Soul had often put a lot of trust in Kilik—it was a necessity for kid-swapping—but at that moment he felt a little of it slip away. Opening the door and coming face-to-face with Blake instead of the other single father was what made it dissolve into smoke, and fuck did it fizzle fast with that smirk plastered on his visitor's lips. "Morning!"
"Hey…" Soul started tentatively, all other words knocked from his mouth as Layla dove into his middle for a suffocating hug. "Miss me?" he grunted down to the little girl.
"Of course, Papa!" It was less adoration and more scolding for making the asinine assumption. As quickly as she'd clung to him, she disappeared, flying up the stairs behind Soul. "Bye, Uncle Blake!" echoed as she fled.
"Bye," Blake called after her before honing back in on Soul. "So, plans tonight?"
"Night in," Soul muttered but took a step out onto the porch. He started to angle the door closed. "Why?"
"Got you a little gift for your night in."
Soul should have noticed the way Blake had been keeping his hands behind his back. Actually, all nerves and warning bells should have been firing with the simple humor that had taken residence on Blake's face, but a restless night had left Soul's senses a little too dulled. That was why when Blake threw the bag, Soul only had the hopes of batting at it, watching as the prize awkwardly fell to his feet and revealed itself. "What the actual fuck, Blake?"
At his feet—in all of its neon packaged glory—was a box of condoms.
Blake could only snicker.
"What the fuck!" All the questioning in it faded away as both rage and embarrassment fought over the rights to the blush that was starting to overtake his face. He leaned over, snatching it and desperately trying to wrap it in the bag as he shoved it back towards the other man. "I don't know what you think is going on–"
"Maka's coming over," Blake filled in the blank and watched as the color exploded to Soul's ears.
"Who– who the fuck said that and why–" He looked helplessly at his hands before groaning. "Layla Vivienne Evans–"
"Wasn't her!" Blake caught Soul's sleeve, keeping him from turning and tramping back into the house.
"Then who because–"
"Maka peeped to Liz, and Liz shared it at the round table last night."
Maka? He wanted to scream incredulously since there was no way– no possible way that she would even mention– that it would be important enough to say or– His mind started to spiral off into that direction as he stared down at his gift. She said something to inspire this?
"Just makin' sure Layla stays an only child for now." Blake patted him on the shoulder before quickly turning away, leaving Soul holding out the box.
"Blake!" Soul rattled out the cry, but the other man just kept continuing down the walk. "Blake, seriously–" He wanted to make quick steps after him but the jangle of his nerves kept him frozen. Seriously, what the fuck did she say?
Maka brought the wine more to have something to hold onto than an offering. Not to mention the agonizing she'd done over the implications of said beverage– Layla's still going to be here so are we even drinking? Is drinking even a good idea? Obviously I can show a little restraint and not get drunk, but still–
The door opened while Maka once again spiraled into the not-a-date-but-a-date panic that she'd been storming through after the calm of their text exchange had finally dissipated. "Maka!" Layla's excited cheer brought her at least some comfort.
An infectious bit of smiles and giggles caught between the two. "Hi, Layla. Thank you for having me."
"I'm so glad you could come!" She waved Maka into the foyer, motioning towards the mat for her shoes.
Maka slid off her flats. "Where's Soul?"
"In the kitchen!" Layla chirped before throwing her head over her shoulder and shouting for the entire house to hear: "Papa, Maka's here!"
"Show her around!" came the equally as boisterous answer from some far corner of the house.
"Let's go!" Layla took Maka's hand and gave her a gentle tug. There was a console table against the wall of the stairs so Maka deposited the wine bottle before allowing Layla to start her tour. They immediately ascended the beautiful wooden stairs, the sweet creak of age only overcome by the girl's even more melodic voice. "The first bedroom is Papa's"—she motioned towards a closed door that she showed no inclination to open—"then the bathroom, then mine!"
