A softer storyline for yall :) I read another fan fic on here a little bit ago about soul wanting a kiss on the cheek from maka and I thought it was such a cute idea. Here's my take on it, hope yall enjoy. (maybe i'll add more to this idk. i'm not the best at following through with longer storylines, so im trying out shorter oneshots for now)
-kunt
Soul would never outright ask for a kiss, and Maka wasn't the type to just hand them out without a reason. So, of course, he was stuck.
It had been bothering him for days, this stupid, annoying thought that had lodged itself in his brain like a catchy song. The idea of Maka kissing him on the cheek—it wasn't even a big deal, so why couldn't he stop thinking about it? It wasn't romantic or anything. Just… something soft. Something warm. Something that would make his chest feel less tight when he looked at her for too long.
And that was exactly why he couldn't say anything.
So instead, he tried to make it happen without making it obvious.
At first, he thought proximity would do the trick. If he just happened to be sitting closer than usual, maybe she'd—nope. Maka didn't notice. Then he tried sighing dramatically while rubbing his cheek, like he was subconsciously inviting some kind of response. Maka just told him to stop being weird.
It was pathetic.
And fine, maybe a small part of him knew that the whole thing was ridiculous, but that didn't stop him from trying. So when she sat beside him one evening, going on about some book she'd just finished, Soul saw another opportunity.
"Man, my face kinda hurts," he muttered, rubbing his cheek in an exaggerated way.
Maka barely glanced up. "Then go to bed."
Soul twitched. "No, like, it feels sore or something."
Maka hummed in vague sympathy and flipped a page. "Drink some water."
This was not going how he planned.
Maybe he should just drop it. But then—
Maka frowned slightly, finally setting her book down and getting closer to looking at him properly. "Wait, is it actually sore? Let me see."
Before he could react, she reached out, fingers brushing lightly over his cheek as she inspected him with a serious expression.
Soul froze.
It wasn't a kiss, but it might as well have been. Her touch was warm, gentle, and way too close. He swallowed, heart suddenly hammering in his chest.
"You're fine," she declared after a moment, pulling away. "Drama queen."
He should let it go. He should just let it go.
But because he was an idiot, he blurted out, "Wouldn't, like—" He cleared his throat, trying to sound casual. "I dunno, doesn't, like, applying pressure or something help?"
Maka gave him a flat look. "What, like an ice pack?"
Soul opened his mouth, then closed it.
There was no way in hell he was going to say it.
Maka stared at him for another second, then smirked. "Soul," she said slowly, voice laced with amusement.
He sighed. "Forget it."
Maka shrugged, apparently losing interest, and picked up her book again. "If you say so."
And that should've been the end of it. But instead of moving away, she stayed right where she was—close enough that her sleeve brushed against his. She flipped a page, completely oblivious to the way Soul was still stuck replaying the feeling of her fingers on his cheek like some kind of loser.
His face still felt warm. So uncool.
He leaned back against the couch, trying to focus on something—anything—else, but Maka kept making these small noises while she read, little hums and mutters under her breath like she was reacting to the story.
It was stupid. He'd heard her do it a thousand times. But tonight, for some reason, it was distracting.
Soul shifted, crossing his arms. "That book really that interesting?"
Maka didn't look up. "Mmhmm."
"What's it about?"
"Knights and war and stuff."
Soul raised an eyebrow. "Sounds more like BlackStar's thing."
Maka sighed, finally glancing at him. "It's not just fighting. There's strategy. And character depth. And—" Her eyes suddenly lit up in a way that made Soul regret asking. "Oh, actually, there's this one scene where—"
And just like that, she was off, words tumbling out faster than even she could keep up with.
Soul listened—half because he had nothing better to do, half because he liked when she got like this. Excited. Animated. She gestured a lot when she talked, her hands moving in quick, sharp motions, occasionally hitting his arm or his leg when she got really into it. And the whole time, she stayed close, leaning toward him without even realizing it.
Somewhere in the middle of it all, Soul's earlier frustration started to fade, but it didn't disappear entirely. Because yeah, he liked listening to Maka talk—liked how she got so caught up in her own excitement that she barely even noticed she'd been inching closer and closer to him.
But it still wasn't what he wanted.
He tried to focus on her words, on the way she kept smacking his arm every time she made a point, but his thoughts kept circling back to one thing. How do I get her to do it?
