Slamming doors are not exactly rare around the ship these days. Tsubaki sees this often enough, it rarely fazes her anymore, but there's something different about Soul and Maka's tantrums today. They're louder this time, more erratic, and they don't seem to be stopping anytime soon.
Even over the ruckus coming from the hall, the normally rambunctious cockpit is eerily quiet. Even Black Star is silent, fiddling with a strap on his pants, pretending to blend in with the console as the shouting picks up outside the door. They groan in unison.
It's obvious to anyone with eyes, or ears for that matter, that their friends are head over heels for each other even if they fight constantly. Neither of them are strangers to Soul and Maka's antics, but she's never seen Soul so upset, and it worries her more than anything.
"For the love of Me, will they just bang already?" Black Star whines, throwing an arm dramatically over his eyes.
As crude as Black Star can be, he's not wrong. Maybe that's exactly what needs to happen, but they are their friends and, all jokes aside, if the fighting keeps up, they'll be preparing for a funeral instead of the next mission.
"Could you be serious for once, please? They're going to kill each other if someone doesn't do something."
"Too bad we can't just shove them in a room until they behave."
The threat level is escalating rapidly outside, as well as the volume, and Tsubaki winces, fighting back the urge to shove her fingers in her ears. She's tired of this, tired of their screaming matches, tired of the stress it puts on all of them. Before she can think it through, she's up and out of her chair moving towards the hall.
The doors open with a wave of her hand, and Tsubaki rolls her eyes at the overgrown toddlers in front of her.
Soul is learning against the wall, quietly waiting for Maka to quit scolding him for breathing. On the surface, he looks as disinterested as ever, completely unfazed by her tirade, but she knows that isn't true. The set of his jaw, the way his eye twitches every time Maka says his name, Tsubaki knows he's only waiting for his chance. This has gone on long enough.
"That is it! The both of you need a time out!"
Tsubaki stomps towards them, like a woman possessed. Before she knows it, she's mashing the door lock on the pod and shoving Maka into Soul's chest hard enough to topple them both down the shoot. Chest heaving, she watches as they fall, disappearing into darkness, and for a moment it's is blessedly silent. But only for a moment.
"Yahoo!"
A flash of blue whizzes past her quicker than should be possible. For a moment she's frozen, mouth hanging open as whatever she might have said dies in her throat. Black Star is there, one hand in the air the other firmly planted on the eject button, and she might actually be sick.
"Black Star! What have you done?"
"Closing the door?"
"That wasn't the door lock!"
Green eyes blown wide as they pan to the depressed button under his hand. He at least has the sense to look apologetic before he shrugs his shoulders and laughs. "Fuck! Time for a new crew?"
Being pushed down a garbage shoot was about the last thing Soul had planned for today. The rational side of his brain tells him he shouldn't blame Tsubaki for this, and he doesn't want to, but the old food in his hair and the vomit inducing smells assaulting him at the moment is making it really hard to understand what would possess her to throw her friends out with the fucking trash.
If he's truly honest with himself he knows she was only trying to help. Their arguments were really getting out of hand, but he can't be blamed for Maka's shenanigans, can he? He may not have started it this time, but he definitely wasn't helping. If Saint Tsubaki was ready to snap then he's sure it must have been bad. But was ejecting them into space really necessary?
He decides launching the pod had to be an accident, there's no other explanation. Sweet Tsubaki would never intentionally endanger her friends; the blue haired monkey however, is just the right kind of stupid to hit the eject button, just the right amount of chaotic idiot to accidentally jettison them into deep space to rot with the ship's waste. Fucking Black Star. He's going to punch him into a blackhole when they get out of here. If they get out of here.
It's dark in the pod, no windows, no lights, nothing but waste and metal and he's ready to throw in the towel now. There's no way in hell they'll escape this one. Death by trash sounds like a horrible way to go, but with any luck their friends will have enough sense to make up a better story than that. They are the ones who banished them here in the first place. No sense in dwelling on that now though, he might as well get comfortable while he waits to decompose next to last weeks tuna casserole.
Maka doesn't seem to be fairing much better than he is at the moment. Tangled as they are, he can see her struggling to wade through the sea of trash they've landed in, just barely keeping her head above waste. He reaches out to help her right herself, but a steady glare tells him to keep his hands to himself lest he want them traded for stumps.
Her stubbornness is infuriating, but he's can't say he's surprised. It's so typical of her. Maka Albarn takes shit from no one and that includes run away trash pods. Her strength has always been her most admirable quality, both physical and mental. His partner is a force to be reckoned with thats for ruthless and reckless, stubborn and fearless and one day she's probably going to get him killed. but knowing that hasn't stopped him from pushing back a time a two. He wonders for a moment if that might be why he continues to put up with her shenanigans. Knows he does it because when she's pissed at him he maybe, kind of, really wants to kiss her.
