The Things I Do

"No matter how many times your wavelengths are mismatched, all you need to do is realign them. Isn't that how you've gotten stronger all this time, Maka? Papa and Mama couldn't do it… So you'll make a Death Scythe that surpasses Papa, won't you?"

All the partying celebrating the kishin's defeat ended more or less how I'd expected it to. There was a drunk Black Star shouting from rooftops, a panicked Tsubaki urging him to come down, an equally drunk Liz flirting with any guy within two feet, an arm wrestling Patty beating said guys out of their wallets, and an irate Kid with a twitching eyebrow trying to keep himself from an inevitable meltdown.

Maka and I just sat back and watched.

It wasn't until we got home that night, well, morning that I thought about it.

Boob madness.

I'm staring. At nothing really. Maka doesn't have much there. But…I'm staring. The light from the TV flickering across her. Squirming on the sofa. Staring. Wondering if I burrowed my head against her chest like hers had been burrowed in Marie's, how would it feel? Or maybe the better question is, would I feel anything?

She meets my eyes. Reads my expression. And snarls. The dictionary barrels into my periphery.

I duck.

The dictionary gets hurled.

I side-jump.

She stands to punch.

I catch her wrist.

She stumbles into me.

And we wait.

We're not close enough. She's too far. But almost. If I just—

I lean forward.

Her breaths stutter. I don't breathe at all. I'm still staring. At the flutter of her eyelashes now.

She looks up, glaring, fuming. Her chest heaving.

My breath returns and I let her go.

"Don't even think about it," she hisses. Her pointer finger flies in front of my face. "Stay an arm's length away from me at all times until this stupid boob madness wears off. Go…play with Blair for all I care."

I watch her. She stares pointedly at a spot on the floor, toes digging into the carpet, arms shaking at her sides, clutching her pants. "Fine," I say and head to my room.

She starts muttering something under her breath. Then she shouts, "Stupid Soul!" I imagine her stomping her foot, hands fisted.

I glance back, but my eyes lock onto her chest again. Quickly, before she can notice, I turn back around.

This really is madness…

…

"Where's Blair?" I ask at dinner, though it's technically breakfast since we both just woke up.

Maka shrugs and takes a huge bite of her hamburger. "Missing her chest already?" she mumbles, muffled around the mouthful.

My eyes narrow. "It was a question. She's our friend. Well, our pet. Whatever. She lives here."

"We never invited her. If she's found another home, fine by me."

"You realize you have just as much boob madness as the rest of us, right?"

Her cheeks redden and she takes another bite while glaring at me.

Satisfied, I lean back in my chair and pretend I'm not still staring at her as I eat.

…

Even with all true threats abated, Maka is insistent on training. I feel antsy with nothing to do, and Black Star practically vibrates with excess energy, so we agree to meet up for some practice.

It's meant to be intense. Meant to be a challenge. Meant to keep us in top shape for whenever hell breaks loose again.

I know Maka regrets her decision within the first five minutes.

"Madness! Madness, I tell you! Your boobs are too big! Your boobs are too small! One of you needs to do something or I'll die from the asymmetry!" Kid screams, openly groping Liz and Patty in Maka's direct line of sight.

Her eye twitches.

"Your boobs are perfect, Tsubaki!" Black Star shouts seconds before he charges into her headfirst. She falls flat on her back with a shriek and Black Star lets out a shrill laugh as he nuzzles against her, purring like a wanton cat.

"B-Black Star, stop. We're in public."

"Ah!" He shoots up, straddling her legs, finger pointed in her face. "That's right! You're a pervert! Get away from me!" He jumps up and runs to the opposite end of the training ground, a grin stretching from ear to ear as he keeps up a sing-song chant of "Pervert! Pervert!"

There are flames. I swear. I see flames where Maka's head should be.

Patty and Liz knock Kid unconscious. Tsubaki is close to fainting. Black Star is shouting about his glory from far away. I groan and rub the bridge of my nose.

And then, Maka snaps.

"I hate all of you!"

Everyone stares at her in shock, aside from Kid, who's out cold.

Maka lifts her chin, looking down on us, and stomps away.

"Hey! What's her problem?" Black Star shouts.

With a sigh, I shake my head, slip my hands into my pockets, and follow Maka's receding form.

