It couldn't be more obvious that Maka was avoiding him. Part of it could be excused by work—this wasn't a hangout, after all—but the fact that she almost instantly found somewhere else to be every time he walked into a room was starting to grind his gears. The worst part? He was trying to see her. That was another thing he couldn't make an excuse for.

Coming by her office without a kid or a problem in mind? Check.

Dropping into Liz's office during lunch as if he didn't know Maka had started eating with her? Check.

Forgetting his book so he wasn't even engaged when she walked into the therapist's office? Check.

And if he had the fucking guts, he would stop her. He'd beg her to stand still for just a second so he could… What? His plan ended just about there. It didn't matter if time was ticking on his promise to Layla because he hadn't given a thought to the why. Why he couldn't let people into that museum of a house– why it felt like more pieces of Viv, of Wes would disappear if he actually took up room there. Instead, the momentary focus he couldn't escape was that he'd hurt Layla and he'd hurt Maka in the process. And for a terrifying moment, he wasn't entirely sure which one was sitting heavier on his heart.


I don't run scared.

I never have.

I always rush headfirst.

Except for this time. I… There's this coworker. He's… someone entirely different. Even with those feelings about Papa, even with Mama's voice echoing in my head, I can't seem to force him into that mold. He's not an asshole. He's not a liar. He's not like anyone I've met before.

And I… we're friends, I think. Or we would be friends if I wasn't avoiding him at every turn. It wasn't even that we had a fight. I don't even feel like he messed up, but… I feel like I'm about to pry into his life. It's obvious that there are complicated reasons why he is exactly what he is and if he tells me– if he trusts me…

That's what I'm running from. I want his trust. I want his truth. I want to ease some of the things he's going through but if I do that… I have to do the same. We have to be equal—a partnership—and I've honestly never imagined that with anyone, let alone a man. If I face this, I'm staring down exactly what I've been trying to run from my entire life. It's vulnerability. It's exposure. It's the possibility that I could… that what I feel could grow. It could become love if I just let it, and that's what's truly frightening.


Soul slung his dilapidated backpack over his shoulder with a huff, jingling his keys between nervous fingers as the last bit of students followed him out of the side doors. Defeat was thumping with each one of his steps since this was his first day of letting her be. No matter how much it tightened his chest, he had no right trying to force her. I fucked up, and now I'm payin' the price.

He hopped off the curb, and that's when it finally hit him: the view of the blonde ponytail swishing next to his car filtering into the forefront of his vision. "Maka?"

Her chin whipped around, eyes wide for a moment before they settled. "Hey."

"Hi." Soul slowed at the nose of his beaten Toyota, leaving her room to run if she needed it.

"Um…" She picked at the strap of her bag, but those beautiful jade eyes were still locked with his. "I wanted to apologize."

What? He barely bit that down, but his eyebrows betrayed him anyway, raising towards his hairline.

"I've been avoiding you." Her voice wasn't anywhere near a murmur, just a firm, practiced speech. "And it's not something that you deserve, which means I'm sorry. I want– I'd like to give you the opportunity to say whatever you've been wanting to say to me. You have my complete attention."

A breathless bubble of a laugh left his throat. "I-I'm supposed to be the one apologizin'."

She shook her head. "You have boundaries set, and I–"

"Didn't do anythin' wrong." Soul sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets as he tapped a nervous leg to his bumper. "I mean, it's true that's a sorta rule we have, but I was a dick about it. To you and to Layla. I already apologized to her, but I need to say the same to you. I shouldn't have been that cold about it, especially since…" There was that feeling again– the ripping and tearing in his chest that refused to heal. "It's a shitty boundary to begin with. I-if you want, if Layla asks again, feel free to do whatever you want."

There was no air to suck back into his lungs after that since all she did was stare, that glow in her eyes becoming concentrated. A little wrinkle came to her forehead before she opened her mouth. "I don't accept that apology."

His heart was thundering in his ears, making him miss his own breathless reply: "What?"

"I'm glad that you're letting Layla have a say"—her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag, no longer nervous—"but I don't think that works for me. I don't want to come to your house if you're going to be uncomfortable or if you don't want me there. I'm not– I'm not just going to appease Layla if it means you suffer for it."

The wobbling of his lip was unavoidable, words leaving him high and dry as he stared in disbelief. But– but it isn't about me, right? It's just– this is what Layla wanted so I'm trying to fix that for her not for me.

She took a step forward, closing space that he didn't feel as if he had in the first place. "Soul, I need to know that you're comfortable with it too. That you– you want me there just as much as Layla does."

If that didn't strike him enough, Layla's voice echoed in his mind right after: "You're lonely and you're sad, Papa!"

"I…" That stammered off his tongue along with a desperate breath. "I'm workin' towards bein' comfortable with it, if that makes sense?" His palm came to his face, trying to wipe away the woe that he knew was starting. He rubbed for a moment before letting it slide down to his lips and then his neck. "It's not that I don't want you there. It's just a… It's a change that I have to get used to." But I know I don't want to be lonely anymore. And that's not just because Layla doesn't want me to be. That's because… it sucks. That part of me– how that feels fucking sucks.

