Maka's eyes shift between a picture and the mirror. It's striking, really, how closely the two images look alike; the same grassy eyes, sandy blonde hair, and they even shared the same nose. Maka's finger brushes along the frozen, halting face of her mother. The picture is a couple of years old. It had been a long time since she had seen her.

Something tightens in her chest. She takes a deep breath - no. She's a big girl. She doesn't need her mommy around. She isn't like other kids. She's a meister. A talented one, at that, and she could handle a couple of months or years or whatever without her mother by her side. They had their own lives. She knew her mother was happy out there, wherever she was, seeing the world, and Maka was happy right here, thank you very much.

She frowns at her reflection, eyes falling to the top of her desk. It's littered in books and papers and pencils, eraser shavings shed all over the wood. She leans back, curling her finger around the handle to one of the drawers. The brass is cool on her skin as she pulls it open, peering into the dark cavity.

She chews her lip. Mom wears make-up.

Pulling a lipstick tube from the drawer, she holds the black cylinder before the mirror. Her mother had sent her a bunch of cosmetics for her birthday a couple of months ago. Soul had bought her four new books and, she had to admit, they had gone to much more use than the make-up had. It had sat untouched and collected dust.

She pulls the cap off of the lipstick. It's a soft pink, the same color she knows her mother wears. She brings it to her nose, smelling it; it even smells like her mother. Maka purses her lips, eyes slipping back to her reflection. Make-up never crossed her mind before. She was always fighting and getting dirty, so it seemed completely unnecessary and a total waste of her time. But Liz and Patty wore make-up, didn't they? Even Tsubaki had a little mascara on.

Maka drops the lipstick back into the drawer and shuts it. Maybe another day.

/

"Why do you have that crap on?"

Maka pauses, one foot on the stair, the other hovering above the floor. She raises her eyes, lashes thick with black, blush rising up her cheeks. The pink tinge only grows darker when she sees Soul leaning out of the doorway, his backpack thrown over one shoulder and a disapproving scowl on his face. Maka pulls her foot back on the stair and hovers there for a moment, twisting her lips in a mirroring expression.

"It's called make-up, Soul. My mom sent it to me."

"Yeah, I remember. I told you it wasn't cool." Soul slips back inside, the door yawning open to reveal the street. Scarlet eyes crawl over Maka's face.

Maka thrusts her chin upward, smearing her too-pink lips together. "Well, I'm a young woman now, and young women wear make-up."

"The cool ones don't." Soul continues to frown at her, the yellow sleeves of his jacket coming to cross over his chest. "What makes you think you need it?"

The meister lowers her chin, finally dropping off of the stair. "I don't think I need it -" she shoulders her backpack and keeps her back straight as she moves toward him, "- I wanted to wear it so I put it on, excuse me for doing what I want with my own face, Soul -"

Fingers tighten around her wrist. She's almost through the door, her eyes on the buildings across the street, washed in the morning, laughing sun. She jerks back, brows furrowed, eying her weapon carefully. Shark-like teeth are gnawing at his lower lip, eyes dancing over her in confusion. Maka's tension melts away, her soul wavelengths humming to meet his as they always do when they're this close.

Finally, Soul huffs. "You look better without it," he mumbles, and his hand recoils. She frowns as he brushes past her and bounds down the front steps, onto the sidewalk. The white shards of his hair are almost blinding under the freshly lit sky. He takes a few paces forward before looking over his shoulder, his frown deepening even further to see Maka still lingering in the doorway. "What are you doing? We're going to be late."

Maka's heart is in her throat. "Go on without me, I forgot something!" She whisks back into the house, almost slamming the door behind her. She hurls up the steps three at a time and whirls into the bathroom, hands splaying over the sink. Emerald eyes rimmed in thick black bounce back at her. Babydoll cheeks. Coated lips. It's like she smeared herself with paint - she looks like a clown. It isn't Maka she sees - it's her mother.

Maka slams the sink on, cups her hands under the water, and splashes it on her face. The cold rush clings to her hair, slides down the collar of her shirt and trickling down her chest. She looks up again, tracks of black falling down her cheeks.

She scrubs it off.

You look better without it.

/

Compliments from Soul Eater Evans do not come lightly. Maka had figured that out about five minutes after they met, when he said something along the lines of "I guess you'll make an okay meister," to which Maka had almost embedded her knuckles into his eye. Little did she know that that was about as close as Soul got to saying something nice about someone else.

