Summary: He's a little socially inept and she's way too bright to look at, but he wouldn't have it any other way. SoMa. AU.

chapter one: skinny dipping

Soul's first encounter with Maka Albarn is not something he plans on telling their future children about.

The first time he meets her, she's stripping naked in his neighbor's backyard.

Soul doesn't want to be at this party. His parents are the ones who planned it—and if that isn't enough reason to want to ditch the entire thing, he doesn't what is.

Wes—perfect, dutiful Wes—promised their parents that they would both be in attendance to entertain all the sons and daughters of the business associates they didn't really care about. He promised that they'd play nice, that they'd be the perfect hosts, that they'd dress up in three piece suits and kiss the hands of snooty heiresses and pretend that they were as flawless and gentlemanly as the tabloids believe they were, even though every smile they flashed was totally fake. He promised he'd take care of his "rebellious younger brother" and make sure that Soul would behave.

But then he invited Blake Barrett.

That was the moment Soul realized his brother was full of shit. And he fucking loved him for it.

Blake Barrett—only son of Sid and Mira Barrett, co-founders of Barricade Inc., the most illustrious electronics company on the West Coast—is the closest thing Soul has a best friend. He's also really fucking crazy. Blake doesn't possess any volume control, has no sense of personal space, and doesn't seem to understand the fundamental laws of human behavior, but somehow Blake's deficiencies in all things that make a perfect liar in their circles are the very reasons Soul trusts him the most.

In short, Blake is the only person Soul knows who always tells the truth—even when he shouldn't.

Soul isn't sure how it happens. One second they're stealing their second bottle of champagne from the kitchen while trying to avoid their parents, and the next, they've hijacked everyone from the party under the age of eighteen and are breaking into Soul's neighbor's backyard to use his fancy pool.

Sans clothing.

He blames Blake because ninety-nine percent of all bad ideas come from Blake's excuse for a non-brain, but Soul thinks the alcohol might also have something to do with it since he only protested a handful of times compared to his usual dozen.

"YAHOOOO!" Blake hollers as he sprints the last couple feet and cannon balls into the pool, buck-ass naked. Soul catches a glimpse of a snowy moon and bright blue shrubs surrounding a not-so-subtle peen, and he's pretty sure he won't be able to look at blue raspberry jolly ranchers the same ever again. The others don't seem to be fighting the same urge to vomit as Soul is because they simply cackle and jump in after Blake, sporting exactly the same amount of clothing as him—which is to say none at freaking all.

"Scarring, isn't it?"

Startled, Soul glances over just in time to see the girl who'd spoken unclasp her bra and drop it to the ground.

Soul chokes on his own spit.

Faintly he registers silky blond hair and dainty shoulders and flawlessly pale skin, but that's all overshadowed by the fact that the stranger next to him is currently bending over to shimmy her black lace panties down her thighs, effectively stripping to her birthday suit and stealing every thought he's ever had in the process.

His name? Gone. His reason for living? Definitely to stare at her boobs. He may be seventeen years old and best friend to the biggest pervert on the planet, but this is the first time Soul has ever seen a naked girl in the flesh—pun intended—and he is not acting nearly as cool as he hoped he would.

Luckily, the pretty girl seems amused by his utter lack of cool because she laughs again at the dumbfounded look on his face, one hand lifting past her chest to point as she giggles, "My eyes are up here, you know."

His gaze snaps up immediately to meet the eyes in question and he stops breathing at the amusement in them because they're staring right at him and they're green. Green, and soft, and round like her—

"Boobs," Soul blurts out, and then his face turns as red as his eyes and he wishes more than anything that lightning will strike down from the clear night sky and put him out of his misery.

The girl simply laughs. "You're adorable. Soul, right?" At his gaping jaw, she adds, "That's your house next door, isn't it? Where the party is?"

"Y-nnnhnngh." He's finding it very hard to form words when she's not wearing any clothes.

She's presses her lips together like she's trying very hard to hide a smile. "Well, it's nice to meet you, ynnnghhh. I feel like I should introduce myself, but we've already skipped a couple bases and your eyes are practically having seizures so you don't look at my breasts. How about I just say I'll see you in the pool?" With that, she gives him an adorable wave of her fingers then leaps into the water with a flawless cannonball that makes a bigger splash than should be physically possible considering how small she is.

The naked crowd erupts into cheers.

"Yo, Evans!" calls Blake. "You gonna get in the pool or what, assface?"

Soul likes to think he doesn't have many issues with his body—he's more apathetic towards it than anything else, and he's certainly not bad looking, not if his mother's gushing is any indication—but it is in that moment that he realizes for certain that he Fucked Up.

