Maka raised her head as a knuckle rapped softly on the door. "Marie, I'm fine."

But it wasn't Marie's motherly chiding from the other side of the door but Soul's low grumble: "It's me."

Against every last urging of her head, her heart started to stutter in her chest. "I-I'm busy." She dropped her eyes to the book in her lap, the fine illustration of a lady in silks being visited by a man in the moonlight.

A savage sigh broke clearly through the slide. "Please."

She brought her hands to her face as if to fasten her own mask before taking a few slow breaths. "Come in." Her fingers fell back to the feathery edges of the pages.

The door opened, Soul stepping through tentatively as he balanced a box under his arm. "Thanks," he murmured as he only dared to take another step before stopping. "About today–"

"It was nothing," Maka snapped quickly.

Soul reached up, stripping himself of the mask to leave no mystery as to how much he believed that statement. Maka tried not to wither under his stare. "I hurt you." The words, while simple, did not come easily as she watched his throat bob with a stubborn swallow. "I didn't– usually I think before I talk. Kinda why I don't talk all that much to begin with." He brought the box from the crux of his arm, weighing it in his hands. "If you'll let me, I wanna explain."

Maka nodded, her eyes falling to motion towards the mat in front of her.

He knelt into her gaze, placing the box between them as he opened the lid. Out came the familiar case, leaving all of Maka to bristle. "My mother was unhappy." His voice was low—almost only for himself—but he still displayed the comb to her. "These things– her things were a part of that. My father used to buy these to apologize for all those things he did to her." He placed the comb to the side, letting the stars twinkle in the lantern light. "So I meant it when I said that givin' you these things would be cruel."

His eyes shot to hers, a silent plea before his mouth opened again: "I don't want you wearin' gifts my father gave to– to try to force her to love him. I don't think that's the person you are and it's not how I wanna see you– like her, unhappy." This time his fingers trembled as they reached back towards the depths of the box. "Like I said– you decide when you go. You're free." A new case emerged, shakily sitting in his hands as he moved it towards her. "I don't want you weighed down by things that trap you."

The top opened, displaying a new comb that only mimicked the first in its teeth. Instead of the oval curve came two unfurled wings, stretching outward in their freedom. Replacing the twinkling gems were expertly honed lines of each feather, bringing the kanzashi alive with the movement of a blissful breeze through birds' wings. "So instead of some lonesome night sky, will you take this instead?"

Maka's fingers froze in their reach, still hovering before touching the surface that spoke of years of craftsmanship. Isn't this a trap? Her heart shuttered back too many answers to count. Accepting this proposal, even if it's fake– accepting gifts, even if– She lifted her eyes to meet his and the only thing on his face was a trembling smile. It's a trap, Maka, a trap! It's all lies because you're all lies!

"I–" sweetly stuttered off his lips. "If you don't like it–"

"That's not it," she whispered, each word barely daring to form. With all the hesitation in her voice, enough leached from her fingers that they inched forward, gently resting on the comb. "It's beautiful."

His only reply was clearing his throat.

If you take this from him, you owe him something, don't you? "This wasn't part of the rules. Gifts, I mean." She wanted to pull away her hand but all she could do was press the pads of her fingers into the distinct curves.

"It's not about that–" worry lined his whisper. "It's…" His smile left him in one crestfallen swoop, the box lowering out of her grasp. "Sorry. I just assumed. I–"

There was a horrifying pause as his eyebrows wrinkled and Maka was sure there was no way for air to fill her lungs. Take it away and call it off. Realize it now, Soul, that I– that I shouldn't be here– that you deserve so much more!

"No," he muttered as his hand jutted back towards her, putting the comb safely in her grasp. "I got this for you. I want you to have it. I don't want anythin' for it, so just take it. All it did was remind me of you so that's where it should be." The demand was followed by the same from his fingers, pressing it close enough that she had to bring her hand up from the book to accept the gift.

"Thank you." The weight in her hands barely matched the one in her heart. "I mean that, Soul. Thank you."

He shrugged weakly, eyes trailing off towards the mat. "You don't have to say that."

"I'm being polite," she murmured the small admonishment.

