Her 1:
She jots down the bullet points as fast as she can before the professor changes slides. It's amazing how much shorter her shorthand has become since the start of the semester this fall. Maka had been a stickler for basic grammar rules in near all cases of writing. Even her text messages feature complete sentences and punctuation. Almost all of her professors have destroyed that ideal, however. At least, when it comes to her class notes, anyway.
Her notes used to be so neat and precise, with each letter thoughtfully written with intent to express what she had learned. Now, though, most of her handwriting is just bumps and lines, with random dots thrown in. She tries not to over think what that might mean. It's not important, really. It doesn't mean anything.
She's been trying hard to not over think a lot of things lately. No good comes from thinking too hard. She should just focus on the now.
She should think positive thoughts. Stay focused on what she can control. For example, sloppy notes just mean a built-in study time. She spends her evenings translating in-class notes back in her dorm room into something more useful and organized. Having to write the notes twice will help her study. It's a blessing—no a gift, maybe, in disguise?
Don't over think this. Don't over think. Stay focused.
If she doesn't, Maka will miss the last few minutes of lecture—which always has important information, but is never on the slides. The professor rapid fires some key notes about cell production during high stress moments in human organs. His words are drowning in a tone both tired and dull, face covered in scratchy, white hair and indifference. He's still talking while closing down the presentation and putting away his laptop. Maka writes half letters to half words as fast as she can. The professor is saying his goodbyes as she tries to remember what it was he said about heat being introduced to the cells. Good? Bad? Never? Always? Does it even matter?
A sigh escapes Maka's lips as the rest of the class files out of the lecture hall. She resigns herself to just looking the details up online. She doubts it's in the text book. Even if it was, she wouldn't know what page. Five weeks into the semester and the professor has yet to reference a single sentence in the thing.
The next class she has pops to the front of Maka's mind and she resists groaning aloud. It's a lab day. Motivation to pack up and leave dwindles. She contemplates how much time she has until that next class and how much of it she actually needs to get to the lab. There isn't much room for stalling, she admits. At least she doesn't have to speed walk from one side of Death University to the other. Not today.
She is fives steps out of the building when another being crashes into Maka's left side. Violently. The person that hits her feels like a wall, and clings to her like gum—unwanted and impossible to pull off. She had grown use to people bumping into her in high school. People would walk like they owned the hallways. However, it hadn't really been an issue on the campus. Everyone avoided everyone else, content to limit social interactions. Which means that this person, bumping and clinging to her form, is doing it on purpose.
"For a guy whose childhood dream was to be a ninja, you have no grace." Maka does her best to shove the heavy muscle off her frame, but Black*Star doesn't budge. In fact, he puts even more of his weight onto her side.
"First," he retorts after adjusting his arm around Maka's shoulder, "it's an assassin. Second, I'm still working towards that dream, so don't sell me out yet."
Maka rolls her eyes. She also tries rolling her shoulders, but the older male resists detachment. Maka resigns herself to this fact and starts walking to lab. Black*Star stays right to her side, leaning just enough to make the journey obnoxious and more difficult. "Potato, tomato."
His nose scrunches. "What? Since when did we start talking about food? No, man, I'm talking about assassins, and how they are a thousand times cooler than ninjas. Everyone knows that." Black*Star pauses, forcing Maka to stop walking too. "Wow, Maka." He shoots her a bewildered look, which she returns with the most apathetic face she can muster. "You're all mixed up here. And I thought college was supposed to make you smarter."
Maka doesn't even try to deny the nonsense falling from his lips. Instead, she starts moving forward, stupid blue weight or not. At least Black*Star doesn't hold her back. He doesn't let go either.
Keep moving forward. Don't over think unimportant things.
"Did you need something, Black*Star?"
She feels his shrug on her shoulders. "Just thought I would say hi to my favorite little bookworm."
Maka hums back, eyes focused on the path.
"Also, wanted to know if you were up for lunch."
"Can't," Maka replies, eyes dipping towards Black*Star for a moment. "I've still got class until two." She focusses back in on the path to lab.
