I feel like I'm hitting all the fanfic writer stereotypes as I do this, but... Monday I gave birth to my son! Of course I'm somehow posting another chapter just 5 days later because I'm obviously insane. Know that I'll continue to try, but my little dude will be taking up my time!
Maka was still wincing at the sound of the door, mid-afternoon finding her at least no longer nauseous but definitely holding onto a headache. She was excited to see this face wasn't going to add to that pain; it was Soul, smiling gently with a fresh coffee in his hand. He cleared his throat. "Here, thought you could probably still use this."
Heat came to her cheeks as she accepted the cup from him. "Thanks."
Soul closed the door slowly, dipping his back against it. "I, uh, like your hair that way."
For a second she had to actually mentally access what way her hair had ended up. She'd slept on Blake's couch after all, so hygiene probably wasn't her strongest suit today. There was always the bug-out bag she carried in the car; toothbrush, deodorant, and clothes had been taken care of but the finer tweaks of being at home had definitely been neglected. My bun. My messy, half-assed, keep-my-greasy-hair-up bun is what he's complimenting. She glanced at his face for all the markers of sarcasm but only found a little color on his own cheeks. "I, um…" she stuttered in reply, the long break leaving 'thank you' as the stupidest option.
"So"—he tried to grope through her silence—"how much did you have to drink last night?"
Maka groaned as she exposed four fingers.
"Four beers?" He raised his eyebrows, obviously making his own assumptions about that number.
She couldn't shake her head—rattling was so not allowed—but she brought the coffee to her lips to try to take a bolstering sip.
His laugh here was just slightly infuriating. "You didn't. Four drinks? Tell me it was something light…"
Moving the cup uncovered more of her frown. "I like gin and tonics."
Another incredibly infuriating laugh. "Oh, man, Maka, no." He shook his head—maybe in commiseration—before finally stopping his chuckling. "On a school night, too. Daring."
"Hey, you were awake too!" She tested the accusation, finding it did nothing to save her embarrassment.
Oh, all it did was make his smirk blossom. "Yeah, but all I did was have a little splash of whiskey to get to sleep."
It's better we weren't drinking together. Maka couldn't stop the color from creeping up her neck again, daring to dye her ears. That's why I called Blake and not you. Or at least, that's why I didn't call you until I was immobile on a couch somewhere.
He dared to step close enough to get to the side of her desk, leaning slightly as if he needed to close the space to make sure the words were just for her. "You remember callin' me?"
Her stomach quaked– not the coffee or the still bitter memory of alcohol, but the smoldering that was there in his eyes. That's why the phone had been safe– that's why she could utter those words in the first place– because looking at him now, like this… "I know what I said," she admitted.
"And you remember what I said?"
"Yes."
"Okay." He straightened, his smirk smoothing out to just a gentle smile. "I know we're both busy this weekend with Thanksgiving stuff." There was enough of a pause for him to shove his hands in his pockets, creating that easy stoop to his shoulders. "But I was thinkin' the weekend after we should all have a little fun."
"We?" Maka offered quickly.
"Yeah, my parents let me know they'd definitely be goin' away after the holiday." He shrugged. "And it's not like I gotta house sit for them or anything, but it could be a good time to bring the crew over to actually enjoy that ridiculous palatial estate."
Maka's eyebrows knit. "You mean, stay at your parents' house for the weekend? All of us?"
"Well, Layla and the twins, Kilik– Liz and Patty never say no." He stopped to chuckle, rolling his eyes. "But yeah. More than enough space for everyone. Just gotta bring your suit."
"It's a formal occasion?" Maka still couldn't connect many dots, the idea entirely hazy.
He spat out another healthy bit of laughter. "Uh, bathing suit. Indoor pool. Can't really beat it when the winter starts drivin' you nuts."
That's what his parents' house is like? Maka barely kept herself from spitting it out. So he's– he's a rich boy? How?
"So?" he offered.
Maka couldn't do anything other than nod.
A lot happened this week, and I know how you always try to get me to slow down, work on one thing at a time, but it's all tangled together.
First, I took Viv's journal out. Gave it to Remy. Then Remy gives it back to me! Says I should read the part he's marked, but… Look, Viv always treated me like another brother, I won't deny that. She was good to me, and I always just assumed it was because she watched how me and Wes were– watched how distant we could be. So it was pity, alright? It wasn't– couldn't be more than that. So reading her diary, isn't that just intrudin' where I don't belong?
