Maka trudged her way past the rows of small suburb homes with identically sparse yards; the roofs of various businesses coming into view straight ahead of her, indicating she's finally made it to Death City's town square.
She felt a little twinge of anxiety in her stomach the closer her feet took her to the square. She's about twenty minutes early, but she'll be starting her first shift as a waitress at the locally-revered Cafe Grim. The nervousness tugging lightly at her gut isn't a result of any kind of fear that she won't be competent, or that she isn't cut out for the job. She worked retail in her high school years, and she's fairly certain that if she can make it through that without maiming a customer, she can manage food service just as well.
What she's more concerned with is how well she'll get along with her own co-workers. She's had trouble in the past butting heads with fellow employees who don't pull their own weight. Maka Albarn is not the type of person to put up with slackers and bullshitters, not when she's putting forth her best effort at all times.
When she feels somebody is holding her team back, she has no damn problem vocalizing this. This confidence to speak her mind has certainly made enemies in her past, and though she wouldn't compromise her beliefs just to get along with others, it still doesn't feel great to walk into a break room and find her snickering coworkers become mute the moment they notice her presence.
That was back in high school. She's in her second year at Death Valley University, and she expects most of her coworkers will be university students as well. One can only hope they'll have a little more maturity than her former colleagues.
She found some small comfort in the fact that she knows at least one of her coworkers prior to starting. Her roommate, Jackie, already works there as a waitress and had been the one to recommend Maka apply in the first place. Jackie has been her roommate and close friend since they shared a dorm together her very first semester. Just two semesters in student living had been enough for them before they decided to opt for an apartment at the edge of campus.
Initially, Maka's father had been paying for her to live in the dorms, but apartments are a little more costly than that. Even if Papa would have been more than enthusiastic about paying her rent, it just didn't sit right with her. Especially considering she's looking to sever as many ties as she can with the womanizing scumbag. She'd feel much less obligated to talk to him if he wasn't financially supporting her.
As much as she may assert that she can't stand him, she still carries some love in her heart for the old screw up. At the end of the day, despite his many wrongdoings, he's still her Papa.
But she doesn't have to make things easy on him either. It has to be enough for him that she even speaks to him at all, because some days that's all she can stand to give him.
As if he could sense that she'd spared him a single thought that wasn't entirely negative, her phone lit up in her hand with his caller ID displayed across the screen right as she approached the parking lot of the cafe. She stopped in her tracks and stared listlessly at the vibrating square in her hand before she closed her eyes tightly and reluctantly accepted the imminent headache.
"Maka! How's my darling little girl?" Papa's voice boomed, far too enthusiastic of a tone and volume to be hearing at 6:14 in the morning.
"What is it, Papa," she expressed this as more of a statement than a question with the flatness of her tone.
"Eh-heh, right. I know it's a little early, but I wanted to catch you before you started your first day at … uh, what was it? Cafe Goth?"
"Cafe Grim, Papa," she already felt irritation creeping up on her so early in the conversation and came to the conclusion that this phone call should end hastily lest her mood be soured before the day even begins. "Just … what is it you need? I wanted to head in a bit early, make it quick, please."
She could hear him choke on his own spit for a second before regaining his artificial cheeriness again. "That's my darling, always putting the most into everything she does. They're lucky to have you, no doubt!" He drew in a breath, and Maka braced herself for whatever request he obviously wanted to make. "I was just thinking … how would you feel about coming back to Vegas to spend a weekend with me soon? I hadn't had the chance to see you over the holidays, and Papa misses his little angel very-"
"Now's not a great time, Papa. Sorry, but I'll be working weekends consistently from now on. I can't start asking for time off when I've just started."
She could sense that her father wasn't done with his pleading, but his next words were drowned out by the roaring of an obnoxious orange Harley motorcycle pulling into the parking lot. Normally, blatant displays of douchebaggery like this would grate on her nerves, but in this moment, she's actually grateful for Mr. Wake-The-Whole-Damn-Neighborhood.
"Sorry Papa, I can't hear you. Talk later, 'kay?" And with that she clicked her phone screen closed and turned her attention to the front of the cafe. The biker who had pulled in was obviously part of the cafe staff. Why else would he be here this early?
She could see him rounding the corner from employee parking at the side of the building, and decided it'd only be polite to hold the door open for him. Might as well try and make a good impression.
She would have assumed he was an older man from a distance, judging by his mop of stark white bedhead and the pale stubble that littered his cheeks and jaw, but the closer he got to her, the more discernible it was that he's likely another 20-something-year old much like herself. She mentally kicked herself, but she couldn't help but note that he's actually really cute.
