Archive of Our Own

“Are you seriously gonna spend the rest of your life searching for that iPod?”

Soul pauses his doodling to send a dirty look at the older, noisier, and grandiose version of himself. Sometimes, he likes to think that Wes is more like a bother than a brother. Okay. A little bit more than sometimes.

Wes chimes again, “Just go buy another one already!”

“Just go buy another hobby other than bothering me.”

Wes doesn’t falter, invading Soul’s sacred personal space to inspect the poster he’s making. Soul tries his best to cover it from sight, but it’s too big to hide. The A4 paper is filled with a large doodle of a classic black iPod and big letters of ‘Have you seen this iPod?’ scrawled under it, complete with contact infos and the number of the house phone.

“The house phone, eh?”

Soul winces, imagining the silent displease his dad would radiate if he knows he’s cutting the internet off and using the landline for this kind of thing. But he gulps down his fear. He could endure anything if it means that his beloved iPod is back.

He sighs. For the sixteenth time that morning, Soul vows to never take public transportation ever again.

It was Wes’s fault (of course it was Wes’s fault) for taking Soul’s bike without permission, forcing him to take the subway to school the previous day; to the last school day before summer break starts. Goddammit. It is common knowledge that Soul and public transportation just don’t go well together, and yesterday’s ride just solidified the statement.

Morning subway was gross. It was as if every human being just decided to forego the concept of personal space. Morning means no sweat, but it also means that people’s colognes are still in full-force, and while colognes were generally fine, it wasn’t so enchanting to sniff six different flavors at once. Soul couldn’t even bring himself to touch the grab handles because he just happened to witness a woman grip one after sneezing into her hand. The only thing he could do to salvage his mind was just taking out his trusty iPod and blasting music into his eardrums.

But he hadn’t been that lucky on the train home.

It was rush hour. Rush hour means he had to face all the gross things of the morning ride, but worse, because instead of colognes, he must deal with human sweat. He managed to take a seat, yes, but that was generally worse because he had people directly facing him when they grabbed the standees. He would be fine if one middle-aged woman didn’t look at him as if he was a sacrilegious scene kid. He blamed that on his family’s freaky DNA.

All of that was (somehow) endurable because he had his iPod with him. He could block even the armageddon out of his mind if he had music. But of course, Soul wasn’t famous for his luck. Getting off the train in a rush hour meant he had to wrestle his way out. He remembered getting squished between a tiny middle schooler and two men who could very well be quarterbacks before being kicked out of the train with empty hands, no iPod in sight.

Soul would give anything to jump back inside, but alas, life is cruel. He was swarmed away among the sea of Homo Sapiens, and the train started to run, taking his beloved iPod with it.

So here he is, doodling a wanted poster of a music player with his brother harassing him tirelessly.

“You should buy a phone, little brother. Maybe those fancy iPhones, I heard they already have the music player feature built in,” Wes suggests.

Rolling his eyes, Soul ignores his brother and continues to shade his doodles, enjoying the therapeutic activity of stroking the markers in straight, smooth lines.

“And hand-drawn, really? We have a computer for a reason, y’know? Don’t tell me you’re still awkward with technology.”

The fingers around Soul’s marker twitch as he makes an incoherent grumble about stupid machines, irrational keyboard placements, and annoying brothers. There is nothing in this world that could make him admit that he’s bad with technology. No. He’s certainly not admitting that he avoids computers like the plague, or admitting that it had taken at least three whole weeks for him to figure out how iPod works and another five to master the damn thing (which was actually a pretty good record).

“I thought I had told you to go delete yourself from existence?” Soul grumbles.

“Such a touching display of brotherly love.”

Soul decides it is best to just ignore him completely, continuing his futile attempt to block Wes’s presence from his radar.

It isn’t the actual iPod that he cares about, honestly, but the limited edition sticker of ‘The Reaper’ on its back. Soul has been a religious fan of the band since it was a no-name, and that particular sticker was given to him by the vocalist on their debut concert in person, along with a shirt (now carefully hung on his wall) and all the members’ signatures (now grandiosely displayed on his desk).

That was the reason he’d whined to Wes.

No, not whine. Passionately explain.

“Well, good luck then, lil bro. Update me on the news.”

Soul grunts something along the line of ‘get lost!’, earning a snicker from Wes.

He stares at the finished poster in somber. The other reason he’s so reluctant to voice, however, is that because the iPod contains a secret playlist of his self-recorded compositions, and he’s so not gonna tell anyone about that. Especially anyone with Evans as their last name.

Sensing a depleted mood, Soul grumbles and stands, picking the finished poster to have it copied and planted all over the subway station.

Day one, there was some posh guy calling to ask for an outrageous reward for finding the thing. He went to meet the guy; money is never a problem anyway. But it wasn’t his iPod. Wasn’t even the same model.

Day three, a grandma called to inform him she had found an mp3 player. It was a Walkman.

Day six, a random woman called and claimed that she was his ex. What even.

Day eight, a man asked him if he was in for a little saucy escapade if he found the iPod. No need to say that he immediately nope’d the fuck out. Yuck.

Day ten, Soul is on his edge. This is his last chance. Dad will be home tomorrow and Soul’s betting his left eyeball that he’s gonna get grounded for fifty years if his dad knows of this nonsense.

“Maybe it’s fate, bromigo,” says his best friend, Seb Starling, as he pats Soul’s shoulder. “Time to move on and find a new boom box.”

Soul doesn’t pay attention to him, only scowling at the silent phone. What if he won’t ever find the iPod? Soul sighs. Seb accuses him of getting too easily attached to insignificant things.

