A/N: This was written for SoMa week 2016 day 6, feisty. Yes, it's very late. Thank you Kat for the eyes.

Jolted awake by the sharp rap on his door, he glanced at the glaring green numbers flashing 5:30 on his alarm and groaned, burying his head under his pillows.

"Soul!" her voice called from the other side of the door, followed by another sharp knock. "Time to get up-we're meeting Blake in half an hour."

"Screw Blake," he muttered.

He heard the door open and shut and suddenly he was cold as the covers were yanked away.

"Not my type." Maka pulled the pillow from his head. "Now get up. Those legs aren't going to tone themselves!" She poked his soft inner thigh for emphasis.

"'M I your type?" He grinned sharply at her. "There're other ways to tone my legs."

"Don't be gross." She slammed his pillow back into his middle hard enough to leave him winded, then shook her head. "You have ten minutes. I'll have eggs ready."

She was gone a moment later, the memory her retreating backside serving as a blazing advertisement of just how toned it was possible to get. With a sigh, Soul rolled out of bed to shuck on some sweat pants and a ratty band tee, then shoved some work clothes in a bag and exited his bedroom to join his roommate for breakfast.

Some scrambled eggs, toast, a glass of orange juice, and a short motorcycle ride later, and they were in the school gym, doing squat lifts with Blake. Maka always did emphasize the importance of leg strength. Ignoring the snickers of the nearby wrestling team who were engaged in morning practice, their amusement over the fact that the lithe girl next to him was squatting a lot more weight than he was really not worth a second glance, Soul focused the really bad pop playing from the boom box in the corner and remembered that this would be over soon enough. But man oh man did he hate leg day; his thighs would burn later.

At least he had the sparring portion to look forward to. Because he lived for the sparring portion.

Done with squats, they moved on to lunges, and Soul tried to focus on his own movements while unable to keep his eyes off his gym partner. Her toned abs glistened beneath the fabric of her workout crop top, and he would not admit the urge to lick them, no no no no no.

Grunting as his grip slipped on his hand weight, he nearly dropped it.

"You'd do better to focus on your own form and stop trying to copy mine," Maka chided, and he didn't correct her mistaken assumption, but he did tear his eyes away to shift them to Blake. The freak of nature, his hair dyed a garish blue, was also glistening, shirtless abs prominent. He winked at Soul who nearly gagged.

"I know I'm hot and all with my godly physique, but Maks is right, you need to focus, peasant."

With a scowl, Soul moved his eyes to his own form in the mirror. He really did know what he was doing now, even if it had taken months.

At first, he had been pretty clueless. Phys Ed was never his strong suit, and at the uptight private high school he'd attended, orchestra had actually counted for his PE credits. Exercise was not something Soul had ever aspired to for the sake of it, and his undergraduate experience at Julliard had done exactly zero to alter that reality. Even once he graduated and gave his family the proverbial finger by taking out loans to pursue his masters in education three thousand miles away at, perish the thought, a public school, physical fitness had been far off his personal radar.

It wasn't until he'd become friends with Maka that she had occasionally started to push him into exercising, and once they became roommates, that ramped up to him becoming her personal gym buddy and being dragged to the school weight room 3 mornings a week. Three brutally ass early mornings.

You lack muscle tone, she'd said, no wonder you get winded so easily.

It's good for mood, she'd insisted.

Better me than Blake, he might actually kill you if he catches you first, she'd pleaded.

The third was probably the nail in the coffin for his underwhelming physique. Not that he was afraid of Blake "call me Black Star" Barret-more like he was a sucker for Maka's sad kitten eyes.

So here he was, in the school weight room at an ungodly hour doing leg work, as they had every week for months. Even someone with questionable physical skills such as himself could pick up the basics given that much time. Of course, that wasn't to say he didn't sometimes fuck up his form on purpose-Maka sliding her hands over various parts of his body to correct his posture or limb placement was a special kind of torture, and he looked forward to it immensely.

