I totally have to admit that I'm loving this. I seriously can't deal with myself. I need to finish other fics but instead, I'm working on this. Forgive me.
Every day, Soul begged off the moment they hit the street from the subway, leaving her just a block from work, safe and sound, but confused. Thanks to Liz, just about everyone at the office knew they were living together, completely platonically, of course. It only made sense to assume that they'd show up to work at the same time, no whispers of scandal necessary. Instead, he was always a solid ten to fifteen minutes late, leaving her twiddling her thumbs at their desks unless she made them coffee, an act that somehow always produced teasing from Liz.
This morning was no different, Liz cornering her in the kitchenette as she started brewing a new pot since no one in this office could manage to replenish after they'd drained it dry. "So, two months of living together!"
"Yup," Maka offered chipperly as she tossed the grinds into the filter.
"And it's been…?"
"Great?" Maka stumbled at what to give here. It was, honestly, better than great. Soul was perfect, all of his needs seeming to mold around hers. He wasn't a shower hog, he didn't leave dirty dishes in the sink since he insisted on doing them if he was eating her cooking, and unless she was prodding him he was quiet. She had thought that maybe music would be a problem, but he mostly plugged in his headphones, and while he had the piano, he never seemed to use it even though he played so well that first day.
"Great…?" Liz pressed.
"Great!" Maka slapped the hinge shut and pressed the power button as she tried to focus on the hiss of her incoming coffee.
"Maka…" Liz groaned.
She turned to bat her big green eyes at Liz innocently. "What?"
"You're telling me you've lived with him for two months and nothing has happened?"
"What was supposed to happen?" Maka continued through her confused blinks.
Liz gestured vaguely, "You know, you two…"
"Have become friends," Maka finished quickly.
"Friends," Liz echoed with a huff.
"If you're expecting something else-" Maka started but slid to a quick stop, biting her tongue as she interrupted the coffee pot to pour at least one cup, something to keep her busy.
"I'm not saying I'm expecting, but you do spend a lot of time together, and even here it's like you're in your own little world sometimes. Like two little peas in a pod." Liz leaned in just in time to catch a strange terror gripping Maka's face. "Wait, what is it? Did something happen?"
"No," Maka croaked, the sudden urge to cry tarnishing her hopes for clear words. That was her mother's voice echoing in her head, 'two peas in a pod,' that phrase that her mother used to lovingly say to her father before all the mess, before the truth and the tears. Maka tried to swat the idea away. "It's nothing." She rushed the coffee, slipping out of the tiny corner to get back to their desks. As she put the cup down she didn't bother to look him in the face, knowing what she'd find.
"You good?" he murmured.
"Fine," she tossed back quickly as she hit the seat. It was time to baby her coffee cup and avoid the glances he kept giving her even though he didn't have the urge to speak up again, only talking when necessary about their next projects. It was the first time she was the one giving one-word answers, her mind still firmly wrapped in that phrase.
That's why I have to stop this from creeping up on me. We are friends. These stupid little thoughts, like that first day in the apartment where I stared at him, so creepily, while he was sleeping, daring myself to touch the intricate patterns on his back, are just because he's here. Because I'm not doing anything about my situation. Because I can't even go out in this city without him.
There was a weaker voice that had started to fight back, something that terrified her even more than the other thoughts. But he's kind. He does everything for you, protects you when you need protecting but he's also trying to make you better, to let you grow. He's relying on you, too, putting a lot of well-guarded trust in you. And the way he looks at you… Maka chanced a glance and the voice was validated, the way he met her gaze and held it, usually unemotive eyes letting the veil slip just for her. A solid echo of worry lit up his scarlet eyes.
"Get your stuff," he muttered as he broke the exchange by standing from his chair.
"What?" Maka's eyes followed up but he was now intent on looking around the office.
"Lunch. Let's go."
Maka checked the computer screen and while it was technically an acceptable hour this was hardly within the usual parameters. She usually slipped off quietly and ten to fifteen minutes later he'd appear to munch next to her without conversation, simply proximity. Soul was obviously tired of the indecision and he started to walk away, leaving her scrambling to grab her bag and chase after him. Besides his order, Soul was quiet and Maka fell into her regular position, letting him tap her elbow as necessary. He was taking her on the street, not touching the subway and while the day was sizzling there was at least the comfort of a breeze. Maka wished it was enough to flutter through her brain and clear the clutter.