If only the thing was actually insignificant. He could get another Reaper sticker in the future, of course, but it wouldn’t be the same. And his recordings… they were obviously horrendous, not befitting of a prodigy of the Evans family, but he had poured his heart and soul into those pieces, dammit. It is his secret. Knowing that a piece of him is laid bare out there is more than a little uncomfortable.

Should he print more flyers?

“Whatever, dude, are ya gonna hit the court or not?” Seb, who is still sprawling comfortably all over the couch as if it’s his own house, barks.

He is here to drag Soul to a basketball court, as he always does on a weekend. Seb claims that he’s doing Soul a favor of making him more human by filling his social quota. Sometimes Soul wonders how his dad allowed him to be friends with Seb, considering the loud boy’s awful manners. But then Soul remembers that forbidding Seb Starling to do a thing is the same as giving a grand invitation.

So Soul rolls his eyes and says, “Yeah, just a sec.”

Seb lets out a loud whoot and punches the air, then disappears to the kitchen, maybe to raid some snacks to bring to the court. Soul is just about to get up to change into a casual T-shirt when the phone suddenly rings.

It’s weird how he hesitates after hoping for the thing to go off all morning. But then again, the previous callers were all bad news, and frankly, he has no confidence in his luck. Let’s just tone down the excitement. Better to have no expectations.

Carefully, he lifts the receiver on the fourth ring. “Hello?”

“Hello,” a bubbly and unfamiliar feminine voice chimes in his ear. It sounds like a young girl. “Um, is this the number of Soul Evans?”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, um, okay, I—my name is Maka. I happened to find your iPod.”

“What?!” Soul’s eyes spark in delight, but then he frowns. Tone it down, tone it down. “Uh-huh.” 

“I want to give back the iPod.” 

“Thanks.”

“Uh, how about tomorrow at the DC Park?” 

“Cool.”

“Then, 10 AM?” her tone climbs a bit, as if she’s in doubt, maybe because his reactions were a bit cold for someone who desperately planted posters all over the town.

Soul coughs, realizing he’d toned it down too low. “Oh, uh yeah, okay, I’ll wait on the north side.”

“Okay,” she replies, sounding a bit lighter after he put some effort into his answer. “What will you be wearing?”

“Uh—wear what?”

“Um. Your clothes?” she answers after a few seconds. “So I can recognize you.”

“Oh yeah,” Soul lets out a flat laugh. He feels dumb. “Red and white shirt. Black leather jacket. White hair,” he adds the last bit reluctantly. Like it or not, his white hair is impossible to miss.

“What, really? Like... stark white?”

“Is there a problem?”

There’s a chuckle coming from the receiver. “Ah, no. It’s just that I happen to know people with outrageous dye jobs.”

He grunts. “I’ll have you know it’s natural.”

She chuckles again, this time apologetic. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“S’okay,” he grumbles a reply. “I know a guy with ridiculous hair too.”

“DUDE, C’MON!” Said guy-with-ridiculous-hair’s voice booms from somewhere in the hallway. Soul rolls his eyes.

“Alright, then I’ll see you tomorrow,” Soul says into the phone, ignoring Seb’s whines.

“Okay, bye.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

He puts the receiver down and pauses a bit when he realizes; it’s the first time he’s ever meet a girl with a prior-engagement. He blushes a bit. Whatever. From the sound of her voice she might as well be a middle schooler anyway.

He had resolved to be cool. But unlike his reasonable mind, Soul is still a little nervous.

No, not nervous. Antsy.

He is not the most social person, for sure, and all the females he’d talked to were either someone he met at musical competitions or someone with Evans as their last name. Often both. He has no idea how to talk to a stranger, let alone a female stranger. He goes to an all-boys school.

Social anxieties aside, he knows he’s not good with women. Even at parties, he tends to float away from them. Well, to be fair, he also floats away from any person regardless of their gender, but still, he tends to be uneasy around girls.

Sitting on a gazebo, he swarms his gaze through the comfortable silence of DC Park. He tries to calm his nerves, telling himself that this is not a social gathering that obliges him to be a total gentleman. Good thing that people don’t linger on the north side of the park that much. No one’s gonna judge him if he flies off to the other end of the world the moment his iPod touches his hand.

“Excuse me, are you Soul Evans?”

Soul stops his darkening thoughts on time to turn around. All right, this is it. Just ask the iPod back, say thanks, and lock himself in his room and listen to the damn thing for three days straight, no funny business, no—oh…

Man is he bad at following a plan.

She is a very tiny girl. With a pair of wide and round green eyes, rosy cheeks and silky ash-blonde hair—in pigtails, of all things.

Not only her face, but her way of dressing is also completely adorable, with blue miniskirt and a matching sleeveless blue blouse. Her boots are a little mismatched with the rest of her, though, but they suit the look surprisingly well.

In short… She. Is. So. Damn. Cute.

He catches himself and does a pathetic attempt at clearing his throat, pretending he hasn’t been ogling her like a creep. He is Soliel Arthur Evans. Embodiment of sarcasm. Cool guy extraordinaire. He’s so not gonna have a crush on a girl he’d just met and gape like a catfish out of water.

“I—uhm, yes…”

“I’m Maka, the one who called you yesterday!” She slides to sit beside him and puts a paper cup on the table. Gone was his resolve to have one simple interaction. Damnitall. Even her voice is cuter without the phone’s filter.

To be noted, Soul has never associated any girl, boy, or any other human being whatsoever, with the word cute. And this speaks something, as he is a son of a rich family and had practically grown up with the concept of beauty drilled into his brain.

“Uh-huh. Thanks for calling me.”

