Maka Albarn had lost many things before: dolls, doll shoes, hair clips, socks, candy, crayons, but never a whole person.
The grief of losing her mama had been too heavy and cumbersome for a five-year-old to carry in her small hands. Even though her papa had tried to shoulder the load, he couldn't stop the baggage from crashing down on Maka like a pile of bricks for too long. She'd felt it crash into her small body, when she caught him kissing women other than her mama, something that fried her insides with a rage that has never quite died since. It wasn't fair, the word echoing endlessly in her mind after her discovery. Papa had betrayed her mama, severed their family apart, and now Maka is forced to live in the same space with him?
No, she wouldn't have it. Maka threw her first tantrum of many the day the police let her and Papa in her mama's apartment.
Maybe that was when her life first started to go downhill.
"... Only coming to get your toys and clothes," he had reassured when Maka refused to step inside. When gently tugging her inside by the hand hadn't work, Papa bent down on one knee much like her mama had told Maka he proposed, minus the investigators interrupting to ask about the missing persons paperwork. "Go to your room and pack your things, my little angel."
Maka stomped past the officers and into her mama's room, peeking into the closet to find it untouched. She had helped hang up the laundry only three days earlier. All of her mama's dresses and blouses stared back at her. Pulling the drawers open revealed the same fullness, and she struggled to remember exactly how many things her mama owned. Was it a lot? Did it matter?
Oh no - what did her mama even look like?
Suddenly, her mama's prized possession - a necklace with a brilliant ruby angel-shaped pendant - popped into Maka's mind. Running over to the vanity confirmed Maka's fear: it's gone, and her mama would never go anywhere without it.
Then, standing there staring at herself in the mirror for what seemed like weeks, Maka's stomach began to throb like someone spilled acid in it. She stayed frozen there until Papa cajoled her into her room, and then she only watched him pack her things away while she tried to recollect her mama's features. Long, dark, straight hair, light brown eyes, a perfect circle birthmark in the left side of her chin. Yep, that's her mama. Maka vowed to never forget her and put her foot down when her papa told her to say goodbye to the apartment.
"I want to stay here. Mama might come back!"
In retrospect, Papa's puffy, red eyes and haggard face should have been a dead giveaway that her mama's loss hadn't been easy for him either. This was the man who had bawled himself straight to the mental health crisis center when Mama finally served his divorce papers. "It's temporary, Maka. Mama is only gone for today."
"So…" Maka brushed her papa's red hair out of his wet eyes and held his face, searching for any sign of deception. "She'll be back tomorrow?"
"Mhm," he hummed sadly, and the hug they shared had felt like it was more for his comfort than her for some reason.
The next day, she found out why. That promise turned out to be a lie, too. A day turned into two days and three and then weeks and bled into a year. Halloween came and went. Maka refused to wear matching Jack and Zero costumes from The Nightmare Before Christmas with her papa because her mama was supposed to be Sally. Their outfits would be stupid without her. When Mama did not appear on Maka's birthday, her stomach did that twisty, achy, hopeless thing it did when she realized her mama's pendant had vanished. When she blew out her candles on the cat face cake her papa baked with much struggle, she wished for one thing: for her mama to come back.
For the loneliness to go away.
And now… now, she's in juvie and misses her papa.
But the only thing she tells Soul the next day when they eat breakfast together is that her mama is gone, and that's it.
There's been no closure.
"She just… disappeared," Maka keeps repeating. It makes Soul sad, she can tell by the way he furrows his brows, and she's moved by his quiet compassion. He doesn't feel sorry for her, he just… listens, nodding.
It feels good to share even the smallest portion of her sorrow.
X
Because Maka is still painfully slow at digging holes, she's out on the campgrounds by herself through the second week. Being the new camper is a lot like being the new kid at school. No one notices her, and when they do it's to yell at her for blocking their way or to make fun of her for her oddly shaped holes. Soul and Jackie are the only ones who've treated her like a human - and the Thompson sisters, who compliment her hair for always being frizz-free each morning before tying her pigtails together.
