Starting over always sounds like a good idea in theory. Fresh start and all that. Clean slate. But it means all the old struggles now become new all over again. New people to meet, new experiences that seem vaguely familiar, and rehashing the same shit version of yourself. Reinventing yourself for a whole new group of people is way too exhausting and feels like lying when you know you'll end up spilling the beans on all the old demons in your head.

Freedom. It's the only word that comes to mind as the warm Nevada air whips around him. For the first time in a long time, a smile tugs at his lips. The motorcycle engine roars as he accelerates, flying down the street into the heart of Death City. A strange, wild feeling wells up inside, encouraging him to shout so very loud. It's not like anyone could stop him. In fact, he could just keep going. For miles and miles never stopping, just go as far as the bike will take him.

But the smile is short-lived because Wes would find him somehow. Big brother superpowers or something like that. He'd sigh and give him the Disapproving Parent look he has perfected over the last few months. It pains him to cause Wes to make such a face, especially after going through all these steps to avoid seeing it from their parents' faces. So Soul crushes the bubbling runaway thoughts and continues toward his destination.

Death City High School is not much larger than his old school back in New Haven, if the size of the building is any indication. Many of the nearby offices and businesses tower over the red-bricked, two-story school. It's hard for him to imagine that his class size could possibly match that of back home. Well, back east. Whatever.

However, the parking lot is absolutely packed as he weaves up and down aisles, looking for a good spot. Some jackass has parked his pickup truck in such a way as to take up a decent portion of four open spots. But beggars can't be choosers, and there's enough room in one of the sorta-occupied spots for Soul's motorcycle. The moment he shuts off the engine, some girl appears in front of him with hands clasped behind her back as she oogles at the vehicle.

"Cool bike. How'd you get it?"

He's caught off guard for a moment at how easily the girl can start a conversation with a stranger. Soul's voice is slightly muffled from his helmet when he answers, "Birthday present. From my dad." As well as a way to assure his mother that "Yes, I listen to and care about my son" and "No, I'm not distancing myself from the family". But he'll stick with birthday present for today as he removes his helmet and dismounts the motorcycle.

"I've never ridden one before," the girl continues, cheeks flushing a bit as she shyly glances between him and the bike. Her hand reaches up to tuck a bit of her hair behind her ear.

Is she asking for an invitation? He swallows hard. "It's, uh, fun I guess. Hopefully you can try it sometime. Gotta… get to class." Helmet under one arm, he offers a small wave and makes his way towards the school as fast as he can without coming across as running away. He swears he hears the girl huff behind him.

He also swears he hears a familiar snicker.

Shaking his head, Soul pushes through the doors of the high school and the sea of students to his assigned locker. There's no time to humor girls he has only just met when he has to honor his agreement with Wes. Get away from their parents, live on the other side of the country, and really make something of himself. Truly be successful like his older brother has always believed he could be, that's the deal.

Soul exhales sharply through his nose. Successful, right. Just like he is successfully spinning the combination lock to his locker for the third fucking time. Eventually the lock gives in and the door swings open, allowing him to place his helmet and bag inside. He rifles through his bag a moment to grab his schedule and a pencil before slamming the locker closed.

Turning back to the students, Soul feels his chest tighten. And the snickering is back again, louder this time. He feels like so many eyes are on him, like a wild animal in its cage. He closes his eyes for a moment, schedule crumpling in his hand. The snickers become full laughter, he can't breathe no matter how hard he tries, and -

A hand rests on his shoulder, startling him. He looks up to find a blonde woman with an eyepatch doing her best to smile with concern at him. Her puffy good eye catches his attention, what is left of her makeup streaked a little in the corner..

"Are you doing okay?" she asks sweetly, letting go of his shoulder. Her voice catches in her throat, but she continues after clearing her throat, "You just seemed a little lost. You're a new student to us, aren't you, Mr…?"

"E-Evans," he replies. "Soul Evans."

"Right, Mr. Evans. Well, I know new school and everything can be very overwhelming, and being late to your first class is no good. I don't mind showing you to class if you need it." She digs in her pocket for a moment for a tissue and tries to discreetly blow her nose.

"Hey, Marie," a pink haired girl waves as she makes her way to class. "What did we say about athletes?"

"'No more athletes…'" the blonde woman replies, lip trembling and eye welling up with tears. She wipes the tears away and sniffles before nodding to herself. "No, you're right, no more athletes, time to focus on just Marie for a bit!" She and the pink haired girl exchange waves goodbye, and she returns her attention back to Soul. "Sorry about that, where were we?"

"I'm really okay," he answers, like a liar. "Just kinda spaced out for a moment, but I can make it to class. You seem uh-" Tears still linger in the corner of her eye. "Seem a bit busy, yourself. I'm good, really. Uh, good luck with the…" Soul raises a hand in a half-hearted wave and, awkwardly, so goddamn awkwardly, shuffles away from Marie.

