Word Count: 380

Characters/Pairings: Soul, Maka, mentions of others; SoMa, mentioned Spirit/Kami

Timeline/Spoilers: none; and none

Summary: But they're just old light. Our story is new.

Notes: More overdone soma premises, yay!

.

.

.

Samson went back to bed, not much hair left on his head

Ate a slice of wonder bread and went right back to bed

.

.

Soul is no Spirit. Maka is no Kami. (Though the two death scythes would like to inform the youngest Albarn that, in all of her striving to become like the woman, she's failed to see that she has already surpassed her).

They are not her parents, and she is not entirely preoccupied with the thought of history repeating itself, as certain worrying and overbearing (yet sweet and thoughtful) partners are wont to believe; not that said partners will ever admit to such accusations.

Maka knows better. She's not number one in their year for nothing (though one Ox Ford would beg to differ).

But for all her strength in brains, Maka is still a teenage girl, even if the nights spent slaying monsters, crawling home bloodied and battered, waking in harsh breaths and cold sweats, and having the reality of death looming over her on a daily basis would suggest otherwise. And teenage girls are inevitably stupid. (Not so much as teenage boys, but that is another story altogether.)

So, always one to abide by the rules, Maka plays the part accordingly.

She screams and rages over little things because she knows he'll be there to calm her down and reassure her.

She nags him constantly about school work because she knows he knows how important their studies are to her and that, despite his lengthy complaints (that are mostly for show at this point), he really doesn't have a problem with completing his homework (every once in a while).

She Maka-chops him because, frankly, he deserves it, and his hard head protects him from any real damage, though they stopped causing pain long ago, (but cool guys don't just let (not so) flat-chested girls mercilessly beat their heads with encyclopedias pulled from thin air whenever they so desire).

This is the cycle of their days and nights, from day one to eternity. Neither seems to mind much.

Because at the end of it all: Soul is just Soul. Maka is just Maka. And nothing could be more beautiful and perfect and complete than that.

(Along that same line,

Spirit is no Soul. Kami is no Maka. Never could be, never would be. Whether it is for better or for worse. But they're just old light. Our story is new.)

.

.

.

.

.

owaranai

A/N: Reviews keep me warm and clothed and happy. Please be kind.