After all, by hesitating and being the last one to strip and jump into the pool, everyone else is already below ground level, shielded by water, staring at him. Waiting. Watching. The pressure is on.

Soul wants to die.

"Come on, Evans!" yells Kilik Rung, one of the few guys he does recognize from the party before they all ditched and snuck into Kid's house. "Live a little."

"Yeah, Evans!" agrees one of the girls with a giggle. "Don't wimp out. You only get to participate in a mock-orgy once, after all."

"Especially with that ugly mug," snickers Blake, earning him a scolding splash from Big Green Eyes, who shushes him and tells him not to peer pressure.

Ah, fuck it. It's not like he can embarrass himself any more than he already has.

Not wanting to look like a wimp in front of the prettiest pair of boobs he's ever seen, Soul begins to strip, ignoring the loud cheers that erupt from the pool lest he turn an uncomfortable shade of red all over, even in the dim lighting of his neighbor's backyard. He then hastily slides into the deep end of the pool, away from where most of the teenagers are treading. It may not be a grand entrance but it is an entrance all the same, which earns him an encouraging barrage of cheers from the others.

He blushes.

"You actually made it," Green Eyes giggles, swimming over to him. He thanks sweet wonderful mercies that the water blurs out her other most defining features below the neckline and therefore his as well. "I thought you were going to skimp out like you always do."

"Always?" he echoes with a frown.

"Maks, are you intimidating my boy?" bellows Blake. "Don't make me kick your ass!"

Soul looks confused. "Maks?"

"Maka," the girl corrects. "Blake just likes to pretend we're a lot closer than we are by issuing a series of very unfortunate nicknames. That's not even the worst of them."

"You know Blake?"

"These circles are a lot smaller than they look, Soul. We all tend to stick together when it comes to functions like this because otherwise we'd lose our goddamn minds between layers of chiffon and bullshit." She offers him a teasing smile. "You'd know that if you stopped ignoring all our invitations for anarchist get-togethers disguised as parties."

That's when it clicks. This girl is Maka Albarn, daughter of Spirit Albarn, founder and CEO of Scythemeister, the leading brand of vodka and vodka-based drinks consumed by the general public this side of Kentucky and especially overseas. Blake has mentioned her before—typically in the context of her "Best Friend with the Enormous Melons"—and she is telling the truth. Soul does ditch every time Blake invites him to public gatherings of other human beings. The only time he deigns to interact with people is when his parents force him to, hence why he doesn't know any of these other teenagers that Blake acts so comfortably around.

Blake says their group calls themselves Spartoi. Apparently, they do crazy things together on the reg and have a rule where no insane deed goes unaccompanied, which is typically how Blake manages to strong-arm others into being his partner in crime through even the most random acts of terror.

Soul's red eyes flicker to the blurry shapes beneath the water again. Maybe he should stop being such a loner, after all.

"What the hell is going on here?"

The voice makes him freeze. Eleven pairs of eyes swivel to the surface where the illusive Xic Mortimer Jr—better known as Kid to those who've met him—stands at the foot of the pool—his pool—wearing a very displeased expression.

"Kid!" croons one of the blond sisters. Polly? No, Patty, he's pretty sure. "You made it!"

Kid scowls. "Anyone going to explain what you're doing in my pool in the middle of an Evans party? Or how you even got past the security system without my knowledge?"

Just when Soul thinks they're all done for and are going to get arrested and thrown in jail—and damn it, he's barely lived, let alone touched a boob—Patty's sister Liz flashes the dark-haired stickler a brilliant smile. "Depends. Are you going to join us?"

As it turns out, the youngest Mortimer is as susceptible to peer pressure and breasts as Soul is.

"Kid likes to pretend he's Spartoi's de facto voice of reason," Maka explains at Soul's dumbfounded look, "but he's whipped when it comes to our darling Elizabeth and everyone knows it. She can get him to do just about anything—even ditch fancy networking parties to skinny dip in his own pool."

"You know, I've lived next to him my whole life and I never knew he actually liked girls."

"One girl," Maka corrects, "and that's what happens when you never leave your house, dork."

Soul grimaces. Fair enough. "I just can't believe you all willingly and knowingly hang out with Blake."

"You do too, or so I've heard. Blake always talks about his best bro Soul with the shark teeth and tendency to turn into a sputtering puddle of stupid in the presence of anyone of the opposite sex."

