two polarizing entities. With Kid, she's always so careful about minding his personal space, minding her manners, wanting him to be happy and comfortable around her, and with Soul- with Soul, she just wants to pull his purring face into her arms and hide him away from the world. Wants him to know that there's someone who cares, too, even when he's too stubborn to admit that he wants the help.

Kid watches her. Blinks once, twice. "... Would you like it if I hugged you?"

Not… the point. She doesn't think it's the point. Maka plants her face in her hands and screams, just a bit. Just enough to relieve some of the tension in her bones. "I don't know! Of course, but that's not- that's not what I'm trying to say at all-"

"Because I don't think you do, sometimes," he says, and he's got this gloomy tone to his voice that she doesn't like one bit. "But you want him to hug you, correct?"

Maka has never blushed in her life quite like this. It makes no sense at all. Hadn't they been arguing about Soul's future and why she needed Kid to stop being such a priss about it? There's no reason for her face to feel so hot, for her stomach to feel so torn apart. "I want to hug the both of you," she says, muffled, cheeks warm in her hands. "Because I care about you. You're my friends! I just- I want to be friends with the both of you without hurting anyone, and you guys make that so hard to do sometimes-"

"You can be his friend."

"I can't!" she shrieks, finally looking up, eyes infuriatingly damp. "I can't! I can't be his friend while I'm your friend if you're just going to stand by while she talks to him like that! You know I can't!"

He stares back at her evenly. Only flinches when she sniffles and scrubs at her stupid wet eyes. "Maka..."

"No!" Crying is not weakness. It's not. She's not weak, never weak. Feeling this deeply cannot be a folly, not if it fills her with such determination. To be driven, to be motivated - it's the only thing that keeps her going, these days, this sheer, virile compassion, and Maka latches herself onto any sort of purpose. "No, don't 'Maka' me! You don't get it!"

He's so patient with her, even when it's clear that he's frustrated. "I don't get what?"

That she cares about the both of them, even if it's not always in the same way. That she wants to protect the both of them, but can't when Kid's very existence causes Soul so much turmoil. She can't, when being around Soul makes Kid so thorny, when mentioning Soul makes Kid crease his brows and shy away from her.

"... Him!" she finally settles with. "Him! You don't get him. All he wants is to belong somewhere, and you- he doesn't have a choice in anything, and you-!"

"Do you think I have a choice in this either?"

"No!" Of course he doesn't; that's not what she's trying to say at all! It's just not black and white the way she needs it to be, and it makes her cry harder, miserably planting her face back into her hands. "Uuuugh, I just wish this was easy! I just wish he'd come home so I could make sure he ate something tonight, and then maybe I could talk this over with him-"

There's tension now, in Kid. Especially in the way he's looking at her, expression pinched, as if he'd eaten something spectacularly sour. "You can pick him. I wouldn't understand, I suppose, why someone might want to surround themselves with the cat, but-"

"I'm not picking anyone!" What part about I want to support the both of you isn't he understanding? "There's no need for me to pick!"

"You said it yourself." Kid watches her, thoughtfully. "You can't find a way to support the both of us simultaneously. We're not meant to get along. Soul and I have never gotten along, in any incarnation. Every version of us have been enemies. It's the role we've been born to play. I'm sorry."

That's quitters talk. Accepting destiny like that, taking the world's beating without even trying to fight back; it's accepting defeat, essentially, and she won't stand for it.

Maka pops the lock of the door and kicks it open. "You've never even tried."

Her phone rings before Kid has the chance to defend himself. Maka sits, car door hanging wide open beside her, one leg inside and the other out, weighing her options. Kid stares at her, expectantly, as she reaches into her back pocket to summon her phone and slide her finger across the touch screen to answer, silencing Heads Will Roll and subjecting herself to whatever else the universe wants to throw at her.

What else can it do? How much more can she carry on her shoulders? She already feels off-balance, like at any moment her ankles will give out and she'll teeter to the ground.

"... Hello?"