Her polite gesture was soon made awkward by the literal snail's pace this man walks at. Typically, when someone is waiting at the door and holding it open for another person, it would be most considerate to pick up the pace a little so they aren't waiting too long. Apparently that concept is lost on this guy, because his gait did not exceed a lazy saunter. The smile on her face started to feel a little stale, but she held onto it for him as he passed her regardless.
"Good morning!" She beamed, and earned nothing more than a twitch of his lip and a gruff "mornin'," as he squeezed by her.
Well that was kinda rude. What's he doing working in a cafe with a personality like that? He has to be kitchen staff; there's no way he'd be working with customers. Maka shakes her head as if it would erase this off-putting interaction from her mind, and made her way in after him.
She's only been in Cafe Grim a handful of times when invited to study sessions there, but for the most part, she had kept to the Starbucks located in the university union building for all of her caffeine needs. Though she wasn't a frequent customer, she can certainly understand the appeal of the peculiar little hipster-infested brunch spot. It's a dimly-lit and intimate cafe decorated with antique furniture and bookshelf walls filled with donated books. The Victorian-style decor mixed with random Halloween-esque knick-knacks made it feel as though you were having a coffee in Dracula's library. The menu items may be a little overpriced, but the atmosphere makes for a very comfortable study environment.
Her eyes were drawn to the coffee bar area when she caught movement in her peripheral vision. The apathetic biker from moments before was now behind the bar and tying an apron around his waist as he appeared to be setting up for his shift.
Him? A barista? Seriously?!
"Maka Albarn?"
She spun around to see a tall dark-haired woman emerge from the kitchen area with a familiar pink-haired girl following close behind her.
"Hi! Yes, I'm Maka. It's nice to meet you, um-"
"Tsubaki," She introduced herself, reaching for Maka's hand and enveloping it in a surprisingly firm handshake. "I'm a shift lead here, and it looks like you'll be shadowing me for a good portion of your training, so we've got more than enough time to get to know each other. I've heard you've got experience working in retail?"
"That's right. Three years at Target," Maka responded with a strained smile. She definitely doesn't miss it, that's for sure.
Tsubaki let out a good-natured laugh and patted her shoulder with a sympathetic crinkle around her eyes, "Oh, bless your heart. Well, you won't be disputing old ladies over expired coupons and returns over here. I trust that you'll like waitressing a lot better."
"I don't doubt I will," Maka said as she turned her attention towards the second woman. "I'm sorry, I think I've met you before?"
The pink-haired girl's lips twisted into a saccharine smile as she offered a much looser handshake than Tsubaki's. "Oh? Am I that unmemorable?" She batted her eyelashes and clutched a hand to her chest, faking offense. Maka's mouth opened, an apology on the tip of her tongue, but she giggled and waved her off, bracelets jangling around from the motion. "I'm just playin', I didn't know your name 'til today either, don't go feeling bad about it. The name's Kim. I'm a friend of Jackie's, but me and you were never properly introduced."
"That's right, I remember now. Well, it's good to put a name to the face now,' Maka replied halfheartedly, her eyes flitting curiously back to the barista. Tsubaki and Kim followed her line of vision, and exchanged amused looks with each other.
"That's Soul. He's one of our baristas, and a man of few words," Kim informed her in a hushed voice, as if he couldn't hear her from a whole ten feet away.
"Good morning, Soul!" He noticeably winced at the shrill tone of Kim's voice, but he peeked over his shoulder and gave her a curt nod, his mouth set in a tight line. He may have made something close to a noncommittal grunt before turning his attention back to his opening tasks.
"See? Man of few words," Kim deadpanned.
Tsubaki stifled a laugh behind her hand, "Just give him a moment to wake up, he'll thaw out. Soul's just not a morning person. Come on Maka, let's get you an apron and I'll show you how to use the POS system."
"If you can't handle mornings, maybe don't work as a barista," Maka muttered under her breath, giving Soul's slouched figure one last glance before following Tsubaki into the kitchen.
The next few weeks passed in a blur for Maka. As she expected, she was able to adjust to her role as a waitress with relative ease. The weekends are especially hectic, often having a line of waiting customers going all the way out the door. Maka had been a bit overwhelmed during her training period, but as soon as she got the hang of things, it was almost fun dealing with the chaos of the weekend rushes. She had even liked all of her coworkers. Well, all of them except for one.
