Author Notes: Gotta shout out to Marsh for 'second hand body kiss' and listening to me ramble at four in the morning. In other news, thefishywitch did some really great art for chapter 33 for my birthday, if you're interested in looking it's linked on my tumblr under the writing page. Enjoy! Oh, also, I'm not going to work on this until after I finish my resbang so it might be as much as a month until the next update, though hopefully not.

September 7th

He has been haunted since the last adventure at the lake. He saw everything. Well, he can't say he saw everything - but the combination of moonlight and tanlines gives him a pretty good idea of a lot. He knows she has fair skin, delicate skin that he wants to nibble on a little. But unbeknownst to Soul, she had been growing tanner all summer, increment by increment, shade by shade, except a few select locations. There's a pale triangle, left behind; he wants to pick her up by it, get a really good grip. He could get a better hold of it then he does on himself right now.

He's losing it.

Her back had been to him when she got out of the water, and her perfect back side. What even is self control? Does he know anymore? At least when they were at the lake he had already been in cold water. The second incident is less kind. Maka is in his shirt, a true fatality.

All he wants is to get some water from the bathroom in peace, but as is apt to happen living with someone else, fate is not on his side. The bathroom is occupied. He waits patiently for the door to open, but is completely unprepared for the no-pants situation.

She stands in the doorway, backlit by the bathroom light with her big doe eyes staring at him. Caught. So she has been taking his clothes - he's been wondering what happened to that shirt. It's much longer on her. She tugs at the hem nervously for a second, caught in his eyeline without a clue what to do.

"Sorry!" she squeaks. Sorry for what? Soul wonders. For stealing his T-shirt and sleeping in it? For not wearing pants and then running wild around the apartment? Maybe 'running wild' isn't fair, she had just been trying to sneak into the bathroom in the middle of the night. Bumping into each other is just an unfortunate coincidence.

She definitely should apologize for giving him the image of her long, slender legs extending out of the bottom of his shirt. That one is definitely sending him straight to hell.

"'Scuse me." Her voice is still shocked into a higher pitch. It's a little too cute to handle. The light flicks off suddenly and she pushes her way past him. In hindsight, he should have moved out of her way, but later he'll just think about the cocktail of surprise, embarrassment, and arousal that held him back.

As his eyes adjust to the darkness, all he see is a tiny patch of white, white cotton peeking out. He's done for. Do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars. He returns immediately to his room, any memory of what he got up for in the first place - gone. Pillow, meet teeth. Groaning is not intentional but extremely cathartic.

The next day, he'll wake up and everything will be fine.

Soul stumbles into the kitchen, awoken by the ghost of bad music past.

Maka is in pink sleep shorts that could barely be classified as such. This is not an improvement. There are eggs on the stove and an ancient little radio blaring on the counter - and he thought that CD player he'd gotten her was old.

Killik once tried to argue with him about the shelf-life of pop music; Soul had tuned out half way through. He knows for certain that there is no good reason for anyone in their right mind to be listening to "Hey Mickey" though. It could barely be described as a one hit wonder, in his opinion, but here it is coming to taunt him in his kitchen.

Apparently unaware that he's up and about, Maka is dancing, badly. It's more of a bounce than anything else, her head bobbing from side to side only half on the beat. Hair, in pigtails, flies by with each bounce; the music is annoying, and not helping his morning fog.

If Black Star had pulled this when they were living together, it would have ticked him off to no end. It is definitely not endearing behavior, shouldn't be endearing, but when it's Maka it strikes him as irrefutably cute against all reason - even the off-pitch humming, it's gross. He hates off pitch humming. "Hey Mickey" has to go. He's starting to get sentimental daydreams about wrapping his arms around her waist. Coolness levels have dropped to zero percent chill; he's practically boiling up.

He pauses just inches behind her, about to turn off the radio when he actually notices she's not only humming, but mouthing along, a kind of half singing, not good technique at all.

"You're so fine, you blow my mind, hey Mickey!" It's an emphatic whisper more than anything else. Soul clicks off the radio before the end of her line.

"Name's not 'Mickey,'" he says lowly.

