Tsubaki Nakatsukasa doesn't believe in love at first sight, but she does believe in koi no yokan: the feeling upon first meeting someone that you're bound to fall in love with them.

The only problem is, she's never exactly met him before, only seen him from afar.

"I absolutely abhor no one more than I do that man," her brother Masamune grumbles from behind her. Usually she peeps longingly out the storefront window by herself, but the men chattering across the street on the steps to the bank have drawn Masamune's attention, too. From the corner of her eye, she watches him stare daggers at one man in particular, the same one she can't stop admiring. Apparently it's in their blood to feel drawn to this person because she noticed him the second he rode into town, too.

"I absolutely hate him." Masamune lets out a shaky breath, as though trying to let out steam. "He's too… happy. He's disgusting."

The tall young man dressed in a blue vest and matching slacks, his long sleeved button up rolled up casually to his elbows - ahh, he's the one. The sight of him sends tingles to Tsubaki's toes. Butterflies to her stomach. Wishing she could see his smile up close has become a daily ritual each morning. She's never been one to swoon or daydream about holding hands with a boy, but lately she's been absolutely giddy at the prospect of introducing herself.

Masamune, however, redirects his contempt to her. "Dear sister, tell me he's not the one you've been writing love letters to."

Tsubaki covers her mouth, her cheeks hot. "He's quite a beautiful soul. I've been watching him from the window. He plays with the children, and he's funding the construction of the new homes on Crescent Street. The mayor says that with his help, the homes will be finished in a few months, maybe even before Christmas. Can you imagine those people ringing in 1920 in their new homes?"

Her brother scowls as though he swallowed a sour fruit. "Pfft, what do you know about souls? He's an arrogant, pompous, obnoxious-"

"Intelligent, ambitious, friendly-"

"Know-it-all, with nothing but money to throw around while others go without food for days in this forsaken town-"

"Wonderful, sweet, handsome--"

"Wes Evans, a pleasure to meet you," someone chimes from the doorway. Tsubaki forgets how to breathe at the sound of his voice. A quick glance out the window confirms he's no longer outside. Every nerve in Tsubaki's body burns as the newcomer saunters toward them. She could melt on this very spot - exactly how much of the conversation did he hear?

Masamune lets his disdain be known by groaning and ignoring the man's extended hand. "My name is Masamune, owner of this flower shop. How may I be of service?"

Up close, Wes's eyes are a honey brown, eagerly scanning the colorful succulents sitting on the shelves. "What a lovely establishment. We need more beauty out here, I've grown tired of staring at shrubs and dirt. I'm not sure how you keep these flowers alive out here, you must work magic!"

"You don't know how right you are..."

But Wes Evans doesn't seem to hear Masamune's scorn. By then, Wes sees Tsubaki for the first time, and he can't look away.

X

A snake slithers into his dream this time, and he startles awake before it bites. It might as well have, though, because the sensation of it curling around his neck won't leave him alone and sends him running to the bathroom, absolutely sick.

Figures. Soul's first memory is actually a nightmare: an invisible force yanking him off the bed by the ankle in the middle of the night. He had limped for days, but the physical injury couldn't compare to the mental terror the event had generated. At only four, he had been incapable of understanding the difference between reality and the mini movies that played behind his eyelids as he slept, so life become a never ending nightmare for a good two years after that night. No matter what his mother said, it didn't make sense - if it was only a dream, then why were there three scratches on his calf?

It wasn't until he was eight that he understood why the glass ornaments on the Christmas tree fell in a hail when he walked by, why the big headed red demon from his dreams appeared during the day, too.

"It's the family curse, it's getting stronger," Soul's father had confided in frantic whispers to his wife. Soul was supposed to be in bed, but Oni kept pinching Soul's nose shut, ordering him to die, so he came looking for comfort and walked in on this conversation in the parlor instead. "There must be something… off about him…"

"Are you absolutely sure the curse is real? How cursed could we be if our lives are like this?" Soul's mother motions around at the imported furniture, the expensive paintings hanging on the walls.

