Maka is excited, though she tries to tell herself she shouldn't be, tries to quell the stupid little flutters in her tummy as she walks to work. She's put on lipgloss. She's left her hair down. She may be in her work uniform, but she looks nice and she's brought a cute little sundress to change into.
For the first time in a month, she doesn't have to carry an umbrella. The sun is shining, bold and bright, and the forecast says no rain, no rain as far as the eye can see, no rain for weeks.
Her spirits soar because she has a date. Well, Maka thinks it's a date. Probably. Before now, Soul has always just been there after work, and so, they'd spend time together, but this was planned. Two days ago, they'd decided that since she has no class tonight, maybe they could see the new action flick that's out. This was planned, and suddenly the sun is shining and maybe they can take a walk in the park and enjoy the gorgeous weather because it's a date, her first since-well, those few disastrous double dates her friends had pushed her into freshman year of college.
Maka doesn't really date. Maka has never really dated. Dating is for people who believe in romance, believe in love, and she doesn't. Or she didn't. But now, at least a part of her does-not that she'd meant to-not that she wants to-she just can't help it.
She's not even sure she wants to help it anymore.
Humming as she goes, she's to the cafe all too soon, reluctant to leave the warmth of the sun on her skin but eager to be able to see Soul. He should be in soon. He's always in soon.
Only this time, he's not. Hours pass and he doesn't show up. Maka takes her break alone, worry gnawing her insides. She's packed a sandwich she can't eat, her stomach roiling with concern. He's always here for her breaks. Always always always. Something must have happened. Something-is he hurt? Oh god, oh no, is he-
Forcing herself to breathe-in, out, in, out-and not to bolt up to the local hospital, she curses the fact they've never exchanged numbers. Why have they never exchanged numbers? They're friends, aren't they? They're-more than friends, even, maybe.
This can't be happening. Maka needs answers. Frowning deeply, she claws her phone out of her pocket and dials a number that rarely sees use. Kilik Rung is a friend from high school, three years older, who has since become a cop. They occasionally hang out together with their group, but they aren't close. Still, he owes her a favor or three for all those times she'd bailed him out of an academic sticky spot even as he moved on to college-she was her friends' universally favored tutor-so she ignores the slight surprise in his voice as he picks up and gets to the point.
An hour later, she has her answer. Soul hasn't been arrested. He's not in a hospital. No reports of him. Wherever he is, he's not dead and he's not injured and he's not in jail.
As her shift ends and he's still not there, her worry slides slowly into anger. The idea of a date must have scared him off, and he'd run for the hills. Just another guy. She might have known.
Tamping down on that lingering wisp of worry, Maka walks to the park alone and sees the movie alone and refuses to admit the hurt she feels.
Soul doesn't come back the next day or the next. He's gone, like a will-o-the wisp she dared get too close to, vanished into the ether from which he'd appeared with the coming of the rains.
Maka finds herself missing the rains. Days of sunshine, gorgeous, days of a few puffy white clouds and a slight breeze, days she would normally bask in-not yet scorching, but warm and perfect. She cannot bask. The rains had meant he was with her, and with the sun he had gone, and she wants to go back to when it was wet and bleak and her heart was full. She's angry, she's confused, but most of all, she's hurt.
It's stupid. She's stupid. They'd only been friends, just friends. Not even good enough friends to exchange phone numbers. Maybe they'd never been friends, not really. Friends don't just leave without a word. Maybe she'd just been a curiosity to him, a way to pass time, Maka doesn't know. She wishes she could say she doesn't care. Yet, why had his talk of the future always seemed to include her? Why had he grasped her hand so warmly those times he'd held it? Why had he told her only the night before he'd vanished how happy he was to have met her, how she was the highlight of his days? And perhaps most of all, why make plans he'd never intended to keep?
In the end, she supposes, the why doesn't matter. Soul had come and he'd gone and, somewhere in the mix, she'd lost her heart. She, Maka Albarn, with the idiot philandering Papa and the long gone Mama, she, Maka Albarn, who knows better than to fall in love, who knows that it only ends well in storybooks and fantasies. Stupid stupid stupid.
