Work Text:
Maka looked down at the weapon with a heavy heart. Her scythe, a long, curved blade she'd wielded since childhood, was difficult to part with. It glimmered and winked at the blonde, unaware of its impending doom.
"Are you sure?" she tried, looking back at the merchant. "I can pay you in gold."
"Only that," the black haired man affirmed. "For this…" He shrugged. "There are other hunters who will buy."
"I don't need the scythe," Maka found herself saying, even though she'd told the merchant this three times already.
"You're holding up the line, little girl. Next!"
"No, wait," she interrupted, squeezing her eyes shut and holding out the scythe.
Lifting her weapon, he pointedly snapped, "Thank you very much." She felt the weight of the package hit her hands before she was shoved unceremoniously out of the way. She opened her eyes and smiled at the silver-tipped arrows.
Soul would love them, Maka mused as she ambled down the winding path. Ever since the traders had come he'd been eyeing them, but had never spoken up.
When her home (which was a simple shack isolated in the heart of the wood) came into view, she slipped off her boots and stomped inside. Maka only had a few hours to prepare before her hunting partner returned.
Stewed deer―a rare delicacy the duo had shot down the day prior―soon had the cramped kitchen enveloped in its savory aromas, distracting the girl from her other chores. Sweeping and general straightening up were often postponed to regard the steady surge of steam, or to simply take in the symphony of delicately boiling stew.
Pigtails slapping her cheeks as she turned, Maka finally put away the broom and surveyed her work. Dinner was perfect and the table set, the tight quarters especially tidy. Hidden beneath her seat was the minuscule woven basket encasing Soul's gift. She'd finished before he arrived, she realized with a sly grin.
Wait.
She'd finished early?
"That's impossible," the girl breathed as she checked the time. Even more unbelievable, she saw with furrowed brows, was that Soul was late. Never mind that it was a holiday—the guy was religious about punctuality.
She'd already pictured it a thousand times as she worked: he'd saunter in, bow slung across his shoulder, burgundy eyes glowing as he presented fresh game. How could she not have noticed the time gradually slipping away?
Maka was too absorbed in her frantic thoughts to register the fast-advancing steps, the overpowering scent of freshly-sliced meat, the blur of too-dark-to-see-in-the-limited-light colors―
"Gah!" the blonde gasped as she was tackled to the ground, a chuckle rumbling in her ears. Hot breath tingled down her neck, and she shuddered.
"Boo," Soul murmured. She could hear the smirk in his voice.
Pushing her partner to the side, Maka stumbled to her feet. "You're late," she informed him gruffly. "Where's your bow?"
The weapon was indeed absent from its traditional place; he wasn't holding it, hadn't carelessly left it by the door. Only his game bag—the source of the meaty smell she’d failed to detect earlier—sat by their humble home’s entrance.
Ruby eyes roamed her features, as if the answer could be found buried beneath her skin. When she looked more closely, Maka noticed his white-as-snow hair was messier than usual, and he stubbornly kept his hands clasped behind his back.
"Soul?"
"Where's your scythe?"
"What's that you're holding?"
"It's always on the table―did you leave it in the woods?"
"Is that for me?"
"Don't―!" [add action for taking the thingie]
"Did you buy this for me?"
"I swear, it was so well hidden."
"You bought a sheath for me?"
"Really, where's your scythe?"
"How did you… afford it?"
"Did something happen to it? I am positive you two are inseparable."
The two each wore matching ambiguous expressions, searching the other's face for an explanation.
"You first," Soul insisted.
She heaved a sigh. "Sold it. How did you afford a faux leather sheath?"
"It's real, actually," he said softly as he distantly gazed past her ear. "You sold it?"
"No," she drawled, "I just pranced around the market with an irreplaceable weapon."
"Why?"
The blonde bent down to retrieve the basket, and thrust it at him. "Here. Merry Christmas."
"Maka…"
"Where's your bow?"
Silence.
"Soul―"
"Sold it," he managed, shutting his eyes tightly. "In the black market."
"No."
"Yes."
"You're kidding."
"I seem to remember a certain girl selling her own precious weapon recently."
"That's different, Soul."
"Is it? Lovely arrows, by the way."
"It is. Might I add that this is a fabulous sheath?"
The pair grinned together sheepishly. "Too bad we can't use them, right?" Soul lamented (blahblahblah add more)
"Maybe," her partner offered, "we should just set these aside."
A comfortable silence settled around them. Then:
"You imbecile," Maka laughed. "How are we supposed to eat from now on?"
Soul scratched his head, feigning innocence. "We have a whole rack of―"
"Don't speak of them!"