A/N: This is the long overdue sequel to chapter 12, "I Don't Want To Get Over You," written many, many months ago. It was inspired by the Arctic Monkey's song it's titled for. Thanks as is so often the case go to ilarual and rebornfromash for being awesome.

So have you got the guts?

Been wondering if your heart's still open and if so I wanna know what time it shuts

Simmer down and pucker up

I'm sorry to interrupt. It's just I'm constantly on the cusp of trying to kiss you

I don't know if you feel the same as I do

But we could be together if you wanted to

She had just opened the door to leave when he appeared at the threshold of the stairs where he had no business being. He was supposed to be on a date, after all.

"S…soul?" she asked guiltily. "W…what are you doing..?"

"We broke up," he grunted. His face was devoid of emotion, and Maka might not have known what to make of it were it not for the relief and guilt radiating from his soul, all bound up with something strangely like—hope.

"Oh. I'm—I'm sorry," she offered quiet condolences. "You…broke up with her?" she guessed. He just nodded.

"Is she okay?"

"I think so, yeah. She wants to go back to Minnesota anyway."

"Oh," Maka said softly. She didn't know how to feel. Happy because she'd spent the last two months miserable, watching the person she loved more than anything in the world with another, slowly slipping away from her? Sorry for Alice, who had so clearly adored him? Sorry that she had to meet her date in ten minutes when she'd rather spend her night consoling her weapon?

Really, she felt all of that and more, something like hope fluttering at the edges of her heart. She wanted to quash it, stuff it down, but it would out. Maybe she couldn't stop feeling it, but damnit, she wouldn't let it show.

"Well, um, I didn't know you'd be home, but there are leftovers, and—well—I'll be back later." She made to move past him because she really had to go, but he grabbed her wrist. He looked her up and down, eying her little black dress, her strappy silver heels, and his eyes went wide for a moment before a mask of indifference appeared on his face, shuttering any emotion. Not that he could really hide it when their souls were still linked. There was surprise, and was that anger?

"You have a date." It wasn't a question .

"Well, yeah," she answered evenly. "And I'm running late."

"Who?" he asked quietly, his voice carefully contained.

"You remember Gareth?"

Soul groaned and she saw the mix of conflicted emotions cross his face as his grip on her wrist tightened.

"Don't go." It was almost a plea.

"Soul, I," Maka shook her head. "I can't be rude." She shook off his grip. "I'll be back later. Don't wait up."

She stormed down the stairs. She was hurt. She was angry. How dare he, after dating Alice for months, how dare he try to tell her to call off one measly date? And yet—hadn't she just wished herself it weren't happening, wished desperately to console him? Hadn't she only taken this date to try to forget about him and his girlfriend? Even still, she wouldn't be rude. She wouldn't. And it didn't mean anything. So Soul didn't want her to go out with Gareth, so what? He'd never liked the other meister. That didn't mean he cared, that he suddenly wanted to be with her. So why shouldn't she give someone else a chance? What could Soul breaking up with Alice possibly matter? It didn't. So if Gareth wanted a date, if Gareth actually liked her, well, maybe it was time to move on, to give someone else a chance, because the person she loved had never been interested.

Forty five minutes later, she walked back through the door. Maka told Gareth she had a headache midway through dinner and had taken a cab home, never even touching her food. She was such an idiot. Gareth was a nice guy, he treated her well, but she'd faked an ailment and blown him off, and for what? Because she was hopelessly in love with another idiot? Because the thought of being with anyone else, no matter how nice, was almost repugnant? She heaved a sigh, took her coat off to hang in the small coat closet near the front door, and trudged into the living room. There was muffled music coming from somewhere in the vicinity of Soul's room. Well, good. Better to avoid him, better not to face—whatever it was she would face, she didn't even know anymore.

She was past the couch and about to slink into her room when the music got louder, Soul appearing in his doorway. He looked surprised for an instant, only an instant, before donning his customarily bored visage.

"You're home early," he offered neutrally after closing his door behind him, the loud, angry rock music fading once more into background noise.

"Mmm," she offered non-committally.

"You blew him off." It wasn't a question. She shrugged in response. After a few moments of awkward silence, she sighed.

"I'm tired. I'm going to bed."

He stepped closer, blocking her path around the couch. "It's only seven."

"So?" She met his eyes, challenging. He was smiling, smiling the bastard, as if he'd won.

"Soooo, I have reservations at Morte de Pasta for 7:30. We could still make it."

She blinked at him, her anger fading. "You want to go out?"

"I'm pretty sure I just said that, yeah. I mean, you're already all dressed up, and we haven't had much time together lately, and I just thought—"

"Alright," she cut him off. She missed him, and she hadn't eaten so pasta sounded good, so yeah, why not?

"Really?" He seemed some odd mix of elated and surprised beneath the calm veneer.