But Layla keeps bringin' it up. Not in the way that she wants to grill me for info—somethin' she's real capable of—but more like she wants proof she's right. She said Viv meant it–that I was her brother. I mean, you wanna argue that she doesn't know her mommy so how does she know what she's thinkin' but… You know, a part of me wants her to be right? I never had it with Wes, so wouldn't it just be great to feel like at least Viv loved me?
And there's the tie that binds the whole damn thing:
I want Viv to have loved me.
I want Layla to love me.
I want… I want Maka to learn to love me.
And this week I got:
Viv's journal that Remy's tellin' me shows how much she cares.
Layla tellin' me that "papa" means "Papa" to her.
And Maka… tellin' me she wants me.
I know wantin' isn't the same as lovin'. I just can't stop thinkin' that the way she's scared of it– worried about the next step makes me think—or at least hope—that she wants some real kinda feelin's behind it before we touch each other. So if I kissed her… If she kissed me back, wouldn't that mean somethin'?
Soul sat in the gentle quiet of the house, finding none of his usual calm in it. Even with the whiskey swirling in his glass, he couldn't bring the tempo of his heart down. The journal sat in his lap, unopened but screaming for his attention. He took one long, fiery sip, letting that smoke and heat settle on his tongue. It was finally enough to push him forward, fingers opening to the first mark that Remy had left.
… I finally found Soul's radio station! He wasn't exactly forthcoming over the phone, but I got enough out of him that a simple internet search got me to the right place. Wes showed me how to record it since Soul's on late at night. It's just so wonderful to hear his voice and to hear him happy. I didn't bring it up with Wes, but it sounded like Soul was really doing alright. It's clear that this is what he loves. I just wish somehow that could translate to the Evans family actually being proud of their son. Oh well. It doesn't matter because Layla and I listen to it every afternoon! I can't say we enjoy the music portion, but every time we hear him come back on, we're both tuned in. Layla will know her uncle's voice. She'll know how fantastic he really is. …
She listened. Soul had to bring his eyes away from the page, concentrating for a moment on the amber liquid. And she had Layla listen. Layla knew… knew the sound of my voice. His lip wrinkled but he refused the wave of tears that threatened. He took another sip instead before he flipped to the next post-it.
… Soul actually answered the phone for his birthday. No tag back and forth! I can't tell if it was a gift for me or a gift for him, but I'll take it! Layla was able to babble in the phone and that at least got a snort of a laugh out of him. He still hasn't made many friends as far as he says. I know Liz and Patty keep up with him. His short-lived roommate from college, too… Blake? I think? It's just… I'm elated he's doing what he loves but I wish he could do it here. I can completely understand why he felt like he had to leave, but I miss him, and I know Wes does too even if he won't talk about it. Sometimes I just want to go to his parents' house and order them to accept their son. To let him live his life how he wants to so he won't feel like he has to run. Ugh, I wish it was that simple. …
I missed– miss you too. He could easily bring back the loneliness of the apartment. The vacancy. The empty way he lived outside of the station. Sure, at work he'd been in heaven. Absolutely enthralled by the life–the persona. It was everywhere else that he was blank. As he took another draw of whiskey, it hit him just as hard as the alcohol sting: It's not like that here. Not with Layla. My friends. Maka. And maybe it could have been like that with Viv… with Wes. He threatened to close it, his stomach souring over more than the whiskey. I had to run.
He toyed with the next bookmark but still flipped it, only moving to the next day.
… If only I could strangle that woman! …
Soul jumped as if Viv's rage-filled voice was in his ear. He'd never heard her threaten a soul, always finding some calm, manageable way to discuss rather than an explosion of fists.
… Wes was so tearful this morning that I just couldn't take it. I asked Remy to watch Layla, giving Wes the space to actually talk, form sentences, think about the feelings he's always stuffing when it comes to Soul. I was almost sure it wasn't going to work since the two of them are so alike in their quietness about what they're really thinking, but Wes finally let it slip. I always thought that there must have been a fight between the two of them, some knockdown, drag-out altercation that ruined any chance of sibling comradery but it was that terrible bitch of a woman! How dare she even call herself a mother! …
Threats were one thing, but expletives were entirely another, making Soul's eyes go wide at even the insinuation that they took up space in Viv's mind. And my mother? What about her? There was some deep, heated anxiety that kept his eyes from the page again, making him linger on another draft from his whisky. What does Mom have to do with Wes and me?
