Soul hates himself.
He just can't help the way he can't stop thinking about Maka and those big green eyes of hers or the way they light up when she's reading a book or how they're filled with warmth when she looks at him.
He also can't help that warm feeling in his chest that flares up at the thought of his Meister.
Deep down, he knows it's really not cool at all to feel this way about Maka, but for once he decides it's okay to think about it a little.
Just a little, though. He still needs some of his awesomeness.
/
"Soul, look! It's snowing!" Maka cries one cold afternoon, leaping up from the couch and pressing her face excitedly to the glass pane of the window. Soul smiles amusedly. (His stomach is a little fluttery, but is he going to admit that? Hell no.)
"Look who finally tore her nose out of that book." He says, smirking as Maka's head whips around and her hand reaches for the book on the table. Fuck, he thinks, acting on his instincts and ducking. He cringes as his futile attempt to dodge the dreaded Maka Chop fails and his head is bashed in by a book wielded by an incredible girl with incredible strength.
Maka laughs, and Soul refuses to think about how that laugh sounds prettier than any goddamn gospel hymn ever sung on Christmas before. He also refuses to watch her lips as they form that beautiful noise, and how they would feel pressed up against his own. (He thinks about those things anyways.)
He's probably in too deep, but who cares? It's Maka, she's his Meister, and he's never been more in love with her before.
/
"Maka, you're hopeless. Admit it. You can't bake Christmas cookies." Soul says for the fourth time today, rolling his eyes and pressing his lips together roughly to hide the sappy smile threatening to form on his face. "This is the fourth batch you've ruined. You're wasting all our sugar."
Maka scoffs and turns, her eyes glued to the recipe in the cookbook. "Like you could do any better. You drink milk straight out of the carton."
"What's that supposed to mean?!" Soul cries indignantly, narrowing his eyes at the blonde. "I'm a much better baker than you."
"Oh yeah?" She challenges. "Do it, then. Bake cookies better than mine."
"Blair could bake cookies better than yours. You've burned every batch. Now, watch the master at work." Soul gloats, smirking at Maka. She makes a face at him and sets down her book, clasping her hands in her lap.
And so, three hours and seven batches of cookies later, Maka is pouting on her stool in the kitchen as she shoves another Gingerbread man into her mouth. "It's not fair," she whines, and Soul has to clench his hand into a fist so he won't think about how absolutely adorableshe looks at the moment, childish and grabby. Adorable isn't a cool word anyways; only the whipped use the word adorable. (Fuck, does that mean he's whipped?) "Why are you a better baker than I am?"
"Some people've got it. Some people don't. You, Maka, are one of the ones who don't."
"I hate you," she whines again, and Soul allows himself a small smile.
If using the word whipped to describe his Meister means he's whipped, then feeling whipped never felt so good.
/
"Soul, c'mon! We've gotta pick out a Christmas tree!" Maka shouts happily, dragging her weapon by the hand as they head towards the only Christmas tree shop in Death City.
She reminds him so much of a kid right now, and her eyes are sparkling and pure happiness seems to be permanently etched into her features, and she grasps his hand maybe a little too tightly, but really, he's not complaining. He's never, ever seen her this happy before. And because she's happy, he's happy.
Whipped as fuck, he thinks, shaking his head with a sigh. "Alright, Maka, lead the way. You choose."
The unadulterated gratitude in her eyes as she turns to Soul and asks, "Really?" is worth every single Death Note he's about to drop on this tree and more. "Okay!" She chirps cheerfully, practically skipping down the endless aisles of Christmas trees to choose from. She stops all of a sudden and Soul nearly crashes into her, barely managing to skid to a stop right before he does. "What do you think of this one?" She wonders, cocking her head curiously, her hand on her hips. The other one is still entwined with Soul's, and silently he thanks his lucky stars she hasn't noticed yet.
"It's your choice. Pick whichever one you want," Soul offers, shrugging. "I don't care, as long as you're happy. And, uh - " he adds quickly, "that it's the coolest tree in all Death City."
"Well, then, I want... this one!" She points to a beautiful blue pine that's around five meters tall. "Is that okay?"
Soul's eyes almost bulge out of his head as he looks at the price tag, but then he sighs, resigned to his fate. He uses his other hand to fish his wallet out of his pocket, and he leaves Maka standing by the tree as he saunters up to the window to pay.
"We'd like that tree over there," Soul says lazily to the employee, pointing towards his Meister and the tree of her choice. "If that's possible."
