WARNING: Contains spoilers!! ^^; (gomene~)

AN: Unfortunately, I do not own Soul Eater, but these two are my obsession right now. This will probably be two or three chapters by the end…Like I said in the summary, my intention is to narrate the little bits of daily SoulxMaka fluff that wouldn't be featured in a Shonen manga/anime.

I kind of doubted the fact that Maka could get up and deliver an inspirational message about courage after being strangled, taking a direct hit from the Kishin, and having her ribs and internal organs crushed. o.o;; Ouch. So this is what I think might've happened after the curtains on the 51st episode closed...


The sun was sinking in the sky by the time Soul had become anxious enough to risk getting out of bed to check on Maka. The flower-shaped burn on his back stretched blisteringly as he raised himself onto his elbows and rolled out of the too-familiar hospital bed. He grimaced. Not cool.

The others slept dreamlessly in their own beds, so much themselves even in the depths of unconsciousness. BlackStar lay sprawled across his mattress, the star of his own bed even amongst the swathe of bloodied bandages. Tsubaki slept, small and fragile in the bed beside his, the golden light spilling across her troubled face. Liz and Patty shared a bed, wrapped around each other, matching bruise to bruise, while Kid slept stiff and still as death. Soul padded quietly past them all, leaving only the slightest traces of blood on his own sheets.

Maka had been in surgery for almost five hours now, Soul thought as he wound his way through the crowded rooms of the dispensary. Stein-hakase must be finished by now, and if he wasn't and Maka—…But Soul wasn't going to think about that. Nevertheless, he felt a cold chill sweep through his feverish body as he reached the still-closed door to the operating room.

Shit. Why was this taking so damn long? A string of manic images flashed through his battered head, but the figures blocking the entrance saved him from doing anything drastic.

"A-ah, Soul! Hello…" murmured Crona, looking up. The sad remains of a daisy lay scattered on her skirt as she plucked at the petals in that habitually nervous manner.

"Eh," Soul responded, sitting down slowly beside her so as to avoid stretching the burn on his back.

She was a good three feet away from where Spirit lay sacked out on the floor, having tried to pry his way under the door to get to his daughter. It was lucky that Maka couldn't see.

"So. Any news?" asked Soul, eying the snoring man suspiciously. He was dedicated, that much was sure. At least in some things.

"Um…Stein-hakase said that h-he thinks she'll make it," she stammered, fiddling with the fraying hem of her skirt now. "But that it will take some time to heal."

Soul felt himself relax instaneously, only to be hit with a sudden wave of nostalgia. This was where Maka had been when he'd been the one in their being pieced back together. Except that she hadn't had anyone to wait with...

Soul clenched his fists.

Maka had waited for him. Now it was his turn.

~*~

He must have fallen asleep sometime during the night for when next he woke, Soul was back in his own hospital bed. His first thought was to realize that someone must have carried him back. He flinched. How uncool. He was really loosing his touch lately.

Why had he been out of bed, anyway?

Maka.

He shot up at the word and immediately paid for it with a pulse of scorching pain from the burn on his back. But it only slowed him for a moment.

His sleeping friends remained still, the only change to be lit with weak light of early morning. But there it was, at the end of the row—a new bed, surrounded by white hospital curtains.

Soul was there, tearing back the curtain before he could think to move. And there she was. Maka: bruised, battered, little spots of dried blood coloring a swath of white bandages.

Her face was paler than usual. Flaxen hair usually tied into such neat ponytails bloomed across the pillow in knots of disarray. Deep black bruises traced spider-thin fingers around her neck like a sadistic tattoo--a gift from a demon.

Soul was motionless for several minutes, studying his meister's face with unreadable crimson eyes. Seeing her here—even in this state—safe and sleeping, allowed a weight of unimaginable proportions was lifted off his chest. He sank down in the folding chair positioned next to her bed, weak with relief.

He reached out, slipping his hand into hers. Small and cool, it was as familiar to him as the keys on his piano and, in battle, brought the same amount of power and exhilaration. But now her usually strong grasp was slack. He rubbed his thumb musingly over the same battered knuckles that had knocked the Kishin of its pedistal.

Soul grinned a bit, sharp teeth exaggerating a smile provoked by pride. Yeah, that was his partner. You wouldn't think it to look at her, but she was without a doubt the coolest person Soul had ever met.

Maka stirred.

"Ne, Soul," she slurred, her words dragged down by painkillers and exhaustion. She didn't open her eyes—didn't need to to know who it was holding her hand. It was a knowledge that sprung perhaps from her soul perception ability, perhaps from something else. Her fingers tightened briefly around his own.

"Eh, Maka."

She didn't respond, but the tinniest smile fluttered across her face upon hearing his voice. And then sleep reclaimed her.

Soul leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, assuming his Cool Guy pose. But while he slipped one hand into his pocket, the other remained holding hers.

"Yeah, Maka," said Soul. "I'll stay."


Yosh! :D Fluff!

You might have noticed that I refer to Crona as "she". But if anyone knows what gender Soul usually refers to him/her, I'd like to fix that.

Your feedback would be lovely~ :3