The red lanyard wrapped around Soul's fingers unravels quickly as he twirls his palm. Metal rattles against metal. Rings and dangling red demon figurine he'd found months prior bounce off the back of his knuckles.

"We're going to be late," He repeats. He glances at the time on his phone again.

"She still has to deboard, so it's fine." Blackstar's voice carries through the muffled wall.

Soul snaps the keys into his hand, then lets them drop again. "Are you being slow on purpose?"

"Yes," Blackstar says as he rounds the corner.

He's wearing one of the nicer button downs they'd purchased since their 'boy's trip' to the mall, which ate up most of their time on his third day in town. The blue material and unkempt collar clash with his board shorts. The sight alone proves Soul's suspicions that yes, of course, he'd spent far more energy picking out his own outfit than Blackstar would bother to in his lifetime. In the five minutes he's spent fussing with his hair in the mirror, Blackstar was probably able to dress himself haphazardly without a second thought.

Soul glances down at his soft red shirt and over-washed jeans with trickling doubt.

"Here's your smoothie, by the way," Blackstar interrupts his thoughts, extending a dark thermos in his hands. "You're welcome."

Soul frowns. "Oh." He must have absently left it on the kitchen counter in his rush to exit. "Thanks."

Blackstar steps past him through the open entrance, tugging down a pair of sunglasses buried in his hair at the first attack of light. Soul squints at the brightness as he locks the front door behind him.

He pauses. "Are those mine?"

Blackstar nudges the brown frames slightly down the bridge of his nose, and peers at Soul over the top of the lenses. "They look better on me."

Soul reaches out and shoves the sunglasses back up onto his face abruptly, pushing the plastic into the space between Blackstar's brows. He grins around the metal straw between his teeth when Blackstar agnerily bats his hand away.

He draws a sip from the smoothie as they make their way down the driveway to his car. "I put way too much peanut butter," He mumbles.

"I told you." Blackstar falls silent for a moment when tugging on the passenger handle, before noting, "Y'know, you're looking a little…" He hesitates. "You good?"

Soul doesn't respond, and instead slopes into the driver's seat, closing the door with a slam that shakes the frame.

"Or are you bad?" Blackstar half-concludes as he eased himself into the car. Soul sighs, and he persists, "Which is it, Soul? Good, bad… or ugly?"

"You're not going to make me rewatch that movie," Soul says. He sets his disappointment of a smoothie in the center cup-holder.

They've held a series of televised-centric nights that glue them to his living room couch, talking incessantly over important lines and hushing each other at exciting scenes. Bowls of chips and splattering salsa had brought them to the very heart of Blackstar's wish to 'fuck ogg like a cowboy and ride into the sunset.' Apparently, Soul doesn't respect the cinematic art that is 'The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly'.

"You didn't even watch it," Blackstar defends quickly. "You spend the entire time complaining about the guns not looking right."

He shoves his keys into the ignition. "Because it's over three hours, Blackstar. None of your precious 'spaghetti westerns' deserve to eat up that much of my time."

"Take that back." He can feel Blackstar's temper simmer next to him. "Right now."

"No." Soul says, lips quirking into a light smile.

Blackstar lifts his sunglasses to peer at his expression. "Okay, you're smiling. So you're good, right?"

The grin slides off his face as they return to his blatant workaround of the question. Turning his keys and shuddering the car from its slumber, he mutters, "I hate how calm you are."

Blackstar's seat-belt whirs, and metal clicks into place. "Is that a no?"

"Are you nervous?" Soul presses hopefully, glancing at the rearview mirror before reaching to adjust it slightly.

"Well, yeah," Blackstar says. "Of course I am."

He shifts the car into reverse, and begins to pull out of the driveway. His hand rests on the back of Blackstar's chair as he asks, "About what?"

His answer is vague. "A lot of things."

Soul smiles. "Then tell me."

Blackstar sighs, then begins to explain minor grievances that weigh on him about upcoming work, home issues, and his excitement that muddles with anxiety surrounding meeting friends in real life. He notes how he often is caught between shyness, or being too bold, and at times it becomes hard for him to tell if he's acting true to himself. Both he and Soul acknowledge the unique quality of their friendship, and the casualty that comes with it. His voice tips into an absent ramble that puts them at ease until they fall silent.

Soul drums his fingers on the steering wheel, attention flitting between signs and flashes of trees that pass them by. Blackstar mindlessly taps away on his phone.

"Can you play some music?" He asks, unable to keep the edge away from his voice.

Blackstar connects to the aux wordlessly.

A relieved exhale pushes the smell of dusty vents from Soul's nose when songs fill the quiet car. His eyes sweep over the sunny, flat roads as he drifts back to his texts with Maka.

Early morning, Maka had sent: Airport is stuffy. Dislike it very much.

Soul had grinned from his shell of sheets and covers, and types back, Not too busy, I hope?

