Drowsy, heavy-lidded eyes peer at her when the door finally creaks open, unfocused and squinting under the strain of adjusting to the fluorescent hallway lighting. Mumbling incoherently while shifting to lean on the casing for support is the height of Soul Evans's coordination right now. The hem of his long-sleeved shirt bunches up as he slides a hand to lazily scratch up and down his flat stomach. He is blessed with a snowy-white trail of hair that leads beneath the waistband of his dangerously low-riding pajama bottoms.
Maka can't help but stare. No one ever warned her that her sexual awakening would occur at three in the morning as she stands on a candy wrapper littered welcome mat, desperate, her fists sore from pounding too hard on his door.
Yet here she is, three seconds away from jumping up to wrap her legs around him. Hopefully they would land on his bed, but the floor is fine, too. It's honestly too late to be thinking rationally. She blames the "Annual Valentine's Day Cute Couple Contest!" poster she ripped off the bulletin board earlier and her competitive streak for inspiring the idea to ask her longtime secret crush for a favor.
"Tell me when you're done staring," he yawns, slumping even further onto the doorframe. What she finds charming about tousled hair, a husky voice, and straight, pointy teeth that only add an intimidating effect when combined with his reticent demeanor is a mystery she doesn't want solved. On the rare occasion when he does smile, though, it stirs a bubbly heat in her belly, one that could melt metal, and these moments are little pockets of bliss.
"...I'm not," she lies inexpertly, knees wobbly, feverish. "I'm here to tell you something."
Thick eyelashes bat slowly, a sure sign that he's in the process of falling asleep standing up. "Hurry up then. I don't have all night, Albarn-"
"Date me!"
The reaction is immediate. After all, it's not every day that his 'nagging, boring, and uptight' neighbor shows up to his dorm room begging for a date.
Sputtering, his eyebrows skyrocket into his bangs, his slouch magically reversing as he pulls himself up to his full height. Why does he have to be so tall, and why does he embody all of her weaknesses? A lopsided, shy grin enhanced by a dimple, a strong jawline, long limbs, and a wiry figure encompass all that Maka didn't know she found attractive until she found the combination in Soul.
"Wait, what? Uhm, well, uhh…" His fidgeting is cute. Maka decides to let him suffer and stutter on: "I mean, uh, huuuh, if you want, I'm free right now… wait, I have class at eight, damn it, but I can skip-"
She's shouting before she can think rationally. "No! Class is your priority, not me!"
A confused flicker on his face suggests otherwise.
Now it's her turn to conjure a lucid reply. Surely she must be overthinking his microexpressions. She hates that when it comes to Soul all of her grace and eloquence is reduced to nothing - she's cumbersome, giggly, and sweaty-palmed. "I didn't mean right now, I meant for a contest."
Disappointment plays on his features quicker than a fingersnap. But then he's cool and collected and asking for clarification before the sun rises.
"Don't get sassy with me, Evans," she warns, jabbing a finger on his chest for emphasis.
"Just spit it out!"
"Hmph!" He laughs at her pout and she's momentarily shocked into silence (his smile is a heart-stopping gift), but recovers enough to save face. "You know that contest the university is having?"
"Huh?"
Rolling her eyes - of course he doesn't pay attention to campus events, he's repulsed by crowds - she shakes her head impatiently. "They're having a cute couple contest for Valentine's Day." Blushing isn't something that can be turned off, is it? "Basically, we have to take a picture together and people vote on who is the cutest couple, and the winners get their names engraved on the wall behind the water fountain, dining dollars, and gift cards to the bookstore."
Narrowing his eyes at her, he tilts his head, contemplating. "You just want those gift cards, don't you?"
Not exactly. An everlasting rivalry with Ox Ford compelled her to act on the opportunity to enter. Pretentious and arrogant, he had taunted her in passing at the library by sing-songing, "You'd never win the Valentine's Day contest even if you were the only contestant, Maka." She just wants to make him eat his words. The gift cards are a plus.