Twice. In the same day. How the hell is he supposed to adjust if he can't even hold a conversation with anyone? Instead, he just runs away. It isn't long before he finds himself seated in his Geometry class, staring out the window as the teacher goes over the syllabus, and he wonders if really running away is a real option for him.

…

"It's gotta be here," he mumbles to himself as he follows the trail of student art down a new hallway. "Art department and music are always near each other."

Sure enough, the choir room announces its presence with giant paper letters above the doorway, complete with paper music notes. A couple students looking over sheet music exit the room, and Soul slips in. The choir director is distracted, talking to other students by the piano, allowing him to sneak through the back door to what he hopes are the practice rooms.

Sure enough, every high school really is the same. The door opens to a small hallway with multiple doors, a large set at the end marked "Band" in similar paper letters to the choir room. One of the nearby doors is wide open, and he practically runs to it. The final bell has already rung, most students are already on their way home, but he doesn't need another awkward chance encounter.

Closing the door behind him, Soul drops his backpack to the floor with a thud. He eyes the upright piano for a moment before hesitantly taking a seat at the bench. Again. Always here again in front of the piano, no matter how many times he says he'll never even listen to the instrument for as long as he'll live. Maybe it's familiar and safe. Maybe it's been so ingrained in him for so many years that he'll never be able to escape it.

The fall board is open to reveal the ivory keys, and his fingers twitch, already plinking out notes against his kneecaps. The room is hardly sound-proofed. Anyone passing by would surely hear him if he played. Soul's hands reach tentatively for the keys before the door behind him opens abruptly.

His visitor looks like she belongs at the middle school. Her blonde pigtails flip into her face as she quickly surveys the room. "Have you seen a tall girl? Long black hair, baby blue shirt?" she asks him.

He shakes his head. "Sorry." She seems oddly familiar to him

Disappointment flashes on her face for a moment. "I thought she said she'd be in the practice rooms today… Oh well, sorry to bother you while you're playing."

"Wasn't playing."

The girl eyes him up and down and between him and the piano. "So you're just… hiding out in a practice room?"

"Guess you got me figured out."

"Uh huh," she replies dryly.

He can't handle the way her green eyes look him over, like she really does have him all figured out within just a few minutes of knowing him. His hands are suddenly far more interesting than their one-sided conversation.

Even with the uncomfortable silence, she doesn't leave. Instead, she shoves a hand into his line of vision. "I'm Maka. Pretty sure I saw you in my Composition class earlier."

When he meets her eyes again, she's all smiles. Before he knows it, his hand takes hers and his mouth forms the response, "Soul. Third period Comp?"

"That's the one! Not too many people with white hair like yours, so I was pretty certain it was you. Are you a new student?"

"Yeah, just moved." For once in his life he has the power of conversation, who was this girl to bestow it upon him?

"Well, welcome to Death City then. I, uh, still have to go meet my friend, so I gotta run. Maybe I can hear you play next time?"

Doubtful. Very doubtful. "We'll see."

Maka seems to accept this answer and waves goodbye. She's only gone a moment before swinging the door open once more to say, "Oh, and do me a favor? If that girl, Tsubaki, happens to come by, can you tell her I'll be at the steps outside for the next fifteen minutes?"

"Can do."

…

Wes sits in their still half-unpacked living room, leafing through a newspaper, and doesn't pop his head up when Soul lets the front door slam behind him. "How was school? Make any friends?"

Soul rolls his eyes, but still responds sarcastically, "Loads, I'm the most popular guy in school."

"That's the dream, isn't it?" Wes continues, still buried in the newspaper. "Meet any cute girls?"

This one gets no response. Soul thuds his helmet down on their tiny kitchen table and turns to head toward his bedroom when he hears Wes fold up the newspaper.

"Found something you may find interesting this morning," Wes says, standing up from the couch. He makes his way over to Soul and stops, arms crossed over his chest. "Looks like your meds found their way into the garbage. Any thoughts?"

"Weird place to put them, Wes."

"It was part of the deal, kiddo," Wes sighs. "Look I know it sucks, the whole situation sucks, but ultimately I feel you got the best deal out of it all. You get your new start far away from Mom and Dad, and all you gotta do is take your meds reliably. It's really the only thing I've asked of you so far, so can you please just…"

Silence hangs heavy in the air. Wes really has done him a solid by letting him come live with him. Taking medication really is the least he can do.

"I'm on it," Soul finally replies. "You have my word."

"I'll hold you to it, you know I will," Wes says, pointing a finger at Soul and jabbing him playfully in the chest. "Think about what you want for dinner. I got a lot done in the other rooms, but the kitchen still needs to be unboxed so I'm thinking take-out." And with that, Wes returns to his spot on the couch and picks up the newspaper.

Slowly Soul makes his way down the hallway towards his door when a bright flash of color stops him just outside the bathroom.

The orange bottle on the sink's countertop taunts him. It's all in his head, right? Something he should just be able to simply will away. He's got it under control. He isn't weak, he doesn't need the little pills to just... be.

And yet there's the snickering again.

