How much time passed wasn't even on my mind, instead overly focused on my cycling thoughts.

Soul broke me from it with a soft touch to my shoulder. "Got you something," he murmured as he replaced his touch with the cup.

I hesitantly flexed my fingers around the cardboard, feeling the warmth seep through. "Thank you." He walked around the bench, taking the seat his mother had left, instantly sending me back to thoughts of her. "You should be with your mother."

Soul's eyes narrowed at me for a second, studying my face through my orders. "Wes is with her right now. She seems fine."

"She's not," the shame choked me again and I turned my eyes to the liquid in the cup. "I… I didn't mean to but I read her and she's… Soul, there's so much going on for her between your father and you that she's barely hanging on."

I expected some kind of immediate shot back but all I heard was a sigh, the creak of the bench as he leaned into it. "But you talked to her, too. She said you two had a conversation."

This felt like a derail in the conversation and I breathed a sigh of relief into my tea. "She asked me how you were and I tried to answer as best I could."

"It was more than that," he murmured.

"It wasn't like I was trying to pry," I snapped.

"Awful defensive for someone who's not." His voice was strangely unchanged, not challenging or amping up to something that could be a fight.

My backbone withered in the face of it, my eyes coming back to his. "I'm sorry."

He sighed again, a weak smile coming to his face. "That perception of yours, it's good for work, but I think you've forgotten that you're good with words, too."

"I-" But he shook his head, muting me immediately.

"When we were younger you used to ask me questions all the time." A small laugh broke through his lips. "Not that I always answered, but you've slowed that down to a stop. I know you read me sometimes…" He paused as I knew the guilt colored my cheeks. "You try not to, and I appreciate that, but I'd rather you ask for answers."

My lips pressed together tightly for a moment and I felt myself proving him right, holding onto questions that I wanted to be answered. "While we're here are you going to try to figure things out with your mom?"

"I asked for it, didn't I," he grumbled to himself as his hand smoothed through his hair. "Gut reaction is I don't want to. Easier to just live the way I've been living since I've made it work for six years." He sighed as his eyes moved away, focusing off at some spot as if the answer was out there. "I'm not heartless, though. I know she's hurting and I don't want that for her but… I'm scared, I guess."

"Scared of what?" I moved the cup to my other hand, allowing the newly freed on to grasp his hand from his lap. Instead of pulling the information in, I found myself just trying to push my soothing feelings out.

His fingers thankfully clenched at mine instead of refusing me. "Change, I guess. Maybe… scared of being honest about what's in my heart." His sigh was filled with disappointment as if those last words were idiotic rather than intriguingly cryptic.

"Soul, just letting her back in isn't the end of the world," it was a weak murmur because I knew it was an ineffectual comfort even before it left my mouth.

"No, but it's going to hurt." There was this anxious pitch to his voice, straining with each word. "I push, Maka, that's what I do. If I have to admit that I don't have to push people away anymore then… I'm not sure I can handle everything that comes with that." With that his teeth clenched closed, that hard set of his jaw telling me he'd had enough, that his word capacity for the day had been reached.

I filled the silence with sips of tea from my cup, blowing in between to cool it down. It was halfway done before I held it back to him, pleased as he didn't break our hands for it but used his free one. He took a sip and I watched him wince at the bitterness, a man that liked his tea soft and mellow like his music. I watched him grimace through the rest of the cup, wondering if I was part of those people he pushed, kept out of the inner circle of Soul. "Soul…" I barely had the nerve to say his name.

"Yeah?" Regardless of me watching him, he'd hadn't looked my way until that moment, that passive, dull look on his face that hid whatever tumultuous feelings he had underneath.

For a second I was sure I was going to scream, not actually words but some unintelligible groan of frustration and fear. I swallowed that feeling, trying to concentrate on the connection of our hands, again trying to send out some emotional morse code. "Whatever happens… please, just, don't push me away."

His jaw clenched, killing my dream of some immediate answer, but his hand gripped mine tighter, a shaky breath escaping through his teeth. "Maka, I try, but I do sometimes."

I couldn't even murmur the I know that sat on my lips. I couldn't beg, cry, ask for that again. It took all I had to say it that time and all I got was painful honesty, the real truth that there was a bridge between us and we were both to blame.

