A/N:I do not own Soul Eater or Masketta Fall's "Do You Wanna Dance."

I wanted to have a go at writing a quadrant story, so the same night split into four different parts (skipping out bits in the middle). I don't know how it ended up, what do you think?

Math exams caused the delay in uploading. Sorry if you were waiting, I'm a horrible person.

WARNING: SPOILERS for the MANGA ENDING. Also, swearing is fairly high in here because Soul's having a crisis. Yay.

Thanks: Atomic-Whale, Rusty136, Misery Love My Company, falling embers17, and Professor Maka, for your favouriting/following/boss reviews.

Well alright then.


NINE – TONIGHT

Do you wanna dance with me?
Feel the wind under your feet?
- "Do You Wanna Dance",
Masketta Fall.


Soul looked down at himself once more, his expression quickly forming a scowl as he took in his own appearance.

Stupid suit.

How had she managed to force him into one of these damn things again? Maka had a knack for convincing him to do things he didn't want to do – anyone could see that. Still, though, this time he'd told himself that he'd put his foot down. He wasn't going to do it. He was adamant on that fact – this was Soul Evans'* limit, and they would not push it.

Yeah, right.

There was one particular trait possessed only by Maka Albarn, and that was godly stubborn-ness. She wouldn't lose a fight. That was what allowed her to be such a strong meister, the wielder of a Death Scythe. While her determination was often something to be admired, it also came in as completely unhelpful in social situations. She wouldn't admit that she was wrong. She wouldn't back down in an argument. And she sure as hell wouldn't accept the fact that her partner didn't want to go to Shibusen's ball for the anniversary of the Kishin Asura's suppression on the moon without the excuse of a life-threatening illness.

"How can you not want to go?" she'd asked him, shocked. "After all, we couldn't have even tried to defeat the Kishin without you! People will expect you to be there!"

He'd rolled his eyes in return. "Oh, boo-hoo. You should know I don't care what people think."

"Not enough, clearly."

"Don't you remember what happened the last time we went to a ball at the school?"

"I highly doubt that that will happen again. Besides, aren't you meant to give a speech?"

He'd choked on his soda. "What?"

"Lord Death was telling me about it when I gave him the mission report yesterday. He said he was going to tell you."

"Kid! Why that son of a bitch little piece of –"

She'd stared, surprised, when he'd thrown himself off of the lunch bench in a fit of anger, stormed up to the Death Room, waltzed in without an answer, punched Death Scythe out of the way and showed their 'ruler' exactly what he thought of his neglect in passing on information.

After Kid had confirmed that yes, Soul was doing a speech, no, he had not told him due to a 'Liz and Patti issue', and next time you go on a rampage and punch Death Scythe I'll let you get detention, Maka had unleashed her wrath on the poor weapon.

She'd snuck up on him with a barrage of reasons to attend the dance; she'd used threats and taken away his headphones and iPod; she'd whipped out her infamous puppy-dog eyes and nearly resorted to fake tears. She'd even tried the whole "as my partner, you should care about what I want" lecture. He hadn't cracked. Not one bat of an eyelid from Soul Evans, master of cool. He knew her games, he saw straight through her watery eyes. She'd grudgingly given up and just ignored him for a while.

And then she'd pulled the ultimate ace, kicking his feet out from under him and leaving no room for his confident refusal to attend to apply.

"Soul . . . I don't think I can go without you. Not – not after Crona."

Those tears hadn't been fakes. The waver in her voice hadn't been fakery. And of course, he was an absolute sucker when it came to Maka crying. It made him feel awkward, uncomfortable and just overly bad, like he'd punched an old lady.

Which he had, once – a Kishin who could shape shift. He'd had to punch it, looking like an old and frail woman, straight in the face. He still cringed whenever that mission was mentioned. It was uncool, the worst of the worst.

And now here he was, looking down at his black suit, black shirt and black tie. Fine. They could force him to attend this shitty celebration and they'd somehow forced him into giving a speech – which he'd then somehow forced himself to write with no help – but they couldn't force him to enjoy himself. He'd donned a completely black suit to ensure he gave off no impression of joy whatsoever. The only colour in his entire outfit was a red silk handkerchief which was folded neatly in the suit's breast pocket.