Just boarded, Maka said. Guy next to me smells like cologne.

On a scale from a light spritz to full on bottle-dumping, Soul proposed, How much cologne are we talking about?

Quickly, Maka responded, Like he bathed in a channel of palm oil.

Soul's amusement tumbled clumsily into high nerves when Maka texted again.

Taking off, it read. See u in five hours.

His pulse pressed sporadically against the lining of his skull; throat tight. He's wanted to send it, the words that have lived in him since summer, but knew the text wasn't worth the trouble of fighting Maka's airplane mode.

His head voices it instead, repeating on every downbeat of his heart: See you then.

See you soon, he thinks as another playlist of Blackstar's begins to decline. Very soon.

Multiple chimes interrupt the music coming from the car's speakers, bringing Soul back down to the converging lanes in front of him. The notifications from Blackstar's phone blink through the chorus of a song.

Soul glances at him. "Noisy ringer you've got there."

"Sorry," Blackstar mumbles, switching his phone into silence.

Soul knows Maka is surely landing any minute now. His hands knead the steering leather, caught in repetition. He knows she's almost here, touching down in Nevada, swept by hot air and shifting desert trees. He wonders if her hair will be riddled with static from hours of pressing against the plane seat, or if she slept through the sunrise above the clouds.

What am I supposed to say to her?

He swipes a hand from where it tickles his eyebrows.

What is she supposed to say to me?

He checks the clock; they're making good time. He should feel steadier, and shouldn't let the whispers of worry and hesitation grow in the back-burning of his head. He's worked for this; he's ready for this.

Right?

A few, gentle notes of a song slip subtle into the air, lost in the rush coming from the vents and hum of the road beneath the tires. Soul absently nudges the volume upwards to listen, before returning his hand to the wheel.

His eyes slowly widened at the road before him. Blackstar reclines in the passenger seat, adjusting the sunglasses up away from his face, contently unaware.

Soul's heart begins to pound; his breath escapes him.

He's lifted into the memory of hearing the first song under the clouds of his bathroom steam. He catches wind of Maka's laugh, and breezes by her whispers. He remembers the late night calls that he misses from deep earth; their fighting, their crying, their silence. The ample wounds and pain that split them both, wide open.

The way they left it all. Waiting, and collecting dust.

"Soul?" Blackstar questions sharply. The turn signal clicks on the dash in faded matching of the song's beat.

The car pulls to the side of the road, stopping quickly to not bump the dormant vehicle curbed before them. Grass and green bend in the windshield. Whizzing traffic complains with loud horns at Soul's sudden parking.

"Why are we-"

"Stop," Soul says, hands gripping the wheel. "Stop talking."

Blackstar turns fully in his seat at the bluntness in Soul's tone. His eyes dump worry upon him.

Wordlessly, they sit in the rumbling car as Soul lets himself breathe. Time fades away as the soft words and hollow memories tangle in his head with bliss. Yet the growing fear in him knows he's minutes away from seeing Maka, after everything.

His heart aches, after everything.

He leans away from the wheel, hands loosely sliding down and falling into his lap. He huffs as his back collides with the warm seat.

His head tips up, eyes tracing over the gray interior and sunshader above. Blood rushes in his ears. He can feel his pulse fluttering on the slope of his neck.

"Blackstar," he says.

"...Yeah?"

"You know I'm not over her."

The sounds sway; the confession lingers. He stares at the ceiling.

Several beats of a song pass, before Blackstar murmurs, "I know."

Soul's eyes shut. "I'm supposed to have let it go." His voice falters, "That's what I promised. That's what I said."

"Well… you've been trying-"

"I have," Soul cuts in, weighted by his heavy breath.

"And working on stuff," Blackstar continues. His voice is calm; patient. "You said the other day you felt more in control, right?"

"I don't know." Soul mumbles quickly.

"What don't you know?"

His eyes snap open to meet with Blackstar's green, concerned gaze. "I don't fucking know. I don;t know what's happening to me right now. Everything came rushing back, and now- now I'm supposed to go and see her? To see her? And then you're gonna leave, and she's going to be here, and I'm supposed to be-" Whatever you want, I'll do it. I'll stick around. I won't do anything to make you uncomfortable.

Yours, I'm yours. I want to be yours.

"How am I supposed to do this?" He asks softly.

"I thought," Blackstar says slowly, "You were feeling better?"

"I-" Soul starts, then clenches his jaw. "I am. I know I am."

Blackstar reaches over, and turns off the ignition. The twist of keys kills the hum of the car and last notes of music. "What… what would your guy say, if he was here instead of me?"

"My what?"

"Your therapist. The guy- I dunno," Blackstar says. "Weird name. Steve." Dr. Stein.

