1Chibi!Reverb 2020
Artist ochako999
ft. Authors silly-twin-stars & l0chn3ss
Welcome to my rendition of Chako's story: Seishun / Transparent World
My interpretation of it is a slow building world where friendships hurt but are always worth keeping. I had a blast with Silly and Chako who have been wonderful throughout this entire season Thank you for the screams and for our fulfilled dreams~
Thank you also to my cousins and to soundofez for betaing this project. They were ride and die.
Be sure to check out my partner Silly's story, it's a fluffy Soul & Maka fic version: Said you're seeing right through me / Could be pulling you to me (on AO3)
Are you awake?
Maka whispers, not expecting a reply in return. She doesn't need to look to know that her three friends won't answer. They are fast asleep beside her, serene. Their minds are adrift, unbound.
She hears nothing other than the rustling of leaves and the cars on the distant road. Even their soft snores float away from her, though she feels them laying beside her.
Carefully, Maka rolls over just to get more comfortable. The grass peels from her arm and just a slight bit of moisture clings to her sleeve. When she shifts, she feels where the sun spots pour through the leaves and where she is sheltered by the shade. They blanket her in ways that cotton or wool could never hope to.
The world turns around them, but in the safety of the cool lawn below, they stay timeless. Nothing else matters. Her friends are tranquil in this moment; they don't rouse the clovers while they are caught up in their lovely dreams. Idle. Untouched.
The boy to her left, arms spread far into Maka's space, calls himself Black Star. As her longest friend, she has had difficulties adjusting to it, even if it's been years. Throughout her life, she always called him Braxton— or rather, Brax. To this day, he was still her Brax. He sleeps carefree and quiet, more so than how he usually behaved.
Furthest away from her is another boy with a strange name in a foreign language that they couldn't pronounce. After several tries over the past year, they conceded, and he told them to simply call him Kid because he hated being called Junior anyways. To this day, Maka still wasn't able to say it, but she persisted secretly to impress him later on.
Finally, to her right is Soul. His pale appearance is imbued with the sun's rays; the color yellow bounces off his soft skin to make him glow a similar hue to the feeling of summer. He's always been this way— even since their beginnings in middle school, cold weather has always affected him harshly. Her best friend wore thick down jackets in the winter and had a fixation with ice cream in the summer.
Maka touches a pale lock of Soul's hair that frames his temple, its glow from the rays too tempting to ignore. She tucks it behind his ears while he lays silent and is amused that Soul bothers to wear a headband while his bangs hang loose over his eyes. Soul may have breathed deeply, lips parting when he exhaled, when Maka did so. But she couldn't tell from her angle.
Instead, she bundles her hand close to her chest, thankful for something she can't name. She willingly forgets the looming exams and the uncertain future ahead. She chooses to close her eyes, to join them.
Nothing will change, she believes with all her heart. Everything will stay the same.
Maka promises this to them.
Don't run in the halls!
Black Star whoops with joy as he bursts through the doors. Soul follows him, holding his stomach in laughter. How anyone has the nerve to snore during a morning assembly is shocking.
They are excited to escape from the scene of the crime while Kid and Maka trail after them, one walking briskly, but not quickly enough, while the other is caught in between. Kid looks back at Maka, smiling apologetically before darting forwards to join the pair ahead.
Maka pouts and scolds, telling them that this is the reason why the group was released so late. Black Star laughs because he could've gotten away with it if she hadn't hit him over the head and woke him up.
It has only been a week since they've become second-year students, yet every single one of them acts like they still belong in middle school. They run down the halls as though nothing is chasing them, even as a frustrated Maka stomps after her boys. She makes just as much noise as them, unable to stop herself from telling them just how ridiculous they appear. And that, in turn, makes her look just as ridiculous.
Other students, who see the little group heading towards them, laugh. They know exactly what happened in the auditorium— especially because of how quickly news can travel in their little close-knit school. The four of them together are a comedic bunch, their bond the subject of harmless gossip and playful envy.
Wouldn't it be nice if everyone could have friends like them?
Kid eventually catches up to Black Star and Soul. They smack each other on the back and get their final giggles out. The three of them charge off to whatever mischief they are ready to get into next with Maka tailing after as a ready accomplice.
They are relieved after their exams; they show their happiness clear as day.
Hey, it's melting!
Would Black Star keep to the results of the bet and buy them all their favorite flavors? Pocket change, he yells!
It's after school and there are only a few other students around them. By the fountain in the courtyard, Maka has her arms crossed and her mouth turned in an I-told-you-so smirk. She perches on the edge of the stone rim, amused beyond words, not feeling the need to rub the results in his face any more than her expression already has.