At Soul's scowl, Maka laughs, throwing her arms to rest on the side of the pool so she doesn't have to keep treading water. The act makes the delicate angles of her shoulders flex and Soul has never thought to be fascinated by female shoulder blades before this very moment, but for the life of him, he can't look away.

She slides him a brilliant smile. "Don't worry. I think it's sweet."

His eyes flash with realization. "You were teasing me earlier. When you stripped."

Maka is unapologetic. "I wanted to know if Blake was telling the truth." She grins as she eyes him. "He definitely was."

Soul pretends to drown himself in the water, making her laugh.

Somewhere on the deck among the piles of hastily discarded clothes, a cell phone starts ringing. Followed by another, and another, and another, until they're bombarded by a discorded symphony of bad ring tones and trouble.

Jacqueline groans. "And the parents have reached enlightenment."

"Took them long enough to notice we were missing," mutters Kim.

"Who's going to be the one to breach the world back from Narnia first?"

In what turns out to be a very impressive display of synchrony, there's a succession of splashes as everyone snaps a hand to their nose and turns to stare expectantly at Soul. Soul frowns, lost for a moment as he glances down at his own hand still treading in the water, before it dawns on him.

"Oh, motherf—"

He's sitting on the roof outside his window when she finds him. He's not sure how she knew where he'd be or how she got up here, but he doesn't ask and she doesn't tell him. Instead, she climbs onto the platform to his left, smoothing down her skirt as she takes a seat, and says, "How much longer do you think it'll be before they let us go home?"

Soul snorts. "If you're all hostages in this party situation, what does that make me?"

"You're the gentle captor," Maka says automatically. "You know—there's always one that has more of a conscience than the others. He sneaks the captives extra food, keeps them company when his co-conspirators aren't around, tells them sweet lies like he'll get them out of there even though the captives know he doesn't have a say. It's cute though. It's the thought that counts."

Sliding her an incredulous glance, he says, "I feel like you were trying to make me feel better, but that just makes it worse."

Maka's laugh is a sweet, gentle thing in the night, surrounded by the flowing music and low chatter of the still-ongoing party below. After all the children were summoned back by the parents, Soul managed to escape among the chaos, not in any mood to deal with his parents' disapproval right now. There's plenty of that to smother him on any other day.

He tries not to sneak glances at her, but it's impossible not to, even though he's aware he's being totally obvious about it. She just looks so damn ethereal sitting there on his roof, her hair still damp and wavy down her back, her knees pulled to her chest as she stares up at the clear night sky with something like contentment. For all the years he's lived in this house, he's never felt as comfortable in it as she seems to be here on this roof, away from the crowds, sitting with a boy she met only a couple of hours ago.

Suspicion gets the better of him. After all, why would this beautiful, confident girl sit here with him instead of hang out with the rest of her friends at the party below? "Did my mother send you to bring me back down?"

Maka turns to him with a raised eyebrow. "Are you calling me a double agent, Evans?"

"Answering a question with a question seems very double agent to me."

"I wish I were that cool." She exhales deeply, closing her eyes against the haze of this entire night. "Nah, I'm just not in the mood to socialize at the moment. Do you mind if I stay here with you?"

It takes more effort than he'd like to admit for him to keep his voice level as he answers, "Do what you want."

They're quiet then, but it's not uncomfortable like Soul expected it to be. Normally when he's around people, he gets anxious and jittery because he isn't much of a talker and he knows that makes people uncomfortable as they try to fill the silence with useless babbles, which only makes him uncomfortable in turn, which then saturates the air with a potent awkwardness that makes him want to curl up in a ball and hide until everyone else fades away. His body is tense as he waits for her to try to talk to him, to try and force conversation, exchange polite pleasantries, maybe even talk about the fucking weather as if that's less awkward than saying nothing at all—but she doesn't do any of that.

Instead, Maka simply rests her chin on her knees and breathes deeply, in and out, as if that's all she needs to stay alive. With each exhale, Soul finds his shoulders losing their tension the more he realizes she really meant what she said. She's here to escape the crowds, just as he is.

He doesn't realize he's staring until she opens her eyes and those startlingly green orbs meet his, jolting him to attention so suddenly that he nearly falls off the roof. Like she had at Kid's house, his total lack of cool seems to amuse her, and these two perfect little dimples appear on her lower cheeks as she struggles not to laugh.

"You know, you're exactly as Blake described you." When Soul groans, she loses her fight and laughs out loud. "Don't worry. It might surprise you to hear this, but he's only ever said good things."

The look he gives her is not only incredulous but flat-out disbelieving. "Bullshit."

"Would I lie to you?"

"I don't know you enough to answer that question."

