A/N- Well folks, it's Reverb time again! I've another fic in the pipeline for the end of the month, but first, for your delectation, a little SoMa/JacKim collaboration between Professor Maka and myself! This year we were writing for the ever-talented Lunai Legends. The cover art is a sample of her artwork this fic was based on, and I will link to the rest of it on my blog as soon as it becomes available, so stay tuned for that!

The first chapter of this story is Professor Maka's work, and the second chapter (still in the process of undergoing final edits) will be posted once I'm off work this evening.

He hates working kiddy rides-it's why he'd volunteered for mascot duty anyway-yet he still finds himself loading yet another snot-nosed drooler into a mini race car for a go around. It's even his break, damn it, but it's not her break, and he'd do anything for extra time with his girlfriend, up to and apparently including wasting his would be down time working.

When Maka grins at his return to the control booth, flipping the go switch with a "thanks, Soul," he decides it's worth it. Her fuschia work uniform is eye searing, but the skirt so short it's probably illegal in 9 countries makes it his favorite thing ever. No one should have legs that long, and he's eager for when their shifts are over and he might (oh please) actually get to touch them again.

Soul is about to maybe, possibly lean to steal a little peck on the mouth or cheek-he's not picky-because while they've been friends forever and roommates for two years, the whole dating thing is shiny and new, had begun a bare two weeks ago with an unintentional slip of the tongue on his part, a very intentional confession on hers, and lots of mutual slips of the tongue shortly after that still made his stomach feel sick and giddy just to remember-when she whips to the side and huffs.

"They're at it again. Gross."

Who what, now?

He must look surprised, because she takes a hand up to his cheek to steer his gaze, and he's not about to protest when it feels so warm.

His eyes flicker and flounder for what's got her snickering and muttering gross again as she removes her hand, but then he spots what she's talking about and rolls his own eyes.

Kim Diehl runs a string of three game booths across the way and is sitting up on the side of the counter in the middle booth, legs crossed and barely concealing whatever is under her own too short skirt, not that Soul really cares. The girl had hit on him early on in their work days and he had run to Maka for cover every damn time. Until, that is, he'd figured out that hitting on everything that moved was her cover and they'd all become something like friends. Sort of. More like Maka's friends, but whatever.

Predictably, Jackie Dupree is standing next to Kim, facing her, one hand on an overexposed thigh. Definitely gross. "Can't they keep it in the bedroom?" he groused, mostly for Maka's benefit.

"But Soul, they aren't dating." Maka's eyeroll is epic and Soul snorts.

"Shyeah, just like Blondie and the Nutty Professor aren't going at it like fucking rabbits every damn day in the business office. I feel sorry for whichever shmo has to clean that jizzfest."

"Gross, Soul." The punch to the arm isn't exactly unexpected, nor is the snicker. "And Hiro cleans it. You do not want to know what he told me he found last week."

He might have been jealous-Hiro has a clear and present thing for Maka, has even asked her out a few times-but Maka is his girlfriend-his girlfriend--and Soul knows she's not interested. Instead, he says, "try me."

"Okay, don't say I didn't warn you, but speaking of jizzfest, he found like six used condoms at the top of the garbage. Six. And I guess he'd already emptied it that morning. Six." They engage in mutual gagging noises for a moment before Maka adds, "But they 'aren't dating' either."

Of course they aren't. No one is, including Soul and Maka-it's against company policy.

Soul is about to suggest that Stein owns this shitshow and could change the policy if he really wanted to, but Maka interrupts the thought with a little "oh" and flips the switch to the ride. The kids have gotten triple time, but there isn't really a line, so it's not like it matters.

Soul goes off to help the grubby little monsters off like the dutiful boyfriend he is, helping on the few kids left in line before returning to the booth. The kiss on the cheek he gets surprises him, but before he can try to wrangle it into more, she leans against the control panel, looking thoughtful.

"You know, though, I wonder how that even works."

"Huh?" Somewhere between the ride change and the cheek kiss, he's totally lost her train of thought.

"Stein and Marie. He's just so big and she's so not and-" she's red, intriguingly so, and it clicks "-well, it seems like that wouldn't be much fun for her, I guess."