Soul scoffs and reaches for his wallet, but he stops when Black Star holds out a hand in protest. It is an honor to fulfill his duty, even if it meant that he wouldn't have arcade money for the next week and a half. Although, Black Star does look a little hopeful that Soul will insist anyways.
Kid, the one who received the world's fortune, pokes at Black Star to follow through with his word then. To stop dallying and to feed them then. A victory is a victory— and a loss is a loss. With his hands in his pockets, Black Star scuffles off campus to the nearest corner store just a street away, Kid in tow so that he can choose maybe one more reward.
The remaining two wait— a bit impatiently— for their return. Luckily, time passes by quickly for the both of them. Black Star comes running back with a plastic bag hanging from his arm. Kid arrives not long after, sporting a gaudy coin machine ring on a finger; he took his time unlike Black Star, who says that ice cream is best eaten fresh out of the freezer.
Careful to only grip the cones through their individually wrapped bags, Black Star hands out all of the sweets and crumples his wrapper, tossing it back to where it came from. He has always been a biter. He doesn't care about the cold on his tongue or the crunch on his teeth as he dives right into his share.
Soul is the same, but more because he doesn't like when his cone melts. It's a strong preference for him, to the point where he discards any pools of ice cream that form in the bottom of his bowl at home. He throws it back into the freezer until the droplets reform into solids, doing it so often that his brother at home often scolds him. If Soul eats fast, his hands stay clean and his treats stay frosty.
Though not to the extent of Kid, Maka is slow and deliberate with where she focuses her attention. If she licks too quickly, the hard cream is rough on her tongue. If she is too slow, the sun takes the cool away before she can eat it. She is delicate in how she shapes her cone too, taking bites from the waffle evenly while she talks.
When she looks to Kid, she notices he is too fixated on one side. It's just like him to forget when he is too wrapped in his thoughts, enjoying himself in his own way. He heeds her warning, but he moves his hand in such a way that causes the melted side to slip faster. Maka reacts quickly, touching his wrist to hold him steady. She leans over to catch the drop herself, licking it and stealing a little too much pistachio.
Kid jokes that if she wanted to sample it, she could've asked. Maka hums a weak denial, saying that it was just a reward for a good deed, glad to have done it because it was quite tasty.
Stop being busy.
A slight breeze rustles the curtains by the windows. Their normally bright classroom fades from a lush white to a muted yellow and finally to a lazy orange. Maka remains in her seat as the only student left, still working late to keep up with the responsibilities of being a class representative.
The only noise that she really hears is the stapler going through bundles of paper, one by one. It goes in the top right corner, bent to an angle, clipped in the back. She likes the pace of her work and how absentminded it keeps her. There is little chance for her to think of anything outside of the summer packets she is preparing, and it's a nice feeling to surrender to the mundane task.
However, the door slides open abruptly and skews her latest staple. Soul announces their arrival while Black Star slips past him to enter first. Black Star deposits his baseball gear against the teacher's podium and slumps over tiredly, whining that he wants to go home and that Maka should really be done by now. No one really responds.
Kid whistles. The classroom looks the same as Soul's and his, but also somehow different. Isn't that right?
Soul agrees that it does. He walks up the rows and slides into the desk behind Maka's. He had a mind to ask Maka what she's up to, but he is already distracted by Black Star's antics. Kid looks to the front where the latter is scribbling something on the board. He is working especially hard. The chalk disrupts the quiet that Maka was used to.
She stands up from her seat, already releasing her high energy. She threatens Star for messing up what she had cleaned and says that he should also be helping her with the papers. It's all his fault for being on the baseball team and for leaving her with their combined work. He sticks his tongue out towards her, because clearly she is just jealous that the team now calls him captain.
Kid claps, congratulatory, and Soul is already thinking aloud of where to go celebrate.
Maka sits back down, her temper already subsided. She might be won over with a family restaurant meal, but only if it promises a strawberry parfait, too. Black Star swipes the blackboard messily. They go the moment Maka puts down the stapler.
Won't you consider me?
Not this, Maka thinks. Anything but this.
She hears Kid talking. Asking. Softly. Slowly. To not answer too quickly, to think over his chosen words carefully.
But Maka already knows how she wants to respond. She apologizes in a low tone, not hiding her perceived betrayal from her voice. She treats him like an enemy, as though his bared heart was meant to slight her, like he set out to ruin her world. His confession is a weapon used against her, a temptation. Deliverance.
Kid wonders where the fear comes from, why she is offended and shifting away from him, but he sighs. Maybe it wasn't the right time to tell her. Could he say he wants to take it back though?
It seems like Maka certainly wants him to. Her eyes are starting to water and she is gripping her workbook to her chest like a shield. But— a shield from what? Him?
He dares not reach out, and he dares not step towards her no matter his instincts. He secretly clenches his teeth as if it is enough to hold him back from trying to go to her. It's clear that it's not what she wants, though. She makes it clear in both her spoken and unspoken language.
