G means Sol

"Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh!"

The door banged open and Maka entered the room with her heart pumping. "Soul! Are you alright?" She looked at the boy on the floor beneath his desk chair and surrounded with paper sheets floating towards the ground. Now, don't get her wrong, she was always the one of the duo maintaining a clear head, as in: she knows she should help him, but he's just too funny to look at sometimes. "I-I heard s-some-someone scream pffft…"

His eye twitched. "Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want. C'mon, I'm listening!" His technician kept on insisting to scandalize his brain with giggles and cackles. And just when it seemed that she was going to stop she would start the nonsense all over again. He doesn't understand what's so funny, or why she insists on giving him head trauma because she somehow misses the need to laugh, but he puts up with his best behaviour because he has more important things to do.

"Haaaaa… Feels good to have that out of the system." She says after a deep sigh. "I told you that leaning your chair back was going to work bad for you." Yes, she warned him and she's returning again to the same point; where he feels like slapping her awake from her broken record and bury his head between his hands because he's malfunctioning from sleep deprivation and that's not making wonders for him. And since the later is probably the cause of it all, then he should just go to sleep – but he can't – so he groans and rubs his temples.

"Weren't you going out, woman?" He asked, already off the mood. His voice is as raspy as sandpaper, like he hasn't slept in four days straight and tried to keep his eyes open by drinking gallons of caffeine. "I thought you were going out for a walk or somethin'."

She replies a little angrily, with her hands curled and placed on her hips – one of her demanding Maka-poses. She hates it when people address her by her sex. "Changed my mind. Tsubaki was supposed to come with me but she called in saying that she went in an 'unexpected' extra-curricular assignment. I bet Black*Star came home with the big bomb and dropped it when she least expected it."

"Huh-huh, okay." He's not even remotely interested in what the blond speaks, too hunched up over his work to even realize that she is still there, still present in his life and that she is awaiting for some type of answer. In his desk there's a plague of messy writing/drawing, tiny amounts of coal from the pressure he exerted on his pencil and even small mountains of bread crumbs (courtesy of his laziness), a sign of what he ate this morning in a vain attempt to get the job done.

She stares at him between her eyelashes, a feline eyeing a prey. Her half-lidded eyes and smug aura explains it all, but the only thing the teen with sharp teeth and blood red eyes does is exhale noisily, deciding to inspect her behaviour in secrecy by the colourful reflection on the cup filled with water that he keeps next to him just in case.

A heavy load drops on her shoulders; it's a hit of realization that weights like twenty buffalos; the fact that she hasn't been doing her job as a meister and has his friend. He's nothing but a vessel nowadays, always adjacent to the things around him like a junkie who doesn't care about the world anymore, except for his current vice. This habit of his of playing hide and seek was, since the beginning, tiring and not to mention tedious and mind-numbing. The little child inside of him as ran out of ideas ever since the start and he always runs off to his room. It's also the same routine: secluding him in his confinements and only coming out when really necessary, like when he needed to go to the bathroom, eat, go to school or sometimes cook when it was his turn.

Even though he doesn't need to do that anymore as well because she promised Blair that for the next month she would be teaching her how to cook things other than burnt sardines. A huge mistake from her part by the way. She understands the cat's reasons for starting to be her own chef and stop eating things that are offered to her, but she was never made for a kitchen life.

But returning to the point: At school the tale isn't much different. Long-gone were the days were Soul hi-fived Black*Star on the halls or replied to the teachers with his big mouth. She actually admired that freedom he had with simple words that made the classroom get filled to the brim with laughter. He's absolutely wonderful with words; he has a way with them even when confronting the law. It only annoys her that his sense of freedom is so humongous while hers his closed up within a box of good-behaviour and politeness. She even dares to remind all those times that he spoke out of his time just for a moment to shine in the so called 'boredom' that he suffered every day.

She misses hearing his faint snores as well, and the drool that he unwillingly lets slip by during the first periods. It was an excuse she had for elbowing her partner in the chest and scolding him, giving him a chance to set things right with her aid, but he didn't seem to like it at all. It was funny how he always made the same routine every single morning and never showed any signs that he would change. Now all he does is scramble random things on his notebook like strange drawings that she thinks are souls, music notes and sometimes (very rarely) food.

