summary: maka is hit with a witch's curse that compels her to return an unrequited love. it is not in soul's favor. canon.
warnings: angst, smut, profanity, minor jealousy on soul's part, canon-typical violence, cavity-inducing fluff, black star being black star, and so much pining that it's almost physically painful because soul does not know how to use words.
a/n: welcome to the giant marshmallow we stuffed with so much crack and ridiculousness that you'll need a sledgehammer just to get through it—also known as our hellfic for resbang 2018.
kallie and i are so excited to be a part of this amazing fandom event—a first for both of us!—and we are even more blessed to have been paired with the amazing nori-wings and soulheart as our artists. (seriously: so much internal screaming!)
they were forced to swim through the absolute madness that spilled out of our brains and create phenomenal art for it, which you can find linked on my profile. be prepared to ugly sob like we did because their drawings are OUT OF THIS WORLD.
as for our fic… well, let's just say it gets a little wild. a thousand heart-shaped thank yous to our betas, as well as all the other lovely people we kidnapped into our discord server that made this process as fun as it was. they saved our lives on the daily. plus, the mods are gods, but that's just a fact.
enjoy!
xo,
chloe & kallie
chapter one: moment of truth
soul has really, really bad luck.
He thinks he screams before she bleeds.
Or maybe she bleeds first and then he screams. It's all a blur to him now.
All he knows is that one second they're casually bantering over what to pick up for a midnight snack once they finish this patrol, and the next he's drowning, blinded, smeared with warmth and liquid and a feeble grip that nearly drops him before he realizes he's fucking covered in her blood.
It's barely a flash for him to become human again—barely a blink for him to change from a useless blade to an even more incompetent person—but that fraction of a second feels like fucking hours, and by the time he catches her in his arms, this moment has dragged on for years.
"Maka!" he yells, but there are no consonants, no syllables, just some horrifying, animalistic sound that might be a roar but might also be a wail, and he's holding her too tight, he knows he is, but he can't fucking stop.
A muted gurgle escapes her lips. Crimson rivers dribble down her chin. Her green eyes are so wide, so lively even when filled with pain, and for a moment he hates himself for being relieved that she's still able to look at him when she coughs so hard that her eyes fall shut and they don't open again.
"Hey now, don't fucking pass out on me," he chokes. "Come on, Maka, you've gotta stay awake. Maka. MAKA!" He shakes her body in a panic and only breathes when she coughs a pained, wordless response, her lashes fluttering with quickly draining strength. "That's it, come on. Eyes open, Albarn. I know you're fucking stronger than this. Don't clock out now."
As he speaks through cracks in his lungs, he jerkily shrugs off his jacket so he can press it against the gaping wound on her stomach while also trying not to jostle her as best as he can. Blood soaks through the leather in seconds. Drips onto the empty streets. It coats his skin, his clothes, his fucking soul like iron weighing him down and god, she's so fucking small, where is all this blood even coming from, can she even breathe?
This can't be happening right now. Can't possibly be real. It's a Wednesday, just another Wednesday, and these patrols are supposed to be nothing more than a courtesy. Something born of the Witch Alliance for show, to prove that the DWMA is serious about upholding their side of the treaty.
He and Maka do it every other week. Just two kids and two hours walking up and down the moonless streets of their city to protect it from the dormant monsters that go bump in the night. They usually spend this time arguing over everything and nothing, like the ridiculous, contrary, and absurdly compatible team they are.
Never before has he expected Maka to actually be harmed during one of these pointless shifts, and certainly not to this degree.
Soul scoops her up in his arms, barely able to keep from shattering when she makes a whimpered noise of pain from being shifted. He stumbles over empty words like "don't die" and "just hold on a little longer" and "shit shit shit, please, Maka, please."
Before he can attempt to do more than panic and flail like the useless weapon he is by rushing her off to get help, the culprit appears.
"Oh my, I'm sorry about that," says a sugary voice. "I only meant to freeze her, not harm her. It's been a while since I've used active spells, so you'll have to forgive me if I'm a little rusty on the particulars."
It's a witch. Early twenties, auburn hair, and slitted eyes like a cat. She sits perched on a floating broomstick several feet away, her ankles crossed like she's preparing to watch one hell of a show, and the look on her face—calm, if not a little curious, as she watches the blood drip down from Maka's motionless body…
Soul's blood runs cold and black.
This isn't the first time a witch has wandered freely around their city. After Kid announced the DWMA's new alliance with the Witch Order following their help during the Battle on the Moon, seeing witches around in public has become quite common.
It wasn't an immediate thing, of course. Life didn't suddenly become all sunshine and rainbows just because the Academy agreed to stop hunting those who practiced magic. No one was stupid enough to expect it to be easy; after all, thousands of years of fostering speciest vendettas would be impossible to dissolve overnight. As far as Soul and his friends know, their small, gothic city is one of the few places witches feel comfortable openly walking the streets, even now, two years later. They still don't feel safe or welcome anywhere else.
Despite the long overdue peace that came with Kid's first official decree, it was not a smooth transition. The amount of work that was needed to enforce the truce was far more than any of them had anticipated. Some students were miffed that the goal they'd been working towards for years—to create a Death Scythe—would now be moot, and the general public admitted to being unable to disregard their underlying unease when it came to witches. That meant it was incredibly important for the former members of Spartoi, as comrades of the new Lord Death, to hold firm on their actions to enforce the treaty. Protect all citizens fairly, human or witch alike. No exceptions.
That's why Soul and Maka are here in the first place, policing the quiet streets on a school night. The Grand Witch had requested the DWMA's help in limiting speciest hate crimes through regular street patrols, and Maka—always willing to help out Kid in any way she could—had volunteered.
Now she's hurt and Soul can't help the deep, dark, selfish part of him that thinks he'll singlehandedly demolish the alliance himself if she doesn't make it through.
"Get the fuck out of my way before I slice your fucking head off."
The witch's brows shoot up to her hairline. "I thought the treaty prevented you from talking to me like that."
"The treaty merely gives you the same rights as any other human," he growls, "and a murderous bitch is still a murderous bitch, even with the possession of magic."
"I told you it was an accident."
"And I told you to get the fuck out of my way!"
Instead of complying, the witch coils her fingers.
Suddenly Maka is gasping in his arms, writhing, burning, smothered with pain so intense he can feel it sear from her soul into his. He desperately tries to keep her still so she doesn't aggravate her wound even more than she already has, but he's barely three breaths into begging for her to "please stop, don't move, I know it hurts but you have to calm down, Maka, please" when her body goes abruptly limp in his arms, her head lolling to the side.
"Maka? MAKA!" Then, head snapping up and voice like thunder: "What the fuck did you do to her?"
"Hmm, I think I got it right that time. Maybe. Probably." The woman flies around them in a slow, curious circle, like a person trying to approach a stray animal. Soul hisses when she gets too close and she draws back with a laugh. "My, my, I should've known it would be you. I guess that means you're the one who will have to deal with the fallout over the next few weeks. How unfortunate."
Soul's shoulders go rigid. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Relax, little Death Scythe, I haven't seriously harmed the girl. I just cast a little spell." She sighs dramatically. "I'm quite bored, if you must know. This treaty between the witches and the DWMA has left much to be desired, and not being able to play freely with you Death Children is really taking a toll on my sanity."
"Death the Kid created that treaty to protect your kind," Soul hisses. "He did it to make your lives easier. To grant you freedom. To save you from being hunted."
"The baby reaper has done nothing more than eliminated my reason for fun," counters the witch, a hint of bitterness betraying her otherwise jubilant tone. "That girl is a friend of his, is she not? I've heard they were close. I'll admit I hoped that the curse would bind them together, not the two of you, as I've heard that he's relied on her a lot during the first couple years of his tenure. But I should've known better. Not even the gratitude of a god can top a weapon's devotion for his meister."
"Curse?" Soul repeats in horror.
The witch smiles. "There's nothing more amusing than an unrequited love. Especially when it's forced into reciprocation."