But still, she's as delicate as a dandelion. Having Soul automatically dismiss the possibility of a deeper meaning to her request only proves that his level of interest in her is in the negatives. Although a sliver of hope bloomed when he stammered earlier, she's got her head screwed on between her shoulders securely, and she won't hold her breath for him to reciprocate even a fraction of her crush.
"I have my reasons," she decides to answer, opting for discretion.
"Okay… so why are you asking me of all people?"
This is one of those moments where he sets his lips into a firm line, unblinking, unmoving. Suddenly he's put up a smoke screen between them and it's as if she's lost sight of him. If only she could reach out to touch him, to read him like braille. There have been a handful of treasured moments where they accidentally make contact, like being the only two to use the laundry room or the study room, but it's never enough for her.
"I'm single, you're single," she points out, crossing her arms across her chest. Running out of her dorm room dressed in nothing but an ankle length nightgown and a cardigan hadn't been her brightest idea. At least she could have jumped into her slippers before hurtling down the hallway to Soul. She's cold and braless and embarrassment grows on her like a mold the more time ticks away.
Unfortunately for her, he's slow to say yes. "So you want me to be your boyfriend for the day?"
"Mhm."
He frowns. "You could do so much better than me-"
Along with the bite of indirect rejection comes an overpowering sense of wanting to protect him. His snark doesn't exclude negative comments aimed at himself, and she's come to his defense more than once in the past. "What? Of course not - I mean, don't put yourself down. You'd be a fine pretend boyfriend. Please?"
The internal battle raging on beneath his skull is almost visible to Maka. He sighs. "It means that much to you?"
"Yes. If anything, it's my top priority! Everyone is going to be trying to enter, you know."
Another deep exhale. "Why does this school take Valentine's Day so seriously?"
"IT'S IMPORTANT," she insists. Omitting the fact that Ox's words dug at her like a shovel and served as the main motivator in her spur-of-the-moment decision to compete is the least humiliating option. "Anyone who's ever won this contest has gone on to do amazing things. They graduate with honors, get a job right out of college or go to grad school, and -"
"And end up getting married, yeah," he finishes for her, back to absentmindedly scraping his fingernails along the faint indentation traversing his stomach, right above his belly button. Since when did he work out? Or is he one of those people in possession of a body that requires none to minimal effort to maintain?
Either way, she trains five days out of the week. He's not allowed to be this attractive. It's not fair to people who actually exercise, and it's twice as unfair to Maka, who's too tempted to test if his hip bones are as sharp as they look.
"Okay, I'll do it," he says out of nowhere, reeling Maka back to reality.
"Oh… OH! Okay, thanks!"
"Sure," he shrugs.
And they stare at each other.
Mystified that he agreed without so much as a protest about how torturous it would be to pretend to like her romantically, she's expecting to receive a taste of his trademark snark - and she's right. She knows he has to make up for being nice by giving her a hard time as soon as he stops rubbing his tummy (goodbye happy trail, she prays to see it again someday). "Wait, what was the question?"
"Don't make me say it again, Soul."
"I was still asleep the first time you yelled it at me, so I have to make sure I heard you correctly," he drawls, smirking.
Maybe her words were more of a demand than the polite, rational request she had barely rehearsed in the shower while exfoliating and shaving her legs, but Maka is not one to beat around the bush. Anything she wants she gets. This time that includes her longtime crush, even if it's only for a night. "I need you to go on this date with me, Soul!"
A handsome smirk spreads on his face, awkwardness dissipating. "'Need,' huh?"
"Don't flatter yourself," she says, a stroke of bravery giving her the idea to wink. "It's your honor, not mine."
"Right," he agrees, nodding sagely. "When is this supposed date?"
"Oh! Uhm - tonight! I mean tomorrow, technically? At noon."
Even his glower is endearing, in an obnoxiously handsome way. She has it bad. Grumpy guys are her type apparently. "That interferes with my second nap of the day but okay."
"Okay."
"Okay."
"Okay."
"Okay." Even though she's borderline to hypothermia standing in the drafty hallway, she doesn't want to leave. Bless him, he's trying his best - when his eyelids shut, he jolts awake, offering a sleepy, dreamy smile.
