"There are worse ways to meet someone," Soul says as Maka stares into her orange juice. "It's not that bad."

The glare she gives him is morose and half-hearted. "Then why are you laughing at me?"

"I'm not laughing at you, I'm just in a good mood."

She snorts and goes back to staring at her juice. "If he had come in a minute earlier, he would have met me in your bed."

"See, that would have been much worse," he points out. A slight blush does burn in his face at the reminder that he had asked Maka to sleep in his bed while he had been stuck in his nightmare hangover. "Thank you for staying, by the way."

The mortification on Maka's face clears and she plays with the straw in her glass. "There's nothing to thank me for." She glances up at him. "Do you remember what we talked about?"

"Nightmares tend to be a black-out," he answers, shaking his head. He notices the way her expression falls. "Was it something important?"

Maka answers too quickly. "No, just small talk."

Wes enters the kitchen as Soul starts to speak. His hair is still damp from his shower and he is dressed much more formally than he usually dresses as he takes the chair between Soul and Maka.

He offers a bright smile to Maka, who looks like she wants a hole to open up and swallow her. "Now that we're all here, how about some breakfast?"

For all of the time that separated the Wes of her original life and the Wes that currently sits in front of Maka, he is remarkably the same. He adopts Maka in the length of time it takes for them to walk over to the cafe she and Soul eat at every morning and doesn't seem concerned in the slightest that Soul opened up his apartment to someone who, for him, is a complete stranger.

"I'm not surprised that Soul never told me a thing," he says, jabbing his fork into a piece of a pancake. "But for Black Star to not have said a word about you is truly amazing."

"I promised to take over his shifts whenever he wanted for the next three months," mutters Soul, who is now the one who gets to be mortified. "And if you have a question, there is the option of asking me first."

"There are many questions buried in your voicemail," Wes informs him lightly. "And you know patience isn't my strong suit when it comes to my little brother." To Maka, he says, "Though I can say I see why Soul has been ignoring me-"

"Wes!" Soul's face is a shade of red she has never seen before.

"I only speak the truth, little brother."

"Can the truth be a little more silent?"

His and Soul's banter is also remarkably the same, Maka observes as they go back and forth. Soul doesn't quite come alive like how he did back then but his soulbeat is much more stable in Wes' presence.

It stands in sharp contrast with the sliver of his soul that isn't covered by the black blood.

Maka's smile fades and she shivers in spite of the baking desert sun. She's mostly given up on finding anything useful but a half-formed plan has been floating around in her head ever since she saw Soul disappear into a ball of black blood in a past life.

There is no magical precedent for it, however, and if it fails, the chances of her dying are more than likely.

Maka's eyes trace Soul as Wes leans over to ruffle his hair in a gesture that is all too familiar. She wraps her arms around herself and suppresses another shiver.

She would have to hope it was enough.

"So when should I start planning for the wedding?" Wes asks after Maka goes to her room.

The look that Soul throws at Wes is ruined by the blush spreading from his neck to his face. He fidgets in his chair-he's not sure how he forgot the joy Wes takes in making him flustered but he dislikes the fact intensely. "We are friends."

"You are swimming in a river of denial and I am here to fish you out." Even after a day of roaming around Death City, Wes hair is still as flawless as it was in the morning and Soul decides he dislikes that too. "Overlooking the bed-sharing," Wes says as he ticks off a finger, "You've let her live with you for a month, which is saying something considering I can't even get a call back."

"She had nowhere to go-"

"Secondly," Wes continues like he was never interrupted. "You've started showing her how to ride your motorcycle."

"Is it my fault that she was curious?"

"No, but never offering to teach me is."

Soul crosses his arms. "Do you have a point in this or are you just listing out your grievances with me?"

"Possibly both," Wes answers. "Third," he says, wiggling three fingers at him, "You invited her to Marie's baby shower."

He has to think for a moment about that one and scowls when he comes up with nothing. "Are you done playing this game yet?"

"Not until I win." Wes' eyes gleam before he speaks again. "Maka told me about the kiss."

Soul gapes and then he narrows his eyes at Wes. "Did she tell you or did you force it out of her?"

"We were just talking and I had a few questions," Wes says in a tone that is far too innocent. His eyes soften. "She cares about you."

Wes leans in curiously as Soul's heart flips. "How do you feel about her?"

He hesitates. "Sometimes I feel like I've known her for a long time."

