A/N: This was written for the VDay Tumblr challenge, day 12, Smitten. It's set during Two of Us, in the gaps of Chapter 6. It's short, told from Soul's POV, and features more of Wes being a little shit.

Enjoy.

Thanks go to ilarual and rebornfromash for the eyes. Mwah!

Soul checked his phone as they drove through the crowded cityscape towards their destination, only to find nothing for the umpteenth time. Knowing that his meister was still with his brother's fiance and the rest of the bridal party, he probably should have expected as much; Maka found it rude to use her phone when she was supposed to be paying attention to others, a truth she'd long since engraved permanently into his skull. That didn't make him any less eager (or maybe fearful) to hear from her, especially after what had happened that morning. As his thoughts lingered on the events in the gift shop—on pleasant softness and warmth—they were interrupted by a light cough from the seat across from him. The death scythe raised his eyes to meet his brother's amused gaze.

"You really are smitten with her, aren't you?" Wes said casually.

"Smitten?" Soul scoffed, taking a swig of his champagne; he'd never really been a drinker, but it had been a long day with his cousins around, and at this point, he needed it. "Seriously, Wes? Who the hell do you think you are, Mr. Fucking Darcy? It's the twenty first century—no one says smitten."

Wes shrugged and took a sip of his own champagne, his smile never faltering. "Okay, you've got it for her, you want her to play cowgirl with you, you wanna put a ring on it—better?"

"Not really," Soul rolled his eyes.

"Still doesn't answer my question," Wes leaned back, his smile smug.

"Maybe because it's none of your damned business," the scythe offered flatly.

"Oh, my. You do have it bad, don't you? You should just tell her. I'm sure she'd—"

"You have no fucking clue what you're talking about," Soul cut him off. "And it's still none of your business."

"Fine, suit yourself," his brother shrugged, leaning back casually. "I suppose I can just ask her, then."

"Like hell you will!" he finally snapped. "I swear to Death, Wes—"

The other man raised a placating hand. "It's talk to her or talk to you, your choice."

Soul sighed, defeated. Not like it was much of a choice. "Fine, yes, I'm smitten with her you fucking ruthless cocksucker."

"Okay, first." His brother was so amused sitting across from him that Soul felt like punching him. "Weren't you the one who suggested that smitten was outdated?" Soul shrugged, because like he fucking cared. "And second, you volley cocksucker like it's some sort of insult, when I can assure you that it is a very pleasant experience both on the giving and receiving end if you—"

"Fuck, Wes, I do not need to hear your entire dick sucking history. Do you have a point?"

"I was getting to it, little brother. My point is that even a complete moron could see how you look at her and know the truth—which is rather useful for this little ruse, admittedly, but useful in the here and now doesn't help you when you return home. You should tell her how you feel."

Soul shook his head vehemently. "You just don't get it," he said, exasperation evident in his tone. "You don't know Maka. She doesn't want that, not with me, not with anyone. She may never want it, but even if she did, she's not—I'm not who she'd want, okay? So—just—could you fucking drop it already?"

"I could, but I won't," Wes said, amusement replaced with the type of careful neutrality they'd both picked up from their father. "You're right, though," he added. "I don't know Maka well. But I do see the way she looks at you."

"Bullshit," Soul growled.

"If you say so," he shrugged again. "Anyway, we're almost there, so you can continue to pretend you aren't gazing at her longingly and that she isn't gazing back soon enough. Or maybe—just maybe—seeing as we'll be in the middle of a rather nice club, you can take her out on the dance floor, show her how you feel, and begin to resolve some long unfinished business."

Soul sighed and reached for the champagne bottle on the table beside him, pouring himself another glass to soothe the nerves his brother had frazzled. Was he really that obvious? This whole thing just got worse and worse. Kissing her earlier, being so close, it had his world on fire. It was everything he had wanted for so long and he wasn't sure, when the week was over, he knew how to go back.

Downing the champagne in one gulp, the weapon ignored his brother's raised eyebrows and attempted to steel himself, to calm his stuttering heart for in a few short minutes, he'd be seeing his meister again.

Wes was right—he really was smitten.