Chapter Text
Panicked. Paralyzed. Pulsing.
Underneath the sound of blood thrumming in her ears, she could hear the beating of a heart that was not her own. Invisible hands held her where she stood, grabbing her legs and twisting cold fingers into her skin. On the back of her tongue, she tasted copper, but knew intuitively that she was not bleeding. Where did it come from? Why did the air around her smell like blood?
No time to think. There was a weight bearing down on her. Something was coming; something she could not see. It was so dark, but she could feel the presence pushing its way toward her, crawling, lurching, dragging itself ever closer as she tried to struggle free of the hands that held her. Dread swelled so violently in her that she could feel it in her throat, choking her. Her blood was so cold it burned in her veins.
“Maka!” The voice of her weapon pierced the silence of the room around her. Hearing it made her heart seize. Something was wrong. Something was so, so wrong.
Do something.
No time.
It’s here.
All of a sudden, Soul was in front of her and the smell of iron in the air was sickening. She could hear the sounds of flesh ripping and twisting and the heavy thump of his body hitting the floor at her feet. The heartbeat that was not hers stopped.
She screamed his name so loudly it felt like her throat would bleed.
Maka sat bolt upright in her bed. She was cold, and her pajamas, damp with sweat, clung to her skin. Wide-eyed, she looked around the room, trying to make sense of where she was and what had happened. The memory of the dark, cold room and the feeling of icy fingers holding her down clung to her mind like a thick, black fog. Without thinking, she kicked her blankets off of her, claustrophobic, hating the weight on her legs. It made her want to crawl out of her skin.
There was no time to get her bearings. A sudden sound from behind her bedroom wall sent a jolt through her already frayed nerves. It was the familiar thump of something falling, hitting the hard tile floor. Then there was a hoarse wail of distress, followed by frantic scrabbling and sprinting footfalls heading for her room. She realized too late that although the cold and the choking feeling had abated, the back of her throat still felt raw.
The last thing she remembered was hearing herself scream for Soul.
Something heavy hit her bedroom door. Then she heard a yelp and the clatter of the doorknob. No sooner had the latch clicked than Soul shouldered it open, hurling it aside with such force that it smacked against the wall behind it.
“What?” he wheezed, scrambling to her bedside and throwing himself onto the mattress beside her. “What’s wrong?”
For a moment, she couldn’t answer. All she could do was stare blankly up at her partner, a small, nauseous part of her almost surprised to see him there. Everything was still falling back into place inside her head.
“Maka!” Soul reached for her upper arm and grabbed it, pulling her toward him and leaning down to meet her line of sight. His eyes were wild and full of confusion, searching hers for answers she was not sure she could give. Trying to avoid his gaze, hers flickered down toward her lap, but was caught by the gnarled line of still-raw flesh that carved its way across his bare chest.
Reality suddenly reinstated itself.
Maka’s mouth fell open. The memory of the dark, moonlit church, not so different from the inky black room she found herself in that night—she felt it in her stomach when it hit her. She remembered everything in an instant: the ice in her veins; the horrible, ear-piercing wails of the Demon Sword; the smell of Soul’s blood so thick in the air she could taste it. Most vividly of all, she remembered the feeling of abject helplessness, kneeling there next to him as he bled, hoping against hope that she would get to see him open his eyes again, and knowing all the while that if he never did, it would be all her fault.
Darkness swam around the edges of her vision, and her stomach rolled over itself. She felt like she was going to be sick.
Soul was still trying to get through to her, but he sounded far away. “What happened?” she heard him say. “Are you okay? Maka!”
“I’m s—” The words fell from her lips like little shards of broken glass, and, embarrassed, she paused, dragging in a shaky breath. The corners of her mouth quivered with the threat of tears. “I’m sorry,” she said slowly, trying to keep her voice from trembling like the rest of her.
She still refused to look at him. Her gaze was somewhere far away.
“Sorry?” said Soul. “What’re you talking about? Sorry for what?”
All she could do was squeeze her eyes shut and shake her head.
What could she say? She could have told him it was all okay, but he would never have believed her; not after that. Would he have been upset if he knew she woke him up in the dead of night because of a bad dream? Guilt twisted her gut. Had she not put him through enough already?
