Obviously, I don't own Soul Eater. Does anyone actually think people posting fanfiction own the characters or world they are writing about?

Reviews are appreciated.

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HUGE, like seriously big big big, Thank you to Professor Maka for offering to Beta for me and being willing to help me fix previously posted chapters.

Chapter 1: Denial and Devotion.

Maka moved hastily around her room, pulling on her signature plaid pleated skirt and button-down top while simultaneously stepping over and around binders and textbooks which lay haphazardly scattered around the room. It was the beginning of June and the first day of the DWMA Final Exams Week, so Maka Albarn had spent all weekend in full study mode. She had a series of exams to ace; there was no way she would let Ox beat her on the last exams of her time at the DWMA. Some things never changed. With agile fingers, she deftly braided her long hair and took one last look in her bedroom mirror to ensure that she was properly attired before she headed down the hall to Soul's room.

As Maka approached Soul's door, she heard the sound of an alarm clock, followed by the tell-tale crash of it bouncing off the wall. She'd long ago given up hope that they would get their damage deposit back.

The clock shaped indent in the wall pretty much guaranteed that.

"Soul! Wake up!"

His reply was indiscernible mutterings from the other side of his closed door. Maka sighed and headed back to the kitchen to start on breakfast.

This was their morning routine. She would get up early and be ready to leave even before Soul's alarm rang. She would then reinforce said alarm by waking him up herself and proceed to make breakfast. While they shared the responsibility of making dinner, expecting Soul to make breakfast had proven to be unrealistic, to say the least.

Over the last two years, life had fallen into a practiced routine. After Crona's sealing of Asura on the moon and the tenuous truce with the witches, the world had calmed down considerably. There were still pre-kishins that would arise, but after fighting Asura, they were all fairly routine. Especially when wielding a Death Scythe. Speaking of said Death Scythe, he still had not emerged from his room.

"Come on lazy bones! Get up! We're going to be late!" Maka hollered, banging on his bedroom door. "I'll 'Maka Chop' you if you don't hurr-" She was cut off by the door being swung open, revealing a very groggy and very shirtless Soul. Whose well-toned chest was approximately 4 inches from her face.

"Fuck Maka, alright!" he cursed. "What? Are you worried they'll expel you two weeks from graduation if you show up late once?"

"That's not the point!" Maka growled, but she could feel her face warming and she hoped Soul assumed it was due to irritation.

If he noticed, he didn't mention it as he moved past her, calling a casual, "Whatever" before disappearing into the bathroom.

Maka headed back to the stove, mentally scolding herself for her momentary slip, taking some deep breaths to chase the flush from her skin. She'd cared for Soul, even loved him, for a very long time, possibly even before they met Blair. It had always been a platonic kind of love, based on respect, trust and friendship. The kind of close bond that all good Meister-Weapon partners shared.

While she had recognized that he was a good looking boy, the "fan club" made that crystal clear, she had not been attracted to him. In hindsight, that was probably because she hadn't allowed herself to consider it. She'd been focused on her goals; turning Soul into a Death Scythe, finding Crona, defeating the Kishin, and surviving all of the above. It wasn't until things calmed down that she began to notice things, like how at some point he'd grown from a boy into something almost a man.

He had gotten taller, significantly taller. When he bothered to stand at his full height, he was eye to eye with Professor Stein. His face had changed, too. His jawline and cheekbones more defined. He'd also matured mentally. With everything they had been through during the War with Asura, that only made sense.

They spent almost every waking hour together, and even so, she found herself coming up with reasons to sit on the couch in the evenings with him, even going so far as buying a little book light so that she could read while he was watching TV. She caught herself blushing when he would smile at her or complement her on her cooking. When she wasn't careful, her mind would wander to how it might feel to kiss him, how much she would like to run her hands through his hair, or do both at the same time.

There her mind went, wandering off again. Her face was heating up, so she restarted her ritual of calming breaths to force it to cool. She'd realized that, at some point, her feelings had crossed over from loving her partner as a close friend to being "in love" with him.

That was definitely not a good thing.

She knew he loved her (some things were impossible to hide during resonance) but Maka was sure it was as a close friend-the same way she had loved him, before her traitorous heart had decided to want more. He'd never shown any romantic interest in her.

When she had first started to receive a smattering of partner requests and the occasional love note, she had entertained fantasies that he would steal them, delete them from the answering machine, do something to show that maybe he cared about her as more than just a friend, but he didn't. He dutifully handed her any notes that he happened across and called her over to listen to the answering machine when the message was for her instead of him. It was flattering to know that other members of the DWMA were finally noticing her, but she had gently turned down all potential weapons and dates, not interested in either.

She used to wish Soul would just up and kiss her, or confess his undying love like in some cheesy romance novel. They lived together; there was plenty of opportunities. But none of these things happened. He never crossed the line between close friends and something more. Eventually, she'd accepted that he never would, but maybe that was a good thing.

