It's Saturday morning and Maka has finally found the opportunity to test her hypothesis, to confirm what her heart and logic both scream at her to be true. Three weeks have passed since the wedding, three weeks since she's known, but she's needed a chance to study Soul unobserved, to see him in action, and now she has it. Or rather, she's contrived it.

She's spent those weeks just paying attention. The way he speaks. The things he speaks about. The little things he seems to know about her that he really shouldn't. Her conviction has grown with every new encounter, and she's seen him nearly every day since the wedding, but now-now she's ready to be certain.

Nestled into a corner of Marie's in an oversized hoodie and sunglasses, she feels a little like a spy. Tsugumi, Marie's new hire, is working the counter and failed to recognize her, so far so good, so when Soul comes in at his usual time for coffee and takes a table shortly after, Maka has her chance, just as she hoped she would. Silently, she wonders as she types a message into her phone, if he eats in on purpose today, hoping to catch her. He never used to before that day at her apartment, always took his coffee and breakfast and left, but now he sits nibbling on a blueberry muffin looking for all the world like he cares about absolutely nothing. She's just glad he sits where she can see his face.

His phone must vibrate just after she hits send because he fishes it out of his pocket, reads the alert, and smiles. Abandoning his muffin for a moment to tap out a response, he puts his phone down an instant later and her own phone alerts her to a reply from Pianoman.

At the top sits her first message of the morning, the one she just sent:

Good morning, sunshine, hope sleep treated you well.

A far more economical response from PMan now lies below it:

pfffft nerd. slept fine u?

Biting her lip in thought, Maka types out a reply. Time to cast a line and see where it lands.

Not bad, I guess. Couldn't sleep at first. I keep thinking about that guy from the wedding.

This time, his phone is on the table and she watches it vibrate just after she hits send.

Bingo.

The way he positively lights up reading this, apathetic mask carelessly discarded, has her smiling herself.

He's done typing a few moments later and he puts down his phone again as a new notification appears on hers.

the 1 u hate?

Asshole, she thinks as she replies,

I told you I don't hate him anymore, and yes.

His phone vibrates, he reads, he responds, hers pops up with an alert, vibrate mode off to ensure her stealth.

When she really considers it, the number of times they've messaged each other in the same place, same room, hell, standing right next to each other, is staggering.

Azusa's party, where they'd ridden the same elevator down and she'd complained of him to him and never knew it.

New Year's Eve, when he'd shown up on the balcony, typing the message in his phone she'd receive just after.

The wedding, when he'd told her about dancing and his toes. The wedding, when he clearly already knew that she's Bookworm.

A wave of upset floods her. She's thought about this many times since that night, many times since she finally connected the dots.

Because the night she was supposed to meet PMan, Soul Evans showed up instead. Soul Evans showed up and saw the flower and the book and her, and sat with her, and never breathed a goddamn word about why he was actually there, never even hinted he was Pianoman, let her think his online alter ego stood her up.

His message after, the apology and omissions, it all reads differently now.

When she'd made that connection about his simultaneous presence and absence at the cafe, the same night of the wedding, the same night she'd first recognized the truth, her immediate response was fury because how dare he. Maka came very close to messaging him, calling him out and letting the chips fall where they may. She's still not sure if that wouldn't have been the better move, but fear stilled her hand because she cared so damn much about PMan, had been starting to care about Soul, too, in ways that had confused her then and now just make sense, and she had wanted to understand, hadn't been ready to burn every bridge that led to him.

So Maka decided, that very same night, to put herself in his shoes and her anger had fizzled out quickly.

What if she had walked into La Petite Mort that night and seen Soul Evans and realized he was Pianoman way back then?

The betrayal, the hurt, the anger would have been overwhelming, that much she acknowledged instantly. Really, the way he had handled it was far better than what she likely would have done in his place.

He'd managed to sit with her, baiting though he'd been, and had decided somewhere in there that he cared enough to stay her friend.

