just when i said i wanted to stick to shorter one shots, i start this. i want to explore more of the dynamics between the main gang. ive got an interesting outline so i hope the motivation stays. oh well, i hope yall enjoy it for now.

- kunt

The apartment was cluttered in the way places got when people made themselves at home. Jackets draped over the backs of chairs, a couple of cups left forgotten on the table, the faint smell of something browning in the kitchen. The window was cracked open just enough for a breeze to drift in, stirring the edge of the curtain, rustling the pages of an abandoned notebook on the floor.

The air had that light, lingering warmth of early spring—just enough to stretch out in, to make movement feel slower, easier. The sun cut through the window at the perfect angle, spilling over the couch in long, golden lines. It wasn't hot, not yet, but warm enough to chase away the last clinging chill of winter. Warm enough that Soul was drawn to it instinctively, like a cat claiming the best spot in the sun.

Maka's voice carried from the kitchen, half-distracted as she read off whatever notes she'd been scribbling down. "Wait—so you just guess when to flip it?"

Tsubaki hummed, patient. "It's about feeling when it's ready."

"But there's no exact timing?"

"Nope."

A brief silence. Then, frustrated scribbling.

Maka and Tsubaki had taken over the kitchen, half cooking, half talking. Maka had a pen in her hand, trying to write things down as she went, but Tsubaki kept nudging her, telling her to actually do something instead of overthinking it. The stove clicked softly as she turned the heat down. Maka mumbled something in response, her voice distracted, caught somewhere between focus and frustration.

In the living room, the pace was slower. Kid sat in the armchair next to the couch, one leg crossed over his knee, posture easy. Liz stood near the window, arms crossed, leaning against the wall, eyes drifting over the street outside but not really looking at anything. The sun streamed in, catching the edges of her hair, casting long shadows across the floor.

Soul had sprawled himself across the couch, not fully lying down, not fully sitting up. His back was half-propped against the armrest, one foot planted on the coffee table, the other dangling off the edge, caught in the sunlight that poured through the window.

Kid exhaled softly, a slow, measured breath, not bored, just existing in the space. He shifted slightly, leaning back further into his chair.

On the coffee table, a record sat still wrapped in plastic, half-forgotten among a few stray scraps of paper and an empty glass. Kid's gaze flicked toward it.

"Oh, you bought a new record?"

Soul blinked, following Kid's line of sight before reaching over and grabbing it. The plastic crinkled as he started peeling it off, tossing the scraps onto the table without looking.

"Yeah. Picked it up after our mission the other day." He tore off another piece, dragging his thumb along the edge of the sleeve.

Liz glanced back at that, her attention pulled from the window. She pushed off the wall and crossed the room in a few slow steps, then sank down onto the floor beside the couch's armrest, right where Soul's back was propped up. She stretched her legs out in front of her, one knee bent, settling into the warmth of the sun that had pooled there.

Liz nudged the record sleeve with her elbow. "So why'd you get this one?" The plastic was still half on, bunched in the corner where Soul had torn it open earlier.

Soul shrugged. "Dunno. Just felt like it."

Liz raised a brow, unimpressed. "Wow. Deep."

Soul smirked. "It's good.

Liz stretched her arms up, groaning softly. "Man, it's weird being here without BlackStar and Patty."

"Yeah," Soul muttered, scratching the back of his head. "Feels… quieter."

Liz snorted. "It is quieter."

It was. Not uncomfortably so, but there was a noticeable difference. Usually, the air was filled with BlackStar's loud declarations, Patty's wild laughter, something happening at all times. Without them, things felt slower. Not bad, just… different.

The record sat there between them, its weight barely noticeable as it rested against Soul's stomach. He tapped his fingers against the sleeve, an idle rhythm, his mind half in the conversation, half somewhere else.

Kid adjusted his cuff, barely a movement, a flicker of motion just to keep his hands busy. He glanced at the record, then at Soul. "Are you going to play it?"

Soul blinked, then looked down, like he'd forgotten it was even there. "Oh. Yeah. Guess so."

He sat up, pushing off the couch in one fluid motion, stretching slightly before heading to the record player in the corner. The faint sound of the needle being set, the quiet static that filled the space before the first few notes kicked in.

Maka's voice floated in from the kitchen, distracted. "Soul, did you put the— oh, never mind, I found it." A clatter of something being moved, then Tsubaki's soft laugh.

The record spun, the sound settling into the room.

The apartment had settled into a comfortable kind of laziness. The kind that came with a full stomach, warm spring air filtering through the open window, and nowhere in particular to be.

Plates balanced on laps, the clink of silverware softened by the music still playing in the background. It wasn't a formal sit-down kind of meal—just a loose circle of them gathered around the couch, eating in easy silence, broken up only by bits of conversation.

Maka had cooked—or, tried to, under Tsubaki's patient instruction. Nothing elaborate, just something simple, something safe. The result was decent, enough that no one complained, and good enough that Maka didn't have to defend herself.

