Sweet and Sour

"I don't like to call it revenge… returning the favor sounds nicer." - Unknown

Maka felt so giddy about her plotting that she had to keep herself from rubbing her hands together maniacally, as if she was some kind of evil genius. But evil genius or not, she decided to forgo any extensive planning because it was pretty simple what she was going to do. Two can play at these games, and it was more a matter of who could break the other first. This was a game of wit and endurance which she was positive she could outlast.

Because Soul failed foundations of amplification last year, he was forced to stay in school an extra 40 minutes with Blackstar, Patty, and all the others who took advantage of the professor's apathy in engaging the class, to instead take power naps or sling milk cartons across the lecture hall. Maka would usually wait in the library for Soul with Tsubaki, who waited on Blackstar, or sometimes even join the remedial class if boredom caught up with her too quickly.

These 40 minutes was a perfect amount of time for her to open all the windows in the apartment, letting in the sharp winter chill that would quickly chase out the artificially warmed air. Not only would it discourage him from his semi-naked escapades, as she though he must have viewed them, but would force him to bundle up the more to keep the chill out. It wasn't a genius plan by any means, but it got the job done- to a degree. Soul was forced to put on a shirt when he walked around, but he never brought up a complaint as if their silent feud didn't exist. Maka was hoping for some kind of reaction, at least a frown or sigh of annoyance, but they went on civilly as if nothing had happened over the past few months. And this brief reprieve, boring as it was, became a blessing in the sense that she could finally sit and +focus on school work, without having to worry about her naked death scythe prancing about the room and distracting her.

Until the snow melted and the cold weather was kicked north by a milder spring front, their daily lives went on in this way, until Maka nearly forgot about their fight and stopped opening windows to let in chilled air that left a while ago. But as February rounded the corner, Soul embraced the weather with a sly grin and a lack of garments, waltzing around in such an irritating fashion that Maka had to walk out of rooms so not to strangle him with her bare hands.

With renewed vigor, he put on such a the pretentious arrogant front that he seemed to be making up for the months when he couldn't, but being as hotheaded as she was, Maka couldn't put on the cool countenance he managed. He seemed to go out of his way to lean over her work and ask about dinner, or constantly forget something while in the shower so he could walk around in just a short towel. He knew the effect it had on her, and seemed to have trouble suppressing his delight when Maka turned away blushing, or stared for just a second too long, where he would raise his eyebrow in mock-judgment. He relished her embarrassment, and she drowned in it, having trouble looking him in the eye in public for all she could see were the images of him without his usual yellow jacket. He drove her crazy, and not in the good way.

For weeks she had been trying to wear a face of indifference in attempt to discourage the idiot, but it seemed only to have the adverse affect, inspiring his idiotic attitude the more. And so Maka threw her morals in the wastebasket, alongside her long lost dignity, and finally sunk to his level, which happened to be the floor where his clothes lay, forgotten.

On one particularly bad day, in which Soul came out of the shower dripping wet in just a towel, under the pretense of forgetting his shampoo in, of all places, the kitchen, Maka had finally snapped. With the picture of his bare chest wet with water dripping from strands of hair, and the knot of the towel tied so loosely that it sat low on his hips leaving little and inciting much to the imagination, she was sure he was now just trying to get a riot out of her, and this time she refused to cave. And with an image that just wouldn't leave her mind to inspire her, she decided that two could play this way, and play she would.

Lying prostrate on the couch, with clothes bunched in a heap by the TV stand, Soul absentmindedly flipped through the channels, not really watching but just passing boredom, as any lazy Saturday warranted.

Imitating his own confidence and tapping into her reserves, Maka walked across the hardwood wordlessly, hardly receiving a look from Soul, but knowing well he was watching from the corner of his eye as he always did in case he precipitated a reaction from her. Using this knowledge, she stood inconspicuously on the other end of the couch, as if she was mildly concerned with his channel flipping. Stretching in mock tiredness, she then unassumingly pulled her shirt over her head, revealing a carefully chosen bra for just a second or two, before she pulled on the old tee she normally wore to sleep. To an outsider Maka's little show would seem to have gone unnoticed by Soul whose eyes were glued to the screen, but Maka knew better. What gave him away was the sudden cease of flipping channels as her shirt slid over her head, and his sudden fascination with the food channel and a heavy set middle aged woman who was very adamant about the use of real lemons in her prized lemon cake recipe.

Once Maka knew she had cracked him, she knew she could break him too. Even though she missed the hint of pink playing on his cheeks, lost in the semi darkness of the room, she reveled in his slip up. She then simply left the room, wearing not only Soul's old shirt, but his grin and with a slight mingling taste of revenge on her tongue, surprisingly sour, but just as satisfying and addicting as the sweet.

Thanks for reading! J