A/N: This was written for the first day of SoMa week 2015, Geeking Out. Thanks go to l0chn3ss and ilaural for the eyes. The events of this fic all occur prior to the main events of the first drabble.

When Maka met Prince Solon of Lichtenstein, she wasn't quite sure what to expect. Stuck up and stuffy? Aloof and reserved? Flirty and charming? The stereotypes of Princes she'd encountered were few and far between and mostly came from fairy tales and Disney movies.

Whatever she was expecting, Soul had proven to be none of those things.

The first time she met him was was the day she moved into the off campus apartment they were slated to share. It was in a nicer complex than she could have paid for on her own, but by no means posh; not only would a truly upscale place have been difficult to find so close to campus, but apparently, Solon had insisted on living in the same housing inhabited by regular students, and this fit the bill. It was among the nicest of the complexes that rented to students, but it still wasn't outside the bounds of normal.

Maka thought it was about perfect. If only it didn't require her to act as a live-in babysitter to some royal brat going through an identity crisis, it would be wholly perfect, but at least she was being well compensated for her trouble. She only hoped this Solon wasn't as big an ass as she feared he might be.

Well, she supposed she would find out soon enough; he was due to move in himself tomorrow.

As she drove up to the complex in her tiny, late model Honda, a reluctantly accepted graduation gift from her dad, she spotted the large black and silver moving van and smiled. BJ was certainly doing his darndest to make things as easy on her as possible, including hiring movers to take care of transporting her things, and she had to admit she was grateful. Apparently, being employed by the rulers of Liechtenstein had its perks.

She got out of her car, locking it behind her. There was an odd looking man leaned up against a garish orange beast of a motorcycle similarly staring at the van as she made her way over, but she ignored him; talking to scene kid goth wannabes was not on her agenda today, and anyone who bleached their hair white, sported a headband, and dressed in black leather in the middle of summer definitely fit that description.

Finding a tall, blonde woman with a clipboard standing near the rear of the van and dressed in a uniform that announced her affiliation with Death City Movers, Maka approached with a cheerful greeting.

"Can I help you?" The woman asked, neither pleasant nor rude.

"Well, possibly," Maka offered, "you see, I'm Maka Albarn, and I believe those are my things you're moving."

"Ah, yes, Miss Albarn! Perfect, we were just getting to your things. Mr. Evan's things have already been settled, and we could use your input."

"Mr-Evans?" She furrowed her eyebrows involuntarily, confused. It sounded naggingly familiar, but-

"That's right," she heard a deep voice say from just behind her. "Soul Evans. And you must be Maka Albarn, right?"

Maka whirled to find the wannabe scene kid approaching, hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders slouched. His eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses, which made sense given the bright sun overhead. More sense than the leather jacket and tattered jeans, certainly.

"That's...right," she said slowly. And then it clicked. Evans. As in Prince Solon of the House of Evans, her soon to be job. "You're the Prince?" she asked, unable to keep the incredulity from her tone, because what sort of Prince looked like-like-that?

Not that she had much room to talk in short jean cut offs and a purple tank top, but it was hot, and she hadn't been expecting to see anyone important, and she certainly wasn't anything approaching royalty.

He only shrugged noncommittally. Were princes even allowed to shrug? Perhaps Maka was mistaken, or maybe this was some sort of joke. Yet, when she noticed BJ approaching from behind Mr. Motorcycle Goth Boy, she knew there was no mistake and certainly no joke.

To say she was surprised was a bit of an understatement; the prince was supposed to be arriving the following day and looked about as much like a prince as she looked like the Queen of England. Maka turned her eyes in clear question to BJ, who was now standing beside Prince Solon.

"Good morning, Miss Albarn," he said cheerfully. "I trust you are well?"

"Oh, yes, very," she offered with a polite smile. "Though I wasn't expecting to meet my assignment so soon," she added.

"Mmm, yes. His Highness decided to take an earlier flight-we're adjusting." His voice was cheerful, if the slightest bit exasperated. "I suppose introductions are in order? Alright, then. Miss Maka Albarn, this is His Royal Highness Solon Xavier Alistair Ulrich Ignatius Hapsburg Evans, second Prince of Liechtenstein. Prince Solon Xavier Alistair Ulrich Ignatius Hapsburg Evans, second Prince of Liechtenstein, this is Miss Maka Albarn."

"Pleased to-"

"Soul," he corrected, cutting her off, "your new roommate." His attention was on her for less than a second before he whirled on BJ. "This is bullshit, Buttataki. Utter bullshit. I don't need some tiny tits bookworm tagging along wherever I go. We can be roommates, fine, great, but I can take care of my-"

"Oh that's fine, your Highness. If you don't want Miss Albarn with you, then I'll be happy to leave a few guards."

