Disclaimer: A good 90% of the lyrics from One Week are used here. Any and all plot is derived from this song, so if it seems strange, blame the Barenaked Ladies.

One Week

by. Lacrow

It felt like it had been a whole week since she'd last looked at him, let alone talked to him. Soul knew that when she had cocked her head to the side like that, Maka was basically telling him in her own little way that she was angry. So much so in fact that it had lasted this long, although at the time, he really didn't realize it was such a big deal. The poor weapon just assumed that in a few days, Maka would be over it and smiling at him. That didn't happen. Instead, his meister had brought him into the living room and told him explicitly why she was so ticked off at him. That was when Soul Eater realized it was his fault. Somehow, someway, he had become the cause for all of her problems. Of course, he couldn't at admit that. So in the end he kept his mouth shut, and sure enough, the next day Maka had forgiven him.

The only problem was, it would probably be a few days until he actually said he was sorry.

Kid dragged them to it, some fancy restaurant in the middle of Death City. Chalet Swiss, was that what it was called? He stopped and thought for a moment; it didn't even matter. Point was, Maka had made him dress up in that suit he despised so much. Ritzy clothes and stuffy air was not his scene. But the young shinigami had gone through the trouble of making reservations, and in Maka's own words it was disrespectful if they didn't attend.

So there the five of them sat; Soul, Maka, Kid, and the Thompson sisters Patti and Liz. The decor was nice, their clothes were nicer. One would've expected something fancy like steak and lobster to be served at a place like that...and that's where things got dicey. It was a sushi house. A fancy one, but a sushi joint nonetheless. It didn't bother him one bit, in fact he loved it. Quick to bring out and never touched a frying pan? He was way on board. Maka was a different story however.

"What the hell kind of Japanese girl doesn't like sushi!"

The wasabi was pretty hot. He actually didn't want any wasabi, but Maka had already poured it over his sushi in simmering fury. Apparently it was a touchy subject, and she wasn't one to talk about past experiences so openly. Soul was smart enough not to press the matter, especially not with other people at the table.

Dinner came and went, leaving the five of them there to wait for their server. A big Asian man with a name-tag that said 'Rimes' swooped down and left them the bill, dashing off to some other table. When Kid looked at the bill, he flipped. $100 for the five of them. That wasn't going to hang with the son of Death himself.

And...that's where things got even dicier. The scene got awkward, with Kid demanding to see the manager in the middle of a busy restaurant. Liz ducked her head. Patti played with her utensils. Maka just stared at Soul, to which he gave an apologetic grin back. What was the major problem? All he did was make a small comment! Still, Soul figured he'd swallow his pride as Kid complained about the value of such a place with it's manager. The guy was shrewd, obviously he had gotten into that position through his wheeling and dealing skills. Even so, matching wits with Kid was not a good idea, and soon had broken down the man enough for him to give them all a discount.

Their bill cut in half, all five left in. Maka was the first to go though, she practically burst through that front door. Soul made sure to stay far away to let her simmer.

Unfortunately, he still had to drive her home.

He wasn't an idiot. First chance he got, Soul made a break for it. The minute Maka opened that door, he dashed inside and sealed himself away in his bedroom. Hoping to ride out the storm, that's where he stayed for the following three hours.

After deeming it ok to come out, the first thing that greeted him was the smell of vanilla as he opened the door. Wondering of course where the hell that smell was coming from, he very quietly and carefully sneaked his way down the hallway to catch a glimpse of Maka on the couch.

That show she was watching, was that 'Vertigo'? That old one from the 60's? And why was she sitting criss-cross with a tub of ice cream between her legs as she watched it intently? Soul was dumbfounded and naturally he wanted to stand there just a little longer to figure things out, but it just wasn't meant to be. Somehow Maka heard him, spun around, and she froze. Spoon in her mouth, she stared at him. Soul stared back. What happened after that was a strange mix of curses and yells, followed by Soul running back to his room as pillows were thrown at him from the living room couch.

If he had known being a weapon was going to be this dangerous, he would've at least signed a waiver before hand.

Maka was funny when she was angry. Could Soul help it if he thought that? He felt bad for doing so, but deep down he just couldn't help but smile when he caught her acting that way. His personality was sarcastic to be sure, sometimes cold, and at other times even morbid. He might have even laughed at a funeral if the situation called for it, but he'd never be a jerk about it. Would Maka ever understand that? Soul scratched his head, because even he didn't fully understand it.

Still though, he was confident his partner could relate. Maka had a tendency to wear her mind on her sleeve; you could tell what she was thinking. Of course, that always came in handy whenever he got out of the shower. Those times where he caught a glimpse of her hiding her averted eyes.

He had a history of putting his shirt on after he made it back into the room.

