A/N: Hi, guys. It's my first one-shot, please be nice. For me it's like 12 am and I was half asleep while typing this. It was kind of like a sudden inspiration type of thing...The grammar is cringe-worthy. It's about Soul and things that he wanted to say to Maka, but never got to. Please R&R... *yawns*
Her eyes.
The kind that sparkled and shined in the moonlight; his favorite kind. They were big, and a deep olive-green; a color that he had learned to adore over time. They also had a friendly and brilliant glint in them, which always livened up his day. Her eyes could take on a deadly glare when she was pissed, becoming a single intense shade of light green that served as a warning signal for any enemy to realize that they are screwed, and then to duck and cover. But they could also show her kindness and gentle nature at times. It separated her from anyone in a crowd.
Am I the only one who thinks they're beautiful?
Her hair.
He's wondered how she kept it so shiny and clean, the thought of them always tied up in small pigtails saddened him. Only because her true beauty was shown when her hair was down, long and luscious ash-blonde strands that ran down her shoulder and forehead, and sometimes her face. And if a bit a loose strands so happened to fall onto her face, she would use the tips of her fingers to gently guide them away. He'd always think that was cute. He tried to count the countless times that he saw her in her room, meticulously putting them up into the perfect style that everyone knew too well. How he wished that he could run his fingers through the uncanny softness. Though that would ensure the following of a not-so-soft chop to the head. It was a shame, though, that these thoughts and urges would come to him too late. Because never before had he even considered trying to lay a finger on his meister. And neither had she.
But he kept wishing.
Her temper.
One of the things that any man would dread from a woman, or at least he thought. Their strong ability to get absolutely furious in a nanosecond stumped human comprehension. Everything that went wrong in the world was placed on his shoulders by his meister, who apparently could do no wrong. In other words, she was flawless, and he was dumb, and just dumb. Yet every time Maka threatened him overhead with a large hard-cover book, he had his own weapon of choice- his ability of being terribly and accurately blunt with people.
So in a way, it was payback. He would come at her with snarky remarks, while she destroyed what little brains he had left with that lethal blow. But he knew that she knew that she had flaws. Knowing her, she always took each flaw and mistake into account. She knew, despite her constant claims, that she would never be perfect.
But no matter how many tears she shed because of them, in his eyes she would always be.
"I love you." The words never came across his mind, because in his thinking using his body as her shield was sufficient enough. So they weren't spoken. They were unnecessary. She never seemed to realize that small feeling blooming within her, either. It was only until much, much later that she actually recognized that feeling of "love." It took him a frustrating while, too. In the end, however, all of those unsaid things were worth it.
Because if it had not been for words unspoken...
"Papa," a small voice struggled to be heard over the sound of booming thunder. A boy, about the age of 6 or 7, scurried over to the side of his parents' bed. In it, they were fast asleep. "Mama," he whispered in his mother's ear, but she didn't stir. "Mama!" He called louder and nudged her harder. Another sound of crashing thunder and lightning filled the room, and the boy cringed to the brink of tears.
"Mmm..." the woman finally awoke slowly to the begging and nudging of her son. "What happened?" She asked sleepily.
"Mama... I'm scared..." he whimpered and clutched his teddy bear. The woman, who was going to turn 26, got up and turned to her sleeping husband.
"Hey..." She shook his shoulder, waking him. The man, who was of the same age as the woman, rose and rubbed his eyes. "He's scared," she told him.
He shrugged. "Alright then, come on," he urged his son to come on the bed with them. The woman helped hoist him onto the bed, and he crawled in the small spot between the two. "All better now?" he asked. The man took his hand and ruffled his ash-blonde hair, and looked into his eyes to reassure him. He smiled and snuggled in the small space under the covers with his teddy bear.
"Good night," the mother spoke softly. She kissed the boy's forehead and sinked back into bed.
"Night," the boy whispered, also making himself comfortable. The man was the last to settle back, looking over his wife and child just to make sure. He smiled at the thought of his son's deep olive-green eyes, because they were just like his mother's. They were kind that sparkled and shined in the moonlight.
His favorite kind.
-THE END-