"I can't believe you punched him! In the face!"
The blush burns all the way to the tips of Soul's ears, vibrant reds and pinks almost violent beneath the pale curtain of his hair. He scowls a little deeper, squirming beneath her gaze as he slouches onto the bathroom counter. His legs are entirely too long and dangle over the edge, bony knees and all, and Maka finds herself almost magnetized to the space between them. It's absurd how badly she wants to tuck herself against him, to let him wrap himself around her and hold tight. Would it solidify her place as the town bicycle if she lets herself linger on thoughts of his hips and his thighs?
She blinks back her wants and instead takes his hand in hers again. His knuckles are pink and purple - delicate, pretty fingers clenched up in pain.
"It was nothing," he mumbles, still gloriously pink.
"In the face!"
He attempts to further hide behind his mop of hair. He sinks back, like a turtle seeking shelter in his shell, shoulders bunching as the collar of his jacket shields his dimples from her wandering eyes. She puffs out her cheeks and brushes a thumb over the thin skin of his wrist in featherlight strokes.
Soul stares at the sink beside him determinedly. "He had it coming."
"Still," Maka insists, still surprised it had even come to that - in all of her time knowing him, Soul had never snapped like that before - sure, he got angry on rare occasions, but never quite so quickly. Like a snipped wire on a bomb. "You didn't have to do that. He's just trying to get under my skin."
He grunts and squirms. She can feel his pulse beneath the pads of her fingers and it lights her with the same heat that burns his face. "Doesn't mean it's right," he grumbles. "You shouldn't have to put up with that. He's got no business talking shit about you-"
"-I haven't exactly been dismissing the rumors," she admits, biting her lip.
Soul meets her eye and her nerves fizzle. His eyes are red and honest, exhausted and aching with a sort of fatigue that she can't read but understands in her soul. There's something in his stare that makes her feel raw. There are no lies between them in that moment, no pretenses or masks, just a girl with bruised pride and a boy with a dangerous protective streak.
He can't even manage a smile. She misses his dimples.
"It doesn't matter what you do, Maka," he says quietly. She clenches the damp facecloth in her hand and dabs more dutifully at his stained knuckles. "It's nobody's business but your own. He can suck a dick."
She moves to rinse the terrycloth in the sink. His hand is sudsy with handsoap and smells faintly of roses. Soul and floral aren't two things that normally go hand in hand, but it's oddly fitting in a way. And funny. Maka scrubs at his skin gingerly, rubbing away speckles of Ox's blood and Soul's own damage, where his fingernails clenched too deeply and drew red.
He flinches in her grasp. "Sorry."
"No, it's fine," Soul says to the ceiling. "Thanks. And uh, sorry. For losing my cool."
She quirks a smile at him. "You never had any to begin with."
He chuffs. "Lies and slander, bookworm. I'm the coolest guy in your life."
Which isn't a lie. Sure, he may not be the textbook definition of cool at his core - because he does care about things, perhaps too deeply, and while he does an alright job of hiding it, Maka finds she knows him well enough to read between the line. What really makes him cool, she thinks, is how he can still look at her like she's still just his nerd friend with too many sweaters and a love for the dictionary. He doesn't look at her the way Ox does, or the way her Papa had after he learned the true origin of her pictures - he looks at her like she's just Maka.
He's a little worried about just Maka, that's all. He's just never sunk to talking with his fists before.
She cradles his hand in her palms. Besides a few bruises, he's clean of the evidence. It's more than she can say for herself; Ox might bitch and moan about his bloody nose, but Soul's reputation is otherwise spotless.
"You know," he mumbles, "I think this is the first time I've ever been in your bathroom."
"It's how all of my hookups start."
He eyes her flower-printed shower curtain with a quirked brow, significantly less pink than only moments before. "You really know how to turn a guy on," he quips dryly, rubbing his knuckles idly as Maka rinses her own hands in the sink. He watches her move, still slouched awkwardly on her counter, too lazy to pull himself back up and stand. "Maka?"
"Huh?"
Her pigtail is tugged - a cry for attention - and she tilts her head to stare at him. He's pretty even in fluorescent lighting, almost luminous, and it makes her angry; how dare he have such long lashes and smooth lips?
Soul clears his throat. "Are you okay?"
