There was way too much urgency in the beat of his heart when Soul saw the flash of blonde outside his door. It could be Liz. Or Patty. Or any of the other dozens of blondes that work here, so… He risked a glance out of the corner of his eye, catching emerald eyes watching him as he listened to one of his seniors struggle through the last lines of a poem. Alright, don't blank– don't fuckin' blank! She's just at the door. You gotta finish this lesson and then–
"Mr. E?"
He blinked, definitely pinking around the collar as he brought his attention back to the class. Soul cleared his throat. "So, what did you think?"
The boy who'd just finished reading raised his hand. "The language sucks."
"Be more specific," Soul corrected quickly.
"Just… It's old, Mr. E. What's the point?" He stabbed at the paper on his desk. "He can't even spell 'crossed' right."
"Give Tennyson a break– early 1800s spelling was the pits. But what's the point? What's 'Crossing the Bar' even mean?"
"Maybe he's going to get drunk," a voice somewhere in the back muttered with an echo of snickers around it.
"Not that kinda bar…" Soul rolled his eyes. "James. Help me. I'm dyin' here."
"Isn't that it?" James shrugged, no bravado to be found as the rest of the room honed in on him. "He's talking about dying?"
Soul leaned back against his desk with all the pleasure in the world seeping back into his smirk. "Exactly, James. Thanks for savin' my ass again. Alright, homework: since we all seem to be in such a great mood lately, write your own poem about death. See if you can be just as dramatic as Tennyson."
The bell chimed, making half the room bolt immediately while the other toyed with their bags. He used the procession out the door as an excuse to take a look head-on, seeing Maka splitting in through the first gap before making her way towards him.
"Hey, Ms. Albarn." It was James' voice before Soul's, making Maka's attention flip quickly.
"Hi, James. How are you?" Her path even changed, taking a few steps towards the student desks and the boy in question.
"Better, thanks. Are you here for me? I swear, Mr. Kid said he was going to put grades in this week, so if my grade looks–"
Maka waved innocent hands at him. "I already heard you were doing so much better. I was just"—she glanced back at Soul, a quick smile taking her lips—"well, just seeing if Mr. E was busy for lunch."
"Oh." There was the worst kind of surprise in that sound, and while Soul had been intent on taking in all the sweetness of Maka's face, his eyes instantly moved to James. "Are you two– you're dating?"
Teenagers. Soul bristled with a helpless sigh.
"Oh," Maka echoed but the rest seemed stuck on her lips.
"Listen, James"—Soul started with an easy roll of his shoulders and a self-deprecating twist to his smile—"I promise I'm not Ms. Albarn's type. She's got way better taste than that."
"Oh, sorry, Ms. Albarn." James—now entirely pink in the face—made a quick exit on the tail of his apology.
The rest of the room had mostly filtered out as well, but Maka's shoulders were still set straight, staring at the back of the class.
"I know, pretty bold of him to assume that, but he's just a kid. I swear they have no filter at all sometimes and–"
"No," Maka interrupted firmly as her shoulder twisted, giving him a display of eyebrows knitted in a tumultuous mix of anger and determination. "It's bold of you to assume you even know what my type is. Do you really think I'm that shallow?"
His eyebrows popped up towards his hairline. "I-I wasn't sayin' anything about you, just that I–"
"Aren't good enough?" Maka finished sharply. "Because then I'm going to have to say it's ballsy of you to assume that someone who teaches, takes care of a daughter alone, and still makes time to better himself isn't good enough for me." There was a quick, dismissive turn of her head along with her body, distinctive steps starting towards the door.
His pulse pounded in his ears, drowning out his own steps as he took a few after her. "Maka–"
She turned back to him, but that look on her face froze him just as much as the next set of words from her mouth. "What I was going to say was: 'I appreciate Mr. E's company.' Since it's not actually James' business how I feel, but at the very least I'd never put you down. You don't deserve that." Maka was back towards the door in a flash, the glass seeming to rattle with the force of her shutting it behind her.
I fucked up. Soul gaped, blinking hard as if he could change, erase, rewind. All that he could ultimately do was heave a sigh. But– did that mean…? He slapped a hand over his face. Holy fuck did I fuck up.
Maka grabbed the bottle of wine and the first glass she could grope out of the cabinet. Size and style didn't matter since the only thing she needed was to erase the bitterness of the afternoon. Before she made her way out of the kitchen, she deliberated for an entire second before grabbing a box of cookies from the pantry. Her feet pounded down the hall before slipping into her room, locking the door behind her. It might only ask for trouble, but she wasn't willing to risk facing Papa any time soon.