Soul doesn't have time for this. Cradling Maka closer to his chest with one arm, he transforms the other into a blade and bares his teeth like the animal he is. "Move," he thunders.
To his surprise, the witch floats up a couple feet, clearing the path. She flutters her fingers in a wave. "See you soon, little Death Scythe," she croons, but he is already sprinting away.
It is through pure animal instinct and muscle memory that he manages to make it to Kim Diehl's house through the darkened haze that has taken over his mind. He's been to her home once before, and only to drop off a couple documents on behalf of Kid because the pink-haired meister refused to make the trek to pick them up herself.
He doesn't know where he's running, has no idea how to get there, until he's in front of the giant hobbit hole of a house Kim had designed and is pounding relentlessly on the cherry red door.
Soul hears her grumbling on the other side of the wood mere seconds before she opens it, donned in a silk sleep robe and a very irritated expression on her face. "Who the hell is making this much noise at a time like—oh my god. Maka!"
"Heal her," is all he manages to choke out as he shoves his way past the witch, leaving a trail of blood into her home.
She doesn't wake up for a whole fucking week.
During that time, Soul refuses to leave her side and he glares at every witch and every doctor who visits only to be of no help at all.
Each of them say the same useless thing: aside from Maka's worrisome temperature, there doesn't seem to be anything physically wrong with her. Kim heals her wounds on the first day, and another witch scans her for sinister magic to find nothing but a soft glow. And when Maka's fever finally breaks forty-eight hours later, they have no clue as to why she hasn't woken up yet.
Soul becomes increasingly more agitated with every passing second.
On day seven, he is both restless and spent, a dangerous combination for his growing internal rampage. He stares at the stove, trying to work up the effort to cook something when it's just for himself, when he hears a hoarse voice call out to him.
"Soul?"
He whirls around so fast he drops the pan with a clang, nearly whipping it across the floor. "Maka!"
She looks exhausted. Her thin body is leaning against the wall like it's taking all her energy to keep from collapsing to the floor, and her oversized sleep shirt barely reaches mid-thigh. Rubbing one fist against her eye, she lets out a small, soundless yawn, and for a moment, Soul is so struck by the sleepy look on her face that he physically forgets to breathe.
Pale green eyes blink up at him, muddled and tired and so fucking beautiful. Her head tilts to the side, shifting her hair over her shoulder and tumbling down her chest.
"Everything okay?" A throaty whisper. Confusion fills her tone.
He chokes on his own spit. Fumbles blindly for a glass of water and rushes to give it to her so quickly that he splashes clear liquid all down his hand. He wants to yank her into his arms but finds himself unable to move, so instead he garbles, "Jesus Christ, Maka, it's about time you woke up! Do you have any idea how worried I've been?"
A small crease forms between her brows. "Have I been unconscious long?" Then she grimaces as she lifts the water to her lips, rolling out what must be a very stiff shoulder. "What even happened? I feel like I just ran back-to-back marathons and then attempted to keep up with Black Star at a party."
"You don't remember?" he asks incredulously. "This goddamn witch tore into your stomach then hit you with some wild mystery spell and you've been out for an entire fucking week. No one could find anything wrong with you—couldn't even find the source of the magic that was heating your body—but you wouldn't wake up."
"I… was hurt?" Confused, Maka presses her free hand to her abdomen and winces. "Oh. Right."
Soul clenches his fists in return. Despite Kim's healing spell, there is no magic fix for a wound that deep. Maka will be sore for a while. There will definitely be a scar. As much as she agonizes over the injury he got when he took that blow from Crona all those years back, his stubborn meister doesn't seem to realize he feels that way pretty much every time she so much as gets a scratch. Which, thanks to her tendency to jump into situations without thinking, happens quite often.
But watching her get a few burns and scrapes as they fight against pre-kishins is nothing compared to the agonizing feeling in his gut when he'd held her limp body in his arms as she bled all over the ground.
The glass slips from her tired fingers and he snatches it out of the air before it can shatter against the ground. He steadies her shoulder with his free hand, bending down to meet her drooping gaze with as little amount of concern as he can manage.
"C'mon, sleepyhead. You must be exhausted," he says softly. "You shouldn't even be out of bed, at least not until a doctor can take a look at you now that you're conscious. Can you crawl back into your room so I can make you something warm to eat or are your legs not cooperating?"
She leans into his side with her full weight in answer. "Shower," she mumbles.
He makes a face. "Maka, you barely have the energy to speak, let alone stand. A shower can wait. You need to rest."
"I feel filthy. Want to wash it all off. Please, Soul?"
He's never been able to say no to her when she begs.
Carrying her into the bathroom is a painful task. Not because she's heavy—she's so far from it that it'd be comical in any other circumstance—but because she's so goddamn sweet and pliable in his arms that it takes an absurd amount of restraint to keep from kissing her all over.
His stubborn, badass meister rarely lets him take care of her. In fact, she usually fights him if he tries. He's had to develop crafty ways over the years to get her to accept his help without making it seem like she was, and that experience has made him an expert in feigning disinterest when in reality she's the only star he ever sees.
But in these rare moments when she curls into him like she wouldn't rather be anywhere else, so trusting and sweet, Soul is putty in her grasp. Useless. At her mercy. Willing to do anything and everything she asks.
He wonders if she even knows it.
Maka prefers to have her skin nearly scalded off during baths, so he sets her on the covered toilet seat to wait while he prepares the tub. Their bathroom has always been tiny, far too small to be shared by two pre-pubescent teenagers and then even smaller as they grew up and he realized just how addicted he was to staring at her legs.
But it has never felt as cramped as it does in this moment, with her gaze burning into his back and the rush of water filling the room like a storm.
It takes every ounce of strength he has just to remember to breathe.
"Okay, it's all set," he says, testing the water with his fingers one last time before shutting off the tap. He begins to turn towards her, saying, "I'll be in the kitchen getting started on making you some dinner, but if you need anyth—h-h-holy shit. MAKA!" He slaps both his hands over his eyes. "What the hell are you doing?!"
"Tired," is all she mumbles. "Can't do it myself. Will you help me?"
"Help you bathe?" he squawks. "Are you fucking insane?!"
Instead of hearing her answer, Soul is damned with the deafening sound of her clothes hitting the ground. He almost passes out right then and there.
When he feels her delicate fingers pry his hands away from his head, he yelps and attempts to yank his arms back which only succeeds in making her body press up against his. Her very, very naked body.
Soul tries to speak. Wheezes instead. He feels like she should be slamming his head into unconsciousness with one hit of her absurdly powerful chops, but instead, her body only leans deeper into him, making him stiffen impossibly more than he already has. When his eyes fly open, he realizes that his meister is visibly trembling against his chest, struggling to stay awake in her wearied state.
Despite himself, he begins to soften. Well, mentally at least. How the hell can he deny her this when she's obviously just trusting him to help her like any weapon would?
"F-f-f-fine," he relents in a gruff tone. "But you can't hit me for this later when you're in a more coherent state of mind, alright?"
She barely has the strength to nod.
Helping Maka bathe while trying not to openly ogle her naked body proves to be even more taxing than he anticipated. Helping her change afterwards isn't any less stressful. Drying her hair and feeding her soup also drains more energy than he has to give. But not because she's being stubborn or uncooperative or the least bit difficult.
No, it's more because she's being too compliant. She doesn't fight him once. Doesn't make a single snappy comment. Doesn't recoil when she notices the embarrassingly clear bulge in the front of his pants.
The entire time, she merely stares up at him with these soulful green eyes that seem to burn through his core. Normally, he feels like he's the one who's always watching her while she barely notices him at all, but in this moment, she is one-hundred percent eyes and he is but a caged butterfly in her grasp, unable to escape her gaze and unwilling to try. Her soul might not be as dynamic and all-encompassing as he is used to, but she manages to drown him in it all the same.
"Why do you keep looking at me like that?" he blurts out when the heat in his chest becomes too much.
Maka slowly shakes her head. "You always take such good care of me."
