It was pitch black, moonless with only a wink of stars, when Maka heard the footsteps. Soul had barely moved a muscle, just the uneven rise and fall of his chest and the twitch of his eyes behind their lids. Are you dreaming? The thought wandered over her mind as she smoothed his hair, her fingers coming back to threaten at the edge of his mask.

Star came into view, hopping up the engawa as he raised his eyebrows. "Saw your signal. What's up?"

All of the bitterness, the anxiety that had balled in her chest since Marie had opened that door exploded: "Was this your hunch?" Her hand flew wildly over Soul's unconscious body. "A man almost dying is what you were banking on? So what is it? Is there someone after him and you just chose not to tell me? Or do you know what he's actually sick with and that's what you're keeping from me?"

Star dropped to his haunches at Soul's feet, his amused grin falling on Maka. "Sounds like that's what you wanna yell at this guy."

"No!" Maka spat. "It's what I'm asking this guy, who better not have known this was going to happen."

With little shame, Star started to part Soul's dressing robe, appraising his skin with half-interest.

"Leave him alone," Maka urged as she pushed the intruding hands out of Soul's clothing to wrap him up again. "He's still freezing as it is, and you catching a peek isn't helping."

He huffed in reply, planting his ass on his heels as he tilted his head at her. "Why're you such a mother hen tonight?"

"Because a man almost died, and you–"

"Know nothin'." Star offered empty hands and even more vacant eyes. "And maybe you should take a breather before you start pointin' the finger again. A breather that includes tellin' me just how you found Whitey today."

Her fingers slipped away from fixing Soul's clothes to ball uselessly against her knees. "He went into that room"—Maka motioned towards the door still ajar—"and when Marie opened it, he had wounds all over his body. Again, his blood was black. I'm sure of it."

Star's interest instantly ticked to the door. "You go in there?"

"No." Maka grabbed his arm. "Leave it."

"No," he parrotted back as he easily slipped from her grasp. It was only a few quick steps before he disappeared into the abyss, leaving Maka squirming.

Why did I say no? Maka glanced back at the motionless body, a trembling hand falling to his neck to check the beats. It's foolish, isn't it? I know there's more to this house, so whatever's behind there– what if it's Papa? "Star," she called, getting nothing but shuffling footsteps in the distance. And now I'm sitting here, at his side, testing his pulse instead of finding out the truth.

An almost imperceivable groan left Soul's lips, more evident from the motion than the sound itself.

"Soul?" Her fingers drifted to the back of his neck, bringing up his head.

"Don't–" A dry rasp of a whisper drifted from him.

"Don't?" Maka leaned closer, his breath now tickling her ear.

"Don't… touch."

Maka sighed but refused the order as she grabbed the bowl to his other side. "Drink a little."

"No," he moaned. He started to try to roll his head, but her grip sunk into his hair, keeping him still. "Masao…"

"If you want me to let you go, you'll have something." Maka angled his head and brought the broth to his lips. "Drink this."

His eyes fluttered weakly, no fire in them to try to burn her with a glare.

"Drink." He opened his mouth, his head no longer working against her as she let the liquid meet his lips. He drank two slow gulps before she steadied the bowl. "Wait a minute. Let that settle."

Slow breaths were all he offered in reply.

"Alright, more." She repeated the motion, finding him pliable. After a few sips, she offered him another rest. "If you finish this, I'll let you go. The porridge is negotiable, but this isn't."

A bitter, throaty laugh left him before he opened his mouth again.

"Good choice." Maka couldn't help the soft smile, even if a wisp of guilt came with it to wrap tightly around her heart. She let him create the tempo, drinking the broth to the bottom. As he finished, she let him down gently on the mat before abandoning the bowl on the tray. "You should rest now. I'll move the screen so you can take off your mask." She stood, only getting a step before her hem caught.

His fingers clutched weakly into the end of her hakama. "Masao."

"I guess I got what I wanted"—a tiny hiccup of a laugh interrupted her as she had to force her eyes from him—"since I have your kosode to mend now."

"Please…" His whisper was barely enough to span the space between them. "Don't touch me again. Please."

Maka ran her hands over her face and back to smooth over her hair. The time– the silence should have given her the right words to say, but it all was still a jumbled mess of vitriol in her heart. "If you tell me who hurt you, I'll promise."

His grip disappeared, only the sound of the back of his hand to the mat coming from him.

"Then too bad," Maka snapped as she took steady steps towards the screen. She started the fight with it, only getting one good drag in before Soul was sloppily coming up on his elbow. "What are you doing?"

He gasped and wheezed, eyes narrowing shut as a tremble wracked his entire body. "I'll just move," he managed hoarsely before rolling to his side, his back to her.

