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She would never forget the first time Soul kissed her.
Maka Albarn wasn't stupid, and so she had known for a while that there was... something between her and Soul.
She knew it by the warmth of his soul wavelength during resonance, by the private, meaningful glances they shared when no one else was looking, by the small, crooked smiles he reserved just for her.
She never pressed him about it, mostly because she didn't want to admit how happy it made her. It was a special, unspoken thing just for them, and, mushy, romantic thoughts aside, she knew the bond they had cultivated was truly something special, even for a meister and weapon pair. She wouldn't dream of putting such a partnership on the line, wouldn't dare risk losing such a powerful connection, in battle or otherwise.
So, rather than try to put a label on their relationship, rather than force either of them to confront their feelings for one another as possibly something more than what either of them were letting on, Maka chose instead to savor the small things. How his eyes softened when they lingered on hers for a moment too long, how his fingers felt when they were intertwined with her own, how she would sometimes catch him humming the tune of "Maka's Melody" while falling asleep, how on Sunday mornings he would make scrambled eggs for breakfast, just the way she liked them. If this was love, she thought, she wouldn't trade it for anything, titles and labels be damned.
And, selfishly, she was afraid of facing her own feelings.
She was her father's reckless daughter, that much was certain, and she was sure that if they ever became "official", she would find a way to mess it up, somehow. So, rather than risk breaking her own heart, rather than lose the most important person in her life for such a selfish reason, Maka was perfectly content to keep things just the way they were. Loving Soul privately, in small moments and little gestures, was more than enough for her.
But then, he went and kissed her.
She had been so preoccupied with her own reasons for not acting on her feelings that she had never considered the possibility that Soul may eventually be the one to make the first move.
It happened after a battle, because of course nothing in her life could be normal; her first kiss couldn't be by the romantic flicker of candlelight, or during the hypnotic sway of a slow love song, or any other typical circumstances in which first kisses happen for teenage girls. She was not done up in her prettiest outfit, hair not perfectly swept into a flawless hairstyle, no hint of rosy flush on her cheeks. She was battleworn, beaten and bruised, covered in sweat and dirt and Death knows what else, and couldn’t be bothered to worry about whether her pigtails were still in place.
Then again, she and Soul could hardly be considered normal or typical teenagers.
It had been a tough battle, a stronger opponent than they had faced in a while. It wasn't so much that they had gotten rusty, more just that with the kishin vanquished and the truce with the witches enacted, there weren't all that many serious threats left anymore. She hadn't felt this beat down after a battle since the war.
She didn't even realize it at first, didn't realize just how banged up she was, until she saw the look on Soul's face.
He had landed several yards away after transforming, stumbling and looking just as winded as she felt, but more or less on his feet. He looked over at her, and the expression of abject horror that twisted itself across his face gave her a start.
The last time she had seen a look like that on his face was years ago, and she had just told him to let the black blood invade her soul for the very first time.
"Maka! Shit, oh my god, fuck -"
And then he's swearing and stumbling again and closing the space between them, and his rough hands are on her face.
And then she understands.
She feels it, the throb of pain and the rawness of a fresh wound, as Soul gingerly presses two fingers to her cheek. His eyes are hard, not meeting hers, instead urgently examining the gash on the right side of her face, which she is sure must look a lot worse than it feels.
"I'm so sorry," he exhales, his eyes now finding hers. She swears she sees a misty sheen in them. This statement confuses her, and that confusion must register on her face, since he speaks again.
"I'm supposed to protect you. I've failed."
She smiles.
"You did protect me, Soul. It's just a scratch."
His eyes soften, though she can't tell if it's because she's reassured him or just made him somehow more worried about her. She feels heat rise to her cheeks because this is one of those small moments that she loves, and his expression is warm and sincere, and she remembers how much she loves looking into his eyes like this.
She feels him run the back of his index finger tenderly along the length of the wound, from the middle of her cheek to the corner of her jawline.
"Maybe it'll even leave me with a badass looking scar-" she starts, but then, it happens.
He kisses her.
There's no warning, no indication that it's coming, just the sudden feeling of rough lips pressed against hers and his fingers curled around the back of her neck. His eyes are squeezed shut and his hands are steady and huge next to her small face, and all she can do is stare at him, wide-eyed and frozen in disbelief.
Oh no, she thinks.
Her heart breaks, exploding into a million tiny pieces, and then reassembles itself just as quickly, because the initial feeling of panic that courses through her mind is extinguished before it can truly take hold.
Everything about this feels so right.
She tries to remember why she had been afraid - of facing her feelings, of wanting this, of what their mutual feelings might lead to - and comes up with nothing. She had made up a thousand reasons, and probably believed all of them at one point, but now there's just Soul and the taste of his lips and the feeling of his hands holding her face and the thrashing of her heart inside her chest.
Before she can react, he pulls away slightly, opening his eyes tentatively, nervously. His hands still cradle her face, but his expression betrays apprehension, as if he is realizing what he has just done and is now expecting a Maka chop to come crashing down on his head.
Except all Maka wants to do is kiss him back, and so that is what she does.
She jumps into him a little too enthusiastically, somehow managing to trip over her own feet in the process. Her hands scrunch up in his shirt as she falls into him, trying to steady herself, but Soul catches her without missing a beat. It is a painfully awkward moment, and Maka can’t help but choke out a breathless laugh.
But then her lips slant against his once more, and all thoughts of awkwardness and embarrassment are forgotten as countless new small things to love about Soul make themselves known.
The way his lips part so easily to meet hers.
The way his hands ruffle her hair so tenderly it sends a shiver up her spine.
The way his body feels against her own, so solid and secure, as he presses her into him.
The way he holds her so close, closer than they have ever been, as if she is the most precious thing in the world.
The way his lips feel like home, how his mouth moves so effortlessly with her own that it doesn't feel like a first kiss, it feels like she has kissed him a million times before and she has found her way home on his lips.
She forgets how to breathe.
She doesn't want to breathe, she wants to burn the memory of how Soul tastes in her mind and on her lips, she wants to kiss him enough to make up for all the times in the past she wanted to kiss him but held herself back. She wants to memorize every sigh, every touch of his fingers, every movement of his mouth against hers, how the sharp points of his teeth feel against her tongue, how his thumb brushes so gently against the fresh cut on her cheek, how alive and on fire her soul feels in this moment, because she doesn't know what will happen now. When the kiss ends and they both realize what's been done, she doesn't know what comes next.
Suddenly, she is unable to hold her breath in any longer and she pulls away, gasping, her hands still clutching at his chest. Their eyes meet again and Maka feels her heart soar.
It doesn't matter what comes next, she realizes, because the look in Soul's eyes tells her that nothing has changed.
Everything has changed and nothing has changed.
The soft look in his eyes is still the same. His crooked, lazy smile still makes her heart flutter like it always has. His hands feel even more warm and wonderful pressed against her face and on the small of her back than they do between her fingers. She can envision nights in the not-so-distant future, nights spent in his embrace, his arms wrapped around her and his voice in her ear as he hums her song to her, and then sleepy mornings waking up to fluffy, perfectly scrambled eggs.
She realizes it, and believes it so strongly that it must be true.
She can have all of the small things she loves, and kiss him, and call him hers, and slowly discover all the possible ways to love him, without trading a single thing.
Titles and labels be damned.