"Pipsqueak?"

Jesus. It's Black*Star. She's not in the mood to deal with the likes of him right now. Really, she's not in the mood to deal with much of anything, if her argument with Kid, of all people, is any evidence, but - but the last time she'd seen Black*Star, she'd locked his piglet-self in a closet for teasing her about her… slighter-than-average figure. The absolute last thing she needs right now is to be belittled in any shape or form.

The universe has a funny way of messing with her. Maka rubs her face and groans.

"Hello?" he asks again. "I called the right number, didn't I-?"

"How did you get my number," Maka ends up hissing, kicking both legs out of the car and facing the dim, cloudy sunlight instead of Kid's burning gaze.

"Soul. Duh. I went through his phone."

"... When?"

"Like." There's shuffling on his end, and then his voice goes hushed. Or. As hushed as Black*Star's voice can go, she supposes. More like a stage whisper than anything. "Like just now. He's sleeping on my couch."

She's not sure what's more surprising; that Soul had gone to Black*Star, of all people, or that Black*Star actually owns a sleepable couch. Somehow, in her head, Black*Star was just an entity. An obnoxious, perverted entity, that just resided in that janitor's closet they'd locked him in, perpetually an overly-cute piglet, snuggled up to Soul's chest. It makes sense that he'd have a place to stay. The boar isn't othered in the way the cat is, apparently. They all suffer, but Soul's the monster of the group. Apparently.

Apparently.

"Aren't you supposed to hate him?" Maka asks, sliding out of the car and slamming the door behind her. Vaguely, she hears Kid shuffling to follow and do the same, but she's already taking steps toward the sidewalk, staring down the road with a heavy heart. "Everyone else does."

"Hah! Why would I hate my best Abroham Lincoln?"

She doesn't know. That's sort of why she's so upset with everyone right now. How in the world is Black*Star the only sensible one in this family? How low do standards have to be for that to be an actual, legitimate fact of life, god. Maka rubs her face again. "... Because he's the cat?"

"Brotato needs a big, strong man to protect him." He's really not whispering anymore, but Maka knows Soul sleeps like the dead, so whatever. "'Sides. We have history. I punched his bullies in the teeth when we were pipsqueaks. Unbreakable bond!"

And now he's shouting. Maka moves her phone away from her ear, wincing. "... But he's with you? And he's safe?"

"Yeah. Bout that."

"I don't like that tone."

"He's here." A door closes on his end, and Black*Star actually sighs. "... I might need a feminine touch for this one, though. The great Black*Star is fantastic at entertaining and serving his people gun shows, but he doesn't do tears. Soul's mopey face makes me want to die."

Her aching heart plummets into her stomach. "What?"

"He didn't say anything, because he's a big stubborn baby, but you guys had that visit to the main house today, right?"

"Did he tell you that?"

Black*Star scoffs. "No. Don't you listen? I just said he didn't tell me anything, pigtails. Word travels fast in this family. Like… real fast. Someone's gonna come knocking on my apartment door and know he's here and then they're gonna find Soul snoring and drooling in my shag pad."

Kid's footsteps behind her barely even register. The last place Soul needs to be is a shag pad, and though unreasonably defensive over this boy she holds no claim over (because they're friends, just friends, and he clearly doesn't trust her enough to tell her everything) there's still a burning desire in her to bring him home safe. Or… or bring him to her tent, safe. Anything else than letting him couch surf at questionably sanitized bachelor pads and let that fear she'd seen in him brew into something deeper, something darker.

"Maka," says Kid, though he doesn't set a hand on her shoulder. Minds her personal space, as always, and it's stupid, for her to want him to. Stupid of her to crave that physical contact, the comfort of touch. The rat won't stick his nose out for the cat.

She spins and gives him a look. "Where do you live?" she asks Black*Star, as Kid stares at her with something grim in his eyes.