"Okay. Good night," she says, turning and waving the smallest bye. 'Awkward' isn't a strong enough descriptor of the situation, and it definitely doesn't describe the underlying tension, simmering and buzzing. It's as if both of them has a lot to say and it's heating up to an unbearable boiling point.
"Later," he yawns, door creaking shut.
If only she could sleep by his side.
They met their freshman year of college during move-in day, when Soul dropped his suitcase and it thumped down the stairs and nearly knocked her over. Thankfully, years of martial arts prepared her to be ready for anything, so jumping over it while carrying a box of her books was an easy feat. She'd looked up at the culprit only to see a slacked jawed, fascinated Soul Evans peering down at her from two staircases above.
And that was that - they have been neighbors in some shape or form ever since.
At first, they didn't get along. He played his music too loudly during quiet hours, hogged the best couch in the community living room, cheated at pool when she challenged him to a duel to win the TV remote from him, and doodled ugly stick figures on the whiteboard she hung on her door. Still, they gravitated toward one another, ending up locked out of their rooms after the fire alarm went off during their sophomore year, and bumping into each other throughout the day between classes.
Fate must have something planned for them.
She's ready for whatever it may be.
The next day, Soul's adorableness factor increases tenfold when he meets up with her at the water fountain, a heart shaped box of chocolates tucked between his bent elbow and ribs.
It wavers when he chucks the gift at her, but still, it's the thought that counts.
"Five second rule," he mumbles, hands buried in his jean pockets as she dusts the ribbon and elegant cursive writing.
"Thanks, I love turtle chocolates," she says, struggling to keep from tackling him in a bear hug. Strange how the slightest display of affection from the right person means the whole world to her, especially when said individual is oblivious to her feelings. Sure, he's rough and jagged around the edges, unhesitant to equip snark with a flare of a biting tongue, but by the way he goes out of his way to shepard lost freshman or offer music tutoring lessons to those in dire need, it's a total facade.
The pink blossoming up his neck only adds to the evidence.
She gobbles the entire contents of the box in four seconds flat, offering him a piece or five.
"Ready to go inside?" she asks, motioning to the wooden archway placed by the library doors. Green, plastic vines wrap around it, red roses poking out in the spirit of the holiday.
"Guess so."
He's being so nice and compliant it almost feels like a blatant, malicious lie to not mention her real reasons for entering the contest. "I don't know if you know them, but Ox and Kim are entering. We have to be cuter than them."
Snorting, he shuffles to her side. "Ox? You mean that picky as shit guy who's always reserving the study room at our dorm? That shouldn't be too hard. He looks like a unicorn with that stupid hair of his."
"Soul, that's mean," she chides, corners of her lips almost twitching into a smile. "You have to take this seriously, or else I'm not taking you-"
Gawking, he pretends to look mournful. "You'd break up with me over this?"
"I would break up with you over less," she assures, although if this were real she would hold on to him.
"I'll be good," he promises. "Wouldn't wanna lose you."
"Hold my hand," she orders, nervous and overanalyzing his words. Shoving her arm at him is easy, fingers splayed out and ready to twine with his.
"Bossy," he mutters under his breath.
His hand is warm and she wonders what it would feel like on her hip. Although he strives to fit the leather-jacket-wearing motorcyclist bad boy image, Soul is anything but disrespectful. She has to encourage him to swing an arm around her during the instruction lecture. His muscles stiffen as they settle down to listen. Part of her heart chips away like a glass vase falling to the floor - is he genuinely uncomfortable around her?
It's just a stupid crush, she chants to herself when the wounding thought stabs her too deeply. Soul Evans may not like her as girlfriend material, but it's a giant leap for their friendship that he's agreeing to this. They've been skirting around each other since freshman year. She owes him big. The slight romantic in her hoped this would be a gateway to something more meaningful than bantering neighbors, but it's fine, just fine, just fine -
She only asked him for a favor. This isn't real.