She pleads, let's go back. Let's forget.
Kid watched her stumble over herself, at odds. With what? It's all unclear, troubling. Hurtful. He expected some resistance when he decided to tell her— not a completely closed door in his face. He wonders briefly whether it's a mistake, and maybe, just maybe, it is.
Maka tries one more time, looking nothing like the girl he wants to cherish. And she is expressing that if he liked her at all, if he treasures her as he says, then he would do this. At least this. For her.
He breathes. He closes his eyes. He nods. And he watches her departing frame as she revels in her relief.
Why are you here?
They are all fools— all of them.
She goes to the one person who held her heart when she felt she had lost it. Who understood, who convinced the others to be her allies rather than her enemies. He kept her grounded, safe. She lets herself into Soul's home through the back door, feigning a smile to his brother in the kitchen and darting upstairs to his room. She calls out to him in a way that lets panic lace her voice.
When Maka opens Soul's door, not bothering to knock, someone else sits on the floor with his back against the bed. Black Star is playing a gameboy with a half eaten chip hanging out of his mouth. He looks up at her when she accuses him for being in Soul's spot, but she doesn't hear what he says to her.
Instead, she only hears herself break. Her sobs heave in her chest, and she crumples where she stands.
He cursed, catching her, abandoning everything for her.
At Black Star's questions, Maka misdirects her anger. You won't do, she believes. She needs someone else, she wants to believe.
But she needs the cascade of tears no matter who is watching. She needs the comfort of a friend who has never betrayed her, will never betray her— and unknowingly, she has that. But in this moment, she is alone. She assures herself aloud that she never asked for it, never asked for this.
And all Star can do is hold together the dripping heart that she's dropped on the floor. He calls her by her given nicknames, ones that only he is allowed to use. He smoothes her bangs and touches her forehead as though they were still children— and they are. They are still children. They are children with bursting emotions, who don't think before they talk. Children who both react horribly and don't know how to react, whose worlds start and end with themselves.
Black Star hugs her and extends his world to fit in hers. Her tears were never worth it. And Maka was always worth it.
They forget whose bedroom they are in until they leave it, seeing Soul on the couch puckering his lips over a mango popsicle. He jokes about how long they were up there and that the treats are getting warm. He got back from the store just a moment ago. And Maka and Star together hit him with the decorative couch cushions for not letting them know sooner.
I don't regret it.
The sun has gone down and the duo visiting Soul leaves along with it.
As the sky changes from a light orange to a deep purple, he calls Kid and asks to meet at the playground further than where they both wanted to be. He didn't want to be home, especially after what happened.
Soul has heard too much. He'd arrived home with the plastic bag in his hand, standing secretly outside his room just beyond the door, because he had heard too much.
It wasn't the deep regret from Maka or the soft intimacy between her and Star that made him uncomfortable. He had long known Maka's reluctance to love, and had long known that the two in his room needed their moment aside.
It is more because he doesn't like what he hears. He just doesn't like what he now knows.
There was a time, long ago, when Soul lived in fear. A coward. It was a time where friendships meant more than all else. Black Star and Soul set aside their hearts for the sake of their girl, because she was hurt far more than words could say. Because two of the rocks of her life were at odds with one another— over her.
Soul tells Kid as much.
They rest their elbows on the edge of the fence, looking out to the skyline. The glow of the night coats the city in yellow. The street lamp seems too far behind them.
Soul considers telling Kid more beyond the group's shared history, maybe expressing his thoughts aloud to someone other than himself. However, Kid says, after some debate on whether to say anything at all, that he harbored his secrets for long enough. That they are things meant to be shared, not set aside.
Kid looks at his friend in a form of repentance— knowing perhaps that his intentions are not all too innocent— knowing he will risk what they have built over the past year to pursue someone who would do anything to protect it. He resigns to himself and is glad— he thinks— that he said what he did. He would say it again, too, because it's his truth. Because time will move forward regardless of who wants it to.
Soul stays alongside his new love thinking some things are better left unsaid, though. He's heard, once again, too much.
Did you make her cry?
When Black Star puts two and two together, he makes no effort to hide what he feels.
He barely makes it through the weekend baseball meet, managing somehow to last all the way to his lunch break without losing his bat. He hides behind the school during the meal time and ignores his phone in hopes that distance will fix his mood: his juice box is squeezed beyond what its rectangular form can retain. Maybe it's the rising temperature that makes him unreasonable; maybe it could be something else entirely.
By the time practice is over, Black Star has had ample time to let his anger fester. He shucks his glove from his hand and into his bag without much care, closing it up messily and not minding how the leather catches the zipper. Part of him realizes how harsh he has become, but of course, it's not his fault— it's Kid's.
