sooo. this is set somewhere in Chapter 83, where Soul is affected when Chrona activates Black Blood, but shortly before they're called in to settle Moscow situation. i needed to work more with this situation, since we only got to see a little of it and not much of the situation was really resolved.

And So, Breathe
/pseudonymosity
Set some time in Chapter 83, where Soul's scar suffers from Chrona's activation of Black Blood. He's always going to hurt and they'll never really know what to do about that, other than live with it.


"Soul?" Maka stepped back from the dinner table, walking around him to face him as his form bent over slightly. She looked down at his bandaged hand, placed over the top of his scar - where it was at its deepest. He was rapidly becoming more flushed, coupled with shaky breathing and literal shakes.

"Soul," she frowned, calling him again when his eyes slipped closed and his breathing became more harsh. When he didn't reply, far too concentrated on his breathing and not the piercing ache, she simply took hold of him by his shoulder and pulled him roughly to the couch. It was deliberate, her aggressiveness - or at least, as much as she could assert her strength, given her sore state. To jerk him forcibly to the present.

"Soul," she tried again, far more demanding this time, leaning him back onto the couch, her own form hovering above him as she made another effort to reach to him. She sighed and pulled herself back, settling on the edge of the coffee table.

She found herself breathing along with him - shallow, but deep, slow breaths. They continued on, for a few seconds before Soul tiredly opened his eyes to look at her.

"It's nothing. Just. It's... It's weird. It happens," he said dismissively, his breathing somewhat levelling back to normalcy. He slumped into a slouch, leaning his head against the couch, chin tilted upward to the ceiling and his arm slung over his eyes. He focused on his breathing again.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

He jerked when he felt fingers under the hem of his shirt, "Oi. What are you-!"

"Keep breathing and shush," Maka commanded (rare time of her Meistervoice) with a roll of her eyes, "we should check if maybe something's going on with your scar. Like an infection or a rash. We'll go to Hakase tomorrow. And Nygus-sensei. You don't get to complain."

"If you haven't noticed yet, I'm facing an infection already," he deadpanned, but nudged her fingers away to lift his shirt up himself. That one finger was still recovering from its almost broken state.

She leaned in slightly to inspect the scar.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," she reported softly, as she pressed her fingers against the scar, "just a sensation, you said? What kind."

Her Meistervoice again. Damn it, she was pissed. Her quiet sort of pissed.

"Yeah. Like I said. It's probably, most likely, nothing," he said flippantly, pulling the shirt down again, smoothing the hem. He continued the motion against his shirt, as a sort of distraction from the pain.

"With that thing," she said quietly, "it's never just 'nothing,' Soul."

He keeps breathing, and she in tandem. It's all she can do.

The phone rings sharply.