It wasn't like he could just ask. And he'd already exhausted all his subtle, totally cool strategies. Maybe this was just a lost cause. Maybe—
His thoughts cut off when Maka suddenly flopped sideways against his shoulder with a sigh.
"I'm tired," she muttered.
Soul stiffened.
Okay. Okay.
This was new.
She wasn't exactly cuddling him, but she also wasn't not cuddling him. Her head was resting against him, just light enough that she could move away at any second, but she wasn't moving away. And if he just—tilted his face slightly—she'd be right there.
It would be so easy.
His heartbeat pounded in his ears. Would she notice? Would she hit him? Would she—?
Before he could talk himself out of it, he turned his head ever so slightly, shifting just enough that his cheek brushed lightly against the top of her head.
Maka didn't move. Didn't flinch. Didn't react at all.
Soul swallowed. This was fine. This was cool. This was totally casual. Not weird. Not desperate. Just—
"…Why are you acting weird?" Maka's voice was muffled against his shoulder.
Soul froze.
"What?" His voice came out slightly higher than intended. "I'm not."
Maka made a noise of obvious disbelief. "You totally are."
"I'm literally just sitting here."
She lifted her head slightly, turning just enough to squint at him suspiciously. "Are you sick?"
"No."
"Then what's your problem?"
You won't kiss me on the cheek, his brain supplied helpfully.
He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to scoff instead. "You're my problem."
Maka rolled her eyes and gave him a light shove, but instead of pulling away completely, she just… settled back against him.
Soul felt like his brain was melting.
This was fine. This was enough.
Probably.
Maybe.
…Okay, no, it wasn't.
It really wasn't.
Because now that she was here, resting against him like it was the most natural thing in the world, it only made the feeling worse. That stupid, nagging, magnetic pull, like something in his chest was demanding it, like he couldn't settle until it happened.
It wasn't just some dumb passing thought anymore. It was a full-blown, soul-deep need.
And it was driving him insane.
Maka yawned against his shoulder, her breath warm even through his hoodie. "You're so tense," she mumbled, shifting slightly. "Relax."
Relax? Relax?
How was he supposed to do that when his entire brain was short-circuiting?
He swallowed, trying to focus on literally anything else. "I am relaxed."
Maka hummed doubtfully, but didn't push it. Her hand had found its way to his sleeve, fingers lightly curled against the fabric. She was barely holding on to him, but somehow, it felt deliberate.
His heart was a wreck. His thoughts were worse.
Would she do it if he just asked? Probably not. If he tricked her into it? Too obvious. If he just waited? Well, he'd been waiting all day and look where that got him.
He needed a plan. A real one.
He needed a reason.
Soul's eyes flickered toward the clock on the wall. It was late. He could use that.
"You're falling asleep," he muttered.
Maka made a soft noise of protest but didn't move.
"If you're gonna pass out, at least go to bed," he tried again, nudging her lightly.
Maka sighed dramatically. "Too much effort."
He hesitated, then went for it. "Fine. But I'm not carrying you if you fall asleep on me."
Maka huffed. "I wasn't asking you to."
"Good," Soul said, already setting up the bait. "You're not my problem."
She gave a sleepy, half-hearted glare. "I am your problem."
He smirked. "Nah."
Maka lifted her head, eyes still heavy with sleep, and… just looked at him for a second. And something about the way she did it—soft, quiet, like she was seeing through him—made his entire plan disintegrate on the spot.
Before he could recover, she lifted a hand and flicked him lightly on the forehead.
"Idiot," she mumbled, before finally pulling away, stretching as she stood.
Soul barely managed to keep himself from grabbing her wrist, forcing her to stay. The urge was ridiculous, but so was this whole night.
Maka turned toward her room, rubbing her eyes.
This was it. This was his last chance.
"Wait," Soul blurted.
Maka blinked at him, already halfway to the door. "What?"
His mind scrambled. Think. THINK.
"…You forgot something."
Maka frowned. "Huh?"
Soul crossed his arms, forcing himself to look as normal and nonchalant as possible. "It's what people do, right? When they say goodnight?"
She just stared at him. "What are you talking about?"
He gestured vaguely. Come on. Figure it out.
Maka blinked again, then—finally—her expression cleared.