"Then let me–"

"Please!" The pained shout crackled from his throat. It threatened to double him over but Soul kept his elbow stiff after only a little sway. "That's enough for today."

A bird call broke out in the night, drawing Maka away from the fight. He found something. Her heart lurched, feet trapped between Marie's plea and Maka's own greyed goals. "I'll sit on the engawa." The tether still tied tightly to her gut, making each step from him feel like a betrayal in itself. She moved to the wood, closing the door behind her so he could only spy her back.

Star emerged from the shadow of the gnarled tree as he toyed with the prayer paper between his fingers.

"Papa?" Maka mouthed.

He shook his head.

Her fingers dug into her hakama, biting at the skin above her knees. "Tomorrow," she mouthed the second order before dropping her head to let her cool fingers fight the urge of hot tears.


Soul stirred, the darkness still holding firm to each corner of the room. His skin was pulled tightly like a drum, throbbing with each of his movements as he pitched upwards to sitting. He spied the door over the divide of the screen, seeing it still only slightly ajar. When he was sure nothing would burst from his first attempt, he pushed a little further, getting to his knees before struggling to his feet. He bit back a moan.

Even with the speck of sound he made, nothing came in reply, and for a short, terrifying moment, Soul was sure Masao was gone. The night had swallowed him whole like so many others before him, and it didn't seem to matter– it would never matter what any of those moments before meant to him. Better off alone anyway, right?

He offered a bitter smile that he tried to smooth away with his hand as he stepped towards the door. He got close enough to grip the slide when he caught sight of the white cloth, even without the moonlight. Masao was curled on the engawa, tucked tightly into his clothing against the night breeze. "M–" he bit down on the rest, a forlorn sigh filtering through his teeth. I—he closed his eyes, trying to banish the thought, but it snuck back to sink its oily talons into his heart—I won't be able to do anything but hurt you. Today proves it. I can't be different. I can't have another chance.

Masao's shoulders quaked, a soft whimper leaving his mouth that sounded more like a child's than any man's he'd ever heard. Soul looked over his shoulder, spying Masao's bedding still neatly made on his side of the screen. He moved from the door to the pile, grabbing the quilted top and dragging it as best he could back to Masao. He was sure during the fight those green eyes would pop open and offer another scathing remark, but they stayed shut as Soul tossed the blanket over him.

"Can't bring you to bed," Soul muttered as he let his legs give out, leaving him on the floor next to the door. The closeness allowed him to tuck in the corners, watching curiously as none of it bothered the sleeping man.

His hair had come loose in his sleep, the flaxen waves curling ever so slightly against the wood. Soul reached again, hooking one of the twists with his finger even though the guilt of it threatened to strangle him. What happens if you transform now? If one of those stray blades with a mind of their own jut from who knows where and– He snatched his hand back, a desperate breath rattling against the fist that clenched at his heart. "Please, Masao, just leave me."


Maka awoke with a stiff neck but warm shoulders. Her fingers dug into the comforter, solidifying the reality of its existence before sitting up quickly. It was her blankets, dragged across the floor from her bedding, but all of her memories of the night drew a clear picture that it hadn't been by her hand. As soon as she craned her sore neck, she found her answer.

Soul was sitting against the inside of the door, his head slumped forward against his knees that were pulled to his chest. His own bedding was left tangled on his side of the screen.

"Soul?" she murmured softly.

He stirred, masked face just peeking from his legs.

"You should go lay down."

A grunt came in reply as he stretched his legs out, one waywardly slipping out of his robe in the process. Goosebumps ran along the bare skin.

"Here," Maka started quickly, tossing off her own blanket to cover the exposure. "I'll– it's time for breakfast anyway."

"Just the broth," he muttered. Instead of tossing aside her offering he curled into it as he crumbled to his side on the mat.

She watched him, tentatively feeling that same pull, that string tied tightly between the two of them. "Broth and porridge."

The shamble of cloth gave a huff. "Thought that was 'negotiable.'"

"Yesterday it was. Not today." Maka ran her fingers along her neck, massaging into the skin to buy him another moment of complaint.

"I can feed myself."

"Sure." She stood, taking one last second to stretch.

"Masao."

"Hm?" She turned, even though the only sight she'd get would be the lump of him in the bedding. Her guess was correct, minus a little fidgeting in his shoulders.

"Thank you."

Never before had those words taken her completely by surprise. It was rare to hear them—Star only ever saw her advice as nagging—but even more unlikely from a man she had been so set on hating. Maybe that was what broke the spell, the moment that some of the charade slipped away, leaving her grasping for reason again.


Soul was nothing better than a wayward kitten, Masao herding him here and there in the room while orders came as if the page was the lord. He was forced to eat, drink, rest, and do nothing that didn't get approval first. The charm of it lasted for a day, his wounds already starting to itch from the healing. His feet had started to steady, and as Masao cleared the lunch plates, he used them. "Stay here."