"What about training?" Black Star shouts again.

Knowing Maka, she won't suggest group training with these guys for a long, long time.

When the group's far enough away, Maka pauses mid-stride and lets out a disgruntled, disgusted sounding groan. Then she looks over her shoulder at me, waiting until I'm within earshot before she starts walking again.

"I can't believe them," she whines. "Not everyone is acting like complete imbeciles. They're doing it on purpose, they have to be."

"The madness is different for everyone."

"The madness is already wearing off."

"Kid has always been obsessed with the asymmetry of Patty and Liz, and Black Star… He wasn't acting that different. Only one acting different is you."

She whirls, gaping, and shoves a finger in my face. "And you!"

"Me?"

"Don't think I haven't noticed all the times you're staring at…at…" Her eyes flitter in every direction. Then she scowls and meets my gaze. "Don't think I haven't noticed!"

I don't mean to. Really, I don't. But my eyes shift downward for a split second and she growls.

"See! You're such a hypocrite!"

"I'm sorry," I say, lifting my hands in defense.

"It's not right," she complains, ignoring my apology, stomping that self-righteous foot again with her hands on her hips. "I'm your Meister."

I snort, eyes rolling with the absurdity of it all. "You're also a woman. And I'm a man."

She freezes. Her movement is stilted as she lifts her head. Wide, incredulous eyes slowly meeting mine. Her lips part and she blinks rapidly, brow furrowing, relaxing, then furrowing again.

Baffled, I'm about to ask if she's really a woman or not when I hear them, my words. You're a woman. And I'm a man. And I realize what it is I've just done—the impact feeling like a thousand Maka Chops all at once.

Why did I…? What in Shinigami-sama's name possessed me to say that? Because I had to have been possessed, or mad, to throw a wrench in the working gears that made up our partnership—a partnership we fought long and hard for. The dynamic will shift. She always takes things two steps too far. Meister and Death Scythe. Partner and partner. No… I've just… Now we're… Woman and man.

Maka hates men.

"Maka," I say softly, worriedly, extending my hand though I'm not sure what my intentions are. To grab her before she runs? To hold her hand as I express my guilt?

She backs away from me.

I wince.

"Maka—"

"I need to go," she says.

And then she runs.

…

She's locked in her room by the time I make it home.

I knock on her door. "Maka, I brought pizza."

"I'm not hungry."

Liar, I think, the plaintive tone of voice gives her away. "I'll save you some."

"Fine."

She doesn't come out of her room.

…

"You need to talk to her," I murmur into the receiver.

Tsubaki makes a worried hum on the other end.

"She only comes out of her room when she knows I'm not around. It's starting to piss me off and things will only get worse if I talk to her when I'm pissed off."

"What did you say to make her act like this?"

I run a hand through my hair, wondering the consequences of telling her, wondering if Maka would find that an invasion of privacy or some nonsense. "I…don't think I should tell you. It should come from Maka. If she decides to talk about it."

"Hmm. Okay. I'll drop by today."

"Thanks. I owe you one."

…

Maka's draped across the couch when I return, nose in a book.

"I know it was you," she says simply, turning a page.

"And?" I reply, not bothering with pretenses as I set my shoes aside.

"And what?"

"Are you—" At her sharp glance, I clear my throat and gesture at the air between us. "Are we okay?"

"Am I your Meister?"

My brow furrows. "Of course you are."

"Then…we're okay," she mumbles.

She's blushing, I realize. Her book covers nearly all of her face, but I see it. Her eyes dart to mine and back again and she burrows deeper into the couch and her book.

Maybe it's just me but, seems we're not okay after all.

…

I corner Tsubaki in the hall.

"What happened?" I ask, no preamble.

"What do you mean? Is she still avoiding you?" Concern etches lines in her brow. Makes me realize how long it's been. How much we've grown.

"She still seems…off."

Tsubaki's smile is patronizing and I bristle before she even speaks. "I'm sorry, Soul. I can't tell you what we discussed."

"I'm the one who suggested you talk in the first place."

Tsubaki merely shakes her head. "You'll have to talk to Maka yourself."

I groan and run a hand across my face. Why is everything so complicated where Maka is concerned?

…

She has dinner ready by the time I'm back home, though she's already started eating without me.