"No, I was just pulling your leg," she rolled her eyes. "Yeah, really. Though you miiiiight want to put something else on. Pretty sure music note pajama bottoms aren't dress casual." She smiled sweetly, no real bite in her words.

"Uh, yeah, right, I'll just—yeah." He shuffled back to his room, throwing one last surreptitious glance over his shoulder as if to make sure she was still there.

The scythe was back out in less than two minutes in dark jeans and a red button up. He looked good even with so little effort, but then, to her he looked good in anything. Rumpled sleep pants. His muddy bloody Spartoi uniform after a fight. Anything.

Maka tried to suppress her smile as held out his arm, an oddly chivalric gesture. She really shouldn't make too much of this. Just friends and partners having dinner together like they'd done a thousand times before. But if that was all this was, why was his soul so warm, so needy next to hers? Why was her stomach in knots?

She wouldn't hope. She couldn't take having her heart crushed again. She was familiar, he was upset over the loss of his relationship, nothing more. The meister willed her stupid, stupid tummy flutters down as they walked down to the bike. She was just going to enjoy this, enjoy being normal again.

After her weapon got on the bike, Maka easily mounted behind him, wearing her riding jacket and helmet for the first time in weeks. The helmet still smelled like his ex. She frowned at his back and held on to the rear handles of the bike. Putting her arms around him seemed like too much, too soon.

Soul revved the bike and glanced back at his meister. "We're in a hurry—might wanna get a better hold." She stared for a moment because, Death, of course she wanted to hold him, but she was still hurt and confused, so she shook her head. "I'll be fine, just drive."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself," but his own disappointment, his own hurt was so achingly clear that she couldn't help it, didn't even will it, just moved her arms around him and leaned close. The contented hum he made as he gunned the bike and they began to ride was all the justification she needed and, by the gods had she missed this, his warmth against her, his soul so close, just—being. Together. With him. The little things. The everything. For weeks she'd kept her distance, for weeks they'd been like strangers occupying a common space. It had been hell. And this? This was like coming home again.

It wasn't long before they arrived and were seated. Dinner was delicious, if a little quiet. It was as if they both had too much to say, too many words pent up over the course of weeks, so instead, they said almost nothing, commenting on the food, the decor, and little else. Had they forgotten how to talk to each other so quickly?

No. It was more that Maka had so much to say that she never could. And Soul? He had never known how to use his words to begin with. Quiet was his default and he fell into it now, and yet, he kept looking at her with an intensity that had her reeling. Most especially when he thought her attention was elsewhere. Yet, her attention was never really elsewhere. After so many hurtful, lonely weeks, she only had eyes for him.

When the waitress asked about dessert, Soul suggested they share, and Maka shrugged her indifference because sharing was normal and dangerous all at once. He ordered crème brûlée, and as the large dish was set before them, she just eyed it as he took a bite. The way he caressed the spoon with his tongue was absolutely mesmerizing. It made his eating souls look like child's play, like the PG version of a much more graphic scene. This was more like NC-17 and she couldn't look away. Had he always eaten dessert this way or was she just hyper aware of his every move tonight? As he finally swirled his tongue along the bottom of the spoon in a way that sent shivers up her spine unbidden, he dipped the spoon back in and held it out to her.

"Want a bite?" he asked casually.

She eyed the spoon and then raised her eyes to his devious smirk, considering. After how his tongue had just been fondling that spoon, it would definitely be an indirect kiss. It was funny. They had shared sodas and desserts beyond counting, and she had never before thought of it that way, yet after thatdisplay, she couldn't think of it any other way.

Well, Maka wasn't bothered by it, unless getting a bit hot and bothered counted, so she opened her mouth and, as the cool, delicious custard was placed gently on her tongue, she closed her eyes and practically moaned at the taste.

Two could play at this game—if it even was a game. She still wasn't sure, but it felt like a challenge, and damnitall if she'd back down from a challenge.

She covered his hand with her own to commandeer the spoon and slowly used her tongue to divest it of every last morsel, offering a self satisfied smile to his slightly agape look as she dipped the spoon in the brûlée and moved it towards his mouth.

Oh yes, two could definitely play.

"Your turn," she said, voice low, and Soul didn't answer, but his mouth did open. She stroked his tongue with the spoon, watched in fascination as his tongue met the implement to wrap and caress.

She was pretty sure the way he moved the thing should be illegal. How was that even possible?

Her weapon let out his own low hum of approval that made her toes curl against her the soles of her heels involuntary, before meeting her own slightly slack jawed gaze.

"Good isn't it? Much better to share."

Oh yeah, he was doing it on purpose. Maka wouldn't have believed he had it in him, and she suddenly wondered if he'd done a lot more with his girlfriend than she'd ever imagined. The very thought had her stomach clenching, thick bile rising in her throat, sour and hot.

