TRIGGER WARNING - Mentions of self harm, suicidal thoughts and abuse. Please read with caution.

i've never saw a wild thing sorry for itself.

a bird will fall, frozen dead from a bough,

without ever having felt sorry for itself.

Maka entered the music room beside an excited, bouncing Tsubaki. Though Maka felt very cryptic, she was also curious. The institution must have been well funded since all the instruments looked of good quality and condition. The one that caught her attention more than any other was the shiny black grand piano that stood proudly in the corner of the room.

She had always been fascinated by pianos and if anyone bothered to ask, she would say it was her favourite - Even though she couldn't play it, nor any other instrument. She didn't mix well with music in general. She didn't do too well with anything that included emotion and music seemed to revolve around that.

"Ah, another rookie, huh?"

Maka turned her head to see a blond-haired man walking towards her with an annoyingly large grin on his face. She frowned. These overly happy smiles are already getting old.

"Uh, I guess," Maka shook his hand reluctantly before pulling away. Something he must have been used to as she noticed no falter in his sickeningly bright mood.

"My name is Joe Buttataki and I'm the music teacher," he told her.

"I'm Maka. Maka Albarn." She muttered in response and glanced around the classroom.

"I see!" he laughed as he turned away, which made her fists clench in anger. Why was he laughing? He either ignored her irritation or was too dumb to notice as he just grinned before gesturing to the room.

"So, any interest in music…?" he asked, looking over his shoulder to herself.

"No." Maka replied bluntly, before admitting: "I don't get it."

Joe turned and released a strained laugh that seemed to quiet everyone enough to make them listen to their conversation. Maka wrapped her arms around herself in uneasiness.

"What do you mean you don't get music?" a new voice asked before the teacher could say anything. Maka turned her head to see it was that fucking Soul Evans guy addressing her from one of the stools beside Blackstar. She did note that now his expression was not mocking. It was curious.

"I just don't really understand it," She replied honestly, but in a clipped tone. That excuse wasn't enough for the class of crazy people looking at her. She understood it, music was a way out for many depressed people. Maka had heard it distracts some from the extent of insanity. She went on as people continued to look at her intently, obviously not satisfied with her answer. Especially Soul.

"I don't understand… the emotions." She tried to express. Soul frowned. "I've heard the deal about music, how the emotions in the songs move people, or whatever. Well, I don't get that. How can you put an emotion into a song? It doesn't make any sense."

Maka shrugged again and Soul raised his brows in surprise before leaning back in his chair.

"I think I understand," he said.

"You do?" She said flatly. No one else was talking now, everyone's eyes seemed trained on Soul and Maka.

"Yeah," he shrugged. His eyes still held obvious dislike as he looked at her, but she could detect some interest in them. Maka shook the thought as he continued. "I guess it is kind of hard to explain. You don't see how emotions go into a song 'technically', or something."

"Yeah - Exactly." She admitted. To be honest, she couldn't have put it better herself.

Soul looked at her for another moment, a frown creasing his brows before her shook his head and glanced self consciously around the room.

"You're just over-thinking it." He muttered gruffly, his eyes anywhere but on Maka. That works for her.

It wasn't very interesting. Joe was the one who mainly played the instruments, though if someone asked to have a go, he wouldn't say no. It was more about responding to the music and him asking them how it made them feel. But Maka wasn't about to fall for that nonsense. The music was a disguise. A disguise to make those who never voiced their problems, alone or in front of people, to then expose their fears out in the open, thinking all they were doing was talking about the stupid sounds a guitar made. It made sense. It was smart.

But she was smarter. Maka folded her arms defensively and leaned back in the seat. She was thrilled that she had revealed her thoughts on music at the beginning, since when Joe asked her how the music made her feel, her simple: 'I don't know,' was very believable. No one saw through the façade.

"Okay class," Joe leant his guitar against the wall and faced the group. "Now we're going to go around the group and each say how the music made you feel. I really want an answer now, okay? Just wing it if you have to."

