Soul Eater Secret Santa 🎃

Day 1: Blind Date

Day 2: Thunderstorm

Day 3: "I remember" or "I forgot"

Day 4: Nobility

Day 5: Anniversary

Day 6: Chance

Day 7: Coldest Day of the Year

Major Arcana

The Magician

The Empress

The Emperor

The Hierophant

The Chariot

Wheel of Fortune

Justice

The Hanged Man

Temperance

The Devil

The Tower

The World

Wands

Ace

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Page

Knight

King

Swords

Ace

Three

Four

Five

Six

Eight

Page

Knight

Queen

King

Pentacles

Ace

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Page

Knight

Queen

King

Cups

Ace

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Page

Knight

Queen

"Yes, he's been preparing a stunning Dvorak just for tonight!"

Soul's ears picked up his mother's jubilant voice amid the merriment of the many relatives who had come for the Christmas party.

"And after? Will we get to hear from Soul as well?"

His grandmother's gentle reply pulled Soul's eyes from his plate until he found the group of adults chatting just a few steps away.

"Of course. I tried to convince them to play a duet, but Soul didn't want to. He wouldn't tell me why."

The sound of a chair being pushed back drew Soul's gaze to the end of the table, and he watched his brother Wes—old enough now to sit at the adult's table—set his folded napkin on his chair after standing, and then turn to walk toward the parlor where the recital would take place.

There was a rise in the chatter as various relatives observed the virtuoso preparing for what would no doubt be the highlight of the Christmas party, just as it had been last year and the year before that... Basically as far back as Soul could remember.

Several curious pairs of eyes and expectant smiles then fixed him in his place. A sensation like millions of daggers raced across his shoulders, under his skin, as aunts, uncles, and relations he didn't even know unwittingly placed a weight on upon him that had made him come to dread every family gathering.

The sharp pain sliced down his arms and seared his palms. It wasn't quite the burning of nerves, but more like his body was trying to scream for him as he was forced to keep a smile on his face even as he knew his own playing could never measure up to that of his brother's.

He avoided the gaze of relatives by shoving another bite of dessert into his mouth and reaching for the same candycane as one of his younger cousins. Wes would still have to tune, and then the younger children would have to be gathered before the performance could begin. He had a little bit of time to calm the tremor in his fingers before he would be called upon to follow the family's pride and joy.

"Soul?" his grandmother's kind voice sounded above and behind him. He reached for his cocoa to swallow down a bite of cake, and then looked up into her inquiring eyes. "What will you be playing tonight?"

He swallowed a second time and licked his lips clean of crumbs. "Just a carol."

He watched the familiar raise of her eyebrow. "'Just?'" she asked.

"It's not anything like what Wes is playing," he said, turning back to his plate.

His grandma placed a hand on his shoulder. For a moment, the feeling of daggers under his skin intensified, as if wanting to attack that which he knew was intended for comfort. But he inhaled slowly and released his breath in measured beats until the feeling subsided, focusing instead on the lifeline that had always been there for him.

"...I hope you'll like it," he said, feeling a lump rise in his throat.

"I will love it, Soul. And I'll give you my honest opinion, as always."

The tension further left Soul's limbs, and he felt a pleasant warmth begin to bloom in his chest. He glanced up at his grandma's hand, wrinkled from age yet smooth from care, her large knuckles gnarled and strong from her own years of being a concert pianist.

"Thanks, Grandma," he said quietly.

"Soul! Mom!" his mother's voice interrupted, and he turned to where she stood near the parlor. Her hands were folded in front of her and her smile was tight. "Wes is about to play."

Soul felt a gentle squeeze on his shoulder before his grandma returned her hand to her mug of cocoa, and she favored him with a smile before moving to join the family.

Soul sighed as he carefully stood from the kids' table, minding his knees. "The show must go on."

---------------

Maka slowly traced her fingertip over the threads in the seams of the red tree skirt. She paused to tuck her own green pleats over her knees as she sat back on her heels, gazing up at the sparkling decor. From the very top of the Christmas tree down to the floor it had been decked in splendor, and Maka awed at the intricate ornaments from her seat on the soft fabric of the tree skirt that spread far out over the hardwood floor with scallops of shiny white ruffles at its edges, completing the look of the living room's new centerpiece.

