lost in the moment
by. Poisoned Scarlett

It was only fair, now that she thought about it.

They were in that phase in their relationship: the meet-the-parents, the approval stage. It was becoming very serious between them and, although her gut clenched and her hands became clammy with the thought of what this would lead up to, Maka had faith it would work out between them.

But Maka always figured that meeting the family always entailed a sort of reward at the end, regardless of how meeting said-family played out. Soul met her father, she rewarded him (and herself, she wouldn't lie) with a heated night that left both exhausted the next morning. But as Maka sat at the front of the table with Soul and Wes sitting beside each other and Blair right next to her, she was starting to think that the reward for dealing with Blair's questions was absolutely not worth it at all.

"Nya, if I were a boy, I'd have stolen you away from Souly by now! You're so cute~!"

Maka felt her cheeks warm and she managed an awkward smile that had Wes sighing into his hand.

"Blair, I'm sitting right here."

"I know you are, baby, and I love you very much," Blair sent Wes an air-kiss he only shook his head at before he returned to his dish.

"Come off it, Blair, you're married," Soul deadpanned and ignored his sister-in-law when she giggled loudly. "Where's Gil?"

"Sleeping over at his friend's house," Blair informed and turned to Maka, who flushed when she got caught staring. She was mostly looking at the chopsticks that held Blair's deep purple hair up in an elaborate bun on the back of her head, long and straight strands of her hair framing her pretty features. Blair still had shockingly purple hair; Maka was rather surprised that at her age, with a child, married, she still dyed her hair the wild purple color. She was wearing an informally tied yukata with her sleeves pushed up to her elbows and Maka wondered what had compelled her to wear it in the first place. It was ultra-short, ending mid-thigh, and she had matched it with black, strapping, heels. The heel itself was enough to make Maka blanch; how could she walk so comfortably in such high heels?

Soul had told her they would be having dinner at Wes' apartment, but he had received a last-minute call from Wes that told them they would be awaiting them at a Japanese Fish and Grill restaurant. Soul was hesitant about it since he knew very well of her distaste for fish, but the hopeful look on his face was enough to quiet most of her whines. Maka tried to see the bright side to the situation: there were a lot of Japanese dishes that did not involve fish and Maka knew her plates well, since her mama was Japanese and often took her to such restaurants when she was younger.

She had changed into slightly more formal attire after a second's thought and then they left to the restaurant. She and Soul were the first to arrive, at least until Soul spotted his brother coming through the parking lot. They had met in the lobby, waiting to be seated, but Wes was not the problem: Maka was really anxious to meet Blair. She had not seen her since her high school days and during those days Maka had thought ill of her most of the time. Mostly because of her wild outfit choices, which included but were not limited to ultra-short skirts and ass-hugging shorts with mid-drift shirts.

They had been seated and Blair still had not made her appearance. Wes had said she needed to take care of some things in the car and would arrive soon. He hadn't looked nervous, so Maka told herself not to sweat it. But when she saw Blair walk in wearing such a thing, she wanted to ask why she decided to dress like a red-light girl in Tokyo. But she'd kept her comments to herself and bowed a little when she greeted her, something that made Blair squeal because she was not Japanese and had never been granted such a gesture. Maka smiled and Soul had given them both a weird look before turning back to his menu.

Neither man looked disturbed by Blair's choice in clothes.

The entire restaurant, however...

"My knees hurt," Soul whined. He gave up kneeling and stretched out his legs out from under the table. Considering they were in an authentic Japanese restaurant, they had the option of kneeling or using chairs. Of course, Wes had picked the one without. Maka hadn't a problem: she might have been raised in a Western household, but that didn't mean that her mama hadn't taken her to these sorts of establishments when she was a kid.

"Soul, get your feet off my lap, they stink!" Maka complained, laughing when he glared at her and said they did not because he took a shower before coming over and his shoes were brand-new. "You can sit cross-legged," she suggested but he refused to move his feet from her lap. She placed her hands on his ankles when she saw he wouldn't move and massaged them absently while Wes explained why Gil had not come along with them.

"Soul told me you wanted to keep a level of professionalism while you were with him, and I have to agree that it's the best course of action. We'll invite you over for dinner after Gil moves onto the third grade, that way it won't be so awkward for him."

"I doubt it'd be awkward," Maka smiled. "But I don't need Gil to go telling all his friends that he had dinner with his teacher."

"Gil has a big mouth, like his dad," Soul grinned.

"I do not have a big mouth!"

"Yeah, you do, even mom said you talk so much she thinks she had a daughter instead of a son—!" Soul caught his brother's punch and cussed when he brought him into a headlock, Wes grinning viciously down at his little brother.

"How about I bring it back?" Wes smirked, raising his fist. Maka had no idea what he meant by that, but she did in the next second: Wes ground his fist into the most painful noogie Maka had ever seen and she laughed when Soul swore, trying to weasel his way out of his brother's grip.

"I'm gonna' fucking punch you if you don't let go—WESSSS!"

"Alright, alright! Don't get your panties in a twist, little brother, it's a simple gesture," he smirked, watching his brother comb his hair back to its messy perfection with shrewd eyes. He laughed when Soul elbowed him, but he saw his brother's slight grin.

"Aren't my boys just the cutest?" Blair squealed to Maka.

Maka just smiled brightly, something that made Blair bubble with happiness because she was sure they had made a good impression. When Blair had heard that Maka was Japanese, she had been bursting with glee. Blair absolutely adored Japanese culture and no doubt Maka would be able to give her some insight on her—or even Japan, if she had been there! And the sushi—she wondered what type of sushi she liked and if they shared a favorite plate!

