His fingers rippled across the piano keys, letting his muscles relax and his mind drift into oblivion.
Often, this is how Soul would sort out his worries, issues, and out-of-control emotions. It was his escape. It didn't matter what it sounded like to other people—it wasn't for them anyway. His music articulated his emotions and himself. Besides, he'd been told time and time again by his parents that it wasn't good enough. So why bother playing for other people? The only time he had was when he wanted to show Maka what kind of person he really was. He'd played his darkest, most twisted melody; it represented his soul and his struggles. Music was his modus operandi. If Maka wanted to be his partner, she had to understand that. And though she did not understand music, she understood him. Better than anyone else ever had or would. In a way, she was his other sanctuary. When his music failed to provide relief or insight, he went to Maka, and she helped him. He trusted her more than anyone. Not that he would ever tell her that, though.
That would be uncool, he thought with a grin as his fingers continued to stroke the keys.