And here is the second fic to come out of July Camp Nanowrimo! Thank you to redphlox and silly twin stars, who are both amazing writers on top of being awesome betas - please take a look at their works! I would also highly recommend checking out bbbutterfingers adorable Soul/Maka fanart, which really helped to set the tone of this fic and gave me life when I was stuck. I hope you enjoy!

Later, Soul would blame Black*Star. Surely it was his fault for what had come out of Soul's mouth, considering he had had to sit through lunch listening to Black*Star blabber on about his new relationship with Tsubaki.

Of course, that was certainly preferable to talking about his love life, which, despite his best efforts, was not treated like the taboo subject it should be. Soul was getting very sick of explaining over and over to Black*Star why he could not just go up to Maka tell her that he kinda-sorta-definitely was in love with her. That he must have sustained some brain damage from her flinging him around constantly because his mind kept skipping back to the way her eyes sparkled after a victory or how right her hands felt in his. That Soul had never read a romance novel in his life but he felt like he was in one with how much he mooned over the stupidest things she did, like insisting on arranging the books on their bookshelf by color and genre, or making up her own lyrics to songs she didn't remember well.

But it was cool! He was cool. Everything was totally under wraps. Black*Star knew, of course, because he was scarily good at sniffing out blackmail material. Soul was pretty sure that his threats and reminders of what Maka would do to the both of them if Black*Star blabbed were keeping him mum. For now.

So yes, focusing more on Black*Star's romance was a welcome change. But getting unwanted details about certain acts performed between his best bro and his sister-weapon definitely tossed his mind into a strange unwanted space, one that mostly involved thoughts of "did he really need to tell me about that" and "I wonder if Maka-"

"Soul, could you cook dinner tonight?" Maka called from the kitchen.

"I'll do it for a kiss," Soul replied automatically.

There was a pregnant pause in which Soul rewound the last couple of seconds and realized, at the same time as Maka, exactly what he just said.

"What?"

"What?" Soul echoed, voice cracking.

Maka popped her head into his room, face creased in confusion. "Did you just…bargain for a kiss?"

"I – what? Nooooo…" Play it cool now Soul, he told himself. She was in the kitchen and probably didn't hear you right.

Her eyes narrowed. "I definitely heard you say you'd cook dinner for a kiss."

Fuck. Okay, just play it off as a slip of a tongue- no no no don't think about that too hard, that is not the path you want to go down right now. It was a mistake, just tell her so.

"So what if I did?"

God dammit.

Maka edged her way into the room, eyebrows furrowed. "Why would you…a kiss? Really?"

Soul shrugged as nonchalantly as he could manage. "Why not? Don't tell me you're chicken."

That set her off, as he knew it would. She crossed her arms and huffed. "I am not chicken! That - that just seems like an awfully big price to pay just to not cook dinner!"

"What, kissing me is that much of a sacrifice?"

She rolled her eyes. "No, knowing you, you'll just heat up some instant noodles and call that good enough."

"I'll make the best damn dinner you've ever had," he snapped, ignoring the fluttering of his heart at her admission that kissing him wouldn't be horrible.

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

Her hand was warm in his as they shook on it.

Challenging glares turned into uncertain glances as they both realized exactly what they had agreed to.

"S-so…"

"Yeah…"

"I'm just, um, going to…yeah…"

"Okay, uh, sounds good."

"Oh, and Soul?"

"Hmm?"

Maka turned back to look at him. He could have sworn that there was the faintest hint of a smile on her face. "I'll expect dinner at seven tonight."

She was halfway down the hall by the time he was able to reply with a faint "okay".

Soul flopped backwards onto his bed, flinging an arm across his face. Setting aside her half of the bargain, which he really didn't think he could deal with right now, she was right - his cooking mostly consisted of takeout and microwavable food. Somehow, he'd have to come up with an amazing dinner within - he checked the time - the next six hours.

He was so screwed.