… Having money and means doesn't excuse you being heartless to your children! Ten years apart and instead of embracing the way Wes wanted to help with the baby, she sent him away. That's why he went to boarding school, not because of his intelligence, or his talent with the violin, but because he was getting in the way of the baby. Testing Lenora's nerves. Her nerves! Which means all that Wes learned was he wasn't supposed to be with his brother, and all Soul knows is that being separate was the status quo. I told Wes I was going to bring Soul home right now, that there was no way I'd let this stand. But my wonderful, loving husband, who I thought could always pivot at every problem, just shrugged at me. He said it wouldn't do any good. Soul didn't love him, couldn't love him and Wes had come to grips with that. He'd always just love his little brother from afar. How can I just be expected to watch this happen? How can that be true? …
He slammed the cover shut as if it would squash all of that out of existence– as if it would make that shattering, splintering loss in his chest disappear.
Maka's phone blinked– a beacon in the dark. She contemplated the options before stretching a warm arm out of her covers to the definitely uncozy air of the rest of her room. Her eyes strained for a moment before blinking open wide and bringing the phone to her ear. "Soul?"
"I'm not drunk," he murmured with a dry laugh.
That fluttering weakness made her stomach turn, instantly bringing her from groggy to awake. "Is everything okay?"
Silence swallowed them. There was an ache to it, driving deeply into Maka's heart as she groped in the darkness for the right thing to say. Instead, his whisper finally started: "You ever believe somethin' so much… that when it maybe seems like it can't be true you just can't accept it?"
"Like what?" she pressed, even though her answer was yes. I'd say just simply based on the fact that we're dating my answer has to be yes.
His sigh echoed over the line. "I never felt like I knew my brother."
Maka sat ramrod straight in the bed, pained even with just the vague admission.
"I thought… I just always knew he wanted it that way." His voice cracked, a hoarse grinding coming from his throat. "What if I'm wrong?" he croaked. "What if I'm wrong and I can never ask him?"
"Soul…" Her eyes started to burn. "I'm– I'm going to come over, okay? I know it's late, but I'm coming."
Maybe it was supposed to be a laugh, but whatever it was he choked on it. "Nah, Maka, I-I didn't mean to–"
"Soul," she pleaded back. "Just let me."
His breath quaked over the other end of the line. "Yeah, alright."
"I'll see you soon."
The rest was a whirlwind that she tried to keep silent. If Papa awoke in the wee hours to see her gathering her things it might just become the end of the world, so she crept as quietly as she had as a teenager. There was a sense of infantile guilt to it—didn't I make the point at dinner that I'm a full grown woman?—but she forced that to come and go after replaying Soul's voice in her mind:
"You ever believe somethin' so much… that when it maybe seems like it can't be true you just can't accept it?"
Her mind could effortlessly and endlessly produce answers for that, list after list compiled as she finally made her way to her car and started the short trek to his house. As her headlights drew lines over the porch, she spotted him huddled on the stoop. "That idiot…" she hissed as the car jerked into park. She was out with a bang of the door behind her, feet launching towards him as he stood slowly. It wasn't tender at first– just a desperate collision as she snatched his trembling body against hers. "What are you doing out in the cold?"
"It's only in the thirties," he muttered, but his freezing fingers spoke differently. He settled into her, cheek resting against her hair as he shook. "I don't want Layla to hear."
"Isn't she asleep?"
"I-I checked on her…" His voice crumbled again, a sigh raking up the back of his throat.
"Then inside." Maka pulled back just enough to get her hands on his chest, easing him just one step back towards the house. There she hit his snag, feet hesitating until she looked up into his eyes. He was pleading for something out of Maka's grasp, so she offered: "It's alright. We'll go into the kitchen. There's no way it'll wake her up. Trust me."
He gave her a terse nod before turning away and leading her back into the house. She followed closely on his heels, glad for the warmth of the foyer but still terrified of the way he was frozen to the core. Even his glance at her came ice cold, utterly devoid of the life that usually danced behind scarlet eyes. Soul still tenderly took her coat, throwing it over the banister before walking through the dining room to the kitchen. There was an island there with two stools, and he waved Maka towards one.
She hesitated as he moved around to cabinets and took out a glass to raise in her direction. "Water?"
"Sure."