He wonders how his face can feel this hot, this red, when all his blood seems to be occupied much lower. "S-s-shut up," he grunts. "Of course I'm taking care of you. I'm your weapon. That's my job."
"Your job, huh?" Her voice is barely a murmur, a soundless musing. Soul doesn't know how to respond so he bites his tongue and continues toweling through her soft, damp hair.
By the time he finally gets her back into her bed, dry and fed and cleaner than any human has a right to be, his rationality is shot and his self-control is out the window. Which is why, when she tugs on the back of his shirt as he turns to leave her bedroom, he can't find the energy to fight her.
"What?" He can't turn around. He can't. He's a weak, pathetic excuse for a man, and the things he's been thinking over the past couple hours are only more reason why he doesn't fucking deserve her. He never has.
But then she speaks, and her voice is so timid that it physically burns. "Stay?"
He turns.
Her lips press against his, stunning him into stone. When he doesn't immediately react, she slides her hands over his shoulders up to the back of his neck where they tangle in the tendrils of hair that fall down there. She pulls back, just slightly, just enough so he can see the quiet insecurity glowing behind her large green eyes.
"Soul?" Even in a whisper, he can hear her uncertainty, as if there's any fucking chance in hell that his stillness is because he doesn't want her. That he isn't dying for her. That he hasn't imagined this moment every single night for years since they became partners, and the fact that this is happening now all feels like a fucking dream. "Is this… okay? Don't you want me, too?"
When he only trembles against her, she tentatively closes the distance, and this time, he is no innocent bystander.
Her lips are soft, so fucking soft. In all the times he's dreamed about this—and there were a lot of times—he never had any idea what he was doing beyond "don't drool" and "less teeth" and "stop trying to eat her fucking face, you moron." Dreaming about kissing someone without having ever kissed anyone is a weird thing, because it's less technique and all feelings and fantasies and "oh, I wonder what my meister's tongue would feel like right there, or there, or there, god yes, there."
But while he can wax poetic about the creamy nature of her mission-marked skin, he has never thought to imagine how fucking perfect her silken lips would feel against his own chapped ones, or how she would gasp into his mouth when his hands instantly snap to her waist as he presses against her, or how weak he would feel in the knees when she shivers beneath his grasp like her whole world has gone up in flames and she never wants to stop.
He's not sure how she ends up beneath him on the bed—oh god, he thinks he might've tackled her—but then she is, and fuck, she's so small, but bright and powerful and larger than life, and he's drowning in her soul, stealing the breath from her lungs just as rapidly as she's stealing his because neither of them seems to have a handle on their movements.
He only peels his lips from hers because her neck looks enticing, and when she cries out and grips his shoulders as her body arcs off the mattress, he thinks he might've died and gone to heaven.
Then, because she is Maka Albarn and Maka Albarn is not one to be outdone, she flips them over so she's the one on top, knees anchored around both sides of his hips, straddling him, and Soul is gaping too much for her to kiss him, so she kisses his jaw instead. Trails her lips across to his ear, then his neck, down to the base of his throat.
Oh, yeah. He's definitely dying.
When she claims as much skin as she can before hitting the frustrating neckline of his shirt, she pulls back a little and slides her tiny palms down his chest, fisting the fabric and tugging slightly.
"Off," she demands.
Soul wheezes. Or something. Probably more like choking. "Whaaaa—uuhhh. Nnngg."
Her eyes are muddled with want and need and now in a way that paralyzes his body and what little amount of functional brains he has left. Realizing he's not moving, Maka exhales a breath then sits up, but before Soul can protest, she grabs the edge of her own shirt, says, "Fine, me first," and proceeds to pull it over her goddamn head.
Considering he literally just bathed and dressed her like the dutiful weapon he is, he should probably be able to refrain from heaving at the mere sight of his meister without her shirt on. But Soul has always excelled in being an embarrassment and so he can only stare like a brain-dead idiot who can't stop gaping like a fish.
Perfect, rounded breasts. Porcelain smoother than silk. Dozens upon hundreds of tiny scars pattern her skin at varying stages of healing, the most obvious one being the pink mark that extends across her lower abdomen, just missing her belly button. He reaches up to brush his fingertips across the line, making her shudder. Thinking has become impossible.
She's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
"Soul?" She bites her lip, shy in a way that shouldn't be possible considering she's straddling him and yanked off her shirt like she's done this a million times before. The juxtaposition of her forwardness against her impossibly adorable uncertainty is enough to make his blood liquify into pudding.
Seeming to realize that his speechlessness has less to do with her and more to do with the fact that all his blood has fled south from his brain, her expression softens and she rewards his utter ineptitude with a soft kiss against his jaw. By bending over, the pebbled tips of her breasts brush the front of his shirt and he has to bite back a groan.
"Wait," he blurts out, like a total idiot, and then he stares at her for a moment because he hadn't thought of what he'd say beyond that one word. Isn't really thinking at all.
"No," she whispers against his neck. "No wait. I want you, Soul. Now."
Well, that's certainly not helping his coherency. "M-Maka, we can't," he weakly insists. "You're exhausted. You don't—you don't know what you're doing. We shouldn't…" Every attempt at protesting is met with soft kisses against his skin that make it hard to concentrate, and when she slides her hands up his chest beneath his shirt, he chokes on a ridiculously embarrassing animal sound as he grips the comforter in a feeble attempt not to flail.
Get it fucking together, Evans!
"Maka," he groans as she eases his shirt up farther so she can kiss his chest. "Maka." Her tongue swirls around his nipple and she lets out a small giggle when his hips jerk violently against the bed, lifting her several inches in the air. "Maka!" An hour ago she didn't even have the energy to bathe herself and now she's actively trying to get him naked. What the hell is going on?!
"Please, Soul," she whimpers. "Please? I want this. I need this. I love you."
It's like a bucket of ice water is dumped over his head.
"I should've known it would be you," a sugary voice croons in his memory, the witch's mocking tone like acid against his burning skin. "I guess that means you're the one who will have to deal with the fallout over the next few weeks."
Soul practically rips himself away from under Maka, sending him rolling off the bed and landing flat on his ass. He can hear her concern, hear her questions, but the words are lost in the memory of her attack as he stares up at her with a growing horror that threatens to shatter his very existence.
"Don't worry, I haven't harmed the girl. I just cast a little spell."
He isn't breathing. Can't stop shaking. He wants to reach into his head and rip out the fucking voice from a week ago that he should've remembered sooner, that he fucking hates himself for not taking seriously, but he also just wants to halt the downward spiral he's flying towards because he knows how this ends. He understands now. He is not that stupid.
"There's nothing more amusing than an unrequited love. Especially when it's forced into reciprocation."
Soul is on his feet, stumbling down the hall like a drunk fucking bastard, ignoring Maka's alarmed calls after him as he slams into walls in his haste. He doesn't stop fumbling until he bursts into the bathroom, and it takes him several tries to scribble the seven numbers onto the mirror with his trembling, distraught hands.
Kid answers the call immediately. "What is it?" An automatic, no-nonsense, emotionless reply. So different from his late father's jubilant greetings before him. Then Kid seems to register Soul's haggard appearance and obvious distress, his gold eyes widening with alarm. "Soul?" he says with surprise. "What is it? What happened? Is Maka okay?"
"It's a curse," he blurts out.
"What?"
"It's a curse. The magic that hit Maka. It's a curse." He sounds like he's heaving. Tries to take a deep breath. Fails. "The witch, she—she said it before, when it first made contact, but I thought she was just being cryptic or something and I didn't think anything of it. I swear, I had no idea—"
"Soul, calm down," Kid says firmly. "Explain it to me again. What did the witch say after she spelled Maka?"
"She said that she was bored. That your treaty was impeding her fun. That she just wanted to play, and she thought that this spell would've affected you but wasn't surprised that I was to be the recipient instead." Soul swallows thickly and forces out the next words that will condemn his fate: "She said that there's nothing more amusing than an unrequited love, especially when it's forced into reciprocation."