"Maka," Kid tries again, but it's too late. He has to know, doesn't he? Soul's her boy, now, just the same as he is. They're both her boys, through better and worse, and when she brings her stray cat home the three of them are going to have a nice long talk about respecting one another's differences and struggles.

Because there's power in numbers. Those who suffer can find comfort in one another. Can find companionship, too. It's gone on too long, this tug of war between them, and Maka's too old to be anyone's plaything. She's a human person, too, just the same as them, and she cannot be pulled in so many different directions. Not now, not ever. Either they're together or they're nothing at all, because she's not picking sides.

If her options are one or the other, she choses to make her own destiny instead. Maka sets her hand on Kid's shoulder, instead, and gives a comforting squeeze.

Screw this curse. She'll find a way to break it yet. It's gone on too long, this predetermined rivalry, this omnipotent power Medusa holds over them, over their happiness. It's time the cat and the rat understand what freedom actually feels like.

.

She goes alone.

Though resolved to get the two of them to get along and come to understand one another, Maka thinks it might be a bit soon to shove the two of them down the road to friendship. Baby steps. First, she'll get Soul to come home, get him to talk to her about what had went down earlier today in the throne room. Only then, when he's feeling safe and she feels like she understands him a little better will she put her plan into motion.

Black*Star's apartment complex is as crummy as she'd expected. There's no elevator, which is fine, because she works on her days off and though her legs appear twiggy they are fierce, but it sort of explains why Black*Star's thighs are as rock-solid as they are. If he's climbing three flights of stairs everyday, both ways, who the hell needs leg day?

The door's not even locked. Hell, it's not even shut. From inside, Maka hears the faint muffled sounds of electronic music of sorts.

Well, it's only polite to knock. Maka sucks in a breath and raps her knuckles against the wooden frame of the door. When there's no resulting answer and the electronic music cranks up louder, she instead elects to let herself in and shuts the door behind her. The sound of the lock clicking doesn't stir any lumbering, piggy-beasts from their… jam session? Work out time? Whatever it is Black*Star's doing with the music cranked that loud.

Whatever. He'd called her over anyway. Maka ignores the smell of unwashed dishes and dirty socks and rounds the couch to find Soul snoring away.

It's not a peaceful sleep. Usually, when Soul's napping on her bed, the lines in his face aren't pulled so tight, his forehead not so wrinkled. His hair's more of a mess than usual, less purposefully tousled and gelled and more frizzy and… well, everywhere, sticking up on end as if he's been tossing and turning. Or pushing his hands through his hair. More than anything, else, there's a raw purpling beneath his eyes, an almost-red violet, and she suspects very strongly that it's not just stained from his typical late nights.

Maka crouches. Pauses, just for a moment, considering. She watches the way his shoulders rise and fall as he sleeps, soundlessly. Usually, he snores, and when she wants to nap, too, she has to press her cold feet to his ankles to wake him.

"Soul," she says, gently. "Hey. Soul. Wake up."

Of course it doesn't work. If he can sleep through Black*Star's terrible music, whispering to him won't change anything.

She reaches for his hair, first. Smoothes back his bangs, runs her fingers through, tucks some of it behind his ear. It's soft, but not as soft as his fur, she thinks, biting her lip. Well, human Soul swears by gel and hairspray to keep himself looking cool and careless, and cat Soul gets pampered by her. Still, there's a part of her that wishes it could be different, that he wouldn't smear so much product into his hair, that he'd let it dry naturally and fluffy so she could pet him this way, too.

It's probably weird. Definitely weird.

Maka doesn't move her hand, though. It's self-indulgence. She'd been worried sick over him, wondering where he'd run off to, wondering if he'd had a place to go. The relief is almost overwhelming.

Almost. Still, she's too aware of the circumstances that bind them. The whole reason Black*Star had bothered to call her at all was to whisk Soul away somewhere safe. Or… at least somewhere that Medusa wouldn't immediately check for him. If she was upset with him for being cheeky, Maka can't imagine what she'll be like, now that Soul had literally fled the scene with his poor little tail between his legs.

