notes: school is slowly, but surely killing me. who else is taking ib? the majority of my friends are taking full. i purposely dropped a subject so i wouldn't have to. :3
all your life.
Maka only remembered a few significant things in her life.
One was her father. Despite being the overprotective, clingy man he was, he was still her father—and she loved him. He had taken care of her ever since she was a child, albeit going out and seeing other women. And she was grateful with that.
The second were the postcards sent from her mother. They always gave her strength and courage—always reminding her that she was still there in spirit, even if not in body.
And the third—the third, without a doubt, was Soul.
And Soul was the person she remembered most. When she grew up and slowly became a woman and her father lost his father role little by little, when her mother hadn't sent a postcard in a while—when things felt a little empty, a little lost, a little dark—Soul was there.
And Maka didn't want to make things sound clichéd and lame, but that was the truth.
"Soul!" Maka caught up with her partner in the crowed hallway. It was his eighteenth birthday today, but no one had said a word; they were setting up a surprise party at their apartment at this very moment. "Hey—you want to go to Death City with me?"
"I was thinking about going home and taking a bath. Why?"
"We're all out of food," she said, smiling sheepishly. "I'll make you a special dinner this week, so come pick out the groceries with me."
He shrugged. "Sure."
They spent an hour in Death City, buying the week's worth of food. It was enough for their friends to set up the party—and with that, they set back to their apartment. Soul didn't appear fazed when everyone jumped out from behind couches and tables, but Maka could tell he was surprised. Surprised and happy.
She had spent a lot of time looking for a gift for him—he was turning eighteen, after all—but she ended up with another ornament to add to the sweatband around his head, and a large toothbrush as a gag gift for his abnormally sharp teeth. She felt stupid when he unwrapped her gift with the usual smirk on his lips. It was even worse when he opened her card and read it. She swallowed, a blush creeping to her cheeks.
Hey, Soul? Hi. It's, you know, me.
I know I should write some extravagant card, since you're eighteen and you're an adult now, but I can't really find anything to say. It seems like everything I have to say to you ends up already being said. So I'm sorry this is a stupid card, and that my present is stupid and lame, but really—
I don't know. I don't think I say this enough, so I'll say it now.
Thanks for always being there for me. Thanks for helping me when I need it. You know I can't express myself well, but you get what I mean, right? Just—thanks.
When he looked up at her, he grinned.
1000 years ago.
The day Soul became a death scythe was the day something inside of her broke.
"Maka." His grin was genuine. "You are by far the coolest technician I could've ever had." She watched him, searching for something—anything that'd tell her that he'd miss her too, that he'd think of her every day the way she'd think of him every day. His eyes scanned her briefly. "But you could've had bigger tits."
Okay, screw that. She wouldn't miss him at all. With a fatal Maka Chop to his head, she stalked away, arms crossed.
But as she turned back and watched as he picked himself up off of the ground, rubbing his head and grumbling, she smiled a little. Always the tough one.
She caught his eye, and his grin returned. "If we met one thousand years ago," he told her, "nothing about us would've changed. Maybe we'd be wearing some stupid clothes and we wouldn't have electricity, but"—he paused at this, and she swallowed—"I don't think I would've wanted us any other way."
The faint smile on her lips threatened to widen considerably. Because he was right.
Whether they met one thousand years ago or two hundred years ago or five minutes ago—nothing would've changed, and everything would've been just as amazing. She could've met him hundreds of times over and not know it, in different lives and different times and different places—and it would've still been perfect.
The day Soul became a death scythe was the day something inside of her grew.
Maka knew everything about Soul. Even the things he didn't know she knew.
She knew how he suffered from slight insomnia. The nights he didn't sleep, he sat on the couch and watched the television with the sound muted, so it wouldn't wake her. (It always did, though.) And when he did sleep, he'd sometimes wake up with heavy breaths and a thin sheen of perspiration on his forehead—no doubt from a nightmare.
She knew he was afraid of the devil in his mind. She knew he was afraid of the insanity that floated everywhere. She knew he was afraid of himself.
She also knew he sang. Coming from a family of musicians, the blood flowed in him. She'd hear him humming or singing softly to himself when he thought she wasn't around; his voice was a soft tenor with a dull edge to it; enough to lull her into a dreamless sleep.
She could count on one hand how many times she had actually heard him sing. Twice, probably. Thrice, if she was lucky. But it wasn't something that could be forgotten easily. She often wondered what was it that didn't let him trust her. That didn't let her hear his real voice.
"Maka? What are you doing up so late?"
She stared emptily at the television screen, the volume muted. "I couldn't sleep."
"Ah." She heard the fridge open in the kitchen, and she could imagine him drinking milk from the carton as he often did in the middle of the night, despite the number of times she'd told him to pour it into a cup before drinking it, because she wasn't going to touch the milk after that. "Well, I'm going back to bed."
"Wait, Soul. Come over here."
His singing echoed in her ears the way waves rang in a seashell, but fainter, and a lot more broken.
"What?" When she looked at him, he had his hands shoved into the pockets of his pajama pants, looking at her with his trademark frown on his lips.
Smiling a little, she patted her lap—an invitation for him to sit on it. He immediately scowled with that are you crazy look he often gave her. She frowned now, and pat it again. After a long staring competition, he finally gave in and sat on her lap, although on the very edge, and very cautiously.