By the time Maka trudges to the girls' dormitory, showers, nurses the new pink on her skin despite all the sunblock she lathered on, eats, and limps to the recreation center, the activity has slowed down to a weary chorus of chatter. The newest dance-pop song blares on the radio but the other - inmates? Classmates? Campers? - have been lulled into serenity by a warm dinner and general exhaustion. The hierarchy and cliques among them disinterest her, so she understands why Soul is a loner. After all, she's still been watching him from afar too, and has come to one conclusion:
It's true that Soul Evans likes to be alone. He hadn't lied, and there's something frightening about his honesty.
When he's not on the grounds, he's in the rec room with Jackie, arguing over their chess game or the music choice on the jukebox. When Maka hangs around them, he's either quieter, faraway, or more obnoxious than usual, his tongue sharp with quick comebacks. Other times, he's out of sight. From the conversations she's sat through between Soul and Jackie, he apparently doesn't sleep well and naps during the day, with the lights on. Jackie often teases him, accusing him of being afraid of the dark. Soul doesn't deny it.
Today is one of those days where they don't get along, which seem to be more frequent. Their arguments have slowly lost their friendly banter.
"Can you stop tapping your nails on the table?" Soul asks as Jackie mulls over her next move on Monopoly. "It's annoying."
Jackie doesn't even look up from the board game. She stops playing with her snake necklace to tap with both her hands. "Can you stop talking? That's annoying, too, Freak."
Soul freezes. Maka likes to think she's intuitive, tuning in to other's feelings like a musician tunes their instrument, but Soul's been an enigma since she first met him. In this moment, though - God, he's more translucent than glass and about as fragile. He's pale, seething, knuckles white. Beneath the rush of anger, Maka perceives a sense of betrayal rushing through him.
"Say that again," he dares her through his clenched teeth.
"Freak."
"That's not a nice word," Maka intervenes, unsure if she should lure Soul away to cool off or herd Jackie to the corner for a time out. Either way, neither hear her. Navigating the tension when she's not yet completely familiar with their dynamic proves to be the hardest thing she's attempted at Shibusen besides digging holes.
The chair squeaks as Soul pushes himself away from the table, calmly. "I didn't quite hear you. Say that again?"
It's absolutely mind warping to Maka that this scene isn't drawing anyone's attention save for Free, who's standing guard by the exit. He turns his head the slightest bit toward the trio.
"F-R-E-A-K."
"I really don't want to end up in the warden's office again," Maka begs them, abandoning her orange juice. She sweeps the gameboard and the pieces back into the box in one smooth motion. "Soul, Jackie doesn't mean what she said-"
"I do, though, Pigtails."
Somehow, this riles Soul up more than the insult. "That's not her name!"
Jackie slams her fists down on the table, shouting out a two worded vulgar phrase that sounds like puck too. The remaining portion of her insult is cut off by Free, who had darted over and orders them to "Shut up and sit down."
"Sorry, my bad, oops... I did it again," Jackie mumbles to Soul and Maka unconvincingly. "When will I ever learn to process my childhood trauma from living on the streets and learn to express my emotions in a healthy manner so that it doesn't interfere with my relationships or hurt those around me?"
"I see you've been meeting with Marie," Free monotones, shoving her toward the exit. "That psychology nonsense won't work on me. That's two more holes for the smart mouth, missy."
"Wow," Soul whispers when the rec room chatter picks up again, the scene soon forgotten. "...Too real."
Maka wants to push his bangs out of his eyes, but that's a little too intimate a gesture. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," he whispers, suddenly enthralled by his palms and feeling more faraway to Maka than ever.
He's not okay, and she can't do anything about it.
X
That evening, Jackie doesn't join them for dinner. She sets up camp at a table on the other side of the cafeteria, shoving its previous occupant to the floor and stealing his lunch tray. "Move it or lose it, Ox!"
Maka watches the scene unfold in awe and horror. "Should we… stop her?"
"No," Soul says, bored, peeling his orange and handing it to her. "Forget her, she's dead to me."
"But she's your friend!"
"Nope. Dead to me."