Whatever Soul expected from the reaper, it is not the reaction he gets. Kid's face goes eerily blank, like a tablecloth that had been whipped of crumbs or an Etch A Sketch that had been shaken clear. Though Kid has always been serious—something that was exacerbated by the loss of his father—Soul has never felt as closed off from the Death God's emotions as much as he does this very moment.
"Are you listening to me? I said—"
"I heard what you said," the reaper interrupts coolly. "Wait there. I'll be over in eight minutes."
With that, Soul is left staring at his own reflection.
-x-
Much to Soul's surprise, Kid arrives a minute and a half early with Kim and Jacqueline hot on his heels.
Soul doesn't know why he's shocked to see the older weapon-meister pair at his doorstep—after all, bringing a witch to a situation like this makes so much more sense than if Kid were to bring his two eccentric weapons—but it's not like any of it matters. Soul already has a bitter feeling as to how this is going to go.
"Where is she?" Kid demands at once.
Soul inclines his head down the hall towards their bedrooms and Kid shoulders past him in his haste to get to Maka. Kim and Jackie are less urgent, the former looking annoyed to be dragged out here this late while the latter eyes Soul critically as she follows her meister into the apartment.
"You are so going to—"
"Owe you for this, I know," Soul grunts, interrupting Kim's unhappy tirade. "Name your price. I don't care; I'll pay it all. Just fix this." Please.
Kim and Jackie exchange a look. The witch's expression mellows slightly, and that only serves to make Soul tense even more.
"Soul, are you okay?" Jacqueline, with her perfect posture and perfectly ironed clothes, seems way too out of place in their mismatched, homey apartment, but it's the concerned look on her face that really feels alien.
He chokes on a low, bitter laugh. Slams the door shut and fists his hand against it to keep from punching through. That's a useless question if he's ever heard one. How the fuck do they think he feels? He just found out that the girl he's loved forever has been forced to return his feelings by a spell, not of her own accord, and had he not realized it when he did, he would've had sex with her for the first time while she was literally out of her fucking mind.
Just thinking about it is enough to make him want to claw his soul out right from his chest.
God, what kind of weapon is he? He's sworn to protect Maka with his life, swears he knows her better than anyone else, and yet he barely hesitated a second when she threw herself at him after five years of not having shown any indication that she felt that way about him at all.
He should've known something was wrong the second she stripped in front of him in the bathroom, claiming she needed help because she was too tired to wash herself. Hell, he should've known something was wrong the moment she woke up and didn't argue with him over her own health.
What the hell is wrong with him that he didn't? That he practically took advantage of her in her tired, emotionally manipulated state and didn't realize it until her hands were up his fucking shirt?
Lack of blood flow to his brain probably had something to do with it.
A pathetic hope that she might love him back is the rest.
And the look on her face, when he'd stormed back into her bedroom after his call with Kid and yelled at her to get dressed… Fuck. She'd looked so hurt, so distressed, and as irrational as it was, her reaction had flooded him with anger—because what right did she have to feel wounded by his reaction? None of her feelings were real. They were all fake; induced by magic. Forced upon her like overcooked vegetables onto some whiny kid. Whatever pain she felt was nothing compared to the suffocating realization that the best ten minutes of his life had all been a fucking lie.
She doesn't love him. She never will.
He's spent the past five years with the solemn understanding that she probably doesn't feel the same way about him, but having it confirmed by a witch's curse hurts a hell of a lot more than he expected it to.
"You might be mistaken, you know," Jacqueline offers, drawing him out of his self-punishing reverie. "It might not be the spell you think it is."
"I know what the witch said."
Kim rolls her eyes. "Witches aren't always entirely forthcoming, Soul. It could've been a lie, or a trick, or maybe even a bluff. You'd never be able to tell."
Jackie bobs her head in a nod. "Plus, we know Maka. There's no way she felt nothing for you before the spell. Anyone who's ever met you two could tell that—"
"You don't fucking get it," he interrupts roughly. "This isn't some joke where I'm overreacting or coming up with the worst possible scenario. Maybe at first I wanted to deny it too, but then she—" He breaks off. Clenches his jaw so tight he doesn't know how his fucked-up teeth don't shatter. "Maka told me she loves me," he forces out, and the choked laugh that escapes his throat reminds him too much of barely suppressed black blood insanity, but he can't shove it down. Not now. "She never… She might be impulsive and stubborn and far too reckless for her own good, but she would never blurt out something like that without thinking—without agonizing over it first, over and over again in that brilliant, ridiculous, worrying brain of hers—and definitely not to convince me to get in her pants. That's not her at all."
At that, even the prickly Kim Diehl and her serious weapon can't stop their pity from shining behind their eyes.
Soul is five seconds away from screaming.
"What? No!" he hears Maka burst out suddenly from the other room. "You're wrong! I'm not—" She's cut off by the low murmur of Kid's voice followed by a hushed back-and-forth, and then her bedroom door slams open as Maka flies down the hall and flings herself into her Soul's arms.
He gathers her up on instinct before his mind catches up with his body and he stiffens against her like a board. Feeling his response change, Maka lifts her gaze from his chest to stare up at him with wide, confused eyes that fill with hurt when his hands hover around her hips instead of hug her back.
"Soul?" Her voice is tentative; shaky. "They're wrong, right? They have to be. My feelings aren't fake; I know it. I know how I feel about you." When he doesn't respond, can't even look at her, she begins to shake against him as she begs, "Tell them they're wrong."
He relaxes his hands to grip her wrists so he can gently push her back.
She gasps. "No! Soul, you can't believe them! It's all lies—they don't know anything about us! They can't—"
"Maka," he says, as firmly as he can through the massive lump in his throat. "I know it seems real to you, but trust me, it's not. This isn't how you really feel. It's the spell. It's altering your emotions and who the hell knows what else. Possibly even your memories. None of it is real."
She blinks up at him, her eyes so wide and innocent and earnest. "But I love you."
He flinches at her words like she'd personally taken a blade to his chest, and Kim lets out a low whistle. "Wow. Okay, yeah, now I see what you're talking about. That's some spell." Jackie elbows her in the ribs. "I mean… that is to say… shit, I don't know. That freaking sucks."
"Thanks," Soul says sarcastically. "Now can you fix her or not?"
Kim frowns. "It's not that easy. Love spells are complicated. Not only are they nearly impossible to distinguish from one another, but they can also only be reversed by either consummating the connection or having the witch who'd placed the spell unravel it herself."
"Are you fucking serious?" Soul says while simultaneously trying to ignore the sad puppy dog eyes his meister is harassing him with. God, it should be illegal to be that cute. "Are you telling me that the only way to reverse the curse is to either track down the witch who placed it or to have sex with a girl who literally has no control over her emotions?"
Maka's expression brightens. "Sex?" she asks hopefully.
Kid chokes on air, and Soul turns tomato fucking red. "No! No sex!"
"Aw."
His eyes bulge. "M-M-M-Maka! You can't—it's not—you don't—okay?" he begs, entirely incoherent, and then he makes lasers of his eyes as he glares at Kim and Jackie, both of whom are struggling to hold back tear-inducing laughs. "Oh, you two think this is funny? Because I can assure you, I'm not fucking laughing."
"Oh, relax, Eater. It's not the end of the world." Kim waves him off with a roll of her eyes. "When you think about it, this all could've been much worse."
"Yes, because having to fend off the compelled advances of the girl I love is totally no big deal."
Maka brightens again. "You love me?"
"Not now," he snaps. She deflates like a balloon.
Realizing that she might be a little insensitive even for her, Kim dials down her bitch about ten notches and sighs like this is all too much effort for her after sundown. She beckons her hand towards Maka. "Come on, girl, let's see what I can do."
The blonde instantly latches onto Soul's arm like a preschooler who refuses to be peeled away from her mother, lips jutting out in a criminally adorable pout. "No! You just don't want me to love Soul anymore so you can all have him to yourself. I don't need fixing."
