author's notes

Was inspired by a little SE pic I saw on Tumblr that I'd never seen before (and trust me, from my days of prowling Photobucket, I've seen a lot). In it, Soul and Maka were dressed up to go out and he was helping her do her hair while she sat on a chair, laughing. It reminded me of this time my ex told me he'd style my hair for me when we got the chance … Unfortunately, we never did, which sucks 'cause he did his own hair pretty well LOL.

This takes place some time after the anime ends. No plot spoilers, other than one small saying that comes up in passing.

Also, huuuuuuuuge shoutout to my fellow rabid fangirl Katokat and to my boyfriend who is practically the Soul Eater Evans in my life! Without their ideas and inspiration, this would probably still be sitting in my drafts folder after another year of writer's block. THANK YOU!

Okay, on with the show and enjoy.

Crimp
by Whinnie

Maka was frowning, peering confusedly at herself in the mirror over the bathroom.

At first, Soul thought nothing of this – they were going to another formal party (Kid had emphasized the word 'formal' for Black Star's sake, to no avail) and it was reasonable for a girl to want herself to be more than presentable on such an occasion. But when the snowy-haired weapon walked down the hallway for the fifth time that night and saw her do nothing but picking at her bangs, he poked his head past the doorframe and asked, "Something wrong?"

"Ah, Soul—" Maka blinked as she turned, slightly startled. Her strapless purple dress ended just above her knees, bringing attention to her bare arms and legs. It made a rustling sound as she came face to face with said weapon, who was dressed in his standard outfit for such events: white collared shirt that still hadn't been tucked in, black dress pants that touched the floor without the additional height his shoes offered, and simple black tie which he'd hastily put on just now in front of her. She sighed; even though his clothes were sure to be the exact same as other boys' at the party, there was still something very distinguishable about him from everyone else.

On the contrary, she felt so plain and yet so overdressed at the same time; her gown looked way too extravagant on her and she felt like a little girl who was playing dress up … but she didn't tell him that. Instead, looking down, Maka simply murmured, "I don't know what to do with my hair."

"What's wrong with it?" Soul blankly asked, as expected. He scooped up a small bunch of strands – hanging loose and free from their usual pigtails – for closer inspection, but upon seeing nothing noticeably out of place he glanced back up at her, confused.

"It's nothing …" she mumbled slowly, her vision moving to the clock hanging in the living room; she knew they'd better get a move on soon if they wanted to arrive on time. But she also knew, from the way her partner's eyes narrowed, that he was unsatisfied by her vague answer. She rushed on, "I just want to try something new on it! But every hairstyle I know how to do I've already done before …" Quietly she added, "I should've gone to the hairdresser's with Liz when there was still time," and hoped she wasn't being too superficial.

"Hm …" Soul frowned thoughtfully as he wrapped some of her locks around his finger. "You ever curl your hair?" he lazily suggested. Before she opened her mouth, he added in, "I don't mean just your pigtails … all of it."

"Well, no." Her eyes met the ground again, this time in slight shame. "I'm not that good at doing hair … and I've never even tried it that way before."

"Then it's settled." He broke into a grin, pulling her out of the bathroom towards the living room. "Wait on the couch," he instructed her. "I'll be right back;" then he was heading towards his room, a hurry in his step although his posture was relaxed.

"Huh?!" Maka blinked, confused. "But …" Again her eyes strayed to the time, and she hoped that Soul wasn't playing games. Letting out a small huff, she finally moved to comply with his last words and perched on the edge of the couch tentatively, before holding up one finger to her lashes and blinking to feel the mascara she had recently applied.

"It isn't enough," she thought, and made a face; the dress, the makeup … "None of it is enough to make me pretty." She sighed, thinking of her dull green eyes and drab blonde hair, knowing there was more, that physical appearance was only half of the equation – after all, looks attracted attention but personality captured the heart (or so she had heard), and neither one was going for her. Of course Maka acknowledged that she was smart, and she prided herself on that fact greatly – but she wasn't outgoing and no one was drawn very much to a simple, quiet bookworm. So even as top student in the class, there were moments when she couldn't help but want to trade some of her brains in for beauty.