Soul takes the bundle of lanyard and keychain as it's dropped into his palm, and squeezes it. "He'd- he'd probably say it makes sense, that I'm having another one of these reactions." He turns the metal teeth over between his warm fingers. "That I could be self sabotaging, again."

"Are you?" Blackstar asks gently.

"No," Soul says, then exhales slowly. "Maybe. God, Star." A wry, bittersweet grin cuts across his face. "How am I supposed to look at her and not just fall apart?"

Blackstar stares at him. His voice is hard. "You're friends first."

"What if I can't be a friend, first?"

"You can." Blackstar nudges Soul's head with a light shove, drawing his hand back as Soul pushes it away. "I get that today is a lot for us. I'm sure she's just as worried as you are," He says. "But when it comes down to it, you're a good guy. I know you know that. You're just scaring yourself right now."

Soul huffs. He passively runs his hands over the steering wheel.

The fear that tangles in his stomach with high, slanted excitement must be as confusing for Blackstar as it is for himself. He finds it difficult to expect anyone else to understand his tumultuous heart; often enough, he feels like he's the only person who's been down on their luck and forced to feel this way.

He's right, he thinks. I know better.

"I'm sorry." He says. "This is just… overwhelming. It's been a minute since I've felt like this." He hooks his thumbs into the bottom of the wheel, letting his palms hang. "It's funny how familiare it is."

His disheveled state now reminds him of his early days of healing, before the hurt began to subside. He wonders if it appears that way to Blackstar as well, who is undoubtedly studying him with caution.

"I was up so late last night," He muses. "Trying to avoid this." He wants to laugh, but knows his passenger would disapprove. "It makes sense it'd come back to me now. Do you know how important sleep is, for stuff like this?"

"No," Blackstar says.

Soul clears his throat. "It matters way more than you'd think. It's better to consistently get like, a couple hours every night than fluctuate day to day. It took me a while to realize how my moods are all wrapped up in it."

"Kinda bad that our schedules are a total mess, then," Blackstar mutters.

"No kidding," Soul huffs. "Like, I didn't sleep well at all, and now we're on the side of the goddamn road." He catches the amusement that flickers across Blackstar's face, and it warms him. "Oh, you liked that?"

Blackstar smiles lightly. "You suck." He glances to the sidewalk next to them. "Come on. Who does this?"

Soul passes his eyes over the sunshine that glints off the car frames, and glares from his side mirrors. "Can we switch?" he unbuckles himself with a light click. "I don't want to be behind the wheel right now."

Blackstar's eyebrows raise. "Oh, sure."

Knots of tension leave Soul's body when he steps out of the car, careful to avoid passing traffic. The outside air immediately brings temperate heat against his skin. He draws in a breath, and can nearly taste water droplets on his tongue. Glancing back inside, he sees Blackstar awkwardly clambering over the center console.

He smiles.

Once he's skirted around the burning hood and reseated himself in shotgun, a breath of releif escapes his lips.

"Better?" Blackstar asks.

Soul nods. "It's not good for me to drive when I feel like this. It's way too dangerous."

He tries not to linger too much on Blackstar's unspoken surprise. They sit in comfortable silence for several minutes, only interrupted by the sound of adjustments changing on the driver's chair.

Quietly, Soul says. "I'm terrified of screwing everything up."

A pause passes that creeps into the frames of his recently cleaned windows, long enough to make him question if he truly said the words at all. Without the air conditioning on, heat begins to radiate from the dark dashboard.

When Blackstar speaks up, it startles him. "I think we all are," He mutters, "When it comes to the people we care about."

Soul turns his head to look at him, cheek brushing the fabric of the chair. Cautiously, he asks, "Have you ever screwed up?"

The wheel slides into its readjusted height. "I… take my time with things that are important to me," He answers.

Soul sighs, "So, no."

"No," Blackstar says. "Not really."

He tosses the keys into Blackstar's lap. "When did you grow a pair?"

Blackstar rolls his eyes. "Whenever you lost yours apparently."

"Dickhead." Soul relaxes into the seat, wiping the grin from his face as he studies the side of his care he rarely sits in. "Do you think she knows that I….that I'm…" A mess. An idiot. Still me. He shifts visibly at the discomfort of avoiding the wrong words. "I'm not going to be completely different from who I was over the summer? That I'm still that person who sent the cringiest text of my life?"

Blackstar frowns. "I dunno." After a moment, he adds, "If she doesn't know that by now, then she has to learn eventually."

Soul's words fall soft and tired. "What if it pushes her away again?"

Blackstar says nothing. A tense beat passes between them before he finally replies, "I don't know how to answer that."

"Sorry, that's alright. I just-" Soul exhales, raising the tips of his fingers to soothe the bridge of his nose at his oversharing. "That's perfectly okay. Thank you for- for everything. You're surprisingly patient with me, all the time, and… and it's helped more than you know to have you here." A smile ghosts his lips. "I'm kind of glad, so far, that you booked the tickets wrong."