"I mean," she laughs anxiously, "Everyone thinks I'm a whore but, you know, it's whatever."
His eyes pin her down. She's rooted to the spot, under his microscope, and only hopes that the cheap lighting will hide the way tears burn the corner of her eyes.
"I don't," he says simply.
She shakes her head, pigtails whipping. "You've heard what everyone is saying. And I know you heard me at Kim's party - I think I am kind of a whore. Or at least a bad person."
The way he twirls her hair around a finger is distracting. She stares at her reflection only to find herself red faced, lower lip bitten as Soul lazily twirls strands of dishwater blonde through his long fingers. It's demure, almost, and vulnerable, and very much not the braless powerhouse she's been trying to be for the past twenty four hours.
He rumbles, saying, "I really only listen to what you say," and she knows she's burning brighter, but it's okay, because she sneaks a peek at him and he's blushing, too. But his eyes are solemn and honest, expression void of any malicious or teasing preface, and the annoying fluttering in her chest returns full force. "And you haven't really had much to say lately. Which is weird, y'know, because you usually talk a mile a minute and I have a hard time keeping up with you."
She sucks in a thick breath. "I-"
"Maka," he says seriously. "What's going on? If this is what you want to do, that's fine - I might have to get some boxing gloves, whatever - but you don't really seem happy."
She doesn't know what she wants anymore. Maybe for the entire student body to not know what her unimpressive, tiny boobs look like, or maybe to take back her disappointing false loss of virginity and lock it up tight for another time. Waking up to boys she's never talked to outside of class in her DMs is degrading, and suddenly she's not at all envious or jealous of girls with bombshell bodies and a harem of men trailing in their wake.
"I don't-" she chokes. "It's all fake."
"What?"
"The sex," Maka stresses, pressing her hands tight to her face. She drags down, smudging her already shoddy mascara job down her freckled cheeks. She really wants to tear her hair out, or something, because there's frenzied honesty brewing in her that's waited patiently for much too long. "Everything. I haven't had sex with anyone, I was just trying to get out of being Liz's wingman so I made up a lie, but I tried to prove it with a picture and sent it to the wrong person, and-"
"Whoa, whoa," Soul says, finally hopping down from his perch. "Slow down, what?"
"-And I'm sorry for flirting with you in the hallway, I know you're not into me like that and it must've been awkward, but everything just got so out of hand with that stupid party and I really, really hate Hiro's boyfriend, and-"
"Maka!" Soul exclaims, hands clapping down on her shoulders. A dam has burst, surely, and the truth still threatens to burst out of her like fireworks but she silences, barely, beneath the weight of his stare.
Breathe in and out, she thinks. Easy girl. There. That's it, that's your nerve. Maka bucks up, staring Soul in the face as the anxiety leaks from her in dense bursts. Her head feels considerably lighter. Her stomach sure feels less likely to combust, too, but she still feels still at risk of drowning in the heat of his eyes.
"Sorry," she blurts anyway, tiny and defeated. "Sorrysorry."
His hands cup her shoulders more firmly. "I- Why're you apologizing to me? You haven't done anything to me - yeah, the flirting was a little weird, but - what do you mean you know I'm not into you like that?"
Big, fat tears roll down her cheeks and god, does it feel good to finally cry about it. She wipes them away with the heel of her palm, gurgling childishly when he says her name in a strangled, worried voice and cradles her face in his hands. One of his palms is warmer than the other, and the damp one sticks to her cheek and leaves a dewy chill in his wake.
"You didn't want to kiss me," she admits quietly. It feels so silly to say aloud, but he's here and listening and she's never had much of a censor. "In eighth grade, at Kim's party…"
He sucks in a breath. The wet thumb traces her cheekbone, probably rubbing away the smudged remnants of her makeup. "That was years ago. I was thirteen."
She blinks damply. "And-?"
"And," he interrupts, pink crawling up his neck, "I was nervous and not ready for my first kiss. It wasn't the who, it was the what."
The confession reads deafeningly between the lines, and she's quite sure her heart's about to beat out of her chest. Without second guessing or over thinking, she blurts, "Are you ready now?"
His brows skyrocket. Her stomach does much the same, shooting right into her throat, but he nods slowly, hovering closer and closer, and then Soul answers with his mouth and no words.
