#anyway shine bright tsubaki

[imhereforheadcanon]

Imagine reading Wind Breaker while being homophobic... just imagine

[shroomcult]

@soulxmakaweek

Day 4: Apologize

I fell way behind with Soma week because I got slammed with work and this monster of a fic took me too long to write.

Summary: 

Maka comes to realize that Soul had never felt fully comfortable around Crona, and in ignoring this entirely - she unknowingly hurt her closest friend.

Special thanks to Tori @chichirichick (she betas all of my dumpster fires, bless her) for proofreading this mess of emotions and also to Zi @azroazizah for coming up with the concept for this fic. 

**Disclaimer** This story is not about putting blame on Crona, but instead about acknowledging the fact that Soul went through trauma due to their actions and it was never taken into consideration by Maka before inviting them into their friend group. I'm not saying Crona didn't deserve support, but it's also completely valid for Soul - a victim of Crona - to not feel entirely safe around them regardless of their tragic background and circumstances. If Crona is a big comfort character for you and you feel you would likely be upset by this concept, then I recommend not reading it altogether. We all interpret things different and we're all entitled to our own opinions, and I'm not going to get in arguments with people over this.

It’d been a while since the Spartoi team was all together again.

After the fall of Asura, they really had no purpose to join forces as a team. No big baddie to unite them in ass-kickery. 

The skies were blue again. There were still Kishin eggs to take down, and a shaky new diplomatic relationship with the witches to maintain as well. 

Things were more or less … normal. Boring, even.

The only big difference Blackstar could discern was that nobody seemed to have time to just hang out and be friends anymore.

Kid was over his head with his new responsibilities, and while he was doing an admirable job filling his father’s shoes; there was a steep learning curve and his perfectionist tendencies only made it more challenging to overcome. He upheld a calm and collected demeanor in the public’s eyes, but Liz and Patty spent most of their time holding him together behind the scenes. 

Soul and Maka were a different situation entirely.

It was odd enough to adjust to the recent change in the nature of their relationship. They claimed to be the same as they’ve always been - just Soul & Maka. Only, they grew much closer after the hardships they had endured both in the book of Eibon and on the moon.

They had been close to begin with, but this was a different kind of close. Stolen glances, hands reaching for each other when they thought nobody was looking. Blushing for almost no damn reason. 

Something was going on between them - he could be sure of that.

More recently, however, Maka had been particularly obsessive about solving the dilemma of Crona’s entrapment on the moon. She was driving herself to a slow-burning insanity, considering every moment that she hadn’t rescued them yet to be a personal failure.

She’d been spending much of her time in the restricted section of the library, consuming every piece of relevant research for hours on end. Soul often stayed up there with her doing the same, or at the very least keeping her silent company when he was too burnt out to read anymore.

He’d also spent much of his extra time with Stein, training to perfect his sound-wave abilities into his own form of wavelength attack.

He’d been giving his all ever since making deathscythe status to hone his strength and better serve Maka. He’d even been able to hold his own for a surprising amount of time in the sparring ring against Blackstar, and that was a feat in and of itself.

All of the focus on Crona’s rescue had appeared to be wearing on him, though. 

Soul may have accepted Crona into his friend group for Maka’s sake, even empathized with them - but he had never fully trusted the demon sword meister. Although Soul was outwardly friendly towards them, Blackstar noticed the way his friend had watched them like a hawk before they turned back to Medusa. He was always ready for a scenario like that because he had never felt entirely safe around them to begin with.

Not that Maka had bothered to even take Soul’s feelings into consideration before forgiving Crona on his behalf.

She couldn’t have possibly been that dense. She had to have been actively ignoring the signs of Soul’s discomfort because she couldn’t handle acknowledging them.

And now she was doing the same thing all over again even with Crona as far away as the moon. It was obvious that Soul was doing what he always did - shoving his own feelings aside in favor of Maka’s. The loyal mutt of a boy valued her wellbeing far above his own, that was for certain.

He just seemed so exhausted of it all now. Searching tirelessly with Maka for a solution that may not even exist took up much of his time and energy.  

He never had the time to shoot hoops or play video games like he used to, and Blackstar was far above begging for his attention. He stopped even bothering to ask him.

Just for one night though, by some divine luck - everybody was willing to clear their schedule to have a late night dinner at the most beloved and heart-attack inducing burger joint in town. 

Every member of Spartoi was crammed into the largest booth in the restaurant and their chatter was loud enough to fill the whole section. 

There were multiple conversations happening at a time, but Blackstar was zeroing in on Soul who had his chin resting on his palm and that stupid, dopey look he got on his face when he was proud of Maka. Yuck. Keep it in your pants, loverboy.

Maka was next to Soul, his arm stretched out behind her on the booth, while Ox engaged her in a fiery debate over god knows what across the table from her. Judging by the redness in baldy’s face - Maka was on the winning side. He really couldn’t understand Soul’s hard-on for a bossy know-it-all personality, but whatever floats his boat he supposed.  

He decided he’d seen enough of that look on his best friend’s face and crumpled up a straw wrapper, dipping it in his soda and sticking it at the end of his straw.

