Soul nudged the empty bottle with his toe and watched it topple over, the sound of glass rolling over stone echoing through the cavernous wine cellar. He grinned lazily at the noise, head swimming from the copious amount of alcohol he had consumed. It was their wedding night, and he was drinking, because he should have known it was too good to be true. Just the other day, he recalled fuzzily, he had been happy. He had been so, so deliriously happy, because of Maka. Because he thought she actually, by some miracle, cared for him. And then it all came tumbling down.

"I suppose you'll be glad when this is over," she'd said. He cocked his head to the side slightly, brow furrowing at the statement.

"When what's over?"

"All of this. The wedding, everything." Her hand circled in the air to encompass all the pomp and circumstance surrounding the event.

He chuckled. "I'll definitely be happier when there aren't so many people around, that's for sure."

Now it was Maka's turn to furrow her brow. "That's not what I meant. Won't you be glad to get it over with? It's just another obligation."

"Just another…? Oh. Right, of course," he said, barely managing to mask the sudden bitterness in his voice. "An obligation." Because of course that's all it is, he thought. All he is to her is just another obligation, and nothing more.

He rose suddenly to leave, shaking off Maka's hand as it caught his wrist. "I'll see you at the wedding," he said, voice heavy as he walked away. He should have known.

Soul leaned his head back against the cold stone wall, closing his eyes as the pleasant fuzz of drunkenness continued to further obfuscate his thoughts. He knew he would have to face her in the morning with some excuse for his actions. Because he sure as hell couldn't tell her the truth. Groping blindly for the second bottle of wine he'd opened that night, he tilted his head back and drank.

Maka paced across the floor of her – no, their bedroom, a mixture of annoyance and worry flooding through her at every step. As soon as they'd returned to the Evans estate after the wedding, Soul had practically sprinted off somewhere in the bowels of the enormous building, and she didn't know why. Surely her company wasn't that terrible? She knew that he hadn't enjoyed the wedding, even less so the reception that followed. Entertaining people wasn't something he enjoyed, a fact she'd learned early on. But his outward discomfort had started even earlier. Right around… oh. Of course.

She had attempted to engage him in conversation to take his mind off the ordeal of their impending nuptials, knowing full well that he wasn't too thrilled to be up in front of so many people. But she'd tripped over her tongue and over her own insecurities, and it was as if her words had shattered his façade of pleasantry. She wasn't sure what she'd said wrong. Even if she had fallen head over heels for her betrothed, she had been certain he had only seen it as an obligation and nothing more. No matter how much she wished otherwise. Maka supposed he had done an excellent job at pretending to like her up until that point, though, even if the reminder of their duty had derailed it. She sighed. Even though Soul likely wouldn't welcome her presence, she still felt slightly duty-bound to locate him anyway.

Soul squinted into the slowly lifting gloom between the wine racks, wine-fogged brain struggling to inform him that there was a light coming his way. It was accompanied by soft footsteps. He wondered why that could be. Because his parents wouldn't care he was down here, and Maka didn't like him, and her dad REALLY didn't like him. Which left only him in the house. And since he was sitting on the floor, he couldn't be out looking for his own self. Or could he…?

Losing the struggle against that particular thought, Soul looked up at the person to whom both the light and the footsteps belonged. It looked a lot like Maka. He wrinkled his nose at her, because he was pretty sure she wasn't real. He figured it was important that he informed her of that.

"You're not real," he said imperiously, pointing a finger somewhere in the direction of her left shoulder. He'd meant to point at her face, but his arm was being stubbornly disobedient tonight. Stupid arm.

Not-Real Maka frowned. "Of course I'm real. And you," she continued, nudging an empty bottle with her toe, "are extremely drunk. Let's get you to bed, okay?"

Soul shook his head at her. "No, can't do that. B'cause Maka's probably sleeping already, 'n I'm fine on the floor," he slurred.

"Look, Soul, you need to get to bed, okay?" His stunningly realistic hallucination of his new bride put out her hand to help him rise. Instead, he tugged her down to the floor with him. She let out a squeak of surprise at her sudden change in altitude before landing partially on his lap. She scurried quickly off of him, a mortified blush creeping up her cheeks. Soul sort of wished she'd stayed sitting on top of him. Not-Maka was a lot warmer than he'd thought she'd be, for a drunken hallucination. Almost as nice as the real thing.

"Mmm, stay down here for a bit," he murmured, leaning over until his head rested comfortably on her shoulder. He would never be allowed to do this by the light of day, he knew. Both because of etiquette, and because his bride would never allow it. He thought that Not-Maka should know this as well, since she seemed convinced that she was real. He told her so.

"Real Maka wouldn't let me do this, probably. Put a book in my head if I tried. That's how I know you're fake," he informed her.

Maka twisted around in shock to stare at her husband of barely twelve hours. The sudden motion dislodged his head from her shoulder, and he fell into her lap. He chuckled, the warm sound slightly distorted by the alcohol he'd consumed.

"Real Maka would DEFINITELY kill me for doing this," he said, gesturing vaguely to indicate his current position on her lap.

