Maka falls into an uncomfortable sleep that night, dreams riddled with cloaked figures, being chased through an endless clump of trees by a nameless shadow, disembodied screams, and a sinking weight of loneliness. The choice to sleep in Jackie's king-sized bed together had been easy to make, especially after Blair explained the legend of the Meister Guardians to the girls, which led to a long, unproductive conversation speculating about the witch's identity and why they were chosen. Out of all the teenagers in the world, why them? And does this mean their free will doesn't mean anything?

Either way, the next morning Maka dresses up in recital-appropriate attire, wondering if eyebags are rude to wear around the high class. Jackie and Kim don't bother hiding theirs so neither does Maka. The wait staff takes over lugging Maka's overnight bag and backpack to the luxury imported car, so she slides into the backseat, texting her papa to check-in. Blair had left earlier, promising to go home and behave until Maka arrives. She won't be home until the afternoon, because after the recital, she has plans to meet with Soul at the arcade.

Ahh, her heart does a flip at that thought, pulse pounding in her ears so loudly she fears Kim and Jackie will hear it. Luckily, they're too busy holding hands and pointing things out to one another through the window between talking about whether it's smart to still go on the weekend trip they planned in two weeks. While it's great Kim, who had no friends outside of Maka before she met her girlfriend, feels safe and happy with Jackie, a tendril of loneliness wraps itself around Maka's chest. With all this talk about fate and destiny surrounding the legend of the Meister Guardians, what is her destiny supposed to be? Is there someone out there for her, too? Even though… even though she's a product of her parents, a culmination of their flaws and toxic relationship?

Maka rests her forehead against the tinted glass window, shutting down those thoughts. It sucks that it feels like Kim is drifting away from her, and that's it.

X

On stage, Soul Evans is transparent, vulnerable, like a glass statue surrounded by movement. Drifting off in him – the curve of his nose, his sharp knuckles, the silver streak the overhead light casts in his hair – while he seems to hold his breath playing the piano feels like trespassing.

Sleepy eyes open and scan the audience but never focus on anyone in particular in seconds between playing the last note of his solo and bowing. No matter how intently Maka stares, he doesn't sense her calling his attention, and the unbounded disappointment that follows, as a result, is a bombshell Maka isn't sure how to process or recover from.

Next to her, Kim Diehl has eyes for no one but Jackie and her viola when the brunette takes the stage, so when Maka can't find either of them in the disorder of people leaving the concert hall after the concert is over, she's slightly prepared for the familiar feeling of not belonging.

And anyway, there's someone she wants to run into –

Panic blooms in the pit of her stomach when a round-eyed woman with perfect black blush circles painted on each apple of her cheek materializes in front of her.

"Do you think love is real?" she croaks, pointing a thin finger at Maka's heart-shaped necklace, the one she doesn't take off anymore.

"I don't know," Maka admits, blood running cold, flashbacks to Liz haunting her.

"You won't," she cackles, the corners of her mouth stretching unnaturally. White bangs fall over her eyes as she tilts her head down. "You won't, you won't, you won't!"

Paralyzed, Maka lets the sea of people drag her away from the woman, regaining her composure when she ends up in the foyer wanting nothing but to splash cold water on her face to cleanse herself of the leftover heebie-jeebies from the encounter. Following the signs to the ill-lit hallway where the restrooms are located leads her to a tall, handsome young man she momentarily confuses for a stranger before recognizing him.

They stare at each other, Soul frozen whilst unbuttoning his sleeve cuff.

"Oh! Hey, P-i-g-t-a-i-l-s. I wasn't sure if you made it," he says, one corner of his mouth climbing higher than the other. It's the first time he's cracked a smile tonight – and no, she hasn't been keeping tabs on him.

"Maka did make it," she replies with a shaky breath, leaving a safe distance between them, "and she liked your solo."

"Maybe if you didn't notice I fell behind tempo, maybe no one else did," he tries to joke, but the quiver in his words gives him away.

"Nah, you were okay." She doesn't bother biting back a smile, clasping her hands in front of her to keep from hugging him. Maybe something is calming about being in his presence that makes her forget about the creepy rando she just encountered. If she and Soul were closer maybe he would have divulged more, but he's just a friend of a new friend.

A fondness she can't describe softens his face, and he forgets about worrying his lip. "Just okay, huh?"

Maka nods and turns to leave, grateful no one else is around to hear Soul's laughter when she trips on her dress, grateful that he's there to catch her. He's so quiet she's not sure he breaks into big emotions like this often, and she's selfish for wanting to be the only one to witness it, to bask in it.