She produces a pretty smile, revealing a single crooked tooth—as if she isn’t too cute already—and answers, “You’re welcome! Figured it was something important.”

“Yeah,” Soul exhales dumbly. Is this what people glorify as love at the first sight? The one with flowery background and erratic but exciting heartbeat? Soul gulps. False advertisement. It’s more like wanting to puke from the amount of nervousness.

“Wow, your hair is really white! And it looks so fluffy!” Her big eyes zoom on his head, making him struggle not to blush.

Oh my god, they’re so green.

Come on Evans, you’re a cool guy.

“S’natural,” he croaks.

Maka lets out a chiming laugh, revealing her crooked tooth. “You’ve said. I’m sorry, it’s not that I think your hair is weird. It looks cool. You look cool.”

Don’t blush. Don’t blush. Don’t blush.

“Thanks,” he manages to mumble. “Can I get my iPod now?”

Her smile is replaced by an apologetic look. “Oh—oh yeah, sorry, wait—”

Soul tries to manage his facial expression, but he’s distracted by the way she frowns as she rummages through her bag. With a childish ‘A-ha!’, she pulls out a familiar iPod and its headset, holding it out.

“Here!”

“Thanks,” Soul murmurs, concentrating on schooling his face into what he thinks is a cool and detached expression, trying his best to ignore how their hands touch when he retrieves the thing.

At times like this, Soul should’ve remembered that he’s naturally bad at dealing with physical contact. His hand both wants to stay longer atop hers and retreating immediately, resulting in a weird flail that whips the headset to Maka’s coffee cup and spilling its contents all over her shirt.

His first thought is horror. The second is an ultimate need to bury himself in the nearest cemetery.

Maka yelps and Soul nearly flings the iPod out of his hand.

“OH!! Oh, fuck! I’m sorry! Fuck!!” he curses himself. “Please tell me it wasn’t hot coffee!”

She actually giggles when catching sight of his face, trying to wipe away the extra liquid with a paper towel. “No, it was cold-brew.”

Fortunately, the gentleman lessons his mother had drilled into his brain decides to manifest itself in the form of a handkerchief in his pocket. He immediately holds it out to Maka, which she receives with gratitude, but looks like he’s a little too late, because the coffee has formed brown blotches on her baby-blue blouse.

Oh fuck.

“I’m so sorry,” he grimaces. Why does he always fuck everything up? How could she go home in stained clothes? Oh god, what if she wanted to go somewhere after their meeting?

“It’s okay, it was an accident.”

She’s smiling, but a smile won’t cover the blotches on her clothes, nor will it prevent people from glancing at her on her way home. So he mindlessly takes off his jacket and offers it to her, hoping it would at least conceal the largest stain. Maka blinks at him, questioning.

“Take this.”

She blinks again. He should’ve used a gentler tone, seriously.

“Uh—to cover your shirt, I mean—uh…”

“I—but…” she stammers, pinks start to dust her cheeks.

“It’s my fault,” he gulps. “I can’t let you walk away with stained clothes.”

“How could I take your jacket?” she objects again. “I—”

“It’s fine,” he interjects. “I don’t have coffee on my shirt.”

She purses her lips, but after a moment of hesitation, she finally takes the jacket. “I will return it to you as soon as I wash it,” she promises.

Soul’s mind squawks at the sudden chance of seeing her again, so like a cool and reasonable guy with a crush should be doing, he rejects her, “No, you don’t have to. You can keep it.”

“No! How could I possibly do that?!” she exclaims back. “I don’t know about fashion that much, but even I can tell that this is an expensive thing!”

Well, she’s right, but he’s not gonna tell her that. If he thinks about it, ordinary people won’t casually offer an expensive leather jacket to a girl they met for the first time. Uh.

The tips of his ears feel warm. “S’fine.”

“It’s not fine!” she insists. “I will call you again to return this, I promise!”

And before he could object, she says a hasty goodbye and jogs to the bus stop, leaving him stunned and red.

It is exactly 9 AM on the next Saturday when the phone rings. (Of course Soul hadn’t been glancing anxiously at the phone every five minutes for the past week, anticipating a certain phone call.)

Half-giddy and half-anxious, he lifts the receiver to his ear. “Hello.”

“Hello? Uh—um, Mr. Evans?”

Soul instinctively snorts, “Soul.”

“Yes?”

“Call me Soul.”

“Oh, um, okay then… Soul.”

Soul’s mouth lifts up at the sound of her voice saying his name. He is so screwed. “Yeah?”

“I was wondering if I could see you… um—to give back your jacket.”

Hell yeah. “Sure.”

“Are you free right now?”

As America. “Yeah.”

“Okay. Um, is Deathbucks cafe okay?”

He could do a cartwheel. “Cool. I’ll get there in fifteen minutes tops.”

“O—oh, okay then. I’ll see you there.”

“See you.”

Placing the phone back, Soul does a weird mix of hip dance and triumphant flexes. He wastes no time to fix his hair and put on a headband before snatching his keys and hop on his bike.

Maka waves him down from the cafe’s window seat, looking twice as cute as the last time they met, but Soul has a better mental preparation this time. He can maintain his cool expression without breaking a sweat.

“Hi!”

“Hi,” Soul croaks back, sliding into the seat in front of her.

She has a book open and a cup of half-finished affogato in front of her, but she closes the book as soon as he makes himself comfortable. They sit still in an awkward silence for a minute before she squeaks, “Oh yeah, this—” she lifts up a paper bag, “—your jacket, thank you.”

Soul, half embarrassed and half disappointed, takes the bag. “Don’t mention it.”