Soul tugged at her elbow, stopping her in her tracks in front of a small storefront. Again, no words to accompany the action, just Soul opening the door with a sharp jingle and motioning her in.
"Oh, it's you!" Kim perked from behind the counter, a smirk stretching at her lips. "And Soul."
Maka scraped the back of her memory for the names Soul had uttered in the dark club. "Kim?"
"Right, and Maka?" Kim offered back tentatively before smiling as Maka nodded. "And what did I do to earn this unexpected visit?" She raised her eyebrows at Soul who adopted the usual flat face in reply.
"Supporting local business," he answered dryly as he nudged Maka towards the counter.
It was a bakery with everything you'd expect, and assortment of breads, cakes, cookies, and bite-sized treats that made Maka's mouth water.
"Well, you know I'll always take your money," Kim winked.
"Just give me the usual," he muttered. Maka was surprised by the way the grip on her elbow relaxed, his fingers just caressing the skin of her arm. "What do you want?"
For your touch to not feel like I want more of it, she thought desperately. "What are you having?"
"It's this weird cinnamon thing-"
"Horchata cake," Kim corrected as she crouched into the case, pulling a giant frosted cake from the bottom.
"That," Soul finished with a wave of his hand.
"I'll take a slice of that, too, please," Maka tried to let the pleasure ooze from her voice as she tried to convince herself a confectionary treat was really what she needed.
Kim sliced off two hefty portions onto plates, sticking forks in each. Soul dug into his pocket before Maka could even move her bag. Actually, she didn't really have a choice since his hand at her elbow had moved instantly, swatting her away from even reaching in. "We're going out back," Soul grumbled to her.
A smirk stretched across her lips and Kim opened her mouth but the steady glare from Soul gave her pause. Maka watched the tense game before Soul grabbed the plates and started around the counter.
"Thank you," Maka threw to Kim before hustling after Soul. He was taking her on a strange trip through the back of the store, past ovens and counters filled with baking equipment before they hit a small fenced-in alcove outside. There was a table there with mismatched chairs, an ashtray half-filled with cigarette butts. It had to be what would pass for a break area.
Soul placed the cakes down and settled into one of the chairs, looking up at her expectantly until she did the same. "I know it's not a real lunch."
Maka let the fork hit the delicate cake, a smile finally gracing her lips. "No, but you don't really eat a real lunch anyway, do you?"
"Nah," he answered through half a mouthful of cake.
"Why's that?" Maka offered before putting enough cake on her fork to delay any other questions and shoved it into her mouth.
"Don't really have time, ability, effort to make anything," Soul shrugged. "Plus, convenience stores exist."
Maka was so wrapped in the euphoria of the cake, that perfect mixture of spice and sweet that she almost missed the answer. As she played it back, the realization shot from her mouth, "That's where you go every morning!"
He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. Every morning I drop you off and go. What did you think?"
Maka shrugged, "Just thought… I don't know, us walking in together, maybe…"
Soul had taken another bite, slowly chewing through it as his eyebrows evolved into a scowl. "Like I was ashamed to be seen with you? Seriously?"
"I don't know," she murmured.
"Don't be stupid," he hissed before letting the next part drift into a mutter, "Definitely worse people to be seen with."
"I guess," she sighed, "but I thought you might be upset about, I don't know, rumors or…"
Soul let out a sharp laugh, "Trust me, not the worst rumor about me by far." He paused to stab at his cake again and she watched as he borrowed a play for her book, biting at his lip before he let the words out. "Was that what today was about?"
"No," Maka warbled around another mouthful of cake.
"Is that the truth?" He pressed. "I think no lying is part of the friendship thing."
"It wasn't that," she sighed, letting the fork clank to her plate as she took a break to lean on her elbow. "Have you ever…?"
"Spit it out, Maka."
She huffed but it barely covered the strange calm that was starting to come over her, leeching it out of the moment even with the words leaking from her mouth. "You hear a phrase and it reminds you of some other time and it just… it ruins everything. You can't get it out of your head and it's not the past anymore. You compare it to now and suddenly you can't see the difference."
"Sure," Soul nodded through another bite. "Usually stuff from my mom."
"It was my mom, too," she whispered.
"Thing is," he dropped his fork and pushed the dish towards her. "While big histories have the tendency to repeat themselves, wars and shit, the ones that include you or me, not so much. You can tell me I don't know shit, because technically I don't, but something tells me you're not your mom, so why bother letting her words try to make you?"