Five years later, crammed in her tiny bathroom, she finally kisses him. It's not perfect, because Soul has sharp teeth and she's thoroughly inexperienced, but his lips are warm and soft and he cradles her face gently as one might with something very percious. For the first time in a long while she feels precious, cherished, even, and then Soul opens his mouth and shifts against her and his tongue is even better than she could have dreamed, however messy and unpracticed the kiss might be.
They find their rhythm quickly, though. Once they're past finicky things like nicked lips and noses, her hand is in his hair and Soul does his best to swallow the anxiety that's been brewing within her for days. Surely her heart will burst with the way it's swelling and throbbing within her, she thinks, and when Soul murmurs her name in dazed wonder and presses his forehead against hers, she can't help but blubber a bit and clench the fabric of his shirt between her fingers.
Good things come to those who wait. "Oh," she blurts stupidly.
She can feel him smile against her lips and it's the best thing. "Hmm?"
"You… how long?"
He leans back and looks at her thoughtfully. He's begun twirling her pigtail again, only it feels twice as intimate as before. Soul looks immensely pleased with everything in life as he says, "A while."
"Soul!"
"Alright," he relents, a little more shyly. "Eighth grade."
"I- really?"
"You didn't push me to do it. It was really cool of you," he admits. "Plus you were super smart and pretty and you always smelled nice, and- stop laughing!"
Maka bites back her giddy giggles and gives his shirt a hearty tug. He drifts closer, right up in her personal space, only he's welcomed there and she barely resists the pressing urge to kiss him again. "Sorry, I just-! I've liked you for so long and the past few weeks have been so terrible, and just…" She blows out a breath as he pushes her bangs from her eyes. "That's just really good news. Thanks."
His eyes crinkle fondly. "Don't thank me for liking you, stupid. You'll do greater things in life than swap spit with me."
Not likely. In fact, it's hard for her to tear her eyes away from his mouth. Now that she knows what kissing him is like, she doubts it'll ever be far from her mind.
Still, though - perhaps there are more pressing matters than perfecting the art of sucking face with Soul Evans, no matter how nice his expensive cologne smells and how soft his lips are. She locks this moment away for later, to sit and think on when it's late at night and the seductive lull of sleep just isn't enough to will her away from her fantasies.
Before anything else, Soul is her friend. Her confidant. And there's no one she trusts more.
"What should I do?"
He blinks, thoroughly distracted as he touches every part of her flushed face. "Huh?"
"I don't know how to fix this. If I tell Liz, she'll hate me, but if I don't tell her things are just going to get worse…"
His brows raise. "Tell her the truth."
"But-"
"Liz will forgive you," Soul says. "Sure, she might be a little annoyed but - she's worried about you. Trust me, she'll appreciate the honesty."
Feeling weightless and drunk off the butterflies fluttering in her tummy is bizarre and makes it hard to focus on the underlying guilt of lying to her best friend. Perhaps she is her father's daughter after all; the bulk of her problems are not solved instantaneously from just one kiss with a pretty-eyed boy, but it certainly makes things easier to deal with. Or maybe it's just a suitable distraction, an escape of sorts - she's quite tempted to flick the lock on the bathroom door, wrap her arms back around him, and let herself make up for lost time.
Soul licks his lips deliciously. Maka swallows thickly, and says, "I don't know," she answers futilely. "I have to talk to Hiro-"
His expression sours. "If he was the one who talked you into that party, I have a few choice words for him-"
"You will not! That was my choice, Soul. I made the decision to help him, no matter how convinced I had to be to make it." She pouts, busying herself with straightening out the collar of his jacket. Knowing that she was the one to do that, to mess his appearance and ruffle his hair - well, Soul always did look cuter when he was disheveled. "He was really desperate and after lying to Liz, there was no way I could've left him to fend for himself. It's his boyfriend I really have a problem with. Hiro just has terrible taste."
"Doesn't it take like, three to tango, in this case? He was still an involved party," he asks.
"But it wasn't his idea! Cal wanted him to, and he just…! He has really terrible taste," Maka stresses. "Awful terrible."
Soul rolls his eyes. "You can't save him from that, Maka. Just talk to Liz, okay? Tell her the truth."