He blew on the other end, sending the sticky wad of paper flying across the table. The projectile hit its target directly on the cheek.

“Fuck’s sake dude, how old are you?” he grumbled, reaching over the table to grab a handful of napkins to clean his face off with.

Maka snatched some of his napkins for herself, rubbing it vigorously into the flecks of cola that stained her uniform. “You got my shirt all wet, idiot.”

Blackstar simply threw his head back to cackle obnoxiously. “I just thought I should break up your lame little debate team fight before Ox over here pops a blood vessel. You know he can’t handle losing well.”

“I wasn’t losing!” Ox hissed under his breath.

Maka only met her opponent’s glare with a shit-eating grin.

“Hey, Maka! What had you stopped to talk with Professor Stein about earlier today?” Tsubaki cut in, obviously attempting to diffuse another argument between the two competitive brainiacs.

Maka’s expression relaxed into something a little more neutral, seemingly caught off guard by the question. Debate-mode successfully disarmed.

“Oh. Well… I just had some questions about my black blood research for him.” 

Blackstar didn’t miss the way Soul tensed up beside her at the mention of black blood. His face was void of any distinct emotion, but something was off in his body language. The way his shoulders squared as if he were instinctively bristling.

Anyone with a shred of social awareness could have deduced that black blood, Medusa, and Crona were not Soul’s favorite topics. It wasn’t unusual for him to shut down and discontinue any contributions to a conversation when any of these things were brought up. 

Unfortunately for Soul, all of those subjects were constantly on Maka’s mind since she began her obsessive pursuit for a solution to Crona’s ordeal.

“Oh? And what did he have to say?” Tsubaki pressed, completely oblivious to the tense situation she was potentially triggering.

“As you’re already aware, there’s not really any official research on the black blood that exists. We’ve been digging through countless books - gathering as much information about madness and Kishins as we can, but it can only get us so far. It would be so much more useful if we could get our hands on a physical sample of the substance itself.”

Soul’s eyes widened in concern, but only for a second before he slipped his usual poker face back on. His Adam’s apple bobbed nervously despite the veneer of calm he displayed.

“Anyways,” she continued, turning to look at Soul, “I was going to talk to you about this later, but maybe some of the black blood still remains in your system? I know we believed it was all gone, but surely there’s some residual amount of it lingering behind? Something we could maybe isolate, extract and create a concentrate of? Stein said it was unlikely, but technically possible. We have to try for Crona, right, Soul?”

He was no longer wearing his mask of apathy. Unmistakeable, visible discomfort was etched into his facial features and he was clenching his hands, knuckles whitening from the pressure. Everyone at the table was hushed and the tension was palpable.

“He doesn’t have to try anything,” Kid’s voice cut sharply through the silence, golden eyes flashing sternly at her.

A soft gasp escaped her and her eyebrows shot up, clearly taken-aback by the sudden burst of hostility from her boss and close friend. Her eyes darkened seconds later, determination setting in.

 “I think that’s his decision to make, and I’d like to hear what he has to say,” she turned her attention back to Soul, hope still shining in her eyes.

He fidgeted with his necktie, loosening it and clearing his throat. “Yeah, s’fine. Whatever you need, I guess.”

Maka’s face lit up into a bright smile that turned Blackstar’s stomach and she pulled Soul into a brief hug. “I knew we could count on you, Soul! You’re the best partner ever.”

“Whatever, it’s no problem. Just try not to drain me of all my blood, alright?” he chuckled weakly, avoiding her eyes in favor of staring a hole in the middle of the table.

She gave an easygoing laugh in response, and went back to conversing with Tsubaki as if she hadn’t just pressured her partner into volunteering himself as a guinea pig for the sake of someone who had literally sliced him open from shoulder to hip and infected him with black blood to begin with.

Is she fucking serious?

Blackstar was practically vibrating with fury from the interaction he’d just watched, and Tsubaki’s normally soothing hand on his shoulder did little to calm him down. When he glanced at Kid, he instantly knew the death god had shared his frustration with Maka’s obliviousness. 

It wasn’t long before Soul abruptly stood from his place at the end of the booth, pulling a twenty out of his wallet and placing it on the table in front of him.

“Soul? What are you doing? The food hasn’t even gotten here yet,” Maka blinked at him in confusion.

“I’m not feelin’ too great - gonna head out, sorry guys. Could you just bring my food back in a to-go box?” he said with an apologetic quirk of his lips. He squeezed her shoulder gently before turning on his heels and making his way out of the diner in long strides.

Why does she look so shocked? Does she really not understand that she’s been hurting him?

After that, the night passed by in a haze for Blackstar. He hardly spoke for the rest of the meal due to the fact that he was using all of his mental capacity to keep his impulse to stand up and loudly call his friend out in front of everybody in check. 

The only thing truly stopping him was the knowledge that Soul would likely be embarrassed and more than a little pissed off if he’d made a big scene over something that he wasn’t even willing to talk about.  

So he waited - held his tongue until he could lash out in private.

