Blame is a funny thing. We are always quick to point fingers and throw words around, hoping that blame will stick to others and that they will readily accept it. Sometimes it is justice, waiting for others to accept the consequences of their actions. Sometimes it is you who rightfully holds the blame. And sometimes still, the empty chair your reflection sits in asks the question, "Will you ever let go of the blame?"

The clock on her wall ticks louder than she ever remembers it ticking before. Her eyes lock on the phone on her bedside table. Waiting. Just… waiting. She should have heard by now, gotten confirmation that yes, they'll get ice cream together after school tomorrow, swap stories of what it's like further west and what the latest Sophomore gossip is.

But Maka's phone doesn't light up with the tell-tale signs of a text from her mother. She swallows hard, debating if she should call her mother and feel like a toddler crying for her mommy, or try to ignore her empty notifications and feeling in her heart.

Kamiko Albarn is a busy woman, always has been. It's silly for Maka to expect her mother to be available to her every waking moment. Especially this late at night.

Maka clutches her pillow to her chest, still staring at her phone. "She probably just forgot, it's no big deal," she mumbles into the fabric. With a sigh, she turns over and flings an arm over her eyes. No sense worrying about it now, she needs her rest for school.

…

Maka slides her arms through the straps of her backpack with ease, head bobbing along to the pop music playing in her earphones. She isn't far into her walk when a screeching sound drowns out the chorus. Stopped in her tracks, she pulls an earphone out and looks to the source of the sound to find her father leaning across the passenger seat of his car with the window rolled down.

"You didn't wait for me!" Spirit Albarn calls out.

Maka sighs and returns the earphone to her ear, hands wrapping around her backpack straps as she elects to ignore the man and continue on her way to school.

However he is hard to ignore as he slowly rolls down the street to match her walking speed, other vehicles honking at him as they attempt to pass him.

She stops in her tracks, ripping her earphones out of her ears and shouting, "What do you want?!"

Spirit makes a face akin to a kicked puppy before calling back, "You seem so tired from your walks to school lately, I thought maybe you'd agree to a lift over there? It only makes sense, we ARE going to the same place! Just… c'mon kiddo, get in the car."

"I don't want to be seen with you," she says with as much acid as she can muster.

He winces. "Maka, honey, don't be like that! These kids aren't stupid anyway! I'm sure they've figured out Maka Albarn and Mr. Albarn are related!"

"Not distantly enough."

Spirit stares at her, mouth agape, but doesn't reply. It isn't long before he settles himself back into the driver's seat properly, rolls up the passenger window, and slowly pulls away from her in the direction of the school.

Maka rolls her shoulders, attempting to relieve some of the tension. The trek to school is a bit longer than she would like, but giving in has never been her style. It's bad enough they spend so much time together at home, she can't even get a break from her overbearing father at school.

When she was younger, she had looked forward to going to school with her father. Was excited to be in his classroom and have all the other students know that their teacher was her incredible dad.

But he ruined it.

So Maka takes a deep breath, returns her earphones to her ears, and begins her walk again. She won't acknowledge him in the halls. She'll deny any relation should a Freshman ask about their Mr. Albarn. She'll keep up the silent treatment.

He deserves it, after all.

…

Maka can't focus during Composition. Miss Yumi's words seem to just drone on in the background as she picks at the skin around her nails. Still no word from her mother. It wasn't like Kami to not keep her updated. Had she done something to upset her?

No, surely Kamiko is simply busy. Between the flight to Vegas and the car ride over to Death City, who would have the time to shoot their daughter a text that they were still coming? Besides, work doesn't just stop because you're visiting your daughter. Maybe emails had piled up and needed attending to, and -

Something drops on Maka's head and falls into her lap, disrupting her thoughts. She looks down to find it is a piece of paper folded up into a little triangle. A quick glance to confirm that Miss Yumi is still at the board dissecting a sentence, and Maka returns her gaze to the folded note, curiosity getting the best of her. Unfolding it, she reads the messy writing silently.

"Party at Anya's tonight, 8pm!" Complete with what she assumes is Anya's address and rough drawing of a giraffe in a party hat.

Who would possibly be inviting Maka Albarn to a party? She hadn't even attended any of the middle school dances, let alone any of the house parties high schoolers always talked about and/or attended.

At the risk of getting caught by Miss Yumi, Maka turns her head slightly to find the note passer, only to find Patty Thompson nearly hissing at her to pass it to… Is she mouthing "octopus head"?