"That's adorable."

"It's just going to make her one more person I'll disappoint."

Frowns are rare for Wes but he wears one now. "Have you talked to her about everything?"

He shakes his head. "She's already seen enough."

"And she still hasn't left." Wes brightens. "That's a good sign."

Soul lifts his shoulder in a shrug. "Maybe."

Talking to Maka about his very public breakdown is unearthing a wound he's not sure he ever wants to see the light of day; confronting it means forcing himself to finally give his life some direction after floating aimlessly in the ruins of his life for a year.

Soul forces himself to ask the question that's been looming in his head all day. "How are they?"

"I haven't spoken to them since they tried to see me in Europe." Wes' mouth twists. "But they still call so fine, I assume."

Soul hadn't expected Wes' solidarity to run so deep that he'd ignore their parents after he rescued Soul from the psych ward but Wes is a far better brother than he deserved.

If Soul could be certain that his nightmares and hallucinations wouldn't follow him, he'd consider letting Wes take him to the therapist he mentions occasionally and telling Maka everything. But doing that is an inherent promise that'll he get better and he can't handle the responsibility of keeping that promise, being a person and continuing to rot from the inside out at the same time.

"Returning to the important things," Wes says, pulling Soul out of his thoughts. He faces him with a serious look on his face. "Do you want an indoor or outdoors wedding?"

When Soul wipes down the mirror after his shower the next morning, it is not his reflection looking back at him.

A version of himself does stare back at him, lifting his hand as Soul does and leaning close when he comes close to the mirror. The Soul in the mirror is washed out in a dull grey, from his skin to his clothes.

Except for his eyes. Those are a shiny, liquid black.

Soul stares at the not-Soul, fingers grazing against glass as he touches the mirror. "Who are you?"

At his words, the darkness in the not-Soul's eyes begins to bleed, flowing down in his face in rivulets. His mouth opens in a silent scream and more blood begins to trickle from his lips. It doesn't take long before he is completely covered in the black blood; the blood continues to flow, however, not dripping onto the ground but enveloping into a bubble that solidifies when he is fully consumed.

Soul watches in silence, paralyzed. He wants to move but when he does, it is back to the mirror. The ball of black blood disappears when he touches the mirror again, leaving him with his reflection.

But when he pulls his hand away, his fingertips are stained with inky black.

Clouds begin moving across the sky as Wes pulls up to the iron gates of Kid's manor, wind a dull roar as Wes rolls down his window and presses the button shaped like a doorbell on the intercom in front of the gates.

"This is fancy," he comments as the gates swing open. They pass by a row of hedges shaped like coffins as the car moves slowly onto the gravel driveway. "And eccentric but then again all rich people are."

"Kid's father used to run a mortuary," Soul says, ignoring the nervous thrumming of his heart.

"Did he?" Wes says interestedly. "I wonder if he took care of Grandpa when he died."

"I wouldn't ask." The ticking of his heart moves to Soul's hands and he holds them together to keep them from shaking. He feels like he's underwater, a side effect of the anxiety attack induced by seeing the not-Soul in the mirror, but something else lingers in his veins and hides at the back of his mind.

Something waiting for him.

Out of all the thoughts and ideas brought about by his nightmares and hallucinations, this one is by far the oddest, something that would make even Wes look at him strangely.

The feeling chafes like a rock in his shoe, harsher and sharper than it would be if he hadn't been slowly pulling himself out of the dregs of existential indifference.

Someone calls his name softly as the car comes to a stop in front of the valet waiting for them on the stairs leading up to the manor. It takes him too long to focus on Maka's face, grounding himself in the green of her eyes. Her voice sounds distant and muffled, even though she's sitting next to him. "Are you okay?"

Running isn't an option and withdrawing will turn him into an aloof, sullen fixture in the nearest corner of the room so he adopts the mask that he crafted during years of social gatherings. "I'm fine," he says, straightening. "Got lost in my thoughts for a moment."

He knows she doesn't believe but Soul doesn't give her the chance to respond, getting out of the car.

Kid is the one who greets them at the door of the manor, dressed in a formal suit.

"I feel underdressed," Wes whispers after Soul introduces them and Kid leads them through the manor to the ballroom.

Kid, whose sense of hearing is almost supernatural, speaks. "As the host, it is my duty to uphold the highest standards of hospitality."