An hour later, Soul found himself having to make one of the most difficult phone calls of his life.

"Soul, my bro! What's going on! Did you take my advice about Maka yet?"

Soul groaned. "Black*Star, put Tsubaki on."

"No can do, compadre! She's out."

"Where did she go."

"I dunno! I think Maka called a while ago and she went to go hang out with her."

Just great. Did Maka do that on purpose?

He ran through his options. Liz and Patty grew up on the street. He didn't have time to sit through Kid's fussing over the asymmetry of the cooking ingredients. Blair thought a well-caught mouse with a side of pumpkin was the height of gourmet.

He really needed to get more friends.

"How do you make a soufflé?" Soul growled.

"What? Gotta speak louder dude, couldn't hear you!"

"I said, HOW DO YOU MAKE A SOUFFLÉ?"

"A soufflé? Why do you want to know that?"

Soul grumbled out something unintelligible.

"Ohhhhh I get it," Black*Star said slyly. "What did you bargain for this time? Must be something amazing if you're actually cooking a real dinner and asking Tsubaki for help."

"Something like that," he snapped. "Now are you going to help me or not?"

"Sure thing, bro-ta-to."

Soul drummed his fingers on his lap, waiting as Black*Star rustled around on the other end of the line, humming something painfully off-key.

"Well?"

"Hang on dude, Tsubaki's got like, seven cookbooks."

"This is your fault, you know," Soul grumbled.

"Me? What did I do?"

"You were talking about you and Tsubaki and all the gross things you've been doing together, which got me thinking about all the gross stuff you guys are doing, and then it just kind of slipped out…"

"What, did you ask Maka to kiss you or something?"

"I - what?" Soul forced a laugh. "Why would she - why would I - no!"

Black*Star cackled. "No shit dude, seriously? I was just teasing! My man." Soul could almost hear him wipe away a fake tear. "I'm so proud of you -"

"I'm hanging up now," Soul gritted out.

"What was th - oh hey Tsubaki, welcome home!"

Tsubaki's voice drifted in faintly. "Black*Star, you won't believe - who are you talking to?"

"Black*Star, give me to Tsubaki."

"Hmm, I don't know Soul," Black*Star said, not even bothering to suppress the glee in his voice. "What'll you give me for it?"

"Black*Star."

"I hate to break it to you dude, but I'm in a committed relationship, so kissing is off the table-"

"BLACK*STAR."

"- but maybe if you gave me - Tsubaki, Tsubaki no, I wasn't finished -"

"Hello? Soul?"

"Tsubaki!" Soul nearly sobbed in relief. "Thank god you're home." In the background he could hear Black*Star wailing "you never let me have any fun!"

"Is this about your dinner date?"

"It – it's not a date Tsubaki," he muttered, thankful she couldn't see his flush over the phone. "Just a trade-off. We do it all the time, you know that."

"Mmhmm." She didn't sound convinced. "And this has nothing to do with your crush on Maka?"

"Who -" Of course. Who else? "He told you?"

"There are no secrets between weapons and meiiiisterrrrs," he heard Black*Star singsong.

"Well…he really didn't have to, but yes."

Soul ground the palm of his free hand into his eye. "Is it that obvious?"

"Yesterday, you nearly walked into a pole when Maka took off her jacket because it was too hot," Tsubaki said helpfully. "And last week, you choked in the middle of a sentence because she bent down to retie her shoelace."

"Don't forget the fact that you literally pushed me out of the way so that you could sit across from her on the bus the other day," Black*Star added, voice close to the speaker. She must have put Soul on speakerphone, that traitor. "And how you never shut up about her. Like, ever."

"Go away Black*Star," Soul said absently. A horrified thought struck him, one that made him grip the phone in panic. "Wait, does she know?"

Tsubaki hesitated. "Soul…you did just tell her you would make her dinner if she gave you a kiss. That's…not really platonic." A beat, and then, "Please stop smashing your head against the table. It can't be good for you."