The words hit her like a crashing wave, disorienting her even in the seat. She clutched at the table, staring at his unblinking and somehow completely steady eyes. When she finally got enough air, "Do you take your own advice?"
"Nah," he snorted a laugh. "Or maybe just sometimes. I don't think I have much of a chance of being like my mom anyway. But you…" He swallowed before running his hands through his hair. "What you said about your mom, you know, not being available," somehow he perfected the emphasis she had given it, and that instantly sent her heart thundering. "That's not you. If anything you have the opposite going on so maybe give yourself a break, OK?"
I wish it was that. I wish it was because I felt cold, absent, but it's the opposite. Especially since, at that moment, she couldn't be further from that feeling, not with him sitting in front of her, that tentative, searching smile on his face. She could only fill the silence with the renewed scrape of her fork, another bite to chew through and an excuse not to look at his face. He'd given up on his cake two-thirds of the way through and was leaning back in the chair, letting the sun beat down on his face as he watched along the edge of the fence.
Maka finished her cake and her thoughts. "Soul…"
"Yeah?" His eyes drifted back to hers, his screen still down as they reflected the anxiety of her quietness.
"You should stop eating not real lunches," Maka murmured as she pushed the last few crumbles on her plate.
He smirked, "You mean cake doesn't fit all the food groups?"
"Not at all," the laugh that left her was refreshing, warmer than the afternoon. "So why don't I just start making lunches for both of us?"
It sounded like he was struggling to clear his throat and when Maka looked up at him, afraid he was choking on cake, he seemed to be strangling on the words instead, his mouth stopping and starting with useless puffs of air.
"It's not a big deal, I used to do double when I was at home anyway," but the words didn't seem to relieve the block in his throat so she took another deep breath and dived in, "I'm not trying to mom you or anything, it's just-"
"How do we make it even?" his murmur broke through hers.
"Even?"
"We have a deal, Maka," he leaned across the table. "What we do for each other has to be even."
Staying with me makes it even, and that brought a blush to her face that made him drop the lean and give her the unnecessary space back. "You do the dishes, and we can start going fifty-fifty on groceries."
He seemed to chew this over before snapping his tongue. "Not enough. Let me take you to the gym once a week."
The idea left Maka blinking. "You think I need to lose weight?" she half-joked.
"No," that flustered him completely, hands flying up in innocence as she laughed in reply. "It's part of the street smarts thing. I'll show you some self-defense."
"You mean you'll teach me to fight?" She raised her eyebrows.
"Hell yeah," Soul chuckled. "Get you to the point you could beat the shit out of me if you wanted to."
Maka couldn't keep the grin from her face. "Do you plan on pissing me off that much?"
"Can't promise anything," he shrugged. "Plus, I've been told my smirk is pretty punchable."
"I can see that," Maka nodded.
"Hey," he griped. "So, deal? Food for fighting?"
"Deal."
"Maka," Soul couldn't catch himself before he said it, just seeing the blond hair wisping past his room.
"Hm?" Maka stopped on a dime and grabbed the door frame, bringing her face back into view.
"Help," he grunted as he motioned towards his closet.
Maka stepped in cautiously, peeking in the direction of his hand. "What am I helping with?"
Soul filled his answer with a groan first as he looked at clothing that realistically looked all the same. "This."
She paused, looking between him and the shirts, "What's the occasion?"
Lie! was the first call in his mind and as he ground his fist into his thigh he was sure that he would do just that until the words actually slipped off his tongue. "I'm seeing my mom."
"Oh," Maka let a rush of air leave her lips. "Where are you meeting?"
"I have to wear a tie," he muttered as he ran a hand through his hair. It'd be nice if I could completely transform the rest of me, too. If you could help with that, that'd be great.
"OK, so nice." She slipped past him, patting his arm along the route which simply left him more nervous than before. "Does she… well, you look good in just the plain old black and white, but does she have a thing for color?"
"You're speaking another language," Soul grumbled.
Maka sighed, "Does she wear a lot of colors?"
"No," Soul shot back quickly.
"Then, let's go muted." Maka fished through his closet, handing him grey slacks and a white button-down before returning to scrounge for a navy tie. "Nothing too offensively colorful, though, really, you don't have a lot of that to begin with." Maka paused as she studied his face before trying to put back on a smile. "Anything else?"
