Soul listened to Layla's feet barreling down the stairs, letting her—in all her completely grown agency—answer the door. It wasn't entirely disappointment that sprang in his heart when hearing Remy's voice, but nervousness definitely started to flutter in his chest. He ambled in the direction of their conversation, catching Layla with her arms still tight around Remy's waist in a hug. She does love him. Can't deny that. "Hey, Remy."

"Hey," he echoed before looking down at his niece. "Layla, mind giving me and your papa a moment?"

She contentiously glanced between the two of them, but Soul simply nodded, sending Layla on her way back to her room to gather her things.

Remy kept his eyes on her until she disappeared, then murmured, "Dad said you wanted to speak to me."

"I, uh, found something, I guess." Soul moved to the console table, picking up the journal he'd left there this morning. "It's Viv's." He motioned the book towards Remy, who tentatively grasped the other side. "Thought you might want to read it, then if it's not too much give it to Julien or show it to Layla maybe."

"You didn't read it?" Remy asked, but the question was void of any discoverable emotion.

Soul shook his head. "Not my place."

He pulled the leather binding to his chest, eyes lingering back up the stairs again. Weighing the book in his palm, Remy murmured, "It's getting close to that time."

Soul choked on a breath. "Yeah."

They both risked a glance at each other, the same glum, useless smiles on their faces. Remy cleared his throat. "Just before Christmas…"

"We'll all go together," Soul finished for him, the ache settling in his chest. "Just like every year."

"Will your parents…?"

Soul scoffed. "I think you know the answer to that, and I don't mind if you give that one an attitude." He leaned, letting his shoulder bump into the wall. "Mom always makes some excuse that they're doing their own thing"—an eye roll moved in time with the sentence as he continued—"usually on some white-sand beach."

Remy snickered softly. "Guess the apple does fall far from the tree."

"In this case," he agreed. Soul tilted his head towards the stairs. "Layla, time to go!"

She was down in a flash, her regular overnight bag stuffed to the brim as she settled next to Remy. "Everything okay?"

"Fine, Lala," Remy replied as he smoothed her hair. "Are you all set?"

"Ready," she chimed. On cue, Layla slipped away from Remy and catapulted into Soul, arms tight around his waist. "I love you, Papa!"

"Love you, too, bug." Normally it'd just be another quick pat, but he dipped down, settling a kiss on her crown. "Say hi to everyone for me."

She beamed a smile up at him in agreement before releasing him and starting towards the door. Remy was after her, taking only one extra moment to glance back at Soul, raising Viv's journal at him as he stood half in the door. "Thanks for this."

Soul let that go without a word– let the door shut behind them and leave him in the silence of the house. He couldn't quite place it– that feeling that he'd just abandoned something but at the same time gave it the home it needed. He tapped a finger to the space the journal had left behind as if there would be a residue. As if some piece of Viv would still be there. There was nothing. For a second—just a second—Soul allowed another little bit of mourning.


Maka took extra deep breaths on the porch, the chilliness of the end of November starting to make her lungs ache. Or at least this was the excuse– not the fact that nerves had been rumbling in her chest since he'd invited her over. The two of them. Just the two of them. Slow, she tried to beg herself and the universe. She rang the bell.

There were quick footsteps before the door creaked open and revealed Soul's anxious face. His hair was instantly displaced by his hand as he tried a smirk. "You ready for the buffet?"

Her eyebrows raised as her stomach spoke for her, ignoring the nerves that had just been threatening to swallow her whole. "Buffet?"

He waved her in, closing the door quickly behind her so that the delectably spicy aroma could hit her nose. "It's actually this funny sorta tradition I have…" After stealing her coat and tossing it over the banister, he grasped her hand, bringing even more calm as he squeezed tenderly and started moving her towards the living room. "Weekend before Thanksgiving is the time to binge on all the bests."

They reached the doorway, and Maka couldn't help but smile. The coffee table was covered in an array of take-out; it wasn't just your standard Chinese containers, but the added spice of Indian, along with that delicious balance of Thai. If her stomach had been turning before, it was now entirely stationary and begging for access. "Is this all from one place?"

