1Maka was a teeny thing as a child, but Black Star guessed that all children started out small. He was merely a year older and an entire inch shorter than her, a fact that he was reminded of constantly whenever he visited his neighbor's yard.
The only solace he had were her own words. She said, "My papa said boys get a growth squirt when they are older!"
He stared at her. "You mean 'spurt'?"
"That is what I said. 'Squirt,'" Maka's four-year-old tongue betrayed her. She used her palm to brush her bangs from her eyes, indignant.
He helped her because his fingers were more developed and precise. After watching Maka's mom for a while, he knew that Maka liked her hair tucked behind her ears.
She tried to shake him away, but stopped when her hair fell back, messy once again. She threw him a glare as if he were the sole cause.
"Stop moving, you baby," Black Star said, taking a finger to push her long bangs aside. He moved the strands carefully to prove that he could, going slowly and deliberately to make sure that she knew.
This time, she allowed him because it needed to be done. Mama wasn't around to do so for her, but Maka wasn't pleased.
They were older than before and Black Star had become well practiced in fixing Maka's hair. Whether they were fingerpainting or pursuing other art projects, Maka's sleek half-Asian hair never stayed perfectly in her pigtails. The colorful elastic bands always slipped from their place, away from her head. He liked to fling them away between his index and thumb into the grass where she couldn't find them.
She insisted on having her hair cut just before they worked with play-doh. After all, Maka wanted to look her best when they played house— and by house, she meant domestic warfare. From her keen, eight-year-old hands, she sculpted excellent figures of a family by her standards, but the new length of her bangs made them hard to manage. With her fingers smelly from the clay, she refused to touch her dress nor her hair.
Black Star didn't have the same reservations. He put down the little model sword that he was making for her… blob… and wiped his hands with the wet towelette that her mom trained her to keep around.
"Look here," he commanded, leaving the previously folded cloth as a squeezed ball on the table where he found it.
Maka already knew what he wanted with her, because he assumed that he knew what she wanted. "No. There's probably still play-doh under your nails."
"I cleaned it."
She glanced over. "Then why is there still blue under it?"
He ignored her and told her again. The second time, he sounded more whiny and impatient. "You know it's bothering you."
Sighing, Maka said, "It is, but I can fix my hair later."
"Let's just do it now." Black Star already leaned over to handle a pigtail, knowing that she would allow it. "You'll just get mad if you wait."
Ultimately, Maka had to drop what she was working on and agree with him. She moved her head to face forward as muscle memory trained her to do, and she held onto the stool with both hands between her thighs, ensuring that she wouldn't move during the fix-up. It rocked slightly since the legs were uneven with the kitchen floor, but Black Star didn't notice the small clicking sounds it made.
Instead, he undid her band and tightened a loop closer to the back of her head rather than to the side as she liked it. He finished it off lower and by her neck, the position promising steadiness. After doing the other side in the same way, he pulled out two clips from the front pocket of his overalls in the shape of butterflies.
Seeing her protest, he explained, "Come on. You've been itching your forehead with your arm all day. You can't have it behind your ears."
Blunt ends of her hair would do that, but she tried a different approach. "You have the purple and yellow barrettes! Those are opposite colors. I don't want to wear that."
"Colors don't have opposites, squirt."
"If you remember from the Blue's Clues computer game we used to play, you would remember that there are," she scowled. "Purple and yellow make brown, and blue and red make purple so that leaves out yellow, which makes it—"
"Hold still," Black Star said, parting her bangs in half and sliding the yellow of the pair in place. "Ok, other side."
He moved onto her right side, only for her to swivel her neck to the other side, effectively showing the crown of her head. Black Star paced around to reach, but Maka moved again, making a small sound that resembled a "hmph."
"It's just going to get loose if you keep doing that."
She didn't answer immediately, but eventually admitted quietly, "It already did."
Black Star laughed when she twirled around properly so he could see her. Lo and behold, the little butterfly did droop from its own weight down to her temple.
Promising, he said while he finished, "I'll get better colors next time, Maks. You keep leaving these ones at my house, though."
"The polka dot ones should still be in your room, I think."
He bopped the back of her head to let her know that he was done and returned to his seat, glad that she didn't notice the small blue clumps of clay in her hair.
Maka's hair curled where she kept it behind her ear, but the rest of it was straight and fine. It still grew tangled when the wind was too strong and hard to tame in the morning, but she only played with the ends by her shoulders when she was nervous. During PE class, she was flighty.
