Disclaimer: I do not own Soul Eater.

Bulletproof
by. Poisoned Scarlett

1.

"I can't believe this! I'm so stupid—ARGH!" Maka stormed down the lonely streets of Death City, biting her lip to hold back tears. She had taken off her high heels and held them in her hand, walking barefoot on the gravelly streets. Her shimmering red dress, reaching modestly low, and allowing only a teasing amount of cleavage to show, worsened her embittered mood because she had put so much thought into it. Her hair, let loose into ashy blond curls that cascaded down her back, had been hastily tied into a bun when she walked out on her date.

She actually liked him, that Demon Ax, Derek Dupree. He had been very kind and friendly towards her, offering to carry her books and walk her to class sometimes. He even had a few of the same interests as her, like reading and listening to electronic.

But it was a lie.

That was his disguise, a friendly and easy-going boy, and he had even managed to fool her.

She wrapped her arms around herself protectively, remembering how his hands had forced themselves upon her body; how utterly paralyzed with horror she had been. Maka hadn't known she was being played until tonight, when Derek tried to get ahead of himself after drinking a little too much wine. When she'd rejected his advancements, flustered and confused by his sudden impatience, he'd tried again despite her pleads to stop; despite telling him he was hurting her.

Then Maka realized just what his objective had been.

What his objective had been all along.

The look on his face had said it all, but his actions spoke louder.

"That fucking shithead – son of a bitch – good for nothing – UGH!" Maka choked furiously between sobs. She tossed her heels into a nearby trash bin and continued her livid march to the water fountain that stood in the center of town.

Her feet felt raw and dirty by the time she reached the empty square. The streets were bare of any one and she was grateful for this. The gas lamps illuminated the sculpted fountain a faint gold, its stream of water reduced to a limp trickle at this time of night. The crescent moon that hung in the sky lit the land a soft ethereal glow, but the beauty of the scene was lost to her in her blind rage.

Maka scrubbed off the tears on her face, the back of her hands blotched with eyeliner. She wiped the lip gloss off her lips, and didn't care for the black stains her dress would get as she rubbed out her puffy eyes with the inner neckline.

This had been the fifth - failed - date in four months.

But this had been the first time she had been sexually assaulted by one of her suitors.

The last three dates hadn't amounted to anything, and she'd only lasted a few days with the first boy who asked her out. Not only that, the last four had known their place and backed away when she denied their advancements. However, the fifth one – Derek – had been friendly and funny, reliable and trustworthy. What made this night all the more special was the fact that it was Valentine's Day, and Derek had actually managed to book a reservation at a pricey restaurant for them, like he had promised her.

Maka could have probably grown to like him as something more if he had given her the chance.

But Maka should have known better: boys were cruel, men were filth.

She should have known better than to think Derek was different. It sounded a little dumb in her head, now that she thought about it. She dunked her hand into the still water of the fountain then pressed it against a feverish cheek. The rage subdued to a quiet melancholy, and Maka drew her knees up to her chest, the wind whistling in her ears. The silence of the square offered her some comfort, but she could always go for a bucket of vanilla ice-cream and graham cookies stuffed with marshmallows and melted chocolate... maybe watch a stupid romantic comedy she could criticize, because that girl in love was an idiot and that arrogant guy was an even bigger idiot...

She gave up.

Maka had tried to give the male specie a chance, and they had screwed up; flunked.

There were no second chances; no retakes.

This was it.

She had enough of their lies!

Liz and Tsubaki had been wrong: men would never change. They would always be dirt; worse than the grime under her feet. They would always be a disappointment. She wouldn't search for someone to have a substantial relationship with anymore. The prospect of dating had lost its gloss; she didn't want that semblance of a relationship any longer, not if it was accompanied by so much heartache. It simply didn't seem worth the extra effort when the other person was always straying to other women...

She was better off alone, Maka understood despondently, because the one person she could truly trust without reservation was herself. That had been cemented with this disaster of a night. She thought she could find someone else, knowing well enough that with Soul and his own casual dating, he'd likely find someone to relate to soon enough. He'd replace her soon, Maka thought with a clench of her heart, but she wanted to replace him before that happened! To avoid all the heartache and loss.

Some retarded plan that had turned out to be, she thought miserably.

The low growl of a motorcycle collapsed her depressing string of thoughts.