"Maybe I shouldn't let you go," he quips, dimple more apparent and disarming than ever. "You're friggin clumsy, Pigtails."

"Only around you," she almost says, but decides to let the words vanish in the tip of her tongue in exchange for letting him keep his hand around her forearm for a little while longer.

X

"What's with the baggage?" Soul asks, brow quirking up when she finds him at the arcade. White hair soaks in the neon sign's dreamlike colors as he completely forgets about his game to watch her dump her things down. At first, Maka thinks he's referring to emotional baggage, and wow does she have a mouthful of words for him. But no, he means her backpack. Besides, how would he know about her family issues?

Oh, right, the tabloids…

"Sounds annoying," is Soul's response to her revelation that she had slept over at Jackie's house last night and thus required an overnight bag. Of course, she omitted the part about last night's activities: Kim and Jackie also becoming Meister Guardians and leaving them to their own accord while she snuck away to meet him in his time of need. Memories of being Meister Moon aren't always clear, but from the glimpses of it, he had desperately needed company.

"It was fun," Maka insists, gently pushing him out of the way to take over his game. It had been fun to hang out with Kim again, seeing as she's been super busy with Jackie recently. And getting to know Jackie in the privacy of the Dupre Manor was fun too. She's less fiery, less defensive. "We watched movies and painted our nails. You wouldn't understand."

Soul rolls his eyes playfully. "Yeah, I wouldn't understand having friends."

"Maybe we'll invite you next time. We're your friends too, you know."

Something like sorrow crosses his face briefly. He watches her press the buttons on the machine and use the control stick to maneuver her spaceship around asteroids before saying, "I'd go over, I guess. Only if you paint my nails black. It would piss off my dad."

"Oh yeah?" Maka questions, the fuzzy knowledge she has of him through Meister Moon sort of making more sense now.

Soul opens up like a door, a little at first to check who is knocking, and then flung open after an internal debate and decision that it's okay to let her in. According to Soul, the night before had been tough at the Evans house – turns out Soul's much older, successful brother still hangs around the family despite not having visited home in years thanks to his dad's penchant for comparing his sons. Wes had been effortlessly capable, talented, and obedient, his musical interests and ambitions coinciding with their father's. On the other hand, Soul claims he's not cut from the same fabric as his old man and perfect brother. It's not that he's bad or untalented at what he does, but his choice of genre is a waste in his father's eyes: jazz.

"Because, y'know, nothing like a music elitist jerk telling you that anything other than classical music is a waste. It's boring and basic…"

Maka hasn't dared to look away from the screen, not sure if making eye contact with Soul would be an invasion of privacy or overstepping. She stifles the urge to comfort him, not sure if it's the right choice. After all, this is technically their fourth time meeting; even though it feels like they must have met before in another life, she has to reign in her instinct to act. Still, she can emphasize. "I think I can sort of relate. My papa is… challenged as well."

The laugh that erupts from Soul feels like a reward to Maka. "No way! You have daddy issues too?"

"Uhm… yes, actually! I mean, having problems with your parents is not something that should be taken lightly. Our feelings are valid…" She bites her lower lip in deep concentration, choosing her words carefully. "Our parents are supposed to be these people who always do the right thing, treat us right no matter what, and when we find out they're not perfect and do hurt us even without meaning to, it… sucks."

Silence stretches between them, the flashing lights of the game throwing colors across their faces. Soul moves his hand to rub the back of his neck, his thoughts loud and heavy. A few more muted moments pass before he says, "Wow. That's deep, Pigtails."

She spins to face him for the first time since arriving, not sure how she wasn't aware he had been standing so close. "That reminds me! You and I have a game to play, don't we?"

Soul's smirk doesn't make her melt, no.

Air hockey is fun. Usually, her competitive nature doesn't allow her to enjoy any type of game because, as Kim has a wind before, Maka is just too serious and starts to bully people if she's not in the lead. Maka hadn't agreed until now, when she practically throws her striker at Soul's head after his third win in a row. Accusations of cheating run rampant, and when he only responds to that by calling her a sore loser, she hisses and crosses her arms.

"Stop," Soul laughs, dimple pinching only one of his cheeks. "You're too much. I was going to stop calling you Piggy anyway. Someone at the concert hall earlier overheard me saying that and gave me a weird look, like I was ordering you to make me a sandwich or something."

