I've re-written this chapter about a million times, so I hope you enjoy. Here's to Witches and Milk Cartons!

CHAPTER ELEVEN- WITCHES & MILK CARTONS

MAKA

She was about as peachy as a sour plum. One minute he was kicking her out of his bedroom- the next he was inflating her ego. Soul Eater Evans was the most frustrating man to ever walk this earth. Or the moon, for that matter. Soul was halfway slumped against the second-story brick wall of Fjord Castle, his combat boots digging into the stone floor with precise force. Just enough to keep his legs from giving in to the weight of his lazily propped-up torso. A few loose strands of hair strayed from his messy bun, framing the aloof expression upon his pale face. He was as calm as ever, despite the load of deep shit they were in. That was Soul.

It was their mission to locate the Winter Witch. A woman apparently in possession of the long lost artifact- B.R.E.W. A witch had never been an easy foe. In fact, she was hunting for their soon to be dead corpses if they didn't get out of there soon. Meanwhile, Soul simply exhaled a breath of frigid air as if brooding over a Christmas party.

"It's a letter, Maka. Just grab it and we're out of here." He nodded towards the doorway, referring to the accused piece of paper. It was meticulously written in odd ink, lying on the desk like a grail-worthy prize. It seemed a little too easy. Almost like their relationship. She thought he was attracted to her. But was it truly that simple?

Not the time, Maka! Focus!

"We're detected! She knows her Castle's been invaded. There's no way we can retrieve it without a fight." She hissed in response, smacking him on the shoulder.

Soul wrapped a protective palm around his affronted shoulder, leaning away from his aggressive meister. "She thinks we're coming for BREW. That letter is all we need. It's proof of what the Witches' Society plans to do with that crazy device."

Maka frowned at him, extending her hand in invitation. "In and out, baby. I promise." He shot her a grin, before transforming into Scythe mode. She whipped her pigtails in response, her teeth grit with concern. Anxiety pooled into her stomach, her bones chilling as she crept into the second-story window. Soul's Scythe was clutched between her gloved hands.

"Was the window necessary? There is a door, you know…" The scythe commented cheekily, causing her jaw to grind.

"There could have been a protection spell on the door! Ugh, just…" She gripped his handle tightly, calculating her movements from the window to the desk. A mission like this was crucial. Yet she couldn't shake the thoughts that now plagued her buzzing mind. She could barely withstand the sound of his voice, constantly spurring her head in obscene directions. Demons, relationships, and sex. All incredibly challenging subjects to tackle.

Soul was the man she'd been falling for since she was twelve. Finally the culmination of her feelings had urged them into a relationship. At this rate, their emotions were condensed into explosive professions of romance. They'd been spiraling. And somehow, at the exact same time, Soul's epiphany of a lifetime had come rushing down. This brought her to two, very simple and complicated facts.

Soul Eater is a soul-consuming, blood-lusting, nearly immortal Demon.

And, she's completely infatuated with him.

In the combustible mess these truths had cast upon her, she was filled with unwelcomed feelings of yearning and lust. She hated to admit that she possessed the very same carnal desire that drove half the population, their age, to one-night stands. She couldn't ignore the way he made her heart race with a mere glance, let alone the sound of his voice. It was easier to chalk up her sudden desire for sex to be a menial favor. She just wanted Soul to be healthy. A healthy male demon. As if her sole concern in the world was feeding her life force to her hungry demon partner. Please!

The reality was, she wanted his attention in a more intimate way. In a type of way that she didn't know how to attract. The jumble of predicaments had her fuming on a largely more important battlefield.

"Maka, what the hell are you spacing out for?" Her scythe craned backward to face her, disapproving.

"I…" She began, interrupted by a familiar voice.

"She was obviously daydreaming about you, bro." Black Star interjected, mid-way through snagging the letter off the desk. Maka stared blankly at him, slightly impressed by his enhanced assassin skills. She hadn't even detected him.

"Yeah, I know! The great Black Star achieved the mission before Maka Albarn and Soul the Death Scythe. Impressed? Of course you are!" The blue-haired male boasted from the middle of the room, his volume risen far above assassin standards. Maka cringed. He was still the same idiot from High School. The echo of his voice resounded throughout the castle, alarming a certain Witch of their presence.

"Shit…! Maka!" Soul warned, the steel bridge of his scythe becoming more rigid. Shards of ice rattled the tile floors, angrily piercing the air of her former being. Her body had reacted in overdrive, leaping backwards into an unsuspecting assassin.

"Ow! Watch where you're going, will ya?" Black Star hollered from behind, rubbing his head from the collision. Maka let a vault of steam blow through her nostrils, containing her frustration at their current dilemma. Without acknowledging her idiot co-worker, she sprung towards the offender- perched placidly upon a pike of snow.

She'd appeared in a matter of seconds, ready to decimate all life from her lone fortress. Maka could sense the outrage seeping from her every breath, her teeth bared in a barbaric manner. But perhaps the woman's most alarming feature, was the listless, fathomless gaze in her eyes. Such a look made her blood run cold. It was as if she'd been poisoned. The world shifted downward, spiraling. The air became pixelated and her scythe fuzzy. All it took was one look, and her world was shoved into a merciless vortex. Her stomach churned with horror at the thought of failing to protect her comrades. Failing to protect Soul. It was her duty as his meister to make sure they returned alive. She couldn't see straight. It was like being on the drugs that Soul had made her guinea-pig through late high school. The floor was breaking and charging towards her in treacherous ways, tangoing her into an uncoordinated dance. It took every ounce of energy she had to dodge her unabating slew of attacks. Her mind was unclear, her soul wavelength faltering with no chance at a resonance. Deadly shards continued their pursuit of the pair.

