Office Babies for Foxi's birthday!
This can be either pre or post airport.
She was buried under a mountain of blankets, just north of the river of used tissues and west of the land the bedside table littered in mugs of lukewarm tea. Soul was somewhere next to her, because she could feel him shivering despite his own nest of blankets (she was pretty sure that every single blanket in the apartment was currently on the bed).
"Hey, Soul?" Her voice was hoarse and stuffed up. She felt like shit and was pretty sure Soul was even worse off. The poor guy hadn't been able to leave the bed in almost two days (except to go puke, thank god he was past that part), but no matter how much he tried to sleep, he never felt well rested. He was achy and stiff, had had a persistent headache, and Maka couldn't remember the last time he had eaten something. Or the last time she had eaten something.
"Mmmmrgh?"
Eloquent as always. Maka would have rolled her eyes, but even they ached. "How are you doing?"
He shifted, possibly rolled over, and then stuck his head out from under at least three blankets to glare at her. And the bastard, despite greasy hair, blood shot eyes, and flushed face, was still handsome. Asshole.
"How do you think-" Cough. Hack. Miserable groan. "I'm doing? Just take me out back and shoot meeeeee." He whined.
Maka wanted to stroke his hair or at least pat his cheek, but her arm felt too heavy to move. "Wanna hear a joke?" she asked.
Soul's eyebrows started to do funny things while he tried to figure out if she was serious or not. "Sure?" he croaked.
"How do you have a party in space?"
His eyebrows furrowed together, "How?"
"You planet. Get it? Cause plan-"
"Yeah. Got it. Oh god, you just. Really. Popsicle stick jokes? Is that what our lives have come to?"
"Shut up. It's a good joke." Maka started to cough and Soul groaned.
It was a few hours later after a restless nap that Soul woke up ravenous. Like could eat a horse, an entire buffet, and then probably still eat enough to win a pie-eating competition. He wanted a five course meal, steak, some good sushi, maybe some asparagus, and god the thought of dessert had him drooling. He decided that soup was probably his best bet though. Chicken noodle soup. From a can. Well, the salt would taste good.
Maka was curled up in a miserable little ball next to him, sniffling instead of her cute little snores. Yes, even her snoring was cute. He debated waking her up to ask if she was hungry but thought better of it.
Getting out of bed was an ordeal, but totally worth it when he changed into new sleeping pants and a clean sweatshirt he'd hidden from his live-in clothes thief. It actually felt kinda good to be up and about. Kinda. Eh, not really actually, he was sore all over.
He always had a few emergency cans of soup in the backs of his cupboards for occasions just like this. And stockpiles of bland crackers. And, oh. Oh, he had Gatorade. He had Gatorade! They were saved! God, why hadn't he thought of that sooner? Well, probably because it was part of his emergency hangover stash.
But, breaking into a bottle was one of the most satisfying things he'd done in a long time. It only took a few minutes to heat up the soup and he made toast with butter too. Which he promptly ate and then had to make more. God, toast tasted good, like perfection and heaven and everything good in the world.
Soul dished the soup into two bowls, garnished with spoons and toast on the side and piled everything onto a tray that someone had given him for some holiday. Obviously they hadn't known him that well, because this was the first time he'd ever actually used it. He brought it into the bedroom, carefully, really slowly, and oh god do not drop it on the bed!
"Hey, Maka?" Nothing. "Maka." Not even a grunt. "Maka, the contract you wrote is void." She shot up, wild eyed, listing extra clauses, revisions, and something about red velvet cake.
"Soul? What on earth?"
"I have soup? And toast? You hungry?" He stood awkwardly with a tray of food, not really sure if he could even call it breakfast in bed (what the fuck time was it anyway?) and not really sure where to even put it.
"You have toast?"
"And soup." He reminded while trying to simultaneously juggle the tray and clear off some of the used tissues on his night stand.
Maka helped solve his dilemma by pushing everything onto the floor and stealing a bowl of soup. "You are my favorite person ever."
Soul couldn't help but smile, as this was the most lively they had been since he was throwing up and she only had a slight cold. It was good to see her sitting up and munching happily on toast. Hell, it was nice to actually just sit in bed and eat soup instead of being curled into a miserable shivering ball.
They ate their whatever-the-fuck-time-it-was meal quietly and decided to worry about dishes later without a word spoken. Soul yawned, tired, but a different tired from holy shit I am so fucking ill I want to die, more of a huh, sleep sounds really nice. Maka seemed to be in the same boat and nodded happily after putting her plate down on top of her box of tissues. She lay down closer to him than she had in days, and Soul wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
They were going to be just fine.
