Old drabbles of mine coming your way. ;)

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It was 6 am, and he didn't want to be there. He wanted to be anywhere but there. He kept his face blank, trying to express how disgusted he was with his society. He stepped in the line as they called names, took fingerprints, and pushed them in a bus. He was 18, and was drafted.

The engine roared to a start, and Soul kept his eyes focused out the window, at his brother. Wes was lucky enough to not be picked. Wes was going to continue being an aspiring artist, and was going places with his life. Soul wasn't going to get that chance, because he was going to die.

—

Maka got on the bus, and sat next to a white haired man. She thought his features were strange, and yet handsome. Though she knew she wasn't there for romance. She had a war to fight, and she wasn't going to die because she had her mind on some guy. She pulled out her sketchbook, and began to draw her home, the fields, and the people she knew as the bus roared to life and left her childhood behind.

She wasn't paying attention to the red eyes that were now focused on her drawings. "That's really good." She turned her head to look at said red eyes, and gave him a shy smile.

"It's uh… my home."

"It's beautiful. The people seem full of life." She looked down at the children running and the elders talking or laughing. There were people walking and selling things, and it made her feel like he was still home. "Can I see your sketchbook?"

"Um… sure." She handed it to him, and watched as he flipped through each image, watching as familiar faces showed on every new page. He stopped at one of her, when her hair wasn't above her ears and boyish.

"Is this you?"

"Yeah. I was about 16 when I drew that."

"Huh. You look pretty with long hair, but I think I like your hair short." He grinned at her with a shark-toothed smile and she blushed, which made him laugh.

"Thanks…" She was laughing with him, ignoring the few cat calls and smoochy faces others were making their way. "So… you got any hidden talents?"

"Yep." He looked nervous, and rubbed the back of his head with his hand.

"And?"

"I play…" She didn't hear the last part because he was mumbling.

"What?"

"I-uh… play piano." She couldn't help but erupt into a giggly mess, putting her hand over her mouth to try and stifle it. She failed. Miserably. "What?"

"It's cute. I wasn't expecting you to say that." He gave her a pouty face, which made her giggle some more. "So. Will you play for me when we get back?" He sighed, then gave her his handsome grin.

"I guess." Suddenly, he had confidence he would survive. They spoke the rest of the ride, and stuck together through the whole war. They had each others backs, and when Soul got hurt, she stayed by his side as often as she could, and even got a cheesy, drugged out, love confession from him.

When the war was over, they got an apartment together, seeing as they were now in their 20s, and he finally played for her. Of course, he then pulled out a ring and asked her to marry him. They didn't care how cliché it was, and spent the rest of the night making love.

One night Soul was going through some old boxes, when he found her sketchbook. It was old and grimy, but when he opened it, he found the picture of her home town. Nostalgia hit him, and he stroked it like it was a fragile flower, that would crumble under his fingers. He flipped through the pictures slowly, and found some of him that he had never seen before, and he smiled.

Maybe becoming 18 wasn't so bad after all.