Black Star can't help himself when he texts who he considers a friend. Kid says he is by the field on the east end, and Black Star responds cryptically that he'll meet him there. Don't go anywhere. He'll soon be there.
As promised, Kid waits for him. He can already tell that Black Star is bothered to all hell and that when he gets the way he does, it's not easy for him to back down. As lightly as he can, Kid welcomes him to the field beyond the border, where wild grass overgrows and where he can escape the city noise the best.
Black Star doesn't greet him back. He only asks him what he already knows.
Kid flinches, but he is not as surprised as he thought he would be. Black Star can be oddly perceptive at times, after all. Kid says quickly that he didn't mean to, but the indirectness of his answer is just confirmation that he did as he is accused. He made her cry.
Black Star comes forward to close the gap between the two, but the other steps back just as far. He follows up with a simple, why? And Kid only repeats again that he didn't mean to. It was never his intention to do that.
But Black Star doubles down because no matter the denial, no matter the thoughts behind the action, she still did. Maka still cried. He clenches a fist and walks closer. He can't keep the disdain off his face nor the disgust he holds towards the carelessness displayed. He only has one more question, and that is whether Kid regrets what he's done.
Kid is sad when he says no, and Black Star raises his hand. He winds up a punch meant to hit Kid in his stupid face, but Black Star drops it to hammer his own thigh. The bluntness hurts him momentarily, then he straightens out his legs and his fingers to relax his muscles. He goes back to the curbside to pick up his bag without so much as a goodbye.
Because if Black Star does any more, Maka will cry again for sure.
Slow down, it's bumpy.
Maka has been odd for quite some time. She texts Soul just as he finishes dinner to come give her a ride home because she doesn't feel like walking. He's always known her to be diligent, never lazy, so there must be another reason. Knowing this, he sidles onto his bike and pedals to meet her at her cram school building.
When he arrives, the students there are just barely leaving. He sees Maka standing at the top of the stairs and waves to her— and upon seeing Kid being one of the final few going through the door, waves at him too. Maka hops onto the back of his bike and places her book bag onto her lap. She kicks at the wheel to signal Soul to go, and he raises his eyebrow. She's being odd again.
Nonetheless, he waves to Kid once more in farewell and turns in the direction of Maka's house. He bikes rather smoothly down this familiar lane. He takes long turns to make sure that Maka won't fall off and avoids the streets where he knows that officers will scold them.
Behind him, Maka rests herself against Soul's back. She is taken forward without much effort on her part, just a passenger. She closes her eyes and succumbs to the ride. Everything else, she's had to chase. She likes to carry ahead on her own two feet and work towards her wants. But for tonight, and maybe a few more nights, she wants to rest.
Maka tells Soul to steady himself; there's no rush to be home. Soul doesn't question her and instead offers to take her to the store for a ramen dinner. She hums and says no. She just doesn't want to go back too quickly.
The ride slows considerably.
We should've worn something else.
At the first sign of freedom, of the beginning of summer break, they waste no time. Instead, they hop on a bus and ride until they see the ocean. It's a secluded beach not meant for tourists, hidden for only locals to enjoy and to bask in. The waves there are gentle, and the sand runs finely though their unsuitable shoes and into their socks.
Soul was the one who suggested the impromptu trip. He said that there was no way that he was going straight to his room to play games, especially since they've all been kept indoors for a while. His friends didn't need much more convincing, because they are tired and cooped up, too. They needed the release and the escape as much as he did.
Maka is the first to haphazardly throw down her bag and kick off her footwear. She loves running her hand through the sand and tasting the sea on her lips. She is already running towards the waters when Black Star passes her to jump in first. He's shed his outer shirt and left it back on the shore; under his uniform, waiting all day to be shown and now finally revealed, is a tank top that he received as a gift from Soul from a previous birthday. He crashes into the waves before they can do the same to him.
Kid gathers the abandoned apparel but adds his own to the mix. He lays down with his back against the ground, upturned towards the sun to let it soak into his fatigued form. It's a comfort away from the stuffy city and school buildings that they've been confined to for the last months. Kid trades in new air for his lungs, soaking in the smell of the sea.
Soul sits next to him, one arm resting on top of his knee while the other leg presses against the sand. It runs through the cuff of his pants and tickles his skin under it, but it's welcome.
Truly, summer has begun.
It's so noisy.
The cicadas scream loudly around them; Maka swears there's one directly above her. She finds it hard to concentrate on anything in her book so she closes the cover and deposits it on top of her chest.
Through the leaves, the sun tries to reach her, but she lies safely away against the trunk. Her friends are by the riverbank while she watches them wade through, making fun of how wet their clothes are and how hungry they will be. There are endless bugs in the air around her, and she swats one of the fruit flies with her book. She does not manage to start a breeze.
