Author's Note: I really did feel bad about breaking up SoMa, so I will be attempting to fix it. This chapter is a lot shorter than the last one, and I apologize for that; its really just kind of a filler for now, showing how Soul is doing. The next chapter will be longer ^.^ Let me know if anything is incorrect :) Enjoy!

"Soul!"

The white haired boy was awake and sitting up in moments, fighter instincts still fully functional despite not knowing where they came from. Soul waited a few seconds, waiting to see if his mother or father would call up the stairs for him again. They did occasionally do this, usually for no reason; always checking up on him, watching him play his piano, calling up the stairs late at night or early in the morning as if to make sure he was still there. He didn't understand why, but he'd sometime find them looking at him with sadness in their eyes, his mother once bursting into tears and rushing from the room when he asked her what was wrong. None of it made sense; that weird doctor, Stein, had said his family would be happy to have him home, so why did they all look like someone had died?

When there was no reply, he concluded that once again, what had woken him from sleep had been a shout of his name from a girl long forgotten, in the midst of his dreams. Soul sighed and flopped back onto his pillow, all hope of sleep now gone as he thought about the images and sounds that had danced around his head in the night. Distorted visions that swam behind his eyelids as soon as they closed, and didn't waiver until his red eyes were once again exposed to light and air. More often than not he saw people, teenagers like him, in various states of happiness and distress, sometimes with weapons in their hands and grim looks on their faces. They were people he knew, obviously, but he couldn't remember for the life of him how. He felt like if he really tried he could break the wall, cross the line that concealed this information from him, but all trying got him was slight headaches and worrying looks from his parents. That doctor had said that this was to be expected, that he'd see flashes if memories and if he dwelled too hard on them, his head would hurt for a bit. Eventually all the memories would come back, he'd said, but it would take a lot of time and effort.

"Soul!"

It had been about two weeks since he had left that oddly shaped building, the doctor with the strange scars across his face, and the girl that had cried when he played the piano.

It was the latter that had worried him the most. Her face flashed through his mind more often than not, and he remembered that when he'd seen her cry in that little room a fortnight ago, he'd instantly wanted to hurt whoever had made her that way... Though sometimes he got the distinct feeling it was him. Maybe, for reasons unknown to him, maybe he was the reason that girl had been so sad. The thought made him sick to his stomach, because whether you know them or not, it's never cool to make a girl cry. When he'd watched her run off that day, he'd wanted to follow her, tell her everything was ok.

But he himself didn't know if it was.

Time for a little music, he thought to himself, slipping on some old pajama pants and socks, then quietly sneaking down the stairs and into his family's basement music room. Soul settled himself on the cool piano bench, fingers feeling at home when they rested on the smooth keys. He didn't know why he felt like he hadn't played in so long, but when he's sat down at the old piano at that building his fingers felt like they hadn't been stretched properly in a very long time. He'd just finished finger exercises and was playing an old favorite when that girl had come in. He'd known she was there, of course, had seen a tear slip down her face from the corner of his eyes. But he didn't want to interrupt her, so he'd let her be, just standing in the doorframe listening to him play.

"Soul!"

"Damn it," he whispered, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes and trying to block out the voice that kept ringing in his ears. His fingers moved of their own accord, flitting across the keys like they were made specifically for it. The music drowned out the voice in his head, and he kept playing, losing himself in the melody of a familiar song, a familiar feeling, and a familiar place.

He thought about the girl again. As he played one of the first classical pieces he'd ever learned (Canon in D), he gradually shifted into a different key, a different tempo, and allowed his fingers to improvise as he continued to let his mind be equally torn between music and memories.

The notes that now sounded in his ears were nice; soft and sweet, almost caring, and with an air of calm to them. But at the same time there were unplanned, reckless chords being struck, and normally the two would have clashed but Soul thought they sounded quite pretty together. His hands stayed steady, not shaking like they usually did throughout the day, and he was surprised to find that he didn't falter once as he played, his fingers seeming to anticipate the keys he wanted before he'd even thought them. This was the kind of music he liked; unplanned but beautiful, reckless but also safe, crazy but still alright. I'd like a friendship like that one day, he thought to himself, the words come and gone before he could fully grasp them. His fingers finally stuttered, hit a flat note, and stopped, and once again he could hear a voice calling his name. But this time it echoed through the music room instead of his head.

"Soul," his mother said, standing in the doorway with her lavender robe wrapped around her, the same snow white hair her child had running in a braid over her shoulder. "It's 2 in the morning, darling. Why aren't you sleeping?" She came closer, sat next to him, slipped her thin arms around him and he leaned into her. Which normally wouldn't have been very cool, but he couldn't bring himself to care in that moment.

He shrugged, the movement shaking both their bodies slightly. "Couldn't sleep. Had a couple bad dreams, its nothing." He frowned at his mother's silence, as she'd usually be fussing over him at the slightest mention of anything but pleasant dreams. Instead when he looked up at her, her eyes were closed, the faintest hint of tears under her lashes. Thinking about asking her what was wrong, her red eyes slowly opened, and stared into the ones she had passed down to her son.

