I bought flowers.
In my defense, it was more because Liz and Tsu had been talking about it as they waited ever so patiently for me to fill their drink orders.
"It's just one of those things that instantly brightens your day," Tsu murmured dreamily.
"Yeah, it was the perfect start to the date," Liz cooed. "He had his collar a little unbuttoned, the bouquet, a seriously deadly smirk. Ugh." She collapsed over the side of the bar. "Death, if he doesn't call me back I'm seriously going to die."
Tsu giggled before scolding, "Liz…"
"No, flowers set a precedent!" The other woman cried.
At that point, I was bringing the last two drinks for their order to the end of the bar while trying to ignore every last bit of Liz's constant romantic woes.
"Soul, have you ever given a woman flowers?" Tsu's friendliness was saccharine sweet but honest, making for a strange juxtaposition. Every time she talked to me it was like a shot of bad whiskey- warming but hard to swallow.
"Impossible," Liz crowed. "He would literally die- fall to pieces if you made him interact with someone he likes."
"I don't like anyone," I grumbled. A trickle of fear dripped down my spine like sweat as both women's eyebrows shot to their hairlines.
"Soul Evans!" Liz waved an accusing finger at me.
"Soul, you're blushing," Tsu murmured with at least a bit more softness than Liz.
"Who is it?" As soon as the drinks were down on the tray Liz was grasping my hands, keeping me from a quick exit.
"Nobody," I growled as I tried to break free. "Get to fucking work and leave me the hell alone."
"Oh!" Liz was shimmying on the other side of the bar, hips wiggling like a dog with a bone. "You do! You like someone! I seriously never thought I'd see the day but Soul Evans likes someone."
"Oh, fuck off." I threw the groan over my shoulder as I finally got out of her grip and turned back towards the safety of my end of the bar.
"Get her flowers!" Tsu called after me as Liz's giggles echoed behind her. "Camellias are the best!"
Like I said: not my fault I came home with flowers. I honestly didn't even know what the fuck a Camellia was, but ended up with a poufy bunch of red, pink, and white that I tossed frantically on the kitchen counter. "What the fuck am I doing?" I accused the blossoms before smacking my hand over my mouth at the outburst.
At that point, we were comfortable, but Maka had still been crying on and off during our nightly jam sessions. Sometimes she'd slip out her hand again, sometimes not. I could now describe what her wrist, elbow, and shoulder looked like- even the three freckles that made a triangle right where the door cut off her arm. Her hair wasn't perfectly blonde, more ashen than golden and whatever green I thought her eyes were was way brighter, glowing each time the lights hit her just right. Except that was all of her to me- actually, nah. That was the least of what she was to me.
The rest of her body as a shadow sorta meant nothing. I mean, I'm not saying I'm completely asexual-I can appreciate a nice figure when I see it-but bodies rarely meant anything to me. It was those leaps I couldn't take- the talking, the getting-to-know, the trusting that seemed to turn off that switch just as quickly as it could go on. In the magical land of our terrace, I had sorta forgotten all of that. I dished out just about everything to her in hopes that she'd do the same, and little by little I knew her and no matter how much I fought it, she knew me. Three months into this and I didn't have any argument left in me; the girls were right, I liked her.
So I had a stupid crush. So I bought stupid flowers. So I then proceeded to panic and left them on the counter, bringing instead the fried leftovers the kitchen had handed out at the end of the night. With styrofoam in my left and the piano in my right, I collapsed on the concrete.
"It might rain tonight."
The contents of my takeout shifted as I jumped at the sound of her voice.
The door was already open and Maka was leaning, her eyes shining just as much as her smile at my surprise. "You're late tonight."
A painfully nervous laugh twittered from my mouth. "Sorta- I dunno, just-" I spent half an hour staring at flowers, that's what. Staring at the stupid things I bought during my break and just threw on my kitchen counter because it's not like I could give them to you, not in a million fucking years!
"Was it work?" For the first time, hesitation lined her words and I turned wrinkled brows towards her. She wasn't looking at me, eyes focused entirely in the room. "Or maybe I'm just being stupid. You don't always have to come home after work. You probably…"
"Don't have a life, if that's what you're insinuating." Laughing at myself came easy, even with the tightening of her shoulders. "Just got some food, that's all. I usually cook, but the kitchen was kind tonight."