"Oh. Right."
And before Soul could even brace himself, she reached out and—
Patted his head.
"Goodnight, Soul," she said simply, before turning and disappearing into her room.
Soul sat there. Completely still. Completely destroyed.
She.
She patted his head.
He wanted to scream. Or throw something. Or bang his forehead against the coffee table until the frustration left his body.
He didn't move for a long time.
Eventually, he sighed, dragging a hand down his face.
His brain was working overtime now, spinning through every possible move he had left. If he let this go, he'd spend the whole night obsessing over it, driving himself even more insane. He couldn't just sit here.
So, he stood.
Maka's door wasn't shut all the way. He could see the sliver of warm light spilling from inside. She was probably still getting ready for bed, completely unaware that he was about to do something reckless.
He swallowed. This was either going to work, or it was going to be the most humiliating moment of his life.
He knocked twice, then pushed the door open before she could tell him not to.
It wasn't weird. He did this all the time. Nothing unusual about it. Just him, walking in, standing there like he had a reason to be there, when really, his brain was empty.
Maka, now in an oversized t-shirt and shorts, looked up from where she was sitting on the edge of her bed, brushing through her hair. "What now?"
He shrugged. "Nothin'."
She narrowed her eyes slightly, clearly suspicious, but didn't press it. Instead, she just went back to brushing, her expression relaxing as she got lost in whatever half-asleep thoughts were running through her head.
Soul stood there for a second, then—just to make it seem like he had a purpose—wandered over to her bookshelf and started mindlessly skimming the spines.
Maka didn't say anything.
She didn't tell him to leave.
She didn't ask why he was still here.
She just let him stay.
And that made things so much worse.
Because now he was in her room, heart pounding way too fast for no good reason, pretending to be interested in books he didn't care about, while she sat there brushing her hair, completely unbothered, completely unaware that his entire stupid, desperate brain was still hyper-focused on the idea of her kissing him on the cheek.
God, he was pathetic.
He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly through his nose. Be cool. Just chill. She's not onto you. It's fine.
Maka yawned again, lazily tossing her brush onto the nightstand before crawling under her blankets, shifting around until she was completely wrapped up in them. She tucked her hands under her cheek, her eyes already half-lidded with sleep.
Soul, still standing by the bookshelf, tried to act like he wasn't watching her get comfortable. Like he wasn't hyper-aware of the soft way she settled in, how her hair fanned out against the pillow, how peaceful she looked when she wasn't scolding him for something.
"Mm," she mumbled, voice thick with exhaustion. "Turn the light off when you leave."
He should leave.
That was the normal thing to do. The expected thing.
Instead, Soul shifted, moving to lean against the wall near her bed, arms crossed. "Not tired."
Maka didn't even question it. Didn't ask why he was still here. She just made a small, sleepy noise and curled deeper into her blanket. "'Kay."
The room fell into silence.
The kind of silence that wasn't awkward, wasn't forced. It was just there, easy and familiar, the kind that had settled between them a thousand times before.
Soul let out a slow breath, letting himself relax against the wall, letting his eyes adjust to the soft glow of the bedside lamp.
Maka's breathing was already steady, slow. Not quite asleep yet, but close.
He should definitely leave.
But he didn't.
Instead, he let his gaze flicker toward her again, toward the way she was curled up on her side, blankets pulled up to her chin.
The pull was still there. That stupid, unshakable need for something he couldn't even explain.
A kiss on the cheek.
Just one.
Just to know what it felt like.
The idea was making him restless, making his fingers twitch at his sides, making his pulse do stupid things in his neck.
Soul exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair. His pulse was doing stupid things, his thoughts were worse, and Maka, completely unaware of all of it, was just lying there—half-asleep, tucked into her blankets, breathing soft and steady.
The pull wasn't going away.
It was worse now.
Because she was right there, so close, and he couldn't stop thinking about how easy it would be. If he just—if he leaned in, if he did something, if he just—
No.
No, no, no.
That would be weird.
That would be so weird.
He clenched his fists at his sides, staring at the floor, trying to convince himself to just leave.
But his legs didn't move.
And before he could stop himself—before he could overthink it to death—he sat down.
Right next to her on the bed. She was curled up, still warm and quiet, still half-lost to sleep.
Soul swallowed, fingers twitching against his knees.