He scoffed as they moved to slip to the floor, backs against the couch for support. "No one place is good enough." Soul started waving towards the far left section. "Curry Kitchen, then Elephant Thai, finally House of Wang." While he heaved a satisfied sigh, he still managed to force a frown. "My only regret is that there isn't a decent Vietnamese place for fifty miles."

"You think you could fit Vietnamese?" She raised one eyebrow, only to receive more reproach from the man next to her.

"I'd make it fit." Soul's smirk resurrected as he shone it in her direction. "And after watchin' you eat at the diner, I'd say you'd definitely do the same."

Maka could pretend all she wanted that there was some sort of insult there, her lip trying to curl in distaste, but her laughter ruined it entirely. "So you thought of me while you were planning this?"

His smile stayed true even with the hint of color that came to his cheeks. "Sorta usually do this alone, but I guess your name popped into my head this year."

"I'm glad." Her voice fell low to a whisper, realizing the closeness that had come with their seating arrangement. They were shoulder to shoulder, but her knee had trespassed over his, making contact that she had barely registered in the comfort of it all. It's so easy with him. What I thought was my space– my need to be entirely detached was wrong. It just wasn't the right person before. This is right and…

His stare faltered, dropping to hit her shoulder first before running across her collarbone to her neck. "Yeah, me too." More pink was threatening on his skin, especially as his throat bobbed through a swallow. "Well, uh…" The food suddenly grabbed his interest again as he tapped a nervous finger against the table. "I thought I'd wait until you got here to pick a movie." His hand disappeared to his right side before unveiling a controller that he handed to her. "Just scroll until you see something you like."

Maka was still beaming, entirely unable to get over the sweet nervousness that was overtaking him– stealing every last bit of her own. "You mean I get to pick?"

"Man, the way you say that makes it sound like I'm gonna regret it." He leaned back, head against the couch as he focused on the ceiling. "I'll just wait here until you decide my fate."

"Layla has you trained well."

He sucked his teeth at that, nudging her with his knee.

None of it quelled her laughter as she scrolled through the titles. Honestly, there was no reason to– Maka's attention was barely on the idea of a movie to begin with. It was the atmosphere of the moment that was pulling her in– the food, the comfort, the ease that came with being in the same space as him. That's why on the next revolution she just tapped play and some innocuous thriller started in the background.

Soul lifted his head. "Huh. Not too bad."

"I showed mercy since you did prepare such a nice spread." She wasn't one to wait for his invitation, already plucking one of the plates and starting to pile. He followed suit as the opening montage brought them into a tangled web on the screen. Maka's interest was only minutely piqued, her attention pulled little by little to his face, the way he angled his fork into his mouth, or how when he needed to laugh he would politely cover his mouth with the back of his hand.

These were more layers– pieces of him that she wanted to categorize, cradle, commit to memory.


With the movie paused, Soul shuffled through the kitchen to put away the last of the leftovers. Real romantic shit here– stuffing yourself to the gills and spending the rest of the night burping up spice. He shook his head as he grabbed the TUMS off of the window ledge in the kitchen– years of anxiety had always forced him to leave those disgusting but blessed tabs out in the open. They clattered as he moved back into the living room.

Like any good host, he rattled the bottle in her direction. "Now, I know you have a stomach of steel, but…"

She greedily opened her hands to him. "No, that last crab rangoon killed me. Please."

He laughed at her pleading before tipping two in her palm as he did the same for himself. Even with the chalky coating on his teeth, he welcomed the fresh mint flavor. Finally, he sat and deposited the container on the coffee table before leaning back. Maka hadn't left him ample room on the couch, letting their thighs touch as soon as he settled.

Isn't that your message? Soul tried to get a side glance in before hitting play, watching the calm on her face. She's… close enough that I could… He swallowed hard. Employing that stupid yawn technique would only earn him derision, so he took a deep breath and simply—but definitely not simply at all for his heart—rested his arm across her shoulders. What would that earn him?

A hard stare?

A huff and shoulder wiggle?

Some other reminder of how utterly pathetic his attempts were?