Jackie cuts them in line the next morning, and the next, and the next. Though Soul refuses to acknowledge the bullying, Maka knows he's too aware of his former friend trying to get under his skin. Jackie snatches his shovel out of his hands no matter how many new ones he picks up from the shed, spits in his hole while he's in it, encourages any nearby hidden snakes to bite him, and makes a song out of the word freak.
Liz wanders over to Soul and Maka while they're playing Slapjack at the rec center a week later and asks an important question, one that requires neither preamble nor clarification: "What's her problem lately?"
"That she knows too much. She's worse than a demon," Soul sighs.
X
About a month into Maka's sentence, she's grown competent enough at the art of digging holes to be able to finish roughly by five pm. It's still not early enough to enroll in classes or counseling, but any progress is good progress, a step closer to freedom and escape from the sun.
Ever since Soul has cut all ties with Jackie, Maka's been his go-to friend. His only friend. She's still not sure how to feel about that - on one hand, Jackie's absence has allowed time for Maka to get to know Soul, but on the other hand, the fallout has left him with a hole in his heart...not that he will admit it, choosing to pretend Jackie doesn't exist. On top of that added stress of the taunting, Maka considers his bloodshot eyes and sluggishness as signs that his insomnia hasn't improved despite his sessions with Marie on Tuesdays.
So, overall, Soul isn't doing too well.
Still, Maka is glad he's letting her be his friend. She's touched to see him waiting for her in the shed for the third day in a row, reading a book they found in the library about the main character suffering from sleep paralysis. "Hey, wanna play a game at the rec?"
She shakes her head mournfully, holding up her palms. "Not today, sorry. My blisters have blisters."
"Sucks to suck."
It's great to laugh freely, even if it stretches the skin over her sunburned cheeks. "Thanks for your sympathy."
"Yep, no prob. Got loads of that. Tell me something else."
"I lost one of my ponytail elastics."
"That's tragic. That why you've been wearing your hair up?"
"Mhmm." Distantly, the revelation that he's noticed changed in her hair makes her stomach do something weird, but it's much more pleasant than the turmoil she experiences when the subject of her mama comes up. That reminds her - maybe she should write to her papa. Despite his smothering, overbearing, obnoxious personality, she kind of…misses his presence. No doubt he misses her, too. "Oh, by the way, where's the mailbox?"
"At the rec."
When they're there, she can't find it. Soul nods in an obscure direction, and when she still can't see it, he walks her over to the blue metal dropbox between the pinball and Pacman machines.
"Right here, silly."
Bingo.
"Thanks, Soul. What would I do without you?"
Before she strolls away, Maka catches him blushing.
x
Dear Papa
Okay, maybe 'dear' is coming off too strong.
Papa
Still coming off too strong.
Hi,
It's me, Maka. Have you been watering the flowers? I wrote the exact water measurements in the notebook by the fridge. How is the neighborhood cat? I also left instructions on how to feed her in the same notebook by the fridge. Tell her I miss her. I miss her hugs. When I get home, can we keep her?
"So… I'm writing home to ask about the cat and my flowers," Maka makes fun of herself aloud, hitting herself on the forehead with the notebook. "Okay, no, I got this…"
Are you eating everyday? The food here is okay. I made a new friend and we eat all our meals together now.
She also punched her new friend in the face, but she won't mention that to her papa.
His name is Soul. He eats gummy bears for breakfast even though I tell him not to, but he gives me his carton of orange juice so I let it slide. He also showed me where the library is, and it has a lot of books I've never read before, actually, so I'm really excited!
Mmm… she won't mention the disappearances in Death City a hundred years ago yet, either. She and Soul haven't had the chance to read more newspaper clippings anyway - ever since Marie and Stein found Maka and Soul in the closet, either one or both of the adults have been lingering by the library, as if on the lookout for something.
That's about it, Papa. I can only send out one letter a week so can you show this to Blake, too? This face is for you, Blake...
:P
Great. Now, how should she sign this?
Love,
Nope, that's coming off too strong again.
Sincerely,
Ahhh… no.
