Watch me to avoid using line breaks and fail miserably! I used the 1995 song Box of Letters by Wilco, and to be perfectly candid I googled 'songs about letter writing' to find it.

I wrote this because I lost a resbang rumble to Amber Lehcar. She asked for a cute drabble.

Hopefully this is acceptable.

Got a box full of letters,

Think you might like to read

Some things that you might like to see,

But they're all addressed to me

It started as joke, like a lot of things do.

But here she was slipping a note sealed with a heart sticker and the initialism 'S.W.A.K'. She hadn't actually sealed it with a kiss, she wasn't that far gone. Yet.

The first letter she's put in his locker had been over three months ago, so see how long it would take him to notice. She couldn't remember how the content exactly but she was pretty sure it was along the lines of I knew you read these things.

She had yet to have her hypothesis proven. But she was still confidant, because as much as she hated the requests, who doesn't like to read nice things about themselves? She'd gotten a partner request once since making Soul a Death Scythe. She still had it.

Not that Soul knew that.

So here she was, three months later, still wondering if he'd ever notice. Today's letter was a journaling device, most of them were lately. Even if Soul was around to see most of the things she was recording to tell. It was a mark of the fruitlessness of the venture, that she was pouring out her heart and soul into what amounted to a very secret diary, because Soul sure as hell wasn't going to read them. Today was a three page long epic about yesterday and how they'd spent the evening watching Keeping Up With the Kardashians.

So, yeah some time they were a little similar to all the other letters that were in the locker. The too observant tales, the stories of heats pounding loud and fast and that it felt like whole entire world was disappearing. That it was just nice to be near him.

Not that they were really personal every day. Yesterday she'd given him the grocery list that had been crumpled in her pocket, along with some expired coupons. She was busy okay? She didn't have time to compose beautiful, heartfelt letters every day.

She moved to her locker, hauling it open. It was extremely dented, from some hallway brawl or another, and the dial was broken too. Not that anyone would take anything. It wasn't worth the effort it took to get the damn thing open.

She was tucking her books into her bag when Soul arrived, dragging the recycling bin.

"Yo," He said, "Why'd you leave so early?"

"I wanted to take a run," Maka shoved her gross gym gear in its gearbag into her locker, "There's a half day today, so no school training,"

"Why didn't you tell me? I'd have stayed at home!" He opened his locker cautiously, recycling bin at the ready. The locker wasn't as full as it would be on a Monday, or the day after Soul and Maka had had a fight, but a few letters slipped out. The scent of about a dozen perfumes wafted out. Maka didn't put perfume on hers, it was a waste of money. And besides, with all the letters jammed in together, it's not like you would be able to tell her's remained fragrance-less.

Maka grabbed one as it drifted past.

"What? You want to read them now?" Soul asked, shuffling quickly through the letters to make sure they really were all love letters and partner requests, before dumping them.

"No, I think this one was here yesterday as well,"

Soul grunted. "S'not cool to waste paper,"

She tossed it in the recycling.

"I'm going to the library, see you in class," She liked to leave before he threw out her letter, if she could help it. She didn't really want him to read it, but that didn't mean she wanted to see him discard it. "Don't be late. Oh and just cause school training is off today, doesn't mean you get a day off!"

Soul groaned, head hanging. No one else trained as much as they did, unless you counted Black Star. But according to Maka, and it seemed to have some truth in it, 'No one becomes a Death Scythe by sitting on their ass!' He could try the 'I already am a Death Scythe, Maka,' argument, but that one never worked.

He grabbed Maka's letter from the bunch and shoved it deep into his pocket. He'd read it later, like he always did.

Wish I had a lotta answers,

'Cause that's the way it should be

For all these questions,

Being directed at me

Maka got bored on half days. It was just what she did. She went to class, trained with Soul for a while after class had ended, then went home and got bored because everything was done much earlier than it was in the normal run of things. Her homework was done, she'd studied for a while and that was it. Her daily routine completed with hours upon hours to spare.

She should've gone with Soul to do whatever it was he was doing with Black Star. Wrecking mayhem and running from the police probably. Maka was kind of glad when she and Black Star had started at the DWMA and finally had more friends than just each other.

