This is to be considered completely separate from everything I've written. It will always be marked as complete, but if I feel self indulgent I may add to it. I know that a Hiro x Pretty much anyone is not common, but a friend of mine were talking while I was sick this past week and realized something; in the episodes with Hiro in it, Soul seems hesitant to jump in and tear him down like everyone else. Of course, my sickly mind immediately jumps to a crush, and then a ship, and now this...

I will mention that I did tweak it after getting better, so it shouldn't be as all over the place as it was.

I don't own anything but Hiro's dog.

WARNING: SUGGESTIVE THEMES AHEAD, NOTHING GRAPHIC OR IN DETAIL, BUT IT MENTIONS POSSIBLE NUDITY AND OTHER THINGS.

X Line Break X

X X

X X

Years had passed since the Kishin's defeat. Well, technically, only two, but it felt like a lifetime. The press, the fans, people who wanted the what and the how and why - Soul felt like it was a constant tug of war on his opinion and it had left him feeling tired and old. He'd much rather leave Maka to it all, his ever faithful miester, to console the masses with the others by her side.

In the mean time, he'd be right here. Red eyes opened to regard the dark purple walls, the framed photos of photographs taken in breathtaking quality, the spent film kept neatly on a desk right next to a camera and a laptop covered in rock band stickers. The floor is a creamy white carpet, plush and soft underfoot should he decide to get up. The air is deliciously cold, chilled from the open window and lack of a working heater.

His gaze dropped to the other person in the room. A mess of pale blond hair, softer than silk and smelling of sweet lavender and mint. The person is lanky and lithe, with thin hips and narrow shoulders. They turn slightly, pressing one pale cheek to Soul's bare chest, long lashes fluttering against his neck. Crystal blue eyes open to looking at him, lazy and yet bright, questioning the weapon's wakefulness without need of words.

Hiro shifts again, letting out a heavy sigh through his nose, eyes falling shut once again. Soul rests a hand on the blond's back, fingers playing over the ridges of his spine, listening to the calm pulse of his heartbeat. They are both satisfied, both aware of each and every groove of the other - the scars, the stretch marks of growing, even the hickeys and bite marks left by each other. They fall into a semi uneasy sleep, the only kind they can after everything that happened two years ago - a trauma the entire world is still recovering from.

But here, in the quiet, they can ignore those scars, the nightmares, even the thousands of people that still want an answer to an answerless question.

X Line Break X

X X

X X

In the morning, the sunlight still grey as dawn is, Hiro is up early, in boxers and a shirt that was once Soul's, now long hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. He glides around the small apartment, occasionally finding himself smiling at good memories that fill the space and occupy his time. Making coffee for the two of them, a dark roast that smells of coffee beans and dark chocolate, a cat-like smile plays across thin lips. He thinks of sitting on this counter, leaning down to kiss Soul as he attempts to make dinner. He thinks of early mornings where the rush to work keeps them from more than a single kiss and goodbye, mornings where they sleep in, legs tangled together and hands entwined and just breathing each other in.

"You always smile like that when I'm not around." Strong arms wrap around his waist, pulling him from his thoughts, rough lips brushing against the back of his usually covered neck. Hiro scoffs softly and turns to hand the mug of coffee to his significant other, another in his own slim hands soon after.

"Just enjoying the morning, love." Is his quiet response, hiding his smile in the lip of his mug. They move to the tiny living room, to the old couch that remembers their shapes and forms. Hiro curls into Soul's side, laying a hand on his chest and leaning his head against his shoulder. The morning is still grey, and there are unseen scars and the tiny pinpricks of an empty awfulness that sits within both of them. But Hiro looks up and smiles with bright eyes, and there is only warmth to be found there.

Soul kisses him, and he tastes of chocolate and coffee, and his soft hair smells of lavender and mint. This is happy, he decides, red eyes studying the way thin lips curve into a sated smile, how long eyelashes flutter, how his long neck curves as he rests his head. Even the curl of slender fingers against his shirt, the warmth of the lithe body next to his.

"I love you." Soul doesn't quite say it, he more like breathes it, staring down at this blond beauty that so many hurt and defiled. Hiro smiles. It's the smile that breaks his heart, the one that acknowledges the bad, the good, the half way decent and the scarring. It's the smile that speaks "I'm ok" without anything spoken aloud.

"I love you too." And they set aside coffee mugs and ignore the news and the phone calls from friends. They take one day from a year of struggle and strife, and they make it theirs. For once.

But when Maka knocks on the door, Hiro lets Soul go with a childish pout and a chaste peck of the cheek. He's not upset, not really. They have a lifetime to catch up on missed moments in the grey light of morning, of kisses lost in the time spent giving useless opinions about something that they wanted to forget.

Soul regards the purple walls and carpeted floors, the blue eyed young man sprawled across the couch, and smiles. Hiro beckons him with a flick of a skinny wrist, and how can he deny such sweetness in those eyes and that pretty little smile?

The simple answer: He can't.