I woke up the next morning without Soul there. Not sitting at the end of the bed, not clutching to me beneath the sheets, not lingering around the room but completely disappeared. He hadn't even come close to me last night, purposefully staying on his side of the bed as if to add punctuation to the day's conversation. I forced the little part of me that wanted to press my face into the pillow and cry aside and got ready for the day, simply hoping I'd see his face over a cup of coffee at the breakfast table.

My excitement rose but then instantly muted as I realized it was Wes at the table, not Soul. "Good morning," he chirped.

"Good morning," I echoed hesitantly.

"Coffee's ready if you'd like." He thankfully pointed for me to narrow down the location of the pot in the expanse of the kitchen, seeing mugs arranged neatly next to it as if he preempted my next question.

I smiled softly in his direction, "Thank you." I felt his eyes follow me as I walked the rest of the way into the kitchen to the pot.

"Soul left early this morning."

He paused and I couldn't help but bristle, clutching tightly at the mug that was now in my hand.

"He said he wanted to hang out with Mom on his own," he sounded pleasantly surprised at his own statement. There was a pause, enough for me to pour my coffee and I assumed he was edited his conversation with Soul in his head, "He said you should relax today."

Relax? part of me shrieked. I felt overwhelmed with all the possibilities of how I couldn't possibly ever be relaxed when it finally occurred to me I'd been standing there silently with my grip on the coffee cup turning my fingers white. "I'm so sorry, Wes," I murmured as I turned a shaky smile back at him. "I don't mean to be rude but I might just… go back to bed."

"Not rude at all," he offered back a much better-looking smile than the one I was holding on to. "Though, I'd appreciate it if you were available for lunch. I can promise my cooking won't disappoint."

"Sounds nice." I contemplated the coffee in my hand for a second before settling on taking it up to the room. I threw a pathetic wave in his direction before starting back up the stairs, watching as the liquid swirled around the rim of the cup. The ripples from the steps gave me pause to think, finally setting aside my own hasty emotions and isolating what I really should have heard. Soul was with his mother, by himself, and chose to do so.

I let that thought settle into my mind as I set the coffee cup on the bedside table and threw myself back into the collection of pillows. Without thinking I rolled closer to his side of the bed, my face pressing into his pillow. He always had this light fragrance of mint from his shampoo and I found myself searching for it there, letting it soothe me as I tried to pretend we were still lying close together. The make-believe was so convincing that I awoke much later, my head still buried in his pillow, the ghost of his arm around my waist.

The room was still empty and I was still alone but my coffee had cooled with the three extra hours I'd spent in bed. This was a miracle to mark on the calendar for sure: Maka Albarn sleeps until 11 AM. I let a little laugh tumble from my lips before I tried for a second time to get ready for the day. Dejavu hit me as I found myself walking back down the stairs, coming upon Wes in the kitchen just as I'd left him. "Hello, again." I had prepared an actual smile this time, no spacing with worry about whether or not Soul would be there.

Wes set down the newspaper he'd been perusing, something close to a Soul smile on his lips. "Ah, feeling better?"

"Much better, thank you." I made my way slowly to the table, noticing the different papers and magazines strewn across the top.

"Soul did say you sleep terribly away from home," the sentence came so matter-of-factly from him that my jaw almost dropped.

With the shock came the inability to edit myself, "He said that?"

"Yes, hence you needing to relax today." Wes motioned towards the seat next to him, starting to clear some of the mess out of the way. "And hence why we're going to have a very fancy lunch."

I sat, trying to help in the arrangement of the table but getting my hands shooed away in the process. "Oh, you don't have to-"

"Please, the only thing I enjoy more than playing is cooking," Wes smiled pleasantly. "I'm going to hope you're not allergic to anything."

"No." I watched him as he stood from the table and began rummaging around the kitchen, spreading produce across the counter from the fridge and then moving on to the clang of pots and pans. Water was set to boil, the oven turned on, and the constant sound of chopping began. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

The chopping paused and Wes chuckled to himself. "Open the wine. The corkscrew is in the third drawer there." I followed the directions to extract the corkscrew and stared at the few bottles standing out on the kitchen counter. "Côtes du Rhône," he finally specified to save me from too many options. "The glasses are in the first cabinet there."