"It was against the wall," Soul told her, voice muffled. He blew out a sigh. "Fuck. Fuck. I'm so dead."

"If it makes you feel better, she didn't exactly say no."

"She really hates making dinner," Soul said, massaging his forehead. "One time, I convinced her to wait in line with me for a new record for six hours if I made dinner for a week."

"Maybe she likes spending time with you, and having you make dinner is an excuse. I mean, don't you usually just heat something up in a microwave or buy pizza?"

"I -" Now that she mentioned it…. He had never examined their bargains that closely, too relieved to have an easy out. "Is that what she told you?" he asked instead, trying to quash the hopes rising in his chest.

"Anyway!" Tsubaki said brightly, completely unsubtle in her avoidance in answering him. "What was it you needed from me?"

She talked him out of making a soufflé, as well as risotto and lobster. (She outright laughed when he asked about beef wellington.) His inexperience with the broiler ruled out skirt steak; her reluctance to condone his use of the stovetop after he confessed that he almost lit himself on fire last time took lamb chops out of the equation. Orange chicken, lasagna, ribs…it seemed like every one of Maka's favorite foods was either too difficult, took too much time, or wasn't special enough for Soul's liking.

"How about chicken cordon bleu?" Tsubaki suggested, ten minutes later. "It's different, and it sounds fancy, but it's really easy and quick to make."

She read the recipe aloud to him from one of her cookbooks. It did seem achievable, even by someone at his level. "Tsubaki, you're a lifesaver," Soul said gratefully, scribbling the recipe down.

"Let us know how it turns out," Tsubaki replied, with what Soul was almost certain was a knowing smile.

"You owe us!" Black*Star cried out as he hung up.

By his third attempt at chicken cordon bleu, Soul was beginning to despair. The first chicken breast had slipped through his fingers and, after a few minutes debate over the cleanliness of the floor, it went into the trash. The second had flown across the room when he had tried to flatten the breasts. This time though, he had washed the chicken in the little metal thing with holes so it couldn't fall out, and had made sure to close the window firmly just in case it tried to get away from him again.

He hefted one of their skillets in his hand, staring at the pink meat in front of him. Third time's the charm, he thought with forced optimism.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Bang!

Soul froze as the front door slammed shut.

"Soul?" Maka came around the corner, concern written on her face. "What was that noi -"

Her eyes flickered between his face and his raised arm with the pan. Her gaze dropped to the innocuous looking meat in front of him.

"Soul," Maka said, very gently, laying a hand on his wrist. "I'm pretty sure the chicken is already dead."

"I - I know that!" he snapped, feeling himself flush. "I'm not - just - go away and let me cook!"

Maka snickered, but dropped her hand and backed away, turning down the hallway. "Best dinner I've ever eaaaaatennnnn," he heard her sing as she skipped off to her room. He resisted the impulse to smack himself with the pan as he heard the door click shut.

Things actually went fairly smoothly after that. Truth be told, he was feeling a little proud of himself as he slid the chicken breasts into the oven and set the timer. The green beans glistened in a bowl as they waited to be microwaved. Even the potatoes had become soft in record time, and easily broke apart at his poking.

"All right," Soul said aloud, rolling up his sleeves and cracking his fingers. Time to work out his problems on these poor, hapless potatoes.

He attacked the spuds with a single-minded ferocity, smashing them into white mash. Bits of potato flecked onto the stove, and the melted butter and milk sloshed dangerously close to the sides of the pot, but Soul was too absorbed in the sweet release of his heightened emotions to care. His anxiety over putting together the dinner, the stress Black*Star and Tsubaki incited with their call, the embarrassing, stupidly huge crush he had on his meister and the apparently inadequate efforts he'd taken to hide it - they all fueled his frenzied assault.

But gradually, Soul started to realize that it was getting more and more difficult to mash the potatoes instead of easier. He had to pull harder to get the potatoes to release the masher, and the mixture seemed to clump together instead of being a smooth, semi-solid dish.

