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“Soul,”
The voice in his ears is whispering tenderly to him, trying to rouse him, he blearily figures out but has no intentions of complying.
“Soul, wake up!”
Okay, he would know that bratty voice through any slumber.
He lifts his hand to try to bring his roommate’s head back down to the pillow— or whatever he must have been resting on, he genuinely has no idea where he is— but she’s faster, and dodges his hand.
Soul groans when she climbs on top of him to literally force his eyes open with her fingers.
“Ow, stop that!” He hisses, catching one of her hands, glaring at her through the one eye she’s still holding open. “Albarn, what do you have against me?”
He manages to lightly pinch her waist. She shrieks and squirms, stubbornly not letting him go back to sleep. “There are only a few minutes until the new year, Soul! Do you really want to start it sleeping?”
Oh, she thinks she’s doing him a favor.
Cute.
“Yes,” He deadpans. “You know they say you finish the year the way you start it? I wanna be sleepin’ next year, Maka.”
“Oh,” she genuinely sounds surprised, “I actually hadn’t heard that.”
She stops herself before starting the next sentence, pausing only for a moment but it’s enough for Soul to open his eyes and stare at her.
She has her hair down, with a red sweater that matches his own green one (“Christmas colors still work on New Years,”— he had argued) and a white skirt on, and yes— she’s very much sitting on top of his thighs. He pointedly doesn’t think about what would happen if she were to scooch just a little forward.
But what’s worse is that she’s blushing.
Is she thinking the same thing he is?
Now he’s blushing.
So instead of focusing on the heat of her over his thighs, he takes in the room. They’re in their living room— he had told Maka weeks ago that he didn’t feel like going to Liz and Patty’s crazy party, and they had compromised that they’d stay for the early few hours and come back home for a chill night before things got too crazy.
That was exactly what they did, and if the empty beer bottles and Maka’s book on the coffee table are any indication, they got tipsy and fell asleep on the couch.
The TV is on, and sure enough, it is 11:57 PM.
“Alright,” He sits up, with a yawn. “I’m up. But I’m falling right back asleep in four minutes and you aren’t allowed to stop me.”
But she’s still not looking at him, her arms plastered to her sides after his movement.
“Maka?”
“Did you— did you know we have to kiss at midnight?”
He almost chokes.
Her eyes are closed tight, face turned slightly away from him, voice shrill— he hasn’t seen her so shy since… Ever, actually. He doesn’t feel quite that far off from her situation himself.
“Like— we we? Or just—“ He asks. Stupid question, really.
Maka wants to kiss him at midnight.
Does it really matter the why or the how or the who? Not like he’ll ever say no.
But well. He could play it a little coy.
“No! I mean— yeah, but— not like—“
Oh dear. Burnt circuits. He can smell it. Don’t laugh, you know she’ll kill you.
“Not— I meant— Only because we’re—“
He bites his lip to not laugh, but since she’s sitting on top of him (still very wild and extremely distracting), she must be able to feel his stuttering breath.
Her head spins back to look at him, and something in her face falls before she moves to get off. 11.59.
“Sorry I bothered your sleep, I don’t know what I was thinking,” She started, trying to get the leverage to throw one of her legs back off him without kicking him in the nuts. “I should have known you wouldn’t want to kiss me.”
Oh. Oh no. This is so bad.
He wants to kick himself 10 years ago. He was so stupid.
Her face is so sad.
“Maka,” he starts, with some urgency in his voice he isn’t trying to hide. His hands find her thighs, holding her in place. “Kiss me.”
Her eyes get, like, five times bigger. “What?”
“Kiss me! It’s almost next year, c’mon!”
In truth, there is probably thirty more seconds until the countdown even. But he is sure he doesn’t have that time. His hands squeezing her thighs, he watches as her usual determination blooms in her face.
Then she’s leaning in, closing her eyes…
And their lips brush. Only slightly.
Soul loses the ability to care about pretty much anything else almost instantly— the only thing he can even distinctly notice except Maka’s lips on his is the sounds from the TV.
“Pretty sure,” he starts when she pulls back, voice low, staring into her eyes. Seven. Six. “You’re supposed to do that at the end of the countdown, Maka.”
She looks angry again, but he wasn’t teasing. Four.
His hand moves to her hair. The other moves to her waist. Three.
She gasps when he pulls her closer. Two.
Their noses touch. Both breathing shakily. One.