"Neh, Maka, how come your eyes aren't squinty?" Blair asked cheerfully.

Maka stared.

Soul choked on laughter and Wes tried hard to keep in a grin at the question.

"E...eh?" Maka looked at Blair in disbelief. "My eyes?"

"Yeah, they're not slanted and Wes said you were Japanese!" Blair pulled on the corner of her own eyes for emphasis.

Maka glared Soul quiet and ignored his sniggers to answer: "My mama was Japanese. My papa's American, so I'm not full Japanese. I...got most of his features, although I got my green eyes from my mama," Maka added happily. "And my hair color and it's straightness I guess." She prodded a strand of her hair, jumping when Blair did as well.

"Uwah, I thought you straightened your hair!"

"No, I don't need to," Maka laughed. "It's naturally straight. I don't like it, it's really...flat."

"Nooo, it's perfect, I wish my hair was straight! It's always so poofy and it takes forever to straighten," she whined, leaning over with a huge pout. She looked at her hair with longing. "I want your hair, Maka-nya."

"Nya?" Maka repeated, puzzled. "Like...the cat?"

"Blair likes to think she's a cat sometimes," Wes informed, nonchalantly. He did not seem at all disturbed that his wife liked to attach feline noises to names. "It's a habit."

"'Weirdest habit I've ever heard about," Soul mumbled, ignoring his brother's elbow jab.

"Nya!"

Maka gave her a three-second stare before she cracked a smile, laughing. She was so absolutely ridiculous, but it was hard not to like her. Maka felt guilty for judging her so harshly. There was really more to Blair than her clothes.

"Nyaaa! Your eyes are slanty! I can tell when your smile—look, look, I can see it!"

Soul burst out laughing and she did not regret jabbing her finger into the hollow of his ankle to shut him up. She glared at Wes, too, not about to exclude him from the laughter-fest. He did his best to suck in his laugh, but Maka could see it in the way his eyes watered from holding it in.

When their menus arrived, Blair and Soul immediately jumped on it. Wes was more methodical, going through each page slowly. Maka skipped past all the seafood, searching for something that had chicken or any other type of meat.

Soul was the first to finish ordering, then Blair, then Wes. Maka was left last, and she definitely ordered the least Japanese dish. It had chicken in it, teriyaki to be specific, along with deep-fried vegetables and a salad.

"Eh? You didn't get fish, Maka-nya?" Blair blinked rapidly. "Don't you like it?"

"A-ah...well..." Maka fidgeted, sheepish. Blair looked so baffled by it, it made Maka feel silly for not liking fish. It seemed everyone she met adored fish. "Not really. I don't like the smell."

"Blair, I wasn't kidding when I said Maka doesn't like fish. It makes her nauseous," Soul drawled, chewing on some tempura rolls the waiter had brought in as appetizers. Wes was eating one as well, watching both women talk with an air of observation.

"But whyyy? Fish is so good! Fish is great!"

"I guess it might be because my mama cooked a lot of fish when I was little and I just got sick of it," Maka admitted, scratching her cheek. "But when I eat it now, I get sick, so I avoid it. It also stinks!"

"Hey, don't look at me," Soul glared.

"Every time you eat fish and you stay over, you stink up the entire place! You better shower twice when you get back," Maka mumbled the last bit but Blair heard it and that was the last time Maka ever made such comments. Just by Blair's following (coy, saucy, absolutely not-safe-for-work) comments and Wes' guileless yet somehow smug smile, Maka was sure her face would never again regain its pale tint. It also didn't help that Soul added fuel to the fire by curling his lip up in the ever barest hint of a smirk when Blair said that Maka looked like the type to wear cute printed undies.

Maka bent Soul's toe back when he opened his mouth, preventing any incriminating words from escaping him.

Needless to say, Soul sat cross-legged from therein.

Blair interrogated her about the Japanese culture for all of dinner. Along the way, she supposed she got to her know better than most people did, because a lot of the things she asked led to other things in her life. She'd even surprised Soul when she told them that she had actually cliff dived when she went to Switzerland with her mother. But Blair did not get the Japanese perspective on her culture, unfortunately: Maka knew more about European lifestyles than she did Japanese culture, and Blair made sure she knew of her dissatisfaction.

"You're the least Japanese person Blair has ever met," Blair mourned, burying her face in her arms.

"I don't like sushi, or most of the cuisine they serve in Japanese restaurants," Maka began, patting Blair's back. "But I do like some Japanese food and I know how to cook it since my mama was a sous-chef for a few years."

Wes' eyes widened in horror. "Fuck."

Soul cringed.

Maka was about to ask what was it she had said wrong when Blair suddenly neared her face, her golden eyes shimmering. It was if she had told her that she had won the lottery—and, surely, both brothers thought, she had in her own way.

It turned out Blair's passion was cooking.

It also turned out that once she started talking about cooking, there was no stopping her, and Blair had added Maka as a contact on her phone in order to continue the conversation later.

Maka didn't get her reward, not with Blair calling her cellphone every five minutes when she didn't answer.

But Maka did throw her pillow at Soul when he grinned rakishly and shot an unnecessary "I told you so" at her.

That time he slept on the couch alone while Maka listened to Blair talk about stoves well into the night.

