Soul had hoped Maka would stop acting strange after the confrontation. And she did. Somewhat. She acted less secluded but she wore even more black than ever. Maka's skirts were shorter than ever and Soul realized that when she replaced her normal, conservative attire for tight tank tops, her tits didn't seem so small. Guys at school stared and he was constantly glaring down the drooling punks. She wasn't giving Soul the cold shoulder but whenever he talked to her she only half smiled. Soul couldn't complain but he missed her special smile she reserved for him.
They were somewhere in California, on the boardwalk near a big city filled with freaks. Soul gulped down his dinner of a kishin egg. It was warm and tasted like blood. It didn't satisfy him as it usually did though. While he had finished up Maka had gone back to his motorcycle. He stopped and stared. In the moonlight his meister looked absolutely….the opposite of everything he had ever called her; she was sexy. As much as he hated her new look and missed her familiar sweater vest, Soul could not deny she looked born to straddle a motorcycle in a leather miniskirt and thigh high boots.
"Well, are you coming or not Soul! I want to get home!"
When Maka wrapped her arms around him, even though she had done so a million times before, Soul took a lot more notice of it. Physical contact with Maka was always in a trusting, friendship way; holding hands and other contact had a purpose. Neither of them was ever uncomfortable with physical touching because of their close bond. But somehow, feeling her pressed against him that time felt more intimate and scary all at once. Not that he minded. It just felt different. Back home, Maka disentangled herself from him and he was left feeling incomplete without her warmth.