As Soul and Maka "compete" in a cut-throat internship program for a permanent position at the television station, the pair finds that hiding their less-than-platonic relationship isn't as easy as they had originally planned. It's bound to blow up in their faces, of course - how long until they're caught kissing in the office? Secret dating AU

Creative License

chapter 1: secret types of kisses

The first time coffee cascades over the sides of a coffee mug he refills, it's because Maka tilts her head at him to beam in gratitude. The flesh covering the curve of his thumb and back of his hand suffered the most, instantly reddening. Angelic green eyes delayed the initial pain of the burn while something in his chest clicked into place, like music being unmuted, like a needle finally being placed on a record player.

But after he decided he needed to know more about the red ribboned college student mulling over highlighted textbooks, his nerve endings caught up, shrieking almost as loudly as the glass shattering on the black and white tiled floor when he released both the pot and her mug.

Soul had never been the type to believe in mushy, feelsy things like love at first sight, but the hum vibrating within his bones signaled that he'd been proven wrong. Maka had sealed the deal by nursing his lobster-red skin, grinning brazenly as she sequestered his phone afterwards to enter her number under the pretense of 'wanting to keep in touch with her patient.'

He'd fallen fast, and he still gets dizzy, even half a year later.

After all, she had caught him off guard. If he hadn't detoured toward the blanketed figure camping out on the couch on his way out the door to deliver an order of sprinkled donuts, he might have never met Maka, but he did, and he definitely didn't make it out unscathed.

"Looks like I got your attention," she had giggled as he locked up the café. Though midterm week was on the horizon, Maka had abandoned her nonstop studying marathon, lighting up the coffee shop with her cheery disposition. By the end of the night, despite the fact that they had never met before, he had opened up like a book and she had read him eagerly, nodding understandingly at his ramblings of insecurities, and sharing her own.

They're the unlikeliest pair - ambitious broadcasting major and passionate feminist rallyist canoodling with the youngest slacker son of lucrative musicians. Between a twenty hour a week job and pulling all nighters to set the curve for all her exams, there hadn't been much wiggle room for time together, so their relationship hovered in purgatory, but now that she's graduated (with honors, of course), he's eager to see where life takes them. Together.

But today, Wes walks through the coffee shop's doors, and Soul's reaction includes stringing together a colorful array of curses and shoving his forearm under cool running water. Burn number two isn't as fantastic as the first one, if he's allowed to be truthful. This time Maka isn't around to mitigate the sting with butterfly kisses or help him clean the shards of glass scattered on the area carpet.

"Little brother," Wes starts, clearing his throat in the way he always does when he's about to propose a steaming pile of bullshit.

"No," Soul interrupts, resisting an eye roll. He'd go blind with sass.

Adjusting his tie, Wes goes on: "Listen. I have a grand opportunity for you."

"You're not allowed to be back here. Employees only." He tilts his head toward the lopsided red sign nailed to the withered wall.

Unfazed, his pretentious older brother takes half a step back to remove himself from the break room. Soul scowls at this but sighs, relishing the relief that the water provides. Smartassery is genetic and there isn't a thing he can do to kick Wes out.

"Anyway. I'm starting an internship program at the tv station. I think you'd be the perfect candidate. And it would help you get in our grandmother's good graces again."

"Okay, Oprah," Soul snarls, turning the faucet for colder water to no avail. "I'm glad you're using your business for good, but I'm not a charity case."

No signs of distaste tarnish Wes Evans's television ready face. Years of being the center of attention because of his branching business ventures, all stemming from a performance based childhood, have shaped his poker face past the point of perfection. The recent focal point has involved setting up a television station in response to disparaging remarks from theatre critics about his 'unfounded rising fame and wealth for someone with one mediocre talent - acting.'

So, of course, Wes's solution was to aim big and take over the media.

To say that the Evanses are motivated by spite would be only the tip of the iceberg.