Her favorite ornament was a bauble hung at about waist-height if she stood, frosted in royal purple at the top and fading down to pink, like a sunset. It had a design etched in white frost of a tale she'd been told little about at her tender age—of a man and woman under the eaves of a stable, and a baby lying in a cradle of hay. The words 'Silent Night' were written proudly above the picture, and the beautiful piece of glass bore stars all around.

Whatever the story was, the picture felt like love. Maka enjoyed imagining herself as the baby, with her mama and papa on either side of her, keeping her safe through the night as she waited until Christmas morning when she would open presents to their smiles and laughter and coy smiles about the surprise gifts under the tree that surely must have come from Santa Claus.

Somewhere behind her, the door to the apartment opened. Maka closed her eyes. She pictured her papa's smile... Heard his gentle, pleasant voice greeting her. Pictured running up to him and hugging him 'round the waist, and setting her cheek against the rich fabric of his sport coat. Pictured her mother walking into the foyer, and giving her papa a kiss on the cheek as he picked Maka up. And she would reach over and put her arms around both of her parents' necks and hug them as close as she could...

"Death Scythe! Do you have any idea what time it is!?"

The door closed with a heaviness that all on its own spoke of the groaning of the man who had walked through it.

"Why don't you ever call me by name... Nobody ever calls me by name..."

"Would you even be sober enough to notice if I did?"

Maka closed her eyes tighter until dizzying spots appeared behind her eyelids. She tried to focus on them, instead of on the shouting behind her.

"Who says I was drinking?"

"I've not been out of the game so long as to forget to the smell of cheap booze and even cheaper perfume!"

Maka's eyes hurt. She opened them to the sting of tears as the delirium of color swirled in front of her, clouding her vision of the Christmas tree.

"I've only been at work! Remember, at the job you created me for?"

"And I also still know when you're lying!"

Maka stood up so fast that she wasn't aware her legs were numb from sitting on her knees until it was too late. She stumbled into the tree, knocking down several strands of tinsel and jostling several bells whose bright jingle sharply contrasted the brash voices behind her. She put out her hand to steady herself, pricking her hands on the short, dry pine needles, and then the pop and crash of breaking glass brought everything else in the room to a halt.

Maka's breath caught. Her favorite bauble had fallen to the floor and shattered.

"Maka...?"

She ignored the lucid, concerned query and fled down the hall, not stopping until she was in her bedroom with the door closed.

She paused for a moment in the familiar, quite confines as tears flowed hot down her cheeks, and then she ran and threw herself onto her bed. She took a deep breath, and then holding her pink pillow to her face, she screamed as loudly and as long as her lungs would permit. After several seconds she pulled her face away just enough to take a few gasping breaths, and then screamed again.

The pillowcase grew damp from her tears and the heat of her breath, and when she finally stopped screaming, collapsing onto her side on the mattress, she realized the apartment wasn't silent. She could hear muffled sounds of shouting from the front room, her departure not having stopped the fighting that happened nearly every night now for weeks.

She cast her gaze upward to the poster that hung proudly on the wall above her bed. The powerfully intimidating figure of Lord Death served as background to the confident, athletic photo of her mother from not too many years ago, a grin on her face as she wielded Death's Weapon. But even she was background to the elegance of Maka's father's blade, swung forward with menace and passion. The image was completed with a photo of her father's human form, his devil-may-care grin drawing the attention of anyone looking like a magnet.

A knock at the door froze Maka in place, and she tightened her fingers into fists in her blankets as sadness turned rapidly to fury.

"Maka? Darling?" Her papa's voice was gentle. Cautious, and apologetic. "Can you open the door?"

Maka's lower lip trembled as tears stung her eyes again, but she couldn't help it. She tossed her feet over the side of the bed and hurried to the door. She turned the lock and then slowly pulled the door open. Her father was kneeling in front of her.

"I'm sorry, darling."

Maka wanted to throw her arms around his neck. She wanted to sob into his collar until everything felt right again. But there was a telltale scent—something that had always been a part of her papa, but something that she was understanding her mother to hate—that suggested the truth of why he had arrived home so late.

"Mmh!" she whined as she hammered one tiny fist into the center of his chest.

His brow rose in surprise, but otherwise he did not flinch, except to look more concerned.

"I can fix the ornament. It's your favorite, isn't it?"

Maka's lip trembled. "It's...too broken."

"Yeah..." Her papa reached up and ran his fingers through his hair. "Well, I... I know someone who could definitely fix it, if—"

"You lied to Mama."

"What?"

"You didn't just come from work."