"I should've known you'd make curry," I sigh, dropping my things on the floor. Not that I mind, honestly. It's just…we eat a lot of curry.

She glares over her spoon. "Is that a complaint?"

"No, ma'am."

The response brings a satisfied smile to her face. Suddenly feeling generous, she serves me a plate.

"Thanks." I pull out the chair across from her and settle in, enjoying our first meal together that includes actual conversation and not just grunts of acknowledgement on her part. I take my first bite, glancing up, as had become my habit, just to catch her staring. "What's up?"

She shrugs. "Wanna watch a movie?"

"Uhh. Sure. I guess. Right now?" I ask when she stands, plate in tow.

"On the TV," she adds, rolling her eyes, and plants herself on the edge of the couch. When I stay put, utterly baffled, she looking at me expectantly, the slightest of frowns on her lips.

I hurry to the opposite end of the couch while she starts flipping through channels.

"You don't have to sit so far away, you know," she remarks.

I blink, wondering what the hell is going on in her brain. I told Tsubaki she was still acting weird. Chalk this up on the Strange Maka board. She never cares where I sit. She actively tries to sit far away. An arm's length, she says, cause you'll hit me when you get excited. Still… My gaze lowers. Her shirt is new. And V-necked. Odd. For her anyway. It's not helping. I swallow thickly and try to bury my face in food. "I'm good," I mumble.

She doesn't respond.

Some movie starts playing. Honestly, I'm not sure what it's about. The moment it started, Maka scooted closer to me, and closer, and closer, until I was at the perfect angle to look down her shirt entirely. I left my unfinished plate of food somewhere between Perfect Angle and Brushing Arms. Now we've made it to Maka turning towards me, lips parted, warm breath fanning my jaw, curiosity and nervousness and something unnamed in her eyes. Maybe she's trying to tell me something? Maybe she's trying to kill me. Whatever she's doing, I can't take it anymore.

"What are you doing?" I snap, the anxiety making my tone caustic.

She blinks rapidly. While she's distracted, I stand, fumbling over the couch and the half-touched plate. "Don't mess with me, Maka. You know the madness is—"

"The madness is gone," she declares, leaning back against the couch, hiding her cleavage from view—thank heavens.

I shake my head, my thoughts unclear. "What did you say?"

"The madness," she repeats. "It's gone."

My eyes dart to her chest then to her flushed expression. "No, it's not."

"It is."

"It's not."

"I asked Shinigami-sama today. It is."

"It's not," I say. "That's impossible. I—You—" I point at her chest. "That."

Her eyebrow twitches. Self-conscious, she crosses her arms but it only presses what boobs she has together and darkens the shadow in-between them. "The madness is gone," she presses, gaze fixed on the floor, cheeks red as cherries. "But…like you said." Timidly, she lifts her gaze, observing me beneath her lashes. "I'm a woman. And you're a man."

My heart stops. I trip. Fall on my rear. She bends down to help me. "Stop!" I shout, covering my eyes with one hand, stretching out the other to keep her from getting too close. Instead, I get a handful of boob. I yelp, scrambling backward, pulse running quick and hard—hard.

Maka watches me, wide-eyed and frozen still.

I take no chances. I run to my room, lock the door behind me, and pound my fists on my skull to get out the thoughts of Maka as a woman with no madness to blame.

…

Tsubaki shows up in the morning. Typical. She's the person we always call when something's up. She knocks on the door—three soft polite knocks instead of Maka's jarring two—and asks if I'll let her in for a minute. My lack of response prompts her to explain that Maka left the house after she arrived so I don't have to worry about eavesdropping Meisters. Tsubaki's a terrible liar, so I take her word for it and open the door.

She gasps when she sees me. "Did you sleep at all?"

"It's that obvious?" I ask, forcing a chuckle, but she doesn't find it funny and proceeds to lecture me for five minutes about the importance of sleeping. "I know, I know," I groan. "I had a rough night, okay?"

Concern outweighs her disappointment. As a peace offering, she hands me fresh mint tea and a slice of strawberry shortcake. "Maka told me you ran off last night."

"If by run off you mean go to my room, yeah."

"You know what she meant. She said you looked scared."

"Me? Scared?"

Tsubaki frowns, cutting my half-baked sarcasm short.