As everyone was saying their goodbyes, Blackstar watched her rise from her seat gathering her to-go boxes carefully and giving him a nod of acknowledgement before she headed out.

His eyes bore into the back of her head as she left, and Tsubaki’s hand clamped gently on him for the second time that night. Her eyes were crinkled with a gentle concern.

“I think you should leave this between them. If Soul wanted all of this out in the open, he would have had that conversation with her himself.”

A heavy sigh settled in his chest, “You know how he is. He’s the suffer in silence type and he always does her bidding. If nobody says anything, then nothing’ll change. I just want to talk to her - not like I’m gonna beat her ass or anything … unless she gives me a reason to.” 

“Blackstar,” she chided, fully aware that he would make good on that threat.

“I know, I know. I won’t be long, see ya at home,” he said, throwing up placating hands before stuffing them in his pockets and striding in the direction Maka had gone. 

            _______________________________________________

Maka set her walk home at a leisurely pace, dragging her feet slightly as she watched the sunset bleed into the sky above.

It wasn’t that she was trying to prolong seeing Soul, or that she wasn’t worried about the way he’d acted back in the diner - like something was eating at him. 

She was pretty positive that he wasn’t physically ill, which only left the option of it being an emotional issue. 

And getting Soul to talk about emotional issues was like trying to pull teeth from a temperamental bear. 

She had to figure out a way to go about this delicately, and she had to figure it out soon because their apartment block was fast approaching.

She stopped in her tracks when she felt the presence of a familiar soul behind her. His steps had been so quiet, she wouldn’t have even been aware he was stalking her from behind if it weren’t for her exceptional soul perception abilities.

“I know you’re following me, Blackstar.”

In moments, he was stepping out in front of her. “Wasn’t trying to hide. I need to talk to you,” his voice was uncharacteristically stern.

She wasn’t stupid. She knew Blackstar had some kind of problem with her since dinner. He was deathly quiet and glowering at her for most of the night; very unusual behavior from someone who never shuts up or hesitates to start a fight. 

“Okay, I’m listening,” she said, already preparing to defend herself against whatever absurd argument he wanted to pull her into.

“The whole situation with Crona - have you ever once thought about how Soul feels about it?”

Whatever she had been expecting to come out of his mouth - that wasn’t it.

“What? I mean, I know how Soul feels. He wants Crona to be safe, just like I do. What are you trying to get at?”

“I’m not talking about what he thinks about Crona being stuck in the deathdamned moon, Maka! I mean have you ever thought about how he felt when you forced Crona into his life to begin with? After being sliced open?” 

Maka’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline and her mouth opened and closed a few times, baffled by the question. 

“Soul understands why I welcomed Crona as a friend. He trusts me,” she answered, hoping her voice conveyed the confidence that she couldn’t find in this moment.

This entire conversation was throwing her off.

“Yeah, okay. He accepted your decision because he trusts you, or loves you or whatever the fuck. We all know that - but that doesn’t mean he was comfortable with it. It doesn’t mean he felt safe. He just stuffed his own feelings down, because he knew it made it easier for you.”

Her throat tightened as her own conflicting emotions overcame her. He had no idea what he was talking about. Soul was fine. He’s always been fine. 

“Did he say that to you? That he didn’t feel safe?” she choked out. 

“Soul? You think he tells people things? About his feelings?” he snorted. “No, he doesn’t have to tell me shit. It’s clear on his face every time you mention Crona, or Medusa, or that fucking blood.”

“Maybe you’re just making assumptions about how he feels!” she shouted back, gripping handfuls of the front of his shirt.

He leaned in, completely unfazed by the rage burning in her eyes. “You ever noticed how when Crona was around, he was always watching them out of the corner of his eye - twitching every time they made some sudden move. You ever noticed how quiet and withdrawn he’d get around them? Or any time they were brought up? You didn’t - because you didn’t want to.” 

“Shut up! Y-you’re making something out of nothing. Are you trying to tell me that I should just give up and forget about Crona? That they don’t deserve to have a friend?” 

Some of his aggression was fizzling out as he released a heavy sigh, placing his hands calmly over hers, still clenching in his shirt. “I’m not trying to say that you shouldn’t have helped Crona, or that you shouldn’t keep trying to help them now. I’m only telling you that even if Soul has forgiven and moved on - he’s still a victim of Crona’s actions. He suffered trauma from that, even if he’s too fucking stubborn to admit it. Just acknowledge that maybe he needs a break from thinking about them - all of that shit that happened - every now and then. Get your head out of Crona’s ass long enough to check if he’s okay too.”

She stumbled over wordless sounds as her hands went limp and released their vice-grip on his clothing. She was trying desperately to think of a way to refute the awful things he was saying, but Blackstar wouldn’t give her the chance. 

“If you gave him even half the thought you gave to Crona - maybe you would have noticed it like everybody else has. I just want you to think about it for a bit, that’s all,” his voice softened towards the end, shoulders sagging slightly as he turned away, leaving her to deal with the aftermath of his confrontation.

The heat of tears prickled behind her eyelids and she clenched her fists tightly to her sides. 

