Maka slipped under the maple tree with tea tray in hand, finding him leaning casually against the bark, eyes closed. "So, this is where you slipped off to."

He grunted in reply.

"How are you feeling?" She slid the tea next to him, not waiting for his reply before pouring for both of them.

"Alive," he muttered. His color hadn't come back completely, the tan of his chest still a little dim.

That brought a chill, stiffening her shoulders. You almost weren't. I almost lost you.

As if those words had tumbled from her mouth, his hand snatched hers from the tea to intertwine their fingers. "It's the first time since I can remember where I'm…" Lazy eyes opened, warming and coming to life as they fell on her. "I feel like myself. Not clouded and not controlled and that… maybe that's okay."

"It is," she insisted, "and I want to make it even easier." Maka forgot the tea, lifting their connected hand. "Lift your pointer."

"Alright…" He offered a short laugh.

"When you transform"—she watched him tighten slightly so she squeezed their hands—"has it ever been because you wanted to?"

His eyes started to glaze over, reaching into the past as they fell to the ripples in the tea. "When I was young—before Momma died—I could. It didn't always work. I'd want to and nothin' would happen, but it didn't sneak up on me then. After, it just happened any time I started to lose control."

"But now"—Maka tapped her fingers over the back of his hand—"without the drugs, without the fear, I want you to see if you can make it happen."

He grimaced.

"With your pointer." She urged his hand towards him again. "You'll make a blade from your pointer."

"But your hand," he hissed as he tried to tear his away.

There was no chance, her grip only tightening as her smile became infectiously wide. "Will be fine. You won't hurt me."

His mouth gaped, lip quivering before a frantic whisper started from his mouth. "Maka, this isn't one of those things where I can hurt you and take it back– apologize. You lose a hand, an arm– who the hell knows!"

"You said you were going to trust me," she replied firmly. "So this is when you trust me. You can make a blade, and it will only be your pointer."

As he focused on his nail shining back at him, Soul tried to remember.


Somewhere, drifting in a hazy memory, was a boy who could sometimes bring forth blades without irreparably marring himself with scars. A boy who would get lost in the fascination of watching what had been his skin glisten in the sunlight as metal. A boy who loved and was loved, whose darkness was only a small natural corner rather than an entire flood of his mind.

And maybe, just maybe, he'd survived.

And maybe, just maybe, he'd been given a second chance.

It was a beautiful, shining thing, even in the shade of the maple. His finger was now a curved talon of metal, sharp seam ending safely above her skin. A breathy laugh left him. "Maka, i-it worked."

"Don't act so surprised," Maka chided him. "Next finger."

"A-again?" He watched his skin float back, intact without a wound in sight. I did it. Not a drop of blood– no pain. Maybe I shouldn't be so surprised. "Alright…" He lowered his finger to replace it with the next. I'm not gonna hurt her. I'm not gonna hurt myself. I'm gonna do exactly what I can. "Next one."

"Next one," Maka echoed.

It was a perfect transformation just like the last. His laugh sounded again, eyes starting to burn. "Next one."

"Mhm," Maka cooed.

Soul continued through the order, flitting between his triumph and the look of pure pleasure on Maka's face. Each transformation came easier than the last, the completely alien feeling of safety and security starting to leak into his heart.

"Let's take a break for tea." She unraveled their fingers, leaving his palm lonely for warmth. She replaced the emptiness with a cup, but all he could do was stare at her. "What?"

"That was… that felt too easy, Maka."

She rolled her eyes before using her sigh to cool her tea. "Soul, easy would mean you didn't almost die this week– or that you haven't spent half your life suffering in isolation. I told you before that I couldn't compare you to the others because none of them have suffered the way you have." Maka steadied a green glare at him, a plea that still somehow sounded like an order: "You're not allowed to minimize this success. What you've done today–"

"Yeah," he interrupted. "Alright, Maka, I get it."

That brought a defiant huff from her before she settled, taking a sip of tea.

"Does this mean…" That nervousness nibbled at his gut again. "Are you a meister?"

Maka blinked, gaping with a tongue that refused to work.

"Star said I'd have more control if I had a meister and it–" He pulled in a troubled breath, trying to control the desperate fluttering in his chest. "I know you said I can't minimize this, but you can't deny it's you, too."

Her hand came to her cheek, just obscuring a touch of pink that had started to glisten there. "Do you know much about meisters?"

"Star only talked about control, but the book said if a meister and a weapon really work together, they can bring out a weapon's real power."

"Their real power," Maka corrected. She put the tea down to worry her fingers together. "You're right that they really have to work together– so much so that their souls have to connect. It's rare."