"I can handle bullying," she insists, pouting. "I want to win back my right not to be teased fair and square."

"I never said I'd stop teasing you, though." Super delighted with himself for the loophole he discovered in his own plan, he retrieves the striker Maka tried to aim at him and puts it on the table. "You give off massive 'roast-me' energy and I can't pass it up."

"WHAT? Like you're any better? Your motorcycle is a hideous Halloween color and your headband has your name on it like you're some elementary school kid whose mom sews his name into his clothes."

Soul shrugs nonchalantly at her, pointing at the basketball arcade game and challenging her to a match. And yet again, despite Maka's innate athleticism, she fails with flying colors. And, to boot, she takes a basketball to the face, prompting Soul to run into the restroom to retrieve paper towels for her to wipe away the tears that erupted from the sting.

Life just isn't fair.

At least Soul doesn't make fun of her. He smoothes her bangs out of her face as she dabs the rough paper towels at the corners of her eyes, the two making eye contact in the stillness that settles.

Soul's words are rough but his tone is soft. "You okay? Your nose didn't break?"

"I'm fine, thanks…"

He steps back. Maka bites down the urge to ask him to come back into her space. It's ridiculous, after all, how comfortable and right it feels to have him close. Trusting him is as natural as blinking, as thinking. But the idea that they're in sync with one another, that they somehow are linked already, is utterly ridiculous. Maka keeps this reminder ribboning through her head as he challenges her to a simulated racing game – which he wins, of course. She chalks it up to the advantage he has against her, what with his driving ability granting him transferable skills.

"You're a crybaby," Soul laughs, shaking his head and sliding his hand down his face in exaggerated exasperation.

"NO, I'M JUST RIGHT!"

"You sound like Jackie and that's gross."

"You're beyond mean to your best friend."

"It's all good. This is how we express our affection."

Around three, their rumbling stomachs announce that it's time to head home. Like déjà vu, Soul offers to give her a ride home and soon they're speeding down the streets again, thunder rumbling above their heads seconds after cracks of lightning. Maka is loath to disentangle herself from him when they reach her home, but a black SUV rolls up behind them prompts her to fly off Soul so fast he almost falls off the motorcycle.

"That's my papa," Maka says in response to his quirked eyebrow.

"Ah, the infamously flawed father of a sore loser."

That earns him a glare that melts into a soft smile.

"See you later?"

"Yeah…"

That would be his cue to ride off, but he stays put and gnaws at his lower lip, thoughts almost tangible. "There's a formal going on at my school… It'll probably be super dumb, but.."

Oh no, the way her heartbeat increases worries her. Maybe she needs to see a doctor.

"Want to go with me?"

"YES!" It just – tumbles out of her, no more gracefully than a burp. "I mean! Jackie and Kim have been dress shopping for that for a while. They sounded excited, so I thought it'd be nice to go…"

His face is unreadable, his mouth carefully set into a straight line, taking measured breaths. Even his blinking is even and regulated. "Cool."

"What's your phone number?"

The two exchange phones and input their numbers, Maka adding a halo emoji next to her name to remind him that she is innocent of everything he accuses her of, including being a sore loser. Soul finally rides off after playfully saluting her, Maka watching him until he's obstructed from view by other passing cars. Her papa materializes beside her, also staring off behind Soul.

Her papa's tone is suspicious. "Who's that?"

"Hmph!" is her reply. The rational, responsible voice inside chides her for acting like a spoiled brat, but honestly, Maka doesn't feel like giving him any explanations. Especially after he dropped that truth bomb on her. Maybe because he dropped that bomb on her. Sure, he doesn't require a permission slip to date and moves on from her mama, since he cheated on her multiple times with half the town, but the audacity of springing it up on her like that...Maka should probably talk to him, but she can't, not without crying. "Wouldn't you like to know!"

She's halfway up the stairs when her papa catches up to her, practically breathing fire. "I am your father –"

"Ha! Don't pull the dad card on me, Papa! I'm still mad at you for hurting Mama, and you have no right to talk to me like that when you're a bad influence."

"Maka, your mama left me in charge –"

At that, Maka spins around so fast her vision blurs. "She left because you – ah, what..." She squints at the necklace hanging around his neck, the green color of the heart-shaped pendant reminding her of neon radiation. "That's one of those necklaces Liz sells, isn't it? Who gave that to you?"

Papa recoils in confusion. "Who's Liz?"

"A girl at my school! Wow, now you're stalking me at school?"

His face twitches the way it does when he's hiding something. "Don't change the subject."