She picked stray strands that frizzed away, rubbing them between her fingers as she watched the other teams' ten minute game. Her's had a moment to rest before they faced off in the next rotation, but for some reason, she didn't feel at ease, nor did her heart seem to settle its discomfort.
It was nerves, she decided as she watched Black Star's group face off their opponents in handball. Any one would feel the same if they knew how much it hurt to be on the receiving end of his throws.
He was an awkward size. His neck was too long. His gym shirt reached below his waist. His feet were too small for the oversized shoes he had to wear before they were eventually too tight.
Middle school was not kind to tween boys, but neither was it for tween girls.
She was crossing her legs because of the darkened hair growing on her shins and hated the training bra that she had to wear despite not showing any signs of growth. In the locker room, she swears an eighth grader was showing off black lace under her shirt while rumors of a sixth grader wearing a thong spread like a virus.
Who knew what else they talked about in the boy's room?
Though Black Star was a grade above hers, they had a joint seventh and eighth grade class during their PE period. It was fine to her— she could keep up with the best of them after all— but the girls were always hoping to get the attention of their counterparts, even his.
Boy-crazy, Maka rolled her eyes, sure that she wasn't one of them.
The two classmates who sat beside her on the pavement giggled behind their hands. Maka listened in to their conversation as a fellow girl, but didn't join their remarks about how each boy 'scored' on a one to ten scale. However, once they got to Star, Maka leaned in closer out of curiosity.
They judged him on his athletic abilities and how much hair gel he used compared to the other boys in his grade. Though he wasn't going to win 'Best Hair' for the yearbook's Hall of Fame, he had a running chance at winning 'Class Clown." He ran around with a catchphrase and got along with most people. By all accounts, even if he got a C in History and English, he was still a seven when most others were a six or five.
The girls asked Maka if she agreed, but she feigned disinterest and said that growing up around him had desensitized her. Not only that—he was still her height. But they were undeterred, attempting to convince her with a few other points that almost seemed like they had already previously thought their arguments.
Black Star was a team player, they said, but Maka countered that he liked being the best of the bunch. He does everything in his power to help people out, they said, but Maka referred to the times he made situations worse, not better.
Somewhere along the way, Maka agreed that she enjoyed his company somewhat, just as he approached and overheard just that one bit.
"You talkin' 'bout me, Maks?" he cocked his head to the side, foam ball tucked under his arm.
Maka heard a few giggles and was instantly irritated. The biases that those girls had were laughable themselves, but that wasn't the issue; it was that Black Star was painfully oblivious to how annoying he was.
On the curve of his rounded cheeks, there was a developing lump of a pink pimple that rose when he smiled. Her eyes were drawn to it unwittingly— the pimple, not the smile.
"You wish," she retorted, taking hold of his hand to help herself onto her feet. "We were just talking about how we're going to crush your team."
While she looked behind her as part of a girl code confirmation, the both of them gave each other a quick glance before dissolving back into teeters. Of course Maka would be the only female on their co-ed team who was interested in doing that, she realized belatedly.
Oblivious, as always, Black Star handed her the ball and announced that he had won their most recent victory. Her team would be just another one for the scoreboard.
Before she could turn away and ignite her competitive streak, he stopped her. He kindly said, "Your bangs are stuck to your sweat, squirt," hand moving to correct it.
Fully aware of their audience and the shuffling of students on the blacktop, Maka stopped his hand from brushing back her hair, something she'd never done before. "I can do it myself." And she did, walking away and ignoring the hurt he blatantly showed on his face.
Her team did not win the final round that day.
On her graduation day, Black Star happily clapped as he watched Maka toss her cap into the air.
The summer evening was hot. He remembered his own being just as much. The orange and white robes were horrible school colors and trapped the heat under the folds. Even the stadium was devoid of a breeze, but the excitement of the graduates was unaffected.
Families began their way towards the center of the mass while a few kids separated away from their friends to push outwards. Sid texted Maka, 'We're going to the parking lot," but Black Star knew that Maka wouldn't see the message until she was cleared out by the security team.
Spirit cried into the flowers that he bought a day in advance; a few of the buds bloomed from the age while the rest did from the warmth. Mira patted him lightly on the shoulder and reminded him that they still had to take pictures, reaching into her fanny pack for a small bundle of tissues.
He blew his snot out loudly while Sid reminded Mira that she was equally a mess when Star graduated, too.
A good while after, Maka fumbled out with an array of ribbons and flower leis around her neck. It was clear she was looking for her decorated cap, but realized that it was forever lost like her bobby pins after prom. Upon seeing her family, Maka rushed with her arms open, uncharacteristically physically welcome, with her papa ready to meet her half way.