"Can't believe you got us stuck here Maka."
"Quit complaining and move your foot!" Maka shouts, attempting to push his own grimy shoe out of her face, and the sight has him desperately trying not to laugh, or melt, at the devastating pout on her face. See, he would love to move his foot, only problem is that as tangled as they are at the moment, all of her thrashing and kicking has him trapped in the trash just as she is and that's just not going to work for him.
"I would but your giant boots don't leave much room to work around," he says, because screw that. Soul Evans does not "melt" over anything, least of all his partner.
He shakes his head and banishes the thought. He has no business thinking about that stuff right now, not here. Quickly rerouting his runaway thoughts onto something less creepy, because cool guys don't creep on their partners. Even in trash pods. Especially not in trash pods. He reaches out to her again, ignoring her protests and hooking an arm around her waist and pulling her up into a somewhat normal position.
"Now quit squirming or you'll sink both of us again."
Maka kicks a leg out recklessly and he narrowly escapes a wayward boot heel, grabbing her ankle to block it from colliding with his head. When he manages to pin her foot between his shoulder and the wall he can't help but feel smug about it. She can have it back when she decides to behave.
"Screw you, Soul," she growls.
"If only you could be so lucky," he spits because he's twenty going on twelve and today seems a good enough day to die. The jab she sends to his gut is well deserved, but the extra one she lands in his already tender chest is just overkill at this point.
He doesn't want to keep fighting with her. At the moment she's too pissed to even try and think rationally, so he decides not to push his luck. That's fine. He doesn't really want to talk to her either, not with the way his mouth seems to have a mind of its own today. If he's not careful he's going to say something he'll really regret. He sighs deeply, and settles in shoulder to shoulder with his partner in the cramped pod to wait out the inevitable.
Idiot shipmates and trash aside, he has to admit he's enjoying the closeness the small space provides. Even over the putrid aroma of decaying food, she's close enough to assault him with a hypnotic mix of raspberries and vanilla, and he's torn between shoving his face in her hair and throwing himself into the sun. He wonders at what point he became so infatuated with her that he could clock her shampoo despite the gag inducing smell, but dismisses the thought when it only threatens to prove just how certifiable he really is.
He can feel her shuffling around next to him, trying to put some space between them, though they both know it's useless to try. Still she persists, like she can't stand to be this close to him and he can't deny it sting a little. What, does he smell or something?
"Don't know why you're being such an ass, Soul. It's your fault we're here, not mine."
"Excuse me, but how exactly did I get us here? I wasn't the one picking fights in public Maka, don't put this on me," he snaps.
"Picking fights with you? You started this, you always start it!"
"Start what?!" Now he's done it.
"You- you know what, just forget it." She's flustered and raging like he's never seen her before, and he hates how much it affects him. He wants to be mad for once, but he can't help the guilt that washes over him. The look in her eyes, her emotions so raw and rushing across her face, turns his insides upside down. Doesn't she see that he's just as confused, just as upset with everything too?
He wants to scoop her into his arms, swears to never fight with her ever again if she'll just stop looking at him like that! He needs her to tell him what she wants, but the thin line her lips have become tells him it's not going to happen. Maka is not going to tell him anything, and he doesn't know how to deal with this. He's so done with everything that he's about ready to bust out of this pod and take his chances in space. They've been round and round about nothing for too damn long and suffocating to death is looking far more appealing that rotting away with the trash in here.
"Keeping all of this inside is obviously not helping, so you might as well just spit it out already." If he sounds like he's begging, it's probably because he is. Desperation has set in, and he will try just about anything to stop this nonsense so they can finally get the hell out of here.
"Just what makes you an expert on my feelings Soul?" she scoffs, and he promptly loses every bit of cool left in him.
What makes him an expert on her feelings? What a ridiculous question is more like it. Maybe it's because they've been partners so long that he can remember a time when we weren't. Maybe it's because he knows her better than just about anyone in the universe or maybe it's just- "Because I love you, dammit!"
Hindsight being what it is, he realizes too late what he's just done. Even without the horrified look on Maka's face, he knows that angrily shouting at the person you love that you love them is probably not the best idea, but try as he might he can't find it take it back now.
"Please, there's no ways that's true." Dismissing his admission with a wave of her hand and he can't pretend that it doesn't hurt. He should just agree with her. Laugh it off, pretend this never happened, but there's a small part of him that doesn't want to. The fear is real, and he's fairly certain if he pushes this she's going to hit him or throw him into the vacuum of space, and he's not really sure what's worse. But he's already staring death in it's smelly face, what else does he really have to lose?
