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It starts on New Year's Eve.
Blake dares her to kiss whoever ends up next to her at midnight, so she resolves to simply end up alone at midnight so that she's not technically breaking the dare. The balcony is small and secluded, which means if someone isn't already out here sucking face, she's the only one whose found it—or is likely to find it at 11:58. She faintly hears a murmur of anticipation below and knows she's almost survived this one with her first kiss squarely intact. Maka has no wish to kiss a complete stranger, or anyone really, thank you very much.
The soft click behind her surprises her, the sound of a shutting door. She whirls around to see a patch of white faintly shining under the moonlight and little else—there is no light on here, purposefully so. Still, the stark hair is enough to give him away. She knows him... or at least, knows of him. Solomon "Call Me Soul" Evans is a boarding school friend of Kid and Blake, just another spoiled rich kid cruising his way through life. Still, as he slowly steps closer, eyes fixed on the waxing moon and seemingly still unaware of her presence, his face looks so broken that it makes her heart crack just a little in sympathy.
She faintly hears the countdown begin downstairs.
10...
Well, a dare is a dare, and while Maka has been known to achieve work arounds in the past that have made her the undisputed Truth or Dare queen, she also never backs out of a dare. Someone is here, so she will try to kiss him. Really, it might not be so bad. There are far worse candidates at this party. Far worse.
Yeah, okay, so he's a trust fund baby, but so's Kid, and she's never minded that. And anyway, even though she's told herself he's just some spoiled little rich boy, she's noticed he tends to stick to quiet corners and keep to himself during parties, and though they've been around each other many times, he's rarely spoken more than two words to her together, so maybe she's just been projecting.
9...
He isn't far, and as she takes one soft step towards him, then another, the faint clack of her low heels on marble have him spinning in her direction, eyes like saucers in the low light.
8...
She's close now, close enough to reach out and grab him, and she will soon, if he'll let her. Her heart begins to race, adrenaline kicking in, her stubborn will taking over. Maka Albarn never says die, so she will do this—and maybe kill Blake later—but still. She will kill him with her honor intact.
7...
His eyes resume a more normal appearance, and the surprise soon morphs into the look of boredom that's the only expression she's ever seen him wear until less than a minute ago.
6...
"Sorry, I'll just—"
He makes to slide away, so Maka stops him with a hand to one surprisingly firm bicep. His eyes widen again.
5...
"I need a favor," she says, no time to choose her words. His surprise begins to slide into boredom again, and she hates that the clear mask he wears is so damned familiar, hates that he tilts his own head forward just enough for eyes that shine as brightly as the blood moon to be obscured by his star kissed hair.
4...
"What?"
One word and a slight tilt of the head is all the acknowledgment he offers.
3...
"I need to kiss you, if I you'll let me..."
Maka trails off and bites her lip nervously, hands fidgeting with her charm bracelet but eyes never straying from his as she watches that mask drop again, eyes as wide as his suddenly gaping jaw. He snaps his jaw shut, swallowing visibly.
2...
"O...kay?" The word stutters from his lips, and he looks—honestly, she can't even tell anymore, her heart racing past any capacity for reason.
The artist in Maka had long since found him beautiful from afar, like some gorgeously exotic animal who could never belong among the mundane throngs of humanity around him. The acknowledgment had been begrudging but genuine, her creative soul stirred in spite of herself. But a few brief meetings under sterile halogen and distant sightings in the low lights of parties could not have prepared for her for the reality of standing before him under the moonlight as she's about to kiss him, about to feel the warm lips he darts his tongue out to lick nervously, slightly chapping in the cold desert night.
1...
Her heart is going to explode, she's sure of it. Maka has never heard her own pulse in her ears so deafeningly. Her world narrows to her heart beat and his lips as she leans forward, closing her eyes. She could end up kissing his chin this way and she knows it, but not even her boundless courage can face this eyes wide open. Somehow, someway, her lips collide with something soft, slightly chilled, and shockingly eager. A hand that decidedly does not belong to her finds her lower back, and she allows her own hands to snake up until they meet thick hair, slightly stiff with too much product.
The chill of her lips warms quickly with the motion, and then she feels something hot darting between and gasps, though whether from surprise or the pleasant tingle pooling in her belly and spreading clear down her her toes, Maka can't say. The fireworks that explode in light and sound above them mirror that feeling, amplifying it, bolstering it, and driving her to give as good as she gets. Her courage rises, making her bold, and she slides her own tongue along his, relishing the peculiar warmth of it, the unexpected pleasure of such an embarrassing level of intimacy with a virtual stranger.
That thought shocks her back to reality, and she breaks off their kiss, taking a quick step back, breathless. He looks just as breathless, but whatever unreadable expression crosses his face passes quickly, replaced with a bitter smile.
"Star put you up to this."
It's not really a question.
"I chose dare," she admits, still dizzy from the cascade of emotions crushing her.
"Figures." It's a quiet grumble, punctuated by a laugh as bitter as that smile. "Sorry," he adds, smile fading into neutrality, eyes growing guarded.
"Oh, no, don't be! You were doing me a favor!" Her voice is too bright, heart still racing. Why does he look like someone just told him Santa Claus isn't real? Even in the swirl of her own fear and embarrassment, she knows something is wrong here, and she's not coming out as the good guy.
Oh gods, she's dragged this poor boy into Blake's shenanigans and broken him somehow. And now that she's realized that he doesn't deserve—well—whatever that look is on his face, her own fear and embarrassment are swept away by anger. She is going to absolutely murder her godbrother; she feels like she should be on To Catch a Predator, even though they're both 21 and he had kissed her back, damnitall.
"Yeah, okay." He suddenly slouches down in his jeans and button up, looking a foot shorter and, in spite of that habitual mask of indifference, somehow defeated.
"Anyway." Her right hand finds her bracelet again, but she manages to keep her eyes steady and on his, anger simmering. "If you'll excuse me, I have a godbrother to kill."
Maka manages to keep her head high as she marches away, throwing open the balcony door with abandon, her embarrassment come anger fueling her.
Not looking back, she misses his thoughtful frown as he touches his fingertips to his lips, and how his eyes never leave her, lingering in the doorway long after she's gone.