"It's a little early, isn't it?" I tried out a carefree, jovial laugh but there was a distinct edge of nervousness too it.

"Cooking is hard work, rewards are due." Wes continued his chuckling as he began to toss halved cherry tomatoes in some olive oil before turning back to chop the shallots. "And keeping the cook company is its own job."

I considered not rewarding myself since what was I doing but being a nosy stranger here, but without Soul, it felt like I needed something to take the edge off. The glasses were top to bottom in the cabinet and I was sure there were probably particular glasses for each wine presented in this household. My sophistication stopped at red wine went in the fat, not tall glasses so I picked out two stocky glasses and brought them back to the wine. Surprisingly, I was able to pour without spilling a drop, a blessing to my nervousness and brought one of the glasses to Wes, waiting as he put a tray of shallots and tomatoes into the oven.

He wiped his hand on a rag before taking the glass from me, "Thank you. Also, vegetarian?" I shook my head before turning back to the wine, hearing him fall right back into chopping. Instead of moving back to the table I hovered at the island, twirling the wine in my glass without taking the first sip. "So, I know Mom asked about Soul, so I got that second hand, but apparently none of us know anything about you."

"I'm not-" that important, I finished in my head, or all that interesting. "There's not all that much to know, but feel free to ask." That statement felt dangerous and called for a sip of the wine to wash back the fear in saying it. It was dry but made my mouth water from the bold fruitiness.

Wes set a pan on the burner and turned the knob, the gas clicking until it lit. "Well, I suppose it's a little of both. My first wonder is how you came to work with my brother. He's not exactly, well, I never imagined him attached to someone."

Another sip of wine because that question felt as if it had two levels as if it were reading the entire theme of this trip. "The first time we met, he said, 'This is the guy I am' and played this dark, moody piece. Maybe it should have scared me off, and maybe it had done so for others before me but I liked it, liked him." I refused to mention the spark I felt the first time we resonated, the way I never liked the fit of another soul but his. "Partnered ever since."

"Hm," Wes's smile oozed amusement. "Dark and moody fits him just right."

My teeth grazed my lower lip, ready to jam the words back down my throat but after another sip of wine, I let them go. "Was he always like that?"

Wes inhaled slowly through his nose before letting the air out in a huff, adding on a sip of wine before he turned his eyes to me, the chopping ceasing. "It's not entirely fair for me to judge being ten years older than him. I cared for him as a baby, but I'll admit that as a high schooler keeping up with a kindergartener didn't appeal to me." He sighed again before turning back to his work, sliding the finely chopped pancetta into the hot pan, making the room explode with that salty, cured smell. "As a child he was playful, soaking up attention when it was given to him, but I suppose that cooled slowly until he was practically mute by ten. I've noticed that he's… better now."

I couldn't imagine a playful, attention-seeking Soul, trying to superimpose Black Star's personality over Soul's body in my mind. He rarely ever asked for recognition, being someone that was sought rather than ever did the seeking. As I stared at the red liquid in my cup, giving it another swirl, the thought suddenly hit me as hard as a slap in the face: What if that was what his shame was about? He needed my touch, my attention, and he loathed asking for it, hated it so much that he saw it as something to be ashamed of.

I pushed that thought away, trying to force myself not to make guesses in the dark, not to build up some kind of hope. The smells helped me refocus on Wes, seeing greens now added to the pan that used to hold the pancetta, deglazed with some of the wine from the bottle, not the glass that Wes was now sipping from.

How long I had been lost in my thoughts didn't seem to affect Wes, who picked up his questioning right from where he left off. "And you two live together?"

"Yes." But I wondered at my inability to admit it was separate rooms, technically separate lives because while I wanted to tell the truth, I didn't want to correct this utopian lie we were living here. "Technically since we became partners."

"You mean you've lived together for more than five years and he hasn't driven you mad?" Wes settled back into a chuckle, "He must be better."

"Soul can be infuriating." I smiled playfully along the rim of my wine glass before taking another sip. "We fight, maybe a little more than we should."

"That's…" Wes turned to me his eyes narrowing for a moment before taking another breath. "I'd be more worried if he didn't fight."