She feels choppy, disjointed. She is rough with herself when she digs her head back against the wood. Sighing aloud, she closes her eyes for a quick nap; her feelings aren't helping so she shuts them down. She needs them to be quiet, to hush.
Heat has a searing sound.
The next time that she opens her eyes, she is on the move, on Kid's back. She leans away from him in surprise and it makes the two almost fall. Had it not been for Black Star's quick reaction, they might've taken a nasty tumble. Star is worried as he scolds Maka for being so careless, and she sticks out her tongue at him in response.
Soul asks her if she's feeling better. She says yes, putting her cheek back on Kid's shoulder. The nap treated her well. She lifts her head back up in a hurry when she remembers her book, but then she sees it safely tucked away under Soul's arm.
Maka is treated well, she thinks, and despite her being awake, Kid doesn't make a move to let her down.
You better not be cheating.
Soul wonders if those two are still awkward. He doesn't know what happened, but before summer hit, Black Star and Kid were careful around each other.
Black Star doesn't talk about his feelings well. Instead, he keeps to himself and lets the thoughts spiral on their own. He knows that he won't reach a resolution this way, so he distracts himself with Soul at the arcade. The flashing lights and beating music offers a form of solace, but the more Black Star loses, the more he feeds coins into the machine.
Soul peeks over at him and drapes an arm over his head in an effort to get his friend to slow down. Black Star rolls his eyes and shrugs him off. He has to catch up to Soul's claw machine victories, after all. He can't be outdone by a patient man, so he gives the machine more money after blowing on it for luck. His friend thinks that it's a weird ritual to do, but he doesn't question it.
Instead, Soul doubles back around to the machine he has had his eye on. The stuffed animal teeters hazardously over the edge, but it also has its foot stuck on the foot of the stand. The game is a precarious one, and Soul could easily ask the employees to reset the position for him, but that wouldn't be a challenge. He swipes his play card into the slot and he angles the claw in a way that is unintuitive.
With these sorts of things, the trick is to push the prize down with a well intentioned force rather than to try and pry the stuffie in a grab motion. It takes Soul two tries— one to set up, one to complete the plan. He jabs the Badtz-Maru doll between its eyes on the last round and manages to drop it into the receiving hole. Once he gathers it, he throws it at Black Star as a distraction, making him drop his own claw too soon.
His friend glares at him; Soul makes games look too easy.
I don't know what to say.
Black Star is usually overprotective, and although he is mad at Kid, he worries for him anyway.
He invites him over to the family shop to do a bit of work on an idle Sunday morning, which Kid appreciates and accepts. The two haven't had the chance to be alone since that day— they both know which one, but it doesn't mean that they don't understand each other, you know?
Kid comes bright and early to the flower shop. He takes the familiar apron off the hook and drapes it over his torso. He pokes around the pockets to make sure that all of the tools he left are still there. Clippers, gloves, and a small notebook? Present.
Behind the counter, Black Star is already preparing bouquets for delivery. He snips the bottom of the stems expertly and strips the stem of leaves that may mold in the water, leaving the top ones as accents. He chooses buds that don't look too large, but based on what Kid knows from his questions before, it's to ensure that they are at their peak beauty when they arrive to the customer. Flowers bloom in the heat, and by the time one reaches the person it's meant for, a full blossom that opened in the morning will have already withered. A lesson in disguise.
Kid tells Black Star that it's a beautiful morning, and he gets a frown in return. Black Star isn't good at small talk. He just isn't. He repeats the same thing back to Kid eventually, but by then, he's made it awkward. They work together at the bench until the silence is too loud.
Black Star is the first to say sorry. He cares too much, acts out too much, is too much. He didn't mean harm, but in the end, surely he's hurt Kid.
The apology goes over well despite its messy execution. Kid pulls Black Star in for a side hug the best he can; a bundle of wrapped flowers in his arms really prevent him from going any further. He says he is sorry too, for moving too quickly, for not explaining well enough. They don't know what else to follow that with, but at least they are back to comfortable, back to being friends.
Just before Kid leaves in the afternoon, they somehow manage to get their feelings across. But Star is overprotective. He better be sure, Black Star hopes. Like he's never been anything else in his life.
Pass the ball!
Maka has never been good at basketball. When the boys invite her out for a game to even the teams, she scowls and shuts her window to go back to whatever she wants to do. They laugh at her and call out once more, getting only a drawn curtain as her final say.
Well then, 1 vs 1 vs 1 it is.
Though Kid is not nearly on the same level as Soul and Black Star, he appeals to their mercy and takes the ball from them a fair amount. He attempts to copy Soul's dribble and fails, but gets useful tips as a return. It's an ok trade, but he wishes that he had something to teach the other two, too.
