"Soul, do you believe in soulmates?"

They're stretched out on a blanket on their apartment's rooftop, both wishing the city lights were dimmer so that they don't have to pretend to see stars. Fragile silence and a sliver of space in their soul link separates them. Static vibrates just under the surface of his skin, kindled by having her within holding distance.

Her voice is unsure when he doesn't reply right away. "Well… Do you?"

"Yeah," he confesses, clearing his throat, overcome with flashbacks of their past resonances. Nostalgia spreads like sunlight in the cave that is his chest.

"Oh," Maka breathes. In the periphery of his vision, he sees her twitch and try to fold her casted arms underneath her head.

"Here…" He sticks his forearm out. "Use me as a pillow."

She turns to face him for the first time in the two weeks they've danced around the each other, awkward and brimming with questions. Green eyes gleam in the half-shadows of the night. Surprise waterpaints over her features momentarily and then fades as she thanks him with a small smile, shimmying over to plop her head down.

This doesn't fix the misalignment of their souls, but it does sate their need for physical contact.

"What about you? Do you believe in soulmates?" he prompts, eyes trailing a blinking light in the charcoal, cloudless sky.

She takes a long breath: "Not really..."

Oh. That stings more than lightning slicing through his muscles. Sure, he's come to terms with the fact that he is a collection of soft spots when it comes to Maka. He has below zero shame about this characteristic, but it's impossible not to feel like a tree being taken down by a sharp ax at hearing her revelation.

It slips out before he can censor himself: "What about you and me, then?"

Tilting her chin to look at him initiates another test of wills, and this time he's ready. Maybe it has to do with their proximity. She still smells of daydream-invoking vanilla, and even though she hasn't asked for help styling her hair, it's still satiny soft as it cascades over the skin of his inner arm. There's nothing different about how she feels - and yet their link pauses and skips and hiccups.

Their connection is deteriorating, and he can feel her drifting away like a glass bottle being reeled into sea by slow waves. She has traveled too deeply into her thoughts and he's tormented by the fear that she won't be able to find her way back. By the look of the crease between her eyebrows, she's overthought one too many times.

All he wants to do is press his forehead against hers and adopt some of her burdens.

She breaks first. Pale eyelashes flutter, startled, confused. It's the only time he's won and this isn't how he envisioned his first victory in their staring matches. Confusion fills the spaces between each of her syllables: "Us? What do you mean?"

Spelling out the meaning of their souls fusing so easily daunts him, not because of the implications, but because she may not feel the same way. Maybe he's misinterpreting their bond? Just because she's let him peek into the danky, cobweb littered corners of her soul doesn't mean he's earned a more permanent role in her life. What if he is merely a holding place for someone - anyone - better?

He swallows thickly, throat raw. "I mean…" Breathing rattles his ribs. "We're connected."

"I know," she says, and the fire in his blood persuades him to believe her. "We're partners."

"Yeah, so…" Does he have to say it aloud? Stringing words into a coherent sentence is not his forte. In fact, there was never a flashpoint when he realized his feelings for his meister extended past the platonic threshold. There was never a precise pinpoint in time where he thought "I'm a goner", which leads him to believe that the feelings existed within him and were gently stirred awake over the years. To think that it might not be the same case for her stings worse than a sword to the chest.

He wants to carry more meaning for her than a weapon.

They're not understanding each other; this is clear by the way she doesn't answer immediately.

"So we're soul mates," he finishes weakly.

"But why? How can you be sure?"

Questioning the fact has never occurred to him because it doesn't have a straightforward answer of the kind Maka is used to in her studies. He's accepted his fate to admire Maka with knee-wobbling fervor. Some would say that it's his weakness, but he considers it one of his strengths, a source of his motivation to strive for improvement. After all, how can he be the weapon of a formidable meister if they're not equals?

"Love is something that doesn't make sense to me," she goes on. "Like, my papa says he still loves my mama, but he's always flirting with other women… How can I believe in something like soulmates when it didn't even work out for my parents?"

For what seems like the millionth time since he's known Maka, he has to quell the need to find Spirit and punch him straight in the throat. Pieces of the puzzle begin to fit together. It makes sense that her father's actions have tainted her perception of the word; she's witnessed the results of his infidelity firsthand. Many examples of loyalty exist around her - Stein and Marie, Sid and Nygus, the two of them - but none of these relationships have healed her wounds.

