AN: Thanks for favoriting, alerting, and reviewing my story! Those from Tumblr may recognize the first 1k of this chapter, since I posted it in September. Rest assured, there is more than 6k of new stuff for you to enjoy. Once again, thanks for reading!

The door of the coffee shop was emblazoned with a familiar green trim, but instead of the trademark mermaid that dotted every corner in New York City, the circular logo slapped on each wall, doorway, and coffee cup featured a cartoonish skull. The most incriminating evidence of plagiarism was the coffee shop's name-Deathbucks.

"How the hell hasn't this place been sued yet?" Soul wondered aloud. He fingered the shoulder strap of his bag, gathering his courage. The overwhelming whirlwind of sophomore year had only just begun, and already Soul felt the weight of his classes hang heavily on his psyche. This school year wasn't going to be easy, but he had a feeling it was turning around.

Soul pushed open the door of the coffee shop, resolute. This year, things were going to go differently. No more rumors that he was a demon some drunk freshman summoned with a spell off the internet. No more whispers that Soul was secretly a mass arsonist, a cult leader, a serial killer, or a death eater. No, this was his year to shine, his year to show everyone that red eyes and sharp teeth didn't mark him as the spawn of Satan. He just had to get over his anxiety and take the first step.

And if that meant finally making a move on a certain sandy blonde, well, he wasn't gonna complain.

A bell chimed as he walked through the doorway and scanned the room. Laptops, cords, text books, and papers were sprawled across almost every table top. What few booths were available were already full, and the table situation was just as dire. He spotted an open space in the middle and cautiously maneuvered through the chairs.

Soul opened his laptop and settled down. No one had really noted his presence yet, which was just fine with him. People didn't react to his appearance with nearly as much terrified violence as they did in highschool or the first semester of freshman year. Last year, his roommate Kid suggested that if Soul was seen around campus often enough, people would just get used to him. Thanks to Soul's small, yet supportive circle of bros, that plan seemed to be working. Deathbucks' usual medley of casual conversation, coffee mixing, and rapid typing continued uninterrupted by his presence. Best of all, Soul didn't even rely on Kid or Blake to back him up. He had successfully struck out on his own.

He fished his laptop charger out of his bag, and while free outlets were scarce, he quickly spied one on the ground, partially covered by the flip flop of the girl sitting across from him. Interacting with college girls was a puzzle he had yet to figure out, but maybe today was his lucky day.

"Sorry, can you move for a sec so I can get to that outlet?" Soul asked. This was it.

The girl briefly poked her head from behind her laptop. "Nah," she sneered before retreating behind her screen.

Her boldness was startling. One look at Soul's mean face usually sent girls running, but she held her ground. Moreover, she was rude. Very rude. Who says no to moving their flip flop for a couple seconds?

Both curious and embarrassed, Soul resolved to reason with this rude girl. He stood up and leaned over her computer, but once he got a good look at her, he jerked backwards in surprise. "It's you!"

Maka Albarn, better known throughout the student body as the Palmtop Tiger, wrinkled her nose in annoyance. "What, do we know each other?"

"You don't remember me?" She stared at him blankly until Soul was sick of the silence. "You slapped me in the face with 'The Count of Monte Cristo' the first week of freshman year."

It was one of his most humiliating and humbling memories. One year prior, he had met the feisty Maka Albarn at happy hour. Every Friday, happy hour at the Tombs, DCU's college bar, was the place to be between 4:30 and 7 p.m. It heralded in the weekend, and on that particular Friday, it had signaled the start of a new semester. Soul had been dragged there by new friend Blake, who had taken an instant liking to him, and his roommate Kid. It had made him nervous to be in such a crowded place surrounded by people who wouldn't like him, but it was also the first time Soul had hung out with his new friends outside the dorm. Soul had felt ecstatic.

When they got inside, Blake took out a colorful array of wristbands he had stashed in his pocket. "What color is it today? Green? Alriiight," Blake said. He slapped green wristbands on each of their right wrists (and Kid's left wrist).

The place was too crowded to even see the bar, let alone order from it, prompting Blake to push Soul forward. "Do that thing you did in the dining hall. Remember, the chicken nugget line?"

"Uh, you mean the thing where I exist and everyone runs away?"

"Doooo it."

Soul approached the bar. Without pushing or speaking to anyone, patrons quickly vacated their barstools to maintain a comfortable distance from the murderous-looking freshman. The bartenders, too, would have stayed out of Soul's five foot radius if they were not already trapped serving drinks.

Blake clapped Soul on the back. "Way to go, man. Seriously, I'm taking you everywhere with me. Welcome to the crew." While it sucked to already be the campus pariah, Soul couldn't help but smile in response.