"Soul," she says again, still far too sweetly. Who is she, speaking in such hushed tones to a boy? Maka's fingers slip from his hair and now she's cupping his cheek, still damp. Black*Star hadn't been kidding about the crying thing. "Soul."

His brows furrow. Maka brushes her thumb along the curve of his cheekbone.

"Wake up," she says, more urgently now. "Hey. Sleepyhead."

"... Hhwwhhh," he sighs, blurrily. Soul squints and watches her through his lashes, still caught in between dreamland and reality. His face scrunches up, scrutinizing, confused, and Maka realizes belatedly that she's still sort of cradling his face.

She jerks back guilty, as if burned. Presses her palms down onto the cushion of the couch. "I found you."

It takes him a moment, but he finally comes to his senses. Realizes, perhaps, the gravity of the situation - she'd found him, clearly, when he did not want to be found - and the way he gasps and jerks back stings. That fear is back, again, partnered with a spectacular, unmasked dread, and Maka wonders then if he'd been afraid of her, all along, and not Medusa, who'd raised a hand to him.

Yeah. That stinging sinks deeper.

"Maka," he yelps, clambering back. "What- how'd you-"

"Black*Star," she says, simply.

"How'd he find your number?"

She shrugs. "Your phone, I guess."

"Shit." He pushes his hand through his hair and all of Maka's hard finger-combing work is effectively ruined. He'd looked so cute, too, with his hair pushed back like that. She could see his eyes, without his scene hair obscuring everything except for his mouth. "Shit. You weren't supposed to- I didn't want you to-"

She stops crouching. Falls back to sit on her butt on the floor instead, defeated. "Didn't want me to find you? I'm sorry. I was worried about you."

He swallows. Maka tries not to watch the way his throat moves as he does so. Tries not to watch his Adam's apple bob, especially. He's so distracting, these days. She can't seem to ever explain why.

"Worried about me," he says, nonsensically. "You- you shouldn't be here. You should go."

"I want you to come home."

Soul sits, now, leaning back. Maka presses her hands into her lap instead, tangling themselves together, brushing against the hem of her skirt. Soul's ears burn red and he splutters, effectively squirming his way over the back of the couch, so catlike that it hurts. "I don't have a home. You know that. Besides, it's late, and Stein gets so grouchy when he hasn't had food, you should-"

"They're ordering pizza." Maka watches him watch her. "I made sure they ordered anchovies. Your favorite."

He braces himself on the back of the couch, but he won't look at her now, and instead Maka's left watching him stare over his shoulder passionately. She wonders, then, where she'd went wrong, how she'd managed to leave a scar on him without her knowledge. Is he still upset about their argument, days ago? Is he upset with her for standing by and watching while Medusa had struck him?

But he has to know she hadn't done it willingly. He has to know she'd wanted to defend him, more than anything else. Standing by and watching, like some pretty little doll, while he'd received punishment - it's not who she is, not written in her code. It'd hurt her, to watch him take such abuse without batting an eye, as if it was normal. It shouldn't be normal. Nothing about it should be normal for him.

"I'm sorry," she says, then, slowly pulling herself to her feet. "Did I do something wrong?"

Soul laughs, but it's humorless. "You never do anything wrong."

She can't tell if she's supposed to take offense or not. "Are you okay?"

He snorts and folds his arms across his chest. Leans back and pivots, aiming himself more at the door, now, than her. That stinging feeling has sunk into her stomach and Maka wants to reach out, more than anything, and grab ahold of him. Maybe shake him. Demand answers. Pour out all of the ugly, confusing feelings inside of her that make her feel like she might get sick and scream and cry, all at once.

She wants, really, to climb atop her roof with him again and watch the stars. Listen to him talk about his day, even if it includes hearing him complain about something Kid's done. It's silly, but she feels so far away from him, even though they're only a few feet away from each other. Like there's been damage done to whatever makeshift bond they'd patchworked together, orphaned girl and shunned boy, and it's sickening, to feel so powerless. She's a girl of action, of messy plans and stubborn willpower. She wants to bulldoze through all of his murkiness and get to the root of it.