Kim snorts. "Trust me, Maka—your broody, shark-toothed, woe-is-me weapon isn't my type in the slightest. But if you love him as much as you claim to, you should want to do whatever you can to help him out. And right now he needs you to let me take a look at you. This is hard enough on him as it is. You don't want to hurt him more than you already have, do you?"
Eyes widening, Maka snaps her head to stare up at Soul with a horrified expression that is far too puppy-like for her own good. "I'm hurting you?"
She might as well just rip his heart out of his chest. "N-n-no, of course not," he rushes to say, ignoring the way Kim rolls her eyes like he's the biggest idiot on the planet. "But, Maka, no matter what you think you feel, you have to know we can't let it go on like this. We have to reverse the spell. This isn't right."
Instead of childishly stomping her feet like he half-expects her to, Maka simply furrows her brows as if she's thinking deeply about something. A fierce sort of resolve settles over her face. "And what if you're wrong?"
"Hnn?"
"What if you're wrong?" she repeats. "What if we reverse the spell and my feelings haven't changed? Will you believe me then?"
She looks so determined, so resolute in her desire to prove her love for him that Soul can't help but soften. "Sure, Maka. I'll believe you then."
It only takes a few minutes for Kim to confirm what she already knew: first, while it's clear that Maka's been spelled with some sort of love curse, the nature of it is unclear; and second, there's no way to reverse the spell without either complete consummation or finding the witch who'd cast it in the first place. And despite Kim's waggling brows, Soul is adamantly against the former.
"We'll send Clay and Akane to track down the witch as soon as possible," the reaper decides, interrupting the glaring match between the young Death Scythe and the pink-haired meister.
"Why not us?" Soul asks. "You and I both know Maka has the strongest perception, and finding anyone—even witches under soul protect—is kind of her specialty."
"While that may be true, I don't feel entirely comfortable sending her on a mission outside the city when her judgement has been compromised. I'm sure you understand."
Soul frowns down at Maka, who has taken to cuddling up against his side with her tiny arms wrapped happily around his waist. She doesn't even seem to be paying attention to anything they're saying, just basking in the warmth of his awkward half-embrace where it's impossible not to touch her back but it also feels wrong to so he's trying to refrain as much as possible. He grimaces. "Fair enough."
"What about Stein and Spirit?" Jackie suggests. Next to Maka, they're the best bet at finding people through soul perception. And despite how crazy they both are, even Soul has to admit that they make an exceptional team.
Kid shakes his head. "I barely managed to get them to return to their mission in the Amazon two days ago. They have a commitment there, and they already dropped everything to visit Maka when she was unconscious once. Reassigning them just to find one witch would be a waste of resources."
Maka's father had pretty much hijacked the first flight back the second he heard that Maka was hurt. The only reason he and Stein left before she had a chance to wake up was because their Death God had reminded them of their other obligations and assured them they'd be updated the moment anything changed with Maka's condition.
Spirit sobbed the entire time as Stein dragged him away.
Maka's mother, on the other hand, hadn't even sent so much as a postcard to ask how her daughter was doing, but that's another story altogether.
"Clay and Akane, with their training in the DWMA Intelligence, should be able to track down the witch by working with our magical contacts. In the meantime, I think it might be best to have Maka stay elsewhere, just to be safe. We have extra bedrooms at Gallows Mansion, and Liz and Patty would love to have Maka around. She could—"
"No!" Maka snaps out of her contented cuddling to deny the request before it's even fully formed out of Kid's lips. She tightens her grip around Soul's waist, her head shaking rapidly back and forth. "I'm not leaving Soul. You can't make me."
The reaper's face flickers. "Maka…"
"I said no!"
Sensing an argument coming, Soul quickly offers, "It's fine, Kid. She can stay here. I think I can handle a few nights with my overly affectionate meister while Clay and Akane look for the witch."
"When you called me earlier, you were nearly hysterical and your boner was high enough to raise the ceiling," Kid deadpans. "Forgive me if I don't believe you."
Soul flinches. "That's—fuck, that was before I knew she was cursed. Jesus. Do you really think I'd ever take advantage of Maka knowing that she isn't in her right mind? You know me better than that." Plus, despite how much this whole situation sucks, Soul could never force Maka to leave if she didn't want to—even if it is more painful for both of them for her to stick around. Denying her anything goes against every fiber of his being.
"If you're certain," Kid allows after a long moment. "Since there's nothing else that can be done at this time, I have to request that we try to keep this under wraps as best as we can. The Witch Alliance is still relatively new, and I know I don't have to inform you of how volatile it has been over the past couple years. Aside from our closest friends, this information should remain strictly need-to-know. The last thing we need is for there to be rumors spreading about a rogue witch on the loose who had cursed one of the Academy's top meisters."
"We understand, Kid," Maka says instantly, surprising them all with her solemn agreement. "You know we would never do anything to make your job more difficult that it already is. You can count on us to keep it a secret until we get everything sorted out."
The reaper seems to be the only one in the room who isn't stunned by her unexpected understanding. His lips twitch in what might even be a half-smile. "If you really wanted to make this easier for me, you'd agree to stay at the Gallows so I don't have to worry about you doing something uncharacteristically reckless with your feelings."
"Uncharacteristically reckless? Me?" She chuckles. "That's sweet, Kid. You know I'm never one to hold back under any circumstances. Why would this be any different?"
This time, Soul is certain the reaper must be smiling, albeit a little wryly. "My mistake." Then he catches Soul's subtle frown and his expression smooths back into one of careful detachment. "It's getting late so I'll let you get back to sleep. Cursed or not, you all still have school tomorrow and I'm not giving you a pass just because of this misunderstanding."
"You've gotta be kidding me," Soul groans, and Kim's smile is sickeningly sweet.
"I'll send you the new bill for my services tomorrow. And just to give a heads up, I always charge extra after sundown and for second offences."
"Buy one, get one free?" he says dryly.
"Not even in your dreams."
The day after Maka wakes up is a Thursday.
Soul hates Thursdays.
It's no secret that weapons and meisters at the DWMA have different capabilities. While weapons become nearly invulnerable in their transformed states, meisters are far more physically competent. They can run farther, react faster, and land on their feet at times when weapons would normally stumble.
One of the rare exceptions to that rule comes in the form of the disturbingly talented Patricia Thompson, but for the most part, few weapons can ever stand a chance against a meister in a hand-to-hand fight. They're trained differently, mentally built differently, and weapons simply lack the field experience that meisters get on a regular basis.
For that reason, weapons and meisters are separated for two hours every Tuesday and Thursday to train on varied levels. These classes are supposed to be used to improve their individual skills to eventually better their partnerships.
Liz, Patty, and Tsubaki tend to use this period to grill Soul about his non-existent love life with his oblivious best friend.
"Tell us everything," Liz demands the moment they corner him on the sidelines of the gym as Nygus personally helps two other weapons in their class with their sparring match.
He bites back a groan. After the night he had, all he wants to do is wallow against the wall in peace like the stereotypical broody loner he so desperately wants to be. But the Thompsons never take no for an answer, and despite Tsubaki's immeasurable kindness and patience for her hotheaded meister, she is still far too invested in Soul's useless romantic endeavors for her own good.
Seriously. Sometimes he thinks the shadow weapon might be the most sadistic of them all. Her navy eyes always light the fuck up whenever he comes to class with some embarrassing story, and she never fails to be the first one to encourage his dismal love life even when they know she's grasping at straws.
Being considered one of the girls is not as fun as most guys seem to think it is.
"Yo, Eater!" Liz snaps her fingers in front of his face to get his attention, ever the impatient gossip. "Spill. Kid told us that Maka was basically rubbing herself against you like a kitten in heat. What happened after he left? Did she try anything else? Did you let her?" Before Soul can even consider replying, she slams her hands against the floor and whines, "Damn it, he should've taken us with him last night! I want to see a needy Maka making you blush like the obvious idiot you are. Denying us that right is like—weapon cruelty or something."
Fuck his life. "Can we please skip the mushy, prying, ripping-my-balls-out talk about emotions today? I'm really not in the mood."