She wanted so badly to swing around and scream at Blackstar’s retreating figure that he was wrong, that he had no idea what he was talking about and of course she thinks about her weapon.

But the longer she allowed his harsh words to sink in; the more she could feel the sting of truth settling into her heart.

Had she really been so blind? 

             _______________________________________________

Soul had been laying on his back in bed, hands resting on his stomach and eyes pointed at the ceiling, unmoving for some time. He wasn’t entirely sure how many hours, but he knew his playlist had ended long ago - no music played from the earbuds that were still jammed in his ears.

He couldn’t explain the heaviness in his heart. The anxiety that often set in whenever Maka mentioned Crona or the black blood. It was all water under the bridge, wasn’t it? There was no point in allowing himself to wallow in all the negative emotions that punched him in the gut at the mention of their name. It was selfish to feel those things - it was his job to give Maka his full support. His own feelings were irrelevant.

It was just harder on this particular night. Sure, she droned on about those sore subjects often. Their research revolved around it anyways. He’d just hoped that it could have been different just for one night.

He’d secretly been ecstatic when Maka begrudgingly agreed to shelve her research just long enough to get a late dinner with all of their friends. A break had been long overdue. 

Things had been different between them, after all. They’d been sharing a bed, and they’d even shared a few kisses in the small, rare moments that they’d spent alone together - focused only on each other. They were chaste kisses, but he’d greedily take whatever he could get. 

As she became more frantic about her lack of results in helping Crona, he may as well have not even existed to her. 

He’d just needed that one dinner to pretend things were normal, to pretend as though he was on a date with her and she was willing to spend time with him and think about literally anything aside from her latest fixations. Instead, she’d asked him to play part in some unsound experiment - to prod for things that he hadn’t wanted to find again. It had only been made more uncomfortable by the scrutinizing presence of all of their friends. 

He’d felt used.

Soul perked up at the familiar sound of the front door creaking open and slamming shut. He was immediately ashamed of the pavlovian response he had to the sound of his meister returning - the little flip in his heart that made him feel like a stupid dog wagging its tail at the sound of its master.

Just keep to yourself. She doesn’t need to interact with you in this useless state of self pity. You don’t deserve her comfort.

Self-loathing curled in his gut and he kept his eyes stubbornly trained on a water stain in the ceiling.

Suddenly, light flooded into his dark room as his door was hesitantly opened. He reflexively brought himself to sit up on his elbows only to meet a teary-eyed Maka.

All self-indulgent angsty thoughts instantly evaporated from his head, and he was ripping his earbuds out and swinging his legs over the side of the bed to get up.

She made purposeful steps across his room, throwing her arms around his neck and forcing him back onto the bed with the motion.

“I’m so sorry, Soul,” she warbled mournfully into his sweater. 

“Huh? Sorry ‘bout what? What’s going on, Maka?” he tried to nudge her into looking up at him, but she adamantly refused.

She took a few shallow breaths before rubbing her wet cheek against the quickly-dampening fabric and looking up at him with dewy eyes.

“I haven’t been a good friend to you - have I? 

Was that a trick question?

“I-I don’t get what we’re talkin’ about here,” he stuttered uselessly, attempting to compensate for his lack of eloquence by brushing his fingers comfortingly through her soft hair.

“I never asked if you felt okay with Crona being around you. I never asked you if you forgave them at all - I just brought them into your space, your home. I just wanted them to have a chance at a normal life so badly - I ignored your pain, and I’m so sorry,” she rushed her confession out like it had been a breath she was holding in.

He had to fight the urge to bark out a laugh. It wasn’t that he found anything that she said humorous - it was just so strange that she was addressing this out of the blue. She’d seemed completely unaware as usual back at the diner, where had this even come from?

He was so lost in thought, he’d almost forgotten to respond and instantly regretted the prolonged silence he’d left her in. “Maka, it’s fine,” he insisted, “I get why you forgave Crona. I admire you for it.”

“But that doesn’t mean you were okay. I should have at least checked on you, or asked you about how you felt - or literally anything,’ she mumbled numbly from his chest.

“Hey. Look at me,” he said, lifting her cheek from its resting place against his sweater, “Sure, I didn’t feel the most comfortable around Crona. I think it was pretty awkward for both of us to be near each other. That doesn’t mean I dislike them, or didn’t want you to be their friend. You can’t beat yourself up over something I hadn’t bothered to tell you.”

His words hadn’t brought the comfort that he’d hoped they would, and her brows remained stubbornly crinkled. “If it had been me - if I was the one who’d been cut by that sword, would you still say that you don’t dislike them? That you’re okay with us being friends?”

It was a question that he instantly knew the answer to, but he was reluctant to say it out loud. He finally caved, bringing his eyes back to hers, “No. I wouldn’t have been able to forgive them if it was you.”

She closed her eyes tightly, nodding her head in grim acceptance of that truth. She had likely known that would be his answer already, but hearing it must have been difficult.

“But I love that about you. You have so much compassion. I only care for the few people that I’ve decided I love - I don’t have room in my heart for others like you do. I’d like to be more like you,” he whispered reverently, taking her cheeks in both of his hands and briskly wiping away all of the moisture he could reach with his thumbs.