There's no way she would have done the same, not back then in the middle of it all.

So that night of the wedding, she'd resolved to watch and wait, to try to figure it all out, and here she is now, every suspicion confirmed beyond doubt.

That night had changed everything. That night his brother had called him Pianoman and he had danced with her and then driven her home on his motorcycle. His scent and warmth still haunt her, as does the song he'd played. Was it for her? About her? She can't be sure, not totally, but who else could have touched his heart? Knowing, seeing, the way he looks at her and has since that night in her apartment. She is the one who has somehow inspired such feelings, of that, at least, Maka has no doubt.

Stupid. She's been so stupid. He's been so stupid.

Maka notices he's started to fidget, tapping out a nervous rhythm against the table. So lost in thought, she's failed to check his last message, failed to respond. She isn't sorry-Soul deserves to squirm a little. More than a little. Still, she grabs up her phone.

so u like him now?

The thing is, there's no easy answer to that, and while Maka had hoped absolute confirmation would bring her clarity, it hasn't.

Honestly? I don't know. Sometimes I think maybe I do. But with everything that's happened, it's confusing.

Pressing send, she sighs, watches as he snatches his phone the moment it vibrates, watches him frown at her latest message.

She tells the truth because she refuses to lie-she really doesn't know. Even knowing who he really is beyond the smallest shadow of a doubt, she's still confused.

That she feels things, strong things, is beyond question. She's even pretty sure she'd loved PMan before that night at the cafe for as much as she had never met him and has never been in love before, hadn't even been convinced she was capable of it until those feelings had grown for him. But now that she knows Pianoman is Soul Evans, it's all just confusing. The things she felt for PMan, the strange way she's always been drawn to Soul, the anger, the near hate, that thing very close to friendship that came after-it's all muddled, a mess of strong emotion she can't quite untangle, at least, she hasn't been able to yet.

His ongoing deception doesn't help things either, though Maka understands that, too. It's another bit in which rage had quickly given way to understanding when she allowed herself to see things through his eyes. Because, that night at the cafe, if he had feelings her-for Bookworm-and he had discovered Bookworm is, well, her, who still openly disliked him back then, well, he must have been terrified she'd reject him if she knew the truth, terrified that she would cut off all contact. In truth, she might have.

So Soul deceived her then by omission as he had when they first met, and he continues to deceive her the same way now. She can only guess he's still afraid of losing her. He can't know that's not really possible.

Because Maka may still be confused but the one thing she's sure of is that she doesn't want to lose him either.

Her phone finally pops up a new notification, and she notices he's collected his things and risen from the table.

probably confusing 4 him 2 but if he danced w u & drove u home he must like u. maybe u should talk 2 him.

An involuntary snort from her, and he's swiveling his head in her direction, so she raises the newspaper she's bought for the occasion, shielding herself entirely. When she dares lower it again, he's gone, and she's left alone with his message.

He wants her to talk to him? Maybe she will then. Maybe it's time, just not in the way he thinks.

In her head, Maka begins to plan as she sips at the remains of her mocha. There's been enough deception, she thinks.

If he wants to talk, they'll talk. On her terms, at the time and place of her choosing. It's past time for them both to come clean and let the chips fall where they may.

While they often enough orchestrate meetings these days, running into her in the park is wholly unexpected.

She sits next to the bench as he watches Aiden and Indra run around the playground, envying just a little the freedom, energy, sheer joy they exhibit.

There's a reason he doesn't say no when Killik asks him to babysit for the evening.

Maka looks more thoughtful than usual as she watches the kids play, offering him some popcorn from the bag she's just purchased. He hates how popcorn sticks in his ridiculous teeth but takes a handful anyway.

"You like kids."

It's clearly not a question. He hums semi affirmation, but adds, "some kids."

"How do you choose?" Maka continues to munch on her popcorn, watching the playscape.

"How do you choose to like anyone? Kids are just tiny people. Some are assholes, some aren't." Since she offers more popcorn, he takes it. His gums will definitely hate him later.