Kid, staring across the room, released a small yelp. "A group of sorority women just gave up their booth! Get me a gin and tonic, would you?" Without another word, his roommate sashayed through the crowd to pounce on the open booth.

Soul had been holding two triple-well drinks, a whiskey coke in his left hand and a gin and tonic in his right, and searching for wherever Kid went when it happened. As he looked over a hundred heads to find his friend, Soul bumped into somebody. Hard. His whiskey coke, sleek from condensation, slipped. It spilled.

The apologies were out of Soul's mouth before he even looked down. "Whoah, I'm so sorry!"

The girl was a slight thing, short, with sopping wet pigtails dangling by her neck and fluffy bangs plastered to her forehead. His whiskey coke had spilled right on top of her head, drenched her shoulders, and dripped down the front of her blouse. Her small polka-dotted bra was visible through the translucent fabric, as was the deep flush crawling up her neck and heating her cheeks. Soul repeated that he was sorry, that he would pay for her laundry and her next drink, but all she did was stare at the floor. Even with her face cast downwards, Soul could sense a strange intensity about her.

The room was awash with whispers.

"Soul Evans the psycho just poured his drink on the Palmtop Tiger!"

"Oh my god, it's like a clash of the titans!"

"A battle for top dog!"

"My bet is on the death eater-"

Palmtop Tiger? What on earth did that mean? "Look, I'm sorry okay?" Soul said again. "I didn't see where I was going."

Soul heard a low growling, and his heart dropped to his stomach when he realized its source. It was the girl. She slowly tilted her head upwards, slowly and slowly, until her livid, green eyes finally peeked up at him through wet bangs and furrowed eyebrows. She curled her upper lip like an animal, and whipped a hardcover book out of god knows where.

A shrill battle cry. A sharp impact. Spilt alcohol. The rest was history.

DCU had a large student body, so it was a relief when Soul didn't run into Maka again for the rest of the year. Now, a sophomore ready to start things the right way, he was once again face-to-face with the Palmtop Tiger.

After listening to Soul remind her of that day, Maka just shrugged. "My copy of 'Monte Cristo' has slapped dozens of dumb guys, so sorry if I didn't recognize you right away."

Soul was thinking up the perfect retort when he heard his name called across the room. It was Kid, his roommate and friend, who had finally arrived at Deathbucks with arms full of study materials. Maka, who had been so bold and mouthy a moment before, immediately slumped out of view to hide behind her laptop screen. Still standing, Soul could see that her face turned a bright shade of red.

"Soul Evans is actually studying on his own volition? I never thought I would see this day," Kid said, striding over to his roommate. He beamed like a proud father. "And making conversation on his own too. It really is a new school year. So, who is your new friend?"

Before Soul had a chance to introduce Kid to a girl who was not by any definition his friend, Maka squawked like a frazzled pidgeon, and scrambled to stuff all of her papers into her bag without sparing one glance towards the two boys. Tucking her laptop underneath her arm, Maka burst out of her seat and stumbled away. The bell chimed as she went out the door.

"I guess she was just leaving," Soul said, baffled.

"I guess so," Kid replied.

Soul ended up messing around on Youtube while Kid peacefully studied across from him. It was a new year, but Soul wasn't that reformed. Instead of thinking about Art History or his assignment for Music Comp, he thought of a certain blonde with a tiny frame and a huge temper. The way she fearlessly held his gaze without fear or nerves, the manner in which she staggered away in fright at the sight of Soul's more normal friend.

What the hell was up with Maka Albarn?

Despite going an entire academic year without one tiger sighting, he spotted her for the second time in a single day in the dining hall that evening. Soul wasn't sure how he picked her pigtailed head out of the crowded cafeteria, but his eyes were drawn to her instantly. She was sitting several tables away, alone, nose in a book, with one hand absent-mindedly delivering french fries from her plate to her mouth. As if she sensed his presence, Maka's eyes flicked in his direction. Her gaze held his own for a second before darting over his left shoulder and back to her book.

"There's a free table over there," Kid said, appearing on Soul's left. "Come on then, we mustn't let the freshman steal all the prime seating."

It was only the third day of class, and Soul had already concluded that freshmen were dirty little locusts that swarmed the dining hall and pilfered cafeteria utensils for no damn reason than to get on his nerves. They all looked so terrified all the time, at least when he was around. A couple of freshman girls moved to swoop in and claim their table, but one look at Soul sent them scurrying. Another bitter reminder that while his freaky face was old news to upperclassmen, Soul was probably going to give freshman nightmares for months to come. Great.