Giving up the cause of convincing her drunken spouse that she was, in fact, real, Maka sighed. "No, she wouldn't."

"'S okay, Fake Maka. I know you're lying. She'd never let me, never ever in a million years." Soul sounded almost mournful at the end of his statement, and Maka's curiosity was piqued. Soul seemed like a chatty kind of drunk – maybe he'd elaborate if she asked him. She tried to tamp down the flicker of hope that sprung up in her chest at the implications of his statement.

"Why would you say that?" she asked, trying for a casual tone.

"She doesn't like me," he replied promptly, melancholy tone still present in his voice. "Not really. I'm just an oblil- an obbla- an ob…" He frowned at his unruly tongue, clearly willing it to cooperate.

Maka frowned. "An obligation?"

"Yep," he said, popping the 'p'. "She said so this morning. Maka hates lying, so I know it's true," he added conversationally. Maka's heart sank. She knew exactly what he was talking about.

A few moments passed in silence. Maka stared down at the head of fluffy white hair resting on her thigh, wondering if Soul would mind her touching it. She'd always wondered what it would feel like. Feeling him shift slightly on her lap, Maka turned her attentions back down to him.

"Hey, Fake Maka?" Soul asked, voice tentative in the semidarkness.

"Mmm?"

"Can I tell you something?"

Maka blinked. "Of course, Soul. Whatever you want."

He appeared to weigh the risks and consequences of whatever it is he was trying to say, before seemingly making up his mind.

"I'm glad you said so. Because I definitely can't say this to Real Maka. She would probably hate me, or leave, or something. And that would be…" He appeared to struggle for the correct adjective for a moment, before settling on one and continuing. "Bad. Really bad."

Maka frowned, wondering what secret Soul was about to divulge that could possibly be so bad as to cause her to leave.

"Promise you won't tell her?" he begged, voice plaintive.

"Of course not," she reassured him, curiosity burning in the pit of her stomach.

He sighed in relief. "Good."

Soul rolled over and snuggled his face into her thigh as if it were a pillow, mumbling something incomprehensible. Saved from the embarrassment of her scarlet blush by the dim lighting, Maka prodded him in the cheek with the tip of her finger.

"What was that?" she asked, trying to keep her voice light. He was going to impart a deep dark secret to her, he couldn't just mumble it into her le–

"I love you," he repeated, words articulated as clearly as could be managed with his advanced stage of drunkenness.

Maka froze.

Soul frowned up at her as he felt her body stiffen beneath him. Great. Even Fake Maka didn't really like him.

"See? This is why I told you not to tell Real Maka about this. This is exactly why. 'Cept she'd react worse, I think."

He started to pull away from the warmth of his hallucination's lap. She wrapped her arms around him instead, pulling him back down into a tight embrace, tucking her face into the crook of his neck.

"I love you too," she murmured quietly, still holding him tightly. He could feel her lips feathering across the side of his neck as she spoke, and he smiled sadly.

"I'll take what I can get, I guess," he murmured back. "Even if it's from my own imagination."

They remained in that embrace for a few minutes as Soul's breathing slowed, the wine taking its final toll as drowsiness crept over him. The last thing he remembered before he slipped into blackness was a pair of small, strong hands gently stroking through his hair.

When Soul woke up the next morning, the first thing he noticed was a splitting headache. The second thing was the grey stone walls of the wine cellar. The third thing was the press of Maka's slight form as she dozed on top of him, her head pillowed on his shoulder.

Piecing together the events of the previous night, Soul groaned and immediately regretted it as his headache spiked once again. Shit. Shit shit shit he had gotten wasted and she'd come to get him and he'd told her, holy mother of god he'd told her, and now she was probably going to hate him and –

His thoughts stilled as she stirred against his arm, emerald eyes blinking up at him in the dimness. The candle that she'd brought had long since guttered out. Hastily attempting to slide away from her, half-articulated apologies tumbled out over each other in quick succession. She halted them with a single finger over his lips and a frown.

"Soul Evans, you do not even know how annoyed I am at you for your behavior last night." The no-nonsense tone in her voice was one he'd come to learn meant 'pay attention or die', and he cringed.

"Sorry," he mumbled. When he'd started drinking last night, he'd been under the impression that he couldn't possibly feel any worse than he did right then. The combination of a splitting headache and the spikes of dejection currently dominating his emotional range at the moment begged to differ.

Maka sighed, rising gracefully to her feet before offering him her arm. He pulled himself onto his feet with her help, rubbing his temples firmly to try and abate his headache.

"Let's get you cleaned up," she said, a fond smile creeping onto her face.

Odd, he thought to himself. After what he'd said and done last night, all of which she'd presumably heard (and some of the details of which currently escaped him), why would she be smiling at him?

He puzzled this out in silence all the way up to their room, although by some miracle they encountered neither the house staff nor their parents. As they separated, Soul to the washroom and Maka to her boudoir, her smile expanded into an absolutely radiant grin.

"Oh, and I love you too, you know," she said cheerfully, before walking out of view and leaving Soul standing somewhat shell-shocked in her wake. A slow grin crept over his features, exposing pointed teeth in a smile to match her own. It stayed there for the rest of the day.