Soul dipped the spoon and brought it her way again, but she waved it off, frowning.

"I think I'm done, thanks. You can finish."

He returned her frown, brow furrowed. "You sure? It's really good, and—"

"I'm sure. Maybe your girlfriend didn't mind you slobbering all over the spoon, but I prefer my own. You finish."

The way he flinched, Maka couldn't have achieved that if she'd whacked him the face with a book, and she instantly regretted the words. Was she this petty? Soul didn't deserve this from her, didn't owe her anything.

"I'm sorry, I—" she reached across the table thinking to grab the spoon, but he clinked it into the half finished brûlée dish and shoved it into the middle of the table.

"'S fine. I'm done, too. Too sweet."

Mercifully, the server came just then with the bill. Soul paid (though since they shared finances still it hardly mattered,) and they made their way out of the crowded restaurant to the bike. Maka didn't hesitate this time; feeling his unhappiness radiating off him, she wrapped her arms around him.

"Mind taking a ride?" he asked unexpectedly, tone cautious, hesitant.

"Yeah that'd be—nice," she nodded against his back, and he revved the engine and just drove.

It had been awhile since the pair had just driven like this. Soul wound his way through the roads outside Death City, driving fast, and his meister pressed herself to his back, let them both bask in the closeness, the wind against their skin and clothes, the dark closing in around them making them feel completely alone. Eventually, he drove them to some of the rock outcroppings a good distance from the city, and wordlessly, he transformed into her hands and they flew to the top.

They used to come here together when they were younger, sometimes. When Maka found her Papa with yet another woman, after the fight with Blair, when Crona went missing—any time things became too much, they would come and sit and watch the world around them. The lights of the city so far in the distance, the light of the stars so far above, the moon leering down; they would take it all in and just breathe.

The moon was dark these days, but the stars still winked, the city lights still twinkled, and maybe they could fly instead of climb now, but they still did it together.

Maka spread a blanket from the saddlebag as Soul transformed and sat heavily atop it. Their resonance had been tense, off. She'd felt fear from her weapon, hurt, anticipation—even hope. An odd jumble he'd been working to hide. The meister settled on the blanket next to him and sighed, marveling at how their view could be so beautiful and full of life, yet so cold and lifeless all at once. Two sides of the same coin. She supposed most things were like that when seen in the proper light.

She supposed they were like that, when seen in the proper light.

For a long time the pair just sat, soaked in each other's company, basked in the nearness of their souls. They were only inches apart on the blanket, but those inches felt like miles to Maka. She wanted so badly to lean against him, to feel his arms around her like before. To take in his warmth and his scent. But things had changed, his dating Alice, her date with Gareth, something in their partnership had broken, had ripped apart at the carefully sewn seams, and she had no idea how to fix it. No matter how desperately she wanted to. No matter how desperately he did.

He interrupted her thoughts with a light cough. A sideways glance.

"So," he said in a tone so disinterested it screamed interest coming from him. "You never did tell me how your date with Gareth went."

The meister shrugged, gaze still fixed pointedly on the moon above, reflexively searching for a soul wavelength she would never find. "There wasn't much to it. I left right after our food got there. Thought you might need company with—well, you know."

Her weapon laughed, a bit bitterly. "Alice is more likely to need the company. I was the asshole in all of it, the complete fuck up. But I think she's alright."

Maka finally turned her head at that, looking at him in profile, noting how stiff he seemed, how rigid. "I don't get it. Why did you break up with her? She seemed nice. If you liked her well enough to date her, then—"

"I never liked her. Not like that," he said quietly, gaze fixed on the horizon. "She was a nice girl and she deserved someone who really wanted to be with her, who wasn't so wrapped up in another girl that they'd never really have eyes for her."

Soul had turned to her at the last, and even in the shadows of the faint starlight, Maka could see him searching her, could feel him searching her. The intensity was overwhelming, so she tore her own gaze away to the horizon, to the thousands of lights and souls aglow within their home town. The thousands of other people, all living through their personal struggles, reminding her of how insignificant her own struggles were, her own life was, in the larger scheme of things.

"That doesn't even make sense. Why date her if you weren't interested? Why string her along?" she said after several moments, her quiet words seeming too loud in the silence around them.

"Because I'm a selfish ass. Because I thought if I tried hard enough, maybe I could have feelings for someone who would give a shit. Because I was tired of wanting something that was never gonna happen, wanting someone who didn't want me back. But you can't just make yourself love someone, not anymore than you can make yourself stop loving. It doesn't work. Had to learn that the hard way." His eyes never strayed from her through his quiet words. Hers never strayed from the city.

"Oh," she said softly. "I didn't realize there was—someone you like. Maybe you should try asking her instead?" Her stomach felt queasy, sick with the thought he could be in love with one of their friends, with the thought of watching him slip away all over again, yet also fluttered with a slim hope she dared not name, dared not grasp lest it disappear like a will o' the wisp to leave her stranded in the depths of despair.