But she can't. It's bigger than her, now. Bigger than just the two of them. There are too many frayed ends, too many roads that've all lead to their now.

"I'm fine," he says. Soul still won't look her in the eye. "It's whatever. Medusa's always like that. Don't really have a choice but to suck it up and do as she says, anyway-"

"What did she mean about locking you up?"

Maka takes steps to round the couch and face him. He's trapped, now. If he wants to make a break for it, again, he'll have to go through her to do it. It's unfair of her to pin him like this, effectively flanking his escape route; there are no windows for him to safely leap out of this time, after all.

Soul breathes out through his nose. "Maka."

"Please." She can't take it anymore. This accidental, blissful ignorance - it's not blissful at all, and she feels stupid, living life so naively unaware of his position. Has she been wasting hours, counting shooting stars, while he's been living on borrowed time? It's selfish of her, and she feels sick just thinking about it. "You can't keep leaving me in the dark about this. I want to help, Soul. I can't help if you two just let me stay so stupid."

He looks over her head, still can't look her in the eye. "You're not stupid. Don't say that."

"I am!" She marches toward him, then, and Soul only takes one step back to her three forward. "I've been so stupid all of this time! I thought- I thought I could help you beat him, maybe, and that it could help you."

He swallows again. "Yeah, well. I'm the jerk for letting you believe in that long shot."

"You stop that." She could just shake him. Can't he see the weight he holds in this world? He has a place, even if he can't see it. He has a place, here, in this life with her, and if he can't see the torch she's carrying, then he's blind. She ought to brush the hair out of his eyes again. "I'm your friend, you big…!"

"Jerk?"

"Jerk," she hisses, hands down by her sides now. "Yeah, jerk! You're right! You're a jerk, for letting me go on thinking that we had all of the time in the world to train you up for a stupid fist fight. You didn't say anything about being locked away! If I had known, I would've- I could've-"

"Could've what, Maka?" His resolution is frigid. He's never felt farther away than right now, and she's right in front of him, for goodness' sake. "There's nothing you can do about it. There would've been no point in me telling you that this all was time sensitive. It would've just upset you, and then you'd get angry, and then you'd do something dumb like try and change things when there's nothing to change. This is just the way things are. The way things have always been."

It's practically the same spiel Kid had given her. It has no different effect, either. "That doesn't mean you get to leave me in the dark! God, Soul!"

He shoves his hands into his pockets. "Sorry."

"I hate the way she talks about you," Maka blurts, feeling fully like a freight train, now. "I hate the way she treats you. And Kid, too! But- but it's different with you, it's like- she didn't hit him-"

"The cat is the scapegoat." Soul shrugs, as if this is a completely normal thing for him to endure. "I told you that."

"It's not right!" And if he thinks he'll convince her of such, he has another thing coming. "Locking you away, like some kind of animal! It's disgusting, the way she treats you, and you just took it like she was justified in it!"

He leans back. Takes a step back, too, shifting his weight. "I am an animal, in case you've forgotten."

The tears are hot and make everything blurry, but she won't be ashamed for crying, not on his behalf. If he won't, well, someone has to. Maybe her tears will welcome his. Misery loves company. "You're more human than cat and you know it."

He doesn't say anything to that. He blinks, and his gaze sinks lower, not quite at her eyes, but lost, somewhere beneath her nose. Her neck, perhaps. Shoulder. Lips. Jaw. What's important is that it's at her, in some shape or form, and she sucks in a trembling breath and scrubs her face.

"Just," she says, sniffling. "Come home, please? We'll eat pizza and you and I can talk about things. I'll tell you about my mom, I don't care anymore, I just-" Want you around. Can't imagine her life, in any capacity, without you in it. "... I won't let anyone hurt you."