Ok, maybe she's exaggerating. It has only been a week and a half since this strange behaviour of her partner started, but it's enough for people to notice. And by 'people' she doesn't mean his fangirls – the ashy-blond hates even remembering their jolly faces of doom when she catches them planning their next assault at her partner. And they always attack in groups,

Freaky seagulls – actually, they look more like chickens running after their corn.

When Ox Ford had asked if Soul was feeling alright the day before, she knew that somehow this whole shenanigan was taking too long for him to fix on his own. She gave him time, she gave him space, Shinigami-knows how much patience she gave him during his shutdown from the world! But enough was enough and she wants to know what's wrong with her friend's change of behaviour. Actually, she has been curious from the start but decided to have him come to her when he felt like it.

She's not that unprepared for talking with him. Even though her chance came quicker than she saw it would, she now has entered his 'cave' and she is not intending on leaving so soon, not without some more information of his erratic behaviour. Alas, she shouldn't have laughed so much when seeing him on the ground; she should have offered him a hand and some nice words. But she's not giving up just yet! She has read about psychology: one point she has on her side is that she has known Soul for almost two years now, so she has to use her words well – keep her tongue quiet long enough for him to speak but to not feel like she's not listening to him.

"So… What'cha doin'?" She asks with a fake smile while leaning slightly behind his back. He does nothing, doesn't even spare her glance. She coughs awkwardly and rubs the back of her neck, embarrassed by her unnatural choice of words, but doesn't quit. "I mean, what are you doing there?"

"Homework." Is his quick reply.

"Oh come on, don't give me that crap." She says while crossing her arms over her almost non-existing chest. Homework? On a Saturday evening? She will only believe that when she actually sees that happening, or when Kid stops ranting about symmetry. There's still no response from him. "Hey Soooouuul." Now he unfolds his hands from behind his back and grabs a pencil from behind his ear.

Her knowledge for his antics was written on a hard-cover called 'Simple solutions for Big problems'. According to it, Soul suffered from simple stress. She has done things to get him rid of this - like making him his favourite food (while she ate Blair's cooking), being nicer to him than on a daily basis, reducing the Maka-chops, she even went as far as to giving him a massage when he once sat at the dinner table. But the later may have not worked well, he left again to his room, didn't even mutter a word.

She steps near his closet, which is positioned right across his figure and rubs her hands in one-another to warm them up. She read that maybe, if she could cause a disturbance/confusion that can rival the one inside his head, she can make him look at her! And thus, he will have to hear her. With dexterity, she supports her weight in her palms and lifts her legs up in the air. The only thing she didn't think of was the fact that she was currently wearing a skirt – which she was quick to push up to cover her panties. She blushed heavily but made an effort to forget about it.

"Hey Soul, look! One hand!" Still no response. What the- She's standing upside down on his bedroom, trying to gain his attention and he doesn't even spare a glance at her. Then she realized… "Hum, I think I'm going down now."

Soul cocked his head to the side just in time to see her descending from her position. His skin feels strangely hot on his face. He takes the cup with water near his mouth but drops it again on his desk – this time, a little more further to the right. He doesn't have the guts to tell her that he saw her attempts to gain his attention. He also can't tell her that he caught a very long glimpse of her white panties and that even though it shouldn't, it's making him feel giddy.

He turns his head away from her and hides his eyes with his free hand while the other grabs his pencil with unintended force. She is too distracting. Why can't she just leave! He has things to worry about, important things. He knows her intentions come in the best way as possible but he really needs to finish what he started, to concentrate on his current task.

The calendar nailed to his wall has a date marked with a circle with a red marker. The date is for four days from today.

He's not going to make it on time if he continues like this.

Maka gets close to him and drops her hand on his shoulder. The action startles him and he hides his belongings swiftly. "I know you're hiding your sheet music Soul. You don't have to hide those kinds of things from me." Her voice comes out off-tuned. He should know, he's the musically inclined of the duo. It's almost as if she's sad.