It wasn't that Cafe Grim's barista, Soul Evans, had said or done anything specific to her to warrant the intense dislike she initially felt for him. It was more about his attitude, his whole demeanor in general. How can a customer service worker exude an energy that says "don't fucking talk to me," and still hold on to their job? Not only did he keep his job despite having an apparent chip on his shoulder, but all of the customers and staff seemed to love him. Every time she had to approach him to adjust a drink order, he'd just stare at her with this unnerving expression that managed to seem completely blank yet somehow irritable at the same time. As if he was bothered she had the audacity to ask him to do his freaking job. A petty part of her had wanted to catch him failing to do his job properly so she could feel as though her grudge against him was justified, but he managed to work fluidly and without errors even though he only looked half-awake while doing it. It was infuriating. But Maka wouldn't allow herself to be intimidated by some self-important, hair-dyeing, pant-cuffing, over-glorified bean bartender.
Fortunately, she didn't have to speak with him often due to the magic of technology. Unless an order is overly-complicated, or needs adjustment quickly, every order is printed directly to his station from the POS system. Whenever she did have to interact with him, she would hold her head high and return the same uncomfortable amount of eye contact with as much disdain as she could muster. During end-of-shift cleaning, when everybody has the time to actually converse with their coworkers, she would find every opportunity to make sarcastic remarks and antagonizing comments towards him, which he would usually counter with witty quips of his own. She wasn't impressed by his moody, devil-may-care disposition, and she wanted to communicate that sentiment through every exchange they shared. It almost became enjoyable to hate him. Until she realized her contempt wasn't actually reciprocated.
With time, Soul started acknowledging her with wry smiles, or a little two finger salute whenever she'd need something from the coffee bar. She had dwelled far too long on the discovery that he has a very cute dimple on the left side of his face on the rare occasion that he actually smiles. At the end of every shift when most closing duties have been completed, the staff would gather in the kitchen to eat the mountain of left-over hashbrowns, affectionately named 'trashbrowns', on the griddle. Typically, Maka would choose to hang out with the servers while she ate, and Soul would consistently socialize with the kitchen staff. She couldn't pinpoint when it happened, but Soul started to gravitate towards her during these breaks. Sometimes he wouldn't provide any conversation, he'd just listen to her talk with the other servers, as if listening to her speak about mundane things was interesting to him. Other times he would engage in small talk with her, just shooting the shit about little inconsequential things. She couldn't help but think he was under the impression that they were work buddies.
It brought about conflicting emotions to say the least.
Everybody has those days when they feel like their job has pushed them to their mental limit; this is inevitable working in customer service. Sometimes there's a customer that walks in with a shitty attitude and decides they're going to make everyone that interacts with them miserable. Some days there's a persistent creep who can't seem to understand that his waitress is smiling at him because they're paid to do this, and not because they're interested in his penis.
Maka is more resilient to these unpleasant situations than most. She's experienced all varieties of assholes, and she's dealt with them gracefully, professionally. Nothing pleases her more than denying entitled, disrespectful customers the pleasure of visibly upsetting her.
Today was different though. Today was tougher, and she felt uncomfortably fragile under the weight of her frustration. Today her idiot father decided it was a grand idea to show up in the middle of her shift for a very surprising, and very unwanted visit. With his latest plaything.
Hurt, anger, and disgust wreaked havoc in her mind as she felt heat gather in her eyes in anticipation for tears she would not let fall. Instead she gripped the countertop of the coffee bar with white knuckles and stared at the back of Papa's head with an intensity that might suggest she was willing it to spontaneously combust.
The woman he was with looked like she was old enough to be Maka's big sister. She's gorgeous too. Long legs, fun purple hair, and flawless makeup that would put any instagram 'influencer' to shame. Where'd he find this one? A bar? Does she work in one of the many scummy gentleman clubs he frequents? Or perhaps he just saw her online and swiped right for an easy fuck buddy. That's all he's ever cared about anyways.
"Hey," a gentle voice snapped her out of her hate-trance.
She glanced up to see Soul, his pale eyebrows creased in concern, something she doesn't think she'd seen conveyed on his face before. He had placed her father's drink order - a pitcher of mimosa- on the counter in front of her, but his gaze still lingered on her expectantly.
"You okay, Maka?" his eyes darted to the table she had been laser-focused on and he cleared his throat before leaning in a little, "Is it another weirdo? I can take the table if he's making you uncomfortable. You don't have to put up with that, you know. Can even kick him out if you want."
She let out a nervous laugh that did her no favors in reassuring her worried coworker that she's alright. "Weirdo is a good word to describe him, but-" she shook her head in resignation before meeting his eyes again, "He's my father. It's complicated, but I need to deal with this myself, okay? The sooner I get him out of here, the better I'll feel."
The uncharacteristic crinkle between Soul's brows stubbornly remained, but he huffed and rubbed the back of his neck, seeming to respect her wishes. "I get it. Just … if you need anything, I've got your back. Management would too."
