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“Soul’s fine. He’s a death scythe.” Maka murmured softly, pacing back and forth across their cozy apartment flat “He’s just gone to the store. He’s fine. Of course he’s fine. He’s too much of an idiot to do something stupid.”
Maka flinched as the thunder boomed overhead without warning, the windows rattling under the force of the sound.
Maka wasn’t afraid of thunder per say, she just wasn’t a fan.
She sighed tiredly, staring at her haggard appearance in the mirror: Her face sagged and twisted in a worried expression, her signature pigtails were uneven and mismatched lengths while her green eyes seemed dim and lifeless.
She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to focus her wandering thoughts onto something, anything that wasn’t Soul.
It was pretty impressive how deeply her partner managed to insert himself into her entire existence.
They lived together. They worked together. They sat in a comfortable silence together with her reading a book while he scrawled musical notes.
Even her trademark pigtails were a product of Soul’s work rather than hers. Given his usual spiky choice of hair (that took an embarrassingly large amount of hair gel and effort but shh don’t tell anyone) he was better at styling and maintaining it. Maka could barely manage this mess of a hairstyle in the 10 minutes the white haired death scythe had been gone.
Soul, for all his faults and infuriating behavior, was her stability.
Stability.
Maka’s life hadn’t exactly been the smoothest of rides and while she wouldn’t change any of it, she privately admitted it did leave some holes in her upbringing.
Papa, oh lord her papa, might’ve been a womanizer, irresponsible mess of a man but she basked in the quiet pride he treated his role as Lord Death’s personal scythe. When it came down to it, he took his duty to her and the world seriously, refusing to back down even when facing his own demise. A man who was not scum but someone she could respect and admire.
If only he had the rest of his life put together she would be able to show him more respect publicly. Just because he did his job well did not give him an excuse to be lax in his personal choices and responsibility. Even if they are closer after the whole battle to the death on the moon.
Mama, Maka’s hero and role model. Her biggest inspiration and the most respected person in her life. A woman on the highest pedestal Maka could place someone on.
Maka used to say a person who could do no wrong but now that she was older, wiser her mother seemed less like a perfect being and more like a talented yet ultimately flawed parent.
She still admired her strength for leaving her father to pursue her own life, to move forward from a failed marriage with a well meaning but unchanging man. That hadn’t changed.
But
Maka wished she was physically present more. Her post cards, which once were a source of happiness, now were met with conflict. Yes it was nice she was enjoying her time aboard, living her life and completing important work yet Maka felt lonely. She couldn’t recall the last time she held her mother, talked to her longer than a few minutes on a phone call. She had moved forward with her life without her mother and begrudgingly dragging her father.
She followed her mother’s example to the letter growing up: Men were scum, she should rely only on herself and she would create the next death scythe. Maka just added the whole youngest death scythe meister herself. Just as a little personal goal.
Maka grew up fast but she also missed out on a lot of her life: Mama never taught her how to braid her hair, to cook or how to do taxes. Maka learned most of that stuff on her own.
Until Soul came into the picture.
Soul put up an unnecessary cool, distant persona into their partnership at first but he also brought her a gift she never realized she so desperately needed: Stability.
Her world was constant jumble mess of an unrelenting drive and an inability of backing down from any challenge.
Soul, ironically, was the cool and collected of the two despite his questionable decisions from time to time.
She didn’t know what to think about the strange noises he produced with his piano nor did she understand how exposed he left himself to her that night. She just felt drawn to him, a conflicting yet balancing soul to her own. She just felt they would work, that with his help she could achieve anything.
It was an intoxicating feeling to be honest. When she was younger, she assumed it was a freedom he drew out in her. Now she understood it wasn’t freedom, it was comfort. A soothing presence to quell her aching loneliness. A constant in her chaotic life.
No matter what happened: the black blood, the dissonance in their souls, the angelic flight, Soul was there every step of the way, refusing to abandon her like her father, like her mother.
Maka cringed at the memory of the book of Eibon. That had been an embarrassingly low point for her but Soul refused to give up on her. On them.
Her heart skipped a beat and Maka could feel her cheeks burn a bright pink as she remembered Soul’s appearance in the book.
Could it be that he….?
“Maka! I’m home.”
Maka frozen, caught off guard by the trudging figure of Soul, wrapped heavily in a thick jacket with the triple wrapped groceries.
He shivered as the warmth of the apartment washed over him.
“Maka?”
Maka snapped out of her stupor “Here Soul! I was just….”
Soul’s ruby red eyes glanced her way, raising an eyebrow as he took in her appearance.
“Tried making your own pigtails again?” Soul questioned, gently placing the groceries onto the counter.
Are you okay? Soul asked silently, unable to keep the worry out of his face.
“Y-yeah! I figured I’d give it a shot! It’s embarrassing you still have to do my pigtails. Imagine if Blackstar found out.”
I’m okay she answered without words.
Soul gave a little “Hmph.” as he slipped out of his jacket, hanging it on the coat rack by the door before making his way closer to his meister.
“Here. Before you hurt yourself.” Soul carefully took one of the uneven, messy pigtails in his hand, undoing it while gesturing with his chin “Sofa.”
Maka nodded, sitting cross legged on the floor as Soul took a seat behind her.
Her tense body relaxed as Soul softly ran his fingers through her hair
“Braids or pigtails?”
Maka tilted her head back, staring at her weapon in an upside down fashion.
“Braids? You hate doing braids.”
Soul’s eyes shifted to the side, refusing to look at Maka directly “Yeah they’re a real bitch but I need to make sure I can still do it. Never know when you’re gonna decide to go on a date. No one needs to know you can’t do your own pigtails until after you get married.”
Maka snorted loudly.
“Yeah yeah.” Soul rolled his eyes, carefully twisting her hair into a braid “You say you want to be a spinster but one day you’re gonna find the least scummy guy in existence and be like ‘yeah I think I’m gonna compromise my standards for this one.’”
“Maybe. I hate compromising.” Maka mumbled into her knees.
Soul paused for a moment “No book?” Maka sighed in relief as Soul’s hands returned to work.
“Not today.”
Boom.
The thunder violently rocked the windows once more and Maka shivered under the noise.
“Any requests?” Soul asked, resting his hand on her shoulder.
Maka took his hand in hers, squeezing it tightly as she whispered “You know which one.”
“Alright but don’t get the wrong idea okay? I happen to like singing that one.”
Soul cleared his throat, his hums filling their apartment like a private orchestra just for her. She reached for his soul, a calm warming presence she grew to love.
She closed her eyes as the sounds of a piano played in her ears, the soft keys joining Soul as he sang
“Heart and Soul, I fell in love with you. Heart and Soul, the way a fool would do.”
Maka closed her eyes and leaned against Soul as he carefully worked to finish the braid, his voice clear and strong as her favorite song drowned out the thunder and the world.
There was only Soul and Maka.
A sound heart and a sound soul.
Together.
And she wouldn’t have it any other way.