From your daughter,
No. Maybe just…
Maka
Now the letter is perfect, and it only took about five hours of her Saturday to write, and another two hours to reread it for grammar and spelling mistakes, and another to doubt her word choices. Should she go back and sprinkle in some more affection, or take some out? She decides to draw some hearts around the border and on the envelope. It's a safe start.
After all, it's not that she hates her papa. She's just…stubborn, and new to this forgiveness thing.
X
When it rains, Tsubaki likes to pretend the sky is grieving, cleansing the world of its sorrow. If only it had rained that day the fire claimed half her town and half her family… but she refuses to allow the what if's to dictate her mood and her future. While there were days when she thought she couldn't carry on, she's made it through and vows to keep going.
Masamune, though - he's not quite been the same since he dragged her out of the burning house. It's as though the flames consumed part of him. While he'd never been optimistic or extroverted before, the fire robbed him of everything: his savings, his dreams of moving out of Death City, his freedom. Ever since, he's taken on the role of raising Tsubaki, but now that she's of age, only apathy and routine bind him to this town.
The breaking point is literal; their wagon's axle breaks on the way back from Las Vegas one Wednesday afternoon. It's sprinkling, the raindrops dampening their clothes and her brother's mood. Masamune kicks the ground to relieve his frustration, shouting, "That's it, Tsubaki. Forget the flower shop. Forget Death City! We're never going back. We're going back to Vegas and taking the railroad to California."
"No!" The first thing she thinks about are not her succulents, but Wes Evans and how she couldn't stand to be apart from him. "Business at the flower shop will pick up soon, I promise. Weren't you just saying you've noticed a huge increase in our sales the past few months? You said we'd have enough to buy a house after 1921!"
Her brother falls into silence, resting his head on their horse. "...Yes, you're right. And I have my duties to keep, too."
"Good," Tsubaki chirps. At that moment, she thinks he's referring to fulfilling their parent's dream of running a successful shop, but later on, after, she will realize Masamune meant something darker. "Let's problem solve. How are we going to fix our wagon?"
Masamune begins rearranging their supplies, combining contents from one sack with another, but it's all in vain. They have too much to carry with them on their horse. He's in the middle of suggesting that one of them rides the horse home with half of their supplies and then return for the other when a familiar Ford Model T pulls up next to them, sleek and black in all its glory.
"Hello," Wes Evans greets over the noisy engine. "Is everything alright?"
"Yes," Masamune seethes, turning his back to busy himself with the horse's reins. "We were about to head home."
"Our old wagon finally gave up on us," Tsubaki explains, pointing to the damage. "It's been through too much so it's not surprising, but it's inconvenient."
"I'm glad I've found you, then! Please, may I offer my automobile? There's plenty of space for both of you and your things."
But Masamune isn't having it. "No, we've already thought of a solution."
"I'll go with you, Wes." It's the first time she's said his name in his presence. Her heart is beating like thunder, strengthened by his slow grin. He has the most gorgeous smile, really, and -
"Fine," Masamune spits out. "You go with him with our supplies, and I'll take the horse home."
"Excellent," Wes drawls. He even climbs down from his seat to open the passenger side door for her, taking Tsubaki's hand to guide her inside the vehicle. What's funny to her once they've driven out of Masamune's sight is that Wes begins to chuckle. "He's not fond of me, is he?"
"No," she agrees. "But I am."
Wes gives her sidelong glance, his cheeks tinting a precious pink. "Honest?"
She's never been so brave and open with her feelings. And then again, she's never felt like this for anyone. "Yes…and the feeling is already more than I can handle."
"We have a lot in common." His voice is soft. A shyness Tsubaki has never witnessed comes over him. "If both of my hands weren't on the steering wheel, I would hold yours…"
Tsubaki solves that issue too - she hooks her arm around his ever so slowly, she thinks she's lost the ability to move. Wes gives a nervous laughs, and she feels it reverberate through his body.
"You're amazing, you know that, Tsubaki?"
The trip back to Death City takes approximately an hour, but it's not boring in the least because he opens up. She learns Wes Evans hails from New York, the son of a banker, and traveled out west to invest. Death City was only supposed to be a pit stop, but one look at the remains of the fire and he decided to stay and aid in the rebuilding efforts. He'll know he's successful when he's built a music hall downtown. As a child, he had learned to read music from his mother and kept her violin, though he's out of practice thanks to lack of time - but when the music hall is built, that'll all change.