"Is the madness really gone?" I ask her instead.

She nods. "Completely. Everyone is back to normal."

"I'm not."

The tiniest of smiles appears on her face. "But is that the madness' fault?" she asks, practically sings what with the coy lilt in her tone.

"There's no other explanation," I say brusquely, not liking the self-satisfied, I-know-something-you-don't expression on her face.

"Soul," she begins, clasping her hands neatly in her lap—therapist to patient. "Have you ever considered that your feelings for Maka run deeper than friendship?"

"No."

My bluntness staggers her for a second. But she's quick to recover. "Have you ever considered that maybe you like Maka?"

"Of course I like her. She's my Meister. We're friends."

"Not that kind of like. Like as in… Romantically. Sexually…" She murmurs the last part, glancing off to the side as she wrings her hands.

"No way," I answer.

Tsubaki's shoulders droop. "You haven't considered it or you don't feel that way?"

"I never considered it. I don't feel that way." An image of Maka—red-faced, pouting, and embarrassed, with that blasted cleavage in my face—comes to mind.

Tsubaki giggles inanely and pokes my cheek. "You're red, Soul."

"I'm not," I growl, swatting her hand aside.

"Soul," she says, calmer now. "You really should think about it. You and Maka… You're great together."

"As partners," I add.

"As more," she grins, then bursts into another fit of giggles. "You're also exactly the same."

"No way. What do you mean?"

Tsubaki stands, smiling down at me. "She told me the exact same thing when I had this conversation with her."

Thoughts storm in my mind as I watch her exit. Violently, my heart pounds, just waiting to explode. I know what I feel. But… "So what?" I mutter just before Tsubaki closes the door.

"Hmm?" She pauses in the door-frame, watching me.

"So what," I echo. "Even I feel that way. It means nothing if Maka doesn't feel the same."

Tsubaki's answering smile is bright and broad and far too happy. "Why don't you ask her?"

…

I sleep the day away and wake to darkness and the sound of Maka knocking on the door for dinner. Tonight's menu is takeout sushi and sashimi. To be honest, I'd been half-expecting curry. She's not fond of raw fish.

Maka's wearing a normal shirt today—which is a relief—but she's also got a look in her eye, sitting there alone on the couch, that's anything but reassuring. Like the look she got when she wanted those stupid angel wings.

"Yours is on the table," she says, pointing a chopstick at a plate of sashimi.

"You got veggie rolls?"

"Of course," she sniffs and stuffs her mouth with one as though proving a point.

Okay. That's more like her, I think, and decide to play along with a mocking, "You don't even wanna try?"

A shudder runs down her spine. "No thanks."

"You sure?" I dangle a piece of tuna in front of her, watching her blanch.

"Ugh, no." She pushes my arm aside and burrows deeper into her corner of the couch, clutching her little plate like a lifeline. "You eat. I got it for you."

I force out a breathy laugh—I knew it was for me—and plop down beside her. "Yeah," I murmur, "Thanks," and set about inhaling my meal in five minutes. A waste of quality fish, I know. But this awkwardness and tension is messing with my heart rate. I want out.

"Why'd you run?" she asks. Because of course she doesn't grasp the concept of leaving the elephant in the room alone.

"I went to my room—"

"You ran away. Why?"

I groan, eyes rolling. "Can we not have this talk right now—"

She moves. Blurs, really, cause I don't understand how I missed and didn't react to her standing up from the couch, taking my plate, setting it down, grabbing my wrists, pinning them by my head, and straddling me all in the same two seconds.

"Tell me," she demands, leaning in close, nearly resting her forehead on mine, green eyes dark and intense and burning.

"M-Maka—"

"Do you like me?"

I shiver. Avert my gaze. She knows the answer. Why is she asking?

"Do you…l-love me?" she stammers, face flaring in red, eyes losing some of the burn in the wake of her sudden self-consciousness.

Desperate, I shut my eyes.

"No, don't."

"Stop—" I grit my teeth.

"Look at me."

"Why?" I grind out, lowering my head to my chest, struggling to burrow into myself and hope nothing gives way.

"Cause you can't lie with your eyes," she says, soft and certain, way too trusting, and giving me no choice but resigned silence.

Heaving a sigh of long, long-suffering—because that's what life with Maka is—I open my eyes, lift my head, and look at her.