Okay. Okay. Not weird.
Just… sitting.
Nothing strange about that.
He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his thighs, staring at the floor, pretending this wasn't the worst idea he'd ever had.
Maka shifted, sighing softly against her pillow, and his whole body locked up.
She was too close.
If she rolled over—if she woke up—if she realized—
God. He was an idiot.
A huge idiot.
He should definitely leave now.
But then—
Maka sighed, shifting slightly under the blankets, and without really thinking, she moved her hand—just a little—brushing against the edge of his hoodie sleeve.
Soul locked up.
It wasn't much. It wasn't like she was grabbing him. But her fingers lingered, barely touching the fabric, like she wasn't even aware she was doing it.
His entire brain short-circuited.
Maka was still sort of awake, her eyes barely open, her breathing slow and even. Not asleep, but not fully aware either.
Which meant she didn't know what she was doing.
Or—
Did she?
Soul swallowed hard, heart pounding in his throat. "You awake?" he muttered, keeping his voice low.
Maka hummed softly, shifting her head against the pillow. "Mmhmm."
Okay. Okay. So she wasn't totally gone yet.
Which made this so much worse.
Because she had definitely just reached for him.
And now she wasn't moving away.
Soul inhaled, forcing himself to keep his voice casual. "You, uh… want me to go?"
Maka was quiet for a second.
Then—so softly, so sleepily—she muttered, "Mm… dunno."
Soul's heart stopped.
That wasn't a yes.
It wasn't a no, either.
It was just Maka, lying there, warm and exhausted, not kicking him out, not pulling away.
Soul ran his tongue over his teeth, trying to keep his expression neutral. "Dunno?" he echoed.
Maka hummed again, barely shifting, her fingers twitching slightly where they were still touching his sleeve.
"'S nice," she mumbled, voice barely above a whisper. "You being here."
Soul forgot how to breathe.
Just completely forgot.
His whole body went tense, his pulse roaring in his ears, his face burning so hot he was sure she could feel it.
Maka, completely oblivious, let out a slow, content sigh and curled a little deeper into her blankets. "Comfy," she muttered.
Soul swallowed thickly, staring at the ceiling, trying not to explode.
This was dangerous.
Because if he stayed here any longer, he was going to do something stupid.
Like tell her how badly he wanted that kiss.
Like lean in and—
Nope.
Nope, nope, nope.
He couldn't be here right now. Not with the way his brain was short-circuiting, not with the way she was still barely touching his sleeve, not with the way his chest felt too tight, too full, too—
"Soul?"
His whole body locked up.
Maka's voice was soft, slurred with exhaustion, but still awake. Still aware.
He swallowed. "Yeah?"
There was a long pause.
Then, quietly—
"…Lay down?"
Soul stopped breathing.
His brain flatlined.
He slowly turned his head to meet her eyes, like maybe he misheard her, like maybe if he looked at her, she'd be asleep and this would all just be some weird, desperate fantasy his brain was making up—
But no.
She was looking at him.
Still sleepy, still buried in her blankets, but her green eyes were open, soft in the dim light.
And she wasn't messing with him.
She wasn't teasing. She wasn't saying it in an embarrassed, hesitant way either.
She just… said it. Like it was normal. Like it was fine. Like this was something they did all the time.
His throat felt tight.
"Uh."
That was all he had.
Just "uh."
Maka blinked slowly, head sinking further into her pillow. "'S just cold," she muttered, voice barely there. "And you're warm."
Soul's face burned.
He should say no.
He should make some dumb joke, roll his eyes, leave the room like a normal person.
But instead—
"…Yeah," he muttered, barely recognizing his own voice.
Maka made a small, pleased noise and shifted back slightly, making room.
And that was it.
That was his only warning before he was climbing in next to her like this wasn't the biggest mistake of his life.
He moved carefully, hesitantly, lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, stiff as a board.
Maka, meanwhile, was completely relaxed, already half-asleep again.
Without hesitation, she curled into his side.
Just moved into him like it was the most natural thing in the world, pressing her forehead against his shoulder, fingers barely brushing against the hem of his hoodie.
She was right there.
Warm and soft and trusting.
Like she belonged there.
His heartbeat was a wreck, slamming against his ribs, his breath stuck somewhere in his throat.