Black Star uses his sweatband to dab at his forehead and Kid jokes that he thought they were only a stylistic choice. Black Star cackles a no. No they aren't. He got some as a gift from Maka early on, sometime in elementary school, and from then forth, she gave him a new pair every time his birthday rolled around. It's not because she is thoughtful. Quite the opposite actually; Soul laughs because he understands why. It takes much less brainpower to keep giving Black Star something he already likes than to try and search for something new that he will. As a result, he has about 12 different patterns, sometimes even the same brand.
Kid can't remember what he got as gifts from the three of them during his last birthday. He wonders aloud and is reminded by both boys that it was a shared gift— just one item. If he can guess what it was, then they'll buy him ice cream on the way back from the courts. On that note, Kid guesses: A water bottle? A bag? A scarf?
All of these are wrong. Black Star laughs and says that they didn't buy him anything, just took him to his first concert in a city away. Soul's brother Wes drove, while Maka talked their ears off during the ride there and back. Black Star laughs again when he remembers that all three boys fell asleep afterwards, sparking an impromptu sleep over at Soul's house on Maka's request to Wes. That way, she could continue to bother them in the morning.
Soul is opportunistic when he uses his friends' exchange of memories to steal the ball. He calls out to them with false honey and Kid gives it to him, forgetting that it's a competition and not just a show of talent. Soul laughs as hard as Black Star does just before trying to dunk the ball, and he misses.
You look pretty tonight.
It's dark outside and there are too many people around them. Kid risks losing Maka within the summer festival crowd, so he tries to convince her to hold onto the back of his yukata. That way, he can lead her somewhere else, so they can weave through the mass and make it somewhere safely.
Maka doesn't want to do that. Instead, with her free hand that isn't clutching her yo-yo tsuris, she grabs onto Kid and clasps his palm with hers.
It's only reasonable. It's so that she won't risk disrobing him accidentally. He understands, right? She holds onto him more tightly so that he doesn't have a chance to say no.
There isn't much time until the fireworks begin and they still have to search for Soul and Black Star's bottomless stomach. Did they have to disappear together? Just for some takoyaki? Maka is irate, but Kid is less bothered. He is more focused on getting them both out of the sea of people, leading them out and cutting through gently like the waves.
Kid goes slowly to make sure that Maka's sandals don't trip her and looks back occasionally to check on her. Maka ignores every time that he does, pretending to not notice how their eyes catch and how they look away just as quickly. She instead looks at his back and the patterns on the cloth, how the colors blend and how they wrap together into the image of a goldfish.
She hopes that he sees her just the same. She hopes he sees how pristine the bow in the back is tied, how her hair is done up in a bun hung low on her head, how the plum blossoms bloom and the pink is the same as the heavy blush on her cheeks. And he does, though he wants to keep his compliments simple.
Kid clears his throat once they break from the crowd and tussles her hand in his. He says that he didn't have an opening to do this before, but he thinks that she looks pretty. Maka tries to release his hand to cover her face. Unfortunately for her, he only grips more tightly.
She is a chance he wants to keep taking.
At least one of us is brave.
Trapped, Soul holds the microphone gingerly and regards it with disdain— at least, he did. Once Kid opens with the first song, singing poorly yet smiling, Soul joins him. The transition is slow, but it is steady. The second song is Soul's turn. The third is Kid's. The fourth, a duo.
The two are alone at the karaoke venue, killing time together. They order a few snacks that they know they won't finish and pick out a few more to bring home to their friends. The other two are off doing something— always up to something. So left to their own devices, Kid and Soul have boredom to beat and money to burn. Kid thinks that Soul should sing more often, but the latter says quite bluntly that he doesn't want to. It's a hidden talent that he would like to remain hidden, thank you very much.
At their next break, slightly out of breath, Soul takes the position of being the secret crutch of the group. He asks Kid if he is ok, if their friends are ok. And Kid responds that he thinks he is. He can't speak for the others, but he thinks they are, too. He's not intuitive like Black Star, empathetic like Maka, or a watcher like Soul. He is rather wrapped in himself most of the time, and it's a trait of his that he would like to change. But still, he thinks they are— at least, he hopes they are.
Soul claps Kid on the back. He tells him that of course they are, and if they aren't, then they will be. They are stronger and more resilient than that. He's sure of it.
Kid takes some comfort in hearing that from Soul. Like everyone else, he overthinks, oversteps, overflows. He sighs quite loudly and punches another code into the karaoke machine. It leaves him with a moment to settle with his thoughts before going into the next song, this time with extra gusto.
One boy sings his heart out while the other sings hoping to be heard, too.
Do you see it?
She and Black Star live close enough to each other that they can take walks together after dinner. They circle around the block when one of them takes a detour to a park that's tucked away. It's small and it's the same arena where they first bumped into each other as toddlers, angry as can be, unwilling to share.