The page's spine straightened, green eyes widening at him. "You can't exert yourself."

"Shouldn't," Soul corrected. He made it to the engawa and then got one foot into the dirt. He wobbled slightly from the strain—one of the wounds in his thigh screaming—but he righted himself with a few unsteady breaths.

"Let me come with you!"

Masao's shout stopped him in his tracks, turning his head slightly back as an ugly bit of darkness clawed at his heart. "No." The order did nothing to impede Masao's footsteps, steadily following him to the edge of the fence. "Go back. Now."

That delicate but strong hand tore at the slide before he could reach. "I know where you go."

It was his turn to bristle as the question barely hissed through his teeth: "What?"

"To the shrine."

Soul burst through the opening, his heart already straining against his rib cage. No. No one is supposed to know. No one can!

Then make sure that little runt follows your orders.

His hands pressed to his temples, begging the oily darkness to hush.

Let that boy know exactly what happens when he doesn't listen.

"Soul!"

"Leave me alone!" He wailed, hoping in vain that his own voice would finally be the loudest.

"Please, just listen–"

"To what?" He threw back with enough force that he faltered, bringing himself down on a knee.

Masao stopped at his feet, kneeling in the dirt before him. "You wanted to know, didn't you? The fabric I was sewing was for Jizo. I made him a bib and hat since…"

Soul's fists and jaws clenched simultaneously, pulling dirt between his fingers and grinding away his teeth.

"I stacked your stones too." His hands wavered between them. "Now, please, promise me you'll slow down. I-I just couldn't let you get there and see that without an explanation."

Explanation? For what? For ripping into your private life? For desecrating your mother's memory?

"I'll stay here, just promise you won't push yourself so hard."

… show him– Show Him– SHOW HIM–

Soul's eyes lifted from the dirt, ready to break his jaw with the force of his restraint when the glimmer of Masao's cheek caught his eye. A tear streaked from the corner, desperately smudged by the back of Masao's hand.

"Actually, I'll just go." Masao shakily got on his feet.

His hand struck out in reply– definitely against the will of that demonic voice and against most of his sanity. He stopped just before touching, fingers wavering as if in a breeze. "Why?" His jaw still ached, but he managed the word. It loosened the stress, leaving him able to whisper, "Why would you do that for me?"

"Luck?" Masao offered with a weak roll of his shoulders. "I know those things should be adorned– my papa taught me that."

"Should doesn't mean you have to."

The lip that usually curled in defiance wobbled instead before Masao sighed. "I'm sorry. I overstepped. I-I may have yelled at your brother too."

"May have?" Soul offered up in wonder.

"I ordered him around for the cloth," he murmured as he toed the dirt.

His hands dropped, fingers working nervously into his kosode. "So you told him…"

How dare he? How dare he interfere!

"Only"—that little bit of resistance flared again—"only because I can't understand why you're the one who has to suffer." His tight fists bobbed unsettled at his side. "Her memory should not fall solely on you." Another tear marred Masao's other cheek, causing both to glow.

That demon swelled in his chest, but Soul swallowed it down, eyes focused so keenly on the tears that continued to dot Masao's face in the silence. Father and Wes… they don't remember death because neither are all that good at carryin' pain. Maybe– maybe you– how much of it do you carry? "Do your parents have graves?"

His fists flexed, but for the first time since Soul could remember there was no bursting reply– only the silent shake of his head.

"Then do you really have to ask me why I have to carry her memory?" Soul started to his feet, steady there while his heart wavered.

"But your brother–"

"My father and my brother don't miss her." The words were a battle but once free into the world, that wave of relief of a lanced wound swept over him. "That's why there's no grave." And no grave for my sisters. He still couldn't produce that last bit, instead letting his fingers run through his hair to try to hold onto the dregs of his relief. "Death has taken away both of our families."

"Yes." His warbled reply surprised Soul, even more as it accompanied the display of his back as Masao started to retreat.

"Masao." The call was out of his throat before that darkness in his heart could catch it.

He turned, cheeks freshly rubbed clean of tears.

"I might've overdone it…" He wiped a hand along the back of his neck, surprised by the sheepishness threatening to tie a knot in his tongue. "Follow me and make sure I don't pass out."

Masao hesitated, only half-turning towards him as the page's eyes searched over his face.

"Just… I don't want to talk when we get there." It felt like an order– a rule, but Masao's soft smile in reply drifted all of that away. "Quiet's hard for you, but– that's it, alright?"

A weak snort of a laugh left him, but any argument at the dig died quickly as Masao fell into line with him. That winding, uphill climb was always a weary one, but some of the weight of his steps were gone as Masao echoed them.