"You wouldn't-"

"I will, Highness, and with you parents' full authority. Miss Albarn is capable in spite of your-misgivings-and you will remain with her when she is not in class or I will make other arrangements, your choice. Your detail from this morning can as easily stay on permanently."

"Fuck," the Prince growed, but nodded. "Fine, you win, I'll stick with Tiny Tits."

Maka bristled under the moniker but said nothing.

"And I trust you will inform me if he gives you any trouble, Miss Albarn?"

She nodded. "You have my word."

"Excellent!" The ambassador clapped his hands together. "Miss Arisa will help you get settled-the movers have their instructions. I'll be in touch!" he said enthusiastically before spinning on his heel to go, clearly glad to be washing his hands of his Liege Lord for the time being. Maka watched in silence as the Ambassador from Lichtenstein disappeared behind the other side of the complex, only to see a limo and several black cars drive around and disappear after.

Apparently, she was now alone with Prince Charming. Lovely. Gritting her teeth at the thought, she turned to the woman with the clipboard.

"You need anything from me?" she asked, trying to keep the annoyance from her tone. Maka really shouldn't have been this annoyed, but being called Tiny Tits by Prince Emo-boy was grating.

The woman shoved the clipboard her way, clearly ready to move on with her day. "Just look this over and make sure the right things are slated for the right rooms."

"Sure," Maka offered mildly as she took the clipboard and scanned its contents. Everything looked in order except...

"No, the large bookshelves are supposed to go in the living room, not whatever this space you've designated as S is." She looked up as she handed the clipboard back. "Otherwise, it's fine."

The woman frowned. "I am sorry, but they won't fit any longer with Mr. Evans 85 inch flatscreen we installed earlier, so we've put them in the spare room. Mr. Buttataki mentioned it was to be set up as a study, seeing as the two of you are attending the university, so I assumed-"

"Wait-there's a third bedroom?" Maka asked, surprised.

"That's right. There are only a few in the entire complex, according to the landlord. You two are lucky to get one."

"I guess-that's alright, then," she said with a sigh. "Thanks. I'll come back in a couple hours-will you be done by then?"

"We should be close," clipboard woman-Arisa-said with a nod. "Thanks for your input, Miss Albarn."

"Mmm, I'll be back," Maka offered evenly as she began to walk away. Inside, she was was seething, desperately trying to keep her cool. Nice as the idea of a study space was, how dare he usurp her prized books for some electronic monstrosity! BJ had assured her this would be as much her home as his, and yet, already that had been exposed as a lie.

She really shouldn't call and yell at the man who was essentially her new boss or her new charge who was also something like a boss, but this was beyond unfair. Clearly, frustratingly, she and the Prince were already getting off on the wrong foot, yet they were slated to live and spend most of their time together for the next four years. Better to walk away now and make a fresh start of it when she was calm. Clenching her fists, she approached her car, surprised at the sound of footsteps behind her.

Why in the world would he follow her? Couldn't he take a bloody hint that she needed space to gather her wits?

Maka took a deep breath and whirled around to face him. "Your Highness, I do apologize, but I have some errands to run, so if you'll please excuse me-"

"Look, I'd prefer you didn't use all that formal crap and just call me Soul." He had pushed his dark glasses onto his head, and his eyes were nearly pleading as they met hers. Red. His eyes were the most deep, astonishing shade of red. He wore colored contacts, too? What was with this guy? "And actually.." he moved his eyes to look past her rather than at her, hands still shoved into his pockets. "You heard BJ-I have to stick with you if I wanna lose the entourage, and trust me, he'll know if I don't. So-yeah. Kinda sorta stuck." He had a very slight, lilting accent beneath the casual tone, and she couldn't help but to wonder how hard he was working to sound 'normal.'

"I-" Maka shook her head, words failing her. He had the nerve to call her Tiny Tits and to tell the movers what to do with her stuff, to usurp the presence of her prized possessions from their shared living room, and now he expected to shadow her?

Oh hell no.

And yet, she was trapped and he clearly knew it. He was her job now. It was either he come along, or she didn't go at all-not that she actually had a place she needed to be-more like she needed to get away from the situation, from him.

Well, crap.

She approached her little Honda and opened the driver side door to slide inside and put the key in the ignition before swiveling her head to note he had stopped and was staring through the passenger window with a blank expression. She rolled down the window.

"Are you coming?" she asked, working to keep her tone even.

"Uh, in that?" the distaste in his own tone was palpable.