"You got it." The worker says, holding out his hand for the money. Soul forks it over, inwardly cringing as he does. "She your girlfriend or something?"
"Uh... no. She's my Meister. We're just friends." Soul says awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck as his face flushes. "I'm just her weapon. Nothing more."
"I could've sworn you two were a couple. Your feelings for her are really obvious, man, and I'd suggest making a move before someone else does. She doesn't have much of a chest, but I'd fuck her in a second. She has a nice ass."
"Shut the fuck up, dickhead. She's more than her ass. You say one more thing like that about and I slit your fucking throat, got it?" Soul growls, suppressing a smirk at the worker's fear as his arm turns into a scythe.
"S-sorry, man, I, uh... just make a move, okay? She likes you back."
"Whatever." Soul mutters, a blush slowly growing on his face. "Just give me the goddamn money and her goddamn tree."
"Y-yeah, you got i-it," the employee stutters, scurrying off to fetch Maka's tree. Once he arrives there, Maka rushes over to Soul with a suspicious look on her face.
"What was that about? You almost got into a fight. It's the holiday season. It's time to be happy, not punch people's lights out."
"He was badmouthing you. I've said it before, I'll say it again: I'm prepared to die for my Meister."
"Oh, for goodness' sakes, Soul!"
"Love you too, Maka."
/
The Christmas tree is all set up and the hot cocoa is prepared in mugs, both set on the counter, and the eggnog and cookies are in the fridge. Everything is ready for Maka. Soul can't wait to see her face when she walks in and sees what he's done for her.
He's turned into a total sap, but he figures it's the holiday season. The cheerful vibe infected him and now he's horribly romantic and cute.
He hates himself.
What he doesn't hate, though, is the look on Maka's face as she enters their small apartment and how her eyes twinkle when she looks at him and how she lets out a surprised "oh" when she sees what's above both of them. (He mentally claps himself on the back because that was one smooth ass move right there.)
He definitely doesn't hate the feel of Maka's peppermint chocolate breath on his face and how she's a little sweaty and nervous as they both lean in and he most definitely does not hatehow her lips feel on his and how they fit together like they were made for each other and how soft and how nice and how perfect and how right this one simple kiss is.
Maka's the first to break off, and she lets out another surprised "oh" as she tugs her hat off her head. And then she goes in for more, their lips meeting again and then moving soft and slow in unison. She hums happily into the kiss and Soul's hands wander up to her face and cup it as they get even more into it.
And then, all of a sudden, Soul kisses harder and she kisses harder and then they're making out against the fridge.
Her hands rocket up to his hair and tug on it as she makes another satisfied hum against his lips, and his hands drift down her back until they're cupping her butt. He breaks the kiss off to press his lips against her neck, and he ignores the thousands of butterflies in his stomach because, really, butterflies aren't cool.
"S-soul," Maka says breathlessly, "I-I..."
"Shh," he mumbles against the smooth, pale skin, of her neck.
"But... Soul, I - "
"Mmhm?" He hums curiously, his lips still plastered to her neck.
"I..."
"Don't worry, Maka." He laughs, pulling his head up to look at her clearly. Her hair is disheveled and her lips are puffy and there's a few love bites on her neck, but she's never looked more beautiful than she does now. He wants to be with her forever, and he doesn't care how uncool that sounds.
"Soul?"
"Maka, I... I love you." He says straight to her face. "Goddamnit, Maka Albarn, I'm in love with you. I've been in love with you for years now."
"Soul - "
"And I'm gonna sound so uncool saying this, but I wanna be with you forever."
"Soul - "
"Like, forever forever. As long as we both shall live."
"Soul - "
"And I - "
"Shut up, Soul, can I answer you and your half questions? Yes, I'm in love with you. And yes, I'd like to be with you forever too."
"Really?" He can't believe his ears. That employee that tried to steal his Maka was right.
He realizes what he called Maka a second later, and then realizes that a: he really doesn't care because b: it's true. She's his and only his, and forever she'll be his and only his. His heart does a funny thump-thumpin his chest and he thinks that he could definitely get used to it. He's the coolest of the cool, now that he has a girlfriend who happens to be really good at making out.
"Yes, really. Now get out the eggnog and your cell phone and let's invite some company to celebrate." Maka commands, pushing him off her to get to the fridge.
Soul pushes her back onto the fridge and mumbles, "I've got a better idea."
And so his lips are back on hers and he smiles because all he wanted for Christmas was a kiss from Maka and damnit, now he's got it.