"No, that you mean it." He started to get to his feet, hands trying to find the right place to hide in his kosode. "I think I've known you long enough now to realize you don't exactly stop yourself from sayin' what you mean."

Maka would have offered a scoff in some kind of saucy disbelief, but the only thing she could give was a sigh. "I-I lied to you." It seemed like such a betrayal in the face of his gift, but Maka needed it. Every last bit of this moment needed to break.

Instead of a glare, she received his soft eyes, that tentative smile from before starting to curve his lips. "I thought you were smart enough to know that there's a difference between lyin' and just holdin' on to your secrets." All of the sweetness of it refused to be shattered: the comb in her hand, the tender glance of his eyes over her face before he turned towards the door. "Good night."

"Soul–" His name was enough to make him turn back but there was nothing more moving from her mouth. I-I don't want you to go yet. The realization came with a terrifying sink to her stomach especially as he simply wavered, waiting on her whims. "This book your brother brought…"

His eyebrows raised.

"... he said we should read it together." I hope that's the only lie I ever tell you.

Fiery eyes fell from her to the tome in her lap. "What is it?"

"From what I've figured out in the first few pages"—relief fluttered into each word as logic straight from the text could steal her away from her own tumultuous thoughts—"it's a guide for engagement."

Soul scoffed.

"I don't see why we shouldn't study it," she muttered between sullen lips pulled into a pout, "since you want to put on a good enough show, don't you?"

That brought his face back to the door, the motion clouding his face just as much as his mask would.

"Well, I'm studying it tonight, so…"

He wavered a step but still sunk again, his shoulder pressing into the wall by the door as he sat. "Read it to me."

She didn't resist the roll of her eyes which he rewarded with a snicker. "I thought maybe you'd outgrown that."

"If you expect it to get read, it's gonna be you."

There was no bitter sigh to be had, just another little trembling of her heart that she tried to ignore as she dropped her eyes to the page. While it was written with that aerily romantic hand, the basics of the first few pages were nothing more than an essay on courtly etiquette– how to choose the right bride for the right man. Or choose a mystery girl who could kill you. Maybe Soul should have read this before we met.

"Once a match is settled, the hundred visits should start…" Maka eyed the image of a cordial man bowing at a woman's door before turning the page. The next picture could have been the two of them, the man across the room as the woman seemed to put on a performance of writing her letters. "The first few visits—which one should try to align with the light of the new moon—should be the true show of the woman's talents."

"Well, we're doin' somethin' right," Soul chuckled.

Maka lifted her eyes to frown at his growing amusement.

"What? Readin' is your talent, isn't it, bookworm?"

She dropped her eyes with a huff, ignoring the continued rumble of joy from him. "A woman should present herself as favorably as she can, ensuring the visits of her future husband for the nights to come." Maka snapped her tongue before turning the page again, a more intricate illustration blaring to life. But this was no tableau of a woman sewing or arranging flowers. Instead, there was no longer distance between the two, and the woman's hands were instead busied by cupping the face of her lover tenderly.

Maka jolted, the words thankfully only rolling over her mind rather than her tongue: Other talents are to be explored, shared in order to assess compatibility and to ensure a woman's– She slammed the book shut.

The clap unsettled him from the wall, making him lean forward. "What is it?"

"It's–"

She could see the smirk daring to blossom at the corner of his mouth. "You're red."

"I'm angry!" she snapped, but dropped the book in her lap in hopes of cooling the pink that she knew was staining her cheeks. "These books are always s-so–"

"So?" He tilted closer.

"I just don't see why it's always– always about how the woman–" Maka's mind went to mush as she dropped her eyes from his while the color crept to her ears. She attempted to open the book again, aiming her mark for at least a few pages after the affronting image. That was an entirely lost dream as she opened to a blatantly overdrawn scene of utter romance, the woman's head tilted back as the man's lips grazed along her throat. Kimonos were open but still tastefully arranged—hiding the most scandalous of places—as cherry blossoms swirled as a finishing touch.

"What is it?"

