Maka

Who exactly is this creature with white fur and blood eyes and a chronic shortness because he thinks being slouchy looks cool? He is all canines and growls and slobber. He is protective of his friends. He is extremely protective of her. Soul reaches a sort of possessive servitude when it comes to her. Passive-aggressive servitude, yes, but the fact remains: he is loyal to her. She doesn't know if it's because he takes his job seriously, despite any of his less-than-satisfactory hobbies such as cutting class, or setting up jump rope competitions between Tsubaki and Blair, or pulling asymmetrical pranks on Kid. She doesn't know if it's because she's his closest friend and is thus at the top of the totem pole, though she's pretty sure Black Star takes that spot. She doesn't know if it's some other reason- something she dare not think of because the resulting karma for her foolishness would be nothing short of apocalyptic.

She really cares for this particular strange, albino-furred watch dog who refuses to let any harm come to her, who gets irked when she thinks of other guys, who shows (and sometimes doesn't show) restraint only for her, who buys her ice cream in the dead of night, and who is currently snoring on her shoulder. His breath is uncomfortably humid on her collar bone, and his snores rattle her ribcage. She can't help but smile. She also can't help but imagine him dreaming of a gigantic dog food bowl filled with squishy souls, but that's beside the point.

She doesn't want to get him involved in her feelings. She must keep them guarded. The idea of guarding anything from him is laughable, but she tries. It's a good gig they have together. Their trust is concrete. Their teamwork on the field is nearly unmatched. Their friendship is the one thing she cherishes above all others. So if she falters for one second- messes up and he finds out that she always wants him closer, that she can't look long into his eyes while hiding her heart's racing, that she wears his shirt at night because alone in her room it is the only comfort she has- it could all go up in smoke. He relies on her too- her mastery of wielding his scythe form, her courage, her understanding that he's a complete introvert, her silence at his brother-complex and perchance to purse his lips like a monkey when he's thinking about music. She can't risk destroying the trust he has in her.

So, Maka steels herself to feel nothing so he feels nothing. He's terribly perceptive though, as is commendable for a meister's weapon. It's a difficult and generally heartbreaking task.

She must be feeling too loudly, because he stops snoring and starts to stir. Albino watch-dog, indeed. Soul has always looked out for her, even in sleep.

There is always some kind of music going on inside him. Not always piano, not always a song he likes, but just whatever is lurking in his brain. While asleep, there are so many emotions and notes going on that she can't make sense of anything from the bond between them, but in waking, his music focuses. She can catch snippets of it, if he's relaxed and she stretches the bond wide enough. He doesn't hum or whistle or sing out loud, but his soul sings of something all day.

As he wakes, she can hear the notes his mind brings up from the depths. She stares at the ceiling and starts to hum along. He shifts a little, his arm over her stretching and grazing her stitches. Humming stopped, she chokes back a yelp. One breath. Two. His head pops up off her shoulder in delayed surprise. She turns her head to look at him. White fur tickles her as his head swivels to face her, confused red rising suns scrutinizing.

Ah, those eyes. How they stir her. How sad that she must disrupt that stare. "Yer arm, it hurts," she slurs, face merely inches from his. She receives a lot of eyebrow scrunching to her greeting. He looks at the arm in question.

"Ah- Shit. Sorry. Uhhhhg I need to piss."
"Well don't go here."

He glares at her. "Don't tell me what to do," he mumbles. He looks mildly alarmed for a moment. "I can't find my other arm." He wriggles around, trying get his right arm out from between them.

"What, you mean-" She pulls their entwined fingers from under the blanket, "-THIS?" Soul stares at the offered appendage. She catches an eyebrow twitch. He hisses a little, complaining.

"It's waking up," he groans as he untangles himself from her hand and the hospital bed. He hurriedly slides on his shoes and slinks out of the room, heels hanging off the back of his sneakers.

Not a blush. Not even a 'Let go of my hand, woman!' How depressing. It's more insulting that he feels even less than disgust. Ah well, it is for the best. His lack of physical interest keeps them together, and she should take what she can get. He said he would die for her- surely she can't be greedy for more than that.

Maka finds herself staring at the door for his return. She is greedy. She craves for his presence so much that it's sickening. Like father like daughter. She groans at such a realization, returning her gaze to the ceiling in disgust. She is a hopeless case.

She feels like she's floating and it annoys her a little. The calmness from the late afternoon light slanting into the room makes all the panic and pain from the previous night seem surreal. She remembers flashes of it: The plastic clatter of her toothbrush hitting the floor, the water endlessly gurgling into the sink drain. Her legs and hips and back cramping up as she cowers in pain. The sounds of Soul's keys in the door being the happiest sounds in her life. Soul's arms around her, trying to keep it in, trying to hold her together. Soul's fear.

Ovarian cysts seem silly after the countless near-death experiences they've had together. Thank heavens it was only that. Even if it could have been worse- internal bleeding or infertility or cancer- thank heavens it was only that. If it happens again, she will be ready. She had felt his fear. Soul's intense fear of not being able to do anything. His fear of losing her. His fear of her own fear. Though the tiniest bit flattering it may be, she never wants to feel Soul's fear again. She had lost her courage over mere pain in that bathroom. Next time, she will be ready. She never wants anything to happen that ever tests his loyalty to her that way.

She starts to hum again, though in surprise. She finds that the song stuck in his head is now stuck in hers. She can't help but smile.