But there's always him. Maka thought to herself, tightening her arms around her legs self-consciously. There was always Soul, despite her giving up on men, that ruined that ideal in the end; the exception to the rule. What do I do about him? It had technically been his fault for taunting her about her lonely Saturday nights and after school studying. Always making her feel less than pretty, rather pathetic. Somehow showing him up hadn't turned out like she imagined it would...

Keys jangled as the motorcycle was shut off, and the heavy thump of boots neared her.

"You know, when people say they'll be back before nine, they usually are." He drawled.

Maka snorted as Soul Eater leaned on the edge of the fountain beside her.

Figures he would know where she ran off to when she was distraught.

Maka darkly wondered if she was becoming predictable when he spoke up again:

"Bad night?"

"Horrible." Maka mumbled, letting her face fall on her knees. "He was the same as the rest." She heard him scoff, and she added passively: "I broke his nose."

"Should I be proud of that?"

"If you know what's good for you, yes."

She heard his boot scuff against the cobblestone floor. "...Why're you barefoot?"

"I threw my shoes away." Maka let her legs dangle over the edge of the fountain again. Her feet looked so small compared to Soul's gruff, thick, steel-toed boots.

"Why'd you throw your shoes away, genius? Didn't Liz waste some big bucks on those?"

"I bought them, Liz just picked them out for me." She stretched her toes out, nails painted a shiny red. Liz had treated her to a pedicure the day before. She supposed it had been wasted on her in the end. "I give up on dating. It's pointless, and it subtracts time from my studying, anyway."

"Thought you wanted a boyfriend." He said, passionless.

"Yeah, I did, too, until I realized how much trouble it is to have one. I'm better off on my own." Maka explained calmly. Soul always helped focus her thoughts, though; be it with his sensible words or comfortable presence. "I don't need a guy to make me happy, I can do that all on my own!" She firmly stated. So what if Soul was dating girls sometimes, Maka thought sourly, she didn't need to show him up for this! She could manage all on her own. She didn't need someone like that in her life, as long as Soul stayed as her friend... it would be alright. She would be alright.

As long as he stayed her friend, Maka decided with a soft sigh, she could watch the sunset on her own...

She dusted her dress when she stood, missing the shadow in his eyes.

"Did he at least take you somewhere nice?"

"That French restaurant nearby." Maka answered. She glanced at the sickle moon, hazed with a mist of clouds, hanging upon a backdrop of black marble. It was such a beautiful night, too.

Perfect for couples, Maka bitterly thought. She always knew Valentine's Day was a farce but it still touched her that she had actually been taken out on such a Hallmark day. She hadn't been wallowing alone in her room, for once in her life. Soul hadn't been able to tease her about it, only become surly and ill-tempered for a reason that still eluded her.

"He must have been pretty desperate for a lay, huh? If he took you to such a fancy place." Soul responded, cynically.

Maka flinched, fisting handfuls of her dress in her hands to swallow back the terrible memories. She was happy to have been taken out today but she'd take back those hours if it meant never experiencing such a horrible feeling of helplessness. "...Just shut up and take me home, Soul. I'm tired." Maka stalked toward the motorcycle parked on the curb.

"Way to go, Soul..." Soul groaned quietly to himself, hurrying after her for damage control.

"Maka!" Soul deliberated beating around the bush. But stalling had never been cool, or his style. "You want me to beat the shit out of him like the last one?" He asked, bluntly.

"What - no!" Maka pursed her lips. She wanted him to, actually, but she knew that type of vengeance would give her no satisfaction. "Remember what happened last time? You didn't have to hurt Mark that bad! He was interned for a whole day!" Maka added in annoyance, remembering her third suitor.

"That taught him not to play with my meister." Soul replied, matter-of-fact. "I won't allow anyone to hurt you and get away with it, Maka. It's my duty as a weapon to protect you - both emotionally and physically."

She understood that it was his duty, don't get her wrong. It was his duty that made him such an easy person to care for, and it had been his goddamn duty that had breached the brambles surrounding her heart. It was because of his wretched duty to her that everything went wrong; that she can't enjoy a date because she's comparing them to him or wondering things that shouldn't be entertained if she saw Soul like she claimed she did: which was as a friend. Because he had made it more than clear, crystal clear, that he was not interested in her. He didn't want her like she'd like to have him. He especially made that clear when he took that first pretty girl out on a date all those months ago...

So, what's a girl to do but keep walking forward?

"...Are you going to?" Maka asked, placing a hold on those equally depressing thoughts.

"Gonna' what?"

