14I do not own Soul Eater or 'Eyes Wide Open' by Gotye.
EYES WIDE OPEN
by Lisp.
-
But it was like to stop consuming is to stop being human,
And why would I make a change if you won't?
We're all in the same boat, staying afloat for the moment.
- 'Eyes Wide Open', Gotye.
III – The Singular Bed Incident
Kid massages his temples, trying not to snap. He must exercise calm, patience and every other virtue expected of a God and a ruler. Yelling will not help him here, and it will be best to plaster a smile onto his face until this arduous business is over. That is the wise choice, the safe choice – and therefore the choice he does not choose.
"If you don't be quiet, I'm going to ensure you receive detention for the next eight days solid!" he shrieks, interrupting the other boy mid-rant. His conversation companion does not look pleased with this, which is plainly shown by his scowl and crossed arms.
Black*Star rolls his eyes. "There you go, playing Big-God-Guy again. I seriously thought we were friends, man, but now I'm not so sure."
"Will you stop being so dramatic?" he snaps in reply, the soothing motions to his skull doing absolutely nothing to halt his temper and his want to snap his friend's neck. Black*Star has been in here for ten minutes now, and for at least nine of those ten minutes his loud voice has been causing enough racket that Kid would not be surprised if Yumi Asuza called from her post in Shibusen's Eastern Branch to ask about the disaster occurring in Death City. "This is a matter concerning the alliance with the witches, and it is of utmost importance! My hand was forced and I already feel guilty enough as it is without you complicating matters!"
"But," the ninja meister says with a distinct whining quality to his voice, "it's my eighteenth birthday, Kid. We all promised that we'd do something big to celebrate it, and I'm gonna' be so fucking mad if you've sent Soul and Maka around the world on some wild goose chase when we're meant to be drinking it up and celebrating me becoming a man!"
"Are you saying you weren't already a man?"
"Don't be an idiot. I meant, like, in the eyes of the law and shit."
"That doesn't stop you drinking already," Kid sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He's already had a conference and a stack of paperwork to complete regarding the Independence adventure today, and now this. How had Honourable Father done this work for an eternity? It's been eleven months since his Father's passing, ten since he was appointed as Shinigami-sama officially at the Enthronement Ceremony, and already he feels like tearing his now-symmetrical hair out. "Besides, those two will only be gone for the weekend. They will return by Monday at the latest, as long as nothing occurs to keep them in Cambridge."
"Yeah, but that's the whole point," the other boy says, crossing his arms. "It's Soul and Maka, Kid. Something's bound to fuck up and leave them stranded if they're there. They're, like, a magnet for every single messed-up thing on this damn planet."
He lets out a small chuckle, acknowledging what Black*Star says to be true. "I promise that whatever happens, those two will be back before next weekend so that your party can go ahead. Besides, there is one advantage to the pair of them being sent on this mission, no matter how unhappy they are about it."
"Yeah, and what's that? They have to share a hotel room or somethin', so they can realise their 'undying love' for each other or some shit? Seriously, if they don't get it soon, I'll have to intervene for the good of my disciples."
"It's better than that." The interest blooming on Black*Star's face makes drawing out the secret even better. It is definitely easier to tell him about this than it was three and a half days ago to tell Soul and Maka. The Chop he received for it had hurt so much that he hadn't quite been able to think straight for ten solid minutes. How Soul can endure that treatment every day without developing some sort of permanent brain damage, he will never know.
"What is it?"
"They . . . have to pretend to be engaged for an entire night."
The look on his friend's face is priceless. He pauses for a moment before it dawns on him and then his teeth have sunk into his lip to keep himself from laughing. It doesn't work and a few loud guffaws slip past his clamped jaws. "You've got to be fuckin' kidding me!"
"It's true."
"Oh man, I bet Maka kicked your ass."
He nods, rubbing his head as an afterthought. "I was glad that it was her, in all honesty, and not Soul."
"Why?" he asks, still grinning from ear to ear. "She packs more of a punch than Soul; he won't hit any of us unless we've really pissed him off, and then he usually doesn't use enough force to do serious damage because he doesn't wanna' hurt us too much. Maka, on the other hand . . . goes in for the kill."
"Yes," Kid agrees wryly, "but Maka doesn't sprout deadly scythe blades from her forearms whenever she gets too pissed."
Black*Star considers this before shuddering. "Teamed up, they could kill the whole lot of us. Anyway, is that why you called me in here, to tell me about the newlyweds? 'Coz if so, it's fuckin' brilliant."