This is why, whatever Wes has to say, Soul is digging his heels firmly into the ground and has already decided to refuse wholeheartedly. It's not a secret that their grandmother unabashedly voices what the rest of their family members think of Soul's choice not to enroll in a four year college: he's wasting his talent. Hell, he's yet to prepare for anything aside from mixing up customer's orders.

Open mic night is the only reason he hasn't turned in the signed pink slip he has stowed away, prepared to quit the minimum wage paying job. While he had nurtured a special kind of hatred for piano recitals, the dimmed makeshift stage of the coffee shop isn't a fraction as intimidating as all of the prestigious music halls his parents had booked him to play. Strumming the guitar for an almost empty room that mostly only consists of Maka's iridescent green eyes among empty chairs is a thousand lifetimes' worth of happiness.

That's thanks to Maka, too. Four days into retail hell, he had been boiling with misanthropy, clouded by negativity about his uncertain future. But meeting her on the fifth day changed that - staying would increase the chances of running into his dainty green-eyed crush, who can demolish him in arm-wrestling and squat him, though none of these are arduous feats because he's primarily bones and (now burned) skin. What adds to his weight the most is probably the disappointment with life that he lugs around like a medical tag.

But he's okay; he's okay. He can take some bad with the good, which now outnumber the former.

Usually Wes's booked schedule doesn't grant enough breaks to pay Soul a visit, so his unexpected appearance in his workplace is more than suspicious. To add to his annoyed discomfort, Wes isn't budging - silence fills the spaces between water hitting the sink, his gaze a combination of concern and defiance.

"Fine," Soul relents, choosing to fixate his attention on emotional pain rather than the ache blossoming across the sensitive burn area. "Tell me more."

"Thank you for giving me a chance, little brother."

Playing along, Soul sings a falsely enthusiastic "no problem!" Wes's game of politeness is a facade, a mockery of their first class (read: snobbish) upbringing. While the siblings don't share much in common, this characteristic - tongue in cheek, unapologetic, uncensored sarcasm - is one of their strongest bonding pastimes in addition to comments about their facial likeness.

"I think you'd be a perfect candidate for my new program," Wes continues, professional tone taking over. "It's a four month long internship, sprinkled here and there with fun socials, like the gala I've been planning. This would be the perfect way to get you a 'real job,' like how Dad wants without outwardly playing favorites. I have to pretend to be fair, you know."

"That's soooo very nice of you, but how are you going to explain that I'm your brother and the fact that I'm not really going up against any competition?"

Wes chuckles. "We'll just not mention your last name. And I never said there wouldn't be other interns. I was picturing two interns, and keeping only one: you, my flesh and blood."

"That's messed up. I don't even want to work with you," Soul grumbles, a metallic, sour taste sticking in his mouth. Having to be babied isn't his ideal way to slug through life. "What if the other person is actually interested in television bullshit?"

Ears ringing, everything falls into place all too quickly for Soul, who lives in perpetual state of mistrust, always doubting even the smallest and most trivial of his intentions. But this idea is too perfect to be marred by flaws. He knows a certain huggable, freshly out of college nominee for the internship. Maka's long term goal in pursuing a degree in broadcast is to be a news anchor so that her audience for spreading the feminist, social justice warrior agenda is wider. If he convinces her to apply for the program, she would be a shoo-in to fill the role of his rival, and he'd purposely mess up so thoroughly and epically that even Wes wouldn't be able to turn a blind eye.

Maka's dreams would come true, Wes would be appeased with Soul at least trying and would have a new, dedicated team member, and he could go back to underachieving.

It's a foolproof plan.

"Family comes first," Wes is saying, nodding sagely. No shameless wit decorates his words. For a second, Soul almost feels guilty for using his brother's generosity as leverage to aid Maka's seemingly fruitless endeavour to find employment in the industry. It's dishonest, unfair, and an alarming, gross level of underhanded manipulation. None of it is intended maliciously, however, and this pacifies all of his worries. When the internship is over, he'll come clean. Knowing Wes, who has never yelled at him despite being twelve years his elder, everything should end happily.

"I guess." Soul shrugs, not wanting to appear too eager.