Black*Star's hand left hand squeezes her right shoulder. "Seriously? Don't tell me you have to wait until then. When do you find time to eat? Can you eat in class?" There is an edge to his voice, straining the pitch just a bit above normal range.
Maka shakes her head. "No food or drink in the lab room," she recites like a broken record.
The other freezes, but unlike last time, Maka is able to escape his hold. She turns a bit to watch Black*Star's face morph. His blue eyes widen and his mouth drops from a frown to hang open. It is a transition from confusion to understanding and what can only be terror.
"Lab," he echoes, the bravado gone from his voice. "Oh, uh. I forgot that you have labs Thursday." He stops to look past Maka. His eyes stray around the area behind her a bit before drawing back to her face. She knows the look she's wearing is both unimpressed and amused.
"Yeah," she agrees, and there is a twinge of something in her chest as she watches the emotions on Black*Star's face. It's rare for that emotion to be displayed, and the fact Maka had a part makes her a little proud. "Lab. I've got two hours of it with Stein." As if who the professor was isn't obvious enough after the two months of summer school with him. Maka feels even more satisfaction at how the name makes Black*Star shuffle away a bit.
"Oh, well, you better get to class then, huh? Sorry I forgot; I'm still trying to remember my own schedule." Black*Star, the man who dreams of being a master assassin, scoots further back from her. "I'll catch you later. Maybe dinner? Or, or lunch tomorrow."
Maka raises an eyebrow. It's not that they don't hang out more since being on campus together, but neither her nor Black*Star had ever gone out of their way to schedule make-up meet-ups. Did he want something? Was there something wrong? Was he in trouble again, and needed bailing out? Homework assistance? Why would he actively seek her out?
Don't over think. Don't assume. Don't over think.
"Yeah," Maka replies. She blinks a few times because her vision has blurred a bit out of focus. "Okay. Tonight's movie night at Soul's place. Did you want to come too? Maybe Tsubaki would want to hang out, if she's available."
Black*Star's face flickers a moment. It starts confused, with drawn brows, then smooths to something wide and open and vulnerable. But, this lasts less than a few seconds before he hunches in and a small frown appears on his face. "Yeah well, no. I mean, there's no point if you've already got plans. We can shoot for tomorrow."
Maka risks a glance to her phone, realizing she hasn't got the time to play detective with Black*Star's emotions. She doesn't want to be neglectful. She hates the idea, if she is being honest, because Black*Star may be an open book, but he rarely lets other's take a peek inside.
Whatever this is to him, it is important. But it also will have to wait.
"Black*Star," Maka starts. His eyes stop staring at her boots and move to her face. They don't make eye contact though, but she'll take what she can get. "I've got class. We can do lunch tomorrow; I've got a window around eleven thirty. But," she hesitates on how to phrase this. "Maybe you should text me later too?" Why did she say that like a question? Oh my Death. Maka wants to slap her own face but instead she just keeps on talking. "Even if I'm in class or watching movies, you can always text me. My phone will be on silent." This is beyond awkward. She prays Black*Star understands because she isn't sure what else to say without being even more obvious.
Black*Star stares back at her. Then, he blinks. "Oh, uh," he tapers off to tilt his head like a confused puppy. Maka wants to smack both their faces. "Sure...?"
Why is he asking her a question? Maka wonders if smacking either of them would help at this point.
Instead of violence, Maka groans. "Right okay, fine. I'm trying to help here Black*Star but seriously, I don't have time for this. Just, just," She sighs. "Text me later. About whatever is going on."
"Going on?" Black*Star parrots back. His body has straightened to his full height, which really isn't that tall, but he is taller than Maka. His eyes are big and wide open. He looks at her, but then looks at a tree to her left. "Nothing is going on."
"Do not make me Maka Chop you. I am so close to just ditching class and beating your ass."