"You know what!" Maka hissed, already on his motorcycle. She made sure to bunch her dress under her so it didn't drag.

Soul swung a leg over his bike, pushing her back slightly as he collected his thoughts. He knew exactly what she was talking about; he had more or less given himself away. "Maybe."

There was no use lying: Derek would rue the day he made her cry. Soul loathed it when she cried – especially for trash like him. He couldn't help but feel slightly responsible for her heartache. Even though he had warned her from the beginning to be careful about this game she had taken a liking to playing, she hadn't listened. Now here she was more gloomy than usual; hurt, emotionally wrung. It was all because Soul hadn't screened this guy like the others, mainly because after a wall-shaking argument about him intimidating her suitors while she always let him go out with all those fanatical girls he chose without a single word, he'd spat out he could care less and stormed out of the apartment. But that had been a poor decision on his part: he should have insisted. He should have at least figured out what this guys deal was.

Because now he had to pick up the pieces of his meister's broken heart.

And he planned to start by getting rid of the core problem.

Derek Dupree was a walking dead man, Soul decided darkly.

He ignited the engine to drown out her reprove, revving the bike on purpose so he didn't have to hear her. He felt her pinch his stomach and he snorted at her attempts to draw his attention, reaching down to take her hand before she really hurt him. "What? It's not like I haven't done it before."

"Soul, you don't have to hurt him! I already did!" Maka insisted, his hand closing tightly over her own. She slipped it out, unwilling to hold a mans hand after what had just happened. Even if that man was her own dear weapon partner. "I wasn't lying when I said I broke his nose!"

"And what, exactly, did he try to make you react that way?" He meant it rhetorically, figuring the guy had just said something to piss her off, but when she tensed and fell silent, he realized this had not been the case.

"He..." Maka hesitated, and she looked down when he abruptly veered to the side and turned off his bike. He twisted around to look at her, his gaze glacial but scrutinizing.

"Tell me what he did, Maka."

Maka braced herself, knowing this would likely enrage him. If he lost the handle on his emotions when she told him Suitor Number 2 groped her but missed, she could only guess this attempt at a sexual assault would send him into a murderous frenzy.

She hoped not.

"I want to eat a burger." Maka demanded.

His eyes widened a fraction, face otherwise blank. "It's about to be one in the morning, can't this wait?"

"I didn't finish my dinner, so I'm hungry." Maka shrugged. At his intense stare, she added heavily: "Take me somewhere to eat and I'll tell you what happened..."

Gauging her truthfulness and deeming it enough, Soul turned back and ignited his bike once more. The air burned with frost as they sped down the road, and Maka hid behind Soul to keep her skin from feeling as if it were peeling off her bones. He took her to her favourite fast-food place, which was open late, to her relief. But the floor was crunchy with gravel and hints of glass. Maka had to maneuver her way inside the lonesome restaurant carefully, so as not to injury the soles of her feet any more than she already had.

"A number 5 with a Sprite, right?" Soul guessed, once they were inside. It was comfortably warm, the florescent lights bright. She noticed it made her skin look pale. She wondered if her face looked hollowed and chalky as well and hoped the lighting wouldn't make her look worse than she actually was.

"Mhm." She picked a booth that had a nice view of the outside. It was dark, but the gas lamps that lined the sidewalks offered sufficient light to admire the arid and empty streets of Death City.

How am I going to tell him? Maka thought, picking at a hole in the seat. There isn't any way to... say it without it sounding bad. She didn't want Soul to go on a mad hunt for Derek when he discovered what he had nearly done in his tipsy state. She wanted this to stay as low-key as possible; it embarrassed her enough to have to retell it to someone she admired so much...

"Here – I got you a smoothie instead." Soul told her, handing her a strawberry smoothie before sliding her the tray of food.

"Oh, that's great. Thanks, Soul." Maka smiled faintly, taking a deep drink of the sweet beverage. This was just what she needed: comfort food!

Soul watched her finish half the smoothie in a few sips with an amused smile. He probably knew her better than she knew herself, he mused. He heard her quietly complain about needing her boots right now and he snorted. He had adopted a new cool look over the years, and Maka was still amused by the fact that he had bought himself a pair of biker boots similar to her own. The leather jacket had been kept, his orange shirt replaced with a gray muscle shirt. His black jeans were loose, kept on his waist by a heavy-buckled belt. But there was one thing that never changed, and that was the haphazard way his hair fell over his eyes despite the black headband he wore to keep it back.

