From the moment Soul woke up he'd felt the tugging in his stomach and had he not have some form of self-restraint, would've thrown up then and there. It had taken a while, and he'd had tears build up in his eyes without ever spilling for the most part, but he was now in a fit enough state to latch onto the nearest blanket and heave himself up from his bed, his mind wishing to take a short stroll around the building. While he wasn't sure what the policy on sneaking around at night was, he was fairly certain no one bothered to check if he was up at four in the morning. Glancing out of the window, he saw dark swirling clouds gathering in the already pitch black sky and could make out a hazy mist settling upon everything.

He shrugged, mind still addled from the half-decent sleep he'd gotten. The gloomy weather might be what made him feel so exhausted, limbs heavy, his body yearning for rest. It was constantly like this, his deep desire for sleep was never satisfied, however, and probably never would be.

He stumbled through the halls, eyes barely discerning the things he was seeing. Twice he'd knocked into a wall, clouds fogging in his head as he tried to wake himself up properly. The white haired boy realised he'd stumbled into the corridor where another set of rooms were. Precisely, the set of rooms that people he knew slept in. Making his way to the end, he peered into Maka's room, it being the only one with the door ajar. He couldn't tell if she was sleeping or not, couldn't tell if that slight lump was human or just coincidence. If it was her, then he was somewhat glad she was asleep and unable to catch sight of his seemingly drunken self staggering through corridor after corridor. Sleep-deprivation did wonders for the mind and soul.

Deciding that stopping here was ultimately not a wise decision the boy headed back the opposite way, wanting to return to the privacy of his own quarters. He could lay in bed and nestle in beneath his duvets and shut his eyes tight, tight enough to delude him into thinking he was actually asleep. Nothing seemed more appealing

Nothing seem-

the pain was the worst. He often wondered if it was all in his head. The pain of struggling, of ignorance. The tugging was stronger and Soul knew he shouldn't have made Maka get the pasta earlier. Knew he shouldn't of eaten it. His companions were to blame too. Because of him. Knowing they wouldn't spill because of some unknown loyalty to him. It was stupid he thought as he pushed down the bile in his mouth.

Extraordinarily stupid.

He crumpled to the floor, worn-out. Did he care if someone found him here and questioned him? Of course. But did he care that he would care? Not particularly. So there he sat, head swimming, until the sun began to rise and the darkness outside began to fade to grey.

It was around this time that Kid found him, sliding down the wall making incomprehensible noises. The two sat for a while together in silence. It was nice. Soul turned his head to face Kid, crimson looking into butterscotch. They stared, stared into each other's eyes as the world around them woke up. Soul cocked his head with a slight forced grin, prompting one from Kid in response.

Was this friendship? Soul often wondered as he wandered about the mystery of friendship. It fluctuated, it was good, it was bad, it was good and bad. It was life or it was death and Soul knew which he'd prefer, had always known.

Was he and Kid friends? They tolerated each other, hung out together. They knew secrets about each other that would never spill from their lips unless it was the last thing they ever said, blood pouring thickly, trickling down the side of the mouth- blood is thicker than water? He never understood that. Why, just because they shared your blood, was family considered more important. Family was something you weren't given a choice about. If you had one, you were expected to love it, adore it, dedicate yourself to it's cause, stand upright,

play faster, play slower,

quit complaining,

no excuses,

play.

Kid sighed. It was long and deep but it was relaxed. Soul wanted to believe they were friends. He trusted the kid who only ever wore suits, the kid who had three all natural stripes of white in his hair, the kid who used to cry whenever Soul's hair was messy and uncombed. He always used to cry. Soul didn't like brushing his hair.

His stomach lurched again, then again. Soul grimaced, gripping his blanket tighter. His head was pounding and when did that happen? When did he become so unaware of his own body?

