Soul hugged his second cup of coffee, listening to the out of place quiet in the house. He assumed the kids were up, but for the most part hadn't made a peep. This normally would terrify him—silence is never golden, just a sign of trouble—but all he had to do was remind himself of Layla's face, of her silence, of the mood he'd created with just one word. If anything, Cami and Eli are up there consolin' her because I had to go and be a bastard.
He shook his head, sighing over his mug to push away the steam. His ass ached from planting himself on the hardwood at the bottom of the stairs, but it was at least a touch of punishment. It was also a good position to catch the shadow as it approached, getting up to open as the figure hovered in the wobbly world of the door's stained glass.
Kilik jumped, brown eyes wide as the door opened without any real beckoning. "Yo."
"Hey," Soul muttered before waving him in.
"Uh, everything go okay?" Those dad-senses must have been tingling at the silence since Kilik was pivoting his head in all directions.
"Yeah, they're avoiding me." He leaned on the banister. "You want coffee?"
"Nah, cup number two always fucks me up." Kilik moved towards the stairs but paused, displaying raised eyebrows at Soul. "Want to explain the avoiding you thing or am I just gonna get it from the kids?"
Soul let a bashful hand rest on the back of his neck, trying to rub away the warmth. "Sorta– well–"
Kilik settled on his feet, now with nowhere to go and the threat of an amused smirk starting at Soul's blubbering. "Maka was there last night, wasn't she?"
He winced. "Yeah."
A gentle chuckle started in Kilik's chest. "And—let me guess—Liz and Patty just happened to back out?"
"You're sayin' it like it was planned," Soul grumbled.
"Don't play stupid." More snickers interrupted the accusation. "So, then, how was your date with three kids in tow?"
"It wasn't a date," he snapped.
Kilik threw up his hands except his smile ruined the innocence in the motion. "But something happened?"
Soul let out a lengthy sigh. "Layla knows the rules."
"Oof," Kilik groaned. "The house thing?"
Soul nodded.
"Well…" He let his eyes drift up the staircase. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"
Soul took a bitter sip of his coffee. "It doesn't feel right."
Kilik heaved a sigh on the reply. "You want me to deliver a message?"
"Nah." He sighed as he leaned into the banister, letting his head rest against the wood. "She's not gonna forgive me today, and that's fine. It's up to her when she wants to have it out."
"You really gonna fight?" Kilik's reply dipped with skepticism.
"Knowin' Layla…" He shut his eyes, a sinking stone wobbling from his chest to his gut. "Probably. Not gonna say she'll change my mind, but…" Am I wearin' down? I– something in me knows that this isn't forever. That I can't do this for the rest of my life but– "I guess I should at least try to find out why she's so hurt over Maka. She's never made a fuss about anyone else."
"Dunno, Soul." Kilik threw Soul's hair askew with his palm before starting the climb. "Maybe that's something you should figure out on your own."
Maka eyed the bellini. Usually, alcohol this early in the morning was off limits but if Liz was buying then maybe the buzz would kill her thoughts about the night before. She took a sip with that hope, but found it squashed as soon as Patty opened her mouth: "How was the movie?"
She tried the most convincing smile before replying, "Well, the kids were a lot of fun…"
"I'm hearing a big but coming," Liz groaned mournfully before taking a rather long swig of her own.
Maka toyed with the stem, twirling the glass slightly as she deflated with a sigh. "I don't know what happened but it was– it was like I pissed him off?" She sent searching eyes between the sisters.
"Soul pissed off is kinda an easy feat," Patty answered before tilting her head. "But are we talking certifiably angry or just his regular amount of grump?"
"Neither," Maka grumbled before pausing for another sweet gulp. 10 AM be damned, this was her first drink but not her last. "Maybe more upset. He even snapped at Layla, and I didn't think he could do that. He kind of dotes on her."
That brought both sets of sisterly eyebrows aloft before Liz's furrowed as she frowned. "Okay, back up. What exactly did he say?"
"Nothing– just Layla's name but it was so sharp. All she did was ask if I could come back to the house with them and–"
"Oh," both sisters echoed, exchanging a look.
Maka jumped on the reaction, her glare driving into both of them. "What does that mean?"
"Well…" Patty started, but Liz put a hand over hers.
"Layla's friends come over"—Liz's voice was sterilized and blank—"Soul's don't. That's the rule."