"How cute," Liz croons. "He thinks that he has a choice. Isn't that adorable, Pat?"
"Stupid," her sister giggles. "Very, very stupid."
"Anyway, we all know that you're the sappiest blob of suppressed feelings in the entire freaking school, so don't even try that pretend Cool Guy bullshit on us, Eater. We see right through your paper-thin façade."
Grimacing, Soul shoots a pleading look at some of the other weapons waiting on the sidelines for their turn on the mats. Jacqueline merely shrugs unapologetically like "sorry, buddy, you're on your own," and Harvar blatantly ignores them all, staring ahead into the void as if none of them even exist.
Traitors.
"Look, whatever you guys are thinking, it's not like that. Maka's under a spell, and you know I'd never take advantage of her." He'd sooner tear off his own arm than try. "Besides, this pretty much confirms what I've been telling you guys all along: she doesn't like me that way. End of story. And once the spell is done and she realizes that this was all my fault, you can bet your ass that she'll chop me over the head so hard I'll be seeing stars for weeks."
That, or she'll end their partnership completely.
The thought alone is enough to make him want to throw up the breakfast he was too nauseous to have.
For the past couple years, the female weapons of their team have all been insistent that Maka felt the same way for Soul as he so obviously did for her, but he was always wary to trust them. Liz was too devious, Tsubaki far too romantic, and Patty just gave off the misleading impression that she never had any idea what the hell was going on.
Despite their reassurances, Soul had been terrified to take the next step. Crossing that line with Maka could've meant the end of their partnership altogether, and he wasn't going to jeopardize the best thing that ever happened to him just because her best friends were eighty-five percent sure that Maka loved him back.
And so he'd squashed down his feelings. Acted like he had zero interest in her. Pretended he was nothing more than a loyal weapon who was willing to do anything and everything to protect his meister.
And it worked, for the most part—at least, until the stupid, meddlesome witch decided to gamble with Maka's emotions and shatter that thin ice he'd been walking on for the past few years.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor to Liz's left, Tsubaki offers him a sympathetic look that might've made him feel better if she wasn't practically vibrating with excitement. "I'm sure there's some mistake." Then her true intentions shine through as she leans forward with hopeful, rainbow-filled eyes. "Is it true that you two finally kissed? On the lips? Was it romantic? Did she initiate it or did you?"
Liz lets out a very unladylike snort. "Please. Even if Maka tattooed the words 'KISS ME, DUMBASS' on her forehead in sparkly neon lettering, this imbecile would've gawked at her for several hours before he could even consider making the first move."
"Hey!"
She cocks a brow. "Am I wrong?"
As much as Soul wants to protest, he knows it's useless. Elizabeth Thompson may be many things, but she is a genius when it comes to deciphering the feeble intentions of emotionally challenged pea-brains like him. He's long since stopped trying to argue with her about his mushy, pathetic feelings for his meister.
Damn it.
"So what's our game plan, sis?" Patty rolls onto her back and peers up at the three of them with wide, upturned blue eyes. "Should he take her on a date? Fly her to Paris to woo her? Or just go straight to confessing his embarrassing, undying love?"
"Maybe he should start with something smaller, like holding her hand or telling her she looks pretty today," Tsubaki suggests tentatively.
"Well, I say he just throws her over his shoulder, carry her home, and have his filthy way with her," chimes Liz. "He's still a virgin at seventeen, and while I do appreciate the romantic undertones behind his consistent drooling over Maka, I'm hoping that he'll be a little less disgusting about it once he starts getting laid."
"HOLD UP." Soul slams his palm down against the ground between them, drawing three raised brows from his unwanted companions. "Are you all insane? Didn't Kid tell you what's going on? She's under a curse! She has zero control over her emotions! Trying anything with her right now would be taking advantage."
Liz rolls her eyes. "Relax, Eater, you're not going to be doing anything she doesn't want. Trust me."
Is he invisible or do these women just have selective hearing? "IT'S. A. SPELL."
While both Liz and Patty look infuriatingly uninterested in what he has to say, Tsubaki tilts her head to the side, brows slightly furrowed. "Do you think the curse only affects her feelings for the one person who loves her the most? Or does it affect how she feels about everyone who loves her, regardless of strength and number?"
Soul snorts. "You say that as if there's a giant line of guys who are waiting for my meister." When the girls don't respond, only exchange looks, he goes stiff as a board. "You're fucking with me."
"Weeeellll, love is a bit of a stretch for most," says Liz, "but come on, Soul. Maka is the girl who made the Last Death Scythe and defeated Asura on the moon. Plus, even without the fame she earned from saving the freaking world, she's got the whole badass, sweetheart schoolgirl thing going on. Let's face it, she's a babe. Hell, I'd go after her myself if you haven't been mentally pissing all over her since before we even met."
"Okay—" Soul grimaces. "—disgusting and misogynistic metaphor aside, you're dating Kilik." A coupling that had shocked their friends and made an absurd amount of sense all at once. Liz and Kilik had both been forced into parental roles at a young age, the blonde taking care of her sister on the streets and the pot meister when it came to his much younger weapons. It was no wonder they became so close.
Liz waves that off. "Details, details. Point is, Maka's hot and you can't seriously believe that no guy has ever looked at her that way but you."
"But… she never said anything."
"Maybe you should ask Maka about this," Tsubaki says diplomatically. "I'm sure she had her reasons. Maka's never been one to keep secrets from you, at least not without cause."
Before he can respond, Nygus calls out to them from across the gym. "Patty. Soul." She gestures for them to approach the mat. "Come on up. You two are sparring next."
As Patty jumps to her feet with excitement, Soul cannot contain his groan.
The gods are really against him today if they're going to make him fight the terrifying Patricia Thompson before he has a chance to get any food in his stomach.
-x-
Maka latches onto him like a baby koala throughout their next few classes, drawing the bewildered gazes of their oblivious classmates, and at lunch, Black Star can no longer hold his tongue.
"Okay, this is fucking weird," the assassin announces after a somewhat awkward silence at their cafeteria table. Maka has snuggled up to Soul's side, eyes closed with contentment, and Soul can feel dozens of eyes boring into his back like pestering insects while his friends openly gape at him from the front.
"Don't you think I know that?" As much as Soul loves it when Maka touches him—and as freaking adorable as she is when she's puppy-sweet like this—he has always been inherently allergic to attention, and nothing draws nosy stares like the possibility of a new weapon-meister couple. DWMA students are total fucking gossips.
Soul feels like he's developing hives.
From the other side of the table, Tsubaki gives him a sympathetic look as she unwraps the same bento box she packs for her and Star every day. She cracks one pair of disposable chopsticks, hands it to her partner, then snaps another for herself. "Don't worry about everyone else, Soul. They're just curious because they don't know the reason behind Maka's strange actions, and her blatant affection is slightly unusual. They'll get used to it eventually."
He grimaces. "Maka is so going to kill me when the curse is reversed."
Twirling her fork in her salad, Liz agrees, "That is a strong possibility."
"By the way, Star," Soul remembers, "did you know about the guys that have asked Maka out?"
The blue-haired assassin blinks around a massive mouthful of food. "You mean from last week?" Soggy pieces of rice spit from his garbled mouth, and Tsubaki dutifully wipes it away with a napkin.
"Wait—last week? As in there are more than a few? As in they're still trying?" Soul is stunned. He doesn't know whether to yell or cry or put out a hit on every male that comes into a twenty-foot radius of his meister. "How many have there been?"
Black Star bursts out laughing and nearly chokes on his half-chewed lunch. "Bro. Dude. My man. You can't be that fucking stupid. Maka may be an angry, flat-chested bookworm, but plenty of guys are into that shit. Lolicon, schoolgirl, small titties… they're all pretty popular tags on hentai sites, no?"
"Don't forget defloration," Patty sings happily as she shapes her mashed potatoes into an impressively detailed zoo animal.
"Shit, I forgot about that one. Nice catch." Star smacks Patty's hand in some sort of messed-up, appreciative high-five.