Soul must not have cared, because next thing she knew, he took her by the shoulders and pulled her into his arms. Breath hitching in her throat, she crashed limply into his chest, and as soon as she did, she could feel his heart trying to beat its way out of him. Hers cracked down the middle. Trembling hands grasped at the back of her nightshirt, and next to her ear, she heard him trying to steady his ragged breathing. He was scared, but trying so hard not to be.
“Hey,” came his voice from above her head. It was quiet and rough from sleep, but tender as could be. “Look, I got you,” he said into her hair. “You’re fine, okay? It’s fine.”
A shallow breath fought its way down her throat, only for her shuddering chest to force it back up moments later in a sob that shook her whole body. She grit her teeth and balled up her fists and shut her eyes so, so tight, trying her hardest to bite back the tears, but there was nothing she could do.
Soul was so good to her—always there for her when she needed him; always running when she called—and just look at what she had done.
“Oh, my God, Maka.” Soul squeezed her so tightly it almost hurt. “I'm begging you,” he said, “tell me what’s wrong.”
When she opened her mouth, a whimper wriggled its way out of her. It was hard to speak around the lump that had lodged itself in the bottom of her throat, but she knew she had to try. Even if it meant he would be angry with her, she owed it to him to explain.
She sniffled, crinkling her nose, and breathed out slowly.
“I…had a nightmare,” she admitted. Hearing herself say it aloud made her feel even more foolish than she already did. All this over a dream.
No—all this because of her failure.
She buried her face into the crook of Soul’s neck, digging her nails into the palms of her hands.
For a moment, Soul was quiet. She could feel him holding his breath, but did not know why. Then, at length, he swallowed and said, “A nightmare?”
Those words crashed down onto her, crushing her, forcing out of her another half-choked sob. A nightmare; just a nightmare. “I’m sorry,” was all she could say.
“What? No,” said Soul. “I didn’t mean it like that.” He squirmed so that he could rest his chin on top of her head. “C’mon, knock it off. It’s okay.”
She almost went on, wanting to apologize for waking him up; scaring him; making him think something was wrong when all it was was a bad dream. She held her tongue, though. All he would have said was that it was okay, and not to worry, and somehow, that would have made her feel even worse.
So there she sat, curled up in a ball against her partner, her legs folded in his lap, hands resting on his chest. She poured all of her attention into the feeling of his heartbeat against her cheek. The sound of it set her at ease, reminding her that, in spite of what they had been through, he was still there with her. He was okay.
In her head, she counted each rhythmic thump, and tried to slow her breathing to match his. It was difficult at first. The longer she listened, though, the easier it became.
All the while, Soul held on to her, rubbing slow circles underneath her shoulders. His head was heavy on top of hers. He must have been tired, she thought, and it tugged at her heart. Even so, she was grateful for the weight; it kept her grounded while she struggled to slow the tears.
What must have been a matter of minutes felt so much longer. Eventually, though, the sobs turned to whimpers, and the whimpers, too, faded in time as the tears on her cheeks began to dry.
Soul eased up his hold on her, and his voice filled the silence between them. “You better now?” he asked.
She nodded the best she could in reply.
Suddenly, the weight of his head on top of hers was gone. She felt him shift so that he could look down at her, and then he said, “Do you wanna tell me what happened?”
This time, she shook her head “no.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.” Her voice was still thick from crying, but no longer cracked and faltered like it did before. “I just wanna forget about it.”
Soul looked at her, lips pressed into a pensive frown. She could tell by the way he hesitated that he knew something was not right, but he must have been afraid of upsetting her again, because he did not push; all he said was: “Okay.”
Then he started to let go of her, and for some reason, it scared her, like if she could no longer touch him, he would disappear. A bolt of cold fear swept through her. Without thinking, she threw her arms around his waist and fell forward, back into the familiar comfort of his embrace. Soul yelped. He swayed backward with her. She felt his spine stiffen, and heard him curse softly under his breath, but she paid it no mind. She shoved her head underneath his chin, and the sound of his heart pounding against her cheek made everything feel okay again.
Then she said to him: “Don’t leave.”
For a long while, his hands hovered awkwardly above her shoulders. The longer she clung to him, though, the more he relaxed, until eventually, he wrapped her back up in his arms, and she sighed gratefully into his chest.
