In which Maka decides to go for a midnight jog.


She ran like a woman possessed.

Legs whirlwinding clumsily, knees striking together sporadically, her arms slicing through the air inelegantly, her lungs screaming for her to stop, her brain screaming for her to keep going, keep running, running, running.

This was not the calculated dash of someone going on the attack, or the concentrated sprint of someone running in a competition.

This was the run of someone who had lost control.

Her hand slapped against the brick wall as she flung herself around the corner, pressing herself into the darkness. She gazed out of the alley at the empty square, patches of cobblestone illuminated by the street lamps, piecing through the night. Her pursuer had yet to catch up with her, and for a moment she sank back against the wall, relief and terror spilling through her.

His words were lodged in her chest, and she brought her hands up to press flat against her collarbone, hesitating there like they didn't know whether they wanted to protect the words or rip them out of her body. Her eyelids drifted shut and she saw him on the inside of them. He couldn't really have said that, could he? Because words like his were loaded, were filled with far too much importance, and—didn't he know that they could ruin everything between them?

But something was scratching it's way out from underneath the panic. Something was shining light out through the cracks in her fear, and her hands flew from her chest to clap over her mouth. She didn't even know whether it was a scream of horror or happiness that she was suppressing, but it was swelling inside her, blocking her air.

He...he...about her?

It wasn't possible. It shouldn't be possible. It was amazing. It was horrible. She wanted it more than anything in the whole world, and that thought itself glued her feet to the ground. This—whatever this was—was not something she could control. She couldn't stop her fingers from itching to skim across his skin, she couldn't stop her heart from jumping when he stood near to her, and she couldn't stop the feeling that had rushed through her entire body when he had said those words.

She needed him, and if this didn't work, then she wouldn't have him at all anymore. Not even as a friend, not even as a partner, because she was certain that she would never be able to resonate with him again if he stopped feeling what he said he did. So she shouldn't reply, shouldn't say yes, because it could kill them.

Footsteps clattered outside the alley and she froze, peeking out the small opening just in time to see him run past. He slowed to a halt in the middle of the square, turning on the spot in obvious frustration. His face was red, his body tight with tension, and he stopped completely, sinking into a crouch in a pool of light under a street lamp. He unclenched his hands and dropped his face into them, his fingers digging into his hair in a way that looked almost painful.

It was far from the cool facade that he showed the world most of the time, and she stared.

He was chasing after her, because she had ran away from him in the middle of the most difficult thing he'd ever tried to say.

And the scale in her heart tipped over.

It tipped, and the fear side sank to the ground, to the pit of her stomach as the other feeling, the other side of the scale, expanded, and the realization burst into her mind like a solar flare. If they felt the same, then what the hell was she doing hiding in this alley while he was hunched over in the street? Why were they seperated, alone?

What was she waiting for?