"You know I dislike these parties as much as you do."

"Who doesn't?"

"Our parents," she answers automatically, and Soul can't help the small snort that escapes him. She grins. "Promise you'll shoot me if I ever grow up to become the kind of person who finds pleasure in sucking up to other rich people over expensive champagne no one likes and soulless music no one connects with?"

"Only if you promise to do the same."

Maka hums. "You know, a suicide pact while hanging out on a third-story roof probably isn't in the best taste."

"Hey, you're the one who brought it up," he says as he leans back on his palms, strangely relaxed with their banter. "I was just sitting here, minding my own business, when you burst in here all Dawson's Creek-like, demanding to keep me company."

"You know, I'd be all for that reference if Dawson's Creek didn't decree that I'd fall in love with your best friend."

Soul nearly has an aneurysm just thinking about Maka and Blake as a couple, which makes her laugh at the look on his face.

"Can I tell you something?"

"Depends," he says. "Is it going to make me want to throw up my dinner like the image of you boning Blake that just popped up in my head?"

She shudders. "God no. In fact, if we can rightfully dismiss the possibility altogether, that would be great."

"Done and done." For selfish reasons he won't admit. "What is it you wanted to tell me?"

"I've always wanted to meet you." When he looks at her, startled, she actually blushes a little, which makes her impossibly cuter than before and Soul wants to jab himself in the brain for how pathetic it's being. "I mean, not to be creepy or anything," she hurries to add, "but Blake talks about you all the time and you have to be some sort of saint to be able to put up with him like you do, so I figured you must be a cool guy."

For a moment, all he can do is stare at her, trying to wrap his head around the fact that Maka flipping Albarn wanted to meet him, of all people. Him, freak albino of Shibusen and disappointer of parents. Him, Mr. Awkward Extraordinaire.

Finding his voice box is not as smooth as he wishes it were. "You—whahuuuhhh?" Dear lord, kill me now.

Maka presses two hands to her cheeks as if somehow the pressure will be enough to make the pink go away, and when she lets out a shaky laugh, somehow the fact that she also feels shy in his presence calms him down in a way that even the strongest doses of Xanax have never been able to accomplish. Especially when she admits shyly, "It makes me feel a little better that I'm not the only awkward one here," which only echoes his thoughts and makes him gape even more with how perfectly she is reading his mind.

"I—uh—yeah," he says lamely, and cringes, and then adds, "I mean, if I knew you'd be there, I might've actually went with Blake to one of the Spartoi parties he's always telling me about."

"Yeah?" she asks hopefully.

Soul is going to die. He is going to die because Maka Albarn is the cutest thing he's ever seen in his entire life and he doesn't know how to breathe right now without actively heaving, let alone speak. "Y-y-yeah. I kind of assumed that most of Blake's friends were more like him, so that's why I've always avoided those kinds of things."

Maka shudders. "The thought of two Blake Barretts, let alone an entire army of them, is enough to make me want to lock myself in a bomb shelter and never leave. If I thought the same thing, I'd probably avoid our group like the plague just as you did, but I promise we're not like him." She pauses. Grins. "Well, I mean, we're all a little bit crazy, but it's a different kind of crazy than Blake's belief that he will one day transcend the gods."

"You all ditched a fancy party filled with our parents to strip in my neighbor's pool," Soul says wryly. "I think it's safe to say Blake isn't the only one with a few marbles missing."

"Oh, and you're so sane?" She raises one perfectly arched brow at him. "What normal things do you do when you're avoiding hanging out with us?"

"N-n-nothing!"

"That blush on your face says you either spend your time playing Warcraft, writing elaborate fanfictions for obscure fandoms, or masturbating."

"M-MAKA!"

"All three at the same time? Huh." She taps a finger against her chin then shrugs. "Hey, I'm not judging. Whatever gets your rocks off, if ya know what I mean. You do you."

"Ohmygod." Soul buries his crimson face in his hands and wills himself to disappear through the shingles or at least for a very minor apocalypse to take over his home so he doesn't have to face the reality of this situation.

Maka's sweet laugh fills his ears, and when he feels a gentle hand touch his shoulder, he grudgingly lifts his head to see her watching him with nothing but pure affection. No judgement, no malice, no cruelty. Just kindness mixed with good-natured amusement. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make fun of you, Soul. Really. To be honest, I hope I'm at least a little right. I could use the gaming partner. Blake's not bad, but he can be a little overzealous and he's a terrible teammate because he always rushes ahead without thinking. I can only stand a couple rounds with him before I want to strangle him."

Soul gapes at her. "You play?"

