See You Later. [A B O V E _ T H E _ S T R A T O S P H E R E]

by Stré

Dedicated to those suffering from wanderlust, to the youth struggling with their future, to the romantics wondering if fate exists.

He is thankful that he managed to book a window seat because his habit for poor posture always encourages him to lean on something, especially when he is tired and cannot force his body upright. He can never get used to those horrible neck-pillows, and although he does carry one, he prefers resting his head against the window.

Earphones are a must when travelling very long distances, particularly during this 12-hour flight. In fact, they are just essential no matter where he is going. He has always been a nerd for music. The good kind, of course. Not the crap that's probably blaring from the stranger sitting beside him.

As he watches the sight of clouds floating below, he wonders where he is drifting or why he decided to even travel in the first place. For a second, he remembers his previous girlfriends, and although they've all been different from one another, he does recall them having one common link: each of them have broken up with him because of his distant nature, claiming that they didn't feel loved or cherished, despite all the times he has bent his slouching back for them and never left their side under any circumstance. They confessed that they felt lonely when they were with him, and a few were bold enough to admit that they even felt empty after having sex. His head was apparently stuck too much in the clouds, and he can't help but chuckle at the metaphor. Maybe that's why his hair is snow white. And it would also explain why he never felt quite there when he was around people.

Just like those clouds, he lets the wind carry him, always going with the flow, and never really hanging on to any strong desires that would keep him tied down. He can't really pinpoint why he is like this, or when he became so jaded. All he knows is that he's currently wandering and searching for a direction that could lead him out of his indifference, out of the sheer boredom that describes the twenty-four years of his life—okay, maybe early childhood wasn't so bad, so make that sixteen instead.

Why Tokyo, he wonders to himself. He is once again unsure, but he has always felt intrigued by the place. He didn't bother planning anything about his trip, not even where he is going to stay when he gets off this plane, which kind of poses a problem when filling out that annoying embarkation card since it clearly asks for his 'intended address in Japan', but he simply shrugs if off and decides to deal with it later. For now, his sole concern is getting some sleep.

Yet he can't.

There is warmth being pressed against the side of his thigh, and he can only suppose that it's coming from the stranger next to him. When he first got on the plane, he arrived before this person, so he wasn't forced to interact with them. Moreover, it had only been an hour since takeoff and his bladder was far from being full, so he has yet to even engage with the awkward excuse-me-I-have-to-pee downside of sitting by the window.

He essentially has no idea what this person looks like because his gaze had been firmly locked onto those clouds, occasionally shutting his lids when he was too deep in thought. But he can no longer ignore their presence, since the contact is growing more apparent, with a knee now gently poking into his flesh.

He still refuses to look at them, mainly because the acknowledgement may lead to conversation, and he was never particularly fond of interacting with strangers. He takes in a moment to breathe in the smell, and his nose captures a faint hint of laundered garments and fresh shampoo. It's probably female. Or maybe it's some pansy guy. No, it's way too soft, so definitely female.

His full attention is thus fixated on the pleasant scent, and he can't escape as the arms of nostalgia lock him in a tight embrace. It brings him back to his early childhood, at the age when he actually did find the world interesting, when his curiosity stood at the forefront of his actions. He often played hide-and-seek with the maids who were really just trying to get him to attend his private piano lessons, and it would turn into quite the event as the entire staff had to team up to look for him. His favourite memory was when they spotted his white shock in the garden, and he had evaded their grasp by running between wide sheets that were hanging to dry, purposely tugging them off their pegs and letting them fly in the faces of those chasing him.

Crisp linen billowing in the wind, the feeling of its sundried and refreshing quality. He could never forget that sweet aroma, of a time where he could be carefree and relaxed from the pressure of responsibility. He inhales another deep breath, and his olfactory receptors tingle in delight from the lovely stimulation. It is the feeling of comfort, of familiarity, of a place he has been longing for, so he closes his eyes, and allows this stranger to further invade his personal space.

She however digs too deep as her head suddenly lolls against his shoulder, immediately forcing his lids open from the abrupt contact. The boundaries have been officially overstepped, but he still does not have the courage to confront her, even though he's dying to see her appearance.

His shoulder now feels a warm sensation, and it seems to rapidly spread throughout his body, to the places where she isn't even touching. The heat rushes through the channels of his veins and they fuel his heart to pump at a furious pace, leaving his mind in a panicked peace, which is a complete oxymoron that somehow describes his current state. The scent calms his soul, but the touch leaves him restless.

Curiosity is infecting his blood, and he is consumed by the desire to know what she looks like. Such a sensation is once again nostalgic, and he reverts back to his six-year old self, at that time when he took action without caring about consequences. He finally decides to steal a look at the girl.

His eyes are discrete and the action is swift. In that quick glance, his questions are answered, but he's still feeling unfulfilled because the result was somewhat anti-climatic.

