A/N: Oh, goodness! This is my first FanFic written, a SoMa, SoulXMaka, whateveryouwannacallit. Sorry for any mistakes - I proofread the best I could. I REALLY hope you guys like it, and would LOVE it if you would review! Currently working on the second chapter of this. I'll update soon as possible. Thanks, guys. I'm really hoping for your support in this. :3


"C'mere, Soul," Maka called to me, her voice soft and trembling slightly, a foreign and unpleasant twist to the normally bright, melodic notes she spoke. Stepping out of my room, I peeked around the wall to see her standing with her face practically pressed against the kitchen window, up on her toes. She was bare-footed, with my baggy, too-long, gray sweat pants hanging off one side of her tiny hips, exposing the lace of her black panties that Liz most likely forced her to buy, a t-shirt on top. Her hair was down and still wet from our ride home in the rain. An image of Albarn that not many had the privilege – and yes, it was a privilege – to see.

Maka barely even flinched as thunder cracked, and a flash of lightning split the sky, illuminating the dark room for a mere second. The power had gone out with the raging storm, and the kitchen had a few candles lit, their light flickering softly.

I walk over and put a hand on her shoulder, massaging it gently. "I thought you hated thunderstorms."

Maka sighed softly, looking up at me with big, tired green eyes. "I'm surprised you ever noticed," she murmured, the corners of her lips twitching up. I let out a chuckle and just shook my head, looking at her for a moment longer than necessary before my gaze flickered up to the rain smacking against the window. I'd say pattering, but… It was much too subtle a word for which the violence the droplets slapped against our apartment window.

"I don't want you to leave." Wow, I thought. Talk about uncool. But… It was true. And Maka and I didn't keep secrets. I looked down at her to find the emerald orbs already locked on my scarlet ones. The shades of green shimmered as her eyes glistened with the beginnings of tears she was trying desperately to hold back.

"Neither do I, Soul." I could barely hear her small, scared voice over the sound of the rain. Maka took a deep breath and tore her watery gaze from mine to stare out the window, a single tear rolling down her cheek, dimly flickering off the candle's lights. "Neither do I."


I peeled my eyelids open with a groan, the sharp sunlight birthing an ache there that spread infectiously from my tired eyes through to my pounding temples. Sitting up, I planted my arms behind me for leverage and looking around with a defeated sigh. It was beginning to become a nightly thing that, after hours of insomnia, I would go to sleep in Maka's bed. Sometimes even sleepwalk there. I would awake, her sweet vanilla-strawberry scent wafting up from the comforter bunched beneath me, one of her favorite shirts clenched in my hand, her pillow damp with my tears and eyes puffy.

Maka had been gone for nearly eight months. It would be in a few days that the anniversary of the last time I saw her, last time I held her, last time I acted completely normal, came around. Sure, my head was starting to feel better from extensive lack of Maka-chops, and maybe it was nice to be able to go out with Black Star, and not have a waiting, angry tiny-tits waiting for me on the couch with a hardcover book and a devious scowl, and maybe I liked only cooking for one every night, and sitting alone at the table, and not having to wake up to comfort her nightmares of her mama leaving.

But then, maybe… Maybe the Maka-chops didn't bother me all too much since I normally deserved it, and maybe I secretly liked walking in the door, purposefully an hour or so past 'acceptable time', to see that worried, helpless look on her face vanish, and be replaced by utter relief. Anger, yes, but relief as well. And maybe I liked cooking for two, sharing her laughs and her smiles and her 'chops over the tiny kitchen table. And maybe, after being shaken into consciousness by a tiny girl who was always so strong and tough around everyone else… Maybe I loved that she would crawl into bed beside me some nights, and we would talk and laugh quietly among ourselves, making her forget those nightmares she'd had. Maybe it was all those things that made the apartment ours – the mixed aroma of vanilla-strawberry and what she described as musk and raspberries that had claimed the rooms, the mess of books and magazines she and I left sprawling around, the dinner we cooked and the dishes we cleaned every night, together, the photographs of us and the gang on the wall – that made me miss her so, incredibly bad.

It's only a few more months, I tell myself.

One year away from her won't kill your bond, I tell myself.

Maybe she found someone better, I tell myself.

Maybe she's not coming back.


I walk into the classroom, late as usual, ignoring Stein's glare and obvious debate between using the knife in his hand to dissect the creature on his desk or impale me, as I take my seat. And that was where the normal stopped.

I focused in class, writing down notes and lessons and doing homework and acing tests, just wanting to be up there on her level when she came back. I knew that she would approve of my work, just as well pleased, and just as well suspicious. I knew that one hand would brace on her hip and she would lean to her side, rocking her opposite foot and narrowing her eyes slightly, her evaluating-and-judging gaze. She'd done it a thousand times back home, when I'd offered to take the trash out for her, or help her with something, or asking something about a book she was reading/had read. Thought I was just kissing ass.

But I knew that it was the look on her face when we finished early because of my help and sat down to watch a movie. I knew it was the way she curled into my side and rested her head on my chest, never moving the entire movie unless one of us had to. And I knew I would stay there, both because she loved the movies, so I would try my hardest to, and because it was the way she leaned on, depended on me, that made me feel on top of the world, no matter how terrible the movie was.

She was the only one who didn't flinch when she looked at me.

I hadn't seen that before she'd left. And now, I was going back to fix a few things. I'm still cool, obviously. But cool guys are good to their meisters, and even better to amazing girls. So what did Maka get, because of her inane and perfectly balanced ratio of tough meister and sweet girl?

It was time to change, and stop being so excruciatingly quiet about how loud this heart of Soul Eater Evans sang for Maka Albarn.