Self-conscious, Soul rubbed the tips of his white fringe between his fingers to avoid making accidental eye contact with anyone. Deathbucks must have been a fluke.

The two boys dumped their black backpacks in a heap on the table, marking it as theirs for at least a good hour or so. They walked together to the stir fry line. The prospect of steaming hot carbohydrates usually improved his mood, but when Soul ordered his penne with marinara sauce and spinach, the ravenous look on his face actually made the lunch lady shriek. Fed up, he stared into space, his expression grim.

"You have that evil glint in your eyes again," Kid said matter-of-factly after he ordered tofu, soy sauce, and brown rice. "That usually means you are either entertaining dark thoughts or feeling deliriously happy. Which is it?"

Soul shot Kid a withering look. "I'm just not looking forward to spending another semester convincing people that I'm not deranged."

"Oh come now, not everyone thinks you're an albino Ted Bundy," Kid said. "I know you're alright. Blake knows. Tsubaki knows. In fact, I think people are warming up to you faster than you realize. Just wait and see." If only Soul could be as optimistic and enthusiastic as Kid, who was by and large among the most popular and well known students on campus. Still, those were encouraging words to hear.

They were watching their food sizzle and smoke on their respective frying pans when the third and final member of their inner circle, Blake Barrett, paraded in with a self-satisfied smirk.

"Couldn't get here at 7 p.m. sharp because I was chilling with White Star," Blake said. "He, me, Red Star, and Dark Star, we're planning something big. The frosh won't even know what hit them." They shuffled forward in line and Blake, in his usual way, muscled between Soul and Kid so he wouldn't have to queue up with the rest of the peasants. Not that Blake noticed any plebian glares. When Star Frat was on his mind, it usually took his girlfriend with a riding crop to shut him up.

Blake was still talking when they returned to their seats with platefuls of pasta and rice. It was astounding how long Blake could talk about his fraternity without actually telling his friends anything concrete. As unaffiliated men, Soul and Kid weren't privy to the inner politics and rituals of Sigma Tau Rho, and to be perfectly honest, neither of them wanted to be. While they had few interests in common, they bonded over their shared hatred for frat bros and wild, gross parties.

"Dark Star's got a new vat recipe, and we're all gonna taste test it at chapter," Blake said with a mouthful of spaghetti. "Though honestly, I always say that the best vat is just kool aid and everclear. It's a simple recipe, why fuck with it? I guess White Star and Red Star are worried the peasant freshman won't stick around if its not fruity enough, but-"

"Who are you even talking about?" Kid groaned.

Without missing a beat, Blake swallowed his spaghetti and rattled off names. "White Star is Eric, Dark Star is Stuart, but he likes to go by Axel now, Red Star is Jeremy, I'm Black Star, duh, Green Star is-shit, no, Axel is Green Star, and Andy is Dark-"

"Let's just forget all the nicknames," Kid said, rubbing his temples. "It's too difficult to keep all of them straight when you ramble on like this. How about we declare this area," he gestured around their table. "a no nickname zone. Soul, you wouldn't mind this table being a no Star Frat zone, right?"

"As a long-time resident of the 'I don't give a fuck zone,' I'll remain neutral." Soul said.

Kid looked disappointed, probably because he was hoping for an ally against Blake's fraternity-talk. "I just feel that when we talk about friends outside our little group, we should use their real names," he persisted. "It's less confusing."

Their louder friend looked annoyed for only a moment before a wide, mischievous grin spread across his face. "What a great idea Dean Theodore," Blake said, clasping his hands on the table. Soul glanced at his other roommate, who had pressed his lips together in a fine line. "Let's just call each other our Christian names. That sounds damn fantastic," Blake continued. "It's such a good idea, a god like me should have thought of it ages ago. Thanks a lot, Dean."

"You know what I meant!"

"I'm sorry," Blake said sweetly. "Is 'Kid' on your driver's license? Your birth certificate? If it's not recognized by the state of Nevada, I can't say it, because unlike you, I respect the laws of the land. Respect the zone, Dean. Respect it."

Soul watched his friends bicker across the table, amused, and to make more room for his plate and elbows, he grabbed his backpack from the middle of the table and set it on his lap. For once, all of its pockets were zipped up. It was a habit of his to only zip the largest pocket three quarters of the way, maybe a little more when he was carrying heavy textbooks, because he liked the slouchy "idgaf" vibe it gave him as he sauntered around campus. A visual reminder that he didn't care about people or what they thought of him, which wasn't true, but they didn't need to know that.

