Disclaimer: Oh, you know...Don't own it, just borrowing the characters for a while.

Author's Note: Sorry for taking so long to update! I've had homework all semester nonstop, and it's still going. However, I needed a break from writing essays and wanted to get a little more creative with my words. Haha. Unfortunately, I was a little tired when I wrote this, so I hope it's not too bad! A drunk Maka would definitely be interesting...Maybe I'll make a oneshot about it if I ever get the time.

Thanks again for the reviews! I really enjoy reading them. ^^

And just a sidenote: Maka and Soul are twenty in this drabble.

He couldn't believe it.

Maka, to him, would never be the type to so willingly subject to any sort of peer pressure given her stubborn and uniform nature, and yet last night his partner earnestly proved him wrong. She actually went with Patty's ingenious idea to "get completely smashed" now that she boasted the ripe young age of twenty. Maka, his straightedge, bookworm, strict, and honey-haired Maka trashed herself at a club last night and then proceeded to party the night way with a newly discovered - or should he say lost? – sense of shame.

Completely hungover and unable to fend for herself, she now lay sprawled out in his bed in oversized boxers and one of his favorite t-shirts. If not drooling and mumbling in her sleep like an insomniac finally able to dream, he would undoubtedly admit she looked almost endearing in the morning light.

Soul sighed and traced her jaw with his thumb gently, being careful not to wake her too early, hoping to stave off her morning after as long as he possibly could. I promised to protect you, he thought sadly as he realized she would soon be experiencing a whole new world of pain; though he trusted she could handle it compared to other aches she endured in the past decade or so.

He felt secondhand embarrassment as he remembered what she probably wouldn't without his help – the acts she unknowingly carried out on the club's dance floor. He wondered if he could civilly relay all the stories to her without earning a Maka-chop. Grinding, flirting, giggling, and all sorts of other breaches of etiquette foreign to her now stained her once completely pure reputation. He felt himself tense as he remembered the way her emerald eyes sparkled when a few males flocked to her side and insisted she could quite possibly be the most beautiful creature to ever step into Death City.

And he felt his heart break when he remembered what she told him as he carried her, completely inebriated after drinking for hours like a fish, on the way home.

"No one's ever said I was beautiful before," she had slurred. "It was kind of nice."

His heart mended and skipped a beat when he remembered how lovely she really did look in her brand new dress, a birthday gift from Tsubaki. It really brought out her eyes, and a revelation in Soul.

Maka rolled over in her sleep and blinked up at him, bleary-eyed and obviously fumbling her fuzzy head for memories of last night.

"Maka," he whispered, assuming her head to be throbbing.

"Mmm?" she sleepily responded. She rubbed absently at her eyes.

"You've always been beautiful." He gulped, hoping she wouldn't remember this particular section of her first – and probably only – drunken adventure, even though it took all effort in him to utter the words he had held back for so long. "I've always thought that, but I've been afraid to tell you. I'm sorry. I should've said it sooner."

She snuggled closer to him, and he hoped she couldn't get a glimpse of his blush. "Thank you. It means so much to me when you say it, Soul."

"Why?"

"Because you're precious to me." She instantly fell asleep wrapped up in his strong arms, in his sudden, but thoroughly welcome, embrace.

He smiled. Maybe this stupor of hers had some advantages, though most benefited him.

Though he still couldn't be sure how to tell her about the congo line she started.

He restrained a chuckle as he stared at her new sombrero sitting in the corner of his room.

Maybe tomorrow.