Wes gives him a small salute. "Commendable."

Soul loses track of the conversation as they enter the ballroom. Everything is too bright and too sharp on his eyes, an uncomfortable heat crawling up the back of his neck. Whatever is lurking in his head keens as his gaze falls on the crowd across the room. He can already see the shadows peeling from the walls and he nearly runs out then and there but he is aware of Maka's eyes on him and he exhales shakily.

A hand slips into his and Maka looks up at him like she can read his thoughts. He wonders why she doesn't run screaming.

"I'm here, okay?"

There's more comfort in her touch but still he nods, holding tightly to her hand.

SEPARATE

After greeting Marie and Stein, Wes detaches himself from Soul and Maka to go greet friends he hasn't seen since he left to Europe.

Soul glances around as much as he can without looking on the shadows, which proves impossible since they've attached themselves to the guests. Their whispers join the buzz of the room and his nails bite into the hand that isn't holding Maka's. He looks back to Marie, who smiles warmly at Maka.

"It is good to finally meet you," she says, hand going to her stomach. "I would have gone down to the shop before but I melt whenever I go outside."

Maka offers Marie a slightly nervous smile of her own. "You're ready for the baby to be born then."

"A baby is a blessing but pregnancy is hell," answers Marie in a low voice as she smoothes the skirt of her sundress, which is a few shades darker than her blonde hair. "Frankly, I could have done without all of this," she says, tilting her head to the ballroom. "But Kid insisted and since the apartment is too small for more than us half of the time, it was hard to say no."

"I could have also done without seeing our former friends." She glances to where Stein stands a short distance away with the group of doctors who had abandoned him after he surrendered his license. Stein seems completely at ease with them, however, along with being the only person in the room wearing a party hat.

As she speaks, a shadow, floats down on Marie's shoulder, no bigger than a baby. The heat that burns under Soul's skin blazes hotter.

As one of his former tutors, Marie knows his tells better than even Stein and Soul interrupts, holding up the gift Wes had bought from Europe. "Where can I put this?"

Marie's hair bleeds black as she points across the room to a table already full of presents. Maka makes to follow him but he shakes his head, letting go of her hand. "You can talk, I'll just be a minute."

She frowns, but Marie is already moving to the next topic, and she turns back to her reluctantly.

His vision tilts as Soul walks across the room and he squeezes his eyes shut when he makes it to the table, though it does nothing to dull the shadows' whispers. It takes all of his concentration to find a place to set the gift on the table, though his work is ruined when a hand claps his shoulder and he sends several gifts falling to the ground.

"Didn't see that coming." Black Star's hair, slicked back but still bright blue, is the first thing Soul sees as he crouches down hastily and begins picking up gifts.

Soul snorts and pushes away the wave of dizziness that sweeps through him as he takes the gifts that Black Star hands him. "How are you liking the party?"

Black Star sniffs, standing up with the last gift that fell. "I thought Kid was stuffy but he's a breath of fresh air compared to everyone else. I can't wait to see what they do with the pizza."

"Probably ask for forks and knives," says Soul. "But I thought Stein was here all morning though."

Black Star waggles the shop keys in front of his face. "I earned back my oven rights," he answers proudly. "Made all the pizzas myself."

"I'll send my compliments to the chef when I try the pizza."

"Hello, Black Star." Wes appears out of nowhere, slinging an arm around Soul's shoulder. His smile is wide but strained. "Can I have a moment with my darling little brother?"

Dark spots appear in Soul's vision, the soft plink of a piano key echoing in his ear. He has no time to dwell on them as Wes steers him away.

He blinks, attempting to hold onto reality. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Wes says in a voice that is too casual. "I just saw some people I didn't want to talk to and thought I'd keep you company."

"Who?"

When Wes doesn't answer, he tries to pull away from his grasp. "Who?"

His brother stops them next to Marie and Maka, who are still chatting, sighing before he points towards the entrance of the ballroom.

Soul's head clears as his gaze falls on their parents.

SEPARATE

During dinner, Wes keeps up most of the talk at their table, which comprises of him, Soul and Maka.

"I feel personally robbed that we didn't get any games," he is saying when Soul tunes into the conversation. "It's the whole reason I came back from Europe."

Soul lets the fog in his head sweep over him again, continuing to shred a pepperoni from his pizza. He hadn't allowed himself to picture what his parents would do when they saw him again but nothing outdoes any expectations he might have had subconsciously.