Smoothly, as if this were something that happened every night, her head settled softly against his collarbone as she shifted closer. The push was enough to get him to angle into the corner of the couch, giving her more room to stretch and find a comfortable spot to blend into his side. For a moment, Soul was sure this had happened before– déjà vu washing over him with such a strength that it sunk him further into the cushions. This was natural– a connection that had existed since his heart had started beating and she was… there. Entangled with him.

He strangled down a breathless laugh at the ridiculousness.

"Do you really think he did it?" Maka's voice came, half dreamily, buzzing against his chest.

"Don't tell me you're one of those types that wanna ruin a movie by picking out the plot early," he grumbled.

"It's not even early!" she complained as her arm drifted over his stomach to settle on his side.

He barely kept himself from jumping at that feather light touch that threatened to turn his brain to jelly. "Halfway at best. You gotta keep your guesses for at least two thirds."

"If you can't figure it out by two thirds–"

"Then it's good," he finished with a laugh. "Be patient."

She huffed.

She's not. It was entirely endearing, leaving him with the urge to let his hand explore. It was too much of a temptation, but he could only let his fingers dance to the tip of her shoulder, just barely toying with a curl of her hair that dared trespass that far. Again, he found himself holding his breath as he waited for her reaction.

Maka was anything but disturbed, seeming to melt further into him as she flexed her fingers into his t-shirt.

It was enough to just about kill him.

Breathe, breathe, breathe! He had to chant lamely as he let his head drift back against the couch. There was no chance he could look at her or even offer a brain cell to the movie. Instead, he begged to the blank ceiling: Stop freaking out. She's fine with it. All of this has worked, and—he managed a peeking glance at her hair—it's so fucking nice. Don't forget that part. For once, don't forget to feel good.


When had her eyes shut? Obviously somewhere after the food—a full stomach always lulling anyone closer to sleep—and after he'd so perfectly wrapped an arm around her shoulder. That warmth– that security had tipped her over the edge. His heart thrummed under her ear, giving her the perfect rhythm to slip away to.

When had her eyes opened? It was the beautiful heat of a shuddering breath against her forehead that tickled just enough to bring her back towards reality. The real catapult to wakefulness was the deliriously soft brush of his lips right at her hairline. She could have almost imagined dreaming it if her eyes hadn't shot open, catching him still just a centimeter away with eyes now open wide in the shock of being caught.

"Soul?"

"Sorry," he practically wheezed as his hand lifted slightly off her shoulder. "I-I should've–"

Maka smiled softly before hiding it against his chest, burrowing into his t-shirt. Her whisper was almost swallowed in the cloth: "It was a nice way to wake up."

An exhale rattled in his chest, his hand slowly settling back on her shoulder. "I just– you looked so–"

A glowing smile was blossoming where he couldn't see, Maka's face absolutely alight at the completely messy stutter that had taken away his ability to construct any sort of full sentence. "It was perfect," she murmured. Her palm slipped closer to his back, hugging him tightly.

His hand smoothed towards her hair, playing with the ends of the strands. "The movie's over."

She hummed just enough for acknowledgement but didn't appear from her hiding place.

"Should I ruin the end for you?" He chuckled lightly. "You were definitely asleep."

I want to ask you to recap the whole thing. She sighed. I want to stay this way and that would be a good enough excuse, wouldn't it? Maka finally emerged, sliding her cheek just enough against his chest to let the words come out clearly. "The last thing I remember was the woman was kidnapped." Oh, you're such a liar!

His finger twirled a tress of her hair. "Really? Coulda sworn you didn't start droolin' until the bad guy was doing his stereotypical spiel."

"Drooling!" She lifted her head quickly, examining his shirt with a sudden and inescapable embarrassment. There was no discoloration on the fabric and as soon as she shifted her glance to him she only saw that devious smirk.

"Gotcha."

"Soul!" She pinched into his side, making him yelp as he struggled to get her hand out of the sensitive dip above his hip.

"Alright, alright," he pleaded as he got a hold of her fingers, bringing them up between them. Face to face, chest to chest, hands connected. "Maka, I–"

That warble in his voice spread straight into her heart, making it tremble against his. She tilted her chin, avoiding that stare that did nothing but make all of her shiver. "Can we… just stay like this for a while longer? Please?"

