And being blue is better than being over it, over it.

.

Papa loves Mama and Maka most of all, but he stays out late and comes home smelling like perfume and Mama doesn't let him sleep in bed anymore. He snores on the couch, long legs dangling over the edge.

Maka avoids him when she sneaks out to grab a sip of water. The fighting keeps her up past her bedtime.

.

Mama doesn't cry. Papa comes home later and later.

The tension is thick like smog over the breakfast table. Papa tells her loves her as he kisses her brow, narrowly dodging Mama's glare as he skedaddles out the door. He's off to another day of work, standing pretty next to Lord Death himself, and shouldn't she be proud to be Death Scythe's daughter?

Mama asks, "More eggs, Maka?" and she nods. She pushes breakfast around her plate, chewing distractedly as she watches her mother fidget in her seat, fingers drumming on the table.

.

She's twelve when Mama slams down the divorce papers.

She's twelve when Papa starts tucking her in bed and she hates him just that little bit more.

.

He tries so hard to win back her affections. She thinks that's what makes her angriest of all.

Because Maka doesn't want gifts or money or trinkets. She doesn't want empty words and proclamations - Papa loves Mama and Maka most of all! - she wants proof. She's twelve and wants her mother around. She's twelve and her sense of trust is backwards, shattered immensely, because Papa loves women too much for his own good and Mama would rather travel on her own than to bring her daughter with her.

Maka throws herself into her school work. Text books, theory, studies, anything that'll clue her into as to why men cheat, why men can't be trusted and smash everything up just for a bit of fun.

.

When she gets accepted into the academy as a meister, Papa bakes her a big cake and invites all of her friends. Black*Star punches her hello and she kicks him in the knee in return. Ms. Nygus gives her a big hug and congratulations, Maka! and tells her to call her Mira instead

Mama sends her a pair of steel-toed boots. For combat, the note says, and Maka tucks the shoebox safely under her bed so Papa can stop looking all moony-eyed.

She decides she's going to be the best meister she can. For Mama.

.

Boys can't be trusted but the sad-eyed one lurking in the corner just looks so lonely.

He's closed off, distant and quiet, can barely meet her eyes when she talks to him and reminds her of the first week after her parents split. She says, "Hi, my name is Maka, what's yours?" and he grunts and mumbles something incoherent in response.

She tries again. He manages an even expression and says, "Soul."

His name tag says weapon, so she asks, "What are you?"

"Scythe," he answers. "I guess."

Maka barely swallows down the excitement. Mama is a scythe meister and she wants to live up to her mother's legacy, has to. She has a point to prove, words brewing in her heart that she doesn't know the meaning to yet but wants to, more than anything else. She shoves a hand out at him and says fearlessly, "I'm a scythe meister."

He eyes her hand warily. "There a music room around here?"

Odd question. Still, undeterred, she nods and he nudges his head toward the door. "Care to show me around?"

.

His music is loud and chaotic and he says, "This is who I am," and Maka doesn't know what it means but she holds her hand out anyway. And Soul takes it, squeezes her hand tight and suddenly they're a team, whatever that means, but it feels heavy and important on her tongue so she says it out loud.

He grins, full of shark teeth and silent wit, and Maka feels something inside of her crack.

.

Theory hadn't prepared her for cohabitation.

Soul leaves the seat up and his clothes all over the bathroom floor. He drinks directly out of the milk carton and never cooks any of his own meals. He doesn't know how to work the washing machine. Worst of all, he's rude and makes fun of her ankles and her books and her hair and Maka wonders why she thought he would be different. He's just another boy.

Most of the time, though, he hides out in his room and grunts at her attempts at conversation. It's so hard to get to know the person she's going to be sharing her soul with when he can't put together a sentence and refuses to look her in the eye when he does finally work up the nerve to ask her what they're eating tonight.

But Soul always lingers a little closer when Papa stops by and tells her he loves her pigtails and that he misses her. He never says much after she shuts the front door, just watches her in that odd, observant way he does, still looking so foreign and out of place at her (their) kitchen table as he quirks a brow.

She doesn't respond. Instead, she sinks down to sit across from him.

He slides the bag of stale goldfish over to her and she downs a handful.

.