"I think people feel love differently," he begins, wedging his free arm beneath his head. Sarcasm threatens to poke through because the conversation is too serious, but he stifles it. "And they do different things. Like, uh… your dad probably does love your mom. When he talks to the other women, he probably doesn't want any romance, just, uh…"

"Gross," she mutters darkly, catching his drift. "I don't understand why he's like that."

"I bet even he doesn't know…"

"But does that mean… Okay, have you heard that saying that goes 'you end up being your parents'?"

Oh. The pieces keep fitting together. He turns his head and he's fascinated. The dim light curves over her nose and adds a mystic smolder to her contemplative expression. She's staring into the night sky, he's staring at her, and a faraway voice that wonders if he'll always be on the sidelines.

"I think I've heard that once or twice - but that doesn't mean you're going to be like your parents. It's not guaranteed."

"Yeah, but…" She coughs. "I feel like I cheated on Clay because… ahh..."

They're stumbling through this conversation, but she's opening up to him and he feels honored and privileged to know what's going on in her overworked mind. It empties his self-control reservoir to resist scowling at Clay's name, who sometimes stares at Maka too long when the pair runs into him at the library. According to her, their breakup was amicable, and she had just nodded in agreement and walked home after he ended the relationship.

She wasn't too cut up over the whole ordeal.

Clay, however, dragged his feet over one evening to where Soul and Maka were settled with their highlighted notes while she ran to the vending machine, sighing dejectedly, "You're a lucky guy."

"I think I have feelings for someone else," she confesses, and tacks on before he can process the information: "Do you believe in forever?"

"Uhm… I think so," he answers, squinting at the passing twinkle of airplane lights crossing the sky. "Wait - so who do you, uhh, who's the person you like?"

No amount of bravery in the universe would prevent the knot from tightening in his throat like a noose. Maka's feelings aren't his to control, of course, so he can't expect her to take into account that her revelation summons pain worse than a fifty foot drop off a steep cliff, especially since he hasn't voiced his feelings. Should he keep them sealed, suppressed?

Someone is blessed enough to be the recipient of her affections, and even though it will invoke flesh-tearing levels of misery, he needs to know who this other person is.

Maybe he's a masochist.

She encourages this tendency of his by ignoring his question.

"I don't believe in forever, because I haven't seen anyone make it," she says, and it's obvious that she has been drawing conclusions from her parents' relationship.

"Forever is a long, long time," he reasons. The irony that he's playing the role of the optimist doesn't escape him.

"What if it's too long?"

If he could supply her with answers, he would go to Hell and back, but all he can do is reassure her that she's the epitome of goodness and deserves happiness, whatever that may look like. He'll eventually have to feign courage and put on his happy mask when she replaces Clay with someone else, but he's her best friend and he's trying to soothe her doubts.

Who else is there in her life? Will there be enough room for him? Is he selfish for wanting to keep a place in her heart?

"I do think there are different types of soulmates," she explains. "Uhm, like there are best friends, partners, and those I think can last forever. But I don't know about… the type that kiss."

Seeing Maka struggle through her confusion causes him second-hand pain, the kind that lingers and haunts like a bruise. Deciding which part of that is due to resonance and which he can attribute to crippling self-doubt is impossible. "You mean like, romantic partners?"

"Yes. But I don't get it... How does anyone know if they've found the right one? How would I know?"

Tucking her bottom lip between her teeth, she looks at him expectantly, and once again he fails her because he's inexplicably mute.

"Uhhm.. I guess that's why you have to try dating, like you said about Clay…"

"That was weird, though. We got off to an awkward start and then all of a sudden it got better."

"Guess my tips helped," he notes, bitterness seeping through.

She sits up so quickly that she wobbles unsteadily, only gaining her composure to shoot an angry glare at him. "Is that why we were getting along better? Because of you?"

Apparently this was the wrong thing to do. Ugh. And to think they were almost synced emotionally, that they were almost on the same page. "Yeah, but-"

She's a firecracker going off in the calm of the night: "You're not supposed to coach him through the things I like!"