Soul frowned down at the pot. Well…no matter. He just needed to add more butter or milk, right? That's what being a cook is about, he told himself, it's about adapting things to your taste. He took the ingredients from the fridge and poured in more liquid.

Okay. Now…now it was more like soup with occasional chunks of goopy potato floating around in it. In desperation, he churned the mixture harder, and was rewarded by a tsunami of liquid splashing onto his apron and shirt.

"Fuck!" he swore, then quickly covered his mouth, eyes darting to the hallway. Maka's door stayed shut, and after a few minutes of silence, he slowly let out his breath.

With a sinking feeling in his gut, he realized he was going to have to call in for back-up. He fumbled for the phone, every instinct on high alert for a telltale giggle or exasperated huff.

"Hello!"

"Tsubaki," he hissed. "Buddy, pal, only sane person in your household, you have to help me -"

"You've reached the household of Tsubaki and Black*Star," came Tsubaki's pre-recorded voice. "We're not able to answer the phone right now but -"

"If you want to leave an offering to the great Black*Star and his loyal follower -"

Soul hung up before the two minutes of maniacal laughter started. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuuuuck," he whispered, pulling at his hair. He was so screwed, why did he ever agree to this, Maka was going to laugh in his face if she didn't die of food poisoning first, and if she did die, her gravestone would read "here lies Maka Albarn, greatest meister ever, who died due to her weapon's utterly hopeless crush on her and his total inability to master a basic life skill –"

No! he scolded himself, standing up from where he was crouched on the floor. No, that's not going to happen. You were given a chance, and god dammit, you're going to make the best damn dinner and then kiss her silly and then beg for her forgiveness before she Maka-chops you into the ground. And then maybe make out some more if you're lucky.

Buoyed with false confidence, Soul dialed the next number he could think of.

"Hello?"

"Hello?" Soul said cautiously, now too aware of the trickery of modern technology and answering machines.

"Hello?" Kid repeated. "Who is this?"

"Kid, hey man, this is Soul, and I'm uh…kind of in a bind…"

"What's wrong?" Kid demanded. "Where's Maka, is she okay? Liz! Patty -"

"No no no, it's not that kind of problem!" Soul hastened to add. "I just…need your help with something."

"Really?" Kid asked eagerly. Soul could practically hear the stars shining in Kid's eyes. "I'd be happy to assist! What is it?"

"Well…" Soul began. "Well, see, I'm um, cooking something…"

"Ahh. Don't worry Soul," Kid said solemnly. "You and Maka are welcome to stay at my place while your insurance figures out the fire damages."

"No, we don't need - hey!" Soul scowled. "I'm not that bad!"

"I kid, I kid," Kid said, chuckling. "What are you making?"

"Well they were supposed to be mashed potatoes," Soul said grumpily, glaring at the concoction. "But something went wrong, they're all…paste-y and tough, and now I don't know what to do. Also, uh, did I mention that it needs to be done in an hour and a half?"

Kid made a thoughtful noise. "Yes, that wouldn't be a good start to your date. Hmm…okay, I think I might be able to help you. Could you hang on just a second?"

"It's not a –" Soul began to say, then sighed. "Sure," he said instead, and proceeded to crumple against the kitchen island, pressing the cool marble to his forehead. How, he thought mournfully, how do I even get myself into these situations?

"Soul?" Maka's voice drifted in from the hallway, and Soul just about gave himself whiplash raising his head off the table. "I -"

"Don't come in here!" he barked, hiding the phone behind his back. He cast around wildly for the pot lid, and frantically tried to cram it on top of the pot. "It's - it's not six, I still have an hour!"

Maka's footsteps paused. "I know that," Maka said patiently. "I just wanted a cup of water."

"I'll bring you one!" he yelled back. "Just - just go back to your room!"

He waited until he heard her door close before he held the phone back up to his ear. "Please tell me that you have a solution for me, Kid," Soul said miserably.

