Okay, so I'm a little uncertain about this. It's my first Soul Eater fic, and just generally my first fic in a very long time. I'm not even sure if I'm entirely satisfied with it, but what the heck right? Anyway, I hope it's relatively entertaining…
Anyway, Disclaimer is a given, otherwise I'd be cool as fuck.
His name was Eric, and he was nice and intelligent and chivalrous. A complete bore, if you asked Soul. Unfortunately, he grumbled to himself as he glared at them out of the corner of his eyes, Maka didn't seem to think so.
The two of them were sitting on a bench in the opposite end of the schoolyard, talking about god-knew-what. And she was smiling and touching her hair and Soul didn't know that Maka even knew that such a thing as flirting existed before know. It made him sick to his stomach to see her sitting there, all innocent-looking in her tidy school-girl outfit, her hair for once not in practical pigtails (Soul liked the pigtails), but braided to hang elegantly over her left shoulder, a couple of carefully selected strands hanging loose and framing her face (he knew they weren't coincidental damn it, this was Maka).
"If you glare any harder, your eyes'll pop out" someone commented, and he looked up at Tsubaki, who was sitting opposite him with an annoyingly knowing smile curving her lips.
"'m not glaring" he mumbled, though the denial was futile, seeing as he'd barely done anything but since that stupid wuss started chatting up his Meister four days ago at a local bar. He, Black Star and Patty had won the rights to choose the entire team's Friday night activity, after winning a basketball game. And of course they'd opted for going out and getting drunk, because it was the weekend and they never had time to do these things. Maka had, to everyone's surprise (and his secret delight), agreed to participate in the event, on the condition that there be opportunities for dancing, and that he dance with her (he'd grumpily agreed, though his heart had been running a marathon at the prospect).
She'd looked exceptionally nice that evening, he'd thought, her small dark-blue skirt swishing across her thighs when she walked, her loose, white shirt just transparent enough to show of her slim waist. They'd gone to a popular bar in Death City, the kind that had a dance-floor- as requested (or rather demanded) by Maka- but still allowed the customers peace and space enough to skilfully chat up people. Soul had liked the place, actually going as far as to compliment the interior. It had seemed like the evening was going to be great.
It had gone well, too, for a while. They'd ordered drinks – Soul and Black Star drank beers because they were hardcore and cool- and then, when they'd finished those, ordered more drinks, their spirits rising further with each sip. He'd been brave enough (tipsy enough) to casually sling an arm around Maka's shoulders, leaning his head close to hers as they conversed, taking a special sort of pleasure in the uncontrolled and carefree (teasing, he'd thought) way she'd acted. Then she'd excused herself (probably to pay the toilet a visit), and Soul had been building up the nerve to pull her to the dance floor. That's when he showed up. Eric. The name left a sour taste in Soul's mind. That- that sleaze had caught up to Maka as she'd been making her way back to their table across the crowded room. Soul had looked up just in time to catch the black-haired boy gently stopping her, a (stupid, sleazy, dumb) smile on his face as he asked her something Soul couldn't hear. She'd blinked at him, a confused look on her face, before answering him. The boy had gestured towards their table (and Soul) while saying something, an uncertain look on his face. Whatever it was, it'd made Maka blush and shake her head aggressively, which the boy, for whatever reason, seemed to find relieving. A second later he'd held out his hand, asking yet another question Soul couldn't hear. What he could do, however, was watch Maka tentatively place her hand in the boy's and let him lead her to the dance floor (he'd told himself that the anger rising in his chest wasn't really anger, but concern for his Meister's safety). For a while, Soul ignored them (or tried to), chucking down a couple of beers, and chatting with friends and acquaintances from the academy. He held out for almost an entire stubborn hour before he glanced in their direction, and promptly froze in the middle of a sentence. Because Maka and they boy were very very close and he could be saying any number of horrible things and oh god was he trying to kiss her? Abandoning his friends, Soul made his way across the dance floor, red eyes flashing.
"Hey" he said when he reached them, his voice strained. They seemed not to hear him over the sound of the bass drumming from the speakers.
"Hey" he repeated a little more forcefully, thankfully catching Maka's attention, her green eyes (eyes that seemed infinitesimally darker in the sparsely lit room) rising to look at him questionably.
"I-uh- it's time to go home," he stated. It was getting late, and anyway, Maka liked getting at least eight hours of sleep before she got up (and she always got up before nine on Saturdays, crazy woman).
She blinked at him, seeming taken aback (it was surprising– he was always the one begging for an extra hour, and she was always the one maka-chopping him and dragging him home).
"Right now?" she asked, her tone making it abundantly clear that she did not, in fact, want to go home. Soul ignored this, opting instead for crossing his arms and glaring at her, until she sighed in what he considered defeat, and looked back up at the black-haired boy who'd waited patiently (annoying bugger) while they fought out their glaring-match.
"I'll, uh, see you tomorrow Eric?" Maka asked, and – god-help-him she was blushing.