"Who made your sign?" Maka smiled at the beautiful calligraphy that adorned a wooden sign on the door.
"Mommy," Layla stated with enough pride that it dissolved some of Maka's guilt of asking. "She drew the moon and stars, too! Papa said it was because my name means 'night' but I think it's just pretty. Mommy must have thought it was nice."
The exuberance of Layla's recollections soothed a little of Maka's fears, letting the next question only come with half trepidation: "Was your mommy an artist?"
Layla shrugged her shoulders before opening the door to her room. "Grandpa Julien said she was good at making things pretty, that's all." Inside was a surprising wash of blues and purples, not entirely what Maka would have expected of a stereotypical girl's room.
She squeezed Layla's hand as she guided her inside. Then again, Layla is anything but cliché. It was more moon and stars, some comets and constellations adorning the walls; beautiful, deep and expansive as if that had been her parents' dreams for her. Maka looked down at Layla who beamed proudly. "Your room is lovely, Layla."
"Mommy did it all. Oh, except for over there." She tugged, bringing Maka's attention to a corner that at first glance might have been more collections of stars, but on closer inspection brought the view of notes. "Papa put music up. He said that was what he remembered most about Daddy. It's a song." It didn't bring the same glow as the talk of her mommy, just a hint of a wrinkle in her forehead as she examined the corner just as much as Maka did.
"What else?" Maka prompted, trying to erase the odd bit of worry from the girl's face.
"Nothing up here." Layla sighed as she moved them back into the hallway. "Just–" For once, words seem to catch in her throat, eyes lingering up towards Maka for a moment. Then, she flicked a finger at another closed door. "Mommy and Daddy's room," she offered quickly before pulling Maka back towards the stairs.
It's not my place, but… that seems wrong. I can't judge because I don't know what happened, but if Layla knows that as their room… Maka glanced back at the door before it was out of view, the stairs complaining again about their weight. She tried to wipe the slate clean in her mind but those tiny moments clung to her like burrs. "Do you know what's for dinner tonight?"
"You're lucky," Layla chimed as they continued towards the foyer. "Papa made ziti– it's what he's best at. Some of his other food is…" She shot back a skeptical look, making Maka have to smother a laugh. "But the ziti is good. And we have to have salad because 'you always have to have a green.'"
Soul says that? Maka almost summoned up the nerve to ask but at that point they'd made it close enough to hear the clatter in the kitchen that she muted herself. Layla led her to the end of the foyer, an elegantly decorated living room with a fireplace inviting her warmly. "Wow, does that work?"
"Yeah!" Layla motioned towards the wood stack in the corner. "Papa says it's not cold enough yet, but when it gets really chilly we have a fire and hot cocoa."
Everything sounds straight out of a book. I'd almost accuse him of following a script if it wasn't for the love you can tell he has for Layla. "Hm, I'll have to make sure I'm on my best behavior and get invited back so I can try some."
"Dunno if I've ever seen you on your best behavior."
Maka jumped at the sound of his voice, turning towards him. Layla's hand drifted away– hell, everything drifted away as she couldn't help but lose a little sense of reality. The apron on him should have been entirely dorky but the smirk that it came with and the residual memories of the tour were painting a complete picture of him that only made it all the more endearing. In her silence, his smile even started to falter, nervousness tugging at the edges as he struggled to keep her eyes.
She urged her feet forward, watching him straighten his back as if he were waiting for a blow. It was only her hand in his, grasping it with a squeeze that wanted to convey eight million different things at once:
I see that you're hurting.
I hate that you're hurting.
But I see so much good, too.
So much effort that you put into being.
Please allow me to keep seeing that.
His cheeks pinked deeper than if she'd said any of that out loud, making him turn his head to look back towards the kitchen. "Uh, dinner's almost done. Just– I saw the wine. Did you want that or…?"
"Just some water, for now," Maka murmured but those words felt stupid, worthless, useless with the rest of it sitting in her mind.
