AN: Happy Mother's Day. Fluff oneshots for all!

Contains Soul/Maka if you squint a little bit.

Soul identified the muffled cries concealed within the room before his hand had turned the knob on their door, thank God in Heaven above. The realization gave him time to think, time to plan, time to make sure he could set things right no matter what the cause or catalyst, so he paused, a wild dog catching a dangerous scent in the wind. First, he needed an excuse not to enter their apartment; surely she'd heard him stirring outside. He could recall some sort of commercial that advertised what one should do if he or she "needed a moment," so he reached into his pocket and bit into the half-melted chocolate bar he'd bought at the store with vicious aplomb, only to realize - belatedly - that he'd forgotten to unwrap it.

Not even the taste of foil and paper mixed with soupy Hershey's milk chocolate (with almonds) could distract him from the potentially dangerous situation at hand. He forced himself to chew as he thought, because the only garbage bin he could spit the poison into was inside and there was no way he was going inside yet, but the time he was buying himself wasn't yielding any results that were remotely desirable - in fact, she was crying harder now, wasn't she? Yes - and this was all wrong, this was all wrong. Even the frantic slap of his heart against his ribcage told him that. He was used to these cries - things upset her, she was a girl after all - but something about the way in which she cried today alarmed him.

She shouldn't be upset today.

It was time to bite the bullet and be a man. He swallowed, ignoring the scrape of indigestible aluminum against the walls of his throat, and put on his bravest face. For a moment he forced himself to weigh his options once more - turn around and leave, no she'd heard him unlock the door; enter and just ignore her, Hell no, that would be a dick move - but there was no way around it: He would have to go inside, and he would have to comfort her. Alone.

The door swung open, and he tried to greet her, but a piece of almond that had lodged itself within his windpipe (or something equally unfortunate) decided to resurface, causing him to choke. Maka looked up from the pillow she'd been hugging to her face, tears streaming from her reddened eyes and snot (he would grab a tissue for that on his way in) beginning to drip from her nose, a sure sign that she'd been at this for a while. Undoubtedly, the situation was worse than he had thought. His grin came off as a grimace as he dropped the bag of groceries onto the floor (they fell over and their contents spilled everywhere, but he would deal with that later) and deposited the ex-chocolate into the garbage bin, nimbly plucking a tissue from the conveniently-placed box on the table in the process.

"You look upset, Maka," he said to her, mentally kicking himself in the ass for the rest of eternity for saying something so stupid. She blushed, probably embarrassed to be caught showing such obvious weakness, and avoided eye contact.

"I'm fine," she told him, but her breath hitched with a residual sob as she spoke. Heaving a deep sigh, Soul picked his way over the various items scattered on the floor to sit beside her, and she sat upright to make room for him, still adamantly refusing to look him in the eye.

"Asking you to talk about it if you don't want to wouldn't be cool," he said, offering her the issue. She blew her nose into it noisily and peeked at him through puffy eyes, silent.

"Can't say I'm not curious, though," he added. She squirmed awkwardly and dried her tears with an edge of the issue that was (hopefully) free of all mucus-like matter, sniffling.

"Today's Mother's Day," she declared. Soul had known that, and it was what had thrown him off in the first place - why would a day honoring her favorite person be something for her to despair over? He remained quiet, waiting for her to continue, and when she mirrored his silence, he took the bait.

"Why are you sad, though?" He asked, canting his head off to the side. "I thought you loved your mom."

Somehow that started a fresh batch of tears, and Soul had to keep himself from rolling his eyes as a gesture of hopelessness towards all female hormones in existence.

"Hey, hey; don't cry," he insisted, wrapping an arm about her shoulders. She leaned against him and bawled with a fierceness that was equal to the force in which she fought, and Soul had to resort to begging. "Please don't cry?"

"I'm sorry," she wailed. A chill crept its way up the weapon's spine and back down again; this sort of vulnerability was so unlike her. "I'm sorry, Soul. I... I sent Mama a Mother's Day card! I sent it to her a month early, too, so she'd get it in time!" He was having a hard time deciphering what she was saying - her words were so swallowed up by her frantic sobbing. "But... But she didn't send me a card back! She never writes to me anymore, Soul!" She balled his clothes up in her fists and screamed into his shirt at the top of her voice. "I miss her so much!"

Soul glared at a small group of people that had paused in their open doorway. He mouthed the first profanity that came to his mind at them and they resumed they journey down the hall instantly, whispering amongst themselves.

"I wish Papa wasn't so useless! I wish Mama... I wish Mama never left!" Maka lamented, resting her cheek against his (now thoroughly soaked) jacket. "I'm sorry, Soul... I must look so s-stupid. But I miss her... I miss her so much..."

Soul wasn't sure of what to say. He sighed again, running his hands through her slightly-matted hair, absent-mindedly drying her tears with his thumb and trying not to look at her lest he inadvertently set her off again. There was so much he could say and so much he could do, but nothing seemed right - nothing seemed to fit. He really didn't know what it was like to miss someone.

"I'm sorry, Maka," he said at last, bringing his hand up to comfortingly rub her back. "But it's okay. I mean, it's cool."

She looked up at him, and he dodged her eyes nimbly, trying to pretend that seeing her in such a state wasn't tearing him apart inside.

"If it makes you feel any better," he gambled, using his spare hand to bashfully rub the back of his head, "you'll never have to write any letters to me. I'm going to be here. I'm just... I'm just that kind of guy, I guess."

Maka paused and - praise Jesus and all of his disciples; it's a miracle in Death City! - a smile began to blossom on her face.

"You'd make a good mom, Soul," she said, leaning more of her weight against him.

Soul bared his teeth in a proud grin and decided not to feel offended.

"If I'm such a great mom, maybe you should cook me a nice Mother's Day dinner," he suggested.

She smacked him on the head with the spine of a hardcover novel, and he sneered at her through the pain. A Mother's Day beating was fine, too; anything but more tears. Anything.