Maka turns back forward, attempting to follow Patty's not-so-subtle pointing, and finds that the note was meant for the white haired boy the next row over.

She hadn't talked to Soul since their first meeting in the music practice room. Not really anyway outside of her little waves when they passed each other in the halls, courtesy "hello"s when they arrived to class at the same time, that sort of thing. It wasn't on purpose, it just sort of seemed like the boy didn't have much interest in chatting in general.

She carefully folds back up the paper into its small triangle and aims it for Soul's desk before launching it across the row. He raises his arm to scratch the back of his head at the last minute, and the note hits his elbow and tumbles to the floor. She watches as he reaches for it, reads it over, then tosses a toothy grin complete with thumbs up back to Patty. Not a single thought that it could have been Maka inviting him to a party.

She shouldn't care. It's not like her to be involved in silly things like house parties anyway. But maybe the idea that she could be interested in such silly things wouldn't be a bad thing, right?

…

The rest of the day flies by, and come time to walk home, Maka doesn't see Spirit's car in the faculty parking lot. Relief washes over her, and she begins her peaceful walk home, thinking over what news she'll share with her mother over which choice of ice cream cone.

In all the excitement, she doesn't realize how much faster of a walk it is this time compared to every other day. She can't help it, as silly as it is to be so excited to see her mother. What can she say? It's been months since she has last seen the woman in person, and with their facetimes getting fewer and farther between, it feels like even longer.

Maka had discovered the signed divorce papers on their kitchen table before Spirit. Kamiko had apologized profusely for letting her find out in such a way, but Maka had assured her that all was well, that she had nothing to apologize for and she understood. The affair with the cabaret club girl had been the final nail in the coffin of their marriage. The writing had been on the wall for some time, with Kamiko always making excuses for how Spirit talked to the mothers of his students. But with the cabaret girl, she had finally had enough.

There's no sign of Kamiko's car anywhere along the street they all had once called home. Only Spirit's new fancy Divorce Present To Himself car in the driveway. Maka's heart sinks, but she refuses to allow herself to give into the tears already pricking the corners of her eyes. Maybe her mother had flown in and Spirit had picked her up? Not the end of the world. Taking a deep breath, Maka enters her home and (briskly) walks through the empty living room and into the kitchen.

Spirit stands there alone, leaning against the kitchen countertop, hand running through his long red hair. "Hey, Maka…" he greets, dropping his hand to his side. His mouth twists up in a sad and guilty look, eyes darting between her and a lonely postcard on the table.

Maka drops her backpack into one of the kitchen chairs and reaches for the postcard. Another to add to the collection Kamiko had started for her when she first left their home. Ferry boats this time, "Seattle, Washington" printed in bold letters across the water.

"Your Mama called," Spirit sighs. He pulls a chair out for himself to sit, the scraping along the kitchen linoleum deafening in Maka's silence. "She… says she's sorry. Won't be able to make it."

Pursing her lips, Maka lays the postcard back on the table. "Again…?"

Spirit sighs deeply. "I'm sorry sweetie, she didn't even give a reason, just that she couldn't -"

"You know very well why she won't come." Maka's hands clench into fists at her sides as she takes a step back from the table.

It's been months. Months of quietly fuming over their situation, of simply giving her father the silent treatment while she tries to sort through all the changes to their family. But no more. "She can't even look at you. I can barely look at you! You always claim how much you loved her, and you didn't even fight for her!"

Spirit mops a hand over his face. "Maka, listen, relationships are complicated."

"Marriage and cheating aren't really complicated!" she yells, slamming her hands on the kitchen table. "You just don't cheat! You stay with your wife, you talk and make things work, not go to the nearest tramp!"

He drops his hand again and looks pleadingly at her. "We did talk! Honey, our marriage has had problems for a really long time, it isn't as simple as -"

"If you love someone, really love them, then you don't do anything to hurt them! You fight for them! But it was so much easier to run into some other woman's arms, and now she's gone! My own mother is gone, and who knows if she'll ever really come back?"

She can't bear to hear more about how long their marriage had been crumbling before the fallout. Because she knows the timeline. It hadn't been stable from the start. Neither of her parents would ever admit to it, but Maka knows deep in her heart that the only reason her parents ever got married was because of her. Because her mother got pregnant before they were married. It's just so much easier to pin the blame on her father.

Maka sighs and takes a step back from the table. "I'll be in my room, don't bother me."

Spirit opens his mouth as if to respond but must think better of it as he closes it again and turns his face away from her.

Good. It's about time he figures out how to shut his mouth.

