He's not sure what love is, but at the fresh age of thirteen that doesn't really bother him. Soul's mind is elsewhere, in a place where chopping meisters and very real monsters don't exist. The academy is welcoming, and while he can say the same for his new partner, he's just not sure how well they work together. They're the corner pieces of a puzzle; they just don't fit. She is short and bookish, he is lanky and detached.
Soul's hormones are all over the place, not unlike the kishins they've been assigned to fight. He decides he is done running. He focuses on the task at hand instead. His weapon self is growing on him, and some part within him is content (maybe it's his soul, he reasons, belatedly snorting at his own pun). That's something he hasn't felt in a while and Soul latches on as best as he can. At least Maka is sort of cool.
He's fifteen and he still doesn't know what love is. If the letters in his locker are any indication, it has something to do with big red hearts and scrawling cursive. He continues to make excuses, however, and avoids some serious soul searching (puns just come easy to him, what can he say). Well, maybe not excuses to be exact. Soul is heavily preoccupied with the black blood; it still manages to swell and recede like the tides.
He finds himself seeking comfort in his partner more often than not. He knows that he likes the way their limbs tangle together like his earbuds. He knows he likes the way they surprise each other with warm meals. He likes her warrior temper and her little mumbles of "goodnight". He does not know why. Soul blames these occurrences on her anti-madness wavelength. His feelings are on another wavelength entirely, and for now he focuses on keeping his insanity at bay. He tends to barricade his other emotions in the process, but he can't help but observe his partner with admiration. Her pigtails are becoming kind of endearing, so sue him.
He's seventeen and he can guess at what love is. He feels sparks of it whenever Maka holds his hand or comforts him after a rough night. She's so welcoming it hurts. Soul knows he has some sort of feelings for her because she's making him feel all gooey and cliche (someone mentioned the word "home" the other day and he immediately thought of her, oh Death).
He's eighteen and he knows. He knows. It feels like he's gained entry to some kind of secret club, he's finally found out! He's not sure how or when it happened. It probably had to do with the fact that they have 24/7 access to each others souls.
He can't really define love with words (without being extremely and hopelessly corny). But he feels it within him, taking root in his heart and spreading throughout his bones. It envelops his soul and he can't tell if he should be celebrating or worrying. He's leaning toward the latter. But the puzzle is only them now. They're an easy one to solve; two pieces that fit together perfectly and form a story.
He wants to do it. He wants to confess his love for her. It's not inappropriate right? They've kissed a few times, sure, but both parties were shy and more than a little nervous. They even sleep in the same bed together and she seems more than comfortable with his (cough) cuddling habits. But what if it's purely physical? What if she isn't looking for anything serious? With her family history, Soul figures, it wouldn't be unlikely.
But his head has been buzzing the past week, to the point where he almost can't distinguish his thoughts from hers. It's a content hum and it makes him feel anxious and excited at the same time. Maybe... Maybe she feels the same way.
He should do it. He will do it. But he has to be cool.
He stands. Breathes in and waits for her to take notice. His hands are clammy and he's pretty sure he can't feel his toes. Soul is ready though, and opens his mouth to speak.
She's not really sure what love is, but that doesn't come as a surprise. Her head is muddled, with memories of crying behind the washing machine continuing to resurface. At thirteen, she's still adjusting to life on her own. Her new partner, Soul, does not come off as one she can lean on. Don't get her wrong! He's nice and all, but Maka continues to curl into herself on bad days.
She goes to bed at night and locks her door for privacy.
She's fifteen and love remains a mystery. Maka knows she felt something when Soul took the brunt of the demon sword's blow for her. When he permanently marked her guilt across his chest. The frown of the scar reflects her own.
The nightmares have steadily been worsening. She can't say for sure how long they've been going on, but now they're bad enough to have her rush to his side. She wants to comfort him, to say something like "I love you", but it would be odd because what are they anyway? Soul is a boy with the wrong color of blood and Maka is a girl with dim green eyes.
She locks her door, but he leaves his open.
She's seventeen and maybe love is conceivable. She's read about it, sure, but this feels less detached and stiff. She loves his ungodly mess of hair and his growing collection of earbuds. His white eyelashes and weirdly nice shampoo. Maka loves his bits and pieces, okay, but does she love him? It seems like a stupid question (with an obvious answer, according to her friends), but it's important to her. She cannot repeat the past; she wants to be positive before admitting anything.
She keeps her door unlocked, but he's already asleep next to her.
She's almost eighteen and almost ready. She's firecracker Maka Last-Death-Scythe-Meister Albarn and she hates this feeling of trepidation. But like all fictional characters she reads of, she has her flaws. She guesses she can consider stubbornness to be one too, because she's been restless the past few nights just sorting out her thoughts. Even with all that contemplation, though, she feels unprepared and out of sorts.
Maka walks through the door. She is literally and metaphorically shaking in her boots. Her head is still abuzz, which excites and scares her because maybe Soul wants something more serious too.
She turns to face him and the greeting falls off of her lips. He is staring right back, shifting his weight from foot to foot (the fact that she finds it cute only proves that she should do this). She's pretty sure their wavelength is going haywire at this point.
Maka opens her mouth again to start the sort-of-not-really mini speech she's spontaneously prepared. Soul is more precise.
"I love you!"
He practically shouts it, so loud that she's gone deaf. She can't hear anything. Her heartbeat rumbles within her.
For some reason all she can think of is how he beat her to the point. Maka is anything if not competitive.
"Well I loved you first!"
It's stupid and childish and she immediately regrets it but his grin is so so worth it.
"I know."