"Shoot!" Maka whips around, smacking him in the face with the spatula. "You surprised me, ugh."

He can only laugh; she does look surprised. She's still wearing his shirt too, and only looks half ashamed about it. Face: beet red, her eyes flick down to the shirt and back to his face before she turns back around to her pan with a disgruntled huff.

"Where'd you get the radio?" Soul makes his way away from the stove to hunt down a bowl for cereal.

"Birthday present from my dad," she sighs. "I guess the shipping came early."

"Oh yeah, that's in a couple weeks isn't it?" he asks the question casually even though he may already have her present stashed away in his room. He had already made a special trip out to the second hand bookstore and gotten recommendations from the shop owner for poetry anthologies. She's going to love it and she's going to thank him and hug him - ideally.

He's about to pour the milk in his cereal when she cries out.

"Wait! What are you doing?" she squawks.

"Making breakfast…?"

"Put that back, I was making eggs for you. Unless you want both, I guess," Maka backtracks. "You should get more protein."

Oh. It's gestures like these where it all comes rushing back to him and he's reminded just how much he cares about her. After all, the dumb feelings had all started before he became a hot mess whenever he saw the back of her neck.

"Just the eggs is fine, thanks." The sound of pouring cereal back into the box is deafeningly not cool. He puts the milk back in the fridge and takes a seat on the couch while she finishes breakfast. He sprawls on the couch until she deposits a plate in his lap. The shirt issue still floats between them; he can't help but stare at her in it, and she can't help but notice.

"Well, that's out in the open now." Maka clears her throat. "I know you've been stealing my head bands."

"What? Of course not."

"Soul," she admonishes.

"You weren't using them." Maka wearing his shirt is possibly embarrassing for her, but definitely cool for him; borrowing her plastic headbands to hold his ever growing mop at bay is less so. "They look better on me anyway."

"It's fine." Her eyebrows launch upward. "Do you need the shirt back?" She sounds hesitant to give it up. If she likes wearing it, he can't help but be elated.

"Maybe switch it out for a different one? So I can get a chance with it too." Eyebrow waggling is unintentional but inevitable.

She makes a little grunt and starts shoveling eggs into her face.

"So, you took a birthday present from your dad," he remarks. "I'm almost surprised you didn't just smash it on the floor."

"I wouldn't want to waste his money," Maka mutters. "Eat your food. We have to go to campus in a bit."

"So are you excited?"

"For what?"

"Your birthday, idiot." How many hints can he drop? All he knows is she better be excited; he has plans. "You want anything specific?" He can't say he's opposed to adding to her current book stacks.

"Ah, not really. You know what I like, books and stationery. Nerd stuff, as you would so kindly say." She glares at him until he eats at least three bites.

"Maybe I'll just get you more of those headbands."

"What? You just said I don't even use them."

"Yeah, but then they'll be around for me to borrow when I want them."

"Very funny." She doesn't look amused. "What are you actually getting me?"

"That's for me to know and you to find out."

September 17th

The clothes thieving becomes more blatant the more Maka feels out what she can get away with. Soul is coming in from a gig, standing in with another shitty cover band, when he sees the next development. She's absconded with his boxers: completely inappropriate. His shirt rides up her stomach and the whole combination is just too reminiscent of a few dreams. Of course generally they involve her crawling into his shirt after having hers off. Wouldn't that be nice?

His blood threatens to boil his skin but suffices with heating his face a few degrees.

"Oy, what're you doing in my underwear?" His helmet slides to the floor with a thud.

"Don't worry, they're not the only thing I'm wearing." She twists her neck around to face him. There's a weariness in her face he can't quite place.

"That's not the point." He slaps a hand over his face, shuddering at how warm it feels. Seeing her in his clothes fuels a certain unfair possessiveness he harbors. A desire to smother his body against her wells up. He could demand his clothes back, in a smooth way that will spark her to allow him to take the clothes off for her. Her midriff is exposed already anyway - he can already imagine starting there and grazing up her ribcage. The way his shirt is hiked up almost looks intentional.

"My pajamas are in the laundry, sue me." She grunts and adjusts her laptop on her bare stomach. It's around this time that Soul actually takes stock of the strained position she's in. She's lying flat on her back with her neck propped at a sickening angle to be able to see her computer. That can not be healthy.