"And, we could spend more time together," Wes goes on. "I feel like I haven't seen you more than five minutes in the past year, and we live together!"

"Well, that's not a lie…" A vital part of him shrivels up for causing his brother to cringe guiltily; he harbors no ill will for the lack of quality time together. Starting a television station in vengeance requires every bit of energy and seconds of sunlight a day can offer. Soul's been nothing but a silent, pom-pom waving supporter, so saying this is the equivalent of killing his brother slowly with poison. "I mean, I get it, and it's okay."

Wes doesn't look okay, though. "Ah, I promise that'll change! We'll hang out more, especially at the gala!"

If using this favorable circumstance to secure his scheme of getting his almost-girlfriend a job is the one way ticket to hell he's been looking for, he's sure there can't be anything worse than making his brother feel like the worst shit to ever walk. "Cool, then," he manages.

"You have to really try, though, okay?" Here comes a lecture. Wes' features soften in the way they always do when he's preparing to give a thought out motivational speech. He lowers his voice: "I'm not just offering this to you because you're my brother. Please give it your all, okay?"

This is Wes' way of asking for something in return, and true to his mother hen nature, the request would reap him no personal benefits. His wish is for Soul's contentment.

It makes Soul feel like trash. "Okay," he says noncommittally. Though there is nothing more certain in the world than the fact that Maka would outshine him in anything (except singing, probably, because she was born with a set of broken bagpipes for vocal cords), he can't ever be too confident. It's a precaution.

"Great! I'll email you the application, and I'll make sure my assistants give you a call and add you to the gala invitation list." Wes winks, his charisma back on. Nodding his goodbye and strolling out the door, he tacks on a, "you look super adorable in that apron, little brother," before Soul can stick his middle finger out as a comeback.

That's that. He's sunk to a new low, using his brother's victories to help out someone else, but the more he thinks about it as he stares at the stream of water sliding over his now salamander pink forearm, it's not a wicked plot at all. Although tender cheek pecks and excessive, much needed hand-holding when there is a breath to spare are symptoms of a serious relationship, he and Maka have been hesitant to assign a label to whatever it is they're doing. He figures he can be hopeful, seeing as she has a handful of extra moments to gift him. Living at home with her overprotective papa is only another factor in a long list of reasons they haven't exactly gone 'official' - the one time he had unknowingly met the overzealous red headed man, Soul had instantly disliked his way of leering at women, and hadn't concealed his disgust.

Their bickering - Soul verbally kicking out the creep while the offender named all his rights to stay 'with these beautiful ladies' - summoned Sid, the manager, who apologized to the patron and shooed Soul to dish duty.

Until Maka waltzed into the coffee shop along with the gentle chime of the bell hanging above the door, making a beeline to the man who had sweet-talked himself into joining an all-women's book club discussion, he had no idea the obnoxious flirt was related to her. But as soon as Maka's face contorted in indignant rage, an echo of her heated rant about her unfaithful papa played back in his head, and watching her peel the grown man away from the group of giggling women hadn't been fun, not in the least.

Just as Soul begins to draft a way to steer the conversation in the direction of the tv station to Maka, a disgruntled customer pokes his head into the breakroom. "I've been waiting for ten minutes! Can I get some service?"

"I'll be right out, Ox," Soul monotones, having dealt with this particular college student slash conceited jerk fifty times too many.

Soon he can quit this tortuous job, and he'll be able to run his fingers through Maka's hair more often.

He's sure she won't say 'no' to the internship.

X

"No," Maka says easily, attempting to mollify him by pecking the peak of his nose.

He's shocked into numbness. "Are you serious?"

"Yes, Soul! I'm not going to pretend to compete with you - it would be risky. Someone could find out about us. I appreciate your thoughtfulness, of course."

Hands slowly glide up and down his sides, adept fingertips trespassing under the hem of his button up to rub slow circles into the sensitive, excited skin of his belly. It's laughably pathetic how easily his knees buckle at her touch, like they're one hundred percent cardboard. She's a formidable force, and he feels like every atom of his being was built to bend and mold to resonate in harmony with hers.

