Disclaimer: Don't own it.
Author's Note: I'm not all that proud of this chapter, but I had fun writing it? Maybe I'll go back and edit tomorrow. I have a cold today so I'm not feeling so great but... anyway. This was based off a prompt from a tumblr blog: Imagine your OTP eating lunch together in a crowded place, perhaps with their friends. They are unaware of their feelings for each other. Suddenly, Person A's foot accidentally brushes against Person B's, and with a flustered apology, they shrug the incident off. But then, Person B, realizing they liked the feeling, brushes their foot against Person A's on purpose, and soon they find themselves playing an intimate game of footsies.
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"Ugh," he groans. "Why are we walking again? So uncool. Very uncool. At least a hundred degrees."
She ignores his protests; she reminds herself that if she gives in she's enabling this whiny behavior and she hopes to never experience it again after today.
"Maka."
She bites her lip.
"Makaaa."
Her fists clench, the skin ghost-white as she pile-drives her nails into her own palms until they bleed. She applauds her own tolerance level considering the layers of dry, desert-strength heat.
It all tumbles down like a house of cards in a strong wind when he puts a hand on her shoulder and whispers her name in her ear.
"Will you shut up, Soul!" she screams. "You should have dressed for the weather! Stop making it my problem!"
She wishes for a Harry Potter-sized novel to bend his skull in but her plaid short-shorts, tank top, and flip flops provide no pockets for anything other than a miniature dictionary to hide in.
Maka grinds her teeth together as he refuses to budge, his breath lapping like humid waves on the shell of her ear. It gets even hotter the closer he gets, and she can't grasp why. She thinks it's just body heat added on to Nevada heat. Proximity always makes her jittery, especially if the person encroaching on her personal territory is a known wielder of excess testosterone.
Or is Soul Eater Evans, her roommate and weapon. Him especially. Must be her time of month. His effect on her lately grows too strong for her liking, especially since he seems to notice and get a great big kick out of it.
As she runs through all her possible excuses and alibis as to why her cheeks are warm enough to fry eggs on with him so near to her, she almost forgets him.
"I'm wearing this because I don't own any shorts."
"I'll remember that at Christmas," she mumbles.
"I didn't know you owned any shorts."
"I wear skirts. What's the difference?"
"The tank top."
Her jade eyes whip around to face him.
"Why are you wearing it?" he asks, his sanguine leer a mirror-image of hers. "Someone you want to impress?"
"So you're admitting you're impressed?" She smirks, triumphant.
"If you didn't have the chest of a young boy, I might be."
Maka unexpectedly kicks him in the face and walks faster to the mall, leaving him to invade the personal space of the sidewalk instead of hers.
"Hey, Maka-" he says as he finally catches up, "I'm sorr-"
"Drop it," she hisses, "or I'll drop you again."
He prefers the books, he realizes. At least he might eventually learn something that way.
Maka relishes the feel of cool, icy, fake air on her sweat-dappled skin as the doors glided apart as she steps on the welcome mat. It feels like she is in an igloo now, and it's the only time she's ever considered that a pleasant sentiment.
"Soul! Maka! Over here!" Liz's impressive voice seems to hover above the clamor of the shopping plaza from the food court. She stands with Patty, Black Star and Tsubaki by a large booth where Kidd picks grains of salt out of a shaker, tries to match the grains of pepper to the amount of salt.
The dishwater blonde meister strolls casually toward them but keeps the same distance a gazelle would from a lion away from her scythe for the time being. She feels refreshed and loathes the thought of him interrupting her peace again.
She slides into the booth beside Tsubaki and opposite of Soul, oblivious to his speculative looks at her distance-molding actions. She picks up on his incensed wavelength but involves herself in Kidd's intense concentration along with Black Star, and tries not to reveal her irritation as Liz starts a conversation with Soul about some new-released jazz record they're both anticipating.
She crosses and uncrosses her legs to distract herself and accidentally runs a bare leg up one of Soul's outstretched ones, going so far as to slip her toes into one of his pant legs as she falls a little into the cushioned booth.
Maka's face simmers and she it's almost like she's still outside as the blush runs up her entire body. No one else seems to notice except her weapon and herself, but the embarrassment lingers like a traumatic memory.
"S-sorry," she mouths, and turns away.
He grins, a predator. As Liz envelops herself in a new conversation with her giggly sister he reaches over and coasts his leg along Maka's to get her attention, and to get her flustered again. He's never seen her turn as red as his eyes before and he finds, for some odd reason, he enjoys it.
She fidgets in her seat, and returns his ogling glance with a blade-sharp glare that could slice a rod of steel.
He repeats the action, and the rouge on her skin returns full-force as she becomes cognizant of the fact that he's doing this on purpose oh my -
Again.
"Soul!" she growls under her breath, so only they can hear. "What are you doing?"
"Nothing. Sorry. Accident."
Again.
"Not an accident!"
He grins as it continues to occur and her glare deepens because she's enjoying this way too much.
Maka tosses him back a shit-eating grin and decides to join him on this game, toeing off a flipflop and running a bare foot under his pant leg and as far up as her leg can reach on his own.
She nearly laughs when she sees him tense.
She wiggles her big toe and draws circles on his knee.
He gulps.
She smirks. Now she's the predator in this dangerous game.
Maka moves her foot up and down until he can't stand it anymore and gets up so fast the table shifts forward just enough to knock all the salt out of Kidd's shaker.
"My symmetry! My art! My life!" he screams in agony. The whole food court is stunned into silence as his deafening cries fill the glacial air. Some passers-by wonder who thrust a knife into his heart, but try to avoid asking.
"Who dares to smear darkness on my light? Who?"
"It's 'cause Maka and Soul were playin' footsies under the table, Kiddy," Patty says with a simper more devilish than the one Maka wore only a few minutes before.
All the friends turn with wide eyes in their direction.
"We're gonna go," Soul says, grabs her wrist, and runs them both out the door.
It's obvious they need some time to cool off again somewhere else.