"You should sit up straight," he suggests bluntly.

"Hah. Like you can talk."

"I just don't get why you would do that to your spine intentionally."

"I need my overheated laptop here to soothe me." Maka taps lightly on the side of her computer. "Blair abandoned me." A small, uncharacteristic - but not unheard of - whine creeps into her tone. Ah. The puzzle pieces are coming together.

"You okay?" Soul knows exactly what is wrong, but he only had to make the mistake of accusing her of being on her period once to learn not to do it again.

No answer.

"You need anything? Have you eaten?"

That elicits a groan - a slightly more satisfying answer than her silence - along with an involuntary gurgle from her stomach. "How do you feel about running to the store for some food? I can cook but I really don't want to put pants on."

"I can go," he answers with a nod. "Anything else? Chocolate?" He suggests casually.

"Yes. Please. Dark, and I don't mean that sixty percent stuff."

"Anything else?" He will not say the T-word.

"I can buy my own tampons, idiot." Maka flails an arm around in search of a weapon. Soul quickly snatches up the textbook on the table before she can get ahold of it.

"Just checking! Jeez." Soul grabs his backpack and heads for the door before she gets the idea to get off the couch and do a number on his skull.

It's only about a five minute ride to Target so it shouldn't be too long of an errand. Still, he finds himself standing in the candy aisle for longer than intended trying to decide how dark of chocolate is dark enough but not too dark. He usually errs on the side of sweetness but he knows Maka would have a different opinion. He'll just get a couple kinds to make sure and go get a box of macaroni. Making dinner would definitely be a cool move.

He's secretly relieved he doesn't have to get her feminine hygiene products. The possibility crossed his mind when they were planning on moving in together - he had steeled himself for it in fact. He definitely doesn't mind the image it would give him of looking like a dedicated boyfriend. That wouldn't be bad at all. There's just a certain amount of residual embarrassment about the subject having grown up with no sisters and a mother who was tight lipped on all such subjects. He can't even imagine the awkwardness of buying condoms, as if those would ever be on his list.

Dreams are only dreams.

Soul grabs the box of macaroni with the orangest, cheesiest picture on the front and starts heading for the check out until he gets a genius idea. An abrupt turn later and he's on an escalator to the second floor. It's a department store; they should have everything and he is definitely not leaving the place without a heating pad.

Maka is predictably a little peeved at his late return, but he expected as much. He calls out a quick apology upon walking in the door before unpacking the loot from his backpack. The food finds a home on the counter while he puts the heating pad in the microwave.

"You didn't get frozen burritos again, did you?" she scolds from the couch at the sound of the microwave. She's in the exact same position he left her in; she has apparently only briefly moved from to retrieve her laundry. The basket is sitting on the floor, unfolded, and she certainly hasn't bothered changing back into her own clothes.

"You have no faith in me," he grouses back at her. Won't she be surprised!

He has to clear his throat a little to get her attention again, even standing right next to her.

She tilts the screen of her laptop down and squints. "What is that?"

Not caring to answer her directly, he picks up her computer so he can replace it with the heating pad. The move Maka makes would be almost comical if it wasn't so pathetic. She immediately melts, folding herself around the thing with a hearty moan.

"Oh, Soul. That's so good." she whimpers. That definitely has his attention like nothing else. It's not a sexual situation at all, but that doesn't stop his brain from raging to wild places. "You shouldn't've."

He shrugs. "Early birthday present."

"It's a good one." Wait. He didn't expect her to take him seriously. Surprising her extra sounds appealing though, so he doesn't bother amending himself. "Now do you want the chocolate first, or your dinner?"

"You already went to the store. I can cook." Maka sits up with a grunt but doesn't move from the couch. "I'll be great if I can just strap this thing to my stomach."

"It's really bad, huh?"

"I should really just go on the pill - Tsu said that helps a lot."

Oh. "I guess that's good for a few things."

She scowls. "Pervert."

"What? I didn't say anything."

"You're not thinking I need it because I'm having sex, right?"