"Alright…" He cleared his throat, eyes only half slinking back towards her. "Layla, go wash up. I already got the table."
"Okay!" Without an ounce of argument, little footsteps petered away.
Soul's eyes dropped to their hands, still connected like a lifeline. He finally squeezed back as he drew in a breath. "Hey." His voice was dragged down by an unmeasurable weight, but he managed to bring his attention back to her face. "See the whole house?"
"I got most of the tour. Not the downstairs front room, but everything else."
"Formal dining room," Soul replied with a roll of his eyes. "You know these old houses– all show. Tonight'll be the first night I think Layla's ever eaten in there."
Maka looked around and let her fingers start to drop from his. With a little pride, she felt the hesitancy in his release, the way the pads of his fingertips just danced across her skin as they slipped away. "It's a really beautiful house."
"Yeah." The agreement came automatically without much emphasis. He took steps towards her until they were shoulder to shoulder, both staring at the mantle. "Guess thankin' you for coming is a little lame."
She dipped her shoulder to nudge into him. "It should be the other way around since I'm pretty sure you can guess you're not allowed to belittle how big this is for you– well, and Layla."
"Orderin' me around, huh?" His chuckle was light and dry.
Maka turned her head towards the noise, just to have him meet her head on, staring down at her with stormy eyes. "Just a suggestion, since I don't think you want me giving you another tongue lashing."
His smile reappeared, now softening. "Think I've had a lifetime's worth of that already."
The t-shirt was definitely out of season even with the heat on in the house, but none of that mattered to Soul. It was the only thing keeping him from sweating buckets even though not a single hiccup had erupted through dinner. Sure, it was Maka and Layla carrying the bulk of the conversation, but he managed to slip a sign of life in here and there. Every time he got a smile from one of them as a reward, and… I can't say that I don't love it. The three of us at a table– eatin', talkin', just bein'.
Layla was a damn good little hostess too, running Maka along as soon as eating was done. Her voice rang sweetly as she brought Maka from the dining room to the living room again, giving Soul space to clean. When he'd finally managed to leave everything in the sink to soak, his eyes fell on Maka's bottle of wine. He brought his hands to his face, rubbing his cheeks for a moment before he called out. "Hey, you want that glass of wine now?"
"Sure," came back brightly.
His stomach looped, and he wasted time finding the corkscrew in the drawer. Idiot, it's not like you're askin' her to undress. She brought it– and drinkin' just a glass isn't gonna do a thing so just relax. He tried to let that settle as he uncorked the bottle. The wine glasses had sat unused in the cabinet for so long that he had to rinse them, getting rid of a layer of dust that was probably almost as old as Layla. In the two clean globes, he poured just enough wine, swirling the red around.
Relax. Easier said than done as just putting his hands around the glasses made his heart skip. It'll just make talkin' easier, right? Loosen my tongue and hers. He should have stopped at the first sentence as the momentary drift towards tongues had the pink climbing up his neck. There was a definite mental image trying to break through– the one that Blake had planted with that stupid box and his stupid comment. He tried to recite his ABCs backwards before even risking making the few steps towards the living room.
Layla had been lying in wait; in her hands was his guitar, which she brandished immediately as he entered. "Alright, Papa! You're on!" Even worse, Maka was staring at him expectantly, hands out and ready to receive both glasses. He hesitantly handed them over, leaving himself vulnerable to Layla's prodding with the instrument.
"And what am I doin' with this?" Soul tried his best to act innocent, staring at the strings like he'd never seen them before in his life. Layla instantly began to groan at his antics while he flopped into the armchair across from the two of them. "Listen, I'll play one."
"No," Layla bemoaned.
"You have a guest." Soul motioned towards Maka who was hiding whatever shape her lips wanted to make with the edge of her wine glass. "Talkin' is what you're supposed to be doin', not makin' me perform."
