Day 1: Teddy Bears

Soul Evans doesn't believe in magic.

Fairy tales, curses, witches and wizards, those are all fictions. Sure he likes to watch fantasy movies, once in a while, and he enjoys it when Maka lazily reads Harry Potter aloud as they spend rainy days lazing around his apartment. But this is real life! Magic shouldn't exist.

Soul Evans doesn't believe in magic.

But it was until five minutes ago.

If magic doesn't exist, he wouldn't sit here completely mute as a fluffy white teddy bear.

Soul doesn't know how did it precisely happen. He was just wandering around downtown, trying to figure out what valentine gift to give Maka, something a bit further than platonic (because, yes, he dreams of progress, sometimes), but not too much as to be mistaken for romantic (because, no, it'd be totally uncool if his maybe-feelings are unrequited and she takes it the wrong way).

One moment he was scoffing at a stuffed toy shop display and commenting about how lame the valentine cards tied around each stuffed bears were, snorting that those kind of gifts wouldn't snatch any girl with a right mind. Then there was a sudden chill running down his spine as a voice echoed slyly behind his ear:

"Then how about you find out for yourself?"

The next thing he knew, he couldn't move a single muscle on his body, and everything seemed so unnaturally big. He's sitting in an empty hall, across a partly-reflective surface that displays nothing except a tiny white teddy bear with red eyes and maroon ribbon tied around its neck, left alone pitifully beside apartment door number 42.

It wasn't until five minutes of slow but harrowing observation that he realizes the tiny teddy bear is actually his reflection.

He's spent the next minute convincing himself that this is only a dream, but he can't lift his fucking hands to pinch himself awake. Absorbed in his self-debate if he's actually going insane, he doesn't hear new footsteps nor recognizes the soft voice humming an off-key song until the person stops right in front of him, drops a large bag of groceries, and picks him up.

Oh, fuck.

It's Maka.

His new perspective has altered everything to the point where Soul wasn't aware he's actually sitting in front of her apartment.

If someone normally ask him who Maka is, Soul would say that she is his best friend from back in high school, who now has become his coworker slash occasional freeloader, considering she sleeps at his place four times a week and has her own toiletries in his bathroom. But if someone shoves a truth serum down his throat and ask who Maka is, Soul would say that she is his teenage crush and currently the object of his questionable L-word feelings.

His first thought when she lifts him to her face is complete mortification. But then he remembers that there's no way she'd know it's him, so he starts to shout her name and flailing his hands, only to realize he can do neither.

Maka tilts him curiously, raising her eyebrow. God, she's too close, close, close!

She pulls out a folded paper that's been slipped in his ribbon and frowns at it, her cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink. "Is this some kind of joke?"

Boy, does he want to know.

For a moment, Soul can see her blush being replaced by a surprising amount of ache as something close to disappointment flashing her face. He always hates that expression. She looks so sad and fragile, as if a single push could break her to pieces.

Maka and sad just don't mix well.

She smooths her face and opens her door, dropping her bag unceremoniously on her couch and the groceries on the kitchen table, but she takes him to her room and hurls him to her bed along with the paper. It's a good thing he's currently made of plush, because he can safely bounce back instead of slamming face first onto the headboard. He really should talk to her about the way she treats her things.

His new position allows him to peek at the aforementioned paper. If he still has control over his voice, he'd shriek 'WHAT?!' on top of his lungs.

Here's the words written on the paper, with black ink, in his handwriting:

Happy Valentine's day. I'm sorry I didn't call, but something came up and I must go back to Wales for a few days. In the meantime, you can keep this guy as my substitute. Try not to miss me too much, nerd.

Love, Soul.

He reads the paper six more times.

What. The. Fuck?!

He doesn't remember writing that. He doesn't remember buying her a stupid bear as valentine's day gift. And more importantly, he doesn't remember how he was stuck inside that very stupid bear in the first place!

His confused rage halts altogether when his bead eyes catch Maka's movements. She's unbuttoning her shirt, and oh… oh—OH!

She's changing and he's seeing everything.

Fuck, he doesn't even have eyelids.

Soul tries his best to think about any other things besides Maka unclasping her bra and flashing him more than he'd ever fantasized and just concentrates on an interesting spot on the wall, but it's not an easy thing to do because he somehow catches a bellybutton and—fuck, focus, Soul! Back to the wall!

Damn it. He really had been taking eyelids for granted.

Finally, she blesses his poor eyes and questionably-existent heart by putting on a shirt. She glances at him, scoffs, and walks out of the room, leaving his still slumped fluffy body to curse the universe in silence.

Soul suggests his current predicament has something to do with the sly whisper he'd heard back at the doll shop. But of course he doesn't know who it was, and even if he does, he has no idea how to search for them, or even get Maka's help.

Oh, for the love of mac and cheese, she'll kill him ten times over if she knows he'd seen her tits.