Maka let out a breathy laugh.
I popped open the lid, letting the savory scent of those fried delicacies drift out. "It's not great for you but sure as hell tastes good."
As if to agree, a terrible grumble erupted from behind the screen.
My own chuckle echoed it. "There's more than enough if you want some." I wanted that offer back as soon as I gave it, sure then that the tenuous dream I'd been living in was about to be completely decimated.
Maka sighed as her hand slowly reached up to the latch and flicked it. The screen moved, and for the first time, slim legs slid out of the opening. The curve of her body took my breath away, especially the steady swell of it as she tucked her hand under as if to hold the shape. Pregnancy wasn't what I often ran into as a bartender, but anyone could tell she'd just started showing and the grim tightness of her face as her eyes went anywhere but to mine kept my lungs empty.
"So you work at a restaurant?" The question squeaked up from her throat as her gaze finally fell on the container.
"I'm a bartender at a swanky hotel." I lifted the leftovers, setting them on the top of the rail. "Here, take 'em. I swear it's tasty. The chef's a real ass-literally has a story for everything-but he's unfortunately good at what he does." When her eyes met mine it was a fucking lightning strike; the color even more brilliant than the tiny glimpses from the door would allow. Holy fucking shit, Evans, get ahold of yourself. She's pregnant. She doesn't need your fucking schoolboy crush. All she needs is a fucking friend. "Go on."
She slowly reached up for the food, bringing it down to her lap to stare at the assortment. "What about you?"
"I don't eat much to begin with." I shrugged before picking up the keyboard and bringing it back into my lap. "Dinner's maybe a beer and then bed."
"That's not exactly a well-balanced diet," she murmured.
"And that is?" I sent a wriggling finger in her direction before bringing them back to the keys. "Just eat it, Maka." Even without the request, I started the same song, letting the loathing settle into my gut. Great, Evans, really fucking great. A crush on your pregnant neighbor. Sounds really just par for the course for you, dude. Mr. Entirely-Uncool. I let my head tip back, hitting the stucco with a little extra fervor. And here you are mentally bitching about your stupid feelings when you knew how it would end anyway. Serves you fucking right. She's lonely. She needs a friend. That's all. I swallowed each bitter bit and threw it into the press of my fingers into the keys.
There were a few crunches in between the dips of sound until finally, her voice burst over the music, "You haven't said anything."
"About what?" I kept my eyes to her face when I turned my head, mostly sure of the answer before she was going to give it.
"Soul!" My name came as a complaint from her lips, her eyes already starting to water.
I heaved a sigh before my glare sunk back to the keys. "It's not my business." I tried the melody again but only got through a few notes before letting my arms fall uselessly off the piano. "I guess… it's sorta more that I know you- if that makes sense."
"It doesn't," she muttered quickly.
I grunted as my hands tapped to my thighs in an attempt to generate some kind of lucid thought. "Whatever's going on isn't all of you." I closed my eyes, blowing frustrated air through my lips as I tilted my head back again. "Sure, it's a part, but talking to you-what we're doing right now-I like this. Whatever's going on doesn't change that."
"That's…" her voice warbled and out of the corner of my eye I could see the back of her hand rubbing at her cheek. "That's pretty cool, Soul."
"Yeah," I sighed. "That's me, Mr. Cool."
I'm never up before my alarm but since my brain is only ever really good at torturing me I was wide awake to see the flowers in the light of dawn. I'm sure this was the stuff poems were written about- the glow on the pink, white, and red petals supposed to well up some kinda love in me, but all I had was regret.
It's time to squash it.
It's time to just compact it like every other piece of bullshit you've ever felt.
The last thing a pregnant, lonely woman needs is some loser fawning over her.
Because for the past few days she'd been coming out and sitting next to me. She still asked for the same song, still talked about nothing and everything, still helped me linger through the late-night darkness. I was part of her secret now and a selfish little part of me loved that. At the same time, I knew that whatever fantasy I'd made up in my head before-that maybe we'd have that stupid cliche moment of love at first sight that utterly trumped all the feelings I had from just talking to her through the door-was over.
Again, the last fucking thing a pregnant, lonely woman needs is some loser fawning over her.
So I talked myself into standing still, waiting for her to leave me behind.
I told myself to throw away the flowers too, but… guess I didn't have the heart.