Stupid or not, she can't change reality, can't change her heart, can't change he's gone, like her mama before him, like her long shattered image of who she'd believed her papa to be, like anyone she lets herself get too close to. Maka feels like a ghost of who she was, her heart half full, like he's taken a chunk with him she doesn't know how to take back.
It hurts.
It hurts, so she does what she knows how to do, does what she does best. She throws herself back into her studies, lives for work and school, and hopes eventually the hurt will fade and she will feel whole again, lesson learned.
Somehow, somewhere deep within her soul, she doubts it.
Her friends are worried.
They offer her sympathetic glances and whisper when they don't think she hears. At work, coworkers give her the easiest duties and Hiro clings to her like he hasn't dared do since she first started at the cafe, chattering on about nothing in particular. Maka is withdrawn and people notice, of course they do, so when her roommate and her oldest friend show up to drag her out after work the following Tuesday, she really should have expected it.
"You need to get out," Blake says as he drags her by the elbow away from the cafe. Her shift just ended and he has shown up outside the door along with Tsubaki, pouncing the moment Maka steps foot outside. It is late afternoon and the sun is high in the sky, overbright. "You're gonna start gathering moss if you don't see the sun sometimes, bookworm."
Shielding her eyes, she frowns, her headshake picking up speed. "I see the sun plenty, Blake," Maka manages. "Now would you-"
Blake just scoffs, loudly. "Shyeah. Like walking to work and back, I get it. Since when does Maka Albarn get all mopey over some lame guy with bad hair's what I wanna know." Never mind his hair is worse, the garish blue dye job eye searing even in the best possible light.
Maka catches Tsubaki out of the corner of her eye, shaking her head vigorously and making wide motions with her arms that signal abort, abort, abort.
So that's what they think of her, do they? That she's so hung up over-over-
Well, she'll show them. Doesn't matter how true it is; Maka Albarn will not be an object of pity for her friends.
"Alright, Barrett. You. Me. MMA. Winner buys dinner."
"YUS! That's the pigtails we know and love! You're on!" He sweeps an arm around her shoulders in camaraderie and steers them both towards the gym.
An hour and a few bruises later, Maka is in the gym locker room with Tsubaki, fresh from a shower. While she's sore, Blake must be even worse since she'd handed him his ass. She only beats him in a spar about half the time, but there's something to be said for pent up rage. The prospect of a free meal hadn't hurt either.
She notices her roommate staring at her with a frown as they each towel dry their hair.
"Something wrong?" Maka ventures.
"Nothing." Tsubaki shakes her head. "Just-want to make sure you're okay. You're okay, right? We've all been worried."
Tsubaki Nakatsukasa is many things, but nosy isn't one of them. Maka can brush this off and she knows her friend will drop it and worry in silence, but her heart is sore, and her body is aching and numb from the fight, and she thinks maybe-maybe she can talk about it. A little. Because Tsubaki is her closest friend, has been for years, and her dark blue eyes are inviting, and Maka's soul is so heavy and empty all at once.
"It's just." She sucks in air. Admitting the truth to her friend is hard when she doesn't even want to admit it to herself. "I miss him." She doesn't let Tsubaki get a word in as the other woman eyes her sympathetically, just keeps going, unable to stop the flood of words. "Which is so stupid, I know, I mean I've only known him a few weeks, and he's just a friend, so it's not like-it's stupid." She shakes her head. "You know what? It's nothing. It doesn't matter."
Done drying her hair, Maka throws her towel in the hamper and sweeps her hair back into a simple ponytail using the elastic on her wrist. She ignores Tsubaki's sympathetic stare in the mirror as the taller girl weaves her own wet locks into a braid down her back in favor of grabbing her shoes from the bench, sitting to put them on.