The challenge is simple enough: each pair poses in front of a red and pink themed backdrop to have their picture taken, the student population votes on which couple is the cutest, and the winning duo is announced via the university's homepage. Glory is within Maka's reach - she's snagged the most beautiful boy she's seen in her twenty-one years on this earth, and she's prepared to knock someone's teeth out if they dare to stand in her way to victory.
Is she too competitive? Maybe.
Ox practically rams into them as he and his girlfriend head toward the backdrop when it's their turn. A glare reflecting off his glasses prevents Maka from seeing his beady eyes, which she would bet money are sparkling like a freshly polished trophy. He has an arm swathed around Kim's waist - Maka wants Soul to be this way with her, but she's been told she dreams too wildly - and clears his throat loudly enough that heads turn.
"Maka, I hope you paid him enough for the suffering and mental anguish he's going to endure being your boyfriend," Ox jeers, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with an index finger.
"I hope your girl doesn't have to pay too much for someone else to make her cu-"
Her hair stands up like she's been rubbing a balloon on her head. "SOUL!"
"Maka, I'm helping!"
"That's going too far-"
"What? He was making fun of you!"
She squeezes his hand to reassure that she isn't angry. "I can defend myself. Thank you, Soul."
Half of the small gathering of onlookers coo at Soul and Maka's interaction while the other half erupts in hoots over the snarky comeback. It's not exactly the image she wanted for them. How are they supposed to win if they're fighting over an insult that was semi-true? Eyes watch them closely. She's never been one to worry about her appearance but with so much at stake (her ego and pride), it's impossible not to think of the worst: failure.
Watching the competition is her only distraction, aside from ignoring stares, braving the chilly wind, and shushing her galloping heart. Tsubaki and her girlfriend Liz could potentially pose a threat, though Maka isn't a hundred percent certain she has it in her to fight them for first place. Maybe she wouldn't have any qualms about wrestling Kid and Kilik, or elbowing Hiro and whoever his girl of the day is.
Soul nudges her. "You're shivering. Wanna wear my jacket?"
"No, you'll get cold, too-"
But he's already shimmying out of it and wrapping it around her shoulders. Disappointment slices through her for a moment because she'd rather be shielded from the icy wind with his body heat. Why can't she have nice things? She can, though. Soon his scent is a welcome distraction (minty fresh toothpaste and deodorant, what a combination). Happiness is being cared for by a headband wearing grouch with a big heart.
She's so busy squealing internally that she resists vomiting as she watches Ox and Kim pose. Whistles howl from the crowd as the pair swap spit, and Maka shields her eyes and tunes everything out too well - she almost misses her and Soul's names being called.
"Let's go," he says, tugging her along. If she didn't know any better, she'd suspect that he's looking forward to the photoshoot. But when they get there, she wants to cry - maybe they don't have chemistry, an explosive something that draws them together? They stand clumsily next to each other, Soul with his hands stuffed into his pockets and Maka trying to edge closer to him. But it's a blast either way, both laughing nervously.
He's enjoying himself.
Knowledge of this shows in the way the muscles in her face protest. They're overworked. Beaming too broadly is a strenuous exercise, after all.
Ox senses the crowd's positive reaction to Soul and Maka's interactions.
"Maka once spelled Onomatopoeia wrong at a spelling bee," he says. "And her dad was the vice principal at our middle school and cheated with a history teacher."
She decides to bite her lip and focus on Soul scuffling closer to her. They don't kiss or hold each other for the camera like the other couples do. For a moment, Maka can ignore the throb of losing because she can feel Soul opening up to her even though they glance at each other wordlessly.
Then the contest is over, the crowd disperses, and she stalks toward Ox, who is already getting an earful from Kim about being 'a poor sportsman'. Later, Maka won't remember throwing a punch, but her knuckles ache the millisecond they make contact with his face.
"THAT'S FOR TRYING TO SABOTAGE OUR PICTURES!" Vaguely, she wonders if she has any tea to nurse her throat back to health, because she's reached ear-piercing levels of screeching. Strong hands grasp her shoulders to catch her before she charges at him for a second round.
