Maka looks gorgeous.
Maka usually looks gorgeous, although Soul doesn't usually let himself admit this out loud because it makes his occasional compliments mean more. She's beautiful with her hair bundled up in pajamas or damp out of the shower and wrapped in a towel or casual in jeans and a t-shirt, with his old jacket too-large over her narrow shoulders. But that is his Maka, the Maka he lives with and fights with and loves, desperately, day in and day out. This Maka is a kind of airbrushed version of his girlfriend, with her eyes shadowed into elegant curves and her hair curling across her shoulders and her skin artfully almost-exposed by fringes of dark lace and sweeping black silk.
At least Soul thinks it's silk. He doesn't really know, for sure, and he really doesn't care, and for all that Maka doesn't look quite like herself he supposes he doesn't either. Suits are not usually a thing he bothers with for all that they certainly look cool, if not the sort of cool he usually attempts. He can't see himself as easily as he can stare at Maka, but she's barely meeting his gaze and blushes every time she does so, so he figures that's as good evidence as any that he looks good.
"So what is all this about?" she finally asks the edge of the table. There's a petulant strain under her voice hilariously at odds with the grown-up look of her makeup and her clothes, but when Soul smiles it's affectionate rather than teasing. When she sounds like that she sounds like Maka, so her appearance starts to look less like a costume and more like foreshadowing of what she'll look like in a couple more years, with her curves a little more filled out and her confidence a little more established.
Soul wants to see it. He really wants to see it, even though it's not particularly cool to be as desperate for a girl as he is for Maka. But he's had years to come to terms with that, after it became clear at least to him that nothing about his feelings was gonna change, so he lets his smile turn into a smirk, and by the time Maka looks up at him for a response he's getting to his feet and straightening his tie one-handed.
He extends a hand, turned sideways so Maka gets the full effect of his pull-together profile. "Come on."
She leans back in her chair, crosses her arms and her legs, and pulls up a pout that looks downright sulky. Soul wants to kiss her lower lip more than he wants to laugh at the juxtaposition. "Just come on, Maka." That sounds sufficiently put-out. He extends his hand farther. "It's a surprise, you'e not supposed to know what's going on."
Maka huffs. "Are you gonna make me dance?"
Soul flinches without thinking. "No. My feet are still bruised from the last time."
"That was years ago, Soul, don't exaggerate." She is taking his hand in spite of her protests, her fingers fitting against his with so many years of practice that even their too-nice clothes and the restaurant around them can't make it awkward. Soul remembers that, too, that first touch of a little girl's hand against his own back when they met, both of them full of the forced confidence of youth. Now when he tugs Maka to her feet she comes with more grace than she has ever had before, up onto the heels that make her nearly level with his eyes, and he doesn't think she notices the change but he does.
It's too late in the spring and too early in the night for it to be cold outside, but the air has a breeze under it that catches at Maka's carefully curled hair and ruffles Soul's coat against his collar. Soul is still holding onto Maka's hand, fingers interlacing with her smaller hand, and it feels natural like it always has, even before that first time he kissed her mid-argument. It would be perfect concluding evidence for his plan, if he needed any more.
"Do you remember the first time we met, Maka?" he says instead, leading the meister into a slow walk in consideration of her shoes. She falls into step beside him, the click of her heels landing in time with the scuff of his own shoes.
"Yeah." She sounds hesitant, like she knows he's leading the conversation somewhere but isn't sure she wants to go.
"I think I knew right then." Soul looks up at the sky, carefully avoiding Maka's gaze. "It's sappy, I know, especially cause for a while there I didn't want to admit I even liked girls. But you were everything after that, and not just 'cause you were my meister."
There is a beat of silence, Maka's fingers clutching tighter at Soul's hand as they keep walking. When she speaks her voice is very soft. "I still am your meister."
Soul grins. "And my girlfriend, now that I've got myself in order." He takes a breath, and when they come to a stop he's not sure if it's him pulling them still or Maka anticipating his actions. It's hard to tell, recently, and he's not sure it matters anymore anyway. He turns to face Maka, and he can see the suspicion rising in her eyes by the light of the moon overhead.
"Maka Albarn." He reaches into his pocket to retrieve the box he's had secreted away there all night and opens it one-handed, hours of practice paying off now when he needs them. His hands don't shake at all. "I want to marry you." He still has Maka's hand clasped in his own; Maka's eyes are catching on the sparkle of the ring in his palm and the starlight overhead, and there's a smile pulling at the very corner of her mouth although he can see her fighting it down. It makes him smile too. "Will you?"
Maka tips her head down and that lurking smile breaks free in a flash of white for a moment. He can see her bare shoulders shift with a laugh too soft for him to catch, and when she tips her head back up he is smiling down at her in echo of her own expression.
"Yes." She says it formally, like she's delivering a report to Lord Death, and for a moment he can see the little-girl meister in her, firm and so determined she'd shatter without someone to ease her back. "Of course." Then she tugs her hand free of his grip and reaches out, slides her fingers against the hair at the back of his neck, and her eyes go liquid. When she kisses him she is warm, and soft against his chest, and her mouth has all the promise of the woman she almost is. And when she pulls back and smiles she is Maka, his meister and his girlfriend and his lover, and the only person he has ever wanted or will ever need.