"Well, I talked to Max -"

"Who is that?"

"Our personal chef."

"You have a personal chef and you didn't tell me?!"

"Ow. Please don't yell into the phone. Yes."

Soul closed his eyes and gave himself a minute to mourn an opportunity lost. "Okay," he said at last. "What did he have to say?"

"That you're basically going to have to start over. Sorry. But," Kid continued brightly, "I can walk you through the steps!"

Soul chewed on his lip. "How long would this take?"

"Thirty-five minutes, according to the recipe."

So, allowing for Kid's idiosyncrasies, which would probably be kept in check since he couldn't actually see how Soul's ingredients and cooking equipment were arranged, more like an hour. Good thing Soul had bought five pounds of potatoes.

"I need to get Maka a glass of water," Soul said finally, "so just hang on a minute, all right?"

Maka looked up from her papers as he tentatively opened her door. Under her stare, he was suddenly acutely aware of the bits of potato in his hair and the patches of milk-butter liquid staining the apron and his sleeves. Any hint of mischief on her face was quickly replaced by concern, and Soul wasn't sure if he was relieved or upset at her expression. "Are you okay?" Maka asked cautiously. "I know you're determined to do this, but I really like this apartment and don't want it to burn down."

"Not you too!" Soul cried, exasperated, as he set the glass down on her desk with a hard clink. Maka scrambled to save her papers from the water slopping out of it. "I know I'm not a good cook, okay, I know I suck at it and I don't have the best track record with stoves, but it's not like I've…exploded a microwave or left the oven on overnight!"

"I mean, I did have to use the fire extinguisher on the mac and cheese you tried making," she pointed out. He threw her a hurt look, and she sighed. "I'm just teasing you, Soul. I know we're not in any actual danger."

The doubt must have shown through on his face, because she rolled her eyes, saying, "Seriously! It's fine. And you don't have to impress me."

"Want to though," he mumbled.

Maka blinked, and Soul felt his face grow hot. "A-anyway I have to get back to cooking," he said loudly, turning to leave before he could make a bigger fool of himself.

"Soul." Maka's fingers curled around his, and he paused, looking back at her. "Don't worry so much," she said, squeezing his hand. "I'm sure I'll like whatever you make for me." She gave him a brilliant, heart stopping smile.

"Hmrgh," he said intelligently.

Maka tilted her head, and the cascade of ash blonde hair over her shoulders did strange things to his stomach. "Huh?" she asked.

"Cook! I - I have - cook!" Soul stammered, before turning around stiffly and marching out the door.

Back in the kitchen, he scrabbled for the phone. "Kid, these have to be the best goddamn potatoes that have ever been created in the history of mankind," he blurted out.

"Oh, they will be," Kid assured him. "Now, take out eight small potatoes, and peel them - yes, exactly eight, it's very important to preserve the perfection of the dish…"

He really had pulled out all the stops, Maka had to admit. There was an actual tablecloth on top of the dining room table, and one of their neighbor's flowers floated in a cup. Her chicken breast, green beans and mashed potatoes steamed on top of one of the few non-chipped plates in the kitchen, her milk in an actual glass instead of a mug or plastic cup.

Soul fidgeted, stealing glances at her as she stopped to admire his efforts. He jumped up when she approached the table, and pulled out her chair for her, face flushed, eyes daring her to comment.

"Thank you," she said instead, smiling. His face deepened in color, and he gently scooted her in before taking his place opposite her.

Five minutes later, Maka found herself missing their squabbles over whether instant noodles counted as dinner, or if she had put too much salt into the spaghetti. At the very least, it would be more welcome than the nervous tapping that was coming from Soul, somehow in rhythm with the frantic beating of her heart.

"Well?"

Maka looked up from her mashed potatoes. Soul was studiously avoiding her gaze, staring at his glass of milk. "Does it taste okay?" he asked, trying and failing to keep his tone casual.