But the couple years they had spent training together, and after defeating Asura, especially, their relationship had grown strong. Their soul wavelengths matched up perfectly most days, even when they bickered and screamed at each other, even when house hold items became weapons of mass destruction. Lord Death had always compared them to magnets – opposites and whatever. He said there was a song in another universe about how opposites always attract by some hot shot named Paula.

Maka tried to reason with herself, as she jogs down the sidewalk, that Soul saying she looked better without make-up had nothing to do with the reason she had taken it off. It's just because she felt better without it, right? She isn't a clone of her mother. She's Maka, and she's her own person. She decides what she puts or doesn't put on her face. It had nothing to do with her weapon holding her wrist in the doorway.

Seriously.

Maka glances up at the Academy as she nears the doors, the enormous black spikes piercing the sky, the drooling morning sun gazing sleepily over Death City. She ducks into the cool, bright hallway, rushing past the doors. She's late. Without bothering to stop at her locker, she swings into Professor Stein's classroom, the space already alive with morning chatter and other students bustling through the tables. She sighs in relief when the bell sounds just as the door swings shut behind her, jogging up the steps to her table level and sliding into her chair. Soul is slumped over beside her, white head buried in his elbows. Class begins and Stein starts talking, peeking up with disapproval at a softly snoring Soul.

Maka promptly rams her elbow into Soul's side, causing the weapon to jerk up and glare at her, eyes narrowed. Maka meets his gaze challengingly, only to watch with surprise as Soul's face smooths out and relaxes, becoming almost smug. The meister narrows her eyes, lips pursed. "What?" She whispers hoarsely as Soul leans his cheek on one hand, and the way he's looking at her really shouldn't make her blood pressure freak out so much, but it is.

Soul draws an imaginary circle in the air around his face, then points at his partner. "You look much better now. It's cool."

Maka rolls her eyes and flips open her notebook, glancing up occasionally to copy what Stein is scribbling on the board down below. "Yeah, well, I didn't take it off because of your opinion on my appearance."

"Liar."

She glances at him again, scowling. She doesn't deny it, though. Lying to Soul is a pointless cause. He can read her soul wavelengths pretty accurately by now, and he's the first to know when she's lying or angry or tired or anything, really. The two know each other from back to front better than any book they've ever read.

Maka stays silent the rest of the hour, trying to focus on Professor Stein. It becomes increasingly more difficult when the bell is fifteen minutes away and Soul extends his arm suddenly, resting it on the back of Maka's chair. The girl immediately grows tense, pausing in her frantic note-taking to cast her emerald eyes sideways, gauging Soul's profile. His face is completely free of any emotion, half-lidded eyes resting on Stein below them. Maka presses her lips into a flat line and goes back to her notes. Sometimes, when she shifts, or takes a deep breath, she can feel his arm brush against her spine and it makes electric sparks shoot up her spine and woah, Albarn, no no no.

Class ends in its usual whirlwind of chaos, kids launching toward the door with Black Star leading them, his aqua hair bobbing out of sight. Maka stands, books cradled in her arms and makes her way to the steps with Soul at her back. It's weird – they do this every day, several times a day, and not once has she been so aware of how close Soul is to her. He is one step behind her until they hit the floor and then his shoulder brushes against hers as they walk out of the class, merging into the hallway. Even surrounded by other kids, pushing and shoving and racing their way to their next classes, Soul remains tightly next to her and Maka can't help but observe him.

This is stupid, she thinks, frowning down at her books. It's just Soul. He's never captured her attention like this before.

Maka attempts to shove him into the back of her mind and focus on school, but Soul continues to distract her. Had he always done little things like this? His arm on her chair, his hand hovering behind her back as they move through the halls like he's keeping others from touching her, opening doors for her, sliding her chair out from under the lunch table with his foot. It doesn't seem out of place, but she can't remember ever taking notice of those little gestures before. And they seem so significant somehow, important, and she starts mumbling 'thank you' under her breath every time it happens. It makes Soul screw his eyebrows at her and Maka fumbles awkwardly before burying her face in the safety of her book.