After sharing a dorm room with the neurotic Kid for a full year already, it was obvious who was behind Soul's mysteriously zipped pockets. I'll remind Kid not to touch my shit later, Soul thought to himself as he examined his backpack, though a part of him knew it wouldn't do any good. He laid his backpack at his feet and turned to spear a penne noodle with his fork and reenter the conversation-

The sudden clap of a book snapping shut caused Soul to jump in his seat and nearly choke on his pasta. His head immediately turned to the source of the sound. It was Maka Albarn, staring towards him with intense green eyes, holding a thick novel between her quivering hands. He glanced around and rubbed his mouth. Was she staring at him? Was there marinara sauce on his face? Oh god, why was she maddogging him so hard? What did he did he ever do to her? Maka puffed her slowly reddening cheeks and began to collect her things with haste. It was like watching her escape Deathbucks again, but this time she was even more panicked. Whatever set her off must have rattled her to the core.

He was raised not to make assumptions about people, a maxim he stuck to despite being on the receiving end of so many harsh judgements, so Soul didn't want to jump to conclusions about whatever was going on with the Palmtop Tiger. Judging by the last hateful glance she threw at him across the cafeteria on her way out, it wasn't anything good.

"Fine," Kid said. He and Blake had argued throughout Albarn's dramatic exit. "You win. Use your power ranger names, I don't care. Just never refer to me by that abominable name ever again."

His surrender was bitter and reluctant, but it was all Blake needed. "I knew you'd see it my way, Dean," Blake replied with a wink. "Anyways, if our fraternity names confused you so much, you shoulda just said so…"

The remainder of dinner passed without incident (though Blake did get some pasta sauce on Kid's pants) and the three parted ways. Kid spent a couple hours at the library every night to help poor souls navigate their way through the perilous straits of calculus. Blake left to rendezvous with "the bae," with whom he expected to spend the whole night. Soul, having no life outside the music department, his two friends, and Skyrim, headed to the Gallows.

He was walking through the residential quad, pretending he didn't see people trudge through the mud so they could bypass him on the sidewalk, when he heard a familiar voice wail an even more familiar word.

"HERMANOOO!" Soul's head snapped to the side, seeking out the source of the voice he had been thinking about all summer-Patty Thompson. His eyes darted around, searching for the person Patty must be speaking to, and when he saw no one, he realized that she was actually talking to him. Their first class of the semester was tomorrow, and while he had already thought of some things to talk about when they reunited in Spanish, he was woefully unprepared to meet her now. She bounded towards him with the grace and energy of a deer, and downright bounced when she landed right in front of him.

"Heya! Remember me? From Spanish class all last year?" Patty asked in wonderful, heart-melting English.

Soul tried to respond, but his tongue must have swollen up or something. ¡Habla! dammit! "Yeah I remember," he struggled out. "You're Patty Thompson. Linguistics major."

"Whoah, you even remembered my major!" Patty said, surprised and delighted. Soul cursed himself for accidentally letting on the small fact that he basically remembered everything about her. His red face and stammering voice were the absolute opposite of playing it cool. "I just saw you walking and wanted to say hey."

Holy shit, holy shit. "Yeah, hi." Basically anything Soul said to her was going to qualify as awkward small talk, but even with such low expectations he couldn't muster anything coherent. "What you doing?"

"Huh?"

"What are you doing?" He corrected, cheeks flaring.

Patty's mouth formed a cute 'o.' "Heading to work. I'm starting at a pizza delivery downtown now. There's more money in it than being a barista, and it's easy to work around my RA schedule."

"You're an RA?" Soul asked incredulously. Realizing he sounded a bit too surprised, he backpedaled. "I mean, I just didn't know you would want to do that."

She gave him a pragmatic shrug. "Eh, room and board is free, my meal plan is discounted, and I get a stipend. For that, I can handle a couple dozen freshmen. Anywayyys," Patty already began to walk away from him backwards. "I gotta run. Those pizzas aren't sentient enough to deliver themselves, which is good because if they were, humanity would be doooomed!"

Soul said a nervous goodbye as Patty skipped away just as abruptly as she arrived. During the rest of the walk home he had a bit more spring in his step. Yeah, sure, his first English conversation with Patty turned out to be about pizza and jobs, but even small progress was progress. He took the win.

Soul's buoyant mood made the walk to the Gallows fly by. Unlike the other dorms, the Gallows housed upperclassmen who opted to stay on-campus instead of finding housing on their own. Sophomores normally were not allowed to live in the large, spacious building, but Kid pulled a few strings with his dad and got their small group set up in a suite. Three bedrooms, a living room, a compact kitchen, and a fancy bathroom was a pretty sweet deal, even if meant keeping the place impeccably clean to satisfy Kid's neurosis.