Star is the first to spot the tree where they got along for the first time. He walks up to it and bumps the trunk with his knuckle. That's the one. Maka trails after him and smiles slowly. She bets that she can still climb it faster than him, and by the time he takes his shoes off, Maka is already grabbing the lowest branch, half way up.
She likes the feel of the grass between her toes and the wind through her hair. But more than anything, she loves the trees and the heights to which they take her. She climbs quickly, taking advantage of her small frame and light body, until she reaches a sturdy branch atop of the world. It takes Star a while to catch up to her. He doesn't like heights— never have, never will. But there is something better that waits for the both of them that they will always remember.
They were trapped before, perhaps a bit lower than where they sit currently. The tree wasn't as tall as it is now, but Maka and Star were quite a bit shorter as well. After a few years of rivalry, they challenged each other on one fateful evening to see who could climb the farthest, quickest. It was only then that they became true, bonding through trauma and promising each other that they were both good at climbing. They were both the best. But please, someone get them down.
Maka chuckles. She asks Star— asks Brax if that is why he hates heights. He scowls at her and says maybe so. Maka's eyes never leave the sky, but she slaps Brax on his thighs to get his attention. The pair sit together, facing westwards, and watch a lovely sunset as it inches ever closer to the horizon. It's truly a sight, and it's their little secret that they won't ever share.
I won't change, but I will.
Alone. Away.
Maka walks down the banks of the river that follows the city streets. She passes children heading in the opposite directions on their bikes, and she listens to them laugh before they are out of earshot. It reminds her of a simpler time, of a time when she was free from choices and free from consequences.
But she can't go back now. Maka turns around from the sounds and keeps moving, following the river with a vague idea of where it will take her. She carries herself with the water that flows too slowly and too quickly at times, the water that stirs and shows her reflection, yet breaks it.
It's turbulent, yet calm. It pushes, and it also pulls. Maka is tugged alongside, buried in her fear and in her want in spite of it all.
It's up to her to decide— up to her own hands to shape her world.
Dream big with me.
She comes looking for him with a dangerous plea. They lie at the mercy of the sun and its rays, Soul on the ground while Maka rests on his chest. Air conditioning is the only thing keeping them from burning.
The steady thump of his heart comforts Maka. Out of the group, they understand each other best. For better or for worse, there are no secrets between them.
They talk like this for a while. Soul moves his arm behind his head while Maka shifts her weight around. He blows on the fringes of her hair to keep them away from his nose, but somehow, it makes the tickling worse. She laughs and tells him that he should be used to it by now, while he scowls in good nature, saying that she should tie her hair better.
Maka asks Soul to imagine simpler times with her, where a world never changed and where summer was eternal. He almost tells her that there is no such thing, but that isn't what she wants to hear. She wants those broken dreams to escape into.
So instead, Soul fills her head with the whisper of a fantasy where their weeks never end and where there is no such thing as time. A distant world... an invincible one.
She laughs again, thankful always for her best friend. Her hand clutches at the front of his shirt, and she hopes that she can be as strong as he has described in his stories. That her courage never falters so she can step forward, undaunted. If only she could do that, be that— she sighs in reverie.
Instead she confesses her intentions to Soul, whose chest pauses noticeably until he breathes again. She makes him promise her, because she wonders, he won't be mad at her, right?
He rubs her back, tells her that it's not fair of her to ask. That she's being selfish.
Maka can't help but agree.
Can you tell me why?
There's a cool breeze in the air, strange for August but appreciated nonetheless. Kid is talkative as always, if not more so. He has always enjoyed cold weather. It reminds him of England, where he had spent the better half of his life, so the change is refreshing.
With just the two of them together, Maka is nervous, but he has done no such thing to cause her to be.
Instead, she asks him a burning question.
It's so sudden that Kid needs clarification. There are a lot of things that she could mean, things that mean a lot less than what she implies. Maka explains herself further, though not by much. She is too embarrassed and nervous, after all. Still, Kid understands what she wants. Surprised, but not opposed, he makes sure that she wants to know, and she does. She wants to know.
Seamlessly, like he needs no time to think or prepare, like he's known for a while and is ready for it at a moment's notice, Kid tells her.
He likes how true she stays— how honestly she feels and how openly she loves. He likes how she texts her friends once in the morning and then once more at night. He likes how she cares— how she tends— how she minds. He likes how safe he feels with her, especially when she feels safe around him. He likes her joy, her sorrow, her anger— her heart. He likes how strong her presence is in his memories and how she has never made him feel like it would ever end. And of course, he likes her, simply so.
He promises to be there for when she's ready. And she asks, what if she won't ever be ready? And he responds easily that he will be there anyways.
It leaves her with an unrestrained blush.
It's a nice day.