Soul didn't know how many times she'd been detained in police custody, and she was going to keep it that way. He also didn't know about how many times she'd escaped police custody, with or without Black Star.

He definitely didn't need to know when she learned that handcuffs and iron bars where most certainly not a hindrance to her and Star when they put their minds to it.

There certainly was a lot of cat hair around the place. Blair liked to spend most of her time her as a cat, unless she was pestering Soul or in the bath, using up all the hot water. Luckily she was black; otherwise Maka's coat would be a disgrace.

She was going to vacuum everything, and because none of their neighbours or Soul was home, she was going to listen to techno music really, really loudly while she did it. It was going to be great and everything was going to be free of cat hair for like, fifteen whole minutes

So she plugged her heavy phone into Soul's precious speakers- he was going to be so mad when he found out, and he would find out somehow, he always did – and blasted her music while hoovering/dancing.

She pulled all the cushions off the couch and hoovered that, hoovered the floors and the rugs and the floors under the rugs for good measure. She moved the furniture back to get under them then struggled to angle the nozzle, like she always did, to clean around the base of the fridge and other major kitchen appliances.

She hoovered her room, then ventured into Soul's.

Maka didn't like to come in here. That's a lie. Maka loved being in Soul's room. It smelled like him, and it was like when she shared the rare hug with him. Maka didn't like the feeling that she was invading his privacy, something that was very near and dear to his heart, no matter how much she wanted to know about him.

She tried not to hold it against him, after all, there were a lot of things she hadn't told him. She wouldn't have said she was deliberately hiding these things from him, if he didn't ask; she wasn't going to tell. It was that simple about those few things.

But with Soul, his whole life was closed off from her. Well, that wasn't true, they had a life here in the city as partners, but she didn't know anything about his life before he came to the DWMA. She wasn't even all that sure on his name, other than the one he'd given her. When they'd first met, first become partners, it had taken him a while before he responded to Soul without thinking.

All this was why, when Maka was pulling out the things under his bed; lost and forgotten notes; those music staff notebooks he kept tucked away- like she would even have the first clue what to do with them?-; lone socks and a irreparably torn and bloodied shirt from some mission or another, and she came upon a heavy shoebox, she opened it.

It was the letters.

They were her letters.

He had her letters.

And they were all open. The heart sticks with the false 'S.W.A.K' intact, but the top slit open with something sharp, like a blade.

She had to go. She had to go far, far away and die somewhere. In a hole.

Why hadn't he said anything?

She'd been pouring her heart out (sometimes, and other times she'd been giving him week old grocery lists) and he'd kept quiet. He would've thrown them away if he wasn't interested in reciprocating whatever almost-love-letters meant. Why on earth did he keep them? All of them?

She looked through the box quickly. There were over ninety letters in there, including the very first one, which she now knew read 'You do read these. I knew it!' And yesterday's crumpled grocery list and today's-

Wait. Not today's.

Today's letter wasn't there. Had he thrown it out? Did he have it? Where was today's letter? She had to, she had to stop him before he- she'd been with him all day there was no way he'd had the chance to read it before he…

But he wasn't here now and she didn't know where he was and today's letter had been about yesterday and how nice it had felt when they were watching trashy reality television and they'd been curled up together and he'd been playing with her hair and she'd bet he couldn't do a plait and he'd knocked it out of the ballpark by French braiding her damp hair and it was still a little bit wavy when she woke up.

Yesterday was the first letter ever, that she had signed with Love Maka.

Yesterday was that made her realise she could fall in love with this perfect wonderful boy and have some kind of happily ever after if he was willing to try.

(Or maybe that she already was, just a bit)

And he had it and he could read that when he'd been running his fingers through her hair she'd gotten all- she burned a hot red at the memory. She had to get it back. He couldn't read that. That wasn't just another in a list of things that Soul was not supposed to know about Maka.

She closed the shoebox and shoved it back under his bed, along with all the things Maka wasn't supposed to see. Everything would be fine. She'd go get the letter, and then she'd never write another one and move to Antarctica.

But where was he? She dragged the hoover out of his room and unplugged her phone. Now was no time for loud techno music. She shoved the vacuum back into the cupboard in a way that was sure to result in it tumbling out on top of whoever tried to open it next. Likely, herself.