Did she do things like that, too? Maka tried to pay attention to how she acted around Soul, but now that she was so conscious of it she was afraid that she would mess up and not do something she normally did. How could she be so oblivious to her own actions, her own thoughts? She's startled back into the present when she finds herself fussing over the part in Soul's hair, something she knows she's done a thousand times but is only now really taking notice of it. Soul doesn't even react, mumbling about her not being cool as she flings a chunk of white hair out of his eyes. He shakes it back down a moment later, and she finds that she's not even frustrated, because he does that all the time.

During their last hour of the day, Maka has her chin propped up on her palm and her eyes on Soul's back, who is leaning over Black Star's desk. They're talking animatedly about something and Maka doesn't have to be over there to know that Black Star is bragging about himself. The boys are laughing and Maka sighs, twisting her eyes back to the quiet Tsubaki at her side. She's reading, a finger twirling around a long strand of black hair.

"Tsubaki?"

The older girl looks up, a soft smile on her face. "Yeah?" She closes her book, hands folding under her chin. She's always so ready to help people, putting aside all of her tasks to assist in any way she can; she's a good friend, and if there's anyone Maka can trust with the kind of thoughts she's having, it's her. Not to mention she's really the only girl Maka gets along with – the rest of them are such pansies.

"Can I ask you something?" Maka's mouth twists – she doesn't know how to word what she wants to ask, frowning down at her hands. Tsubaki nods enthusiastically, leaning towards her, offering her ear for whatever secrets she has. "Er – it's about Soul."

Tsubaki's black brows rise. "What about him?"

Maka's eyes drift back to her weapon, focusing on the way his shoulders rise and fall with laughter. "What do you think of him?"

Tsubaki smiles at her, shrugging her shoulders as she leans back in her chair, dark eyes following Maka's. "He's a really nice guy. A great weapon. Black Star would just murder me if he heard me say this, but I think, with you as his meister, he has the best chance out of all of us to become a Death Scythe."

Maka finds herself blushing. She really can't handle praise at all, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly and mumbling a hushed 'thanks' only for Tsubaki to continue.

"And he's very protective of you."

Maka lifts her head slightly. "Protective?"

Tsubaki beams. "Of course. He's always looking out for you, even during school. Sometimes he asks me if you're okay when you're having off days, thinking that you might tell me things you don't tell him. He goes out of his way to make sure you're in your best mood." Her brows furrow. "Didn't you notice?"

"Well, yeah." But only today, she adds mentally, frowning down at her hands.

"That's natural, if you're thinking it's not." She shifts her gaze to Black Star. "I'm protective of my meister, too. He's my best friend. And he's fierce when it comes to me, just like you are about Soul."

Fierce? She was fierce about Soul?

"Do you …" Maka swallows, her hands twisting. "…love Black Star?"

Tsubaki doesn't even have a moment of hesitation. "Of course I do. It's not easy sometimes, and I get why people generally don't like him very much, but I love everything about Black Star." She laughs then, shaking her head. "Now, romantically? No, Black Star's a bit young for me, but if it weren't for that …" She shrugs. "Who knows."

"Soul's only a couple of months older than me," Maka mumbles, then realizes that it was not just a thought, but something she vocalized. She panics, throwing her hands up. "Not that I'm, like, romantically interested in him because I most certainly am not and we are definitely just friends so –"

"Maka, breathe." Tsubaki laughs. "It's not uncommon at all for meister and weapon to fall in love. Look at your parents."

Maka scowls. "Yeah, look at my parents. Divorced, and my scum father is grabbing every girl he can find."

"…Okay, bad example. A lot of the professors are in relationships with their weapons and meisters. Do you think you might –"

"No." Maka slams the word down firmly like a gravel. "No I do not."

Tsbuaki doesn't look like she believes her but the bell rings before she can say anything more.

But she doesn't like Soul that way. Right?

/

"Will you hurry up? I'm starving over here."

Maka throws a scowl over her shoulder at Soul, the boy reclined on their couch, punching furiously at the controller to his video game. His tongue is sticking out in concentration, red eyes narrowed on the screen. Vulgar, bloody noises are coming from the television. Maka rolls her eyes and turns back to the quesadillas she's preparing. One would think that, after all of the violence they had to attend to in real life, Soul would grow bored of it and not bring it into their living room.

Alas.

Maka slides their respective pieces on two plates, balancing one on each hand as she makes her way to the living room. She sets Soul's on the coffee table, hers on her lap. They have a kitchen table, but they rarely use it. Besides, it's Saturday, and Maka can't bring herself to be all rule-oriented on the weekends. She glances up at Soul who has his mouth hanging open expectantly, eyes jerking between the screeching TV and her.