Maka sighed. I wonder who that comment was aimed to.

"Maka?"

Her head snapped up. She met Joe's eyes to find them looking expectantly at herself.

"Would you like to begin?" She stifled a sigh.

"I really don't know, sir." Maka repeated, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose in frustration. Joe shook his head.

"It's just Joe. Come on Maka, I really want you to dig deep, okay? Just tell us how you feel."

She suddenly felt something snap inside of her.

"Pissed off." She replied. To her surprise, Joe nodded encouragingly.

"Okay," he said. "Who are you angry with?"

She had to resist the urge to reply with 'You', but since she knew that answer might earn her a padded room Maka just shrugged and replied: "Everyone."

"Why?" he asked again, and this time she couldn't smother her groan of frustration.

"Because I don't like this." She felt horrible feelings stirring inside her. She had to stay calm. She carried on in a steady (albeit furious) voice.

"I just want to be alone. I don't want to talk. I don't want to pick at some strings or press some stupid keys, I want to be left alone. Why can't you know-it-all-therapists see that this – being stuck in a room full of other people - is literally the last thing I need right now. All I need is a room where I can collect my thoughts and just think straight. And I certainly can't do it with you strumming away on your guitar and droning on about your feelings."

She took a large inhale but went on before Joe could interrupt.

"Now, may I be excused?" Maka asked. "Miss Marie said that if I felt I needed some space then the library is open to me."

Joe was at loss for words for a moment. "You will need an escort - "

Soul stood up almost immediately.

"I've got it," he nodded at the teacher before grasping the blonde's upper arm and dragging her from the room.

"Well, you figured that out quick," Maka shot glare at Soul as she pulled her arm from his grasp.

"Shouldn't you be back with the others? Braiding each other's hair and discussing your feelings?" She asked, not bothering to slow down.

"I said I'd escort you, so I am. Besides, I can do whatever I want." That was all he said as he walked ahead of her, obviously not all too comfortable with walking by her side. Good. She wasn't too comfortable with that either. Maka wasn't too keen on him, or anyone, walking behind her.

"I heard about that," She mused aloud, making Soul look back at her curiously, if not a little warily. "You just do what you want, huh?"

"More or less."

"Why?"

Soul scoffed in disbelief.

"Didn't you hear what happened to the last kid that asked me that?"

Maka rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, you knocked the poor guy out, very impressive."

Soul cast her a dark look before turning his head again to look forward, grumbling a few things she couldn't quite catch. Maka huffed back but couldn't find it in herself to dig it out of him. She'd be pissed if someone asked her anything personal too.

"Whatever," She breathed before entering the library as the young man walked ahead.

The hour passed too quickly for Maka. The sound of chatter as the patients walked around the building reminded her eerily of school and she physically shuddered. Maka slammed her book shut before resting it on her lap to eye the large room once again.

The library was pretty impressive, just as the music room was. Books covered every wall and shelves were layered through the room. It was the perfect place. The only issue was the constant supervision - The forever blank faces that she couldn't help but think were judging her. Maka couldn't help but wander if she'd ever get a minute to herself again.

"Oi, whatever your name is. You spendin' all break in there?"

Maka sighed audibly as Soul's voice carried to where she sat, curled up on a couch.

"Yes," She muttered loudly before opening her book again.

"Okay," Soul sighed. "I'll tell Tsubaki you're here. It was her askin', not me."

Maka just grumbled and shooed him away. She didn't understand that guy at all, he may be one of the most infuriating people she had ever met. But he seemed so sane, so normal that she figured his secret was a big one. His prying annoyed and confused her - He was obviously a private guy and didn't interact much from what she had heard. So why did he keep bothering her? Even if it was to just fight. The more she thought about it, the more she thought that she was just overthinking it. It had only been a day, and she was the new girl.

But social interaction was weird, and Maka didn't know how to do it, nor did she particularly want to. All these people would be better off just leaving her alone.