Maka sighed again, all content and drowsy, her voice barely above a whisper.
"comfy..."
Soul exhaled slowly, willing himself to calm down.
It wasn't working.
At all.
His arm moved on its own, wrapping loosely around her shoulders, letting her settle closer.
Maka made another soft, sleepy noise, her breath warm against his hoodie.
His chest ached.
The pull was so strong now, worse than ever, a gravitational force threatening to wreck him entirely.
This was so dangerous.
This was so dangerous.
Because if she tilted her head even slightly—
If she lifted her chin just a little—
If she even looked at him—
Soul swallowed hard.
Maka was warm against him, soft and small under the weight of his arm, her breath slow and steady against his shoulder. His heart was pounding so hard he was sure she could feel it, but if she did, she didn't say anything.
Her fingers curled slightly into the fabric of his hoodie, just barely, like she wasn't fully aware she was doing it.
And that was it.
That was the breaking point.
Because he couldn't wait anymore.
Not when she was right here, leaning into him, holding onto him, letting him stay close in a way she never had before.
Not when every single part of him was screaming at him to just do something already.
He took a slow breath, forcing his voice to sound casual. "Maka."
She made a quiet noise in response, shifting slightly. "Mmm?"
Soul hesitated.
This was stupid. Reckless. But he couldn't stop himself.
"You're, uh… really clingy when you're tired, huh?"
Maka let out a soft huff against his hoodie. "You're warm," she murmured, like that was supposed to explain everything.
Soul smirked, just barely. "Yeah?"
"Mhm."
She shifted again, burrowing even closer.
And suddenly, her head wasn't on his shoulder anymore.
Suddenly, it was tucked under his chin.
Right there.
Soul inhaled sharply, whole body locking up. His fingers twitched against her back.
This was so, so dangerous.
"Soul," Maka murmured suddenly, voice barely above a whisper.
His breath caught. "…Yeah?"
A pause.
Then—quiet, hesitant—
"…Do you want something?"
Soul stopped breathing.
She knew.
Maybe not everything. Maybe not how long he'd been thinking about this, obsessing over it, losing his mind over it—
But she knew something.
His mouth went dry.
Say something cool. Say something normal.
"…Dunno."
Maka hummed softly, like she wasn't buying it.
Then, slowly, she pulled back just enough to look at him.
And that was it.
Because her face was right there, inches from his, her eyes sleepy but sharp, like she was waiting for him to say it.
Soul's throat felt tight.
This was his chance.
It was right there.
"…You could, uh," he started, forcing the words out, feeling like an idiot. "I mean. If you wanted to."
Maka blinked. "What?"
He swallowed, his ears burning.
And then, quieter—
"…You could, y'know. Kiss me. Or whatever."
A long, long silence as Maka blinked her eyes awake.
Soul wanted to die.
Then—
Maka's lips twitched.
And—so soft, so smug—
"Oh."
Oh?
OH?
Soul's stomach dropped.
His entire body tensed, his brain screaming at him—
Because oh no.
Oh no, oh no, oh no.
That—he hadn't meant to say that.
Or, no—he had, but not like that.
But it was too late by the time he realized, too much time had gone by since those words left his lips. His pulse was slamming in his ears as he tried to think of a way to salvage his fuck up, but it was no use.
Because she was awake now.
Not half-asleep, not mumbling, not dozing off against his shoulder.
She was fully awake.
And looking at him.
Maka had pulled back just enough to stare, eyebrows raised, expression hovering somewhere between confusion and something else.
Soul could feel his face burning.
He needed to fix this.
Immediately.
"I didn't mean—" he started, voice coming out too fast, too frantic.
Maka blinked, still watching him, and his words died in his throat.
Because she wasn't rolling her eyes.
She wasn't shoving him away.
She wasn't even smirking at him anymore.
She was just… looking.
Like she was actually considering it.
His breath caught.
And then, softly—
"…Did you mean that?"
Soul's brain exploded.
Because now it was real.
It wasn't some dumb joke, it wasn't some slip of the tongue, it wasn't just a quiet, desperate thought in the back of his mind—
It was real, out in the open, hanging between them like something dangerous.
And Maka—Maka, who was usually so quick to smack him, so quick to brush things off, so quick to call him an idiot—
Was just waiting for his answer.
He swallowed hard, mouth suddenly so dry.
