Chapter 3

Sunlight poured into the bedroom, filtered by the soft beige curtains covering the window. A few rays of light spilled past what the curtains neglected onto the sleeping girl in her bed. Golden radiation flowed down waterfalls of blonde hair, curling and weaving smoothly with the glowing tresses. Light covered her serene face with warmth, acting as a radial blanket.

The girl on which the sunlight was so focused on yawned and turned over to her side. She furrowed her head into her pillow and curled up into a ball, greedily taking in the laughing sun's warmth. Pale eyelids fluttered open and blinked away the hazy film clouding her vision. Soft, green eyes fully opened to find a white-haired demon scythe kneeling next to the bed, crimson eyes watching her.

"Yo," said Soul.

Maka frowned and sat up, questioning Soul with her eyes which had lost all traces of calamity and softness. "Were you watching me while I slept?" she blurted.

Soul rolled his eyes and reached to the back of his head to scratch it. He looked down at the floor then back at her. "What reason would I have to watch you sleep? That's something uncool stalkers do."

"You avoided my question."

"I came to wake you up, alright?"

"So why were you just sitting there?"

"You ask a lot of questions."

"And you avoid a lot of questions."

Soul sighed heavily and stood up. "Just get up and come eat the freaking breakfast I made you." He turned around and walked out of the room casually while Maka stretched her back. Only a few seconds had passed before he poked his head back into her open doorway. "Oh, and you're welcome for cleaning the blood off of your shirt." He jerked his head, motioning to the neatly folded camisole at the foot of her bed. "It was a bitch to get out, too."

Maka stared at the camisole dumbly wondering why she wasn't wearing it. And if she wasn't wearing that, what was she wearing? She looked down to see herself in a loose white t-shirt that would've fallen down to her mid-thighs if she were to stand up. To her discomfort, that was the only thing she was wearing besides a pair of black bikini underwear.

Maka whipped her head back up to face Soul and nearly deafened him when she screeched, "Did you dress me while I was asleep?"

Soul stepped back into the room completely and crossed his arms. "Well, first off, you fell asleep when I asked for you to remove your shirt so I could wash it."

"So you stripped me?"

Soul's eye twitched and he gritted his teeth together. His bubble-headed meister was always jumping to conclusions which always ended him up in some sort of trouble with her. Wouldn't she ever learn to just slow down and listen before she assumed? "Would you let me finish?" When Maka plopped down on her bed, silently seething and her green eyes demanding an explanation, Soul continued. "You fell asleep when I was going to wash your shirt. So I got Blair to undress you and then I washed your dumb shirt. Which, I will repeat, was a bitch. Not that I'm expecting a thank you or anything," he finished sarcastically.

Expecting Maka to deflate and apologize, Soul was surprised when instead she fell onto her back and groaned. Her arms were stretched above her head and her legs were slightly spread apart, teasing him with a bit of Maka's underwear. Soul suppressed the urge to tilt down and take a quick peek through her thighs at her panties, wanting to give in desperately to his dirty needs. His nose scrunched up in disgust at the thought (him dirtying his meister, not Maka herself) and turned to face the wall to distract himself. He intensely took note of the chipping yellow paint peeling off of the walls and made a mental note to repaint her room sometime soon.

"That's even worse," Maka groaned from her bed. She sat back up and looked pointedly at her partner who was studying her wall like a professor would his test subject: overly intent and contemplating. His hands were buried deep within his jeans pockets and he was slouched forward, defying all rules of proper posture. But they were in their own house after all, so what harm was he really causing?

"You let our slutty cat dress me?"

Soul turned back to his upset meister and locked eyes with her; red to green and green to red. "Would you have rather had me do it?"

Maka opened her mouth to retort but closed it and shrank back into her sheets as a light pink blush at the thought of a guy dressing her filled her mind. And not just any guy. Soul. Her weapon. "You could've just woke me up."

"And suffer brain damage from this week's novel? No thanks."

Maka rolled her eyes and brought her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Soul figured she must've forgotten that she wasn't wearing pants because her current position gave him a fantastic view of her black panties. Soul, panicked and strangely excited by this, turned his attention back to the poorly painted wall, praying that she would put her legs down and conceal herself and regain her dignity. And he prayed she would do this before he lost his.

"It's a paperback this week, you wuss," she spoke up and Soul made the mistake of facing her again. He happily drank in an eyeful of her lengthy and well-built legs, going on for miles. The blood couldn't have rushed to his face any faster. A warm, fluid – blood, no doubt – trickled from one of Soul's nostrils. It wasn't a fountain of blood that Blair normally caused (which Soul was excessively grateful for), but it was still noticeable. Before Maka could spot his little problem, he whipped around and left the room in rushed strides.

