SoMa: A Collection Of Oneshots

Pure Adrenaline

Soul slapped halfheartedly at his alarm clock. He succeeded in batting it off the desk. He also succeeded in adding the said alarm clock to the list of things he needed to buy before tomorrow. The list was comprised of one thing. He considered forgetting the endeavor entirely, because who would want to buy another of those horrible things? Call him whatever you liked, he was sure he wasn't a masochist.

He'd just decided to let it be, to roll over and back into the arms of sleep, when Blackstar ripped the door off the fridge for the second time that week. Expletives forged ahead the thundering of footsteps mere seconds before Soul arrived at the scene of the crime. Blackstar was picking through his meager supply with a look of disgust. 

"Don't you, like, grocery shop?" He looked up, and was promptly booted out of the apartment. "I shop," Soul had answered later. "Just not often." However, he was unable to inform the cretin of this at 8:18am. He just wasn't capable of actual speech so early in the morning. 

He was barely capable of putting on clothes that matched. Alas, he did his best. White and black go together, right? He grabbed his leather jacket, ran his fingers through his hair, and adventured the quarter of a mile it took to get to the Forensics class. 

He sat in his usual seat, left alone near the back of the class. Not enough back to associate with the cretins, not further up enough to deal with the assholes and preps. Weren't they one and the same? 

His musings were interrupted by the arrival of two loud girls. The tiny one sat beside him, setting a can and a cup on the table with mild force. The taller one stood hesitantly by, her dark hair pulled into a tight ponytail. What did it do to deserve such punishment? 

The tinier of the two had ashy blonde hair. They were arranged in pigtails. Was she two? Or twenty-two? One couldn't tell. Her legs seemed nice, long and tanned just-so under that skirt. The taller one had a better bust than legs, though. And she had bassist hands, fingertips calloused from brushing at the strings. 

Pigtails, he decided to call the short one, was unscrewing the cap of what seemed to be a monster. A blue one. His eyes narrowed. She sloshed the cup's unknown substance, sipped a bit, and then poured it into the can. Coffee. Pure black coffee. 

She looked at Soul then. Her eyes were lively green, dancing with mirth. "This is how I die." She announced. He stared. She just smirked and put the can to her lips and drank, drank, drank until it was empty. Until it crinkled up like a walnut.

"So, you're crazy." Soul summarized. She tossed it into the trash like a professional. "Who would drink pure coffee and monster together? Obviously a lunatic." He hummed. She took offence. "I'm not crazy. Who wouldn't? You get the energy from the coffee plus the energy from the monster put together." She sounded a bit miserable, he noted now. A little worn. Maybe from lack of sleep? It'd make sense. She was a college student as well.

"What's wrong with you?" He asked. She looked at him, just smiling. He nodded. "Finals week." He answered for her. She groaned. "I can't deal. I had to buy an entire six pack of monster yesterday, but I bought a six pack a day before that and they disappeared, and I think that Blackstar's taking them because he's even more hyped up than usual." Soul's eyebrow arched. "Speed kills." She glared at him. "Shut up- uh, what's your name?" He chuckled. "Soul."

A book made it's home in his head. "Shut up, Soul." He yelped and held his head, waves of pain bouncing in his skull. Despite it, he was kinda glad he didn't stay in bed. This was a little nice. In a really weird way. "Well, you shut up.." He was stumped. "Maka. My name is Maka." She smiled at him. 

He smiled back.