24Soul's life sucked. There was no way around that. For as much as he insisted (to everyone that'll listen) that he's a pretty cool guy, the way things had been going for him the past few weeks had been… well. Really, really lame. It was a Friday night and instead of going out and doing something worthwhile, he was sitting on his ass watching B-list horror films. Maybe it wouldn't be as bad if one of his friends were there with him, but oh no, he's doing this shit alone.
Soul watched with mild indifference as another girl was cut down on screen. "Wish I could be there with you," he said in a flat tone, saluting her with his Pepsi can.
Yes, he lived in a world where he'd rather be chased around a shitty old summer camp by a serial killer than in his own apartment. What a life he had.
Behind him in the kitchen, the microwave dinged, bringing with it the smell of burning popcorn. Soul pushed himself up off the couch to rescue it. If he was gonna whine to himself all night, he might as well do it with popcorn.
Getting to the kitchen was an exercise in balance and coordination, despite it only being five or six feet away. It might be because he had all the lights off (if you're going to watch scary movies, do it right), but it was mostly due to the sad fact that he hadn't cleaned in a solid two months and there was clutter lying on almost every flat surface, including the floor. Soul wrinkled his nose when he tripped over a pizza box. He needed to clean. Soon. Before something mutated into a sentient organism and he'd have to kill it.
The popcorn bag burned his hand when he first grabbed it and he shrieked in a 100% manly way, flinging it across the kitchen. It landed on the counter with an indignant plop. Soul stared at it, horrified at himself for screaming at a bag of popcorn.
What had he become?
Soul took a deep breath, counted to ten, and carefully opened the dumb bag the way he'd intended to in the first place. The kernels were burned, just the way he liked them. All of his friends called him weird for it, and after the first fiasco of a group movie night he was no longer allowed to make the popcorn, so the only time he could ever eat it burned was when he did so alone.
He wasn't the weird one, Soul decided, throwing himself over the back of the couch. Everyone else just had bad taste.
The movie captured his attention for another dull five minutes before his phone beeped, signaling a text. Soul grabbed it from the coffee table, groaning when he saw it was from Black Star. His best friend had the weirdest name he'd ever heard, and that was coming from someone named Soul Eater. At least Soul Eater sounded badass. Everyone had a weird name in Death City, it seemed. Only two of his friends sounded like they'd actually live in Arizona- Liz and Patty Thompson.
what u doin bro
Soul squinted at the bright screen. The light hurt his eyes a bit after staying so long in the dark. He typed a quick response.
i'm watching a movie and no you can't come over
Black Star must've been waiting for a reply because another message popped up only seconds later.
WHY NOT?
because you always wreck my apartment whenever you come over, idiot
but baki kicked me out again :( be a bro and hang w/ me
Soul snorted. If Tsubaki kicked him out, good for her. She was a sweetheart and no one should have to deal with Black Star's ego on a daily basis, least of all her. It was like the size of a small country. Another text came through.
i'll keep wes off ur back for u for like a month if u let me come over
like, ill tell him u moved to canada
That's a pretty good deal, actually, despite the sudden swell of negative emotions that came with hearing his brother's name.
like you wouldn't do that anyways
And then,
fine, i guess, but you have to entertain yourself
Before putting away his phone, he swiped to delete the 27 unread messages from an unknown number. He'd only had this number for a couple of months now. It was discouraging that Wes had found it so fast. With a sigh, he glanced around his apartment. A phone number was easy enough to change, but moving was a different story. Soul felt settled here. Two years living in a place had given him an emotional attachment to it.
Whatever. All there was to do was hope that Wes never discovered his current address, and if he did, Soul would handle it. In the meantime, he'd make arrangements to change his number in the morning.
"I am a responsible young adult," Soul said out loud to the empty room. The old soda cans and dirty laundry didn't respond. Yeah, he didn't really believe it either.
"Wes can go fuck himself," he tried, and that felt much better.