Internally, Soul debates between kicking Star in the nuts or straight-out punching him in the fucking face. He settles on gritting his teeth instead. "Why the hell didn't you say anything to me?"
"Would it have made a difference?"
"Yes!"
Star snorts. "Why're you concerned about that shit now anyway? It's not like she said yes to any of them or whatever." Then he blinks. "Oh. You're worried about if the curse affects how she feels about other guys who like her, aren't ya. Well, why didn't you just say so?"
When Star sets aside his lunch to leap up from their table, Soul feels a foreboding dread settle in his stomach and instinctively tightens his grip around Maka. She lets out a small hum of happiness.
And then Star grabs Soul's arm.
"Dude, what the fuck are you doing?" Soul yelps.
"Shut up and get your ass moving, Eater." The assassin yanks harder on Soul's wrist until he has no choice but to follow, Maka immediately shadowing his side. "You're fucked-up over this stupid crap so we might as well get down to the truth before you drive your overthinking, pansy-ass brain insane over it, yeah?" As he drags Soul away—and by proxy, Maka—the blue-haired idiot shouts over his shoulder, "'Baki, pack up my shit for later, will ya? I'm still starving!"
"Don't be late for class," Tsubaki calls absently after them, not even looking up from the table, like a busy mother who half-heartedly agrees with everything her child says over the haze of a pre-coffee morning while reading the newspaper.
"No promises!" Star yells back.
-x-
This is a bad idea, Soul thinks grimly, and after a long moment of repeating it over and over again in his head, he says it out loud. "This is a bad idea."
Black Star waves him off with one hand. "Yeah, yeah. Tomato, tomahto, blue skies are green and all that."
"What? That doesn't make any sense!"
This time he receives no answer. Star's gaze is focused solely on the other side of the shrubs where the empty path is.
It's the middle of lunchtime, and instead of eating in the cafeteria with the majority of the other DWMA students, they're crouched behind bushes lining the path through one of the school's gardens like fucking creepers, waiting for god knows what.
"Are we going to jump someone?" Maka asks in confusion, still holding onto Soul's arm even in their awkward, squatting positions.
He almost chokes on a laugh. Of course that would be her first thought. Although she would vehemently deny it if he ever tried to point it out, Maka has the most ridiculous imagination he's ever known. She tends to come up with the most mind-bogglingly absurd scenarios in sudden circumstances. He blames her books.
It's kind of fucking adorable.
"Shhh, here he comes!"
"Here who comes?" Soul asks.
In answer, Black Star grabs Maka's arm, yanks her away from Soul's side, and practically throws her through the bushes and stumbling into the path.
With a hiss of outrage, Soul rises from his crouch to dive after her, only to be restrained by Black Star, who clamps one tight hand over his mouth and uses his other hand to twist both of Soul's arms behind his back. "Don't make me punch you in the nuts, Eater. You know I'll fucking do it."
Soul instantly stills, though not without contempt. "What the fuck are you doing?" he garbles into Star's beefy palm.
"Just watch, dude. 'Baki and I have been practicing the assassin arts lately and I wanted to show you how to sneak around like a ninja." The blue-haired imbecile sounds far too gleeful to be healthy. "This is all part of my master plan to find out the truth. Trust me."
In that moment, Soul vows to punch Star in the nuts as soon as he regains control of his hands. He is not generous with trust or patience today.
Meanwhile, Maka—ever the capable meister—somehow manages not to not fall flat on her face despite being launched several feet by Black Star's lack of control over his own strength. Instead, she blunders forward several feet trying to regain her balance before crashing into a tall guy who'd been passing by.
The stranger grabs Maka's shoulders to steady her and Soul feels his homicidal urges increase tenfold.
"Maka!" the man says with surprise, and—oh yeah, Soul definitely wants to kill someone now. Dark hair, blue eyes, strong jaw, and the towering build of a disciplined MMA fighter… Who the fuck is this twinkly-eyed pretty boy and how the hell does he know Soul's meister?
Startled, the blonde glances up at the person who caught her, and even restrained behind the bushes, Soul can feel her surprise. "Dean! Hi!"
"Shit, are you okay? Did you just… fly out of those bushes? What were you doing over there?"
A pretty pink flushes her cheeks. "It's, ah—it's a long story. I think. Anyway, um, I'm sorry for running into you like that. Talk about rude. That's not the way to greet someone you haven't seen in weeks."
"No, don't apologize," he insists. "Actually, I'm glad I ran into you. I was meaning to visit your class again, see how you're doing." The pretty boy—Dean, Soul thinks with contempt—looks down at Maka with a soft expression, and it doesn't escape Soul's notice that the oversized bastard still hasn't stopped dwarfing her dainty little shoulders with his bear-like hands. "How have you been doing lately? You still beating up guys twice your size on a daily basis?"
She lets out a small laugh. "Yeah, you know me. Nothing is more therapeutic than throwing down with idiots who assume that small means useless."
Dean smiles. "Trust me, Maka, no one thinks that when it comes to you. And if they did—well, I have no doubt you could change their minds."
"With a well-placed kick to the gut?" she teases.
"You know it."
When Soul tries to jerk out of Black Star's hold, unable to watch this yak-fest any longer, Star tightens his grip and explains, "That's Dean Moriarty, one of the seniors that graduated last year. He was invited to assist our meister combat class a lot when we were sophomores, and he's always had a soft spot for Maka. Asked her out like twice in the past few months alone."
Unsurprisingly, the assassin's explanation does not make Soul feel better. Soul licks Black Star's disgusting palm to get him to release his face, but of course Star only snickers instead of getting grossed out.
"Nice try, Eater. Your shark spit doesn't affect me."
At that, Soul transforms his arm into a blade and Star immediately releases him, backing up with his hands raised in surrender.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, don't kill the messenger!"
"You don't even know what that means," Soul hisses, keeping his voice low for god-knows-what reason. What the hell is he still doing here, arguing with this idiot anyway? Straightening his spine, the scythe weapon prepares to charge through the bushes, throw Maka over his shoulder, and haul her the fuck out of there when Black Star holds out an arm, shaking his spastic, ridiculous head.
"Look, bro, I'm just trying to help you out. You're worried that Maka's feelings have been affected for other dudes too and this is the only way to confirm whether or not you're right."
"By putting her in front of another unreasonably attractive meister and expecting her not to take a bite?"
Seriously, how is that even fair? Maka is fucking perfect, but she's still covered in scars because of her role as a child soldier for the DWMA.
This guy, on the other hand, looks like he gets weekly manicures and could do shirtless modeling on a whim just because some random scouter saw him on the street and thought he looked pretty.
Black Star's eyes are creepily wise as he says, very deliberately, "Well, she's never taken him up on his offer before, has she?"
Soul deflates like a balloon. Damn it. He hates when Star uses logic; it goes against every single law of the universe. Arm transforming back, Soul glances back over the hedge to see that Mr. Fuckhead Pretty Boy has released Maka's shoulders only to brush her fallen hair from her face, and the unreasonable heat in his chest returns.
In the corner of his eye, he sees Star smack his forehead with a groan, but Soul is already on his feet, stomping towards his girl and the asshole who doesn't know how to keep his hands to his goddamn self.
"—yesterday, and I actually—eep!" Maka squeaks when she's abruptly yanked away from the dark-haired alum and tucked against her weapon's side. She glances up at him with wide green eyes, looking partly startled but mostly confused. "Soul?"
He ignores her in favor of glaring at Dean. "Hey, I don't think we've met before. I'm the Last Death Scythe, and I really don't like it when people touch my fucking meister."
When he'd imagined the scenario playing out in his mind, Soul thought that the dickhead would either become angry or scared by his blatant display of possessive antagonism—as per the cliché romcom rules he is used to—so it completely throws him off his axis when Dean merely throws his head back, clutches his toned stomach, and laughs out loud.
Even Maka, curled under his domineering arm, can't help but giggle at his display. Her previous confusion is replaced by amusement and an open adoration that makes his cheeks heat up, even in his absolute befuddlement.