With that he turned his attention back to the orders that had been stacking up during their brief conversation. She felt a little bit of tension that she didn't know she was holding release from her chest as she took a steadying breath, grabbed the pitcher and made her way to the last place she wanted to be. She was nowhere near okay right now, but knowing that someone had noticed her distress and was watching her back - it helped a little bit.
She willed herself to maintain the plastic smile barely hanging onto her face as she placed the glasses and pitcher down for Papa and - God, what's her name again, Beatrice? It started with a B, probably.
"Oh! Thank you sweetheart!" Papa's eyes lit up the moment they landed on her, "I wish you could sit down and join us. Blaire's been asking about you so much, I know you two would get along-"
"Have we decided on an order, or would you like more time to decide?" Maka added hastily, her voice bearing no warmth or familiarity, but remaining civil.
Blaire appeared to notice that Maka is close to her limit, and placed a hand on Spirit's shoulder to discourage any further comments from him. "We'll be sharing the strawberry nutella crepes, that should do us for now, hun," she said with a sympathetic smile that crawled under Maka's skin.
She felt guilty about the resentment she can't help but have for this woman. It was obvious that she sensed things are less than amicable between her and Papa, and she probably felt uncomfortable being trapped in the middle of it. Blaire more than likely knew nothing about her family situation, her pain. She's just another pretty young thing that her father enticed with his over-the-top affection and acceptable salary.
"Great. I'll get that in for you guys," Maka said with another strained smile, though she tried to allow her eyes to soften towards Blaire. She turned on her heel and made a beeline to place the order, allowing no time for her father to fit another word in.
"Spirit, honey. Just don't," she could hear Blaire whisper harshly as she walked away.
She pretended not to notice Soul quickly snapping his head back to the order he was making when she walked by him. Why is he so concerned about her? It's just family drama. She'll get through it on her own, like she always does.
She kept her interactions with Papa's table to an absolute minimum, while still checking on them just enough to be considered an attentive server. Every time she stopped by, she kept things brief but courteous and shot down every desperate attempt Papa made at personal conversation. She had other tables to take her mind off the numb rage buzzing in her body, and she also had the weird stomach flips she felt every time she caught Soul checking on her. That was an effective distraction.
Before she knew it, Papa and Blaire were gone. She assumed she has Blaire to thank for that. If it was up to Spirit, he would have continued to order drinks long after they've finished eating as an excuse to hang around her entire shift.
Even after they were long gone, the tightness in her throat and chest remained. If anything, it intensified. While her father was there and in front of her, she had been in some kind of shock, so angry she couldn't even fully process everything she was feeling. She had something to focus on: a goal. Which was to get the two of them out of her sight as soon as possible. After her objective was complete, all she could do was allow toxic thoughts to gnaw on her optimism and energy. By the time she was completing her closing duties she felt so hollow, so drained. She wanted to scream, cry, punch something, and go to sleep all at the same time and it was making her feel sick. She couldn't handle the walk home at this rate, she needed a moment to release some of this.
As soon as she clocked out, she took long strides straight through the kitchen and back storage, and shoved her way through the back door. Her knees buckled and she took a hard seat on the curb, burying her face in her sleeve as she sat in the quiet company of dumpsters and cigarette butts. She cut the imaginary strings that had been holding her up like a puppet all day and she sobbed, and it felt good.
She had been so busy reveling in her well-deserved cathartic release that she hadn't registered that someone was sitting on the curb right next to her, staring out at the empty back lot.
Soul. How long has he been here?
Her next sob caught in her throat and she jerked upright, frantically wiping her eyes and clearing any possible snot from her face. Her face burned and she felt her brain freeze up in embarrassment. She hated displaying weakness. It was so much more mortifying that she was displaying weakness to him of all people.
"Why are you here?" she despised how shaky her voice sounds.
He barely turned his head, only regarding her from the corner of his eye for a moment before turning his gaze back to the lot, as if there was something interesting there, like two squirrels fighting in front of him, or something. There wasn't. Maybe he just knew she didn't want him staring at her right now.
"Wanted to make sure you were alright, obviously. You don't have to talk to me if you don't want to. I can leave if you want as well. It's up to you."
There was an insecure voice in her head that begged for him to leave her alone, but there was another voice - a louder voice - that wanted his comfort. Wanted someone to listen.
"He destroyed my family! He betrayed my mother, and he drove her away!" these words escaped her without her permission, echoing down the street in a raw screech.