They sit just within his line of vision but it takes much effort to turn his head away; both Stein and Wes had offered to ask him to leave but he had simply shrugged.

Maka, who sits beside him, speaks softly in his ear. "I don't know what happened," she says. "But it's okay to be angry."

His shoulders lift in another shrug. "I'm not mad," he tells her, neglecting to say he doesn't feel anything at all. He'd chalk it up to the apathy he's been wallowing in but it feels different-seeing his parents had awakened a realization in him, though he can't quite catch hold of it yet.

When toasts begin, his father is the first to volunteer, which doesn't surprise Soul. He still looks the same as Soul remembers him, which had been when the ambulance came for him. Neither he nor his mother had visited Soul during the week he had been stuck in the hospital.

It had confused him until the third day, when he realized they didn't mean to visit.

A song begins to play as his father starts to speak, static popping every so often as it was being played from a record player. Soul doesn't look up to see if anyone else hears it nor starts when the demon materializes onto the table, grinning as it snaps to the piece Soul was playing when the demon first appeared and he had subsequently lost his mind.

The thing that lies in the back of his mind stirs to life as his father finishes and the discordant smashing of keys brings the song to an abrupt close. He does wince a bit at the screams that follow, a scratch on a record that repeats over and over.

Soul is unusually calm as he rises from the table, however. "I need to get some fresh air."

The concern on Wes' face grows but after a glance to their parents, he nods. Soul doesn't look at Maka as he leaves, though he feels her gaze on him as he leaves the ballroom.

Clouds obscure the sinking sun as Soul waits for the valet to bring Wes' car to him, covering the world in an artificial gloom.

He hadn't been entirely hopeless, Soul now realizes. Admittedly, it was the purposeless hope that those already dead in life clung onto in self-preservation and he should have recognized it when the recital debacle happened so he could have saved himself and everyone around him the grief of trying to save something that was already long gone.

The car arrives and he gets in, easing down the driveway.

Instead, he had let Wes and Stein pick him up from the hole he'd fallen in and allowed Black Star to talk him into playing basketball with Kid, all of which has sustained that hope without Soul realizing it. When Maka had appeared in his life, he had stopped seeing his life in the past sense and started seeing it in the present and future.

He sees nothing now.

Maka waits until Soul leaves the room before getting up as well. "I-"

"You don't need an excuse," Wes says. There's exhaustion in his face that he doesn't show in Soul's presence. "I'd go with you but my mother might follow."

With a quick bob of her head, she hurries out of the ballroom, grateful she doesn't have to cast a sleeping spell on Wes. With the appearance of Soul's parents, the days she thought she had had changed into hours at best.

She keeps her composure until she is out of sight of any guests and then she runs, down the hallway, out of the manor. Jumping the front steps, she throws out her soul perception and feels the irregular beat of his soul, barely detectable underneath the black blood.

Fear wraps around her in an iron vice. Or maybe she had minutes.

Sprinting across the lawn, she ignores the yells of the valet and dodges the car of a late guest as she slips through the gates.

Maka's heartbeat pounds in her ears as she follows Soul down the road; Kid's manor is perched on a hill overlooking Death City, only accessible by a narrow road. She nearly trips halfway down the hill, barely catching herself.

She holds onto the fading point that is Soul as she runs, swallowing back the sobs caught in her throat.

As she rounds the bend that leads to the bottom of the hill, Maka catches sight of Wes' car, pulled over on the small shoulder of the road. Her breath comes out in short gasps as she reaches the car, the driver's door wide open and the rest of the car empty. Beyond is the bridge that leads into the city and it is there that comes the faint pulse of Soul's soulbeat. She spies the black blood bubbling up before she sees Soul, laying prone on the sidewalk.

Too far, her mind screams as she runs and the blood rises around Soul. Too late, too far, too-

Maka rips off her necklace and flings it at the sphere of black blood; the glass shatters against the blood and there is a flash of light as the last of Maka's magic rips the black blood open.

She dives into the rapidly closing hole, touching her forehead to Soul's as the black blood envelopes them.

SEPARATE

Soul wakes up sitting in an armchair, although he has no idea how he got there. The room with the floor of black and white tile and black walls is vaguely familiar and for a moment, he wonders if he's been sent back to the hospital again.