Her hands loosen around my wrists. Staring back at me, her whole expression softens. As she stares at me, whatever it is she sees makes her eyes lose their intensive burn, makes her brow lose its hardened lines. She relaxes. Her lips part. She sucks in a breath. Falls forward.

And kisses me.

My eyes bulge. Seriously, they hurt. The tension keeps me grounded as Maka's soft, warm lips press harder against mine, her eyes screwed shut, her blunt nails digging into the skin of my wrists.

She kisses me.

Mouth moving stiltedly. Inexperienced. Trying. Begging.

She kisses me.

Then pulls back, eyelashes fluttering, gauging a reaction that feels like Stunned Stupid to me, I can't quite tell. It might be Shocked to Death too. Fifty-fifty chance.

She bites her lip.

I remember how to breathe and gulp.

Her brow twitches.

I stare.

She stares back.

Then she leans in again, our breaths mingling, our chests brushing, her hair tickling the side of my neck. She closes the gap in one fell swoop, swallows my gasp, and kisses me, the press of her mouth insistent, warm, tingling—

What the hell is happening?

I surge forward, my hands on her shoulders, pushing her back, pushing her away. She loses balance and clutches my elbows. Her lips are moist, shimmery, plump—

"What are you doing?" I croak, voice cracking with belated pubescence, humiliating really, but I don't care right now.

Maka Albarn. Kissed. A man.

Me.

Her eyes are wild. Panicked. Unsure. Disappointed? "I thought—I thought you—"

"Me? You thought I—"

"You've been acting so strange—"

"You're the one who's been acting strange—" I counter.

"Tsubaki said you might be confused—"

"Did she tell you to do this?"

"She said you might have f-feelings for me—"

My face burns.

"I thought k-kissing might help you to, umm, I don't know," she stammers, her face lit up like a neon red light. "Figure things…out?" In her panic, she still holds my elbows, squeezing tight like she'll fall without me there to balance her. As I release her shoulders, some of the tension in her body ebbs, but she's still flushed and squirming and not helping.

"Maka," I whisper.

"Y-yeah?"

"Can you get off me?"

Her eyes grow wide and she jumps up, stumbling backward an arm's length away. "S-sorry."

Drained, I close my eyes and lean into the couch, rubbing my fingers against my temples. "Why would you do that to help me figure things out? And why that? Couldn't you just talk?"

"We always talk," she mumbles, scuffing her foot on the floor. "It needed to be…different. To know how it feels."

"And?" I watch her carefully, masking my racing pulse with a stoic expression. "How did it feel?"

Again, she scuffs her foot, gaze downward, hands clasped behind her, teeth gnawing her lower lip. "…Good?" she whispers.

My fingers twitch. I lace my fingers together, shifting forward to rest my arms over my legs. "And? Did it help you…figure things out?"

She meets my seeking gaze shyly. "I…don't know," she admits in a murmur.

My heart sinks.

"Maybe…if we did it again?"

My head snaps up. A timid smile curves the sides of her lips. Heart racing overtime, I press the back of my hand against my mouth, stifling a grin, stifling a laugh, stifling all this bloody elation. My silence only serves to make Maka's embarrassment worse. The neon red brightness returns and that ridiculous twitching brow.

"Soul?"

I stand, startling her, and shuffle forward with my hands in my pockets.

"Soul?"

I lean my forehead against hers, looking into those green, green eyes currently confused and slightly put out.

I smirk.

She scowls, though it's way less intimidating when she's this red and this shaky and this hopeless.

I lower my head. Her breath hitches. I close my eyes. She whimpers.

I kiss her. She moans.

I press my lips hard against hers. I move slowly, letting her follow, and kiss her again. Again.

Then I use just the tip of my tongue to taste her. To startle her.

She gasps and jerks away.

My smirk broadens. "That's how you kiss."

I duck beneath dictionary's path, just barely dodge the thesaurus, and yank her legs out from under her before she can snatch another book from the shelf. Shrieking, she collapses in a heap on top of me, and punches my shoulder. I laugh. She calls me a moron. I hold her chin. And she closes her eyes, giving in to the touch of my lips and letting me show her what a kiss is really supposed to be.

Because these are just the things I do for my idiot Maka.