Transitioning to Maka's POV and I'm PUMPED!

I had gotten used to watching him chew-is that weird? It was just another one of those things that he did with that absorbed interest, as if he was thinking through each iota of movement while it was happening or even before it happened. Because behind the general malaise, that was Soul: a thinker. Albeit, sometimes a little too much. Maybe I was being full of myself, but I had started to hope that maybe-just maybe-I'd been pulling him out of that. Giving him the opportunity to do what he wanted, say what he thought without restraint.

Because we'd become friends.

Good friends as I told Shelley.

More than casual acquaintances as I told Marie.

Someone I wanted to see every day, talk to about everything and nothing.

Friends, right?

Because there was no way, no possible way that it could be any different than that between the two of us. If I tried to compare him to Brian I'd utterly fail. Brian and I were… perfect. But Soul and I, well, all we seem to do is cry, cling to each other, try to keep each other afloat because while I know I'm struggling-what an understatement-Soul's drowning. I thought I had heard it in his music when we first met but that night that he actually let me in to see his tears, to hold him for what only felt like a second, I knew for sure. He was carrying deep scars.

Maybe it was deflection. I was avoiding the obvious: I was pregnant with another man's child. You don't go dating or falling in love like that. You can't. It's against some secret societal rulebook, isn't it? Plus, dating me meant signing up for fatherhood, and what normal, twenty-something guy wants to jump headfirst into that? Except-and Death did I really try to keep my mind from perseverating on this night after night-he'd made it clear that to him it wasn't intertwined. I was still me which was something I rarely acknowledged anymore. I'd made up my mind that I was a packaged deal, that the Maka from any number of months or years ago was entirely gone. I'd eventually be a mother. That's all.

But that's not what it felt like when I was with him, when he was talking or listening. When he was holding me or comforting. In his arms I felt like me again, but at the same time I wasn't forgetting what was there. Honestly, I don't know exactly how to describe it and I've been writing and rewriting it a million times in an attempt to sprout the right metaphor. In the end, I'm lost. He's being the best friend I could ever ask for and it's just… it's not right to ask for more.

Papa rarely smoked. It was one of those throwbacks to his tumultuous adolescence with Stein, but it reared its ugly head every time his stress got close to exploding. He used to sneak one at least every night during the divorce and sometimes, after coming home late from the bar, there wouldn't be just beer on his breath. It was simply a fact of life- one that I knew was going to resurface as soon as I opened the apartment door. Yes, of course, I told him over the phone beforehand. What kind of daughter would I be to just open the door four months pregnant and expect his head not to explode? Not that the forewarning made that much difference.

"Maka…" His hands wavered in front of him and when I didn't make an attempt to move he leaned in for the hug. This weak and withering sigh rumbled up from his chest as soon as our bodies met, as soon as that weird beer belly of a baby settled between us.

"Hi, Papa." It was the tiniest greeting I could offer since everything else was strangled by the weight of it all. His thoughts, my own, the world. Each wave threatened to pull me under until I heard the piano.

Honestly, it was as if the balcony door never closed, a tie that I couldn't sever. Each note drifted in from the opening, filling my apartment with the melody. I let Papa hold me as I picked apart the music and the man behind it. He should be at work. It's prime bartending time but somehow he's home. Waiting for Papa I didn't realize I never got a goodbye-which was sometimes becoming his habit-or heard him leave. I know I told him last night that I'd be facing the big one, but I didn't-

"Maka, honey…" Papa gave me another squeeze before releasing me so his hands could come tenderly to my shoulders. "I-I'm so glad you called. I wish-"

I nodded because no matter what he wished it didn't make a difference; I already had a pile of wishes that were turning to dust, so adding his wouldn't change the weight. As soon as I stepped back he slipped the rest of the way in, taking the short steps to my sad excuse for a living room. "Do you want something to drink? Water? Tea?" If you need a beer you'll have to go steal it from Soul. The joke sat bitterly on my tongue.

"No, honey, I just…" He heaved a sigh as his eyes darted around the room. Gathering thoughts always seemed to take Papa some time when he actually tried to do it, so I waited patiently."Where's Brian in all of this?" He motioned around the room like the man in question should be there.

Maybe-alright, no, definitely--I was trying to sink into the music, let it drown out the question. After letting the reality out for Soul, it was as if Brian didn't matter. The whole process that I'd labeled as a mistake was suddenly not- just at his say so. "I'm trying not to think about Brian right now." I moved past Papa and eased into the lone armchair, staring at the loveseat as I waited for him to take his place. Instead, he paced.