He frowns when the beginning notes of his recital song wind into the air, coming from an old record player in the far corner of the room that wasn't there when he first looked; the record catches when he sits up and grinds to a stop.

The silence that follows is heavy and full of static.

You're awake.

Soul jerks back with a yell as two rows of jagged teeth inches from his face grin at him.

No need for that. The rest of the demon takes shape, grin turning into a sneer. My fun is done with you for now.

"For now?"

Ah, you caught on early this time. The demon kicks away, floating on its back. You were a bit of a babbling mess in your last life.

Soul glares at the demon. "You're not real?"

The demon pauses, eyes glittering. That sounds like a challenge.

His head feels like it's splitting as lives upon lives' worth of memories cascade down, not quite drowning him but enough that he wishes they would. He remembers and he remembers.

The memories of his lives hit him like knives, nothing but the same endless memories of this life, hallucinations and nightmares using the monsters already inside his head to pick away at his sanity until he loses his mind or dies.

His breath hitches when he comes to his first life. He is alive in his first life, light interspersed between the dark until Medusa casts her curse and everything becomes black.

Soul's eyes fly open to find himself sprawled out on the floor.

The demon hovers a foot above his face. Enjoy your trip down memory lane?

His chest heaves as Soul catches his breath and he rubs his face. He remembers, remembers and understands. Understands Maka, who had been intertwined in his life since they were children. She followed him, through all his lives until she found him in this one.

He stands, moving until he is face to face with the demon. "What is this place?"

This is the space in between. The demon shifts back into being only a set of grinning teeth. You remember and then she takes it all back.

"She?"

A soft hiss and a pair of golden eyes glowing from the ceiling answers his question.

SEPARATE

The inside of Soul's soul is an endless hallway of doors.

Most doors are locked, some are broken and the few that open scream with memories of past lives that Maka shuts quickly. Amazingly, Maka's soul magic remains, though it doesn't do her any good since she's already in his soul. And without her other magic, the only thing she can do is try door after door and pray that she finds Soul behind one of them.

There's nothing but the sound of Maka's footsteps as she walks down the hallway. She tried calling Soul's name at first but that had made the doors filled with memories shriek so she stays quiet, listening hard.

The hallway seems to come more and more alive the longer that Maka searches for Soul. Her footsteps are still the only thing that echoes in the hallway but the silence in between her steps feel like bated breath now and the darkness that looms in front of her looks more like the open mouth of a behemoth from her original life.

She quickens her pace and the rattle of something ancient and large sounds from behind her and she breaks out into a run.

A loud hiss joins the rattling as she sprints down the hallway; she doesn't dare look behind her to see how close the monster is but by the sound of the hissing, it's only getting closer.

Every door that Maka dares to check is locked and as she runs, wild threads of thoughts and memory flash across her mind; the sharp ache of her lungs and noises of the snake snapping at her heels remind of her original life, of her and Soul running in the forest until-

Maka whirls around, heart drumming in her chest, and the sounds stop immediately.

She doubles over, hands on her knees, and sucks in breath after breath. "An illusion," she gasps, a strange laugh tumbling from her lips. "Only an illusion."

"Maka?"

A figure outlined in light stands in an open door at the end of the hallway. They call out again. "Maka?"

"Soul." Maka's eyes widen as she recognizes him. She straightens, walking towards him at first and then running.

His arms are spread wide as she reaches him, tears pricking her eyes as she hugs him tightly. "You remembered me."

"Finally," he admits, stepping back. He's still dressed in his clothes for the party, though there is an odd grey tint to his skin.

She assumes it's due to the black blood as Soul pulls her in and closes the door. The room they're in is dark, with a floor of black and white tiles and only a single armchair and record player for furniture.

Maka turns back to him. "What made you remember?"

"Nearly dying does the trick pretty well," he answers, taking a step towards her. "But you saved me."

She blushes. "I wouldn't call it that exactly."

He tilts his head. "What do you call it then?"

"Soul connection." She looks around the room as she speaks. The other rooms she had seen were full of windows, filled with memories, but this room holds none. "I wasn't sure it would work or it was even possible but it was the only thing I could think of."

Her gaze moves back to Soul. "I think the curse will break if I pull us out."

He raises an eyebrow. "And you think you can do that?"

She nods. "We have to be in the hallway, though." She gestures around the room. "This is only a pocket in your soul and won't lead anywhere."

