At that moment, the blonde meister had remembered the fact that she had not eaten anything since she had woken up. She was contemplating getting something to eat when her stomach emitted a clearly audible gurgle.
The swordsman's gaze immediately shifted to her mid-torso. “Y- You're hungry, Maka.” He looked back up into her eyes, concern lowering his eyebrows, though it was difficult to distinguish due to his eyes' natural slants. He knew very well what it was like to be hungry, and how painful it could be. He did not want Maka to have to feel that kind of pain.
Maka's eyes closed once again, eyebrows angled slightly similar to his. “Oh, it's okay, Crona. I just forgot to eat breakfast this morning.” He gave her a dubious expression. “How about you and I go back to my apartment and I'll cook us and everyone something to eat, 'kay?”
His posture lightened, as well as his face. He didn't care if he got anything to eat; he could go days without food. The only thing that mattered right now was getting Maka fed. “Okay.” He spoke. “A- As long as you eat something too.” Besides, he'd bet that anything Maka made would taste lovely.
Her smile turned into a wide toothy grin. “Deal!”
Accompanied by Crona, the meister unlocked her apartment, walking in to find her weapon in his sleepwear, lounging in a dining room chair. He looked at the two, feigned exasperation on his face.
“Well, you forgot to mention that he was coming over.” The scythe spoke, face in a small sharp-toothed grin.
The demon swordsman's gaze fell slightly, head tilting down. “O- Oh, sorry. I can leave, it's o-”
Soul clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, it was a joke.” His eyes closed with a larger grin. “Just means I have to get dressed now.” As he exited the dining room to his own room, Maka had walked into the kitchen. Crona watched as she proceeded to fasten an apron around her waist.
She turned around and looked at him with earnest eyes. “So, what do you want for breakfast, Crona?”
Ragnarok had been sleeping so soundly that his own meister had apparently forgotten his presence. Though simply the mention of food was enough to change this. “FOOD?!” A miniscule pain spread onto Crona's spine as the weapon made his unimpressive entrance, bursting out of the swordsman's body. “I want pancakes, and eggs! And bacon and sausage!!!” The pink-haired meister closed his eyes with exasperation and let out a sigh.
Maka's eyes narrowed with a glare as she stared daggers at the sword. “I was asking Crona, not you.” She then looked back at the shy meister, expecting a response.
Not desiring to make her cook anything she didn't want, he answered. “Er, wh- whatever you want to eat.”
Her expression turned to one of disappointment or doubt. “Crona, I'm going to cook what you want. So, what do you want?”
Crona's line of sight drifted to the floor as he pondered over the question. After a few moments of silence, his weapon partner grew impatient. “He's not gonna answer, ya know! He doesn't wanna say anything you don't want! Just make some DAMN WAFFLES!” His arms crossed across his chest, Ragnarok addressed the scythe-meister.
“I like waffles, Crona.”
“FINALLY! I swear, sometimes you two are like a overly-sugary-sweet couple! It's DISGUSTING!” Crona's face reddened slightly at the last remark.
“Soul, I'm making breakfast!” She called to her weapon.
“'Bout time.” The scythe spoke with a small grin as he came back out of his room, dressed in his black leather jacket, orange shirt, headband, and khakis. He then turned into the living room, sat on the couch, and flipped on the television.
Crona looked back at Maka as she put out various materials and ingredients. “Sh- should I help, Maka?” He asked, gripping his right arm.
She giggled at the offer. “No, Crona, you're our guest; sit down.” The meister gestured in the direction of Soul with a frying pan.
The demon swordsman glanced at Soul, then back at Maka, of whom had resumed cooking. Uncertainly, he took a seat on the opposite side of the sofa from the scythe. The albino lazily stared at the T.V., elbow draped comfortably over the back of the couch. Ragnarok peered up from behind his roost atop his meister's head. “This stuff's as boring as hell!”
Soul sighed, tossing the sword the remote. “Your pick, then. I don't really feel like watching T.V., anyway.” His line of sight turned toward Crona. “So, that wound healing up fine?”
It took a moment for Crona to process and remember what he was talking about. “Oh, y- yeah. It's fine.”
The albino weapon clapped Crona on the shoulder. “Cool.”
The purple cat of whom had taken residence in Maka and Soul's apartment hopped up into the scythe's lap. Blair nuzzled her head up and down his chest before moving onto the meister. Crona looked down on her, curling up into a sleeping position on his lap, and started to stroke her fur. His weapon muttered to no one in particular. “I like you better in human form.”
The feline opened a single gold eye and peered up at him. “So how'd it go with Maka?” She whispered, speaking only to Crona.
He raised an eyebrow. “Eh?” What did she mean by 'it?'
She chuckled. “Don't worry; I won't tell anyone.” Blair closed her eye once more, presumably asleep.