Though unfortunately, she doubted they would.

Maka lay in her new bed. It was odd, the lights going off at ten at night. She was so used to staying up until stupid hours. 4:00 am, 5:00 am, sometimes even earlier. And when she did fall asleep, she could never stay unconscious for very long.

Maybe I'm an insomniac too, she pondered idly as she looked up at the blank ceiling. She had never given much thought about what diagnoses she could have. She never even thought she could possibly have any until being sent to a mental institution.

Maka closed her eyes as they welled up. She blinked my tears away furiously. This was for the best, and she knew it. She had absolutely no right to be unhappy. She was finally away from home, away from her parents, her school, her worries. Why was she mourning the things she had? Her bumpy bed and firm pillows, the blade under her mattress and in her locker at school.

Oh, Maka thought suddenly. That's what she missed. Her freedom. No one caring about her meant that she could do whatever she wanted. But here…

Maka released an almost silent shriek of frustration before slamming a pillow over her face. No, she thought sternly, you will not miss that place. Remember what they did to you, what he…

She shoved her blankets off herself, de-tangling them from her legs and stumbling from the bed. She headed towards the door, pausing in front of it and slowly creaking it open. Before she could even peak her head out to look down the hall, and deep, rumbling, and utterly annoying voice interrupted her.

"Now, where do you think you're going?"

Soul was slouched on the floor in the hall, leaning on his door. He had a small pocket torch and some thick, old book that Maka didn't recognise. She opened her door wider and eyed him incredulously.

"Nowhere," She snapped in a hushed voice. "What are you doing though? Won't you get in trouble?"

Soul laughed gruffly and closed his book; he shone the light annoyingly in the blonde's eyes.

"No," he answered. "The staff trust me; I sit out here most nights and make sure patients stay in their rooms."

Maka scoffed.

"Why would you be trusted with something like that?" She asked. "Aren't you a patient like the rest of us?"

Soul's eyes turned hard.

"Of course, I am," he growled the words at her. "Now, just get back in your room. I'm busy."

Maka folded her arms over her chest, ignoring his command and instead closed her door and slumped down against it as he was his.

"What'cha reading?" Maka asked. The white-haired man cast her a dry look before pushing the book over towards her on the tiles.

"Family book," he said as she picked it up. It was worn and obviously very old. The cover was a plain worn leather, with the name 'Evans' neatly carved the old skin. "It's passed down through my family, and each of us add to it over the years…"

He trailed off, and turned his dark, haunted eyes away from the younger woman. Maka frowned at his form but returned her attention back to the book in her lap. She ran her fingers over the cold leather, before curling them around the edge to open it up. Suddenly, a large hand slammed down on the cover, snapping it shut again.

"I didn't say you could see," Soul said quietly as he pulled the book from her grasp. Maka swallowed her irritation but nodded at him sharply.

"Sorry. Should've asked, I guess."

Soul nodded in agreement. He stayed kneeled in front of her, his eyes searching her face for a moment. Then, before she could question it, he abruptly cleared his throat and stood back up.

"So, you should really be in bed," he said gruffly, attempting an authoritative voice as he sat back down. Maka had to swallow back a laugh.

"So, should you," She bit back. But Maka stood anyway. She paused before pushing her door open.

"Hey, Soul?" She asked timidly, but he didn't seem not notice.

"Mhm?" he hummed, not looking up from the book. She swallowed her hesitance before saying her next words.

"I was just wondering," She began - Soul barked a laugh as he flicked over a page.

"Not a chance."

The blonde frowned at him and turned to face him fully again.

"You don't even know what I was going to say,"

Soul laughed again.

"Yes, I do," he chuckled. "You were going to ask what I'm in here for."

Maka froze. She felt the blood rush to her face and she had to stifle a groan of annoyance.

"Well no," she lied. "I was actually going to ask what Soul was short for."