"Wow, okay, now I get it," Dean continues to chuckle. "No wonder I never stood a chance. He's clearly even more far gone than you are."
Maka brightens. "You think?"
"Oh, definitely," he affirms. "Absolutely smashed. Completely annihilated."
Soul is confused. "Wait. What the hell is going on?"
"Our sweet Maka here was just telling me about how she finally worked up the nerve to confess to her weapon and he doesn't believe her because he thinks it's some sort of spell. She was about to explain how she hoped she'd be able to prove her feelings for you somehow so you'll believe her because, now that her nervous insecurity blinders have come off, she realizes that you love her, too." Dean tucks one hand in the front pocket of his jeans and smiles. "I was going to tell her that you'd be crazy not to."
"I… oh. Oh." Soul blinks. Closes his gaping mouth. Blushes like a goddamn tomato. "Uhhhhhh, I wasn't… I mean, I didn't—"
Dean waves him off. "Don't worry about it, kid. I get it." Then he grins at Maka. "You've really got your work cut out for you with this one, don't ya?"
Maka sighs dramatically. "Don't I know it."
"Well, I've gotta head back inside to prepare for another demonstration I'm doing for one of the younger classes after lunch, but I'm in town for the next couple weeks. If you manage to get things sorted out by then, maybe I can take you out for celebratory drinks or something to mark the end of a pining era?"
The blonde beams. "I'd love that!"
"Awesome." Backing up slowly, Dean lifts two fingers in a wave as he begins to turn around. "Good luck with everything, you two. I have a feeling you're going to need it." With one last wink, Dean leaves them to continue down the path, his soft whistles trilling through the quiet, natural space as he becomes smaller and smaller in the distance.
Maka, on the other hand, looks like it's taking everything in her power to withhold her laughs. "Sooo, um… I guess you're going around introducing yourself as the Last Death Scythe now?"
Soul wants to die. Off behind the bushes, he can hear Black Star rolling around on the ground, howling with laughter. "Stop. Talking," he hisses, as if acting snake-like will make him cold-blooded like he so desperately hopes he can become in this moment. That is the only possible way to keep him from burning brighter than the Moroccan flag. "Don't you dare say another word."
His meister laughs the entire time he leads them back to their classroom, still tucked against his side.
At least he knows he doesn't have to worry about other guys while she's cursed. Clearly he's the only idiot for whom her feelings are being affected.
He remembers the exact moment he falls in love with her.
Or at least, that's when he knows for sure.
He's fifteen years old. It's a normal afternoon, the Death City heat making him feel about as lifeless as a fried egg. He collapses on the couch after a long day of not-so-standardized DWMA testing, his overgrown limbs like awkward noodles spilling over the edges of a bowl that's far too small, and for once he is glad that his face is naturally so demonic. It masks the fact that he wants to murder the fucking world.
He is tired. He is irritated. He wants a fucking cheeseburger.
Just as he's about to yell at Maka that they're ordering take-out instead of attempting to use a stove in this inhumane heat, he feels a weight in her soul.
His body snaps upright in an instant. She's paused at the edge of the living room, her gaze lightly trained on the small stack of envelopes they'd grabbed from their mailbox on the way up. Even though her expression doesn't change, doesn't tighten, he knows deep in his gut that something is wrong.
"Maka?"
Her face flickers. She looks up, and fuck, she's always been so bad at hiding her emotions—it's not in her nature to hide things, especially not from him—but the fact that she doesn't even mean to try, that her instinct makes the attempt for her, that she's so conditioned to keeping her feelings barely bottled up from years of quiet neglect by parents she adored that her mind feels it's necessary to mask her true emotions… It makes his lungs constrict like nothing else.
Soul, on the other hand, is a master of feigned indifference. He flicks his gaze to the stationery culprit in her grasp. "We get anything good?"
She smiles, and he knows it's not a lie, not to her. It's just the way she is, the way she's been raised, but it still fucking slaughters him how her light doesn't reach her eyes. "Nah, mostly bills. I'll deal with them later." Tossing the thin stack onto the coffee table, she says, "Anyway, I don't feel like cooking today, so is it alright if I call in to Death Fry? I'm craving a cheeseburger."
With that, she continues to converse softly to him through one-sided musings like she always does as she bustles absently around the kitchen, but Soul's attention is stolen by the mail she'd dropped onto the table in front of him—or, more specifically, the postcard resting on top.
Low effort, nothing special. Just a basic photo card of the Eiffel Tower that any idiot could pick up at any store down the main streets of France. Three brief lines leave the small space looking empty, especially in their neat, practiced scrawl:
Paris is beautiful. You would love the shops. Love, Mom.
Soul's hands curl into fists, but it's not anger that makes him tense. It's not fury at a mother who has been abandoning her daughter for months at a time since she was an infant, sending only choppy, half-assed update cards and leaving no return address for a response.
At this point, he and Maka have been partnered for over three years. He has long since stopped being surprised by Kami Albarn's distant affection, and wanting to break the news to Maka that her mom is a horrible human being is like thinking about telling a four-year-old that Santa Claus doesn't exist. Just fucking cruel.
No, the reason his fingers have to clench now is because of the sudden, all-consuming urge to grab Maka's hand.
He doesn't even want a hug—at least he doesn't think he does. And it's not like he hasn't held her hand before. These days, they always seem to be connected.
Out of all their friends, Soul is aware that he and Maka have the most… physically affectionate partnership, but he always wrote it off in his mind as something that he did for Maka. Because she's emotional, because she always needs that somatic reassurance, because he's just being there for her like any normal weapon would. He grabs her hand when she's unsteady and stands so close when she's upset that he can feel her heat sear into his lungs.
He is her weapon. He is devoted. That's just what a partner does.
Soul doesn't make a habit of lying to himself, but then, when it comes to Maka, things have always been different.
He doesn't end up holding her hand that day. Instead, they grab burgers from their favorite fast food restaurant and he picks as many fights as he possibly can—she's loud, she's annoying, and if she keeps eating like this, she's going to blow up like a pig. With each blatant insult, she grows more and more irritated until she explodes at him with crimson cheeks and a verbal shove at his chest that leaves him aching.
Only when he sees the fire in her eyes return does he feel his chest loosen. Just a little bit.
It's been two years since then. He is seventeen, and wanting to hold her hand has become less and less of a terrifying prospect. Now he does it without thinking. She is constantly leaning into his side. They cuddle on the couch without calling it cuddling. They are always together, always brushing against each other, only existing together. After the Battle on the Moon, they even spent days upon weeks sleeping in the same bed because they were both crippled with nightmares, though neither was strong enough to voice what theirs had been.
Their friends like to tease him for being oblivious, but he is not as blind as they believe.
"Soul?"
His head rolls to the side against his pillow, eyes blank and wary. She's been hovering outside his door for so long that he almost started to believe she wasn't going to come in at all, but either the curse has doubled her courage or her lust is commandeering all her actions, because here she is, standing outside his bedroom. Her blond hair is loose around her shoulder and she's backlit by the faint glow of the hallway night light they always keep on so he'll stop stubbing his toe on random objects when he goes to get a glass of water in the middle of the night.
She looks like a fucking angel.
"Can I sleep next to you?" she whispers.
He exhales deeply through his nose. "Maka…"
"I promise I won't do anything to make you feel uncomfortable," she rushes to say. "I won't even touch you if you don't want me to. I just… I want to be close to you. Please?"
Soul lets his neck roll back so he's staring at the shadowed ceiling. After a brief moment, he flips the corner of his blanket down in a wordless invitation.
He doesn't see the expression on her face as she crawls into bed beside him, but the pure happiness and relief in her soul is enough to make it hard to breathe. She hesitates as she climbs beneath the covers, and Soul can't resist extending his arm in response, letting her know it's okay to do what she so clearly is dying to.
The bliss in her soul is like a flame against his skin, even more scorching that her body's heat as she curls up against his side and sighs with contentment. She fits so perfectly against him. It isn't fair.
He tells himself he doesn't feel the burn.