I do not own or have the rights to "Paper Airplane." The rights and ownership go to the respective holders/owners.

Author's Note: Brownie points to whoever can find two other little song references in here. (Hint: Rise Against)

"Every silver lining always seems to have a cloud that comes my way."

Pure ivory flakes glided to the ground, blanketing the city in cold, wet winter. This being Nevada, it very rarely snowed, so, on the off chance that it did, the entire town shut down for the day, and the Death Weapon Meister Academy, aka Shibusen, was no exception. The Academy, usually lively with the chatter and bustle of teachers and students, was now silent. The only sounds within the stately halls of Shibusen were the inaudible echoes created by the soft pattering of snow on the rooftop. Most of the students were either at home, snuggled up in blankets watching television with their partners, or running amok in the outdoor wonderland they had discovered. On this particularly snowy December afternoon, however, Soul Eater had holed himself up in his apartment.

Alone.

His meister was somewhere amid the mounds of frozen moisture outside his window, squealing and laughing along with their friends. She had puffed out her cheeks and pouted fit to persuade Satan when he refused to come outside, but the stubborn weapon had come out victorious when he feigned a cold. So, here he found himself, glued to the sofa with a warm mug in between his palms, attempting to ignore the elated squeals and giggles that wafted past the window panes. However, T.V. and cocoa can only ward off cabin fever for so long; thus, the teen soon found himself zipping up his only parka and heading out into the world of white.

He hated this kind of cold weather. He hated how the icy winds nipped at his face and made his cheeks sting and his eyes burn. He hated how the moist flakes leaked into his shoes, soaking his toes and giving him chills.

Most of all, he hated how cold weather made him think of her.

For every ounce that hated winter in him, there was twice that and more that loved it in her. She loved snowflakes and snowmen and mountains capped in pure white. She loved winter apparel, winter sports, and late winter nights spent huddled around a blazing fire. He'd always thought it appropriate that winter was her favorite season; the solid, frozen ice matched her stone cold heart. Most adults would frown at him, scolding him with disgusted reproach in their eyes because of his bitter thoughts toward her.

"She's your mother," They would state, judgmental glares cutting him to the core. "Have some respect."

Their obliviousness made his blood boil. If anyone seriously considered that woman to be a mother, they were a few nuts short of a fruitcake. She'd given him a home, a room, and countless other things that he couldn't even begin to name, but those things alone did not make her his mother. She hated him, and he knew it, though no one believed him, not even Maka. They would simply gasp in surprise, unable to believe that she was capable of disdain toward her own offspring.

But they were wrong.

So wrong.

She had never abused him physically. That would have left proof. There was no evidence, save the emotional damage and scarring, of the psychological abuse she had inflicted upon him. She had constantly reminded him of his failures and shortcomings, always piercing right through him with her chilling azure eyes. She found unparalleled joy in reminding him that he'd never measure up to his brother, that he'd never be worthy of the name "Evans."

She'd never held him in her arms, or drawn him to her in a warm embrace, or assured him that she loved and cherished him as a mother should her child. She'd never truly loved him, of that he was certain. Even when he was nothing more than a babbling toddler; even then she'd hated him. She hated his very existence. From the day he was born, she'd regarded him as a burden, as trash under her feet…even…even when he was just an innocent little baby!

Hot tears escaped from the corners of his eyes, branding his frozen skin with their river-shaped paths. He wanted to scream, to shout, to curse her name and her very existence, just as she had his for so long. He fell to his knees in the deep snow, rubbing viciously at his pinked cheeks and tear-filled eyes. When he lifted his head, he found that he had wandered to the edge of the city; he stared through watery eyes into the white frost of a desert turned arctic tundra. It was amazing how such a hot, barren landscape could transform into a frozen field of snow and ice in just one day. If such a place could change, maybe people could, too…

"Tch." He scoffed and shook his head, angry at himself for being so wishy-washy. He could never go back to her, never call or write her. It wasn't like she cared anyway. He was the long forgotten son; the unworthy head in the Evans bloodline.

Glancing over the frost-coated plain one last time, he got to his feet and began the weary trudge back to his apartment, leaving all thoughts of reconciliation at the edge of the desert-tundra.

"That's why you'll find me here all alone and still wondering "why?" Waiting inside for the cold to get colder."

"Paper Airplane" by Allison Krauss & Union Station