I shook my head, "It's just little stuff, squabbles like when I get on his nerves about something or…" I let the sentence trail off as Wes shook his head.

"Letting things go is how he protects himself, keeps a safe distance between him and another person." Wes shrugged quickly, throwing a laugh at the end, "But like I said, maybe it's not fair for me to say I know these things. I only know from experience, not necessarily from the source."

I wondered if Soul would deny any of these behaviors that seemed to make strange sense and if I stored away these questions for later if he would answer them. The boldness of that thought was too much and I relied on the wine again to push it away, to focus on the alcohol warming my blood. Wes was too busy going about combining different ingredients to notice my silence and I let myself focus on his movements, leaning on my elbow between sips of wine. It wasn't long before Wes was arranging plates for the two of us, generously heaping pasta smothered in the roasted vegetables with a healthy sprinkling of pancetta.

My stomach overpowered any last thoughts of woes and drove me after him towards the table. After placing the plates, Wes went back for the wine, making sure to top off our glasses before leaving the bottle on the table in between us. "Enjoy!" Wes clinked his glass against mine before taking another long sip.

I mirrored him before moving on to the meal in front of me. My relish of the first forkful wasn't forced, the beautiful medley of flavors bringing at least some joy and contentment to the day. I waited for the first mouthful to clear before chiming, "It's amazing, Wes!"

"Thank you," Wes paused between a bite. "But that's the full extent of my talents. Beyond music and food, I haven't got much to offer."

I laughed softly, "I'm not sure what else you need." I went back to enjoying each bite, trying not to gorge myself on the plateful. I had only gotten about halfway through when the sounds of our forks were interrupted by a heavy clank from the hallway, what I could only assume was the door.

"In here," Wes called, confirming my suspicion.

As if in preparation I took another swig of the wine, making sure to scold myself for the impropriety of it even though Wes was too intent on watching the door to the hallway to notice. Soul finally peeked his head in, his eyes blinking, seemingly adjusting to the view of the two of us at the table. "Hey," it half mutter and half murmur as if he couldn't decide whether to be in awe or bothered by the current set up.

"Hungry?" Wes motioned at the table.

Soul looked at me as if I had the answer and I waved him over to the seat next to me and he followed. I slid my plate in front of him, only a little under half full, as he sat. "Here, finish mine."

"I can make more," Wes grinned knowingly, making me blush without much prompting.

"It's fine," I murmured, giving the plate another little push before taking up my wine glass again.

It was a strange sensation, the way he lightly pinched at my elbow as if to keep it out of sight but also keep it within a safe place to touch. "Thanks."

I couldn't look at him, just focused on the wine that I swirled in my glass, hearing the sounds of forks against plates again. Fighting myself, I leaned back, letting the sight of him fall just into my periphery. He looked tired, ragged even, and the thought struck me again that he didn't wake me at all last night and maybe that was because he hadn't even slept. You can't have nightmares if you don't sleep. And that reared a wave of ugly anger in me at his stubbornness, that he'd rather make himself sick than just give in.

He either felt that thought or my eyes on him because his gaze finally moved from the plate to me, eyes blinking slowly while trying to register my face. I'd been caught and I had no hope so I moved my eyes directly to his, trying to keep my voice filled with the pleasantness of the wine. "How is your Mom?"

"OK," he grumbled through a mouthful. Surprisingly when it cleared he continued, "She's going to come home to sleep tonight. Doctor thinks we could move Dad to rehab by the end of the week."

"So soon?" Wes interjected.

"Tests are coming back all good," Soul shrugged but the relief was starting to tug a smile onto his lips.

Wes let out a long sigh, resting his chin on his hand. "I bet she's still worried sick."

"When you love someone you can't help it. Even when they're OK, it's like the whole world could fall apart without them." Soul stared at the fork intently, his face registering a shock as if those words weren't his.

I didn't dare touch that statement and Wes seemed to do the same, all of our eyes having somewhere else important to be than each other. I finished the last of the wine in my glass, placing a hand over it as Wes reached for the bottle.

The fork clacked to his plate as Soul stood up. "Thanks, Wes." Without further explanation he started out of the room, steps quickly echoing down the hallway before I could even get a word in edgewise.

"I'm going to…" I stood slowly, trying not to heave a sigh. "Thank you, Wes, for everything."