"What was I supposed to do?" Propping himself up on his elbow makes her eyes widen and then narrow - she takes it as a sign of hostility, when in actuality he just wants to retreat inside before they argue. "He asked me! And you were miserable-"

"How I feel is none of your business-"

"You don't even know how you feel," he points out in a mumble, but Maka hears all and she erupts, red-faced and trembling.

"I'M DONE TALKING TO YOU!" she shouts, voice cracking like floorboards under too much pressure. Tears betray the fury emanating from her posture - spine straight, shoulders tense, chin quivering. She's a portrait of heartbreak.

"Okay. We can talk later," he reassures, careful to portray his patience. A conversation about their relationship wouldn't be appropriate while they're both clearly under stress. Maka's his first priority. Of course, it's a fact that she's anything but fragile, but he also knows the dangers of pursuing a conversation she insists on stopping.

She can't keep herself from talking: "I'm just so - so angry because you didn't even try to talk me out of this stupid idea-"

This causes his defense mechanisms to flare up. He glowers. "I couldn't! You would get mad."

"And you weren't even jealous," she spews. "You just curled my hair and let me go on that stupid date-"

"Even if I tried to get you to bail on Clay you wouldn't have listened."

"-And I was so unhappy and you just let it happen!"

He's fragile, even if he doesn't wear a 'handle with care' sign. "Why is this my fault? What does it matter if I was jealous or not?"

"BECAUSE-" She slaps a casted hand over her mouth.

He starts, but realization snaps him into unbelieving serenity. He's not the one she's angry with; she's looking for someone to pin this mess on. False hopes plant themselves in his chest like seeds, but will they grow into something real? Did she mean to imply...? "Maka, you're trying to blame me for this. Why?"

She practically breathes fire. "Because Clay didn't get me at all! He wasn't like you! I wished he was more like you and that's your fault! It's your fault that I like you!"

Electricity shoots up and down his spine, tickling his toes. His brain screams that he's not good enough for her while also shrieking that he is good enough. Somewhere in the midst of all this mental chaos he understands her logic. They've stuck alongside one another for so long that knowing each other is an instinct. Getting to know someone else sounds like an impossible task.

Does she resent their partnership? Is it an obstacle to her happiness?

He's hurting but he's grinning because she likes him too. "...I was jealous, you know. Because uhm… I do believe in soulmates, and I think you're my soul mate, in the more-than-friends kinda way."

Honesty is the key to calming her down. She lowers her hand (maybe later he'll laugh at the absurdity of the situation, but right now he's flat-lining.) "Really? You think I'm your soulmate?"

She's so astonished and he's shaking; he wants to be held by her, not pushed away. Comprehension creeps up to the forefront of his rational thoughts. Gluing together the clues both alleviates his worries and nurtures more guilt. The reason behind their fading soul link is clearer.

"Yeah, but you're scared that we could more than one kind of soul mate," he says slowly. "And you're scared because I, uh… likeyoutoo."

She chokes. "Do you really?"

"Death, yes, Maka."

Reaching out, she clutches at his shirt, nails scraping him through the fabric. "Are you sure?"

There is nothing to wipe his tears away, so he digs the heel of his palm into his eye sockets until it hurts. "Yeah, I do. I thought it was obvious… But I understand if you don't want us to be together. Because we'd be… Just like your parents."

Her voice is the silence between clashes of thunder. "And nothing lasts forever…"

"Sorry," he mumbles, sniffling, desperate to put himself together. Why does he always have to be a source of her suffering?

"No, I meant… Soul, just look at me."

When he does, he's reminded of why he loves her so much.

"I didn't mean I was afraid of you…"

How acceptable would it be to sob? He needs to be cleansed of all the emotions ricocheting around in his body, denting and chipping away at him. "I just don't know what you want."

"You... But I always told myself you and I can't date." She fights for her breath as she whispers these reminders to herself - the way her eyes mist over and don't see him is his worst nightmare. "You're my weapon. But I trust you so so so much. I do want to try dating… but what if it ruins everything? I don't know what to do."

To say that it feels like he's invisible to her would be denial at the unhealthiest of levels. Why is he so useless to comfort her, to provide answers? He doesn't want to guilt her into dating him. Silence is his go-to response. He won't rush her into anything, he won't rush her into anything, he won't rush her into anything.

