The hatred at the breakfast table was tangible, but Soul waded through it as he sat across from that hard glare.

"Why do I have to go if you're not?" Layla finally laid out the true argument–the one that had furrowed her brow all morning.

He tried to roll his eyes at the drama before him, finding some amusement in the way it amplified the pout on Layla's lips. "Bug, it's only a half day, and all you're doing is probably just making finger turkeys or whatever."

"Which is exactly why I should stay home with you, Papa!" It was her final defense, hands coming flat to the table to really hit her point home.

"Nope." Could he say he was slightly proud of standing his ground? Possibly. There was definitely a delicate toe to that line. If he let her stay, it could be an easy excuse not to think about his dilemma. He could forget entirely about even bringing anything up to his mother, but… "Anyway, if it makes you feel any better, I'm gonna be picking you and the twins up and then you can all get into trouble here for the rest of the day. High school has a full day, so we'll just have to wait for Kilik."

All enticement from that was gone, leaving Layla to just grumpily go back to her breakfast.

Soul cleared his throat. "Just so you know… Maka came by for a little bit last night, after you went to bed."

Layla glanced at him, her interest definitely piqued but that little bit of wounded pride getting in the way.

"Just not keepin' any secrets, okay?" He offered, waiting to see if the olive branch was going to be stomped underfoot.

"Why only a little bit?" She murmured out of the corner of her mouth.

"Uh…" Soul shrugged, knowing the truth was a tangled mess that he couldn't give an eight year old. Because I was on the verge of a breakdown, and she needed to keep me from jumpin' off a ledge. "Just how it worked out, I guess. We don't have a lot of time, so…"

"So why doesn't she stay over?" That was said with such ease and assurance that it hit Soul's stomach with a baseball bat's swing.

"Layla, stayin' here means–" Means that all those things I was just able to keep under wraps after kissin' her goes out the fuckin' window.

"Keira said her daddy's girlfriend stays over almost every night," she added with all the dryness of a woman far beyond her years. "And Maka is your girlfriend, isn't she?"

"Well…" Soul started but his tongue snapped dryly against the roof of his mouth.

Exasperation that he'd never seen before laced Layla's brow before she huffed at him. "Did you even ask Maka if she wanted to stay over?"

Layla! He wanted to desperately plead. Yeah, sure, I kiss her a few times and then I give her the smooth 'let's go to bed' after all she said about her dad. Sure. That's gonna work. "I-I'll talk to her." All he could do was hold his breath, hoping that would be the last word at least until Layla talked to Keira or the myriad of other kids she'd apparently been grilling for dads-having-girlfriends information.

"Good." Thankfully, Layla flushed with pride instead of more curiosity, stabbing her fork back into her breakfast.

Fuck. He sighed out the air trapped in his lungs before looking down at his coffee. Any more questions like that and I'm gonna lose my mind! I haven't even gotten the guts to make sure she's stayin' next weekend. We usually divvy up the rooms and… His hope was that the bitter gulp from his mug could wash away the thought, the fear, the anticipation.


It's embarrassing!

Fine, yes, I-I guess I have to admit that in some ways it's natural.

Attraction, intimacy, sex–it's all natural.

It's just when I– when he kissed me, I just wanted more. It wasn't the right moment for more. It was insensitive. It wasn't in line with the situation. It was just– want, need, excess. Because… because I'm just like my papa. I don't feel things just a little, I feel it like it's the entirety of me. He could have undressed me right then and there, and I would have just let it all burn me to cinders.

All the bottled feelings that I've ignored, packed away, kept at bay just aren't settling anymore. Is it because I just haven't let other men near me, so this being the closest—the most intense—that I've gotten is just amplifying it? Because I'm trying not to be some hopeless romantic and let the thought that it's him sink in. He is a wonderful, amazing man, but… it's so early. I only know so much and I-I should have doubts, right? I should be careful. This is one time I can't jump. I can't just rush head-first into this.

I need to keep the tempo we promised.

Slow.


Soul's glass was bone-dry, making him come back to the bar top to grab at least one more half regardless of the little snuff it earned him from his mother. Like you haven't had at least three, Soul wanted to mutter back but focused on the bitter berry that settled on his tongue instead.