"It's old money my family had before the curse. There is more to this life than worldly possessions."

For years after, Soul couldn't understand. He thought the weapon form and black blood was the curse, so how did the nightmares play into it?

But now that he's kneeling in front of a public toilet at Shibusen Detention Center for Juveniles, his guts clenching with every heave, he thinks he understands what his father meant: peace of mind.

X

Maka glances up from her soggy french toast and catches him staring at her. She's perched at the table in front of his, unintentionally listening in on his conversation with Jackie, who finally turns around, scolding, "Who do you keep looking at?"

"Shhh, Jackie..."

To be fair, Maka has been watching him all morning, too, and does so even on the campground. He finishes digging his holes in an hour, which is a source of envy for the other campers. Accusations of cheating stand unfounded - how can someone take a shortcut with this? She keeps to herself, silently jealous when the last camper walks away and leaves her to survive out there all alone.

During the hottest part of the day, he shows up, thick hair held back by a sweatband with the word SOUL patched onto it crookedly. "Hey, Pigtails."

She growls in greeting. The skin on her neck burns, she's thirsty, exhausted, irritated, and not in the mood to outwit him or put up with his teasing.

His low voice is a tantalizing combination of mellow and annoying. "Done yet?"

Maka snaps her head in his direction so hard her braided pigtails slap her in the face. "Does it look like I'm done? I'm not even halfway!"

He lets out a whistle. "The sun really does make people hot under the collar."

This throws her and her ire off guard. "Huh? Just - whatever, did you know that sweat burns when it goes into your eyes?" When this earns her an unexpected grin, she goes on, "Guess that's why you're wearing that headband. Bet you stitched the logo on yourself..."

"I sure did." And he's proud of it, too. "I took the home economics class they have here."

Her eyes widen. "Classes?"

"Yeah. Ah… Right, you didn't get all the info because you decided to play hero." He ignores her indignant squeal and counts the classes in his fingers as he names them. "Computer technology, home economics, money management, health classes…"

It's all too good to be true for Maka. "That's amazing, wow, those are actual classes we can take?"

"Yep. They're kind of new. Ever since the Juvenile prison reform act passed, the warden was forced to hire a psychologist, so Dr. Mjolnir is the one who came up with this stuff." Here he pauses to roll his eyes. "Y'know, so when we get out of here we can be productive, respectable members of the community."

She's still awestruck, barely aware that the shovel slips through her fingers until it clanks against the ground. "Classes? We can take classes here?"

He screws his face up, repulsed. "Oh God, you're not only a parrot, you're a nerd, aren't you?" Pinching his nose in exacerbation, he adds, "She does talk therapy, too, since that's her speciality…"

Perfect, that's what Maka needs, actually. Maybe coming to Shibusen isn't the worst thing to happen to her since her mama disappeared. "How do I sign up?"

"Well, you have to finish your hole before noon." Amusement creeps up in his tone as he recalls the memory. "I heard that the psychologist and the warden got into it about that actually, something about torture, but…" the boy shrugs in a careless what-can-you-do way. "I guess she convinced the warden that these classes would motivate us criminals to straighten up, or at least finish our holes fast. I guess she's right because you're all goofy about these dumba-"

"Well yeah, I love learning!" Maka has half a mind to climb out of her hole and hug him for the life-changing information, but upon remembering the jolt that rippled through her at noticing his eyes, she decides against it. Instead she smacks her lips, wipes the sweat off her forehead, and promises herself to get faster at digging holes.

"Looks like you didn't get a hat, either," he notes, and before Maka can comprehend that he must have gone out of his way to score a hat for her, he fishes one out of his pocket and throws it in her face. "Wear it, you look like a lobster."

