The feud

"Sometimes it's okay to take a step back and admit you're being ridiculous."

Simply put, Maka was fed up. She had tolerated Soul's irksome mannerisms for years: squeezing the toothpaste tube any which way instead of from the bottom to top, putting laundry in the hamper right after she had loaded the machine, and drinking milk from the gallon, and at times by the gallon. And he then had the audacity to wonder why she became such a nag after spending hours reversing his clothes or finally washing the enormous pile of dishes, that by some magical anomaly, was replenished by the next morning.

Knowing well that her at times irritable habits must annoy Soul too, she feigned contentment with their living arrangement and turned a partially blind eye to his often squalid lifestyle she refused to embrace. Now, she wished she could literally turn a blind eye.

With spring fading and summer roaring in uncharacteristically hot, in which fire hydrants and streetlamps seemed to bend and swoon in the sweltering heat, the absence of central air was greatly felt in their stuffy apartment, especially to Soul. Knowing their unruly landlord, any stipulation to their agreement would be futile, so it seemed this summer would just have to be endured, much to soul's apparent dismay. So he became creative in his attempts to cool down, following the next logical course of action right after placing the contents of the freezer in front of fans to 'move the coldness from the ice to the air!' as he had so wonderfully put it. After a disappointing and not to shocking experimental failure, he scrapped the innovations and fell back the fool proof, age old method: stripping down to the bare necessities. In his case that meant nothing but boxers, plain, polka dotted, and yes, even neon. In a span of two weeks Maka had seen more of him than she ever anticipated, or really wanted, especially when the only thing covering him was a piece of bright yellow fabric, that practically screamed at her to stare where any respecting person shouldn't.

But it really didn't bother Maka at first. She was used to him walking about with little on and it had never much bothered her nor made anything awkward between them, but that was back when it wasn't a daily occurrence, and when it was still summer. Now she found herself looking at her half naked scythe more than the clothed one for no logical reason, being that it was the dead of winter. Though it didn't necessarily bother her, she found she did become increasingly distracted by it. She would find herself suddenly very aware of his presence anywhere which made studying a lot harder. It was like trying to watch a documentary about the history of the leaf blower with a new episode of her favorite juicy crime drama blaring in the other room. It was damn near impossible to focus.

Worse still, others were starting to notice Soul's lack of decency around her, attributing it to some sort of intimacy between them, which so infuriated Maka she could hardly raise her eyes to meet those of her accusers, not in embarrassment of Soul, but out a blow to her dwindling pride not being able to control the idiot.

One major contributor to her eventual outburst occurred the other day. While talking to her psychotic father through her mirror, which she much preferred to talking to him in person, Soul barged into her room holding in his hand lacey lingerie that unmistakably belonged to a certain good-for-nothing cat who happened to come around more than welcome for a rent free night. But being the dramatist he was, Spirit interpreted Soul barging into Maka's room unannounced, practically naked and with frilly undergarments to mean more than it did, bringing out the interred father in him. Being the loon he was, he assumed like everyone else that Soul and Maka were more than just roommates. He even went out of his way to give her the dreaded talk, in which he unintelligently sputtered out what knew of the topic with gestures that Maka would pay to unsee. And so Maka was forced to deal with his stupidity by tuning him out. Having been familiarized with the topic after many one sided conversations with Blair, she instead imagined how nice it would be to swing down her wavelength theory book on Soul's skull when it was all over.

After many similarly embarrassing instances, she finally drew the line with him coming to the dinner table in only boxers for the third day in a row. Here she was forced to look at him and she couldn't stand the constant blush that would color her cheeks as they ate, a blush that he either didn't notice or quietly reveled in, though she suspecting the latter. And as she watched him ravenously shovel forkfuls of food into his mouth, Maka finally decided she had had enough. She slammed a fist on the table, causing her knife to clatter in the floor and for Soul to divert attention from his meal to her for a second, the gleam in his red eyes daring her to say something.

"Could you please put some goddamn clothes on," Maka seethed through her teeth, the culmination of anger from these last few days pouring out, surprising both Soul and her to a degree. But, as always, he matched her exclamations of rage with sly coolness, aggravating her more.

"What, am I distracting you or something?" he asked nonchalantly, going back to shoving mashed potatoes into his mouth like his life depended on it. Maka dragged her nails across the wooden table against the grain, so not to scream, and attempting to replicate his demeanor, but to no avail.

"It's indecent," she said coldly, but he only looked at her in half interest, "you're ruining the atmosphere." He swallowed a mouthful before calmly replying,

"I'm doing a service to the atmosphere," which ignited even more resentment. He then leaned back on his chair mockingly, arms behind his head and chest forward to accent his muscled chest to prove his point. Maka half reluctantly turned away, picking up her remaining pieces of dignity before they rolled away under the fridge. He was doing this on purpose and she knew it, and he knew that she knew which encouraged him even more. He was like a child; once he figured out how to get away with something he'd never stop, especially when the only reprimand she could offer as a slap on the wrist. She knew well this was his revenge for years of her nagging and dictatorial rule of the household, and it was working.

His calm demeanor always ended up infuriating her more, making her wish he would raise his voice and yell in a sputter of words as she would. There was no way for her to beat him at his own game; he was just too damn good. But as she watched his smug, unassuming grin split his face, the spark of an idea ignited.

A startlingly curious plan formulated while she watched his bare back as he placed his plate on the precariously tall pile of dishes, his back muscles moving , as reached to the top, in a way that made her want to blush. With every step of his, it became clearer, until she was forced to suppress a smile as he leaned against the sink with his arms folded and a mocking grin plastered on his face. She gave one last look to his bare chest, the jagged scar, and the sly grin of his before taking up her plate and moving to the living room, not wanting to risk even a shadow of her plan to come through her.

And they both smiled in their separate rooms, thinking the other had lost this battle.

Hey! So I'm taking up writing again (let's see how long this lasts)! I'm trying out a new style, so please review and let me know what you think so far and about the idea behind it! As always, thanks for reading!