Touch me again, he thought pathetically. I really just… just one hand on my arm again, just something, because I'm about to… "No. Thanks for this," he lifted the clothes lamely before turning to his bed and tossing them there.
"Soul…" Her fingers just barely pressed to his shoulder blade and Soul let a quaking breath escape his lips.
"What?" he could barely sound annoyed or make a sound to begin with.
"If you need anything else, let me know, OK?" Her hand refused to leave, just slowly easing forward until it was her whole hand against his back, lighting the skin underneath on fire. He couldn't deny the way that warmed him, the way it sunk into him and started to ease the knot that was the idea of his mother.
"You mean other than a shit-ton of that courage of yours," he muttered.
"Not sure I can exactly bottle that up and give it out," Maka laughed lightly. "But I'm going to be hopeful that you're just expecting the worst right now. Maybe she'll-"
"No," he choked before taking a step forward, leaving her with no choice but to drop her hand. "This is one of those situations where it's no good to think of best-case scenarios. All you do is get disappointed."
"I'm sorry," Maka murmured.
"Gotta get changed." He motioned towards the clothes, this time hoping for distance since that touch had almost been more of a poison than a cure. Because it just feels like I need more. It doesn't fill anything because she's not mine. There it was, that dark word, that foul feeling that was still slithering in when he thought about her, about their life that was together but somehow still so separate. It had been popping up more often as days turned to weeks, as she continued to fill cracks in him just purely by existing in his space. And that's it. Not because she's in love with you, she just exists. And the only reason it's here now is because you're about to see Mom, and she's going to leave you even more empty.
Her footsteps had creaked across the floor and he was almost sure she was gone when her voice struck him from the doorway. "When you get home, don't get stuck in your head, please."
"What's that supposed to mean?" he snapped before biting at his tongue to stop the venom.
She sighed and shook her head slowly, "You know what it means. I'll be home." With that she wandered the rest of the way out, closing the door behind her.
Soul picked that apart as he did his clothes, undressing and dressing the statement with himself as he tried to let it distract him from the dread. Even leaving the apartment he found himself wanting to slow, to look for her in the living room or the kitchen so he could steal one more minute of whatever it was that she gave him but she wasn't there, leaving him to start the tragic stepping out of the apartment and into the world. He took a taxi rather than the subway, knowing she'd practically smell it on him when he got there and not wanting to add to the contention.
Obviously this was not the first time he'd met his mother for lunch, but each time he could never determine what was the worst part. It was a toss-up between the first moment their eyes met where she would never have to smother any excitement in seeing him, the middle when she would finally ask him what was going on in his life, or the end when she would offer him a short embrace that left him wondering why she bothered at all. Somehow this day was even worse not because of any change from her, since Mom didn't deviate from the list above, but because he had to fight against the urge to think about Maka. To bring her anywhere near this moment was toxic, only springing up in him that deep and endless empty feeling. He was lingering on the edge when the dreaded question came:
"And work?" His mother intoned with automatic disappointment.
"Great," Soul tried on a smile but it didn't warm her so he discarded it. "I got a new partner and we've been getting accounts no problem. The boss even brought up lead-"
"Honestly, Soul," his mother cut in quickly. "I wish you would just take your father's offer. There's no reason to scrape at the bottom."
"I'm not at the bottom," Soul hated the begging quality in his voice. "Seriously, Mom, Death's actually considering me for lead-"
His mother rolled her eyes. "Project manager, as you've been saying for the past few months. I told you, any reputable company with a board is going to take one look at your assaults-"
"My boss knows about that," he squeezed desperately from his throat. "He's willing to give me a chance, and I want to take it."
She swiftly shook her head, "But his trustees won't, darling. He's more than happy to put your name up for the position but as soon as it goes to a vote your sins will come to light."
My sins. His head was spinning, the food unsettled in his stomach as he gripped the table. "I'm trying, Mom."
"You're always trying," she sighed. "But you can't erase what you've done, the tattoos, that temper of yours, they follow you. Honestly, sometimes I worry that's what you were best at, that horrendous violence."
His teeth dug into his tongue until he could taste blood, the heat building behind his eyes as he let the words hiss between his teeth, "Because all I am is shit, right, Mom?"
"Soul," she left only that as an admonishment.