She hums in the back of her throat and gives his jacket another tug. She's mumbling, "Yeah, okay," even as she's pulling him down for another kiss. For the road, she tells herself, but knows in her heart it's because she finally can and if that's not the best thing that's happened to her all week, she doesn't know what is. Kissing him feels like victory, long overdue victory, and he's the prize, wrapped up in worn leather and soft, secret smiles, just for her. It's impossible for her not to feel special when he cradles her face in his hands and pays his respects to her nose, forehead, cheeks, anywhere and everywhere, as long as it's her.
"What do you mean you broke up?!"
Hiro smiles apologetically. "We're through? Honestly, I thought you'd be happier to hear the news. I could tell you didn't like him much."
Well, it certainly takes a load off, and makes the entire stressful ride to Hiro's place seem silly, but sure, she's happy about the news. She lets out a heavy breath and sinks back against the couch, watching Soul drop down onto the floor to properly greet Hiro's pet dog with a hesitant relief coiling in her chest. He looks up to her after a beat, tiny papillon wiggling on his lap and blessing him with puppy kisses all over his face, and offers a crooked smile.
She holds her hands in her lap and shakes her head. "It's good news! I mean, he was… you can do better. You will do better."
"Why'd you decide to dump him?" Soul pipes up, shifting to cradle the dog in his arms. Maka has to bite back her grin; he's adorable, sitting there and holding the puppy as if it were his child, pressing tiny kisses to the puppy's furry little head gently. He's somewhat of a gentle giant and it melts away her concerns like butter. Maka's quite sure it's not possible to be worried about much of anything while watching a self proclaimed cool guy snuggle a tiny animal.
Hiro seems moved by the display, too. He stares for just a bit too long before catching Maka's shifting gaze and snapping out of it. "He sneezed," he says innocently.
Soul snorts. "What."
"... I really don't think that's his biggest offense-" Because Maka still remembers the pleading, desperate look in Hiro's eyes while he begged her to help him out, because Maka still remembers that the entire stupid threesome charade was Cal's idea and nobody else's, because she's still bitter and how can anyone guilt their partner into having a fake threesome for attention?!
He shrugs flippantly. "He sneezed a lot," he admits, face finally scrunching up. "You know… in really inopportune moments. And he just wouldn't stop."
She stares blankly at him. Of all the reasons to break up with an emotionally manipulative boyfriend… his sneezes? That was his breaking point? It just seems silly. Maka can forgive a lot of things - annoying bodily noises included - but the pressuring into uncomfortable situations is where she draws the line. Especially considering the fallout; between her own predicament and first hand account of Hiro's desperation over the entire thing, there's no freaking way she could ever forgive him. And certainly not enough to continue going out with him for a good week after the fact.
Then again, she would have dumped him upon suggestion of a threesome, fake or otherwise. She's come to find that while it might be for some people, it's not for her, and the entire thing has left her rather burned.
THe puppy whines and squirms in Soul's arms. He shifts and pulls himself onto the couch beside her, still nestling the tiny bundle of fur close to his heart. The way he looks at the baby, regardless of species has her feeling some type of way, and she swallows it down at once, instead electing to smile softly when he leans closer and kisses the dog's tiny little nose.
Hiro laughs behind his hand. "So, are you two finally a thing?"
"A thing?" Maka yelps, voice unnaturally high.
He shrugs apologetically. "Half of the class has been expecting you two to get together for years. The flirting is painful to watch."
"The flirting," Soul says.
"You drove her here."
He scowls. The effect is completely shattered by the tiny puppy trying to lick his face and whimpering when he can't do just that because his legs are too short. "It's quicker to drive," Soul reasons, but then glances at her carefully, as if checking if his answer is acceptable. As if he's wondering if they're finally a thing or not himself.
Sitting taller, she clears her throat. "Anyway, on the topic of your breakup-"
"I'm sorry I pulled you into it," Hiro admits, startlingly guilty. Soul breathes through his nose loudly. "It was wrong and you've had a rough time because of it. Sorry."
"About that," Maka starts, biting her lip. "I need to come clean. I don't want to lie about it anymore. Originally I was worried that you'd be against the idea because it would put your relationship at risk, but since you're not really together anymore…"
"Tell the whole world for all I care," Hiro pipes up happily. "I can help!"