The cranking of her mind was obvious on her face, brow still furrowed as she brought in slow breaths. "Alright. But you have to promise to tell me if it's too much. If you need me to go, or you don't want me to come back."

Tellin' you the truth is like pulling my nails from their beds but… fuck it. "Yeah, Maka, I'll let you know." And I don't lie. I don't make promises I can't keep, so now I'm fucking doomed. "Need a pinky for that?" He raised a shaky hand, making it look like he was wiggling just his pinky even though his whole hand was daring to tremble.

Finally, that smile appeared– the glow on her cheeks making none of the rest of it matter. She added a quick giggle, and Soul knew he was done for. "Okay, pinky it is." There was no taking it back as she reached for him, her finger hooking his. The wriggling of her finger was short and sweet, just enough for a promise.


[[It's Layla. Can I call you?]]

[[Sure]]

Maka found herself smiling at the motionless screen, waiting for the next blip of life. Soul's contact popped up finally and she happily swiped before bringing the phone to her ear. "Hi, Layla."

"Maka!" Her voice was an exuberant bit of cheerfulness bounding across the line. "Papa said he apologized. Did he really? Really? And you can tell me if he did a bad job. He's not the best at it."

She snorted a laugh, hopefully turning enough away from the phone that Layla didn't get the full effect of it. "Layla, did he hear you say that?"

"No, I'm in my room. Papa trusts me on the phone." There was just enough pride in her voice to brighten Maka's smile. "He says we're allowed to have our private things. That I don't have to tell him everything, so I can make calls by myself."

"That's true." And what a good papa would do. Unlike mine who used to listen on the line… Maka rolled her eyes at the memory. "How did the rest of the sleepover go?"

"Fine." Layla elongated that with a twinge of boredom. "I mean, it's always the same with the twins. We have pizza. Papa makes a mess with s'mores. We tell ghost stories and then Eli can't sleep."

Maka giggled. "So that's what you do every other Friday?"

"Sometimes I go to Uncle Kilik's. He can't make s'mores but we have ice cream. We play a bunch of music and dance." Layla's breath caught, her mind seeming to catch up with her. "But I wanted to know what you did! What did you do for the rest of the weekend?"

A little bitterness hit her lips but Maka swallowed it. "Not that much. I did see Patty and Liz– we went to brunch. Then I just read."

"What's brunch?"

An excuse to drink if you ask your Aunt Liz– She clipped the laughter for that before explaining, "It's sort of a late breakfast."

"Oh, Papa would like that. He always tries to sleep in if we don't have something to do. If I didn't wake him up he'd stay in bed until noon."

This asked for a hearty laugh, and Maka allowed it as she leaned back against the couch, picturing Soul in oversized pajamas and bedhead. "He doesn't seem that lazy at work."

"He does stuff," Layla amended. "But he's just tired all the time. When I was little, he used to stay up a lot so I think maybe he just hasn't gone back to sleeping like regular."

The cute fantasy started to wane, a lingering bit of sadness wafting back into Maka's heart. He stayed up a lot– so he's not sleeping? I wonder if–

"Maka, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Dr. Marie said I should always say it's a personal question, so people are prepared."

"Oh, alright…" Maka braced herself.

"How long ago did your mommy die?"

"Oh." There was no need for calculations– the date burned deeply in the back of her mind. "January 6th, this year." It still felt rehearsed, absent of all emotion since technically it was a blank. There had been no hospital bed visitation, no warning, just a phone call.

There was fidgeting on the other end of the line, Layla's breaths stopping and starting before she peeped: "Do you remember her?"

The question burned her eyes and throat, leaving her momentarily mute until she cleared it with a rumble. "Sometimes. Some of it is kind of foggy. I-I didn't have a lot of time with her."

Layla let out a thoughtful hum. "Do you ask people about her?"

"I could ask my papa," Maka murmured. "But mostly no. I just hold on to what I do remember and the rest… I don't know, Layla. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry." Layla's sigh was sweet and short. "I have pictures, but I don't remember. I was little and… do you think it's okay not to remember?"

"Yes," Maka urged back instantly. "There's nothing wrong with that."

A bit of contentedness laced her next breath. "I'm just glad I have Papa. He's good at being both."

"He seems that way…" She allowed the ache of envy to enter her heart. A strange amalgamation of wanting her own papa to be what he should and… a hint of the memory of Soul's comfort. "I hope you're not sad, Layla."

"Sometimes. Dr. Marie says we're all sad sometimes. It's normal." There was a clinical, rehearsed dryness to it but Layla seemed to mean it all the same. "I have people who make it better though, and I make it better, too. That's why I called you. It bothered me that maybe you were hurting."

Seems like a genetic trait– that worry for others. "Thank you, Layla, but I think I'm alright. Like you said, sad sometimes but… I think I took a big step recently and I'm trying to hold on to that."

"A big step?"

Maka let that lingering smile come back. "I think I trust someone now."