so. this is my debut fic for the SE fandom. it's not necessarily my FIRST fic, but it is the most polished of them all. it's also earlyfic - which means it's early on in their partnership, set prior to the beginnings of the manga.
basically, my friend mams and i gush about SE pretty constantly, ever since i was suddenly whapped HARD with a need to write fic for SE. so i'd like to thank her~ ALSO. SHE DOES ART. I MEAN. ART. gorjus, gorjus art. and she did ART. FOR ME. THEY ARE CUTE. AND EXACTLY WHAT I HAD IN MIND.mamorandom(dot)tumblr(dot)com/post/9367847295
ANDALSO. SHE LISTENS TO MY COMMENTARY ON THE FIC I WRITE. WHO DOES THAT. MAMS DOES. MAMS. DOES.
They're in the same place, but still have so many distances to cross.
In the corner of his eye, he can see the hustle and bustle of the shopping scene a little ways down from them. In the other, he can see the orange of Maka's loose tank. (The color makes him think of parfaits and he intends to convince Maka to make parfaits for dessert later.) She's perched high on the top of the stone bridgewall, shifting her bare feet to-and-fro above the cool, languid waters below them. He leans against the same wall, arm stretched out and hanging off the same stonework, his elbow pressing lightly against the soft material of her shorts. If he moves just slightly, said elbow will graze thigh.
"Should we get a piano?" Maka asks as she sips at her bubble tea.
Maka blinks at this particular outburst, "What do you mean? Why not? We have the money. It doesn't even have to be a big fancy one. A nice simple one, for the living room. It's the ability, not the tool, that matters."
"I'd be too busy to use it, Maka," he mumbles, chewing the straw between his teeth. He doesn't use the word "play" because that would mean he enjoys the piano. And he doesn't. He doesn't. (Except he does. It's a love/hate relationship. As is any relationship with creativity.)
"Oh? And with what?" She retorts, "All you do is stay in bed, read manga, or play with Black Star."
"Oi! It's not-" he starts, but decides against his words with a sigh, "There's no point. Once we actually start collecting souls, we won't have time to even cook for ourselves."
"That's what the schedule is for, idiot." She taps a finger against one of their shopping bags twice; the sound of her nail to the large whiteboard produces a dull click. He thinks there's a rhythm he can make out of it. Literally. He can compose something. And he really needs to stop thinking things in terms of music. (But he never will. He can't.)
"Maka. Just drop it," he says sharply. And she does.
He hears her struggling with a tapioca ball stuck in her straw. His cup is pretty empty, when he looks at it; he's thinking of stealing some of hers - she still has another half of her drink left.
Then, he can tell that Maka is about to start it all over again. He straightens his right leg from its bent position against the bridgewall, and heaves forward from his leaning to flatten his feet against the pebbled ground. His elbow doesn't brush against skin; Maka's moving away from him, to shift out of her position, with intentions to get back to ground. To talk to him, face-to-face. But he's gonna stop her, because she's going to talk to him, about him.
"I'm going home. It's been a long day and I just want to... You know. Stay in bed for the rest of the day and read comics."
He heads towards home, tossing his empty drink in the trash before bringing both hands to his pockets. Maka furrows her brow at his back in confusion, entirely aware she has missed something in their conversation and not entirely sure what that very thing is.
"Is he mad?" She looks down to her lap and drink, rubbing the perspiration from her bubble tea absently between her fingers. Bringing up the straw to her lips, she sighs, "Id-i-ot. Use your words, I can't read your mind."
ugh. ugh. i love earlyfic so much guys, you have no idea. and they're both SO screwed up. it. it's just too muucch. I CAN'T STOP WRITING. AND I WON'T.
also i just realized: SOUL LEFT MAKA WITH ALL THE BAGS. GREAT GOING, YOU SULKY JERK WITH YOUR MAN!ANGST.
"But behavior in the human being is sometimes a defense, a way of concealing motives and thoughts, as language can be a way of hiding your thoughts and preventing communication."
"But communication is two-sided - vital and profound communication makes demands also on those who are to receive it... demands in the sense of concentration, of genuine effort to receive what is being communicated."