Only Exception

I walked down the hallway of the apartment on the way to my bedroom, fully prepared to crash for the night, when the smallest of sounds caught my ear. I paused, listening carefully for a moment, then wondered with a frown when in the world Soul got a radio.

He was fond of music in a rather odd way.

He could play, and from what I've heard and can figure, he can play really good. Yet he never bothered purchasing a radio or mp3 player or anything like that. He even went so far to resist playing unless forced to—usually in a life or death situation. As badly as I wanted to understand the reasons behind his odd habits, I also wanted to respect my partner's privacy.

But this just threw everything off.

I knocked on the door, head leaning to the side in curiosity. Muffled curses came from within, followed by some thumping and swift footsteps.

"Come in," Soul drawled, and I complied, swinging the door open and leaning against it to close it shut. He was lounging on his bed, yawning tiredly, and staring suspiciously at the roof. "What do you need?" he asked, not bothering to look at me.

"Was that a radio?" I asked, fingers twisting together nervously. We didn't make a habit of visiting each other in our rooms—just one of those "partner" things, I suppose. When you spend nearly every waking moment with someone, you understand their need for privacy as much as your own. So bedrooms become sanctuaries and stepping inside one should not be taken lightly.

"What are you talking about?" he growled, still refusing to look at me.

"I heard music so I thought—."

"No," he interrupted. "No music in here. Is that all you needed?" I frowned at his quick answer and obvious lie.

"Don't be so un-cool, Soul," I warned, crossing my arms and scowling at him. He winced theatrically at that. "I know what I heard. Why's it such a big deal for you to just admit that you like music and listen to it like a normal human being?"

"I don't listen to music," he growled.

"Sure," I deadpanned. "Just like I don't read books."

"Shut up," he muttered. I swung my arms to propel myself off the door and walked over to his bed, plopping down and taking a good look at him, waiting for him to meet my eyes. He sighed and finally made eye contact with me, and I felt my heart skip a beat at the sudden look of desperation in his ruby orbs.

Please don't make me talk about this.

I chewed on my bottom lip for a second, wondering if this was really the best idea. He clearly didn't want to talk about it. I glanced over at the door and it seemed miles away now. Partners should be able to talk about anything, like roommates only better, closer. Lies clouded resonance.

"Look, it's fine if you want to listen to music every now and again," I told him, making up my mind to re-assure him rather than pressure him. As much as we grinded on each other's nerves in public, we were fairly calm around each other when it was just us. No societal pressures, I guess. "Not like I'm going to tell anyone about it."

"I wasn't listening," he answered, crossing his arms defensively. I gave him a puzzled look.

"But I heard—."

"I was playing, not listening," he explained, not letting me get the words out. He frowned a bit more. "I guess you have to listen to play, but you know what I mean."

"Oh," I said stupidly. An awkward silence fell over us until we both had to drop our gazes. I wracked my brain for a change of topic or something—anything—to make this weird situation better. When did it start to get so awkward between the two of us anyway?

We meshed so well when we first met, no problems at all, but then as time went we started to bicker. Not badly, not really. Our friends had commented in the past that we bicker like an old married couple, but that's just what happens when you practically grow up with someone. Granted we'd only known each other since we were twelve, but still four years made a big difference—especially those four years.

We all grew up a lot in that time… we changed as people, as meisters, as weapons… it was one of those scary facts that you realize when you look back.

We were all growing up, and no doubt we'd go our separate ways some day. Not just Kid replacing his father or Black Star taking off for long and longer periods of time, their weapons going along with them, but even Soul and I knew that our time was limited. Tsubaki liked to think that friends would stay in touch for their entire lives, but I knew better.

I knew that people changing was the biggest reason why they broke apart. Better than anyone, I knew.

"Soul, I…"

"Don't worry so much," he cut me off, not that I really knew where I was going. I looked up at him in surprise to find him gazing evenly at me, his expression hidden behind his typical "cool guy" demeanor.

"W-what are you talking about?" I demanded sharply, feeling my cheeks heat up.

"I know that look on your face—you're worrying about something," he explained as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You don't look as good when your face is all scrunched up like that. If you wanted to talk about something you didn't have to bring up my music to do it."