Oh, how her eyebrows furrowed at him– a sudden flash of her mother that made Soul laugh despite himself. "Papa, play!"
The goblet dropped from Maka's mouth, displaying a bemused smile. "We definitely had more than enough conversation at dinner. Maybe it's time for a show."
Soul—overpowered, helpless, hopeless—set his fingers to the strings. "Fine."
He started a single strum before Layla jumped in: "You forgot the lead in!"
You're trying to kill me with embarrassment, aren't you? Soul tried to send a few mental daggers his daughter's way but her face remained unchanged.
Overpowered.
Helpless.
Hopeless.
"Papa," she prompted again.
He groaned before sliding into the old drawl that used to grace his lips every night. "You're listenin' to DWMA with Soul 'Eater' Evans… up next is a rendition of 'Layla' originally by Derek and the Dominos performed so poorly that Clapton'll probably sue." He didn't wait for the laughter—not like there was ever any on-air—and jumped into that familiar old tune as promised.
It was an easy pick– one he'd known for years but never really performed until that sweet girl with the same name permanently came into his life. It's not like she ever much cared about the lyrics, but the first time he'd ever crooned out her name—that strong, piercing call of the start of the chorus—her face had erupted in such joy that he'd never forget it for as long as he lived. He still liked to watch it, catching that pleased, prideful grin on Layla's cheeks as he got to their part, but tonight… Tonight he couldn't help but send a glance Maka's way, almost losing his place at the sight.
Pretty had been what he'd thought before, but stunning echoed in every corner of his mind now. Maybe the wine had brought that flush to her cheeks, but the pink was making her green eyes shimmer even brighter in contrast. The most beautiful part was the way her attention was entirely his– no different from Layla even if this wasn't her song. The entirety of her was obviously occupied by him, and he had to wrack his brain for the last time he'd ever felt as if he was the center of someone's world—even for a fucking second—other than Layla.
He finished to a spirited round of applause, forcing his eyes to Layla. "I think I paid my dues."
"Papa," she complained.
"What's the Soul 'Eater' Evans from?" Maka asked as her hands finally fell back to her lap.
Before Soul could open his mouth, Layla was already peeping: "That was when Papa used to be on the radio. Before he lived with me."
All the beauty of the past moment threatened to wash away with the ice water Layla had just thrown down his back. 'Before he lived with me'– does that mean Maka knows? She told her? His jaw gaped slightly against his will. Did she? And how long ago? How long has Maka–
"On the radio?" Maka glowed at Layla's reply, leaning closer to the girl. "You mean other than the school radio?"
"Papa used to be on the radio every night in Seattle," she bragged, flashing proud eyes at Soul that entirely caught him off guard. "We have tapes, right, Papa?"
"Yeah–" His voice broke, and Soul forced himself to swallow, fixing his jaw back in place. "Not that I was some big thing, but I did the overnight show for a while." Before I lived with Layla. Before I came back here to be her papa.
"That's so amazing." There wasn't a hint of sarcasm or a drop in her excitement, just the same bright shine to her eyes. "The kids must love it– learning from someone who actually did this for a living."
Soul shrugged. "They sorta appreciate it. Most of 'em just get a good laugh outta the Soul 'Eater' part." He actually managed a little bit of a chuckle, using the momentum to start at the strings again. It wasn't as if he had a "Wonderwall" up his sleeve but he strummed all the same, picking some oldie from the back of his mind that he could produce while the thoughts still raged through his head. She knows. She has to know. She has to, but she… He risked meeting her eyes, finding the same intent, the same joy, the same everything. She never asked. She never pried. She let it be like she's… maybe she's waiting for me.
That resounded through his mind as this song became that; one leading straight into the other until he had actually performed his own little concert to a two person audience that stayed enamored the whole time. When he finally slowed his fingers, there was that pleasant ache of exercise, of using the underused.