Brooding, Soul spends the night wondering if this is a temporary thing and dearly wishes that he'll back in his body in the morning.

Aaaaaand, no such luck. He still has plushy white paws and red ribbons the next morning.

Day two, she mostly ignores him. Thankfully, she decides to put him among her pile of stuffed animals (he misses his weekly teasing on her ridiculous plush collections) and grants him a new perspective that prevents him for seeing any more changing scenes.

It was not a bad view, of course—if anything, it was interesting—but seeing her naked without her consent disturbs him so much. He had no choice, yes, but it still makes him feel like a creep.

Day three, she still ignores him. But he notices that she's stealing glances at her silent phone every other minutes.

Day five, she glares at him, purses her lips, and mouths 'idiot'.

Day eight, she's growing restless, scrutinizing her phone as if the device had personally insulted her.

Day twelve, she wakes up in the middle of the night, panting, and covers her face with her fist. There's nothing Soul want more than to ask her what's wrong, to wrap her in his embrace, and tell her she's not alone.

Day thirteen, she wakes up at night again, but this time she reaches for him, hugging him close to her chest and goes back to a fitful sleep. Soul tries his best not to think about how he's nestled between her breasts or he might explode.

Day seventeen, it's clear that she couldn't sleep without him snuggled on her chest. Soul thinks he should be used to it by now. He isn't. He still has no eyelids and she still shoves him onto her cleavage. Unfair.

Day twenty, she's starting to talk to him. Mostly to curse him and demanding why he hasn't called her since Valentine's day. Soul resentfully wonders if it's because of the horrid magic binding him, but Maka makes it sound like everyone, including his family and friends, thought that he's back in Wales, somehow, taking care of an unknown business, and hasn't even bothered to pick up the calls from his best friend.

How could he pick them up if he's stuck with plushy paws inside said best friend's bedroom?

Fucking teddy bears.

Day twenty-five, she has taken to narrate her entire days at him, much like how she tended to do with his human version. Crap. What wouldn't he give to make just one sarcastic remark to distract her from crying?

"I miss you, Soul…"

He wants to shout his reply, wants to yell that he's here.

He misses her too. He really, really misses her too.

Too bad teddy bears don't have tears.

Day thirty, exactly a month since he turned into a stuffed bear, Maka breaks down completely.

"Where are you, Soul? Why wouldn't you talk to me?" she sobs noisily, holding him at arm's length, giving him a perfect view of her tear-stained face. Soul flails frantically, yelling that he's there, right in front of her, but it only happens in his mind. His plush limbs are still limp as always and his voice is still missing.

"Are you abandoning me too? Like Papa? Like my Mama?"

No.

No, no, no, no!

Soul mentally shouts, No! He would never! She knows he would never!

He keeps pleading in silence for her to notice him.

But of course she doesn't. She sniffs and makes a sorrowful smile, propping her chin on her knees. "I was planning to tell you that day, you know?"

Soul stops his mental flailing. What?

"On Valentine's day. I was planning to cook a nice dinner. Set a candle or two. Be sappy. I was going to tell you that I—" she sucks a heavy breath, and if only his lungs are not made of cotton, he would do the same. "—I want to tell you that I… I've thought of you as more… more than a friend… for such a long time…"

What?

Does the curse make him hearing things?

"You're never just a friend for me, Soul…" she continues, unaware that she's practically confessing to him in person. "You're always so much more… You're my anchor. My home. The one my heart belongs to…"

Those are all his words. His.

His.

She shuts her eyes and brings him to her chest, hugging him for dear life. "I love you, Soul… I love you…"

He hugs her back, running his fingers through her silky hair, burying his face on her shoulder, inhaling her sweet, sweet scent.

"I love you too, Maka…"

And for a moment, the whole world freezes.

"…Soul?"

"Hmm?"

"SOUL?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!"

"Huh? What are you talking about? I'm always he—" he stills as realization dawns on him.

He has a voice.

And he has hands.

"HOLY FUCK, I HAVE HANDS!"

A pillow is smacked right on his face.

"OH GOD, WHY ARE YOU IN MY BED AND WHY ARE YOU NAKED?!"

Soul glances down, and holy mother of cheeseballs, he really is naked.

"SOUL EVANS YOU FUCKING PERVERT—GET OUT OF MY ROOM! FUCKING DIE! DIE!"

Snatching a pillow to cover his dignity, Soul reaches over to stop her murdering rage. "Wait, Maka! I can explain! Please!"

God.

How can he explain all of this without getting killed at least six times?

Well, he'll find a way.

Kim disperses her spying magic with a triumphant giggle.

Another success.

"You know," Jackie comments, propping her chin on her hand, "Most cupids would just shoot an arrow or two and be done with it."

Kim sticks out her nose, already scanning the human crowd for her next target. "And where's the fun in that?"

Jackie just rolls her eyes.