Gil knew that something was not quite right between his teacher and his uncle. He did not mean this badly, he meant this curiously: his teacher was nicer to his uncle than before, when she'd always walk away or ignore him when he was near. Now she sought him out and he did, too, and they talked about a lot of things—sometimes they argued, but it was not serious. It reminded Gil of when his parents argued and then his mom would leap on his dad and laugh into his neck, his dad nuzzling his nose against her hair, and they would be happy again.

But his teacher did not leap into his uncles arms and his uncle did not nuzzle his teacher's hair. They just smiled at each other a lot and sometimes he saw their fingers link briefly before his teacher crossed her arms behind her and his uncle stuffed them in his pockets.

It confused him because he didn't know if his teacher and his uncle were in love like his parents or if his teacher and his uncle just liked to talk to each other? It was a confusing subject for Gil; he just ignored it most of the time, or forgot about it when he played with his friends. But it'd always come back when he watched his parents.

"Dad!"

"Hmm?"

"Does uncle like Miss Albarn?"

Wes paused, flicking his eyes to his son. "Why would you say that? Do you think so?"

"Kinda'," Gil admitted. He played with his crayons. "Uncle... smiles at Miss Albarn like you do when mommy's asleep."

Wes cleared his throat, coughing into his fist. "You mean happily?"

"I guess," Gil shrugged. "And Miss Albarn likes to talk to uncle now. She didn't like to before because she said uncle was a meanie. But I think she forgave him now and knows how cool he is," he brightened then dimmed again. "But sometimes they...they hold hands, like their fingers go like this," he linked his fingers together. His father watched quietly. "Then they let go and Miss Albarn kind of laughs at uncle. I think uncle tells her secret jokes," he stated. "I wanna' hear them but they don't let me."

"Well it certainly sounds like they like each other, huh?" Wes smiled, sympathetically. Gil puckered his lips sourly. "Would it be bad if they do? Especially if your uncle is happy? He's been happier recently, hasn't he? He takes you to more places now and he also talks to you more, right?"

Gil paused, contemplating his words. It was true: his uncle did look happier now. He liked to pick him up now and he stayed over sometimes when he was on break from his job to talk to his teacher and him. He didn't do that before. He remembered his uncle as being someone very hard to reach. It always felt like there was an ocean between them, but now it felt...different, closer, warmer. His uncle wasn't so out-of-reach like he once thought he was and he was happy for that. He loved his uncle and wanted to be like him…

"Yeah..."

"Then it's a good thing that they like each other, right?"

"But I like Miss Albarnnnnn," he whined, slumping over his desk.

Wes smiled crookedly. "Miss Albarn is very nice, but it's important to consider her opinion, too, right? Because you respect her and she respects you, right?"

"Yes..."

"You should ask her," Wes encouraged gently. "And whatever answer she gives you, you should respect it, because if it was her asking, she would respect your answer, too. Just like how mommy always asks you what you want for lunch and respects that you don't like a lot of green beans in your rice."

Gil pondered upon it and then beamed, offering his father a toothy grin. "Okay! I'll ask her tomorrow! I promise I'll respect her opinion!"

"That's good, it's very important that you respect people's opinions," Wes reclined in his seat while his son doodled. He felt his wife's nails gently scrape the back of his neck and when he craned his neck back, he found her smiling warmly down at him.

She kissed his nose and continued to the bathroom.

Wes looked back down at his newspaper and smiled, knowing she had heard them both and approved of his method of handling a troublesome childhood crush.

The next day, Gil did ask his teacher who she liked.

He had done it, and so Wes made sure to finish his work early so he could go console his angry son after school; perhaps smooth things enough so his son did not totally dislike his brother. At least not for too long; Soul also became surly when he had arguments with his son. Soul did care for Gil, even if he called him a brat and whined about babysitting him when he was off his job.

But, to his surprise, Gil is not angry when he picked him up that day.

He was wearing a smile, jumping around his teacher who smiled down at him and then pointed at his car. Gil waved goodbye to her and ran to his father, who watched his son dash over to him speedily.

"Gil?"

"DADDY! GUESS WHAT?"

Wes looked at Maka, then back at Gil, wondering rather sickly if Maka had spared her son's feelings and done something irrevocable. "What?"

"MISS ALBARN IS GONNA' BE LIKE—LIKE MY SISTER NOW SHE TOLD ME SO!" He screeched, so happy and oblivious to his father's slack jaw and pale face. "I HAVE A SISTER! I HAVE A SISTER!" He chanted happily, swaying back and forth, seemingly over the fact that he liked liked his teacher. He just seemed content knowing that she'd be part of the family. "I always wanted a big sister!" He beamed. "Now I have one, isn't that cool—WHERE'S UNCLE I CAN'T WAIT TO TELL HIM I WANT—MMPH!"

"Now, Gil," Wes patted his sons head, staring steadily into his wide eyes. "You won't tell Soul of this until I say so okay?"

"Huh? Whyyy?"

"It's an, ah, surprise," Wes improvised. His son seemed to buy it and seemed even more enthused. "Just keep it to yourself for a little longer, okay? Stay here, too, will you—?" Wes cursed softly under his breath when he saw Maka head back into school grounds, rallying up a small group of students. His moment to interrogate Maka on just what type of sister she would become to them had passed. If it was what he thought it was, then Soul was going far, far too fast and he needed to have a word with him.

Wes looked back at Gil, who bounced happily in his seat.

Why was this all so very difficult?