"We're stuck in a trash pod in space, do you really think this is the time to be telling jokes?" The look she shoots him is a warning. She is definitely not amused, and Soul takes the moment as an opportunity to drive the point home one last time.
"It's like you're the moon, the stars and stuff!"
She jumps back, startled by his half-shout, trash flying while she scrambles to remain upright. Embarrassed, he wants to dive right into the sea of rubbish and never come out again, but he clears his throat and wills himself to continue.
"I- I don't know what you want me to say," he confesses.
Face unreadable, she brings a hand up to nervously comb at a pigtail, eyes blinking owlishly. She shifts in her spot, wrappers and empty cans crinkling and clanking around her, and the sound is deafening.
"Look, I know this is about the worst place to say this," he says, gesturing lamely at their surroundings. "But if I have to get thrown out with the trash, I'm really glad it's with you."
Her mouth opens and closes comically. Maka Albarn, a fish out of water, and he's suddenly terrified that he broke her.
"That was so cheesy."
"Sorry to disappoint."
"I didn't mean, I just- what are playing at Soul?"
"I'm not playing at anything! It's the truth Maka and it'd be really super if you would stop yelling at me and tell me if you feel the same." And it is the truth, the whole truth, because he couldn't lie to her even if he wanted to.
"Now? It isn't really the time for this."
His heart is on his sleeve and it's as liberating as it is terrifying. The way his stomach twists and turns the more she worries her bottom lip and his heart rattles around in his chest under her gaze is a special kind of hell crafted just for him. He can't look away. The suspense is killing him, and the desire to mash his lips to that pretty pout is not helping.
"When could be better?"
"Can't this wait until we get back to ship?" she begs. She's nervous, and he's only a little satisfied that he can make her this uncomfortable.
"Sounds like you're trying to avoid the question," he accuses. "It's okay, I get it. It's cool if you don't-"
"Fine!"
He's nervous despite the fact that he's avoided death this long. She wrings her hands together, eyes shifting to anything but at him. Those rosy cheeks twin solar flares, while she's still biting that damn lip cause his blood to stiffen, retreat and rewind sending his pulse racing back through his veins.
"It's like you're the moon, the stars and stuff," she whispers, mirroring his own words.
She leans in, burying her face in his shoulder to hide her blush. He want's to laugh, or cry or just fucking say something.
"Really?"
She peeks at him beneath feathery lashes, and nods blush blending with the freckles splattered across her face and he's sure his heart has stopped completely. He wants, he wants, oh hell he knows what he wants, but he's forgotten how to move, or think or breathe.
She's staring at him, quiet and stone still with her chin propped on his shoulder, expectant eyes imploring him to make a move and it's so backwards. As a rule, Soul does not take the lead ever, it's not his style, not who he is. Maka is the brains of this operation, Maka is the fearless go getter, not him, never him. But the chance he's been waiting for is right here in front of him and if there was ever a time to be brave, this is it.
He leans in, awkward and slow, heart beating like a steel drum in his chest. He really should have thought this out better. Should he tilt his head a little? What the hell is he supposed to do with his hands? Should he be concerned she still hasn't moved? Maybe this isn't what she wanted? Should he have asked?
She comes to life suddenly, quickly closing the distance between them and he panics. He jerks his head to the left, completely throwing himself off course and smacking the side of his face directly into her forehead. Today is not his fucking day.
"Ouch." She squeaks, hands flying to the spot on her head where his jaw had made contact.
"Oh shit! Are you okay?" He frets over her like the mother hen he truly is, moving her hands away from her face so he can take a proper look but before he can inspect any further she's swatting at him.
"I'm fine Soul, really." That's debatable if the ache in his own jaw is anything to go by, but he takes her word for it and stands down, for now. When she starts laughing he finds himself wondering if he really did give her a concussion.
To say he's embarrassed is an understatement. He wants a redo, to hit the rewind button on the last five minutes of his life and never ever speak of this. At least they'll probably die out here and no one will have to know how much of a spaz he really is. Small favors or silver linings or whatever.
"Well that was bad." She manages between giggle fits. He wants to be mad, he should be mad, that she's taking such delight in his pain, but it's not long before the absurdity of it all has him laughing with her, giggling like children until they're both gasping for air.
"The view could be better," she teases, when their mirth subsides. "But I suppose there are worse places."
"For?" he asks. She's doing that thing again, that blushing, fluttery eyelash thing and he's useless putty in her hands once more.
"To try and kiss you."
"We're covered in garbage Maka, nothing could be worse." She frowns in response and if it wasn't so cute he'd be absolutely terrified.
"Would you just shut up and kiss me?!"
And he does. Soft and slow, until the world fades away and stars are dancing behind both of their lids. Until petty arguments and idiot friends fade into nothing because this right here is the only thing that will ever matter. Just him and Maka and the trash.