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Soul shuffles up to the ledge, looking on to everything below it, before he seats himself over the edge. Slow, as the sun beats down through the shade surrounding him.
The gleam of one, two, one blade tears through her overcoat, her eyes wide and terrified like he's never seen them before.
His throat goes dry and scorched when she needs him most. He doesn't know what to do, has no idea what's happening.
Pained gasps snap him out of his daze and into another, trying his best to approach her calmly, hands outstretched, even as she crumples up away from him when another flash slices through her collar.
“You need to breathe. Just try to breathe slowly, in and out.”
Her voice is torn thin in panic and distress, however. “Breathe?! This isn't supposed to be happening-”
He can't help immediately falling to her side when another blade audibly shifts her shoulder, his hand carefully holding her arm steady as he tries to soothe her, even just a little.
“Just breathe, okay? In, and out. In, and out…”
Shoe sides clap together as his legs hang from the brick and stone, the can he brought still cool against his palm. The tab makes a satisfying click when he opens it.
A sigh drags out heavy and sunken when he opens the door all the way, steps slow but level while he walks up to her curled up on the floor.
She flinches away, tears streaming from her eyes and choked sobs still slipping from her throat, before he crouches down just close enough to her side. He makes sure not to corner her even as she cowers from his hand.
“It's okay, you're not gonna hurt me.”
A sniffle shudders her whole body as his hand reaches for her shoulder, right by where a blade was stuck in the wall, her foot caught up in the remains of their sink cabinet.
“Just try to breathe deeply and let your muscles relax. I know it sucks to hear that but it'll help.”
There's a defeated ember of any argument left on her face as she shakily inhales, his face carefully neutral as she unsteadily lets her breath go.
“Just take your time. I'll be here with you for as long as you want.”
The sweet acidity of the lemonade feels refreshing against the afternoon heat when he finally takes a sip. It's simple yet satisfying, and the clack of his nails is a sound he doesn't mind.
His teeth grit against the metal balancing in his hands, cool to the touch while heat washes straight through his chest, on the other side of things.
He's so used to her taking the lead that everything feels like swimming through mud trying to push her back, not control or smother her, but meet her in the middle as their hold on each other slowly balances out, until they reach a somewhat familiar equilibrium. At least she's not afraid anymore.
A long breath steadily releases as he tests the weight of her handle, taking in the shape of her new form now that she's finally coming to terms with who she really is.
She's a scythe, just like him, but not quite. Her blade was a metallic green similar to her eyes and the pattern a little symphony of lines and diamonds, the other side almost like a seashell.
It was actually kinda nice-looking.
Something like curiosity and anticipation, excitement and uncertainty, flickers through their connection as if he were the candle holding the flame. He gives her a timid swing, then a hearty one the other way with one arm.
He was probably doing it wrong but her laugh felt just like her again.
The lemonade can has a distinct echo sound under each of his fingers' taps, each minute movement softly drumming out a rhythm nothing else would follow. Each beat another note in the song trickling from his head.
Her handle rests gently against his skin until he feels ready to put his other glove on, a sturdy fitting black that matches the rest of his jacket, letting him breathe while he smooths out his inner and outer workings.
She's gotten comfortable enough for him to see her reflection in her blade. She shares a look of encouragement with him before they focus back on the Professor's appraisal.
“Well you two seem to be stable.”
Her reflection nods, voice reverberating steadily through his palms. “We've gotten better about matching our wavelengths like this. I think it helps that we're already partners.”
The Professor looks directly at him, then takes his hands out of his pockets.
“If you're really serious about this…” He glances over to his weapon, Death Scythe hesitating before sighing, probably resigned while fitting into the Professor's hands.
His resolve only grips tighter around hers.
“If we've got options we might as well try them. Wouldn't hurt to have more ways of getting stronger,” he had said. He knows she felt the same way too.
Her father sighs, muttering at the intimidating smile that takes up their opponent's face. “Please go easy on them, Stein…”
He only laughed.
The drink is still cool down his throat even when he takes another sip, liquid sloshing quietly when he toys with swirling it a little. It's at about half now.
His chest gasps, heaves, as everything in him aches like he'd been dropped several stories onto the concrete below, his muscles screaming too much for him to even sit up.
A rough sigh, a flash of light grates through the ringing of his ears before the green of her eyes steadies his vision. The coolly detached words still standing somehow roar the loudest.
“You're still holding yourself back.”
Anger whips away from him, lashing out into the bleary horizon. “We're trying, okay?! You can't just expect us to get it perfectly when we're still getting used to this!”
“You haven't been listening.”
Fingers clench around his hand, waves of stubborn fury fuming at the edge of his senses. He tries to grasp her hand back.
“I suggest you two take a break for the time being and reflect on what it is you really want from your partnership. Come see me again when you've thought about it seriously.”
The can has a different sound to it the more that it's emptied. It swishes hollowly as it sways, like it could drop at any moment.
His arms are sore and his body aches with exhaustion, but he keeps swinging even if the repetition felt sluggish.
His breaths gasp hoarse and dry while he stops and turns, not too enthused about Death Scythe seeing him in a sweaty tank top, aside from the sudden appearance in general. Was he in trouble?
