The mall was alive with the pitter-pattering of the holiday masses. Somewhere, a probably pleasant old man could be heard "ho, ho, ho" ing in a Santa suit. Pop culture renditions of holiday classics bounced off the walls, threatening to echo in the back of their heads for the rest of time. Maka had honestly drowned it all out– it was Layla's chatter and Soul's steady comebacks that reverberated in her brain. Those were perfect sounds to her that never went out of fashion– a year round gift that she'd found.
Her contentment flared into joy as they walked past the coffee shop and Layla planted her feet. "Okay, Papa, you stay here."
"Huh?" Soul glanced at the storefront and then back at his daughter.
Layla rolled her eyes with the dramatic flair that only a grade-schooler could channel. "You can't get your present with us. It ruins the surprise."
A hearty buzz of chuckles scattered from Soul's mouth as he glanced back at the busy baristas. "Yeah, sure, guess I could use a cup." He began gathering the bags from both of them before sending a smile Maka's way. "You good?"
"Absolutely," Maka chimed as she used her now free hand to scoop up Layla's. "You stay put, and we'll be back."
The smirk that appeared on his face sent a sizzle of electricity up her spine, flashing again as he sidled up close enough to dip his lips to her ear. "Have fun." With the packages in the way, Soul hadn't even invaded much of her space, but Maka was overwhelmed with the warmth.
She turned her chin, leaving a quick peck on his cheek. "We will."
He beamed in reply, a pinch of pink dusting his ears. Soul moved to Layla next, running his thumb tenderly over her cheek. "Be good, bug."
Layla soaked up the attention before turning on her heels. "Bye, Papa!" spouted over her shoulder as she began to drag Maka along the corridor.
Shops filtered past as the two locked in steady steps. "Layla, don't you already have your gift for your papa?"
The little girl was somewhere deep in thought, taking the length of a storefront before producing an answer: "I got one with Uncle Remy, but…" Layla finally graced Maka with a thoughtful gaze. "Uncle Remy knows Papa one way, but you know him another. I want your help, too."
The buzz in Maka's chest was back, barely leaving her able to resist the urge to scoop Layla into her arms. "In that case, I'll try to help as much as I can. What were you thinking?"
"Well, Uncle Blake said–"
Maka awaited whatever asinine conglomeration of facts Blake had squashed into this poor, impressionable mind.
"–that Papa used to be a biker. Do you know about that?" Her voice trailed upward with the cutest hopefulness.
"Well…" Yes, but I don't know how he'd feel getting a gift about it. Even after our conversation, he hasn't said much or done much about it, so…
"Or," Layla added as Maka's thoughts began to take up too much space, "Papa does like books, but I don't know which ones."
While still buzzing with an underside of joy, Maka could see the minefield ahead of her. Books are safe. We could get him a whole library together, he'd love it, and we'd be fine. But the biker gifts? It would be Layla telling him it was okay, that his old life was something she wanted to exist too. "Layla, instead of a store, let's find a quiet place and call my papa."
Normally, sitting in a coffee shop in a mall was no big deal. Millions had done it before him and remained inconspicuous, existing and then gone without anyone else batting an eyelash. What most people don't understand is that as a teacher, well, inconspicuous wasn't always possible. Moving around in the same town you taught in rarely ever led to a quiet life. As Soul sat down with his piping hot regular—
Soul.
Spl milk.
No sugar.
—he was once again reminded of the harsh reality that at least one hundred and twenty teenagers knew of his existence at any given time.
"Mr. E!" It was a gaggle of faces he recognized. Some budding musicians from the showcase, one almost failing senior, and two radio kids to round out the group. The chorus continued; a variety of questions that prodded at the line of his personal life.
"What are you doing here?"
"Where's your daughter?"
"Look at all those bags– there's totally girl stuff in there– did you get a girlfriend?"
Soul kept the sighs internal so he could give the kids his signature lazy smirk. He wasn't about to fall victim to this archeological dig for intimate details, meaning he settled on the following: "Just hanging out. Can't a man have coffee in peace?"
"Aw, c'mon, Mr. E!" Disappointment was rampant for the few minutes that teenage attention spans could manage. Without anything to feed them, interest started to peter off, and the gaggle moved on. The thing about students though—as most teachers have learned to fear—is that they never leave without taking a piece with them. Just a quick snap—something so innocuous to them—can start a domino effect.
Snap.
Send.
Spread.
Who knows who ends up getting the message.
Sure, the two had settled on a book. A banal gift. Well, Maka was sure from the summary the book itself wouldn't be some jejune drift, but it was surely the safest present to put under the tree. The culmination of her phone call—thank goodness for Layla sweet interjections to temper Spirit's ruffled feathers—and the oversized bag from their trip to one of those rugged outfitter style stores were on the complete opposite end of the spectrum.
In her hand and in her mind were the most fearful of choices. It was a precipice she was dangling over and—in so many, many ways—it promised more than that leap to his bed. This was something else entirely, this was… definitely a term outside of Maka's reach. As if anything were ever outside of her understanding! As she and Layla began the walk back to the coffee spot hand in hand, Maka mulled over her choices.
