oneshot: cool
Title: Cool
Rating: T
Pairing: Soul/Maka
Summary: There was a time when Soul thought becoming a Death Scythe would be his enlightenment or his awakening or whatever. He realizes after the fact how naïve it was to go searching for religion or faith or self-awareness in that. A first kiss. Because if it wasn’t Shounen this could have been the scenario.
Spoilers: Chapter 89 with setting deviation.
There was a time when Soul thought becoming a Death Scythe would change everything. He realizes after the fact how stupid it was to think that. To think that by becoming the epitome of cool he would somehow be able to fix everyone’s problems.
Arachne’s soul tastes withered and sour, almost like wine. The texture is like a mass of false eyelashes scratching down his throat.
He tells Maka nothing ever tasted so good.
**
And then there’s Crona.
This is when Soul starts to think that the whole thing is fucked up. He’s a Death Scythe. He’s a cool guy.
But all Maka thinks about is locating her friend. It’s not that he’s jealous, per se. It just stings a little when he looks down at the nape of her neck, thinking only of her, while her soul is spreading out to anything and everything but him. As soon as that thought is fully formed in his mind he feels ashamed. Confused.
He’d like to step outside of his body and give himself a good kick, because. Maka.
Around the time Crona was starting to act weird, sometime after the battle for Brew but before the invasion on Arachnophobia’s base, Shinigama-sama sends for a couple of lecturers to split them by gender for separate lectures about meister/weapon intrapersonal communications. Most of it is bull, but there’s a point where the lecturer goes 1950s sex ed on them and starts explaining how statistics have shown an increasing pattern of marital relationships between meisters and their weapons. (Divorce statistics are relatively low and need not be mentioned at all.) Several boys sheepishly raise their hands and comment. Soul slumps farther back in his chair as more and more of his classmates speak up about their partners.
Fuck.
It’s not like he didn’t know.
The first time he meets Maka he is immediately attracted to her in a way that he knows is too adult to catch up with his fourteen year old soul. It’s not even about sex. For the better part of their first year she is almost completely sexless to him, in fact ̶ except for her short skirts. No. It’s the eyes. Soul knows nothing about intimacy but he’s heard the expression “eyes you can drown in” and the second he locks onto Maka Albarn’s green oceans he knows he’s dead already, wanting those eyes to stay focused on him. He knows that she’s a counterpart. It’s almost scary how sudden he knows that. But he takes it. Cool.
**
She leans against a tree on the grounds between the asphalt and the sky and exhales heavily. The revelation of the moon has shaken her. He wouldn’t be surprised if she’s using every shred of her dignity to remain standing.
“…Crona,” she murmurs, and this is when Soul starts to think that this is seriously fucked up. He braces one hand against the rough bark of the tree and slouches a few inches so that he can look her in the eye. Her dirt blonde hair is shot through with beads of sweat at her hairline. A long moment, and her gaze crystallizes, locking onto his. She can’t possibly know what’s coming, but she inhales sharply, the swell of her chest beguiling flatness.
Briefly, he wonders what the girls talked about during that lecture. If Maka asked a question or made a comment about him. About them. He’ll never ask.
When he pulls away, her eyes flutter open, and that sensation he felt when he first met her shoots through his blood so fast he’s sure that blackness is shrinking in terror. For a split second he thinks she’s going to slap him. Instead she takes his hand and presses it against her chest where a button has come undone and tilts her head upward, silently asking. His hand tightens against cotton and flesh, but he grins into the second kiss. Cool.
**
There was a time when Soul thought becoming a Death Scythe would be his enlightenment or his awakening or whatever. He realizes after the fact how naïve it was to go searching for religion or faith or self-awareness in that.
Rating: T
Pairing: Soul/Maka
Summary: There was a time when Soul thought becoming a Death Scythe would be his enlightenment or his awakening or whatever. He realizes after the fact how naïve it was to go searching for religion or faith or self-awareness in that. A first kiss. Because if it wasn’t Shounen this could have been the scenario.
Spoilers: Chapter 89 with setting deviation.
There was a time when Soul thought becoming a Death Scythe would change everything. He realizes after the fact how stupid it was to think that. To think that by becoming the epitome of cool he would somehow be able to fix everyone’s problems.
Arachne’s soul tastes withered and sour, almost like wine. The texture is like a mass of false eyelashes scratching down his throat.
He tells Maka nothing ever tasted so good.
**
And then there’s Crona.
This is when Soul starts to think that the whole thing is fucked up. He’s a Death Scythe. He’s a cool guy.
But all Maka thinks about is locating her friend. It’s not that he’s jealous, per se. It just stings a little when he looks down at the nape of her neck, thinking only of her, while her soul is spreading out to anything and everything but him. As soon as that thought is fully formed in his mind he feels ashamed. Confused.
He’d like to step outside of his body and give himself a good kick, because. Maka.
Around the time Crona was starting to act weird, sometime after the battle for Brew but before the invasion on Arachnophobia’s base, Shinigama-sama sends for a couple of lecturers to split them by gender for separate lectures about meister/weapon intrapersonal communications. Most of it is bull, but there’s a point where the lecturer goes 1950s sex ed on them and starts explaining how statistics have shown an increasing pattern of marital relationships between meisters and their weapons. (Divorce statistics are relatively low and need not be mentioned at all.) Several boys sheepishly raise their hands and comment. Soul slumps farther back in his chair as more and more of his classmates speak up about their partners.
Fuck.
It’s not like he didn’t know.
The first time he meets Maka he is immediately attracted to her in a way that he knows is too adult to catch up with his fourteen year old soul. It’s not even about sex. For the better part of their first year she is almost completely sexless to him, in fact ̶ except for her short skirts. No. It’s the eyes. Soul knows nothing about intimacy but he’s heard the expression “eyes you can drown in” and the second he locks onto Maka Albarn’s green oceans he knows he’s dead already, wanting those eyes to stay focused on him. He knows that she’s a counterpart. It’s almost scary how sudden he knows that. But he takes it. Cool.
**
She leans against a tree on the grounds between the asphalt and the sky and exhales heavily. The revelation of the moon has shaken her. He wouldn’t be surprised if she’s using every shred of her dignity to remain standing.
“…Crona,” she murmurs, and this is when Soul starts to think that this is seriously fucked up. He braces one hand against the rough bark of the tree and slouches a few inches so that he can look her in the eye. Her dirt blonde hair is shot through with beads of sweat at her hairline. A long moment, and her gaze crystallizes, locking onto his. She can’t possibly know what’s coming, but she inhales sharply, the swell of her chest beguiling flatness.
Briefly, he wonders what the girls talked about during that lecture. If Maka asked a question or made a comment about him. About them. He’ll never ask.
When he pulls away, her eyes flutter open, and that sensation he felt when he first met her shoots through his blood so fast he’s sure that blackness is shrinking in terror. For a split second he thinks she’s going to slap him. Instead she takes his hand and presses it against her chest where a button has come undone and tilts her head upward, silently asking. His hand tightens against cotton and flesh, but he grins into the second kiss. Cool.
**
There was a time when Soul thought becoming a Death Scythe would be his enlightenment or his awakening or whatever. He realizes after the fact how naïve it was to go searching for religion or faith or self-awareness in that.