He places the bag between his feet. Now that the purpose is done, what should he do? It’d be stupid if he walks out of the cafe not even a minute after sitting down.

Thankfully, Maka saves him from the need to overthink. “You’re not gonna order something?” she says, but then she adds in a haste, “Only if you want, I mean, if you don’t have things to do right now—I think it would be nice if we could talk and…”

God, she’s cute.

“Yeah, sure,” he (eagerly) agrees.

So now they’re sitting in awkward silence, a cup of café au lait in front of him and a new cup of affogato in front of her. Both seem to be struggling to come up with something.

Soul clears his throat. “So… you like coffee.”

Ah yes, he forgot he’s bad at flirting.

“Yes?”

Just bury him now.

But Maka, bless her, takes his blasphemously awkward attempt at flirting in stride. “Oh, yes. But I don’t like it when it’s hot.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “Good thing I’m cool then.”

Soul’s mind cries as soon as the sentence leaves his lips. May god give him mercy and send a meteor to his forehead sometime very soon.

She lets out a giggle, “No need to be so humble.”

Soul denies his blush.

Thankfully, after a few more of her giggles, their conversation flows more naturally as they get to know each other. They talk about mundane things, like which school they go to and what club they’re in. He regales her in ridiculous tales happening in an all-boys school, while she responds with horror stories of her dormitory.

When it comes to music taste, they have a good time jabbing at each other’s tastes, with Soul mocking her taste in dubstep and Maka ridicules the My Chemical Romance and Fall Out Boy playlists on his iPod. He vehemently defends his favorite bands, but his heart does a little uncomfortable beat for a second, fearing that she had listened to his playlists. Particularly that playlist. But Maka produces a shy smile and says she doesn’t know about music that much, so she only listened to a band she knew and didn’t proceed further after she found the MCR playlist. So he forces himself to relax and resumes their playful banter.

The band she had listened to, unexpectedly, was The Reaper. It’s the only favorite band they have in common, apparently. They agree that the rock band has a menacing but unique flair to their beats and a garish but deep meaning to their lyrics. In fact, it was the Reaper logo that was prompting Maka to pick up his iPod in the first place. Soul gets a chance to feel smug when he says he got the sticker from the vocalist in person.

They continue to chat idly, as if they were lifelong friends catching up after years of radio silence instead of two people who had just met exactly twice.

Soul prides in his ability to read people, to deduce what kinda person he’s going to talk to (although he prefers to be called mute than to socialize with anyone in general), to decide if declining someone would do him harm or not, as those kind of skills are necessary if one wants to navigate through posh gatherings of elite people on a regular basis. He can tell what kind of people he’s seeing in a glance.

He was too flustered to observe her the last time they met, but now, he’s kinda in awe with Maka.

This girl just feels different. She’s not the kind of beauty he’s familiar with. She is by no means graceful, ladylike, or gentle. Yet the way she holds herself is just so… alive. Pure, honest, and bright, as if she’s burning with a fire from within. Her body language speaks no-nonsense, prim and proper, but with a tinge of freedom and stubbornness. The back of his mind deduces that she could kick his ass no problem if he says something stupid, and he is pretty confident with his deductions.

Soul thinks she is somewhat similar to Seb, but he guesses admitting that out loud would be an insult.

After what feels like a minute (it was over two hours), Maka’s phone goes off. She flips open the white Nokia and scrutinizes the screen. Then she lifts her face, her eyes narrow in apology. Ah, here it comes.

“I’m sorry, Soul, but I must go right now. My brother was in an accident and—”

Soul’s eyes go wide. “Don’t mind it, just go!”

“I’m so sorry!” she laments, packing her things.

“It’s okay,” Soul swallows, berating himself for feeling disappointed. But then he has an idea. “You want me to give you a ride?”

She winces, “Thank you, Soul… But they said my brother’s okay, so I’m not exactly in a frantic rush. I can just take the subway. And…” she bits her lip, looking half anxious and half annoyed, “...I don’t think my Papa would be delighted to see me getting out of a boy’s car.”

He forces a laugh, “Motorcycle.”

Maka chuckles, “Worse, then.” She stands, extending her hand, and Soul shakes it. “It’s so nice to meet you, Soul. I hope we can meet again.”

Damn does he desire that.

“Likewise. Nice to meet you too, Maka.”

And with that, she’s gone. Soul broods to his empty cup, already regretting that he didn’t persuade her harder to let him drive her. But then his eyes catch something rectangle on Maka’s side of the table, and then he swallows.

She had left her book.

Soul glances at the shiny hardbound Harry Potter And The Deathly Hallows on top of his nightstand for the eighteenth time that morning. The earphones in his ears are connected to his iPod, blasting Panic! At The Disco into his eardrums.

Ah, yes. He remembers the long line at the local bookstore last week when the book was released. From what he could conclude during their last meeting, she must be one of those people who would camp outside of the store to get her favorite novel right at its releasing date.

His mind flies to the owner of that book; to a certain ash-blonde girl in pigtails. He’d contemplated again and again to pick up the phone and arrange a meeting under a pretense of giving back her novel.

Picking up the piece of literature, he grunts.

The amount of nervousness and rocketing heartbeat he felt whenever he was in a close distance from Maka can’t be normal. Sure, he has never experienced love, or even a crush, but at least he knows that that kind of thing can’t happen this instantly. There should be some kind of getting-to-know-each-other phase first before someone jumps into the crush stage. Maybe there’s something wrong with his brain.

