A/N: Had nothing to do at home. Hope you guys are safe.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
"Stay still." Soul stands up, gathering a few things from the table. "I'll be right back with more ice."
Maka watches as her weapon leaves the room, carrying the towel and bowl he used to tend to her.
She touches her swollen cheek gently. It stings against her hand, but instead of irritation and resentment, it gives her genuine relief and a morbid sense of gratefulness.
It's been years since Black Star did this much damage to her. There were a few scrapes and bruises from their many competitive duels but nothing this bad. The last time he did something like this was the first time he beat sense into her about believing in herself.
This was pretty much the same, she guesses.
She thinks back to the moment he grinned proudly as Professor Stein announced the leader of Spartoi.
She never would've been worthy of the responsibility given to her if not for his harsh threats, the loud slap of truth against her façade of denial.
He's not good with words, and she's never been best at listening. But they were Death Children, born and bred to fight and soldier on. He talks with his fists, and she learns through her battles.
That is their bond; strong and right in its own twisted way. Her stomach flutters against her will.
She grazes her cheek again, blushing faintly.
Maka remembers exactly why she had a crush on him all those years ago.
And then she remembers vividly the very next morning why all her attraction to him died an instant death, as she planted a book on his skull after he went and guffawed and pointed at her swollen face in front of the whole class.