Title: Yours
Rating: T
Pairing: Soul/Maka
Notes: ONESHOT. Spoilers up to chapter 63 of the manga. Confession speeches included. This thing ate my ass. And I actually edited it. I disclaim the rights to Soul Eater here and now.

"…so uncool."

Soul stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets. Spartoí training aside, they still had regular theory classes and the like, though on a less restricted schedule. As a Death Scythe, Soul had the honor and duty to report to the front of the class whenever a demonstration is in order. At first he thought it was cool. Everyone looking up to him, respecting him – Black*Star usually had to be made to stand in the hallway for trying to hog the spotlight. Gradually, it began to grate on his nerves. No one but Tsubaki was truly sympathetic. Liz spent class time flipping through fashion magazines, not paying attention. Patti could be counted on to not understand why he was standing up there in the first place. Maka was just proud. And usually standing beside him.

"We don't have class for the rest of the week," Maka reminded him. "You can rest easy."

It was her turn to cook dinner, too. He dropped the attitude.

As they started down the steps he spotted her. A girl standing off to the side, dressed in a pleated skirt, sweater vest and a short sleeved button up shirt. Unfortunately, she caught his eye.

"Maka. I'll catch up to you in a minute."

She nodded an assent and sprung ahead to fall into step with Tsubaki, but not before looking over her shoulder. That a girl is waiting after school to talk to her partner was not an unusual occurrence. Ever since he became a Death Scythe and the initial jealousy of their peers wore off, Soul was approached by scores of technicians, some asking him to accompany them on missions, some daring ask he become their new partner. Usually those offers came from girls in the NOT class, girls who were doing so well that they were due to be promoted up. Maka made the decision to stop getting angry over it. After all, it only sparked fights between them, which was counterproductive to their partnership. Questioning him about it did little more than invite the apathetic "I rejected her, like always".

What Soul didn't like about this girl in particular was her unashamed way of looking him straight in the eye. Her long wavy hair tossed over one shoulder, a thick lock tucked under the ample curve of her breast.

"I… already have someone I really like," he gestured toward Maka, out of earshot but still watching him out of the corner of her eye as she chatted with Tsubaki. Normally he didn't have to bring that up, but this girl isn't as shy as some of them. She frowned.

"I see. Have you confessed yet?"

"…No."

She smirked. "I'd get to it if I were you. She might not look like much, but some guys think she's cute when she's angry. Plus she had the strength of character to create a Death Scythe."

As soon as he settled on a channel to watch, a savory smell wafted under his nose.

"Dinner smells great, Maka!" he called.

"I hope you like it!" she said cheerfully, setting a tray on the coffee table in front of him, beaming. He tore his attention away from the TV. She rarely let him eat on the couch. And it was his favorite meal. Something was up. He voiced his suspicion. She laughed lightly, disappearing into the kitchen to get a tray for herself, which made him even more suspicious. She never ate dinner in front of the TV. Much less while one of his shows was on.

"It's just to thank you," she said, gently. "For today."

"What are you talking about?"

"That girl. I know what you said to her."

He nearly choked on his food. She heard?

"I just really appreciate that you never hesitate to tell them that you're mine."

He swallowed. Stared at his plate, unable to stop the grin spreading ear to ear. "Yours."

"Just mine," she added, leaning over and planting a brief kiss on his cheek.

"D-definitely." Stuttering. So uncool.

"Your hair smells nice."

Maka jumped. "Soul. You startled me." He chuckled against her hair, stepping away after a last breath. She reached for the spatula and turned the egg in the pan over. For once they'd both woken up on time. They hadn't had a sit down breakfast in weeks. She slid the eggs onto a plate and added bacon to the pan. Her hair smelled like mint and sage and Soul set the table without being asked, then sent Blair out with a small fish in her mouth, muttering something about wanting a peaceful meal.

After she poured him some coffee, he passed her the debate section of the newspaper.

"Let's take it slow, okay?" he said, watching her over the folds of the arts and culture section.

She nodded, holding up her tea mug as though beginning a toast. "Sounds perfect."

Halfway up the academy stairs, he reached out and took her hand. "Holding hands is okay, right?"

She squeezed back lightly in response, not understanding why he asked, though usually they held hands on missions. Did what she said last night really mean that much to him? Black*Star and Tsubaki were waiting for them, not unusual because despite everything, Black*Star arose with the sun.

Training was intense. By the end of the day Maka could barely feel her arms. Soul felt sapped of all energy. Black*Star was the only one – naturally – who appeared unscathed. He bragged all the way down the steps until Soul felt the need to hold Maka's hand to keep her from punching him and starting a fight.