"Ah," Blackstar says embarrassed. "Me too." He sounds vaguely guilty, still, whenever the mistake is talked about. He spent the better part of his first day in Nevada apologizing profusely for it, with the soft-toned manner that Soul only hears when he knows he's speaking from the heart.

They sit in silence as it settles on them that this is all they have; all they're given. The road, and their combined anxiousness, and the inevitably of Maka, waiting at the airport for their arrival. They're not ready, but they have to be.

Soul sits up in the passenger chair. "Alright."

He slides the seatbelt into place.

"Alright?" Blackstar reaches for the ignition.

Soul looks at him, and says, "Please, don't crash my car."

As the keys twist and the vehicle stutterers back into life, their eyes collide with blue numbers on the digital clock.

In unison, they mutter, "Oh, fuck."

Soul's strangled breath pitches the words in his throat awkwardly. "We're late."

"We're fine." Blackstar quickly tugs on the gearshift, and glances over his shoulder.

"Oh my god." Soul hastily pulls out his phone, only to fumble it between the seat and center console when the car lurches back onto the road. "Dude!"

"Call Maka," Blackstar orders."

Soul scowls, cramming his hand below the chair. "I'm trying."

"Did you seriously drop your phone?"

His fingertips skim the sleep device nestled on the car floor, before he's able to tug it back into his grasp. "You're driving like an idiot."

"Tell me where to go." Blackstar recklessly merges into a less crowded lane, forcing Soul to wince. "I'm just winging it here."

Soul waves flippantly at the road ahead of them. "Keep going that way."

He feels Blackstar begin to seeth. Again, he says, "Call her."

The nerves in Soul's chest gather in a suffocating bundle, as he clumsily opens Maka's contact. The numbers on the stereo and speedometer mock him silently.

He hesitates.

"Soul!" Blackstar shouts.

He presses the call icon. As it rings, he switches the audio to speakerphone.

Maka picks up within seconds.

Immediately, Soul begins to ramble, "Maka, he, I'm so sorry I know you're probably wondering where we are, but we're running late and-"

"Oh no!" Maka says brightly. "Late for what?"

The warmth in her tone causes Soul's words to andruptly halt, and die on his tongue. In only an instance of hearing Maka's voice, he can feel the air in his lungs again. The drumming in his ribcage slows.

"Oh," He says. "Well, we're…. Getting someone from the airport right now."

Soul can make out slight chatter in the background as Maka asks, "Are you?"

The corners of his mouth twitch at the playful twinge in Maka's voice. "Yeah. Her flight landed already, and we were supposed to be there at eleven."

"That's funny," Maka says, "because I was just on a plane."

"Oh really?" Soul smiles. "No wonder you sound like that."

"Like what?"

His amusement grows. "Like you were just on a plane."

Maka hums, and the phone static frays the vibrating edges. "You know my voice that well?"

"I think I do," Soul says.

Blackstar smacks his shoulder sharply, before returning his hand to the wheel. "Fucking tell her what's going on."

"Right, right, sorry." Soul rubs his arm as he straightens up in his seat. "We ran into some trouble for a bit, but we're almost there and should be pulling up soon. Which baggage claim are you near?" He pauses.

"It's alright, I promise. I'm still waiting for my luggage," Maka explains. "I think I can see a sign outside the windows that says 'B'."

"Gotcha." Soul tilts the phone in his palm away from his mouth, and points to the green road signs ahead. "So that's the opposite side of where I got you. Do you see that up there? Go to the right."

"There's like, three lanes, dude," Blackstar says. "Which one?"

"The middle one." Soul shifts back into the call. "Sorry. Blackstar is driving."

Audibly stunned, Maka questions. "Why?"

"Getting ready to run you over," Blackstar projects louder than necessary for the speaker to catch.

"Oh god," says Maka's tinny voice, causing them both to grin. "What does your car look like though? I'll keep an eye out for it."

Blackstar leans towards Soul's phone. "It's stupid and green."

"Dark green," Soul corrects. "Wait you're not gonna be able to- okay. I'll send you a picture."

Light clicks and arrows appear on the car's dashboard as Soul scrolls through his camera roll.

He frowns. "Why are you signaling? Don't go that way, go straight."

Blackstar stubbornly readjusts the controls near the steering wheel. "These roads are confusing, Soul."

"Jesus christ, you're acting like you just got your license," Soul says.

"Fuck off."

He sends the first picture of his car's boxy exterior he can find into their text thread, and Maka's light laughter floats through the phone.

"Did you get the photo?" He asks. It's several days old, from when Wes had asked if the frame needed cleaning, in relation to a coupon he'd saved for a local car wash. Soul had responded with the quick image of Blackstar, face pinched in defense under the bright sun, spraying the hood with a hose.

"I did." Maka says. "Thank you. Noce crocs, Blackstar."