He groans. But Maka is so pretty. She’s also kind and passionate, if not a tad bit short-tempered and nerdy, but that just makes her cuter, unfortunately. Not to mention her eyes, which always gleam in curiosity, the green shade emitting an interesting flame of bravery. And her lips, gosh, they’re so cute and tiny, and they have this particular shade of pink that makes him wonder how it would taste on his—

“Hey, lil bro, there’s a pretty girl on the phone, said she wants to talk to you!”

Soul yelps, nearly flings the book out of the window. He instantly flies upright, the earphones are pulled out roughly from the force of his movement. He makes a mad dash to the phone on the floor below, nearly kicking a sly-looking Wes at his doorway.

“I believe I have requested an update on the iPod debacle,” Wes’s voice follows him down.

“Go throw yourself into the pool, Wes!” Soul yells, taking a look at Wes’s clothes, or lack thereof. Wes already took off his shirt for his daily swimming routine, leaving only his swimming trunks.

Of course there’s no way Wes Evans would do what his lovely baby brother wants. “You didn’t tell me that the person who found your iPod was a pretty girl.”

“I said throw yourself away from my breathing space,” Soul yells again. “And by god, how could you know she’s pretty if you’ve only heard her voice?”

Wes articulates without delay, “It’s my impeccable gentleman instinct.”

Soul makes that particular revolted face he always has when he’s done with his brother. “I’m an idiot for asking.” He stops in front of the phone and is about to pick the receiver up when Wes wrestles his way to the phone.

“Don’t forget to pass the loveliest greeting from her potential big brother-in-law,” Wes purrs into the receiver.

Soul punches his brother and kicks him away from the phone. “Dude, for the love of god just get lost! Stop shoving your nipples in front of my—oh...” he pauses to register that the phone receiver is already halfway to his mouth.

Shit.

“Uhh, did I interrupt something?” Maka’s voice rings in his ear, half-giggling and half-snorting.

His cheeks are surely combusting, but thank god, Wes is already running to throw himself into the backyard pool.

“Uh no—you didn’t—ugh, Maka, stop laughing,” he growls.

“Pfft—yeah, yeah sorry…”

“You’re still laughing.”

“I’m sorry,” she chokes between giggles, but eventually adds in a calmer voice, “Sounds like you get along fine with your brother.”

“Big brothers are the most annoying beings in the universe.”

She chuckles again, “I second the sentiment.”

Despite himself, Soul could feel his mouth twitching to form a smirk. No matter what the cause was, Maka’s laugh is always a nice melody to hear. “I thought you called because you wanted to talk about something?”

“Aaah, yes…” she replies, sounding a bit sheepish. “I was wondering if you’ve kept my Harry Potter novel. Uh, I forgot about it when we last met.”

He can’t hide his smile for much longer, knowing that an excuse to meet her is practically a sentence away. “Yeah. You want me to deliver it back?”

“Oh—I—I’m sorry to trouble you… Are you busy? I wasn’t forcing you to give it back right away, it’s just—um… That novel is actually… uh… it kinda means so much for me so—”

Ugh. He used the wrong wording. Typical.

“No! No, I didn’t mean it like that!” he frantically tries to correct himself. “I mean, uhh—if you can just tell me where you live, I can drive to you right away.”

“Oh, umm, you—you want to come to my house?”

Oh shit, wrong words again. Now he sounds like a creepy stranger.

“I—uhh, if you don’t want to—uh, we could always meet at a cafe or something—”

“Oh yeah, actually, uh, I’m in my brother’s apartment right now, so if you want to, we could meet at the cafe down below—if you want to, of course—I could always take the subway to DC Park or something if you—”

“Where?” he blurts. “Uh—your brother’s address? I’ll go.”

A moment full of frantic heartbeats later, she stammers the address, and Soul flies to grab the darling novel and his keys, ignoring Wes’s loud advice from the pool direction to bring some flowers.

The possibility to meet her family members is out of his mind as he races to the address. It might be good, because his brain and anxiety level would go wild otherwise.

Parking his bike, Soul glances upward to the tall building. Surprisingly, he’s already familiar with the apartment, as it is where his self-proclaimed best friend lives as well. What are the odds?

Oh, speaking about Seb, maybe he should visit him after this. The loud boy had apparently gotten his leg cracked from trying to pull one of his ridiculous stunts to impress his crush. Huh. People really could be that stupid when it involves crush. Not that he implies Seb is that smart in the first place, of course.

Maka waves him down from an outdoor seat of the building’s cafe, looking as pretty as ever. Soul bites back a sigh. He’s not one to say about crush and stupidity, honestly.

“Hey! Thank you for coming!” she greets, all giddy and gauche.

“‘S no problem,” he replies smoothly, taking a seat. 

One would think that conversing with your crush would be pretty dang enjoyable, but Soul knows it only applies if one has decent conversational skills in the first place. He fidgets in awkward silence under the table. Maka is seemingly as lost as him to initiate the conversation, just like the last time. But then Soul remembers the exact reason why he went here. Like a fool, he clumsily takes out the hardback novel from his sling bag and shoves it to Maka’s face.

“Here.”

Maka takes it with both hands, smiling shyly as she cradles the book in her chest. Soul has to remind himself to blink or she would get grossed out by his constant scrutinizing. Has to be more neutral. Detached. Cool. Yes.

“Thank you, Soul. It means a lot to me…”

Doomed. His grin is so goofy. “You gave my iPod back. We’re even.”

Her smile is glowing. And he’s certainly not blushing.

A little start is enough for Maka to take a lead on a conversation, apparently. Soon, she’s chattering about how much she loved Harry Potter as a kid, as it was what her mother read to her as a bedtime story. Now, when her mother’s working overseas, it is a thing Maka considers a bridge to enclose the distance between them. In fact, the Deathly Hallows novel was a birthday gift from her mother.

