disclaimer -- I, sadly, do not own or claim rights to Soul Eater, I am just using the genius creator's characters for a bit. 'cause they're just adorable, no?

pairing -- soul/maka.

commentary -- Hm, what to say about this... well, it was written at 12 AM on a Friday night, after getting over some drama with a friend, and it's my first Soul Eater 'fic. I feel much better, but I don't know why I am not in a better mood. I guess sleep'll help, then.
, I was in the mood to finally try some SoMa, and I'm afraid I failed a bit, as per usual. I think this thing came out corny in the end, the opposite of what I wanted it to. T_T"" [/woe] But it fuels my drive for SoMa, at least, along with my video, drawing, and.. many videos in the planning stage. : D; [/shot]
This is probably the closest thing to 'smut' you'll ever see from me. o_o And... it's not even that close, rofflelawl. xD [/fail]But it does show a lot of my sarcastic, twisted humour side. Whoopsie.

SoMa owns your fayce.

Enjoy.

She'd never been the ideal partner.

Much less the ideal girlfriend.

But neither had he been as nice as he could have, or spoke his mind once in a great-freaking-while.

All he ever heard from her around their apartment was how it was his turn to cook, and then he'd get Maka Chopped in saying it's cool for girls to cook in maid outfits.

Hmph, fetishes.

But nonetheless, Maka and Soul were partners, matching wavelengths, and lovers, as well.

Not every day you'd see a wide-toothed, drooly sarcastic guy holding hands with an academically overachieving, innocent girl with ponytails.

Ponytails!

Well, it'd be abnormal for anyone except Black Star, Tsubaki, Death the Kid, Patty & Liz, anyway.

But despite his snide comments and her compulsive chopping, they really did fit well with each other.

His voice in her ear when she was burying her nose in a book always made her a cute shade of beet-red.

Her in her summer pajama set made him nosebleed, even though it was so freaking uncool.

But there they were, holding hands in public, going out to eat lunch when they were too lazy to cook; you know, all the things couples do.

But Maka felt that they didn't seem much different from the days when they were just... partners.

There had be no specific indicator of 'love', per sé.

But, of course, she kept this to herself; she recklessly thought that waiting would help.

The time would come, she told herself.

But all she got was a half-asleep Soul stumbling into the kitchen at one AM to get a snack, and on his way back to his room barely stopping to say 'yo'.

Typical of that boy.

And of course she'd been used to it by now. It was one of the bad things about him as well as one of the great.

And she had to admit, the drool was adorable in its own repulsive, Soul-ish way.

All these thoughts ridiculing her mind plunged her into a deep sleep, the type you get when you do something awfully tedious and just want to crash.

Her dream was, of course, about her partner.

The setting in his mind, the red-and-black checkered tile room with the curtains, the piano, the dark, strange jazz playing.

The spotlight.

The high heels, the black dress, the ribbons.

The red-and-black, striped tuxedo, the brushed hair (for once), the black shoes.

The slow waltzing, the deep glaring between crimson-reds and forest-greens.

The empty picture frames.

The dancing.

And don't forget the stepping on feet and the Soul crying out in pain, and the insanely giggling Maka.

If only a Soul Chop existed, the albino-haired thought.

"Oi, watch where you're stomping, will ya?" he said, half-joking, half-serious.

She looked toward the tile behind his legs, and blushed. "Ah... yeah. Sorry."

He laughed in that heavy, husky way at this, and she blushed further. He noticed this and questioned her.

"Maka?"

Just a simple blink.

"Hey, come on," he said, simultaneously lifting Maka's chin up to lead her eyes to him.

"Stop looking down there, you pervert," he said with that toothy grin of sarcasm he wore half the time.

"I am not! Do you want me to stop on your foot again, Soul? Hm?" she threatened.

"Oi oi, calm down here. Those heels of yours may make you look taller, but they cause more harm than I can!" he joked, secretly fearing those damned shoes.

Finally back into the mood, Maka laughed, but tripping over Soul's ankle carelessly placed behind hers.

With a crash, Maka opened her eyes to see a storm of crimson meeting her gaze, her partner's body hovering over hers. As usual, she panicked and turned red as a beet.

"Looks like I top." he teased, his right hand successfully engulfing her left on the cold tile.

She shook her head, once for attempting to shake her panic off, again to just pretend he didn't say that.

The jazz music changed to a melancholy, slow, dark tune... she recognised it, and could tell Soul did, too.

This room, many years ago. The day they became partners.

Still reminiscing, eyes closed, Maka's train of thought was cut off by a pair of chapped lips crashing into hers, and her hands being squeezed simultaneously in the moment.

In a state of shock, Maka's pupils shrinked. But she didn't want to deny it any longer, so she let him in, making it a deeper, a more intimate, meaningful kiss.

After a few seconds, Maka kicked the inside of Soul's leg with her heel-of-death, making him break their kiss, allowing for her breath and his rocking back and forth in an uncool pain position.

She looked at him, still in the moment on her side. How adorable he looked in his over-exaggerated pain, but still maintaining his 'cool' image, in a way the blonde could not comprehend to the least.

"Soul?"

"What, you want to injury me further, Miss Heels?"

"No..." she replied. Maka was getting nervous.

... Shaja'at, she said to herself, gathering herself together.

"I love you, you dense idiot."

The combination of being called an idiot and being confessed to was enough to make poor Soul lose his cool.

What the hell?!

This made her even more anxious than before, as Maka twiddled her thumbs quietly, still being stared at by Soul.

He knew he had to do something, and, being the cool guy he was, he kissed the blonde again. And she kissed back.

Her shoulder strap was falling...

His shoe came off...

With a sharp gasp, the blonde awoke from the amazing-hell dream. It was three AM, and she'd fallen asleep on the couch. As usual, anyway.

Maka, red-faced again, felt her lips, as if the dream was all too real.

Wait... her lips were moistened on the outside.

She panicked, but decided to just shake it off, just blame the thirsty Blair, or the crack in the pipe, please, it was just a dream...

Or just pop into Soul's room to make sure he'd dead asleep, yeah, that works for her sanity.

Too bad her sanity just about ran out when he was attempting to sneak into his bed quietly. She walked in just in time to see him pull the cover over his head.

Her eye twitched. He just about died.

"...Please don't kill me, Maka."

She snort-laughed, and ran over to lay beside him on his wide, comfy bed. He had the best what the fuck face on she'd ever seen.

"W-... wha?"

"Shush already, and go to sleep, Soul," she said, settling herself on his chest and under the cover, able to hear his racing heart just perfectly.

He tried to resist, but complied, gave up, smiled.

It was just enough.

in summary -- Told you~! DX
I depserately need sleep. So please don't kill me for such shit. xD
And I have 'Freedom' by Run Kid Run stuck in my head, and I depserately love it, despite the gawd-whoarshippin' shit it sings about. .""""

Goodnight.

May the Soul/Maka be with you ~~~~! 8DDDDD [/SHOT]