She blinks at it, taking in the clean khaki. Suddenly, her suspicion rears its ugly head. "How did-"

"Just take it, Pigtails. Anyway, I'm supposed to meet Jackie at the rec to beat her at pool if you want to find me when you're done…"

He doesn't bother glancing over his shoulder as he turns away to the sanctuary of the air conditioned rec center. If he had, he would have caught Maka rubbing the hat material between her fingers, thanking God for its breathable cotton and safety from the sun. Without a second thought, she tucks it on her head and rubs her hands together before picking up her shovel.

She has a lot of work to do, and possibly a game of pool to catch.

X

The bell above the door chimes. Tsubaki's heart can't handle Wes positively beaming at the sight of her, making a beeline straight for the counter where she's been arranging flowers.

"Good afternoon," he says, holding out a hand, which she takes. He's so warm and soft. "How are you today?"

"Wonderful," she replies, giving in to the goosebumps sprouting up and down her arms.

"That's great." And he means it. Everything about his being radiates honesty. There's something joyful about him, his very presence relaxing and exciting at the same time. "I would like to buy five dozen flowers, please."

Tsubaki stifles a pang of jealousy - could these be a gift for a crush, perhaps, or a suitor? She counts the money he hands her and gives him the exact change, but she's startled when he offers her a single rose from the ones he brought.

"It's the most beautiful one, for the most beautiful one," he says.

Tsubaki spends the rest of the afternoon by the window watching him hand flowers to every passerby. He had mentioned that the town was in desperate need of more beauty, but she's of the opinion that the town needed him and his brand of softness. When he runs out of flowers, he joins the neighborhood children running around in the street, picking up the smallest girl when she's having trouble as 'it' and running with her until they tag someone. Though the game eventually takes him out of her sight, he never quite leaves her mind.

X

"Wow, you look terrible."

"Thanks Jackie, that really boosts my already trashed self esteem."

"I'm saying it out of love, Butthole."

Soul takes his aggression out on his apple, satisfied at how it crunches and dissolves in his mouth. "Great word choice. You're sooo tactful."

Jackie closes her eyes, grumbling out an apology that sounds rough but genuine. "Real talk though, you really are worrying me. Sometimes you look like you haven't slept in a whole week, and it's scary how dark the bags under your eyes get. Also, you have this twitch, I don't know if anyone's told you, but it's a little concerning."

"I'm fine," Soul lies through his teeth. Part of him can't help but resent her for offering help. As strange as it seems, he's gone seventeen years without anyone, not even his parents, prying and begging to be let in, so why let anyone help now? Jackie's the closest thing to a friend he's ever had - and it's not fair for her to take on the additional roles of his therapist, doctor, mentor, mother, and father. Besides, he deserves little of her compassion. He's not worth the effort, so he shouldn't waste her time.

"I doubt that," she continues, reaching across the table to put a hand on his shoulder. "You're in trouble. Is…" There is a pause as she checks their surroundings. "Ah, maybe your nightmares and weapon powers are related?"

Something within Soul snaps like a twig, and not because of her. She's voicing his deepest fear, brushing on a raw, sensitive topic that's like a wound that won't heal. What comes out of his mouth reminds him too much of what that demon sounds like: low, gravely, guttural. "Don't mention that ever again. I don't have nightmares. I don't have weapon powers. We're not friends enough for you to know anything about me like that. I already set up an appointment with the counselor… I don't need you."

'Heartbroken' isn't strong enough a word to describe the shellshocked disappointment that Jackie fails to blink away. Suddenly, her oatmeal is far more interesting than him because she redirects her attention to the bananas and strawberries in it, shoveling down every bit rather unenthusiastically.

Soul relishes the break in conversation despite the tension now thickening the air. All he wants to do is dig his hole and go to bed. Shutting people out is hard, emotionally draining work, and he should conserve that energy for literally fighting off his demon and keeping his secrets tucked safely close to his chest. Funny how only three days earlier he submitted himself to a beating for the sake of sticking with her. Now, he'd rather drift away. She knows too much, and revealing more could be his undoing in every shape and form.