Then she texted Tsubaki; do you know where Soul and Black Star are?

Tsubaki would know. If she didn't know, Tsubaki would check Black Star's snapchat story to find out. Maka could've used her Soul perception, but Soul could always tell if she searched for him that was, her own soul reaching for a resonance with his. Even around the apartment and during class they kept a low level of resonance, they couldn't help it. Her soul yearned for his; it was almost embarrassing, if she wasn't able to pass if off as something to be expected in long established partnerships.

Soul didn't pay enough attention in class to know any different from what she told him on the matter.

Her phone buzzed, vibrated across the coffee table from where she'd been staring at it.

They went to the basketball courts by death burger, why?

Oh, Soul just forgot something is all.

Great, now she had to find something that he conceivably should have, but didn't. He had his phone and his wallet and his keys. What was something Soul needed, that was important enough that she would have to bring it if he didn't? Something that he didn't have with him.

Suncream.

Soul burned like a peach, but he always, always forgot to bring suncream and complained about the burns later. She could bring him that. Did they have any? She checked the bathroom.

They did, and it smelled like 'Tropical'. She stuck it in her bag as an albi. She was retrieving that letter if it killed her.

Because if she didn't she was going to literally die.

I just can't find the time

To write my mind

The way I want it to read

Soul's team was losing. Soul's team was always losing, because Black Star was always on the opposite team, but today they were losing especially badly, because Kilik, the basketball power house of EAT, had to take the twins to get their MMR booster. They'd roped in a few strangers, but they were mostly too busy looking terrified to be of any use.

At least Maka wasn't here.

"Soul!"

Oh wait.

She was.

Damn.

"You forgot something," She said, running onto the court. Maka didn't know jack shit about basketball etiquette, and one of the regular human players took this opportunity to score. Unfortunately, he wasn't on their team. She held out a bottle of suncream to him.

"Thanks, but I put some on this morning,"

Maka shrugged and started to leave with the plastic bottle, like it didn't matter that she walked all the way here from their apartment and he didn't even want the suncream.

"If you're sure that's enough," She flipped over the bottle to read the fine print at the back. "And you think you won't get burnt, I'll just take it ho-"

"No wait!" Soul said, "Just put it over with my jacket, would you?"

"Sure thing, just make sure you use it," She discreetly patted the pockets of his jacket and extracted the letter. Everything was going to be fine. She had the letter. It wasn't open. It was going to be fine. "It's your night to cook so don't be late!"

She stuffed the letter in the waistband of her skirt, covered it with her shirt, and started walking home, relieved.

"Doesn't your girlfriend want to play, dude?" One of the regular humans asked. Soul was pretty sure he was called Jake.

"She's not my-"

"Maka's awful at basketball," Black Star laughed. "I mean, I know not everyone can be as good as me, but she's -"

A book came hurtling from Maka's direction and made direct contact with his forehead, narrowly missing Harver's nose.

"Dunno man, seems like she has pretty good aim to me," said Jake. Soul snorted, and picked up the copy of Advanced Soul Theory; 4th Edition to return to her later.

You'll come back again

And I'll still be your friend

Soul made it home not long after her, because she'd gotten sidetracked in the bookshop like she usually did, so she could still feel the crisp paper envelope pressing against her skin. He looked like he'd lost something, like he couldn't quite recall where he'd left it. But he had the shopping, and her book, and he didn't have the letter, and that was what mattered. She got up to help him put away the shopping. What she'd said earlier about it being his night to make dinner hadn't been exactly true.

It was technically his night, thanks to the schedule they'd worked out when they'd first moved in together, but it had been a long time since the preparation of dinner was a solitary act.

"What are we having?" Maka asked.

Soul looked at his purchases and frowned, like he didn't remember buying any of them.

"Steak… and… potatoes… and peas,"

"Did you get pepper sauce?"

"There's some of the powder left in the tub,"

Maka nodded and set to work peeling the potatoes in the sink. Soul plugged his phone into the speakers, and the apartment was filled with smooth jazz.

"Maka, where you using my speakers?" Soul asked.

"How can you always tell?"

"It just… just don't," Soul sad, "You have awful taste in music,"

"I do not!"