A bit put off that his plan of doing absolutely nothing had been derailed, Soul turned off the movie, cutting off a piercing scream. Black Star would probably want to play video games and cry. He might as well do it in a clean apartment.
"Ugh." He flinched when the lights were turned back on. Soul's eyes didn't handle brightness very well. Usually, he kept all the lights off so he didn't have to deal with it, but he couldn't do that with company coming over. None of his friends knew that there were any bad parts of being albino (although he suspected Kid did; the dude was too well-read), and Soul didn't want them to. They figured that Soul wore sunglasses everywhere because they looked cool (they do). They also didn't know about the sheer amount of sunscreen in his bathroom cabinet. It was bad enough that his friends pitied him for his family, he didn't need the added disadvantage of burning like a delicate flower on a partially-cloudy day.
By the time Soul had the living room vacuumed, laundry thrown into a basket to be brought to the laundromat, and pizza ordered, it was storming so hard outside he could feel the thunder shake the frame of the building. He felt bad for the pizza delivery guy, coming here in such heavy rain. Black Star, not so much.
They never got much rain in Death City, but when it rained, it poured. Deserts were like that. Scorching hot during the day, freezing at night, and alternating problems with dust storms and flash floods. Soul favored the rainy days for the soft background noise they provided, even though it became a pain in the ass to travel anywhere. His motorcycle wasn't built for that kind of weather.
Soul was elbows-deep in soapy water, scrubbing stubborn stains off his silverware, when his phone screen lit up.
bro the bus aint here yet so imma be late
Probably because of the rain, Soul thought, drying off his hands to type a quick response.
i'm literally cleaning my house for you and you can't even be on time
The reply was instant.
SORRY SOUL
Soul snickered. Due to his delusions of grandeur, Black Star apologized maybe once or twice a year, unless it was to or for his girlfriend. Not that Soul actually cared that he was late. He'd already been thinking about how much he needed to clean, anyway. This just gave him the motivation.
whatever, but if you're not here by the time the pizza is i'm eating it without you
PLS NO DONT BE CRUEL… tell me u got stuffed crust
yeah, because i'm not a dumbass, Soul typed, despite stuffed crust being more than Black Star deserved. He was waiting for the day Tsubaki snapped and kicked his ass. Probably never. Tsubaki should've been a saint. Soul had asked her before how and why she put up with their megalomaniac friend because hell, Soul didn't even know why he did half the time (best friends since kindergarten, Black Star helped get him away from his family, didn't make him talk when he woke up from night terrors and needed company, just sat and played video games with him until the sun rose and the panic left him-), but Tsubaki had just smiled and shrugged and changed the subject. They were just drift compatible, he guessed.
Soul pulled the stopper on the sink, letting the water gurgle down the drain as he dried off the last plate. Another roll of thunder shook the floor under his feet, this time accompanied by a brief flicker of lights.
"Ah, shit…" he cursed, looking up at the light fixture in the kitchen. It stayed on.
"Don't go out on me, man," Soul threatened it. The light didn't respond. He had just enough time to feel ridiculous at talking to an inanimate object when the knocking started up.
At first, he mistook it for more thunder, considering how loud it was, but after a while it became obvious that someone was at the front door. Weird, since Black Star had just mentioned he'd be late, and Soul hadn't buzzed anyone in. Security was pretty tight in his building and it was hard to enter without a key. Soul checked his phone for an "I'm here open the damn door" text just in case, but the last message in the chat was still yeah, because i'm not a dumbass.
His brow furrowed. What the hell?
Nevertheless, he went to answer it with only a cursory glance at his hockey stick, the nearest potential weapon. He looked scary enough to dissuade most trouble, and besides, Soul was expecting a neighbor. Possibly even the pizza guy, who had been told his room number for when he was buzzed in. Maybe Black Star was let in by a resident coming or going, who knew.