"Yeah. I'll give you a call," Eric (Soul hated that name) answered. Soul, who just about had enough of those two being anywhere within fifty miles of each other, silently vowed to accidently drop her phone into a boiling pot the following day, deciding mentally that the few dozen Maka-chops and unavoidable yelling would be worth it. Satisfied that this would put a stopper to whatever might have the potential of beginning between his Meister and that sleaze Eric, he started to turn around to leave – but not quickly enough. Eric leaned down and pecked Maka on the lips. It was no more than that. Just a soft peck on the lips, before he smiled at her and disappeared in the dancing crowd, likely to find his undoubtedly stupid, smarmy, dumb friends.
Later, Soul'd wish he'd followed the guy and given him a taste of his fist. Later he'd wish that he'd gone to find the two of them before they started talking. Later, he'd wish that he'd asked her to dance much earlier in the evening. As it was at the moment though, he stood frozen, staring at Maka, and her soft-looking pink lips, which were slightly parted in shock.
He was frozen out of his stupor when Maka, who'd been as still as him immediately following the… incident (the thought of it made his teeth grind together), tugged at his shirt and pulled him towards the exit.
"What was that?" he asked forcibly when they entered the street, the chilly night-air and relative silence of Death City making the noisy, crowded bar seem like a (bad, evil, black-blood induced) dream.
"That," Maka said, her voice dreamy and light, "was Eric. He's a transfer from England-" her eyes glazed over a bit at this, and Soul couldn't help but notice the soft smile on her lips, and it was so surreal because Maka was many things, but she was rarely soft (at least, not with anyone but him)- "and he's really nice. He's a weapon, like you Soul!"
She smiled happily at him, and it was all he could do not to start yelling profanities. Another weapon had kissed his Meister.
"Is that so?" he ground out between clenched teeth. Maka, for once not seeming to notice that something was wrong, nodded, an excited look in her eyes.
"Yes! He's training to become a death scythe too, you know. Oh, and Soul, he's so nice and chivalrous and intelligent. He's been to so many places and seen and experienced so much! Oh -and get this" she grinned, a grin that was normally infectious, but at that moment filled him with dread, "he asked me on a date!"
Soul stopped dead in his tracks, staring at Maka, who was currently looking at him with big excited eyes, and basically bouncing on her feet, evidently expecting him to be excited about the prospect of her going on a date with some idiot.
"What?" he asked in a flat voice, the urge to run back and strangle the boy- Eric- suddenly so overwhelmingly strong that he'd no doubt that he would've done exactly that if Maka hadn't been standing in front of him. It seemed, though, that it was slowly dawning on her that, no, he was decidedly not excited about her date.
"Aren't you excited for me, Soul?" she asked, a frown starting to etch its' way onto her forehead.
"Excited!? Why would I be excited?" he all but yelled, before realizing that, crap, yelling made it pretty damn obvious, "I mean" he amended, quickly backtracking, "why would anyone want to go out with a flat-chest like you?"
He watched her face fall, the look in her eyes going from a mixture of excited and concerned, to hurt. It was enough to almost make him tell the truth, but he didn't get the chance before her purse came flying at him in the best Maka-chop she could dish out without a book. For a minute she looked like she was about to say something, her eyes burning with rage, her cheeks flushed. Then she turned on her heel and stomped away from him as quickly as she could, while making it very clear that he were not to follow her.
The door to her room was closed when he came home, and she'd left when he woke up the next morning. He'd regretted his actions for a second, until he remembered that she'd probably left to go on a date with Eric, and then he got angry all over again. They spent the rest of the weekend ignoring each other – she pretending not to notice that he was constantly glaring in her direction, he pretending not to notice that she left the house several times during the day (presumably to meet up with Eric).
And now he was sitting with Black Star, Tsubaki, Kid and the Thompsons at a table in the academy's yard, and Maka was sitting with the stupid English transfer student on a bench in the opposite end of it, and she was flirting. Soul wasn't stupid. He knew he was jealous – he'd discovered his love for his hot-headed, good-hearted, stubborn Meister a long time ago, and had refused to act upon it for a long time, out of fear that it might ruin the bond between them (and, admittedly, fear that she might reject him, might not reciprocate his feelings). He'd thought there might be something more than friendship and partnership between them lately, though. He'd dared take some careful steps in that direction, dancing close the line between friendship and something not-quite-friendship.
But now stupid Eric had come along, and Soul kinda wished he'd made a more progressive move earlier – asked her on a date, kissed her, confessed his feelings; anything that'd might've ended with him being the one she was currently smiling sweetly at, and not that stupid Eric, whose brains Soul yarned to bash in.
Yeah Soul was jealous. He wanted Maka, his partner, his Meister, to want him, too. He wanted to fight for her. And he had no fucking clue about how to play this.
He was miserably pondering this, when an idea suddenly struck him. It was so brilliant and so obvious and he didn't know why he'd hadn't thought of it before. A grin slowly made its' way onto his face. Who better to help him get a girl, than the girl's female friend?
"Hey Tsubaki," he started, leaning conspiratorially over the table, "I was wondering if you could help me with something…"
Phew. First chapter's finished! I don't even know how it turned multi-chapter, or even how it went beyond two pages. Welp, that Danish essay is seriously not going to be written today, I know that much at least.
Reviews are better than cookies!