he was not lost
“don’t kiss me, soma. make it fluff.”
for @redphlox ❤️
tbh I’m not sure what this is but I think I like it?
Soul wrinkles his nose and glares at Wes and submits sullenly to his mother’s doting. It’s an act, every last touch, and his cheeks hurt from how her fingers grip his jaw. Don’t kiss me, he thinks sourly, but he knows better than to say as much with so many eyes on the lost Evans boy returning to the fold.
He misses Maka already. He can’t wait to go back to Death City.
He’s too late to dodge the strange girl’s embrace, so he stiffens and turns his head away as she plants lipstick by his ear. “Soul,” she croons, and he hates the sycophantic note in her voice. “It’s so wonderful that you’re back!”
“Get off me,” he tells her shortly.
She pouts back at him. It’s an oddly self-satisfied expression, completely different from how the same expression on Maka’s face is made of honest irritation. He can see it now— she’d be wearing it if she saw the red stain on his cheek. Don’t kiss me, she’d growl, and he’d spend an evening or two braving her seething jealousy until she’d apologize for being snippy and he’d apologize that it had happened at all, and they’d forgive one another.
“You tricked me.”
Wes sighs. “I’m sorry mum found out, okay? You know how she is.”
Soul’s lips thin. Yes, he knows. His mother is of the breed of parents that snoops into everything, pulling up browser and cell phone histories obsessively. If he kept a journal, she would have studied it. In a previous era she would have read his letters. In this one she has enough determination to have made herself frighteningly technologically savvy.
Still, showcasing Soul as a missing boy returned home when she knew exactly where he was and when he is no longer a boy is grating.