They found her old jacket in the closet one day. The long, black fabric, torn and tattered from countless missions. Nostalgia washed over her in waves, whereas Soul seemed unaffected.
"Haven't seen this in a while, huh?"
A muffled sound of recognition was all she could muster. It was strange, Maka Albarn was not one to hold sentimental value in high regards. Considering her lifestyle, it was hard to do so. Events came and went like unwelcome guests.
Noticing the importance of the simple article to her, Soul attempted to figure out what was bothering her. "Sure brings back some memories," He gently tugged the jacket from Maka's grasp.
"Hey, this one was from that mission in Italy right?" He traced an index finger over an empty clump where smooth cotton once lay.
"And here's Canada, California..." Soul's voice, although unwavering, trailed off. He was mostly talking to himself now. Maka had not so much as moved, yet her mind raced.
He noticed all of those? He remembered? I even forgot about some of those. An asshole like Soul had actually paid attention to something as minor as a coat during their missions...?
Now it was her turn to be confused.
The partners had abandoned their old uniforms long ago in favor of the sleek and more comfortable Spartoi ones. She didn't even recall where she had tossed the old thing, but apparently it had been in her closet the entire time.
Soul put an arm around her narrow shoulders in an attempt to soothe her.
And that was all it took. Suddenly it was all roaring heartbeats and motorcycle purrs. Memories flooded the meister's mind instantaneously. Maka remembered glimpses of attacks, battle scars, and humid Nevada nights. Fragile stitches and stiff hospital beds. DWMA antics such as cramming for exams and sitting on the sidelines of basketball games. A relieved laugh worked its way up her throat. Viridian eyes brimmed with tears, sharply contrasting the smile on her face.
What has gotten into her?
Soul, now very confused, pulled her back into his arms. Never being a man of many words, he settled for murmuring in her ear. He felt a few hot tears on his chest.
"Hey, Maka, it's okay."
After a few moments she sniffled a bit and tried to pull away, but he held her tightly.
"You can let me go now," Maka protested weakly, not entirely sure if she did want to leave the embrace. It was funny almost, and another laughed bubbled within her. He reluctantly complied and released her.
"It's strange how such a beaten jacket made me react like this," Maka muttered, wiping her eyes with the back of her palms. She was torn between embarrassment and melancholy.
"Well, you did wear it everyday, it must've meant a lot to you," Soul replied silently. Maka giggled yet again.
"I didn't know you were so sensitive, Soul," she taunted with a sly smile.
"Says the girl who just cried over a coat," he retaliated, grumbling. Maka pouted and jutted her bottom lip out.
"Touche," she paused. "I want sappy Soul back." That name better not catch on... He thought bitterly to himself. The thought quickly vanished when she fell silent again. It was awkward, to say the least. Perhaps she needed another hug...
"Whatever, I'm just glad you're okay," Soul pulled her back to his chest, relishing in her warmth.
"Ah, there he is!"
And despite all the memories they had already made, she knew there would be plenty more. Their staccato moments were disconnected, but together formed a piece of music to be admired.