Soul approaches the school gates with a slow stride. He has his bag slung over his shoulder and a hand in his pants pocket. His uniform, he thinks, fits a little better than he remembers, but he still wears it lazily; the collar sits untidy and there are still wrinkles scattered in plain sight all across the front. Just a few weeks of summer passed, and Soul thinks that some things are different, but many things will remain the same. He may have grown into his shirts, but he probably won't change his style any time soon. The look has grown on him.
He stifles a yawn just as he sees a flash of blue run by.
Black Star pauses comically. His bed head sticks out at odd directions from the back of his head, but he still managed to spike up his bangs in an awful attempt to hide his late start. Just to seal the look, he has a piece of buttered toast in his hands and crumbs over his mouth. The late nights of summer homework must've taken their toll, because the bags under his eyes are ghastly.
Somehow, he still manages to cheerfully greet Soul. He walks with him the rest of the way, past the teacher who is supposed to be checking their uniforms, up to the courtyard where Maka sits on a bench. She's been ready for the new quarter for the last few days, spiteful and unwilling to let the summer steal away her sense of time. Her uniform is neatly pressed and she ties her hair with bows similar to the color of her tie. When she sees Star and Soul come up, she smiles, but when she sees Kid come up from behind them, she smiles wider.
Kid somehow makes it to school on time, both like and unlike him all at once. He is known to walk life at his own pace— guidelines and restrictions be damned— and it's always surprising when he is in line with the bell. Suspicious, even. He says good morning to them all together, but already, he seems happier, uplifted, when he repeats his good morning to Maka.
Soul watches the two. He is both thankful and not when he sees them radiate a similar energy today, like the veil has been lifted and the sun has already set around them. Like the stars aligned and a new constellation formed. Black Star doesn't see anything out of the ordinary, but even if he does, he hides it well. He goes to join them just as Maka gets up from her seat and turns to head into school.
Now, they only wait for Soul. He tightens his grip on his bag and shuffles it around until it finds a comfortable spot on his shoulder. His wrist is slightly strained from holding the position for so long, but he maintains himself up until he sees how freely his other friends hold theirs. Untethered. Released.
He drops his hands to his side and smiles. It will be a fine day.
No, I must've been wrong.
The trees look wider but the branches still sway the same way. They remember the route they continue to take and though the leaves are different— and though the wind is ever changing— they dance in tandem.
It's been years since Maka has been out of school, both high school and college. She works in her own self-started business and she is never home. But somehow, sometimes, she finds herself back on the grass with her boys.
Maka curls up on the cool ground, hidden away from the sun, and pretends that the sun will never set. It's a treasured moment for her, after all, because they rarely get to be like how they were as children. They have their own lives now, their own families, their own journeys. The endless days and joyous summers are no longer a daily ritual, yet Maka breathes anyways.
They lay together at peace, resting in a similar clover formation that Maka barely remembers. The pieces are shaped a little differently— they've all grown into bigger shoes and longer clothes, but still— and still, they are together.
Off to her side, arms still spread like wings, soaring in his dreams, is Black Star. His snores have gotten a bit louder, but she can barely hear him over the rustling leaves and the working wind. His messy stubble fits him as a house husband; his shirts are forever stained with something or other and scratches from playing with his children can be seen trailing up his arm. He doesn't notice a splatter of paint on his forearm, but Maka guesses that it doesn't matter.
To Star's right lies Kid. It's his first time back in the country since spring, and for the longest time, no one questioned where he went. He merely said that he had business and that it would be over soon, but he says that often. Cryptic as always. It is only when one of Star's kids points to a window display that they find out that he is an international model turned actor. Of course his friends didn't realize— they always called him Kid, not by the name he's known by others.
Finally, Soul sleeps with his jaw slacked wide. He doesn't get enough sleep during the day, especially because his students demand his attention every waking hour. He looks like a lazy teacher despite drinking too much coffee late into the afternoon, and he stays late into the evening to make sure that all of the kids get home safely. In the same halls that he ran with Star, the same seats he once sat in with Kid, and the fountain he splashed Maka in, he stays to help others build the same memories as he had.
Just before Maka closes her eyes to join them, to forget, she hears a question coming softly from Kid. He wants to know if she is awake.
She is. She wonders what he needs, and he asks her something else, one that requires more thought than the last. It's profound— a question she hasn't thought of since they left high school together. Does she feel alone? Like they left her behind?
Maka thinks, and then she says no, because that's ridiculous. Because even though they are dispersed, though they are not the same, and though they live further than what a small weekend can provide for them, they are still hers. And she is theirs. She still has them in her heart. They are hers to love. And she is theirs. All theirs.
Kid asks once more, before sleep takes him, if she still wants things to be as they were, like she used to before. And she answers again, no. She was wrong about that. Thank goodness she was wrong.