"Okay but…" She scrunches her nose, falling silent for the longest minute of Soul's life, analyzing their conversation up until now. By the time she speaks again, he has safely stowed away his tears. "...Why did you help me date Clay?"

"Because if I screwed up your dates it wouldn't be fair to you. And I could never forgive myself."

She sighs, both relieved and exasperated. "Why do you have to be such a good person? Why can't you act like a real jerk once in a while?"

"I hate Clay," he reassures.

She gives him a serious look. "Do you want to know how I broke my arm?"

Willing himself to numb the ache spreading outward from his chest, he nods only once. It's enough for Maka.

"We were sitting in Clay's car talking, at Vista Point - I know that's a makeout place, I know, Soul! So I shouldn't have been so surprised when he leaned close to my face and tried to kiss me, but I panicked and I practically broke the door of his car trying to get away-"

So many questions whirl in his head, but she's on a roll and interrupting her rant would be akin to telling her to shut up. He quietly rubs where she unintentionally scratched him.

"-And he got out of the car, saying that he was sorry, but he was coming toward me and I got scared and climbed up a tree."

"And you fell out of the tree," he finishes for her, amazed and horrified. It's incredible that when Maka is involved, he's able to feel so many emotions all at once when he is so calibrated to repress everything.

"I tried to catch myself-"

"You're supposed to tuck and roll and keep your head up," he scolds automatically, then backtracks and says, "I mean, I'm glad it wasn't worse… at least you didn't need surgery."

It's not that she ignores him; it's that she's pouring out her worries and she can't stop: "But then I felt bad about not wanting to kiss him, because I do like him, he's nice! It just got away from me…" A mixture of regret and shame pulls at her face like she's tasting something sour. "I didn't want to kiss him. I realized that I wanted to kiss you."

This can't be real. Even if she had confessed a few moments ago, the leap from her liking him to her possibly wanting to kiss him is still one that melts his brain. He breathes out, "Really?"

Half-way through a sigh, she flinches in pain, eyelids snapping shut. "Ah-huh. At first I thought I was just curious, because, I mean, it's only natural that I want to kiss you, since we're always resonating..."

Soul is an empty vessel. Nobody had ever warned him that caring about someone so much could hurt them. He took a sword to the chest; she broke a few bones because of him. But does she think she's confusing their partnership for something deeper? Does she feel obligated to have feelings for him because of resonance? He has a tendency to worry, so tries to soften the blow by telling himself that it's okay, he's going to be okay even if Maka doesn't want to take that extra step.

"We could stop," he offers, and the suggestion itself grinds his heart.

"No, I don't want to stop. I want to be closer to you."

He could cry, but he's not sure why. Because she doesn't want him, or because she does? The stress is killing him. "So... what are we going to do?"

"We need a plan," she says, blinking rapidly, snapping into action mode. This is the Maka he's used to, who faces challenges head on. "We need to kiss."

He's now following her train of thought and he has no objections to her proposal. They need to connect physically. "... When?"

"After I get my casts off and I'm strong enough to wield you again. It has to be perfect because we have to be sure," she continues, "if this kiss doesn't feel good-"

"I'll try my best," he promises, leaning forward in his eagerness.

Distress mars her face and he just wants to tell her to close her eyes and stop thinking. "What if kissing doesn't feel good?"

"We'd still be soulmates, just not the… romantic type."

The whole conversation reeks of ridiculousness. They're high off the thought that they're finally going to close a gap that separates them. Hand in hand, they make their way back to the apartment. The promise of a kiss is something to look forward to, a highlight of his life, and as the days pass when they're eating dinner, he wonders if the conversation ever happened. Nothing changes between them except she hugs him more often, like she's holding on to him.

Like she's saying goodbye.

Soul's most practiced skill is ignoring, so he chooses not to let this kill him.

When Stein removes her cast, Soul's heartbeat triples in speed, and he wonders if he'll even be alive to be kissed. At this rate he'll have run his heart ragged. It's worse when they work out together, because he can't help but think that they're not working on improving any skills they'll use during battle, but on their resonance.