"Those weren't mine," Blackstar defends hurriedly. "Soul owns way more pairs than you'd think."

"No way."

"Yes way," Soul mutters.

Blackstar grins at his clear humiliation. "They're even bigger in person. Clown shoes."

"Can't wait to see them, then." Maka says, and the finality causes a shift to occur in the air of their call.

Beneath the sunny blue, the airport appears in the broad capture of Soul's windshield. Planes pass overhead; excitement bubbles between them.

"Maka," Soul says, "Maka. How was your flight?"

"Soul," Maka replies, "My flight was good."

He can't help the smile that warms on his face. "Maka, how was the-"

"Can you stop that and give me directions?" Blackstar interrupts.

Soul tosses him an annoyed glance, but relents. "Do you see her airline up there? That should be close enough." As Blackstar draws near, Soul scans the crowded sidewalk. "Are you outside?"

They park parallel to the curb of the carpool lane. An elderly man passes by wearing a red, white, and blue tank that is saturated with unappealing sweat stains. Soul winces, and snaps his attention away to the trunk of the car in front of them. He hates Labor day weekend rush. He and Blackstar had made a point to do entirely unpatriotic activities for the past few days, minus attending the barbeque where his brother annihilated them in a hot-dog eating contest.

"Almost," Maka says. "I still don't have my bags. I swear it's taking longer than customs did."

"I didn't have to go through customs," Blackstar inputs with a hint of vanity.

Maka huffs. "I should've tried to bring one of my knives. Just for you."

"And get arrested?" Soul questions. His eyes flit over the people passing on the sidewalk, and the glass entrance to the terminal that he catches glimpses of between bags and shoulders.

"Worth it," Maka says, then her voice pitches. "Oh wait! I think I see my stuff."

"Awesome, well, we're-" Drivers press angrily on their horns around them, the busy airport collecting noisily beyond Soul's car doors. "Jesus people are pissy today."

"Why is that lady flipping me off?" Blackstar mumbles softly.

Soul tosses a similar gesture back with ease. "They're real sticklers about keeping this lane moving. They don't like when people park for this long."

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting, I'm almost-" Maka begins, but Soul quickly stops her.

"Don't be. Stuff just tends to move too fast, ehre." He retracts his seatbelt from where it crosses over his chest, without pausing to think. "Star, I'm gonna get out and find her. Can you take the car around?"

"I don't know where the fuck 'around' is," Blackstar says.

Soul is already halfway out the door. "It's easy, you can follow the signs."

"What signs?"

Soul points. "Right there, oh my god, it'll just be a few minutes. Follow the loop and go."

He slams the door shut and watches through narrowed eyes the temerity with which Blackstar tears away. He prays his car returns in one piece.

He switches his phone off of speaker mode and draws it to his ear. "Sorry about that, Maka. Where did you say you were?"

He glances at the blue and white signs hanging above him, head swiveling to scan the crowd of busy bodies and airport musk.

"Maka?" He repeats.

"Sorry, sorry," Maka says. "I just got my bags. Where are you?"

Soul pushes past strangers, making his way towards the large glass doors that slide open before travelers. A grin lifts on his face as realization sets in.

"I'm nearby," He utters vaguely.

He hears Maka scoff. "Oh god. You're not seriously going to do that thing, are you?"

"What thing?" Soul feigns.

"Don't be dumb. You want to see me first, and the like, give me a heart attack or something," Maka says. The playful scenario Soul has joked about one too many times weighs with irritation on her tone. He's been repeating it for years; it's only fair to live up to Maka's expectations.

"I bet," Soul muses, "I can find you, before you find me."

"That's not fair," Maka says flatly. "You have an advantage."

His heart races as his eyes dance over the tops of heads in the crowd as he stands on a nearby bench. "I don't know what you're talking about."

A beat of silence passes. "I could just yell your name and see who looks at me." Maka considers.

"Do it, then." Soul says. Hoards of strangers spread sparse across the tile floor, moseying by dormant carousels tugging their bags to and fro. He's always liked airports; a unique collection of people and converging lives, they seem to be full of possibility.

"Nevermind," Maka mumbles through the phone. "That would be really weird."

Soul grins. Hovering near the door and ignoring people that nudge his shoulders as they slip by, he says, "I knew you wouldn't have the balls to do it."

"Says the guy who is hiding from me right now." The background noise on Maka's end is suddenly accompanied with the occasional honk, and a rush of a nearby car.

When did Maka go outside? His brows pinch together as his eyes pass over the terminal. I came in through the only exit.

"I'm not hiding," Soul starts defensively, turning to leave the baggage claim again, "I'm-"

The glass doors part before him noiselessly. His heart drops into his stomach.

"Soul?" Maka questions. "Hello? What- did the call fail?" Soul sees her pull her phone from her ear, to glance at the screen, then return it to her face. "Why'd you…" Her voice tapers off as her eyes rapidly search their surroundings.