It was warm, both in temperature and in the way time stretched out, unhurried. Kid ate with the same quiet precision he did everything else, while Soul had long since abandoned proper posture, one arm thrown over the back of the couch, chewing with no particular urgency. Liz sat on the floor again, plate resting on her knee, flipping her fork idly between her fingers.

Then the door slammed open.

The peace shattered.

"YO!"

BlackStar's voice crashed through the apartment like a thrown brick.

Patty tumbled in after him, equally loud but less coherent, cackling as she dropped herself onto the couch like she'd lived there all her life. Her boot nudged against Soul's thigh, and he shot her a look before shifting away.

BlackStar, meanwhile, was already complaining.

"You guys ate without us?!" He gaped, like they'd just personally betrayed him.

Maka, unfazed, leaned back in her chair. "We made extra for you."

BlackStar's face fell immediately.

"Oh. Maka cooked."

Maka's eye twitched.

Tsubaki sighed. "BlackStar…"

Maka stabbed a scrap of food on her plate with unnecessary force.

"You don't have to eat it, you know."

BlackStar, unbothered, was already piling food onto his plate. "Nah, I'll eat it."

Patty leaned sideways, grinning. "Man, we're starving. Totally kicked ass today, though."

"You're always starving," Liz muttered, balancing her now-empty plate on the coffee table.

Soul leaned back against the couch, watching with mild disinterest as BlackStar practically inhaled his food.

"Could chew at least once," he mumbled.

BlackStar waved him off, mouth still full.

There was a beat of noise, overlapping conversations, movement. The shift from slow and relaxed to louder, looser, like the entire room had adjusted to the newcomers. The comfortable quiet from earlier had vanished, drowned out by the new energy.

And then—

"Yo, let's go get something. I need sugar."

BlackStar clapped his hands together like a decision had already been made.

Patty gasped dramatically. "Oooooh, yeah!"

Maka blinked. "We just ate."

BlackStar gestured wildly. "Yeah, but we didn't have dessert." Like that was the most obvious thing in the world.

Liz considered, then shrugged. "Alright, I'm in." She looked at Soul. "You?"

Soul, who had long since melted into his usual post-meal slouch, didn't even lift his head. One arm draped over the back of the couch, half-lidded eyes giving away his answer before he even spoke.

"Nah."

Liz smirked. "Shocker."

And just like that, the plan was decided.

The usual shuffle of movement followed—jackets grabbed, shoes pulled on, Maka half-heartedly reminding everyone to behave.

She paused by the couch, hesitating for half a second.

"You sure you don't wanna come?"

Soul waved her off lazily. "I'm good."

She studied him for a beat, eyes narrowing slightly.

Then she sighed, grabbing her jacket.

"Alright. Don't do anything dumb while we're gone."

Soul grinned. "No promises."

Maka rolled her eyes, but there wasn't any real annoyance behind it.

As the group shuffled toward the door, Liz glanced back over her shoulder. "Kid, you coming?"

Kid adjusted his cuff, unbothered. "No. I'll stay."

BlackStar snorted. "Pfft. Lame."

Kid didn't react. Just leaned back into his chair like the choice was already made.

Soul flicked his gaze toward him, brow raised.

Kid? Choosing to stay?

Weird.

The door swung shut.

And the apartment was still.

Now it's just Kid and Soul.

The quiet didn't rush back in right away.

It settled slowly, creeping in between the leftover clatter of dishes and the distant hum of the city outside. The record still played, filling the space where conversation used to be.

Soul exhaled, stretching his arms over his head. "Guess you really weren't feelin' it, huh?"

Kid reached for his water glass, "Not particularly."

Soul snorted. "Didn't stop you from going before."

Kid didn't answer right away. Just took a slow sip, set the glass back down with careful precision.

Soul didn't push.

Instead, he rolled his shoulders, shifting to stand. "Maka cooked, so…" He tilted his head toward the sink. "Cleaning duty."

Kid nodded, standing as well. "I'll help."

Soul huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Alright, man. Your choice."

Kid piled the dishes and cookware into the sink as Soul tidied up the living room, picking up the remainder of the plastic he had carelessly tossed on the table earlier.

The soft scrape of cooking remnants plopped into the trash, the low hum of the record player filling the silence. The faucet water ran hot as Soul scrubbed each plate clean, before passing it off. Kid dried it with methodical efficiency. It wasn't uncomfortable—just something to do.

They fell into a rhythm, working without speaking at first.

But after a while, Kid spoke.

"You always leave the dishes for last?"

Soul flicked water off his wrist. "Not always."

Kid quirked a brow, unimpressed.

Soul shrugged. "Okay, yeah. Always."

Kid huffed lightly, shaking his head.

The conversation lapsed again, but this time, Kid didn't drop it.

Soul scrubbed at a plate, considering. "You really stayin' just to do dishes?"

Kid dried the plate in his hands. "Would you believe me if I said yes?"

Soul scoffed. "Hell no."

Kid didn't argue. Just took another plate.

The water ran. The record crackled. The moment stretched.

And Kid—ever patient—was just waiting.