Maka flopped back off her knees, pulling the book with her out of Soul's prying sight. "N-nothing! Like I said, just more of the same!" She flicked nervously through pages, her eyes trying to skip over the various positions that only seemed to draw more color to her face. Wes, I could kill you! Is this really nothing more than– than some kind of pornography? How could you even imagine giving this to me! Finally, reprieve came in the form of the woman sitting primly, all clothing intact as the man bowed before her. The flowery descriptions were gone, replaced with lines that spoke of poetry instead of instruction:

"I have watched you blossom a hundred nights.

I have enjoyed the bloom,

untainted and beautiful in the divine light of a hundred moons.

No other has fallen to your charms,

enraptured by your heady perfume for evenings without end.

Tonight, I declare my powerlessness,

my captivation by you and all you are.

Allow me to take that which I have so wanted,

and in return,

I will pledge to forever protect the rare treasure I have found."

"What was that?" Soul murmured.

Maka eyed the last bit under the poem. "Traditional wedding vows for the hundredth night."

"You don't like it." She snapped her attention from the lines to him, seeing that little bit of amusement faltering. "I thought you liked poetry."

"I love poetry," she corrected as she swept her hand over the page. "What I don't understand is why women are always nothing more than flowers."

"Isn't it about beauty?" he offered weakly, his voice already laced with the defeat.

"It's about purity," Maka spat back, "and weakness. Tender enough to be bruised and broken, which means of course we have to woo some man to keep us safe." Her eyes narrowed in the passion of it all, but she balked as he refused to wither. "And by the end, we're still an object– a treasure to be taken."

Soul held her glare before letting his shoulders roll softly. "Sorry, guess I just hear somethin' different."

"Like what?" Maka pushed, a splash of satisfaction rearing as he brought a hand through his hair as his eyes wandered.

"Don't think I'd care about bein' a flower," his voice faltered, grinding at the back of his throat, "but maybe that idea that you could love somebody so much that there's no fightin' it–"

Maka lost her grip on the book, instead clinging to the comfort of gathering up her kimono in her fist tightly. "If you really love someone, why would you want to?"

A throaty but somehow tender laugh rumbled from his chest. "Guess I'm just stupid then." Soul's head thunked against the wall, as he lost sight of her to search the night instead.

A fist tightened around her heart. "No," squeaked up from her throat as if all of her being resisted it save for that beating mess in her chest. "I'm sorry, I-I want to know what you mean."

His hand climbed up again, a new mask to shield his eyes from her as he sighed. "Fear." The word seemed to choke him for a moment, only a shaking breath fluttering after until he swallowed roughly. "When Wes first started to get on me about marryin', I…" Fingers nervously tapped over his lids, silence creeping in and threatening to take the room. "Those books make love look like a beautiful thing, but love… gives you the power to hurt someone. Fear makes you careful."

Maka's lip shuddered open as the worry marred the usually easy set of her eyebrows. "Doesn't it depend on the person?" She inched closer to him, seeing his eyes falling to the mat as she encroached on the space between them. "We can accidentally hurt each other pretty easily, but it's the way you treat that hurt afterwards that proves your love."

His hand slipped away from his face. "Wouldn't it be better never to hurt the person you love at all?"

"I think that's pretty impossible, Soul." Maka laughed softly, watching it do little to whittle away at the worry on his face. "Like I said– it's the aftermath that matters… or maybe that's just how I feel."

"Maka, I…" He fidgeted forward, hands on his knees so they opened between them. Hesitation started to curl his fingers back, a sigh lingering off his lips.

She tried to ignore the heat that crept up her neck again. "Is there something else?"

"There's somethin' I want to…" His fists formed, frustration straining the color from his fingers.

"Soul…" Maka kept her touch gentle, light as a feather as the tips of her fingers just touched his hands. "You'll have time to tell me tomorrow, or next week, or next month if you need to. You don't have to force or rush. Afterall, we have a hundred nights, don't we? I think we can find some time between me showing you my letters or…" The image of tenderly touching his face flashed over her mind, the two of them as that illustration come to life. It brought her to a stuttering halt.

To make matters worse, he replied by reaching for her. Those anxious hands were now engulfing hers, stealing away the warmth of her palms as they met his. She could barely keep his eyes, especially as the delicate worry– a pleading question seemed to dance there: Is this alright?

And, with a terrifying lack of breath, Maka couldn't deny that it was.