It also didn't mean he wouldn't bitch and whine and moan and complain, because he did all that in spades. Even still, he quietly loved it if only because he got to watch her in her element. Soul might not be the powerhouse she was, but that didn't mean he couldn't appreciate her in her glory. He suspected it might be a little how she felt when he played piano in that way.

Thirty minutes of leg work later and, as usual, Soul was pretty much ready to die. But he couldn't die just yet, no, because it was sparring time. Getting a little giddy at the prospect, he followed his already glistening roommate to the mat in the corner, trailed by the blue haired PE teacher/wrestling coach. There were a few snickers from the still working out wrestling team, but nothing more since Maka and Soul were always the opening match. At first, the team had gathered to watch the sparring matches between the tiny English teacher and towering music teacher, but once they figured out that the three time black belt and MMA champion of the state in her weight class in college would just hand him his ass every damn time, they'd quickly lost interest.

Soul would have loved to believe this morning would be different, that for once he might hold his own, but it wouldn't. He was oddly fine with that. He would never admit it to anyone, would sooner die than admit it, but he sort of liked getting his ass kicked by his roommate. She was just so fierce-the fire in her eyes, the quick precision of her movements, her long, long legs kicking him into next Tuesday-sparring was definitely his favorite part.

Facing her on the mat, he grinned widely. He did have a new strategy to try, anyway. Who knew? Maybe it would even work.

"Well aren't we feisty this morning." She grinned back. "That eager to get your ass kicked?"

He shrugged, but the shit eating grin remained.

Blake signaled to start, and Soul stayed back. He needed her to come to him, to get in close for this to work. A few avoided kicks later, and she came in for a close jab. As he took the hit, his grin widened, and he reached out to her sides, wiggling his fingers mercilessly.

Suddenly, she was wheezing.

"Soul!" she shrieked with a gasp between giggles as she crumpled to the floor. "This-is-cheating!"

"Nuh uh," he insisted, fingers still working her sides as she rolled around on the floor. "All's fair in love and sparring." In this case, for him at least, both were true, and he was enjoying her breathless giggles probably a little too much.

"You-asked for it-!" she managed to wheeze out, and then he was seeing stars as her foot impacted his gut, knocking him flat on his ass. It was his turn to wheeze as he lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling, just trying to breathe.

"Aw, bro." A blue head came into view, standing over him with his own shit eating grin. "Looks like pigtails handed you your ass again. Guess I'll have to show you how it's done."

Blake held out a hand for him to take and deposited him on the edge of the mat, still wheezing, before walking towards the center. Maka grinned Soul's way briefly, smug in her triumph, before facing her new opponent.

And the wrestling team gathered. Because while they might have long since grown bored with watching Soul get his ass handed to him three times weekly, they never seemed to tire of the dizzying matches between the English teacher and their coach.

"Ready to eat the mat?" Maka asked with a slight tilt to her head, one sweat damp pigtail brushing her collarbone in the most distracting way.

"Funny." Blake cracked his own neck, grin feral. "Was about to ask you the same question. On three?"

"On three."

They counted. They went. Soul's head was spinning with the speed of their movements as they circled and jabbed and kicked. Blake was power and speed, lethal, but Maka was all that and grace. She was a goddess of war, glistening and deadly, and Soul could have watched her all day every day.

The whoops of the wrestling team all around them was white noise, hazy. There was only her and her focus and her grin when she landed a hit and the fire in her eyes. Maka had this. Blake beat her as often as he lost, but not today. Today, Maka was on fire, wrath incarnate, and when Blake's ass finally hit the floor, woozy with a blow to the head, Soul's heart skipped when she grinned his way in triumph, like her victory was his, too.

The wrestling team chanted the school fight song as Maka took a victory lap around the map to thunderous applause.

His own head long since clear, Soul got up and sauntered over to Blake, leaning down with a smirk.