Soul is a little awkward, unsure if he had a right to listen to this story. It feels too personal for a person who had just met her thrice. But she’s babbling so happily, as if she completely trusts him, making him drown in a weird mix of self-awareness and sanguinity.

In return, he talks about Wes. Even though he is the most insufferable big brother in existence, Soul admits that he can’t help but being so content around him. With Wes, he doesn’t have to hide himself, he could unleash all his dark humor and sarcastic personality without fear of being judged. And, he adds reluctantly, he actually enjoys playing music with his brother, despite their contrasting styles.

Maka comments that his love for his brother is so cute, but Soul denies the statement outright with blazing cheeks.

“Speaking of big brothers, I probably should get back soon. My brother’s alone in his apartment and he could injure himself further by doing stupid things if left unsupervised for too long,” Maka grimaces.

“Oh…” Soul replies, careful to not let his disappointment show.

“I—um, thank you again for bringing this back to me, Soul,” she mumbles, pretty pink on her face.

“Don’t mention it,” he forces a smirk. She’s just about to say goodbye and stands up when Soul remembers his other plan. “Hey, Maka! Is it cool if I tag along?”

She tilts her head, confused. “Uh, with me?” 

“I wanna go to my friend’s place. Uhh—he lives here too,” he explains.

“Oooh! Sure!” It’s like her whole being lits up as she claps softly. Gosh, why is her cuteness so unfair?

And up to the elevator they go. Maka presses the button for the fifth floor. Huh. Seb’s apartment is also on the fifth floor. What are the odds?

But then Soul’s foreboding becomes bigger and bigger in each step they take. It morphs into a giant red alarm as they stop in front of apartment number 5-64; the Starlings’ house. Before they could say any exclamation word, the door opens, revealing an annoyed-looking Seb Starling in a leg cast and a crutch under his armpit.

“There you are, Maks! I’ve almost died trying to reach the cereal box and—” a face-splitting grin appears on Seb’s face as he finally shifts his eyes to see Soul, “—hey, Soul, my brosephina! You’ve come!”

Ah yes. What are the odds?

“So, you’re dating—” Wes gives him a long, flat stare, “—Seb Starling’s sister.”

“Godsister,” Soul replies automatically. “And no, we’re not dating!”

“Yeah, and I hate buttplugs.”

Soul opens his mouth to retort, but then stops dead as Wes’s words registers, face wrinkling to form a nonverbal ‘what?!’

“I thought we were listing bullshits. See, just yesterday my girlfriend had—”

“Pleeeease, for the love of god, spare my ears!!” Soul shouts and hastily covers the sides of his head, kicking Wes, who’s just snickering into his fist. “You’re so gross. Why are we siblings, again?”

“I love you too, baby bro.”

“Go back to the music room and please lock yourself inside,” Soul seethes.

By perforce, Soul’s mind is flying again to the Shocking Revelation.

Apparently, Makenna Albarn is, indeed, a godsister of Sebastian Starling. Soul had never met her before because, of course, she lives in her school’s dormitory. It was just a chance that she’s on her summer break, and instead of going back to her Papa’s house, she chose to stay at her godparents’ place, with Seb’s injury being her convenient excuse. But even though they’re not actual siblings, both Maka and Seb refer to the other as such, because they’d practically grown up together.

The thing is, after knowing about his best friend’s encounter with his sister, Seb had loudly announced that he blessed their relationship. Soul was convinced that Seb would’ve married them on the spot if he had the certification. Ugh.

Not that Soul completely rejects the idea, but come on, he’s still in the early crush stage. He hasn’t fawned all over Maka as if she’s an actual angel. Probably. Yet.

Luckily, Maka, bless her wit and god fears her right hook, decided it was enough and chopped her brother’s head with the hardbound Deathly Hallows in her hand. After dragging Seb’s twitching corpse back to his bed, she took Soul’s hand to their living room and apologized, stressing that he shouldn’t take her brother’s words seriously.

Except he kinda wanted to. A bit.

She then asked for his cellphone number, which he responded with a complete mortification because he didn’t have one; because he couldn’t operate a fucking cellphone.

How cool, Evans.

So they’d agreed to hang out during summer break at Seb’s place. Or to meet at the front of the apartment building before they drive to random cafes or parks, more likely, because maintaining a casual and civil conversation is impossible within Seb Starling’s hearing range.

That’s been their routine for the past two weeks.

“Hey, do you know that Mum keeps a binder with ‘Soul’s Wedding Plan’ written on it?” Wes chimes in with his trademark irritating grin.

“I will scratch my name off the family tree first before I marry someone so I have the ultimate excuse to not invite anyone,” Soul articulates without missing a beat, fixing his hair into a cool messiness and holds it in place with a thick black headband.

“I’ll be sure to tell Mum about our little Soliel’s new friend.”

“Say that and I’ll make Seb flood your facebook with the Tchaikovsky Incident photos,” Soul growls, then gets a little smug to see Wes’s mirth dim a little in embarrassment.

“Hey, now that’s a low blow.”

It’s an unspoken agreement that none of them would talk about the Tchaikovsky Incident. Making a satisfied face, Soul grabs his jacket and strides to the front door before Wes could harass his arguably nonexistent love life any further.

Maka is waiting for him at their usual table in the apartment’s cafe. And for some reason, she looks somewhat giddy, and dare he say… excited.

“Something fun happened?” he throws a teasing grin. He’s proud to declare that, after weeks of constantly sounding like a constipated guy due to his nervousness, he finally gets ahold of himself and is able to revert back into his usual cool, sarcastic self.

