AN: I didn't change the story, just changed the format a little, and a couple of words here and there. Sorry if anyone thought it was something new.
"Music gives a soul to the universe, wings to the mind, flight to the imagination, and life to everything." -Plato
Soul Evans was having an incredibly bad day.
He awoke in his dorm to the obscenely garish sun glaring in his face, the birds chirping chaotically, and his alarm NOT going off. Jolting up, he looked at the clock- he was half an hour late to his Psychology class, and that teacher was so not cool.
After that, he forgot he was going to study with Black Star and his girlfriend Tsubaki, so he had to deal with the idiot whining like a four-year old while Tsubaki tried to hide how hurt she was that he forgot them.
To top it off, the Mess Hall was so crowded, he left campus to find food, and could only find this weird cafe that sold something called Souls (Although he wouldn't admit it to his friends, the souls were surprisingly good, if disgusting in both appearance and texture).
He returned to his dorm as the sky took on the color of his mood, dejectedly wondering why he chose to go to the DWMA anyways. Of course, his talented, 'superior' older brother Wes called to rub it in how he was doing great in Juilliard, since he was such a prodigy at the violin, cello, clarinet, and whatever the hell else, and ask how it was going for him with piano, which quickly reminded him of the reason he chose such an inconvenient school; his mission to forgo all "Evans" tendencies towards music. The chains of legacy would not hold him down.
Soul threw himself onto his bed after pulling on pajamas, not even bothering to set an alarm for the next day, seeing how it was a Friday night. He had been staying up late and waking up early, so really he understood how he must have turned off the alarm in his sleep. Oh well, at least he was in bed by eleven today. He sighed into his soft pillow, the warm room calming him as the sounds of a piano being played from the nearby music room drifted into his room, lulling him to sleep. The piece being played was simple yet melodic, one he knew, from word-of-mouth, as if he even cared, was given to the intermediate classes before they moved on to harder things, sort of like an initiation piece.
As hard as he try, Soul could not resist the entrancing lure of music, so he chose a dorm room with closest access to the music room. The dorm was usually reserved for students studying music, but he pulled a few strings by tossing his name around like a yo-yo. A very powerful, very influential yo-yo, one that had the ability to topple companies or build them up. Well, he said he would forsake the legacy, not the privileges, associated with his family name.
The young albino scowled, not wanting to think about his family, about how they wanted him to follow in their footsteps, about how disappointed they always were that he wasn't 'more like' his older brother. Only his mother defended him, but her voice had long since reached his ears, silenced by a cruel sickness that dragged her into a whisper of her formerly vivacious self.
Wafting into his room despite the closed door, the song was still being played. Or rather, attempted to be played. The would-be musician was unable to play a section. Soul grinned to himself. He had mastered that piece when he was 14 years old. It was one of the more complex songs he knew, and he could immediately tell what the problem was. They were positioning their hands wrong, tripping over the fingers before they could finish the section. Soul himself, the self-proclaimed genius at piano, not that he would ever call himself that in front of his family, had made the same mistake when learning it. Grunting, Soul rolled over and tried to block out the sounds of failure coming from the music room. He decided, as he stared at the wall, to wait until whoever it was playing the piano left, and then he would go and play it right. Just to prove that he could.
An hour later, though, he was seriously practicing self-restraint as he strained to keep from defenestrating the piano, and the player as well. Seriously, he thought, an hour! You'd think this guy would give up by now. Soul got up, sighing in defeat, and trudged to the piano room. If this failure wouldn't accept defeat, he would make him, hopefully returning to bed in time to sleep for at least a few hours.
Ghosting into the music room, he snorted. No wonder the noise was so loud. The room was soundproof, sure, but not idiot proof- the door had to be closed to stop the sound from escaping. Leaning in the shadows of the doorway, he listened for a while, confirming his hunch that the player was positioning his hands wrong.
"You know," he drawled, making his presence known as he stepped into the room, "In order to keep a room soundproof, the door has to be closed." He punctuated this fact by closing the door behind him.
The figure at the piano jumped, and Soul got the first good look at him. At her, he realized, judging by the long hair and girly pyjamas. She turned to face him, and Soul could tell she was blushing. Probably embarrassed he had heard her failures.
"You've been listening to me play?" she accused. Yup, definitely embarrassed.
He scoffed, "You mean trying to play. Yeah, my room's the one closest to this room, so I heard everything."
If it was even possible, the girl turned a deeper shade of red. "Yeah, well I'd like to see you play this piece."
Soul smirked, glad to have a chance to show off his technique. He strode to the piano, looking at the girl expectantly until she moved from the bench. Then, with a flourish of his hands, he began to play. Unfortunately for his ego, he hadn't played that specific song in a while, so he stumbled through the same section the girl had.
"Nice try," the girl giggled.
He scowled at her. "Don't patronize me. I'm not the one that spent the last hour making zero progress,"
"Whoa, chill." Her smile faded, "I wasn't being sarcastic, surprisingly enough." He raised an eyebrow. "Okay, so that right there was sarcasm. But I meant it."
"Oh," he evaluated the tone in her voice, searching for facetious undertones, "sorry." At her unimpressed look, he continued, "Actually, when I was learning this song, it took me a while too."
She sat back down on the bench. "But you can play it though."