"Let's pick up some take out on the way home?" he whispered near her ear. "Your pick. I'll pay."

"Let me see, Maka."

She tugged her shirt down. "It's fine. Dr. Stein cleaned it and bandaged it. It's just a scratch!" she squeaked. The rest of the week's training had been cut short to send them off on a mission. It had been a grueling eighteen hour chase and fight, and Maka had come out of it with a few bruises and a clean horizontal slash on the left side of her abdomen, running belly to just beneath her breast. It had been embarrassing enough to have Dr. Stein applying first aid, chuckling under his breath about what a perfect dissection cut it was, and now Soul wanted to see. Granted, they were back in the privacy of their apartment – in the infirmary he'd hovered around, almost as protectively surly as Papa.

That attitude had been building up over the weekend. Coupled with his sudden compliance of almost everything she said, she was beginning to wonder what the hell was going on. He'd apologized, too, pleading her not to be angry with him. She was too drained to start any arguments, anyway.

"We were attacked from the side. I wasn't quick enough, but it barely did any damage," she argued.

"I want to make sure it's not irritated. Stein warned you about that since your skin is so sensitive."

She blushed faintly and lifted her shirt an inch. He growled low and closed his hand over hers, lifting it until it just covered her bra. She wanted the couch to swallow her. In the past few months she'd been less and less concerned about breaching physical boundaries between them, but this. And he hadn't made any jokes about her chest yet, either.

He removed the bandage carefully, traced the cut with cool fingers. She squirmed. "It's fine," she whispered, suddenly afraid of her own voice.

"We should put more medicine on before bed, just to be safe," he muttered. Then, without hesitation, pressed a kiss to the deepest part, where the attack has nearly ripped into her ribs. Right against the soft, shallow undercurve of her breast. Her hand found the pile of books resting against her thigh, but her brain was too jumbled to send the order for a chop. He looked up at her, sheepish.

"Sorry. I couldn't resist." He stood and headed for the door, picking up the paper bag containing the medicine and extra bandages.

Maka didn't sleep easily, citing the lingering sensation on her skin and the itching feeling that something in their weapon/meister relationship had changed without her knowledge or participation.

Monday was a reprieve for them. They were assigned classes until Wednesday, mainly because of exams. Soul and Black*Star were slacking off during study period as usual, so Maka snuck off to the library. It was, as usual before exams, full of students. She retreated from the mindless chatter to her favorite section and began skimming the shelves for a book.

"I honestly didn't expect him to turn me down."

Her hand froze on the spine of the book she was pulling. Lowering her gaze, she peeked over the row of tomes below. A group of girls sitting at a study table caught her attention immediately. One of them she recognized as the one Soul met with after class.

"I totally thought he'd say yes," her friend gushed. "You're so pretty."

Maka frowned. Since when was beauty a qualifying factor for a meister?

The girl sighed a rehearsed sigh. "I'm not a bitch. I'm actually happy for them."

"She's so lucky," the other friend breathed. "I actually cried when he turned me down, and he was so nice about it."

She pulled the book down carefully and held it to her chest, breathing in the smell of old pages. They were right. She was lucky. A slow smile crept across her face.

"I'm happy for them," the girl repeated, "But it was a stab to my pride when they showed up the next day, holding hands like newlyweds."

Maka nearly dropped the book. Newlyweds?

"I think it's sweet," the friend cooed. "Weapons and meisters always have distinct bonds, but having a romantic connection is special."

The only thing keeping Maka from dropping the book now was her tight grip on it, her knuckles turning white. Romantic? She fought the urge to scream out loud in anger and confusion. A terrified squeak escaped her and she quickly darted around the next aisle of books to the closest check out outside the girls' line of vision, embarrassed at the possibility of being caught eavesdropping. What. The hell.

She took the long way back to the classroom in order to be alone with her thoughts. Okay. The hand holding. Maybe others thought that was some sort of indicator?

But that had only been weird because they didn't normally do it at school.

She ducked into the bathroom, wanting to avoid meeting her partner for a while longer. To her chagrin, the same group of girls she'd overheard talking in the library were walking down the hall toward her when she emerged.

"Hey, Albarn!" the pretty girl called out, waving. "Congratulations."

Maka waved back meekly, biting back the question she wanted to ask. Why was she getting the weird feeling that this wasn't about her accomplishment in forging a Death Scythe? It sounded like something between girls.

"Take good care of your boyfriend. I'm not the only one he's turned down willing to try again if you mess up."