"And you don't like most people." Again, not a question.

"Not really." He side-eyes her warily. Their conversations have become more-he doesn't even know, theoretical or philosophical or something since the wedding, and he's not sure why. Had their time together, their dancing, had it meant something to her in spite of everything? Soul really wishes he knew, that he possessed some sort of magic mirror that can read the secrets of her heart. "I make some exceptions, though."

Her little laugh startles him. "My mama once told me she never wanted kids, didn't even like kids until she had me, that I was the exception that changed her rule." Maka sobers quickly enough and turns wide, inquisitive eyes his way. "I wonder, am I an exception for you, too?" She takes a handful of popcorn and places it in his empty hand, using her other hand to close his fingers around it as she gives him the most secretive little smile.

"Dunno," he says, clutching the popcorn. "Jury's out." They watch the kids in silence for a moment, then Soul adds, "But pretty sure I'm forever on your shit list so it doesn't really matter, right?"

So he's fishing. Just a little

She hums. "Dunno, actually. Jury's out."

Four little words. A world of promise.

For a time, they just sit and munch popcorn and watch, and it's nice, it's companionable. Then she half turns to him, expression thoughtful.

"Do you like what you do?" She tilts her head ever so slightly, gaze searching. "It's funny, but if I didn't know, I'd never peg you for the business type. And the way you played at the wedding-you seem to really love music. You definitely seem more like a musician."

The barest shrug. "Maybe once. Didn't last." He's afraid to reveal too much, afraid to share what he's been meaning to for weeks, afraid to tell her how he longs to follow his dreams and that she's given him the courage to try because these are things that she doesn't know, hasn't asked, not to him. Because, for her, asking PMan still isn't the same thing as asking Soul, and he hates it, hates that she still doesn't know, hates that he still hides the truth out of sheer fear.

"Ah, well, I'm sorry for that." Her eyes are full of something, some unnamed emotion that makes him want to reach out and touch her, clutch her hand, share her strength, lend her his. But he doesn't have that privilege and whatever it is passes quickly enough as she nods her head towards the playscape. "I think someone wants your attention."

Someone clearly does, or rather, two little someones, who are currently waving wildly from where they've managed to climb to the top of the playscape where they clearly don't belong.

"Fuck," he growls and then he's up, racing to the playscape for a rescue that, in the end, Maka is the one who executes. She climbs the thing like it's nothing, and all of Bookworm's claims to college gymnast status read as absolute truth.

The kids mob Maka upon rescue, ecstatic to see "the storybook lady." They clamor for her to stay, so Soul invites her for ice cream and she agrees and, somehow, a day like this, with him and Maka and the kids, it feels right, like back in the shop when they'd first met before it all went to hell and back.

Is it too much to hope they've come full circle?

The way Maka smiles at him as they part in front of his building is something half sad, half tinged with fondness and maybe regret, and it makes him think that they have. Or maybe he just hopes it.

Later that night, he messages Bookworm what he'd been afraid to tell Maka at the park.

remember how u told me i should follow my dream?

Yeah. Her response is quick.

i know i never told u but my dream was 2b a jazz pianist. which is probably pretty obvs from my email. my rents made me go in 2 the family biz but that was always my dream neway i told u id tell u if nething happened so im telling u i got a regular gig at a local club

Soul can't wipe the smile off his face as he presses send, but then she responds.

That's amazing! I wish I could hear you play!

His smile falters because he wishes too, wishes so damn much there's an ache in his chest, the chunk of his heart she's stolen, the piece of him that will always always be hers.

As he types a quick me 2, the words she'd said weeks ago as she'd danced with him, warm and right in his arms, haunt him.

I really liked your song.

What she doesn't know is it's her song as much as his, that without her, there had been an empty place in his heart where her song belongs.

Maka deserves to know. He just wishes he knew how to tell her.

"So, ya gonna tell Soul ya like him or what?"

