Hi! I first thought of this story last night and then scrambled to write it all down. But this is my first Soul Eater story—and my first fic on —so no flames, please! Anyway, please enjoy and review!

She hadn't expected this to happen, not in the slightest. Maka had never been into music in the first place, but when her silent weapon spoke for the first time in months, his lips sputtering out a concert invitation, the blonde suddenly found her Saturday afternoon booked.

But here? No way.

Never in a million years would Maka expect to be in a concert hall, and a private concert hall, nonetheless, void of everyone but her and her partner Soul.

She hated music, since it was the one thing she couldn't understand. Phasmology? Maka dove head-first into the work. Trigonometry? She would be knee-deep in complicated math equations after only an hour. Books? No one, not even Soul or her precious father, could tear her away.

But music? Not at all.

The beats didn't make sense, didn't match up, and with all of the notes as senseless and blurred together as Soul played them, Maka couldn't make heads or tails of what was going on.

But even still, she stood to the side of the fancy, expertly shined piano, dolled up in her nicest dress (a cute little pink gown with elegant lace) and with her pigtails delicately curled into ringlets, glancing around the empty auditorium. As Soul pecked a key at the grand piano, the sound echoed across the room impressively.

"Um.. Soul?" she asked softly, forest green orbs probing for his attention. The boy in question looked up with icicles of white dripping into his eyes, and the pit of Maka's belly grew warm. Soul was so unbelievably attractive, and she couldn't help but imagine them places other than some drab concert hall. Maybe a bedroom. She swallowed thickly. "Are you sure it's okay to be here?"

But Soul just waved it off and tuned the piano, not even bothering to speak. He was too above her to talk, anyway, and he couldn't distract himself right now. Not now, when he especially had to keep up this "silent and mysterious" facade. Chicks dig that stuff, right?

"I mean.. no one's here, Soul."

"Exactly."

Stunned by her partner's voice—deep and masculine and reverberating off the walls—she couldn't help but startle even more when his long fingers crashed onto the keys, and a heavy clang rang in her ears.

She hated it.

His hands danced wildly across the row of ivory keys, the song (if she could even call it that) a chaotic mess of beauty and torture all at the same time. Maka wasn't sure if she should step closer, cover her ears, or run.

When his playing had finally calmed (for the second movement, he'd later explain), Maka stepped closer and whispered his name. She wanted the attention on her, not some polished piece of black and white.

"Soul."

No response.

Maka probed further by wrapping her arms around the scythe's strong torso, and if the piano weren't playing, she would've heard a delicious gasp. How he managed to keep the song up without pausing, Maka didn't know.

But he still played, and her eyes narrowed further.

So, in further retaliation, she ran her tongue across the shell of his ear, then nibbled. The song warbled unnaturally, the rhythm no longer its own, until Soul finally gave up and shifted their positions.

Now pinned on top of the piano by her secret love, Maka grinned triumphantly. "That's better," she purred, and it was Soul's turn to swallow back the lump in his throat.

With her ashen hair splayed around her head like a halo, her doe eyes hazed over with lust, Maka was picture-perfect.

How fun it would be to mess that all up. And on top of his favorite sound-maker, too.

The two thrust and moaned and cried out in the vacant concert hall, clinging to the other for all that was worth. Maka had always hated music, the sex was awkward, and—well, let's just say that the piano was no longer expertly polished. But the music that she and Soul made together was worth while.