Grabbing her backpack from the kitchen chair, Maka turns and makes her way toward her room. Once the door has closed behind her, she drops the bag to the ground and throws herself face-first onto her bed. She lets out a muffled groan into her pillow then curls up on her side, clutching the pillow to her chest.

Alone again.

It hadn't always been like this. Her father's doting used to be something she enjoyed. But since her mother moved out, Spirit's constant attention and hovering has become… suffocating. To her, it feels like his doting has become more intense in an attempt to make up for tearing their family apart. Usually anyway. There is the occasional voice that poses the question: "what if he is making up for a lack of parent instead?". But she quashes that thought quickly every time. Because it most certainly has to be from his guilt. Because it's all his fault.

Because if her mother's absence isn't his fault, then it has to be hers. For being the cause of her mother's unhappiness from the start. For not being a daughter worth sticking around for.

She closes her eyes and before long, they open again to the setting sun painting her room in beautiful colors through her window. She can hear Spirit's footsteps around the house, his pacing and his voice from what must be a phone call in the kitchen.

Maka has to get out of here.

But it's a Wednesday evening, where would she even go? Go somewhere with Tsubaki? No, she's been under so much stress since the Incident, maybe bothering her is a bad idea… Call up Blake? No, he's definitely going to be at Anya's party.

Anya's party…

She shakes her head. No, Maka Albarn at a high school party? On a school night? Not technically having been invited? It's a stupid idea, and she's a stupid, stupid girl for thinking of it, even if only for a blip of a moment. Besides, her father would be furious with her.

On second thought, does she honestly care? Let him be as angry as he wants with her, it will never match the betrayal and fury that both she and her mother harbor for him. She almost dares him to be angry with her.

Anya's house isn't too far from her own if she recalls the address scrawled on the invite note from class. But leaving her room means inviting a conversation with her father. She eyes the window, making note of how easy it would be to knock the screen out of place.

And suddenly a plan comes into place.

…

Plans are tricky.

Getting out of the house was the easy part. Now as she stands on the lawn of Anya's house, Maka begins to regret her decision. The music from within the house echoes across the neighborhood, bass shaking her to the bone. Everyone casually walking up to the front door is dressed in "club attire" while she stands there in her dorky sweater vest and plaid skirt from school earlier.

She doesn't belong here, what was she thinking? Surely she could get back to her house and sneak back through her window without her father noticing this early right?

Suddenly she spots two strange but familiar hair colors meeting at the open front door, blue and white messy shocks of hair. Blake and Soul greeting each other with a hand shake turned bro hug, when had that development happened? Maka watches them disappear inside the house, and there's a little part of her that feels a bit braver now, knowing that she at least knows a couple people at the party.

With a deep breath, she makes her way up to the front door and knocks. Waiting patiently doesn't last long before a small group shoves past her and into the house without a greeting, and she decides that maybe just making herself at home is the best route at this point.

Inside, the house has already been made into a huge mess. Red solo cups litter every standing surface, there's smoke of some kind through the air (not that she'd know what kind), and there's hardly any standing room.

"Relax, you can be a party person," she tells herself under her breath and moves her way through the sea of people towards presumably the kitchen.

There, someone is doing a keg stand with much cheering all around them. Maka tries to avoid the crowd as best she can and finds a stack of new red solo cups next to a punch bowl, proceeding to serve herself some. At first sip, she grimaces. She should have known that any punch was already spiked. She heads for the kitchen sink, ready to dump out the alcoholic drink, before pausing. A party person would drink. Someone getting back at their dad would probably try to drink too.

Thinking it over, Maka finally shrugs and carries the drink with her out of the kitchen. Even if she doesn't drink any more of the punch, she'll look the part of party goer. That she can do. Maybe she can search for Blake and Soul, be less awkward while interacting with people she actually knows.

But Anya's house is huge, and while packed with people even harder to navigate. And with each passing moment, something in the back of her mind reminds her that her father could go to check on her at any moment. And when he does, she'll be in so much trouble. Presumably. She'd never been in trouble with him before. Part of her dares him to be angry with her. Part of her is aware of her heart beating fast in her chest.

No guarantees she won't get caught and no sign of the boys. She can't really do this. How is she supposed to interact with all these people? What's the proper etiquette of partying? What do you even talk about? It's all so overwhelming for her, she decides to find a quiet place in the corner under the staircase to hold her drink in silence, anxiously watching the party unfold around her.