“I should’ve had more compassion for you,” she lamented softly under her breath, eyes downcast.

“You’re not a fuckin’ mind reader, Maks. It was my choice not to bring anything up.”

She nodded slowly, but the way her grip tightened on him only confirmed his suspicion that she wasn’t going to forgive herself for it.

Minutes passed before a word was spoken, but Soul eventually cleared his throat. “You know, I don’t expect you to ever stop being friends with Crona, or to give up on rescuing them. I don’t want that. I don’t mind helping you like you’d asked earlier tonight, too. If that’s what you need from me, then I’m here.”

She brought herself to her elbows on top of him to get a better view of his face.

“I know. I’m not going to give up on them. But It matters to me that you’re happy too, and if that means you need a break from all that, then I want you to know that it’s okay to ask for that.”

“Right, I’ll keep that in mind,” he said in a hushed tone, distracting himself with a piece of her hair twirled between his fingers.

“And I don’t want to use your blood for research. It was wrong of me to even think of asking you that. We’ll find another way,” she assured him, voice tightening with emotion, “I definitely got carried away with all of this. It wasn’t healthy, and I really am sorry I’ve pushed you away in the process. We can’t solve this thing if we don’t have time to properly take care of ourselves. You’ve been working so hard with me, and I think we need more actual quality time together.”

“Yeah, I could get on board with that. I kinda walked out on dinner tonight, so how about we do something - just you and me tomorrow? Movies sound good?”

“Movies sounds great,” she hummed in agreement, hands idly playing with his hair.

As much as he would have preferred for her to continue her ministrations, he stopped her movements to grasp her hand, bringing it to his chest to rest above where she knew his scar was. He pressed down on her hand lightly.

“I’m glad it happened. I’m glad they gutted me, ‘cause I hadn’t understood what you meant to me till that moment,” he muttered, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head.

She only exhaled shakily, hand tightening against the evidence of his devotion.

“I just hate that it took a lecture from Blackstar of all people for me to realize that I’d been hurting you.”

His eyes widened a little at that new piece of information. Blackstar was the one that brought all of this on her mind? He could’ve sworn it would have been Kid if anyone. He couldn’t help but feel a little touched that Blackstar had been so concerned about him, but he was also somewhat irritated that his friend had distressed Maka as much as he had.

“Blackstar, huh? Remind me to have a conversation with him about mindin’ his own business,” he laughed half-heartedly.

“No, don’t. I’m glad that he said what he did - I needed to hear it,” she urged him.

“Doesn’t matter. He didn’t have to make my girlfriend cry from guilt over bein’ friends with someone,” he muttered, but his face immediately burned a bright red as soon as he’d caught what he’d called her.

She was a similar shade, holding her breath as well as his gaze with a tortuously difficult to decipher expression on her face.

“That is, uh- I mean… fuck.”  

Very articulate. Great job, Soul.

He hadn’t needed to agonize over whether or not he’d just fucked everything between them for long because her face soon melted into a warm, genuine smile.

“Girlfriend, huh?” she said with a glimmer of mischief in her eye.

“I’d like that. If that’s w-what you want,” he wanted to kick himself for the voice crack he just experienced. Not cool in the slightest. 

At least she got a good giggle out of it. The melodic sound squeezed something in his chest and he swallowed nervously as a response.

She brushed back his bangs, leaning in to place a soft kiss to his forehead. She peppered a trail of kisses down his cheek until she reached his lips. 

This kiss was far from chaste. She cradled his cheek and jaw as she slanted her mouth sweetly over his, pressing fervently, constantly moving against him and eliciting a breathy moan from him that he would never admit to making. 

When she tried to separate, he followed her, bumping noses for a moment and giving the corner of her mouth a few more enthusiastic pecks before backing up and allowing her room to look at his face. 

“Girlfriend sounds nice, actually,” she smiled broadly, letting her fingers brush against the back of his neck.

“Glad that’s settled, then,” he laughed easily, not even bothering to feel any embarrassment over the flush of his skin or the lightness of his breath.

He crushed her to his chest, and they stayed like that for a while, just listening to the other’s loudly beating hearts until they were lulled to sleep. 

He’d have to thank Blackstar with a game of basketball later.

[professor-maka]

So welcome to my second reverb project, a SoMa paranormal AU that is the brainchild of the massively talented @nsart. She’s been amazing to work with and I’m so thrilled to get to share with you this concept and her beautiful art!

Many thanks to her, along with my beta squad for this, @sahdah, @redphlox, and @l0chn3ss. You guys always have my back and I love you all to pieces.

This fic is a prologue for a longer work that I do intend to continue. Links to be posted for FFN and AO3 at some point but not yet because my wifi is out so I really can’t.

Also, please please please do yourselves the massive favor of checking out the inspiration for this fic, @nsart’s amazing artwork. There’s a version on the lovely banner she created, but the entire version can be found here.

Now, without further adieu, here is the Prologue for Caught Up in You.

—

Maka doesn’t like being followed. She especially doesn’t like that whoever has the audacity to follow her reeks of wolf.