She sat at her desk before pouring the rosé to the middle of the water glass, swirling it momentarily before bringing it to her lips for a cool sip.
I exploded on him!
Her eyes closed, taking another longer draft to wash away that thought.
I wasn't any better than that first time we met!
Maybe one more gulp could bring some kind of quiet.
But I-I like him. I hate that he was trying to say that I didn't– that I shouldn't.
She dropped her head to the desk with a groan.
Now there's no chance—none at all—that he'd even think about asking me out. All I'm good at is jumping the gun– losing my cool–
A vibration against the wood made her jump, eyes opening wide to note the glow on the screen of her phone. She angled it, swiping the text open in the process.
[[Can I call you?]]
[[Sure Layla]]
[[It's not Layla]]
Maka's breath caught in her throat. Her teeth worked into her lower lip, fiddling until a little of the pain caught up with her. She released the aching air from her chest before raising her head. With another sip of wine, she moved her fingers across the screen. There wasn't a reason to reply, so she simply hit the call option and watched as his name danced across the screen before bringing it to her ear.
He picked up. "Hey."
"Hi," Maka murmured as her finger toyed along the top of her glass.
"I, uh, was wondering if you'd just listen for a minute."
Maka sighed. "I'll try to be better than I was earlier."
"Well"—he cleared his throat—"I sorta got what I deserved."
Her finger froze.
"I'm used to talkin' shit about myself," he muttered, "but you're right– I can't speak for you. I'm sorry I tried to put words in your mouth since it wasn't about you, it was about me. I just–" A blustery sigh broke on the other side of the line. "I fuckin' suck at this."
"Soul…"
"No–" He groaned. "I-I—fuck—Listen, if you're free Saturday, do you want to come by the house? You know Layla's gonna be here, but we could– we can talk after she goes to bed."
House. Talking. Just us. She clenched the glass. "If you answer one question."
"Yeah?" quaked from the receiver.
"Do you promise we're actually going to talk?"
"Not really a question– more of a promise." A slow sigh leaked out, but his voice came back with a bit more steadiness. "I make a rule of not makin' promises I can't keep."
"So the answer is…?"
"Yeah, we'll talk. We have to, right?"
She tapped the glass. "I want to."
He cleared his throat. "Then we will. I'll text you the address. You tell me whatever time. We're home all day."
Maka didn't mean to play coy—there was no way she had the nerve right now—but she managed to adopt a sweet coolness to her voice. "I'll let you know."
"Sounds good." There was a good bit of tapping on the other end of the line, his breath fluttered away. "Can I ask you somethin'?"
She bolstered her answer to the question with another swig of wine. "Alright."
"Sorta a promise, too, I guess…" Another bit of tapping drifted by and for a moment she could swear she heard a note. Instead of a resonating sound, his voice came back: "Maybe when you get a text, you can try to think it's me before you think it's Layla."
Why did that bring a smile to her lips? And not just a whisper but a full grin that ate up her cheeks. "Then maybe you can promise to text me a little more often? I mean, I mostly only hear from Layla anyway."
He produced a scoff. "Layla barely gets the phone."
"Oh, that is a lie," Maka scolded. "Something tells me she's on it more than you are. I know for sure she gabs to Liz all the time."
That brought a few chuckles from him. "Yeah, the two of them are pretty devious together. One of these days I should start tapin' their conversations just for my own safety."
"You'd never do that." Though my papa definitely would.
"Yeah, hollow threat," he muttered with another laugh. "But let's just say I'm tryin' to be myself a little more."
"Rather than…?"
"Just Layla's Papa."
You're way more than that– she wanted to urge, but there was a tender balance that she didn't dare break. "Alright, then I'll only expect Layla if she says 'it's Layla' otherwise it's you and me." Oh! Maka's eyes went wide, her breath catching. Did I just say you and me like we were–
"Good," he seemed to purr back warmly, making every last bit of blood rush to her face. "I'll text you later then."
"Sure," Maka stuttered as she pressed her palm to her cheek, trying in vain to cool the blush. "Bye."
"Bye."
The line went dead, making Maka drop her cell to the table. She brought her free hand to join the other, hiding her face so she could squeeze a muted scream into her palms. Her feet kicked along with the sound, wiggling in her chair to force out the rest of the emotions that were buzzing in her chest. Saturday! She brought her fingers away from her eyes, letting them linger over the desk in front of her. And we'll talk– talk about how he's not just Layla's Papa. How if I actually thought I had a type he'd be it. How maybe, just maybe, we could try something together.