Maka isn't there long before a couple making out plows into her, and suddenly her drink is spilled on one of the partiers next to her. Before she can even form an apology, there's Soul, wiping liquid from his arms and wringing out the front of his shirt. "Oh there you are!" falls from her mouth before she can think to stop herself. What an idiot, making it look like she'd followed him here!

"Uh yeah, here I am," he says with a lopsided smile.

"Sorry about that," she replies. She motions to the couple continuing to make out despite the events around them. "That happened and well…"

He shrugs it off. "Never thought I'd see you in a place like this, Pigtails." Soul teases her with a slight nudge.

Maka steps away from him, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed. "I had a hard night okay? So sue me."

His smirk fades into concern. "What happened?"

She bites her lip for a moment before deciding the truth is probably easier than some sort of lie. "Mama… said she couldn't see me."

"Ah, you don't live with your mom?"

"Just me and my dad, yeah."

"Parents suck," Soul sighs, staring up at the lights. "Must've really sucked to have her run out on you like that."

"She didn't run out," Maka scoffs. "She decided being with dad was too much and went to live her life."

"Without you in it?"

She stops and doesn't realize that she's crushed her cup during the conversation. "Well, I mean, I have school and stuff, I can't just travel with her like-"

"Yeah, sounds like she ditched you, my guy," Soul interrupts. "It sucks, really it does, but c'mon, be honest with yourself, don't make up excuses for her."

Maka throws what's left of her drink in Soul's face without even thinking. Shit, now what is she supposed to do? She can't back down now, it's already too late as he looks at her incredulously. "You don't know me or my family, how dare you make such bold claims!"

"Yeah, you tell him, bitch!" some partier shouts.

So embarrassing, but all she can do is double down and storm off. No one should ever dare talk about her mother that way, there's simply no way that she would just "ditch" her like Soul says.

Blake shows up in her line of view for a moment as she storms right through him and out the front door. Serves her right for going out of her comfort zone. Tears sting her eyes, and she makes a run for it across the yard.

She's almost made it to the street when a hand grabs her arm forcefully and yanks her back and to the ground. Looking up, Maka sees Blake again, arms crossed and eyes glaring at her. "Why did you do that?!" she shouts, picking herself up off the ground and dusting off her skirt.

"You finally make it to a party and don't even say hi?" he huffs. She refuses to meet his gaze, and Blake moves to get a better look at her face. "Aw c'Mon, I didn't pull you hard enough to cry about it!"

"I'm not crying!" Maka shouts again, starting to collect stares.

Blake puts his hands up in defense. "Jeez, okay, okay! Then what's up? Who's making you run off looking like you're gonna-" He stops again and reevaluates the look Maka gives him. "… punch someone?"

She sighs. "Soul. He… he spoke poorly about Mama."

He doesn't even try to hold back his laughter. "Touchy subject, yikes bro!"

"Quit laughing, it isn't funny!"

"Look I bet he didn't mean to be a dick about it, but I bet you either yelled at or hit him, am I right?"

Maka doesn't respond. So frustrating that Blake can predict her so well.

"You gotta apologize. I bet he will too."

"But he-!"

"No buts!" He pulls out his phone and opens his messaging app. "Same number right?" He types quickly and hits send, causing Maka's phone to ding from her pocket.

She opens the text and finds an address. "What's this?"

"Soul's place," Blake replies. "Pretty cool place, been there a couple times since the old man is so strict about 'get your grades up then you can have guests over'."

"I'm not going to-" Maka starts before Blake walks away, hand waving goodbye over his shoulder.

"Say sorry!" he calls back to her before the music from Anya's house drowns him out.

Phone in hand, she stares after him a moment. Maybe she had been a bit… reactive. But she deserves an apology, too. She sighs and places her phone back in her skirt pocket and starts making her way back home.

Once she reaches her house however, the living room light is still on. As she sneaks around the yard toward her bedroom window, she sees her father through the living room window. He sits with his head in one hand, a can of beer in the other.

It hurts him too. She knows that. Hurts to know Kamiko won't ever come back for him. Hell, she hardly comes back for-

Maka shakes her head as tears threaten again. She won't cry. Instead she'll forget what she saw, slip into her room, and go straight to bed. What a crappy night.

…

Maka looks up from her phone to the nice apartment building ahead of her. She counts the windows until she stops at the one that must be Soul's apartment and stares a moment. Maybe he'll just look out the window and see her and know that she's there to apologize. Maybe she won't have to say the words herself at all, he'll just know, and she'll know, and they'll be better and all will be well.