Layla was leaning next to Shihab, listening carefully to what he was whispering. Soul father's name—shooting star for the white hair that he'd passed down to his boys—was the only thing that hadn't been Americanized. His clothes, his voice, his business was steeped in the new world–the tan to their skin the only hint that you couldn't erase everything about your beginnings. Soul's mother Lenora had helped with that at least–a WASP that reeked of old money. As a pair, they may have visually seemed mismatched, but mentally had been made for each other in that brutal, money-means-everything sort of way.

"Layla, stop stooping," Lenora called after the pair exasperatedly before shooting a look at Soul. "Honestly, Solomon, when are you going to teach her manners? She is old enough for at least a little etiquette now."

And I'm sure you have a pamphlet for some bougie class at the ready, too.

"Let her be," Shihab chided as he leaned back into the sofa. "It's a holiday."

"Anyway, no time for etiquette classes. She's spendin' her weekends with Julien and Remy," Soul chimed with the joy of watching the souring of his mother's face. "Every weekend, actually."

Lenora of course refused to settle into a seat—a lady's figure is always best standing—but came to haunt just above Soul's shoulders. "It must be so nice to be retired, Julien!"

"Ah, yes, I am grateful for the time I can have with Layla," Julien piped, lending a glum smile to Soul.

"And it's so nice that you've had more time away from your PhD program, Remy. After all, that's why I suppose you weren't considered to take Layla to begin with."

Touché, Mom. It wasn't a surprise that Lenora could multitask and find as many buttons as necessary to push. Soul resigned himself to another gulp from his glass as he leveled apologetic eyes at both of the Desjardins.

Layla—in all her infinite mercy and talented ability at reading a room—suddenly perched in front of the three men, engaging both her grandfathers and her uncle in a sudden bout of melodious conversation.

Soul turned just enough to catch his mother standing behind him. "Mom, don't tell me you're thinkin' about Layla goin' someplace like Wes did."

"Why not?" Lenora cast incredulous eyes to her son. "It's not like your father and I can't pay for it and you have her in a public school."

He could almost snort a laugh at that but he bit his tongue, instead focused on the real information that felt so oddly within his reach. "I mean, she's just eight. You didn't send Wes off 'til he was ten."

"It might be good for you," Lenora offered with an apathetic wave. "Layla's at an age where she can stomach being on her own. She's not a toddler anymore that needs to be stuck to your heels."

"Still, Mom, it seems awful young. Was Wes even ready?" All of him was pins and needles as he faked through the interest rather than the explosion.

Lenora rolled her eyes. "There's always an acclimation period, Solomon, but I had you at home. Wesley had to grow up, and it did wonders for his social skills. Honestly, he blossomed at boarding school."

Acclimation period? Soul exerted every last bit of energy in keeping his hackles from raising. "It's not like a ten year old wants much to do with a baby, anyway, right?" His laugh at the end was breathless, stolen by the new effort to keep tears from his eyes.

"Oh, no, Wesley was obsessed with you," Lenora replied with a pained sigh. "He was constantly in the way, though. A ten year old boy is not a nanny. It just made more sense that both of you had your space. And now maybe it's time for you to have some space from Layla."

Rage and disappointment quarreled in his gut for a moment before it slowly unraveled to that regular Evans ennui. I get why it hit Viv so hard but… I'm not surprised. It doesn't feel like some big shock that her and Dad would just… "Sorry, Mom," he murmured, making nothing but the love for his daughter stir in his heart. "Layla's stayin' right where she's at." He handed off his wine glass to her, knowing the complaint would start on her lips. Instead, he rose, quick steps taking him first in the direction of the washroom—that quick maneuver that usually at least bought him time—but continuing on through the mudroom instead to the side deck.

The frigid air was a welcome wake-up call, shaking off some of the lingering anger that was trying to fuse deeply into his heart. Soul planted his elbows on the railing and leaned his cheeks into his palms to catch his breath.

"Christ, this place is a maze."

Soul jumped, head swiveling quickly to find Remy slipping through the sliding door.

"And you have to pick the coldest spot," he huffed before waving a hand towards the absurdly unnecessary patio heaters that Lenora had bought to Soul's right. "Turn on the heater, huh?"

He did as ordered before glancing back at Remy dumbfoundedly. "What d'you want?"

"A smoke," Remy replied with a sigh as he took what looked like an aged pack out of his jacket pocket along with an old school metal lighter.