He nodded as he plodded along, pouring water from the fridge into the glass. After depositing the drink in front of her, it was as if he'd forgotten she was there, wandering off towards the living room to leave her hovering over the island. After a moment he came back, a book in one hand, a tumbler with a finger's worth of amber liquid in the other. The leather bound journal came to rest with all gentle reverence before he sat in the seat next to her.
Maka finally followed, watching as he sipped and winced before turning his attention to her. "Whiskey?"
"Yeah," he muttered as he rolled the liquid around the glass. "Normally don't bother with anythin' worse than beer, but…" A shaking finger tapped to the journal. "Sorta needed it tonight to work up the nerve to read this. Then became about… tryin' to forget, I guess."
She didn't dare touch whatever the sacred object was, her hand gripping her water glass instead. "What is it?"
"Viv's journal." He deadened that with another sip. "I didn't want to read it but Remy said I should and… I dunno. I dunno what I expected."
She relinquished the glass, finding no comfort in the grip of it. Instead, her fingers moved to the nape of his neck, smoothing the fine hairs there. "But it obviously made you think about your brother."
He barely nodded, seeming to avoid the risk of dislodging her hand. As she touched him, the whisper finally fell off his lips. "We were ten years apart. Don't remember much of him when I was little because he was off at boarding school. Holidays and summers he'd go off to some violin academy– he was a prodigy." That word came with a bitter scoff but none of it reached his eyes, Maka simply watching as they clouded over with a hint of tears. "By the time he was in college, I was already in that rebellious phase. Didn't give a shit about all that rich, stuck-up stuff– parents and him included."
"When he finally met Viv– married Viv, I thought for a second there could be a shift, you know?" He helplessly opened a hand towards the journal. "She was so sweet you could've assumed she'd fix the crisis in the Middle East for shit's sake but… first Layla was born and then I just kinda jetted. Fine, not 'kinda'– ran off in the middle of the night to the other side of the country because I couldn't stand up to my parents." He crumpled, head falling in his hands as he spoke more to his whiskey than her. "It's not like he came and got me, either. Viv called– wrote– would have sent a fuckin' carrier pigeon if she had one, but Wes never even tried. There's nothin' that could mean other than he didn't want to be my brother."
Maka continued to fret at his hairline while her other hand rested softly in the crux of his elbow. "But the journal said something different?"
A hefty sigh broke from him in reply, hands rubbing through his hair before he lifted his head again to look across the kitchen. "I keep tellin' myself Viv could be wrong. Wes could have been tellin' her what she wanted to hear, or…" A trickle started down his cheek, his lip quivering over the next breath. "It's easier– tellin' myself that I'm still right because if I'm not… I lost my brother and I don't have a goddamn chance of gettin' him back."
She leaned forward, arms moving to engulf him as he became nothing more than putty in her hands. His spine curled, a grown man suddenly becoming nothing more than a child as he collapsed into her. Her hands searched to warm his skin, to bring his heart back to life rather than the icicle she'd just witnessed on the porch. She ignored the discomfort of the angle, simply holding him tight and true with all her might. Soul shuddered against her for a while before finally falling still. "What else can I do for you?"
He pulled away, a grim smile on his face as he glanced softly over hers. "Think you've already done too much. It's way past your bedtime and–"
Maka ignored any of the playfulness, gathering his hands in hers instead so her words could come with a demanding squeeze. "I'm not joking, Soul."
A short, rueful laugh broke his lips before his eyes fell to their connected hands. "Sorry, just… Feels strange, havin' someone here."
"Because usually you just tamp it down, don't you?" While her voice lifted in the traditional lilt of a question, her mind and heart had already decided on his answer before it was even out. You do. You've hidden all this away for your entire life.
"'Course." He rubbed his thumbs over her knuckles as he sighed.
Now I don't even know what to do for you… but maybe if I try what I did before. Give you another moment where you can realize you're not alone. "That question that you asked…" she murmured weakly. "I think it just takes time."
He finally brought his attention back to her, red eyes just blinking slowly in wait.
"There's no way you can easily just throw it aside." Maka raised her eyebrows. "It's been your reality your whole life. Give yourself time to think about it." She shook her head softly, any sweetness in her smile turning bitter. "For most of my life, I assumed I'd never be romantically involved."
Strength came back to his laugh. "Well, when you say it like that…"
"Maybe if you feel fine enough to tease–" She tried to pull her hands away but he kept his grip steady.
"You gotta admit 'romantically involved' is pretty lame."
"Are you saying this"—she raised their joined hands—"is lame?"
