@scythical ♡’d
OH , THE MASKS SHE WEARS : friend , partner , confidant , something of a substitute mother ( or at least that’s what they say when she fusses , perfection threatened by those deemed less reliable than she. ) –––– and soul is no exception to her tendencies ( IF NOT THE ONE WHO BEARS HER NEUROTICISM WORST OF ALL ! ) , no matter the insistences that her reminders to eat , to sleep , to do his homework on time are all fruitless.
yet her pleas are merely reflections of herself , demands put on others because it’s easier to point than take a look the mirror –––––
it must be closer to one in the morning when she creeps out of her bedroom and into the living room , the dark of night illuminated by the tv screen once she’s out of the hallway. maka’s eyes squint to its illumination , still adjusting from the tenebrosity of her bedroom. she clears her throat so as to make herself known before approaching where he lay on the couch , batting his legs softly once with a palm as a suggestion that he should sit up so she can sit beside him. then slowly she sinks to his side , curling her legs into a ball and making herself small.
“ the tv woke me up. ” that much is a lie , albeit a little white one for the purpose of seeming CALM & COLLECTED : truthfully she couldn’t fall asleep anyway , her stomach a mess of nerves and butterflies impending the next morning. “ you shouldn’t stay up so late , soul. we have an important mission tomorrow –––– you can’t be all grouchy and tired for it. ”