"Actually, I have a mission for you and Tsubaki. Why isn't she here with you, anyway?" he asks with a small frown, finally having enough quiet in the room to notice the absence of the tall Japanese girl. "I asked for the two of you."
"Tsubaki has the flu, so I made her stay home and rest today before she lets herself get worse. It's all good if you wanna' give a debriefing, I'll just pass on all the information to her when I get back to our place. What kind of mission is it? Many opponents?"
"It's an interesting one. You're to go to New York and hunt down a mob organisation which has been descending into the status of 'tainted soul' due to its recent interest in collecting human souls as debts instead of cash. It is affecting its clients, who are being forced to kill, and it's thought that the head men are consuming the souls."
"So it's like Capone all over again?" he asks with feinted scepticalness. Kid can see the excitement behind his eyes at the prospect of such a large amount of opponents. Given his abnormal, Godly skills, Black*Star does not often find a challenge in his battles, so a drawn out mission tends to give him some well-needed relief from boredom. "Sounds kinda' tedious, but if you need the Big Man to step in, nothing else can be done."
"I think your skill as an assassin will come in very helpful, because you're going to need to determine the tainted souls from the lackeys, and also ensure that any of the victims who have been forced to murder are not succumbing to madness."
"Wait, isn't telling the difference between souls and stuff Maka's job?"
"She isn't available right now, is she? You will be better suited to such large odds, as well. I can't afford to allow this organisation to run at the rate it is now – if I send you, you can surely defeat such an amount of enemies within a few days at the absolute most."
"So you want to clean out the nest before any other eggs can hatch. Got it." Kid blinks at Black*Star's intelligent analogy, but the blue-haired boy is already continuing. "But when do we have to leave? 'Coz I don't want Tsubaki to be travellin' if she's not well enough."
"I was hoping that you could leave on Sunday night, if possible, which gives you two days to prepare. However, if she's still ill and you don't feel comfortable with going, it can be postponed. I just need it done before next weekend."
"Why?"
Kid grins. "Because you aren't going to be sober enough after your party to go on any missions for a week, and that'll be leaving it too long."
Black*Star nods, laughing. "It's gonna' be fucking wild, man." Suddenly, a devious expression spreads over his face. "Speaking of wild, you reckon Soul and Maka are gonna' have fun pretending to be married?"
"We can only hope."
"Yeah, 'coz otherwise we're gonna' need a new Shinigami, and pronto."
"Why?"
Black*Star's face contorts almost instantly into a grin. "Maka's gonna' need some sort of stress relief on this mission; it's either she and Soul have so much fun playin' house that they decide to actually get off their dumb asses and do somethin' about it, or your skull's gonna' have a very asymmetrical dint in it for the next year. Once you get one Chop, you never go back."
Kid shudders. He isn't quite sure which is worse – the fact that he may lose his life within the next week, or the fact that his head might be the victim of asymmetrical book covers. There is only one appropriate phrase that he has picked up on from his years of teenage normality for this situation. "Well, shit."
It is indeed almost seven o' clock by the time Soul and Maka arrive at their hotel, the Varsity Hotel and Spa. It is a luxurious place and Maka can't wait to have a nice massage appointment before having to deal with the stress of the night to come. Either that, or after it, when she's collecting the scraps of her dignity from acting as Soul's fiancée for a whole night. They are in very good room, the highest class; Kid is using Shibusen's finances along with his own mountainous money piles to ensure that their suite makes them look the part for their aristocratic personas. Their room is spacious, the television is huge, the couches look comfortable and the fridge is already stacked with complementary snacks.
There is only one problem.
And that problem is found in the large bedroom. It is colossal and white and very spacious, and it is singular.
There is only one bed in this suite, and there are two of them.
It's not like they haven't shared a bed before – when Soul's insanity started playing up at night time directly after the moon was engulfed in Black Blood, Maka had no problem with staying in his room. Her purifying wavelength had helped him to get to sleep until he had medication from Stein and a cap on the everlasting madness of the night in his veins.
She trusts him infinitely; usually, sharing a bed with him for a night while they're on the mission won't pose much of a problem, unless he feels like being a dick about it.
But this – this will be different. It's already going to be hard enough to control her emotions considering she's going to have to act out being in love with him for a few solid hours. Now she's going to have to return from an evening of bearing her heart without him noticing, and sleep mere centimetres away from him. This assignment surely is torture, and she's going to let Kid know that in full when she returns. Well, she'll let his skull know, anyway. If it turns out to be a bust, honestly . . .