It took him a moment to speak.
“You don’t, uh…” Soul started to rub his thumb up and down her back. “You don’t wanna go back to sleep?” he asked.
Go back to sleep? No, not after that. The fear of another nightmare made her feel cold all over, even in the warmth of Soul's arms. What if it happened again? What if she woke up with his name in her mouth, and he came running again, scared, thinking something was wrong when it was just a dream? Once was bad enough. She didn’t want to put him through that again, never mind herself.
Maka bit the inside of her lip.
“I don’t think I can,” she told him. “You go back to sleep, though. I don’t wanna keep you up.”
“You think I’m gonna sleep after that?” There was humor in his voice, and she wondered if he was trying to make her laugh. She did smile, but more so at the thought than the joke, if it could be called that.
“You should try,” she said. “School tomorrow.”
“Skip a day,” offered Soul. “C’mon, do you wanna stay up? We can watch a movie.”
“We can’t just skip school.”
“Sure we can.”
Just like him to say that so easily, she thought with some mirth.
“No,” said Maka, “it’s okay. Just…”
“Just what?”
She hesitated, fidgeting, staring with eyes half-open at nothing in particular. Over Soul’s shoulder, she could see the shadows of clouds dancing along the opposite wall. It frightened her. The darkness reminded her too much of the black room.
She shut her eyes again and turned to hide her face in Soul’s collar.
“Just…stay here,” she said. “I don’t wanna be alone right now.”
Silence filled the air again. Then, at length, Soul asked, “You sure you don’t wanna talk about it?”
The concern in his voice broke her heart. She should have told him; she knew that, but how? And if she did, would it have made him feel guilty, like it was his fault? That was the last thing she wanted. It had nothing to do with him; it was her. It had always been her: her decision, her recklessness, her failure.
So why, then, did he have to suffer for it? It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair.
“Maka?” said Soul.
She felt tears behind her eyes again, but managed to keep her voice from cracking when she said, “Will you stay?”
Tomorrow, she thought. In the morning, she would tell him, but now, it was late, and he sounded so tired. All she wanted was for him to forget about everything and go to sleep. She wanted that for herself, too, but at the same time, she felt that sleep would not come easily for her, if it came at all.
Soul, realizing he would get nothing else out of her, sighed into her hair.
“Yeah,” he said. “I will.”
The corner of her mouth twitched with a smile that died almost as soon as it appeared.
“Thanks,” she murmured.
With that, Soul started to pull away again, and straightaway, she wanted to tighten her arms around him; bring him back to her. It still felt like he would vanish if she let go. He did not. He remained there as she reluctantly slipped her arms back from around his waist, and he did not disappear in a puff of smoke as she relaxed onto the pillow behind her. All the while, she kept her eyes on him, almost afraid to blink. He followed her, settling down next to her and pulling up the blankets she had kicked away. With an arm over her stomach, he tucked them underneath her. The weight did not bother her nearly as much as it had before, especially now that it was accompanied by the embrace of her partner—an embrace that made the darkness feel a little less oppressive, and the shadows on the wall seem less like living, breathing, crawling things.
Closing her eyes was much easier now than she thought it would be.
She wriggled a hand out from under the sheets and rested it above Soul’s elbow, giving his arm a soft squeeze. Her head lolled to the side, into his chest, and above her, she heard him chuckle under his breath. The sound coaxed her into opening her eyes again. Tipping her head back, she lifted her gaze till her eyes met his. Underneath his head, he had his arm folded, propping himself up on her pillow, and he stared steadily down at her with eyes half-shut and a small, crooked smile on his face. That smile got a little wider when she looked at him.
“What?” he said.
“You laughed.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“What’s funny?” asked Maka.
“Nothing,” said Soul. “Go to sleep.”
Maka frowned. “I told you,” she said, “I don’t think I can.”
“Well, I’m gonna stay up with you till you do.”
Her heart plummeted to the bottom of her chest. He said it so easily, as if it were the only thing he could have done.
“Soul, I don’t want you to—”
“I know,” he said, his voice quiet and thick with sleep, “but I’m gonna anyway.”