Soul ignored her question, instead turning his eyes back to the horizon, to the city scape she was looking at, looking through. "Why did you go out with Gareth?"

"Huh?" Maka asked eloquently, startled at the sudden unrelated question. "I—don't see how that's any of your business," she finally recovered. It wasn't like she could tell him the truth, and she was a notoriously bad liar. While she liked to pretend she had inherited nothing from her Papa, the truth was, like him, she had always worn her heart on her sleeve. She had thanked Death many times over that her weapon seemed blind to her obvious affection, that he misread it as the continuation of their friendship, of their partnership, as anything but the truth.

"I wonder," he said after a pause, almost to himself. "If Alice was right. I wonder if we weren't doing the same damn thing."

Her heart froze in her chest. "You think I—like someone?"

"Do you?" Soul glanced her way then up to the sky.

"I—n—I mean, that's none of your business! It has nothing to do with—" Maka sputtered, heart suddenly racing.

"So you like Gareth?" he pushed.

"No—I mean, y—I—ugh—" she clenched her fists at her sides. "Why do you even care?" she shrieked, voice too loud, echoing into the night.

"Because I care about you," he said after a pause, voice cautious.

"I know you do, Soul. But being my friend doesn't give you the right—"

"Maybe I don't wanna be your friend," he interrupted, and there was an intensity in his tone she couldn't read, the same intensity she felt coming off his soul. "Maybe I'm sick of being your friend."

What was he trying to say? Had their partnership really broken? Or was it that other thing, the idea that had her heart pounding in her chest, her palms slicking with nerves, with anticipation.

"Because you don't want to be my partner anymore?" she ventured, voice small, unsure.

"No," Soul laughed, bitter and manic and so very loud in the hush of the night. "Fuck, no. Because you're already my everything, and all I want to be is your everything, too, but that's not what you want, so—"

"What?" She was shaking, soaring, incredulous, confused.

"The reason I went out with Alice. The one I tried to forget. It's you, Maka." His hand moved to run through his hair, quickly, nervously. "Shit, don't you know? How can you not know? It's always been you."

Maka blinked at the horizon, frozen in place, too afraid to move, too afraid the mirage of his words would vanish into the night if she so much as breathed. She tried to see his words as something else, but they could not be mistaken. "Me?" she choked out.

"Always," he repeated, voice low and a little rough, a little raw. He sought her hand, clasped it. She could feel his eyes on her, searching.

"I—" she began, sucked in breaths, kept her eyes fixed ahead. "I mean, I—you—" She shook her head. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry. A thousand emotions coursed through her before she grasped at the familiar, and anger flooded her soul, hot and fierce. "Soul Evans, you idiot," her head finally snapped sideways to meet his searching gaze, and she pushed him, hard. "You stupid, stupid— jerk!" She watched his face crumple but kept going. "Do you have any idea how much it hurt, to watch you with someone else? How much these past two months have killed me? And now—" Her laugh was dry and angry. "Now you claim it was because of me? You are so. Damned. Stupid!" She pushed him again for emphasis, and he stared at her, stunned.

She leaned close, face inches below his own bewildered visage. "Next time," Maka said softly. "Ask. Ask the girl you like before you go running off to someone else. Idiot."

"And if she says no?" Her weapon's breath was warm on her face, his mouth inches from her own.

"She won't." And then her lips were on his, or maybe it was the other way around. Probably they met in the middle, like they should have all along, but whatever the case, it was warm and soft, but brief. He pulled away after a few moments, breathed her name, pulled her close, and they just held each other, basked in their mutual warmth, in the mingling of their souls.

So this was what they had been missing. This was all they had been missing. Not love, or heat, or mutual affection. Just understanding. Complete and total understanding.

After several minutes, quiet and warm, Soul broke the silence, speaking against her hair. "So does this mean you'll go out with me?"

"What, and be your rebound girl?" Maka laughed.

He kissed her temple and laughed softly in return. "Only if you'll take the job permanently."

"I guess I could handle that," she answered, snuggling more firmly into his chest. "But only if you'll agree to be my rebound, too."

"Always," he murmured for the third time that night.

"Then it's a deal." She laughed again, feeling giddy. It was surreal, yet totally familiar, as if a light had finally been cast into a dark room she'd spent years in. No, they'd spent years in.

"Yeah, it's a deal," he repeated.

They stayed to watch the sunrise together, for the dozenth time and the first time, then returned to Death City.

When Soul and Maka showed up to school on Monday, hand in hand, nobody looked twice; everyone had noted their recent distance, everyone had assumed it would pass. And even when they exchanged a light kiss on the steps of the academy, no one seemed all that surprised, Alice or Gareth least of all.