“She's so stubborn, isn't she? Just like her Mama.”
His eyes narrow at the amused little laugh standing there all nonchalant. “Once she sets her mind to something you can't help but want to see it through too.”
“What's this about…?”
“We're a lot alike in that way.” Agitation bubbles up and makes him testy.
“You saying that… I'm just gonna drop her..?”
“No, just that we have different ways of overthinking.” He sizes up the way Death Scythe's smile softens.
“You just want to look out for her even if you aren't always sure how to.”
His grip loosens around the wooden handle, watching his smile quirk back up. “What I'm saying is that neither of you are alone in this. If both of you didn't want to work together, then you wouldn't be trying.”
The handle feels heavy beneath his glove, slowly pulling his eyes away to the battered wood and tensing of his fingers.
They then look at him again when he snorts a more usual laugh. “You're still a little punk but Maka knows you've got a good head on your shoulders.”
Death City was an expansive sea of buildings and people, seemingly an endless stretch of desert heat and lively rhythm taking up the horizon, a sight you just had to see from up high at least once in your life.
It would be too easy for him to fall. His head turns away when the soft hum of footsteps walks into the edge of his hearing, the can held in place as Maka pauses just a little distance from him.
“Hey.”
Soul doesn't really move, aware that the space was more for his sake than hers. “Hey.”
He remembers the time he found her in this spot after crying when their group resonance wasn't working, an irony that isn't lost on either of them as she awkwardly hangs just outside his personal bubble.
The near-empty can is set aside, letting her cautiously walk up to the ledge and sit by him, her legs waiting over the edge as they sit in silence for a moment. Soul continues massaging his other palm and keeping his head facing the steep drop below as he finally speaks up.
“Y'know, I feel like such a broken record sometimes.”
Maka doesn't say anything, giving him room to breathe. “We struggled so much to resonate when we first partnered up, and now here I am screwing it up all over again.”
“...Why do you say that?”
“Because I…” His hands let go of the sigh that's been weighing down his mind. “I'm the one holding you back.”
He doesn't look at her, doesn't need to to hear the agitation coming off of her, but he keeps going anyway.
“Every time things go wrong I either have to throw myself in the way because I can't do anything else, or use the black blood because I'm not strong enough, or just stand by and watch while hoping you make it out okay because I'm useless. You need a partner who can actually back you up, and I just…”
A sigh drags his hands through his hair while he starts to curl into himself. “I don't know. Sorry.”
There's a long drag of quiet as he swallows, jamming his eyes shut. Maka's presence sounds like thunder in comparison, the tension like thick static as she sighs.
Eventually though, she speaks with a subdued calm, the kind that comes from her having thought something over for a while.
“You know, when you first tried to wield me I was upset because I felt like I wasn't going to be in control.”
He hears her fingers feel along the ledge. “There's been so many times that I feel weak, and I feel like I need to physically do something to show that I'm strong. I wasn't used to being the weapon and it felt like I was just sitting there while you were trying so hard to make things work when I was being selfish.”
His eyes drift along the ends of his shoes, her hands gathering in her lap.
“I realized later though that that's a stupid way of putting it. Meisters wouldn't even be here if weapons ‘did nothing’ – It's not about control or who's doing more than who, it's about working together to make each other stronger; That's why we're called 'partners'.” A deep breath slowly lowers his hands away, a similar memory of words ringing back before he glances at her pointing at him, face scrunching up. “And you're not useless. Don't talk crap about yourself just because we both suck at this.”
A dumb snicker twists the start of a grin up from him, his shoes clapping together a little while his hands fidget with his pants legs.
“Guess we both still have a ways to go, huh.”
That tinge of stubbornness he knows best puffs her chest out with a know-it-all huff.
“We've done it before, we'll do it again.”
She then scoots up to him and jabs her bossy pointer finger into his arm. “And we're not gonna leave each other behind anymore.”
“Ow, alright, alright I hear ya – Geez!” He chuckles away to the side after swatting her hand away, rubbing his arm while grinning like an idiot to himself. It fades into just a smile.
Think about what you really want from your partnership.
Soul sighs again, running his tongue over the front of his teeth until he eventually faces Maka, already willing to hear what he has to say.
“Hey, um…” His fingers tense into themselves. It's always been right in his head, all the words. But whenever he tries they all hide in his throat.
Maybe this time he can do it.
“Can I…”
He doesn't have to tell her every little thing about himself, but he knows by now, she accepts who he is. Even if it's just been one note at a time.
Soul meekly reaches his hand out to her, his other hand anchoring himself so he doesn't fall.
“...I want to show you something.”
Maka unhesitantly reaches her hand back, already meeting palm to fingers even if she's in the dark.
“Yeah, show me what?”
The Black Room. It's still a dark part inside his head even if the room is empty.
The last time he played for her… He played for everyone. He felt the stench of metal, the soul-stopping chill swallow him whole, never to let him play again.
But this time…
“I know you, um, like stories so uh…” Maybe it's a little lame, but he can't help but smile. Her smile is the coolest thing there is. “...I want to play you mine. I wanna show you who I really am.”
…he'll do things better this time, with her. They'll be the needle that'll break the record.