"Who gave that to you, Papa?"

The guilt written all over the face is enough of a confirmation for Maka, but she needs to hear it from his mouth. And he obliges: his girlfriend.

"Yuck! That's so – juvenile! Why is your girlfriend creeping around a high school?"

"She's the school nurse."

There's no rational explanation for why waves of betrayal course through her, and there's no reason for Maka to push past her papa and barrel out the door like the devil is after her, but she truly is her dramatic papa's daughter and therefore doesn't need a reason. Her feet move on their own accord; she almost trips and lands on her face when a wild Blair appears, scampering along around Maka's ankles.

"Kitten! Where are we going?"

That's a great question – Maka doesn't know the answer until her body brings her back to the arcade she had left not even thirty minutes earlier. Sweaty and panting, she bursts through the door and marches to the back, scanning face after face individually, searching for a tall dirty blonde wearing a cowboy hat and a sneer.

Liz Thompson finds her first.

"Howdy," she drawls, materializing from Maka's left with a fistful of necklaces. The flashing lights add a layer of mystery to her. "Looking for me?"

Maka sees red. Rationally, she knows it's not fair to project her anger into Liz, but she can't help it and will apologize later. "Did the school nurse buy a necklace from you?"

"Yep! At first I thought she was going to give me detention –"

"I hate those necklaces," Maka snaps, hands curling into fists. "Love isn't something you can trick someone into feeling - I know it's not real, I know it's just a gimmick you're using to sell your stupid necklaces but I hate it! Love should be – Love should be special! Not a game! I just don't get - how in the world can my papa accept an UGLY - it's so ugly and gross, ugh! Really? Accepting a necklace from someone he barely knows, but my mama…"

"Your mom deserved better," Liz finished for her. She smacks her gum, because she wouldn't be Liz without chewing on gum all the time. "And you don't think it's fair your dad is a jerk and gets to give love to someone who isn't your mom, when your mom tried so hard to make it work."

Maka didn't come here to be psychoanalyzed. The fury boiling inside her dissipates, lifting like a fog. It's unfair. Suddenly she's vulnerable, and she's not ready. "This trend is making everyone act stupid about love. It's all your fault."

"Maybe." The girl shrugs lazily, as if nothing has ever bothered her in her entire life. "I have someone I love too, you know. My sister Patti. She got adopted by some family that lives on a ranch three hours away. They said they didn't want me because I was in too much trouble. But, that's fine because Patti is safe. I'm saving up for us to live together again, so it doesn't matter if we're apart right now. I can deal with being alone if I can see my sister in the future. So, I need people to buy these necklaces."

It was a mistake coming here, Maka thinks. A big mistake. Not knowing Liz's backstory would have been easier, better. Deep down, Maka knows she's being irrational, placing blame on others who have nothing to do with her hesitancy and distaste for love and anything that represents it. This is Maka's personal problem to reflect on, and telling off Liz for selling the necklaces isn't her place.

Maka swallows to clear her throat, but finds herself temporarily mute.

Liz brings her hand up, showing the necklaces to Maka. Each finger acts as a separator, organizing five types of necklaces: moon shape, heart shape, lightning bolt, cloud, and star. Maka picks a silver cloud one, definitely not with Soul in mind. The cloud reminds her of him – of the cloudy skies that never seem to go away, of a perpetual storm brewing. She's reaching into her pocket for cash when another necklace catches her eye: a musical note, black and white like piano keys. For some reason, Maka is drawn to it, swapping the cloud necklace for it.

"Thanks," Liz says after the exchange. "And don't tell anyone about my sister."

"You're not wearing a necklace, either" is Maka's response, picking a lightning bolt necklace and swathing it around Liz's neck. "But now you have one, too. It's on me."

X

The storm continues to brew.

Jackie cracks first under the pressure of being a Meister Guardian. While being fiery had always been in her nature, the stress, it seems, increases that characteristic of hers tenfold to the point that a scowl permanently etched itself onto her face. Malice radiates out of her like heat off the sun. Once-playful jabs and teasing take on a too-real edge, which rubs Soul the wrong way and leaves Kim feeling equal parts indignant and hurt. She tries to mask her feelings behind indifference and space, but that's not how Kim Diehl operates: she secretly thrives off attention from her favorite people, and whenever she seeks out Jackie to coax her into a better mood, Jackie responds with a violent eye roll and scoff.