The boy heard noise from beside him, the shuffling of a person pushing themselves over a carpet. He felt Kid close beside him, eyes peering through the same window Soul had been staring through before his stomach lurched and lurched and lurched and lurched-
Soul could hear Kids slow calculated breaths, even and constant. Waiting and counting along, soon the two boys rhythm was simultaneous and comforting. They made no other noise, the world around them nonexistent, other than the patch of grey sky that gleamed through the window.

When Maka crossed paths with them she hardly blinked, hardly daring to glance in their direction. Her hair wasn't tied up, Kid paid no attention to the uneven strands of unkempt blonde hair. She picked at her sweater sleeve, awkward in nature and in posture to but all previous anger and frustration from the day prior had gone.

No more than ten minutes later she stormed paste, violently jerking her leg to crash into a table leg. The vase that sat atop was now a million different shards and glittered. Soul allowed his eyes to latch onto Maka's - forest, he noticed - the girl breathed heavily, thrusting her head in the direction of the vase. Her hair spun as she looked back and forth, her mind settling on moving forward. Soul heard the telltale smash that broadcast the death of another pastel blue chinese vase. He could imagine Marie getting distraught.

Thinking over Maka's behaviour hurt Soul's head. She had too much personality. It was refreshing to be near her. It was refreshing to be near Kid who's head was tucked underneath Soul's and resting on his shoulder. The golden-eyed boy was in a daze, far from the present, far from the bad places, far from Soul and that might have made Soul feel lonely.

He felt lonely-

He was lonely-

Soul didn't want to go to breakfast. He knew he couldn't fight, couldn't stop his own body because what did he know? He knew how to destroy and how to ruin and burn and he knew chaos. He was a little bit of a mess, he'd admit that much. What was his problem though? Did he care too little? No. No. He cared too much. He didn't like it, refused to acknowledge it. He'd scream, he'd yell. Caring was awful. It was as if every time someone else had a problem he had to carry the weight of it with them, on top of his own. On top of everyone else's. He yearned for meaning but his meaning had crushed him, his spirit his soul

His soul,

he didn't have a soul. He was lifeless. How could he feel human again and not like the monster that was gnawing, gnawing, gnawing. He cared for Maka, although he definitely shouldn't because she was awful, she was bad- a bad, bad influence, that's what he was? No, that's what Maka was. But he can't convince himself can he. He'll cry time and time and goddammit time again because she'll never be released, never be free, never find the urge to run away and fly from her demons. He'll cry for Kid. Son of the devil, a puppet that had been cut loose. Soul wanted to hate him. No reason why. Soul was an evil spirit, destined to fester in hatred. Kid? Kid, he was sweet, too young despite being the same age as Soul, older even. Older, wiser, lonelier, sadder, and Soul had to try to help him. Try and fail. He could feel Kid's fear, the fear that clung onto every single person's life as they walked about their own personal hell without so much as a measly pamphlet to show them the way.

Oh yes, he cared. Was there a stronger word; Soul needed a stronger word.

But he didn't want to care did he? That's why he stumbled, dragged his feet along the ground to the sound of hell's drums. His favourite word was no. Constantly on repeat. No, you can't say she'll get better. No, you can't smile to show him you understand. No, you can't listen to them. No, you can't help, can't stop and there's an itching in his fingers for the soft keys of the piano.

Hope you enjoyed Soul's narrative. A lot of the punctuation in this is technically incorrect but we can gloss over that. I wrote this half asleep, I am tired. I'm hoping to completely re-arrange chapters 1 - 3 (again) sometime in the next two weeks and then scroll through the rest and correct any errors and such.

The next chapter will be in Soul's perspective again, as well as the one after. The next official chapter update, bar the re-arrangement and editing, should be the beginning of the Easter holidays so next Friday to Sunday. Gotta keep it consistent. This wasn't a particularly long chapter, forgive me, but I promise the next one will breach 2000 words (this promise may cause a slight delay but we'll see).

Edit - 03/04: This is false news. The next chapter won't get anywhere near breaching 2000 words. Sorry. I did try.

Read and review ^.^