"C'mon." He opens and closes his mouth quickly, stabbing at the buttons. Maka finds herself muffling a laugh as she picks up one of the pieces of his quesadilla, pushing the tip into his mouth. He bites down with ravenous ferocity, tearing off the biggest chunk his mouth will allow before she lowers it back to the plate. " 'Anks," he manages through a mouthful of food, his attention going back to his game.

The day had been lazy. Maka was wearing sweatpants, having spent the majority of the afternoon reading and studying. Soul had gone to play basketball earlier, but had, for the past few hours, not moved from the couch, indulged in his game. Maka smiles lazily as she leans back on the couch, chewing away at her quesadilla. They have a good life, her and Soul. A really good one. She was fortunate enough to be able to spend her weekends just like this.

With Soul.

Maka's body stiffens at the thought. Oh, no. Again. She drops her eyes to her food, listening to Soul grunt and curse under his breath as his body moves with the figure on the game. She couldn't shut up her brain. She was more aware than ever of Soul's presence, of the little things he did for her. Just that morning he had been washing a bowl she had forgotten to the night before and not ten minutes later she found herself throwing some of his dirty laundry into the washer. Stupid things, things that had meant nothing before now seemed so … significant.

It feels like she's known him forever, and not until earlier that week when he had said she looked better without her make-up did she even consider their relationship as anything more than meister and weapon, if not friends. She chews her lip, sighs, and her legs start to rise. She barely notices the movement until she feels them rest in Soul's lap, her eyes widening as she watches her weapon simply raise his arms to make room. His elbows rest on her shins, not even looking at her, and suddenly her body is taut and ready to snap.

…Does she do this often?

Maka fingers her last quesadilla. Why is she the only one freaking out? Shouldn't Soul be? Or is she freaking over nothing? She doesn't want things to get messy and complicated. She likes things the way they are right now, feeding Soul food and watching him play video games and knowing she has someone who will always care about her.

"Soul?"

He doesn't look at her. "Yeah?"

"Who is your best friend?"

He falters for a moment, red orbs briefly shifting to her before they fling back to the TV. "Uhm, I dunno. Black Star, I guess."

Maka's eyes fall to her food again. "Oh."

The screaming and shooting from the TV stops. Maka looks up to see the screen paused, a gruesome face of what she assumes to be some kind of zombie glaring at her. She jerks her gaze back to Soul, the boy's eyes narrowed.

"Why?" He balances the controller on her leg, suspicion in his gaze.

"Er –" She shrugs. "No reason."

"Isn't Crona your best friend?"

Maka raises her eyebrows. Is he? She loves Crona, really, and they get along great, but she doesn't have the bond with him that she does with Soul. She supposes that she just never had a rank for her friends. She cared for them all the same. Tsubaki, Kid, even the ever annoying Black Star. But Soul … she just assumed that he would be at the top if she ever did have a scale. He's her weapon. They live together. They know each other better than anyone else.

"Well, I don't know. I guess." She lowers her eyes again, picking at her quesadilla. "I mean, other than you, of course."

There's another round of tense silence, Soul's warm arms on her legs, fingers frozen over the buttons. She dares a quick glance up – Soul is grinning at her, turning back to the TV.

"Well, duh, Maka. You're number one." He pushes play and the room erupts into sounds of killing and carnage once more.

Maka can't stifle the stupid smile on her face. Number one.

/

"You're not putting make-up on again, are you? We discussed this, Maka!"

Maka frowns at her reflection. It wasn't make-up this time, it was her stupid hair. She threads her fingers into it, yanking it up and testing a bun. No. She tries one ponytail. Nope. A braid. No. She grunts and lets it tumble over her bare shoulders.

Lord Death didn't exactly have a birthday, but the Academy did hold a party for him annually as if he did. It was a big deal, and everyone came together and danced and ate food and it was really just an excuse for everyone to dress up and listen to some good music. And, as usual, Maka couldn't decide for the life of her what to do with her hair. If only her weapon was a girl -

"Maka, we're going to be late! This isn't cool!"

