A brotp collaboration work between the artist, Happyisahabit, and the authors, Lucyrne and L0chn3ss. Story based on Happyisahabit's artwork, check it out on her tumblr page.

triple point. n. the intersection point between two boundaries, often a focus for thunderstorm development. triple point also may refer to a point a favored location for tornado development (or redevelopment).

Maka was a mess of a girl, but one more precise than a storm and more vengeful than the winds. She was like a hurricane, a controlled disaster sent to ruin her own life as a detached concept of herself waited in the center, watching it all fall apart. It was safe in her eye, to be surrounded by her destruction and protected from the harsh outside, the harsh outside that would ultimately consume her unless she went for it first.

That was how she learned to be fearless, vicious, and the one who controlled her own reality. Ever since she found her strength, Maka allowed herself to command her forces, putting herself into a flurry of motion. Even when she was presented with conflict, she was never afraid of the storm; in fact, she thrived in the center of its chaos. That world in which she entered was never meant to be a playground for the fainthearted. No, it was her magnum opus, a masterpiece of its own sort.

And her best work was always herself.

Her wild form was where she got shit done, where she condensed it and gathered it to use as energy. And she used it to change, to ruin, and then to create a new beginning that let her flourish as a person. Like a river bank after a flood and like a forest after a blaze, Maka came. She saw. And she left behind a part of her that grew.

So lovely was a passing storm, but everyone prays for storms to end.

And so did Maka.

Sometimes, damages are too great, and even the storm knows of the horrors it has created. This wasn't a revered god such as Shiva who mistakenly took her fire too far; this was a girl with too many ambitions to fulfill in too little time. This was Maka, the girl with too many burdens to bear upon her shoulders. And she was rebellious, cautious, and much too reliant on herself to know that she was only one person, and she was only human.

And Black Star was too, though he was another entity of his own.

He was another type of storm, another opposing nature with his own eye where he stood while his winds raged on. Yet in the moment, he was just another boy, entering his dark and quiet home, unlocking his front door to escape the thunderstorm outside. He let out a noise of discontent and shook off his wet beanie, discarding it on a stand close to the entry as he flicked the lights on.

But the moment he felt the sting of the air and the smell of grief, his hairs stood on its ends and goosebumps emerged under his coat. Black Star shrugged the jacket off entirely, dropping it on his muddy boots, caring about something else as his utmost priority.

He dimmed the lights, not taking his eyes off the fallen scarf by his bathroom door.