Spirit was once again in the doghouse when it came to his daughter, Maka. After a third bi-weekly complaint was placed at the school regarding his womanizing ways, the two had a falling out. Now the meister refused to speak with her father, and by provision he was being kept under watch by Lord Death; and by under watch, Shinigami meant that he was totally ignoring him but assigning him a load of paperwork for the academy.
Bummed out and exhausted, Spirit was lying in a remote grassy area and looking up at the stars, occasionally flinging a spare copy of his paperwork into the wind with an aggravated sigh. Since he'd already finished his quota of work for the day, there was nothing to keep him from heading home except for his pride. Needless to say, he wasn't going to face his daughter just yet. The death scythe let out a sigh and slipped his hands beneath his head, entwining his fingers as a makeshift pillow as he closed his narrow blue eyes. "Not a bad time for a nap," he mumbled into the wind, wondering if Maka would cool down faster with him out of the picture for a little while. After all, girls her age were creatures of emotion. The dejected weapon wished for a moment that he had someone to talk to about his relationship with his daughter. None of his flings had been with good listeners, and the same old thing was getting tedious when it came to waiting out Maka's rage and consoling himself with the company of possible mother-figures for her. Of course, sometimes when he was downhearted and lonely, he wasn't known to settle for only the best role models...
Clouds intercepted his view of the stars, dragging with them a chilly rain that drizzled over everything in sight but couldn't manage to rouse him as he focused on his nap. Just as the redheaded man had dozed off, he fell into a dream. Unlike the chilly weather that was taking place outside, in his dream it was warm and bright.
He blinked and found himself to be sitting in a cafe booth, a steaming mug of not quite black coffee on the table in front of him. The shop was well illuminated, and looking out the window beyond his reflection Spirit could see snow-dusted figures puttering about the square. He set his left elbow on the red, glossy table and rested his cheek on his hand, gazing at the people milling around in the frosted streets. The redheaded father sighed and took a long drink from his smooth mug. The coffee was dark and robust, with a sweet, earthy aftertaste he identified as hazelnut.
A pink-hatted girl with long brown pigtails dusted the powder from the brim of her witch's hat and approached the cafe staunchly. She strode in with purpose, and Spirit was surprised to meet her magenta gaze and find her familiar. "Good afternoon, Amber," he found himself saying warmly. The girl gave a bright nod and scooted into the booth to sit opposite him. Smiling, Amber replied, "Hello, Spirit." She leaned over the table and set her chin in her hands. "I'm glad we could meet, after everything that's happened." Somehow, Spirit knew exactly what she was talking about, and was able to respond, "So am I, Love." The girl across from him giggled at the saccharine nickname, and he smiled broadly. His blue eyes were fixated on Amber, and he drank in what was a rare sight; her pink sleeveless dress with the cat print had become a distant reminder of her from the photos that had been his only chance to see the girl.
"I've missed you," the brown-haired half-witch chimed, reaching across the table to grasp his fingers. Spirit ran a thumb over her knuckles lovingly. "I'm surprised you came here in your usual garb," he commented, "Even if it is outside of Death City, you could be recognized easily." Amber shook her head, sighing, "I don't care anymore. It's unfair how they're treating you about all this." The girl had tears in her eyes, and it saddened Spirit to see her in such a state of unhappiness. "Listen, Amber... I know it's not fair, but you're half my age, and I don't exactly have the best track record when it comes to women. I'll take responsibility for this mess, and then we can show everyone that love can overcome an age gap. If you're willing to wait for me for one year, I promise you we can be together..."
"A year?" Amber asked incredulously. She looked ready to burst into tears again. Biting his lip, the man debated whether he should reveal his tactic for staying with the girl once she turned eighteen. He reached into his jacket pocket and stroked the velvet, heart-shaped box he was hiding there. 'What plan? What is this I'm feeling for this girl I've never seen?' His heart was thumping like Stein was standing behind him with a scalpel and that grin of a madman with an idea. His face burned redder than Amber's the day they'd met, when he'd accidentally seen her lace underwear as she woke him from a nap. And his hand shook like he was in withdrawal as he grasped the red velvet ring box that held his future.
With his face and hair competing for the darkest shade, Spirit placed the cherry-red box on the table with the hinge facing himself. His fingers quivered, but he managed to flip the container open clumsily to reveal the champagne diamond engagement ring that could either unite the lovers or tear them apart. He didn't want to look up and risk seeing a negative response, so he kept his gaze fixed on the ring as he cleared his throat and asked as confidently as he could, "So, you'll marry me, right?"
As Spirit looked up, finally bearing the courage, the cafe faded. The last thing he saw was his teary-eyed Amber giving a single nod. Outside of the dream-world he stirred, a light snore developing as he rolled over in the wet grass and blabbered something incoherently. A pair of tall pink boots stopped inches from his body, beads of rain rolling down the shoes and into the verdant grass. The owner of the boots crouched down and prodded the sleeping death scythe with a finger, studying him with bright magenta eyes. Smiling as he rolled over and blinked his eyes open, the girl stood up straight again, which incidentally gave the awakening man a perfect view of the white underwear above her striped stockings. "Lace," Spirit sighed, clasping a hand over his face as all the blood in his head tried to escape through his nose.
"What?" she asked, glancing down to connect dots between the death scythe's gaze and her panties. Her face turned as pink as her sleeveless dress, and in a panic she tucked her skirt around her underwear and kicked the peeping man in the face. "Wh-why were you looking?!" she squealed, squatting back down to frown at him. Spirit laughed awkwardly and scratched his head, one hand over his bruised and twice-bleeding nose. "Well, that was an accident, you see... I was asleep, and..." He trailed off as his blue eyes connected with the magenta gaze that seemed so familiar now. "Is your name Amber?" he asked slowly. The girl smiled and gave a single nod, and the red-haired man saw his future playing out in that cafe. "I'm new to the Academy, and I was looking for someone to show me around when I saw you sleeping in the grass." With a contented smile at the thought of the light to come from his struggle to be with her later on, he added, "Nice to meet you. I'm Spirit. And I'll be your guide." He stood slowly and shook off the rain that had waterlogged his suit, holding out a crooked arm to Amber. As she took it, Spirit led her along the hill toward the school, asking, "Do you believe in prophetic dreams...?"