"Okay, okay!" Maka sighs, grabbing the curling iron her mother sent her for her birthday, one that she had just opened about an hour ago, and one that she did not know how to operate very well. Her hair was beyond cooperating and she thought she looked kind of like a poodle when she was done, but that was all she had time for. She stands up quickly, braced before her mirror, frowning at herself. The black dress was simple and strapless, one she had borrowed from Tsubaki that no longer fit her. Maka smooths her hands down the sides, giving a sigh of frustration before walking out of the room and into the hall. "Coming!" She steps carefully down the stairs, her heels clicking, curls bouncing around her cheeks.

"Oh."

Maka glances up at the word. Soul's in the doorway, leaning, hands in his pockets. He's wearing his pinstripe black suit with the red tie and – "Oh," Maka mimics, because Soul looks – Soul looks really good.

It's only then she notices the look of surprise on his face, the slight 'o' shape to his mouth. Maka blushes furiously, snatching the stupid girly purse that went with the dress off of the counter. "Shut your mouth and let's go." She moves past him into the cool night of Death City. The sidewalk is already bustling with other attendants for the night, the street alive with distant laughter.

"You look really nice."

She turns over her shoulder. Soul is grinning, dropping off of the front porch stair to stand next to her.

Maka's cheeks are burning. "Thanks. You brush up pretty well, yourself." She smiles back at him and his elbow crooks out, offering the space inside of it. She slips her arm in and he pulls her close, the two falling in step and marching toward the Academy. They stroll in comfortable silence, Maka's heels clicking at the cement. Once at the doors, Soul opens them for her, arm extended to allow her passage.

"Such a gentleman this evening," she teases, sticking her tongue out at him as they move through the halls to the ballroom.

"All the cool guys are."

The party has already started, the loud buzz of music and voices filtering down the hallway. Soul pushes open that door as well and Maka steps into a frenzy of bright lights and laughing and a thousand different scents.

A warm hand rests in her lower back. The heat spreads from the contact and Maka's cheeks sizzle when she feels Soul behind her, guiding her without a word through the herd of people. They make their way to their group of friends – Black Star (in a suit, which is a peculiar sight) and Tsubaki, as well as Crona, Kid, and the Thompson sisters. Soul keeps a bit of distance from her then as they talk and laugh. Lord Death makes an announcement, thanking everyone for coming, and then Soul touches Maka's hand.

"I'm going to get us something to drink." She nods, smiling as he moves away, and when she turns back, Tsubaki grins at her from behind her hand.

Maka narrows her eyes. "Yes?"

"Nothing." Tsubaki laughs, her eyes sliding to Crona, who blushes madly.

Maka frowns, glaring at them. "What?"

"You guys are cute!" It's Patty, bouncing in front of Maka, blonde hair in a thousand tiny braids. She looks more like a poodle than Maka, she decides. "You and Soul are just the cutest thing I've ever seen! Right, Liz?"

The older sister smiles, throwing her arm around Patty's neck. "You bet."

Maka's lips screw together. "Yeah, well, so are …" Her eyes flick among her friends quickly, frantically searching for someone else to embarrass. "Crona and Kid." Maka frowns at her own choice of pairings, but goes along with it. "Most adorable thing. Ever."

Crona's eyes grow to the size of saucers, his face darkening ten shades of red. "I-I we're not, not even-!"

"I'm not concerned with my degree of adorableness. Only symmetry." Kid, golden eyes flicking from Maka to Crona, purses his lips slightly. "Crona is not in the least symmetrical."

Crona blushes again, but sighs in relief, slender shoulders sagging.

"He is, however, quite adorable."

Maka worries that Crona might just have a heart attack. Kid leads the other boy to the dance floor as a new song picks up, Liz and Patty staring blankly at his back.

"…It makes sense, if you think about it. They're both boys. They'll be balanced."

"Equal."

"Symmetrical."

Liz's face scrunches. "I have images in my mind that will never go away."

Patty nods. "Yep!"

"Hey."

Maka spins back, almost knocking the two drinks grasped in Soul's hands right on the floor. He jerks back, raising them quickly to keep them from sloshing. "Jeez, calm down!"

"Sorry." She smiles apologetically, taking one glass and bringing it to her lips. It's something fruity and light, not something Soul usually likes, but she notices that he has the same thing. Maka hides another smile behind her hand. This is so stupid, she snaps at herself, rubbing slowly at her forehead.

"…Why are Crona and Kid dancing?"

Maka laughs. "Kid thinks he's cute."