Luck isn't on her side this time though as no one looks back at her from the window. "Drat," she whispers. Might as well get it over with. She hadn't had the motivation to have their conversation at school, and every time Blake spotted her in the halls, he fired an "I'm watching you" signal in her direction. Nothing could be back to normal until this conversation, so it may as well happen. Sighing, she adjusts her bag's shoulder strap and walks up to the building.

Next to the building's front door is a key pad, complete with directory and speaker. Hesitantly, Maka presses the number for Soul's apartment and waits.

"Hello?" a voice she doesn't recognize rings through after a moment.

"Um, hi, is this the Evans residence? I'm a…" She isn't sure what to call herself, but something is better than nothing. "A friend of Soul's."

"Oh! Okay, uh, gimme a second to buzz you in! A girl huh-"

The front door buzzes, and Maka pauses before reaching for the handle and entering the building. She hadn't thought about Soul's parents being part of the deal when she made her way over to the apartment. Maybe it is better to simply wait for school the next day and have the conversation then. But at the same time, she's here now. Might as well finish what she's started.

It doesn't take long for her to find Soul's apartment. She knocks and waits patiently, just barely able to hear two men squabbling on the other side of the door.

The door opens in the middle of Soul shouting over his shoulder "- don't have a girl-!" and stops at the sight of Maka. "Uh, hi," he says a bit out of breath.

"Hello." Maka chews on the inside of her lip. "Do you mind if I, um…"

"Let her in already!" the voice from the speaker calls. The door opens the rest of the way to reveal a man who looks similar to Soul but far too young to be his father. "Rude to keep a girl waiting like that, move, Soul!" The man shoves Soul out of the way and gestures for Maka to enter their home. "Welcome, Miss…"

"Maka," she replies, awkwardly walking through the door. "Thank you, um…"

"Wes Evans," the man says, offering his hand to shake hers. "Soul's older brother."

Oh? She looks over to Soul questioningly and recalls his comment about parents sucking. Maka takes Wes's hand. "It's very nice to meet you."

"Yeah yeah, introductions over, let's move on," Soul says, grabbing Maka's free hand and tugging her further into the apartment.

Wes simply smiles and calls after, "I'll bring you something to drink in a moment, make yourself comfortable but not too comfortable!"

She blushes a bit at this, and looks at Soul who also seems to have the decency to blush as he pulls her down the hall to what is presumably his room.

Spirit had always warned her about going to a boy's room with said boy. She hates that her father's words echo in her mind before the decor can grab her attention. Soul's room is covered in posters, a guitar sits in on his bed, and a keyboard sits in the corner, covered in what appears to be school papers. She stares with her mouth slightly agape and walks up to one of the posters. "Who are these guys?" she says, pointing.

"What? You don't know who-"

Wes suddenly bursts in the half-open door with two glasses. "Iced tea okay?" he asks, offering one to Maka.

"Yes, thank you!" She takes the glass and watches as Soul makes eye contact with his brother and takes a glass as well. Wes doesn't say a word, but must make some sort of face while his back is turned to Maka as Soul flushes again and shoves him out of his room.

Soul closes the door, looks back at Maka, then leaves it open a bit. "Sorry about him. He's just… excited I have friends."

"Oh." Maka stands there, sipping her tea and awkwardly looking anywhere around the room but at him. "So… you told him we were friends?"

He winces. "I mean, we seem friend-ly which is what I told him, but…" He doesn't drink his tea, but instead sits down on his bed and sets the glass on the nearby night stand. "Why are you even here? I thought maybe we weren't friendly anymore?"

She takes a deep breath. "I came here to apologize."

His eyebrow raises. "Oh?"

"And to ask for an apology as well."

"Oh." It's a long silence before he finally falls back on the bed, hands resting behind his head. "Then I'm sorry. I didn't realize it was a tough subject."

"Thank you. And… I'm sorry that I was a little harsh about it."

He turns his head towards her. "So you aren't going to throw your drink at me again?"

"The night's still young," she says with a smile.

He smiles back. "Well, welcome to my house. Not many visitors here."

"Blake gave me your address, I hear he's visited a few times."

"Yeah, it's, uh, kinda nice having friends over."

"Friends plural?"

"Yeah if that's what we are." He sits up and looks at her, waiting for her response.

Maka pauses then reaches out her hand to him. "Yeah, we can be friends."

Soul smiles and seems to relax finally, taking her hand and giving a firm shake.

Her thoughts drift back to her father again, but this time to the image of him alone in their living room. One apology down, perhaps another to go. Maybe they could be better, too. Maybe.