But apparently Jackie won't give up on him. As much as that means to him, Soul hates it. She dangles the baby snake fossil she found a few days earlier in front of him like a prized possession.

"I drilled a hole in it in shop class to wear as a necklace. Cool, right?"

Soul doesn't bother looking at it again.

X

Sometimes he thinks leaving home was a mistake.

It didn't feel like that at first, especially not when he was high off the adrenaline rush of jumping out his second story bedroom window. He literally had hit the ground running, ankles cracking and heart thumping in his throat. At least he'd been considerate enough to avoid treading on his mother's flower beds on his way out of the too big, too perfect backyard, what with the immaculately shaped bushes and pretentious statues lining the patio. Part of Soul's hurried caution that night also stemmed from not wanting to leave behind clues. No footprints, no goodbye notes, no dropped hints that when his cat Blair went to jump in Soul's bed to wake him up, it'd be empty, and Soul would be long gone.

In retrospect, Soul Evans felt bad about what he must have put his parents through. Deep, deep down, they care about him, in their own distant way. His dad had probably cried after exhausting every outlet to find him. His mother's tears most likely would've started earlier, as soon as the family's search of the four thousand square foot family home yielded no answers. Everyone had known how Soul didn't get out much. The number of people he talked to outside of blood relation could be counted on one hand, and those relationships were only forged through forced stand-sharing in orchestra. It hadn't occurred to Soul that running away would only worsen his loneliness until he'd found himself wandering through downtown that night with heavy eyelids but no place to close them.

But no matter how nippy the night became or how many times he'd woken to a stray dog sniffing at him, Soul vowed never to go back. What was there for him? Yeah, he lived for Blair and he contemplated bringing her along, but ultimately the streets were no place for her, as she was used to climbing up thousand-dollar curtains his mother replaced every three months, and peeing on designer cat litter. She even had her own room, right next to his, with lots of toys to play with and an actual twin-sized bed. No, Soul couldn't take her, and what strengthened his resolve was the realization that it's actually really sad that his best friend is a cat.

Maybe his parents would get over it. Over him. No matter how socially anxious, awkward, uncertain, and unlucky he could be, his parents tried their best. Sort of. From a distance, at least. They nurtured his weird interests and hyped him up to a certain extent. In the end, that pushed him to leave for good, too. Some would go as far as to call him a spoiled brat, but as the son of the best prosecutor in California and a business mogul, what else could be expected? His parents ignored both him and the strange phenomenon surrounding his existence, and it made him sick. He's done nothing but strengthen the bad luck following the Evans surname, though his parents refuse to admit it and find him help.

In retrospect, Soul understands it's just how his father works. Tough love. His mother was too busy in the courtroom to defend him from his father or fill Soul with the reassurances he needed to hear. Maybe a hug here and there would have ebbed the pain, but oh well. Instead he had nannies and piano lessons and a meeting every day after school for some extracurricular activity his parents forced upon him - all while holding his breath, terrified of the next unwanted transformation or appearance of the Oni.

"It's normal for our family," his mother had assured him every time his arm morphed into the scythe he's come to resent. "You'll grow out of it, just like your father."

Sometimes, when he's falling asleep in his bunk bed after lunch, Soul feels awful for running away. But then he hears his father saying, clear as day, "It's the family curse, it's getting stronger…" and he takes it back.

He regrets nothing, not even his own existence.

X

Masamune never knew he could hate someone so deeply.

It hurts. Worse than hearing Wes's cheerful voice babble on about building a new schoolhouse 'for the children,' or renovating the businesses to generate more tourism and income, is that Tsubaki won't stop pining for him. The city is destined for catastrophe; soon there won't be a need for money or beauty or lovewhen every single soul disappears. Seeing the townspeople's hopes rise so they can fall even steeper should bring Masamune joy, but he's far past the capacity for emotions by this phase in the process. His goal is to become an empty shell, and there's no room for fleeting feelings.

Except hatred. That's all he needs.

