AN: So I had this idea and I loved it. I went through with it and I loved it even more. RIP, Soul Eater Anime!
SPOILERS FOR THE END OF THE SERIES
Soul Eater found himself thinking about stupid things.
Though it wasn't exactly cool, he had come to accept the behavior, declaring it a lasting after-effect of the times born from the death of the Kishin. It was born from the times after the blood spilt, the times after the bones fractured; it was born from the manly painful nights they spent within the infirmary holding onto one another in moments of weakness and saying that we can get through this as the nurses came in with more painkillers and words of encouragement. In those times he would lay on his bed look around the room with an entirely new type of appreciation for everything he had - just lay and look and think, silent, happy, grateful, loved. There was the potted plant in the corner of the room, he recalled, and its earthy hue reminded him of how life was still going on outside the walls of the hospital, and how life would continue to go on even after they were gone, because they had saved sanity yet they still weren't vital to the world, but that was okay. He could remember the pale viridian of the medicine they'd put on the burn wounds on his back, the pale viridian that reminded him of Maka's eyes, how bright and happy and full of adoration or anger or anxiety they were, and it reminded him to never take advantage of being looked at by those eyes ever again. He had spent a lot of time appreciating the color of the walls, too, the baby blue color that made him think of the sky, the sky and the way his friends had looked as he stared up at them when the battle was won, how they'd stood out against that very same blue, hurt but okay - yes, they were hurt, but they were okay. And although the process of healing was unbearably painful and he sometimes fell asleep to the agonized cries of his allies as the doctors dressed their wounds, they would be okay. Above all he remembered and appreciated the way the covers of the bed felt against his sensitive skin, the way they molded to the every contour of his body in a sea of soothing silk, tenderness that matched the affection and desperation of his allies as they fought the urge to give in to their lasting injuries.
Yes, he appreciated stupid things a lot more now - namely the feel of home as they returned for the first time, hand-in-hand, the way it smelled of stale cooking and dirty dishes and the way the floorboards creaked in some places. He hadn't exactly missed the crappy draft in his room that made him shiver at night, but now he had someone to share the experience with, because Maka had suddenly taken to sleeping in his room, in his bed, beside him. Maybe it was the lingering fear of how she'd almost lost him for the second time; maybe it was the primal need for comfort as the ache of her broken ribs made it hurt to breathe and the bruises around her neck and face made it hurt to swallow and hurt to smile. Either way, she was warm, and - above all - she was there. She was really there. Granted, she'd always been there, but at one point, at one terrible point, she almost hadn't been there. In that same terrible point, all of them almost hadn't been there. And when she prepared to retreat within his room for the night, beside him, she always brought a special something from her own room - namely the covers from her bed. Soul liked them. They were a soft pink and subsequently not cool at all, but they were made from the same silk of the hospital's sheets, and although they were pocked with small holes where Blair had decided to stretch with her claws out, they added an extra layer of heat - and comfort - to their slumbering atmosphere. He had no idea that something as simple as the covers from his meister's bed would make him feel that much more alive inside.
The meetings he had usually glossed over as a part of everyday life now felt like a blessing. Tears had sprung into Maka's eyes when she'd opened the door and seen them all standing there, some hunched over, some still fighting back pain with a grimace passed off for a grin, all 100% among the living. Black Star had entered first, his usual sneer stretched from one side of his face to the other as he stomped into their friendly apartment, yelling something about popcorn and movies right now, God dammit! He had put his hand behind Maka's head and lightly bumped foreheads with her - it was the closest they'd ever gotten to each other, and it was only for a moment, but Soul would never forget the intimacy that had passed between them in that one second of contact - then traipsed over to Soul and embraced him awkwardly, avoiding the burns with un-Black Star-like delicacy. Liz and Patty entered after him, the latter of the two laughing and commenting on how Black Star looked like a friggin' leopard! with all of those bruises about his body while neither of them were free to talk: Both of the sisters were spotted with their own bruises and burns, but it was clear that they'd spent a decent amount of time attempting to cover them up with concealer and other types of make-up. Liz smirked at Maka and told her that she looked good for charging through Hell and back, and the three of them laughed, though Soul could hear the pain in all of their voices. Kid followed unevenly behind, most of his wounds healed, though he walked with a strange lurch in his step - it was then that Liz hastily told them that something had healed "funny" where the Kishin had struck him, and the twin pistols rushed to help him sit down. He insisted to Maka that he would be fine and it would just take him a little longer than usual to set things right, but Maka still lingered over him like a mother hen, her fingers resting lightly on one of his shoulders. The last person to enter the room was Tsubaki, who walked in sheepishly in with her eyes downcast. Soul could tell that everyone was a bit shocked to see her in such a state - she was just as bruised as Black Star, hurt in a way that made her seem oddly like a China Doll that had fallen off a shelf. Liz began to ask her if she was alright, but she interrupted, smiling as she laid one of her delicate hands on the forearm of her friend and saying I'm just as good as the rest of you.
Soul couldn't remember a single detail of the movie they'd rented. He could, however, recall the order in which they sat with crystal clarity: Liz and Patty had smashed onto one single-seater couch that was pushed against the sofa, where Tsubaki, Black Star, Maka, Soul, and Kid all perched, reaching over one another to steal popcorn from the bowl situated between Soul and his meister periodically. They made small-talk all throughout the film, not interested in the plot or the characters but in each other and how everyone was doing - who had visited whom and when, what they had been doing in their downtime (hopefully nothing too stressful on their bodies, Maka had commented, giving Black Star a meaningful glare), how each injury both mental and physical had begun to heal over. The exact moment that stuck out to Soul most prominently was rather stupid: When Kid had commented that it was getting a little cold, Maka had gotten up and returned shortly thereafter with the covers from her bed - now from his bed - and they had all rearranged themselves in order to make the blanket fit over all of them. Everyone commented on how soft it was (and Kid was, of course, the only one to point out the holes in it), and Soul had smiled knowingly, running his hands over the soft pink silk as the conversation flared up once more. Occasionally someone would grunt in pain or move to minimize their discomfort, but the sensation of everyone being close once more, no matter how badly it hurt, felt a bit like heaven.
Soul Eater found himself thinking about stupid things. When he saw an abandoned coffee cup on the table he would think of who drank from it last and how grateful he was that said person, whoever he or she was, would be able to drink from it again. When Black Star left bloodied bandages in their bathroom and Maka made a fuss, Soul wouldn't get involved, because those bandages were a sign of life. When Liz and Patty offered to use some new super-expensive and super-bogus scam of a skin cream on his peeling scabs he couldn't say no, because all they wanted to do was help him live and live well. When Kid and Tsubaki helped one another stand after an extended period of sitting he smiled to see them interacting and understanding, enraptured by watching them support each other's weight as they stepped painfully and determinedly forward. And although Maka's presence in his bed was completely irreplaceable, the memory of the potted plant in the corner and the medicine that matched her eyes was burned into his very soul. He remembered the sensation of the hospital sheets as he ran his fingertips over the silk of her covers because it gave him strength when she awoke screaming and fighting from pain or a nightmare.
He could pull her soft pink sheets over their heads and hug her under the darkness of the blankets, and he could tell her that he'd found himself thinking about some very stupid things, like plants and medicine and blankets and sky blue walls, and as her sobbing subsided and she hiccupped and whimpered and tried to ignore the blinding agony, he hid her and told her that this was why they were called "covers." Nothing could get them here. It was a very stupid thing to think and a very stupid thing to say, but somehow the covers told them that their friends were alright, that the world was alright, that they were alright.
Under the safety of the covers, Soul could tell Maka as many stupid things as he wanted.