Patti couldn't sleep.

She stared at the ceiling, feeling trapped and claustrophobic enclosed by four walls. She had thrown the window open in an attempt to get a breath of fresh air, but the silence was unnerving. There were no cars, no cellphones going off, no busy-busy feet running back and forth even in the dead of the night. Everything was silent and peaceful and—

She hated it. The mattress sank beneath her weight (which wasn't much) and the blankets were tangled all over. If she had to jump up and run, she'd probably trip. There was one door and one window. She was trapped.

She wondered how Liz was doing. She'd feel so much better if her older sister was here with her. Then she'd be able to sleep without fear of being trapped, because Sis would be there and Sis knew everything. They would be able to take turns sleeping, one always awake and watching, and waiting for the danger that was sure to come.

Patti rolled over onto her stomach, eyes traveling down to the floor. Below her, the stupid-stupid Shinigami was reading peacefully. Or perhaps he'd gone to bed. Or perhaps he was waiting outside her bedroom with a weapon in hand—

No, she doubted it. He didn't have that look in his eye when he directed her to her room. He didn't have that sadistic gleam that she had seen on her sister and their enemies and in her own reflection.

Stupid-stupid Shinigami. Stupid-stupid rich boy.

She and Sis were going to suck him dry. If they were smart—and they always were, Sis knew best—they would be rich in a matter of months. The money, the mansion, the fancy clothes, it would all be theirs. The rich boy would be cursing himself for ever being so stupid and they would just laugh.

But that was then and this was now, and now she couldn't sleep. She wasn't tired, not one bit. She was trapped and uncomfortable and the silence was killing her.

Her stomach growled. Patti whimpered quietly. She hadn't eaten a thing—Sis had refused the rich boy's offer of food. Sis knew best, though, and so Patti had followed suit.

Her stomach moaned in protest. A dull ache was gnawing at the walls of her stomach, and though she had long since grown used to it, it still drove her mad. Her mouth began to water at the thought of all the yummy food they'd be able to eat here. Pasta and chicken and ice cream, which she'd only ever tasted once.

She didn't know when she swung her legs out of bed, or when she had slipped out the door, or when she began sneaking down the halls. She only knew that she was hungry, and the Shinigami brat had food. The carpet muffled her footsteps (stupid-stupid rich boy) and she soon found herself creeping down the stairs. The kitchen was at the left of the dining room, which was down the hall from the front room, if she recalled correctly.

She stepped off the last spiraling step and into the room full of luxuries she'd only dreamed of having. Leather couches, a flat screen TV, fancy curtains framing the freshly cleaned windows. She had to lift a hand to muffle her giggles. She wondered how the rich boy's face would look if she ripped those curtains down and used them for blankets on his fancy sofas.

A groan and the sound of a body shifting nearly made her heart stop. Patti's eyes flicked down to a couch, the rich boy lain out neatly across his surface. He even slept perfectly, she noted with a sneer. Not a single-freaking hair on his pretty head was out of place. His eyes were closed (those stupid eyes, full of arrogance behind those little rich boy contacts he wore) peacefully.

Stupid-stupid Shinigami. Didn't he know that he was completely vulnerable? Anyone could rob him. Two people who had tried to mug him were sleeping in his house. She herself could easily pick up a knife and drive it into his gut in an instant.

Stupid-stupid rich boy.

She checked to make sure he was sound asleep before creeping onwards, into the dining room with its fancy chandelier and elaborate table, then down a hall and through the door. Her feet grew chilled as they touched white tile, but she didn't pause. She had been right, the kitchen was down the hall from the dining room. She gripped the handle of the fridge and eased the door open, carefully, carefully. The slight suction it made as the doors were pried apart made her wince, but she didn't hear the rich boy make a sound.

Her heart was beating quickly now. She just needed to nab a snack and go. She slid the bottom drawer open, finding a package of apples among other things. Mouth watering, she snatched two apples out then shut the fridge again.

Her heart pounding and prizes in hand, she flitted back down the hall. She passed the dining room with its pretty plates and goblets and darted into the living room. Her nerves were on edge. Every muffled footstep was like shattering glass. When she stumbled and nearly dropped the apples, she was sure the noise was the equivalent of a scream.

Yet no one stopped her. She hurried to the foot of the stairs.

A hand landed on her shoulder. She nearly shrieked, but it was cut off by another hand clamping over her mouth. "Calm down, it's me." The rich boy's quiet voice was calm. She ceased her struggles, but was still tense. After a moment, the Shinigami released her and stepped back.