His hands clenched in the blanket beneath them.
He could back out. He could.
He could play it off, make fun of himself, turn this into nothing.
Or—
He could say yes.
His pulse roared in his ears.
"…I dunno," he muttered, voice quieter now, rougher.
Maka searched his face, her green eyes still sharp despite how sleepy she had been just moments ago.
She was really thinking about it.
Soul's heart nearly gave out.
And then—slowly, carefully—
Maka leaned in.
Not much.
Just enough for him to feel it.
Feel the pull between them. Feel the space getting smaller. Feel the way his body refused to move away.
Her eyes flickered to his lips, so fast, almost unnoticeable.
But he noticed.
Soul forgot how to breathe.
Maka hesitated.
And then, voice barely more than a whisper—
"…Soul?"
His heart stopped.
She was asking.
She was giving him an out.
This was it.
This was the moment.
Say something.
Say anything.
Do something, before it's too late.
Soul couldn't move.
Couldn't think.
Could barely even breathe.
Because Maka—Maka—was leaning in.
Not hesitating. Not questioning. Not stopping.
Just closing the gap, just going for it, just—
And then it happened.
Soft.
Gentle.
Not slow, not rushed—just right.
Her lips pressed against his, light and careful, not demanding anything, not expecting anything—just being there. Just existing in this tiny, fragile moment that was somehow everything at once.
Soul's chest ached.
It wasn't supposed to feel like this.
Like his heart had cracked wide open, like something was unraveling inside him, like he had never needed anything more in his life.
Her fingers, still curled into his hoodie, tightened slightly, barely holding on.
And Soul—who was barely holding on himself—let his own hand move on instinct, brushing lightly against her wrist, grounding himself in the warmth of her skin.
It was over too soon.
She pulled back—not fast, not startled, just enough—just far enough to leave him wrecked.
And that was when he felt it, thepain. A deep, twisting, impossible kind of pain in his chest.
Because it was over.
Because the warmth was gone.
Because Maka was right there, but suddenly not touching him anymore.
His breath came out uneven. His fingers twitched. His heart felt like it had been shattered and rebuilt all at once.
Maka blinked at him, still so close, her eyes wide, soft, searching.
Soul stared back, jaw tight, pulse still out of control.
A long silence.
A long, long silence.
Maka didn't move. Didn't speak. Didn't do anything. Well, not initally, that is.
It wasn't until her head dropped back onto the bed that Soul knew the moment had hit Maka, and, she was hiding from it.
He felt the way her fingers twitched. The way her breath hitched just the slightest bit. The way she wouldn't look at him now.
Maka, who never backed down, never let herself hesitate, who always met things head-on, had just kissed him.
And now she didn't know what to do.
Her hands curled into the blanket, gripping it too tight.
And Soul, who was still trying to breathe, still trying to process the fact that this had actually happened, was suddenly so, so aware of how small she looked.
Of how unsure she looked.
Of how she wasn't pulling away—not really—but also wasn't quite brave enough to face him either.
Something in his chest ached.
And before he could think—before he could talk himself out of it—he lifted his arm a bit, hestiant but steady.
Carefully, slowly, gently—he pulled her in closer to his chest.
Maka didn't resist.
Didn't flinch.
Didn't do anything except melt against him, burying her face into his chest like she could pretend none of this was happening.
Soul swallowed, his hand resting against the small of her back.
Okay.
He could handle this.
He could handle Maka, pressed against him, hiding in his hoodie, breathing him in like she needed something to hold onto.
He could handle the way her hands, still trembling slightly, loosened their grip on the blankets and found their way to his hoodie instead.
He could handle the way her breath hitched when she realized he wasn't letting go.
But what he couldn't handle—what made his heart break apart completely—was the way she sighed against him.
Soft. Quiet.
Like she had just let go of something heavy.
Like she had just given in.
Soul exhaled, slow and steady, letting his chin rest lightly against the top of her head.
Maka didn't move. She just stayed.
And Soul—whose heart had never hurt quite like this before—let her.
They didn't talk. Neither of them dared to move.
For a long time.
Maybe 20 minutes. Maybe longer.
Maka was still curled up against him, her body tucked into his, her face completely hidden in the fabric of his hoodie.