Weird. Maka expected Kim to withdraw angrily, to keep her distance from someone who was hurting her, to retreat behind the walls she built up over the years of being picked on at school and never seem to fit in. But Kim… just takes it, hangs on desperately.

It's so unlike her, Maka thinks distantly.

"You're being a real donuthole," Soul seethes at his best friend as the four of them leave the pizzeria after an awkwardly silent, tense dinner. "What crawled up your bu –"

Jackie growls, a sound so demon-like and otherworldly that Soul closes his mouth.

Kim sets her jaw and seizes the opportunity. "He's right. What's wrong? Did something happen?"

"No, you're just all annoying." Jackie wraps her hands around each strap of her backpack, knuckles turning white. "I'm so tired of putting up with you. Do you know how frustrating it is staying up late each night patrolling the town for –"

"She's talking about the new game we're playing!" Maka interrupts, jumping to physically cover Jackie's mouth with her palm. While it's true the three girls have dedicated nights to safeguarding the streets, on the watch for the witch or any Kishin, neither of which have appeared, Maka can't imagine what she would tell Soul if the secret about the Meister Guardians got out. He'd probably coordinate an intervention for all of them, or decide he'd rather not have anything to do with them… or both.

Soul's eyes narrow. "You? Staying up to play a video game?"

"It's more likely than you think."

Jackie smacks Maka's hand away. "I'm tired of it. I don't want to do it anymore."

"Video games are never that serious, nerd. Just stop playing."

"As if." Jackie fishes out the compact that transforms her into Meister Mars whenever she looks into it. She flips it over in her palm, glancing between it and the concrete underneath her feet. The need to chuck the item away is written clearly on her face. "I'm so so so so tired."

Maka doesn't blame her. These last two weeks have been brutal. They're nowhere closer to tracking down the witch. Even Blair, who is normally patient and understanding, paces around Maka's room every night disconcerted, as if someone has brushed her fur the wrong way. She's been clawing at Maka's chair more, leaving scratch marks that can't be evened out with light applications of sandpaper over it. Sometimes the kitten will murmur something that sounds like an apology to someone named Kid. Sometimes her meows turn into screeches that jerk Blair herself awake, wide-eyed and confused. Although Blair never directly comments on the Meisters' lack of progress, her worry is palpable.

Meanwhile, Death City feels like it's stuck in a storm cloud, both physically and metaphorically. In addition to the perpetually gloomy weather, a thick fog has made its home within the town, dispersing later and later each day. The crime rate has skyrocketed; Papa isn't at home nearly as much as he used to be, which was already little to begin with, thanks to the time he allocated to his girlfriend. Maka isn't mad about it or anything, though. No. Why would she be? Her best friend sidelined her for her relationship, and now her papa –

Ahh, no, Maka shouldn't think like that. At least she has Soul, whose eye bags morphed from a purple color to a blue-black, like a bruise that won't go away. He claims he isn't sleeping well. Strangely, his soul hasn't called Meister Moon at all since the day before the recital. He hasn't mentioned his brother Wes at all, or how his father reacted to Soul's skipping school. While Soul has a smile on reserve for her, he won't let Maka in.

And she won't force him. She can't. It would be the height of hypocrisy to force him to open up when she is painstakingly aware that she has issues of her own that she won't talk about. All she can do is keep it bottled up and stay angry at her papa for not reaching out to her, and then rejecting him when he does make an effort. The hate boiling over in her heart overflows so much sometimes that she thinks she'll burst.

Maybe that's why Maka aims her misdirected enmity at Jackie. "No one is forcing you to help."

Technically, it's true. No one forces any of the girls to sneak out of their homes and patrol the streets. The unseen forces of the universe would beg to differ, though. Fate had dealt its cards and picked them. Still, Jackie takes the bait and slam dunks the compact onto the sidewalk with a defiant huff and stalks off.

Soul whistles in the silence that follows. "Wow, all over a video game, huh?"

Kim makes a choking sound, and Maka pulls her into a hug.

It's like everyone in their dinky little town feels some level of crappy. On their way to Kim's house, they pass one, two, three couples from their school arguing, all of them wearing the necklaces Liz wears. Speaking of which, the peddler's defiant attitude has given way to a lackluster, muted version of herself. Maka wonders why Liz's soul hasn't called Meister Moon. It's a miracle she isn't being called twenty-four-seven because it seems like everyone in Death City needs help.

"Sorry my best friend is like that," Soul tells Kim when they reach her house, who juts out her lower lip and nods bravely, even as her eyes glisten with unshed tears. "It'll get better. I promise."