Soul blinks, then shrugs, downing the rest of his drink in one very unattractive gulp, swinging the glass between his fingers. The music is slow and soft, not the raging rock nonsense that Soul listens to at home, and Maka knows that it makes him uncomfortable. Soul is the best piano player she's ever met, but so few people know how beautifully he can play. He's really insecure about it, says it isn't 'cool', that 'normal guys' don't play the piano, but Maka thinks it might be her favorite thing about him. She follows his faraway gaze to the man behind the piano near the back of the room. She sees envy in his stare.

"Tsubaki!" Black Star suddenly erupts, sweeping his arm out in front of her. "Let's make all of these other guys jealous by my perfect dancing skills!"

Tsubaki smiles softly, placing her hand in Black Star's. "Okay."

Laughing, the two twirl into the throng of dancers. Maka chews her lip. She had only seen Soul dance once, when they had been fighting Crona all those months ago and he had been stuck in his mind. She wonders if that even counts as a real dance. It had been their souls, not their bodies.

Maka touches his arm. "Hey, let's dance."

Soul's attention snaps back to her. "What?"

"Dance. Da. Nce. You. Me. Movement." She sets her glass on the table. "Please?"

Soul frowns, casting his eyes at the others. "Maka, I can't even –"

"Please."

He turns back to her and Maka thrusts out her lower lip, hands curling under her chin. He narrows his gaze at her. "If you think pouting is going to win me over –"

"Oh, I know it will. I'm number one, remember?"

He opens his mouth, closes it, and then sets his glass on the table beside hers. "Fine." He extends his hand, Maka's smoothly folding into the open palm. They move to the dance floor, sliding between other couples. Maka's hands find his shoulders, his on her waist, and the way that burns and feels so – so, well, nice, shouldn't be distracting Maka so much but it totally is.

Soul's head is slightly down, cheeks carrying a tinge of red. Maka frowns.

"Are you okay?"

Soul's mouth shifts uncomfortably. "I'm not a good dancer."

Maka smiles, lifting one hand from Soul's shoulder to push his chin up. "I think you're great."

She doesn't know why her hand doesn't move right away. Her fingertips linger on his cheek several moments too long, and his head is too close, and his hands are far too warm to be resting on her hips right now. Her blood rushes to her cheeks, lips falling open, eyes on Soul's mouth.

Soul's mouth.

Why is she looking at his mouth?

Her hand jerks back to his shoulder, gaze tearing to the floor. She swallows hard and they dance in silence until the song ends. She excuses herself softly under her breath, releasing Soul to make her way to one of the balconies. The air is cool and, away from the noise and people and smells (and Soul), she can concentrate. Maybe.

Her hands clench around the marble banister, peering down at Death City. It's sprinkled with light and illuminated by a laughing moon. A lone finger twirls around a swirl of hair. What is wrong with her? Why is she suddenly – why is Soul suddenly – why all of the sudden – why?

Hormones. It's just hormones. She's sixteen and she's hormonal and a girl and she lives within close proximity to an attractive boy and – did she just call Soul attractive? Is Soul attractive? Well, he definitely owns that white hair and she's seen him out of the shower a couple of times in just a towel and all of that working out has definitely made his body a work of art and –

What?

Maka sinks against the banister, fingers in her curls. This is insane. It's Soul. Her weapon. Her friend. Friend, damnit! She is not, she does not, she will never –

"Are you all right?"

Maka stiffens, spinning on her heel, hand on her forehead. Soul, hands in his pockets, cocks an eyebrow and studies her suspiciously.

"Uhm." Maka swallows. "Yeah. Just. Er. Headache."

He makes a face at her. He knows she's lying, and she knows that he knows, and he knows that she knows that he knows, but it goes without comment.

"Do you want to go home?" He throws a thumb over his shoulder, swinging one leg in front of him to take a step toward her. The yellow moonlight washes over him, makes his spikes of white hair bright, red eyes almost black. "We can rent a movie on the way and eat popcorn on the couch. It'll be way more fun than this snore-fest." He makes a face, coming to rest on the banister beside her. He smells good, like their house, like some faint cologne.

Maka frowns. Going home would mean being alone with him, which she is a lot of the time, more often than not, actually, but that suddenly seems absolutely terrifying. She swallows hard, running her hand through her hair. "Uhm, I don't know, we just got here, I'd feel bad, and we only danced once and I was hoping –" Woah, what? She wasn't hoping anything! "I mean-" Maka panics, wringing her hands. "I didn't, that's not –"

"Maka."