Maka nearly chokes on her tandoori chicken, gaping at the bouncy blonde at her elbow who looks far too innocent for what had just come out of her mouth.

Really, Maka ought to have been more suspicious when Pat called her up last night and asked if she wanted to get lunch with the whole crew since Maka and Kid are usually the ones who make advanced plans. But she hasn't seen Kid and Blake much since they talked things out the day after the wedding, since they'd both apologized for not telling her they're together and she'd told them how happy she is for them and she'd ignored a few gross innuendos from Blake about Soul driving her home, and she wants to make sure everything is back to normal. Plus, Tsu and Mifune are supposed to come and Tsubaki has been so busy since Marie made her a partner at the cafe that she's hardly seen her.

Yes, Maka should have been more suspicious even then, and she definitely should have heard blaring alarm bells when she showed up and Pat was here and everyone else was late because Kid is never late, and damnit, she had walked right into an ambush!

She might love Yama, but even good Indian food and the prospect of family aren't worth this.

"What?" she finally manages to rasp out after several large gulps of water.

"Look, Maka, Maks, Bookworm, here's the dealio." The fact Patti has used the online name she shares with exactly no one in her everyday life isn't lost on her. Pat leans forward conspiratorially. "Ya got the hots for this Pianoman guy, right?"

One blink, two. How can Patti…

"And no, Kid didn't tell me, so don't blame him when everyone shows." Maka hasn't even gotten that far, mind too numb. "Annnyyyway, I also know ya've been hanging out with my boy Soul. A lot. Ya like him, right?"

A head shake because what, and yes, but also, it's none of anyone's business and she's handling it, damnit!

"Denial really isn't just a river in Egypt. Saaaad. Whatever, however ya wanna play it about Soul, the thing is, I know this Pianoman dude stood ya up and then, heyo, Soul showed up-ever wonder how that happened?"

Well, not anymore, no. Her mouth works but no words come.

"Because, and I'm only tellin' ya this because you guys have reaaaaally got to get yer shit together-don't think I didn't see ya dancing like that at the wedding-Soul is-wait for it-Pianoman."

A long sigh punctuated by, "Yeah, I know."

"That's what I'm sayin', ya-" Maka's words finally register and it's Patti's turn to blink. "-ya know?"

"Yeaaaah." Maka should not feel guilty, not when Patti is in on the deception. "I sort of figured it out at the wedding. The real question is, how do you know?"

A shrug, entirely nonchalant. "Wes was there, so he knew, and Wes tells sis everything, who tells me everything, so there ya have it, not the point. The point is, if ya know, then why aren't ya doin' somethin' about it? It's not like ya don't like him."

Blake rolls in just then, Kid trailing behind him and Crona just after. "Maka likes who now?" he says as he takes the seat on her other side at the oversized table Patti has reserved, Kid next to him, Crona next to Pat.

"Soul Evans," Patti supplies easily at the same time Maka hisses, "No one!"

"Oh ho!" His grin is so maniacal that Maka braces for impact. "Soul fucking Evans? Or is that fucking Soul Evans? So you really are sleeping with the enemy now, Maks?"

"I am not sleeping with Soul Evans, lower your voice!" Her entire body has gone rigid. This isn't the nice family lunch she'd been promised!

"But ya wanna," Pat chimes in.

"I do not-"

"Suuuure that's why you two were totally eye fucking during that whole-" he waves a hand then uses his other hand to snatch a large chunk of her tandoori chicken and pop it in his mouth "-garter thing, and the rest of the night when you two danced, and then, you let him take you home, but sure, no shenanigans there."

"I-what? We were not-eye anything?" The very idea...

"Eye fucking, and you guys totally were."

Maka shakes her head vehemently.

"He has a point," Kid says from the other side of Blake. "You did seem rather-absorbed with him."