"My stupid sister has fallen in love with that idiot. He comes by the shop to talk to her everyday and she's smitten." Masamune's eyes ache from rolling them too frequently. "But that doesn't change the plan."

Though Free's left eye socket is as empty and barren as a cave, it's like a window for the devil to look through. The enormous man blinks, always business-like in the most gaunt of ways. "Will you spare her?"

Masamune pauses to think - Tsubaki is his only surviving relative, and at one point he did love her more than the sweets his mother would bake. But she's gone now, thanks to the fire that had burned half the town five years ago, and maybe Tsubaki should join her sooner rather than later. "No."

"Good. Witch Medusa requires as many souls as possible." Free sticks a hand in his inner coat pocket, tossing a small, lightweight sack at Masamune. "That's the prototype. Find the sheriff. He's the first target."

It's like touching fire: the soul burns through the cloth, but when Masamune tries to squeeze it together between his fingers, he's met with no resistance.

"If all works well, Witch Medusa-"

A familiar, unwelcome voice calls down the alley where Masamune has met with Free every week for the last six months. "Masamune! Need help throwing away those bags?"

Masamune jumps, afraid his heart will beat out of chest. He bites down on his tongue so hard he draws blood, tucking the sack away in his sleeve as Wes Evans makes his way down the cobblestones. Free must have slipped away, the immortal instructed by Medusa to keep in the shadows, his reflexes fine-tuned to a knife's point. "No, you may leave now."

Wes is visibly surprised to find Masamune by the trash can with neither bags nor company. "Talking to yourself?"

"No. Just acquainting myself with the snakes."

And soon, Masamune will be very familiar with them.

X

Day four of her sentence finds Maka the last one to put up her shovel. At least she's getting faster, kind of. The sunset paints the sky pink and orange, the mountains in the distance a smudge on the horizon. If only there was a breeze to provide some relief, just a tiny one, but Maka hasn't even seen a cloud or heard wind since she arrived. She hasn't done anything but dig holes since she arrived, actually: hasn't enrolled in any classes, hasn't explored the detention center, hasn't even taken up that boy on his invitation to play pool.

She doesn't even know his name yet.

And nobody knows hers.

And no, she doesn't spend a lot of time thinking about him, why should she? There is not something inexplicably alluring about him, like he's meant to be important in her life. Nope. He's just a weird boy with blood so red it looks black, plain and simple. She's just homesick - yeah, that's it! Even with all these other campers nearby, she's so lonely. At least back home, her papa would hug her each time he saw her, even if he left the room only a minute earlier to pop a bag of popcorn. He would cling to her when he needed a good cry - it's awful that she had to be bussed hours away to realize she's not just his only support system, but it's the other way around, too.

Poor Papa. Poor, dumb, overbearing Papa, who smelled like other women's perfume so often Maka isn't sure anymore if he has a scent of his own.

Poor Mama. Poor lost, missing Mama, who might be out there living her life not knowing the predicament Maka has gotten herself into.

Maka spends twenty minutes in the shovel shed, feeling sorry for her parents and for herself. Then she steps back out into the sun, latching the door shut behind her, on the lookout for snakes. Engrossed with watching her boots, she's not aware of anyone coming up to her, but she does feel the urgent taps on her shoulder. She looks behind both shoulders, twirling around in one spot when she doesn't see anyone.

"Who's there?"

There's no response.

X

The police had confiscated Maka's necklace when they arrested her.

It was 'evidence,' they said.

The whole thing had reeked of injustice. It wasn't fair and still isn't. Maka needs the necklace as much as she needs her mama, and now she can't have either. Sure, there's no certain way to determine if it's the same one or not, but it was a step in the right direction to finding out the truth.

Now all she can do is lie awake and overthink. She tosses and turns in her lumpy, scratchy mattress, finding no comfortable position in the stiff bed sheets. Every muscle in her body is screaming for relief while her heart pines for the good-luck necklace her mama always wore.