Black*Star snorts. "Lame rhyme, Bookworm. Besides, we both know you won't ditch." His eyes widen when Maka raises one of her hands. She reaches behind herself for her backpack, and that seems to be enough. Black*Star raises his own two hands and tenses. "But, okay, fine, okay," he stammers, inching back just a bit. "I'll text you."
"Today," Maka demands.
"Later," Black*Star concedes.
She nods once and twirls around. "Later." And she doesn't bother to say if it is an agreement or departing statement. It doesn't really matter. She feels awkward, but there is nothing else she can do about it right now. The situation is awkward. Black*Star is awkward.
Maka races down the sidewalk to her lab building. She makes it with just a couple of minutes left before class. Everyone else is hovering out in the hall, just in front of the door. They all are murmuring to each other, but no one seems keen on going into the lab room. Stein must be inside already. Maka goes into the lab room herself. No one tries to stop her. Instead, everyone takes a step back, as if she is contaminated by Stein's crazy.
Maka likes to think she's not, but maybe she is, has been for years, and can't tell anymore.
The lab room is clean and well lit. It's always near spotless. The smell of formaldehyde lingers, along with a chemical smell that may or may not be from cleaning supplies. There are tall tables and stools in the center of the room, all empty of course. At the very front is the professor's work table and a large examination table with additional lighting attached. Outlining the room are piles of lab supplies in organized chaos. At one corner of the room are a pair of dome-covered containment tables, which is where Stein stands.
"Good afternoon, Professor," Maka announces. At first, it had been a thing of respect, but at this point, saying the phrase feels more like an inside joke.
"Maka," Stein replies. "You're late." He's hunched over one of the containment tables. From where she is, Maka can see his hands pushed through the attached gloves and messing with something inside the plastic dome. Death knows what he's messing with though.
She stops by her seat to drop off her backpack. It's the seat closest to Stein's examination table. No one else will dare to sit at first few tables after their first experiment. Maka doesn't like sitting so close either—for different reasons, but she thinks it makes Stein happy. It's hard to tell for sure, but not all of his grins are maniacal.
"It was Black*Star," Maka defends herself by throwing her childhood friend under the bus. It's not like he hasn't done the same. "Besides, I'm not really late; there's still a few minutes until noon."
Stein hums and pulls away from whatever had his attention in the container. "Then you should not say 'good afternoon.' It should be 'good morning.'" He seems to be looking at her, but the glint across his glasses hide Stein's eyes.
Maka shrugs, but she can feel the small smile on her face. "Tomato, potato."
Stein nods. "Toe-may-toe, Toe-mah-toe."
Maka ignores the lame joke, because it really isn't a joke. Stein doesn't know how to tell jokes, and he never will. Instead, she wanders closer to where Stein is working. "He was acting weird today," she continues on.
"Who? Black*Star?" Stein has turned back to his previous fiddling. "Is that supposed to be out of the norm?"
Maka stops short of actually being able to see what was inside the containment table. "For him, it was weird, I mean. He was acting…" she trails off because she doesn't know how to describe it. Instead of words, Maka finds her hands raising and falling in an undecided pattern.
She wonders if she's jumping to conclusions again. She might just be overthinking Black*Star's behavior. He hadn't outright said that something was wrong. She should not just assume that something was wrong just because Black*Star wanted to chat. She's not just overthinking, Maka is being presumptuous of the situation. There is probably nothing wrong.
Stein isn't looking at her, but he hums in the lull of Maka's explanation. "He was acting in a way that, to others would be unnoticeable, but to you was far too obvious of his distress." He fiddles again with whatever he is doing. "As his childhood friend, you would know Black*Star's mannerisms best." The comment brings a sense of pride rushing through her that Maka is not expecting to happen. She's rarely proud to be Black*Star's friend, but even more rarely is she ashamed by it.
Stein's confirmation brings a surge of confidence. "Yes, exactly," Maka agrees, though there isn't really a reason to agree with Stein's statement. "He was acting different than usual. He seemed on edge, maybe nervous? I'm not too sure. I didn't have a lot of time to talk to him before lab."
She stops to see if her godfather had any advice or comment. Stein just keeps fiddling, head turned down to the plastic container.