Should she say something about the bedroom and make a suggestion for one of them to sleep on the couch interchangeably, or will he notice and call her out for acting weird? Can she really let it slide, while she's going to be a cocktail of uncomfortable feelings and shit for these next three days?
It strikes her that it will be the right thing to do if she says something. She can't take advantage of Soul like that, especially while he's under the impression that she shares his mutual feelings of friendship and nothing else. But as she opens her mouth to speak, paused in the doorframe to the grand and single bedroom, he pushes past her and enters the room himself.
She has to give him credit – he doesn't even pause to contemplate the fact that there is only one bed to sleep on. After the long flights and car trip he has just made, he doesn't pause at anything. He simply flops onto the bed without worrying about changing, burying his face in the large plush pillows and letting out a sigh of content. Maka smiles wistfully – he's so adorable, and his tiredness is honestly endearing. For a moment, her troubles fade from her mind and she is content to just watch him get comfortable.
When he squirms around after ten seconds – making her simultaneously embarrassed for staring at him in the open for so long, and glad that he is too out of it to notice – her fond quirk of the lips grows and she shakes her head, going over to him.
"Sit up."
"No," he groans, face mashed against the thick pillow and hands splayed out so that he covers the entire double-queen with his arm span. "'M-gonsterheeferv."
"You're not going to 'stay there forever'," she replies, easily translating his garbled speech, "if you sleep like that. Roll over."
He does so obediently, already half asleep with his head tipped back. Maka rolls her eyes and sets to work untying and pulling his sneakers off of his feet. Once both have released their grip on him, she sets them down at his side of the bed. Then again, with the way he's spread-eagled, it's hard to tell which side he wants unless one knows his usual sleeping habits. He doesn't stir at all when she removes his socks, knowing that he will wake up after kicking them off if she leaves them on.
He's probably already asleep, she thinks. Well, at least she hopes so, because it will make this task a lot less awkward. Once she's put his socks in what she is already deeming the washing corner of the room, she moves up to his face. His eyelids do not flicker and he doesn't make a sound at her approach, leaving her to believe that it is safe to proceed without worrying about his reactions or any snide comments. Gently, she runs her fingers underneath his jacket collar, before her hands disappear underneath it altogether. Keeping her breath held and her face completely neutral, if not slightly red, she sets to work untying and taking off his scarf. It will choke him the second he rolls over. Her hands are trembling slightly at the close contact.
What is wrong with her? She mentally chastises herself for acting like a schoolgirl with a crush. She is seventeen now, she has been Soul's partner for many years now, and she's had to be closer to him than this. Why is it now their faces are so near, she's getting all hot and bothered? Maybe it's the way his jaw has fully squared out and he's filled out his frame perfectly by age eighteen. Maybe it's the smell of leather and aftershave at his neck while her fingers deftly work over untying the loop in the scarf. Maybe it's the fact that she can feel his pulse against her palm.
This is ridiculous – she'll need to be able to hold it together better than this if she wants to convince anyone that they're getting married. With determination in her heart, she leans down all the way, sitting on the edge of the bed and lifting Soul's head slightly as she pulls the scarf free from his neck. She stills when he lets out a little sigh, fearing that he will stir, but he merely cocks his neck to the side to settle better on the pillows. If he doesn't make a sarcastic comment about that, then she's surely safe and he's already unconscious.
He really can't sleep in that leather jacket either, because the bed will get damaged and Maka doesn't want to whole thing to smell of his clothes when she sleeps there later. Okay, maybe her mind is telling her that she kind of does, in a twisted way, but that is beside the point. He'll whine and groan if his precious garment gets creased, and after the last twenty four hours she won't have it in her to prevent herself from chopping him for being irritating.
And so she finds herself gently coaxing the heavy jacket away from his chest, which is rising and falling rhythmically enough that he will surely sleep like the dead into the afternoon. Getting it off of his torso isn't the problem – it's removing it from his arms that will prove tough. Despite her earlier resolution, her face is covered in red as she lifts him off of the bed slightly. He doesn't even twitch in his slumber, but she is still working as quickly and softly as she can to tug his arms out of the sleeves. Why does this thing have to be so heavy? By holding onto his shoulder and gently moving his arm, she gets the left one out. It's made easier when he rolls over, as if his subconscious knows that she needs access to his right arm. However, this makes his chest bump her knee and his face is in line with her hip.
