I don't own the characters. I attach strings to them and shout, "Dance marionettes! Dance for my pleasure!"

When he thinks she doesn't notice, he mimics playing the piano on the coffee table

She doesn't see it until three months after they are officially declared partners. She knows he can play the piano. She knows that for some weird reason he refuses to play in front of her. He says it makes him look like a priss.

She retorts by saying it makes him look cool.

He rolls his eyes and says that he doubts her definition of cool.

She implants a book into his skull.

But she knows her weapon, knows how much he misses playing the instrument that he tried to leave behind in his old life.

She wakes up one night craving for some warm milk with brown sugar and cloves, just like her mama used to make for her when she was little. She stumbles out into the kitchen trying not to wake her partner up (even if she knows he could sleep through one of her Papa's visits) when she sees him on the couch. Music sheets are spread around him and the way he taps on the coffee table makes her imagine a huge, polished, black piano right in front of him. Sometimes her partner will grunt in frustration and stop his finger motions, adjust something on his music sheet, and then start all over again.

She doesn't say anything, but simply strides to the kitchen, makes her milk, and then drags herself back to bed.

She knows he sees her on the way back. She doesn't say anything and neither does he.

He doesn't mention it the next day.

He makes her breakfast in bed.

When she showers, she must have must have music playing.

Maka had some pretty annoying habits, but showering with music on definitely took the cake. She is into techno, Dubstep, electronic: sounds generated by a computer. Nothing like his soft jazz or flowing classical music.

He sighs when he hears it. It's not loud, he has to give her that. He's complained about her music choices more than once (and has earned himself more than one Maka Chop on most of those occasions) and she knows how much he can't stand her genre of music.

Ah well. He annoys her with his habits. He'll let this slide.

He always smells like lemons.

She uses his left side for a backrest when she inhales and the scent of lemons fills her nostrils. It makes her nose wrinkle, although it isn't unpleasant.

"Is that you?" She asks one night. He grunts, she takes that as a signal to keep talking. "That smell. Something smells like lemons."

He turns his attention back to his video games. "Yeah. It's my deodorant. Lemon scented. Does it bother you?"

She shakes her head. "Nah. It's just a little strong. Nothing terrible though." She pauses. "Actually it's really nice. I never took you for a lemon guy."

He shrugs. "I just grabbed the first thing I saw."

She hides a smile behind her tome. "I like it. Lemon scented stuff suits you. It's very Soul."

He wears it for the rest of his life.

Sometimes she'll lie on his bed when he goes on missions with other Meisters.

The first time it is announced that Soul will be going on a Death Scythe mission with a high ranking Meister that isn't her, Maka doesn't know what to feel. Yes, she is delighted that she has finally surpassed her mother, but she can't help but be disappointed that she can't go with him on his first Death Scythe mission. She knows that she shouldn't be feeling this way, that she should be happy for him.

Should be, but not quite.

The mission is simple really: execute a rampant Kishin that has been troubling fishermen in a small Alaskan fishing village. The Meister assigned to the mission with Soul, while not even half as experienced as she is, is twice Maka's age. This makes him more qualified to go on harder missions with Death Scythes.

"It should only take half a week, six days at the most." Lord Death promises her. "We can't have Soul away from you too long, after all. You are what keeps Soul from giving in completely to the black blood."

This makes her feel worse.

The night he leaves Maka turns the heater up to 80. It doesn't matter that she puts on five sweaters and cocoons herself in blankets, she still can't feel warm. Not until she goes to lay on Soul's bed.

His scent surrounds her and soon she finds herself tearing off all the sweaters and turning down the heat. It was like Soul was right there next to her, reassuring her that he wasn't going anywhere.

This continues for five days until Soul comes home.

They greet each other with smiles and she makes his favorite dishes as a welcome home present. He tells her about his mission. "Everything reeked like fish." He tells her. "The kishin's nest was in an abandoned building filled with fish guts and other stuff." He shivers. "I couldn't name half the things that were in that disgusting place it was that damn nasty. And don't even get me started on the cold. By the time we got to Alaska there was a major blizzard warning. We almost didn't get to the stupid Kishin because of the freaking weather, and he was just another pain in the ass. So uncool." He sighs and stuffs another spoonful of creamy soup into his mouth. "I'm probably not going to eat fish for at least a month. There was some pretty damn nasty stuff in Alaska."

She hides her smile with a bite of a chicken wing.

When they finish eating Maka takes the plates to the sink to start washing and Soul goes into his room to change into some lighter clothes. The desert heat has never felt so good on his ice-bitten skin. To his surprise and confusion, his room doesn't feel the same as it did before he left. Yes his jacket is still hanging loosely on the back of his chair and his clothes are thrown around the floor, but something still doesn't feel right.