"Papa, I think I'm going up to bed." Layla made this statement entirely prim and proper before turning to Maka. "I'm really glad you came tonight."
"I am too," Maka cooed back with a grin. "But it's early for you, isn't it?"
Soul didn't even have to glance at the clock to know that was true.
"It's not like I have a set bedtime," she corrected quickly.
Liar, he muttered internally.
"And I did a lot today." She slid closer to Maka. "Can I hug you goodnight?"
"Of course!" Maka shifted as she answered, letting Layla be engulfed in those slender but still obviously comforting arms. The two giggled through the squeeze as the sweet whispers exchanged between the two started to tug at Soul's heart.
Next, Layla was on her feet, hand out towards Soul. "Papa, will you tuck me in?"
There were certainly so many accusations he could make here, but he bit his tongue. "'Course." He took the hand, trying not to let his eyebrows furrow at the confusion as he sent Maka a quick glance. She seemed entirely unperturbed by the exchange so he let Layla lead him back into the foyer towards the stairs. "You seriously tired, bug?"
She flashed a smile at him as they started upwards. "Am I not allowed to go to bed?"
"Not what I'm sayin'," Soul started to grumble as his nerves clamored back to life. She has no idea what she's doin', right? She's too young. It isn't like she's purposefully… He let the stairs answer that with their creaking. They arrive at her door, Layla opening it but stopping at the threshold.
"Night, Papa."
"Thought I was tucking you in…" Soul settled his glare down at her as he put his hands on his hips.
"Close enough," she chimed.
Before she could close the door, he dipped down to his haunches, stopping the swing with his hand. "Hey, bug, before you go…"
She bristled a little, suddenly all defenses up. "Papa, Maka's your friend. You should be alone with her, just like we talked about."
Always nice to have my words thrown back at me. He sighed. "Not that, just had a question for you."
Layla settled slightly. "What is it?"
"Did you…" He pulled in a slow breath. "Did you tell Maka about your mommy and daddy?"
"Yes," Layla answered instantly.
There was a definite tremor in his chest. "Mind tellin' me when?"
"The first time we met." The softest of smiles came to her face, her head tilting slightly to touch the door. "That's why I said we had things in common. She told me her mommy died, so I told her mine did too, well, and daddy."
He nodded before getting to his feet. "Night, bug. Love you."
"Love you too," she chimed before shutting the door and leaving him lingering in the hallway.
Soul threw a hand through his hair as he glanced down the stairs. She knows. He tried to let that settle, becoming both a new weight in his chest while another seemed to lift. She knows, but that's not the kinda person she is, is it? Not the kind to push, to pry, but to let me… A new kind of breath filled his lungs, one that finally felt full. Maybe she really is waiting for me.
Maka took another tiny sip, trying not to get too far ahead of Soul who hadn't been able to get a drink in between his show and Layla. There was no way she couldn't focus on the creak of the stairs, the soft sounds of him drifting into the foyer. Surprisingly, she didn't tense when she heard his footsteps, just focused on the simple question that had hit her during all the amusement tonight. "Why do you call her 'bug?'"
His course faltered for a moment, but he finally appeared next to her, opting to stand next to the fireplace and lean against the mantle. For a moment he looked like a scene out of Pride & Prejudice– Mr. Darcy perched away from the rest of society. "Ah–" He cleared his throat. "When she was little…" His thought broke to reach for his wine glass, picking it up and taking more of a gulp before he could continue. "Couldn't get her to sleep. Dr. Marie said it was regression or somethin' like that so I… you know how they wrap up babies before bed?"
"Swaddling," Maka added.
"Yeah, that." He nodded along before taking another swig, making his glass now just as thinly lined as hers. "I started swaddlin' her. One night—guess I was delirious from my own lack of sleep—I said, 'snug as a bug in a rug.'" A dry laugh left him, his eyes finally coming to meet hers. "She laughed and after that it was always 'bug, bug, bug' from her at night so I just let it stick. She was 'bug' after that."