"So? You gonna' tell me now?"

Maka chewed on a fry silently, wondering how she should break down the past few hours.

Thinking about it made her appetite crumble.

She hadn't known what to do when it happened, to be honest. It had just happened too quickly, without warning. All of those years of combat training were worthless under his demeaning gaze. Her mind hadn't been able to process his actions fast enough. Her muscles had frozen up, throat caught in a strangle for words, and her mind had just gone blank...

Shame made it hard to swallow.

"Maka?" Soul asked, alarmed when she looked close to tears again.

Maka looked down bleakly, dropping her fry. She hated crying: it not only showed weakness but it was painstakingly difficult to stop once she started. She sucked in a breath, unable to say the dreadful words. They were stubbornly lodged in her throat.

It was embarrassing for her to have to admit to her partner just how basically helpless she had been! She contemplated lying and whipping up some dismal tale of Derek two-timing her or something of the like. But not the crude truth, which was that he had very nearly raped her when he'd followed her to the bathroom. Cornering her in the empty hall; plastering on such a lying smile on his face; caging her within his arms like she was some frightened animal; his breath stinking of wine. He had whispered things like "C'mon, Maka, don't be like that..." or "Just as kiss!" but they had neither gotten the proper reaction out of her nor had they abated the panic that had slowly took refuge in her gut the longer she sat under his hungry gaze, the longer her mind processed what was about to happen if she didn't tip the axis of power now.

But now had come too late for her.

It was ironic, really.

She was the one always lecturing her friends to be safe; to be careful.

She was the one who reminded them to never let a man have the upper-hand; to fight back, and win.

She was the one who warned them to never fall for a man's word; to never let them sweet-talk them into a sense of false security, not to get poisoned by their honey-slicked words and empty smiles.

She was such a hypocrite, wasn't she?

"Maka, what the hell did he do to you?" Soul demanded, eyes flinty and severe. He leaned over the table. "He didn't... force himself on you, did he?" He asked, very carefully.

Maka slapped a hand over her mouth to silence her squeak, searching the table in panic.

He knows.

What now?

"That shithead!" Soul snarled, and stormed up. He looked absolutely terrifying, his serrated teeth bared and his eyes darker than she had ever seen them. "I'll make him fucking regret letting his dick think for him! Where the fuck is he—?"

"No, Soul, don't!" Maka called in alarm, catching the back of his jacket. "Soul, don't go!"

"Let me go, Maka! He won't get away after taking advantage of you - I won't allow it!" Soul bellowed, and she let him go in surprise.

"But—!"

"Don't start." Soul warned coldly. Maka felt more tears well in her eyes. Her bottom lip quavered. But those tears were out of anger at his stubbornness, and fury at her own helplessness; not the ache in her chest for the disaster of this day.

"Fine! Go, then!" Maka shouted, thickly. She clamored out of her seat, food untouched. "D-do whatever you want!" She made her way outside in a heart beat, this time not minding the way glass drove into the soles of her feet.

Soul rubbed his fingers in his eyes in frustration before he ran after her. "Maka!"

"Go away, Soul!" Maka shouted. She would walk home by herself and curl up under her sheets to cry out the turmoil poisoning her heart.

She didn't need anyone; much less Soul.

She could comfort herself!

"Maka, hold up!"

"NO!" Maka shrieked, her sight unfocused by her tears. "Go ahead – beat the shit out of him! I don't care anymore – do it!" She didn't usually swear; she didn't think it was very necessary to do so, unlike Soul. She miserably wondered if this would make her even more of a hypocrite, halted by Soul when he grabbed her arm.

"Maka, stop, you're going the wrong way, stupid!"

"That's my problem, not yours!" Maka snapped, trying to wring her arm out of his grip. He just tightened his fingers in reply to every yank. "Let me go, Soul! Are you going to try to rape me, too?" She sneered, vindictively.

Soul took his hand off her as if she had burned him. The disbelief was visible in his wide eyes. He hadn't known just how much Derek had forced himself on her, Maka realized belatedly, because he had never let her finish. He hadn't managed to touch her but he nearly had: his hand had been poised to do so before she reacted, punched his lights out, and scampered away.

She felt horrible instantly.

Maka slumped to her knees in defeat and covered her eyes with the back of her hand to hide her watery eyes. Her night was ruined, the next few days, too, and she had just unfairly accused the one person she could likely trust wholly of rape?

What's wrong with me?