This was one of those times.

Before she could continue her dismal thoughts however, she heard something clatter to the floor and be dragged across Soul's room, before the weapon himself emerged through the door, yelling, "I've got it!" with a triumphant grin.

"What the …" Maka's eyes widened at the thing in his hand as he tugged the attached power cord from off the ground before approaching her, mumbling about how he hoped it wasn't damaged; so the wire was what had previously made the noise, she silently mused. But it didn't do anything to explain how he had such an item in the first place …

"Where did you get that hair straightener from, Soul?!" the green-eyed girl demanded, ignoring his exasperated look as he slightly leaned over her to plug it into the wall behind the couch. "Did you steal it from someone? Don't tell me you took it from Liz …" She almost groaned, trying to figure out how she could return it without getting someone killed.

"Chill out, you think too much," he chuckled, flicking the portable object on before laying it on the coffee table to let it heat up. "Now," he said, placing his hands on her bare shoulders slowly, "turn around …"

"But how did you get it?" she persisted, albeit obeying him and sitting herself down to face the opposite direction.

"It's mine," he replied nonchalantly. "I brought it with me when I moved in." She whipped her head around to shoot him a disbelieving expression, only to catch his trademark smirk before he continued, "You've just never seen it before because I rarely use it."

"You … use it? For what?" Maka blinked, confused.

Soul laughed, outright this time. "To style hair, of course! What else would I use a straightener for?" He gave one last snicker before reaching for the aforementioned device.

"… Wait." She abruptly grabbed onto his outstretched arm to stop him. "You style hair?" she quietly wondered aloud, slightly surprised at just how astonished she sounded.

"Well, yeah." Ruby eyes blinked as he sheepishly scratched the back of his head with his other hand, as if to ask why it mattered so much. "Only my own though, and not too often." Now it was his turn to look at the time, and he cursed under his breath before gently turning her head back to face front, saying, "C'mon, Maka; you don't want to be late, do you? We don't have all night and this doesn't exactly take two minutes either—"

"Wait!" She practically jumped up to look at him again; her tone was urgent and she had a panicked look in her eyes. "You're seriously going to do my hair? But you just said that you've never done a girl's hair before! Girls' hairstyles are different from guys' hairstyles, you know, even if some of them look really similar! Do you even know how—"

"Maka!" Soul grabbed her hands, which she had begun to wave around to try and prove her point (not that it helped much, the scythe duly noted). She didn't resist, resulting in a relieved sigh from him, before he lowered himself to her height and soothingly told her, "I know what I'm doing, okay? Just sit still for a little bit – it won't even hurt – and I promise you'll like it. Unless—" here his voice took on a teasing note "—you want to go to the party with your hair the way it is now?"

The meister's shoulders slumped resignedly as a conflicted look settled over her face – "I know Soul means well but does he really know what he's doing? Should I take the risk? Then again, what does it matter … No one's going to look at me …" – and then she was crushing his hands in her own with as much force as she could, threatening, "You better not screw up."

Soul laughed again, squeezing her hands back affectionately so that she couldn't help a grin spread across her own face, despite still feeling as if she was making a mistake. "I wouldn't have promised if I thought I would," he assured her as she turned around once more. Maka felt him carefully pull back the hair that had spilled over her shoulders, and then she nervously waited for him to begin.

Instead she felt his breath on her ear and her back automatically stiffen as he leaned in towards her and drawled, "Hey … You trust me, right?"

"I …" She paused, images flitting through her mind – of his face above hers as he held her, dangling, from the edge of the rooftop before letting go of her pleading fingers; of her running towards him, arm outstretched, even before he had finished yelling out, "Cool guys don't cheat on their partners"; of blinking one second and then seeing blood everywhere the next as his lifeless body fell before her. Suddenly she felt as if he wasn't just asking about his fashion choices. "Of course," she whispered, closing her eyes.