"Christ." Soul's hands shove deeper into his pockets, somehow. His slouch deepens, as if the weight of the conversation actually drags him down. "Maka. She didn't hurt me. She hasn't hurt me since I was a kid. You sort've… grow leather skin, after a while. It's not like any of this is new for me. I've always known this is what was going to happen to me."

She can't lose another person she cares about again. Not like this. Not ever.

"Are you afraid of me?"

His brows actually shoot up at that. "What?"

"You won't… look at me." Not really, anyway. "And when she'd started talking about locking away, you looked so scared and bolted, so I thought you were afraid of that, but… but when you saw me you looked at me the same way."

Soul fidgets. Stops staring at whatever part of her he'd become fascinated with and instead shoots anxious looks at Black*Star's door, locked behind her. "I'm not afraid of you."

He's not afraid of her, but he won't look at her. Maybe it's not her he's afraid of, but it's something about her, something concerning her; the evidence is too damning. It's not childish insecurities, not this time. When she makes to move toward him again, he jumps back, and there's that fear again, blazing through the cracks of his mask, his walls.

"It's okay," she says, still teary. "Soul, it's okay, I don't care- I can help you, if you'd just-"

"You don't understand," he yelps, and he's right, she doesn't. She doesn't understand any of it, why he's suddenly so nervous around her, why he flinches away from her touch, as if she'd been the one to strike him in that throneroom.

Soul does what he does best these days and tries to run for it. But she's too close, this time, for him to get away, so neatly positioned in his way. When he tries to brush past her and bolt for the door, Maka grasps for him, any part of him, to anchor him down. And with Black*Star's loud, undistinguishable playlist blasting only a door away, she manages to get ahold of his wrist, and in his haste to peel her hand off, he ends up wedging her fingers beneath the bracelet he's always wearing. The elastic stretches, and Soul gasps.

In the half-second between him turning and realizing what's happening, there's unadulterated fear, there in him. Burning, burning, and when Maka tries to get a better grasp on him, both literally and figuratively, the elastic of his edgy little beaded bracelet stretches.

"Don't- let go, please, Maka, you can't-"

She can't. If he runs out that door, she's afraid he'll never see him again. Material things are replaceable. He's not. If the bracelets really that important, she'll buy him ten. Hell, she'll make them herself, beaded painstakingly piece-by-piece by hand.

Maka burns just as frantically as he does. "What're you so afraid of? Why won't you talk to me?"

"You need to- let GO, for fuck's sake, you don't understand-"

"I'll never understand if you don't tell me!"

Elastic is only that. Stretchy but thin. Miraculously, it doesn't break beneath the urgency of their tug of war, but when Soul tries to yank his arm back and stumble back, ready now, more than ever, for his great escape, the bracelet slips from his bony wrist and drops to the ground.

She squeaks. "Soul, wait, please, you're-!"

There's not a force alive that can stop him, now. When the bracelet hits the floor, the skin in her hand turns cold. Then clammy. Almost… slimy.

His eyes grow wider. Inhumanly so. Dark, too. It's like his bones are no longer his own, and his shape shifts, and his resulting scream is so blood-curdling painful that it resonates so deeply in that hole left empty in her heart. Resonates there, reverbs, and Maka stumbles back, horrified with herself at her cowardice, as Soul's spine elongates, impossibly so.

She doesn't get a good look after that. When his back turns, his skin is wine-red, and the clothes melt off his body like a snake shedding his skin, and the cat is out of the door before she even has a chance to apologize and collect the stretched bracelet from Black*Star's dusty floor. And Maka gives chase, because she still knows, without a doubt, that once he's out that door she won't have a chance, again, to reconcile with him. She wants him, in ways she can't understand. Wants him, in any shape or form, to hold his rightful weight in her life.

So she screams, "Soul!", but he's already leaping down the flights of stairs.

The bones and bumps of his spine cut jagged ripples in his painted skin, hunched over like some sort of… some sort of… she doesn't know what. She doesn't have the words for it. Not words she wants to spend on someone like Soul.

(Who could love a freak?)