Once inside, Soul quickly retreated to left-most room in the apartment-his room. Not bothering to shut his bedroom door, he unzipped the largest pocket of his backpack and dumped its contents on the floor. Books, scraps of paper, and uncapped pens fell out in a scattered pile, and he lazily shifted through them to find the syllabus for his Art History class. Soul didn't mind mess because there was always someone there to clean it up for him. College was supposed to be his big wake-up call when it came to domestic chores, but then, well, Kid happened.

He was mulling over whether he should reward himself by starting the night off with a study break when something strange caught his eye. Underneath his thin Spanish textbook was what looked like a letter. Soul was by no means an organized person, but he would have remembered if he received a letter somewhere. He picked it up to examine it more closely, only to discover that the envelope wasn't addressed to him at all.

To: DT "Kid" Kidman.

From: Maka Albarn (You don't have to open this if you don't want to!)

Raising an eyebrow, Soul slowly flipped the letter over to the other side, where it was sealed with a heart-shaped sticker.

"Kid, you dog," Soul muttered aloud. Albarn's weird behavior at dinner didn't seem so random anymore. She must have tried to plant this into Kid's bag while it was left unattended, but slipped it into Soul's by mistake. And what was inside said letter? Well, judging by the heart emblazoned on the back, it looked like a certain pig-tailed somebody had a burning crush on a certain roommate of his. Fancy that. He could only imagine her frustration when he gave it back to her. Though it was dead obvious what it was for, she couldn't do anything to him because Soul could always claim that it was sealed and he had no idea-

While fumbling with the letter, the sticker popped off and the envelope flapped open. "SHIT!" Soul exclaimed, quickly resealing it. How many times did she put on and remove this sticker? The adhesive was barely usable. It flapped open again, defying him, and somewhere between clutching the envelope and smushing the sticker, Soul made a horrifying discovery.

There was nothing inside.

He eventually got the sticker to do its damn job and stick to something, but the fact remained that it held nothing, concealed nothing. It made him wonder what exactly was going through Maka's mind when she stuffed the envelope into his backpack. She must have been running on a mad amount of adrenaline to not only deliver a love letter to the wrong person, but to also forget the actual letter altogether. It was stupid. It was impulsive. It sounded exactly like something he would do, in similar circumstances.

Uncertain of what to do with this empty, paperthin envelope, he stuck it inside his desk drawer. If Soul was good at anything, it was putting off potentially unpleasant interactions until the last minute.

Soul decided to take that study break. He figured that completing a couple quests in Skyrim would give him time to mull over what to do with the envelope, but when his mind wandered away from fighting dragons or pick pocketing NPCs, it was to think about Patty and the excitement in her blue eyes as she skipped across the quad to greet him.

It was only 9 p.m. when his eyelids began to feel heavy, and the graphics on the TV screen blurred. Too lazy to even make it to his bed, Soul left the game running as he fell asleep on the couch.

He felt like his eyes had only been shut for a second when a muffled crash woke him up. The epic score on the Skyrim load screen continued to play on a loop, and Soul rubbed his eyes languidly stretched. All of the lights were off, but his hazy memory contained no recollection of switching them off. Perhaps Blake or Kid returned home already. Soul did leave the front door unlocked for them, after all.

The darkness beckoned him to fall back asleep, but sound of shuffling papers drew Soul's attention towards his own bedroom door.

"Hey guys?" Soul asked, warily rising from the couch. "Blake, is that you? Dude, jumping out at me in the dark gets old after the third time. Seriously." He switched off the television, causing the roaring chanting and orchestra of the Skyrim OST blip into silence.

Shaking his head, Soul lumbered to his bedroom and opened the door, fully prepared for Blake's trademark howl.

Instead of hearing Blake scream in his face, something hard smacked Soul on the forehead. He stumbled backwards, reeling from the pain spreading across his skull. In the darkness he saw a slight figure in his room, silhouetted by the sparse moonlight pouring through his window. It advanced towards him with menace, only to slip on the pile of papers he had deposited on the floor early that evening. Judging by his or her girly squeak, the person in his room was not Blake Barrett.

As his eyes adjusted to the dark, the mysterious silhouette gained a more definitive, human shape. Wait a second. Soul recognized this teeny person. As the figure recovered from tripping over his stuff, he took the opportunity to fumble with the light switch.

The light flickered on, and Maka Albarn glowered at him from his bedroom floor.