Glancing at the moon so bright overhead, she takes a moment to just breathe. The moon is beautiful, almost full and lustrous, and it calls to her soul nearly as strongly as it repels it. Centering herself, she reaches out with that part of being that basks in the reflected sunlight. If there is a demon within range, a Kishin as her roommate Tsubaki calls them, it is currently dormant, masking its sheer wrongness. Not that Tsubaki interacts with them often; an ameonna in Death City isn’t exactly a powerhouse.

With a resigned sigh, Maka scans the horizon. It’s a clear night and the stars are bright as they shine coldly down amidst a sea of darkness, yet the city around her twinkles, teeming with light and life. Her city. The grip on her scythe tightens imperceptibly as she feels the nearby presence stir, restless.

It’s been several nights. She can smell his presence on the wind while she hunts, sense his soul as it follows. The fact that this soul reads as vaguely familiar and yet not exactly known is perhaps the most troublesome part of all.

Who is he?

Four nights ago, she’d first noticed his scent and thought nothing of it–she noticed a lot of scents when she hunted. But then, as hours passed, that scent remained, and she braced herself for inevitable attack.

It never came. And yet, he never left.

Every night since then, like clockwork, his scent has reappeared, the warm orange she can sense from his soul nearby yet always too distant to see. That he isn’t human also shines clear in his soul, though what he is she can’t say. Something supernatural. Something powerful, maybe even as strong as she is.

Her instincts scream werewolf, his scent the same, but logic suggests otherwise; there haven’t been werewolves in Death City in decades, not since the rogue Star clan was defeated. Well, there is one, but it’s definitely not him, and she’s pretty sure he’d tell her if there was a new kid on the block.

Maybe her stalker works at the zoo or something and that’s why he’s so saturated in wolf.

But why does he follow her so diligently? Though he may be supernatural, he’s no kishin, his soul makes that truth clear, so what is it he wants, exactly?

Maka will be damned before she lets him interfere with her protecting her city from the darkness that stalks it diligently of late. There are others who fight them, of course, who stand against the encroaching evil as she does, but she’s the only one who can see them before they strike, the only one who can stop them before they gain their purpose.

It’s why she cannot rest. Why the hospital has become a daily stop. Why she’s out tonight and every night this month as her work piles up at home. There have always been demons, and her kind has always fought them, but recently, they've become an epidemic.

The fear is what she feels first, shrieking from the human below like a beacon. Then comes the second soul, ravenous and cruel. Maka grew up laughing at how humans depict vampires–undead, insatiable, cruel–yet this feels more like what humans believe of her kind than anything she’s ever known.

It isn’t vampires they should fear.

Flush with blood, she’s fast. In the blink of an eye she’s there, preternatural speed giving her movement beyond human sense or comprehension. Maka’s very nearly too late, just has time to get between the woman and the drooling, snarling thing that now only vaguely resembles the human it once was, its soul corrupted by the demon inside, by the human souls it has feasted upon with reckless abandon. But not anymore. Not tonight.

Even with her speed, even with her scythe poised between them, the blow is inevitable, the not quite full moon dampening her power just enough.

It never comes. The deep throated growl and the shove that follow come instead as her mind floods with orange warmth, as a shriek of pure agony fills the air.

Of course her stalker strikes now. Of course.

So maybe he’s not a kishin, but he could be helping them, even creating them.

Getting to her feet, Maka prepares to face her attacker. Preoccupied with the kishin and then trying not to fall completely prone, she hadn’t even seen him. He’s long gone, the kishin soul hanging like a bloody momento in his wake, the human would-be victim trembling against the wall behind it.

“Don’t. Please.” The woman’s eyes are wide as she looks at Maka. With a sigh, Maka retracts her fangs.

“You’re safe now,” she says gently. “You should go.”

The poor thing doesn’t need to be told twice, tottering off quickly and unevenly in one too high silver heel, the other a clear casualty of her night. Her top is too low and her skirt is too high, but that’s pretty common at this time of night. Night club, maybe, though more probably working girl.

Willing down the flash of disgust because this woman has been traumatized enough and it really isn’t her fault that men are pigs, Maka scans the horizon. His soul is still there, just far enough away that she can sense but not see, the same way it’s been for too long now.

Her stalker is far enough that he’s not an immediate threat, so she turns her attention to the kishin soul looming red and vicious beside her, taking out her small collection bag to hold it until she can get it to Kid for proper disposal. Only the second one tonight–it’s far too quiet.

As she handles it, the briefest touch, she recognizes how powerful this demon had become and rage fills her. The soul of her attacker lurks, and she still has no idea what the hell he’s up to. All she really knows is that he just shoved her aside in a way that could have gotten her killed. Perhaps he’d killed the kishin, but the first blow had been for her.

Time to end this.

Maka had been willing to let it ride when he’d done nothing but watch, but now that he’s shown himself as an enemy, she can no longer ignore his presence. Full moon or not, she needs to confront him before he does worse.