They rounded the final curve of the walkway, but as the awning came into view, so did a slightly familiar face. It took Maka a moment to place it– she remembered this style from her own high school days but had been sure that it had died along with Nirvana. Instead, there was that girl—Clara?—that was part of Soul's showcase. The girl who'd interrupted them. The girl who'd–
There it was– uncanny, predatory eyes on her. It wasn't that Clara emanated any hate– far from it. She smiled. A smile that Maka most certainly didn't like. "Hi, Layla."
Layla didn't seem to entirely share Maka's misgivings, but still cautiously offered, "Hi."
"We met at last year's showcase, remember?" Clara clarified, but her gaze shifted to Maka. "And hi, Ms. Albarn. I guess you do know Mr. E."
"I'm sorry," Maka replied while desperately trying to form an escape plan, "I don't seem to remember your name." Maybe it was spiteful– tactless, but Maka couldn't keep it from tumbling off her lips.
"Well, you're not my guidance counselor, so…" Clara tilted her head and while the motion itself was sweet, the shine of her eyes negated any softness. "But I guess you could say I spend a lot of time with Mr. E, and somehow you keep coming up."
Maka started the mantra: Be careful, be careful, be careful. "Well, I'll tell him you said hello, and–" She'd started the sidestep, but Clara caught her arm.
"You don't know my name, remember?" The question seemed to hiss through the flatness of her smile. "Clara. And I don't need you to say hello. I need you to butt out."
Maka stilled, studying Clara's grip before she squeezed Layla's hand. "Layla, go in–"
"You're not her mother," Clara snapped.
"Clara, you're making a mistake," Maka started in a low whisper. "Layla needs to go, and then we–"
"You're not her mother," she repeated, this time tossing Maka's arm in punctuation. "I can't even believe you're his girlfriend. You even think you can act like his fiancé or something. Three months max– there's no way you started dating before that. Talk about desperate."
It wasn't so much the words but the timeline now laid in front of her. She's right, isn't she? a stupid little voice whispered. Meet over the summer, start dating in the fall, talking about family– acting like a family by winter?
"Maka," Layla peeped.
She dropped her gaze, seeing her own fear and uncertainty mirrored on Layla's face. It was enough to make her bravery at least momentarily surface. Maka pulled Layla close like a chick under her wing. "Clara, if you have any respect for Mr. E, you'll stop. Layla's uncomfortable, and no matter what you think about me, this is his daughter."
A spiteful little laugh started bubbling up from Clara's throat. "You've got to be–"
"Clara." Soul's voice—for all the sweet, loving tones Maka had heard it hit—was nothing but gravel and grit now. He appeared in the open air entrance to the shop, arms crossed without a hint of his smirk.
The girl spun and somehow still offered the name with excitement: "Mr. E! I heard you were here."
Red eyes flicked over to Maka and Layla. "C'mere." He offered his hand in their direction.
Clara took a step into their path. "I was just–"
"Clara, I'm here with my family." His patience was gone, arm barring Clara from any trajectory that Maka and Layla might take. He got them to the entrance before even bothering to glance at Clara. "You, me, and your guidance counselor had a discussion on boundaries. I think it's time you remember and move along."
Maka waited for the anger– a chaotic eruption of teen girl hormones– but all that surfaced was an added glow to her smile. "I was just talking to Ms. Albarn, that's all. Plus, it's the mall, Mr. E. Not exactly a private space." The girl glanced around the storefronts before snapping back to Maka's face. "And I didn't think someone you just know from school was all that important."
"Like I said"—each word seemed to come with a punctuation of its own, consonants hitting hard—"I'm with my family. So move along." She watched Soul's jaw clench to catch any other words that threatened.
In their little arrangement—Maka, Soul, and Layla sandwiched in the middle—all outward appearances would point to a family. A layperson might have seen the matching green of Layla and Maka's eyes, or the distinctive Evan's curve to Layla's face. Even with all that– even with Soul's echoes of family, something sunk into Maka's bones. Something akin to fear, but so much more uncomfortable.
Meet in the summer.
Date in the fall.
A family by winter.
Desperate.
Neither had urged their touches beyond just settling into bed. It was as if the weight of a third body made the pronounced divot between them. Not Layla crawling in to split their warmth but– Clara, Soul grumbled internally. An oily residue of rage still stuck to his pallet stained with vicious words he'd wanted to spout at that girl. The fear on Layla's face. Maka's obvious discomfort. That little–
No, he tried to assuage the anger again. She's just– somethin's always been wrong with her, and with her idiot parents refusing treatment, this is–
Maka's sigh broke his steady internal dialogue.
Soul paused, waiting for her to break the silence she'd been toying with all night.
She didn't.