Black Star caught the flowers before they hit the ground, but Spirit paid no mind, crying all over again while Mira snapped pictures on her digital camera. Father and daughter stayed for a bit until Maka eventually pushed him away to hug the rest of her party, smiling widely with her family friends and eventually holding Black Star tightly around his middle.
"Congrats, squirt."
He was finally taller than her. His chin rested easily on the top of her head, fitting nicely when she wanted to be close to him. They embraced long and soundly, rocking from side to side on their feet until Spirit blew his nose again.
Upon separating, Black Star handed Maka the flowers from Papa and joined the candy lei that previously hung from his arm with the rest of the celebratory gifts she had received throughout the night. Her sashes and tassels were drowned out by the weight. Even Sid gave her a lei decorated with carefully folded bills and kukui nuts.
"We have to recreate the picture we took last year!" Maka announced to Star, gesturing to Mira for help.
"First," Mira said, "we need group photos."
Sheepishly, Maka sobered down, hopeful for good shots to remember the day.
With her lowered energy, it gave Black Star the chance to really look at her. Maka wore her regalia proudly; the leis wrapped around her like a lion's mane and made her look top heavy for once. She had her hair braided back to fit her now lost cap, and she was clearly sweating, not aware of it herself.
He absentmindedly reached to her head; the memory of doing so was dug too deeply for him to forget. He stopped just as she noticed, clenching his open hand into a fist to lower it, but Maka smiled and tilted her head towards him, familiarly. He hesitantly took a deep breath and continued slowly, just in case she changed her mind.
She didn't.
He grazed her forehead with two fingers to tuck her sticky bangs behind her ear, clumsily but deliberately as though they were children. Maka was thankful for it, especially because she couldn't reach her arms above her head due to her sleeves and her decor. She moved her head to the other side, naturally, wanting him to do the same again. Of course, Black Star relented, giving into the urge he had been fighting ever since he was still in school.
Sid broke the spell. "You look fine, Maks," he assured. He held out his arm for a side hug while Spirit took his place on her left.
With her distracted, Black Star pulled out his last gift out of Mira's tote bag that he had stowed away while everyone left the stadium. He had snuck into the center of the chaos while the other three left, following shortly after he claimed his prize. Because Maka had done it for him last year, he felt it was only right to return the favor.
Mira took the picture just at the right moment— when Star fitted Maka's graduation cap on top of her head, complete with the tassel and all.
Maka returned home for spring break. She was exhausted, half from her studies and half from her travel. Instead of properly setting up the futon in Star's living room, she threw herself on top of the cushions in couch form, sighing deeply into the softness. There, she napped past her alarm and into the evening, not stirring when Star finally returned to his apartment after work.
Instead of going directly to college like many of their friends, he found employment in their local city. He never thought he'd be the type to like being stuck in one spot, close to where he grew up, but he took vacations and PTO often. Most of all, he visited Maka out of state and made sure that she always had a home away from home.
Black Star knew that she arrived close to noontime; he gave her permission to use the spare key that he mailed to her months ago when he moved in. What he didn't expect was that her luggage was unpacked and laid as a tripping hazard at the front door. Seeing her head on the arm of the sofa, he wheeled in the suitcase into his room for her and took the chance to change into comfortable clothes.
Even after detouring to the bathroom, Maka was still fast asleep, comfortable and safe. She breathed heavily through her mouth, chest rising and falling, at peace. One hand rested on top of her stomach while the other hung from the edge of the couch, no doubt dropping after she turned off her alarm in her sleep.
She had a habit of doing that, Star remembered, amused. It was why she had to change the tune often and why keeping to a disciplined routine was important to her. In comparison, he had twelve alarms on his phone, each five minutes apart in order to slowly shake him awake. It drove her insane.
He decided to wake her up at six on the clock so they could grab dinner downtown. Easily, he touched her forehead and moved her bangs aside. He watched her movements carefully as she began to regain consciousness. Once she registered his face, she smiled and sat up slowly, yawning and rubbing her neck while she did.
"Fuck. You're back already," Maka said, voice cracked from sleep.
"It's like six, Maks."
"Welcome home." She waved her hands quickly in place— jazz hands.
Star laughed, kneeling down at her level and propping his elbow on the cushion. His weight pressed down beside her. "You aren't sleeping tonight with the nap you just had."
"Keep me company, then. You're good at all nighters."