Imagine his surprise when he opened the door and got hit in the face by a middle schooler.
Soul stumbled backwards from the surprisingly powerful fist to his nose, too startled to notice the exclamations of surprise from the short-stack. Wow. How could someone so skinny pack such a punch?
"What the fuck," he managed, feeling his eyes starting to water.
"Whoops," the girl said with a nervous laugh, hands up defensively. "Sorry."
Soul blinked the tears away and sent her the scariest glare he could, sleeve still pressed firmly to his sore nose. He'd been told it was pretty scary. You know, because of the red eyes and generally unwelcoming face. "I don't want any girl scout cookies," he said, because why else would she be there? Then he slammed the door in her face.
He made it four steps away before the knocking started up again, louder.
Soul marched back and wrenched open the door. "What."
"Death City doesn't have any girl scout troops," the demon spawn informed him.
"We don't?" Soul asked, wondering what sort of underground organization he'd been getting his cookies from. Wait. It didn't matter. "Whatever, then, I don't have a moment to talk about Jesus. Go away."
Her foot shot out, stopping the door from closing all the way.
"Hear me out," she said firmly, demanding respect even as she dripped puddles onto the floor of the hallway. Her blonde hair, tied back into limp pigtails, was plastered onto her face and neck, and her baggy clothes looked soaked. She shivered once, eyes fluttering closed when the heat radiating out of his apartment reached her face. Soul could see the desperation that she was struggling to hide.
Fine. He could be a good samaritan.
"Alright, alright, geez. You can have two minutes." Soul crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. He could see her calculating whether or not that was an acceptable amount of time and if it was worth a fight. He saw the moment she decided it wasn't.
"I need a place to stay," the girl began. Something on Soul's face must have made her understand how weird that sounded, because she hurried to continue. "Just for a couple of days, I promise. You'll barely know I'm there. I'm traveling to stay with my Mom for a while, but there's been a miscommunication and I'm not going to be able to leave the city for another week or so. The problem with that is I don't live in Death City, I'm passing through, so I have nowhere to stay until then. In case you haven't noticed, there's a severe lack of motels here."
She said the last part like it was somehow Soul's fault. Rude.
"Yeah, the housing in Death City is all residential 'cause of the DWMA," he explained with a shrug. He'd lived there so long he forgot not everywhere was like that.
"DWMA?" The girl's nose crinkled.
"Death's War and Military Academy. This isn't a place for visitors. Note the big-ass wall we have around us. Everyone in the city lives here or is visiting the academy." Soul turned a bit more hostile, and for once, he was glad he didn't look very friendly. "So I guess this means I'm calling bullshit on the situation. There's no way you're here on accident. If you're looking for help, lying to me isn't the way to go."
"I'm not lying! I really am going to see my Mom!" she insisted, and for a moment it looked like she might punch him again. On purpose this time. WIth visible effort, she restrained herself.
"And due to some mysterious circumstances, you're stuck in a city that rarely gets tourists and decided that the best course of action was to break into some random apartment building and try to hole up with a strange guy you nothing about," he summarized flatly. "This actually made sense to you?"
"Naigus sent me," she stressed, like it was supposed to have some sort of meaning to him. Soul was about ready to close the door again, an apology on his lips- this girl clearly needed help and not in the form of him- when it hit him.
Oh.
"Mira sent you. To me," Soul said slowly. The girl nodded with enough force to send drops of water flying in all directions.
"Gosh, you're slow," she snapped. "Yes, Naigus. She said I could trust you, and that you'd take me in for a few days if I asked."
Damn, Naigus, way to offer a guy up without asking first. Soul rubbed his face with his hand. If she was involved, that changed things. Soul knew in an abstract way that he was in her network, but this would mark the first time she'd ever used him as a contact.
"You're how old, again?"