"It's this or walk, and I don't-"

"What about my bike?" He nodded back to the orange monstrosity he'd been lounging against earlier.

"I think not." She tried not to show her own distaste, but she was a poor actress. "Look, either get in or call back you guards-but hurry and make a choice, because I-"

"Fine," he said with the most put upon sigh Maka had ever heard, before opening the passenger door and sliding in. He acted as though riding in her little Civic was the most tedious possible chore. The thought that, for someone like him, maybe it actually was did nothing to endear him to her.

She started the car and put it into drive, not even bothering to make sure he put on a seatbelt-her babysitting duties did not extend to personal safety equipment, she decided-before pulling out of the parking lot and onto the large road that ran past campus. In truth, it was mid summer, their first semester not beginning for weeks yet, so she had nothing pressing to do. She was ditching the one item on her agenda for the day just in doing this, but she was too stubborn to admit to her new, painfully silent charge, that she had lied.

"You hungry?" she asked after several minutes of just driving, inspiration striking fast and hot.

"Yeah," he said, his deep voice quiet.

"You like Japanese? Because there's a great-"

"I'll eat wherever you see fit to bring us, Miss Albarn." The lazy drawl, the casual tone were gone, replaced with an accent that was vaguely British sounding.

Could this be the same boy?

"You can call me Maka," she offered, softening her tone, because she really didn't want to be at odds with the guy she'd be spending nearly every waking moment with if she could help it. "And I'm willing to go wherever you'd like."

He turned towards her, and while his face was impassive, his eyes suggested something like gratitude.

"I like sushi," he offered, his accent disappearing again to be replaced with the deep casual tone and slight underlying lilt.

"Alright, then," she said with a smile, before guiding the car to the proper venue. She had to turn back towards the campus, the little Japanese place just outside, but pulled up shortly after. They had nothing seemingly to say to one another beyond setting their eating arrangements, so they simply didn't.

Prince Solon-no, Soul, he wanted her to call him Soul-wasn't kidding when he said he liked sushi; he special ordered a dozen individual items to his liking, including tako. Just looking at his plate of raw gross as it arrived had Maka's stomach churning, so she kept her eyes firmly on her own plate of onigiri and tsukemono as they ate in near silence that was becoming almost heavy as it extended. Onigiri always reminded her of her mother, though, and as her heart constricted painfully at the thought, she finally broke through that wall of silence if only to have something else to focus on.

"So," Maka began, looking his way and waiting until he met her gaze to continue, "why Shibusen? I would have thought, given your circumstances, you'd choose an Ivy if you really wanted to study in the U.S."

His shrug was non-committal at best. "Dunno. Liked the brochure I guess. Why'd you pick it?"

"Best forensic program in the country, unfortunately. Both of my parents were graduates, and as much as I really wanted to put a few thousand miles between me and my dad, it made the most sense to go to Shibusen, so here I am."

"Forensics, huh?" He looked surprised, stark eyebrows grazing his hairline.

"Mmhmm," she smiled. "And English. I plan to double major. What about you?"

"Not sure," he shrugged again. "Figure I'll work it out eventually."

"Mmm," she nodded. "I'm sure you will."

She had little else to say to that-the very idea a prince would come overseas to Shibusen of all places with no firm goal in mind more than a bit absurd.

Then again, with his odd features, choosing to alter his hair and eyes, along with his lax attitude, Soul seemed the furthest thing from a prince she had ever imagined.

Then again, Maka suspected that was the whole point. He really was an odd one, and, inspite of his rudeness, or maybe even because of it, she mildly looked forward to unraveling the puzzle that was Prince Solon of Liechtenstein.

Their conversation seemingly through for the time being, the awkward silence resettled as both turned their attention with unwarranted vigor back to their food. After a minute, however, Soul surprised her by speaking unbidden.

"I'm sorry, you know," he began, and she simply raised her eyebrows in question. "About calling you-uh-yeah." He looked suddenly nervous. Strange. "And about your books. I just-I thought it'd be nice to have a good set-up to screen movies in the living room, and the study seems better for books. Didn't mean to overstep."

"No," she shook her head, surprised that he would apologize at all, especially after so brazenly insulting her in front of her face-weren't royals supposed to hold others beneath them or something along those lines? Divine birth right and all that? Not that she really knew much about royalty; she'd certainly never come within a thousand miles of an actual prince before meeting Soul. "It's fine. I know it's an adjustment for both of us, and I-overreacted-I was just surprised. It'll be nice to have a study with all my books."

