Recollection
by. Poisoned Scarlet
Summary: When had it gotten so serious? From watching her hit the floor with minor concern to having his heart stop when she was threatened?
Rating: K+
Genre: General/Friendship.
Pairing: Soul/Maka.
Authors Note: Ah, I think this fanfiction is so out of order but in a way it all fits. I just hope the jumbled-up parts of it don't affect any readers...reading lol. That made no sense, huh? XD
Story Notes: Takes place right after Soul get's stitched up by Professor Stein.
Disclaimer: I do not own Soul Eater.
His chest hurts.
It feels like someone is digging a knife straight through his skin, cutting deep enough to draw blood but not enough to cut the slimy sinew of muscle that coats his bones. Professor Stein has told him that the anesthesia would take a few minutes to kick in, as he is still in a delicate state, but he hadn't paid any attention to his medical jargon because there was something more important on his mind:
Maka.
When had it gotten so serious? He wonders.
He remembers when it was all detached and unimportant. He held enough trust in her to not abuse him in his scythe mode but not enough to twine souls with her. It was nice when they had both been in that state, he reminisces; friendlily detached.
Just partners.
Close enough to be naturally worried, detached enough to leave each other if things went bad.
"Soul, where are you going?" Maka asked, frowning as he walked away from her. Their practice had ended just a few seconds ago on the dot and he wasted no time leaving her side in exchange for the comfort of his own room, where he'd pick up his guitar and try out a few tunes he had been meaning to play for the last few hours now.
"Away from you?" He smartly replied, earning only a deeper frown from his meister.
"I know that," Maka growled. "What I mean is: where to?"
He shrugged. It didn't matter to her where he went to or not. He was her weapon and she was his meister – he knew he had to development some sort of bond with her but he doubted telling her where he was going every single time as if she was his mother was something meister's and weapons did on a regular basis. "I've got somewhere to be right now. Later, Maka."
"But – Soul – !"
He gave her a halfhearted wave as he walked, plugging in his earphones and ignoring her shouts as he disappeared around a corner.
He also began memorizing her likes, dislikes.
The expressions she made when she was angry; sad; happy; desperate; bored...
Music taste (he will warn you not to ask her for song choices, because they were completely horrendous), favourite dishes, favourite drinks, favourite books.
Her personal quirks interested him a lot – she has the strangest set of habits: such as tightening her pigtails every two hours, on the hour, and sitting in a straight and dignified way even though she was, honestly, far from aristocratic. Silent, but not stuck up like the people he had grown up with.
"Ew.." She whispered under her breath, holding her hand out a bit when she touched a smear of syrup leftover on her desk for some strange reason.
Soul gazed lazily at her pressed lips, the forest green eyes that flashed with nausea; the expression that flickered with disgust before recomposing again, as if nothing had happened although he could see the faint traces of green as she reluctantly held out her hand from her person. He dug into his jacket, pulling out some napkins he had stuffed into his pocket absently as they were usually necessary when he hung around Black Stare.
"Here," he said, offering them to her.
"Oh, thanks, Soul." Maka smiled gratefully, wiping away the heel of her palm with it and then her desk. She was about to give it back to him, he noticed with amusement, when she noticed they were dirty and he most likely did not want dirty napkins back in his pocket. "Er, I guess I'll go throw these away," she laughed awkwardly.
"Yeah, probably." He only grinned lopsidedly when she shot him a warning look.
But, he recalls, there has been instances when he feels his heart tug; his stomach squirm uncomfortably as a warming sensation fills his body. He had not put too much thought into it, now that he thinks about it, but that did not mean the feeling disappeared – in fact, it grew stronger.
She wasn't the simple meister he had coincidentally resonated with.
Now, she was his partner. His one and only partner.
She was his friend, someone very special and dear to him.
She was irreplaceable.
"That was beautiful!" Maka gasped from the edge of his door, jerking him back from his fantasy harshly. He nearly dropped his guitar in his shock.
"M-Maka!" He sharply turned, watching as she clutched the frame of the door tightly. "What the hell! Haven't you ever heard of knocking?"
"Sorry," she said, not sounding sorry at all. His frown deepened. "But that was really beautiful... I didn't know you could play the guitar, too..."
