Legs (i)
Cuddling is strange and not altogether comfortable, but at the same time it is deeply comforting. Soul never got to cuddle in the Evans household, because who was there to cuddle with? Wes? Yeah, right. Besides, cuddling is uncool. Maka, though, spent plenty of time laughing with Mama and Papa in her infancy. She grew up in an intimate family, and she never really got over the loss, so for her it's no big deal to poke at his shins under the table with her toes, or to shove him off the couch if he's taking up too much of it (he learns quickly to make room for her to spare his hip), or to sit next to him at restaurant booths when he is first rather than across the table like he does when she is. It's not a stretch from all of that to letting their feet rest against each other (they're about the same size— shut up, his feet are small), to tangling their legs in the middle of the couch (this is dangerous, but thankfully she prefers bashing his head in to crushing his balls, and as there is no shortage of books he doesn't have to worry about guarding his crotch, which is fine because crotch-guarding is the epitome of uncool), to leaning on one another if it's late at night after a tiring mission (in the shitty burger joint they both love anyway). So when he wakes up from a nap to find her lying on top of him, asleep, he's maybe a little surprised but not completely astonished. They've been living together for years by this point, so he legitimately doesn't mind. That doesn't mean that it's terribly comfortable— her chin is digging into his collar, and her breath is distracting on his neck, and though she's small she's made of muscle so she's actually kind of heavy. She's warm, though, like a heating pad or a massive cat, and her skirt and his shorts mean that their legs have skin to skin contact, which is more than okay with him. Her eyes flick open when he shifts. Okay, not asleep, then. That's fine, too, because he's kind of hungry, so if she's awake he can throw something together and not have to worry about waking her up. He nudges her leg with his knee. "Oi, lemme up." She huffs, breath tickling again. He fights the urge to giggle at the sensation. "What for?" she grumbles. "I'm comfortable." "I'm not, I'm hungry," Soul complains lightly. She shuts up at that, for some reason. He waits for her to say something or to get off him, but she just continues lying on him and being quiet. "What?" he finally asks. "...Do you hate it?" she mumbles. He blinks at the ceiling. "What?" She makes a frustrated sound. "This. Touching people." He deliberates. "It's alright," he tells her slowly. "Because you never initiate it, it's always me," she bursts out. "If you don't want me to, I'll stop? But I won't know if you just... take it." Soul is surprised. "What? No. I'm just— not used to it I guess." She sits up, planting her hands on his chest. Soul wheezes a little as the movement compresses his ribcage. "You don't have to lie," she accuses. "I'm not lying!" Soul huffs. "Prove it!" "Wha— how am I supposed to do that?" he splutters at her. "I don't know, hug me or something?" she stutters back. Her cheeks are flushing. He rolls his eyes, sits up, and wraps his arms around her. "See?" he tells her dryly. "Done. No big deal." She broods for a bit until the grumbling of his stomach interrupts her, and then she clambers off of him. "I need to study," she informs him. Her voice is flat, and he stares after her, nonplussed, as she tromps upstairs to her bedroom.