"I've gotten worse since you haven't been around," he admitted. Normally, Maka was rigid with her sleeping schedule. However when she was back, she spent as long as she could—every waking hour— at his side. "I did just have a full workday, so maybe you'll just have to do it alone."
She whined, "But, it's tradition to stay up on the first night back!"
"Not if you cheated and snuck in an afternoon nap, squirt," he grinned, resting his chin on his fist while she fell back against the armrest with a groan.
Maka had grown into her body just as Star had, and it was especially noticeable whenever they spent months apart at a time. When they reunited, sometimes, it was like he was looking at a whole new person— someone humbled and softened, challenged and forthcoming. Her clothes eventually changed to an adult look over the years, and she wore light makeup around her eyes.
There was a time when they fought bitterly over simple decisions, but later they learned to compromise and cherish. The days they could spend together were limited to stolen holidays because of Maka's hectic schedule.
She was shy of twenty-three years old, already in grad school to earn her doctorate, while he wondered if he could keep up with her pace. He hoped he came across just a bit more mature in her eyes just the same.
Star began to play with her hair again, but along the way to the wisps, he spied just the smallest eyelash on her cheek. Using his thumb, he brushed it away, catching her attention.
He cleared his throat, continuing as though nothing had changed. "Let's go, squirt," he said. As he reached back to her bangs, she stopped him with a hand on his wrist.
Maka sat up quickly, revealing she was fully awake in that moment. She looked pained, her eyebrows scrunched in the middle, and she asked, "Blake, when will you treat me as a woman?"
He exhaled carefully. Treading lightly, he said, "Is this about the time I said you were like one of the bros?" He chuckled, "There's no need to call me 'Blake' just for that."
"No, that's not what I meant," she squeezed just a bit tighter. "You can't be this dense."
"Maka, you sound like you're asking me—" He saw the reminiscence of himself in her face— of a time before he knew to hide his emotions. "—about somethin' else."
She softly questioned, "What if I am?"
Star didn't know when the shift completely transitioned themselves into uncertain territory. Maybe it was her first summer back as an undergrad, or maybe it was when they attended Senior Ball as each others' date. Or maybe, just maybe, it was before even then.
Maka repeated the question in her head, unsure of how different it would sound to him. "Blake, am I a woman to you? Someone who will make you act as a man?"
"You've always been a woman," he said, not thinking of the meaning behind his words, just that he was sure of what he felt.
When Maka sat up on the couch, fingers loose on his wrist, she was taller than he was. She looked down at him while he looked up, both aware of the closing distance between them.
"Then treat me like one," she whispered, hand slipping down his arm.
He caught it in his, threading them together, joining their palms. "Should I? Can I?"
"You may," her lips parted, hovering over him.
Star rose to his knees to cup her face, hand brushing her hair back behind her ears as he pulled her effortlessly towards him, kissing her lightly as she melted deep into his hold.
Her hands tightened around the bouquet and she struggled to place one foot over the other on the way to her place. If Papa hadn't been there to steady her, she would've fallen from weak knees some time ago. Speaking of which, Maka looked over to him.
She expected him to be emotional and wrecked. Instead, he stood proud, strength on his face and in arms. He could truly withstand the winds so long as it was for her sake, and so on her wedding day, he remained her pillar.
He asked if she was ready, and if she were being honest, the answer was no. Adrenaline flooded her system and she could hardly hear the cues. It was Spirit who willed her forward on time, up until she turned the corner to see Blake.
From then on, Maka walked to him— for him. She matched Papa's pace perfectly, but her tunnel vision focused on her fiancé, soon-to-be-husband. Without her arm looped around Papa's, surely, she would have already made her way to the altar much too early.
But if anything, it looked like Star wanted to go to her. He was on his toes, face relaxed with wonder. She was the only thing he could see, just as she only saw him. And once she reached him, he thanked her papa quietly, eyes never leaving her.
They could hardly listen to the ordained minister's speech that welcomed their guests, and even worse, they stuttered on their vows when it became time to recite them. Both were much too nervous, giggling and promising silently to reread them privately later on.
When they were asked to repeat the joining words, the minister joked that it wouldn't be difficult. The crowd laughed, but all awaited anxiously.
First it was Star. He recited, "I, Blake Barrett, take thee, Maka "Squirt" Albarn, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward…"
Then it was Maka. She recited, "I, Maka Albarn, take thee, Blake "Black Star" Barrett, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward…"
And once they were done and the rings in their place, he swept the veil away from her face, just as he did with her bangs as children, and he kissed her, finally.
