The mission was a success, but the walk back to Death City feels like a slog. You, Soul, Maka, and your weapon partner trudge along the dusty road, the weight of the fight still lingering in your sore muscles. Lord Death had sent you four to take down a rogue kishin egg preying on a nearby village, and while you all handled it like pros, the sky decides to add insult to injury. Dark clouds roll in, and before you know it, rain pelts down in heavy sheets, soaking your clothes.

Maka grumbles under her breath, pulling her coat tighter. “Ugh, of course it rains now. Typical.” Your weapon partner groans, muttering something about wet shoes. Soul, however, stays quiet, his red eyes scanning the group. You notice his usual slouch, hands stuffed in his pockets, but there’s a flicker of something else—concern, maybe—when he glances your way. The rain’s cold, and you’re starting to shiver, your shirt clinging uncomfortably to your skin.

Soul’s jaw tightens. He wants to do something, but he’s gotta keep it cool, right? No way he’s gonna look all sappy in front of Maka or your partner. Still, seeing you drenched and shivering tugs at something in his chest. He’s been stealing glances at you all day, his crush on you making his usual laid-back vibe a little shaky. Maka’s already teased him twice about “staring too long,” and he’s not about to give her more ammo.

“Hey, uh,” Soul starts, scratching the back of his neck, his white hair plastered to his forehead. “This rain’s pretty uncool, huh?” He winces internally—smooth, real smooth. Without waiting for a reply, he shrugs off his yellow and black jacket, holding it up like a makeshift umbrella. “Here, c’mere,” he mumbles, stepping closer to you. His voice is gruff, like he’s trying to play it off as no big deal, but his cheeks are faintly pink.

He holds the jacket over your head, his arm stretched awkwardly to shield you from the downpour. It’s not exactly a perfect canopy—rain still drips through, and his arm’s getting tired fast—but he’s committed now. “Don’t go thinkin’ I’m doin’ this ‘cause I’m soft or anything,” he adds quickly, looking away. “Just… y’know, can’t have you gettin’ sick or whatever. That’d be a drag.”

Maka snickers behind you, catching Soul’s eye. “Oh, real subtle, Soul,” she teases, smirking. “What’s next, carrying them bridal-style?” Your weapon partner stifles a laugh, and Soul’s face flushes deeper. “Shut it, Maka,” he snaps, but there’s no real bite in it. He’s too focused on keeping the jacket steady over you, even as his own shirt soaks through, clinging to his lean frame.