But what has he done? Nothing! Nothing that can make her feel bad anyway. Well, he has been pretty absent since he dug out that letter from his parents - he should have had more time to do this.

The scythe meister cleared some space on the table and sat on top of it. She sent him a tired look, one that behind closed doors asked him the reason for all this secrecy that was making her and her friends worry so much. She then looked at his papers as if inspecting them, but Soul knew better. She knew what they were, but understanding them was a whole different level for Maka.

When Soul 'Evans' – the famous pianist, son of one of the greatest family of musicians - left his home to become Soul 'Eater' – now a Death Scythe, partner of Maka Albarn and student at DWMA – he had made a deal. His family understood his departure, that it was inevitable that a young weapon like him should go to a school where he could learn how to be in charge of his abilities and make sure that his power was kept under control.

I can just imagine the disgrace! His mother had said to him one day. Imagine you, playing the piano at a grand concert and suddenly a blade pops right out of your arm! It would be a dreadful disaster! Yes, with no doubt, you must enlist in that school.

They let him enlist with a different name, even though they didn't like it at first (he named himself after his motorbike) but they didn't mind when he explained the whole shebang. The story went on like this: if the Evans's name wasn't involved, then it would be better for the relatives. Not one of the folks expected for a weapon to be born in times like these. Her grandmother's grandfather had been a weapon, a scythe just like him, that's why she had been so surprised when she found out that the youngest of the household lived with weapon blood as well.

If the secret was kept silent then everyone would just think that the boy was deep in training – preparing himself for a great tour that he would be giving a year after. The audience never knows what happens at the backstage, so why keep them informed now? Life is an excuse of a theatre, and it differs for person to person: his is a ruined one, filled with so much extravagant acts that sometimes he doesn't know how to distinguish the truth from the lie – and in Maka's case, a rich one, swarming with sweet aliveness and knowledge as well as light and colourfull confetti. Even if sometimes she doesn't notice it, she attracts a lot of people inside the safety that is her stage, not caring about the lack of space.

Life had been great. He, contrary to his own beliefs, had found Maka Albarn to be her partner, made a lot of connections with the world and even managed to create a fan club without knowing anything about it (he has nothing to do with this, he swears)! Then, he achieved the status of Death Scythe, saved the world from impending doom numerous of times (all the kishin eggs do count) and gained respect from what he worked hard to reach, not because people labelled him since the beginning.

But then, things got a little complicated.

The year was over long ago, and the headline for him to come back home had been pushed away so many times that it reached a point where he couldn't run anymore.

So he made a deal. He would appear from time to time at his mansion and occasionally write sheets so that his parents knew that he was still studying and keeping that same passion for music that he had when he left. In exchange, they would not bother him in any way possible. And he was fine with that.

Until a date came and his mind entered a big black hole that lacked of inspiration and where the music notes entered in deaf ears.

Maka shifted in her position, making a fact that she was still there and awaiting a response from him. She expected something, anything – an explanation, a few words, the truth, a lie… Anything at all would do, it just had to make sense in her now-foggy brain. He saw it in her eyes, the never ceasing fire.

"Can I, see that?" She was mentioning the paper. He dropped his shoulders; of course she could see them. She could even burn them for all he cares; they're not worth his attention anymore. She took them all and started inspecting them one by one, taking special care with the one's he has written just a few moments ago so that her fingers would not stain the paper. They were pretty messy on their own, but she didn't want to make them worse.

He dropped his head on his hands and peaked between his fingers. She seemed engrossed in his work actually, but she didn't have to make an effort to seem interested in something she didn't understand.

Should he tell her? That he really was troubled with this whole writing music thingy? Because he was, and it burned inside of him so much, it pained him not being able to let go all of his worries and actually talk with another human being about things like these. Before he always had his brother, but now he has no one.

But it also pains him to think what will happen when he tells her everything. She would be somehow sad at him because the fact was that he had ran away, something that her soul believed with all her might was wrong. Her partner, a scaredy? No way. She could also be shocked (or not), scream at him (or not), tell his friends (or not) and then he would have hundreds of love letters filling his room because people knew who he was, instead of what he is. And he kind'a likes what he has right now, she doesn't know and he is able to forget things like these on the majority of his days because that's the way he wants to live – with no one waking him up in the morning telling him that he has a recital to attend to.