"Yeah," he responded, then proved it. This time, his practiced fingers danced across the keys, obeying their master's wishes. He finished the piece with a flourish, and chuckled when she clapped.
"Great. You can teach me."
"What?" Soul stammered. The girl looked up at him with hope shining in her eyes.
"Come on," she pleaded, "you know how to play. All I need is for you to take it a bit slower, and I could pick it up."
This time it was his turn to look unconvinced. "Please," she wheedled, "With your help, I'll get it quickly, and you can get to sleep. Who knows how long it'll take for me to get it by myself. Plus, I would probably 'forget' to close the door again."
"Are you threatening me?"
"Depends. Is it working?"
He evaluated her for a long moment. "Fine."
She squealed, and hugged him happily. He pulled away uncomfortably.
"What, don't you know how to hug people,"
"Yeah, but not people I don't even know the names of."
"Oh, right," she laughed, "Well, the name's Maka." She stretched a hand out, and he accepted it.
"Soul Evans." He paused, waiting for her face to register who she was touching. Not that he had made the name for himself- he had the (mis)fortune to be named after his father, a musician known worldwide for his skill.
Her affect didn't change, however. She shook his hand, then turned back to the piano.
"So, Soul, play it again, will you. Slower, though. I wanna see how you do it."
"Okay," he said, turning to face the piano as well. It's not like he was expecting her to be astonished. It's just- he was expecting her to be astonished, or at least realize she had managed to secure help from the son of a musical prodigy. Shaking his head, he settled his fingers on the ivory keys, and obliged her request.
He played slowly, once completely through then another time, pausing so that she could follow along on the lower keys. He observed her fingers. They were long, slender, perfect for playing piano. He noted distractedly that the light reflected on the blue paint, shimmering like a pool on a hot day.
He righted his train of thought, refocusing on the mistake she continually made.
"There," he paused, removing his fingers from the board. "See, your fingers go like this," he pointed at her hand, "when they should go like this," he played the notes correctly.
"I think your problem is that-," Soul looked up at her, and was startled to realize she had shifted much closer to him to see what he was doing. "Um, that you don't like using your pinky,"
"Huh, yeah, you're right." She looked up at him, unfazed by the lack of personal space between their faces. "I know that you have to, but it hurts my hand."
At those words a long forgotten memory surfaced.
"I don't like playing piano. It hurts my hand."
A warm smile. A pat on his head.
"Oh, my precious Soul, the best things in life can hurt you."
A soft hand covered his, and showed him the proper notes. He was rewarded with a simple melody, twinkling from the piano, and musical laughter from his mother.
"But you'll find that some things are worth the pain."
"Soul?" Maka's voice called him back to the present.
"The best things in life can hurt you. But sometimes, they're worth the pain."
Her eyes widened. She studied his face carefully, and for the first time seemed to notice their proximity. Blushing, she reverted her eyes to the piano. "I guess you're right."
He glanced at her profile, then, coughing, he returned to the piano once more.
"You'll just have to get used to it. There's no way around this; either you learn it or you don't. Besides, this particular song doesn't require much playing with the pinky. There's a reason it's the introductory piece."
"Yeah," she responded, settling her fingers on the piano resolutely, "I'll try to do it right this time." Together, they played the song, slowing down at the difficult part. Soul watched her face, distractedly noticing the wrinkle in her brow as she stumbled through the melody. As the song ended, the last notes lingering in the air, she shook her head, clicking her tongue.
"Well, at least I made it through completely this time," she commented ruefully.
"Hey," he added, "Progress is progress. You're getting there. Now all you need is practice." He saw her despondent countenance, so he continued. "There are going to be people out there trying to sell you an easier way, a special technique, but nothing beats practice. Nothing. I know it sounds cliche, but there's a reason it's repeated so many times."
She grinned up at him. "You know, you're starting to sound like my father with all of that 'practice makes perfect' talk,"
"Well, now you've gone too far," Soul joked, running his hand through his white hair. The pair turned back to the piano, running through the song a few more times to solidify what Maka just learned. They repeated it faster and faster until she could confidently play the song almost al tempo.
"Hey," Soul started, "We've been practicing for a while now."
"Yeah, and?"
"You wanna get out of here?"
"You do realize it's" she checked her phone, "almost two in the morning."
"Yes, but I just found twenty-four hour cafe today, and the food was surprisingly not terrible."
"'Not terrible' food, huh. You sure do know how to sell an idea." She yawned, stretching her hands above her head. "Well, I think I deserve some 'not terrible' food, since I've been working so hard." She spun around, stepping away from the bench to the door.
"Hey," he exclaimed, catching up with her, "I think that I've been doing all of the hard work. I did show you the technique that took me a solid half-day to come up with."
As they passed the doorway, she turned up to look at him. "I guess you did do something important." She lifted herself up on her tiptoes, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you, Soul."
She continued walking, as he stood stunned. He was thankful for the relative darkness of the hallway, given the pink blush rising in his cheeks.
Maka paused at the doorway. "Are you coming or what?" she asked smiling.
Soul grinned, running to catch up. "Yeah, I'm coming."
He opened the main door for her. "My lady."
She stepped into the brisk night. "Lead the way, my knight."
Soul offered her his arm, which she accepted graciously.
Maybe today wasn't such a bad day, after all.