“Oh, yeah, actually…”

“Mind to share?”

She shifts a little in her chair. If he didn’t know any better he would say that she’s fidgeting. Soul tilts his head. Maka blushes and stammers, yes, but she never fidgets. That’s more like his area of expertise.

“Maka—?”

“IjustgottwoticketstoDC-Landsowouldyougowithme?!” she blurts out in a screech.

“I’m—I’m sorry?”

She exhales loudly, then pushes two colorful papers in his direction. “I just—Seb just gave me two tickets to the amusement parks—you know, uh, DC-Land? At the Gallows Bay?”

Soul dumbly nods, still processing her words a year too slow.

“He—Seb said he wanted to go with his uhh… crush… but then his leg’s in a cast now and um—they’re almost expired so—I don’t have any other friend to go with so uhm…”

His brain completes its buffering. She wants him to go with her to an amusement park.

“So… Do you wanna go with me?”

Huh?

What?

She adds nervously, “Uh… to the DCLand?”

Because he’s the coolest guy in town, he blurts out in the squeakiest voice possible, “Do you wanna see my Reaper sticker album?”

Maka blinks. “What?”

Burn the declaration that claimed he’d already controlled himself.

Soul’s mind is currently repeating the calming mantra of shit shit shit shit. “I—uh—we… we could—you could see it after we go to the—the park… or uhh—I could bring it with me when we—uh, I mean… w-what I wanna say is—uhh—”

He wants to delete himself. But before he manages to salvage his pathetic existence, she’s suddenly a mile closer to his face.

“Does this mean you want to go with me? To the park?”

His gulp is embarrassingly loud. “Uh—umm… y—yeah?”

Then everything he could see is only her gleaming green eyes, sparkling with pure joy, as she gives him the prettiest smile, complete with a shade of pink on her cheekbones.

Maka is standing near the bus stop instead of in front of the apartment building, beaming when she hears his motorcycle’s engine. Pulling the bike to her side of the road, Soul takes a shaky gulp. She is always pretty, but today she’s almost blinding. Her red shirt matches with the beret that covered her braided hair, the pale miniskirt and black knee-high boots completing the look. She even puts on some makeup. Cute and tough. So Maka.

Soul feels his lips turning upward as he gives her an appreciative look. “You look cute.”

Her lips form a cute ‘o’ as she blushes. Immediately, after he registers what he had just said, warm bleeds all over his face. He curses his unreasonably high tendency to be flustered around her. Can’t he just compliment her in peace? Gosh.

“Thanks. You look cool too,” she shyly sends back the compliment. “I like the jacket. And the boots.”

He’s so not gonna tell anyone that he needs an entire minute to calm himself before he’s sure he could drive the bike without crashing them to the nearest electrical pole. He bites back a gasp when Maka places her arms around his middle and just concentrates to take them to DC-Land.

What he didn’t calculate is that DC-Land is very loud and full of people.

It’s Maka who suggested they should hold hands to avoid being separated. He has no reason to refuse.

Despite his constant blush and the distracting beat of his heart, Soul is kinda enjoying himself. It is so stupidly endearing to be dragged all over the place by Maka, riding all sorts of attractions. He finds in a mild horror that she’s quite the adrenaline junkie. It would be so uncool if he trembles in fear when she announces the Death Coaster as their next ride with sparkling eyes.

But oh, actually having her gripping his hand as an anchor when she screams along the coaster is quite nice, so he doesn’t have any complaints.

He doesn’t even protest when she places a bunny-ears merchandise on his head, only putting on his resting bitch face as he growls half-heartedly. Maka giggles and takes the bunny-ears to put on her own head. Soul immediately develops an interest to bunny-ears.

They eat a gross amount of sweets and milkshakes as they stroll around the amusement park, lazily watching the sky turning dark.

“Hey, let’s ride that!” Maka exclaims, pointing to the Ferris Wheel.

“I thought you like something hardcore?” he replies in amusement.

“Hey, it’s good to cool down our system after all that screaming.”

“Ohh, so now you admit you were screaming?”

She playfully slaps his arm. “I wasn’t. It was obviously all you. Now c’mon!”

Soul lets himself be dragged by Maka to the lazily spinning thing. To be honest, Soul had never gotten the charm of Ferris Wheels. They just spin painfully slow. Just up and down, round and round, nothing exciting.

But when Maka shoves him into the cage and the wheel begins to spin, Soul slowly catches a breath. The nighttime landscape of the park is magnificent to be viewed from a height. They could even see the city, as that Ferris Wheel is one of the biggest in the country.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Maka murmurs from his side.

Soul lets out a hum.

“Too bad it’s too quiet.”

He blinks, then grins, pulling out a familiar gadget out of his pocket. “Good thing I brought this.”

In a few seconds, they both are gazing lazily to the breathtaking lights of DC-Land, a shared earphone in one of their ears, connected to his trusty iPod which tirelessly plays jazz songs as the Ferris Wheel takes them up and up and up.

“Hey, Soul…”

“Hmm?”

Soul is humming along the tunes, perfectly content with his lot in the world. So he’s certainly not expecting the following words pouring out of her mouth, “I’ve—I’ve been meaning to ask… about that one playlist in your iPod…”

He freezes instantly, a familiar anxiety creeping through his bones. “Which one?”

She darts her eyes to his, that adorable pink on her face. “Uh, if I remember it right, it’s MakeDamnSure.”

Oh.

She’d heard it.

“It’s yours, isn’t it?”

Fuck.