"It's okay to be hurt." Maka hears the sadness in her friend's voice though her eyes remain steadily on her own shoes. "Maybe you've only known him a month, but you guys were close, anyone could see it. You're allowed to be hurt. Just don't-don't let it ruin things, okay? Maybe he had a reason, or maybe he just got scared, but whatever happened-he's just one guy. He's not-"
She can't keep the bitterness from her laugh. "I know, I know, he's not every guy. Just like my papa isn't every guy. I'm fine, Tsubaki." She finishes lacing up her boots and begins walking, calling back over her shoulder. "I'll meet you out front."
Her heart feels too raw to say more. Maka hates feeling so exposed, hates that he's made her so-so weak. She'd survived her papa cheating on her mama for years, survived her mama vanishing and her papa falling apart. This, too, shall pass.
It has to.
Staring at her ceiling as her alarm blares at her the following morning, Maka is resolved. She will think of him no longer, she will feel nothing, she will reclaim the missing chunk of her heart. She declares the chunk found, never lost, declares herself whole, declares any and all snarky musicians with white hair and deep voices and rare smiles dead to her, personas non grata. Willing herself to move forward, to leave the heartache behind is second nature.
It's not like she doesn't expect the ones she lets too close to her soul to disappoint. They always have, always will.
The mistake was in letting Soul get close in the first place, in letting herself hope, in giving him that power.
She knows better, she does, and next time, Maka will remember so that there can't be another next time.
Today marks the end of a week since he'd stood her up. Time to start fresh. Her morning class drags, but work is busy enough that she's able to shove him from her mind completely. Hiro offers to buy her dinner later, the second time he's offered that week-but Liz rescues her, insisting that Maka is already going out with her and Patti. Maka doesn't protest, preferring to avoid Hiro's overeager friendship. And anyway, getting out will be good, getting out will be normal. Maybe she'd rarely done it before-well, before-but even then, sometimes she'd let her friends prevail. Like she's going to do tonight.
Her shift done, she throws on a change of clothes in the bathroom and then, book bag slung haphazardly over one shoulder, makes her way out of the cafe, ignoring the hooded figure leaning on the building near the door.
The last thing she expects is that figure to peel away and start following her, and she might have thought it was some sort of creep and she was about to need to employ her extensive MMA training when she glances back to see white hair and a familiar slouch.
Maka walks faster, heart pounding in her chest, and he picks up his own pace, catching up and falling into step beside her.
Why is he here-why now?
Her pulse is racing. Calm, Maka, calm. Ignore him. Walk to class. He's safe, and that's a relief, and they owe each other nothing beyond that knowledge.
He says her name, softly, questioningly, and she snaps.
Fuck that. Fuck that. He owes her a damn explanation.
Anger shoves its way through her veins and into her heart. Rage, pure and hot. Yes, this she can work with. This is far better than the hurt, the pain that threatens to break her lurking just beneath the surface, waiting for the smallest crack to seep through.
"Where have you been?" She whirls on him. Soul gapes for a moment, looking torn. "I was worried sick. I actually called Kilik like a damn fool." She shakes her head as he continues to gape. "Actually, nevermind, it doesn't even matter. I might care if we were actually friends, but clearly we can't be since friends don't just disappear without a freaking word, do they?" she whirls back and keeps walking and ignores the relief his proximity brings, lets the anger burn more brightly.
For a moment, Maka leaves him in the dust, but she hears his footsteps pick up just after and he's beside her again. She picks up her pace as he pleads, "Maka, wait, I can explain-just-"
"I waited last Thursday, I'm done waiting," she hisses as she power walks. Soul is panting to keep up even with his much longer stride, and she would gloat if she weren't so heartsick, the rage battling with sheer hurt and unwelcome relief within her soul.
They've reached the park on the edge of campus as he struggles to keep up, and she stops and turns, still furious. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get to class. I'm sure you have somewhere better to be, like wherever the hell you've been the past week."
Maka is about to turn again, but he takes a step towards her, reaching out as if to touch her, though he falls short, hand hovering near her own balled fist at her side. "Maka," his voice sounds frayed, broken. "Please, I didn't-I didn't have a choice."