Soul made slow steps up the stairs, smoothing his palms along his pant legs while he tried to steady his breath. He'd abandoned his phone downstairs since though it had brought sweet, necessary words from her, it also left him with enough nerves to rival his first piano recital. He stopped at the landing and everything caught up with him.
You and me.
Pink started to climb up his neck, making him slap a hand over his mouth just to keep whatever was threatening from bubbling out. Maybe it was a laugh, or a scoff, or even a sob– he couldn't tell. Whatever it was encompassed a million different emotions, things he'd butchered and buried over the past six years. His eyes roamed towards Layla's door.
I'm not just Layla's Papa– or at least I can hope, right? That was the whole point of the fight– of this conversation– that you, Maka, that you just maybe–
He sucked in a long breath that barely filtered through his fingers before walking towards Layla's door and planting a soft knock against the wood.
"Come in," she chimed. When he opened the door he found her at her desk, notebook open with a few sparkly pens surrounding it. "What is it, Papa?"
Soul moved to her bed, sinking into the twin as he cleared his throat. "I want to have a discussion."
That snapped her straight to attention, forcing Layla to swivel her chair to face him. "Really?"
"Yeah." He nodded before clasping his hands together to lean his elbows onto his knees. "It's about Maka."
Joy and confusion fought on her face before slipping into a smile that reminded him of Wes's coy coverups. "What about Maka?"
Okay, I can do this. I can– I can ask– No! Tell her what I'm doing. I make my own choices, right? He pulled in air, trying to saturate his lungs for the words. "Just, listen, this is between you and me, okay? No gabbin' to Blake or Liz."
"So it's a secret?" Layla offered.
"No, not really." He sighed as her eyebrows started to wrinkle. "It's more like for now, it's just our business. Sorta like– remember when we talked about your mommy and daddy? That you got to choose when or if you told people about them?"
Layla nodded.
"Same with this. I want– I guess I want time before anyone else knows besides you and me." He unraveled his hands, extending a trembling pinky towards her. "Swear?"
She giggled before hooking her finger to his. "Swear."
He blew the air out between his lips, letting the end weakly morph into a laugh as their hands dropped apart. "I asked Maka to come over on Saturday."
"You did?" Layla barely kept to her seat, back now tall as she gripped into the arms. "Really? Like come over and–"
"Have dinner with us and hang out for a bit. Or, well, not sure about all that yet since Maka's supposed to get back to me about the time, but… that's what I'm hopin'." He didn't have time to tack on any more to that worry since Layla was flying out of her chair to hop into his arms.
She hugged desperately around his neck, swaying him slightly side to side. "I knew it! I knew you wouldn't break a promise!"
That gutted any control he had left, his eyes starting to sting as cradled her in his arms. "Yeah, bug, I keep my promises." The sentence barely made it out over the warble, a little saltwater loosing down his cheeks as he tried to steady himself with another breath.
"Of course you do!" She pulled away as concern wrinkled her brow. "Why are you crying?"
He cleared the mess away with the back of his hand, putting on the best smile he could. "Told you it was hard for me, so just a little leftover nerves. Don't worry about it." He touched her cheek, trying to brush away the frown that was starting on her lips. "It's kinda more than that, so we need to talk."
"But Maka's still coming over?"
Soul chuckled. "Yeah. Still comin' over."
"No matter what we say right now?" Layla tested, her hands tentatively picking at his shirt.
He nodded before brushing fingertips against her jaw. His hand dropped to her wrist then, pressing that delicate little hand over his heart. "I like Maka. You know, the– the romantic sorta way." To his surprise, Layla only nodded, letting him continue with his stuttering. "Which means she's comin' to spend time with us, yeah, but eventually she might want to be alone with me, and I-I want to be alone with her."
Layla's fingers worried under his palm. "But sometimes it can still be us?"
"Sure," Soul murmured tenderly, "and sometimes it can be you and her, too, if you want. I'm not sayin' I want Maka all to myself, just that we're going to have to… balance it out, okay?"
"I think that sounds okay…" Her hand relaxed under his, a soft smile that now echoed her mother's coming to her face. "Especially if it makes you happy, Papa."
A soft huff of air that barely resembled a laugh fluttered over his lips. "You're right, I-I need this. I think it's gonna make me happier." He moved his hands to her cheeks again, holding her eyes straight to his. "Bug, I love you so much, you know that, and I want to make sure you know that's not gonna change." I can love you and– and maybe I could learn to love someone else, too.
"I love you too, Papa." Even with his hold she leaned forward, planting a kiss on his cheek. "And I know if you promise it won't then it'll be fine."
His next breath came easily, and for once, so did his smile. "Promise."