Maka wanted to argue. She wanted to tell him not to worry; to forget about her and get some rest; that she would be fine in the morning. All those words were lost, though, when he said to her: “I’m right here. Whatever’s scaring you, I’m not gonna let it get to you, okay?”
Then she understood: This was something he thought he could protect her from.
“You’re fine,” he told her, and for the third time that night, she felt like she might cry. This time, though, it was not sorrow, guilt, or regret that brought the tears to her eyes; not only, anyway. It was an array of emotions that tangled themselves together in her chest, making it feel tight—too full.
It took her a moment to realize she was smiling. It was a sad, broken little smile, but a smile nonetheless.
Soul returned it with ease, and she found her eyes wandering along the curve of his lips before she closed them again, letting her head drop back against his beating heart.
She did not remember falling asleep. One moment, she was wrapped up in the warmth of Soul’s body next to hers; the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest; the reassuring sound of his breathing. Then, suddenly, there was a noise. It was familiar, but even still, she could not place it right away, so thick was the fog of sleep that had settled inside her head.
Soul’s alarm, she thought. It was droning on and on from the other side of the apartment. That was what woke her.
Frowning, Maka shut her eyes tight, trying to ignore the sound and surrender to the sleep that still clung steadfast to her. It was no use, though. The longer she listened to the noise, the more awake she felt, and with that wakefulness came a more acute awareness of her senses.
It occurred to her that she was warm—uncomfortably so. Then, as a gush of hot breath pooled in the crook of her neck, she understood why: Soul. Blinking against the sunlight streaming in through her window, she opened her eyes to find her partner’s head resting heavily on her shoulder. He was halfway on top of her, curled protectively around her, with an arm still thrown across her stomach. During the night, one of his legs had gotten tangled up with hers. Pins and needles prickled under her skin from the pressure. In spite of the discomfort, though, she could not find it in her to move.
Soul looked so peaceful it sent an ache thrumming through her chest. He was still fast asleep, apparently unbothered by the racket from the other room.
Maka wondered how long he spent lying awake beside her, watching over her as if he could keep her safe from a nightmare. It had worked, though, she supposed. Until the alarm woke her, she had been sleeping soundly. Whether that was because of Soul’s comforting presence or her simply being too tired to dream, she was not sure, but regardless, she would happily attribute it to the former.
Again, she smiled without realizing.
“Soul,” she said softly, lifting a hand to rest on his arm.
The corners of his mouth dipped into a frown. His eyelids twitched and he knit his brow; tighter still when she gave his arm a gentle shake.
“Wake up,” said Maka. “Your alarm’s going off.”
She felt him breathe in deep—her first indication that he was awake—then let it out slowly against her neck. It tickled, and she scrunched up her nose at his morning breath. She made a good-natured noise of displeasure, and that sound seemed to draw Soul’s attention. He tried to say something—“Wha?” or “Huh?”—but it was smothered by a yawn that stiffened his whole body.
“Your alarm,” she repeated. “Go shut it off.”
Slowly, Soul lifted his head, and, blinking, opened his bleary eyes. It took him a moment to focus on her.
“Not even a ‘good morning?’” he said sleepily. “You’re the worst.”
Maka giggled—it was more of a hum, really, but the intent was there. “Morning,” she said.
“Better.”
With some effort, Soul propped himself up on his elbow, like he had been when she fell asleep. The blankets that had covered him up to his chest fell around his waist, and in the daylight, she found his scar to be all the more eye-catching. The smile on her face disappeared as soon as she saw it. Soul did not seem to notice. He closed his eyes again, lifting the arm that had been lying across her stomach so that he could rub his face.
Maka tried to look away. She dragged her gaze up from his chest to focus on his face, screwed up into a grimace as his hand raked through his messed-up hair and down the back of his neck. Something in his shoulder popped when he rolled his head forward.
One of his cheeks—the one that had been pressed against her collar all night—was pink, and on the same side, his hair was flattened, sticking up at an odd angle at the top. One corner of her mouth quirked back into an almost-smile. Was he always such a mess in the morning? She never had time to notice before.
Murmuring an incomprehensible curse word, Soul sat up, pushing the blankets off of him and onto Maka. She gathered them up in her arms, watching him out of the corner of her eye as he shuffled his way across her bedroom and out the still-open door. Soon after, the shrill ringing of his alarm stopped.
