Purloined

Soul swore softly under his breath and bent down to retrieve the modest pile of letters scattered at his feet...letters that had just cascaded out of his partner's locker.

Resisting the urge to tear them all into tiny little pieces (surely she'd notice a flurry of paper confetti scattered on the ground near her locker?) he hastily stuffed them into his bag alongside the others. He really wasn't sure why he was keeping them. She might very well find them, and then she'd probably realize that he'd been taking them all along, and then she'd totally Maka-chop him into next week—but every time he thought about actually destroying the lot of 'em, a wave of guilt overcame him. They weren't his, after all. The fact that he still felt perfectly justified in stealing them from her locker in the first place crossed his mind, and Soul ground his teeth. Ok, so his logic here more than a little flawed. He slammed her locker door and leaned back against it to think through his reasoning.

Maka hadn't received nearly as many "please ditch your partner and choose me instead" letters as Soul had, but there were still far more than he was comfortable seeing. He knew he shouldn't have been so surprised that first day, when he'd opened her locker to borrow some stupid textbook he'd forgotten only to find a dozen notes from various admirers and wannabes. There were plenty of new weapons looking for a competent technician, so it really shouldn't have been so shocking that some of them had noticed her. After all, Maka was at the top of their class, had plenty of experience in the field to go along with her exemplary grades, and had been chosen frequently by their teachers to demonstrate weapon wielding skills to the younger students… and of course, she'd recently proved her worth by creating a totally cool Death Scythe.

Soul couldn't help grinning a little at that last thought. Maka really was an amazing partner.

But dammit, she belonged to him, just as he belonged to her. He needed her. He wouldn't have become a Death Scythe without her, he was quite sure of that. Sure, there were plenty of techs that would be able to wield him now that he was a Death Scythe (because not everyone was a dense as Black*Star when it came to resonating their wavelengths with others), but Maka was his technician, and Soul didn't want someone else, not if he could help it. He wasn't the type of weapon who could fight effectively without a partner, but Maka had managed all right that one time against that werewolf Free when she'd been using Tsubaki instead of him. With a bit of practice, Soul was certain that she'd be able to fight quite as well with just about any other weapon. And there was no way he was going to let some upstart weapon swoop in and steal her away.

For the third time that week, Soul wondered just what he was going to do with all of these stupid letters. He was even more guilty about his thefts lately because he'd realized just how insecure Maka'd been feeling about her own skills as a technician. He was willing to bet that some little twit had made a snide comment about her not being a technician worthy of wielding a Death Scythe. He'd noticed the dirty looks that some of the younger female students shot at Maka when they thought he wasn't looking. Psh, stupid fangirls. For someone of her caliber of intelligence, Maka sure let the dumbest things eat away at her self-confidence. Still…he really didn't like the shadows in her eyes whenever the floods of letters came spilling out of his own locker. Was it possible that she really didn't realize…? Could she really think that he'd even entertain thoughts of accepting another technician? That he'd replace her? Ugh, and for one of those moony idiots, no less?

Looking down at the letters in his bag again, Soul sighed. Maybe he should leave one or two of the more harmless ones for her to see. Just enough to show her that there were people who appreciated her talent…but not so many that she would seriously consider training up someone new. It was always possible that she would think of it as her duty to take on another weapon, now that Soul had achieved Death Scythe status. And that Soul absolutely could not bear.

As he debated with himself, the chime sounded, signaling the end of class. Soul jumped about three feet in the air, knowing that Maka would show up any minute, demanding to know why he'd never come back to class after his "bathroom break." He decided it would be safer for his health to not be caught with her purloined letters right at the scene of the crime, so he made a mad dash for the boy's room just as the doors nearest him started to open, and chattering students came spilling into the hallways. He'd just think about this later, Soul decided.

Later…

A. N. It always bothered me that Maka never got any letters...As always, feedback is deeply appreciated :)