"It keeps me safe," her mama always said when Maka questioned why she never took it off.

But obviously it wasn't fool proof. Her mama just…disappeared, like a helium balloon slipping out of Maka's hand.

"What can keep me safe here?" Maka mouths to herself, not brave enough to speak aloud in case one of the other girls is also awake. On the other side of the wall, there could be a whole colony of snakes lying in wait. Ugh. What happens if she gets bitten by one, anyway? That boy had mentioned someone being helicoptered -

Maka sits up in bed. A doctor! She should see the doctor her for her insomnia. Going sleepless for a couple of days isn't healthy, especially with all the physical work demanded of her body. Changing into her day clothes (a t-shirt and shorts provided by the camp) and retying her hair, Maka steps into her shoes and out of the room.

Yeah, she doesn't know where the infirmary is, but that won't stop her now. That's what Blake would do, anyway...

On second thought, a lot of what he would do got him in trouble. A whole year Maka's elder, as he constantly likes to remind her, Blake Barrett's mama had left him too. And his papa. But it wasn't on purpose. Not only had his birth parents been killed during a gang related fight, but his first set of foster parents couldn't stand his midnight wailing, the next couple didn't last a day because of his penchant for climbing to the roof and yodeling, and one set went as far as calling him a demon.

"But not Sid and Nygus. They like me," he had told Maka when they first met, one tooth missing thanks to falling off a tree branch he had been bouncing on. "I accidentally colored on the walls and clogged the toilet and broke the ceiling fan, but they said they still want me to stay!"

"Wow," Maka had said, thoughts leading back to her own mama. She squinted at him, thinking that he's a troublemaker she'd rather avoid, wondering if he would be up for trading parents. "Hmm… if you can give kids away, can you give papas away too?"

Blake had shrugged, and then the two ran off to play kickball. Somehow that led to Blake sneaking into their other neighbor's house and 'borrowing' their television, complete with their VHS player and Nintendo 64. All the reasons not to befriend him had been there, but Maka had just been too young and optimistic to notice.

She should have known he had stolen the necklace, too.

X

Soul hasn't slept since he met that girl with the pigtails.

At first he referred to her in his head as Pigtails when he thought about her. There's something nice about her, something fierce in the way she stands up for what's right and would die on her hill of beliefs. She's solid and stubborn, unlike him, who is no more noticeable than wallpaper and even less wanted. Who would stick his neck out for him?

Okay, well - Jackie would, and so would this total stranger. He'd never admit it but he feels indebted to Pigtails…and strangely, that's okay. There's another feeling there too, a type of curiosity he's reluctant to state because he'd rather not become attached, but it's too late. He already automatically scans every room he enters for the dirty blonde haired girl. But then he remembers he's trying to distance himself from people for a while. Taking a break. So he stops calling her Pigtails when he thinks about her…

And now all he has to do is stop thinking about her.

Oni doesn't think anything of her, though. He's more preoccupied with the snakes. If Soul didn't know any better, he'd think Oni is acting more as a guardian angel than a demon. All the suit-clad, scaly skinned imp does recently is rock back and forth at the foot of Soul's bed, muttering about the slithery creatures and warning Soul about them in a twitchy, unsettling chant.

"Snakes snakes snakes snakes snakes snakes snakes… everywhere. They're bad bad bad bad. The big one is coming."

Soul must be dreaming. It's hard to tell. Maybe he's going mad. Usually Oni tortures him no matter what state of consciousness Soul is in, so this is a new pattern of behavior for the ugly thing. It's scary. The demon's never been afraid of anything. Oni's been chewing on its long nails, a demented ball of anxiety. An hour into this, it trains its iris-less eyes on Soul, crawling up his body and getting into his face. "DO YOU HEAR ME? IT'S COMING! SHE'S REAWAKENING! MY MASTER IS RETURNING!"