"As nice as that is of you, I think I can handle it myself. It's about time I start telling my own story and stop letting everyone else do it."
Enough is enough. As awkward as it'll be, as diminishing to her pride as it will be to admit that she lied to so many people, her best friend included, it has to be done. Just telling one person has already lifted the weight of the world off of her shoulder considerably - but then again, it was Soul, one of the people she'd been the most concerned about, so maybe it wasn't so surprising that finally coming clean to him alleviated some stress.
Hiro seems to agree. He nods almost sagely, expression decidedly neutral as he shifts to take another sip of his drink. Then, when Maka's distracted with leaning over to greet the puppy, he says, "Sorry."
She glances back at him. "Huh?"
"I'm the one who asked you to lie for me in the first place. You didn't really want to do it," he admits, shrinking under Soul's stern stare. Maka nudges his arm and he relents, though he scowls while doing so. "Sorry. Uh, again."
"It's fine," she lies gently.
Soul nudges her now instead, brows drawn, expression still flinty. He shakes his head and something bubbles in her gut, leftovers from days past, of sitting quiet and forcing a crude smile while gross boys make thrusting gestures down the hall behind her.
"... Okay, it's not fine," she says instead. "But it was my choice ultimately to help and that was my mistake, not yours. You didn't do it to hurt me."
"Never," he says seriously. "But I still regret it. It was my fault you got into the whole mess. And even after I told you how fucked up lying about it was... " he laughs self-deprecatingly and stares into his empty cup. "I'm not a great friend."
Maka resists the urge to inform him that they weren't really close friends to begin with. She really doesn't think sharing two classes freshman year really qualifies as a tight-knit friendship; their acquaintance is not based on mutual trust and understanding. Instead of speaking up, she tucks her hands onto her lap and exhales belatedly, still dizzy from the emotional whiplash of the day, despite it being only about seven at night.
She offers him a slight, forgiving smile and he takes it willingly. Sure, all the wounds might not be closed, and she still has a few choice words for his shitty (ex, thank god) boyfriend, but it's probably time to let bygones be bygones. There's no real point in holding a grudge against Hiro, especially since it had been her choice to help him out; her festering guilt over lying to Liz is the true villain, not Hiro's cry for help. Which reminds her - she still has to confess to Liz, and that has her feeling all kinds of stressed out.
Something tells her Liz will be a lot less forgiving of a simple white lie that turned into the worst week of her life. At the very least, she's bound to be a lot more upset over the whole thing, and with good reason; Maka hasn't acted or felt like herself in days, and apparently it shows.
Soul crooks a half smile at her. "Feel better, Usher?"
"Who?"
"... Usher. He sang Confessions Part II. I- do you listen to music at all?"
"Of course I do! Just not your obscure stuff!"
He laughs incredulously. "Usher isn't obscure!"
She looks to Hiro helplessly. He fails at smothering his teasing grin as he says, quite brutally, "He's in the music hall of fame," and Maka deflates spectacularly. Not even the puppy's cute tail wagging can save her from embarrassment, and she shrinks back in her seat, the cellphone in her pocket digging uncomfortably into her thigh as she pouts.
Oh, right. Her phone.
Almost hesitantly, she slips it out of her skirt pocket and taps the home screen. Sure enough, there are ten missed calls and five voice mails, most of which are from Aunt Marie and Papa. Color her unsurprised. Still, though, a fresh weight hangs on her and she sinks back into the couch, worrying her lip and debating whether or not to finally send a text back and let them know that she's fine or let herself play wayward daughter for a little bit longer. It would be so much easier to keep avoiding Papa, to not have to dwell on that particular headache, but it's beginning to get later, and while she feels a lot closer to Soul post-face sucking, it's probably maybe too soon to propose any bedsharing.
Which means it's time to put on her big girl panties and actually talk to her gross Papa, if she wants to actually sleep in a bed tonight and not on Black*Star's lumpy couch.
Lovely.
Soul plops the dog in her lap and then tugs on a pigtail. "Okay?"
The puppy wiggles and hops up to kiss her face, too. It marginally alleviates her dread. She doubts talking to Papa about what went down only hours before will actually be the worst part - but watching his self-proclaimed slut of a daughter ride in on the back of a motorcycle with a leather jacket-clad boy will be another story.