They move in sync, and he breaks as quietly as glass when he realizes that she's slowly letting him back in.

He can wait for her; he has nothing but patience.

But nothing goes as planned. It's how they function. They're hanging out in the living room weeks later, each spacing out while doing their own thing, when she looks over at him.

"Okay," she announces, slamming her book shut, mouth set into a straight line. Soul recognizes her fighting face: jaw set tightly, determination fermenting in her petite body, and a fiery stare that quickens his pulse and slows down time. "I can't wait anymore."

"For what?"

She takes a long breath. Her chest visibly rises, and he sees her clench and unclench her fists as she sits up from her armchair, her steps toward him calculated as if she doesn't want to slip through the floor. Anxiety bubbles in the pit of his belly, radiating to the tips of his fingers and toes and even to the thin flesh of his lips. They know what's about to happen.

This isn't how he imagined their first physical connection. Both daydreams and nightmares have revolved around kissing for so long that he's become accustomed to telling himself it won't ever happen. And yet, here he is, waiting for Maka to reach him, taking in the way her half-damp hair falls in clumps around her shoulders. Bunny patterned pajama bottoms swish as she nears him.

Now isn't the time to shush his wants, but for an irrational second he thinks of skirting around her and escaping. This could change everything. The risk of losing her is only heightened if it doesn't work out. He doesn't want to end up like Clay, cast to the side, admiring from a distance.

But if he's learned anything from their partnership, it's that they've always come out of battles stronger and closer. So when she finally reaches him, he's resolved to live in the moment and not back away.

"Okay?" she asks him. It touches him that she's checking in even when he's never seen her more determined.

"I'm good," he reassures.

Her stare is hypnotizing, and soon she's so close that he can see her pores. Their position is uncomfortable and he feels vulnerable, at her mercy, but hasn't it always been this way? He's lounging in the loveseat, buried among the throw pillows, and she rests a hand on either side of his head, looming over him like a canopy.

"Close your eyes?" Her voice falters, but he is at her command.

The waiting game begins.

Not knowing when she's going to swoop in intensifies the exhilaration of the moment. Picturing the situation should induce guffaws but he's a perfect statue, heart set on finally locking lips with Maka Albarn, his best friend.

He can feel her inching closer, the heat radiating off her skin. She's a flame against his lips, hesitant at first and then smoldering. Everything Soul's ever felt pales in comparison to this, to physically touching his partner so intimately. He's touched her hands, back, and even legs, but never in this sensual context, never her lips.

Death, what should he do with his hands? Before he can poise them on her shoulders, a droplet lands on his face, followed by another. He's absolutely still. Never did he imagine Maka crying during their first kiss, but he'll take what he can get. There is an ache in his chest and he's unsure why - does he know in his heart he isn't good enough, that she'll leave? Does he love her too much?

All too quickly it's over. Maka is gone, a bandaid torn from a wound too early.

Springing off the couch makes his head fuzzy - or was that the kiss? "Wait, Maka-"

It might be desperate of him, but he catches her wrist in the hallway, gently reeling her back.

"Was the kiss that bad?"

"No, I'm just stupid," she sniffles, smiling softly. Thick tears roll down her left cheek, jarred by her hiccups and bursts of embarrassed laughter. Soul catches her hands before she can cover her face, flattening them against his cheeks. "I was afraid for no reason."

"S'okay to be scared," he says.

Standing on her tiptoes to plant a fleeting peck on his forehead, she hums tearily, "I think we should schedule out when we're going to kiss next."

Happiness is strange. It's a glimpse of hope and excitement sprinkled with uncertainty. "So, just to make things clear, you're going to take a chance on me?"

"I have been, ever since we met," she laughs, more tears spilling out. "And we still have a lot of talking to do… Let's not rush."

"Says the girl who literally just ambushed me," he teases, grinning. It feels so good to be genuine.

"I'm still scared," she admits. "Maybe it's the type of fear that won't ever leave."

They hold each other in the hallway until Maka's tears run dry and his lips ache from kissing the top of her head.

"I'm here," he soothes, fingers tangled in her hair. "I can't promise you that it'll be perfect, but I can promise to stay by your side. We'll go slow and steady."

Forever is a long time to spend together, after all.