Author's Note: I'm a dorky nerd of doom. :B ...And I was bored. ...And I didn't feel leik working on TToaLS or RoL. Yeah. And I suck at cheesy metaphors~ (x
Disclaimer: It's called 'fan'fiction for a reason~
"You are not a monster."
"Yeah, because every, normal person has freakin' silver hair in their teenage years."
Maka frowned at her partner and put her fisted hands on her hips.
"Soul, stop it. Why do you care anyways?"
"It's not cool for a guy to look like a freak, duh." The weapon was pulling on his hair with a deep frown on his face. His eyes crossed as he glared at the pale strands brushed his face.
"Ugh, what's with you? You're always so confident in your 'coolness' and now you're sitting around and complaining about you're freakin' hair color. This is so stupid!" Maka bit out, her control cracking as she began to rant. She started pacing back and forth across the living room as Soul followed her with his eyes, raising an eyebrow at her actions. The blonde started gesturing wildly and stomping her feet, which made Soul snicker at how it made her look even more childish than usual.
"I just don't get why you should care about these things! If it bothers you that much just dye it or something!" She continued.
As she took a couple more anger-filled trips across the room, Soul contemplated his next response.
"Do you like it?"
The meister stilled and looked at her weapon, both confused at the vagueness of the question and not really wrapping her mind around what he just asked.
Soul sighed before getting off the (oh, so comfy) couch and walking over to the shorter girl. She tilted her head back to look up into her weapon's eyes as she frowned.
"What do you mean, 'do you like it'?"
"Do you like my hair color, Maka?"
She pursed her lips, as her eyes unfocused and her head tilted to the side.
"Er, I guess so. I mean, it's just kind of, you, I guess. I'm used to it." She shrugged, knowing that she didn't directly answer his question. Her eyes flickered back to his, meeting a muddle of emotion-filled rubies.
"It doesn't really matter what I think though, because it's your hair so, you can do whatever you want with it." She stated, backing up her non-answer.
Maka squeaked as her partner pulled on one of her pigtails out of seemingly nowhere (honestly, how'd that hand get there?).
"I like your hair."
"Y-you do?" Maka coughed into her hand, trying to hide her mixed emotions at Soul's randomness.
"Yeah, it's cute in a way and, it's something that only you seem to do. It's like your little nerd-style, or whatever."
The blonde pouted but refrained herself from unleashing a Maka-chop.
"Hmph, atleast I don't use half a container of hair gel every morning."
"In my defense, my hairstyle is cool."
"Yeah, yeah, preach whatever you want, Mr. Cool Guy." Maka turned away, walking towards the kitchen.
"Atleast I don't look like I'm 7!" Soul countered.
"And at least I don't look like I'm 82!" Maka's muffled voice came from inside the fridge.
Soul huffed and sat back down on the couch, his form rigid.
Maka walked in a few minutes later and handed her pouting weapon a glass of milk. He accepted it, downing the liquid in a couple of seconds.
"Ha, maybe if you drink enough your hair will turn white, then you can upgrade to 90!"
Soul frowned and waited as Maka brought her own glass to her mouth. His eyes glinted as he pushed the rim of the glass into her face, not hurting her but, not letting the glass move. Her eyes widened and she growled, blowing bubbles into the bleach-y substance.
The weapon snickered before releasing his grip, as Maka's slackened hand came back to life, catching the glass before it could fall.
"Nice mustache you got there. White facial hair at 16, really?"
Maka's eyes squinted at him. He could tell she was fuming, about to explode into another rant.
He took his chance as she slowly opened her mouth. His head moved towards hers as his tongue darted out of his mouth and lapped at the creamy substance covering her lips and the area around them.
Soul pulled back, smiling innocently at his meister's red face and shocked expression.
"Yum, edible facial hair."
His meister's mouth continued to hang open for a few more minutes.
As she slowly regained control of her body, her mouth formed a thin line and she poured the rest of the white liquid on her partner's head.
"Experiment time, pervert."
Turns out milk neither bleaches hair nor turns you instantly 90-years-old.
Yup. That is all. ._.