He shook his head with a soft chuckle. "Alright, I'll bite though–why no romantic involvement?"
Pain for pain, right? Trust. Partnership. Depending on one another. "My papa had the habit of cheating on my mama." Maka finally separated one of their hands, bringing it back to run her fingers through her hair. "So it just made sense that that's what men did. He always said he loved her, loved our family, but love was never enough to keep him from hurting us." The reach of her fingers was dangerous, so terribly tempting as she cleared the residue of tears from one of his cheeks. "Even when we met, I tried to convince myself that you were the same way. I snapped at the office. I tried to keep my distance–even told myself the way you smiled at me was just a lie."
Soul placed his hand over hers, keeping it pressed to his cheek.
"It's not–" She interrupted that with a bitter laugh as her fingers played along his jaw. "The reality is you're a good man. You don't make promises you can't keep. You protect the people you care about, and when you hurt them, you make it right."
"You think…" he murmured softly, glancing over every inch of her face. "You think I'm changin' your mind on that stuff with your dad?"
"I think I've already changed my mind." The idea revived her smile, letting it start to glow again. "So I think you just need to give yourself more time. Maybe find out more about the situation, and then let it settle. You can't expect your heart to just flip over to the other side."
"And whatever it ends up being…"
"You'll learn to deal with it." His stare had become nerve wracking, as if he were unraveling her slowly and carefully. She almost stammered under the intensity. "And I'll always be here, too, in case…"
Soul's palm pressed tighter, his fingers flexing to keep her anchored against his cheek. It wasn't difficult—the span between them wasn't a canyon—but his tilt was a slow climb nonetheless. She felt his breath first, his eyes still trying not to leave hers as Maka's heart fluttered away like a caged bird. There was no willing it still, but she did manage to convince her eyes to close, to give that last little bit of consent that brought him home to her.
It was exactly that: a puzzle piece fit as his lips just gently caught hers. As with all his touches, this lingered softly to the point of insanity. Her only hope was to clutch uselessly to his hand, her mind nothing more than a pleading mess of more, more, more as he slowly pulled away.
"Thanks," he murmured. "For that and for this." Oh, Death, how he tortured her by planting his forehead to hers– that gentle love of his making the blood in her veins burn. "That was alright?"
Idiot! she wanted to chide, but instead she let her will take her. Maka couldn't keep the hunger from bleeding through this connection as her kiss lacked the subtlety of his. Even that filled only a drop in the ocean, but she broke the bond anyway. "I just hope– Before we–" A flustered sigh rattled her chest, making her force herself to back away or else be taken in another wave. "I just really want you to rest, because maybe this– this was–" Maka managed to get her hands back to her lap, leaving all the warmth behind even as she ached for it.
"No," he answered firmly. "I get what you're sayin'. I'm still upset, sure, but I didn't do that just now because I thought it was gonna fix somethin'." His palm slid along her arm, temptingly running over the shoulder to plant at her neck. "I felt close to you, and I wanted to show it. Showin' you I agree that it isn't just about comfort."
She barely had enough air for a sigh, coming out as something more of a shaky, gasping breath. Death, then don't. Don't just comfort me right now! Just–! Maka tried to quell the rush as she dipped into his touch. "Okay," she whispered weakly.
"It's late though"—he didn't even bother to glance at the clock, his attention still entirely on absorbing her—"so I think maybe we should call it a night. You have school tomorrow."
Even in the haze, Maka processed that threat quickly. "You don't?"
"I already told Kilik I wasn't goin' and gave him my plans," he muttered with a sigh. "He's gonna pick up Layla tomorrow with the twins and I'm just… guess I need to think about what I'm gonna say to my mother this weekend."
Oh, Death, Thanksgiving! Her stomach flew in a hard loop. "Soul, don't force yourself–"
"Nah–" His fingers spelled gentle reassurance against her jaw. "I know I said before that we usually have some sorta family drama, but I'm not about to stir it up. I think there's a few things I can ask 'just out of curiosity' instead of comin' off like a jerk." He sighed. "Just want to rehearse them a little."
The idea of it stole away some of the worry, adding warmth to her heart. Just imagine him in the mirror, reciting. Maybe that's why he's always so quiet– he works it in his head first before ever opening his mouth. "If you need a second opinion, just call me."
His smile threatened at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah, I'll do that. I, uh, I know we have weekend plans after Thanksgiving but… can I see you at least one time outside of school before that?"
"At least," she murmured like a prayer.
