A/N: Sappy little cliché fic, written completely on the spot after listening to this song for the trillionth time. Be warned: I have no idea what this is going to turn into and it's late and yeah.
You're a part-time lover
and a full-time friend
I don't see what anyone can see in anyone else
~Anyone Else But You, The Moldy Peaches
Stealing glances at his companion, he exasperatedly scribbled down anything and everything that drifted through his mind. The granite of his pencil scratched in frustration along the blue-printed lines, curving into letters that mixed into unsure words. He hastily crossed out the sentence he'd just completed in his fear of incompetence, and then, soon enough, his whole paper was dented with the marks of his failure.
Why was it so much easier to write sentimental prose down when it involved music?
In any case, this was going nowhere. Poetry was just not his forte. For starters, his handwriting was downright atrocious. It was like chicken-scratch if the chicken were dying or drunk or illiterate. Not to mention the fact that his vocabulary was about as expansive as his pinkie finger. Your smile is shaped like a banana and it's cool was revolting even to him.
It was completely her fault he was in this position in the first place. He wouldn't have to be stressing over this stupid task if she wasn't the one who'd assigned it. And she really did take his teases and insults too seriously sometimes.
"What? I was just joking!"
"Telling me how 'no person in their right mind' would want to spend spring break with me because I'd just make them clean and study all the time right in front of everyone wasn't funny, Soul. Apologize!"
"What? No way! Jeez, you're taking this way too hard, Maka."
"See? You couldn't say a nice thing about me even if you tried!"
"'Scuse me? I tell you that you're a great partner! You want more?"
"Informing me that I'm reliable at killing demons isn't exactly a good, proper compliment, Soul."
"Well, what do you want me to say? Maka, you are the smartest nerd I know. There."
"What? How is calling me a nerd a compliment?"
"But you are a nerd- Hey, where're you going? Bike's this way!"
"I'm aware. I'm walking home."
"Oh, come on-"
"Until you gather up some friggin' courage and think of a nice thing to say about me, then I won't speak to you!
And she didn't. She didn't speak a word to him for days. Soul was positive that if stubbornness could kill, they'd've had no problem at all with kishins for the rest of eternity. Maka went about her business as usual, made her own dinner, did her own wash, and retreated to the library during breaks. After the first day, Soul realized he'd actually have to think of something to say to her before their partnership disintegrated. He couldn't take himself seriously, though. The words he'd find himself writing down were whimsical and stupid. He'd done everything from comparing her to the shine on a brand new motorcycle to saying that pigtails were cool he guesses to Please cook dinner for me again, I'm so hungry and I suck at it.
From the corner of his eye, Soul caught Maka casting a glance at his paper. He hurriedly through his arms into a barrier over it to prevent her from peeking, and Maka gave him a suspicious look before whipping back to her own notes. Just like elementary school.
Soul sighed and slumped his head into his hand, his elbow propping him up on the table. He was at an utter loss.
At this point, he just wanted Maka back. He hated when she ignored him. He'd become accustomed to her whines and nags. There was just this awkward void in the air without them. But really, it was everything else he truly missed. He missed her humming a terrible song around the house; he missed the way she'd eagerly kick off her shoes when arriving home after a long day of training. He wanted back the casual smile she'd wear when it was just the two of them at their place, the listless content she'd have by skimming through a book or studying. He used to try and catch her attention by immaturely waving his hands in her face and sticking his tongue out at her, but she was resilient to his efforts. He'd learned the hard and embarrassing way that she wasn't ticklish either. Until Soul would succumb and give her what she wanted, he was stuck.
He glimpsed at his paper. It was pathetic. Aesthetically ugly sentences plastered on the page made him loose even more hope. She would never be impressed by anything he could think up.
The humiliating thing was that Soul could think of a hundred things he appreciated about Maka, a thousand things about her that made him grin just at the thought. The fact that everyone tried to convince her to wear her hair down because it looked good that way yet she'd never fail to string it up into two perfect pigtails; the way she gets frustrated at herself when she puts the milk in the bowl before her cereal because that's not how it's supposed to be; the fact that she still possessed a phone book because her trust in anything electronic was puny; the way she holds in a childish "yippee", evident through her translucent eyes, when receiving word she, yet again, placed top in the class; her preference of raspberry jelly and banana slices on her toast; her determination to learn the ukulele and the way that determination dissolved in a matter of hours; the hint of drool on her face when she sleeps; her sniffing, tear-stained, puffy face after watching Homeward Bound for the thirty-third time; the fact that she spent nearly an hour explaining to him why unicorns were preferable over dragons (they're good luck and they're piss wouldn't burn everything it touches); the way she flips her shit if heaven forbid a cockroach sneaks into her room; the fact that she never even attempted to draw anything in her life other than stick figures-
Why was the obvious route only presenting itself to him now? In two seconds, he'd whipped out a fresh sheet of lined paper and began his mission.