Her laugh is a short, bitter bark. "Of course you didn't." She shakes her head. "Look, I don't have time-"
"Just-" Soul cuts her off, and she wants to turn and leave him, the fire in her heart all-consuming, but the sheer desperation in his red, red eyes gives her pause. There are people passing on their way to class, the campus thick with students at this time of day, but in spite of the fact she knows how anxious he can get in a crowd, he doesn't even seem to see them, his eyes are fixed on her so completely. They're making a scene, and she's not sure she cares either. "I'm sorry, Maka, I'm so sorry, and I missed you-I missed you so damn much. Fuck." He rakes a nervous hand through his hair, the same one he'd reached for her with only moments before. "I shouldn't even be here, don't you get it? This is stupid, so fucking stupid, this is dangerous. But I just-it felt like I was missing a chunk of my damned soul, and I couldn't-I had to-"
Her anger bubbles over again. Dangerous? Oh yes, a little town like Death City is rife with danger.
"You had to, what, stand me up and make a fool of me? 'This is dangerous,'" she mocks, anger rising to new heights. "Look around you, Soul." She makes a sweeping gesture with her arms. "This is a college campus, not a warzone, and I wasn't born yesterday. Now if you'll excuse me-"
"Maka, wait, if you'll only-"
"Let you explain?" The bitter laugh is back. "You're being a drama queen. Look, you obviously had second thoughts, or maybe you found something better and now you think it's okay to, I don't know, keep me in reserve? Whatever. Just-go away. I've got class and you need to get back to wherever it is you disappeared to."
"Look." His gaze darts around to the people passing and pausing to watch the show. "I can't-I can't really talk here, but if you'll just come with me-just let me explain-I swear to you, Maka, swear to you, I didn't just stand you up, I had no choice. So can you just come with me, please?" This time, Soul does reach out and grab her hand, and it's so warm that she can't bring herself to snatch it away though a large part of her wants to, wants to escape his grasp and shove him away and never see him again. She's still so angry. But his hand feels right, clasping hers, and she's missed him.
"I-" Maka shakes her head, and as he uses her hand to tow her to a little copse of trees off the main path, she lets him. He pulls her in until they are surrounded by trees, cut off for the moment from the prying eyes who continue about their business.
Soul stops and faces her, squaring his shoulders in a way that seems at odds with his t-shirt and jeans. He sucks in a deep breath as he meets her eyes, gaze so intense the world might be ending. "You wanted to know why I stood you up? Why I had to stay away?"
She nods in spite of herself, because she does, she wants to know, needs to know. Maka steels herself for disappointment. He's only a man, after all, and men are typically full of shit. Why should he be different?
"It's because." He sucks in another deep breath, lets it out. "Because-I'm a warlock."
Her laugh is as involuntary as it is loud. She can't help it. Of all the answers Maka might have expected, this one is nowhere on the list. It's ridiculous. "And I suppose," she says, trying to keep her voice even as her mirth threatens to bubble over. "You were too busy running from Voldemort to make our date last week, or to come by long enough to apologize and show me you weren't dead, eh?" The pain of that thought sobers her, and she shakes her head. "If you're done-"
His frown is deep and his face is red, but he doesn't let go of her hand. "That's not-that's not all. I'm a warlock, and I had to stay away. I didn't have a choice. It isn't-it isn't safe, Maka."
"If it's sooooo dangerous, why are you even here?"
"Because I missed you, dammit, and I just-couldn't stand the thought I might have hurt you. It was killing me. So here I am." He looks so sincere; it works at her cracks just that little bit more.
"And you're a warlock?" she scoffs again, because sincere or not, his explanation is absurd.
"And I'm a warlock."
"Which means-what, exactly? Because last I checked the list of things that might actually exist, warlocks were near the bottom, just above dragons and fairies and the boogeyman."
Sighing long and loud, he admits, "I know it sounds-okay, I know how it sounds, like I'm full of shit, whatever. But I am a warlock. If I can prove it, will you at least hear me out?"
Her grin is feral. Maka smells blood and her anger dances in her veins again, because this is about to end and she's about to be able to move on, maybe. "If you can prove it, I'll give you all night to explain your heart out."