Immersed in the crowd of busy bodies, rushing strangers, squeaking luggage wheels- Maka stands wrapped in confusion. Soul's mind snags onto pieces of her; dark sweats, a purple shirt, filled up sleeves to expose the pale skin of her forearms. Her knuckles are curled around her light pink luggage. A gray neck pillow hangs lazily from her bag.

Soul can see her furrowed gaze, search the crowd, and see her chest shift when she breathes.

She's real. She's here.

"You," Soul's words escaped him in a battered breath, "walked past me."

When he stood in the terminal entrance, her gaze slipped through him like a ghost, and Maka glided out onto the sidewalk with nothing more than a slight bump of elbows.

We passed each other. We missed each other.

Maka turns, and turns, face pinched in sharp thought and confusion. Faces interrupt and swarm the sidewalk between them, and Soul loses her in a sea of blurred color. He blinks, eyes flitting through the bustle, nearly swearing he'd imagined the faraway silhouette as strangers block his vision- until he sees Maka again.

Still lost; still waiting.

She's here.

A smile spreads across Soul's face as happiness, immeasurable happiness, swells in his heart.

He pockets his phone and yells, "Maka!"

He watches the way Maka's head snaps to look at him, surprise leaping across her face when the realization collides amid the sea of madness.

Soul waves dramatically, pushing past strangers whose eyes cut to him with irritation. The wide swings of his arms are threatening to heads at elbow-height, but care escapes him as Maka raises a slow hand in return.

The expression spreads across Maka's features, curious and disbelieving, blooms the closer Soul gets. Her fingers slide carelessly away from her luggage, as she steps forward to defeat the distance halfway, moving like a floating bird in search of an anchor.

Soul is laughing when he finally reaches her. Maka is beaming when she finally reaches him.

The second Soul meets her gaze from arms-length away, colors in his world saturate with impossible warmth. Blobs of passing strangers dange in the edges of his vision like reflected sunbeams. Maka's eyes are rish, bright and bold like the rest of her.

Yet her smile is soft.

"Hi," Soul says, as his chest rises and falls rapidly.

Maka's smile grows. She breathes, "Hi."

Loosed by unthinking joy, Soul closes the distance and tugs Maka into a tight embrace. His fram engulfs her, melding them together as Maka instantly returns the clasp around his middle with gripping excitement.

He feels Maka's face press into his chest, her blonde hair brushing the dip of collarbones. Soul's forearms are locked around her small back, trembling. His cheek lowers down to press against Maka's head.

"Oh my god," Maka muffles into Soul's shirt. The warmth of her breath soaks into the cotton.

Soul's arms squeeze around her. "Oh my god."

Maka's fingers dig into his back. "Oh my god."

Soul chuckles, biting back the urge to repeat it again. Shaky tears spring into the corners of his vision.

"Soul," Maka says, her voice breaking.

Soul's heart pounds, the rhythm emanating from deep in his core. Close in his arms, tight to his chest, Maka breathes into him.

His eyes flutter shut. This is too good to be dreaming.

"I…" Soul feels his tongue slipping nervously. "I feel like I haven't seen you all summer."

Maka laughs. She laughs. Soul feels it rattle through the thin frame pinned to his chest, and jostle his forearms against Maka's back. The addictive sound winds itself into Soul's throat as giddy giggles begin to escape him.

Maka's hands grow lax and slip from his shoulder blades. Soul pulls back, their touch severing completely as his palms slide into his jeans.

"Um, how- how was your-" he tries, smiling and stuttering as Maka laughs at him again. Amusement leaves his lungs in sporadic bursts.

Maka's eyes openly rake across his face, dappled with light as she dawns a studious expression. Before Soul can recover from the feel of his skin under Maka's gaze, he's pulled forward again.

Maka's arms wrap tight around his waist, bones cutting into his t-shirt. The unexpected hug startles Soul, and his hands float in suspended caution until they slowly return to wrap around her low shoulders. Warmth filters between every inch of touch they share.

He's sure Maka can hear the racing of his heart as he splays a palm to the back of her light hair.

"How was your flight?" He manages to ask, chin bumping Maka's head.

His hand shifts over the soft strands as Maka pulls back slightly. Her eyes tip up at Soul.

"You already asked me that," she says.

Soul notes how Maka hadn't parted as far back as she'd done before. He glances rapidly across Maka's face, freckles, and the slope of her cheekbones. This close, he can nearly place the aroma of her shampoo in the tangle of humid air.

"Did I?" He murmurs, hand lingering on the back of Maka's head. "Well, maybe your answer changed in the past five minutes."

Maka's mouth parts to respond, but she hesitates and draws her brows together with a guarded expression. The thick breeze and airport noise seem to rush them at once.