"Well, that was easy," Soul commented as Maka happily bounced on the couch, getting herself comfy and wiggling her back into his chest. Soul let his finger curl around one of her pigtails as she explained:

"Well, Gil told me that he liked me, so I said I did, too, but as my little brother because I've never had any siblings. He thought about it and then he realized he didn't, either, and he was really happy to know that I'm going to be like an older sister to him, which would explain why I'm with you all the time," Maka told him logically.

"He'll figure it out eventually, y'know," Soul changed the channel as Maka flipped a page in her book. "That we're not just hanging out and we're doing a lot more. Gil might be blind-sighted right now, but he'll figure it out. He's a smart kid."

"I know," Maka agreed, gently. Soul glanced down at her. "But he'd have a different image of me by then. He'd be thinking 'Big Sister Maka', not 'I like Maka'. He still doesn't understand the complexities of relationships, that it's more than just telling a person you like them. He's still a child, Soul, and I think letting him slowly come to his own conclusions is the best way to handle this without hurting him so cruelly. Who knows? He might actually come to see me as a big sister," she said, wistfully.

"You don't have any siblings?"

"No," she confessed. Her book didn't seem that interesting anymore. "It was just me. My mama was already having issues with papa before I was even conceived, so when I was in her tummy, mama had been thinking about leaving my dad. But she didn't, she gave him another chance."

"Because of you?" He let his knuckles brush down her cheek softly. Maka leaned against them.

"Mhm. She thought I should grow up in a two-parent household, but when I grew older, she left. She had enough, I guess. Papa raised me from therein and I think he did an okay job," she smiled here, a little sadly. "He wasn't perfect, but he did help me in a lot of ways. At least he had stayed when I needed him the most..." She sank a little deeper against Soul's chest and he wrapped his arm around her midsection, letting his nose bury in her hair while she settled comfortably. The night was quiet and he hugged her to him and gave her the comfort she had missed for so many years. Maka was grateful for his presence; it helped, she thought, with the loneliness she hadn't realized she'd been living with until he stepped into her life.

His phone vibrated.

Soul did not move.

"Pick it up, Soul."

"Ngh."

"Soul."

He rifled through his pocket and pulled his phone out, stifling a yawn when he saw who it was. He called way too much. Maka found it cute, but Soul just found it irritating, especially when he called so late at night because he apparently had no concept of day and night. "S'Wes, what does he want? It's gonna' be ten," he answered nonetheless, a dull hello that quickly became a choke. "Wh-what?"

Maka's sleepiness faded at his stricken tone and when she wiggled up to glance at him, she found him gawking at the wall.

"Wait a second, where did you get that idea?" Soul paused, pushing Maka's face away when she leaned over curiously. "N-no! I'm not marrying Maka, Wes, who told you I was?"

Now it was Maka's turn to gawk.

"She—you fucking idiot, she meant as an actual sister. Wes, I've been dating her for like four months, even I know that's too fast," he groaned into his palm. Maka couldn't help her tiny giggle at him and he peeked through his fingers to glare lightly at her. "Wes, relax, I assure you, when I decide to get married, you'll be the first to know," he dully told him and sighed when Wes made him promise. "I do—I promise, there, are you happy?"

Maka sank back as he spoke with his brother. She watched him from the corner of her eye. Marriage was a word that weighed heavily on her tongue. It was word she didn't like talking about. She had always said she would never marry but, looking at Soul, she found she wasn't as repulsed by the idea as she thought she would be. It still made her a mess of nerves, but that was different than flat-out revulsion like before.

"Marriage?" Maka wondered aloud as Soul rushed to hang up. He looked cute, scowling with blazing red cheeks. Almost like a stubborn child, she thought adoringly. "Do you plan on getting married, Soul?"

"If it happens, sure."

Maka waited for him to continue.

"I mean, marriage isn't decided by just one person. Both have to be in agreement. So if we both want to get married, why not?"

Her blood was rushing and she felt that familiar lightheadedness start to overwhelm her. "W-we?"

He flustered, stammering out, "I-I mean, y'know, between partners, like, couples. If it's cool between them, why not? I don't see a reason why not…" He looked away from her inquisitive eyes, hoping his burning cheeks would subside. Maka looked back forward and smiled softly at the thought of marriage, of Soul wearing a white suit. He always said he hated suits—maybe his wedding attire wouldn't even be a suit.

"And if one partner doesn't want to get married?" She asked quietly. Her eyes remained glued to the floor. "Then what?"

"It doesn't matter. Either way it's fine. Just being together is enough," he said. He watched her fidget for a moment and then she buried her nose into his chest again. He opened his arms a little more and hefted her closer to him, crossing his legs so she could sit comfortably on his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck, cheek resting on his chest. She could hear his heartbeat: it was loud. "Marriage is a fancy way of telling others that we're off-limits. It isn't necessary, though, at least I don't think so. If you really want to be with that person, nothing should stop you from doing it."

"...I don't like marriage..."

Soul knew why. He didn't need for her to elaborate as they trod this thin line. "That's cool."

Maka smiled into his chest and hugged him tighter.

"Thanks, Soul."

Maka should have phrased it better—she should have told him before he even entered the classroom! Now, as she went washed out some paint cups, she could practically feel the other children staring at her. Gil remained happy: bouncing in his seat, painting cheerfully. He had no problems in his little world, even after the panicked look she sent him when he shouted the word out for everyone in the classroom to hear:

"Sissy!"

It was better than being called a ridiculous pet name, Maka thought dryly. Gil had been calling her sissy for the past few days at his home, it seemed, and Blair did not make things any better by giggling every time he did. It also didn't help that whenever Soul heard him say it, he only looked away in disinterest. That was just as bad as Blair's giggling. Wes seemed to be the only one on her side: he told his son not to call her that, to respect her title, and he did...whenever his father was around.