"Awesome," he grinned, seeming genuinely pleased. It was the first time he'd actually smiled, and she noted that in addition to the strange contacts and hair, he had teeth so sharp that they had to be either false or filed. She was itching to ask about the whole goth-vamp look, but figured that was probably overstepping herself. "That can be your place, you know? We can even get more shelves... BJ said you like books."

"I do!" she brightened, buoyed by her favorite subject. "Books can take you anywhere, teach you anything! It's why I-"

He laughed at that, shaking his head. "Damn, you really are a nerd, aren't you? Sheesh-leave it to BJ to dig up the world's first bookworm bodyguard."

Her fingers clenched, itching to sock him, hard, like she would have her idiot godbrother in the same situation. This was the second time he'd insulted her in less than an hour, and Maka Albarn was not one to sit back and take whatever shit she was fed by the world at large. She tried to remind herself that injuring her charge the first day on the job was probably a bad idea, but it was hard when he was smirking at her like the cat who got the cream.

"Whatever, your Heinous," she snapped unhappily before shoving more onigiri in her mouth.

He just laughed again and they finished their meal with more alternating talk and teasing, much to Maka's displeasure.

It was the start of a long, not always smooth working partnership, for with the time they spent together, what else could they be but partners?

Eventually, she learned not to pull her punches, to simply sock him in the arm when he was being an ass.

Eventually, she also learned that he didn't wear contacts or bleach his hair, and that his teeth were natural-though, at least initially, she suspected he was the type to sport such garish alterations had he not come by them through genetic lottery.

Perhaps most importantly, though, was that eventually, she also confirmed that she wasn't the only nerd in the Evans-Albarn household. Far from it. Books might be her geekdom of choice, but Soul had his own obsession, one that had supplanted her books, one that had brought him to the United States to begin with.

Maka loved books, but Soul? Soul lived for movies. Movies of all kinds: fantasy, action, even rom coms (though he would vehemently deny the last if asked.) The products of Hollywood were how he had learned about the world at large amidst an otherwise sheltered existence, how he had taught himself to speak, to act as he wished instead of comporting himself in the way his family expected him to, how he had formed his expectations about life outside his gilded cage.

Before, Soul had always, always watched films in the screening room of the Palace where he'd grown up, a fact he'd eventually let slip as the weeks became months, as he and Maka slowly grew accustomed to one another and eased into something like friendship. The concept of a movie theater, one where people sat together to watch films with strangers, was both foreign and fascinating to him, and he kept pestering Maka to go, and she kept finding excuses not to. He had a huge system in the living room that had usurped her poor books, she insisted-they could stay home.

And then he saw the hype about The Winter Soldier on the news, and there was no stopping him. For while Soul loved all manner of films, there was nothing, absolutely nothing, he loved more than a good superhero movie, a fact she'd become all too aware of after their sixth screening of The Avengers. He was a man obsessed.

So seeing that people were camped out to get advanced tickets for The Winter Soldier-seeing that there was a midnight screening on Good Friday-well, not going simply wasn't an option in the Prince's mind. He'd never been to a normal movie theater, and he was clearly determined his first time would be done right.

He was sitting watching a report about the lines that had formed to buy tickets on the news two days before the premier, and she was sitting near him on the couch, pointedly ignoring him, eyes on the book in her lap, when his it all came to a head.

"Please?" Soul wheedled.

"No," she snapped back.

"But there's no school on Friday," he reasoned.

"But I have a test on Monday."

"But I'll do the dishes for a week." Maka paused at that, considering.

"I don't believe you," she finally responded.

"I will, or you know, I'll pay someone to do it."

She rolled her eyes. "Not the same."

"Fine, I'll-" Maka looked up at the pause and noticed him biting his lip in concentration. She really wished she found it less attractive, and was exceptionally glad her thoughts were her own. "Uh, rub your feet after training for a month?"

"After every training?" She raised an eyebrow, finally turning her head to face him. "Even kick boxing?" Because her feet always smelled like rotting Munster after kick boxing, and they both knew it.

There was a pause and a light huff. "Yeaaaah. Even kick boxing."

She sighed. "Fine, I'll think about it, alright?"

"Awesome-just leave it to me!"

"Yeah, whatever-" she said, the second sigh heavier as she returned to her reading of The History of Sexuality.

Turned out, she didn't think about it-she completely forgot about it. Until, that is, Maka was passed out early on the couch Friday night, her ass utterly wrecked from sparring with her godbrother. When had he learned how to land so many punches on her? Was she getting slow, or had he just gotten that fast?

Thoughts of their brutal match had lulled her to sleep right after dinner at six, a frozen affair after getting a text from Soul that he was out with BJ's blessing and would be back later.

