It tastes bitter.

People were always under the impression that girls smelt sweet and flowery and soft all the time, but she was a little different. It was as if she enjoyed going against the stereotype of the typical girl, because she smelled somewhat bitter, but fresh. It was a sharp smell that was faint as well, like something that easily faded yet didn't. A contradiction. But I loved it so much.

This coffee is bitter, just like that.

But, somehow, the drink is a little too dark to remind me fully of her.

It's the seventh day, and its been a week. After Tsubaki's words, I suddenly feel as if I have no need to mope around any more- Maka wouldn't want that. I used to mope a lot any how, but it didn't make any difference because she'd always snap me out of it. And now the gnawing of my stomach against itself was enough to make me almost cry in the morning, and thus, at the break of dawn, I decided to roll out of bed in a half asleep manner. I would live. I would live. I would live. I could live without her.

And I was never good at cooking, so I made two bowls of cereal automatically.

Then I stopped, and stared at the second bowl.

And I left it where she sat.

Things look terrible in ones.

And life is a little bitter, just like that coffee.

I simply leave the cereal there as I mindlessly take my own and begin shovelling food blankly into my mouth, only half chewing, everything tasting like cardboard no matter how much sugar I put on it. I think of the times when she just came out of showers and breezed past me confidently simply wearing just a towel, with water rolling down her neck and thighs and somehow she expected me not to stare at her because boy, she was beautiful, and I adored her so much and I followed her and I spoke to her and I teased her and I just wanted her attention and and and-

It was glorious.

She smelt so bitter.

So damn bitter and that was entirely appealing to me.

I look down at my coffee, which stares back up at me and drags my reflection with it, and in that time I get to see myself and my features and I realise that in my eyes, the bitterness of everything is reflected harshly by dark red. Its weird like that. Life's weird like that. What I wouldn't do to have towels and water and coffee and laughter and empty bowls of cereal back in this house…

I made two bowls of cereal.

Silly Soul. Why did you do that? There is only you now.

I pick up her bowl, I dump the contents in the garbage, and I sit back down.

I look over to the counter.

There is a mug there with nothing in it that I got out this morning. I had intended to make her coffee, too.

It's the seventh day, but I am still making everything in twos.

My life is bitter, just like that.

...

The Colour of You...

[ 'Black'. ]

"Soul, what are you doing?"

Its so cold. The surface of the table is so damn cold and I never want it to stop pressing against my cheek. But clearly, she does. She does because she is sitting on the other side of the table, with a spoon hanging daintily out of her mouth, and a flush of annoyance on her face. But I can't pay attention to it. I just. Want the cold. And. And this is glorious.

There are two bowls of cereal on the table.

But there is no way I can eat mine…

Annoyed that I wasn't answering her, she gets up and she walks to my side sternly, chest puffed outwards, and eyes dark. I follow her with my gaze, but I don't say anything. And she is close. Very close. Because she's bending down forward to my level, and her finger tips are grazing my skull, and in that instant I suddenly don't feel hot, I feel as if I am melting inside. I make a small noise of approval as I press my face into her hand, wanting her to keep her contact up, but she shies away with a concerned look. No, Maka. Come back here, damn it, I liked that. Damn it.

"…You're… ill?"

Maybe I am, who knows. Well. I know. I feel as if I'm going to throw up my internal organs and claw my throat out and I feel like I need to go sleep for about a week without waking and the house is so damn hot its suffocating me. So yeah, maybe I am ill. I know. She knows. She knows because she knows enough about the way I work to know I am not usually this tired. Sighing, she tugs weakly at my arm in an indication for me to stand, and I do so in a shaky manner, watching the room swirl before my eyes as if I was on a roller-coaster ride- and somehow, I find myself blankly pressing my weight against her just to be able to stand. How the hell did I even make it out of bed this morning?

"Go to the sofa. Now."

"Aye aye, cap'ain."

"Don't humour me, Soul. I'm going to be late for school now and its your fault."