"Not a problem," he looked at his brother's exit with a wistful sigh. "Just, be gentle with him."

I couldn't do anything but gasp for air in reply at I turned to follow after Soul. His footsteps were already shuffling up the stairs as I entered the hall and I forced myself a little faster so I could catch just the view of his legs as I entered the stairway. He didn't slow, not even a little, and left me almost out of breath trying to catch him, getting to him just before he could shut the door in my face.

Soul turned sharply, his eyes narrowing in that usual way before he was about to start a fight. "Look, if you're going to yell at me can you at least wait until after I get a nap? I didn't sleep at all last night."

This had plenty of fodder for an argument, easy attacks laid out for each of those statements, especially after my conversation with Wes, but I forced myself not to take the bait. "I wasn't going to yell."

"Why not?" The blankness of my tone didn't seem to matter, his side of the fight already started. "I ditched you today. I didn't tell you and I left you here."

I moved past him in his fighting stance and sat down on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. "Do you want me to be mad about that?"

"I don't know!" His argumentative tone was withering as he took a step closer to me on the bed.

I shrugged, "I'll admit the selfish side of me was lonely but I'm more proud than anything else."

"Proud?" He spat incredulously.

"You were out with your mom, weren't you?" I motioned him towards the bed, sliding my legs up to my chest to make room for him to sit at my feet.

He sat slowly, eyes focused on his hands. "I was," there was the quiet tone I was looking for, the tentative words.

"You were scared and you did it anyway. That's something to be proud of." I stretched out my legs a little, letting my toes tap at the side of his thigh.

Soul looked at them and a smile threatened at the corner of his mouth. "It wasn't a big deal."

"You can't talk me out of it." I nudged him with my foot again, just barely a kick but his hand wrapped around my ankle, stopping the movement.

He let a few breaths pass between us, his fingers flexing around my ankle. "I'm sorry I yelled."

"Forgiven," I smiled, hoping he'd actually look at my face but finding his eyes detailing my foot instead. "What did you and your mom talk about?"

His lips pressed tightly as if he was about to hold onto the answer but he took a deep breath instead, blowing it out with the words, "Lots of stuff. What I've been doing, which was hard to explain but I tried. She, uh, asked about you and I tried to just tell her general, I don't know…"

I leaned forward, my chest pressing to my knees again so I could get close enough to close my hand around his on my foot. "Did it feel OK?"

Soul released my foot, taking my hand instead, letting our fingers intertwine on the comforter. "Some of it was weird but overall… it's like you said, not the end of the world."

"Good." I tugged on his hand, feeling him resist any movement closer. "Come here."

"What?" Instead of following my lead he seemed to be trying to break apart our fingers.

I let him win the fight with his hand so I could turn to redistribute the pillows, slipping down into the nest I'd made. "You said you couldn't sleep last night. If you lay with me I think I can help. I'm no Marie, but you have to admit that I'm getting pretty good at the soothing wavelength stuff." I tried not to think about the heat on my cheeks at being so bold as to actually verbally suggest this, every other time passing between us without a word.

"Maka…" His eyes were finally on mine, trying to read my face.

"Don't argue," I murmured. I patted the space on the bed next to me, waiting as the only movement he made was to stare at my hand.

"What are you going to do?" the weak whisper fell from his lips.

"I'll read." I picked up my book from the bedside table, pulling in one knee to balance it there. "I'm nowhere near done so you can sleep as long as you want."

It was like watching him in slow motion, the crawl from my feet to bringing his body next to mine, slipping under the offered arm and resting his head against my chest. "I'm…"

I waited for him to finish that thought, unsure of where he was going but when I only got silence I opened my book, letting my other hand rest on his shoulder. "Just rest, OK?"

The only answer I received was his arm finally slipping around my waist, pulling himself tightly to my side.

It was only about an hour and a half before I was sure I had to get up. As my eyes turned from the letters on the page to his head on my chest, I let my fingers run tentatively through his hair. I held my breath, waiting for some stirring from him. There was nothing, so I shut my book and put it back on the side table, starting to angle my shoulder to get out from underneath him.

