A/N: This was a prompt given to me by the lovely Meisterful. Huge warning that there will be death but also sexy times so take what you can get.

Maka glances at the clock, wondering how much longer she should wait for her client. Whoever was coming in to plan their loved one's funeral was cutting it dangerously close.

Though it was completely understandable-the field she worked in was not a pleasant one.

"Hello?" A knock on her open door breaks her train of thought.

She looks up. A young man, perhaps twenty, stands nervously in the doorway. His snowy hair contrasts with the tan of his face and his eyes are a shocking red.

Maka stands. "Mr. Evans?"

He starts a little at the name, like he's not used to it. "Uh, yeah."

"Welcome," she says sympathetically, walking over and extending her hand. "How may I help you?"

"I need to plan a funeral," he says a little dazedly as they take their seats.

Maka nods. He has the look of confused shock on his face that she knows all too well. "For who?"

At this question, he looks up and his red eyes seem clear and focused for the first time. "Me."

He has what they call Adult Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia which is a fucking mouthful to say all the time so he calls it by its nickname, the asshole known as ALL. Pretty damn appropriate because it seems bent on taking all he has. Bastard of a disease, he adds as an afterthought.

By now, Maka has recovered and has hidden her shock under a mask of calm, razor thin but impenetrable. One of her most unusual clients, it was true but she could do this. She hadn't become the youngest director in this funeral home's history by shying away from unpleasant situations.

She starts with what she figures will be the hardest question. "How long do you have?"

"You like to start with the heavy questions, don't you?" Soul says dryly, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his hair.

"You made a pretty dramatic entrance yourself," Maka comments, pretending not to notice the faded bruises that trace his forearm and disappear into the sleeve of his black shirt.

"Yeah, I gotta admit that I took the cake with that one," Soul laughs and lets his arm fall with a flop into his lap. "But I did just get diagnosed today so don't judge me."

"Today?" Maka asks, surprised. "And your first action is to come to a funeral home."

"No, my first action was to puke my guts out," Soul corrects her. "Though I really had no say in the matter."

"But then," Maka says slowly. "How do you know this can't be treated?"

"MRI," Soul answers simply. "It's in my blood, my bones and now it's crawling up my spine like a car on an empty highway."

"Ah," Maka says awkwardly, curling her toes in embarrassment. "Sorry."

"It's not your fault," he says. "It is what it is."

"And you didn't bring anyone for this?" Maka asks abruptly. "Significant other? Friends? Family?"

"No girlfriend, my friends would make a mess out of your cheery work environment and my parents and brother wouldn't be of much use," Soul ticks off in a slightly monotone voice. "But you wanna know something else?"

Soul leans in conspiratorially. "Well, that's because no one else but you…" He glances at the bronze nameplate on her nameplate. "Miss Maka Albarn, knows that I am here."

"You haven't told them?" Maka says in disbelief. "They're going to find out one way or another."

"Well, yeah," Soul answers with a smirk. "When I die, it'll be pretty evident."

Maka opens her mouth to argue and immediately shuts it. It's none of her business if Soul wants to go through this alone. All she needs to do is her job. And yet she can't help from muttering, "Still, seems a little tough to go through on your own."

"There's not much to it, really," Soul shrugs. "You're going to do all the work. I just keep on pretending I have a bug that won't go away. Too bad I won't get to enjoy the final product."

Maka isn't quite sure how to answer that without coming off awkward or making it seem like she pities him so she clears her throat once and moves on.

"All right then," she says. "First thing we need to cover is cost."

"However much you need to spend is entirely up to you," Soul says breezily, crossing his legs. "Don't worry about it."

"It's my job to worry about these kinds of things," Maka deadpans.

"My parents are loaded and I have a credit card with no limits," Soul rubs his eyes tiredly. "Okay?"

"Okay," Maka sighs. She rummages through some papers. "Now, we'll have to start with your plot first. Then the coffin and the gravestone and finally the finer details of you-"

"Sorry to interrupt," Soul says a little breathlessly as he rises abruptly. His face is covered in a thin sheen of sweat and he has pallor to him that Maka didn't see before. "But could you excuse me?"

He barges from the room without another word. Maka buries her face in her hands and doesn't lift her head until she hears his approaching footsteps.

When he returns, Maka doesn't comment but instead silently gives him a tissue and looks pointedly at his shirt where some vomit had spilled onto it.

"Sorry, Miss Albarn," he says shamefacedly, swiping at his shirt. "Too many infections lately 'cause of the asshole known as ALL."

"It's not your fault," Maka says, re-settling her mask on her face. "It is what it is." She hesitates before she continues. "And please call me Maka."