"ALBARRRN!?" Soul shouted in a mixture of horror and surprise. Realizing she was out of ammunition, Albarn scrambled towards his bookcase and started grabbing textbooks off the shelves. Soon, his Art History textbook was flying across the room, followed by this Spanish workbook, and his copy of "Watchmen." She even flung his thick Music Theory book with practiced finesse, and in an astonishing display of hand-eye coordination, Soul caught it between the palms of his hands before the spinning object hit his forehead. It was the most ninja thing he had ever done. Blake would never believe it.

Unfortunately, Maka was upon him before he could congratulate himself or celebrate. Abandoning her position by the bookshelf, she lunged at him like a ferocious cat, prompting him to dodge her by ducking to the ground. This was a bad move, because suddenly she was on top of his back, using her entire weight to pin him to the floor with a painful thump. Winded, he didn't struggle when she flipped him onto his back and sat on his torso. The fact that she mounted him while only wearing a flouncy plaid skirt didn't concern her in the least.

Soul had fantasized plenty of times about being straddled by an authoritative woman, but none of those dreams went like this.

"Where is it?" she seethed through her teeth. "It's not in your bag, it's not on your desk. Where is it?" Before he could answer her, Maka's face went white. "You-you read it didn't you? Didn't you?"

"I don't know!" Soul answered. He was desperately trying to avoid her face, which loomed above him like an angry sun. "I haven't read anything. I don't read. I don't know what you are talking about!"

Maka's nostrils flared. "If you don't know what I'm talking about, then how come it's not in your bag, where I put it?"

She had him there. "Oh, the letter! It's in my desk drawer, alright? I'll give it to you if you let mMMMRPH!" One small hand smothered his words, and the other one secured on of his wrists. His free hand, laying by his side, was pinned by her knee.

"This is a nightmare," Maka said ruefully. "This isn't how it was supposed to go. I screwed up. I screwed it all up." Her hand remained clamped over his mouth, and she looked at him imploringly. "If it means anything, I never meant for you to get caught in the middle of this. I don't break into people's apartments, ever, and I don't like hitting people, and I really-" Soul irreverently rolled his eyes, and she shook his face in retaliation. "Hey! I'm being serious, you asshat! I genuinely feel bad about what I have to do to you!"

Still gagged, Soul gave her an alarmed look. "I'm sorry, Soul," Maka said. Finally releasing his mouth, and before he could ask her how she knew his name, Maka produced a hardback copy of "Moby Dick" from her pocket, or her jacket, or somewhere, and she gripped it in her hands. "It's just gonna be a light concussion," she said slowly. "The softest one I can give. Just enough to smack some brain cells and blur your recent memory. Don't worry, I'll get you immediate medical attention."

"Well aren't you the goddess of congeniality," Soul said with caustic bite. Maka in fact did look like a goddess, her vibrant eyes burning with elemental fury and her hair framing her face like a golden halo. She was stunning in every sense of the word, but it was verb-form that left him paralyzed as her mouth twisted with ire.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" She raised the novel above his head, an executioner raising her axe above the chopping block. "It's either you forget or I skip town, and I'm not leaving." Her hand quivered in the air as she gathered her resolve, and Soul swallowed. He had never read "Moby Dick," but it certainly looked like it could give him more that a light concussion. "I will do anything it takes to make you forget that stupid love lett-"

Soul shut his eyes and yelled, "The envelope was empty!"

After one long, tense moment, "Moby Dick" clattered to the floor, missing his skull completely. Maka's arm remained in the air, stock still with shock. "It was...empty?"

"Yeah," Soul said, breathless. After being sat on for ten minutes and narrowly escaping head trauma, he felt like he just ran a marathon. "There was nothing for me to read." Maka rolled onto the balls of her feet, finally releasing Soul from her death grip, and she sat against the wall. "I guess it's a good thing you put it in my backpack instead of Kid's," Soul said as he heaved himself off the floor. "Now he doesn't know how bad you messed up."

Maka stared ahead into space, unbelieving. Soul got back to his feet and ambled over to his desk. The envelope, empty and lifeless, was still where he left it. Part of him feared she would still concuss him, so when he handed her the envelope, he swiftly retreated on to his bed. Yeah, having the high ground would help him if she decided to come at him again. Maybe he would actually fight back this time, not that he really knew how. He had never hit anybody his entire life, much less a girl.

But there was nothing ferocious or vengeful about the Palmtop Tiger. Maka pulled her knees to her chest, methodically unsealed the envelope, and peered inside for a single second, as if she was afraid of what she would find there. Of course there was nothing, and she released a small whimper and rested her forehead on her knees.