"Or like ya wanna absorb him," Patti says with the dirtiest eyebrow waggle Maka has ever seen and why is Crona, sweet, innocent Crona, of all people, who had seemed so displeased whenever Pianoman came up, nodding so enthusiastically next to her? So much time with Patti is clearly corrupting them.

"I do not!" Why are these people her family? Maka needs new friends, clearly.

"You don't what?" Tsubaki walks over just then, looking as serene as ever in her spring sundress, Mifune in tow. They sit next to Crona and Pat, Marie and Stein bringing up the rear and filling in the end of the table.

"Have a boyfriend," Kid supplies, which is far better than Blake, who says at the same time, "Wanna fuck Soul Evans."

Blessed Tsubaki looks thoughtful for a second and Maka thinks she's saved, but it's fleeting as a smile spreads across her face. "Oh, Maka, that's wonderful!"

"I always thought you two would be good together," Marie says from her end of the table. Baby Shelly is asleep in her carrier, which is propped on a stand at the end of the table. She adds, as she tucks in her blanket, "I just wasn't sure it was possible with-" she waves a hand "-everything."

At that moment, the server finally makes his way over to collect orders from the newcomers. Maka orders more tandoori chicken since Blake has managed to snake half her food in the process of completely mortifying her, but it gives her a moment to collect her thoughts and hopefully nip this-whatever it is--in the bud.

"Alright." She takes a deep, calming breath before addressing the table from her end of it. The table is lined with most of the people she considers family. Hell, maybe Liz can return early from her extended honeymoon and Sid and Mira can suddenly appear from their new home in San Diego and make it a real party! She thanks her lucky stars her papa is away on a voiceover gig. "Let's get this straight, for the record. Soul Evans and I are not dating or-having relations-or anything of the kind. We aren't even really friends-we're-casual acquaintances at best, nothing more, so if you could just-"

"But-eye fucking, Maks," Blake interrupts with a lewd grin. "Eye. Fucking."

"We were not-"

"Oh! At the wedding!" Tsubaki, who had missed that portion of this shit show, supplies helpfully.

"No, that's-"

"Mmmm, there was definitely some-rather intense eye contact exchanged between you and Mr. Evans," Frank Stein offers from the other side of the table.

Everyone nods fervent agreement, even the generally mild Mifune, even Crona, the traitor! At least Patti has refrained from bringing up her knowledge of Pianoman. Do they all know?! What a mess. Maka's never had a real love life, and now that she's maybe kind of sort of stumbled into one, it's on display for everyone she loves like the latest romcom.

"We aren't-we weren't-we don't-ugh!" Maka puts her head in her hands in defeat.

"Maka, sweetie," Maka's godmother Marie says from her place near Stein. Maka raises her head from her hands cautiously.

"You believe me, don't you?" Maka says hopefully. The whole thing is absurd. Because yeah, there are feelings there, but even she's having trouble sorting them, and sure, maybe she's had a few vivid dreams and maybe he kind of sort of makes her feel overheated, and maybe she can't shake the smell of his cologne, but even she has no idea what it all means.

Marie hums. "I believe you don't want to talk about it," she says. "And that we should all respect that." She sweeps her gaze pointedly down the table, and even Blake looks sheepish. "I honestly didn't think you-liked people that way," she adds, and relief floods Maka, only to be snatched away in an instant. "Not until the past few months. But-seeing you two together at the cafe, and then the way you looked at each other at the wedding. Maka, I've never seen you look at anyone the way you look at Soul."

"Like I said, eye fucking!"

Blake elbows her, and there are snickers that end when Marie sends a sharp look around the table. The rest of lunch, no one mentions Soul Evans, but Maka can't get him out of her head.

If it's this obvious to her friends, then it really is time for her to take action. Maka has always believed that love would be more like salt than sugar if she found it, more savory than sweet. Has she found that with Pianoman, with Soul?

Maybe. It might not last, might not end well, she can't tell the future, but that her feelings are strong and deep and tempered in fire, these things she knows. That she likes her time better with Soul than without him, this she can also admit. He enhances, he makes better, he's her salt.