"Whatever! Just come and eat your breakfast before it gets cold!" he called to her without looking back.

Maka watched curiously as Soul bounded out of her room, one of his hands holding something on his face. She ran her fingers through her loose blonde hair and stood up.

"What's his problem?"

Soul walked out of the bathroom, wiping his wet face with a towel. Thinking back to the. . .interesting display Maka unintentionally gave him, Soul vowed to never let Blair dress Maka again.

He walked into the kitchen after disposing the towel in the laundry room and found Maka heating up her plate in the microwave. She turned around and smiled at him. Soul briefly noted that she still hadn't bothered to put on pants. He sighed and sat down in front of his own plate, his back turned to his meister as to prevent himself from pouncing on her.

Maka may have lacked a chest and the sex appeal that most men searched for, but she could definitely be provocative. Given the fact that it was unintentional though, it made it all the more awkward to ask her to stop what she was doing. Not to mention, he'd probably have to have surgery to remove the book that Maka would embed into his head. So her would remain quiet and ignore all of his meister's suggestive actions the best he could.

But that was so flippin' hard.

Two frail arms wrapped around his shoulders and squeezed him, making Soul jump. His surprise went unnoticed by Maka who just leaned down and put her chin on his shoulder. Soul squirmed uncomfortably and thanked Shinigami that there was a back to the chair. If not, all would've been a disaster as if Kid saw Van Gogh. There was but so much a hormonal teenage boy could take and having a girl press into his back was past his limit.

"You made my favorite!" she exclaimed.

Soul cleared his throat and squirmed again, giving her subtle hints to get off before he did something he would regret. "Yeah. It looked like you had a tough night yesterday, so this is my way of saying sorry, I guess."

The grip around his shoulders slackened and the head on his shoulder grew heavier, digging Maka's chin into his shoulder. Soul took his chance to attempt to shrug her off again and was relieved when this time she complied. A grumbled "oh" slipped past her lips just as the microwave beeped, announcing the food inside was done. Maka didn't move towards it, but instead stared at the floor. She was slumped over and her head hung down with her hair surrounding her face like a curtain.

Quick and depressing flashes of the previous night's encounters wove in and out of her mind, reminding her of the cause of her worry-filled nightmares. Soul's life was at stake because of her. Why couldn't they leave him out of it? Their focus was her, right? That's all they wanted (not that she agreed, but still).

"Maka!"

Soul's voice cut into Maka's daze, harshly snapping her back into reality. She blinked and looked down at the table. Splinters formed a jagged circle around her closed fist and a crack zigzagged from the dent to the end of the table.

"Oops," she whispered.

"What's wrong with you, Maka?" Soul shouted. He stood up from his chair abruptly and knocked it to the floor in his haste. He picked up Maka's hand that was embedded into the kitchen table by her wrist and inspected the splinters impaled in the side of her hand. When he reached to pull one of them out, her hand was yanked from his rudely. He looked back up at his meister who had a pissed off look on her face as she wrapped her hand around her wrist.

"It's nothing," she said darkly, stalking off to her room and slamming the door shut.

After Maka had closed herself off in her room, Soul ran his hand down his face and looked around the messy kitchen. He picked up his chair from the floor and sat it upright again, running over what had just happened. First, she was all peppy and cute while thanking him for breakfast. Then, she goes all psychopath on him and smashed in their table. Lastly, she shut herself off in room, distancing herself from him.

"What's going on, Maka?" sighed Soul.

The day progressed and Maka still refused to leave her bedroom. This put Soul a little on edge, but whether it was because he felt responsible for her because he was her weapon or because he felt like he was the cause of her misery he couldn't decide. But if anything, he hoped it wasn't the latter. He already upset her once last night, he didn't wish to do it again.

A couple of times throughout the morning, Soul stood outside her door, using wishful thinking like it would force Maka to come out and talk to him. As expected though, it didn't work. But logic didn't keep him from standing at her door, trying to develop x-ray vision to see inside. It didn't grant his wishes, but it didn't stop him from trying either.

Cruel, cruel logic.

Eventually, Soul decided that if Maka wanted to talk about what was bothering her, she would tell him. She'd come to him when she was ready.

So why couldn't she be ready now, dammit? Regret and helplessness flowed into him from their link (which he hoped Maka didn't notice was open, otherwise she'd cut it off). It was eating at him that he couldn't do anything to help just because Maka didn't want it.

Finally coming to the conclusion that standing outside of her door wasn't doing anyone any good, Soul sighed heavily and walked into the living room. He fell backwards onto the couch, the cushions softening his fall. His thick hand wove through his light, spiked hair. He propped his socked feet onto the coffee table across from him and sank deeper into the couch.

"Not even Asura himself can drive me as insane as you do, Maka," he muttered under his breath and closed his eyes.