"You broke my glasses," Ox cries, face sticky with blood. "And my nose!"
"I'd do more, you've been picking on me since elementary school-ahhh!"
All of her blood rushes to her face for various reasons. She hadn't expected to be picked up by Soul and hoisted over his shoulder. Arms secure her tightly - at least her wish came true - as he leads them away, but shiny black dress shoes soon come into view and Maka knows they're attached to a uniform.
"Hand her over," the cop says in a bored voice.
The back of the university campus police car is confining. Even her knees bump against the back of the front passenger seat. A goody too-shoes, as Soul calls her, she has never been in actual trouble, much less detained by a barrel chested officer with his name tattooed on his face. Jail isn't in the life plan she had drafted for herself - maybe law school and a couple of musically and athletically inclined children, but definitely not an orange suit and gruel three times a day.
Soul approaches the car door and opens it, bowing. "You're free, my queen."
"Sorrysorrysorrysorry," she breathes quickly, twiddling her thumbs. "I lost my cool. Thanks..."
He holds out a hand. "No problem. I'm always here to bail you out of trouble. The cop said he'd let you off the hook if you do some community service. Says you impressed him with your punch. C'mon, I'll walk you back to your room."
The air is freezing, Soul's hand is so warm, and it feels too right sitting pressed up against each other on a bench in front of their dorm, talking the night away.
"WE WON," she shouts as soon as Soul answers the door, this time fulfilling her wish and leaping into the air. He catches her with an uff, hands firmly grasping her thighs, stumbling backward into his dorm room.
"I'm so sleepy," he grouses between her bouts of giggles. "What?"
"We won," she repeats, rubbing the sleep away from his eyes. "We won the contest! Our pictures are all over social media and we can go pick up those gift cards! And then we can find Ox to show off."
"We… won?" Disbelief is endearing on him, but that might be his drowsiness having an effect on her. "We won," he echoes slowly, grasping the meaning. "We're the cutest."
"Yes, you and I are the cutest."
"And our names are going to be engraved on the water fountain forever."
"Yeah, isn't it great?"
The tension between them finally snaps like a too taut string. They speak at once but don't say enough.
He blinks rapidly. "Maybe I'll regret this later-"
"Wait, no, I want to say something first!"
"I've been wanting to tell you this for a long time-"
Maka covers his mouth with her palm. "I like you! I don't want to stop fake dating. I mean - I want to date for real."
Eyes wide, he's nodding eagerly before she retracts her hand. "You beat me to saying it - you just can't stand being second, huh?"
She squishes his cheeks together.
He's a goofy idiot and he's shoved his way into her heart with nothing but kindness hidden behind a semi-permanent frown. "What do we do now?" he asks, brows furrowed.
"I want to get to know you with my mouth," she says quietly, carefully climbing off him, fingers curling gently around his wrist and leading him to the chair by his messy desk. "Is that okay?"
"Yeah, it's cool," he blushes. He's a nervous wreck, tripping over his own feet, hands shaking as they hesitantly caress her back. She's too eager and misses his lips the first time she tries - she catches his chin, but it's the right mistake because he tilts his head to meet her halfway and kissing is amazing holy shit.
Needless to say, they don't make it to the chair. Concentrating on gently biting the other's lip is a difficult task and Soul's not a slacker when it comes to trying to learn what she likes.
What she discovers about Soul Evans is that he's ticklish and shy, so instead of burning her lips along his collarbones or tracing his sharp hipbones with curious fingertips, she pecks at his nose a few times between stamping his cheek with gentle kisses. He allows her to push him up against the wall and call him cute, grumbling half-heartedly about "You're going to be late to class," but whining when she pulls away for air.
All too suddenly he poises his hands on her shoulders and gently steers her away. "Wait. Can it be my turn to kiss your face?"
"Yes, please," she grins, skin already tingling. "It's only fair."
Dreams do come true - fast forward to the future and a graduate degree, a law license, many happy trail caresses, and a diamond ring later, Maka believes in fate.