As she chews on her second batch of tandoori chicken and listens to her friends, Maka is resolved. No more waiting. A few days ago, she'd decided they'd talk but she has yet to take action. That ends now.

It's time to finally reach for the salt.

Do you love me?

Soul stares at the message for the hundredth time because of course he does, he just doesn't expect her to ask.

But he has to respond, can't stand to consider her anxiety as the seconds pass into minutes, so he finally replies with simple truth.

yes have for a long time

His heart beats rapidly in his chest because he has no idea where she's going with this and he's terrified and elated all at once.

His phone vibrates, her message flashes, his heart sinks like a stone.

Do you want to meet me?

Fuck. Yes but no but yes.

Of course he wants to meet her, anytime, anywhere. He's just not convinced the truth won't make her run screaming. Even after the park yesterday, he just isn't sure.

Still, if to say yes is to risk losing her, to say no is to assure hurting her, and he's done enough of that for several lifetimes. He won't do it again, even if it risks his own future heartache.

Once again he doesn't hesitate long, won't make her wait and worry.

yeah

It's almost as if she's typed her response and is poised over the send button-her reply is instantaneous.

Today?

ok, he sends back, not allowing himself time to overthink.

The next response takes only a little longer.

Reaper Square Park in an hour by the fountain? Wear red, I'll be wearing green and carrying a lily.

Breathe breathe breathe. Respond.

ok see u then

Letting out another long breath, Soul tries and fails not to panic. An hour isn't much time. An hour and this all falls to shit. He isn't ready for it to all fall to shit.

Will she hate him again, knowing he's deceived her? Probably. Fuck. Fuck.

But he'd answered her question, too, she knows he loves her, so maybe-maybe eventually she'll listen.

Soul doesn't have time to panic. Reaper Square Park is across the city and he has to go home and get ready, wants to look like he gives a shit because he does.

Getting up from his desk, he hurries out of his office, halting at his assistant's desk just outside.

Soul still can't decide if he's annoyed at or thankful to his assistant for what happened at the wedding; Harv helps his boyfriend when he MCs and "Lovegame" had been the assistant's selection. It had been one of the most mortifying moments of a life filled with mortifying moments, but also-well, Soul has never been all that interested in sex. Masturbation suits him fine when his body insists, but sex with an actual live person? Not something he's ever really wanted. Except, more recently, he dreams about Maka that way, and even more recently, he thinks about Maka that way. And then, seeing her in that moment, as she'd looked at him like he was some decadent morsel that she wanted to absolutely devour? The way she'd moved, running her hand up his body just shy of touching when, fuck, how he wanted her to touch? To say he'd been grateful his tuxedo pants concealed just how much she affected him then would be an understatement, and he needs to stop thinking about this now before this becomes another check mark on Soul Evans' list of especially embarrassing moments.

"What is it?" Harv finally deigns to acknowledge his presence. He's typing up something or other on his desktop, maybe the numbers Olivia Evans had asked for earlier.

"Gotta go. Got something to take care of." He tries to sound casual, he really does, but his mask is slipping and even he can hear the impatience in his voice.

"Of course you do since you're supposed to be on a conference call with your mother in an hour. How long?" His eyes never leave the screen behind those perpetually dark glasses.

"I won't be back." He's managed to regain his composure, voice bored

"And just what should I tell Mrs. Evans?" Harv is equally adept at bored apathy; it's why they work so well together.

"Who the fuck cares? Tell her something came up and have Ford give her the numbers."

"Have Ford give who what numbers?" Ox Ford has somehow appeared when he's least wanted. He sort of has a knack for that, but he's also a gifted organizer and has the store running so well he's been made head of DC operations, his talents wasted as a mere assistant. Or so Wes had insisted. Soul is pretty sure his brother had just been looking for an excuse to remove the boil from his ass, but in truth, the guy is competent and it leaves Soul himself with far less day to day bullshit to handle (or maybe shuffle off to Harv), so he's fine with the situation. Except for when the guy creeps up like a fucking ninja and wields his unwanted opinions like a flaming bag of crap.