"What, you think guys are the only ones who can like video games?"

"What? N-no! I just—I didn't—I mean—"

He's cut off by the sound of her trilling laugh, so much like music to his ears. "Relax, Soul, I'm just teasing," she giggles. "But yeah. I mean, I've only dabbled in Warcraft before, but I play League pretty competitively and I can kick your ass in any fighter game known to man."

"False," he denies instantly. "I'm unbeatable as Sub-Zero in MKX, so clearly we know you don't have any idea what you're talking about."

"Oh yeah?" she challenges. "Well, I've never lost as Raiden, Mileena, or Kenshi, so clearly we know which one of us is more versatile."

His crimson eyes narrow. "I have a PS4 in my room. Are you willing to put those cocky lies to the test?"

Soul isn't sure how her smile can be both sweet as hell and the hottest thing he's ever seen, but it is. "Oh, you're so on."

Unfortunately, they only manage to turn on the game while exchanging some pre-fight taunts that are admittedly over-the-top but also incredibly fun when the door to his bedroom flies open and Spirit Albarn appears, looking near tears.

"MAAKAAAAAAAAA!" the red headed man cries, throwing himself at his daughter. "There you are—I've been looking all over for you! Where have you been? Why are you hiding from me? And what are you doing hanging around with this boy?" Maka's father tightens his trip around her and sneers—full-out sneers—in Soul's direction. "Hands off my daughter, Octopus Head. If I find out you laid your grimy fingers on her, you're dead."

"Octopus Head?" Soul blubbers. "What the fuck?"

Sighing like she's suddenly aged ten years in thirty seconds, Maka untangles herself from her father's grasp and nearly kicks him away, a deeply unhappy look crossing her face. "Dad, cool it. Soul and I were just hanging out. Stop being rude."

"But you're in his room! BY YOURSELF!"

"So?" she says impatiently. "I hang out with Blake all the time by myself and you never say anything then."

"That's because—that's different!" her father insists. "Blake is an idiot but he's an idiot who would never touch you! But this one—"

"His name is Soul, Dad."

"—is a hooligan!"

Soul huffs, kind of offended. He's been called a lot of things in his seventeen years of mediocracy—lazy, a disappointment, and an underachiever to start—but he's certainly never been branded a hooligan before and he doesn't know how to feel that the first person to slap him with that label is a man who is currently grasping at his daughter's knees like a desperate, soap opera-inspired ex.

Maka seems twice as exasperated as Soul. She shoots him a look that is somewhere between apologetic and a plea for him to shoot her on the spot to save her from her misery. "Dad, let go of me. Stop acting like a child."

"No!" the grown man wails. "I won't leave you alone with this delinquent! You can't make me!"

"If you don't go downstairs and wait for me by the car within the next thirty seconds, I swear to god I'll call Mom."

The absolute horror on her father's face is almost enough to make Soul feel sorry for him. Almost.

After another bout of wailing, Spirit Albarn obeys his daughter's command and Maka pinches the bridge of her nose for a full ten seconds before she finally faces Soul, her expression grim. "Sorry about that. I have to go take care of him before he decides to accidentally burn your house down with spilled vodka and a cigar."

Disappointment floods him but he tries very hard not to let it show. "Y-yeah, of course. That's fine."

"Are you busy tomorrow?"

Soul blinks stupidly. "Huh?"

"Well, I never got the chance to kick your ass in MK and I don't like to leave my threats unfulfilled if I can help it. If you're not doing anything tomorrow, I'd like to follow through."

His heart beats fast. "Uhhhhh mmm y-yeah! I'd like—I mean, that'd be cool," he coughs, lowering his voice so he doesn't sound like a total wimp in his attempt not to kiss her feet. "Yeah. Sure. If you want."

When she presses her lips together to hide a smile, Soul wonders if that's something she does often or if it's just because he's so much of an idiot that he makes it happen on a more than regular basis. She holds out her hand. "Your phone?" she prompts amusedly when he merely stares at her outstretched arm like an imbecile.

He is a tomato. "O-of course! Sorry!"

After she's done punching in what he assumes is her number, she hands it back. "Text me tomorrow when you've got the time? I'll come over and we can hash this out for real."

Soul bobs his head up and down, his face still embarrassingly red. "Sounds good."

"Cool." Maka is halfway out the door when she pauses and throws a look over her shoulder. "And Soul?"

"Y-yeah?"

"Your fly is undone."

a/n: it's 2018 and i just discovered soul eater and i can't handle it because this ship is literally taking over my life.

please send help. and more soul x maka cuteness to read.

xo
chloe