"That's really sweet." The comment itself felt lame, so Maka hoped the smile she tacked onto it gave it enough oomph.
For a moment, he was silent before he placed the glass on the mantle and reached into his pocket. Somewhere along the way he'd stuffed his wallet in there, and when he opened it, it wasn't crisp bills coming out but a small photograph no larger than a credit card. He offered it to her, his fingers making the glossy paper tremble.
Maka took it and eyed the image closely. It might as well have been a Twilight Zone moment, since the woman there was nothing more than a grown copy of Layla and the man could have easily been Soul, just years older. Between them was a bundle, the tiny face of a still sleeping infant peeping out. She glanced at him, finding a glum smile on his lips.
"That's my brother, Wes. His wife, Viv." He sucked in a breath. "And that's Layla at about a month old. That was the last time I saw them before… I left for Seattle. When they died, I came back here to take care of Layla."
She brought her attention back to the image, now finding the subtle difference in the jaw line, the more mahogany accent to Wes's eyes. As delicately as she handled the photo, she left him time, space, and quiet in that suspended moment.
"I know Layla told you," his voice was a low murmur. "But I– I guess I figured you deserved to hear it from me, too. Especially if…"
Maka raised her eyes. "Will you sit next to me?"
Soul flustered, pink coming to his cheeks as he glanced back at the mantle like it had the answer. Finding nothing, he exchanged his glass for his wallet before coming to sit next to her. She let him settle before she reached towards him, prying away the fingers of one hand's death grip on his glass. He watched the connection, something halfway between a grit of his jaw and a smile appearing as Maka tangled her hand with his. "I-I don't think I even remember how to do this," he whispered.
Her laugh was breathy and tight. "Same."
Unsure, almost tired red eyes turned to hers, now more of a grin on his face. "Sorta wanna say I find that hard to believe. You're"—he had to clear his throat to loosen the words—"a lot of things. The whole bravery and challenging thing really just–"
Bravery. An eruption of butterflies scattered in her stomach. That's the first thing he thought of– said. Not maybe a great set of legs or a blonde, but that part of me– the one I thought was gone. "Hopefully the end of that sentence translates to the fact you like that about me?"
He chuckled. "Yeah. Again, sorta out of practice." His hand became a little freer, his thumb running over her knuckles. "So what I mean is, I-I'd like to try this, but… I'm gonna need slow. And that might be a lot to ask, so if you need time to think or–"
Bravery. "Okay."
"Okay?" His eyebrows jumped, eyes wide in surprise only to be softened by an unfamiliar sort of pleading. "But I'm still–"
"Working on things," Maka finished his stutter easily. "And so am I, so slow is probably best for the both of us. There's a lot on both of our plates. Maybe, for now, it's just nice to… to know, to have little experiences like this." She squeezed their connected fingers which flipped a switch for him, making all those muscles that were so taut slowly start to unwind.
His shoulders finally settled back against the couch. "I-It's been a while since I've thought about anyone like this, but… I do. You're different for me. A good kinda different– a different I need." The blush settled deeply on his neck as he turned his head with a rueful laugh. "Can't seem to say it right."
"Well," Maka murmured softly before depositing her wine glass on the table. It let her gather his trembling hand entirely in hers as she angled towards him. "Saying 'I like you' sounds pretty cheesy, so I think you were trying to be cool. It sounded cool."
He snorted. "Cool, huh?"
She hummed out a sweet affirmative, taking her time to examine the hand she was now allowed to have completely. "Like playing tonight. Or how you always are so undeniably careful about other people's feelings. Or your smirk."
His breath trickled easier, more of him unwinding so he could lean a little closer. "I like you," he whispered, so close to her ear that there was no denying the spark that it sent through every nerve.
Maka tightened that connection, holding onto the warmth of his fingers and the beautiful burn of his words. "I like you too."
