"With that attitude, no one will want to be your partner," Black*Star comments, his loud voice surprisingly serious. His head is thrown back to take in a cloudless sky as he struts purposefully towards the Death Weapon Meister Academy, Soul Eater Evans following with a morose expression.
"And you think you will?" Soul scoffs, raising an eyebrow at his friends relaxed posture and big ego that practically seeps from every pore. Black*Star stops abruptly to face Soul, exclaiming, "Of course! I'm the incredible Black*Star who will surpass the gods!" Soul rolls his eyes, having heard it all before. Dozens of times.
"Hya-hoo! Let's go! I better start seeing whose soul wave-length will match mine! Everyone will want to partner up with me, the amazing Black*Star!" And with that, he takes off at breakneck speed towards the DWMA, announcing his arrival as loud and uproariously as physically possible.
"Good luck with that," Soul says to the empty air, cringing as he watches Black*Star leap onto one of the skull spikes and begin a speech about himself. He looks a little like a monkey from here, Soul ponders before a scowl settles on his face. The DWMA looms closer with every slow, slouched step.
The heat of summer envelops to Soul as he make his way towards a Weapon Meister Convention, where weapons and meisters meet and possibly partner up together. Soul's stomach tightens. Finding a partner... why the hell did I agree to come? Soul grumbles to himself. He's grumpy, uncomfortable in his black, striped suit, and truthfully, anxious about finding a partner. If he can... Soul releases an enormous, irritated sigh into the muggy air. And it's just so hot.
"This is bullsh*t," Soul mutters, watching as weapons and meisters begin to greet each other, exchanging shy hello's and offering small talk. "I don't belong here." Suddenly, Soul's gut tightens and his anxious stomach says, "dude, I'm pretty sure you're going to meet your cool hamburger-and-fries lunch again." The fear and anxiety rises with sharp bile in the back of Soul's throat.
This entire convention consists of rejection, and rejection is something Soul despises with an iron-clad vengeance. Soul picks up his pace, regardless of the sweltering heat. His crimson eyes scan the courtyard for someplace out of the way... nothing. Kids are everywhere, laughing, blushing, shaking their heads, nodding their heads, all meeting and making life-changing decisions like it's nothing- inside. Maybe he can escape for a few moments inside. Soul's hands begin shaking, and he clenches them inside the pockets on his pinstripe suit, his eyes on the ground until he makes it safely into the Academy.
Not many students are inside, and Soul sighs with relief. As he wanders the halls aimlessly, guilt replaces the anxiety in his abdomen. He ran away from home to become a Death Scythe and prove his parents wrong; he could become important, successful, and cool on his own. Soul growls to himself, narrowing his eyes and twitching his cramped fingers, which remain in tight fists. He blew it. He ran away from home, and now he's running away from what he had initially run towards. What the hell is wrong with him? Is finding a partner really so bad? Yes, Soul concludes. I really am hopeless. That is so not cool.
"I need to play," Soul mutters to the empty corridor. He jolts slightly as his voice bounces across the walls in an oddly melancholy way. Alone. Soul looks to his left, and then to his right, eyes widening in disbelief. Sh*t, he thinks. I have no idea where I am. Perfect.
Angry, Soul kicks the nearest door, hoping the fierce kick to an undeserving door will eliminate all the guilt and frustration coiled up in his body like a cobra, ready to strike. The door, surprisingly, flies open and slams against it's hinges with a reverberating BANG. The sound hardly startles Soul, though. His attention is captured by the grand piano resting slap bang in the center of the room. As if in a trance, Soul makes his way to the sleek piano, offhandedly noticing the elite carved frames that line the maroon walls, the calm yellow spotlight (that's a little weird, Soul considers for a moment) that engulf the piano in warmth, and the table and vase of flowers in the corner. Before he knows it, he is seated at the black cushioned bench and his dextrous fingers slide deftly along the keys. He plays until his knuckles ache and his heart lightens a little. Playing became a habit whenever his parents insisted he was ordinary, or his brother teased him about his pointy teeth, or when he was angry with himself and the world. Playing became his medicine, his solace, but also his secret. Soul decided not to play in front of anyone after he left home. He is a weapon now, not a pianist. But... right now, playing this elegantly carved instrument who-knows-where brings Soul relief. There is no way he will stop-
until he hears a floorboard creak. Soul's fingers stop as suddenly as they had started, and he listens hard, his heart pounding from elation and newfound anxiety. Was it my imagination? Soul wonders hopefully. Footsteps pad down the hallway slowly, sounding louder and louder until they pause nearby. Nope. Soul assumes the stranger currently stands in the doorway, looking in at him and the piano.
"It sounds incredible," a voice pipes up.
A girl, Soul thinks dully, but he doesn't respond. Maybe she'll go away.
"I heard you from a few corridors down. I thought I was going crazy at first!" she continues, giggling nervously.
I'm sure you did, but as you can see, I don't give a damn.
The girl pauses for a moment before Soul hears her open her mouth a few times. It like she's trying to say something, but doesn't know what to say.
It's okay, you can stop trying. No need to strain yourself, Soul mumbles mentally.
He hears her take a few timid steps towards the piano before stopping to open her mouth again.
Going to say something this time?
With a quick inhale, she finally continues: "Because - it sounded familiar..." What? My music...? Soul's eyebrows furrow. Well, guess she is crazy.
The girl shuffles her feet before taking one last step forward- and the wave-length of her soul hits him. She must have been only a yard and a half away, and her soul probes his with curious flutters. It is... intricate. A little bruised. But it's hard as nails = she's a determined, and most likely stubborn, individual. But there is something else there that Soul can't identify... it was just... right.
"Who are you?" she questions, breaking the silence. Her voice is much softer than before.
Right. She's right. Soul smirks. Who would have thought, huh? The anxiety in this belly evaporates and he allows contentment to make itself at home. I found someone without looking. That's so cool.
Then he swivels on the piano bench, hands in his pockets. He looks at the girl for the first time. She appears bland, but he feels her soul. Her ash blonde pigtails, flat chest, and pasty skin don't fool him. Her emerald eyes illustrate her soul, too. They are deep, a little dark, but undoubtedly the brightest beacon Soul had ever seen. They are right.
"This is who I am," Soul states with another smirk, and he returns to the piano to play for the girl who is right.
Little did he know that his soul-mate would dream of the song he played her that day for months to come. That fateful day, she also recognized the strong bond they would share once she heard him play while lost in the DWMA then again when he played just for her. She felt like he was... right. She thought that maybe he was even different from other men. That she could maybe... maybe she could give him a chance.
The day Soul let someone into his heart was the day Maka Albarn found the someone she could trust.