Ever notice how you can hear emotions in people's voices?
Like the happiness in a little boy's squeals coming downstairs to find a pile of presents under a bright, shiny Christmas tree, or the jealousy in a girl's spiteful hisses when she finds the boy she likes talking with another girl, or the anger in a certain meister's yells when she finds out that her partner burned dinner for the umpteenth time because of their forgetfulness.
When Maka heard the screams echoing in the apartment, she heard fear and sadness and worry and all those unwanted, scary emotions. The screams were coming from Soul's bedroom, no doubt. This isn't the first time his night terrors had interrupted what would have been a peaceful night of sleep.
Another yell pierced the late-night quiet. It wasn't a pleasant thing to hear, especially from someone like Soul, but Maka heard them often enough to recognize what was happening and what she needed to do.
She got out of bed, clad in her green-striped pajamas, and grabbed a mug and a hot chocolate mix packet on her way to his room. Stirring the now-steaming drink, she opened his door and walked in.
The death scythe was laying in a trembling ball on his bed, no longer letting out those gut-wrenching screams but instead emitting whimpering sobs like a puppy who had just gotten kicked and left on the side of the road. His hands were clenched, his body a tangled, sweaty, and shaking mess with the blankets all askew.
Maka set down the hot chocolate on the bedside table and focused in on his soul wavelength. It was jumpy and erratic, filled with worry and dread. She opened her eyes, now focusing on the boy himself.
"Soul," she said, putting a hand on his shoulder.
Without thinking, he sat bolt upright and his arm transformed to defend himself from this unknown being. Maka dodged the point and said louder, "Soul."
He swallowed, breathing heavily and looking around the dark room for her voice. Realizing there was no intruder, but in fact his meister, he turned his arm back.
"I woke you up again," he blurted, his voice hoarse. His cheeks burned from embarrassment. Damn… not again. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" The words were panicked.
Oh, God, please tell me I didn't hurt her.
The very thought of himself running his partner through with his sharp blade made him want to start screaming all over again.
Maka handed him the mug without a word and he took it gratefully. The sweet, creamy liquid soothed his throat.
Hot chocolate was his comfort and savior. When he was a kid, it was one of the easiest things to make when his parents were out with Wes or whatever, so he ended up making it for himself a lot. It wasn't as filling as pizza or a sandwich, but it was quick and hot and as a small child (and even now) he liked the little white marshmallows that floated on the top. Every time he had a nightmare, Maka would give him some. For some reason, it helped. Nostalgia or something.
When Soul had told her this, she locked in her mind. It wasn't really a secret, but it was a meaningful piece of his past, and that stuff was rarely talked about, so she thought of it as a tiny part of him that he let her keep.
"What was it this time?" she asked quietly.
His gaze fell to the floor.
Maka felt bad for prying. She knew he doesn't like talking about them. Even if it might help if he did.
"Just… things." He took another sip.
"Oh." She dropped it. If he didn't want to talk, he didn't want to talk. Soul was stubborn, and she doubted this would be any different.
He drained the cup and put it down, hiccuping from drinking so quickly.
Maka smiled gently and took the empty container. "So is everything all right? I'm going to go back to bed."
"Um…" He played with the hem of his blanket. "Actually, if you don't mind, could you maybe stay here?"
"Yeah, of course I can." She put the cup back down and got in bed beside him, slipping the covers over herself. She placed her warm body close to his and felt his tensed muscles relax at her touch. Spooning usually went the other way around, but when Soul was the big spoon, it was because Maka was having nightmares, and those didn't happen as often as his.
Soul hated his night terrors. He felt scared and vulnerable when they came, and they came a lot, unannounced. Almost every night they made an appearance. They ranged from gruesome scenes of him and his friends' deaths, flashbacks of past battles, and he himself hurting and even murdering the people he cared about.
He also hated how uncool they made him feel. What guy wakes up crying in the middle of the night? Nobody he knew.
But he was powerless against them. More times than not, he would cry out with tears streaming down his cheeks. Blubbering like a baby was definitely not good for his bad boy image.
It was times like this that he really appreciated how cool Maka was about these things. She wasn't one to tattle. No one else besides her knew about what happened to him after dark. Plus, she made some awesome hot chocolate, even if it was just from a mix.
He sighed deeply as she wrapped her arms tighter around him, burying her nose into his shoulder. It was funny; how she made him feel so safe. So at home. It was better than a security blanket or a teddy bear. Way better.
Finally calming down, Soul closed his exhausted eyes and touched his forehead to his meister's as a soundless thank you. He felt her hum softly through the fabric of his shirt.
For the remainder of the night, he didn't have any dreams.