"Oh!" She took a bite of the chicken, chewed and swallowed. Then took another bite, and another - "This is…actually really good?"

"You don't have to sound so surprised," Soul huffed, but looked pleased. There was a smile lurking in the corner of his mouth as he chewed on his food. "This is good," he said, then shot her a sly look. "Best dinner you've ever eaten, huh?"

"I wouldn't go that far," she scoffed, then relented when his smile drooped a bit, "but it is very tasty. Thank you, Soul."

He hummed in response, and the remainder of the dinner passed in a more comfortable kind of quiet.

Maka's nerves came back when the last of the food had disappeared into her mouth and the plates were scraped clean of scraps. She busied herself with collecting the dishes and dumping them in the sink, trying to ignore the buzzing in her chest.

She heard the chair scrape behind her, and the soft padding of feet as Soul slipped next to her. She plunged her hands forcefully into the running water. This is normal, she reminded herself fiercely, we always do the clean up together after dinner, this isn't weird or unusual. But she couldn't help the trembling of her fingers when they brushed up against his as she handed him wet plates and silverware.

All too soon, she ran out of dishes to wash.

"So uh…"

"Well then…"

They looked at each other. "You first," she said.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Maka," he began to say, "you don't have to-"

"A deal is a deal," she said firmly. "You made dinner, so now…." She swallowed. "Now I owe you a k-kiss. I don't go back on my promises."

He didn't look very reassured, shifting from foot to foot and refusing to meet her eyes. Maka took a deep breath and grabbed his hand, tugging him towards the living room.

They sat facing each other on the couch, knees touching, close enough that she could hear the unevenness of his breathing. She hoped her breath didn't smell too much like chicken. She hoped she didn't taste like garlic from the mashed potatoes. Why hadn't she had some gum or brushed her teeth before bringing him over here? What if he hated the kiss? What if he didn't actually like her and it was all just a joke to see how far she'd go to show him up?

But he shuddered as she placed her hand on his knees. His fingers tightened over hers and she could feel how he held her to keep himself from shaking. His gaze flickered over her face and there was trepidation in his eyes as he licked his lips - trepidation and something else. Desire. He wanted this, wanted her.

She closed her eyes.

His lips were soft, so soft and warm. She was suddenly aware of every part in contact with him: the boniness of his knees, the roughness of his hands, the heat of his leg through his jeans. She pressed into the kiss, wanting to feel more, and felt the tip of his nose against hers, the tickle of his eyelashes against her brow, his feathery hair brushing her forehead.

It was a lot more than just the peck she had intended to give him. She drew back. "W-well?" she asked, rather aggressively.

"That was…" Soul began, sounding a little dazed, before swallowing. He cleared his throat. "I think the dinner was worth more than just one kiss."

"What?!" Maka felt an angry flush working its way over her face. "That was - that wasn't the deal!"

"Yeah, w-well, I actually had to cook this instead of just ordering out, and I think I deserve another for that!"

"So?! I cook all the time -"

"Maka." Soul looked straight at her, gaze heavy and serious. "I had to get help from Black*Star. Black*Star."

She hesitated, but groaned. "Fine. One more."

This time he was the one to initiate the kiss. His mouth moved eagerly against hers, mapping out the contours of her lips, becoming progressively surer in his motions. She parted her lips, and he did the same, tongue tentatively pressing itself to hers. He tasted like warmth and a little of what they had eaten for dinner and just a hint of steel.

They broke apart, panting. His eyes were unfocused, the corners of his mouth curving upwards almost despite himself. All she could think of was how handsome he looked, in that moment - how much she had enjoyed feeling him against her, how much she wanted to kiss him again.

"That one didn't count!" she blurted.

Soul blinked, then squinted at her. "What do you mean it didn't count?"

"You-you…you kissed me! I was supposed to kiss you, that was the deal!"

"It's kind of a mutual thing Maka," he pointed out. "Besides, you were the one that said 'just one more'. You should want that to count!"

