Note: Okay, so this was just an omake that I wrote for the wonderful Professor Maka(It's horrendously late I know I am sorry). She helped me so much with the writing process, and I'm not sure I ever would have kept up on this fic if not for her help and encouragement. Thank you Proma. Andddddd without further ado, enjoy! Rated M for sexuality.

Maka's dad made sure that I didn't get blamed for all that Damon did, and it makes me a little sick because I knew I was responsible for it and so did Spirit, but I guess I can respect the fact that he'd risk everything for the sake of an attempt at making his daughter happy. In exchange for my testimony, he makes sure that Madeline takes the fall for all the madness that Damon and I caused. Albarn looks like a real winner, a real damn hero, with that big goofy bandage across his cheek, proof of his dedication to the case. Damon is erased from existence.

And me?

I'm just the guy who's engaged to the Detective's daughter.

People at the celebratory party ask how we met, and we just grin at each other. We make up a story on the spot, some sappy romance novel shit, and they all love it, they eat it up. We're a match made in heaven, they say, and I have to choke back the laughter, bite my tongue with my nice, shiny new veneers that Wes gifted me with. An engagement present, he had said. Kissing the bride with a mouthful of jagged teeth would display poor manners. Eating her out in one of the broomclosets during the party is probably poor manners too, but she doesn't seem to mind.

That night Maka and I stay up making up stories about all the different ways we could have met. I could have met her at the Library. She could have met me at the doctor's office.

It could have been love at first sight but we didn't and it wasn't and it works.

In the morning, we make love and we know exactly who we are and exactly how we came together. Now when I touch her, I don't taint her, she purifies me.

We are opposite; she inhales my exhalations like my breath keeps her alive. She cries out my name as I sink into her, like she's finally complete, like I've made her whole, and I know she would be just fine without me, but beside her, inside her, all around her is where I belong.

She is the home I never had. Her breaths and sighs are a symphony of such beauty.

I am honored to be a part of it's creation.

The sound her skin makes when it slides against mine, the scent of her shampoo, of her arousal and mine mixed, the way her breasts heave with every thrust, her hips undulating to her very own music, it's otherworldly, yet so human. Her nails run down my back as my tongue runs up her throat, the vibrations of her voice buzzing in my mouth, her pulse tasting so, so good.

She tightens around me like a vice, silently buries her teeth in my shoulder when we come, and she and are one in the best way possible. When she kisses me, I can taste my skin on her tongue, and I realize that all of myself becomes so much better when it meets with all of her.

She doesn't let me sleep when we come down from that high, but I like that, like the way her voice gets soft and raspy after an orgasm, how her eyes get fluttery and glazed, how her lips pout naturally, swollen and tired but still smiling for me, and only me. I'll get sleep later, I know I will, because she has always been my peace from the first time we met at that meeting place of the supposedly damned.

I ask her if she wants a snack, and she says yes of course, and opening that fridge, our fridge, just about brings tears to my eyes. There's the leftovers from our engagement party, there's the stuff to make lasagna together, there's a bottle of wine unopened because I can get drunk off of her in a way that's so healthy it's almost frightening, I don't need to poison myself, not anymore.

My mouth doesn't ache.

My soul doesn't ache.

My liver doesn't ache.

This is how I know that things are going well. I have mouthful of teeth and a heart full of love and a stomach full of home cooked food.

I have a bed full of Maka and a chest full of scar tissue, proof that I survived, proof that there's a reason I'm here.

I bring a bowl of cold mashed potatoes back to bed, and she calls me gross, but takes the spoon from my tongue and scoops up some leftovers for herself, and it just makes me love her more.

She slapped that nicotine patch on me, she helped me throw away all that was left of Damon, all the cigarettes and drugs and tacky clothing; she helped me relearn who I am and who I want to become, but not the way anyone would expect. She found me, the real me, even when I couldn't, helped me remember.

She didn't change me, not exactly.

She just reminded me.

When I get bad, when I sit in one place and watch the flowers in that lovely little crystal vase my parents gave us rot and wither, she comes home from shopping with a potted orchid. She tosses out the old flowers and leaves the orchid in the shade where it thrives, gives me a kiss and drags me out of bed for a shower. She doesn't judge me for how bad I get, she just doesn't allow me to get worse.

She scrubs my sins away, my sloth, my envy, and the way it spirals in a dance as it circles the drain is hypnotic, beautiful, just like her. The cleanest I ever feel is after a shower with Maka.

I notice one day that she hardly ever says 'us' or 'we', always 'Soul and I', and the way my name rolls off her tongue stripped of all pretense, dripping with truth, is fucking glorious. 'Us' gets too hazy sometimes. She and I are whole together or apart. Knowing she chooses to be with me is the highest honor.

Sometimes when I find her staring at the ring I put on her finger like it's the greatest thing she's ever seen, I'm a little thankful to Damon for stashing away all that cash without telling me. Spring cleaning had never been more rewarding than when I crawled into my chimney and came out with enough money to marry the woman I love and find us a home to share.

She takes me back to that place underneath the railroad on night, brings enough blankets to make us a nest, pulls me down with her so we can make love howling at the moon as the train shrieks above us, rattling and whistling, screaming it's congratulations to us on making it so far from where we began. We did it.

We overcame so much to get to this one place at this exact moment, to be able to sing our love to the stars, to be so enveloped in the night and each other that everything else falls away. We earned this kind of carelessness, it's ours and no one can take it from us.

Being reckless with her doesn't come with the price of guilt or shame or apathy.

Being reckless with her means feeling the cool night air on my bare skin as she undresses me, means getting down on one knee when my stitches still tug and my mouth still aches and knowing she'll say yes, because she is Maka, and she loves me.

We get married in that church, the one where Damon found me so long ago, but he's no where to be found and I'm free. The light filters in through the stained glass and paints her pretty white dress in all colours imaginable, and I can't help but think that this is how it should be, this is who she is, she has the rage and passion of red thumping through her veins, royal purple crowning her queen of my heart, golden sun hardly doing her the justice she deserves.

Her mother doesn't show up to the ceremony, but it doesn't matter anymore, she doesn't let it drag her down the way it once would, and I'm so proud.

Blake combs his hair back for the event and wears a suit, the scars on his face almost invisible beneath the giant, ecstatic grin he sports. Tsubaki stands beside Maka glowing with joy, and Wes claps me on the back and tells me,

"I told you little brother, you'd do great things. You just needed time."

And I just feel so damned blessed. For so long the only place I had seen my path leading to was death or imprisonment. Funny how things work.

But beautiful.

That day I hear the two most important words of my life.

Maka says,

"I do."

And when she smiles at me, unguarded and radiating her love for me, I realize something monumental.

I believe her.