A/N: This was written for the lovely s-puff, based on the prompt "I'm a writer and when it gets close to a deadline I neglect taking care of myself so you'll pop into my house every so often to make sure I'm doing OK".


When the creative urge seized him, he became consumed by the music. If he was not stopped, he would work till he dropped, either from hunger, exhaustion, or his own lack of hygiene. Thankfully, he had someone there to force him into bed, the shower, and to push food under his nose until he ate it.

When her muse struck her, she forgot that sleep and food were things the body needed. If she did not have someone there to reign her back, she wrote and wrote and wrote until her hands were numb and she passed out at her computer. Thankfully, she did have someone there to remind her of life's necessities.

While some people thought the musician Soul Evans and the author Maka Albarn were an unlikely duo, they balanced each other out. They understood how much the other's craft meant to them, and only ever really stepped in when they started to neglect themselves.

It was not like they loved each other or anything. Just concern for their fellow artist and friend.

But this month it was Maka's turn to be struck by the muse, just in time for a looming deadline. While her inspiration using drove her pretty hard, the deadline only increased the stress she felt. Soul had unfortunately been away at a meeting with a record company across the country about some family collaboration for a Christmas album for the last week, so he missed the beginnings of her downward spiral. It was only when he returned back to the small but fashionably furnished apartment they shared that he knew anything was wrong.

Dishes sat in the sink unwashed. Take-out cartons were beginning to peak out of the trash can. All the windows had blinds over them, like someone had forgotten to open them.

He dropped his stuff in his room before surveying the true extent of the mess in the kitchen. At least the fridge was empty, instead of full of rotting food, like he had left one time, but the stack of unwashed plates extended to the work tops beside the sink. He sighed, then headed to Maka's room.

There was no response to his initial knock, but he knew she liked to write while listening to music (and trance at that, dear lord) so he merely opened the door.

And there she was, hunched over her computer, fingers tapping away at the keyboard hurriedly. He could hear her music from his place in the doorway and shook his head. He approached and snapped his fingers in front of her face, startling her so badly that she yelled and fell backwards out of her chair.

He tried not to laugh, he really did, but her stunned face was just too comical.

She pulled out her headphones and blinked at him. "Soul? I thought you weren't getting back till the afternoon?"

He sighed and helped her back up with a hand. "It is the afternoon, nerd. Though at least you know what day it is."

She snickered a little at the memory of the time he had lost two days to the haze of music.

Once she was back on her feet, he appraised her. "When was the last time you showered?"

Maka flushed a little and looked at her feet guiltily. He shook his head again.

"Go shower then, I'll drop by the store for some decent food while you wash." He looked at her washing basket, overflowing with dirty clothes and added, "And maybe you should put a load of laundry while you're at it."

He dodged her smack and laughed, darting out to retrieve his wallet before leaving to source some healthy food.

He returned half an hour later with enough groceries to last them till the day after next, and set about making a stew he knew would put her in a sleep coma long enough for her to catch up on any sleep she had missed. Her door was closed when he returned, but the smell of shampoo from the bathroom at least told him she had done as he had told her.

Soon enough the smell of the stew brought her from her room and she relocated to the couch, laptop on her legs as she alternated between tapping away and watching him cook.

"How much more do you have to work on?" Soul asked as he left the pot to bubble for a few minutes, leaning over the couch to observe her working.

Maka had left her damp hair down, and had deep bags under her eyes, but at least now she looked better than she had when he arrived. Showers worked true miracles.

"Just a couple thousand words, then I can start editing this section and send it off to Marie." She glanced up at him, green eyes under pale lashes, and added, "Sorry for letting myself go like that."

He snorted and shrugged. "We both know I'm the same. And, hey, that's what I'm here for. A glorified, underpaid babysitter."

She pouted, and tried to kick at him, but quickly stopped when her laptop wobbled precariously in her lap. He laughed a little at her expression, before the timer in the kitchen went off and he scurried back to attend his culinary masterpiece (a recipe from his mother that never failed to make you feel good—thank the lord for Italian mothers).

Maka kept working till dinner was served and graciously joined him at the dinner table instead of hiding back in her room, after he had given her a knowing look of course.

After dinner, he managed to talk her into watching a movie with him ("those thousand words can wait till tomorrow, you look like you're about to keel over, stubborn woman"), cuddled up together on the couch.

She was beginning to doze off, draped over him, when she mumbled, "You're more than my babysitter, y'know that?"

He huffed a little laugh through his nose and ran a hand through her still damp hair. "I know, nerd," he whispered back. "We're best friends."

"Don't tell Blake," she hummed, and nuzzled against his collar bone.

His heart fluttered, but he told himself to cool it.

They were both silent for another few moments before Maka began to mumble again. "More'n best frien's too." She moaned in comfortable bliss and shifted a little before she breathed, "Love you."

He stayed stock still until her breathing evened out and he was sure she was asleep.

"Love you too," he murmured into her hairline.

When he carried her to bed, after the movie finished, he may or may not have pressed the lightest of kisses to her forehead.

One day, he would be brave enough to tell her how he felt. One day.