He's touching her shoulder. She shuts her mouth, eyes sliding slowly to watch him from the corners of her vision. He's studying her with a degree of worry and she tenses, not wanting him to ask because she doesn't know how to answer. She looks down at Death City again, chewing the inside of her cheek and trying to relax all of the tense muscles in her body, but Soul is so close, and he's so – so Soul, and it scares her how much of him is embedded in her.

He takes her hand. She turns, surprised, and meets his eyes, green snapping into red.

He smiles. "Let's dance, then."

A soft smile creeps onto her lips as he pulls her back inside, fingers sliding into the spaces between hers and when they dance, his cheek is on her temple and their clasped hands stay locked, never loosening.

/

"Maka? Hello. Maka. Earth to Maka. Hey. You. Hello-oo-o!"

Maka blinks. What is she even staring at? Oh, yeah. Soul's shirtless back. Again. She swallows, jerking her attention back to Tsubaki. "Hm?"

The older girl frowns before she follows Maka's line of sight, her face immediately relaxing. "Oh," she says, giggling, hands folding on her knee.

Maka narrows her eyes. It's been a week since the party and Tsubaki has not wasted one opportunity to point out Maka's staring. The young meister crosses her arms and huffs, eyes sliding back to Soul and Black Star on the court. Apparently they're tied and this last shot is the winning point and they're both sweating gallons and swearing at each other and, really, Soul says this is supposed to be fun.

"It's just hormones," Maka mumbles, crossing her arms and falling back on the bench. "It's normal."

"You can't possibly think that that's all you feel for Soul." Tsubaki shrugs her shoulders, smiling slowly. "It's weird that everyone else seems to know but you two."

Maka's brows furrow. "Know what?"

Tsubaki laughs and shakes her head. "It's so obvious."

"He's my roommate, Tsu. My friend. My weapon. That's all. That's it."

"Who are you trying to convince?"

"I'm not –" She stops, frowning, pushing off the bench. "I'm going home," she grumbles, hands curling into fists as she stomps away. The sound of feet beating off the cement fades as she strolls down the sidewalk, her tennis shoes feeling so light compared to the boots she wears for school. Maka sighs, watching her feet and the cracks in the cement. This was Soul's fault – complimenting her, being nice – why couldn't he be a regular jerk like Black Star, that way she didn't have to worry about her having all of these … what even were they? Feelings? Ugh.

"Maka!"

She turns and – oh, Lord. Soul has his shirt slung over his shoulder, bare chest flexing as he makes his way over to her. The sun lights him up, the scar on his chest white and faded but so very there and Maka finds herself frowning despite the appealing view. She still hasn't forgiven herself for that, the pain Soul had gone through to save her life, the permanent mark he had to carry because of it. She lowers her gaze as he stands beside her, still panting from playing.

"What's wrong? Are you and Tsubaki fighting?"

Maka shakes her head. "No, I just wanted to go home, that's all."

Soul frowns at her. "You've been acting really weird lately, Maka. It's not cool. What's going on? Why are you acting so strange? Did I do something? You women never tell us guys when we do something wrong so I don't know how you expect me to fix it." Soul crosses his arms, blocking the majority of the scar. Maka purses her lips, reaching out slowly; the tip of her finger resting on the start of the old would, on Soul's shoulder. She feels him hesitate, tensing beneath her touch.

"You're not still bugging over this, are you? It was damn near a year ago."

She caused him pain. She got him hurt. How he could ever even look at her the same way is a complete mystery to her. She blinks when his hand covers hers, fingers slowly tightening around hers.

"I just really hate myself sometimes, Soul." The brutal honesty surprises even her, making her blink and take a step back. Her hand slips from his, falling back to her side, eyes shifting from the scar to troubled orbs of red. "Sometimes I think I've had a much more negative impact on your life than anything."

Soul's frown is almost a scar it's so deep. "All this self-hate crap is really uncool, Maka. If I thought you had such a negative impact on my life, do you really think I'd still be your weapon?" He reaches out, fingers curling around her wrist, the same way they did several weeks ago when he stopped her from leaving the house with a fake face on. "Look, I'm not good at this sentimental stuff – that's a girl thing – but, Jesus, Maka, you're my best friend. And I –" He freezes, swallowing, fingers slipping to tangle in hers. "I care about you. A lot."