"Yes well, if I'm going to do it, it's going to be done right," Maka said primly, tossing her pigtails.

Soul rolled his eyes. "Tell that to the laundry. You know, you fold them so they don't get wrinkled, not so that they can get more wrinkles -"

"Stop talking and just -"

Their lips crashed together again as she pulled him to her, and any protests he had died as she took his bottom lip in hers. His hands combed through her pigtails - hers tangled in his mess of hair. He leaned forward, pushing her back onto the couch as he hovered over her. "Maka," he breathed, voice so full with wonder and affection that it sent shivers down her spine. "Maka," he murmured as he kissed her over, and over, and over. It felt - she felt - safe. Happy, like there were bubbles in her stomach that fizzed and burst with every touch of his lips to her own.

Slowly, the heat of the moment trickled away, and Soul shifted to wedge himself between her and the back of the couch, pulling her close. His hands stroked her sides, thumbs rubbing against her hips as he rested his chin on top of her head. She could feel the vibrations through her body as he hummed happily.

"So…I take it that this wasn't just a prank?" Maka asked, half shy, half teasing.

"No!" Soul said forcefully, drawing back from her. "Why - did you really think that?" There was an element of hurt laced into his tone.

She patted his arm. "Not seriously. You made it sort of clear, you know. That you liked me."

He groaned, hiding his burning face in his hands. "Was it that obvious?"

"Maybe a little," she replied. She kissed his fingers. "But that wasn't such a bad thing."

His fingers parted to reveal one crimson eye. "…Really?"

"Mmhmm. You made it clear that the feelings were mutual."

"...They are? Were?"

"You think I'd just make out with anyone?" she asked indignantly.

"I mean," he began, fiddling with the hem of her shirt and avoiding her eyes. "You really hate to lose -"

"I wanted to kiss you, Soul," Maka interrupted. She tilted his chin up, and gave him a soft, sincere smile. "I wanted you to kiss me. The dinner was just a really good excuse for that to happen."

He seemed to accept this, before glancing at her with sly glint in his eye. "Like it was when you agreed I'd make dinner if you waited with me for that Astrud Gilberto record?"

"W-who told you that?!" she spluttered.

Soul was unable to suppress the triumphant smirk growing on his face. "A little birdy told me -"

"Tsubaki," Maka growled.

"Maybe," Soul admitted. He pressed a kiss on the top of her head. "Doesn't matter now though, does it?"

"I guess not," she conceded, snuggling into his embrace. "So…where's dessert?"

Soul squinted at her. "You didn't say anything about dessert. We specifically bargained for dinner."

Maka pouted. "But I want dessert now."

"Fine, fine," Soul said, rolling his eyes. But instead of getting up and grabbing the ice cream that she knew was in the freezer, he hesitated, eyes flickering to her mouth.

A quick, soft pressure against her lips, and then - "There," he said, curling closer to her. "Dessert."

There was a moment of silence as Maka struggled valiantly to suppress her laughter. "Oh my god," she said finally, choking on giggles. "That has to be the cheesiest -"

"Shut uppppp," he whined plaintively, burying his face into a pillow.

"- most uncool thing you've ever said."

"Whatever," he groused, grumpiness ruined by his own fits of laughter. "You make dessert, I officially give up."

"Hmmmm…" she said, pretending to think. "Five kisses."

"Huh?" he said, lifting his face up from the pillow.

"My payment. Five kisses for dessert."

A smile bloomed over his face, one that sent her pulse thrumming.

"I like this new form of bargaining," he answered thoughtfully, before pulling her closer to seal the deal.

Both Black*Star and Tsubaki eyed the food Soul had placed in front of them suspiciously.

"And you supervised this, Maka?" Tsubaki asked, carefully prodding the noodles.

"Hey, I can cook now!" Soul protested. "Right Maka? The dinner I made for you was really good!"

"It's true," Maka confirmed. Tsubaki did not look very reassured.