Maka pulled the covers up to her chin. It was still so warm under there; pleasantly so now that she no longer had Soul lying practically on top of her. That was not so bad, though, she thought, remembering the contented look on his sleeping face.
His words from last night came back to her: “Skip a day.” In the light of the morning, she found that idea even more tempting than it had been the night before.
She rolled onto her side, curling up where Soul had been moments ago, and let herself close her eyes. Just for a minute, she told herself, and then she would get up and get ready for class. That was the last thing she remembered before waking up again, dazed and sleep-drunk, to the feeling of a hand in her hair. Gentle fingers pushed her bangs back from her forehead, tucking the rest neatly behind her ear. She heard herself groan, though it took her a moment to realize the sound had come from her. Then, just like that, the hand was gone, snatched back as if afraid of being smacked away. There came what sounded like a sharp intake of breath above her.
At length, her eyes fluttered open. The world around her was blurry and far too bright.
Beside her, sitting on the edge of her bed, was Soul. One of his legs was crossed over the other, and in his lap were his hands. His eyes were fixed on her. For some reason, he looked nervous.
At some point, he had gotten dressed. When he left, he had been in nothing but a pair of pajama pants. Now, he was dressed in a sweatshirt and jeans, and he had fixed his hair, too. That was odd, thought Maka. How long had he been gone? Moreover, how long had she been asleep? It felt like just a moment ago she had closed her eyes. An uneasy feeling slid its way down into the bottom of her belly.
She blinked her tired eyes and dragged herself up onto her elbows, propping herself on the pillow underneath her. “Hey,” she said in a voice that was hardly her own.
“Hey,” said Soul.
Maka rubbed her face, pressing her fingers against her eyelids until she saw little red stars in the dark. “What time is it?” she asked.
“It’s, uh…” Soul’s eyes flitted away from hers and down to his lap, then back to her. “It’s about ten.”
A gush of adrenaline shot through her. All of a sudden, she felt very, very awake. “Ten?” she croaked. “Soul! Why’d you let me sleep so late?”
“You were tired,” said Soul. “I was gone for, like, two minutes, and when I came back to get you, you were already asleep again.”
“So wake me up!” snapped Maka, gathering her arms underneath her and pushing herself upright. “By the time we get to school, the day’s gonna be half over!”
“We’re not going.”
The finality of it almost offended her. Considerate of him to make that decision for both of them, thought Maka. Narrowing her eyes, she said, “Not going?”
“Yeah. I don’t know what’s wrong with you”—Maka’s frown deepened—“but I know you needed to sleep more than you needed to go to class.”
Maka opened her mouth to argue. She was about to tell him there was nothing wrong with her, and that there was no reason for him to fuss over her like he was, but as soon as the words welled up on the back of her tongue, she realized how asinine they sounded. Nothing wrong with her? Who was she fooling? Certainly not Soul.
Soul, who was always so calm, so detached, held her gaze with an unusual intensity. There was something behind his eyes—something that had been there since last night. It burned dimmer now, but even so, and even as he tried to hide it from her, she still found it there, unmistakable.
It was worry, or fear, or maybe both at once.
He looked at her now the same way he had in the dark, his hands trembling against her back as he put on a brave face. That memory extinguished the anger inside of her as quickly and effortlessly as a puff of breath on a matchstick. It, and the words that lie dead in her throat, left her in a long, heavy sigh.
“Okay,” she said. “Maybe you’re right.”
“I know I’m right,” said Soul. The abruptness of his answer nearly made her second-guess her decision not to snap at him. Before she could think better of it, though, he followed up with: “C’mon, you’ve been out for hours. You want breakfast or not?”
“You made breakfast yesterday.”
“I know that, too.”
With that, Soul moved to stand up. Maka watched him leave with her face screwed up in a half-smile.
“Can’t you just once do something nice for me without being a jerk about it?”
“Fuck you,” said Soul. “If you’re not up by the time I’m done, I’m eating your food.”
“Soul!”
Deliberately or not, as he pulled the door shut behind him, he turned just enough for her to catch a glimpse of the grin on his face. Then he was gone, and she was alone, sat up in her bed, blankets in a heap on her lap.
Oh, Soul, she thought.