"Damn it, Soul," she grumbles under her breath in a shaky voice as she hurriedly releases his right arm from its trap. She has to reach fully over his torso to tug the fabric out from under his stomach, and it is at this moment she fears his waking or moving again. If he rolls even slightly, their position will surely become so suggestive and awkward that she may as well throw in the towel right now.
And she calls him the perverted one. His mind isn't dancing with scenarios as she finally takes off the jacket and hangs it up in the closet beside the bed. Then again, he isn't exactly able to scope the situation. Thank Death.
There. The task is finally done, and she can go read a book or, even better, scroll through Karen Salt's file and their own folder about their aliases in order to be fully brushed up on tomorrow night's scheme. It's all good, she's made it through what is surely the first of many awkward encounters with her partner for the weekend . . .
When she's tugging closed the curtains to block the early morning light for him, something glints and catches her eye. Instantly, her mouth runs dry and she drops the drapes.
His belt. If he rolls over any more, it will jab into his stomach and probably wake him up. Then, he might point out the bed situation or the fact that she's removed his clothes for him before he falls back asleep again. If he naps it out like she thinks he will, it will be easy to convince him when he groggily awakes that he took everything off himself, but otherwise, he'll know. After all, he wouldn't take off his socks and not his belt.
She has to do it. She really doesn't want to do it.
Fuck this assignment, she thinks with a growl, and it is clear just how bad the situation is if Maka Albarn of all people is dropping the F-bomb over it.
Cautiously and quietly, she creeps back over to her original vantage point and takes a deep breath. It won't be that bad, right? She doesn't even have to touch him – the belt buckle sticks up slightly and since he's rolled over and loosened it, it ought to come right off. Well, that's in theory, anyway. Gently, she reaches down, her bottom lip caught between her teeth and her willpower turned to not squeezing her eyes shut out of pure humiliation.
Honestly, the things she does for her partner.
He rolls over as soon as her hand brushes the edge of his shirt, which is good because she's practically wrenched her arm back already. She can't do this. He can stab a hole through his stomach, for all she cares.
But then her eyes land on the stupid socks in the corner again and she groans. Shit, she's got no choice. It'll be bad enough tomorrow given the bed thing, and she doesn't need the fact that she's undressing him in his sleep to cloud the already-murky water.
No, don't think phrases like that! Her hand brushes against his hip bone this time and it is so firm under his smooth skin - marked only by the very edge of his scar – that she is forced to bite her lip even harder. Her eyes flick away before she can settle on anything and do something she regrets. If only she could school her thoughts like she does her eyes . . . Too late. She considers laughing for a minute, contemplating the idea of her friends finding out just how much of an inner pervert she is being right at this moment. Then again, with the Thompsons and Black*Star as friends, that is a very unwise idea. This is something too awkward to hash out to Tsubaki even, and that's when it's definitely bad beyond return.
Her hand grabs the edge of his belt buckle again and she steels her will while keeping her breath held again, lifting it slowly. It moves easily, and she only has to tug it slightly to the left before it releases the pin and falls to two pieces. She'll just have to pull it out from under him, and this will all be over. Which side should she go for? Obviously, the one without the buckle needs to come out from under his other side, and she sets off jimmying and occasionally pulling the leather strap, laying her hand on his hip for support as little as is possible. After what is probably only ten seconds but feels like an hour, it comes free and she grins, holding up the stupid belt triumphantly despite the blood heating up her face like a furnace.
She did it! She managed to get the stupid thing off, and he hasn't woken once! Black*Star can suck it, because it's pretty clear who the master at sneaking and being stealthy is now.
After hanging the belt over the edge of the bed, Maka makes her way to the door, still proud of herself for handling the whole situation so well. That is, until . . .
"Thanks." Soul's sleepy sigh is followed by the sound of him rolling over, and Maka freezes where she stands, flinching drastically and gripping the doorframe. Shit. Has he really been awake this whole time, or has he woken up and gone back to sleep again?
His wavelength flattens out into its usual sleeping pattern just as she quietly closes the door. It's a good thing her suitcase isn't in the bedroom already but still in the lounge room – she's going to need a shower before she can even think of picking up the case folders now.