"I'm taking Tsubaki's portion," Black*Star announced, reaching for her plate.

"No!" Soul blurted out.

"Ah-HAH! I knew it!" Black*Star pointed an accusing finger at him. "You did something to it!"

"N-nooo," Soul said, "I just uh, made it…specifically for you?"

"You're a horrible liar, god, how did you ever hide your crush on Maka for longer than a week?"

"Very poorly," Maka said, sending Soul a smile to his scowl. "He put about ten chili peppers in yours, just avoid the meat."

"Hah! Is that all! The great Black*Star can handle any spice you put in there!"

Three pitchers of water later, Black*Star was still wiping away his tears with a napkin as Tsubaki smiled at Soul and Maka. "I'm so glad everything ended up going well for you two," she said.

Maka took Soul's hand in hers under the table and gave it a squeeze. "Us too," she replied, looking at Soul, who couldn't stop the grin slipping onto his face.

"It's a relief to finally know we're all on the same page." Tsubaki sighed. "I won't lie, it was quite an ordeal to watch you two dance around your feelings for each other."

"Hilarious though," Black*Star added. "Anyway, congratulations said and done -"

"You didn't say anything, that was all Tsubaki -"

Black*Star leered over the table, grinning madly. "It's time to collect on that favor."

Soul looked at Maka. "I'll trade you -"

"No."

"Ten ki-"

"Nope."

"Twenty," Soul said desperately.

Tsubaki cleared her throat. "Actually Soul, you can't bargain this away to Maka, since she'll be helping you."

The two whipped their heads around to stare at her. "What?" they asked simultaneously.

"Or did you forget that you owe me too, Maka?" Tsubaki said, smiling sweetly.

Maka colored. "N-no…"

"For what?" Soul asked.

"Oh you know, this and that." Tsubaki's eyes glinted mischievously. "A new wardrobe to impress a certain someone, for one."

"Really," Soul said, the beginnings of a smirk working its way onto his face.

"ANYWAY," Maka interrupted, shoving him away. "What's the favor?"

"You're gonna drive me and Tsubaki to wherever we want to go for the next two weeks," Black*Star said.

Soul and Maka looked at each other. "That's it?" Soul asked. "I mean, I don't think both of you will fit on the back of my motorcycle at once, but…"

"In a rickshaw!" Tsubaki exclaimed, clapping her hands together.

"What?"

"What?" Maka sputtered. "You can't be serious."

"We've already rented one!" Black*Star said.

"And planned out our dates," Tsubaki chimed in.

"Which you'll be taking us to, along with to school and back. It'll be awesome!"

"And since the both of you essentially needed the same favor, you can share the load!"

A half hour later of fruitless attempts to escape their fate found Soul and Maka slumped against the couch, glumly contemplating their choice in friends.

"Maka?" Soul put his arm around her, squeezing her tight. "Next time we need help with something, let's never, ever involve Black*Star or Tsubaki again."

"Agreed," Maka said fervently. She nuzzled into his neck. "We'll just keep the bargaining between us. The rewards are better that way, anyway."

He hummed his agreement before removing his arm and turning to face her. "Hey," he said softly. The look in his eyes was warm and tender.

"Hey," she replied, heart fluttering.

His fingers came up to stroke her cheeks as he drew closer. She closed her eyes and felt his breath tickle her cheeks. "Still the best trade-off I ever made," he murmured.

"Mmm," was all she could say as he brushed her lips with his own. This kiss was slow and yearning, and he took his time exploring her thoroughly, pressing soft kisses on her cheeks, forehead, chin, eyelids. It made both her heart and soul burn with helpless affection and love for her silly, sweet boy. "Likewise," she breathed.

Soul pulled her close and planted another kiss on her head. "I'll trade you as many massages and kisses as you want if you do the rickshaw thing."

Maka kissed him back. "Not a chance."

Thank you for reading! You can find me on tumblr as jaded-envy. Comments and criticism are much appreciated!