"Awwww, bro. Looks like pigtails handed you your ass, too."

"Yeah, yeah," he griped as Soul held out a hand to help the wrestling coach to his feet. "Gotta let my minions have the spotlight some of the time."

"Sure, dude." Soul rolled his eyes, then turned around to high five his roommate. "Guess I'm not the feisty one today," he told her with a smile.

"Guess not." She smiled back. "Now hit the showers, you both reek."

"Yeah, like you don't." Blake snickered.

Maka shrugged, her attention still on Soul. "Lunch in my room? I packed you sushi." She made a face, but her smile returned full force shortly after.

"Perfect." His own smile widened so much it hurt and Soul tried to quash down the gross wave of affection. She really was the best.

"Alright, alright, enough with the kissy kissy flirty flirty," Blake said as he clapped Soul on the back. "Hit the showers!" he called to the room and the entire wrestling team began to file out towards the locker room, Soul and Blake in tow.

A hot shower later, mercifully in one of the few actual stalls that were in the locker room, and Soul was in a t-shirt and his shorts, towel drying his hair before getting dressed. This corner of the locker room was unoccupied, the wrestling lockers far over on the other side.

He wasn't surprised when blue hair appeared next to him, though the slight frown was puzzling. In the two years he'd known him, Soul could count the number of times the man had looked thoughtful on one hand, including here and now.

"You know," he said slowly. "You could just ask her out."

"Ask who what?"

Soul probably deserved the eye roll.

"Look, bro, broski, brohemian, I know you wanna tap dat. Everyone knows you wanna tap dat, so just-"

"Tap dat?" Soul made a face as he finished drying his hair and reached for his pants, trying to ignore the fact that Blake was stark ass nude next to him. "What are you,14? And anyway, haven't you known her since you were like 2? Aside from which, she'd totally ground your face into the pavement if she heard-"

"Okay-1," the PE teacher held up a finger to tick off, "tap dat is a totally legit phrase for what you wanna do, because seriously dude, you look at her like you're dying of thirst and she's the only water around," he ticked off another finger, "B, yeah Maka is my oldest minion, but she's also totally into you and you guys are practically married without the fringe benefits anyway, and if you fucked up I wouldn't even have to kick your ass 'cause she'd totally do it first, plus there's only so much pining pathetic eye fucking I can take, and," another finger came out, "3, Maka ain't here, so seriously, STFU you whinyassed peasant."

"Wait." Soul frowned, buttoning the shirt he'd reached for during that little speech, head spinning. "You think Maka is into me?"

"Did I slur or something? Duh."

His head shake had begun before he even willed it. Tucking his shirt, he turned to face Blake then wished he hadn't since the other man had made no move to get dressed.

"Look." Another eyeroll from the blue haired, green eyed menace. "I know you're all broody and whatever the fuck, so maybe you missed the memo, but for whatever reason, because seriously, we're bros and all but I don't see it, pigtails thinks you're like-fuck-like better than her favorite book, in Maka speak. I've never seen her into anyone, not even that loser ass boyfriend in high school, but Maks is into you. So dude, make a move."

Another head shake as Soul put on his shoes. Why were they even talking about this? This was-none of anyone's fucking business. "Not gonna fuck things up. Maka-"

"Thinks her dad is gross, and hates guys who are just trying to score, yadda yadda, I know-but that doesn't apply to you. Trust me."

"Whatever," Soul said as he stuffed his workout clothes in his bag and slung it over his shoulder. "I gotta teach in five minutes, so later dude."

"Just think about it!" Blake called after him as he walked away. "No one can keep their head up their ass forever."

Was his head up his ass? Flashing green eyes haunted him as Soul walked to the performing arts building. No, it wasn't possible. But then, soft smiles, fleeting touches, couch cuddles, things Maka would never do with anyone else drifted through his mind and he thought maybe, just maybe, it was.