Soul scoffed, setting the instrument down on his bed. "Once you can play one, you can play all." He told her, raising a brow when she stayed quiet. "So, what is it? Is something wrong?"
"Oh...no, nothing." Maka looked down. "I just heard you playing a song and I came to check it out."
"Sorry." He looked away from her surprised look, out his window that offered view to the wickedly grinning crescent moon. It seemed to be laughing at him. His gaze darkened. "I didn't mean to wake you."
Soft laughter drew his attention from the demented moon, to her shaking frame. His eyes widened when they locked with her own twinkling green ones, lips threatening to twitch into a smile when she laughed out: "You didn't wake me up, idiot! You made me fall asleep!"
"Geez." He grumbled, her laughter softening the otherwise harsh blow to his ego. "It's nice to know my music makes people fall asleep..."
"I meant that in a good way."
He looked back up, fighting down his hope as she smiled warmly. "It's weird. When you began playing, I felt so at peace that I actually fell asleep without the help of sleeping pills but when you stopped..." She fidgeted. "Could you...maybe...continue playing for a bit more? It helps me fall asleep and... I'd really appreciate it if you would."
He stared at for her a moment, trying to see if she was being honest or not, and when he saw the spreading red on her face – the almost unnoticeable swallow she took – he chuckled and turned back to his guitar. "It's late. You should go to sleep or else you won't wake up for school tomorrow."
"I will – !" She began to protest but the retort stayed on the tip of her tongue when he picked up his guitar again, strumming a very soft melody that automatically made her eyes scratchy and tired.
The song sounded warmer and softer than his previous rough and detached one.
He remembers the first late battles between them and the Kishin's – the one's that really mattered because they were so close to their goal of earning 99 evil human souls. The battles had grown progressively more dangerous and there had been very little margin for error after their thirtieth soul: the more souls they collected, the more difficult missions they took, it seemed.
He remembers that one mission that made his blood run cold, one that took place in San Francisco against his wishes. They would get four souls in one go, he recalls reading, but it wasn't going to be easy.
He knew it was too dangerous.
But Maka had been so insistent on taking it, so determined to make him into a Death Scythe as soon as possible, that he had allowed her to sway his reasoning for the sake of seeing that bright smile crack her serious face.
"Maka! Take right and swing! He's gonna' come from below!" He alerted, as she dodged a blow and twisted to the right as he had instructed.
"Right! Soul?"
"Go for it!"
She rose him, the sun glinting off the sharp edge of the blade, and swung hard, tearing into the Kishin's shoulder. But, he noticed with growing alarm, it wasn't deep enough to delay him and he struck before either knew what happened, striking Maka right in the stomach.
He vaguely heard her pained cry before he clattered to the floor and she flew into a brick wall, another gasp escaping her lips.
"MAKA!" He shouted in panic, transforming. The Kishin slithered back, watching them darkly, but he ignored it for the sake of his meister, who clawed the floor as she weakly sat up on her thighs; trying to ignore the stabs of pain that assaulted her stomach with every short breath. "Hey, Maka! You alright? Maka!"
"It's..okay." Maka shut an eye in pain. "I can do this."
His hand squeezed her shoulder comfortingly. "But – !"
"Soul!" She barked, raising intense eyes. He searched her flaming stare for a second, trying to sort out the conflicted emotions that told him they should retreat as the Kishin was too strong. But the will in her eyes, the plead for them to continue, overcame whatever suggestion for retreat he had.
He sighed heavily, managing a weary grin. "You better do it right this time. I haven't had a decent soul in a days!" He slurped the drool that managed to trickle down the side of his lip for effect.
Maka grinned back, taking hold of him once he transformed. "Watch my back?" She breathed as she fell into defensive stance again.
The Kishin went for her, raising a clawed hand.
"Always."
When had it gotten so serious?
Was it when he realized he could feel her emotions when he was in scythe mode?
He felt a sharp cloud of distress as she ran down the edge of a rooftop, her hold on him tight while the Kishin gained on them.
"Hey, what's the matter?" Soul asked, the distress taking a turn for the worse when her foot wobbled and she nearly fell. "Yo! Maka! Calm down! What's wrong?"