Scrawny fingers wrap around Soul's neck. Kicking and struggling doesn't throw Oni off Soul, so he resorts to rolling off the bed and to the floor, hoping he hits his head hard on something on the way down. Maybe the impact of landing will jolt him awake, but the only thing it accomplishes is knocking the wind out of him. Oni stares down at him from above and then slips backwards out of sight, hopefully going back to hell or wherever he came from.

Sometimes Soul wants to cry. It's just - too much. Whether he's crazy or just possessed or haunted or whatever, he needs a break from it. Part of him thought running away from home would fix everything. But no, nothing can be easy for him. Oni isn't tethered to the house that's been in his family for generations, it's tethered to him. Before he knows it, Soul is sprinting barefoot through the halls of the boys' hall, smashing into the heavy, keypad-locked door leading to the main stairway. He promised himself to stay, but he just can't, not when the desert would make such a perfect getaway -

He almost trips over a pigtailed girl sitting on the last step, hugging her knees. "Oh! It's you!"

Then he's doubled over, clutching a stitch on his side, breathing hard. Gulping, he wipes away tears and dares a glance behind him, fully expecting Oni to have chased after him, but it's just him and Pigtails.

"What's wrong?" Standing, she wipes her shorts off and walks up to him, hand on his shoulder. "You look like you were being chased."

Soul honestly doesn't deserve her concern. "Had… a nightmare."

"That's awful. Here - come sit down, you'll feel better."

She guides him to the steps like a little kid and doesn't take her hands off his shoulders even when he settles down. Soul bounces his leg, the habit more of a coping mechanism than a nervous twitch.

"We should probably get you a drink of water… wonder if there's a water fountain nearby?"

"I'm good," he insists, shrugging her hands off. Keeping others at a distance is the safer choice. Jackie found out about his 'special' quality, and nothing's been the same since. He can't help but be mean to push her away, and lately she's been throwing the same coldness back at him. "Just needed to run things out, I guess. Get my cardio in and whatnot..."

"Yeah, and you're sweating and shaking, is that normal for you too?"

Soul scowls. "No, Captain Obvious, but let me deal with my trauma by myself. This isn't your business."

Pigtails pouts, narrowing her eyes. "I'm trying to help you, jerk. Why are you so moody all the time? One day you're trying to be my friend, and the next you're being all dark and gloomy."

"It's not a phase, Mom, this is how I am."

The two simmer in silence until she snaps her head in his direction out of the blue. "WHAT!?"

"Lord, are you crazy?" Soul flinches, wondering who's more difficult to put up with: this girl, or Oni.

"You keep tapping me on the shoulder. What do you want?"

"I'm doing no such thing, Pigtails! You see my hands, yes?" he raises them, wiggling his fingers. "I haven't touched you."

Her face falls, a certain disbelief gleaming in her eyes. She worries her lip for what seems like hours before asking in a low voice, "When you mentioned ghosts the other day… what did you mean?"

If he didn't currently have his own actual, physical, non-imaginary demon waking up him every hour just like a newborn baby, Soul would cackle until he died. What she's insinuating is insane. But he's seen that expression on his own face. "It's true. I read about it in the newspaper section in the library-"

"LIBRARY?" She shoots up, pulling him along by the arm. "You have to show me."

Another glance to the top of the stairs reveals that the Oni hasn't followed him, so Soul obliges. Why not? He's not getting any sleep tonight or ever probably, and nothing's scarier than living an actual nightmare. The best part, in a weird, messed up sort of way, is that he's not alone: the girl holds on to his wrist all the way there, like she's taking his pulse.

Hopefully she's not counting his heartbeat, because it's racing.

X

"Here it is… It's a pile of old, used books and laminated newspaper clippings that Dr. Mjolnir started a few months ago. She's the therapist here, I told you that, right?"

Soul wishes he could see the world through Pigtails's bright eyes, which he discovers are green. How had he not noticed before? The library is basically a walk-in closet lined with bookshelves, but she's regarding every bit of it like gold.