"I'll play a song for you," he promises. "You could be my audience of one, my special guest… but we don't have to wait so long! Maybe after dinner one of these evenings?"
"That would be amazing. I could also show you how we maintain the flowers in this dry climate. It's not too difficult -"
By that time, they've driven up to the shop. Wes presses on the brake too quickly, the inertia jerking an astonished Tsubaki forward. His outstretched arm serves a barrier between her forehead and the dashboard. She slides out of the vehicle, sinking into the soft earth, but she has no time to care about mud on her shoes or the hem of her dress.
"It's… it's destroyed!"
For the second time, her family's flower shop is a shadow of its former glory, smoke trailing out of its broken glass windows. Before, bright colors brought the shop to life. Now it's marked by ash and soot and destruction.
Swinging between extreme emotions gives Tsubaki a headache.
Wes squeezes her shoulder gently as a reminder that he's here for her, dealing with the police officers that arrive on the scene at his request and questioning the neighbors. The bakers nor the bankers report witnessing any strange activity, and the sheriff responds to the tragedy by stating that the department already knows about the arson. His obvious disinterest and coldness bothers Wes, and Tsubaki has to loop her arm around his again to retrain him.
"Hasn't it… always looked like this?" The sheriff tips his hat to them, bidding them goodnight.
Wes boils with rage. "How dare he!"
"It's okay, Wes, my brother and I will overcome this," she reassures through a shaky smile. She's so enthralled by Wes wiping her tears away that she doesn't notice Masamune arriving until he hops off the horse and snarls at the pair.
"Why are you touching my sister?" It's like he's not the least bit surprised that bad fortune has struck their family again. Only one word of Wes's explanation sticks with Masamune. "The sheriff came? What did the he say?"
"He didn't care at all," Tsubaki cries. "It was strange, he didn't seem to be in his right mind."
Her older brother's mouth twitches into a grin that leaves her ill at ease for days.
X
"... Relax your hand, slightly turn your wrist to the left, and let your fingers drop into place," Wes instructs. Tsubaki can't concentrate with his face so close to hers, his cologne something out of this world. She wouldn't trade anything for alone time with him with him like this, though. "Gently curve your fingers over the top of the bow stick… perfect!"
"It feels odd," she giggles, more out of jitters than the awkwardness of handling his violin.
"The more you practice, the more you become adjusted."
Three weeks after the fire brings the shop a brand new skeleton: the ceiling replaced, the walls painted, the ash scrubbed and swept away. Time has also given Tsubaki another blessing: more hours with with Wes Evans. He's a marvelous teacher, a detailed listened, and super suave. One blissful moment he's touching her chin, repositioning it. The next, he's removing the violin from her hands and moving closer. Then all she feels is Wes's mouth on hers, one hand still pressing into her lower back, his other hand cradling the side of her face. Tsubaki makes a soft sound and, without thinking, raises her hand to grab the back of Wes's neck, pulling him closer.
"I didn't believe in God before," he says when they pull apart to breathe, "but I do now."
X
Soon Tsubaki begins to associate the rain with Wes Evans. It's refreshing, comforting, cleansing, and beautiful, just like the young man who's changed the town for the better and kisses her on the cheek when no one's looking. Their relationship isn't a secret, but it's too new to share with the world, and they would rather keep it to themselves, especially since Masamune's disapproval is palpable. The rational side of Tsubaki wonders if her brother is right - she and Wes are moving quickly, but who says there is an official dating rulebook to follow?
Tsubaki sits on the stool and watches the street through her window, counting raindrops until Wes arrives for dinner.
It's been raining a lot lately.
And when it rains, it pours.
Wes bursts into the shop earlier than expected, a frantic gleam in his eye. "Tsubaki! Tsubaki - you haven't seen Angela here, have you?"
