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Oh My God You're Not Gonna Die, Soul

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“I know I'd said I'd die for you but I'd never thought it'd be like this.”

 

Maka rolls her eyes, plucking the washcloth off Soul’s eyes and only feeling a tiny bit bad about the way he shrinks back from the light.

 

“Soul you have a stomach bug, it's not the end of the world.”

 

Ignoring Soul’s piteous moan from the couch, Maka heads to the bathroom to re-wet the washcloth with cold water again.

 

“Don't call it that!” Soul calls after her and immediately follows it up with a groan.

 

Maka pokes her head out from the bathroom door, sink running in front of her.

 

“Call it what? A stomach bug?”

 

“Yes.” He hisses, craning his neck to scowl at her. The effect is kind of ruined by the bright pink shirt he's got on, one of hers that she'd bought too big and forgot to return, and the fact that the glare has no heat.

 

“What do you want me to call it then?” Maka goes back to the washcloth, shutting off the water and soaking it as thoroughly as she can. Walking back into the living room, she's pauses to smile softly down at Soul before laying the cloth back in its place over his eyes.

 

“I dunno.” He mutters, relaxing back into the couch now that she's back beside him, “just not that. Makes it sound like I got a parasite or something.”

 

Maka opens her mouth to argue, then closes it. “Yeah okay, that's fair.”

 

Soul grunts once, a nonverbal ‘duh’ that she would smack him for any other day. But she can't bring herself too today, not when he's laying on their couch under no less than 3 blankets, wearing her shirt, and looking absolutely miserable.

 

“You're staring again.” Soul mutters, one hand emerging from under the blankets to flop around in her general direction.

 

Maka takes it, folding her legs under her so she's sitting by his head again, where's she's spent the better part of the morning. It's a good vantage point to keep an eye on him but honestly her legs keep falling asleep.

 

“Sorry.” She murmurs, and then decides that constantly putting her legs to sleep sitting like this isn't worth it and lays his hand back down on the couch. Rearranging so she's leaning her back against the couch, Maka sighs softly and unbidden, Soul’s hand takes up residences against her collarbones.

 

“S’ok,” he mutters like he wasn't just waxing poetic about dying via a stomach virus she gave him, only minutes ago.

 

Muttering a soft, “I didn't mean to give it to you,” more to herself than him, Maka stretches and snags the remote off the coffee table in front of them, managing to not dislodge Soul’s hand from its spot.

 

“Maka.” Soul shifts behind her, and Maka’s turning even as Deathflix loads up on the screen.

 

“Yeah?”

 

He struggles into a sitting position despite her protests, washcloth falling to his lap with the movement, “Stop beating yourself up about it. I was just teas-” his face pales and he scrambles the rest of the way up before launching himself over the back of the couch and sprinting to the bathroom.

 

Maka winces at the sounds of retching that follow soon after, and stands. Carefully folding the blankets back over the back of the couch she follows at a much slower pace, kneeling beside him when she gets to the bathroom and rubbing his back as he pants over the toilet.

 

“I think I can see the meds you took in there,” Maka says conversationally, looking into the orangy mess in the toilet, and Soul glares at her from the corner of his eye as he fights to get his stomach back under control.

 

“I am not taking them again.” His protest is weak, as he works his knees underneath him, letting Maka take most his weight and help him to the sink to wash his mouth out, once he does.

 

“You've got to Soul. It's the only way this stuff leaves.” And Maka would know. She was doing the same thing he is just last week.

 

“Ugh. Fine.”

 

Once she's sure he won't fall if she leaves, Maka ducks out the bathroom yet again, snatches up the bottle of meds from the coffee table, and a water bottle before returning to Soul.

 

“This shit it nasty,” Soul grumbles frowning at her in the mirror while Maka struggles to open the pill bottle.

 

“It’s not that bad. Just swallow before it starts dissolving.”

 

Soul groans again, groping blinding for the water bottle while squinting at the pill Maka puts in his hand.

 

“Come on. We can watch that one show you like so much after.”

 

Mumbling something that might have been the name of the show, Soul slams down the pill with a mouthful of water, grimacing and paling even further as it goes down.

 

Worried, Maka steadies her partner, fitting herself against him so he can lean against her, which he does.

 

"You need to eat something. I don't like how pale you're getting."

 

"Nnnnnng...later." Soul finally gets out, still looking sour about the pills.

 

"An hour, tops. Then you eat." Maka remembers how much worse she felt when she didn't eat last week, when they're positions were reversed.

 

"......Fine. But you have to bring it to me on the couch."

 

Grinning at that, Maka shifts against him again, wrapping one arm around his ribs. "Deal, I'll even carry you back, Your Highness."

 

Soul frowns at her in the mirror again but leans a little more into her. Maka knows it's permission to pick him up even if he won't say it, and she does just that.

 

Bending her knees a bit, she settles Soul into the crook of her shoulder before looping her free hand under his knees and lifting him up princess style.

 

"You did that on purpose." he grumbles, and she laughs because yeah, the 'your highness' comment was totally because she was going to do this.

 

Carefully turning them sideways to get past the bathroom door frame Soul mutters something under his breath.

 

"Hmmm?" she prompts, keeping a careful eye out for stray cat toys or laundry as she heads back to the living room.

 

"You're not even winded." Soul says, a little louder now and Maka smiles.

 

"I carry you around in scythe form all the time. Why would it be different for your human form?"

 

Soul shifts a bit in her arms, one hand curling protectively over his stomach, "I dunno, just though it was different."

 

Kicking a fallen pillow over with one foot, Maka kneels in front of couch, setting Soul down as gently as she can. She works her arms out from underneath him and positively beams when he nods once at her, signaling that she hadn't jostled him too much.

 

"I actually think you're heavier in weapon form," Maka leans up, flipping down one of the blankets from the back of the couch to cover him up, continuing their conversation from earlier.

"You're more top heavy as a scythe, like this it's easier to balance."

 

Soul nods slowly, curling onto his side and draping one arm over her shoulders again. "Makes sense." he murmurs, the exhaustion of puking starting to catch up to him.

 

"Yep! You wanna watch your show or a movie in case you fall asleep?"

 

"Mmmm, movie."

 

Maka clicks through Deathflix, settling on a happy looking animated movie. Soul doesn't protest her choice.


Settling further back against the couch, Maka makes a mental note of the time, reminding herself to make her partner eat something after their agreed hour before losing herself in the steady heat of Soul behind her and soft colors on the screen in front of her.

 

Sickness or no, she's not going anywhere