She hadn't known she was crying so loudly until she felt Soul kneel before her and shush her gently.

"Don't cry, Maka, please stop crying. Look, I'm sorry, alright? I screwed up – I shouldn't have yelled at you like that!" Tentatively, keeping in mind she would be jumpy after something like that, he wiped away the excess tears on her cheeks with his fingertips. "I was pissed. I wasn't thinking clearly..."

"I-I kn-know." Maka wetly sniffed, adding contemptuously: "That's why you're an idiot!"

Soul smiled faintly. He let his hand fall off her cheek as she collected herself. "Yeah, that's why I'm a dumbass."

"I never said that," Maka mumbled thickly, wiping a hand under her runny nose. She composed herself with a deep breath. She couldn't lose it in public, at night, in the middle of the street. She was stronger than this. "I called you an idiot not a dumbass, get your facts straight!"

"Same difference." Soul flashed her his trademark grin, relieved when she managed a faint smile back. The fact that Maka could still smile, however faint it was, after something like this meant her strong will had pulled through after all. "Come on, it's not cool to sit around the street in the middle of the night." He held his hand out to her.

Maka looked at it sourly. "Aren't you going to beat up Derek?"

Soul's eyes tightened but his hand never wavered. "I think you're more important right now than that piece of fuck."

"...Okay." Maka took his hand. She squeezed his hand before he could take it back, and she sighed in relief when he didn't let her go and walked her back to the restaurants parking lot.

"Where are you going? The bike is that way!" Maka said, puzzled when Soul led her back into the fast-food facility.

"You never finished your food, remember? You're gonna' be hungry later, and I'm not in the mood to cook." Soul let go of her hand only to take the tray to the front and ask for a bag.

Maka hung back by the door awkwardly. What would she do now? She couldn't say she was afraid of dating again, she was just unnerved by how well men could disguise their intentions. That had been what really scared her, not the assault itself. Derek's facade had been flawless; expertly played, professionally composed. His assault had come as a shock, of course, but in the end her reflexes had kicked in and she had punched his nose brutally. But her body had been acting on its own; her mind had stayed blank in shock. The helplessness had not ebbed but only grown worse because she had gone against everything she had promised herself she wouldn't do.

And the icy realization that, had Derek not made his motives known so early, she could have been hurt even worse made her stomach sick. She kept clenching and unclenching her hand in thought as she walked to the motorcycle, deciding she'd wait for Soul there. It was usually a fleeting thought, the comfort and relief she derived from holding Soul's hand. But now she felt wary. Now she was rethinking everything she knew - or thought she knew - about her partner.

Just how well was Soul at disguising his emotions? At pretending to be someone else? At hiding his intentions? She had the most difficult time reading his face alone. She had even more difficulty understanding his motives and actions. In a way, he was the same as Derek... an expert pretender. Yet he had never hurt her; never dared to. What did you call a person like that? Could he still be trusted...?

"Maka!"

She jumped at the sound of his voice. She hadn't even noticed when he mounted the bike himself. "Uh, what?"

"I said, hold on, before you fall off and break something." Soul repeated, annoyed. "Hurry up!"

Maka scowled and nudged him forward, her fingers digging into his shoulder as he took off down the empty street. But I've always felt like this. Maka struggled to collect her suddenly scattered feelings. I care about Soul. He's always been there for me, but... She had always relied on Soul, trusted him, and he had never done anything to hurt her without explaining himself afterward. He had always proven to be trustworthy. He had always helped her, cared for her, treated her right, always gave her a shoulder to lean on when she needed it although he'd always been borderline asshole with his snarky attitude and sarcastic personality...but he always made it up to her. He'd even mumbled out an apology when he took his teasing about dating too far once! It had been her own stubbornness to prove him wrong and shut up that annoying voice in her heart that really got her stuck in this situation in the first place.

But all that aside: was it still right to trust someone who could hide his motives and emotions as well as Soul did...?

Casting her eyes to her lap, Maka pondered this until they reached their apartment. She hopped off the bike the instant they arrived, holding her meal in her hands quietly. The crinkle of the bag was the only sound that she could hear in the entire street. She glanced at the tall building, to the window she knew was their apartment.

It was dark.

Blair was either asleep or still at work.

Maka hoped for the latter.