"But those weapons you know, they have meisters?"

"The tanto and the scythe, yes." Her teeth nibbed into her lip.

He wanted to reach for her, and in all his weakness he let himself fall into it. He hooked her fingers again, taking the worry away to replace it with his warmth. "I feel like there's a but."

A sigh warbled over her lips. "No, it's not that. It's just–" She shook her head, dropping her eyes to their connection. "Meisters and weapons… the connection is deep, so deep that…"

I know. He wanted to murmur, to pull her closer and spill every last bit of his thoughts. It's so deep that they never leave each other, right? So there's no chance– no way it could be you and me since that's not meant to be. Souls connecting is just… He produced a laugh, trying not to let it be strained. "Sorry. A secret, right? It's just– I guess I was excited about how well it was workin' and thought we could…"

"We could try," she murmured, her tentative stare meeting his. "It'll be obvious if it doesn't work, or if we don't match even if you can transform."

So we'll know– for sure. Soul nodded before looking up at the expansive maple. "Maybe we should use a little more space."

"Right now…" Maka didn't make it a question, just a worried whisper as she stood. Her fingers fled from him, moving towards the beautiful mess of leaves.

"Maka–" He chased after her, barely catching her by the sleeve. "If you don't wanna, it's–"

"No," she urged back, turning her chin over her shoulder. "This is something we should find out. You're right." Her shoulders shuddered through another breath before she pivoted, hands reaching for him to gently tug at his kosode. "You're a scythe, and… if I'm a scythe meister this should– this will work."

That's the first time I've ever heard her unsure, isn't it? She sounds… It's like she doesn't actually believe in herself. "Maka." He gathered up her hands, squeezing them tightly. "You don't have to, but you can. No matter what you're thinkin' right now, I trust you, so maybe you can trust me when I say that you can."

Her eyes widened. "Soul…"

He leaned closer, desperate to hold onto that surprise on her face. "So what do I have to do?"

"J-just–" She stuttered, a sweet pink deepening red on her cheeks. "Show me what you really are."


Euphoria. She'd known the definition of that word for—oh, who the hell knows—but the reality of it was entirely new, entirely that moment.

Maybe I thought I wasn't going to be able to compare to Mama.

Maybe I knew that since it was what I really wanted there was no way– no chance that I'd have it.

Maybe I was so sure that Soul and I would never make it just because– simply because it would be too perfect.

But as the silver handle materialized in her palms, all of the rest of her worries dissolved. She was whole. He was whole. There was something so beautiful about the melody they were creating together.

She wasn't alone– sure she could feel his pure elation buzzing through her fingertips all the way down to her soul. That's right, our souls. His and mine. I-I can't deny it. It's there– we're connected. It was all too easy– too smooth to glide the blade through the air. The weight wasn't at all cumbersome while still entrancing her with that firm power of a weapon. She performed one more stroke that cut the air down to the molecules before that blinding flash reappeared.

Her feet were suddenly airborne while strong arms encompassed her waist. Soul spun her just as easily as she had him, sending a new, different wave of joy through her as he buried his face into her neck on the landing. It was impossible to tell if he was laughing or crying, just puffs of air sizzling the nerves along her throat.

"Soul?" She gave in, letting her fingers search over his back, one hand daring to go so far as to dip into the ends of his hair.

"You…" He couldn't seem to will more from his mouth, translating it to his touch instead as he held her closer.

"You're a scythe," she murmured, genuinely warm pride drenching each word.

"And you're a scythe meister."

"Yes." Which means… It means I'm never letting you go.

"What the hell is this?" Star's voice blared, making the two of them frantic for space.

"It's not– we–" Maka started, hands fluttering in the air as she made a few steps of space appear between the two of them.

Star hopped down from the engawa. "That ain't fair! You didn't even give him a choice and now he's probably all–"

Soul cleared his throat. "Didn't need a choice, Star. No offense."

"Plenty of offense taken!" He spat back as he approached Soul. His arm was suddenly launched around the other man's neck, pulling him into a headlock. "You're gonna regret this"—he started to muss Soul's hair—"since I can promise you I'm gonna be the best damn meister there ever was and you'll just be second rate."

He struggled, but his laughter betrayed any anger in the movements. When Star finally released him, it was with smirks on both sides. "Can't see you with a scythe anyway. You're too short."

"Ah, fuck off." Star punched into his shoulder. "And I was about to break out the sake to celebrate."

Soul nudged him back. "When don't you break out the sake?"

Maka watched them, the glow in Soul's eyes and the genuine tilt of Star's smile. I don't think it's just me. I don't think we're going anywhere, Soul. You're one of us now.