He doesn't answer, just raises one hand and says a word and suddenly, her feet leave the ground. Suddenly, she's floating. Maka panics, because what the fuck?, limbs flailing. "Soul, what-"
"You said prove it. I'm proving it. I'm a warlock." He's actually grinning at her, the bastard, pleased with himself. It's the first smile she's seen since before and, angry as she is, freaked out as she currently feels, it still makes her melt just a little.
"Okay, whatever, can you put me down already?"
"As you wish." His grin widens and she recalls his love of The Princess Bride. She stomps on that giddy sliver of hope that rises as her feet meet with solid ground again.
This had to be some sort of-parlor trick. Some Cris Angel nonsense. A warlock. This isn't Narnia and she didn't just step out of the wardrobe. Maka stoops to inspect the ground, looking for a glass platform, clear wires, something, even if she'd felt nothing. "Nice parlor trick, really," she says, shaking her head. "Should I be looking for hidden cameras? Are Penn and Teller going to emerge from behind a tree to explain how you did it, because-"
"No one's here, Maka, just us, and it wasn't a trick. I can show you more, prove it wasn't some-some illusion, if you'll let me, just-I-can you come with me-please? It's not safe for me here, not safe for us, and I want you to understand. There's something I need to show you. I'll explain it all, everything. I just-I need you to come with me."
"I-" She should say no. Soul had disappeared, and she's still angry, and now he's half delusional on top of it. Yes, it's dangerous because most likely, he is dangerous.
"Maka, please, please. I care about you. I need you to understand. Please?" His voice is as pleading as his words, and he clasps her hand more tightly, and it's almost as if she can feel it, his sorrow, his distress, and she should say no no no, she knows that, but her heart-her heart wants to know, wants to believe, wants to give him a chance.
She's an MMA expert. She's carrying a concealed knife, as she often does. He's lanky but awkward. Maka could take him, easily take him, if she had to.
Oh, what the hell. "Fine," she says, voice petulant. "Fine, but after this, if I say so, you never bother me again. Deal?"
Soul lets out a held breath. "Yeah, deal."
An instant later, he's towing her out of the woods.
"Where are we going anyway?"
"Uhhh." He runs a free hand through his hair. "You'll see?"
"Oh-kay…" Maka is about to insist he tell her when she catches sight of a familiar head of well coiffed blond hair. Hiro is standing at the edge of the little copse, gaping at her like she just punched him in the gut or killed his cat.
"Oh, uh." She pulls Soul to a stop. "Hey, Hiro, are you-" Before she can say more, he's turned and he's running, far and fast "-okay?"
She wonders what's wrong, wonders if she should try to catch him, but Soul is tugging at her hand insistently and Hiro is already lost in the sea of students around her.
"What was that about? Do you think he saw something?" Soul asks though he pulls her forward through the park and she doesn't stop him again.
"I wish I knew," Maka says with a shake of the head.
They make their way down the streets of Death City in relative silence. Her mind is full and her heart is full and she wonders what the hell she's doing even as she's eager to do it, to know, to understand, and to fight or flee or-maybe neither. As they stop at a garish orange monstrosity of a motorcycle parked in an alleyway in the outskirts of the city, she's surprised when he digs in one saddlebag and hands her an obnoxious black helmet decorated with flames.
"Wait, what-is this?" Why is she here again? She shouldn't be going with him-wherever it is he plans to take her-should walk away now. She'll miss class. She'll miss going out with the Thompsons. This is stupid.
"Uh, a helmet?" Soul sports an amused smirk.
"I know that," she hisses. "But why-what's with the bike, and where are we going?"
"Bike's mine, and we need it to get to my place." There's the smallest shrug as he answers.
Maka should say no. She should. She's still hurt, still angry, and this is how people end up dead in a ditch. And she has class, should already be in class.
Still-still-her heart pulls her forward, compels her shoot off a quick text to cancel with Liz and Patti before strapping on the helmet and mounting the bike behind him.
She knows this is stupid, she knows, but Maka also needs to know why. Why he left, why she's so drawn to him, why she even cares.
So she goes, holding on tight as he speeds off into the sunset.