Though she had not spoken since threatening to concuss him, Soul knew that he had nothing to fear from Maka now. In fact, his real worry now was that she was going to start crying in his room, which was honestly more terrifying. This was the Palmtop Tiger, the girl who KO'd him with one punch. He never expected to see her cry, let alone in his room, and worst yet, he empathized with her. She had attempted to do the very same thing he had been obsessing over for months, except with a lot more courage and a little less tact. After she sniffed once, he felt compelled to do something, anything to help her feel less alone.

"Don't be embarrassed," Soul said. His voice felt dry and brittle, but he hoped she could hear his sincerity. "Really, you have nothing to be ashamed of. Just wait a minute."

He hopped off his bed and kneeled onto the ground. A cardboard box lay swathed in shadows, sitting all the way against the wall. He army-crawled into the darkness and pulled the box out into the open. Though he didn't know the origin of this impulse, Soul did know that he hated seeing the tumult of rejection and heartache written so plainly on Maka's face. She had to know-no, she had to be shown that she wasn't the only person struggling. He had to show her that beneath his demonic eyes and her angel hair, they were one and the same.

"Behold," Soul said. He pushed the box towards Maka and kneeled across from her on the carpeted floor. She gave him a questioning look before picking up a random CD cover. "I bet you've never seen one of those before," he said, earning a suspicious glance from Maka. "So, there's this girl I like, and those are all the mixtapes I've made for her. Those on top are the driving playlists; I've got one for every season. I don't have a car, but you know...And if you dig deep enough, you'll probably find the original songs I tried to compose for her. I'm shitty at lyrics, so its mostly just sheet music."

Maka drew another CD out of the box and wrinkled her nose. "Baby-making Tunes #6: Candles and Rose Petals," she read with quiet disgust. "Why the hell do you have six playlists for having sex?"

"First of all, there are nine," Soul said candidly, causing Maka's expression to sour. "And second of all, they're for different, you know, moods and holidays and stuff. If you listened to them, you would hear the difference."

"I am never listening to one of your gross mixtapes," she said, dropping the CD case back into the box. Though she had only just vowed to never listen to any of his playlists, she continued to sift through the box, withdrawing a dark red CD case and opening it with interest.

Sighing, Soul decided it was time to level with her. "The point is that even though I don't have the balls to admit how I feel about her, I'm still not ashamed of it. And you shouldn't be either! Hell, you actually did something. That's half the battle. Honestly, I think all you have to do is put yourself out there. Stay positive, be brave, take a chance."

"For Patricia Thompson." Maka read aloud with narrow eyes.

Soul nodded along in agreement. "Exactly, be confident just like Patty-" His mouth felt uncannily dry as he stopped short. Maka wasn't just examining all of his mixtapes. She was opening them up, scrutinizing them, and worst of all, reading the dedication blurbs he scrawled in his jagged handwriting.

For the first time since they met, Maka's eyes swept up and down Soul's body, appraising him. "Wowwww," she said in one long, dry breath. "You aim high. Patty is so way out of your league."

It stung to be dismissed by someone arguably as loserish and he was, but he also couldn't help but agree. "You know Patty, huh?"

"She's my best friend."

The sound of every string in an entire orchestra snapping mid-symphony could not convey Soul's heart-stopping horror. "What?"

"If your plan was to make me pity you enough to not give you a concussion," Maka said, dropping in the CD back into the box. "You totally succeeded. God, now I feel like I need to shower for like six weeks."

"You and me both," Soul agreed. The situation was finally defused. Now all he had to do was get her to leave him in peace and put this whole incident behind him. "Look, why don't you just take your empty love letter and go. Your mission is already a fail, and it's late. Just go home."

"Yeah, sure," Maka said, slowly getting back to her feet. She cast a disparaging look in Soul's direction and straightened the pleats in the skirt. "Patty's gonna get a real kick out of this one."

Soul's mouth fell open a little. He had just bore his entire soul to this girl, who by the way had broken into his apartment, manhandled his textbooks, and tackled him to the ground-and she was gonna betray him. "You ungrateful little snot."

"Sorry, not sorry," she murmured. The blonde refused to look him in the eye, but her tone remained as unyielding as steel. "I can't trust you to keep my secret, so it's game over for both of us." Maka's sense of self-preservation was definitely twisted. He didn't know why he expected anything else from the Palmtop Tiger, the girl who shoots first and asks questions never. Soul set his jaw. If she insisted that they both go down in flames together, so be it.

He walked her out of his room and towards the door, numb with dread. Tomorrow was his first Spanish Cinema class with Patty. Was she going to greet with friendly enthusiasm like before, or was she going to avoid him like a stalkerish leper? Soul could find comfort in Maka's similarly stricken face. At least she was just as royally screwed as him.

"Pretty swanky place," Maka said with offhanded interest. "You must have really cozied up to someone in HRA to room here." It was clear that she was just trying to fill the silence until she was out the door, home free.