She's just average.

With lank ash blonde hair framing her small face, she was neither beautiful nor ugly. Her features did have a slight exoticism, but she nevertheless appeared like a normal caucasian-american girl. She did not seem to wear any makeup, her unblemished skin left glowing in its natural state, with a complexion that was both plain yet endearing.

He wants to look again, so he turns his head to study her face once more.

He doesn't know if he's being influenced by her scent, or by the fact that she's innocently dozing off on the shoulder of a stranger, but the word 'cute' pops in his mind, and he can't help but crack a smile. She was average, but she was no doubt interesting. And it had been a long time since he found interest in something or someone. He lets her sleep on his shoulder, while he rests his head against the window, and allows slumber to overtake him on this peacefully exciting ride.

"I'M SO SORRY," exclaims a rather embarrassed female voice.

The sound awakens him, and he directs his gaze to the speaker in question. He had forgotten his surroundings, but now that a pair of big green eyes draw into focus, he immediately snaps back to reality.

"Don't worry about it," he mumbles, still not fully awake. "I didn't notice much cuz I was asleep." He ruffles the back of his head, further tangling his permanently messy hair, and lets out a yawn that he wasn't shy to hide.

"Oh shit," she panics to herself. "I totally just woke you up. I'm so sorry!" She looks at him imploringly, a green filled with honest pleading emotion.

"Chill out, you don't need to apologize so much," he tried to reassure her, but she still looked guilty, with those eyes that were now making him feel uncomfortable. "I probably would have done the same cuz I can hardly ever sit up straight."

She glances at his deep slouch, and a fit of giggles shakes her chest. He doesn't know how to respond, and she doesn't quite break the silence with any conversation. Luckily, the stewardess is passing out the first meal of the flight, which somewhat eases their growing awkwardness of each other's newfound presence.

He chooses the American option (with potatoes), while she chooses the Japanese (with rice). Maybe he should have taken the same as hers, to be adventurous like she was currently being. Either way, both meals were borderline edible, tasting much like cardboard, but it served its purpose in fuelling his tired famished body.

They are however back to square one, to the awkward feeling of self-consciousness, or at least that's how he is feeling, since he cannot tell what's on her mind. He wants to talk to her, but he doesn't know how to initiate it since he has never done it before. While his brain is trying to remember what other people have usually said to start conversation with him, his impulse takes a shortcut and his mouth rambles the first question that comes to mind.

"So, where are you going?"

His brain finally catches up to his current situation, but it's too late to change the words that were already uttered. Stupid, he thinks to himself. He's on a fuckin' plane to Tokyo and she's sitting beside him. Where is she going? TO FUCKIN' TOKYO. He's really not meant to interact with strangers, or maybe he just isn't cut out for this type of travelling experience that requires being an extrovert. He probably should have stayed back in Death City, in that Nevada bubble where he could have been in the comfort of his own—

"Home," a smooth voice answers, freakishly finishing off his own inner monologue.

His mind halts, and takes a few steps backwards: did she just respond? Yes, she did. Now say something without sounding like an idiot.

"Home?"

Nope, still an idiot.

"Yeah, I live in Tokyo... actually, more like Yokohama," she informs with her gentle smile that soothes his mind, reassuring him that his questions aren't completely retarded. He gains a little confidence to carry on the small talk.

"Oh, so how long have you've been living there?" He assumes that she's either studying abroad or teaching English like a lot of Americans usually do when they're living in Japan.

"In Yokohama? Only for about 2 years. My mama decided to move back to her hometown in Kyushu, but there was no way that I'd follow her cuz I'm studying at Toudai." All of these Japanese names are completely foreign to him, but he doesn't bother to ask for any clarification. "Not only that, but I've lived in Tokyo all my life, so I wasn't about to leave all of my friends and my part-time job. So when Mama decided to move, I had to find my own place, and Yokohama was a cheaper option than Tokyo."

He's a little confused at this point. By what he could gather, this meant that…

"Wait, are you Japanese?" He swears this is not a dumb question because she clearly doesn't look Asian, and although he may have just sounded like an ignorant American, he was pretty sure that Japan's demography was rather homogenous compared to the diversity in the States.

"Yes, I am," she says without a hint of offense. She's used to this question, since she has heard it repeatedly as far as she can remember. "I'm mixed, but I guess I took after Papa a lot more… but just in appearance because Papa's so stupid and I'd never want to be associated with him if I had the choice." Her eyes narrow at the thought of her father, a look of disdain but also filled with affection that she would never admit aloud.

"Kindda sounds like you really love that Papa of yours," he teases, smirking at her affronted expression. Her speech had been fluid and poised up until now, so it was refreshing to see her flare up in emotion, with cheeks turned rosy, and a mouth unable to form a reply to his statement.