"Nothing!" She shrieked when she lost her footing, taking a straight dive down before she could even blink. But he was quicker and his fingers hooked on the edge of the roof while his other hand gripped her wrist.
She dangled with his hand the only thing keeping her aloft. Maka looked up with watery eyes as Soul grunted and tried to think of a way to fix the situation. His eyes spotted a drain pipe nailed to the wall and he told her, his own distress building as the Kishin was getting too close for comfort: "Don't let go no matter what, okay?"
"O-okay! But—!"
He let go and quickly held onto the drain pipe, hissing when his flesh slashed as he slid down the old pipe. They slid all the way down, Maka stumbling back once his feet hit the floor, blood splattering the ground from the uneven edges his hand had caught on on his way down.
"Soul, are you okay?" Maka asked in concern. "You're bleeding..." She sounded guilty.
Soul forced a grin. "It's just a flesh wound!"
"But, Soul..." She looked ashamed and these feelings only grew when he transformed and fell into her grasp once more.
"Hey, quit worryin' about it!" Soul snapped at her. Her self-depreciation was making him nervous – he didn't like having her in such bitter moods. He liked her better when she was happy and bright. "I'll be fine! It's just a couple of scrapes – no biggie. You know what you should worry about? That ugly thing that's heading straight towards you."
"Wha—ack!" Maka dodged a kick that cracked the cement, shouting angrily at Soul: "Any later?"
"You know I'd never do that!" He snorted.
"Ugh, you're lucky you're injured," Maka muttered, rolling her eyes at his snickers.
When had he come so protective of his meister? Was it during the first few missions, when he realized that she meant business in turning him into a Death Scythe, or when she first got hurt, which had only been a rough scrape to her knees because she fell wrong?
The pains in his chest have subsided now. All he feels is a drowsy need for sleep as his vision fades in and out. The burning feeling becomes nonexistent but the question still remains clear in his head: when had it gotten so serious, damn it?
But more importantly, as his fingertips brief the texture of bandages, when had it first stuck in his head that he'd give his life for his meister?
"I'll protect Tsubaki with all I got." Black Star declared, in an unusual display of seriousness. Soul looked up in surprise, as his best friend adjusted his ostentatious gloves on his hands. "Because I'm her meister and she's my weapon. Just like she'll watch my back, I'll always be there to watch hers."
"How come, though?" Soul asked, slightly frustrated. They had been going around in circles with this because of Black Star's short attention span.
"How come?" Black Star repeated, in disbelief. "Because hero's never leave the weak all by themselves, of course!" He laughed obnoxiously, setting his hands on his hips in a pose. "That's what cool guys do, duh!"
"Cool guys?" Soul softly echoed, lowering his eyes in thought. A crooked grin stretched his face right afterward. "Yeah, I guess that is what cool guys do, huh?"
"Yep!" Black Star beamed. "Of course, it's okay if you don't understand. Only real cool guys like me could understand such difficult stuff like this! No one blames you for being stupid—YEOUCH!"
"Thanks for the advice... idiot." He muttered the last part. "See ya' at school. I gotta' get home before Maka decides to use my head as a practice dummy!" Soul slouched away from Black Star with a roll of his eyes as the blue-haired boy held his head in pain, shouting curses at Soul for his merciless chop on his head with the dull-side of his scythe.
Of course it was Black Star that stuffed that thought into his head, he thinks as he closes his eyes and succumbs to the darkness for a few seconds.
Despite his air headed ways, there were instances when his wisdom just blew him away in incredulity.
But it is technically because of Black Star that he is lying in a medical bed right now, with a stitch running down his chest and an IV stuck in his arm. But he doesn't blame the meister because he knows that it was the right thing to do; he feels it in his soul.
He'd give his life for Maka.
"MAKA!"
"S-SOUL!"
He thinks he has become soft and with a short scoff, as the drugs start to allude the pain into something pleasant, he thinks that he is lucky no one else is in the room for his face has no doubt twisted into a weird, dumb, face– because Maka always has him showing such uncool expressions.
Way to be a total siss, Soul, he tells himself drowsily, the goofy smile on his face refusing to thaw no matter how much he wills it away.
He probably has become soft, he decides as his eyes close.
But just to her.
He guesses that's good enough.