"U-um...Sissy?"

Maka froze.

She slowly turned, dropping her eyes to the tiny child who stared up at her with wide eyes. She smiled and said, "Sissy! I'm done with my picture!"

"Me, too, Sissy!"

"Whooo! Sissy!" another child shouted, waving around his arts and crafts project.

"SISSSSSYYY!"

"But her name's Miss Albarn!" another child complained.

"And sissy, too!"

"YEAH, YEAH! SIS!"

"What...?" Maka uttered, face drawn in disbelief as the children began to call her sissy. She was one part horrified two parts endeared and she had trouble keeping her smile off her face when Gil ran over to her and said it was most definitely not his idea—she was his sister, but the others thought she was their sibling, too. "Oh, man," she groaned, lent against her desk. "Great," she mumbled when she heard one of her students call her sister and not teacher.

"Coming," Maka sighed, pulling on a smile for the sake of the children. "My name is Miss Albarn, though!"

"Sissssyyyy!"

"Miss Albarn!" Maka encouraged, sighing when they only whispered sissy between them.

That was how Soul found her during lunch break: with a miserable smile as the last remaining child skipped outside for lunch, hollering she would see her sister after lunch. He had his hands full with some lunch for both of them so he had trouble keeping the door open, but it turned out the delay helped in something: Maka now had her cheek on her desk, shoulders slumped, knees bent inward, completely done with life.

"Yo," he called, rattling the ice in their drinks. She shifted. "I bought you some lunch. You look dead."

"Lunch? That sounds great," Maka murmured, lifting her head and smiling gratefully at him. Soul smiled crookedly as he dropped the bag on her desk. She took a long drink of her soda first as Soul stuffed some fries in his mouth, not looking particularly bothered by her dilemma. As far as he cared, as long as Gil was not crying over losing his childhood crush, Soul was fine with the way things shaped out.

"How was class?" He asked as she brooded. "Makaaa?" He smirked suddenly, eyes lit up mischievously. "Or should I call you sister?"

"Soul!" Maka growled warningly. "It's bad enough Gil is calling me that, but now everyone in the class? I wanted siblings, but not that many! Or that young," she added, more to herself than Soul. "Ah, how did this happen...I didn't intend for this."

Soul's ruby eyes were alight with mirth. "So you hate nicknames that much, huh?" He mused, an idea making his grin widen. It was probably not smart, not tactful at all, but he had a chance now. If there was ever another chance to say the word, why not now?

"They're just so ridiculous!" Maka protested, digging in her bag for her hair tie. "I have a name! I don't need another one! Papa always called me by a pet name, not even my name! At one point he just called me 'angel' all the time like it was my real name!"

"That's sad," Soul commented, tapping his fingers on the emergency brake. Once she was seated, he put his brilliant plan into action. "But I guess you're gonna' have to suck it up...sweetheart."

The bruise on his arm was worth it.

The children had resorted to calling her sister and a few of the other teachers had asked if Maka had decided to join a convent. The looks in their eyes were dubious, however: they knew very well of Soul, who dropped by every other day, often with lunch for two. It was also no secret that he picked her up after school. She had already heard two of the English teachers giggle between themselves when she walked past: they thought her relationship with him was adorable, which usually had Maka covering up pink cheeks throughout the day.

"Look, sis, I got it done!" Gil beamed, holding out a worksheet. "Look, look!"

"Leave it here, Gil, and go sit quietly while the others finish," Maka directed patiently, smiling when he nodded vigorously and bounced back to his seat. Almost immediately, though, he began to whisper with his friend. Maka pretended not to notice although she caught his furtive glances from the corner of her eye.

She stretched, her back arching, as she waited for the children to finish their small quiz before school ended. Maka had been about to begin grading the papers she had when her eyes landed on her lower drawer. She opened it for the first time in weeks, finding no letters.

"Ah, right." Maka reached for her bag and opened that, pulling out the stack of letters. She was surprised she had forgotten all about the letters Soul had given her months before. To think she had brought them home and hadn't opened them for so long. She wondered how hard had he reallytried in these letters again. Soul had never been good with writing, this she knew certainly because she had once graded one of his essays in high school, and she figured even in college his writing hadn't improved much—or, she thought with a soft sigh, perhaps it had but certainly not that much, right? Then again, he had changed in many ways.

Perhaps his writing had, too.

Maka tore the first letter open, being mindful of the children who looked up at her every so often. She just pretended it was another school announcement, squaring her shoulders and keeping her face carefully composed.

She could barely hold it—she wanted to laugh.

Soul was certainly not improved: he was still rushed in his meanings, his message. Maka read over the it happened when I was fifteen, Maka, you can't hold it against me. I had the maturity of a six year old and could barely keep down her laughter. She hid it behind a cough, but grinned at her lap. She opened the second letter and it was even worse than the first—if the line are you even reading these? You're such a pain, why aren't you reading these, look I'm even handwriting them! counted as a reason for Soul to write whatever he wanted. By the third letter, which was shorter than the second, Soul had decided she was not reading them and had taken to writing about what he ate earlier in the day and how it gave him indigestion because she hated him for dumb reasons.

The fourth letter was what wiped the smug grin off her face.

