Fair warning: This story is a tragedy. No more happy-go-lucky after this chapter. [:(]

Disclaimer: I do not own Soul Eater or any other works/brands mentioned.

"So someone finally bought that house next door?"

"One of my old college buddies, at that."

"Well, I hope they're nice," Maka mused, taking a bite of her sandwich.

"I bet you and his son will get along," Spirit sang, dancing around the kitchen.

"So you go completely mad whenever I go out with Soul, but you're teasing me about a boy I've never met?"

Late the next day—right before dinnertime, actually—Maka opened her bedroom window to sneak a peek at the moving van in the driveway of the house next door.

She frowned when she couldn't catch a glimpse of anyone but the people hauling furniture into the place.

She was about to retreat back inside her room when a boy who looked to be around her age stepped outside. Intrigued, she watched him instruct the movers.

Suddenly, he turned and looked up—directly at her. She flushed red (I must look like a total creep!) and closed her window.

He watched it for a few seconds, a bemused look sitting on his face before he sighed softly and returned to his task at hand.

Maka leaned against her wall, attempting to make a judgment on her new neighbor based on only what she saw.

He had stripes in his hair—he's not going through that kind of phase, is he?

Well, he wasn't wearing those glasses with the huge frames and I didn't see a Starbucks in his hand—oh well. It's not like I have to socialize with him. Just a friendly "hi" if we cross paths, and—

She pulled herself out of her train of thought when she noticed boxes being moved into the room visible from her window—directly across it, at that.

Then, the boy she'd been fretting about entered and started rummaging through one of the boxes. He pulled out what appeared to be a bottle of something, pocketing it and then standing.

Oh god, is he a druggie?

Maka apparently caught his eye, because he turned to face her—he approached the window and opened it, motioning for her to do the same.

She did.

"Hello!" He smiled brightly and waved, and she dropped all misconceptions she'd had. "You're Spirit's daughter, then?"

"Y-yeah—I'm Maka."

"Death the Kidd. I'd shake your hand, but I don't want to risk falling to my death." He laughed nervously, scratching the back of his head.

"It's nice to meet you," she called across the gap between the houses.

"The pleasure's all mine!" He grinned. "I'd love to stay and chat, but I've got to help with moving in!"

They both waved a goodbye, but the windows were left open.

Maka hummed to herself, settling back down in her bean bag chair and resuming her reading session.

The next day, she was rudely interrupted from Ender's Game as a rock hit her window.

Irritated, she ignored it.

After the fourth hit, she slammed the book shut and stalked over to her window, throwing it open.

"Hey, Maka! Catch!"

She didn't have the faintest clue of what she'd be catching or if it was already in the air, so she immediately thrust her arms out of the window in anticipation.

A tin can landed in her hands.

"This is what you interrupt my book for? A can?" She yelled.

But then something pulled it and she almost dropped it, and then she finally noticed that Kidd held one as well and there was a string connecting the two.

He moved his to his mouth and she instinctively held hers up to her ear.

"Better? Now we don't have to yell."

Although she didn't want to admit it, he was right—and he'd gone about that small issue in a fun way.

"Why didn't we just swap phone numbers or something?" She placed her free hand on her hip, raising an eyebrow.

"Because this is more fun."

She sighed. "Fair enough."

"I can see you've got quite the bookshelf in there. An avid reader, are you?"

"I guess you could say that…what about you?"

"I'd have to be guilty of that as well."

She smiled. Maybe this guy isn't so bad. "I'd love to stay and chat—" she copied his phrase from earlier, "—but I have a date I've got to get ready for. I'll talk to you later!"

Maka's date with Soul went off without a hitch, and she arrived back home closer to midnight than she liked.

She kicked her heels off and trudged upstairs, all but collapsing on her bed once she found her room.

She laid there for a few minutes before forcing herself back up so that she could change out of her dress.

Flipping the light on, she went to shut the blinds on her window when she saw Kidd measuring and making marks on his wall.

What on Earth is he doing…?

After she sighed, shook her head, and closed the blinds, she quickly slipped out of her dress and pulled on a pair of pajamas.

Glad to be in comfortable clothes at last, she decided to do some reading before she went to bed.

At least, that's what she intended to do.

When she heard a muffled "Damnit!" from who could only be Kidd, she yanked down on the cord that dangled near her head, and then opened the window.

He appeared to be re-measuring the height of the same wall over and over, and grew more and more upset when he came out with the same number each time.

Maka waved to try and get his attention, but he was too focused on the measuring tape that kept reeling back up each time he grew frustrated and set it down.

"Kidd!" she whisper-yelled—she didn't want to wake Spirit, after all—in an attempt to distract him.

It worked; he stopped his small little tantrum and whipped around to face his window. Upon seeing Maka, he blushed and went over to his window.

"…sorry," he said. "Did I wake you?"

"No, I just got home. What the hell are you doing?"

"Checking the lengths and heights of the walls." He shot a glare at the one behind him. "Nine feet tall…why couldn't it have been eight?"

"Um…why does it need to be eight?"

His right eye twitched.

"Because eight is the perfect number."

"…Why's that?"

"Because it's amazingly symmetrical."

"What makes that so special?"

". . ."

"…Sorry. Sensitive subject?"

"Symmetry is beauty. Symmetry is life. Life needs balance, and symmetry is just that. Everything needs symmetry."

"I see." She elected to not mention his stripes.

"…You look tired. Go to bed. It's a weeknight, isn't it?"

She grimaced. "Yeah. I guess I'll do that, then. 'Night."

"Goodnight."

And then the windows shut.