When she finally reached her apartment and searched the wall for the light switch, she was relieved to find Blair missing from her usual spot on the couch. The last thing she needed was the cats twinkling eyes to follow her all around their apartment. Maka heard Soul enter shortly after, and she quickly walked into the bathroom to avoid confrontation. She turned on the hot water in the shower, aware that her partner had decided to turn on the television instead of falling asleep as he usually did when they arrived home late.

The water that ran down her body came as a shock, only then aware of how cold she had actually been. But it was soothing, and with every scrub it felt as if his dirty hand prints were being cleansed from her body. She didn't know how long she stayed under the hot waterfall, watching steam rise before she could take the hot current no longer, but by the time she did finish, the drone of the television had become louder within their apartment.

She changed slowly, taking more care than usual in applying lotion. She didn't wrap her hair in the towel like she always did: she let it glue to the back of her nightshirt. She was not sleepy and she knew she wouldn't be drowsy for a very long time. Maka swung the towel around her neck, rather surprised to find Soul still wide-awake at three in the morning.

"Why aren't you asleep yet?" Maka asked, sitting beside him. She left a few feet of space between them. It did not go unnoticed by Soul. "Aren't you tired?"

"Not really. Had a cup of coffee before I came to get you," Soul drawled. "You?"

"I just got out of the shower, Soul." Maka rolled her eyes. As if to prove her point, she grabbed the towel and rubbed out the tips of her wet hair between the soft fabric. "It's not good to fall asleep with wet hair... and I don't want to deal with messy hair in the morning, either."

"You always put it up in pigtails. I don't think it'd make much of a difference."

Maka huffed. "Of course you wouldn't know! There's more to hair than just tying it up, Soul!"

"I think I do know." Soul pointed to his own rather long hair, spiked back coolly with tons of hairspray. Maka looked at him candidly. He shrugged, a slight grin playing on his face. "Just sayin'."

The televisions uninteresting babble helped fill the silence that had overtaken them. Maka absently rubbed the hem of the towel against her warm cheek, wondering how she could confront this new predicament. She had known Soul for a fairly long time; long enough to say she knew him better than any one else. Surely, with so many years together tucked under their belts, it was okay to trust him despite knowing that he could lie through his teeth and make her believe fables?

It was silent only a few more minutes after she made up her mind.

"Hey, Soul...?"

"Yeah?" He flashed his eyes to her. "What?"

"Can I ask you something?"

Something in her tone made him turn fully to her. "Yeah, go ahead."

"How... how good are you at faking it?" She asked, carefully.

Soul stared at her, blankly. "I'm not following..."

"That." Maka pointed to his composed face. "I mean, how good are you at disguising your emotions?" She took a small breath. "Good enough that you can lie to me in the face and I'll never know about it?"

His eyes widened but that was all. His expression did not waver in the slightest, Maka realized with some fright. Perhaps he really was no different than other men. He had simply never had a suitable reason to harm her with his mask - !

"Don't!" Soul quickly said, catching the fear in her eyes. He reached forward, grabbing her hand. "Don't shut me out. Not now." He rushed, but Maka saw his face barely changed. It had become strained but nothing else. She wondered how a person could do that. "My face... it's always been this way." He confessed. "Ever since I was kid, I was never into the whole expression crap. It – it's always been harder for me to express myself." He dropped his eyes. They looked distant. His fingers tightened around her wrist. "That's why I got into music. It was easier to express myself that way. It also helped that my entire family was musically literate."

Maka slowly nodded, understanding her enigmatic best friend a little more. "But..."

"I wouldn't lie to you. I haven't lied to you since we were fifteen."

Maka narrowed her eyes. "That's not true – you lied to me last week about who set the roast beef on fire!"

Soul blew a stray bang from his eyes, annoyed. "Let me clarify: I haven't lied to you about the important things. Small lies, yeah, but never about things that matter to you." He looked up again, intensely. "The last thing I would do is lie in order to hurt you like this, Maka."

Maka guardedly searched his eyes, pits of ruby under the dancing light of the television. Her eyes fell down to their hands. He was clutching her wrist tightly; enough that it was beginning to hurt. She gently wrung her hand from his grip and placed her palm over his hand gently.

"...I believe you." She said, very softly.

He breathed in relief, leaning closer to her. She reached for him instinctively, pressing her cheek against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her small frame. She felt his fingers graze her wet hair, his other arm clutching her around her shoulders protectively. The television lit their embracing frames lazily; the light brushing their bodies a faint gray and black. Maka closed her eyes, unable to deny that, curled in his arms, she felt as if nothing else could hurt her again.

Her weapon would never allow it.