"Didn't know you did."

"Dirty little secret," he chimed back almost pleasantly as he popped a cigarette in the corner of his mouth before pocketing the pack. "Only in case of emergency. Don't worry, Lala doesn't even know."

Soul bristled slightly. I would hope fuckin' so. You can't smoke around my kid. He bit down the urge to growl. "Does your dad?"

"Pot calling the kettle black if he had anything to say about it," he shot back tightly before lighting the end and drawing in a deep drag. "Where do you think he gets that signature little cough from?"

Guess you don't really know anyone… Soul opted to drop it, returning to the railing to look out into the coming darkness. He could still make the outline of the trees, the stillness of the ornate pond in the yard.

"Lenora really knows how to be a bitch."

For once, Soul could appreciate Remy's lack of candor, finding himself chuckling at the accusation.

"I heard what she said about sending away Lala. I think you could have been a little more brutal with your reply." Remy kept a respectful distance, his smoke drifting and dissipating before it could reach Soul. "Then again, I've only seen you angry that once, and I have to say, you've got a little bit of a dark side that I didn't expect."

"Thanks?" Soul offered skeptically, catching Remy out of the corner of his eye. "Not worth gettin' pissed at her for. She doesn't get it, doesn't learn, so it's pretty pointless to fight."

Remy hummed thoughtfully before taking another drag. He played with his exhale, a few smoke rings forming off his lips. "What if she tries to take Lala?"

Death, could you stop callin' her that? Soul's anger exploded in the wrong direction, trying not to hear the reality of Remy's threat. "I have custody," he grumbled tightly. "You know who made that decision."

Another calm, melodious hum came from Remy. "Just make sure it stays that way. I prefer you to your mother, and Mom and Dad want to keep seeing her regularly."

"Whatever," he huffed grimly before lowering his head into his hands again.

Remy flicked ash over the railing. "Did you read the journal?"

Soul's fingers clenched together tightly. "Some of it."

"It was really rare that Viv ever got angry." There was something wistful about his tone, evergreen eyes joining Soul's gaze out into the darkness. "And telling your mother off–"

"She what?" Soul's head swiveled to the point of whiplash.

"Ah, you're not there yet." Remy chuckled before taking another slow drag. "But I'm sorry– for making assumptions about you and Wes. He was just always so insufferably personable I just never…"

"Yeah," Soul replied hollowly. "But I'd just rather not talk about it."

Remy cleared his throat and got back to the dregs of his cigarette. There were no more insects or birds to make music to fill the interlude, both of them only breaking the silence with breath. Remy lifted a foot, putting out the butt against his heel before palming it. "Just read the rest of the journal, Solomon."

He let Remy have the last word, not even turning his attention as the man slipped back into the house. Soul sighed before pounding his wrist to the railing. I just don't know how much more I want to find out.

It was then that the kiss drifted over his mind again—something that he had to admit happened quite often—but this time joined with that warm promise Maka had made: "And I'll always be here, too, in case…"

Soul grabbed his phone from his pocket, unlocked the screen, and found her easily. [[Thinking about you]]


Maka had given up all hope of slyly trying to refill her wine glass. Spirit didn't seem exactly intent on her anyway, but her patience was daring him to say one word about her alcohol intake for the evening in the face of this disgusting show.

Alright, she couldn't call it lurid.

Not scandalous.

And while Blair's outfit could strike some as salacious, Maka was willing to chalk it up to body positivity and let it go.

It was her papa's crooning. The sweet, love-drunk faces he used to shower Blair with a glow that was almost too corny to bear. The cloying pet-names that left his lips almost as often as they met her cheek after using them. It was all of its lack of obscenity that made it obscene. The wholesome, rom-com energy just sapped her of her ability to be appalled but at the same time knowing she should be.

"Your papa tells me you're a guidance counselor," Blair chimed, her voice so perfectly pleasant that it couldn't grate down Maka's spine the way she wanted it to. "Working with teenagers must be so exhausting, but rewarding too!" She leaned forward, ample bosom pressing against the table to really boost the cleavage that was already obvious.

"It can be," Maka agreed with half a smile. "Papa didn't tell me what you do though."

Blair tapped at Spirit's cheek—the falsest slap Maka had ever seen—before chiding him softly. "And you say you talk about me all the time!"