The fact she still doesn’t know what he is, that she hadn’t gotten even so much as a glance, irritates her beyond measure even as the smell of fear and wolf lingers powerfully, choking her senses.

She’s beginning to suspect she’d been mistaken.

Grip firm on her scythe, she focuses, sensing his soul again, and moves, ready to finally discover, confront, defeat. Maka has let this go on for far too long already. Only, he’s gone, he’s moving too, he’s keeping distance. Whoever he is, he’s fast. Maka only knows one person faster than she is, and even then it’s only around a full moon.

The idea she’s been mistaken is becoming more and more likely. And if she’s mistaken, catching him might be impossible if he doesn’t wish to be caught.

Four nights of this. What could he want?

He keeps just ahead, bounding over rooftops with the same inhuman speed she possesses, but she catches her first glimpse, sharpened night vision offering details as she chases.

Shirtless and barefoot and white haired, all of which is suspect, but visibly human so far. She can smell the kishin blood on him mixed with his own strong scent of wolf and human and him and something else that has her puzzled. It’s not that she doesn’t recognize it at all–more like she can’t work out how it could possibly apply to the situation, so she dismisses it. Her senses can be off so close to the full moon, and anyway, such subtleties can be easy to misread.

Getting closer would help, but he keeps the same distance ahead, taunting. If he wants to kill her, then frustration is his only play at the moment.

Why stalk her, attack her and kill the kishin that would have gotten a blow–nothing fatal, she’s made of much stronger stuff, but it would have been painful–only to retreat and keep running when she finally makes a move?

Is he a spy? She just can’t figure it out, and Maka has never enjoyed feeling lost, feeling like she has no answers.

“Just stop!” she growls out, exasperation taking over.

What she could not expect is that he actually does. Maka nearly collides with him he halts so fast, but she just manages to catch herself in a crouch a mere ten feet shy.

Finally, finally, she gets a real look at him and feels utterly stupid. Wolf. Definitely wolf. The one who blinks down at her, red eyes wide, is clearly changing. Her gaze sweeps him as she stands. Furry white ears poke out from messy white hair where none had been before, and a long, white tail sweeps out behind him. As her gaze moves down, she sees thick fur sprouting on his bare arms, hands growing sharp claws. His bare feet have been replaced by paws, and white crawls up nondescript brown trousers, replacing cloth with fur.

Maka has seen this before. He’s changing, but also resisting the change. The fact he even can–especially so near the full moon–is unexpected. Most wolves don’t have the strength. Hell, most wolves don’t even try.

The puzzle deepens and she frowns up at him. He’s tall. Even with his limbs shortening, he still towers over her. She steps closer, examining him, and he makes no move to stop her. His scent does not read as threatening nor does his soul, and she needs to understand.

Who is he? What is he? A wolf, yes, but an odd one.

His eyes are still wide as he peers at her wordlessly, glowing red pools in the darkness. The struggle behind them is real. He’s fighting–the change, but also something else that she can’t quite understand. Want or maybe need. It goes with what she’d smelled earlier. She’s smelled it on Blake before around Tsubaki, but it’s odd in a lone wolf. She definitely doesn’t sense another soul near. Something to puzzle over later, she supposes.

Maka should probably be afraid; the wind could shift and this stranger attack at any moment. But her scythe is between them and she could bring it up to slash him apart in an instant–the fact he’s stopped, the fact he’s let her get so close speaks volumes. And anyway, she knows he won’t. That other part of her, the soul her mother gifted her, this near it reads him as safe. It’s a gift she’s learned to trust, especially with the moon so bright. Her vampire instincts may scream danger, but her other half knows he means her no harm.

Like him, she has her own battle to fight.

“You’re an odd one,” she murmurs as her inner sight focuses on his soul. Warm, loyal, frayed at the edges by life. Jaded and sarcastic and lonely. But most of all it comes back to warm. It draws her in somehow, feels familiar even when it isn’t, and she doesn’t realize how close she’s leaned until she adds, “maybe you weren’t trying to kill me,” a single finger of a single hand raised at the epiphany even as that realization strikes. Maka colors mid gesture and looks up at him, at their nearness, then finally steps back.

“I wasn’t,” the stranger finally speaks, voice low and gruff. He’s still fighting the change and it shows. “Was trying to save you,” he adds, mumbling like a disgruntled child. He’s also red, she realizes. Well, she had invaded his personal space.

“I’d hardly call shoving me aside in the middle of a fight ‘saving,’” she scoffs. “You could have gotten us both killed.”

“I didn’t though.” He shrugs slightly, shoulders now more furry than not, though his face is still mostly human and his wide eyed bewilderment has been replaced by an expression blank with seeming apathy. Not that he can hide the turmoil within his soul so easily. “You’re not hurt, I’m not hurt, so what’s your problem?”

“Why are you following me?” Maka has never been one to beat around the bush.

For a moment, the stranger says nothing, and the silence of the night presses in on them. They’re essentially alone, and Maka is reminded that if he wants to make a fight of this, she might not come out of it alive given that his powers wax as hers wane.

Just as she’s about to press, he breaks the stillness. “I was curious. I saw you, saw the creatures you fight, and wanted to know what the fuck was going on.” His face rests in a state of carefully schooled impassivity.

