A/N: I'm giggling madly now, it's... kindasorta my first fic! Enjoy, I had a lot of inspirations for this, it was very fun to idealize a plot and write.
Chap.1:
»`This is called Stair Climbing´«
`»0«´
Maka bolted up the enormous flight of stairs with ease, puffing even and regular breath patterns along the way. It was a daily work out; running up and down DWMA's stairway has become such a habit that it no longer pained her body. She still remembered her first time and the hardness that her mind took into fulfilling the task of walking up and down such a mass amount of steps every day.
Though times back then… But past is past and she has changed. Since the time Maka first laid eyes on Shibusen she got a new quantity of knowledge, emended mistakes, arranged a partner and got considered as one of the best students among the Academy.
Hardly breaking a sweat, the ash-blond girl jumped in contentment as she, once more, reached the end of her daily exercise. She pumped one fist in the air, stretched her body and muttered a quiet thank you at the skies for the lovely weather assaulting Death City. "Ha ~" She moaned before planting her hands on her hips and smiling at nowhere in special. "Another jog well done!" She giggled.
Turning around she gazed at the marvelous sight that spread before her. Twisted, mended houses greeted her with their unique architecture (that for some reason unknown reminded the blond of a certain doctor/professor, very fond of stitches and sutures) and unique colors. Below her stood Death City, not quite the city of the dead but guarded by none other than Death himself.
A loud yawn made its way to her ears and the girl lowered her head a few centimeters, noticing for the first time this morning that her partner wasn't by her side as usual. She twisted her neck a little more and spotted a blob of whiteness moving up the stairs. Soul's hair was whiter than the dull-colored steps which had a beige tone to add from years of use. His black jacket also stood well under the light.
"Haaaaaa~~" Maka heard him yawn in the distance and with a scowl crossed her arms. Why the lazy bum! It's already eight in the morning and he's still acting like he's just woken up – even though the scythe meister made him walk to class today because the day was sunny, he was still lazy as always and dragging his feet with more effort than his meister.
When Soul finally reached the top and walked hunched by her side, she grunted. "Took you long enough."
Soul however, stood unfazed and yawned once again. "No need to bark Maka, I'm already here ain't I?"
"Yeah but if you keep rubbing the ground with every step then next thing you know you'll have the whole school whipped clean." She groaned. "Oh my, what heavy feet you have…"
The young weapon glanced up between messy bangs and watery eyelids, interrupting another yawn in favor of looking at his meister who appeared really annoyed by something that escaped him. And apparently that wasn't the only thing that his mind failed to notice in time, because seconds later he realized that for a moment there, Maka actually cracked a joke. "Funny today, aren't we?"
The blond puffed her chest indignantly and walked away with a sour mood but cheery footing, contradicting even his mind that by now should know all the surprises of the young Albarn. Sighing, he followed the girl with a growing dread inside, knowing that once he set foot inside the walls of Shibusen, class would be his next assignment and even though he tried, still remained mentally unprepared for such a routine.
His thoughts were cut short when his face bumped into something soft yet tough, making the nape of his nose send a jolt of slight pain to his brain. "What the-" Even in the disarray that was Soul's mind during the morning, he dropped the rest of the sentence for the sake of his meister, who shouldn't be far away and after hearing would punish his scalp from 'lack of manners in public'.
Soul's disorder also told him that his meister was the 'thing' he not-so-graciously bumped into.
"… Maka?" He finally muttered out. It was a strange sight – her back was turned to him and her head was pointing towards the top of the building as if she spotted something interesting, but no matter how many times he glanced up the same weird sight met his bloody irises: humongous lit candles and a big set of cartooned skulls mixed with walls painted red and black. In short, Death Weapon and Meister Academy. "Got a glimpse of Black Star or somethin'?"
Just for measure he tapped her shoulder and blinked at her blank face once she faced him. Her eyes were filled with concern, but her lips, her lashes, her cheeks were dull, coldly forced into a stone. And he didn't like it one bit.
"Is something wrong?" In an unconscious movement, Soul rubbed the left side of his face, expecting to sense some kind of anomaly lying on his skin. A certain magical cat once thought it was funny to transform his face into one of a clown; he came to the Academy with layers of make-up and didn't notice a thing until Maka, who oh so conveniently slept the night at Tsubaki's, pointed the obvious when he reached his seat. So uncool.
Maka shook her head, suddenly looking down to her feet. "Do you feel fine? Don't you want to make a quick check-up at the Infirmary before class? We still have time."
Blinking, the demon scythe furrowed his eyebrows and looked at the old-looking clock perked up above the main entrance. "Huh… you're joking right? The bell's gonna ring in about five minutes or so." Maybe he's exaggerating, but their little walk this morning cost them a good time and he knows how Maka likes to make her presence known quite early in the morning.