But that doesn't erase the fact that he has work to do and that the deadline is in four days. He's never going to make it in time! His parents will know if he sends something half-heartedly, in a worst case scenario they would appear at his door and demand an explanation.

He really doesn't want that to happen. They would make a scene, and that would be so uncool.

"What's so funny?" Giggles. He's having a mental breakdown and his companion is giggling at his side.

She hands him a sheet and beams. "You just wrote 'FACE' 'BAD' 'FED' there. Need me to get you some food to make that moody atmosphere of yours disappear?"

"Y-You understand all this?" He asks in disbelief, his back stretching to an upright position while his entire bones crack, replying for the bad posture that he had all this time. She blinks at his bold question. Does he think she's that dull? Well, he's got a nerve; or he doesn't know her after all.

"They're anagrams. Those little things you draw there, those notes, they work like… hummm…" He quirks an eyebrow at her. "Like… Written morse code! Yeah, that right! You know, 'dot, dot, line, dot'? I-It's like a game, a puzzle! I mean, sort of."

He slaps his forehead and leans back on his chair. A game. He's in risk here, and she thinks of his music sheets as a game.

"I'm doomed…" He shots at the air. That statement left a sour taste on the young blonde's mouth.

"You also wrote 'BED' a lot of times. Does that mean that you need one right now?" She laughs quietly, trying to lift the mood, but her voice gradually descends until there's no sound coming from her vocal chords. Now she feels bad. Maybe she shouldn't have said that she considered his work a 'game'. She knows he's completely devoted to music, unlike her who…

…is naturally 'deaf' to these sorts of things.

"I don't know why you keep writing songs when we don't own a piano. Nor why you sometimes work so hard to write things like these if you're not going to show them to anyone. Sure, you can play them for yourself and use one of the millions of pianos dispersed around the city but…" She sighed. "I thought music was something you had to like not feel obligated to work on. It's natural for you to feel frustrated when doing something you don't like – believe me, I know – so why? Why all this? You love doing these sorts of things, don't you? So, why do I get the feeling that you're being manipulated somehow?"

"It's not-" He stops himself. He wants to tell her. He really wants to tell her, but he can't! He can't and it stings! She's right, she is always right no matter what the situation is. She's a walking encyclopaedia and he can do nothing about it.

She picks up the sheets again, inspecting them for a second time. It's then that she notes that something's at fault beneath all the layers of coal from his pencil. "There's, a lack of Gs." Soul opens one eye and looks at her lopsidedly. She extends him her hands and while scanning the three pages that she holds, she notes that she's true – there is a lack of Gs.

"Yeah, I haven't put much. You're right." His uninterested tone even mistakes him but she tries not to take that too much into heart and make him remember that 'G' is her favourite sound. She smiles at him, teeth showing and everything.

"Hey! Hey! What does the 'G' stand for?" She asks with unexpected happiness, like she had just found the cure for Black*Star's noise or something. "So? C'mon! Tell me!" He scratches his head, not knowing very well how to respond to a chirpy Maka.

"Sol. G stands for Sol. Why do you ask?" She claps her hands in front of her and sends him one of her best smiles. Her gaze is stern and blissful, unlike his. Now he's curious, what's gotten into her?

At his confused (but funny) face she answers with another question. "Do you know what sol means, Soul?"

"No, I don't know what 'sol' means, Maka. And honestly, I couldn't care less." He crosses his arms and looks the opposite way, to his window. He becomes aware of the time when he sees that the sun is setting and that the sky is filled with oranges and reds. After some time, he turns his head to her and she's still smiling.

"Sol means sun."

He unfolds his arms and stares at her. Actually, this is news for him. He never found any interest on investigating the meaning of the notes. He knew what they represented and their history – it was an obligation in his household for the musicians to know the story behind every song - but this was something new for him. He actually never thought of things that way.