"Feet off of my coffee table."

Soul jumped in surprise at his meister's sudden voice beside him and opened his eyes to see her standing to his right, with her hands on her hips. She had changed out of her shirt and now wore a loose pair of sweatpants and a gray t-shirt. Her hair was still down but looked neater and shinier. 'Must've brushed it,' Soul mused.

"Were you getting dressed that whole time?" Soul questioned. Internally he was relieved and happy that Maka didn't seem too depressed, but he had an image to maintain. So leaping from the couch and suffocating her in a hug was definitely out of the question.

"Is it really any of your business what I'm doing in my room?"

"Yes."

"So if I was practicing voodoo rituals in my room I have to consult you first?"

"Pretty much."

Maka rolled her eyes. "You're such an idiot."

"But I'm your idiot," Soul said, smirking.

"Yeah," Maka agreed quietly, eyes drifting up to look out the window at the bright atmosphere outside. "So anyways, put your shoes on. I called the others and we're all meeting up for a basketball game at three."

"Three?" echoed Soul. He looked up at their wall clock and back at his meister. "But it's only two."

"I know. You and I are going there early so you can teach me how to play," Maka explained. She walked over to the door and crossed her arms. "Now c'mon!"

Soul chuckled and shook his head at his meister's impatience, feeling better now that she was. "So demanding."

"You can't even catch the ball! How do you expect to play if you can't even catch it!"

"I can catch it! The ball's just being stubborn!"

"Just like the hoop was being stubborn earlier?"

"Exactly like that!"

"You're hopeless, Maka."

Maka fell to the ground and crossed her legs so that she was sitting Indian style. "I'm trying, Soul! It's just. . .I don't know. Basketball isn't my thing." She huffed out of frustration and frowned, glaring at the basketball resting in front of her. "Maybe this was a bad idea."

Soul looked down at his meister who was beginning to fall into the same pit of misery from earlier. He started to feel panicked and promised himself he wouldn't let her sulk alone again. It tortured him enough the first time, another time would make him go absolutely mad. He sighed and knelt down in front of her, picking up the basketball that taunted her.

"Stop rolling around in your self-pity, Maka. You're not going to get it the first time. Just like we have to practice for new techniques, you have to practice the basics of basketball." He rolled the ball over to Maka where it halted when it reached her feet. "So c'mon. Let's throw a little more before the others get here."

Maka looked up at her partner warily before she smiled and nodded. "Yeah. Okay." She stood up and bounced the ball once before she tossed it to Soul who hardly caught it soaring over his head. Maka winced and grumbled a soft, "My bad."

Soul shook his head. "Nah. That was good. Just. . .bring it down a bit, okay?" He tossed the ball back to Maka who wasn't expecting it. She freaked out at the sight of the oncoming ball and jumped out of the way with a frightened squeak. Soul slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand and growled. "Maka!"

"Sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't – I'll just go get the ball now!" She sent him an apologetic smile that made Soul's stomach flip. He watched her run off to where the ball disappeared and reprimanded himself for becoming so soft just because of his partner.

"You're losing your cool, dude," he lectured himself.

Meanwhile, Maka jogged down the alleyway leading from the courts to the streets, scanning the ground for a bright orange. She sighed and slowed down when she reached the end, wondering why she couldn't find it. Maybe she had missed it because it was hiding underneath something. This time she would walk down and check underneath any place a basketball could fit.

As she passed the middle of the alley that intersected with another darker alleyway, she bent down to lift up a crate. A hand from nowhere reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her into the darker alleyway. She shrieked when she was pinned against a wall and swung her right arm instinctively at her offender. She smiled, satisfied when she managed to punch whoever it was in the jaw.

"Got quite an arm there," the figure spoke, still holding her against the wall while he rubbed his chin. "I see why they want you so bad."

Maka growled uncharacteristically and swung her arm again. This time though, the man caught it and pinned that wrist to the wall. She struggled against his grasp wildly while trying to kick him as he came closer. "Get off of me, you son of a bitch!"

"Now is that any way to treat a friend of Grayson's?"

'Ah. So that's what this was about.'

"Well, if you really are one of Grayson's friends, then yes. Yes it is."

"That's not very lady-like."

Maka rolled her eyes and ground her teeth together in anger. "And I'm supposed to give a shit?"

The man chuckled and leaned closer, unmasking his face from the shadows. He was your typical brute: stubble on his chin, square jaw, and a long, white scar on the left side of his face in deep contrast to his dark tan skin.

"Oh, you'll be fun," he said, smiling.

"Sick bastard," spat Maka as she aimed another kick to his leg. "I said for all of you to stay away from here!"

The man sighed and backed away a little, but didn't let up his grip on her wrists. "Calm down. I'm not here to kidnap you or kill your precious protin."