"Well, he sure as hell should be thinking about you!" You could set your watch by Papa's hysterics. Ten minutes into any problem and he was ready with an emotional diatribe. "You're pregnant with his kid! And it's not like he's some struggling, starving artist. Mr. Six-figures can afford to take care of both of you so I don't see why he's running scared at the first sight of responsibility."

"Papa-"

"What, does he think this is going to get in the way of him being partner? I get it, lawyers aren't exactly always the moral type-some irony there-but I bet when I run down to his office and tell his boss that he's left you high and dry there'll be no chance-"

"Brian wanted to get married." I lobbed that with as little emotion as I could manage.

It still hit Papa like a fastball to the gut. He stood, blinking at me while he processed the idea. "And you said…?"

"No." I added a firm shake of my head as if that mattered.

He went back to pacing but it only lasted a few trips. His third revolution left him to start again into the hallway, disappearing.

"Papa?"

"I'm going out on the balcony for a few minutes."

"Papa!" Soul's out there! I was up on my feet but all of my rushing was for nothing. The door slammed closed, muffling the music. OK, Maka, stop. It's not a big deal if he meets Soul- it's not as if dad-meets-boyfriend shenanigans are going to ensue because he's just… Soul's just a friend. Papa's not psycho. He's not going to interrogate every man within a 15-mile radius. Now only mildly panicked, I slowed my steps towards the door.

A thin line of smoke wafted on the other side of the glass as Papa's back obscured the view of anything else. He exhaled a cloud in the direction of Soul's balcony and while I saw his lips move the exact words were still hushed.

Soul's low baritone rumbled back, the faint hint of a laugh at the end.

I tried to press against the wall, mostly hiding with my ear as close to the glass as I could manage.

"Coulda fooled me," Papa chuckled.

"Trust me, it ain't all that great to listen to."

Soul- I wanted to admonish -why can't you let yourself get at least one compliment?

"It's nice though. Can't say Maka'll appreciate it. She's always had a pretty terrible taste in music."

"Huh-" Soul broke into a chuckle "-you know her pretty well?"

Papa turned his head enough for me to see the roll of his eyes. "I'm her father."

"Ah."

Silence drifted between them like smoke, only filled with a few more errant notes.

"Hey…" Papa paused to muse through a toxic exhale. "You seen a guy coming by here? Tall, black hair, really blue eyes?"

"Uh…" Soul let the sound buzz as long as he could. "Can't say I'm watching much comings and goings. Plus, I sorta work a lot-and weird hours-so I can't say I've seen anyone come by."

Papa heaved a sigh before bringing the cigarette back to his lips to tease the filter. Something muttered over the end but it was too faint to catch, tossed over the skyline rather than his shoulder.

The notes stopped. "That the father?"

"Huh?" Papa quickly swiveled his attention.

"That guy you're describing- that the father?" There was a decided pause for Soul to clear his throat. "She's pregnant- so the blue-eyed guy's the father?"

"Thought you were just the neighbor."

"I talk to her," he offered succinctly.

Papa was studying him, eyebrows knit as he tried to translate something on Soul's face. I wished that I was seeing the same thing, maybe with more ability to decipher the usual enigma. In Papa's contemplation came the music again, but this time it was the same practiced notes of my song-though I'd only call it that in my head.

I moved away from my hiding spot back to the living room. He knows what Brian looks like. It was my turn to pace even though I had no rational explanation for the inkling. I watched my feet shuffle against the carpet. It doesn't matter. They'll never meet- or at least not if I can help it. My trance broke at the slide of the door, my eyes turning expectantly towards the hallway. Even though I was waiting for Papa I couldn't banish the last thought: Why does it matter if Soul and Brian meet?

"Honey," Papa called, his voice now suffused with a softness that a corner of my heart missed. As he turned the corner, a smile beamed on his cheeks. "Let me take you dinner, OK?"

"Oh…" I nibbled into my lip for a moment before shrugging. "OK, but… I…"

"We're celebrating," he charged as he took another step into the room and reached for me. "I'm gonna be a grandpa after all!" In all my shock it was easy for him to gather me up, pulling me into his arms again to settle into that leftover smell of smoke lingering in his cologne. "And you're gonna be the best goddamn mother."

My vision clouded before I pressed my face against his shirt. Maybe this was exactly what I needed.

In the background, Soul had started my song all over again.

I returned stuffed and carrying my leftovers and Papa's. I tossed them on the kitchen counter before following the tunes that led me to Soul. It was always the same when I slid open the door, his head instantly turning and a sly grin starting on his lips. Tonight wasn't any different. "Hey."

I stepped out so I could lean over the ledge between our two balconies. For a fleeting second, I thought about running my fingertips over his hair. "Sorry about my dad today."