His soft sleeping noises stay with her even as she starts the tap, and in the mirror's reflection, it is impossible to miss the large red patches of blush running from her forehead down to her chest. She makes up her mind then and there – after they get back, she is never chopping him for reacting the way he does to Blair again. In fact, with the amount of restraint he shows nowadays, with barely a nosebleed, she might even give him a gold medal.
She is poring over the files still, her brain tracing words at the same speed as her eyes, when Soul awakens. It is almost two o' clock in the afternoon and she is surprised at his early rising time, before he begins looking in the kitchen and it ticks. Neither of them has eaten anything proper since they arrived at Heathrow Airport, and Soul has slept off anything that might have been sustaining him until now.
Maka herself has been memorising the particulars of their assignment for the last five and a half hours. She has only stopped once to flick around channels on the flat-screen television, but the movie that plays on the screen has not been given one bit of attention and it is now nearly reaching the ending credits.
"Morning – or afternoon, whichever," she says thickly, not glancing up from her papers. Honestly, she can probably recite Karen Salt's personal history from age twenty to twenty six by now, but she doesn't want to look at him; not after the belt-removing fiasco. She doesn't know how much, if any, of this he remembers, but it will be better to operate under the impression that he will remember nothing if she says nothing.
He runs a hand through the mop of white hair that covers his left eye when unsupported by a headband of some sort before muttering out a sleepy response and heading to the kitchenette to pour himself a nice cold glass of water. He is always useless when he first wakes up, unsure of where he is and how he got there. It can be a blessing sometimes when she has pissed him off right before bed time – a near-comatose Soul is not one to hold a grudge.
"Have a nice sleep?" she asks distractedly, setting down the case folder and once again picking up the one containing their alibi facts. It has been a constant back-and-forth war between these two documents these past five or so hours, each one trying to claim more of her attention. She feels like she knows to know all of the information inside back to front, because unlike her partner, she doesn't really know what to expect from the formal event tomorrow night. Sure, she's been to parties full of rich and important people due to her father and her position in Death City, but it's very different when everyone is a weapon or meister, rather than someone disposed to hate both of the former.
Soul sighs and shakes his head, setting the now-empty glass on the bench and licking his lips slowly. "Nope; I'm not the only one who had jet-lag." She knows he's talking about the Oni who invades his thoughts, and shoots him a sympathetic glance which he either does not see or ignores. "You crashed yet, or just been studying those files for the last couple hours?"
"Well, where was I supposed to sleep?" she jokes, but regrets the words once they leave her lips. That will drag attention to the fact that they only have one bed to share, and she'd rather not have to have an awkward interaction with him while he's still looking so dopey and bed-rumpled, and the line of tan skin between his jeans and white shirt is showing while he stretches his arms over his head.
To her surprise, he doesn't choose to remark on their slightly awkward situation. He merely gives her that signature grin and shrugs, apologising. "I guess I kinda' just spread out and took up all the room, yeah. Then again, you got plenty of sleep on the plane flights. I thought I was going to die."
"Quit being so melodramatic. Do you want to work on our debriefing and aliases now, or do you want to go get some food? I haven't eaten yet, and you've just granny-napped off all your dinner."
"Excuse me, Sleeping Beauty; try driving with your snoring ass in the passenger seat. And is that even really a question? Hmm, I wonder which I'll choose – food or work."
"I'll start laying out the papers now, then, while you get in character for some question-response tasks."
"Go die," he sneers, before heading back into the bedroom. She can hear him throwing around things in his suitcase and rolls her eyes, imagining him making a mess of their room already. Their room. The words clatter around in her brain, and she can't say that she doesn't like them.
When he returns with a bunched handful of fabric and a white cotton towel slung over his shoulder, she is already putting away the manila folders. There are some prime eating places here in Cambridge and although her focus hadn't really been on it when she'd mentioned it, now that she has acknowledged her hunger it is all she can think about. Soul laughs, sensing her discomfort through her wavelength, and promises to have a quick shower.
When he is dressed and clean, they set off for some much needed food. Surprisingly, though, he insists on bringing the information about their fake identities with them, so he can brush up on what she already knows. She can't say she isn't pleased by his choice; she acts like some kind of proud mother whenever Soul decides to do any sort of educational work.
Then again, she doesn't want to act like a mother tomorrow. She needs to act like a fiancé, and the thought of the looming challenge is enough to kill her hunger stone-dead. No matter how many times she reads through those folders, one problem will remain – she doesn't know how to pretend to be in love with him.
How can she pretend to be something she already is?
I'm so sorry about the late update! Happy Valentine's Day.