A guilty look spreads across his face as Maka heads to the door. "It won't open."

She freezes. "Why?"

"I locked us in to keep us safe from whatever's out there," he explains.

Relief makes her laugh. "It's only an illusion," she says. "Nothing's out there so you can unlock the door."

Soul shakes his head. "It's the kind of lock that never unlocks."

"Okay," Maka says slowly, trying to keep her panic from growing. She spins back towards the door. "How about we break it down with the chair then?"

"Too strong."

"Then, how about a wall?"

"Even stronger."

Maka inhales and exhales deeply, closing her eyes as she sifts through her thoughts. Then, she turns back around, hands clenching into fists.

"You're not Soul."

He frowns. "What are you talking about?"

"Soul sacrificed himself for me," Maka spits, jabbing a finger at him. "He wouldn't trap me in a place I couldn't get out of."

For a beat, the not-Soul stares at her. Then, jet black eyes wink at her. Well played.

The snake is not Medusa but her voice echoes in Soul's ears as the snake wraps around his chest. "Another life, another hell."

His breath is crushed from his lungs and Soul struggles to find air. "How long do you think your soul will last?"

Every coil she loops around him wrings out another life's worth of memories. His fingers grasp at thin air as Soul tries to hold onto them, to who he was in his first life, to Maka.

The thought of Maka calls up another memory, of light bursting as the black blood swallowed him. And Maka, pressing her forehead against his.

She had found him.

He writhes in the snake's hold and when that fails, he sinks his teeth as far as they will go into the snake's skin.

The snake drops him from where it had him wrapped on the ceiling and he lands on the floor on his; Soul sees stars but he pushes them away as he scrambles to his feet.

The door opens at his touch and he runs down the hallway it leads into, sounds of angry hissing following him. Soul doesn't have Maka's soul perception but this place is his soul and the hallway guides him, curving as he sprints until he reaches the end and a door flies open.

In front of him is Maka struggling with the demon while the hot breath of the snake laps at his ankles but all he can think of is reaching her, no matter what comes next. Her eyes meet as Soul dives into the room and she flings her arm out at the same time he reaches out.

Light erupts when their hands touch, their souls connecting.

The room gives a violent jolt and knocks Soul off his feet but he keeps his grip on Maka strong.

His mind swirls with a thousand memories that are not his own, of chasing, following, almost touching but never reaching. The constant cycle of loneliness, searching, loss, and hope over and over.

When the light fades, both the demon and the snake have vanished. A lightness fills the air and when Soul breathes in, the taste of the black blood has disappeared too.

"It's broken," Maka breathes out, looking up. "The curse is gone."

She leaps to her feet, tugging Soul up by the hand. "We can go now!"

Soul pulls away. "Wait."

Maka looks back at him, smile fading. "What is it?"

He hesitates. A curse doesn't excuse the hell in his head that existed inside of his head nor does it breaking mean he doesn't want to live any less but Soul has no idea how to explain that and with everything Maka has gone through, it's selfish to say.

Finally, he speaks, words barely above a breath. "I'm scared."

Maka doesn't move to immediately reassure him or dismiss his fear. She's quiet for a long time.

She takes his hand again. "I want you to choose," she says.

Soul frowns in confusion.

"I want you to choose," she says again.

His eyes widen and he looks around his room, his soul. This room, like every room, is drowning in darkness. The idea that his soul could be anything more than broken is nearly impossible for him to imagine.

He sucks in a breath and looks at his hands. But what could he be without the weight of the curse dragging him down?

His hands close. And would whoever he was be worth it?

He thinks for what feels like an eternity and then he turns back to Maka, holding out a hand. "I want to try."

SEPARATE

The sudden light and rush of the wind disorients Maka as she pulls Soul and herself out, the remnants of the black blood staining the ground.

She squeezes her eyes shut from where she lays on the ground but when she feels the heartbeat underneath her hand, her eyes fly open.

Soul is looking at her already, looking at her in a way that she hasn't seen on his face in a long time.

Tears are streaking down her face as she scrambles close to him. "Soul, I-"

He leans forward as Maka goes to hug him, pressing a kiss against her lips and holding her close.

When they break apart, Soul smiles at her, fully and completely, and wipes away her tears. "Thank you for remembering me. For finding me."

Maka smiles back at him, speaking the words she's waited over a thousand years to say. "Thank you for saving me."