Soul didn't justify her claims with an answer and she huffed and went back to peeling potatoes. She peeled in silence for a few minutes while Soul searched for the tub of pepper sauce powder.

"Hey, you didn't find anything around the apartment did you?"

"Like what? Did you lose something, Soul?" Maka could feel her cheeks pinking, but she kept her eyes on the potato she was peeling and hoped he couldn't see her face. "Where did you last have it?"

"It was in my pocket," He said, emerging from the cupboard triumphantly with the half full tin of pepper sauce. "I had it on the courts, but on the way home I noticed it was missing,"

"What is it, anyway?"

"Nothing, it uh, it doesn't matter. It wasn't really important,"

Not really important?

Maka gripped the peeler tightly, her nails scoring crescents into the innocent potato she was supposed to be peeling. How dare him! Those where her feelings! Apart from anything else she put time and effort and money in putting a goddamn letter in his locker every weekday for the past three months. To say it wasn't important? She was going to kill him.

"Maka? Are you okay?" Soul asked. "You seem kind of tense,"

She was as tense as a guitar string on the brink of snapping, but he wasn't going to say that in case it brought about the aforementioned 'snapping'.

"I'm fine," she growled. He took a cautionary step back.

They didn't talk again while they were making dinner.

I got a lot of your records,

In a separate stack

Some things that I might like to hear,

But I guess I'll give 'em back

All she had to do was get through drying and putting away the dishes and then she could go hide the letter somewhere in her room for the rest of her life. Probably in between the pages of a book. Soul would never look there, especially if it was a book she didn't read much.

The envelope was still tucked in her waistband, the sharp edges digging into her skin.

There was one dish left and Soul was taking his sweet time.

She snatched it from his hand, drying vigorously. She stacked it in the cupboard and tried to make a break for it.

"I know you have the letter,"

She froze, it wasn't like she could deny it.

"Can I have it back?"

She shook her head.

"Why would you write it if you didn't want me to read it?"

She turned around slowly.

"I didn't really think you ever would read them Soul, I just…" she didn't really know what she'd thought would happen. "I just wrote them,"

"To me," Soul said slowly, "But you didn't want me to read them?"

"At the beginning, maybe, I did but…" She twisted her hands in front of where the letter was stashed.

"But, I liked reading them, I thought…" Soul flushed, "It was stupid, nevermind,"

"Soul?" Maka asked, stepping closer, "What did you think the letters meant?"

What had the letters meant?

"Well, they were in there with all the other letters and I thought…" He trailed off, unwilling to voice his thoughts aloud.

She handed him the letter, it was crumpled, but that didn't matter.

"Read it," she said, "Then tell me what the letters meant,"

I wish I had a lotta answers,

'Cause that's the way it should be

All these questions

Being directed at me

He was a slow reader and waiting for him was painful. She was sitting on her bed, unable to bear trying to decipher the micro-expressions he'd make as he read.

There was a soft knock on the door.

"Come in," Maka said because it was either Soul or the cat, and what was the point of having a magical housecat that paid for the HBO if you couldn't use her as a comforting presence who gave pretty great advice when it came to romance.

The door opened and it wasn't Blair.

It had gotten dark in the room and the light from the living room was casting Soul's face into shadow. He came and he sat on the end of the bed. Maka drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them.

He couldn't make eye contact, or maybe she wouldn't.

"Maka," he started.

She didn't want to hear this, didn't want to hear that h wasn't interesting trying this, that they were better off as partners, as friends. Because maybe that would be true, but it would still hurt to hear from Soul that they weren't something he was interested in.

She shook her head, pigtails moving.

"Did you, did you mean it?" Soul asked.

Of course she meant it. But she just nodded, once, sharply.

"I guess, if you meant it, you'd be cool if I tried something really dumb, right?" Soul said, blushing brightly in the dark room.

"Like what?"

"Take you out on a date somewhere with like, candles and shit and then maybe like, kiss you on our doorstep and –oof" He fell back against the bed when she hugged him tightly, nodding her head against his shoulder. She'd really, really like that.

He hugged her back, wrapping his lanky limbs around her narrow frame, and planted a shy kiss on her head. He'd really, really like that too.

Just can't find the time

To write my mind

The way I want it to read

Please R&R.