You Know You Trust Your Partner...
by. Poisoned Scarlet
...when he rejects popularity for your sake.
He knows she hates it.
He can't have a quiet, easy, lunch with her anymore because there are always people who stop to say hi or pause him on their way to the cafeteria. There are girls who pull him aside to profess their love for him and there are guys who challenge him to games of basketball or arm wrestling.
She's stopped waiting for him so they could eat lunch together.
She's stopped waiting for him to head to their next class in-between periods.
And he has stopped meeting her at their usual meeting place after school because there are always people who want to hang out; chat; joke around; stalk him...
He hates it.
She's stopped doing a lot of things because of his increased popularity at becoming a Deathscythe. The glory had been sweet at first, well-appreciated and boasted of, but now it has become a nuisance he could do without – especially since it's causing a rift between his meister and him.
He doesn't want to push her away.
He tried that once, when they were younger, but now he has accepted that he needs her; she's the one who ruined his jaded plans, ruined his cynical habit of plotting out his life, plotting out everything, down to the most useless task, and he doesn't want to lose the only, unpredictable, thing in his melancholic life.
He doesn't want to lose the last thing he has to achieving freedom from his past demons.
"Hey, Soul Eater, what's up dude?"
"You will be if you don't shut up" He snaps, crimson eyes fastened on Maka's retreating back.
"Soul Eater—!"
"Move it!"
"Soul, dude, guess what—?"
"Not now."
"Soul-kun! Would you have lunch with me—!"
"No."
"Soul—!"
"Get out of my way!" A vicious snarl crosses his face, frightening enough to choke in the greetings from those around him. He doesn't try to correct his poor mannerism – he pushes forward and ignores their wondrous whispers, as they watch him leave their sight without a backwards glance.
He picks up his pace, searching for his meister in the spacious lunch room.
He catches the bellow of white robes leaving through twin metal doors and he follows it, knowing no one else but Maka could make robes flutter like that.
It's a cool habit she has.
He finds her on a bench by Shibusen's library, taking bites of her sandwich as she holds a novel in her other hand. Occasionally, someone would pass by her but neither would bother to look away from their tasks to greet each other unlike how, if it were him sitting on that bench, he'd greet them and start casual conversation with that person.
His heart weighs at how lonesome she appears, how lonely he has left her, sitting on that bench under a gloomy willow tree.
They haven't eaten lunch together in a long time.
Had he really been selfish enough to abandon her like this while he basked in the glory he obtained due to her? Death knew, literally, that if it weren't for Maka, he wouldn't be the icon he was now: a Deathscythe.
It was all because of her.
He sits beside her silently, stretching out his legs in front of him. He takes a deep breath. "Hey."
Maka doesn't look up from her novel. She takes another bite from her sandwich before answering. "Hey."
He shifts his eyes away from her, heaving a sigh. It was best to just pretend like the past couple of weeks hadn't happened. He isn't good with words and he doesn't need to anger her because of his clumsiness and cause that rift between them to worsen.
He can't lose her anymore than he already has.
"What's up?" Maka asks, taking a quick glance in his direction. "Why aren't you with your friends?" She lowers the book a little, showing him she was paying attention. "Did something happen?"
He frowns. It isn't cool that she thinks he'd only hang out with her because he has a problem: she's Maka, his meister and best friend, not his emotional trash bin. "Nothing's up – I can't hang out with my meister whenever I feel like it anymore? We used to do it all the time."
"But before you weren't a Deathscythe." Maka corrects, coolly. He nearly flinches at her detached tone. "You should go back with your friends if you have nothing to say to me. They're probably looking for you right now—!"
"They can look all they want, I'm not going back." Soul says simply, surprising her. "Just because you turned me into a Deathscythe doesn't mean I'm going to stop hanging out with you. That's not cool." He presses his lips together, sinking deeper into his seat. "...Sorry, for ditching you like this. That was really uncool of me."
A small smile lifts the corners of her lips and she goes back to her novel, not reading a single word off the page as she answers: "Have you eaten lunch yet?"
"No."
"Here – I don't want it." Maka says, pushing her tray to him. "I don't like ham."
Soul grins in relief. When Maka starts to share, that's when he knows she's forgiven him. "What're you talking about? Ham is awesome." He takes the sandwich from the plate and bites into it, not realizing how hungry he really is until he's devouring it in a few short chomps.
"I only like pastrami – you know that!" Maka rolls her eyes, raising a brow when he's done with the sandwich in ten seconds flat. He pops open her carton of milk, taking a chug.
"You want some?" He offers, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.
"No, thanks." Maka wrinkles her nose at his bad table manners. To think he came from a renowned and wealthy family! "But I do want the apple!" She snatches the apple off her plate and takes a bite out of it, directing her eyes back to the book.
"Do you think they're still serving food?" Soul asks suspiciously, rubbing his aching belly. He's not even halfway full! This is nothing compared to what he usually eats!
"Probably. We still have twenty minutes of lunch left." Maka says, checking the clock tower that looms past the rows of trees and brushes that decorates this half of the school. "You should go now if you want to get something good."
"Ugh, but it's so far..." Soul groans. "Maka, you do it."
"What? No way! You have two legs – do it yourself!"
"C'mon, your scythe is hungry!" Soul whines, pushing the money in her hand like a whiny little boy.
"My scythe can fly there to get his own food!" Maka flatly says, pushing the money back. "So if you're that hungry, go get it yourself. It's not that far, anyway, I don't know what you're whining about..."
"I can't fly without you." Soul blandly states, knowing it was true. It's only because of her Grigori-type soul that they were able to gain the ability to fly.
"Too bad."
"Maka...!"
"Hurry up – the line is probably closing now."
Soul groans and heaves himself up, cracking his back in the process. "You're such a witch – you'd chose your book over me! Not cool..."
"I'm a witch now?" Maka raises an amused brow at his mock-offended face. "The only reason I'm choosing my book over you is because I know you can go get lunch by yourself! You're just being lazy again! So, hurry up! I'll wait for you right here."
The last bit makes him pause to think for a second.
How long will she wait for him, exactly? He isn't the quickest to catch onto these subtle and delicate messages but he tries when he realizes his error...
"Whatever." Soul yawns, making his way to the cafeteria. He'll think about this stuff later – in his room, strumming a few strings on his guitar. "I'll be back in five."
"Mm..." Maka looks up from her book, to his retreating backside, and smiles.
He's back and she's glad.