His arm tensed around me first before his eyes fluttered open. As he slipped out of sleep, his arm dropped away from my waist, letting me roll away from him. "Sorry…"

I had been smiling but that word struck me, crumbling a little of the comfort I'd just had for the last hour at least. "I just have to get up, that's all. I'll be right back." The bed creaked in response to my rushed movement, pushing myself quickly out of the room and into the attached bathroom. Even with my need, I took a moment to press my back to the door, trying to let go of my growing hatred for sorry. After that, I did what I needed to do, spending extra time at the handwashing phase. I turned the tap to cold and splashed some water on my face before cupping my hands to bring some to my lips in hopes of clearing out the wine residuals.

As I re-emerged into the bedroom he was still lounging, only bringing himself up on his elbows as soon as I reached the edge of the bed. "I have to ask you something." Even with all my cool from before, my ability to not fight back, I heard an edge in my voice.

He nodded as his eyebrows furrowed.

I slipped my arms around myself, clutching at my elbows. "Why do you feel the need to apologize for touching me?"

His mouth opened but instantly closed as his breath started to quicken.

That fear on his face fed my own panic and the words just started to spill from my lips. "You said it when you woke up and I'm almost positive you wanted to say it right when you laid down, you even started with the 'I'm' but cut yourself off."

"I don't…" He slowly crawled to a seated position, his eyes burning into me, slowly drifting into a pleading that I'd never seen before. "I don't want to talk about that."

"What does that mean?" It was supposed to be angry but all I could produce was the same pleading that was coming from his eyes. I was tired of it, the fear, the running, but at the same time, I was reaching the maximum in my courage for this.

He pushed a hand through his hair, allowing his eyes to fall to his lap with a shaky breath. "Maka, I…" His voice lowered to almost nothing, "The nightmares, they're always about you dying."

"What?" My fingers tightened on my elbows and my breath felt forced. "That doesn't answer-"

"You're…" There was the dry click of his throat before his words started again. "I know you care. You're the only one."

Care was just a light word, holding not even an ounce of the weight of what I really felt. Correcting it seemed impossible. "It's not just me."

"With my mom, dad, Wes it's always been… I've never felt it, Maka. They could tell me, sometimes show me, but it never sunk in, settled." His teeth set together, the click of his jaw ringing in my ears. "Losing that, losing you is what scares me the most."

A terrifying thought crossed my mind, that somehow soul perception had come as easily to him as it had to me, that my own heart was laid bare every time he touched me. It wasn't possible and that part of me terrified of change grasped for ways to move away from examining it for too long. "So for years, that's what you've been dreaming about?" I waited for some kind of protest, some redirection back to the question of how much I cared. "And why wouldn't you tell me?"

"It wasn't so bad until Asura and…" He moved slowly to the edge of the bed as if it were painful to bring himself to his feet. "I just couldn't tell you. I couldn't. We were so busy with everything, with fighting for our lives that you didn't need to take care of me on top of it all." Soul moved towards me, a tentative hand touching at my elbow. "That's why when you touch me I… I feel guilty like I'm asking for too much. I hate that I make you take care of me."

"Idiot," I murmured. I felt my own eyes starting to water because the realization was finally dawning on me: it wasn't just me sacrificing any other side of myself for the job. We'd become just our work while the rest of it got buried away, held off until there was "time." As if there would ever be any of that. It was the words building up behind my teeth that finally unleashed my own tears. "Taking care of you is what I'm good at. It's what I want to do. You don't make me do any of it."

"Maka…" His lips pressed into a thin line and I could see his jaw clench.

My mind started backpedaling, trying to find an explanation but my mouth leaped without its help. "In the field, of course, but at home, too. It's the only thing that feels right when it's you and me and we're…" I gave up, the jumble of words dissolving into a sob. I wasn't even sure why I was crying, probably because I was stuck somewhere between the fear that just saying all of that would end this or catapult us into something that would only end in ruin. This limbo that we were in had been safe, anything a step in one direction or the other could mean doom.

"Don't get worked up," he murmured. "I'll… Maka, I guess I'll get better at letting you, OK?" Before I could say another word his hands moved, one grasping steadily to my shoulder and pulling me to his chest. Now my face was tucked in the crook of his neck, his hand reaching to smooth my hair. "And I'll get better at doing the same for you."