"What do you want?" he asked lazily when her arms snaked around his waist and pulled him closer to her. "I'm not your teddy bear."
She pressed her face to the back of his shoulder. "Sing for me, Soul."
His answer was immediate. "No."
She knew that it was probably a big request for him. Singing was something he kept to himself; one of the few things about him that she wasn't familiar with. "If it makes you feel better," she said, voice muffled by his shoulder, "you should sing."
"Who said I was feeling unhappy?" His tone was curt now.
"You're worried about the insanity. The devil." Her hold around him tightened—her way of telling him that she was there for him. "You're so worried you can't even sleep properly." He remained silent. "You can talk to me, Soul. You know that."
His shoulders rose and fell with a small sigh. "I know." But he didn't want her to worry. She could hear his unspoken words.
"We're partners, remember? Whatever it is, we'll get through it together."
She saw him bow his head a little as he grinned. "Yeah." And after a moment, he began to sing.
Maka laced their fingers together, and smiled softly into his shoulder.
As fate would have it, they met again.
It'd been five years since Soul had become a death scythe, forever bound to Shinigami's orders. It'd been five years since Maka left Shibusen to travel the world like her mother; visit the other branches scattered across the globe and learn about the different teaching methods and technicians and weapons everywhere.
She didn't doubt for a moment—and neither did he, she was sure—that they were going to be separated forever. Because that was impossible. A technician and weapon was bound for life.
Maka was called back due to the fact that through some abnormality, Soul and Shinigami's souls weren't able to resonate. She was supposed to return to attempt resonating with Soul and see if it worked, and help figure out what the problem was if there was no problem with it.
It was hard to fight the painfully wide smile stretched across her lips. "You've grown," she said fondly. "I think you're taller than me now."
"Heh." He grinned proudly. "I've always been taller than you."
"We were the same height!"
"Because I was always slouching."
"You're slouching now," she pointed out.
"And I'm still taller than you. I think you shrunk."
She punched his arm lightly, and after a moment of silence, they burst into a small fit of laughter. She pulled him into a hug, taking her time with withdrawing. "It's nice seeing you again," she told him earnestly.
And as they made their way to their usual training area; a clearing within the small forest, Maka linked her arm with Soul and the bounce in her walk increased a little.
She could feel the strings of fate continuously pulling them together, and she was sure he could, too.
The day they got together was more of an unfortunate accident.
"Hey, Soul, what's your ideal girlfriend?" she had asked as they were making breakfast together.
He didn't even think before answering. "She has to have a big chest, of course. And she has to be beautiful." He paused. "Did I mention she has to have a big chest?" She glared at him as he grinned, knowing that he was just rubbing in her face that she was flat.
"You're always complaining about my lack of chest," she muttered, cracking another egg exasperatedly. "Well, sorry I'm not like Blaire."
"She has to be older too," Soul continued, voice thick with mock longing. "And experienced in bed. Rich."
Maka rolled her eyes and decided to be mature and ignore him. If that was how he wanted to act, then fine. She'd eat this huge omelette by herself somehow; she wasn't sharing it with Soul anymore. She even added smoked salmon in it just for him, even though she didn't like it. He loved it.
It had to eventually get a little frustrating when he didn't receive the hints she sent him. Either he was really oblivious, or he was too cool to care.
"Heh." She avoided his gaze as she placed the large omelette onto a plate. "You're upset."
"Obviously," she said, turning away from him, looking for Blaire to share the breakfast with. "Being your technician, I have to worry about your well-being. What happens when you're deceived by some large-breasted woman who only used you for—well, I don't know—what if she had some sort of scythe fetish?" She crossed her arms.
"You mean used me for my good looks?"
"What good looks?"
"Obviously the good looks that you can't see." She heard Soul sigh. "I'm so unlucky, to be paired with a technician like you. I wish I had someone like Tsubaki."
Angry now, she spun on the soles of her feet to face him, scowling. "Considering how long we've been working together for, I thought you'd get used to it," she snapped. "After all, we've been through so much together, and actually, I…" She stopped suddenly, choking on her words.
Soul must've been in a really sadistic mood, because his teasing didn't stop. "You what?" he taunted.
"I…I actually…" She swallowed. No way she was telling him. Breathing in deeply to calm down, she turned away and decided to go outside to let out some steam.
"Just what I thought," she heard Soul say. "Flat women can't do anything on their own."
She stopped in her tracks, not sure of what to do. Strangle him, stalk out, or…?
Right now, strangling him seemed like a very tempting prospect.
"Or are you just afraid?" she asked quietly. She was met with silence. "Are you just afraid of taking what you want, so instead, you pretend like you don't need anything?" Her hands clenched into fists, because she knew she was right, and she was angry to have fallen for such a stupid person.
"What are you trying to say?" His voice was just as low as hers.
"What I'm saying is…you've liked me for the longest time…" She actually felt like crying. "And you knew I liked you back…and you never did anything about it…!" They had so much potential—they could be amazing—and he'd rather stay cool than take a step forward.
His voice was a little defiant. "I can't do anything about it, can I? It's so troublesome."
"Soul…" She took a calm, even breath. "You're so stupid." Making sure not to make eye contact when she turned around to face him again, she stalked towards him, locked her arms around his neck and yanked him towards her so their mouths crashed together.
Yeah. It was an unfortunate accident. Nothing but.