Any thought to question his explanation dies with a quick sweep of his soul. He is curious, he’s not lying, though there’s more. Maka wishes she could get at the more beyond the sheer feeling of need, of desperately seeking, of a missing piece, but none of that makes sense–not even to him, she thinks, if the confusion bound with it all is anything to go by.

Part of her wishes that her mother weren’t so strong within her on nights like this, that she could follow her vampire instincts screaming at her to fight, could ignore that fae ability, that need to understand. Fighting is cleaner, simpler.

But she is who she is, and Maka cannot dismiss him simply as enemy when his essence broadcasts otherwise so loudly, so she sighs instead.

And then she looks again, lips pursed in puzzlement. He’s finally winning his battle–sort of. The fur is mostly gone, and his feet are feet rather than paws, though his canine ears remain atop his head and the beginnings of a tail still moves behind him. The level of concentration he keeps just to maintain so much of his human form rolls off him in waves, and Maka has to admire his sheer will even if she knows nothing else about him.

As his face resumes its humanity completely, she also realizes that she recognizes him, and suddenly the fact his soul reads as vaguely familiar makes sense.

Maka has met him before. Once. She’d entered a music store in the quest for the perfect birthday gift for Liz, and he had helped her. He’d been fully clothed then, of course, wearing the habitual uniform of a bored slacker stuck in a low wage job–ripped jeans, band tee, grey beanie mostly covering oddly pale hair. The man had seemed strange then, and Maka had puzzled over his odd soul for perhaps a minute before dismissing him as yet another lost, harmless supernatural being that called Death City home. The fact that he’d not read as a threat in the daylight meant he was not her concern. Not a demon and not on the list meant not her problem. And anyway, he’d steered her towards some obscure jazz album on vinyl Liz had absolutely gushed over later, so in the end, she’d figured he was an asset to their fine, if odd and currently besieged community.

That was four days days ago. That was before she realized that the helpful, if sarcastic and guarded mystery supernatural music shop slacker also happens to be her stalker of four nights running.

“You.” She narrows her eyes. “I know you.”

“I don’t think–” he holds up his hands in a placating gesture though his face is still carefully blank. His soul is such a soup of chaos and feelings that she gives up even trying to read it.

“The music shop,” Maka cuts him off. “Oblivion Records? You helped me.”

“I helped you.” He’s blinking at her but his face reveals nothing, voice flat.

“My friend loved the album, by the way. Kept going on about how rare it is and how getting it on vinyl is so much more authentic. Sirens, I swear.” Her eye roll is involuntary and far too familiar for the situation, so she schools her own features into neutrality.

“It really is, though,” he begins, then probably remembering just who he’s talking to, then realizing something else, he sputters out, “wait, sirens? What the fuck do sirens have to–did you call the cops or something? Shit.”

The man looks ready to bolt and Maka is far from done with him, still knows nothing about him beyond what her senses tell her. Hell, she doesn’t even know his name, hadn’t caught it in their first encounter.

“Wait!” she practically shouts as he begins to move back, a single nervous step, and to her utter surprise, just as before, he actually does. Maka steps closer again, close enough to grab his wrist to hold him if necessity demands. She needs answers. “Just–who are you?”

“Soul.”

It’s a single word, gruffly spoken, and she can sense his nervousness, how much he just wants to go.

“What?” It’s her turn to blink.

“My name,” he elaborates, seeming used to the reaction. “It’s Soul.”

“I’m Maka,” she offers automatically before she thinks better of it. She’s the one with the questions here–she owes him nothing. “Why have you been following me?”

“I already told you–I was curious.”

“And did stalking me get you any answers?” Her hands move to her hips again.

“I wasn’t–I mean–I wouldn’t–” he sputters.

“You were. So?”

Soul manages to regain his mask of neutrality after a moment and shrugs. “Not really. They’re nasty, and you fight them. But I still don’t know what the fuck they are.”

“Kishin,” she says, using the old term. “Humans who have eaten the souls of other humans for power. You might call them demons.”

“And you fight them?”

“And I fight them. That satisfy your curiosity?”

“Yeah.” He looks thoughtful and conflicted all at once, and Maka still doesn’t have her answers, but dawn will be on the horizon too soon–she’s running out of time. Maybe she should just steer him to Blake. He seems clueless more than anything, and Blake really should be the one to handle another wolf in his territory.

Before she can reply, though, he speaks again. “What if I wanted to help?”

There’s a resolve in his tone that’s new, and her attention snaps to his eyes, intense, red, before the sound of a siren breaks her concentration. Maka turns her gaze away for a moment to gauge where it’s coming from, to gauge whether there might be a kishin she’s missed in her clear distraction, but it’s just a moment too long.

There’s no kishin, but also no werewolf.

He’s gone.

With a heavy sigh, she shakes her head, scanning around her. His soul is out of range, his speed carrying him past her ability to sense, and she nearly curses before she remembers that she knows where he works.

One way or another, Maka figures she hasn’t seen the last of this new werewolf.