It felt like it had been a whole week since she looked at him. That night in their apartment, Maka had practically thrown her arms into the air and told him that he was crazy, among other things. She reached her limit two days later. Finally fed up with his jeers, the girl tackled him to the carpet. The rugs burns on Soul's knees convinced him that his meister was out for blood, but just three days ago, she realized that nothing had been his fault. Apparently between the beating and the screaming, it finally clicked in her mind that she was angry for no reason. Yesterday, she'd forgiven him yet again.

The only problem was, it would probably be another few days until she actually said she was sorry.

It was just them that night. All alone, with friends out doing other things on a Friday night, they decided to stay in and enjoy some time together. Chinese chicken for take-out and the lights off as they watched scary TV shows, it was a good time overall. That was until an evil looking, smoking man popped from the screen, causing Maka to jump and let her food go flying. Soul laughed. Maka chopped him.

The scythe lay there, rubbing his head as she stood over him with a contempt smile on her face. Did Harvar have to put up Ox Ford's frantic silliness as well? Were all smart people as crazy as his meister was? The stinging pain of the book-print on his forehead convinced him otherwise. He felt like asking out loud, but luckily his logic got the better of him. Instead he just kept it all down and nonchalantly returned to his seat right next to her. Not a peep was heard out of him, and the rest of their night continued.

But not before he caught Maka snickering to herself in satisfaction at his obedience.

The movie they had started, ended. It was terrible. Maka was angry that they had wasted an hour and a half of their life. Soul was just mad that it had cost him $4.99. They looked at each other and wholeheartedly agreed; they could come up with something much better. True they don't get paid to make films, but even someone as inept as Patti could make something better than that.

Thoughts ran through his head. Maybe something with a samurai? Those were always cool. Or maybe a comedy? Caddyshack was always a good movie, so why not try the same thing? Get some clubs, some five-irons, and maybe a golf cart or two and you got yourself a golden globe! The idea was brilliant, so much so that he ran it through Maka first. Her response?

"Why not something with Sailor Moon?"

Soul grabbed the bridge of his nose for a moment. She really was an anime freak. He didn't actually meant it when he had called her one so long ago, but now his suspicions had truly been confirmed. Maka sat there waiting for his answer, oblivious to the imaginary berating she was receiving from inside Soul's mind. He would've continued too, and he wanted to get pissed off at her, but a thought occurred to him that made him stop dead in his tracks.

Hot anime babes, with busts as big as Liz and Patti's and really short skirts to match? Shorter than Maka's even...if that were even possible. Soul wasn't a pervert, far from it, but in the end he was still a man. An opportunity to make an imaginary film like that, he just couldn't pass up. Maybe his partner had a good idea after all? With a wicked grin on his face, he looked to Maka and gave his response.

"Sure, why not?"

Maka was funny when she was angry. Soul finally accepted that fact, and he felt as though deep down, Maka did as well. Which was probably why she didn't get angry nearly so often anymore. In fact, the bleach haired boy felt a little bad that she didn't. It always made him smile inside, but now that the both of them were smiling on the outside more, he didn't miss it nearly as much. Would she, could she, understand something like that? If she didn't, she would soon.

Because Soul was the one who wore his mind on his sleeve. And now when he emerged from the shower, looking desperately for his shirt that had been there not even a few minutes before, the look on his face was obvious. Accusatory, but gentle. Playful even. The reason? He knew exactly where it had gone to.

And on those occasions, rare though they may be, he would wind up somehow in Maka's room every time. Half exposed and damp with water, the demon scythe would grin an amused grin at the girl standing in front of him, the shirt he was looking for always dangling from her fingertips.

"Looking for this?" she would ask coyly, a smirk never missing from her face.

"Yeah." Soul would reply simply, casually taking the shirt from Maka's hand.

Every time he took it though, he'd always back away a little slowly. Just enough so as to let his meister see him one last time before the door shut closed in front of him. Her smirk always turned to a satisfied smile, as the image of her partner without his shirt on disappeared from sight. And as the wall was brought between them after that short moment together and life went on as usual, Soul took a moment to wonder why she always seemed so satisfied afterwards. Maybe because she imagined what the other half looked like? A shudder ran down his spine as he smiled to himself one last time.

He had a history of losing his shirt. Why not make it into a habit?

It felt like it had been a whole week since she had looked at him, only because he always missed that look on her face. At some point, Maka had dropped her arms to her side and told him she was sorry. Soul didn't want to ruin the moment, so it wasn't until a few days later that he felt it was safe to tell her. He laughed and said she did exactly what he expected her to do. One Maka-Chop and forty-eight hours later they were in the living room together, Soul's arm around his meister as he meekly admitted that he was wrong as well. Yesterday, those timid smiles gave way to playful grins.

Because even though they admitted they were wrong, it would still be two days till they say they're sorry.

A.N.

I had no idea how hard it was to actually make a story like this until I started writing it. To have it make sense was the tough part, but hopefully I achieved that. If not, oh well lol

Originally I had posted this Thursday for a little bit, but I got last minute jitters and took it down. After a certain someone told me how pissed they were that I had done that, I simply had to post it again. Obviously I hope it's an ok story, what do you think?