"Stein," Maka starts, but stops. Warring in her stomach is confidence and fear. They seem to wave back and forth, like two opposing forces that cannot give into the other. Is she right to meddle? Is there anything to meddle about? Being Black*Star's friend doesn't mean she has the right to tell others of his troubles, even if it is just Stein. There is no point in making mountains out of mole hills, or however that phrase went. There may not even be a problem with Black*Star, and she's just is assuming that something is wrong when she knows nothing about what Black*Star is thinking.
A weight comes down on Maka's head. Her hair, trapped in her usual comforting pigtails, shifts just a bit, but not too much to loosen strands. The weight stays, and Maka blinks to see an arm reaching out to her from Stein. She stares at his glasses, and the man tilts his head enough to change the glint from his lenses. Now she can see him clearly, grey eyes matching with her own.
"Breathe," Stein advices. She does. "Good girl." Stein pushes down on her head a little, then releases the pressure and pulls his hand away. "Now, what's wrong?"
Maka pauses. She can't quite look at her godfather. But, she wants to be honest. "I don't know what is wrong with Black*Star; they're may be nothing wrong at all." She stops, but Stein is just staring at her. "What? That—that's it."
Stein sighs. "No; I mean what's wrong for you?" She doesn't know what face she's making but Stein clearly doesn't like it. "You're hesitating. You don't usually hesitate on things. Especially when it comes to dealing with Black*Star. You usually make a quick and decisive decision. You're—"
"Overthinking," Maka sighs.
Stein steps away from his observations. His body is now turned to face Maka. "Sounds like you know of a problem."
Maka glances around the room. "I've been talking to Doctor Gorgon. It's only been two sessions, but… She thinks my issue is with control and that I overthink simple situations too much. I've been trying to, I don't know, fix it?" She shrugs, the weight of her shoulders making the task difficult to complete. Maka's feeling a little defeated, and she knows there are several reasons why.
Stein opens his mouth to respond, but is interrupted by the sounds of metal latches and sneakers scuffing tile. Both Maka and he glance to the source to see the rest of her classmates filing into the lab room. The horde moves into the area slowly, all avoiding the front of the room and the corner Maka and her guardian are standing in. A low murmur fills the space as students settle into the back tables.
Maka glances back to Stein. "Looks like class is starting."
Stein tilts his head up and to the back of the room. Maka tries to follow his hidden gaze. She thinks he might be looking at the clock, high up on the wall. The time shows it to be 12:07 in the afternoon.
"Everyone's almost ten minutes late," Stein notes. He then sighs. "As usual." He sounds almost upset. Maka can't help her grin as Stein frowns. "Alright, we better not waste any more class time. But, Maka, I would like to talk more about this, after class?"
The grin falls flat on Maka's face. "Sure, I guess." She can't fight the feeling of dread filling up inside her though.
"Good," Stein replies. His voice is steady and sure. There's no room for arguing. "Now then." Stein walks to the front of the room and claps his hands to gain attention. It works, but Maka thinks half the class is looking at their professor with terror in their eyes. "Good afternoon, class. Let's get started with today's lab. I have a lovely rare bird that I think—"
"Professor," Maka interrupts. "This is chemistry. We are supposed to work with chemicals and elements. Not rare birds that I don't even know how you got ahold of." At this point she's wandered back over to her seat. "And I don't even want to know either." She sits with one eyebrow raised in defiance to her professor. Had it been anyone but Stein, she would not have dared.
A toothy grin covers the bottom half of the professor's face. It's wide and shows off almost all teeth in Stein's mouth, straight like tombs in a cemetery. While she's not looking at any of her classmates, Maka can feel the entire room of undergraduates give a collective shiver. "Oh Maka," Stein says back, voice full of mirth that should not be there. "Chemistry is everywhere, including on the insides of rare birds. Here," he pauses to adjust his glasses. The light reflection makes Stein's eyes impossible to see from behind the lenses. "Let me show you."
Maka sighs. Another stressful day of lab has begun.