"I don't want Dad's fucking hand out," he seethed as his fingers tightened on the table, blanching his knuckles. "And if you really think I'm that far fucking gone then do me a favor and take the leap - dump me like you've always wanted to." His hands flew, tossing the dishes and cutlery to the floor as he stood. His mother stared at him dumbfounded as he let the momentum take him, flying from the restaurant.
He played every moment over in his head as he made the endless trek back to the apartment. Part of him was ready to rush to his room, strip to street clothes, and go out to do what he did best - inflict pain. He could throw himself back at the feet of the boss and she'd gladly gather him back up, let him fall back into the fold. She'd put his pieces back together, give him the recognition he deserved, and let him use his talents freely. Those dark thoughts were building in him as he turned his key in the lock, that slow rage burning.
"Welcome home!" Maka's voice fluttered from the kitchen just as the smell hit him.
Suddenly he was without impulse, all the frenzied ideas melting away as he stood on the threshold of the door.
"Or is it a robber?" She called with a laugh before her footsteps started to move towards him. Her smiling face popped into the hallway, holding onto the doorframe. "You know when someone says 'welcome home' it's customary to greet them back."
"Hey," he murmured.
"OK, close enough. Will you come into the kitchen, please?" Without waiting for his reply she disappeared, leaving that lingering scent of cinnamon and the feeling of her smile behind.
Where was the fury? That desire to fall right back into the destruction? Slowly fizzling from his mind as his feet echoed in the hallway to the kitchen. He paused as if he was lost at the doorway because the sight threw him even more out of sorts than her greeting. Maka was leaning into the oven, a view a less emotional Soul probably would have enjoyed more, and pulling out another tray of cookies to join the two already cooling on the counter. He didn't even know they had that many baking pans.
"I couldn't make a cake," she talked in the direction of the cookies. "And I don't exactly know what horchata is, but there was definitely cinnamon, so snickerdoodles are hopefully close enough."
"Snicker-whats?"
"Cinnamon cookies," Maka laughed. "Sit at the table."
That was as far as his legs could carry him anyway, his knees just letting out from underneath him as he took a hard seat in the chair. The thoughts had started to buzz back but now filtered through a clear head seemed frightening, how close he'd gotten to just throwing everything away in a second. He barely even registered her putting the plate in front of him, three perfect looking cookies arranged into a tower in the middle. She hovered expectantly and he reached for one, still warm and soft enough that it almost broke in half as he lifted it. Soul got it to his lips and took a bite.
The taste matched the looks and as he tried to chew he found himself choking on a sob.
"Oh, no," Maka instantly slapped a hand to his back. "Did I mix up the salt and sugar? Don't choke, please, I don't know the Heimlich."
Soul dropped the cookie back onto the plate and let his hand clasp over his mouth. It did nothing to quell the next reeling breath as the tears started down his cheeks.
"Soul," the surprise in her voice made it worse.
"Don't," he croaked weakly as he turned his head from her to find reprieve in the blank wall.
Whatever his warning was for, Maka ignored it, her arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders as she pulled him to her. She was at an odd angle, still standing as she tried to hug him, but that didn't dissuade her as she held on firmly. Soul brought his hand to her arm, his first instinct to rip her away, to run, to get as far away from this feeling as soon as possible, but as another wave of tears started down his cheeks he gripped onto her instead.
Counting time here was impossible, his mind running through each of the overwhelming hurts, all the worthlessness, all the fear. Maka held on quietly, letting his shoulders tremble in her arms as she counted his breaths and waited for some kind of normalcy in them. Eventually, her warmth leaked through all that tarnished cover and he allowed himself that one moment as he slipped his hand down her arm and let it meet her fingers, his hand clutching over hers. "Sorry," he whispered hoarsely.
"That's the last thing you should be," she murmured back as she finally eased the crick in her back and released him. For another second, one that he looked back on more times than he'd like to admit, her hand rested on his chest as if to feel the beat of his heart, letting him hold onto her hand for just a little longer. As he finally brought his eyes to hers she let go completely, bringing her hands to his hips. "Just tell me it wasn't the cookies."
He produced something close to a laugh. "They're fine."
"Good, because I'm not exactly a star baker." Maka offered him a smile before it disappeared with the biting of her lip. He held his breath and waited for it, the inevitable question, the thought that she just had to get out even though she knew she shouldn't but it never came. Instead, Maka turned, going back to the cookies as she moved them to the cooling rack. As she worked, her voice came back, going on about nothing and everything. It filled the space in his head and he let it stay there.