The memory of a careful hand pushing her bangs away from her eyes came back to her as she ran her fingers through her hair. That was an uncharacteristic display of tenderness; so, too, was all of last night, and that morning. The conversation they had just then—that was how Soul showed her he cared. That was the kind of affection she was used to. He was not one to speak softly, or touch gently, but he had anyway.
Maka pulled her knees up to her chest, staring thoughtfully at the door. There were a hundred different thoughts swirling around inside her head, and not the least of which was the question of how she was going to tell him. She had to; she knew that. She made a promise to herself that in the morning, once she could trust herself not to burst into tears at the thought, she would tell him what it was that woke her up in the dead of night. It was difficult, though, to put into words.
It was a nightmare; he knew that already. A nightmare about what? Italy, she thought. It mirrored the events in the old cathedral almost perfectly. There was more to it than that, though. There was something else—something buried under the dark; under the sickening smell of blood; under the fear of being gutted by the same sword that had nearly taken her partner from her.
That was it.
It was not a nightmare about Italy; it was a nightmare about losing Soul, and somehow, she had to tell him that.
Swallowing around the lump in her throat, Maka forced herself up and out of bed. A shower—and a cold one at that—would do her good before facing what was about to come.
Breakfast awaited her on the table when she was finished. It was burnt; she could tell straight away from the smell hanging in the air. On any other day, she might have scolded Soul for overcooking their food, but this morning, after the night she had, all she could do was smile to herself.
Soul sat on his side of the table, waiting for her. He called no attention to the sad state of the blackened French toast that lay in front of her, and, to his surprise, neither did she. All she said was: “Thanks for breakfast.”
“Uh…you’re welcome,” said Soul.
The confusion—and relief—in his voice soothed the hollow feeling that had made a home inside her belly. She might have laughed had she been feeling more like herself. At the moment, though, all she felt was a heavy, sobering sense of reality.
Soul frowned at her, and it was then she realized she had yet to look away from him. Her mouth popped open, then quickly closed again, and she looked down at her lap, embarrassed.
A beat of silence passed before Soul asked, “Are you good?”
To which she said, “I’m not sure.”
Maka fidgeted with her hands. She could feel Soul’s eyes on her, expectant and full of questions he did not know how to ask.
“I’m sorry,” she said unprompted. At that, Soul opened his mouth, she presumed, so that he could tell her not to apologize, but she did not give him a chance to speak. “Last night,” she went on, “I just didn’t want to think about it. I should’ve told you, but I didn’t want you to worry, or…"
“Maka,” Soul said firmly. The sound of her name pulled her gaze up from her lap. “I don’t want you to say ‘sorry.’ I want you to tell me what’s wrong.”
One last time, she hesitated, feeling the words thick on the back of her tongue. It was a suffocating feeling, and it reminded her all too much of how she felt inside the cold, dark room, struggling to breathe through the panic that clogged her throat. She swallowed dryly at the memory, and then, gathering her courage, drew in a deep breath.
“I had a dream about you.”
Soul’s face fell. “About me?”
“Yeah. About…”
A quick glance down at his chest was all it took. Something in his eyes changed. Maka could not quite place what it was, but it was as if the spark behind them had suddenly gone out. And then, when he said, “Oh,” she knew that he knew, and everything inside her went crashing down, down, down.
Soul looked like he wanted to say something. The impassive facade he wore faltered as he tried to find the words to…comfort her, she supposed, but there was nothing he could have said that would have lessened the hurt.
“I guess it still scares me,” said Maka.
“What does?”
“That it could happen again.”
“If it does…” Soul started, but trailed off, looking at her with pensive eyes. Maka held her breath. She had no idea what she wanted him to say; what would have eased her fear, or made her feel less hollow inside, but she wanted something, and she wanted it more desperately than she had ever wanted anything before.
What he did say only managed to further break her heart.
“If it does, it’s okay. I told you before: I’m ready to die for my meister.”
He said it as if it were the easiest thing in the world.
She shook her head, and, at length, told him: “That’s not it.”
“Then what is it?”
“What do you mean, ‘what is it?’”