Maka swallowed hard. Boyfriend? She was about ready to go hide in a corner, now. Her skin where Soul kissed her wound flared up like a brand. She had the sudden, deep-set paranoia that the girls could see it. Thankfully, they disappeared into a nearby open classroom before she could say anything.

I'm not the only one he's turned down. Did that mean? Maka groaned. It wasn't possible that she was that stupid. The second she stops questioning Soul about all the girls asking him to partner with him, she neglects to consider that the offers were anything more than that.

She thought back to last week. Soul and that girl, standing at the top of the stairs. She had glanced over her shoulder, curious about the girl's reaction since she had no doubt Soul would say something like "I'm going to stick by the meister that made me a Death Scythe". She hadn't been able to hear anything, but Soul had gestured toward her, and the girl had followed with a curious expression. No. Not curious. Skeptical? What had Soul said that lead her to think they were romantically linked?

When she got back to the classroom Soul was absent. Black*Star claimed that he'd gone looking for her.

"He'll go to the library," Maka reasoned. "When he doesn't find me there he'll come back."

"Man, you two know each other so well, don't you?" Black*Star snickered.

Maka readied her book in hand.

"Maa, Black*Star. Soul told you not to tease her about it," Tsubaki chided.

"About what?" she snapped, nervous.

Tsubaki looked embarrassed. "You. And Soul." She reached across her desk to take her eraser from Black*Star. "I'm sorry Black*Star blabbed before you could talk to me about it yourself."

When Soul reentered the classroom, Maka had her nose firmly wedged in a book. Black*Star was laughing loudly about something and Tsubaki was trying to calm him down. He slipped back into his seat and leaned over, whispering, "I was looking for you, angel."

She stiffened and nodded, not meeting his eyes. He frowned. Fuck. He had messed up last night. Crossed a line. He was surprised she wasn't angry at him. Which had to mean she was scared. He had betrayed her trust. So uncool. The walk home was tensely quiet, Tsubaki's worried eyes watching them.

Soul kicked Blair out the moment they arrived, warning her not to come back until morning. Or later. Preferably later. Maka shut herself in her room as soon as they got in the door, and he grudgingly began to throw together dinner. She was going to come out of her room angry. She was going to start a fight and then she was going to clam up and they'd break up and never be able to resonate again. He'd have to ask Shinigama to assign him someplace. Fuck. Maybe they weren't emotionally prepared for this, after all.

She came out of her room wearing her pj bottoms and a pale pink cami top, her hair falling around her face. She didn't look like she'd been crying, which was a good sign.

"I made a lasagna," he offered. She sat down and served herself, not even scolding him for letting the edges burn. When she didn't speak, he slammed his fork down. "Dammit, Maka. I'm sorry. I said we should take it slow and then I went and made you feel uncomfortable. "

She did look up then, a calm expression on her face. "We need to talk."

"You're breaking up with me over this?" He looked down at his plate, angry.

She reached across the table and put her hand over his. "Soul. I have a confession to make. Two, really."

He tensed, not understanding where this was going.

"Last week, when you turned down that girl? I thought… I thought she was asking you to be her weapon. I don't know what you said to her to make her think that we…" she paused. "But what you said just now… I can't break up with you if we're not dating."

He stared at her. "Maka," he began slowly, "Are you telling me that I've been carrying on a one sided relationship with you for the past week?" He snatched his hand back. "This is so uncool."

She picked at her food. "How long have you felt that way about me?"

He actually grinned. "You're so oblivious, aren't you?"

She pouted. "I don't even know if I said anything to encourage your one sided relationship!"

He began to laugh. "You're so stupid!" Maka rose from her chair, snatching at an open book on the counter, ready to bring it crashing down, but when she pivoted on her heel, eyes bright green, Soul seized her by the shoulders.

His mouth over hers was urgent. Warm. She struggled, but gradually fell into the crashing sensation of kissing him back. The book dropped to the floor and her fists hammered against his shoulder blades. He drew back enough to bite her lip, then silence her cry with a gentle touch over her shirt, over the spot he kissed, fingertips lazy on the fabric, reaching.

"You said," he whispered. "You said you appreciated me telling those girls that I was yours." He laughed bitterly, pushing away. "I'm stupid. I thought you meant yours. Not just your weapon. Yours."

He left her standing in the kitchen alone.

Just how dense was she?

The kiss had told her everything. Soul had felt that way about her months, maybe even longer. She buried her face in her pillow, damning the morning sun. It was completely mutual. She'd been keeping it neatly folded and out of the way, but it was there. She rolled out of bed and headed for the shower, wanting to drown in the cold water, or at least let all her insecurities go down the drain.

I have a confession to make. Two, really.