It technically wasn't a lie - She was curious. Soul looked up at her in surprise,

"How do you know that it's short for anything?" he shot back, dodging her question. Maka shrugged.

"I don't know. It just sounds... I don't know - Incomplete."

Soul eyed the blonde before closing the book softly.

"My full name is Solomon Malachi Evans," Soul admitted slowly. "Cruel, right? My parents were really into uncommon, old names. I hated it, so I had them just call me Soul. Took a while. It got to the point I literally just wouldn't answer whatever they said to me if they called me Solomon. I'd only answer to Soul."

Maka listened intently and waited a few moments before responding. "I like Soul better."

Soul laughed gruffly.

"Well, you're the first. Why?"

"I don't know. The things it can mean, I guess. Soul in Greek is Psychí, which means immortal soul - Or pure soul. There's something honest about it. It's nice. Much nicer than Maka." She shook her head in distaste.

"What's wrong with Maka?"

Maka gave him a long look.

"Everything," She retorted. "It's barely even a name! It's literally just some weird sound my mother made up just so my Papa couldn't call me guy's name."

Maka finished with a huff, her chin falling into her palms as she slumped back onto the floor. It was silent for a few minutes before either of them spoke again.

"I like it."

Maka looked up at him abruptly, only to find him to staring back at her unwaveringly.

He really is quite handsome - In a devilish, cocky kind of way, she thought absently, before blinking the thought away. Handsome didn't even cover it.

He was gorgeous. Impossibly so. Something about his sad, dark eyes made him so hard to look away from. They looked far too wise, too old to belong to a seventeen-year-old guy. She realised with a start that she hadn't yet seen him smile. He was always stern, distant or angry. He was somewhat amused every now and then... but never happy.

"I'd bet you'd look nice if you smiled," She pondered aloud, not meaning to. She expected him to get angry at the comment but he only chuckled.

"Shut up. Honestly though, Maka is a nice name. It's unique. And it has some nice connotations too."

Now Maka had to laugh.

"Yeah? Like what?"

Soul was quiet for a moment before finally answering.

"Maka mean's earth. It's not just a sound. The name alone can make you feel more grounded. It's cool."

Maka recoiled. She certainly hadn't expected that.

"Oh... Thank you."

Soul just shook his head, his expression neutral once more.

"Don't mention it. Now seriously, you really need to get back to bed. Staff do patrol sometimes and they let me off the hook, but I can't say the same for you."

"And why is that?" She tried again. Soul just laughed.

"Not a chance. Bed. Now."

Maka sighed at his bossiness but did as she was told, giving him a swift nod before closing her door lightly behind her.

Maka was in a better mood as she climbed into her new bed for the second time that night. Her bed. That was nice.

This was her bed, her room. She felt more positive about the soft, plump pillows and thick, comfortable bed sheet. The yellow light from the lamp posts on the hospitals grounds that flooded into her room no longer bothered her so much. She felt less suffocated. Less buried in the darkness.

Maka felt less alone.

Maybe it was a good idea to come here. Now she finally had the chance to make friends, act like a normal teenager and recover from these horrible illnesses, even though she had no idea she had them in the first place. This was surely all a good thing. A really good thing.

Yes, Maka thought. Why shouldn't she be happy? She was away from him. Them.

But with that thought, that horribly familiar haze smothered her as if one of these soft, plump pillows were pressed over her face. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. All Maka could do was stare into the cold, blue abyss that was her mind, and think only of how she wanted to be back home.

Even though she hated that place so very much. Even though the thought of seeing her Mama or Papa (especially her Papa) made bile rise in her throat, she couldn't shake the feeling. It was so easy not to care when no one cared about you. You were free of guilt, love and anything related to the sort. You were free.

But not here. Here people cared about you. People didn't look the other way if you seemed extra sad, or extra pale one day. It was so much harder to not care when she knew hurting herself could hurt others.

And right now, all Maka wanted was to pull her cold blade from under her mattress and feel that sharp bliss upon her wrist.