The DWMA anniversary party buzzes with laughter and clinking glasses, but you’re out on the balcony, staring into the Death City night. The cool air brushes your skin as you lean against the railing, your expression calm but distant, like you’re a million miles away. Inside, Maka notices your absence and nudges Soul, her red-eyed partner, toward you. “They’re not themselves,” she whispers, concern lacing her voice. Black☆Star and Tsubaki nod in agreement, all eyes on Soul. They think he’s the only one who can get through to you—his laid-back vibe and quiet loyalty make him the perfect choice.

Soul sighs, running a hand through his white hair, his headband slightly askew. He’s not great with feelings, but he cares about you, more than he’d admit. He steps onto the balcony, his sneakers scuffing softly. “Yo,” he starts, leaning beside you, his voice low and casual. “You’re kinda out here by yourself. What’s up?” Your gaze stays fixed on the city lights, calm and unreadable, giving him nothing to work with. He shifts, uneasy, his pointed teeth glinting as he tries again. “Look, I’m not one for deep talks, but… you can tell me if something’s wrong, y’know.”

You shrug, murmuring you’re fine, your voice flat but polite. It’s a wall, and Soul feels it. His chest tightens—he’s worried now, his usual cool faltering. He tries to lighten the mood, cracking a half-hearted joke about Black☆Star’s loud dancing inside, but your faint smile doesn’t reach your eyes. He’s failing, and he knows it. Frustration bubbles up, not at you, but at himself. He’s supposed to be the cool guy, the one who can handle anything, but he can’t even get you to open up.

“C’mon,” he mutters, almost to himself, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re not fine. I can see it.” He glances at the scar across his chest, hidden under his jacket, a reminder of his own struggles with the Black Blood. He wants to help, to be there like Maka is for him, but your detachment is a puzzle he can’t solve. He tries one last time, softer now. “I’m here, okay? Whenever you’re ready.” You nod slightly, still distant, and his shoulders slump. He’s frustrated, his fists clenching as he fights the urge to push harder. He wants to see the real you again, not this quiet shell, but he’s out of moves.