At nine, she was surprised by a hand on her shoulder, shaking, shaking, shaking, a gruff voice softly repeating her name. She struck out blindly because who was touching her?-only to be fully awoken by a familiar yelp of pain. She sat up and blinked down at the floor to find Captain America in full regalia. Only this version of Cap was in possession of piercing red eyes, eyes that were currently glaring her way.

"Shit, Maka, that hurt. I think you broke my fucking jaw."

"You'll be fine, get some ice," she said with a deep yawn, stretching her hands over her head. "You aren't made of glass-or at least, you weren't last time I checked."

He grunted and walked over to the fridge and, as he did, her tired brain clicked into gear and she shook her head.

"Soul?" she called out.

"What?" he growled back, strolling over with a bag of frozen peas mashed to his chin.

"Why-are you dressed that way?"

He plopped down next to her and his grin was wide. "Don't worry, got you one, too. It's in your room."

"You-did?" She blinked, shaking her head. "But-I mean-why?" She was still groggy, the dots not quite lining up in her mind.

"'Course. Now hurry up and put the damned thing on and I'll remind you."

"I-guess," Maka said slowly as she rose.

She wanted to protest, really she did, but sometimes it was easier to give in to the little things and punish him for them later if he'd earned it, so she went to her room and changed into the contents of the box on her bed. The skin tight black catsuit and red wig should have tipped her off, but it had been a long week, so she just stormed out, hands on her hips

Soul let out a low whistle at her approach, his eyes scanning her body-a gesture she pointedly ignored.

"Alright, spill. Why am I dressed like a ninja street walker?"

"Black Widow, and I'm pretty sure I told you we were going to the opening."

"Wait-what opening?" She was confused, but a faint memory tickled.

"Winter Soldier? We need to leave soon, too, if we want decent-"

"That's what this is about?" Maka was pretty sure she hadn't actually committed to going, but that was beyond her ability to rationalize clearly as she began to laugh. And laugh. And laugh. She collapsed onto the couch next to him, practically on top of him, clutching her belly, her head ending up in his lap as she giggled uncontrollably.

After a time, he finally growled, "What?" and she just shook her head in his lap and giggled some more.

It took several minutes of tittering laughter for her to regain her composure, and even then, it was tentative, like grasping at the thinnest of straws.

"And you-call me-a nerd," she wheezed out.

"You are," Soul returned petulantly.

"Pot," she giggled again. "Meet kettle. Or rather, vintage book, meet skin tight star spangled leather-have you forgotten you want to go to a midnight premier in Cosplay?" He grimaced at her use of the word, and she laughed again at his expression and at her own joke before managing to sit up and shake her head. "Anyway, amusing as this is, I never agreed to go."

"But-"

"But nothing. Blake really kicked my ass earlier and I'm exhausted."

"Aw, come on, Maka. Please?" His eyes were wide and pleading as he turned his head to her. The puppy dog eyes. Oh lord, he was giving her the puppy dog eyes.

"I said no," she resisted valiantly. Even if he looked both pathetic and-she refused to admit-sexy in the skin tight leather. "And anyway, you're the Prince of Liechtenstein. Isn't there some sort or rule against you dressing as Captain America?" she asked skeptically.

"Nope," the Prince insisted. "Not like anyone really knows where I am anyway, but no one gives a shit. So please? I'll even-rub your feet for a week."

"Last time you said a month."

"Fine, a month!"

"No," Maka said flatly.

"Six months," he pleaded.

"No."

"A year!" Soul was clearly getting desperate.

"NOPE!"

"Fine, fine-" he threw up his hands. "-the rest of the time we live together!"

Maka paused, considering. She'd already planned to give in-if it was this important to him, she really couldn't say no-and this was simply too good to pass up. Spoiled Prince though he might he, he was also a god of foot rubs.

She side eyed him, deciding to press her advantage. "And you never call me Tiny Tits again."

He shook his head. "Maka, I haven't called you that since-"

"Do you agree or not?"

"I agree," he sighed.

"Prince's Honor?"

He rolled his eyes. "Prince's Honor, whatever."

"Sold!" she exclaimed.

Soul blinked at her. "Really?" His tone was so fond, so hopeful, that it melted her heart right in her chest.

"Yep!" Maka said happily. "Really, really!" She sprang up off the couch, tugging his hand. "Now let's go, Captain Asshole, Prince of Geeks-we won't get a good place if we don't hurry!"

And so they went.

True to his word, the Prince rubbed her feet after every training session through the duration of their time together, and while she occasionally continued calling him the Prince of Geeks, he never called her Tiny Tits again.