Her papa's jaw was slack and his eyes wide, but it was his speechlessness that caused Maka to feel her bluff had unfortunately paid off. Tears started streaming down her cheeks again.

"Maka... The academy hosted a Christmas Eve party. That's all."

"...What?" she asked as she sniffled.

"It's true, I didn't want Mama to know. But that's because she wouldn't have been able to come. She has to stay home with you. I didn't want her to be disappointed that she was missing it."

He had set a hand on her shoulder and was now rubbing her arm gently up and down. It was soothing. His expression was concerned, patient, and understanding as he watched her and waited.

Down the hall, the sound of the front door closing hard caused her to startle, and her papa's brow furrowed as he turned to glance back toward the living room.

Maka's lip trembled. She wanted to scream. She wanted to rip her prized poster off the wall.

"Maka... How about you get ready for bed while I have a little of Mama's delicious dinner, and then I'll read you some bedtime stories."

His hand settled on her shoulder again. Maka looked back toward the bed, avoiding looking at the poster of her parents and instead at the stack of books she had selected and carefully ordered for the evening, concluding of course with The Night Before Christmas.

She looked back at her father, at his gentle smile and loving eyes. She wiped her tears with her wrist and then hugged him tight around the neck, relaxing against him as he kissed her cheek and hugged her back.

"Okay, Papa."

-------------

It was a moonless night in Death City. Maka stretched, sinking deeper into the sofa in she and Soul's apartment as she gazed out the window up at the night sky. The view of the stars was a bit marred by the reflection of the kitchen light on one side of the glass, but on the other the soft glow of fairy lights added to the atmosphere they were attempting to create on the warm winter evening.

She sighed. Even with her head tilted back and limbs splayed, dressed in her most comfortable pajamas, the magic of the season had yet to settle over her.

Perhaps she was just growing out of it?

She looked over at the tiny, plastic tree that she and Soul had set up for the occasion. It was hardly even noticeable in the apartment and could pass for typical decor, but Black Star had climbed up and accidentally destroyed their first Christmas tree attempting to be the 'star,' and they had agreed a second attempt wasn't worth a probable recurrence. Not to mention Kid's tense disapproval at the asymmetry of their decor.

The current tree only had a single, dense strand of multi-colored fairy lights, which beautifully shone over the walls and ceiling of the apartment as she sat in the dark, listening to the soft sounds coming from their kitchen.

"Hey, Soul?" she called.

"Yeah?"

"Did your family have any Christmas traditions?"

There was a quiet scoff and a pause before he replied. "Oh, yeah. I was part of the entertainment."

Maka sat up. "Entertainment?"

"Yeah... I had to play piano and my brother played his violin. The whole family was there. Most were people I've never really met. They were familiar faces, after enough years went by... But it was just another crowd, really."

Maka thought about her own fond memories of the holiday, compared to the flat picture Soul was painting.

"Anything else?" she asked.

A shadow fell over the window, and Maka turned to look over the back of the couch as Soul leaned out of the kitchen. He was wiping his hands on his apron, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"The food was good."

"That's all?"

His brow rose. "What?"

"You don't remember...anything fun, or magical?"

"Just...getting to see my grandma..." Soul's smile faded as he considered. "I guess it was magical enough, like something out of a Hallmark movie. Nine foot tree, more presents than we could count... But the only thing I was ever thinking about was the performance for the family."

There was a tightness to his jaw that made Maka want to pry for more information, but she worried that doing so would ruin the tiny bit of peace they had found for the evening. She decided it was best to let it be, and just take in the exciting smells from the kitchen instead.

"How about you?"

"What?" Maka asked, refocusing.

"What were your Christmas traditions growing up?"

Maka thought about the tree again. "We had a real tree every year. It went all the way up to the ceiling. I don't know about nine feet, though."

"A real tree? In Death City?" Soul said with surprise.

"Yeah. I don't know where Papa got it. I would help Mama decorate, and I loved looking at the ornaments. They were all frosty, so I would pretend I was somewhere with snow. And after Papa got home from work we would have dinner, and he would read to me before bed."

"...Sounds like a Hallmark movie," Soul quipped.

Maka pursed her lips, but said nothing.

"It was nice while it lasted," she finally replied.

"What do you mean? Oh..." Soul said, and Maka knew by the look in his eyes that she didn't need to elaborate. The fighting between her parents had increased to the point that holidays and any other day meant to be special were no longer that—just another day of the same wishing her life was something else.

Suddenly she understood what Soul meant about his own childhood Christmases.