The fact she's theorizing sex between their bosses makes him feel like he might lose the granola bar he'd shoved down for breakfast that morning, but she sounds so thoughtful that he knows there's more to it. Stein is tall and gangly and Marie is tiny. But Soul is also tall and gangly, not quite Stein tall but close enough, and Maka is also tiny, though strong enough to hand him his ass easily, and the wheels in his head click into place as he realizes that she's talking about their bosses, but she's really talking about them.

They haven't had sex. He's never had sex with anyone, he knows she hasn't either, and so far, they've only kissed and groped a little, and yet, she's already thinking five steps beyond.

Maka thinks too much when she's not thinking too little, not jumping in feet first, and he really doesn't want to blow off her concern because, fuck it all, he really wants to get where her mind is going someday sooner than later, but only when she's ready for that if she's ready for that because he loves her too damn much not to put her first, always, no matter how much her legs make him want to get down on his knees and weep for joy, and just, fuck. He doesn't have answers, but he's seen a porn or five and it always works out just peachy. It's not gonna be a problem, he thinks.

"I'm-pretty sure she likes it based on how often she lets him, and uh, the noises she makes-'cause we've all heard them, shut up." He's red and scratching the back of his neck furiously. "Plus, uh, lube is a thing, and foreplay, and yeah." He's not just red, can't be, he's gotta be nuclear, a glowing beacon of mortification, and he wants to bury his head in a hole and die, but he needs to assuage her fears, so here he is, an ball of embarrassment, regret, and distant longing.

"How do you know?" Her eyes narrow dangerously.

His own eyes reach for the ceiling, something between sarcasm and lord please help me keep my sacred bits intact. "Okay, I know you know I've watched porn before, and you've met my brother-you know, the one with the big fucking mouth who gets around? So yeah."

She breathes a sigh and relaxes and he breathes his own sigh. "That makes sense, I guess. Plus she must really, really like it. Six, Soul. How did she even walk later?" She makes a face. "So gross."

"Yup," he agrees. "Totally nasty."

His break should have been done ten minutes ago, so he takes his leave with that thought and can't help but to think he wouldn't mind using six condoms with her.

An hour later, he's pretty much ready to die.

It's sweltering under the Nevada sunshine, which is bad enough stuck in this god awful bear suit that smells like old cheese and rotting feet, but now he has Math Class stuck to him as close, gross, and unwanted as the sweat on his balls. No, check that, more gross and unwanted than the sweat on his balls-at least that came from him and is trying to keep him cool, whereas Math Class is just annoying. She laughs, high pitched and irritating as she grabs his forearm over the suit and squeezes familiarly. She keeps smacking her gum as she chatters at him uselessly, her high pitched giggles making him wish he could spork out his own ears. He wants to shake her off or curse her out, because has this girl never heard of personal space? But he has a job to do, so he just rolls his eyes from within the obscurity the bear head mask affords and says nothing.

"It's just so great you work here when I was thinking of applying!" Math Class gushes. "Wouldn't it be awesome to see each other everyday? So much better than boring math, right?"

Actually, Soul would gladly take a thousand years of Professor Azusa droning on about imaginary numbers over this slow torture. He shrugs, but Math Class doesn't take the hint and just clings more tightly. She must have a name, but he'll be damned if he can remember it, and he doesn't care enough to ask. The girl had been annoying with her giggles and small talk then, and she's worse now, and Soul just wants her to go the fuck away already so he can talk to Maka. Dressed in a pink sundress, red hair in immaculate curls, Soul wouldn't be surprised if she's head of some snooty sorority. She certainly reminds him of the girls he went to highschool with, and she definitely looks out of place among the unwashed masses of the carnival. Does she really expect to get a job here of all places?

He looks around, searching desperately for an escape route-any escape route-and spots his former roommate Blake "Black Star" Barrett stumbling out of the funhouse holding an enormous stuffed bear. He's dressed in his street clothes, being off today, the garish yellow "Locked and Loaded" muscle tee bright in the afternoon sun. The stuffed thing he holds looks creepy as fuck, truth be told, but Soul will take any excuse to remove the barnacle on his arm, so he makes a beeline for Blake, who whoops and sprints to meet him in the midst of the usual mid afternoon carnival crowd. "Soul my man! You'll never believe what I found, it's a-"

"Souuuulie!" The girl, who still had his arm in a vice grip, whines, her very voice so near making Soul cringe within the confines of the suit. "Who-is this?" Math Class looks down her nose at Blake.