Soul could feel her wavering form. If this continued, they'd find themselves in a predicament much worse than the Demon Sword incident. He trusted Maka more than anything, but… his desire to protect her was legions stronger. For years he'd passively protected her as her weapon. However… as a Demon, he could actively protect her firsthand. The gelid air stung his skin, having shifted mid-air from his weapon form. In mere seconds, he'd jolted them both away from a deafening strike- breaking his Meister's fall as they clashed with the wall.

"Soul! What are you..?" She demanded with frail eyes, her gloved hands clutching to his leather jacket. She was surprised she could even find it. He placated a smile at her, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Protecting my Meister." He answered simply. There were no words to describe the sudden shift in their positions. As her weapon, he'd known. He'd known she'd been struck by the Witch's beguiling spell- forcing her to lose both her stability and eyesight. He'd known her frustration, her helplessness as all of her senses began to shut down. He was Soul: her partner. She watched as he turned his back on her, hurdling himself towards the Winter Witch. He was like an animal, hunting. Lithe, as he wrapped his claws around the Witch's throat- plummeting her into a hoard of ice. He'd reached her with such grace, such predatory ease. A chill raked through her spine as she laid eyes on a crimson mound of snow. It was unmistakable through her hazy view. Red, like the color of his wild eyes.

He hadn't killed the villain. He'd spared her. If only for one more ounce of strength, she would've broken between the grasp of his fingers.

…

They'd managed, somehow. Maka was still mulling over the defeat of the Winter Witch (and retrieval of the letter) as she sat on the backseat of Soul's bike. Her senses (thankfully) were fully intact; the Winter Witch's poisonous glare having worn off. Her arms were wrapped tightly around his torso, her hands wandering as they traced the ripples of his abdomen. He was more dangerous than she could have imagined. And she, she'd brought them into more danger than necessary with her lingering hesitation. She frowned into his back, her face hidden between the span of his shoulder blades. He hadn't said a word since they'd left the DWMA's Headquarters. She'd fucked up. Big time.

"Fuck, Maka." His growl ripped through the sound of the roaring engine as he revved the bike. Goosebumps rose along the flesh of her frozen arms. "What happened back there? Putting yourself in danger like that…" He sighed, disappointment filling his tenor.

"I'm sorry, I…" She couldn't find the words to explain herself. She felt ridiculous. How could she tell him? That it was all to blame on her stupid obsession with him. She was so hellbent on protecting him, no matter what condition her body was in. So long as… so long as she didn't have to add to the number of scars on his body.

He snorted, his white hair straying from the binds of his messy bun. "Idiot." He mumbled as he cut the engine, easing into their parking spot. He activated the kickstand with the heel of his boot, turning partly towards her. "I need to know that I can trust you to protect yourself." His pensive eyes bore into her windows of trembling green. His voice had softened a touch, indicating his desperation. It was the umpteenth time he'd pleaded for her to surrender to her limits. For a split second she was able to connect with the soul of her foreign beast, understanding.

He'd meant, I need to know you can defend yourself against me. She shuddered, her nails digging into his chest. "O-Of course I will." Maka sufficed, hesitant to end their only outlet of physical contact. "But I trust you." She added incoherently, though the demon still caught drift of her solemn voice. Soul had saved her from the witch when her body had slipped out from under her. She trusted him to take over when she recklessly pushed herself too far.

He'd cut the engine, though it sounded as if the bike had revved once more from the depths of his chest. "You can't trust me like that anymore."

"I want to! You're my partner, Soul…" Maka urged, pressing into him with all her might. He sighed, his gaze melancholic as he unhinged her arms from his torso.

"I could lose control at any moment. When we're…" He chewed at his lip, exhaling a breathy sigh. Images of obscenity and Soul's naked torso clouded her mind. Maka flushed at the root of his concern, finding sanctum as she wound her limbs around her own stomach.

"I've always brought you back. We've brought each other back. From the madness. From bloodlust is no different. No matter the obstacle, I want to be with you." She willed herself to reach out, touching his arm tentatively. He merely laughed in response, shaking his head. Nothing was funny about the subject. But apparently, he found something humorous.

"Mm." He grunted in acknowledgement, segueing into his source of humor. "Ever the masochist, aren't you Albarn?" He commented blithely, cracking a grin.

She hurled her fist into his cranium, frowning. "That's what you're thinking about?!" She scoffs. "Idiot!"

The white-haired male rolled his eyes, swinging off the bike in one motion, and took lead into their shared apartment. The night was not briskly cool as they'd expected, the heater humming loudly as he'd turned the key into their apartment door. The warmth of the room assaulted his heightened senses- provoking him to peel off his leather jacket. He dropped his coat lazily over the nearby sofa, swiveling into the kitchen for his desired cravings. A glass- no, a carton of milk sounded like the perfect cure.