A/N: Written for Day 4, Ink. Thanks to Amanda, Kat, Bend, and Lunar for reading. And yes, this is three days late. These things happen.

She was tired.

It was the third night in a row Maka was up well past midnight, and this was the last push. She had to finish grading these finals tonight and calculate grades. Winter break started after tomorrow, grades were due, she was out of time.

This never happened to her-never never never.

What was wrong with her?

"Hey," his voice was deep behind her and far too close to her ear, startling her. She slammed her head into his chin, leaned far too low to read over her shoulder, and yelped in pain, his own bellow of discomfort little consolation for the new throbbing in the back of her head.

Oh, yeah, that's what was wrong with her. Or rather, he was what was wrong with her, his warmth and his cute dimple and his stupid snarky humor. How had he snuck up on her?

"You shouldn't creep up on people!"

"Wasn't creeping." He rubbed his chin ruefully. "What're you still doing up?"

"Grading," she snapped. "First semester grades are due in the morning. Gotta finish their finals and calculate final grades."

Maka couldn't have stifled the long sigh if she tried. What she didn't mention was that her head had been buzzing since she'd slept in his arms two months ago, and then again this month, that waking up to his warmth and his slow, steady heartbeat had been so right and frightening all at once that she didn't know what to do anymore and it had her so distracted, she couldn't focus on the grading she should have finished last week. Somewhere in that part of her brain she labeled denial, she knew she'd gone and caught a case of the feelings, but she'd be damned if she admitted as much. She'd keep shoving the thoughts aside because they were a problem, a headache she didn't need.

These things never ended well. Maka Albarn didn't do relationships-she had tried and failed and vowed never again. Watching her parents crash and burn should have been warning enough, but she'd had her own fill and wanted no more part of it.

Didn't stop the stupid goosebumps from springing to life on her arm as he brushed aside her hair briefly before walking into the kitchen. She could hear a clatter of cabinets and pans but forced herself to ignore it in favor of grading her next exam.

She was so tired, so damned dazed as she started reading through yet another exam, that she'd nearly forgotten he was even awake until she heard the soft padding of foot steps. Her focus on the exam, trying to read over the same paragraph for the third time in a row with glazed eyes, she felt the couch dip near her and heard the soft clink of cups being set on the coffee table. Yawning widely, hand covering her mouth, she gave up on the exam for a moment to turn her gaze his way.

"What?" she snapped. Maka didn't mean it; she was just beyond exhausted and could not muster up even a sliver of patience.

"Made you cocoa," he said in a gruff half grunt that spoke of his own fatigue.

The smell of chocolate invigorated her as she leaned forward to grasp the warm mug in her hands. Her favorite mug, with the cute kittens frolicking in flowers.

Taking a sip, as the chocolate perfection spilled onto her tongue, just warm enough not to scald, she couldn't help but let out a sound of delight that sounded nearly obscene.

"This is fantastic, how do I not know you make cocoa this good?"

His shrug was noncommittal. "You know now."

"See, this almost makes up for all the times you left your clothes on the bathroom floor this month." She took another sip, savoring the rich warmth.

"Almost?" One white eyebrow arched slightly.

"Okay, definitely. But just this once. And only because I'm in a forgiving mood."

"You're welcome." His tired grin as he reached for his own mug sent more heat through her than her third sip of cocoa ever could. "Anyway, I guess I have you to thank for it."

Turning his way, eyebrows furrowed, she blurted an inelegant, "huh?"

Maka knew she was tired, but that made zero sense. She always made cocoa in the keurig, and she knew quality homemade stuff when she tasted it.

"Remember that gig I took last Saturday in Vegas?" He was tapping a rhythm on the side of his own mug, a gift from Blake that said 'She wants the' and had a music note under the words. Even someone as musically clueless as Maka could infer the joke, and she had soundly punched her childhood friend when he gave it to her roommate for his birthday in the fall.

"Yeah. The Jazz thing. I wish I could have gone, but I had-"

"No, no, it was no big deal, don't worry." The rhythm increased as he stared into the steaming contents of his mug. "It's just, Wes is doing a concert series in Vegas right now, and I saw him."

"Oh my-" her grin was so wide it ached and he met it with one of his own "-oh my god, Soul, that's great! I'm-how was it?"

"Good," he said, nodding slightly. "Great."

"I'm so glad! Though I can't believe you took almost a week to tell me!" The punch to his arm was a reflex.

"Ouch-sorry!" He looked sheepish. "I didn't want to tell you until I knew how it went, and then it was so busy."

"Though I'm not sure what this has to do with hot cocoa."

"Everything." The grin, more a smirk really, was back. "'Cause we had dinner, and I stayed over at his penthouse, and there-in the kitchen-my big bro finally taught me his famous, super secret hot cocoa recipe."

She was so proud of him; Soul had finally reconnected with his brother, and that it had been good for him was obvious. "Remind me to thank him."

The smirk wavered for the barest instant, but returned full force, this time with an eyebrow waggle.

"Orrrrr you could thank me."

The raspberry was all the answer he deserved, and for several moments, they enjoyed their cocoa in silence. Finishing her own mug, Maka sighed and sat it down on the coffee table, reclaiming her pen and stack of exams. The small throat clearing was her only warning as before she could set pen to paper, her hand was snatched up in one of his, pen clattering to the floor as she gasped her protest. He tugged it to his other hand and examined it, the dark ink stains from countless hours of grading stark against his long, pale fingers.

"Tch," he voiced his disapproval with a small noise. "You should at least clean up first, you're gonna make a mess, bookworm. Could run you a bath. You can even grade in there since your dad got you that relaxation kit that has the bathtub work tray, remember?"

Her face twisted in disgust, though she didn't wrench away her hand, enjoying probably too much his absent minded caress of her fingers. "As if I want to associate my papa with relaxation or baths," she scoffed.

"Hey, gift horses and mouths and whatever the fuck-may as well not waste it. Plus, I think one of those bath bombs was French vanilla."

Oh the boy did know how to make her weak in the knees.

"I guess."

"Keep grading, I'll get it ready."

He disappeared and she had to admit, the cocoa, his news, his very presence helped.

Ten minutes later, he sent her to a bathroom replete with a warm, vanilla scented bath, candles, and a tray set up with hot tea and cookies, along with a pen and notepad. There were fluffy towels on a stool near the tub, and a fluffy bathrobe on the toilet seat awaiting her departure.

Locking the door, she placed the exams she'd brought with her carefully on the tray, undressed, and got into the water, soaking in the warmth and scent even as the ink on her fingers bled into the water.

It was bliss. It was home, and as usual, he knew just what she needed. As it had been for months, home was where he was, just on the other side of the apartment, cleaning up the cocoa mess in the kitchen.

He might grumble when it was his turn to cook tomorrow, or his turn to do the laundry this weekend, but he took care of her now without expectation or complaint.

Soul really was her best friend, and as she sank into her bath of vanilla and ink, she wondered how she had ever managed without him.