“I mean—look, I’m telling you, it’s okay.” Again, it came so easily, like second nature; like he didn’t even have to think about it. “You don’t have to worry about me. It’s my—”
“That’s not it!” The words boiled out of her with an intensity that surprised even her. Something swelled inside the great, gaping hole in her stomach, sweeping up through her chest and past her lips before she could bite it back. “You can’t just say ‘it’s okay!’ It’s not okay! What am I supposed to do without you?”
Soul’s eyes widened, and he straightened up in his chair.
“You’re my best friend!” shouted Maka. Her voice broke halfway through, and she felt unwelcome tears starting to well up in her eyes. Her chest tightened around her pounding heart, making it hard to breathe. “Why do you get to decide it’s fine to—to leave me here alone?” The words came out in short bursts between shallow breaths. “Why don’t I get a say?”
As tears started to pour down her cheeks, she bit the corners of her mouth to stop her lips from quivering. The hard stare she leveled at Soul never wavered, even as her hands, balled up into fists in her lap, began to tremble, and her heart felt as if it might beat through her chest.
Soul had nothing to say. There was nothing he could have said. He could have promised her he would never do it again, but that would have been a lie; one she never would have believed. Absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt, he would do it again, and that thought filled her veins with a cold burst of fear.
Sitting still was too much to bear. She had to move; get out; do something. Go back to her room. Sort herself out. This was going nowhere, and she was starting to feel sick.
She pushed her chair backward and, finally tearing her gaze away from Soul, stood up from the table. Her intention was to shut herself in her room, but no sooner had she turned to do so than she heard a loud clamor erupt behind her. All at once, several things happened: There was the loud, awful sound of metal scraping across tile, and then something heavy fell over, clanging against the floor as it went. Things on the table clattered noisily together as if something had knocked into the edge.
Maka was about to turn around. She thought she had already started, but it all blurred together. Next thing she knew, Soul’s body crashed so heavily into hers that she nearly fell over herself, and then, in the same motion, she was whirled around and crushed against his chest. Her breath hitched as her heart bounded up into her throat. One of Soul’s hands tangled into her hair, holding her head close to his collar; the other flattened against her back, between her shoulders. He held her so tightly that for a second, he lifted her heels up off the floor. Then he leaned forward, bowing his body down over hers and burying his face in her neck.
Everything was very, very still, save for the rise and fall of his chest against hers as he dragged in breath after ragged breath. He didn’t say a word; there was no need to. The way he held her, clinging desperately to her as if her body were a lifeline, said things to her she wasn’t sure he could have put into words. She responded in kind: silently, and with a hug.
She slipped her hands underneath his arms and around his waist, up to the backs of his shoulders, where she took fistfuls of his sweatshirt, holding on to him as steadfast as he did her.
Something in her—something that was many things all at once, twisting and swirling white-hot in her belly—started to melt. It happened slowly, but still, it happened. Her hands, balled up in Soul’s shirt, still shook, but less so now, and the tears in her eyes were starting to dry, though that could have been because she had none left to cry.
Maka swallowed thickly and breathed in deep the warm, familiar smell that came from Soul’s clothes.
“It won’t,” she said suddenly.
“What?”
“It won’t happen again.” She spoke slowly and clearly to keep the words in one piece. “I’m not gonna let it. I’m gonna get better. It won’t happen again—ever.”
“Hey.” Soul’s voice was a warm gush on her neck. “Don’t talk like that,” he said. “If we get better, we do it together. We’re a team, remember?”
She caught herself wishing it did not have to be that way. Soul was right; of course he was, but this should not have been his burden to bear. It was her fault that it happened, and it should have fallen on her to ensure it never happened again.
Soul gave her no time to linger on that thought. He lifted his head up to look at her, and then he said, “Whatever you wanna do, I got your back, but you’re not going anywhere without me, okay? Don’t leave me out of it.”
Maka bit down hard on the inside of her cheek.
“Okay?” Soul said again.
He was right; she kept telling herself that. Without him at her side, what could she have done? Nothing. The opposite was true, too. Neither of them could go anywhere—do anything—get better without the other. That was the meaning of a partnership between a meister and their weapon. That was what she agreed to when she took his hand for the first time: to go through everything together.
That was what they would do, then.
She would get better, and alongside her, so would Soul, until there was nothing in the world that could touch them.
Maka sniffled once, and then, pulling the scattered pieces of herself back together, she nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Together.”