Maybe his face has fallen into a frown, because she’s starting to ramble and flail her hands wildly as she tries to explain, “I—I’m sorry, I was just curious… I know I’ve said I listened a bit but uhh, I kinda listened a lot? And I didn’t know how I ended up with that playlist so I—but, but the pieces were so dark and haunting but incredible! And beautiful! I just—I couldn’t forget those piano pieces, and had always wondered who the artist was because I—uh, I love it very much!! And I don’t even know that much about music to start searching about it, do you see my problem?!”

Soul forgets how to blink. Or breathe. Is she actually saying she loves his music?

“But, but then you said you play piano, and I kind of—kind of wondering if you write music too, because I found that those piano pieces were… were so… you,” she adds hastily, her cheeks going to a deeper red. “I also noted that they were not as clean as the other songs, like they were live-recorded or something like that, because I—I could actually hear you—I mean the artist! —breathing as the piano played, so I listened to them over and over again because I—ah!” Her hands fly to cover her mouth, as if afraid that she had said too much. The red on her cheeks bleeds all over her face.

To be honest, Soul’s blush is rivaling hers, and he can’t help the anxious grin that splits his face ear to ear. To hear the girl he crushes on saying she likes his music is equal to hear he’d just won a big lottery. Actually, no, this is better.

“Thanks… For saying you love them,” he gives her one of his rare soft smiles, and it’s lost to him how her blush deepens. “It means a lot to me.”

“So… you’re really the one who wrote those pieces?”

He thinks his throat is a bit dry from too much happiness and embarrassment, so instead of answering, he just nods.

“You’re really amazing…”

His heartbeat is the only thing he could hear, but he’s awfully aware of her fiery green eyes, sparkling with an emotion he doesn’t dare place. Even in that dark Ferris Wheel, her eyes are still mesmerizing. Her gaze drills deep into his own, as if scanning his soul. He doesn’t have any memory of when they’ve gotten so close. Somewhere, somewhere far, far away, fireworks spark into the sky.

The next thing he knows, their lips touch.

Soul doesn’t have any experience in kissing, but he naturally follows the movement of her lips, gently returning her every caress. When they break off, the only thing Soul thinks is if hearts can do backflips, then his own would be performing parkour right at this moment.

They share a soft smile as the fireworks lit up their features in all sorts of colors. It is right then that Soul suddenly jerks to a stop when a thought crosses his mind.

They had just spent a whole day together. In an amusement park. Just the two of them. They’re now inside a Ferris Wheel. Just the two of them.

And they just kissed.

Doesn’t this feel an awful lot like a date? Like… a couple-y date??

Oh my god, he’s so dumb.

“Soul, what’s wrong?”

He stammers, “Uh… Is this a date?”

She freezes as well, then her whole face turns into a nice shade of tomato. “Uhm… yes?”

He feels like slumping into the ground as a puddle of goo. “Oh my god, I’m the dumbest date ever.”

“It’s not your fault, really!” she stutters. “I was—I was too embarrassed to ask you outright—because we’ve just known each other for like a month and—and uhh… I—I really like you so, uhh—I kinda sidestepped and—oh my god I’m so sorry…” She buries her face in her hands. The tips of her ears are red.

Funny how her cute embarrassment actually negates his own flustering problem. He chuckles, awfully delighted, taking her hands down and lifts her face.

“I think I like you too…” he whispers, delighted to see her stammering jerks to a stop as she makes a very endearing baffled face. Kill him, she really is criminally cute. “But next time let me properly ask you out.”

She lets out a shaky but melodious laugh. “I’d like that.”

As they turn their heads to finally watch the fireworks, Soul thinks, he’s really glad he’d lost his iPod that day.

[Epilogue]

“Wes! Wes, what’s ‘lesser than three’ means?”

Wes’s bowing stops at his little brother’s frantic voice. He puts the Stradivarius down as Soul dashes into the music room. “What?”

“What’s lesser than three?” Soul blabs again, looking confusedly at his new flip phone. “Maka sent me a message and there’s ‘lesser than three’ at the end of it.”

Wes smiles inwardly. No matter how bratty Soul behaves or how sadistic his sarcastic comebacks are, he always looks for Wes’s brotherly advice when he needs it the most. Many people say Soul’s attitude is too poor, especially to his 8-years-older brother, but Wes never thinks so.

In Wes’s mind, his little Soul is the biggest tsundere.

He understands Soul well enough to the point of knowing that Soul’s way of showing affections is to lay himself bare, to let out his sarcastic personality as he throws half-hearted sass left and right.

But apparently, his little Soul has another side he had never seen before.

Soul is surprisingly so easily flustered if it involves anything to do with his crush, namely little Maka Albarn.

Wes was beyond thrilled when the autumn semester started and Soul announced he wanted to buy a cellphone. After some (interesting) interrogations, Wes succeeded to dig out the truth that Soul apparently had a (potential) girlfriend now. He needed a phone because she was going back to her dorm, and it would be disastrous if Dad finds out Soul’s been hogging the landline to talk to a girl.

So, this past two weeks, Wes had been dedicating himself to teach Soul how to use a phone. What a great big brother he is.

“Lesser than three? What’s that mean?”

“Look at this!” Soul shoves the black flip phone to his face. Wes raises his eyebrows for a second before he snorts ungentlemanly loud.

At the end of Maka’s message, is the heart emoji.

A.k.a ‘ <3 ‘

Wes slaps a hand to his face. “I must apologize to Maka that I took all the braincells with me and left her with nothing.”

Soul frowns, “What the hell are you talking about?”

Wes sighs. Anyways, he is delighted to know that, under all of those sarcasm and tough persona, his little Soul is still a big dork.