She doesn't mean it. She's far more concerned with my health, and we both know it, but we both don't say a thing. Instead, with her help, I half limp, half drag myself over to where the sofa is, immediately letting myself fall on it as soon as I felt the plush fabric of its side brush against my leg. Ah. Its so much more colder here… I can already feel my eyes sliding half closed as I bury my head into pillows.

And she begins fussing.

"I will go call the professor."

"I'm fine, Maka. Just a lil' under the weather-"

"No, Soul, its better to be over cautious then anything, this is why I am always prepared and you are not-"

"What is that supposed to mean? I don't plan to feel like crap!"

"Don't shout at me, I'm helping you!"

"Well then don't shout as well!"

"You're still shouting!"

"No I am not-"

"Ok, fine. Soul, you stay here and suffer, and I'll go to school. Agreed? Agreed."

And she begins to walk away with a half hearted angry face, both of us knowing that entire argument was childish and stupid, both wondering who would cave in first to the other. Its me. I cave in first because before she can leave, I reach out with my arm and clutch the fabric of her shirt to pull me back. She instantly stops, sighs, and turns around with a look in her eyes that shows me she was never really angry, and I return the look ten fold. If I wasn't ill, there would have been a book lodged into my skull at that moment. But luck was on my side today.

She crouches in front of where I lay on my side, and slides her hand up to cup my cheek with an exasperated expression, the bangs of my hair sliding through the slots of her fingers as I lean heavily against her hand, like a dog being petted. I'm a slave to her contact, as sad as it is. But I don't care. I can't help it.

"…I want to help you get better, Soul. What can I do…?"

"… You can stay here with me…"

We're a few inches short of being nose to nose, and it allows me to shift my arm so that my hand can curl against the crook of her neck as I say it, and in return, her fingers move to run through my hair affectionately. She's so soft. So gentle. And our arms are like this circle of trust. It sounds dorky, I know, but its exactly like that in a weird way. We don't look away from each other.

"…Alright. I'll stay here. With you."

"….School…?"

"School isn't important right now." She spares me a smile.

"I'm more important than school?"

"…You're more important than school."

I'm not sure if I can answer that in a way that wont make me sound like a bumbling idiot.

She smiles at me fondly, before getting to her feet and allowing my arm to fall to the side of the sofa, where it just about scraped the floor. But her hand is still against my head, and bending over once more, she kisses my forehead softly in a way that sends shivers down my spine, and luckily the flush on my face is hidden by the flush of illness that was already there.

I realise, in that moment, that she smells kind of…

… Bitter.

And its not a bad thing, either.

Somehow, I find the courage to flat out tell her.

"...You smell bitter, Maka." It sounds stupid, I realize, when I say it aloud.

"...You're delusional, Soul."

"...But I like it."

"..."

"..."

"... You smell like leather. And I like it, too."

Shes flushing faintly as she walks briskly to the door and disappears off as fast as she can, looking embarrased.

I blink. And I laugh.

I thought she wasn't going to school- oh, she has left her school bag behind. Shes not going to school. Shes probably going to the pharmacy for me to ask about what she can get her hands on... I wonder if shes sacrificing her grades for me? I feel selfish, but happy.

Lifes so bitter like that.

I'm ill, but somehow, I feel that little bit better knowing she thinks about me.

I slowly look to the table with hazy eyes.

Theres one bowl of cereal there.

And I smile.

Tomorrow, if I felt better, I wanted to make her breakfast.

Things are beautiful in twos.

Its ironic that on the day she died, with my head buried in her chest, she still smelt bitter.

It was the smell of copper filling the insides of my nose until I was choking.

In that one moment.

I wished she was like every other girl.

Every other normal girl.

I wished she smelt sweet, because the bitterness marked her end.

...

Things look terrible in ones.

I am so tired I can't even write an A/N -sobs- school has been over working me, omg 4000 word essay on 17th century british politics, do not want werhwetthwetj

Reviews give me a reason to check this site every day ;; o;; and yet again, make me feel as if I should keep on writing.

now, its 3:12 am and I have college in three hours to get up for... aaaaaaaaaaaaaa erhwrthwrtjrejt.

much love! xxxx