Infiltrating his many defensive walls and reticent demeanor to figure him out had been a straightforward task for Maka Albarn. At the end of the third week of meeting after hours at the coffee shop, she crossed the flimsy barrier between friendship and relationship by lacing her arms arounds around his neck, reeling him in for a twenty minute lip-locking conclave. Clumsy, accidental biting progressed into rhythmic movements, noses no longer clashing, breathing more stable than choppy.

Whirlwind romances hadn't been on the top of his bucket list, but the introduction of Maka into his life has changed his priorities. Cuddling with her in the safe darkness of the coffee shop are what gets him out of bed, even when he's slept four minutes and is tempted to tear off his smock and storm off. The struggle of finding a location to meet up forced them to take advantage of the fact that Sid trusts Soul enough with a key to the coffee shop. Because he hadn't made the best impression on Maka's papa and because he didn't want Wes invading his privacy if he brought a girl home, this was their last resort.

It's like a dream, being alone with Maka, only seeing her at night. Sometimes he questions if she's real, but then she verifies her existence by stamping his neck with kisses and he's perfectly reassured.

She tries this method right now to distract him, but he wills himself to gently push her away by the shoulders.

"Why not? It's right up your alley," he reasons, licking his lips.

"It is, but this was your brother's way of helping you without exactly doing it." Smoothing his hair down, she adds, "And it's not like I won't find something."

He winces, hoping he isn't walking on thin ice. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you just got shot down by six different places."

She bristles, her fury not directed at him. "Ughh, the industry is really hard to get into! It's their loss, they're losing out on a great hire!"

"Exactly! Wes would be glad to have you working for him. You're definitely going to prove yourself - he'd be an idiot to still hire me when you're around! And... He, uh, he doesn't know about us yet... so it wouldn't be like he's choosing you because of me or anything, like he's doing me a favor."

Disappointment flickering across her face even in the half shadows of the café is brighter and more ominous than a pinpoint of light where there shouldn't be anything but darkness. The fear of having said the wrong thing makes cold goosebumps sprout on his arms. He's prone to screwing up, and he doesn't want to add letting down Maka to his list.

Maka, more aware and familiar with his feelings than he is, furrows her brows, shaking her head.

It seems like she's relenting. "True..."

"And," he says, trying to sound more optimistic than he's ever felt in his life, "and, and… The email I got said it was a paid internship. So you could quit your nerdy library clerk job."

She looks torn. "The experience would be invaluable, too…"

"And, and, and - Wes said there was going to be some kind of gala? You could use that to network!"

Maka grins "I could really use that..."

"And then there's me. We'll be able to see each other more. We can find a hallway closet to make out in during lunch."

In a flash, she reaches up to squish a portion of his bicep together, just enough to jolt him. "Soul, seriously!"

"I'm being totally serious," he insists, tugging on the red ribbons that hold her twin pigtails together.

She blushes a dark shade of pink, eyelids slitting. "The internship would look really good on my resume…"

"Yeah," he agrees, cupping her cheeks. She's adorable when she's flustered, when a challenge presents itself and she's warming up to defeat it. At this rate, all that he has to do is wait for her competitive streak to kick in and compel her toward signing up.

"And I do like secretly kissing you, it's the best type of kissing," she allows slyly, the exhilaration of their semi-forbidden relationship sparking a daredevil glint in her eyes. Three-fourths of him shivers, cagey, fearful that she's withholding any specific reason why she hasn't suggested meeting up on weekends, at her school, or anywhere they could be seen in public together.

Shaky self-doubt is his foundation, and he knows it's to blame on his internal battles, but the voice telling him he isn't good enough isn't quieted easily.

"And you're going to try, right? You're going to do your best and give me some real competition?"

He gulps. "Sure…"

"Then let's do it," she grins, and whatever he wanted to say next melts as she quits tiptoeing, instead digging her fingernails into his arms as she pulls him down for a long kiss.