Her mouth gaped for a moment, millions of possibilities racing over her tongue. A weak, breathless laugh left her mouth. "It's not like he's a hoarder or something, right?"
"I mean, he's a little messy, but no," Patty answered before shooting a look at Liz. "Can't we just tell her?"
"It's Layla and Soul's business," Liz replied softly, giving Maka a weak smile. "Sorry."
Maka fidgeted, trying not to see this as sand slipping between her fingers. There was a steady ache in her chest now as if she'd forgotten to breathe. Weakly, she brought the words forward: "Layla told me her mommy and daddy died."
Patty heaved a sigh while Liz pounded back the rest of her drink. "In front of Soul?"
"I can't believe she would," Liz muttered after her swallow but still brought questioning eyes to Maka.
She shook her head in reply.
Patty put a hand over Liz's, caressing her sister's fingers gently. "Layla's mom, Viv, was our cousin– twice removed or something like that but still a good cousin."
Viv.
Deceased.
Good cousin.
Layla's mother.
None of that seemed to abate the panic forming that Maka couldn't quite get a handle on.
Liz didn't say a word, just motioning towards the waitress for another round before staring at her glass.
"We used to go over there a lot to see her." Patty risked a glance at her sister but finding no censure, continued: "After she died… Well, Layla and Soul live there. That's all. He knows better than to make it so Layla's friends can't come, but any of us…"
Her sister finally raised her eyes, dark blue hitting Maka like a bullet. "It's not junk he surrounds himself with, it's pain. That's why we're not allowed over. It's as simple as that. Me, Patty, Blake, anyone but Kilik who only comes to pick up the kids."
A hoarder of feelings. The idea choked Maka. Even as the waitress brought another round and the plates came soon after, Maka couldn't find it in herself to move past that echoing idea.
Layla asked to go to Julien's, making that bitter pit in Soul's stomach even wider. That meant night number two of little sleep, spending most of it staring at the ceiling of his room, watching the tree limbs cut patterns in the moonlight. Feels weird to be away from her… He turned over, staring at the other side of the queen-sized bed.
When Layla was small—just after the loss—they shared this space. He'd bundle her up and lay her there, sometimes watching for a good portion of the night just to soak up the reality of it. There wasn't anymore Viv. There wasn't anymore Wes. And at that moment, he had to become someone else. He wasn't Soul "Eater" Evans. He wasn't in some small, shitty apartment outside of Seattle. His life changed with a switch that he flicked while staring at the face of a child just barely leaving toddlerhood.
He was Layla's Papa.
Whatever pieces of him that had existed before, well, they were packed away. Stored in the garage behind his motorcycle. No matter what he told himself, he didn't have the heart to sell it or to chuck the stored bits of memories of his old life. They'd just gather dust. They'd rust. They'd become something that wasn't necessary anymore.
He'd only be what was necessary.
A derisive little snort caught in his throat, morphing into something close to a sob. He hadn't noticed the tears– couldn't acknowledge them until they began to choke him. There was no telling what he was mourning– a woman who should have been his sister, a brother who was only that in name, or a life he had eons ago.
He settled on telling himself he missed his daughter, letting the tears crush him until he fell into an unsettled sleep.
"Honey?"
Maka raised her head, finally noticing her father's curling eyebrows that painted concern over his green eyes. "Sorry, Papa."
"You're spacing today," he offered the obvious as he settled into the couch across from her.
She glanced at the book in her lap, noting the page that had been unchanged for the past half hour. There was no point in lying. "I just have a lot on my mind."
His fidgeting brought the creak of the couch before he cleared his throat. "You want to talk about it?"
That's what my therapist is for, she almost snapped bitterly but she buttoned it with her teeth sinking into her lip. Glancing out the window, Maka tried to hone in on something tangible rather than her feelings. "It's not a big deal. Probably just had a little too much at brunch."
He snorted a laugh. "With those girls from work?"
"Yeah," Maka replied lightly, letting it free a little grime from her heart. "They're really nice. And while the school's not perfect, everyone I've met there has been supportive. Interesting. Sometimes a little different, but…" She allowed a small smile to grace her lips. "Maybe it was a good move."
"It has been really nice to have someone else around."
Maka brought her eyes back to him, noting the shimmering hope in his smile. Oh, Papa. You really are happy, aren't you? And I just… I want to crush it and cradle it at the same time. She tried to mirror it, but it only felt skin deep.