The fourth letter was not a letter at all: it was sheet music. Maka had not understood until she flipped it and read the date on the back. It dated back years—since their high school days, Maka realized quietly, and when she tore open the fifth, more sheet music poured out, and by the sixth sheet of complicated notes and patterns Maka understood these were all for her. They were for her, he wrote these for her, since they were so young, he wrote songs for her, something she remembered sighing over when she was young and deluded by those romance novels she read. Having a boy write a song or a poem for her, she had secretly giggled over that but had never in the world believed any boy would ever take time to write her such personal things.

Maka stared at the last letter, the thickest, and before she could tear that one open, the bell rang and shattered her silent awe.

"Ah—wait, everyone stop! Get in line—Sarah, you can wait a few seconds—Gil, no, come back and get in line!" She fretted, bewildered that she had let time pass her so quickly. She hadn't even realized it had gotten so late! She usually had the children in a line by the door five minutes before the bell rang! "Anyone who hasn't finished their quiz, turn it in now! Okay you guys, now we can...go," Maka ended with a sigh, as all the children ran out of the door; not in order at all. "Ugh. I'm so disorganized today. Get it together, Maka," she muttered to herself, slapping her cheeks a little. Her fingers lingered, though, when she realized they were warm. She was blushing. "Mmmm…" Maka stood by the door to look at the kids find their parents, holding her cheeks. Waving at each parent-child pair, watching as the group of kids became smaller and smaller was hard when her cheeks felt like they could rival the sun.

She was really embarrassed she hadn't opened the letters earlier. Maybe then they wouldn't get to her as much as they were at the moment…

Or they'd probably get to me worse, Maka thought. Stupid Soul, writing me s-songs…wait, Maka opened her eyes, snapping her head up. Her eyes shone. Songs! This is for…for the piano, right, what else could it be for? Maka gathered all the sheet music into her hands and straightened them out. She was flipping through them for one in particular when she heard the door open.

"Sissy?" Gil called, blinking when he found his teacher clutching papers to her chest, looking flustered. "You okay, sissy?" He closed the door behind him, walking over to her.

"I'm fine, Gil, come on!" Maka decided to leave the sheet music on the table for now. "I have to go see who's left, did you see anyone?" She hurried as Gil jogged behind her, cocking her head at her strange behavior for a second before dismissing it.

"Nooppeee! Geoff said…he was gonna' go home today with Rob so… no…" Gil paused outside as Maka scouted the yard and found no one. There would be no after school tutoring, it seemed. "Uncle Soul is gonna' be late today!"

"Why's that?" Maka asked as she spotted one last pair walking back to their vehicle. Maka looked down when Gil didn't reply and bristled when she found him poking a line of ants. "Gil, don't do that! That's not hygienic!"

"Look, they're going over my hand!"

"Uwah! Gil!" Maka panicked, brushing his hand off quickly and giving him a stern look when he complained. "You're lucky those aren't fire ants," she mumbled, ruffling his hair when he only pouted. "What about Soul?"

"Oh! He's gonna' be—THERE HE IS! I SEE HIM! UNCLE SSSOUUULLL!"

Maka giggled. That had not lasted very long. Maka clasped her hands behind her and her eyes warmed when Gil latched onto Soul's leg, grinning up at him. He had become considerably warmer toward Soul now that he looked up at her like a sister; she hoped it would last.

"What're you smiling at?" Soul looked behind him. "You look out of it—do you have a fever?" He frowned, noticing her rosy cheeks. "Wh—!"

"I WAS TELLING SIS HOW THE ANTS JUST CRAWLED OVER MY HAND LIKE NOTHING—LOOK! It's really cool, uncle, come look!"

"Gil!" Maka protested. She looked up at Soul for back-up and gawked when he knelt right next to his nephew, a grin stretched on his face.

"Whoa, that's hella' cool—!" Soul choked back his interest when he caught the look on Maka's face. He quickly dusted the ants off his nephew's knuckles and pulled him up next to him. "I, uh, that's really dangerous and you shouldn't do that, Gil!"

"Awww! But dad lets me!"

"He does?" Maka twitched.

"Well, not really…" Gil giggled guiltily.

Maka sighed, crossing her arms. "One day you're going to really hurt yourself, Gil, don't mess around with anything that's on the floor—especially if it's living," she cautioned. Maka waved at a teacher who was leaving campus and went back to scolding both boys. "That goes for you, too, Soul."

"Ha ha. Right, because I pick things off the floor all the time…"

"Ooooh!" Gil pointed a finger but squealed when Soul leaned down and pretended to chomp on it. Gil leaped away and ran around them, whizzing toward the chalk paintings on the ground.

"That kid's such a handful," Soul sighed wryly. "And you deal with fifteen of them every day. I'd go insane."

"You get used to it," Maka smiled up at him. She unclasped her hands from behind her and let her pinky finger link with his for a second before they let go. Maka's attention strayed to Gil when he shouted that he found his drawing. Maka did not step away when Soul's shoulder bumped with hers.

"Tutoring today?"

"Gil is the last one as far as I know."

"Ah. So Angela…?"

Maka smiled, gently. "It was just a mishap as far as I know. I saw Mifune pick her up yesterday. I think he's back to being her primary guardian."

Soul nodded, glad because he could read the relief on her face. She had been overly worried about the little girl since the entire incident happened

"Come on, I still have to go pick up some things from the class—GIL! What did I tell you about picking things up off the floor?" Maka shrieked, running over to the little boy who howled in laughter by the tree as he dangled a worm before him.

"Soul, can you go pack up my things for me while I deal with him?" She shouted over her shoulder, not waiting for a reply. Soul casually turned on his heel and headed into the classroom, a slight grin on his face as he heard Gil's laughter.