Maka stopped struggling and narrowed her eyes. "So what are you here for, then?"

The man chuckled and licked his lips. "Well, they never mentioned how delicious you looked."

Maka scowled and aimed another kick at him that he easily dodged. "Try it and I'll kick your ass."

"I'm joking! I'm joking!" he laughed as if this were a normal conversation between two old friends instead of her being held captive against a brick wall. "Partly anyways," he added with a smirk. "But actually, I'm just here to return something that's rightfully yours. It's from Grayson." With that, he let go of Maka but made sure to block her path of escape. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a henna bracelet. It was the classic light brown henna string, worn down to soft thread-like strands from being worn so much. It was braided neatly and beautifully. It was plain, but it was always Maka's favorite.

You know, before she lost it.

"How'd you get that?" she demanded. He tossed it to her and turned away before he kicked the missing basketball over to her too.

"Doesn't matter. Grayson just wanted to be sure you got it. I'll see you later, Albarn." Before Maka could respond, he unfurled his black wings and took off into the sky, leaving a rush of wind behind.

"Dammit," Maka grumbled before she picked up the basketball and walked out of the alley.

"Hey, Maka!" Soul's voice cried out. "You found the ball yet? The others are here!"

Maka sighed and looked up at the sky at the disappearing dark angel. She wanted to take off after him and find out what was going on. But she couldn't just leave and abandon her promised game of basketball. She didn't need to worry them anyways. Her questions would have to be put on hold for later.

"I'm coming!" she yelled and jogged back to the basketball courts.

Up in the sky, Stanton hovered above Death City, eagerly watching Maka run back to her friends to start their game. He smirked and crossed his arms before taking out his sunglasses and sliding them on.

"Yes, Albarn. Let the games begin."

Author's Comments:

And another character is revealed! Honestly, I wasn't going to properly introduce him until later and do something different this chapter. But what I wanted to do for this one seemed so sudden and would've thrown me off, so I substituted this.

Don't get me wrong. This isn't some random filler chapter. This is actually important because just like Grayson, you're going to see a lot of Stanton later on as the plot goes on. The bracelet however wasn't part of my original intentions but it will have some significance (on a scale of 1-10, I'd say 4.5).

*rubs hands together* I cannot wait to write this one fight scene that I've been planning since the end of chapter 1.

*SPOILER*

Psssh! Like I'm going to tell you anything! ;)

Really, though. I'd rather keep where I'm going with this under wraps.

As for Soul's reaction to Maka, I don't care if anyone thinks it's a bit early for that. I realize that for these kind of stories with an intense plot, they both slowly realize their feelings for each other and then live happily ever after!

Bleh. Boring. I like those stories, but I write differently. I always add a small twist whenever I can. So dammit, Soul's attracted to her and she's completely clueless. Not to mention, Maka doesn't like him back (yet!) I'm gonna have some complications first. Because I'm a complicated person.

For the part with Soul and Maka practicing at the basketball courts, their conversation was just about exactly like something me and dad had when I first started softball. Our conversation:

Dad: Why aren't you hitting the ball? I'm not even throwing it that fast! If you can't hit the ones I throw, how can you hit the fast ones that the girls pitch?

Me: I can hit the ball! My bat is just being stubborn!

Dad: Just like your glove was being stubborn and refused to catch the ball earlier?

Me: Exactly like that.

Dad: I'm just going to start throwing these balls at you and you're going to have to defend yourself with that bat. But since it's too stubborn, it looks like you're going to get hit.

Me: ;_; Noes!

Yeah, I wasn't the best when I first started out. Still not (but I'm way better than a third of the girls on my team)

This isn't relevant to the story at all, but I'm addicted to the song But It's Better if You Do by PANIC! At the Disco lately. So, while I'm already planning on writing my own songfic for that, I will love anyone else does it. ;) *hint hint*

Lastly, I've started softball this season, and although some of you might know this, that means even less updates. :( I'll try guys, I honestly will, but I've joined a high school team this year (and I'm only in 8th grade. I feel so special) so we honestly have practice everyday (except Sundays). I even have to wake up early on Saturday! *boohoo* That's my day to sleep in too!

Anyways, not only that, but this will be my first year pitching, which means I have to spend extra time practicing for that.

But that's not all!

I was just told today that our local little league doesn't have enough players on their senior team. So since I'm still young enough to qualify for little league, I have to go and join their team too. So now I'm on two softball teams. Which means double the games. :/ Luckily though, it does not mean double the practices.

Okay, I'm probably boring you now. Just thought I'd warn you though.

Remember to review! If you don't I honestly forget about my stories or just don't get motivated enough to continue them (that's happened with tons of my previous stories).

Until next time~!