"Hey leave my face alone," I snapped. Scowling I clarified, "I didn't try to branch into my own worries—it was just something that came to mind. I really was wondering about the music."

"Geez, your brain works too hard to connect meaningless pieces of information," he sighed, slumping down and resting his socked feet on my lap.

"Ew, Soul, get your smelly feet off me," I complained, pushing the offending appendages off the side of the bed. He shot up and leaned forward, glaring at me with our noses practically touching.

"I wouldn't put them on you if you weren't on my bed," he explained, grinning toothily.

"Hmph, whatever." I turned away from him, embarrassed to feel the tingle of his breath on my face. "We're so off track now I don't even remember why I came in here in the first place."

"You were being nosey," Soul offered and I felt the bed shift. I looked back to see him leaning over the far side of the bed, digging something out from under it. A moment later he emerged with a shiny acoustic guitar on his lap.

"Wow, that looks really… expensive," I commented, wondering how long he'd had it—it looked brand new. Soul snorted dismissively.

"This is what you were hearing," he explained, looking at the strings longingly. I leaned my head to the side, trying to get a better look at the instrument.

"Why don't you play something?" I asked, drawing my feet up and tucking them under. He glanced up at me, another unreadable look on his face. Had I offended him? Or had he been waiting for me to ask?

"Sure," he answered, looking down at the instrument, but then back up at me. "But swear you won't tell anyone, especially not Black Star or Kid."

"Of course," I nodded easily. Why he didn't want them to know he could play multiple instruments—after all, they had heard him play piano before—was beyond me, but it was another thing that good partners just do. Take their partner's word and honor it.

He started to strum out a melody that was soft and a far cry from his typical style. I guess it was good practice to use different styles. The same concept applied to plenty of academic subjects, so why not music too?

Although not musically inclined or even a big fan of music in general, I couldn't help but appreciate the feeling that the music was trying to convey. It almost sounded like one of my cheesy romance novels, only in the form of notes that drifted easily from Soul's fingers.

I sat and listened to the whole song, not daring to move an inch even after the final note rang out, drifted off, echoed, and died away. Soul sat with a bowed head, just gazing at the instrument, no particular expression on his face. He didn't look happy or sad or accomplished and proud or anything, really.

If I had to call it anything, I would say relieved.

"That was really pretty," I whispered, my voice sounding like nails on a chalkboard after the sweet melody he had plucked. He snorted dismissively.

"Yeah, I guess that's the word for it," he answered, equally quiet. We lapsed into silence, but this time felt a lot more natural. Maybe his song had just re-assured me. Some things would never change.

"Thanks for playing for me," I said after a long moment, standing up and stretching, grateful my legs hadn't fallen asleep. Just as I took a step towards the door I heard the bed creak and turned to see Soul setting the guitar down and close the space between us in a single easy stride.

Without any warning, without even making eye contact, he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me tightly against his chest. I stiffened for only a moment before I relaxed into his hug, resting my head against his chest and snaking my arms around his midsection.

In the dead silence of the room I could hear him and feel him breathing deeply with his face pressed against the top of my head. Something about the hug conveyed more than either of us could really say to each other. After all, the hardest things to say were things you couldn't describe with words. I felt him tremble and for a brief, wild moment I thought he might be crying, but his voice was perfectly clear when he spoke.

"Don't worry so much, Maka," he whispered. "I can't leave you." I opened my mouth to protest against this, but he quickly spoke up again, "No arguments."

"Jerk," I muttered.

"Just promise not to leave me," he continued, ignoring the insult.

"I would never do that," I answered indignantly. "Not ever." He breathed a deep sigh and released me, turning and flopping face first on the bed. I waited for him to turn around or say something more, but he refused to turn around. He was done talking for tonight.

"Good night," I whispered as I pulled the door open.

"Sleep well," he responded quietly, barely loud enough for me to hear. The door shut with a soft click behind me, and I walked to my own room, rubbing my arms in wonder.

Sometimes a few words spoke more than any speech. Partners understood, sometimes without any words at all.

Or maybe that was just Soul.