This time the technician fidgeted, playing with her thumbs as she talked. "It doesn't matter, I ju-"
Doesn't matter? "Who are you and what have you done to my meister?"
"MAKA-CHOP!"
He howled in pain but what good would that bring besides uncoolness? As Soul sat on the ground clutching his head for dear-life, the faint image of a very pissed off Maka hovered over him with a novel stashed under her arm and a scowl pasted on her face. So it was a surprise when a hand suddenly appeared out of nowhere and presented itself in front of his face. Imagine his confusion when he noted that the hand was gloved, and had the initials 'M.A.' graved above her pulse.
What was the matter with her? She wants to take him to the Infirmary but hurts his brain with literature right after offering to walk with him there. And now she's helping him get up. Swearing a huge amount of silent blasphemies that would have made Black Star proud, Soul cracked his neck. "I do not understand girls." And this special, flat-chested, bookworm was getting especially on his nerves today.
Temperamental much? 'Cause first she was beaming, then she was annoyed, then sad, nervous, angry and finally, she was helping him stand up after dropping a chop. Hey, she was the one who started!
But her soft voice didn't help him at all. It made him feel giddy with a sudden beat that his central muscle just missed. Her tone was so calm and adorable that for a moment the scythe forgot that in front of him could be standing the next generation of unpredictable soldiers, ready to explode like unbalanced volcanoes at any moment. "Sorry about that."
The weapon stared. Stared at her glove, stared at her hand, stared at her fingers, he stared. What more could he do? Should he be fuming? Should he be mad? 'Cause he was. Soul Eater was mad with mostly three things.
One: He had been worried for her behavior in vain. If he had known that it was going to be one of her mood-swings again he never would have bothered asking her or lowering down to a position where his cool façade wore off and showed fear for her well-being.
Two: Maka had literally forced heavy literature into his head and that didn't do wonders – it never did. She hit him for being concerned and even so, after that she kneeled in front of his being and offered help like nothing had happened between them, like nothing had changed.
Three: Her hand was covered by white fabric – a fact that irritated him above nothing else.
Grunting, Soul decided to lift from the ground on his own, without the help of a moody Maka that could pull another fast one in less than a second if he was to step too close. He dusted his pants with his palms, forced on his best annoyed glare and prepared to leave her side.
But he couldn't do it. He tried, but he just couldn't.
He reminded his morning-lazy brain that there was a fourth fact in his personal list for today's anomalies-that-weren't-so-abnormal. Maka's eyes shine with green fire, calmed down to a warm blaze with bits of guilt that send her off to her thoughts, like now. She was over-thinking again, such a cute display, and even though he will never admit it the sight bothered his soul to no end.
Because Soul knows that it doesn't matter if his partner decides to smack him a million times during one day (he thinks he's a masoquist, oh well), he will always follow her music.
Because no matter how many changes her mood would take he wouldn't mind, he once made an effort to cope with the girl but that isn't needed anymore. When her eyes told stories that mimicked her thoughts and worries, he got lost, and no one would ever find him again until her musical voice awakens him from the day-dream he fell into.
Soul can never be mad at Maka because she could always turn him, spin him around like a little toy with her petite, feathery hands. In those few seconds before the ring of the bells, his eyes were set on her and he didn't leave, dare he say because he felt attracted.
So uncool. So utterly, stupidly, idioticly uncool.
"L-Let's get going then." Her heart-shaped face turned sideways, her plushy lashes bated rhythmically like wings of a grand, black raven. When her back faced him, he fought against his brain and commanded his feet to make a move, or else he would look like an idiot standing by the front gates, like a moron staring at the place where his light once was.
The weapon grunted and rubbed his forehead, watching Maka climb the last three steps before entering the building. He could stop her now you know. Soul could raise his arms and cup her wrist between rough pianist fingers and make her answer right here and now why the hell she is making him pass for such a hard time-
-but her swan-like neck greeted him from between twin pigtails, with creamy skin and unspoken, seductive calling.
"This situation," he hid his eyes under cotton bangs of hair, forcing the heat that had lifted up his cheeks down his chest again. "isn't cool at all."
Inside the corners of his mind, where a room (a BLACK and RED room) glowed between darkness and shadows, a demon snickered.
It's short, I know, but see it as some kind of intro (Or somethin'…)
I'm a little nervous about all this (writing this story, I mean) – I have a lot of fics on my computer but none seemed good enough; not to mention that I have a huge amount of unfinished one-shots at every corner. At night I can feel them begging my lame brain for a finish dot, but I get lost when I open them -_-
Next chapter will be posted this week. Ciao!