"I'm sixteen," she said, standing up a little straighter when she realized she was getting somewhere with him. Or maybe it was to make herself seem taller, older. Soul almost laughed. Sixteen. His age. He'd guessed middle school for her. She had a petite frame, emphasized by her baggy, ill-fitting clothes, and delicate features. He'd hate to think of why she'd need Naigus's help in the first place.
"Name?"
"Maka." No last name was offered, and he didn't bother to ask. He never used to use his, either. Most people he had met during his stint under Naigus didn't. In return, Maka didn't ask why Soul was living by himself in an apartment when he was the same age as her. Maybe Naigus had already told her Soul's history, although Soul would like to think that she hadn't.
Looks like his plans just changed for the second time that night.
"Whatever. Get in." He stepped aside to let her enter, not missing the brief look of relief when it flashed over her features. There would be a list of things he needed to do- get her dry clothes, get her fed, get her warm- but first, he needed to text Black Star and tell him that no, he really couldn't come over this time. If he dropped his Naigus's name, he'd understand. Probably. That's not to say Black Star would be happy about it. Soul wasn't either. He'd sort of been looking forward to having his best friend's company, obnoxious as it was. Black Star would want to come over anyway at first for the drama and to poke and prod at the newest addition to Soul's apartment, but Soul could handle him. If Black Star coming over became a real possibility, then he could always bring in the big guns. Tsubaki was only a phone call away, and if there was anyone the idiot listened to, it would be his girlfriend.
Maka stood in the middle of the living room, arms wrapped around herself, looking lost and soaking his carpet with more puddles of dripping rainwater. "Can I borrow your shower?"
"What, not wet enough already?" She shot him a glare and he relented. It wasn't like he was planning on withholding basic necessities or anything. Sarcasm happened automatically when he was caught off guard.
"Down the hall, second door on the right. There's a closet in the bathroom for towels and shit." He pointed for her. "Leave your clothes in front of the door so I can dry them out for you."
Not that he knew exactly how he was going to do that. Soul didn't have a washing machine or dryer in his apartment. There was a communal laundromat downstairs as a part of the building that most of the residents used, but Soul didn't want to leave a stranger in his apartment without him there, Naigus-approved or no. Blind trust didn't extend that far.
"Sure." She shucked off her military-style jacket with a shiver, and for a second filled with blind panic Soul thought she was going to strip right in his living room and give him a heart attack. She didn't, stopping after her boots, socks, and coat.
"You'll give me these back, right?" There was a threat in there somewhere.
"No, 'cause I have a million different uses for boots in a women's size 6, an old jacket, and socks with cats on them," Soul said snidely. Maka scowled at him and wow, wasn't this relationship off to a great start.
"Thank you for helping me," she said through gritted teeth. "I know Naigus said you would, but. Well. You never know."
Soul shrugged her off. "'S no big deal. I'm just paying it forward." Maka left without another word for the bathroom.
Soul turned the jacket over in his hands, feeling the tiny rips in the fabric while contemplating what to do next, when a thought struck him.
"Wait, if you're not from Death City, how the hell did you know about the girl scouts?" he yelled down the hallway. A loud groan of annoyance bounced back at him.
"Just dry the damn clothes."
xxx
A/N (it's weird doing them like this, I've been spoiled by AO3):
Why is there always a couple in my stories that first meet when one accidentally punches the other in the face? Looking at you, Jude.
I'm truly appalled at how little thought I put into the first version of this fanfic (I say even though I didn't bother editing this chapter). Not only was there a point of view change (first to third) that I didn't bother fixing, it was completely unrealistic and I had no plans to make it weird. No ghosts! No demons or monsters! No magic, horror, or fantasy elements of any kind! This is supposed to be a completely normal fanfic! I am horrified. Can I even do domesticity?
Fingersofbone, a.k.a My Cursed Enabler, thank you for listening to my rants. You want me to include underage drinking? Scandalous. I'll do it.
Fun Fact: I listened to Shakira while writing this. That's like five hours of Shakira.
