It really seemed like Maka never listened to anything that Soul told her. Stubborn, he surmised.

And so was the case when she didn't pay any mind to Soul's warnings, which consisted of "Don't go outside in the middle of the night in shorts, for fucks sake Maka!" Since he very well knew the blonde had little to no resistance to the cold.

"Soul! I told you that I could.. cook.." Maka staggers out of her room and walks shakily to the kitchen, looking kind of like a drunk middle aged man, Soul thinks.

"No Maka, you can't," Soul turns his head and looks at her, "You're sick, go back to bed."

"B-but.. Huh-" She loses balance, tripping on her long pajama bottoms and her weapon practically races to her, and holds her arms so she doesn't topple over.

"Like I said, you can't."

He drags her back to her room, and hopes she'll obediently and safely stay there, because he doesn't want to deal with that can of worms, which is dealing with a sick Maka. He sets her down on the bed and tucks her in, seeming quite like a mother, "Stay there until I finish cooking dinner. You need to rest, okay?"

"...Fine.." Maka was visibly frowning, she was the responsible one, the mother friend one. Not Soul.

Soul begins to walk out of the room, before she reaches out and yanks him down. "Can you stay with me?" She whines, with puppy dog eyes.

He sighed. This was her secret weapon, the weapon that made him do anything. Dinner could wait. "Scoot over." He says as he climbs into her bed and lays beside her.

Completely ignoring the chance of sickness, he relishes the moment. Maka? Inviting him into her personal space? If she wasn't sick she would've Maka chopped the weapon in an instant.

Was this spooning? He thinks it is. Whatever, he happily obliges to this and holds her, providing protection.

. . .

Oh wait. Dinner. Yikes, can he smell something burning?

Shit. Maka would definitely get mad.

Well, who cares. He'll deal with the burnt pasta later.

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E D I T E D