His chin crept to the side, catching the sweet picture of her head on the pillow next to his. Her fist was obscuring most of his view as it clutched into the pillowcase, so he reached for it, fingers prying hers. His stomach– heart– lungs all shriveled as he found the dampened cheek it was hiding. Tenderness rushed to his fingertips just like the words to his lips: "I've practically got her guidance counselor on speed dial. I already called my supervisor, and we'll have a meeting first thing in the morning. I swear, Maka, she's just a struggling kid, and–"
"No, I trust you," she murmured through a sniffle.
"But I get it," he pressed back as he cupped her cheek. "I was just tryin' to be gentle with her, but, yeah, I know. I gotta get her off the showcase and–"
"Soul," Maka began to object.
"Nah," he croaked as he lifted onto an elbow. "She's done. Before it was just me, but now she's got Layla involved– got you involved."
"Your family," she murmured back before her lip shriveled.
"Yeah." His voice shrunk– not for lack of surety in that word but as a reflection of the new fear he saw on hers. The tears on her cheeks counted the minutes of silence. "Maka, did she say somethin' to you?"
A wan smile stopped the wobble of her mouth. "She said a lot of things."
He could compile an ocean full of guesses– each more terrible than the last. And I knew– knew since the first showcase when that nerdy little girl in a Ramone's T-shirt started following me around like a puppy. I thought I'd squashed it enough last year, but– Soul sighed, fingers trickling down her jaw to turn her chin to him. I failed you. I didn't protect you. I shoulda known she'd see you as some kinda competition, and–
The smallest murmur imaginable—one he was sure Layla couldn't even produce—left Maka's throat: "I'm scared."
Oh, how that oily anger returned– how he wanted to rip that girl apart! It took the deep sadness after to quell that fire and steal the focus back to the woman in front of him. "I'm sorry I didn't take it seriously enough before, but now, I promise–"
A swift shake of her head negated what he thought would bring her peace. The confusion continued to clutter his heart as she grabbed his hand, straining to hold it tightly but away from her skin. "I'm scared that part of what she said was right."
Gravity and the world below him were ripped away.
"I–I pushed myself into your life," her whisper started with stressed strain. "I pushed to meet families, to stay overnight, to have sex, and–"
Soul swallowed the panic as the puzzle pieces she fed him all easily clicked into place. It was all another thing he'd neglected, bringing back that moment on the couch and his own soft admonishment: I have to talk to her, don't I? "Sorta remember me askin' to meet your dad," Soul interrupted, forcing her tearful eyes to his face. "And the rest I just chalk up to you bein' better at askin' for what you want. I think we both know I'm not so good at that."
"But it's so much," she pressed back, not instantly convinced as he had hoped. "A few months of knowing each other, then a few months of dating, and I'm already thinking about what Layla wants me to be? Or finding a comfortable place in Viv's family– a family that isn't even mine, and I'm certainly not entitled to!"
She was drowning, and all Soul could do was pull their connected hand to his chest. It wasn't a far distance, especially as he lessened it to get a taste of her lips. The salt, the sorrow. Her hesitation was obvious as a choked breath escaped from her as she attempted to break them, but for the first time, Soul refused to budge. He made sure to kiss her breathless instead, letting her nails try to find purchase against his skin by leaving little crescents behind. "I said family, and I mean it."
"But I– shouldn't that take years?"
"I don't know." The honesty ripped at the lining of his heart, making the rest of his murmur warble. "I don't know how these sorta things are supposed to go, but I know how I feel. I love you, so when I said family, I meant it."
She'd turned to marble underneath him, her breath entirely gone.
Soul tried to concentrate on his own air, filling his lungs to keep the truth from crawling back into the depths of his mind. "Maybe it's fast, but I know for sure that I don't get these feelin's easily. Hell, I've never been able to before you. And it ain't just you wantin' things or thinkin' about the future." He struggled in the sheets with her, unwinding one tight grip of hers and then the other so that he could sink those hands into the mattress. He had her pinned in the bed, eyes wide. "You told me to think, and I did. Layla's right, I do love bein' a dad—gotta admit that even Julien thinks so—and that means that someday, I'm gonna want more kids. I know that now."
He slid his hands from her wrists to tangle their fingers together, keeping her from running until at least all his truth got out. "I ain't sayin' any of this to tie you down. I ain't sayin' let's get married and start tomorrow. I'm sayin' it doesn't matter when I met you, just that I did. It only matters to me what I know about myself now thanks to you. And I hope that the thing that matters most to you is that I love you."
A deluge of tears obscured the jade, leaving meandering trails down her cheeks. He waited for words, but when none came, his own vision started to blur. I can say it a million times, right? But there's still the chance that she won't– she'll leave– that she's right and it's all too soon and too much. His quivering hands slipped off of hers, setting her free. "I'll just– I get that's a lot and I–" Soul paused to swallow, hoping it would keep his voice from shattering. "I can give you some space. I'll just sleep on the couch–"
Before he could move another fretful inch, Maka's arms tangled around him and brought him into a desperate, crushing embrace. Each gasping, fighting breath brought her hands to caress a new spot. Her words didn't come—couldn't seem to breach the aching pain she was releasing—but her touch spoke for her. To him, all that echoed was stay, stay, stay.