"So, why are you going to Tokyo?" she diverts the subject, much to his dismay. He still didn't want to be prodded with questions, but that was what he had done to her, so he accepts this turn of events.

"Not really sure, to be honest," he answers nonchalantly. "Mainly for a change of pace, but I haven't really planned anything in advance."

The words 'haven't planned' seemed to trigger her enthusiasm, and she goes on a tirade about the must-see places in Tokyo, giving examples of excellent dishes to try out, while explaining the do's and don'ts of Japanese culture. She reaches in her handbag for her pad of paper, presumably to jot down notes for him, until she realises something more important.

"Did you book any accommodation? Where are you staying?"

He shrugs his shoulders, and she feels a pinch in her stomach that foreshadows another flare of emotion.

"I'll figure that out when I get off the plane," he drawls without looking fazed or worried in the least. She doesn't believe her ears, and she can't stop her eyes from growing wide.

"What? You're crazy! What happens if there are no vacancies?" she exclaims frantically, and he didn't quite understand why she was getting so flustered on his behalf. He had to admit that her concern was endearing.

"I'll figure something out. I mean, worse comes to worst, I can just sleep on the street. I heard Japan's a pretty safe place." He brushes off the topic as if it's really no big deal, but it doesn't sit well with her.

Her eyes lock onto his, and he once again doesn't know what she is thinking. He can only stare back with his usual apathetic expression, but he can't help his brow from rising when he sees her bite her lip, appearing as if she was fighting some inner battle in her mind. The lids of her eyes then shut tightly, and he wonders if he should take back the words he said, maybe lie and say that he indeed had a place to stay. He would do it for her, just to ease her apparent discomfort.

After a moment that felt like an eternity, her lids open to reveal a determined look without a trace of unease. He feels intrigued by this dramatic change, but he continues to stare at her with that same unreadable expression.

"Come and stay at my place," she suggests in a confident tone. "I don't start school until Monday, so I can even show you around Yokohama and Tokyo."

He thinks that she's being genuine, but he is used to people saying things just to be polite, and he doesn't want to make her feel obliged.

"Naw, don't worry about me. You don't have to go out of your way to accommodate a stranger." He adds a few chuckles to lighten the situation, and although he is tempted by the idea of spending more time with this girl, he also hopes that she would retract her offer because he really didn't want her to be doing something that she felt uncomfortable with, just for the sake of her duty or pity.

She then offers him her hand, and he only comprehends the gesture when she speaks.

"Maka Albarn," she says firmly, while he takes her hand and she squeezes it with a grip as confident as her voice.

"Soul Evans," he responds airily, still wondering why she initiated this formal introduction.

"Okay, so now we aren't strangers anymore." She smiles at him warmly; his stomach does a backflip as he now understands the reason for her actions. "You're staying at my place, and that's final."

She's so commanding. By the way she had said her name, right down to her handshake, it's almost creepy how natural it feels to obey her words. But he's still wary of her sincerity, since he has barely ever encountered any honest people in his entourage.

"Listen, Maka." He likes the way her name rolls off of his tongue, and he secretly wishes that this will not be the last time to say it. "You really don't have to worry. I'm fine on my own."

"Soul," she replies. He may have liked saying her name, but it's even more addicting to hear her voice saying his. "I'm offering because I want to. So when we get off this plane, you're coming to my apartment. No buts about it."

He couldn't possibly decline, not when she was being so forward, and when he was still curious to discover more about this person. At least now, he would know what to write for his 'intended address in Japan', and he mentally pats himself on the back for his lack of planning.

He sinks deeper into his seat, fully relaxed, while he listens to Maka rant about American airport security and how she never wants to visit the States again. The remainder of this flight was surely going to be entertaining, he thinks to himself.

Letting the wind carry his soul had been a great choice, but he decides to take a break from the constant flow of movement. Resting on cloud nine seemed like a nice place for the time being.

A/N:

Oh gosh, this was supposed to be a oneshot, with the general premise of 'Soul and Maka need to bang'… but I got wayyyyy too carried away with the theme. So it's going to be a lot longer than expected, but not too drawn out, probably only 2 other parts at most. (and it's rated M because there will be a lemon in the future…)

I haven't seen many (or any?) fanfics exploring Maka's bi-racial identity… I guess most people don't care since she looks Caucasian and the US is multi-cultural anyways, but I always thought it could be an interesting topic to expand. But alas, this story is almost entirely in Soul's perspective, so I can't really get into her brain, which is a bit fail on my part. OTL

Also, I wrote in the present tense, just to try something different. I haven't quite decided if I like it or not; I'm kind of leaning towards "I don't like it" but I'll stick with it till the end of this story at least. I hope it wasn't too awkward to read, whatwith the insane amount of contractions that scream out INFORMAL. I dunno, it's probably just something that I have to get used to...