And Soul—who had spent the entire day losing his mind over how to get a stupid kiss on the cheek—was now frozen, his brain struggling to keep up with what had just happened.
She kissed him.
Not on the cheek. Not in some quick, impulsive, "didn't-think-about-it" way.
But real.
Soft. Careful. Like she meant it.
And now, her face was buried in his chest, unable to meet his eyes. Her arms were tucked between them, her hands gripping his hoodie way too tightly.
And her face?
Bright red.
Even without seeing it, even with her completely buried in his chest, he could feel the heat coming off of her.
Soul exhaled slowly, staring at the ceiling.
What the hell were they supposed to do now?
It wasn't like he regretted it. He didn't. Not even close.
But he hadn't exactly been prepared for this.
For her, pressed against him like this.
For how easy it was to hold her.
For how much he wanted to.
Maka shifted slightly, sinking deeper into him, her hands tightening around his hoodie for just a second before she forced them to relax.
Soul swallowed hard.
He was going to die.
He was actually going to die.
Because this? This was too much.
This was the same Maka who smacked him for being reckless, who rolled her eyes at everything he did, who never let herself get distracted, who never let herself be soft.
And now she was hiding in him. Face completely buried. Breathing slow, deep, warm.
Soul clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay still, forcing himself to let her do whatever she needed to do.
Maka had never been like this with him before. Never this close, this vulnerable. And now that she was, she didn't know how to handle it.
And honestly? Neither did he.
So they just… laid there.
Quiet.
Thinking.
Processing.
Breathing in the same space, wrapped up in each other, not saying a word.
The longer they stayed like this, the more Soul realized—
He didn't want to move.
Didn't want to let her go.
Didn't want this to end.
Maka shifted again, just the tiniest bit.
Her breathing was slow, steady, but there was something tense in the way she held onto his hoodie, the way she kept herself tucked against him like moving—even just a little—could change things.
There were no words. No sudden, flustered attempts to explain herself. No smart remarks to make it feel less big than it was.
Just quiet. And Soul was grateful.
Because honestly, what the hell was he supposed to say?
That he'd spent the entire day thinking about her kissing him—only for it to actually happen and completely destroy him?
That she was still burning against him, her face hidden in his chest, and he had no idea how to handle it?
That his heart still hurt from the way she pulled away—only to come right back and hold onto him like she didn't want to let go either?
No.
No way.
So instead, he just laid there.
Let her stay curled against him.
Let the silence settle over them, thick and fragile and so much more than anything he'd ever felt before.
His fingers twitched against her back.
Not moving, not holding too tightly.
Just resting there.
Like if he moved even an inch, she'd pull away again.
Like if he breathed wrong, she'd realize what they were doing and pull away.
So he stayed still, quiet, waiting.
Eventually, Maka's fingers—still curled into the fabric of his hoodie—loosened slightly.
Soul knew the exact moment it happened.
The little shift in her body, the way her hands finally relaxed against his hoodie, the way her breath slowed into something deep, steady, completely unguarded. The tension in her shoulders fading.
She was asleep.
Wrapped up in him.
And Soul—who could only ever dream of a scenario like this actually happening—was now stuck in a completely different kind of hell.
Because now he wasn't just thinking about the kiss. He was thinking about her. About everything. And it was too much.
He couldn't lie to himself anymore, couldn't pretend these feelings didn't exist—god, he was in love with her.
Not in the way where he could brush it off as admiration or loyalty or just their bond as partners.
No.
This was real.
Full-blown, heart-wrenching, devastating love.
Because Maka—his Maka—was here, in his arms, trusting him completely, and he had never seen her like this before.
Never so soft, so small, so completely at peace.
His angel.
His entire world.
And it hurt.
It hurt because she was so close, closer than she'd ever been, but the fact that her lips weren't touching his wasn't fair.
His fingers twitched against her back, his chest so full it ached.
He had never felt this way before.
Never this much.
Never this desperate and full and heartbroken all at once.
Because what if he ruined this? What if he messed up? What if tomorrow came, and she pulled away, and everything went back to normal, and he had to pretend this never happened? What if he had to go back to being her partner and nothing more?
His jaw clenched, his throat tight. He couldn't imagine it Couldn't imagine what tomorrow would feel like.
Because eventually, she was going to wake up.
And she was going to leave his arms.
And that?
That was going to be devastating.