"I preferred it when he was scurrying around- hiding his sins from me. When he felt shame, like he should! He comes in here with no warning, and he parades his shiny new conquest in front of me as if I should give him my blessing. As if he deserves to be happy! He fucking doesn't!" She was close to hyperventilating at this point and the tears were blurring her vision, but she couldn't seem to stop.
"Sometimes I wish he were fucking dead! I wish I could go my entire life without talking to him again, but then I feel sick to my stomach for even thinking that, because for some idiotic reason I love him! He doesn't deserve it, but he's still my Papa and I love him," that last sentence was nothing more than a trembling whimper.
She was breathing heavily, lungs feeling like a paper bag, and her anger began shrinking into something more manageable. He had been so quiet, she could almost swear he wasn't even there anymore, but when she looked to her side, she saw him facing her. She had his full attention.
His expression was gentle, but she couldn't translate it to pity. He had this warmth in his eyes that she couldn't understand. What the hell is she to him? It should have felt condescending, like he was an adult patiently watching a child having an absolute fit, on the cusp of saying "you feel better now, buddy?"
That's what she would have assumed if she was feeling a little more defensive, but somehow she knew that wasn't his intention. It wasn't the emotion he was trying to convey to her.
"He sounds like a bastard," he chuckled a little before continuing, "Hell, he looked like a bastard. Who wears a blazer to a brunch joint?" Maka found herself reflecting his grin after that comment, if only a little.
Soul rubbed the whiskers on his jaw for a moment, carefully choosing his next words. "Family can be complicated. You can hate him and still care for him at the same time. You're allowed to feel two things at once. You're also not obligated to give him your time or your approval just because he's your dad. Look, I know this is advice that's likely already occurred to you, but you have every right to live your own life separate from him. If you wanna cut him out, then cut him out. If you want to set strict boundaries with him, then do that and don't budge on them. Don't give him any leniency, because manipulative people will always take that as a green light to do whatever the hell they want."
It wasn't life-changing advice, but she felt this warmth in the knowledge that he sat here and listened to her lunatic raving and still did his best to offer his comfort and insight.
"I know. Thanks - for being here, Soul," she allowed herself a soft smile, and despite her inner turmoil, it felt genuine.
He nodded, and turned his attention back to his imaginary squirrel fight again. They sat like that for a while in companionable silence as his feet tapped out a rhythm to a song that wasn't playing, and her sniffles slowly died down.
"Ya wanna go mini-golfing?" his voice jarred her from her idle thoughts. She could have almost forgotten he was there, if her idle thoughts hadn't been about him.
"W-what? Like, right now?"
He shrugged, looking up at her with his usual expression of glazed disinterest, "Yeah. Why not? Ya just gonna go home and be sad?"
Maka sputtered indignantly at this, "I-I have friends! Who are you to assume I'll just go home and cry alone in my room like a loser? I could have plans today already, thank you very much."
"Do you?"
" … No. But I could have. Besides, aren't we a bit old for mini-golf?" she muttered, feeling a little sillier the longer they have this conversation.
"Sounds like something you would say if you knew I'd beat your ass at mini-golf." His mask of boredom was slipping, she could see his lips start to quirk up in a playful smirk.
Maka pretended she was still considering his proposition, as if she hadn't already decided that mini-golf actually sounds great right now.
"As if," she pouted, rolling her eyes at his childish goading, "Is this a reputable establishment?"
"Oh, it's exceptionally shitty. There's go-karts, overpriced beers and outdated arcade games too," he added this with a raise of his eyebrows as if he believed it was an irresistible offer. He had this dopey lop-sided grin on his face that revealed a row of unusually sharp teeth. He was snaggle-toothed in a really unconventionally handsome way. There's that dimple again.
He must have noticed that she was analyzing his smile, because it slowly disappeared into a self-conscious grimace as he began rubbing at his stubble again. She hadn't meant to make it weird.
"Fine, I guess beating you will brighten my mood a bit," she sighed as she stood, dusting her skirt off and offering him a hand. He hesitated for a moment, but then he took it and hoisted himself up. She desperately hoped her hands weren't sweaty.
We're going alone? Why does this feel like a date? Maka immediately stopped this train of thought before she became a blushing mess in front of him.
His smile returned, though he was making sure to keep it hidden behind his lips this time. He nudged her in the direction of his bike, and she beat back the nervous butterflies she felt in her stomach at the thought of riding in close quarters with him. He's being friendly. He feels bad for you. This isn't a date. She repeated this like a mantra.
She'd find herself repeating thoughts like these much more frequently in the future.
After weeks of loathing him, all it took was one day spent with him to bring her to the conclusion that Soul Evans is actually a big teddy bear with a heart of gold and the worst case of resting bitch face she's ever seen.