"What the fuck—"

"Please do not curse in my house," the rich boy cut in.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, fuck." Patti grinned at his scowl, trying to calm her pounding heart.

The Shinigami gave an irate huff. She tensed slightly as his gaze flicked down to the apples in her hands. "Come with me," he ordered, beckoning to her.

For a moment, Patti wanted to argue, to turn around and march up the stairs just to see how he'd react. Then she remembered how he had taken out a dozen armed men with his bare hands, and decided against it. Her heart sank as her stomach growled dismally. Any hopes for a meal had flown out the window. He was probably going to kick them out. It would be all her fault, and not only would they be on the streets again, but they'd be on the streets in the middle of the desert.

'What am I gonna tell Sis?'

He lead her back into the kitchen, flicking on the lights as he passed. Right. The rich brat was probably going to make her put the apples back. Like he didn't have enough to spare.

"How many apples did you take?" She met the Shinigami's disdainful gaze.

Patti's lip curled defiantly. "Two," she answered. "Is that a problem?"

The brat closed his eyes, seeming to think about it. He was seriously contemplating whether or not two missing apples was a problem. Oh, oh! He was a riot! He was a real fucking riot.

Suddenly the gold eyes snapped open (those stupid contacts) and he nodded curtly. "That should be fine," he answered. "In fact, better than fine! If you took two, that means there are ten left. Much better than twelve—it's even and symmetrical."

What. The. Fuck.

"There a problem with your head?" She sneered. "Who gives a shit how many apples there are?"

She could have sworn a vein was throbbing on his head. "Of course it matters!" He snapped. "What if you had taken five apples? Then there would be seven!" He flinched, as though the very number disgusted him. "Nine is alright since you can divide it into threes, but seven? Ugh… I feel sick just thinking about it." Indeed, his face was looking a bit green.

Suddenly he sucked in a sharp breath and straightened up. "I suppose you wouldn't understand the beauty of symmetry. No matter, you will be properly educated." Patti glared at him, tempted to throw an apple right between his arrogant eyes. Before she could, he had suddenly snatched the fruit out of her hands.

"Give those back, asshole!" She made a grab for them, only to have her hand batted away like she was a fly—harmless but mildly irritating.

"I told you not to curse, Patricia," he scolded. He pulled a knife out of the drawer, slicing cleanly through the center of the apple, and then the second. The seeds and stems were scooped out and he proceeded to slice each apple into exactly eight slices each.

"If you cut it," he suddenly said, "You can make the apple perfectly symmetrical. Look, they are all exactly the same size and shape. Beautiful, isn't it?" Without waiting for an answer, he skipped over to the cupboard and pulled out a container of brown powder. The powder was sprinkled onto the slices under the brat's critical eyes, making a clean line down the middle of each one.

Seeming satisfied with his work, the Shinigami piled the apples onto a plate and stuck it into the microwave. A low hum filled the silence as the machine lit up.

"What the hell are you doing?" Patti demanded.

His eyebrows lifted slightly. "Would you have preferred I baked them in the oven?" He asked, sounding genuinely curious. "It does taste better that way, but I figured the microwave was faster."

At her odd look, his expression became plainly confused. "Have you never eaten a baked apple?" He asked.

The question snapped her out of her daze. She scowled again, growling, "We lived on the streets till now, idiot."

Immediately he looked ashamed. "Ah… My apologies, I didn't—" he was cut off as the microwave began to beep. Seeming relieved, the rich boy pulled the apples out. The slices were slightly brown now, looking softer than before. He produced two toothpicks and stuck them directly into the center of two slices before handing the plate back to her. "Try one," he said, a soft smile on his face.

She grabbed a slice and observed it suspiciously. She lifted it to her mouth and sank her teeth into it.

Patti's blue eyes went wide. "It's sweet," she mumbled.

"Of course," Kid said casually. "Baking the apple tends to bring out the flavor and—Patricia, please chew with your mouth closed." He looked slightly revolted by the mush in her mouth.

Without really thinking about it, Patti obeyed. As soon as she had finished, she speared another slice and chomped it down.

"You can bring that up to your room," Kid was saying—and since when had she called him by name? "Just be sure to bring the plate down in the morning. Goodnight, Patricia." He walked away. After a few moments, she heard the slightest creak of stairs above her.

A small smile worked its way onto her face. "What an idiot," she snickered, biting into yet another apple.

Still, she decided she had never tasted anything sweeter than a baked cinnamon apple.

Pointless family fluff. Oh, and it's my first Soul Eater fanfiction. I hope I got their personalities right.