Soul separates from her immediately. Enough space is placed between them to balance their clipped breathing, and ease the sharp nerves that had suddenly collided. When Maka's shoulders lose their tense stature, he knows the movement was the right idea.

"I can never sleep on planes," Maka answers finally.

Soul's eyebrows raise. "I thought you could fall asleep anywhere."

Maka huffs lightly. "Definitely not on a flight to come see you guys." She moves back to re-grasp her forgotten luggage on the sidewalk.

"Or with your over-cologned seatmate." Soul tries, smiling at the way Maka's cheeks lift because of it. "How was that after five hours?"

His words are trembling at the edges, he knows, the excitement and surrealism slipping from every syllable. They've hardly talked over the phone in weeks, and now it's in person and completely terrifying. His pulse stutters as Maka's gaze flicks up to meet his own again.

"Awful," Maka says brightly.

"Well." Soul can't tear his eyes away. "I hope it was worth it."

Maka smiles. "We'll see about that."

Soul's mind is left in fuzzy wandering after their last hug, and he refrains from pulling her in again. He blinks, and Maka is still standing before him, undoubtedly tired but radiant in every sense of the word.

"It is really, really good to see you," Soul confesses. He'd feel rude for staring if Maka wasn't doing the same.

"Yeah," Maka says. "You too."

Soul's cheeks warm as he remembers, faintly, Maka is seeing his full face for the first time after years of calls, texts, half-assed photos and endless bickering. "Right?"

"Right," Maka echoes, grinning. "Are you being shy?"

"How am I- fuck off." He nudges Maka's shuin lightly with the tip of his shoe. "You're the one who passed me. You walked right by, like you didn't even know who I was."

"I didn't pass you," Maka defends sharply. "You passed me. You're the one who should've seen me first."

"Okay, maybe, maybe- but it was hard for me to recognize the top of your head," Soul says, because it's true. Maka is entirely below his eye level.

Maka's grin is wiped from her face. "You can't see the top of my head."

"Yes, I can," Soul gloats. "Blackstar might be able to, too."

Maka's knuckles shove his shoulders. "Don't joke about that, Oh my god."

He laughs, hand raising to gently cover the place where Maka's fingers had been. "It's inevitable, Maka. He's gonna be here any minute now." He watches what seems like confusion knit across Maka's face. "What?"

"Nothing, nothing," Maka dismisses.

Soul's pulse quickens. "Did I say something?"

"It's nothing," Maka tugs at her suitcase in front of her feet, and briefly glances at the road. "I just haven't heard you say my name in person, like this."

He smiles bashfully. "Maka," He says.

Maka's eyes snap back to him. "It's weird." she breathes, but the corners of her mouth twitch upward. "This is weird,"

"It is weird," Soul agrees. He extends his hand, and Maka lets him take the bags from her grip as they move towards the curb.

"I'm going to say this now," Maka says, regarding Soul's face with caution. "This is gonna take some time to get used to."

Soul laughs. "Don't worry," He soothes, playful until his voice softens involuntary. "We have all the time in the world."

Maka smiles in gentle surprise. When she looks as though she's about to respond, an aggressive flurry of honking interrupts them.

The sound smothers the beeping and chatter that had faded from Soul's attention during their conversation, and the familiarity of the putrid noise makes his grin return. He's sat in enough hours of bullet-sweating traffic to know his own horn by heart.

"I think," Maka says as Soul turns to look at the carpool lane, "I see your car."

Windows down, music pounding from the shoddy speakers, Blackstar slams his palm into the steering wheel repeatedly as he slides into an opening. His hand disappears below Soul's line of sight presumably to the gear shift, as he aggressively locks the wheels in place.

He spills out of the car and hastily tugs up his sunglasses to yell, "Maka!"

Soul lifts Maka's suitcase, and steps back as Blackstar comes rushing towards them. Maka glances at him in the microseconds before she's attacked in an overwhelming bear hug, and the brief flash of surprise in her eyes stores itself in Soul's memory immediately.

Such a small act of communication that he'd caught, that he'd recognized. His smile lifts with the bottom of Maka's shoes as Blackstar heaves them from the ground. Maka's constricted hand pats Blackstar's back until she's set down.

"I found you," Blackstar chokes out as he steps back. "Dude. Dude. How the fuck are you doing? How was the flight? Did you read that thing I sent you-"

They dive into rapid greetings that are wired with loving excitement. Soul observes their meeting with an amused smile, relishing every look that skitters his way when Maka's eyes slide off of Blackstar.

It feels like the beginning; it feels like a secret.

"Soul," Blackstar says, breathless from his rambling, "Come on." His arm is slung around Maka's shoulders, until Maka reaches to nudge it off. "Who is taller?"

They stare at Soul expectantly. He shifts Maka's luggage in his hands.

"I…" He glances between them, biting the inside of his own cheek. "I don't think I should answer that."