"Cool." She felt him straighten up again – felt him grin obliviously to the turn her thoughts had taken – and then he set to the task, gently grabbing a small bunch of her hair and wrapping it around one part of the straightener. He worked diligently yet carefully, making sure the strands were held securely yet not tight enough to cause her discomfort. This went on for a few minutes – and in fact, he'd been so intent on what his hands were doing that he hadn't noticed how deathly quiet it'd become until Maka cleared her throat and begun to speak.

"Hey, Soul …"

"Mhm?"

A pause, then: "Do you ever wish you could be a different person?"

There was a beat of silence as he loosened his grasp on the straightener, letting newly formed curls fall into place, and inspected it before moving on to the next group of strands. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, do you ever feel, like … There are things about yourself that you want to change even though you can't?"

"Yes—" he paused, wrapping another section of hair and narrowly avoiding burning his finger in the process, before squeezing the ends of the straightener together and responding, "But doesn't everybody?"

"... I suppose," Maka murmured, uncertainty still evident in her voice.

The conversation fell silent again as Soul finished another curl, set it to one side over her shoulder, and started on the next one. By now there was a sizable group of ringlets that Maka could see in her peripheral, and although it relieved her that Soul actually knew what he was doing, it didn't help her gloomy thoughts or her dampened spirits. However, before she could brood any further, Soul slowly asked, "So, where is this all coming from?"

"Nowhere," she shot back, albeit a bit too defensively. She stopped, trying to figure out if there was a way to backtrack or if he would call her out on her bluff. The recent phrase, "You trust me, right?" echoed in her mind and she felt guilty for almost lying. There shouldn't be a reason to; this was Soul, after all. He would understand, right?

"Sometimes," she mumbled, "I wish I was a little less smarter and a bit more outgoing or better looking." She paused, wondering if he would respond, but she only felt his fingers threading through her hair so she pushed on. "I wish I had Tsubaki's natural beauty. And I wish I could be sophisticated and more fashionable like Liz! Why did I have to be born with dull droopy eyes and a flat chest and fat ankles? Why am I so plain that people mistake me for being a kid? Why did I have to be the ugly friend—?!"

"Ah, shit!" Soul suddenly hissed as the hair straightener clattered to the floor. Maka whirled around in surprise, greeted with the sight of him shaking out his burnt hand. He was still cussing even as she'd grabbed his other wrist and led him around the straightener, still on the ground, to the kitchen sink where she let cold water run over his injured appendage. "Thanks," he sighed when he finally turned the faucet off, leaning over the sink to rest.

"Are you okay?" Maka reluctantly asked. Deep inside, she wondered if she was to blame for talking too much and distracting him.

"Yeah, my hand's alright." She let out a small sigh of relief. "With everything you just said though?" He gave a short laugh and she wanted to flinch at the slight edge in his voice, especially when he looked up at her with a dead serious face and said, "Maka, I think I'm the last person you should be saying these things to."

"Wh-what?!" Fear of embarrassment and rejection was pushed aside to make room for anger as she yelled back, "Just what the hell is that supposed to mean?!"

Soul's tone softened a bit. "I'm your partner. There's no way I'm going to remain silent while you beat yourself up over things that you can't change." He paused, as if carefully choosing his next words. "I've said it once and I'll say it again, because I'm pretty sure you didn't hear it the first time: Maka, you're amazing. And you shouldn't let little flaws blind you to that fact."

"I …" Maka blinked furiously, although all of the anger was already gone and quickly being replaced by a pink blush on her cheeks. "I definitely didn't hear that the first time …" she muttered, lowering her head and hoping Soul wouldn't notice her embarrassment.

He chuckled, moving forward to ruffle her hair, but then decided against ruining his hard work and settled with patting her on the head instead. "Well, you are a little bit clueless," he pointed out half-jokingly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she muttered, still averting her eyes from his gaze and wondering if she could be anymore mortified.

He laughed again, longer and lighter this time. "There are a lot of people in school who look up to you," he said. "And a lot of people – especially of the male gender – who look at you," he added in a bit darkly.

"… Oh," she mumbled, realizing what he was hinting at but wondering if he was maybe exaggerating.