He realizes what it is when he finally goes to bed. His pillow, which was once unscented, now smells like something sweet. Ginger and brown sugar, he realizes with a start, the same body wash that Maka uses.

He hides his uncool and crazy grin in his pillow.

He tried smoking once. She nearly killed him with her tears.

When she was younger her house smelled like Febreeze and smoke. It was a really disgusting combination that made Maka's nose wrinkle. She didn't realize why until she was older, that her papa used to smoke when he had 'dates' in the house.

Now she hates the smell of cigarettes.

That's why she nearly has a heart attack when she sees her only partner with one in his mouth.

It is the school's summer ball and an unofficial sign that everything was peaceful now that the Kishin had been defeated, but Soul is bored out of his skull. What's the point of attending if all he does is stand out on the balcony?

He sighs and turns to gaze out on the horizon when he sees a box of cigarettes and a lighter, probably from a forgetful student. He's never smoked before, but he's so bored out of his mind that he really doesn't care. So he sticks on in his mouth and lights it, inhaling the smoke. He instantly coughs a mouthful of smoke back out into the cool night air. "How the hell do people do this kind of shit without hacking up a lung?"

He doesn't see his Miester until she is next to him, screaming in his ear.

"What are you doing?" She screeches, snatching the tobacco-infested stick right out of his mouth and stomping her heel on it vigorously. "You know that thing could kill you?"

He looks at her in shock for a second before trying to shrug her off. Who is she to tell him what he can and can't do? "Only if you do it all the time. Chill out Maka. Freaking out all the time isn't cool." She doesn't reply and he turns to see her trying to hide her tears. He starts to panic. "Oi, Maka! Are you okay?"

She shakes her head and marches back inside.

They don't talk the whole night. She makes a point to keep avoiding him by talking to everyone else but him and her Papa, whom she avoids more than usual.

The fifth time it happens he finally realizes that her behavior has to have something to do with her father (he kicks himself for not recognizing it sooner).

The walk home that night is filled with silence. She hasn't spoken a word to him and it's driving him crazy.

"Maka."

She still walks.

"Maka don't be uncool."

She still ignores him.

He sighs. "What can I do to get you to speak to me again?"

She stops and he nearly trips. "Don't touch a cigarette ever again."

He really doesn't like it when people tell him what to do.

Maka is the exception and he never touches another cigarette again.

Soul reads her books when she is on missions with other weapons.

He sighed. It's been two days since he last heard from Maka and though some might call it uncool, he's beyond worried out of his mind.

What if she got hurt and the idiot weapon abandoned her or some fucked up shit like that?
Soul grit his teeth. He would kill the damn weapon before he even got a word in.

He tried not to worry, but that just made him worry more.

Soon Soul found himself hungry. While he did cook, he didn't have a real appetite unless Maka was around to make him something. She may not be the most feminine girl he's ever met, but damn can she cook. He wandered around the kitchen, looking for something to snack on when he saw the book. It wasn't a large book, but it had to have been over two hundred pages at least. There wasn't really a picture but blood dripped from somewhere outside the picture, creating a puddle of crimson.

Suddenly a thought struck him. "Why does Maka love to read so much?"

With caution he picked up a brightly titled book and read the front. "Cry of Fear: Scariest Book You Will Ever Read. Huh, I didn't know Maka was into horror. You'd think that she gets enough of that stuff from when we go on missions."

With a deep breath he opened the book and began to read. Not even five minutes later his jaw slackened.

"Whoa." He gasped. "It's like watching a movie in your brain. No wonder Maka does it so much." Soon one page turned to ten and then ten to twenty and so on so forth until Soul found himself reading the dedications. Somehow, he felt disappointed when he finished. He didn't mean to sound uncool, but the book was fantastic.

"I wonder." He murmured to himself. "Maka keeps a bookshelf by the TV…"

Maka Albarn did not expect her living room to be covered with books when she arrived home. Sure, she expected Soul to be at the door, whining for her to make something. Or, if he was feeling particularly generous, he would take her coat and her bag, have her wash up, and then they would either go out for dinner or order in. She didn't know what she really expected, but Soul on the couch with over half of her book collection on the coffee table with the TV turned off (scandalous!) was not what she expected.

Soul, on the other hand, didn't even realize his Meister had returned until he heard something fall to the floor and something akin to laughter. He blushed when he saw Maka, rolling around and howling in laughter on the floor.

Maka never let him forget it and Soul never touched a book again.

At least, not when she was looking.