"Not a big deal." He shrugged. "You OK?"

"Fine." There was still a skeptical wrinkle to his eyebrow so I added a giggle that usually ironed those right off his face. "Actually, really full! And I brought home leftovers. Do you want some?"

He averted his attention from me, his fingers suddenly of endless interest. He hit one note before murmuring, "It's late, ain't it?"

I rolled my eyes regardless of whether he'd have the pleasure to see it or not. "It's not any later than if you were coming home from work. Actually- why aren't you at work?"

Something like a cough caught in his throat before he slid through half a melody. "Called in sick today."

"Are you?"

"What?"

"Sick?" Without a second thought, I reached my hand down and slid under his bangs to caress his forehead. "You don't have a fever."

He was frozen and silent.

"Hey, if you don't feel well-"

"Ain't it." He caught me by the wrist just enough to pull my hand away. The tug wasn't a surprise-he wasn't always entirely natural with touching-but the way he paused to stare at my hand, to study my fingers as if running over his skin had marred them made my heart lurch. "You-you feeling OK enough for me to come over?" His eyes came to my face and the same hesitation lined them.

Do you think looking at you hurts me? I nodded as I wriggled my wrist out of his hold. "I'm fine. It wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be, but… thank you for worrying about me." I got free enough to let my fingers drift over his.

He turned his head towards the darkness. "Fine. I'll come over."

"Glad I could convince you," I grumbled as I turned back into the apartment. That look on his face was the worst and I honestly couldn't decipher it. Again, touching wasn't exactly alien to him but… restricted. He did reach for me at times, but it was when we hit some desperate point. When I touched him-which for me was automatic like blinking-it always came with that freeze and process. Well, it's weird isn't it? A pregnant woman hanging on him? The shame of that selfish idea fueled my nervous walk to the door, opening it just as I heard his click shut.

I left it just slightly ajar as I moved towards the kitchen. As I popped open the styrofoam containers, ready to introduce his options for the night, I heard the door click but no footsteps. It was impossible for him to be lost in the hallway so I peeked my head in, seeing him standing still and staring at the wall. My eyes followed his gaze and my heart skipped a beat.

"You made this?" Maybe it was supposed to be teasing but his eyes stayed forward, entirely immersed in the picture box I'd hung on the wall.

"Yup," I tried to reply as casually as possible but I couldn't help hearing the yelp at the end. I took a step closer, eyeing the dried blossoms trapped behind glass.

"Camellias," he murmured.

"Well, they were so beautiful it seemed like a waste to just…" Give them to me in the first place, Soul. I tried not to sigh, fiddling my lips around the breath instead. I watched the slow crawl of his eyes that moved from corner to corner and back again.

"The ones I gave you." That was barely above the sound of his breath and quickly lost as the next sentence boomed in comparison. "I like the composition. Don't have too much negative space but still doesn't seem busy."

I tried out a dismissive wave of my hand, hoping it would gather his attention but he was still solely focused. "Oh, it's just a hobby-"

"Like my piano playing," he muttered with half a smirk.

"If you're trying to insinuate that I don't know how to take a compliment-"

"If the shoe fits."

I scoffed, mostly because while teasing was nothing new from Soul-it's his favorite pastime-there was a momentary glow to his eyes as they finally broke from the flowers and fell to me that left me otherwise speechless.

"If I…" he started and the shine stuttered just as much as his words. "If I got you more flowers, would you…?" He motioned towards the frame, fingers weakly just flicking in its directions.

It was one of those moments where I was entirely bare as if somewhere along the way I'd forgotten to get dressed and let him in. I wanted to move protectively in front of the frame because he was seeing too much. You don't even realize how cruel you're being, do you? Getting me more flowers, Soul, that's what- friends don't do that. That would be the kind of tease I can't take. "If you need one for a gift or something, I could…"

A swallow rattled down his throat before he nodded slowly. "Ah, maybe. I-I wasn't exactly…" He heaved a sigh before taking one more look at the frame, staring at it as if it owed him an explanation. "Don't worry about it. This is- this is just nice, that's all I'm saying. So take the compliment."

"Alright."

He dropped his gaze back to me with a smile. "So, we eating or what?"

"You're eating," I corrected. "And for someone whose diet used to be just beer…"

The rest of the night devolved into eating and joking, neither of us really getting our fill. Something about that moment in the hallway had left us stuck there and no matter how long I tossed and turned in the night after he left I couldn't decipher it. Especially not the way he paused before he walked out, one last look and a smile saturated in sadness reflecting in the glass of the picture box.