"Guess she's a nerd like you," he continues, pretty sure Pigtails stopped listening. "She's a history buff and won't shut up about all the weird stuff that's happened around here. Has a cool eyepatch, too."

"I can't wait to meet her," the girl breathes, gently dragging her fingers across the book spines before snapping out of her trance. "Okay, so - where are these newspapers you told me about?"

Exhaustion settles in his bones as he sits criss-cross applesauce in this tiny makeshift library, but for the first time in years, he'd rather not rest. Watching Pigtails's eyelashes flutter as she scans each page is, well, fun, and if someone twisted his arm hard enough he would admit it's endearing.

"Fire burns down half of Death City," she reads. "September 19, 1914. Much like the windy city, the mysterious, deadly fire is said to have been started by a tipped lantern. Rescue missions have been delayed by lack of resources, mainly water…" Pigtails pauses to comment that the article reads like a telegram. "Fifty remain unaccounted and presumed dead."

Soul thinks he hears footsteps but can't move. If it's the Oni, he'd rather die than be scared in public. Except… If Oni tries to hurt Pigtails…

"Oooo, this one's from January 1920, from the Las Vegas Sun…" She shifts, straightening her posture before reading aloud: "'Death City now a ghost town… horse drawn carriages and people on foot traveled through the lively cobblestone roads, buying handmade goods from cart vendors. But when travelers passed through the town on January 15th, not a single soul could be found. Stores stood eerily still, houses sat empty, and all around town items lay around as if put down by someone with the intention of coming back soon. An investigation done by the state police turned up no clues and only more questions.'"

Under the single light bulb overhead, Pigtails goes so still Soul begins to think she's turned into a statue. Her chest isn't rising and falling like it was a few seconds ago, Soul finding a nice rhythm to it, trying to match his breathing with hers. The shadows that stretch across her face as she turns mesmerize him, haunt him.

"That's just like what happened to my mama!"

The door swings open just as he opens his mouth.

"Your seven minutes in heaven are over," Stein says in a bored tone, cigarette hanging on his lips. "Out."

Getting up too quickly makes him dizzy, but Soul widens the distance from Pigtails as much as possible without appearing too guilty. He would like to extend his sentence, yes, but not because he got caught sneaking around after hours to make out in a closet. The thought strikes a nerve - first of all, ew, and second of all, Maka would slap him into next century if he tried.

Still, he curses himself for reddening at the thought of kissing her.

"We shouldn't jump to conclusions, Frank," a female voice reminds patiently from behind the tall man.

Soul can't believe his luck. "Dr. Mjolnir!"

She steps into view, smile so wide her eye squint. "Hello there, Soul. Please, call me Marie. Out for some late night reading?"

"Yeah, exactly! It's that insomnia thing I was telling you about in our first meeting!"

Stein regards Pigtails with mild interest. "I haven't seen you, but you look familiar…are you fresh blood?"

"I'm… new," Pigtails answers hesitantly, hands clasped behind her back like a schoolgirl.

Thank God and everything holy for Dr. Marie Mjolnir, who radiates kindness and warmth and manages to find out Pigtails's name just by introducing herself first and offering a handshake: Maka. Maka Albarn. Soul pretends not to care about the revelation, or about Stein studying him like a piece of meat.

"I admire your love of reading. This isn't the best time to be in here though," Marie says, patting both of them on the head like a mother tucking her children into bed. "Go back to your rooms, okay?"

Stein doesn't blink as Soul and Maka make their way to the foyer and climb up the staircase, pausing at the landing. Half expecting the Oni to be waiting behind the door, Soul steels himself and heads right to the boy's wing.

"Soul?"

He turns around - glad that his name sounds so right coming out of her mouth. "Yeah?"

She's mighty happy with herself, a small smile lighting up her face. Oh no - she's almost cute, actually, the way she finds joy in the little things. "So that is your name, good! That's what I thought Marie said… but...hi. I'm Maka."

"Hi, Maka. Goodnight."