Maka Albarn, Soul Evans, and Blair

Death City was usually a warm town. But even it had its chilly mornings, especially in winter. Some residents had wondered whether such cold was natural for the Nevada desert: at night, it could dip to 30 degrees. The rumor was that Lord Death, upset with how few seasons actually visited his arid city, conjured magic to influence the weather, bringing a winter, spring, summer, and fall like other parts of the world experienced. That would explain why the flowers bloomed so easily and the leaves still changed colors and fell. And it would explain why a little snow had started falling outside this Christmas morning.

Whether this rumor had any basis of fact mattered little to certain people, however. For example, in one apartment, a meister and a weapon were fast asleep, unaware it was even snowing. As happened to her every Christmas Eve, Maka Albarn did not go to bed until late, spending almost the entire day searching Death City, then traveling to other cities, for just the perfect gift for her partner. By the time she returned to her apartment at 1:15 AM, her weapon was already asleep-but he did leave some milk and cookies out for her. After downing the drink and munching on one cookie-Soul's baking of snickerdoodles had actually gotten better, she thought-and leaving the rest to have in the morning, she furiously wrapped the gifts as quickly as she could. By the time her head hit her pillow at 2:18 in the morning, there was no way she was going to be awake until late the next day.

Maka pulled just one sheet over her shoulders. She was used to the seasonal changes in Death City. Having grown up in this desert oasis, she actually preferred the cold: her bed had one sheet and one blanket so she would not catch a cold, but really, in her mind, anyone who needed to bury themselves under numerous sheets and a quilt was just some wimp who couldn't handle a little chill. For Maka, all that mattered was getting sleep and enjoying the winter temperatures while they lasted.

For Soul Evans, all that mattered was keeping warm. That's why he buried himself under numerous sheets and a quilt.

Only the tips of his white hair peaked out under the covers of his bed. He didn't want to face the morning, not yet anyway. He made sure of that by keeping his bedroom as dark as possible. Only the slimmest line of sunlight edged along his black-out curtains. His face was buried in his pillow. The only indications he wasn't dead were the slow rising and falling of his body, and a ghastly snore coming from this creature under his covers. Every December morning, he tugged the sheets closer to his body to keep in the warmth, block out the light, and sleep in the dark.

But then he felt her weight atop him.

As he felt one of her hands press on his leg, from under his covers, his right eye broke open. He clenched his teeth as he felt her other hand now moving along his ass.

Great—typical day, waking up to a busty, half-dressed cat-woman atop of him. Soul Evans was living the dream alright. And once his meister stormed into his room, his dream would turn into a cranium-damaged nightmare, a book slammed into his head.

Her nails dug through his sheets and into his skin as she crawled atop him. As she did, he let out a groan. He slowly turned off of his belly and onto his back, hoping that would knock her off of him. Still, she persisted to climb along him until he felt Blair lay atop his lap. Soul winced. He opened one eye, expecting to see her head atop him.

Blair's head wasn't atop his lap. It was her entire body. He realized those weren't her nails digging into him but her claws (which would explain why they hurt a lot more-and here he thought Blair just needed a manicure, badly). Blair had transformed into a cat. She didn't even have her usual witch's hat on: it was just her original form, a chubby feline curled up asleep in his lap.

Soul's jaw hung. Even through all his sheets and quilts, he could feel her warm body atop his lap. Carefully, he sat up in bed, pushing his pillow against the headboard so he had something a little softer to lean against. Blair stayed in his lap for a few minutes, still as death. If he could not see her body slightly expand with each quick breath, he would have thought she was dead. The fact that she was not lounging all over him, her breasts slammed in his face, left him wondering whether she really was dead—or maybe he had died and gone to non-groping Heaven.

Soul stared at Blair. For every single time she made his life frustrating—every morning groping, every book-slamming to the head he got because of her, every nosebleed, every awkward erection, every everything this pain in the ass put him through—he just stared at her. For all the aggravation she gave him, he really should bounce her out of his room right this second. But how could he kick out such a pathetic little creature, so exhausted that she was curled up in his lap?

A small smile formed on his face. He reached to his alarm clock; it was 7:48 AM. He had set the alarm for 8 to get him up to finish wrapping some gifts. The slim edge of sunlight now had become a burst of light breaking through even his curtains. He was awake enough, he figured: he picked up his clock, turned off its alarm, then set it back on his nightstand, gently so not to wake up the cat.

He remained in bed, mostly unmoving, just letting her rest on his lap. He didn't dare to move. He just let the cat get her shut-eye. Whatever drove her to be so exhausted so early in the morning confused him. Yes, Blair usually had late nights, and yes, cats were nocturnal. But Blair was usually so full of energy whenever she woke him up. And on Christmas she was usually bouncing atop him to get him up to open presents. She must have had a long day at Chupa Cabra's or something to warrant needing so much sleep.

He stayed there for an hour. He couldn't look out his window at the cold day, so he spent that time watching her, picking up his notepad from his nightstand to jot down some lyrics he had been fiddling with.

Then he heard a small murmur. He looked over his notepad to watch as Blair's mouth opened, practically unhinging as cats do when yawning, her tongue extending out as she let out a loud groan. Her eyes, gold like the sun, slowly opened and blinked a few times before recognition set in. She smiled at Soul, her eyes still droopy. "Morning," she said. And as she yawned, Blair added, "Merry Christmas."

Soul sighed and put on a smile. He set down his notepad and pen and began scratching behind her ear. Blair closed her eyes, extended her back a bit, and let out a purr.

"Same to you, Blair." He looked at his clock: it was almost 9. Good thing Maka had been up late last night, or else she'd be awake by now. "You mind if I get up? I still have some Christmas prep to finish."

She yawned again, closed her eyes, and let her head fall back down into his lap. "Can I stay on your bed?" One eye opened, and her usual mischievous grin returned. "You don't have some gifts for me here that I shouldn't see, do you?"

Soul picked her up, carefully, and kicked the sheets and giant quilt away. He set her down on the bed, moved his notepad and pen back to his nightstand, then tugged the quilt over her just up to his neck.

"Already wrapped and under the tree," he said. "As long as you don't tell Maka what I got her, I don't care."

"Thank you," Blair muttered as she fell back to sleep.

Soul looked at the cat for a moment before shutting his eyes. "Stupid cat," he muttered with a smile, before he stretched, scratched his boxers-cladded backside, and dragged himself to his desk. Leaning against it were three rolls of different bright and shiny wrapping paper, and atop it were books, pricey tea blends, and a pair of noise-cancelling headphones.

As Soul tugged his seat out and grabbed a pair of scissors from his pencil jar, he heard a tiny voice buried under the quilt say to him, "She'll like them, you know."

Soul smiled. "Hope so," he said loud enough for Blair to hear.