"Maka!" Maka turned to see Soul running after her, seemingly out of breath. She opened her mouth to respond, but then snapped it shut and stretched on her stubborn face. She pivoted on her heel, nose turned up in the air, and continued walking away from Soul. Her pace was calm and steady, and she was in no way trying to prevent the weapon from reaching her. This was just a point she had to make.
"Maka, wait up!" Of course, knowing him, Soul probably knew Maka well enough to know she'd not slow for him. Still, he called her, and still she continued. In a moment, Soul's huffs had caught up with her and he stepped in front of her to prevent her from escaping. Maka remained, staring at him expectantly as he caught his breath. His body slouched over itself, his bent knees supporting the pillars of arms he hoisted himself up on. In his right hand was a piece of wide-ruled paper, folded up. Was that what he was writing in class? Before she could make a motion to him, he thrusted the paper up into her face. "Here," he huffed. "Take it."
Maka grudgingly accepted the paper. Skeptical, she unfolded it, staring down hard at its contents.
Her stare softened considerably when she saw a figure on the paper. With pigtails. Smiling. Wearing a plaid skirt and holding, in both hands, a very cheerful-looking scythe. The figure appeared to be standing in a field with flowers and sunshine. On the bottom, written in Soul's very distinguishable handwriting, were three words: "I miss Maka." "Turn it around," Soul requested in a wheeze, and she did. On the back was a bullet list- a very expansive one, at that- that reached down from the first to last line and then rounded back up to the top, starting again in the middle of the page instead of beside the margin. "It's a list. Of all the reasons why you're the coolest meister ever." Maka read every word. She laughed softly when she read "you are the only person I know who listens to every electro song that comes up on shuffle" and blushed when she saw he wrote "I like your pigtails. You wouldn't be Maka to me if you never had them." She stood there, absent from all the other people passing by, reading every bullet on that list. And there were fifty-three bullets. Fifty-three.
"Fifty-three..." she whispered, incredulous, rereading it again for the third time.
"Yeah," Soul replied, nervously scratching the back of his head, recovered. "Well, I mean, that was all I could fit on the page..." He looked up at her face, which was completely stoic and dumbfounded. "So...you...like it?" He felt like an idiot for asking. It was a picture- a really shitty one at that- and random things he liked about her scribbled down on lined paper. Yet he looked up at her for an answer anyways. Her eye contact didn't break when she opened her mouth.
Her voice sounded so damn touched. "I'm sorry, Maka," he squeaked. "I mean, for this, and for-"
And suddenly, he'd been pulled into a bear hug.
It was tight. It was a bone-crushing, emotion-filled, unrelieved hug that made his ribs shift out of position. "M-Maka, you're..." crushing me, was how he would've finished that sentence. But instead, he found her touch to be something he didn't want her to let up on. Her nose was affectionately pressed into the flesh of his neck, her cheek grazing his chin. Her hands clutched his shoulders. Soul breathed through his nose and was filled with the scent of her warm vanilla conditioner, a scent that made him feel completely at home. He wanted desperately to bury his face in her hair, but he chose to let her hold him. And he, in turn, held her. They couldn't stay mad at each other for very long, anyways. Though she was undeniably and existentially stubborn, able to hold a grudge for as long as she wanted, no matter how stupid the reason, without the vaguest hint of cracking, after Soul offered her a sincere apology, all motivation in her vanished. Her resolve vaporized. She looked at him and saw her best friend and companion, the person she trusted and relied on most in the world. One look into his eyes blanked out every nasty feeling in her system, and she forgave him. No matter how hard she tried to pretend she would always be unforgiving towards him for it.
"Because, you know," he started, mumbling into her ear. "A picture's worth a thousand words. Except if you have the artistic capabilities of a tree."
Maka couldn't suppress the bubbling laugh in her throat.
A/N: . Do you guys even read this shit? Bwaha. Ha. Eheheh. Ehhh *vomits*
Oh goodness, I actually really don't like this fic. Like any hardcore shipper, I would've wanted Soul to yell at Maka for not talking to him and for Maka to just sit there and not say a word and then have Soul scream, All right, you want to know all the reasons I love you? And then list them.
But I'm lazy as fuck, guys, really. And it's like one in the morning, so, goodnight to you all~