Nevertheless, it fed Spirit well. "Were they the ones you went to the movies with?"
She shook her head. "Um, another coworker, and his daughter."
His eyebrows went quizzical again. "I thought you said most of your coworkers were your age."
"He is." Maka tried to offer that as calmly as she could but a little more spark was starting in her father's eyes, his smile waning. "It's complicated, Papa. I was just– his daughter invited me and her friends were there, so…"
"So it wasn't a date." Spirit settled on that with almost an exhilarated, pleased finality that bristled every last inch of Maka's skin.
"No, it wasn't," she echoed coldly. "But I don't see why–" Stop! She bit into her tongue, trying to catch the acid before it flew. I don't need to start. It's only because—she tried to focus on the stern words of Dr. Yumi—I'm just using the fire of another hurt. "I'm not even thinking about dating right now." Her eyes reverted back to her book. "I don't even know what gave you the idea I was."
Soul had just gotten Layla home after a long, eerily silent car ride when she managed a few steps on the staircase before pausing. He expected maybe some kind of question, or a flippant dismissal, but instead she turned to face him as he stood at the bottom of the stairs, hands on her hips. "I want to have a discussion."
For a fleeting moment he wondered if this was something Dr. Marie had taught her, but it ultimately didn't matter. Layla's face was pure determination, and since she was now perfectly matched to his height there was nothing else for him to do but give in. "Alright." He sunk his hands into his pockets, leaving her the advantage by staying put at the bottom of the stairs.
That left her to affix her tiny fists tighter into the start of those narrow hips before she huffed. "I want to know why my friends are different from your friends."
"What do you mean?" Soul could guess, but the fire in his little girl wasn't going to be put out with a wrong answer, so it was better to play safe rather than sorry.
"Papa, are you friends with Aunt Liz? Aunt Patty?"
Soul shrugged. "Yeah."
"And Uncle Kilik? Uncle Blake?"
"Sure." He tipped on his feet, his heart starting to lurch as he was sure he was coming to the conclusion she was getting at.
"Then why don't they eat here? Sleep here? Visit?" Layla pointed up the stairs. "There's another bedroom other than yours and mine, Papa. Why do we have so many rooms when no one comes here?"
Because your mommy and daddy were plannin' on more kids, and because I can't bear to get rid of their stuff– change that room at all. Soul swallowed the bitterness of that, trying to refuse the heat that was coming to burn at the rims of his eyes. "I-I'm not exactly sure, bug."
"No, no bug right now!" She dropped her hands, already having to start rubbing at her cheeks as her own tears betrayed her. "You don't have friends! You don't let them come here! You're lonely and you're sad, Papa!"
"Hey…" He reached for her, getting one wrist so he could take over clearing some of the mess off her face. "All of 'em still know they're my friends, even if they don't come here, Layla."
"But you're sad," Layla moaned back, instantly disintegrating any validity to his argument. "If you say you're not lonely then you're a liar!"
A slow sigh lingered on his lips, both of his hands coming to cup her face. "I'm lonely, Layla, yeah, but that's got nothin' to do with you. It's not your fault, so–"
"Then change it," she yelled mournfully. "I want you to have friends over!"
He wanted to hang his head in defeat, but he couldn't insult her fire. Instead, he met her glare, a glum smile coming to his face. "I-I'm happy you do. Just… I hear you. I do. It's hard for me, and I can't really explain why since"—this was ripping another hole in his heart, adding to that old gaping wound—"I don't even think I know exactly why, Layla. So… Can I ask you to do me a favor?"
She nodded, little hands clasping his wrists so tightly as if he had somewhere to go.
"Give me a little more time?" he begged. He'd get on his knees if he had to, since he was sure there was no healing this fissure just to please her. "I need just a little more time and I'll… I'll figure it out."
"A week," she ordered.
He let out a flimsy chuckle. "Little bit longer, bug. Please."
Layla's lip trembled, twisting in displeasure before she sighed. "Two weeks."
"A month?" He tested with another breathless laugh. He could see her wanting to shake her head, curly black hair threatening to flip back and forth. Instead, she started to step down, her arms wrapping tightly around his middle. "Just don't feel like this is your fault," he begged as he smoothed her hair, letting her tears stain his t-shirt. This is just the kinda dumb bastard I am.