"No." She squints with the effort of remembering the last time she saw the young girl with her signature helmet of curls. It was months ago, when Tsubaki watched Wes play tag with the children, back when she could only dream of being this close to him. Her mind runs a million miles a minute. Wes loves those children; this can't be good. "Why, what's happened to Angela?"
"She's gone missing!"
X
"No way."
"Please, Soul, don't be rude."
"You're trying to rip away my last shred of sanity and I'm being rude?"
Maka nods, her serious expression too adorable for Soul to deny, but giving her a hard time has become his favorite hobby. They're sitting in the library slash broom closet, mindful of the opened door and Stein not so casually staring across the hallway at them. "You're right," she agrees. "You're being selfish, not rude."
He would smile, but he's self conscious of his teeth and can already imagine Stein prying his mouth open to 'get a closer look,' treating Soul like some kind of show horse. "Fine, I'll take the science class, but only if you take the cross stitching class with me next week."
"I can't wait! It'll be so much fun." Sighing happily, she jots down the events in the planner Soul brought for her from the supplies store (also a closet) after she kept getting her classes mixed up. She went a little overboard when she finally qualified for signups. Yeah, maybe he missed her because she suddenly went from having lots of free time to being overbooked, and maybe he's okay with learning if it means spending more time with Maka. Others might call his willingness to do anything for her a crush, but Soul considers it personal growth.
The sound of small feet tap dancing down the hallway toward them sends a cold chill down Soul's spine. Oni. Sometimes Soul thinks his whole life is one giant nightmare, and someday when he dies he'll wake up a normal person - but so far there's no evidence proving him right. He's just a cursed boy scrambling to make up some sort of wild tale for when Maka and Oni finally meet, which is now seconds from happening.
"Snakes snakes snakes snakes..." The red imp drops down from the ceiling, limbs bending where there shouldn't be joints. "And scorpions, Soul, and spiders, and you'll go mad mad mad mad mad mad because they'll crawl in your ears and eat your brain. Hehehe."
Soul doesn't move a muscle. He's a sitting duck, taking this torment, beyond grateful that Maka doesn't seem to notice Oni at all. She's still writing away, now on the next month's calendar. Oni lunges at Soul, slapping him across the face.
"Soul! Are you okay?"
He feels Maka's hands on his cheeks, thinking that she might be some kind of angel. Oni is gone, but Soul owes him a thank you: she's so close, and she smells nice on top of being so caring and perceptive. "Is that your nervous twitch that Jackie was talking about?"
"Ugh, don't mention her, that's like summoning another one of my demons," he begs, scanning the area for Oni, who's long gone.
Across the hall, Stein won't stop staring at the spot where the demon stood, though. When a frantic Marie materializes minutes later, he bends down to whisper something in her ear, prompting her to look in the general direction.
Soul gulps. Shibusen is weird. There's something… rotten here. He doesn't voice it, but Maka probably agrees because she's been brushing off her sleeve constantly.
"What is it?"
"Nothing, Soul, I'm just itchy."
It's a lie - he can tell by the way her eyes keep darting to her right, as if someone's tapping on her shoulder to get her attention.
X
Wes feels like invisible hands are clawing at his insides. Five weeks into the search for Angela comes up empty. It's not right. The investigators haven't a single clue, can't even discern who had contact with the six year old last. Poor police work, to say the least, the sheriff leading the pack by missing days of work at a time and dismissing possible leads.
"Why worry about it?" Masamune taunts him, making his eavesdropping known from the back of the shop.
At the counter beside Wes, Tsubaki mouths an apology to him, wincing with embarrassment at her brother's coldness. Wes rubs her neck in response, quickly dropping his hand and taking a giant step away from her when Masamune bursts out into the front.
"She's probably dead. She's not your child. Mind your business."
Tsubaki gasps angrily. "That's a terrible thing to say!"
"It has nothing to do with morals, just facts, Tsubaki. He's wasting his time and feelings."
"I disagree," Wes interjects. "My heart hurts for her parents and I don't regret feeling like this for a minute. She's a child. She's probably lost and scared, maybe even hurt. I refuse to lose hope. I will find her and bring her back."
But he never does because days after, Masamune vanishes too.
X