He patted her head absentmindedly one last time before turning her around and guiding her back towards the living room. "Come on, I'm almost done," he said when she began to protest. "And my hand's fine."

"Okay, okay," Maka conceded, realizing that she would look pretty silly coming to the party with half her hair done. She sighed softly, reminded again of her initial dark thoughts and not completely convinced by Soul's words.

It was silent for a minute as Soul got back to curling hair like nothing had happened, but then he spoke up slowly. "You know, when I was younger, I used to wish that I'd been born right."

"Born right?" Maka repeated cautiously yet curiously, resisting the urge to turn around to look at him.

"Yeah," he murmured. Concentrating on not hurting himself again, he told her in a faraway voice, "I'd always wonder why I couldn't be more like Wes and make music that sounded nice and happy and not twisted. Sometimes I'd even think that it was because I was born with red eyes and abnormally sharp teeth, and I'd want so badly to get rid of those too. It wasn't until I moved away and came to Shibusen that I finally started to accept myself for who I really was."

"Huh," was all Maka could murmur, surprised. She'd known that Soul preferred to keep his musical talents hidden, but she'd always alluded it to the fact that he didn't like the publicity because he enjoyed keeping to himself. Nor would she have guessed that he never liked his eyes and canines, especially since he joked about them often to people who asked.

"It was because you accepted me for the way I was," he added in nonchalantly, and this time she couldn't stop herself from turning and looking up at him. He blinked, holding her gaze, before saying, "Turn back around, I'm almost finished," and gently nudging her to face forward again.

As Soul wrapped the last strands of hair around the straightener, he went on, "Also, I take back what I said earlier about being the last person you should talk to about this." He squeezed the ends together so the heating pads made contact with the hair in between. "I want to be the first, because I want to hear all the things you feel insecure about so I can tell you that you're wrong." He loosened his hold on the straightener, letting go of the newly formed curl. "And in return, I'll let you know all of mine, okay?"

"Yeah," Maka agreed softly.

"After all, everyone has insecurities, but not everyone is fortunate enough to have someone to trust them with." Soul gave the curl a small tug, watching it bounce with new vigor, and then he announced with a smile, "There. Done."

"Thanks," Maka breathed out, reaching up tentatively to feel her new hair. The ringlets were still warm and she lowered her eyes to bask in the new silky look they seemed to give off. Before she could change her mind, she rose from her spot, walked into the bathroom, and stopped in front of the mirror.

Soul lingered behind, taking his time with unplugging the hair straightener before following in her footsteps. "What do you think?" he asked a bit nervously, meeting her eyes in the mirror while hoping he hadn't messed up too badly.

The biggest smile bloomed on Maka's face as she turned towards him. "Thank you," she repeated, clearly so that there was no question about it. She took a step towards him and leaned in, and then before he knew it, her lips were brushing up gently against his cheek.

By the time he had remembered to breathe again, she was gone.

Despite her initial reservations, Maka had a great time at the party. Her hair and outfit received many compliments, and every time she was reminded of her curls she felt renewed. Although she spent lots of time dancing with the girls, she would always find Soul in the crowd and exchange a smile with him.

Later on, she would come across photos of the night taken by Shinigami-sama, who had been eager to try out his new camera and had designated himself the event's "official" photographer. One in particular caught her attention, of her and Soul shortly after they'd arrived. Surrounded by other partygoers on either side, she was yelling something – probably a bad joke – into his ear and he was laughing. They both looked really happy. She kept the image and returned to it every time she needed cheering up.

Soul confronted her about her kiss a few days later. Refusing to be a coward, she had confessed her feelings for him on the spot, convincing herself that nothing between them would change even if he didn't feel the same. Thankfully he did, admitting that he had just held them in for so long because he could never be sure she returned them. Sometimes they still bickered over the smallest things, but now she was much less reluctant in opening up to him about her fears, and every time they had another formal event to attend, he would offer to style her hair.

And she would always smile and say yes, knowing that – this time, for sure – he wasn't just asking about her fashion choices.