Relief seemed to flutter out with his next breath. "Yeah. Lay back down."

She followed the order, sinking this time into the crux of his neck, wanting to be closer to his breath and his pulse. Please. She squeezed his hand, wanting the words to spill from her fingertips since her tongue lay mute. I know that look. I know what we could do–what maybe you want to do–but give me just a little longer. If you do that now, I… I might not be able to stop.

Soul's other arm snaked between her and the couch, landing softly on her back. "What's next weekend like for you?"

Maka was thankful for his warmth to keep her voice from chilling to the bone. "I'm having dinner with my papa and his girlfriend."

Apparently her attempts at sounding convincingly unemotional had failed. "Oh." His wrist bent in a tender rubbing motion. "Sounds like you're gonna have as much fun as I will."

"Where do you have to go?"

"To my parents," he answered with a lamenting sigh. "They try to do the 'nice' thing and invite Viv's family, and we all do Thanksgiving together. It's usually short, sweet, but with just enough dysfunction."

She snorted a laugh. "Well, maybe after we can share."

"Sure, sounds real romantic," Soul muttered. "I'll definitely woo you with all our dirty laundry. Just can't wait to see if it's Mom and Dad this year or maybe me and Remy who have it out."

"Is Remy another brother?"

The clearing of his throat made it obvious that was a misstep, but his answer still managed to come back strong enough for her to hear: "Remy's Viv's brother."

"You don't get along," she murmured back, bringing their joined hand closer to her face.

"On and off," he answered as the soothing of his other hand against her back paused. "Think we're okay right now, but… dunno. I try to tell myself he lost his sister, since I'm not always the best when it comes to bein' reminded I lost my brother. That's usually where we end up pissin' each other off– well, that or Layla. You know he calls her Lala?"

"Lala?" Maka offered the right amount of disgust since Soul managed a chuckle.

"Lame, right? But he's her uncle too, so…"

While continuing to hide against him was certainly attractive, Maka raised her head to send a questioning glare his way. "You're not her uncle, Soul."

"I mean, technically," he corrected weakly.

This was a tender place to step, and Maka felt the hesitation in him. His arms tightened as she opened her mouth, making her force her words to be slow and planned. "Even though I know I haven't been around that long, I've never heard her call you anything other than Papa. There's no hesitation, either, as far as I can tell."

His smile was grim, tightly pulling at his lips. "Well, she's had years of practice. She figured it out with Dr. Marie when she was about five. Think it was mostly just convenience."

Oh, how her heart lurched at that word. That's impossible, and I want to scream that at you but– gentle. Slow. "I think– it's not my place, but maybe you should ask Layla about that. About what Papa means to her."

His eyebrows fluttered up for a moment as the muscles of his mouth unwound, leaving him unreadable for a moment. "Guess I never did ask her that."

She untangled their fingers just so she could press her palm to his cheek. There should have been satisfaction in the way his skin lit up at the touch, or how his shaking hand came over hers to keep it there, but Maka could only feel the urgency of her words: "You should. And when you're ready to talk about it, or about Thanksgiving, I'll be ready to listen."

"That doesn't seem all that slow," he murmured.

Maka shook her head. "Slow doesn't mean we can't be there for each other. Aren't we technically friends first? It's the– the lovers part that I meant for slow."

Suddenly his smirk sprang to life, a deliciously throaty chuckle popping from his mouth. "Lovers, huh? Thought maybe… maybe boyfriend and girlfriend was the thing we were goin' for."

Now it was her turn to blush. "Oh, I mean– yes?" A helpless little groan left her throat as she dropped her chin, concentrating embarrassed eyes on his t-shirt. "That wasn't supposed to be a question," she muttered.

With a sweet squeeze of her fingers, she felt the press of his lips again. This time the contact was firm, steady against her forehead until his whisper broke it: "Girlfriend… and I'll give all of that a shot. Questions and talkin'. Promise." The repeat of the lips dusting over her skin reminded her again of his words: "I make a rule of not makin' promises I can't keep."