"Well when your roommate is the university president's son, you get a few perks," Soul said. Maka's back stiffened, and she slowly turned around to face Soul, her face white as a sheet. "What?" Soul asked. "Did you not know Kid-"'

As if on cue, the front door to the dorm swung open, and Kid flew through in a blur. He didn't register Maka's presence, nor did he give Soul more than a perfunctory hello before he dashed towards the middle bedroom of the apartment

"Hey Soul, just getting my green highlighter, can't study calculus without my green highlighter, dear god what was I thinking leaving it-" Kid's ranting became muffled as he entered his room and closed the door behind him. Maka was standing stock still with the wide, terrified eyes of a deer caught in the middle of an intersection. She shot Soul a desperate look, a silent cry for help.

"-and she offered me a yellow one," Kid scoffed as he swiftly exited his room. "Can't use yellow, yellow is strictly for polisci. Highlighter yellow is a terrible, garish color anyway and-oh, hello." Gold eyes honed in one Maka's slightly quivering form. She stared right back at him, stupefied, but if Kid noticed her strange behavior he didn't let it on. "I'm so rude, barging in and ranting away. This is your friend from earlier, right?" Kid asked, turning to Soul.

Maka's awe-stricken eyes tore away from Kid and locked with Soul's own. Underneath the fire and brimstone of her personality, there was a cold and deep-seated terror. If Soul was going to give her up, humiliate her in front of the boy she was desperately in love with, this was his chance. She audibly swallowed, but her gaze didn't waver. A word from him, and she would be out of both Soul and Kid's life for good. It would be the cruelest, most perfect revenge.

But, despite all the whispers about his so-called criminal record, Soul Evans was far from cruel.

He finally cracked a crooked grin. "Yeah, Maka. She came over so we could hang out." The corners of Maka's mouth twitched into smile and her shoulders relaxed with relief. "It's too bad, she was actually just leav-"

"Exchanging numbers," Maka blurted over him. Without giving Soul even a look of warning, she whipped her cellphone out of her pocket and freaking pegged it at him, hitting him in the center of his rib cage. The phone bounced off his chest, and after Soul recoiled in pain he juggled it between his hands, thankfully not shattering it on the ground. Skeptical of her intentions, Soul input his information into her contacts while Maka and Kid engaged in stilted small talk.

"I've seen you around haven't I?" Kid said. "I'm sure of it, we've had a class together before."

"Yep, literary theory and american lit," Maka said with a strange warble in her voice.

"I remember now! Do you have class with Soul too?"

"No, no, I, we-" She glanced at Soul.

"We have a mutual friend," Soul spoke up. He tossed Maka's phone back to her, which she easily caught. "Girl in my Spanish class."

Several beats of silence passed between them. Kid beamed at Maka, who immediately avoided his gaze by glancing at Soul, who avoided her gaze by looking at the floor, which drew Kid's attention away from Maka, which allowed her to ogle him, and finally caused Soul to look back with a distinct expression of vexation and boredom. "Well that's great," Kid said, breaking the silence. He glanced at the glittering watch on his left hand. "Sorry, I really must run. I'm supposed to be at the library, but I'll see you both around another time!" He gave Soul a small thumbs up before promptly exiting the apartment and slamming the door behind him.

Maka released a long, dramatic exhale and flopped onto the couch. She rubbed her face and adopted the haggard, exhausted look of an overworked, underslept professor, and when she made no move to get up or leave, Soul joined her.

"What's your game?" Maka finally asked. There was still fight left in her, even if she was emotionally drained. "Why did you cover for me? I'm not going to let you blackmail me if that's what you're thinking."

"Don't accuse me of something I'm not gonna do," Soul responded. "Sometimes people do things for reasons other than to start a fight or screw you over."

"Oh."

"You must like him a lot," Soul continued. He looked up at the ceiling with a cocky, amused grin. "When you aren't committing B&E, you're just a big nerd who gets tongue tied in front of your crush. It's hilarious."

"Shut up. Hey, is this your real number or a fake?"

Soul looked back at her and saw that Maka was scrolling through her phone. "What kind of question is that? Of course it's real. Wait, do you use fake numbers?"

"I give most guys my papa's number," she said. "It's a life-saver, you have no idea."

Their parting was awkward. She mumbled a few apologies, he responded with a few assurances, and they both said farewell with some variation of "see you later." There was no malice or ill will between them. It was almost like they were friends.

Before falling asleep that night, this time in his real bed, the screen of his phone lit up with a new message from an unknown number.

This is Maka. Good luck in Spanish tomorrow. :)