A/N: This chapter has been a long time coming. I am not entirely happy with it, but needed to post something. Something is missing here, but I'm not quite sure what. Ah well.

I did get a couple of questions that I wanted to answer for people.

Soul's lip reading isn't perfect. Nobody's is. It's as much an art as a science. That said, Soul can pick up on speech patterns fairly easily, and if something Maka says to him doesn't make sense, he can rather quickly piece together what she meant. It's simply a matter of common sense and inference. Maka, for her part, tries not to use overly long sentences when she speaks to him verbally. Her answers are kept as short as possible, to minimize any chance of misunderstanding.

Somebody asked why I don't have Soul go to the doctor with Maka to find out the scar tissue has healed so he can get a hearing aid. The answer is because it is completely unrealistic and that's not how scar tissue works. Soul is stone cold deaf, and will remain that way. Being deaf is a handicap, not a death sentence. There is nothing wrong with being deaf, and while Soul still has his moments of depression being unable to hear, overall he has accepted his hearing loss.

Enough blabbing from me! Enjoy!

Maka woke up surrounded by the scent of musk and motor oil. A pillow was hugged to her chest and an ever present warmth was pressed against her back. When she turned to view her company, bright red eyes were there waiting for her.

She screamed and promptly fell to the floor.

"Goddamn it, Soul!"

He was laughing at her, loud and raucous, a hand resting over his belly as he gasped. Terrible as it was, one of his favorite things to do was startle her. She was always so disoriented when she woke up, and if he was prepared, he could get her good.

He didn't stop laughing even when the pillow she had been clutching hit him in the face. She, however, did stop scowling when he reached over to the coffee table and offered her some food. Her eyes lit up as she realized it was the dinner they had made together. Well, the dinner she had attempted to help with, anyway.

"I guess I wasn't out long then," she murmured.

A soft hum slipped from her lips, eyes closing in bliss as flavor exploded across her tongue. Soul only smiled as he watched her eat, legs tucked beneath her as she leaned against the couch she had so ungracefully fallen from. His fingers gently pulled through her hair, tentative and strangely shy. Maka turned to regard him carefully. The air felt oddly heavy between them, and Soul was being terribly quiet. Of course, he was quiet most of the time due to his lack of hearing. But this was different. He seemed uneasy and guarded, even as he was clearly trying to open himself up.

Soul placed a kiss on her forehead before sliding down to join her on the floor. Maka placed her plate back on the coffee table as his head found the crook of her neck. It was her turn to card her fingers through his hair. The silence stretched on for another minute before Soul inhaled deeply, arms encircling the small woman before pulling him into his lap.

Maka stiffened, afraid. She tried to turn to look at him, but he wouldn't allow it. There was another deep breath before the low rumbling of his voice vibrated between her shoulder blades.

"I don't know if you love me," he started slowly. "But I love you. I…I'm not good with words, and it has nothing to do with being deaf. I'm not smart, or rich. I'm not ambitious."

Soul stopped for a moment, but Maka knew better than to say anything. He wasn't finished. He was still tense beneath her, his arms wrapped tightly about her waist. When he spoke again, his voice was even quieter. Somber, wavering, and tentative.

"The only thing…all I…all I have to offer you is love. And honesty. I don't know how I sound to you right now. I don't even know how I sound to myself," he finished with a rueful chuckle.

She tried to turn again, and this time he let her. Moss eyes were glassy with tears and soft hands rose to rest on his cheeks, thumbs caressing just beneath ember eyes.

"Why?" she asked him.

He shook his head, not understanding.

"Why would you say all that. I mean, why would you say it?" she sniffled as a tear slid down her cheek, trying to emphasize what she meant with lame gestures. He deserved more than her awkward attempts to communicate with him.

Soul's response was firm and sure, belying his earlier behavior.

"Because you need to hear it, Maka. I love you."

For a few tense seconds she just looked at him, her cheeks wet and sticky with tears. She wasn't ready. She wasn't ready to say it yet. She couldn't. And so Maka kissed him. She kissed him with everything she had. Her very soul was poured into that one single connection as she tried to will how she felt directly into his mouth. When she pulled away, he looked almost delirious with happiness. His own eyes were glazed over, but tears did not fall. He would not cry.

He never did.

They were lying in bed together after a rather invigorating round of sex, Maka's head pillowed on Soul's chest, his fingertips drawing lazy circles on her bare shoulder. Red eyes stared off into nothingness and Maka contemplated asking what he was thinking about. She opted for snuggling closer to him instead, her free hand sliding from his stomach up to his jaw. She liked to run her fingers over the defined structure of his face when she was worried. When he was worried, her fingers would slide through his hair, but this…this was her way of quelling her anxiousness.

She only got a few passes in before he was rolling away from her, fumbling around in his nightstand. A piece of folded notebook paper was handed to her, color high on his cheeks as she took it. His fingers plucked in his comforter while he pointedly avoided her gaze. Maka didn't bother to ask him what it was. Not that she could…his eyes were closed and his head was turned away.

Carefully, quietly, she unfolded the paper. Soul's awkward scrawl covered the page and she noted it was a list of things. A list of things about him. Some of it she already knew, but much of it she didn't.

My birthday is June 1st.
My favorite color is green.
My mother loved violets. My brother planted some for her in our garden.
I broke my left ankle playing lacrosse when I was 15.
My father enjoyed martinis. He had one every day after work. I make them because I miss him.
My family loved me.
I didn't love them enough.
I don't drink at all.
My foster parents' names are Syd and Nygus.
I think hummingbirds are beautiful.
Black*Star found me curled up in a gutter.
I tell people my favorite movie is The Green Mile.
My favorite movie is actually The Color Purple.
I still play the piano sometimes, even though I can't hear it.
I still collect Pokemon cards. Shut up.
I have something I feel I need to show you.
I'm afraid that if I do, I'll scare you away.
Penguins creep me out. I don't know why.
I haven't been back to Boston since I left.
I have never seen where my brother and parents are buried.
The only time I don't feel alone is when I'm with you.

Maka had been so engrossed in reading his note, she hadn't noticed that he'd vacated the bed. A pair of sweatpants had been donned and he leaned against the far wall, staring out the window and down to the street below. She took a good long look at his shadowed figure, unabashedly admiring the strength that emanated from his form. It was clear that Soul felt he was weak, but nothing could be further from the truth in Maka's mind.

She carefully tucked the piece of paper beneath her phone. She couldn't lose it. There were questions Maka had for him. Ones she knew he would answer if she asked him tonight. The gears were turning in her head. And then he turned and looked at her, eyes heavy lidded and soft, still dull with a hint of sadness, and the only thing she could do then was stand up to join him. The bed sheet was wrapped loosely around her form and she leaned into the solid warmth that was Soul.

A soft, "I love you," was whispered into his ribcage.

But of course, he still didn't hear it.