Disclaimer: This is stupid. Every time? Don't own... jeez it's almost painful.

A/N: This was inspired by a post by tumblr user sarahsorad. It was supposed to be a drabble but it got away from me...If you want to see it, remove the spaces from this link sarahsorad. tumblr post /46619687318/ awesomeasusual-sarahsorad- tumblr-ate-my. Love and/or constructive criticism welcome.

The first few weeks of living with Soul Eater proved to be an interesting (and often frustrating) experience with a learning curve steeper than the front steps at Shibusen. Maka quickly learned what type of underpants he wore (boxers), which side of the couch her preferred to sit on (the right), and he how much he liked to eat.

Which was a lot.

And everything.

And all the time.

He burned through his Shibusen allotted allowance faster than if he had actually set it on fire.

He spent it all on food.

Soul had never had so much freedom. His nannies had never let him eat what he pleased, or how much he pleased. They were always concerned about his health, whether he was well enough to perform at the next concert, and how good he looked in pictures. Arriving at Shibusen, free of the burden, the gorged himself on whatever he could afford. He ate cakes, fried chicken, and all the raw fish he could afford. He ordered several combo meals and stashed them in the fridge to eat for when he was feeling peckish around dawn. Fortunately for him, the half ton of food he consumed, combined with the heavy schedule of training, made him gain several pounds of muscle. Maka sometimes commented that he could have gained more if he ate more healthful food.

He told her mind her own business.

Maka, for the most part, found it easy to ignore new partner's bad habits. If it had affected their fight performance she would find a way to stop him.

But when Maka found him lying on the floor of their living room on night, sugar coma in full effect, candy bar wrappers and soda cans strewn throughout the room. She had to enforce some ground rules.

She made him budget his money. She took grocery money from him and forbade him from buying junk.

Soul was back to being nannied.

He tried to rebel, hoarding his money for weeks at time, just to blow it all on shushies and gummy worms.

After he was caught in his room with a mouthful of Swedish fish and he got a half hour lecture and a few well placed chops from Maka, he swore to only eat what came out of their refrigerator.

But she still awoke one night at 3am to the sounds of him opening HER bags of chips and HER plastic containers of leftovers. She had swiftly kicked him in the head and bought a chain and a lock.

Soul, in his infinite former rich kid wisdom, managed to pick the lock with a quickness that stunned Maka into rethinking her preconceived notions of lazy, slow, slothy Soul.

So Maka took desperate action.

She bought a magnetic sign that said "open" on one side, and "closed" on the other. When she stuck it up, the green "open" side up, Soul scoffed. As if something as flimsy as a sign could stop him from eating.

He was, after all, Soul Eater.

He did not expect her to camp out in the freaking kitchen.

She stayed by the fridge for several days. Her nightly patrols would start at 10 pm, when she flipped the magnetic sign to the red "closed" side. She made herself a comfortable little nest of blankets and pillows, and planted herself at the door of the refrigerator, a book clenched in one hand, a flashlight in the other. Soul fumed, remarking that he was not a child, that he did not need anyone policing his eating habits.

Despite his claims, he tried to sneak past her the first few nights, but that earned him several lesions and a concussion. She stayed vigil, waiting for him to appear. She would not let him make himself sick again.

Soul tried baiting her, bribing her with a shiny new bookmark.

She held firm.

He tried mocking her, telling her that all the time around the refrigerator sneaking snacks behind his back had given her fat ankles.

She threw her flashlight at him but she would not move.

Two weeks in, he made a last-ditch effort: Soul was going to sneak past, ninja style.

He had been hanging out with Black Star for a while, hoping to glean some clever tactics that would help him sneak past Maka without getting a book to the brain. Black Star was a loud mouth, but he was good.

Soul tread the carpet barefoot. He inched his way from his room to the kitchen slowly. It was about 4 AM. Maka had been sitting in her regular station for 6 hours. She was probably dead asleep. In spite of being a heavy sleeper, Maka seemed to sense Soul coming every time. It was damn creepy, and he had to be very, very careful.

A quiet snore sent him diving under the table. On his hands and knees, Soul spotted Maka's blonde head peeking out from the lip of her nest. The blankets rose and fell in a steady rhythm. Soul almost chuckled before he remembered his mission. He crawled towards the refrigerator, wincing at the cold tile making contact with his warm palms and knees. He reached Maka and stopped.

Soul had never seen her so peaceful.

Her forehead was smooth in sleep, very much unlike her normal expression which always furrowed with some type of girly emotion. She was breathing quietly, unlike the angry huffs she usually took, especially when she was around him.

Her hands curled around her book, like she had fallen asleep while reading.

Damn her. Why did she care so much about what he ate? Sure, she had to clean up after him when he was comatose but that was one time. He supposed he did have some sort of obligation as a weapon to stay fit and healthy. How could they fight kishins otherwise?

But she yelled at him so much. And hit him with heavy things! She couldn't possibly care about him that much…

Not him. His health.

But if she only cared about his physical health, why did she do stuff like sleep on the cold kitchen floor? Wasn't that taking it too far? He wouldn't do it, if the situation was reversed.

Soul paused.

He wouldn't do it.

Or would he?

A voice in the back of his head screamed oh yes you would.

Soul groaned and hung his head. He couldn't believe some tiny-titted, fat-ankled bookworm was making him feel guilty.

Soul turned and crawled out of the kitchen, stealing glances back at Maka (he was looking at the refrigerator full of yummy but unattainable food, he told himself).

The next morning Maka woke up to the dulcet sounds of clanging pans. She opened her eyes and Soul stood above her, a cast iron pot in each hand. She lashed out at him with her fists, demanding to know what was going on. Soul merely used one pot to point at the clock, then the other to point at the red "closed" sign.

It was breakfast time.

Maka started. And then smiled.

Soul had gone through the whole night without sneaking into the kitchen to try to steal food (as far as she knew). Without thinking she flung her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. Soul nearly dropped his pans. He blushed, awkwardly patting Maka on the back. The hug went on until Soul's stomach growled audibly. Maka laughed and let go, a little bit pink in the face herself. She hadn't expected herself to react by hugging. Still smiling, she flipped the sign to "open." Soul breathed a sigh of relief and pushed Maka out of the way, making claims about making the both of them the best breakfast burritos they had ever had in their entire lives.

For Maka, that was the day she had started trusting Soul. It was weird, something as important as trust hinging on a silly thing like sign obedience, but Maka took the rules very seriously. Truthfully, that day let Maka know that she and Soul could work and become better, together. For Soul, it was the day he realized that, for the first time in his life, there was someone who cared about him, all of him. They would both remember the day fondly, when it was Soul's turn to make breakfast and he had the foresight to buy fresh tortillas. They would reminisce about nests and candy wrappers, knowing they had come a long way in showing each other how much they cared.