"I mean, that's your business." He thinks he'd know if that was the case, but he can't deny the pang of panic that breezes through him.

"I'm not. I mean, you know I'm not dating anyone." She's incredibly adamant about the subject, though he can't be sure why she feels the need to defend herself to anyone.

"Like I said: your business." Soul bolts for his room before it slips out how smug he is. He'll return in a moment but he needs to reassemble his poker face. He drapes his jacket over the back of his desk chair on top of a few other clothes. There's a hoodie in the mix that he should put away. An odd bit of inspiration hits though; the hoodie could be useful.

Soul returns to the living room and hands it over to Maka, who is still hunched over on the couch.

"I thought you wanted me to give your clothes back," she says in the middle of putting it on. What a hypocrite. "What are you doing giving me this?"

"You can use the pocket can't you? For the heating pad." He has to lean close to her to tuck it gently into the pocket, bracing one arm against the couch to avoid toppling on top of her (fun as that would be).

"Yeah, that's good," she whispers. Her nose is very close to his and he could count her eyelashes if they weren't fluttering so much.

"Are you sure you don't want me to cook?"

"I'm sure." Their long running eye contact is finally broken when she scoots over on the couch to be able to stand up.

Maka has to roll the sleeves up extensively before filling up the pot for pasta. His sweatshirt is very satisfyingly large on her. He likes how it mimics the way he wants to drape himself over her, seek maximum contact. Though, if he thinks about it enough, those clothes have been on him plenty, now with them being on Maka it's almost like a second hand body kiss. There's a word for that. Hug. The word he's looking for is hug. It's all evidence of his further slipping sanity.

He can't help but hover in the kitchen. Who knows when she might need his help? Of course he gets an earful for being in the way, so he sits up on the counter and placates Maka with pieces of chocolate while she stirs the noodles a little more aggressively than is strictly necessary.

They're both happy when the food is finished and they can settle down. Maka has a strict policy of no eating in her room. She claims it's because she hates to vacuum and doesn't want to get crumbs everywhere; Soul knows it's just because she's a little clumsier than she'll admit and only had to spill cereal in there once to decide bringing food in bed was a bad idea. He lets her bring her macaroni into his bed though. Albeit it's in a mug so there's a handle for her to keep a good grip on.

"I must really love you to let you eat in here," he mutters under his breath when she rubs her face on his shirt like a napkin. She pauses briefly but doesn't respond. The exact magnitude of what he accidentally said starts to weigh down. This was not the plan; he needs to backtrack fast, but how? Taking it back entirely would be such a lie. Maybe it wasn't that weird to say - it could be in a friendly way. Maka and Tsubaki say they love each other practically every time they get off the phone. He doesn't think he could get away with that though; he feels so heated it must be obvious to her.

"Huh?"

"After what happened with the cereal. I'm just saying, you better not spill that in here or I'll sleep on your bed." That was worse. That was definitely worse. Now he just sounded downright inviting, which isn't necessarily far off from what he wants to be, but not at all what he intended to actually say.

"That was one time, but if you don't trust me why don't you put it next to the bed." Maka hands over mug dejectedly and burrows her face into his chest. Did he really get away with that? Now she's the one who's embarrassed - what a glorious turn of events.

His arm is already around her shoulder, but it couldn't hurt to wrap it around to touch her hair a little. She doesn't complain when he buries his fingertips in her hair, but rather sighs contentedly when he gently massages her scalp. Knowing how it feels when she does the same thing to him, he can only hope he can be half as satisfying.

Usually he has to goad her into sharing her body heat and blankets with him, so when she squirms a little closer to being in his lap it's a pleasant surprise. He'll never complain about neediness on her end when he's the one who practically throws himself at the opportunity to take her places on the motorcycle solely for the arms around waist situation.

Between the bulky sweatshirt, the heating pad, and the poor overworked laptop, it's a little stifling. Maka hasn't complained yet though. In a moment of curiosity, Soul brushes his hand by her hoodie pocket to see how the heat is holding up.

It's only when he feels that it's long since cooled that he realizes the slightly stuffy warmth in his abdomen is internal. He supposes it must be another side effect of proximity.