"Soul has a conference call set up with Olivia in-" he glances pointedly at the Apple Watch on his wrist "-50 minutes now, to present retail numbers."

"I trust in your ability to handle this as head of DC operations," Soul offers. Ox definitely responds well to praise. "You know the numbers."

"She doesn't just want DC numbers." Harv is being so Harv that Soul could scream because he needs to go. "Retail. She asked for-"

"Like Ox doesn't keep up on those, too." Soul can't help the eyeroll. "Tell him," he looks pointedly at Ox Ford, who puffs with pride.

"I keep myself well apprised of general operations, yes-"

"Perfect," Soul cuts him off, looks to Harv, "go over whatever you typed up for me and give mother my love and abject apology, whatever, I gotta go. Thanks, I owe you. Later."

Not giving them a backward glance, refusing to offer an opening where they can waste more of his precious time, Soul practically sprints through the store and out the doors, half jogging down the street and towards his building. He must look fucking ridiculous running down the streets of DC in a godsdamned suit, but he just can't be arsed to care; not being late so he won't leave Maka hanging again is the only thought in his head just now.

By the time he reaches his place, he's so winded he ends up hunched over, hands on knees, trying to catch his breath as he takes the elevator up to the penthouse.

He's so sweaty that he has to shower, refuses to smell like he just got out of the gym for this, but he'll-take the bike. Yeah. He'll make it.

Half an hour later he's showered, shaved, blow dried, coiffed, and perfumed as he buttons up a red shirt he particularly likes before tucking it and smoothing his dark slacks. He frowns at the mirror. He's as presentable as he gets, the same weird emo looking guy she's come to know and-like? He hopes?

There's an urge to pace and fret, maybe think out what he wants to say, but there's no damn time.

Ten minutes to go, he might just make it with no traffic. Maybe. If by some miracle no traffic is actually a thing during DC rush hour. Fuck.

Down the elevator, out the door, he's gotta-

"You're going to be late."

He's halted in his tracks, nearly careening into a gilded garbage can in the front entryway when he hears a familiar voice that absolutely should not be here and now-what?

Yet she is. Maka Albarn stands casually leaned up against one of the ornate pillars that fronts his building. Her hair is down and she wears a short, dark, flowy skirt along with a dark green sweater. In her left hand, she grips a lily.

"Don't you have-somewhere to be?" He blinks at her, confused.

"Well, yeah," she says with a slight tilt of the head. Fierce green eyes pin him in place and if the warning weren't already shrieking in his head a moment ago, it certainly would be now. Danger, Soul Evans, danger. "But honestly, I thought it would save time to meet you here. The park is always crowded late afternoon."

"But-I-how?" Confusion robs his every ability to make words.

"You're not as sly as you think you are, Pianoman." Maka walks closer, puts a hand on his chest near his heart just as she had the night of the wedding, and the way she says the last word is so reminiscent of Wes two weeks ago, he nearly groans.

"I'm sorry, Maka, I'm-just so sorry." Her hand doesn't leave his chest, so he clutches it because he needs a lifeline, needs to be sure she's solid and here and will listen but-but-she knows and she's here. She's here-because she knows. "When-I mean-how long-"

Maka sighs but doesn't remove her hand, doesn't try to snatch it away. "Since the wedding. Your brother called you Pianoman, and you had a motorcycle-and I don't know, the more I thought about it, the more I just knew."

Fuckin' Wes. Not actually voicing it is a near thing.

Soul is just so damn confused. "But you didn't-" he shakes his head "-I mean, why didn't you say anything?"

"Why didn't you?" Her eyes narrow, the green toxic as she looks up at him.

It's his turn to sigh. "Alright, alright, point taken." He removes his hand to scratch at the back of his neck nervously and Maka lets hers fall back to her side. He misses her warmth immediately.

