Title: Imperfections

Pairing: KiddMaka

Summary: Because nobody is not a sinner. Not even them.// Seven Deadly Sins, KiddMaka

I own nothing.


He has always told himself he has reasons to be proud.

Why, it is impossible for him to fear death, for you cannot fear yourself – because he is the embodiment of Death itself, son of the most powerful beings on the planet. He is practically immortal. He was handsome and strong from the very beginning, admired by many. This, alone, should give him enough reason to be proud.

But it doesn't.

Because he has another, greater reason to be proud – it's because he has her by her side, her in all her perfect angelic symmetry, in all her brutal strength. He boasts about the fact that they are a couple, just because he loves her and he is proud – not just of her, but of himself as well. It's the fact that she is his love that keeps his pride going.

She is his, and no one else's, and that is enough to keep him from being humble.

(And it's not as if she doesn't take pride in their relationship either.)


He envies Soul so much – having her all to himself as her weapon. From the beginning it had been the two of them: meister and weapon, master and servant: a united front against the world. He envied their close relationship and the fact that she would confide in Soul and not in him. He hates the fact that Soul, in all his disgusting asymmetry, is this close to her, a level which took almost-symmetrical him (stupid Sanzu lines) ages to achieve.

He envies it so much it's maddening.

(But he doesn't know that she envies Patti and Liz as well.)


"What are you doing?"

She barely can sense the rage, the fury in his voice as she lies on the ground, hands trembling, on the brink of unconsciousness. But it is there. And he asks God – if there is one, that is – why did Soul not be with her now, when she needed him?

"What?" the men ask, obvious sneers on their faces, cracking the knuckles on their hands. Their dirty, filthy, lustful hands. He wants to tear each one of their dirty fingers off one by one for what they almost did to her.

"What do you mean what?" he demands, authority present in his voice.

"Hey, hey, cool it, prissy," one of the men sneers. "We was just havin' a little fun."

"Fun?" he replies, the rage and anger growing. "I'll show you what I do to have fun!"

The resulting crime scene is horrible, there is blood everywhere. When Tsubaki tells her about it she is disgusted, and he is indifferent.

(But, she tells him later, she secretly admired him for it. And it's not like she hasn't killed before.)


He will not lie (at least he is honest, if anything) when he says he is greedy. He will be perfectly honest when he says he wants money – more, if possible – and power – everything, if possible. It's not that he seeks to rule the world, though – okay, scratch that, he does.

But if he will continue to lust for money and power, at least she is there to lust with him.

(Because she is greedy as well.)


"You eat too much," he tells her, looking over her shoulder.

"So?" she replies. "And whafgsf aghsdhr?" she adds through a mouthful of potato chips.

He raises an eyebrow, holding back the disgust. After all, it is her. "Don't abuse the English language," he sighs. She doesn't stop eating.

"If you eat too much, you'll become fat," he says, and when it obviously doesn't deter her, he adds, "and unsymmetrical," stressing the last word.

She drops the bag of chips suddenly, and laughs. "Of course. Why would I want to be?"

And he laughs with her.

(And then he reaches over and snatches a handful of chips from the bag.)


He adores her, of course. She is his perfect angelic goddess: in all her symmetry she is beautiful and hardworking. But even people like her have their lazy days.

"Get off the couch," he tells her, "You have research to do today. And all that paperwork!"

She turns to look at him, a befittingly childish smile gracing her features. "Why?" she asks. "Can't I just sit back and relax for once?" She takes the bubble blower's stick to her mouth and blows. "Look at them!" she exclaims. "So pretty~"

And suddenly she turns to him. "Here," she says. "Try."

Worthless, he thinks, but he accepts it anyway just to humor her. He dips the stick into the bubbly, sticky liquid, and blows.

She marvels at the perfect glass-like spheres that rise up and float towards the ceiling. "You're good," she observes.

He wants to say, of course I'm good. But nobody ever stopped him.

"Of course I'm good," he smirks, kissing her. "Let's take the day off, shall we?"

(Because we all are such hypocrites.)


"Do I look okay?" she asks him one night, when his father is hosting a dinner party and of course she is invited. "Is my makeup on all right?" She is stunning in her dark blue evening gown and heels, and Tsubaki has done her hair wonderfully – she knows it and it is her face she is worried about.

He scrutinizes her face for a few long moments, and finally replies, "Your lipstick is off. And so is your eyeshadow." Her face falls and he steps across from the sofa to help her correct it, when suddenly his lips meet hers she kisses back and they tumble back into each other, young and unaware of the consequences.

But it doesn't matter.

Because when they wake up in the morning, with the soiled sheets and warm bed, dinner party long forgotten, they will know that they love each other.

And that's enough.

Fail drabbles are fail.

Oh, well. Review~