Blackstar clutches the car's lanyard in his hands. "Soul."

He leans forward to rip the keys from his grip. "We really should head out, I don't wanna get yelled at."

Blackstar complains instantly.

Soul tosses a quick look at Maka, paired with a slight smirk, and his heart skips when Maka rolls her eyes. Wordless, and effortless, their secret grows.

His face is warm when he slings Maka's luggage into the trunk. The bags are accompanied by a small tag, scribbled with Maka's name and number in neat handwriting. Soul studies it for a moment, lingering on the scrawl with a smile.

He feels the frame shudder as the others slam the passenger doors shut. His fingers stall, curved over the warm paint of the compartment's opening. The light sting against his skin pushes him to let out a deep breath.

I can do this.

He closes the trunk, and hurries to the driver's seat.

"-While you on the other hand probably fit perfectly in those narrow rows-" Blackstar is saying from shotgun as SOul clambers behind the wheel.

"That's not what I said," Maka defends. "You aren't some kind of giant-"

"Come on, man. Don't even try-"

"Blackstar," Soul says, "She just got here. Let her breathe." He quickly revs the engine back into life, checking the lights on the dashboard before turning around in his seat. "Hi, Maka."

"Hello," Maka echoes with amusement.

"Hi," Blackstar says, "You shortstack-"

Soul rolls his eyes. "Welcome to Nevada."

Maka glances momentarily at the hand Soul has hooked on the shoulder of the driver's seat, before it returns to the wheel. "Thanks for having me. Pleasure to be here."

"Expect to see all of the greatest tourist destinations on your visit," Soul says warmly, fingers gliding over the wheel as he begins to pull away from the curb.

"Soul's weird fridge," Blackstar contributes solemnly. He pivots towards Maka. "It talks."

"Blackstar's fat ass," Soul counters.

"Right," Maka says. "I've already seen one of those things."

"His massive backyard. So much grass."

"Oh, that one was actually kind of nice," Soul notes. "Thank you." He waves with sickening sweetness to a nearby foot-traffic worker who seems displeased at their slowness.

Blackstar hums, continuing. "Blair's litter box."

"...aw?" Maka questions. "Do you spend a lot of time looking at that, Blackstar?"

Soul laughs shortly. As they exit the airport lanes, warm air slips through the unrolled windows and brushes over the blonde hair on his arms. Sunlight skips across his dash.

"Are we," Soul interrupts Blackstar before he could speak, "In the mood to stop somewhere?"

"If it's not too much trouble, I could eat," Maka pipes from the backseat. "My flight only had eggplant lasagna."

Soul smothers a sharp huff. Years ago, Maka had told him how she'd been forced to eat an eggplant dish her father had poorly crafted, and was riddled with food poisoning for days. Ever since, she's despised it.

"Ah," Blackstar drawls. "Eggplants,"

"Blackstar, please." Maka's complaint is laced with a smile. "The pact."

Soul frowns for a moment, then smused recognition spreads across his face.. "Jesus I totally forgot about that."

Somewhere in the confusing muddle of summer, they'd created a pact not to bother Maka, which was solidified with 'verbal signatures.'

Despite hardly ever referring to food when on the topic of Maka's hatred for the purple fruit, Blackstar mutters. "I didn't think vegetable jokes would count as breaking it."

"Not a vegetable," Soul and Maka say in repetitive unison.

Soul has to bite back a grin. "You didn't answer me, though. Food?"

"Hm. I'd probably get something to go," Blackstar offers.

Soul nods. "Alright then." He skims the nearby road signs, navigating back to the freeway. "Pick a letter, Maka."

Blackstar pulls out his phone, and reaches for the charging cord.

Maka says, "What?"

"Just pick a letter," Blackstar repeats.

"Um," Maka hesitates. "Z?"

"Bold choice," Soul says as Blackstar tsks. "Blackstar, please list all our options of restaurants that start with 'Z' on the route home."

Blackstar begins to type away. "On it."

He hears Maka laugh lightly, and as a various string of food-stop names rises over the low music, Soul's attention breaks from the road.

He lifts his gaze from concrete and green to see Maka, in the rearview mirror, seated in the backseat of his car as if she's always been there. Her head is turned to the side, flickering eyes bright against the light gray of the seat cushions, contentment settled across her face.

Soul thinks of the countless hours he's spent driving and wishing he could witness this very moment; Maka turning away from the window to look forward, and her eyes leaping to meet Soul's in the reflection.

Warmth blooms in his chest. Soul smiles.

Maka's calm features break into a friendly grin, and he raises a hand to give a half-wave.

Their eyes separate, and they collectively begin to discuss the ethics of getting breakfast food past twelve o'clock in the afternoon. As green exit signs slide by overhead, and yellow dashes race under the car's tires, Soul knows he's not concentrating on the road anymore.

He glances at Maka in the mirror again.

Not at all.