When silence stretches and she still looks up at him expectantly, he realizes he's going to have to use his words. Words aren't much his thing, never have been, though with her-with Bookworm- words were most of what he'd had and he'd managed. He takes in a cleansing breath; he can do this. Or rather, he will do this, because she's here and he will fight with everything he is if it means she'll stay.

"Well, uh, I guess in the beginning, I was just confused," he finally says, and god, are they really going to do this in front of his building? Maka seems to have zero inclination to move and he's too afraid to do anything that might spook her, so he supposes the doorman is getting a free show. Fantastic. Wes will be so pleased.

"I mean," he continues as she herself continues to say nothing, "That night at the cafe, I just-I had no idea what to do, what I was doing, because here was the person I lo-uh-liked, and it turns out, she's the one person who absolutely hates me."

"I never hated you." She crosses her arms over her chest defensively.

"Well, you sure as shit didn't like me."

The fact she doesn't protest is confirmation enough.

"So I acted like a jackass-and fuck-" this time his hand is in the back of his hair, tugging mercilessly "-I'm so fucking sorry for that, I-"

"We were both jackasses, go on." He wants to protest, but doesn't dare defy her just now, so he keeps going.

"Okay. After the cafe, I don't know, I was still confused at first, but I still cared so much, you know? So I thought maybe I just couldn't talk to you anymore-that Pianoman couldn't talk to Bookworm. But then you wrote that letter and I just-couldn't. And I didn't want to."

She's biting her lip, gaze intense as she listens.

"I couldn't lose-what we had. So I decided we'd just-stay that way. I mean, I knew you hated me, hated Soul, and I couldn't stand the thought of you hating PMan too and losing you entirely. But it was-" he's shaking his head again and he feels like such an idiot, stammering out his heart amidst her silence, but if this is what she needs from him, well, he'd do far more to soothe her, to make it right. "I don't know, it wasn't enough, and I hated that you didn't know the truth, and I wanted to see if maybe-maybe you could see me, Soul, as someone worth your time, not just Pianoman, and I really hated the thought I hurt you and I realized you were my salt, and just-god, I wanted to make it right. I had to at least try." His heart hurts, remembering his pain, remembering hers, but she deserves to hear it, all of it, deserves to be judge, jury, and even executioner if that's her final play. "And then it was like a fucking miracle-you actually-let me try. I didn't deserve it, but you let me anyway, and god, fuck-"

"But you still didn't tell me." Maka looks so hurt he wants to punch himself in the face for causing it. "Even when you must've realized I didn't hate you anymore, you still-"

"I was afraid," he cuts her off as she just had, unwilling to let her words spiral into complete misunderstanding. "I was Terrified. That you'd hate me all over again." His hand goes to the back of his neck once more, and he bites his lip in thought for an instant. "I know how much-how much it bothered you, when I didn't tell you who I was that day in the shop, and I was so damned afraid to lose you, don't you get it?" He's grabbing her nearest hand before he even knows it, squeezing it around the lily she still clutches, holding on for purchase, for dear life. That's it, that's all, he's told his truth. Time for her to decide.

"Because you love me." It's a statement, an echo of what Pianoman had admitted to Bookworm a mere hour ago.

"Because I love you."

"Okay." She nods, shifts her grip to hold the lily between both of their palms, squeezes his hand.

"Oh-kay?" he questions, breathless and reeling.

"Yeah. Okay." Maka takes a deep breath and places her free hand on his cheek. "I-I love you, too. So okay." And then she's pulling his head down, searching his eyes, giving him the option to pull away. As if he would.

Her lips are warm and sweet with gloss and much better than he ever thought they would be.

Soul reaches for her, wraps her in his arms, relishes her own arms around him. And as their kiss continues, their first of many, as he tastes the salt of tears that he can't be sure are hers or his own, savory against the sweet, he thinks that love really is like salt.