Maka's heart is in her throat. She throws her arms around his neck and buries her face in it. He smells like sweat, but somehow that's really appealing and not gross like it used to be. Because all of these things have changed, things have been noticed and picked up on and emotions are coming to light that she didn't know she had. But it makes sense, really. Meister and weapon; synchronized wavelengths and all.

"I love you too, Soul," she mumbles, and his arms circle around her.

"Cool."

/

The first time she kisses him, it's nearly a month later.

…What? It took her a long time to get up the balls.

Soul is plucking the purple soul of a kishin from the rain-drenched sidewalk, popping it into his mouth. She watches him chew – one, two, three – before gulping it down with a satisfied sigh. Maka smiles; the fight had been quick and painfully easy. She hadn't even scuffed up her boots. She figured the threat had been taken care of and her guard was down – to her credit, Soul had just gotten a haircut and the way it framed his face was really rather distracting and Maka sucks her lower lip between her teeth as she admires it and then –

Ow.

The impact sends her flying down the sidewalk, breath thundering out of her as she lands on her back, bleary eyes on the sky. She pushes herself to a stand, blinking rapidly to bring a yelling Soul into focus. The kishin in front of him is particularly ugly – and fat, and sweaty, and an off gray color. Maka pushes herself to her feet, ignoring her wobbly knees.

"Maka!"

"I'm here!"

Maka grips Soul's elbow and a quick flash of white makes Soul's body disappear, the familiar weight of the scythe cradled in her palm. She kicks off the ground, hurling the scythe down. It slices the kishin's shoulder, the creature screaming in pain and hurling a giant, black-nailed fist at her.

"Maka!"

She barely misses it, swooping back to her feet after she ducks the attack. Blood sprinkles the sidewalk from the kishin's bleeding shoulder, making it clumsy. Maka pants, sweeping in again, slicing Soul into its gut – the blow is lethal. The kishin bubbles blood, weak and probably relatively young by the looks of it, scrambling at her with greasy fingers. Maka raises her lip in disgust and delivers the final blow; it sputters with life before collapsing.

Soul's body materializes before her, shoulders adjusting his jacket as he dips to his knees, summoning the second kishin soul of the night. He turns back once its swallowed, eyes narrowed. "What the hell, Maka? You just let him sneak up on you like that? You're lucky you're not dead!"

Maka blinks. He sounds genuinely angry at her. How could she even explain? She frowns at him, arms crossing. "It was quiet and I was focused on you –"

"Well, you shouldn't have. You shouldn't have let your guard down like that, it could have done a lot worse than knock you across the sidewalk –"

Maka takes a step forward. "Stop yelling at me, it was a weak kishin anyway and we killed it in like twenty seconds –"

Soul takes a step toward her, too. "And what if it had been a stronger one and you had gotten seriously hurt –"

Another step. "We take that risk every day, Soul, it's not like this was any different and I'm allowed to make mistakes, you know –"

And another. "Not in the battlefield you're not because I'm not about to lose you just because you can't check over your shoulder every few minutes –"

The space is small now. "Well I'm sorry I'm not perfect, I guess I'll just practice all day ever day for the rest of forever –"

His breath is on her nose. "Oh because that's exactly what I meant, Maka –"

"Shut up, Evans –"

"Make me, Albarn–"

"Fine."

"Fine."

And she kisses him. She grabs his face and everything, and he tastes exactly how she expected; sweat and salt. He's frozen beneath her hands for several moments, her eyes squeezed shut, heart pounding hard under her ribs like a frantic battle cry.

He touches her waist. It's gentle at first, hesitant, but then he's snaking his arms around her waist and crushing her to his chest. She gasps in surprise, the kiss breaking, and when she opens her fuzzy eyes, she sees him grinning.

"It's about time," he mumbles.

She exhales hard, the next breath shaking. "Seriously. Shut up."

He laughs. "Okay."

He kisses her, and it's all Soul, it's him, and she really feels bad for the people who have to search for their soul mates. Hers has been here this whole time. He loves her face without make-up, has her memorized like a book, and he's the only one that can make her heart do things that go against the laws of biology and nature. And he's number one. The only one.

It's special. It's Soul.

/

"I told you so."

"Shove it, Tsubaki."

A/N: Long ass one shot is long. Ass.

I mean what.

Reviews are always nice, like the way your pants feel as soon as you take them out of the dryer. Seriously. Don't deny the orgasmic qualities of that sensation.