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The soft patter of rain against the window panes was a rare sound in Death City. Even rarer was the rumble of thunder that followed, a deep, rolling growl that seemed to echo through the entire town. Maka had grown accustomed to the unusual weather of their home - where sun beat down relentlessly, and rain was almost nonexistent. But tonight was different. The storm that had rolled in was fierce, its presence announced by the sharp crack of lightning and the continuous roar of thunder.
Maka stood in the kitchen, her apron loosely tied around her waist, the smell of dinner filling the small apartment. She ladled soup into bowls, glancing toward Soul's closed bedroom door. The thunder grumbled again, closer this time, and she frowned.
"Soul?" she called out, her voice cutting through the rhythm of the rain. "Dinner’s ready!"
No answer.
She placed the ladle down, wiping her hands on her apron as she approached his door. Normally, Soul would grunt back a sarcastic remark, something like “Took you long enough” or “Finally, I’m starving.” But tonight, there was only silence. Maka’s frown deepened. It was quite unusual.
“Soul,” she tried again, this time with a hint of teasing in her voice. “If you don’t get out here, I’ll eat your share.”
Nothing.
She knocked softly, then decided to let herself in, curiosity nudging at her. As she opened the door, her eyes adjusted to the dim light spilling through the window, flickering slightly with each flash of lightning. There, on the bed, was a lump under the blanket. Soul had burrowed himself deep under the covers, only the tips of his white hair peeking out from the edge of the blanket.
Maka raised an eyebrow. “Soul, what are you doing?”
There was a pause before she heard his muffled voice. “Go ahead and eat. I’ll come out later.”
That wasn’t like him at all. Soul, who never passed up a meal. Soul, who always had something to say—whether it was sarcastic, teasing, or annoyed. But right now… nothing. Just the sound of thunder rolling in the distance and his quiet voice, trembling ever so slightly. Maka’s heart softened as she approached the bed, her footsteps light against the floor.
“You okay?” she asked, her voice gentle now, all the teasing gone. She sat at the edge of his bed, watching the way the blanket shifted ever so slightly as he curled tighter beneath it.
“… I’m fine,” he muttered, though his voice gave him away.
Maka didn't press him. She knew Soul well enough to recognize when he wasn’t ready to talk. So instead, she sat in silence, watching the rain streak down the window, listening to the storm rumble above them. The moments stretched between them, long and quiet, until another sharp crack of thunder echoed through the apartment.
Soul flinched.
That small movement—barely noticeable, but clear as day to Maka—told her everything she needed to know. He wasn’t fine. Not at all.
Maka leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm as she gazed at the lump of blankets hiding him. "You're afraid of thunder, aren't you?" she asked softly.
There was a long silence. Then, the blanket shifted slightly, and Soul’s voice came out quieter than before. “Yeah.”
She didn’t laugh. Didn’t tease him. Something in his tone stopped her from making any kind of joke. Instead, she shifted on the bed and leaned in closer, her voice soft and careful.
“You know… I’m really bad at singing,” Maka admitted, a small smile tugging at her lips. “But when I was little, my grandmother used to sing me a lullaby whenever I got scared of something.”
Soul remained silent, but she could feel his curiosity even through the blanket. She wasn’t a good singer, but maybe, just maybe, it would help.
Without waiting for him to protest, she began to sing, her voice soft and off-key, every note slightly too high or too low. It was a lullaby she remembered from her childhood, something her grandmother used to hum when the world felt overwhelming. The words were Japanese, a language she haven't fully learned yet, but the melody was simple, calming in a way that only old lullabies could be.
Soul didn’t move, but she could feel the tension slowly draining from the air, the storm outside beginning to feel a little less oppressive. The sound of thunder still filled the room, but it no longer seemed to carry the same weight.
After a few verses, she stopped, the silence returning between them. She half-expected Soul to make fun of her singing, to tell her how bad it was. And then, after a pause, he did.
“You’re… really off-tune,” he muttered from beneath the blanket, but his voice lacked its usual bite. He was trying to mask his embarrassment, she could tell.
She smiled softly. “Should I stop?”
There was another long pause before his voice, quieter than before, reached her ears. “… No. I… I kind of like it.”