For her thirteenth birthday, Soul buys her a giant cupcake and stabs it with a single candle. He accidentally burns his finger trying to light it, and Maka spends the first few hours of her birthday party running cold water over Soul's thumb at the kitchen sink and reassuring him that he's going to be fine.

She doesn't open Papa's presents, because she's still mad and the sparkly, glittery wrapping paper makes her angry. She tries tossing them out, but Soul digs them out of the trash and tucks them away in a cabinet.

When she asks why, he shrugs and says, "Just in case you change your mind."

She doesn't bother trying to throw them out again.

.

"It's just the soul that matters, right?" Soul asks. "Nothing else."

He swallows Blair's soul and Maka thinks about it later, tucked into bed and hugging her pillow to her chest.

.

There's so much blood.

Maka cries, because Papa never came home torn apart and Mama never would've got herself in a situation like this. And Soul bleeds, barely conscious, begging her to get a move on, stupid, stop sitting there but she can't leave him. She's glue to the spot, hands pressed tight against his chest because the blood won't stop staining his shirt and her hands are all red and she can see his soul get that much weaker every time he coughs.

Papa and Professor Stein slice through the doorway and come to her rescue. The doctor lights a cigarette and drapes his labcoat over Soul's body.

"He'll be alright," Stein says. "But we have to hurry."

She doesn't realize she's crying until Papa sets a hand on her shoulder. And when she looks at him, she doesn't feel that weird, angry twisting in her stomach.

His eyes are gentle and fatherly and everything they should be as he says, "Maka, let's go home," and Maka can think of nothing but red eyes and sarcastic smiles and how much she needs her partner to be okay.

.

Soul has a brand new scar down his chest and Papa threatens him a lot less.

.

She realizes she loves him three years later and it doesn't terrify her the way it should.

Because needing - and wanting - a man so desperately is a recipe for disaster. She's seen this song and dance before first person, watched her parents marriage crumble before her very eyes because Papa couldn't keep his hands to himself and Mama was always so career-driven. They were so young, too, just eighteen when they got pregnant and married because they had a baby on the way and all of Mama's success had to be put on hold for the gurgling baby girl bouncing on her hip.

But when Soul holds her hand tight she doesn't feel any of that fear. She's not afraid of making mistakes and following in her Mama's footsteps, not like she should be.

Soul doesn't look at other girls the way he looks at her and the thought makes her burn.

.

When he kisses her, a year later, she grabs his face and holds him so tightly that he laughs and she cries and he kisses her tears away, too.

"I didn't think I was that bad of a kisser," he jokes quietly.

Her giggles are watery and she hops on her toes to press her lips all over his face.

.

She trusts him so deeply that it startles her.

They shouldn't work. Maka doesn't trust men and Soul is crude and insecure but they click. But Soul fills in the cracks with loyalty and unwavering devotion and Maka leads with confidence and bravery. They become Soul and Maka, Death Scythe and meister, two halves of a whole, inseparable by nature. They do work, somehow, and Maka wouldn't trade him for the world.

Who else can she trust with her life but her weapon? He has all of her, her whole life, and it only makes sense to marry him.

.

Papa walks her down the aisle and cries embarrassing, messy tears and okay, maybe she's crying a little bit too. But Soul's crying as well (coolly, of course) and it's perfect and she can't think of anywhere else she'd rather be.

.

"You know I love you, right, sweetheart?"

Papa spins her around in her wedding dress. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Soul trying to dance with Mama, spine ramrod straight and forehead creasing.

She's twenty two when she finally lets herself cry about her parent's divorce. Papa looks startled, because she's crying on her wedding day and it's not over her new husband, but she shakes her head and throws her arms around her dad. Her shoulders quake and her makeup runs as she tells him everything, how she still hasn't opened her birthday presents from her thirteenth birthday and how she's still so mad but she still loves him and that only makes her more upset. But she loves him, he's her papa, why do men cheat?

He runs his fingers through her hair and kisses the top of her head, collecting her into his arms. "Men don't cheat," he mumbles reassuringly."Just Papa. Because Papa's not a great man."

She snivels into the lapels of his jacket. "But-"

"You've got a good man, though," he says, maybe even a bit sadly. "But your crummy Papa still loves you more than anything else, princess. You're the best of me. And I'm so proud of you."

.

It's not easy to forgive. But watching Papa shake Soul's hand and tug him into a hug sure makes the tension in her chest a lot easier to deal with.