His door was shut, quiet. She sighed, fought back anger – because she was angry at herself. She didn't have to say he'd made a mistake. She could have gone along with it.

"Soul. I'm going to go ahead. Don't be late for class." A pause. "I didn't make breakfast, so have some toast or something."

No answer. She almost wanted to force the door, see if he was even there.

She was early. Not even Black*Star had arrived to announce that once again his greatness inspired the sun to rise and shine upon him. At the top of the stairs, Liz more than Patty were desperately trying to pep talk their partner into attending class.

"It's fine! That's why we hired the maid! You said you liked how neatly she arranged the pillows!" Liz whined.

"She's an incompetent fool!" Death the Kid raged. "This morning her hair was parted slightly to the left!"

Patty giggled, spotting Maka. "Where's Soul-kun?"

Maka shrugged. "Hopefully he's awake by now. I told him not to be late."

Liz gave Death's son a final kick and looked up, concerned. "Did you two have a fight?"

She deflated a little. "Something like that…" her fingers touched her bottom lip, slightly swollen.

"Is that a love bite?" Death the Kid questioned, sitting up slowly. Maka blushed.

"Something like that…"

Liz grinned. "Finally." A pause. "But you had a fight?" she prompted.

Maka groaned. "Soul thinks our relationship is one sided."

Patty hugged her. "Then just tell him he's wrong, stupid!"

She smiled weakly. Soul wasn't as stubborn as her. He would hear her out, she knew. Last night, though. He'd been so hurt. For the first time in months she felt like he deserved a better partner than her.

Death the Kid dusted his pants lightly. "Maka. Soul cares deeply for you. It may wound your pride to admit that you're obstinate, but he always forgives you for that. Whenever you two fight it's like this."

She was waiting for him in the hallway outside the classroom, near the mission board.

"Did you get kicked out of class?" he drawled.

She moved to block him from walking past her. "I told Professor Stein that we needed a personal day."

"Do we?"

She flinched. He was never this cold. "Come with me." She held out her hand. A long moment passed, then he took his hands out of his pockets and complied. They ended up in the music room where they'd first met.

"It's been almost a year, hasn't it?" she asked, not referring to the time passed since that day. He nodded mutely. "It's been longer for me," she confessed. He stared at her. "Not possible."

She squeezed his hand. "The twenty seventh one. I twisted my ankle. You carried me home. Anything that was holding my trust back from you was completely eradicated." She smiled. "I was afraid. It took a while for me to recognize what my feelings were, start to keep them in check. Suppress them until I thought I'd be ready to face them. I almost didn't want to be ready."

"I'm not your dad," he interrupted, fierce.

"I know. I'm their daughter. And I'm more like my mother, anyway." She let go of his hand and turned to face him, looking up the bare inch and a half that separated their height. "I'm going to give you a chance right now, to be a cool guy."

He grinned, understanding. "Maka Albarn, you're the most stubborn, short-tempered flat-chested girl I know. In spite of that – or maybe because of it – I kind of love you." She was frowning, but a light blush was spreading over the bridge of her nose. "Besides Death, I never want to have another meister." He took a deep breath. "You're cute. Occasionally. Sometimes you're beautiful. And you care enough about me to push yourself to be stronger every day. I… want to be yours. Not just your weapon. Yours."

Maka bowed her head to exhale, heat rushing to her face and palms. When she looked up again her expression was vulnerable, but relieved.

"Soul Evans. You're the laziest and most apathetic boy I know. But I love you. I'll never want another weapon. Ever." She braced herself. "You're handsome. Rarely. Cool when you don't try so hard. No one has ever protected me the way you have without restraining me. I want to be yours, too."

The room fell silent.

"Now what?" she asked quietly.

Soul chuckled, stepping close enough to make her suddenly dizzy. "I know you read romance novels, Maka."

Sunday.

Maka stumbled out of her room, sore from their latest mission. It had been taxing on her muscles, but ultimately not as challenging as they expected. She took a shower first, changed into shorts and a long sleeved shirt, then wandered into the kitchen to fix a late breakfast. Soul emerged from his own room just as the bacon was beginning to sizzle.

"Your hair smells nice," he mumbled, embracing her lightly. "Bacon smells better, though."

She swatted at him with the spatula, but he ducked, laughing. "I'll set the table and vacuum the living room rug."

"You'd better."

After she poured him some coffee, he divided up the newspaper. "Let's take it slow, okay?" he said, watching her over the folds of the arts and culture section. She blushed faintly and draped her bare leg over his knee. "But not too slow," she agreed, spooning sugar into her tea. He smirked and traced the curve of her calf up to her thigh.

"Sounds perfect."