Maka felt her heart swell at his admission. It wasn’t often that Soul opened up like this, and she knew how hard it was for him to admit even that much. She shifted a little closer to him, her fingers resting lightly on the blanket near his shoulder.
“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” she said softly. “Everyone has something they’re afraid of.”
Soul let out a bitter chuckle. “Yeah, but mine’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid.”
He shifted under the blanket, his voice quieter now, as if he were afraid to say the words out loud. “When I was a kid, I was scared of thunder. I’d… I’d hide like this, just like now. But my dad… he’d always yell at me. Told me to ‘man up’ and ‘stop being such a coward.’ Said only idiots were afraid of a little rain.”
Maka’s chest tightened at the way his voice shook slightly, the weight of old wounds heavy in his words.
“I used to try to hide it,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper now. “Wes would try to help. He’d… he’d sing to me, too. Just like you did. It helped. Until my dad found out.”
Maka felt a surge of anger at the thought of Soul as a little boy, scared and alone, being yelled at for something so human, so normal. She wanted to tell him it wasn’t stupid, and that he didn't need to be afraid. But she knew words alone wouldn’t fix this, not something so deeply rooted in his past.
Instead, she tried something else. “You know, thunder is dangerous,” she said, her tone conversational, like she was talking about the weather - which, in a way, was true. “A single bolt of lightning can be hotter than the surface of the sun.”
Soul shifted slightly, the blanket pulling back just enough for her to catch a glimpse of his red eyes peeking out at her, curious despite himself.
“And did you know,” she continued, “that the sound of thunder comes from the sudden expansion of air? The lightning heats it up so fast that it creates a shockwave. That’s why it’s so loud.”
Soul’s gaze stayed on her, his eyes still wary but no longer filled with fear. He didn’t speak, but she could see the tension in his shoulders easing bit by bit.
“It makes sense to be afraid of it,” Maka added gently. “It’s dangerous. But you’re safe here. The building’s protected, and you have me.”
Soul exhaled slowly, and for the first time that evening, he looked like he was starting to relax. He didn’t say anything, but Maka could feel the shift in the air, the weight of his fear starting to lift, even if only a little.
After a few more moments of quiet, Soul finally pushed the blanket down, sitting up in bed. He didn’t meet her eyes, but there was something softer in his expression now, a kind of quiet relief that Maka recognized- she could see it in the way he finally stood up, stretching awkwardly.
“Dinner’s probably cold by now,” Maka said with a small smile, standing up as well.
Soul nodded, his usual smirk finally returning, though it was softer around the edges. “I’m not eating it if it’s burnt.”
Maka rolled her eyes. “I didn’t burn it.”
As they walked into the kitchen, the rain still drummed against the windows, the storm’s intensity beginning to fade. Maka busied herself with reheating the soup, feeling Soul’s presence beside her. The atmosphere was quieter now, softer, like the storm outside was losing its grip on both of them.
Soul leaned against the counter, watching her silently. His eyes weren’t as clouded with the earlier fear, but there was something still lingering in his expression, something he was struggling to put into words.
Maka placed the bowls back on the table, sitting down across from him, and for a moment, they both focused on eating. It was a comfortable silence, the kind that felt right, even after the tension that had filled the evening.
As Soul took a spoonful, he glanced at her, then looked away, his fingers tapping lightly against the side of the bowl. His voice came out casual, but there was a weight to it, something he was hiding beneath his usual tone.
"You didn’t have to sit with me like that," he said, not meeting her eyes. "But… you always do stuff like that. You’re kinda annoying, you know that?"
Maka smiled softly, recognizing the words for what they were. He wasn’t great at expressing himself, but she knew him well enough by now. That was his way of saying thank you.
She leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand as she looked at him. "Yeah, well, someone’s gotta keep you in check."
Soul chuckled, the sound low and quiet. He took another bite, then finally glanced at her, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Maybe it's not so bad," he murmured. "Having someone like you around."
It wasn’t a direct thank you, either. It wasn’t even close. But the way he said it, the way his eyes softened when they met hers - it was more than enough.
Maka’s heart swelled as she smiled back at him, the warmth between them feeling stronger than the storm outside ever had.