She fidgets under his intense stare. "It means 'the sun' when you translate it properly but it's the same point." She returns his stare. "Sun, 'the sun'… Is all the same when the subject is all that matters."

"The Sun… It actually doesn't sound bad. I like it." He smiles at her in return.

She beams. "I know you do, you're missing it!" Ok, now he's really confused. "You're missing your 'sun' dummy, your inspiration. I may not understand music in general, but I do know that you love it but you have somehow lost your muse – the thing that connects you to it. You need more light in your life, just like you need some BED. Seriously, those black marks beneath your eyes are proof of it."

He laughs. Seriously, what more can he do? Her soul is practically begging for some attention in the good way and now that she has it, she surprises him by giving him lessons about music – of all the things in the world, he had her teaching him about music. She's a bag full of surprises alright. One day she will pull a stunt like this on him again and he will still be surprised because that's who she is, she's Maka.

"C'mon, no more working for today. You need some serious, and I really mean serious, rest." The meister yanks the papers away from his sight and hides them behind her back, ignoring his protests. "Go to sleep or something. But when I walk in here again, if I catch you smashing your brains even more over a thing like this you will never hear the last of me. You understand Soul Eater?"

Her tone is demanding, but she doesn't scare him the slightest. Why? Because she still has that goofy smile on her face and it's lifting his soul to the heavens. "Yeah, yeah. I got it. Hey, why don't you make some pasta too? It would be so cool-"

"Don't push it." He grins at her. She's the paramount, she's trying her very best to act though but she will make what he wants in the end. Which reminds him…

"Maka?"

"Hmm?" She turns around, hand on the frame of the door. "What is it?" He plays with his thumb for a while, not sure of how to start the conversation.

"It's just that-"

"You don't own me nothing. You know that don't you?" Own her- What is she talking about? "You're my partner and I respect that. If you have something that you rather not discuss with me then I'm fine with it; I'll be trying my best to be patient and wait for you to come and talk. You're a pain in the ass and I'll have you pay for that one day, but until then… Just, the curiosity is killing me but I can live with that. But only if it's for you."

His wide eyes say it all.

She blushes heavily. "I-I mean, I don't mind the secrecy and stuff. And I really meant it when I said that you're a pain-"

"Just one more question." It takes great effort on her part to look at his face and not at that very attractive clock on the small table near his bed. "When you were looking at the sheets, you took a very long time to look at them because you were reading the notes one by one by the scale? Now that's embarrassing, it should be something easy for you since you even know what the notes represent professor."

Her face could rival the night skies at the 4th of July. "MAKA-CHOP!"

His head hits the ground for the second time that day. But the force pushing it to the floor is somehow much intense. When she leaves to the kitchen, stomping her feet and murmuring things like 'stupid, idiot, octopus head, ruining the atmosphere' and other things that he rather not even mentioning, he rises, walks towards his bed and falls on top of the covers.

Maka Albarn doesn't understand music – or at least she says she doesn't. But every time she senses a soul, every time he resonates with his soul, she's hearing the music that it expels. The wavelengths have a sound and it's a beautiful one; it was her who said this to him, who introduced him to her world and that he came to choose for his life.

She states that music – the organized sounds, the humming of the angels and the voice of the soul – is something behind her power of control. Of course, she can't control music, but one day she will understand it, maybe even better than him if she insists on revealing this hidden power of hers to guide poor musicians into the light.

Her brain is dense, he grants that. But she's… something cool and sunny and very feathery.

Something that he can't define very well. Just like music.

Just like love.

She's a ray of sun, a blast of light and hope in his black hole of darkness and uncertainty. When he's down, she will be there – either willingly or not – because they're connected, they're soulmates.

She's a G. His G.

Hope it didn't get too confusing guys. I tried to make it readable...

Yes people. 'Sol' does stand for 'the sun' in Latin. I thought of that because sol stands for sun in Portuguese XD

Oh! And the words "BED" and "FED" and all that jazz – I connected the music notes and they formed words, it was so fun :D

Seagulls: because they protect their food with all their might from any intruder and they attack in group.

Hum... yeah...