"Oh, he does," Maka corrected. I just tend to tune it out. Your name pops up and then it's all white-noise afterwards. "But I'm always so busy it's like we never have time to talk."

Blair purred out the sweetest note before sending her a cat-like grin. "Since you got that new honey that Spirit's been complaining about?"

"Blair–" Spirit tried to cut what was obviously going to not be Maka's favorite conversation, but that only made the lovely lady dig in deeper.

She pressed a playful hand to his chest. "I told him to stop being so overprotective. You're a woman, and talented and beautiful at that. He should consider himself lucky that you're so guarded to begin with."

Guarded? The wine left Maka entirely unable to keep herself from leveling a glare Spirit's way. "Hear that, Papa? Lucky."

Blair added another cute little growl of agreement before leaning into a Spirit who looked about as pleased as a mouse pressed under a cat's paw.

For a second, Maka let an ounce of the victory process, enabling her to bring a smile back to Blair. "So, how did you and Papa meet?"

She clapped her hands in delight, golden eyes lighting up. "He came in for a reading! Everyone in town knows that I give the best romance readings!"

Maka took another gulp of wine to keep from expelling a desperate laugh. Romance reading! Did you by chance see the divorce? The string of infidelities one after another? The absolute, unabashed way he–

"Oh, Maka, let me see your hand!" There was hardly a choice in that statement as Blair's finely manicured fingers scooped up Maka's unused palm. A perfect purple nail ran across the lines as if they were braille. "This is your first boyfriend!"

Her cheeks pinked in reply, lip buttoning shut.

Blair didn't require any encouragement to continue. "And it hasn't been without a few rocky moments…" Her eyebrows bounced up, a tantalizing smile starting on her lips. "Oh, but the two of you!"

"The two of them, what?" Spirit finally interjected.

She tsked away his question. "Not for papas to know," Blair cooed playfully.

The two of us? Maka tried to will her cheeks from blaring to red.

Blair—and her bosom—leaned closer, engulfing the space on the table between them. "Trust me, kitten, very compatible."

Now there was no hope that her face wasn't going to mimic a tomato– the clear meaning of compatible shining in Blair's eyes. There was also a different kind of scorching heat palpating off her papa that left Maka entirely smoldering. "Um…" She started with absolutely no follow up, though the universe somehow finally came to her aid as her phone buzzed in her pocket. "I have to get that!"

She pulled her hand away as kindly as she could before turning and practically sprinting from the table. It definitely wasn't a phone call—one buzz—but that didn't mean that she couldn't fake it. "Hello?" Papa had no chance of hearing the fact that there was no reply, and Maka was pretty much home-free by the time she slammed her bedroom door behind her.

[[Thinking about you]]

Somehow that was both perfect and terrifying at the same time. What was she supposed to text back? Yes, I was thinking about you too. About how compatible we are– if you catch Blair's drift. Maka groaned. Realistically, it was sweet. It was exactly what she should expect from him even though he was probably struggling with his own family problems tonight. [[Same. Hopefully it's not "guts pulled out my nose" grade over there]]

[[That was earlier downgraded to water torture after dinner]]

She snorted a laugh, cradling the phone for a moment as she pulled in a slow breath. He's okay, you're okay, and this is just–

[[Think I can see you tomorrow?]]

Any calm she had fluttered away instantly. [[Are you OK?]]

Those torturous dots were back, cycling over and over as if he would never reply until: [[Want to kiss you again]]

Good bye, heart. Good bye, common sense. Good bye, any last functioning brain cell. Maka just kept her eyes on the screen– reading, disbelieving, reading again, blushing, stuttering, letting her heart beat unsteadily between her ribs. All of her nerves flashed to life, a not unwelcome knot starting below her stomach just begging to be unfurled. She bolstered herself with a breath. [[I'd like that. Coffee? Dinner?]] After Layla goes to bed?

[[Real dinner date. Think I can pick you up without a major meltdown at home?]]

That was a question Maka most certainly instantly knew the answer to but the surprising fact was that she could not muster an ounce of care. A date. It's not like we haven't had those before but they've been low-key, at his house, with Layla, and this… [[What time?]]

[[6? I'll get you home before your curfew promise]]

[[Great. Can't wait]] Maka relaxed her arms, letting them swing at her side as her head tapped back against the door. Except maybe I don't want you to.