Disclaimer: Not mine.

Author's Note: I honestly didn't expect to update this so soon but I saw a prompt I couldn't resist and just got to writing. :) I'm not really sure where this is in terms of time in both the manga and anime. I'm just going to say future, but not too far off. Not a spoiler of any kind because this kind of just sits in the middle of the timeline... well, in my head, anyway.

Thanks for the reviews! SilverStella, Scotty1994, EvilInsideandOut, curiousivy8, Lucy Ashley from Fairy Tail and the Guest. I appreciated it, as well as the follows and favorites! Every little thing counts a lot to me.

So! Happy Holidays to those celebrating and Happy New Year's! :)

"Are you sure, Maka-chan? We don't mind if you spend tonight at our house, honest."

"That's okay, Tsubaki, really. Thank you, though. It means a lot to me." She knows, as it is, they barely have room for the both of them in their one-room apartment. And despite how empty it will be, she wants nothing more than to go home and crawl under her cool silken sheets and sleep until it's all over.

"Really, Maka-"

Black Star slaps a calloused hand on his partner's smooth shoulder and throws her a thumbs up. "Tsubaki, relax. If anything happens to her while she's on her own I'll know and we'll come to her rescue - after all, I am omnipresent!" He laughs and starts to walk away with his hands behind his head.

"Where did he learn that word?" Maka quirks an eyebrow.

Her friend smiles, warm and sweet like toffee. "I've been teaching him some new vocabulary and it's actually been keeping him busy lately because it takes him a few hours to spell it. Impressed?"

"Yeah. I might believe he's a little smarter than a stone now."

Tsubaki giggles despite how harsh it sounds, because she knows more than any of Black Star's friends, her intentions are the farthest from harmful. "Anyway, I'm sure Soul-kun will be fine, Maka-chan. Call me if you need anything, okay? Please?" Her azure eyes beg her politely - as only the chain-weapon can manage.

She grins. "You know I will, Tsubaki-chan."

She loosens a deep sigh of relief from her gut, and it's evident that she's been holding it in for an awfully long time. "Okay. Goodbye, Maka."

Maka waves her off and then starts her long walk home, no motorcycle as her noble steed to take her there, no knight in shining crimson-edged scythe to steer her.

She tries to lose herself in the sunset, in the thick, hazy purple clouds that make her think of smog and poison.

She opens her door cautiously - only a crack at first - unsure if Blair sleeps in one of her usual obstructive places, like the kitchen table or her bed.

But as expected, not a soul stirs beside her own at the realization. Blair is away on "vacation" with one of her many affluent escorts and Soul is on his first mission as a Deathscythe with a few of the other new weapons. She's not sure when he's coming back, if ever.

Maka tries to punt the thoughts from her jumbled, wired mind but they do not stay far away for long, especially in an empty apartment two floors high. She never realizes how massive it really is when Soul is here, because he becomes the center of her universe during those hours and the world they form when they're together is small, but safe. She misses the microcosm more than words can ever express, and clenches her fists as if to threaten the tears about to fall.

He'll be back, she reminds herself. He'll definitely be back soon.

She busies herself like an abandoned housewife, cooking a simple meal of pasta for a table of one (and of course, a hearty portion for Soul and a smaller one with mackerel sprinkles on top for Blair) and scrubbing the windows till they're so clean they appear invisible to the naked eye. She sweeps the dust from the floors and hard-to-reach nooks and crannies. She blasts music from a record Soul let her borrow recently but it's still somehow not loud enough to block out her own thoughts.

How is he doing on his first mission without her? Is he safe? Is he warm? Is he hurt? Is someone looking out for him like she used to do?

Does he miss her? Does he think about her?

Will he come back?

Does he even want to come back?

Maka's thoughts thrash about in her head like caged birds but start when she slams the front of the vacuum into her weapon's antiquated door. She does not even breathe as she pushes open his door and steps softly inside, her polka-dotted socks absorbed by the plush of his carpet.

She pulls out her ear-buds and notices that he left his favorite leather jacket here, and groans. So he is cold, as she figures. She rests her music player on his desk and wanders over to his ebony jacket and picks it up, examining it like Dr. Stein would an exotic bird.

She catches a whiff of Soul from it by accident - it's like sandalwood and fresh soil but still somehow a really clean smell. She smiles sadly and tries it on, the sleeves and shoulders much too long for her height and stature. He really is growing so fast she's sure he'll touch the sky soon, leave her on the ground. She sighs and keeps it on as she finishes the housecleaning.

At midnight she shoves the vacuum back into its lair of a linen closet and lies down on the couch. So he probably won't be home tonight.

She curls up in a ball and breathes in the scent of Soul again, drifts to sleep surrounded by it, hopes it'll help her dream contentedly.

But instead she dreams of rose-red eyes fading. Of black blood dancing like spilled ink on paper as white as his hair.

"Maka?"

He comes home much later than he intended - or wanted. He practically races to the top of the stairs to reach home, he missed it so much.

He misses her, actually, he knows. He misses her so much.

The door squeaks as he opens it but he doesn't worry about waking her. Despite how strong her soul perception is and how acute her senses are she sleeps like the dead.

"Maka?" he yells again.

He hears a light snore in response and tries not to laugh as he finds her in the couch covered in... his jacket?

Soul crouches down to her level and grins, then pokes her in the shoulder.

As expected, she tries to swat him away in her half-sleep.

"Maka," he whispers against her ear, his breath an unwanted breeze that carries her out of her motley dreams.

"What?" she mumbles, voice hoarse from sleep. She rubs her jade eyes in a weak attempt to become more alive. "Soul? What time is it?"

"Four A.M."

"I'm sorry," she sighs. "I tried to wait up for you but I guess I couldn't do it."

He presses his forehead to hers. "That's okay. I see my jacket kept you company, anyhow." He stifles a chuckle.

"Huh?" She looks down and thanks the concealer of night in their living room as her cheeks simmer to a shade of scarlet. "I was -" She struggles for an excuse. "I was doing laundry."

"What? And it just fell on top of you?"

"It was the warmest jacket in the house."

"Death City is in the middle of the desert."

"Deserts get cold at night."

"Bullshit."

Her eyes slide pointedly to an enormous dictionary well within her reach. "Soul-"

He stops her with a kiss, the very last thing she foresees. It's tense at first, because they both are very much inexperienced and feel, as usual, the pressure to succeed but it softens after a few light bumps, possible bruises, and nervous titters.

Soul pries away and holds (and shares) her embarrassed green gaze. "I missed you. I don't want to do another mission without you there."

She wraps her arms around his neck and clutches him like he's her lifeline (which he very possibly could be). "Good."