"Maybe," he said, catching her attention again; he had stepped into the room carrying a tray of food, which he set in front of her on the coffee table, "we could make our own Christmas traditions."

Maka looked at the delicious morsels he'd prepared. A chocolate-orange cream pie, he'd told her earlier, with a ginger crust. There were marshmallows and candy canes on the tray for the hot chocolate, to be added to preference, and slices of some kind of toast with melted cheese and a fig spread atop each one.

"Some of your family's favorites?" she asked.

"Nah. I made these up myself."

As Soul took off his apron and stepped back around the couch, Maka considered which treat to indulge in first. The idea of dinner before dessert was ingrained into her, so she decided the toast would have to be first.

She also felt the need to wait for Soul, out of politeness, but he was taking a long time in returning.

"Soul?"

He reappeared, a bit more tidy and holding a gold box about four inches square in his hands.

"Thought it would be cool to add at least one ornament to the tree, since that's something you like. As long as we don't invite Black Star over again."

He set the box in Maka's hands, and she opened it to find a crystalline, frosted star lying on a black cushion inside. It was styled like a snowflake, with extra radials coming out in all directions and bits of iridescent glitter on the tips.

"This isn't the one we had before," she said.

"Yeah. Tsubaki felt bad and she helped me pick this one out. I thought it would be cool to at least have the topper, since you'd spent so much time on our first tree."

A warmth slowly bloomed in Maka's chest, and when she looked up from the box to Soul's grin it rose into her cheeks.

"Heh... Thanks, Soul."

"Go ahead and put it up."

Maka rose from the sofa and stepped over to their tiny tree, checking the attachment before firmly securing the new star to the plastic tree trunk. She looked down at the small blanket she'd wrapped around beneath the tree in lieu of a skirt, and at the small collection of presents on top of it.

Maybe there was magic to be had this night after all.

The sound of a guitar being tuned caused her to whirl around, and she was surprised to see Soul leaning back in the corner of the couch, his acoustic guitar laid casually over his lap.

"Soul... You don't have to perform for me."

He glanced at her. "It's not performing when it's something I want to do."

Maka stepped back to the sofa and slowly sat down at the other end, her eyes unblinking as Soul satisfied himself with the instrument's readiness. He was focused, and his expression distant and thoughtful.

He fit his fingers into a chord shape and was about to start picking, when he lifted his eyes to hers.

"Have something to eat."

"Oh. Thanks," Maka said, hurrying to pick up a piece of the toast.

Soul began playing. The tune was familiar—a carol—but far more elaborate than the radio versions she'd heard throughout her life. She held herself very still as she listened, not wanting to break the magic of the rare gift of Soul's playing as she ate the delicious meal. The toast had a hint of some herb she didn't recognize, too.

"This was always my favorite," Soul volunteered once Maka had finished her toast and was moving on to the hot chocolate.

"Is this something you performed before?" she finally asked.

"Nah," Soul said. "I never played this one. My grandma did every year, before the arthritis was too painful for her."

Maka's brow rose. Did that mean she was the first to hear him play this one..?

Soul's expression was relaxed and peaceful. There had been a familiar sparkle in his eye as he'd recounted the memory that Maka knew meant that that it held only joy for her weapon partner.

She sipped her marshmallow-topped cocoa slowly as she watched Soul's fingers move deftly on the guitar, his music a secret that it seemed only she was allowed to share. It was the cocoa, surely, that was keeping her cheeks warm as she listened to the beautiful tune.

"Anything you wanna do?" Soul asked softly.

Maka understood that he meant in regards to creating new holiday traditions. Her gaze drifted to the new star that sparkled atop the tree, and then over to the window. If they turned of the kitchen light, then it would be just right...

"Stargazing," she said, smiling at the memory of sitting under her family's tree and looking at her favorite ornament.

"I'll get the light," Soul said.

"No! That is, you can keep playing. I'll get it."

The soft plucking of guitar strings resumed, and Maka crossed the room to turn off the kitchen light. When she turned around, her eyes met Soul's, and he looked away suddenly as if startled. It was too dark to tell now, but she was almost certain the red in his cheeks wasn't from the glow of fairy lights.

"Could you stand listening to a children's book with me later, too?"

"Heh. I could use something to put me to sleep, sure."

If he hadn't been playing, Maka would have picked up a book to hit him. Instead she settled back on the couch, sipping her cocoa and gazing out the window and up at the stars. The music was incredibly relaxing.