"This!" Black Star pounds his chest indignantly. "Is your fucking God, peasant, and you ought to learn to bow before me! Also, you shouldn't interrupt a fucking deity when he's speaking to his most loyal-shiiiit, gotta go, catch you later, Brogi Bear, byeeeee!"

As quickly as he had come, Blake is gone, and Soul notices two figures emerging from the funhouse, oddly dressed in black, hooded coats obscuring them, who seem to follow after him, but doesn't have the energy to think on the antics of his friend as he swelters in his own bear suit of perpetual doom and rancidness. Black Star will be Black Star. Soul also has zero attention for the girl tugging at his arm and pressing herself against the side of his suit because he spots a head of hair shining golden in the sunlight along with a pair of wide green eyes. Maka! If anyone can get Math Class to disentangle from where she has practically sewn herself to his arm, it's his no bullshit girlfriend. Before he can wave her over, though, said girlfriend makes an inhuman screech, working her jaw uselessly for a moment before turning on her heel to storm away, leaving Soul gaping after her in confusion.

"Fuck," he breaks character to speak and tries to ignore the woman covering her kid's ears as she glares his way. Maka would definitely punch him in the arm, hard, if she had heard him, but she's already stormed off the gods knew where, leaving Soul alone to deal with his personal cling-on. "Break time, gotta go!"

He shakes her off his arm forcefully, but she's following close on his heels. "Oh, great, maybe we can do something! Like-" Fortunately, he's close to an employee changing area and through the entrance before she can finish, the door slamming shut in her face with a thud that is as satisfying as it is relieving. He actually is overdue for a break-another perk of mascot duty is you can only do it for so long without time out of the suit. Soul strips off the suit that smells more like skunk than bear, because damn, and makes for the opposite entrance, hoping this will assure he loses Math Class in the switch.

For once, his luck holds. The redhead is nowhere to be seen and Soul raises the hood of his sweatshirt in an attempt to hide his distinctive hair. Maka might be on break, but he's hoping she isn't and that maybe he can convince her to take one now.

The line to her ride is mercifully empty as he approaches-another stroke of luck-and he comes up with a wide smile.

"Heeeeey," he says casually,

"Hay is for horses, Soul. Now go away, I'm busy."

"Yeah." He looks to the deserted line with an eyeroll. Maka is clearly pissed at him and he doesn't get it. He hasn't done a damn thing to piss her off. "You're clearly slammed. Look, come on break with me, I'll buy you a float and tell you about what Black Star-"

"I'm busy!" she hisses. "Maybe you can buy that cute redhead a float. Now go away, I've got a customer." She glares at him then turns a thousand megawatt smile onto a woman and her little boy, holding a balloon in his grubby, chubby hands, letting the boy through the gate and helping him onto the ride before returning to the control booth to flip the go switch.

So that's it. She thinks he's-what-into Math Class of all people? Absurd. And yet, getting her to see that will be like pulling teeth with her inherent distrust of all things with a penis. Not for the first time, Soul feels like punching a certain redheaded middle aged manwhore in his over-botoxed face.

"Maka," his voice is calm, even, as soothing as he can manage through anxiety and confusion and downright fear of losing her over something so petty and wrongheaded. "Go on break with me, we should-"

"I already wasted my break looking for your stupid ass, now leave me alone!" she practically screams, causing the mom watching her kid make the rounds of the ride to look up in concern.

Guilt stabs Soul, irrationally, uselessly, and he mutters, "sorry," as he backs away. Doubt claws at him, fear sending poison tendrils into his heart, his soul. Maka is just so angry, and he doesn't know what to do, how to fix it when he hasn't actually done anything.

He walks aimlessly through the carnival, feeling like he's missing a limb or maybe his heart, and hoping that Math Class chokes on her own gum.

A/N part deux- Stay tuned for the conclusion in about... oh, eight hours or so, once I'm free from the grasping clutches of customer service hell!