"It's about your memories, isn't it?" She whispered to him, her voice nothing more than a ghost. "Are you starting to remember?"

Soul shook his head, snowy hair ruffling around him. "Nah, I don't think so. Not yet anyway. It's mostly just flashes of people, nothing super important right now." But he was lying, because somewhere in himself he knew that those people were indeed important, or they wouldn't have been the first ones he started to remember. And his mother knew this.

She tossed her braid over her shoulder, speaking softly to him. "I think... It's good that you're starting to get your memories back," she said. "That was a big part of your life that you're missing now, and I was afraid it would take too long for you to start to miss it." But Her son frowned at this, because his mother had been so happy when she'd brought him back, but now she wanted him to miss his old life? Whatever that was that he was missing, it couldn't have been so important to him that even his mother wanted him to go back to it.

After sitting for a few more minutes, the woman stood, and said, "I think we both should be getting back to bed. Good night, Soul." She began to head to the exit, and the white haired boy called out before he could stop himself.

"I thought... You were glad to have me home?" Then he swore at himself, because he'd hesitated, and that wasn't something cool guys did. But his mother didnt seem to mind.

"It's good to have you home," she said quietly, turning to look at him. "But it would be even better to have you happy." She exited the music room, leaving her son even more confused than he had started out.

I am happy, he thought to himself, once again letting his fingers run over the piano keys but not playing anything. Of course he was happy; he was home with his family, he had his music, he was surrounded by familiar people and things, he was...

Missing something important.

With a sigh he closed the lid over the piano keys, standing up and all at once being struck by how cold the night air was. He slipped out of the music room, wandering slowly through the halls, looking at pictures of himself and his brother when they were younger, family gatherings, that trip to Hawaii that had been awful for his and his mother's pale skin. He reached one near the stairs, him at a piano, pictures covering every inch of the wall behind him. Looking at it now, he could almost feel the instrument under his hands, the soft material of the suit-

A gloved hand reaching out to meet him, a small smile on the face above, and the greenest eyes he's ever seen-

The force that the memory hit him made him lean against the railing of the stair for support. That was unexpected. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and finally started up the stairs, taking his time, pausing at the top when he thought he heard voices. But they weren't in his head this time, not in a dream. They were coming from his parent's bedroom. Evidently, his mother didnt follow her own advice. Grinning, he prepared himself to open the door and tell her so, but then he actually heard what was being said. They were talking about him.

"I've talked to Stein," came his mothers musical lilt through the wood of the barrier. "I told him Soul was already starting to remember. He said not to push it, that the memories would come back on their own."

"I don't see why you want them to come back at all," his father replied, followed by a huff that was quite common when his father was agitated. Soul could almost see him standing at the foot of the bed, arms crossed over his chest in that defensive way of his. "We've just got him back and you want him to remember so he can leave again?"

His mother sighed. "I don't want him to leave," she said, "but he's miserable, dear, can't you see that?" There was a pause as his mother took several deep breaths. "Victor, you can't tell me you don't see it. When he thinks we're not watching him, when he's playing the piano. He looks so sad." Her voice broke on the last word, and Soul wanted to bust through the door and tell her, "no really, I'm fine." He hated when his mother cried. But he figured this was a conversation that, while about him, didnt include him.

"Oh Liv," his father said, and he could hear the soft swoosh of fabric that said his mother had crossed the room and they were holding each other. "Soul will be fine. He's a good, strong boy. He'll remember eventually, and when he does he can decide if he wants to go back or not. Alright, dear?" There was a murmur of agreement, and Soul slipped back to his bedroom, in case either of his parents decided to exit the room at that moment.

He slipped back under the covers, not bothering to remove his socks as he knew he'd just kick them off in the night. He rested his head against the pillows and once again wished that his memories would come back, if only so he could see what the big fuss was about. I am happy, he thought again, but this time the words didnt sound as truthful. Frustrated, he flipped onto his side, trying to fall back asleep.

It was dark. Somebody was calling his name, and it was a nice sound, one that usually made him feel important and needed. But this time it was riddled with confusion and sadness, and it made his chest clench uncomfortably, because whoever the voice belonged to should not sound like that.

"Soul!"

His head hurt. Really badly. There was an awful ringing sound inside his head, almost like someone was laughing directly into his ears. But he didn't think anything now was even remotely funny, not with his head feeling like it was about to split open and that heartbreaking voice echoing inside his brain...

Then suddenly the noise was all gone, the only thing audible was that voice, whispering things and names that didnt make any sense. There were hands on him, far too many hands, and he felt himself being moved, and a cry of pain or loss from the voice. Only one thought was able to permeate his mind then: they're taking me away from her. He tried to call out, to move and fight off whoever had a hold on him, but now the pain in his temples was unbearable and it hurt, it hurt so badly-

Soul sat up with a gasp, hands flying up to his head to try and fight off the pain, only to discover that the pounding against his temples had stopped. He looked around the room, taking in the familiarity of his surroundings, and trying to slow his too-fastly beating heart. In his confused and frightened state, he was only able to think one thing.

If this was how all of his memories were, then he didn't want them back.