"I had the weirdest dream," Maka rasps out, looking to the bed beside hers, where her weapon lays. "Where your brother used Excalibur and killed that damned phoenix."
"Me too," Soul responds, grimacing. "I don't even want to think about it."
"I know, right?" Maka grimaces as well. A moment passes, and then, "Can I get in bed with you? It's cold."
He lifts the end of his bedsheet in response, so she slides out of hers and waddles over to his bed.
"You're always so warm," she mutters, nuzzling her cold nose against the side of his neck. He yelps.
"That doesn't mean I'm your personal heat pack, Ice Woman. Ow!" he complains, having been hit over the head by a disgruntled meister.
"Shut up," she orders, and through their background resonance he receives the message that she wants his arms around her, now, because he's warm and she's not, and she doesn't like being cold so don't interpret this any other way, stupid.
So what if the side of her face pressed against his neck is making him flush? So what if her legs are tangled with his and a little too close to his morning wood? So what if her hands are stroking his bare chest, trailing over the scar he'd gotten for her back when they were nowhere near as close as they are now?
And if her lips are moving across his neck and tracing his jawline, it doesn't necessarily mean anything - his meister expresses herself with weird acts sometimes, it doesn't mean that-
"You're giving me a headache," she mutters when her lips reach the contours of his cheekbone. "I mean all of it, though. Give me a little credit here."
He is blushing, he is blushing like a twelve-year-old caught with his first porn mag, and there is nothing he can do about it. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Maka gives him a weird look, and he knows the days when everything was left unspoken and simple and undetermined are over. "Don't you want this?"
Denial time is over. This is more than he could ever hope for - there's no rejection awaiting, no doubt whether his meister would want this with him or not because she fucking made the first move and now he's free to flirt with her and ask her out and maybe kiss and- He takes a deep breath. "Yes. Do you?"
She snorts. "I thought kissing you all over was enough of a clue."
His chest is expanding with happiness and disbelief and holy shit this is really happening, so he squeezes her tight to him, feeling her tiny form fit perfectly against his. Then, he collects himself just enough to say, "Kissing me all over, hm?"
Pink dusts over her cheeks in the most delicious manner; he kind of wants to kiss her and see if they'll get any darker.
"Just do it, idiot," she mutters, and he does.
It's slow, fragile, cautious, like he's afraid of breaking her, breaking them, if he messes this up. Their mouths are barely touching; their lips brush over and over again - once, twice, just enough to send tingles running down their spines like electricity. It makes her toes curl; it makes his hands gently fist the silky strands of hair that run loose down the sides of her face. He never wants this to end.
But then, she breaks the kiss.
Her pupils are dark and wide, making her eyes seem larger, and it takes him back to that moment not long ago when he saw them like this. Her lips are red though he has barely kissed her yet - it's not enough, not enough, and he doesn't think it'll ever be enough for them - and so he leans down, resisting the urge to close his teeth over them and suck them into his mouth, and instead waits for her to make her move.
When she kisses him, it's fire.
It burns his lungs, sets his chest aflame; he's being pushed down on the bed before he even realizes what's happening, her strong hands pinching at his nipples and traveling down his stomach - and down, down, down, and he can't breathe and she's smirking against her lips and he never wants her to stop - even though he's sure they were burned in the fight. His arms curl around her waist, pulling her on top of him; she sucks his lower lip in thanks and kisses her way down his neck. Soul feels her teeth sink into his flesh and oh Death he's never been so turned on in his life so he decides to repay the favor.
His hands are playing her like a well-tuned piano and she's mewling with pleasure from above him when they register voices coming from outside.
"Having fun, little brother?"
Thankfully the door hasn't opened yet; it gives them enough time to scramble off of each other and fix their rumpled clothing - infirmary standard nightwear, he notices - before it does, though they remain on the same bed. If they are given any shit about it, Soul decides, he'll politely tell them to shove it where the laughing sun doesn't shine.
"Come in," Maka grumbles, and a head pokes out from behind the door.
Wes has a shit-eating grin on his face when he announces, "Just thought I should give you a heads up; the parents are coming, so don't be sucking face or anything when they arrive."
"Fuck," Soul groans. They are in for a long day.
Blair hugs them tightly to her chest as soon as they're discharged and out of the infirmary's door.
Maka's voice comes out muffled, but she manages to ask a half-discernible, "Blair, did you bring Mama to Death City?"
The cat puffs up proudly. "It's what Bu-tan went out to do in the first place~ It sure took long, though, your Mama is a hard person to find."
Maybe because she didn't want to be found, is the poisonous thought that runs through Soul's mind, but he refuses to allow it to stay for long. This is time for healing and conciliation, and for that exact same reason he's going to have a long talk with Maka's mother - one he suspects Blair already had, if the fierce expression in her eyes is anything to go by.
Maka hugs her harder. "Thank you," she says, and Blair and Soul exchange a knowing, dark look over the meister's head.
Kid smiles at them, Liz and Patti by his sides.
"You've done well," he greets, taking both their hands in his; Patti offers them a gleeful thumbs up from the back. "It's thanks to you that we managed to semi-permanently neutralize this threat - something that my Honorable Father failed to do in his time."
"What was even that thing, anyway?"
Kid shakes his head. "It was a fragment, much like Azura, though it did not originate from Father. Excalibur said it was the god of hatred - and like you guessed, only one of the Old Powerful Ones could hold it down."
"But it's not dead, is it?" Maka asks, leaning onto her weapon. He strokes the back of her hand with his fingers, feeling the soft skin beneath.
"Sadly, such things are what humans consider immortal - we've collected it's ashes, though, and they're now guarded in safe places all over the world. This way, it'll be pretty hard for anyone to ever bring it back again."
Soul sighs. "I'm glad. Were there many issues with the witches after the thing was brought down?"
Liz shakes her head. "Fortunately, Head Witch Maaba knew of the god of hate and understood our situation. Everything is back to normal."
"Thank Death!" Maka grins. "I don't guess this calls for another celebration?"
"I was actually joking," Maka grumbles as a Ox and Harvar waltz by. Soul resists the temptation to snicker.
"You should know better by now; those three love any reason to throw a party," he says, handing her a cup of red punch after checking it for alcohol.
"Thanks," she says, accepting it. Out of the corner of his eye, he spies Kami Albarn arguing with her ex-husband. The older meister will certainly regard her daughter's weapon with some contempt for as long as he stuck around after the conversation he had had with her; unfortunately for her, he doesn't plan on leaving anytime soon and abandoning Maka, not like she had done - he'd made it quite clear.
His parents are mingling somewhat uncomfortably with the teachers, trying to figure out more about the world their son belongs to now - though, as Maka said, they should have been doing that from the start. Soul decides that at least now he'll have some dirt on Wes when he gets too cheeky about him and Maka - his brother seems to be chatting a little too animatedly with their magical housemate, and a smirk draws itself on his face.
They watch in comfortable silence as the tiny Angela pets Marie's growing belly, promising to be best friends with whoever was growing inside; a little boy if the witch was to be believed. Maka smiles brightly at the sight, squeezing her weapon's calloused hand with her own.
"Let's go outside before they ask you to play," she suggests, and he's all too eager to take her up on that offer.
Dejá vù swims across his mind as she sets a plate of food over the railing; half of it is seafood, but this time she doesn't even try to pretend that it's not for him. Soul ignores the food, though, and pulls her over to him, burying his face in her hair.
The moon is black in the sky, but now there are roses growing everywhere. They are healing once again, but they are doing it together, just like they always have.
And as she kisses him under the moonless sky, he knows that they are home.
~fin~