No one else has ever mentioned it, never asked who is constantly laughing at the decisions he makes. But it's there, always, a disembodied disapproval of every action he's ever taken for as long as he can remember. And Soul isn't stupid. He knows admitting to hearing it would get him sent away to the funny farm.

So he keeps quiet and obediently takes his pills. The sound eventually stops as does the usual urge to dig into his own skin to see if that's where the source of it has been all along. And for a moment, he's just a regular teenaged disappointment, not the crazy kind.

Despite his best efforts, Wes will never understand. Everything comes easily to his older brother, including just being, apparently.

Soul eyes the garbage can once more, considering tossing the bottle again, but sighs in defeat instead and sets the pill bottle back on the countertop.

Leaving the bathroom, Soul can hear Wes talking through the slightly ajar door to the older brother's bedroom. Curiosity gets the better of him, and Soul steps closer to take a peak at Wes pacing the room with his phone up to his ear.

"Yeah, sounds like he survived the first day. Surprised you wanted to check after all the -. See that's the exact reason he doesn't want to be there, why he's here with me and -. God, Dad, for once in your life will you just shut the hell up? We're gonna do great things out here, that's the whole plan. Yeah, exactly, without your help, like you've been much help since the beginning. What? Oh no! A tunnel! No I'm sorry you're breaking up, I can't -"

Wes tosses his phone over to his unmade bed and laces his fingers behind his head, staring at the ceiling. "That kid is gonna make it. I swear to god he is."

A lump catches in Soul's throat as he takes a step back. He watches Wes a moment longer before he starts walking towards the door, at which point the younger brother rushes to his own room to hide.

Being seven years older than him, Soul never quite understands how or why Wes would want to have a relationship with him. The older brother moved out to Death City before Soul even hit puberty, he could have just continued his life away from the family and succeeded with the symphony all on his own. But instead he took Soul in, moved them to a bigger apartment, and went from bachelor to father figure overnight.

He'll never be able to thank him properly, he thinks. Not if he doesn't step up and start doing better. Tomorrow is a new day though, he thinks. A new start.

…

Soul's head thuds against the hard brick as he inhales sharply. His heart races, and his breath is shaky as he slowly releases it. Just like Wes taught him: in for four counts, out for four counts. Just breathe. He clutches the hall pass tightly in his hand and tries his best to continue counting, but the scent of smoke catches his attention.

A small trail of smoke curls around the corner of the building, and curiosity gets the better of him. Turning the corner, he spots a flash of bright blue amongst the cloud of smoke. A sputtering cough comes from within the cloud, and suddenly there is a teenaged boy standing there, cigarette between his fingers and shock of blue home dye job in his hair. The boy notices Soul and immediately drops the cigarette, stomping it out.

"Oops, how'd I get here?" the boy says, feigning innocence. "Weird smoky day, huh?"

"Relax, I'm no nark," Soul replies with a shrug.

"Oh thank god." He pulls a pack out of his pants pocket and brings another cigarette to his lips. Holding the carton out to Soul, he continues, "You look like you could use one, too."

Soul can practically hear his mother screeching at him about how disgusting a habit smoking is. But she isn't here. So hesitantly, he reaches for the carton and plucks out a single cigarette.

The boy pockets the remains of the pack and brings a lighter up to the end of his own cigarette. Fire burns the end, and he takes a drag before passing Soul the lighter. "Skipping too?"

"Something like that." Soul doesn't know if he feels up to admitting to a panic attack to a complete stranger. "You here a lot?"

"Eh, when I'm not feeling up to class I guess," the boy shrugs. He grabs his stomach and twists his face up in pain. "'Yo, Mr. B, I really don't feel good, I gotta go to the nurses office asap!' Gets em every time," he cackles, relaxing and taking another drag of his cigarette. He holds a fist out to Soul. "Name's Blake Barrett. Junior."

Soul pauses but eventually taps his fist against Blake's. "Soul Evans, I'm a sophomore."

"Dude, your name is actually 'Soul'?" Blake sputters through a coughing fit.

Soul takes a long drag from his cigarette while Blake composes himself and shrugs. "Mom and the old man couldn't decide on a name I guess. I think she decided on 'Soul' to piss him off though."

Blake slaps him on the back just as he takes another drag, causing Soul to start coughing this time. "Very cool, bro, very cool name indeed."

A grin tugs at Soul's lips, but he does his best to cover it with his hand as he takes a deep breath and rights himself. "Yeah. Cool."

Blake drops the remains of his cigarette and stomps it out. "Well my good bitch, time to run to the old locker for some deo and back to class for me. Always welcome to the spot as long as you don't tell anyone else."

"Appreciate it," Soul replies, raising his cigarette in a "thank you" gesture. "See you 'round?"

"Definitely!"

Blake disappears back in the building, leaving Soul with a half-smile and half a cigarette. He's familiar with the feeling of friendship, it's not like he's been a loner his whole life. Another drag. There's no snickering this time though, and for the first time in a long time, hope fills his chest. He could be normal. He could do this.

"Yeah… Cool."