Y'know, I kinda see Soul acting a bit skizo when he's on the black blood, and I really like that. Don't know why. But I do. So, I decided to give him a little oneshot, but, in Maka's P.O.V.
Note: I'm very crappy with Maka's character, because she's simply to… indirect. So, I gave her my best shot. Sorry if she's a little OOC, I really did try.
Soul Eater isn't mine, and it never will be, what with Ohkubo starting Soul Eater Not! In January. The bastard.
He's doing it again.
He always seems to do the same thing when that little demon's talking to him; it's almost a routine, nowadays.
Soul's sitting on the floor in front of his bed, his knees drawn up; his face in a deep scowl as his hand twitches, resting on his right knee. Sometimes I hear small murmurs of his words, sometimes colorful cusses he spits at the Oni.
I only stand in his doorway, but he doesn't notice me. His fiery gaze is pinned on the floor, his shark-like teeth bared. It's almost frightening to see him like this; he's usually so aloof and calm during the day. It's only at night, when he's in the seclude of his room, when the demon bothers him to this point.
"Soul?" I whisper gently. He doesn't respond, but his eyebrow twitches. That has to count for something, doesn't it?
He doesn't move, aside from his fingers twitching. I think they twitch because he's trying his best not to play the piano for that red-headed bastard, which must be nearly impossible. But, Soul always amazes me like that.
A hiss of a sigh though Soul's teeth makes me jump a bit, but I'm no more afraid then I was five minutes ago, when he first stomped off to his room looking rather furious with himself. I bite my bottom lip as I take a few steps into his room, to crouch down beside him. Once again, he doesn't respond to my actions, and I sigh softly.
"Can you even hear me?" I murmur, slowly sitting down next to him, my knee touching his leg. He twitches, just a little, but doesn't look towards me or speak. He's too drawn into the battle in his mind, and I don't blame him. Unlike a certain silver-haired scythe, I don't blame Soul for the black blood that beats through his veins; this is my fault he's like this.
Another snarl from him makes me shiver, I don't like these noises, they honestly worry me. I watch him silently, his hand curling into a tight fist, before opening once more, his fingers faltering to play a chord.
Even though it's a terrible time to be jealous, I feel my anger twitching in my eyebrows. I hate it when he's pretends to play the piano on his lap, or at the table. It's annoying when all I can hear is the 'thump' of his fingers, instead of the melody they're supposed to play.
Plus, I'm jealous he's struggling to play for the demon. He should only play for his meister. Those sweet, savory notes should only be for my ears, and my ears alone. But, I suppose that's a bit greedy, and a—pardon the French, but—shitty thought of me to think at this very moment.
That's just about all I can take, so I rest my head on his left shoulder, my arms wrapping loosely around his neck. He jumps, I feel it, but I merely close my eyes as I lie against him, trying my best not to let any tears slip. He's so miserable, I can't stand it. My closest, most reliable friend, my weapon, my dear partner in such agony, it's a terrible thought.
We're both silent, no sighs or growls coming from Soul, and I'm practically holding my breath, waiting for him to snap out of it and shove me away, claiming there's nothing wrong and he doesn't need a 'tiny-tit woman to worry about him'. Though, I can assure you, I'd be happy with any type of comment from him now, even one crappy in taste, at least to know he's okay.
But I don't even notice when he comes back into reality, I'm too busy keeping my sniffles quiet, along with squeezing my tears away that threaten to run down my cheeks. I only realize he's back when his left arm snakes around my waist, and he turns somewhat towards me, his cheek nuzzling mine.
That's when I grip him tighter, my hands grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and my knees scampering to curl up against him along with the rest of my body. I want to be as close to him as I possibly can, because I want to know he's safe, in my arms.
"I'm sorry," he mumbles, one of his hands gently petting between my shoulder blades. I tilt my head up to look at him with tear-filled eyes, confused.
"For what?"
"Worrying you."
I scoff, clinging to him with all my might as I shake my head. "Don't apologize."
It's my fault you're like this, anyway, Soul. Why should you apologize for my stupid-ness?
Whatever he might have said, he keeps to himself as he continues to pet at my back. I like it here, keeping my weapon in my arms. And, dammit, if I can't protect him in battle, who's to tell me I can't keep my scythe safe outside the battlefield?
Soul gives a small, almost-shaky sigh, but his hand doesn't leave my back. It's late, we should both be in our own beds, but I can't find the strength to leave him. Which, could probably be a good thing, seeing as he's still drifting in and out of his subconscious, a usual aftermath of his trances.
But, after a long while of sitting in a heap at the side of his bed, I feel my eyes drifting shut. I check on Soul, looking at him for only a second before a small smile crosses my lips. He's asleep! His wavelength is calm, too, and I don't want to risk changing that factor, either.
So, I do something I've been programmed to do since birth, and slowly fall asleep. He's so warm, I don't need a blanket as long as he doesn't move too much in his sleep, which I know for a fact he doesn't.
Besides, all meisters simply must comfort their weapon, be it one way or another.
…Right?
Mmm, not as amazing as I hoped, it got a little loose at the end. But, whatever, maybe I'll fix it up or something. Oh well.
Please review, I really, REALLY like hearing your guys' input. C: