Day 3 - Hug: "Your mail keeps going to the wrong address" AU
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Maka knocks on her neighbors door, shivering in her bunny slippers. The hall window is still cracked and the landlord hasn't put up heat properly since winter started. The Starlight Apartments– not nearly as glamorous as the name implies– boasts broken locks, chipped lead paint, and rusty pipes. It's depressing and a health code violation but it's home.
A young man with a shock of white hair opens the door after two more knocks. Like Maka, he is wearing multiple layers of clothing in an attempt to stave off the cold. "You got my mail again?"
"Yeah, it's the third time this week," Maka says cheerfully and hands over the envelopes. She doesn't mind the mail mix up because it gives her an excuse to talk to him. Maka is a PhD candidate and from what she can gather, her neighbor, Soul Evans, is a musician. They keep almost opposite schedules so getting to chat with him for more than five minutes is rare.
"No heat?" Soul looks down at her feet and smirks. "Nice kicks."
"Thanks," she says. "And no. You?"
"Nah. I invested in space heaters. Probably a total fire hazard but."
Maka sticks her hands in the front pocket of her hoodie in an attempt to warm her chilly hands. "At least if everything goes up in flames you'll be warm?"
He snickers and awkward silence falls over them. Maka wants to talk with him more but she's already played the "I accidentally got your mail" card. Soul opens his door a little more and warm air wafts towards her. It smells like cilantro and her mouth waters, calling to her like a sweet siren song. "Want to come in? I made dinner. It's just pad thai, nothing fancy."
The offer is tempting but Maka doesn't want to look desperate for men or a home cooked meal. Both are extremely appetizing. "Is it really okay?"
Soul shrugs. "I wouldn't have offered if it wasn't."
He shows her to his couch and she makes herself comfortable amongst the sparse pillows. Maka calls to him in the kitchen that she'll repay him in kind and dinner is on her next time. He calls back that her apartment always smells like Cup 'O Noodles, so no thanks, and maybe she should leave the cooking to him. She shrieks indignantly and calls him a jerk; he laughs and brings her a heaping plate of pad thai, so all is forgiven.
Soul is in the middle of pouring her a glass of white wine and asking about her academic research when the lights flicker and then die all together.
"Shit. Heaters are out," he says.
They are shoulder to shoulder on the couch and despite the below zero weather, Maka is warm. Maybe it's the wine or the undeniable pull she feels towards her neighbor but she leans towards him. There is a pause before Soul slowly puts a shaky arm around her shoulders. It's endearing how awkward and stilted the action is.
All in all, Maka thinks, resting her head on his chest, not a bad way to spend a cold night.