"Jeez, she's so absent—huh?" Soul grabbed the stack of sheets on the desk, his eyes widening in recognition. "These…she opened them." He stared at the stack in his hand in panic for a second and then noticed a lone sheet by the edge. Just as he had been about to grab it, Maka's heavy sigh came from the door. Gil ran in soon after, running over to his desk as Maka trudged toward Soul.

"Well, at least I got him to promise me that he won't pick up weird things from off the floor in front of me," Maka shot Gil a tiny glare when he stifled giggles in his hand. "Anyway, let's—oh," Maka stiffened, noticing the papers Soul held in his hand. The look on his face was unreadable, troubled if she'd had to describe it.

"You opened the letters."

"I was just…curious. I was going to do it at home but I decided it couldn't hurt to do it here."

"Er, well," Soul awkwardly folded the letters and he was about to crumple them and throw the evidence of his embarrassment into the trash when Maka gasped.

"No! What are you doing—give them to me!"

"What—no way, I wasn't thinkin' straight when I gave these to you—get off, Maka!"

"Nooo—give them back, you gave them to me! I want to read them!"

"You can't even read music!"

"I can try!"

"NO—gah, Gil!" Soul snapped his head to the little boy who had snuck up behind them while they argued, snatching the papers from his hand. "Gil, give them to me!"

"No, give them to me!" Maka insisted. She smiled sweetly down at the boy, making a come hither motion with her fingers. "Give them to me, your uncle gave them to me, remember?"

"I'll buy you pizza for dinner," Soul bribed. "And a bag of Snickers if you give them to me."

Gil's eyes shined.

"NO! I'll, um, ah," Maka faltered. She was his teacher; she couldn't promise him things like Soul could. "Give you extra credit?"

"Extra credit?" Soul guffawed as Gil handed him the papers, sending Maka a guilty look as he did. "That was all you got, extra credit?" He laughed hysterically until Maka rammed a ruler on his head, ignoring his groaning to look at a guilty Gil.

"It's okay, Gil," Maka assured. "I'll just make your uncle give them to me later."

"Yeah, right," Soul mumbled from his crouch by the board, wincing when Maka sent him a searing glare.

"O-okay," Gil said, uncertainly. "But, I really want….Snickers…"

"We can go out for some," Maka suggested. "Hey, Soul, let's go. You're taking him home, right?"

Soul eyed her. "Yeah…" He watched Maka hurry the little boy out the door, Gil looking less guilty than before now that he saw Maka's happy smile. But Soul was not convinced. "Hey, you're taking this pretty calm—lyyyy," Soul squeaked when Maka grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, her eyes burning.

"We're coming back to school after we drop Gil off," she hissed. "And you are giving me those music sheets, Evans. You….you wrote them for, me…r-right?" she faltered suddenly, losing a fraction of her intensity.

Soul averted his gaze, heat burning his cheeks. "Uh, well," he sank a little when she neared him, his throat dry. "Yeah—but I was, like, fifteen! Sixteen! They're really bad, Maka, my newer stuff is better—!" He groaned when her eyes widened, shining.

"You have more?"

"No—MAKA!" He watched helplessly as she ran to the door, waving him over. "Seriously," he groaned to himself, trudging after her. "Not cool."

She was not kidding.

Directly after dropping a happy-go-lucky Gil off at home and enduring Blair's leering look when Soul said he would drop Maka off at her home, since Soul had dropped her off at the school in the morning because they had been running late.

Blair was always so outrageous: all he would get today is a lot of arguing, as far as he knew. By this time in the evening, the school looked empty. It was a large shadow against a backdrop of shadowed mountain ridges and Soul would swear even the gates looked imposing, mist beginning to gather at their heels. But Maka opened the gate without any trouble and waved him over.

"This is a bad idea," Soul deadpanned. "Isn't this illegal?"

"The school is completely empty at this time of night," Maka assured him. "Sometimes I stay over to finish homework or read. It's very quiet," she reached behind her and he took her hand without missing a beat.

"Reading?" Soul grumbled. "I doubt we're here for reading. Why are we here—we could be at home watching TV."

"You'll see!" Maka smiled, but it looked a little nervous now. They were crossing through the quad when she paused, squeezing his hand. "I know you said you wouldn't…play, but…there was one I wanted to hear."

"Maka," Soul began, reluctant. "I don't—!"

"Please, just that one!" Maka looked at him hopefully. She turned fully when he averted his eyes and held his hand in both her hands. "Just that one, then you don't have to play again if you don't want! I just really wanted to know what it sounds like," she dropped her voice to a murmur, squeezing his hand in hers.

"We don't even have a piano!"

"The one in the auditorium!" Maka chirped.

Soul didn't say anything.

"Please?" Maka asked one more time.

After a second, he said, "…Which one?"

Maka's eyes glowed. "The one named after me!"

"Oh, that one," Soul tugged her as he walked towards the auditorium, reaching into the inner pocket to pull out the folded-up stack of papers. He felt Maka lean in, emerald eyes shining in that way that made him want to cover her eyes and crush her to him. "You would choose the worst one," he sighed.

"Worst?" Maka bristled.

"I mean, that was the first one I wrote for you," Soul added, overlooking how her anger deflated to curiosity. Soul seemed deep in thought as he followed Maka into the auditorium through the back, which had the only unlocked door. Maka said it was because the lock was busted, but he had a feeling the janitors had grown used to leaving it unlocked. Regardless, the instant Soul stepped on stage, he felt his heart plummet as one stage light came on.