She had seen how bad a partnership turned romance could end. Her parents' disastrous marriage was a prime example. Her Mama's tolerance of her Papa's cheating that had gone on for years still confused her. When the marriage finally ended, her Mama had felt the need to leave Death City, and years later she had yet to return. Not that she believed Soul capable of the kind of behaviour her Papa exhibited. He had proven himself worthy of her trust more times than she could count. Through years of personal analysis, Maka had simply come to the conclusion that it would end badly when a Meister/Weapon team became romantically involved.

Soul had been her best friend since they were twelve years old. Over time, born from years of living and fighting together, they had begun to share an easy sort of casual intimacy. It was not unusual for them to spend their evenings sitting on the couch together, with her feet on his lap or his arm around her shoulder. She cherished how comfortable they were with each other now and she wouldn't do anything to put that in jeopardy. The likely outcome of any poorly conceived confession of love on her part would be his gentle rejection of her and a destruction of that sense of ease between them. This would undoubtedly strain their friendship and possibly their partnership.

No, she'd long ago resigned herself to enjoying what she had, to attempt to attain 'more' just wasn't worth the risk.

Soul stood in the bathroom violently brushing his teeth, staring at himself in the mirror. He had noticed a shift in Maka when he'd opened his door, but was pretty sure it was due to the scar that stretched across his chest. She'd always been weird about the scar.

He'd been enjoying the relative peace that had descended since Kid had taken over as Lord Death. Spartoi had been disbanded, no longer necessary. Missions had been a breeze. He'd barely needed to use his keyboard while in battle, and hadn't set foot in the Blackroom once. Even the Little Demon had remained silent, for now at least. Maka, being her awesome self, was able to defeat most opponents quickly, other than the ones who dragged things out by running, but that only delayed the inevitable. When Two Star Scythe Meister Maka Albarn decided to take a soul, it was just a matter of time.

The growl from his stomach derailed any further musings. Upon exiting the bathroom, he was greeted with the smell of fresh coffee, bacon, fried eggs, and toast. He quickly used the back of his hand to wipe the trail of drool that had manifested itself at the corner of his mouth.

Making his way to his room to get dressed, he took a moment to admire his Meister as she moved around their small kitchen. She'd braided her hair, which meant that Maka was all business today. Did he forget a test? She'd finally given up the pigtails after some weak pre-kishin asshole had managed to grab one and nearly took off a chunk of her scalp. Dressed in her normal school outfit, minus her combat boots, her bare feet padded softly as she moved around the kitchen, grabbing mugs for coffee with one hand and plates with the other, using her shoulder to close the cupboard door. His eyes travelled up her bare legs. She'd gotten a little taller over the last few years and her already impossibly long legs had only gotten longer. She had soft curves now, although they were usually hidden beneath loose fitting clothing. He was distracted by the way her skirt swayed around her hips with every step and how her breasts became more prominent when she stretched to reach something off the top shelf. His Meister could be very distracting.

He wasn't sure when it happened, and he couldn't be bothered to figure it out, but at some point, he'd fallen for her. Her friendliness and unwavering faith in him probably played a role, compounded by her general badass-ness in a fight. He never stood a chance; he was in love with her.

He knew she loved him too, some things were impossible to hide during resonance. What kind of love, he couldn't be sure, and testing the waters was a dangerous proposition. He knew Maka; when it came to relationships, she had baggage (two large suitcases' worth) one devoted to her pervy womanizing Dad and the other devoted to her absentee Mother. He took solace that while Maka hadn't shown an interest in a relationship with him, at nearly 18, she hadn't shown interest in a relationship with anyone.

Around the time he had noticed her curves, apparently the male half of the DWMA student population had, too. She'd started to receive partner requests, love notes, and annoyingly sappy messages on their answering machine.

He'd considered hiding the notes, deleting the messages, but she never did that with the ones that were addressed to him. He wouldn't steal from her, he wasn't an asshole, but he wasn't a pushover either. He wouldn't let some random jerk screw around with her and possibly put her off relationships forever.

He'd managed to convey her unavailability through his constant presence at her side, justified by the fact that he was her Weapon, after all. When some guy's eyes would linger, he would reinforce the sentiment through a cold stare or dark look, maintaining eye contact until they looked away. For the few that wouldn't take the hint, he would covertly phase a blade from his forearm, clearly conveying that he was her weapon, The Last Death Scythe, and she was his to protect.

With the perverts and assholes sufficiently discouraged, he'd decided to be patient. He would wait for her to give him a clear sign. She was the braver of the two of them; he was sure she would make a move if she was interested. Until then, they were comfortable enough with each other that he got to enjoy some physical contact with her. He just had to be careful not to cross any boundaries since he didn't want to freak her out. With things in the world calming down, he had time. They were partners; he got to spend most of his waking hours with her. When she was ready, he'd be there. No need to try and rush things.

With this much patience and restraint, he could be forgiven for occasionally taking some time to admire her long graceful legs and the cute way her brow would furrow when she was annoyed. That was totally acceptable.

Except when she caught him…like right now.

"Earth to Soul! This is ground control! Snap out of it, space cadet, and go get dressed. Breakfast is ready." He managed to give her one of his trademark grins before retreating to his room.