"I think that's enough light, right?" Maka's voice drifted from the back. He heard the squeak of wheels and some grunting before a piano appeared, the light illuminating more and more of it until it stood directly beneath the circle of light. Soul stared at it with a sick look on his face before Maka popped up, beaming at him. At the sight, his nerves settled a little, but not enough to motivate him to reply when Maka asked if that was fine.

"We haven't used this in a while," Maka told him as she withdrew the sheet over the piano. She walked into the back to drag the bench out as well. "But from what I've heard, it should be fine. It works, at least! Although I don't know much about pianos…" She expected him to make a snarky remark but, when she heard nothing, she looked up to find him running his fingers over the front lid. Maka subdued when she caught sight of his forlornly expression.

"Soul?"

"I haven't touched a piano since I was twenty," he revealed quietly. Maka watched him round the instrument, take a seat on the bench and face the piano. He did not move for a moment, but when he did he lifted the cover and placed his fingers on the keys. His other hand rested on his knee. "I still remember what to do," he mused. "How uncool."

"Is it okay?"

He tapped a few keys, not really hearing her. "Yeah. It's alright."

Maka stood out of the spotlight with her hands clasped behind her. He turned around just as she stood on her toes, cracking a smile when she tried to play it off by rubbing her arm.

"Come here," he said, pointing beside him. Maka sat beside him carefully, looking up and down the row of piano keys curiously.

"How do you know which ones to push?"

"There's a scale," he answered. At her blank look, he sighed and his nervousness settled a little more. He forgot Maka knew as much about music as a child knew about quantum physics. He reached over, gesturing to the row of keys. "There's a scale you have to remember, it isn't that hard. But once you have it memorized, playing becomes easier."

"That sounds easy enough," Maka smiled, perking up. She took back her words when he stretched out one hand over the keys, fingers elegantly curved over them. They touched the keys so gently, barely a push, yet the sounds that they produced—Maka could not look away even if she wanted to. Her eyes followed the gentle movement of his hand as it climbed up and up the keys before coming back down, fingers hitting each key harder before softening up again. The sounds reflected his actions, his movements, Maka realized with awe, yet she knew that each key would produce the same sound when pressed…yet how he did it, how he played, it was so sweet—

Maka startled when his playing became rougher, louder.

She squeezed her hands into fists on her lap, following his hands faithfully, afraid of looking away and missing something amazing. She heard paper shift and when she looked, he was reading off the page, brows furrowed, not looking at the keys at all yet his fingers never second-guessed themselves. His playing faltered at some points when he could not read his own scrawl, stopped sometimes completely, but when he reached the third page he pushed the rest away instead.

"B-but, don't you need it—?"

"No. I got the feel for it," he answered and, to her amazement, improvised the rest.

"Oh…" She whispered, perking up when she noticed the sounds were not forced like before. They came easier, faster and light—content, she realized, his song was content.

His improvising, she was surprised to find, was much better than what he had originally written. This sounded lighter, heartier—he was so lost in the moment, so caught up, it reminded her of them. The tempo, the highs and lows, the sweetness that lined it. She watched Soul follow each movement, the pianos sounds haunting and beautiful all at the same time. She had never been a fan of music, she would be honest, but the way Soul played made her want to learn more and more and more.

By the end of it, Soul was breathing harder, his arms sore, his wrist cramping. He had not played that hard, that fast, that long, for years. He found he actually missed the soreness, the fading of sounds as the piano quieted. He missed stepping on the pedals, moving his body with the song. He missed it all; it was an ache but not a bad ache. It did not feel as bad as usual in his chest and perhaps that had to do with the fact that Maka was clapping and she was smiling so widely, her eyes were glowing.

Perhaps it had to do with the fact that she said it was fantastic and she did not know he could play so well, ignoring his words when he said he messed up a total of twenty times. She only opened her arms wide and smiled brightly at him—and next thing he knew, he was enveloped in her embrace and his arms were wrapped tightly around her thin frame.

"I told you," Maka muffled against his neck. "It was beautiful, Soul."

He scoffed, holding her gently, digging his fingers into her sides. "You wouldn't know good music even if I showed it to you," he murmured. But his smile was relieved, content. "Thanks, Maka."

Their pinkies linked again and they decided they did not need rings to show just how much they cared for each other—this simple act would be enough, and Maka smiled into his shoulder when their pinkies held tight.

"Y'know… I think I'll rename this song."

"Rename it?"

"Yeah. I'll call it: Big Sister in G Major—UGH!"

"Don't start with that again, Soul!"

"You didn't have to hit me so hard! You almost broke my nose on the piano!"

"Next time you won't be so lucky!"

"So not cool, you're a bad sister—okay! Okay, I'll stop! I'll stop," he chuckled, bringing her nose into his neck and squeezing her tightly against him. "I am going to rename it, though."

"Something not stupid, I hope."

"It won't be. C'mon, let's go before we get caught."

He'll just rename the song Maka in G Major, he thought to himself as Maka tried to disentangle herself from with promises of picking up some Chinese before they went home.

A/N: Oh my god! I had so much trouble uploading this onto FFN because the document itself was too big and my wifi was very slow. Thankfully, though, it is all up now. The art for this story is on my tumblr, so check that out when you can! My artist, Nayght-Tsuki, did such a great job with the art to accompany this story! I am so happy that she selected my story! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it! Happy Resbang, everyone!

Scarlett.