Because he may have been aggravated and irritated and annoyed and exasperated and he was out of damn synonyms, but he was also classy. Classy as fuck.

So he was going to go to this damn ball, make sure Maka didn't have a Crona-related meltdown, try not to re-live any bad memories, and hopefully sneak away to sleep somewhere for the rest of the night.


Damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it! He hadn't planned this out well, hadn't considered all of the potential results of his actions, and now he was going to die here. He'd had so much to live for, so much time to do what he wanted to do, and none of it mattered. There was no way he was going to survive tonight.

"Shit!" he hissed, his dress shoes causing him to slide on the slick floor as he turned sharply around a corner. Their loud footfalls drummed an angry rhythm into his ears as they pursued him, their eyes watching keenly to catch sight of their target. He ducked down another hallway; thanking Death that Shibusen was so spread out and hard to manoeuvre.

He heard one of them shout his name, the others taking it up as a demented kind of battle cry. In a last-ditch effort, he threw himself through the nearest doorway, ending up in the NOT classroom. The thunderous thumping of the horde continued past the entrance and soon they were out of earshot. Then, and only then, did Soul release his breath in one loud huff. He leaned against the teacher's bench, sucking in air through his mouth and holding his side. He'd completely forgotten about one thing when preparing for tonight's ball.

He had fangirls.

"Maka's gonna kill me," he groaned under his breath, his head in his hands. She'd looked pretty red in the face when he'd ducked away from her arm, staring at the girls who were eyeing him hungrily. He'd asked his meister whether it was just him or they looked crazy, but at the sound of his voice, they'd attacked. In one horrible motion they'd just kind of surged at him, asking him to dance.

And he'd politely said, "Sorry, I have to make a speech tonight and I need to see Lord Death." Cool as all hell.

And Maka had looked seething for some reason, as if either his lie or the girl-pack were flicking an internal switch that said 'Maka-Chop-the-fuck-out-of-the-nearest-albino-Deat h-Scythe.' As he was wary of a book to the skull, he didn't notice the way the girls had remained. Looking at his appearance. Waiting.

And then going ballistic.

Taking on pre-Kishin? No sweat.

Black blood? Bring it on.

A demon inside the mind? Please.

Witches with a personal vendetta? Cinch.

Gopher? Eyes-closed.

Giriko? With one hand behind his back.

Noah? Child's play.

Crona? Piece of cake.

Asura? Fine.

But a horde of teenage girls with crushes? Shit, he was out.

So Soul had done the gallant thing, which was ensure Maka was not going to be crushed by the oncoming wave, and then somehow magically disappear. All he had to do was wait for the scent to die down, let those girls get lost somewhere in Shibusen, and then he'd magically pop up back at the party and earn a few Maka-Chops.

He sighed, sliding down the bench until he was on the floor. Damn, this is so uncool. All he'd wanted to do was go to the party, ditch, and then have everything go smoothly. Hell, Maka looked pretty great tonight – with a short white dress that played off the monochrome of his own outfit – so he would have probably even danced with her if she'd asked. Only if she'd asked though; he wouldn't man up and ask her himself because that would be uncool if she turned him down. Unlikely that she would, but completely uncool if she did.

But who cared about his plan, these girls had taken it and thrown it out the proverbial freakin' window.

After he ensured that he wouldn't be seen, he slunk out of the doorway. With silent steps he made his way back up to the ballroom in Shibusen's top left tower, trying not to be seen. Not easy with ostentatious white hair, but he managed. Once he was successfully in the room, he kept to the walls until he could spot his meister. Where was she?

Hanging out with Liz and Patti? No, she wasn't there. Liz was dancing with Kid – oh, he was getting shit for that later, Soul thought, as payback for forgetting about the speech – and Patti had the arm of some other guy while they spun in energetic circles.

Talking to Tsubaki, maybe? Again, a dead end. Tsubaki was chatting to Nygus while Sid observed Black*Star's funnel-like method of consuming party food.

He couldn't see her with any of their other friends, either. It appeared that she had simply melted into the shadows in his absence. Maybe she'd gotten really mad at him and left? He pondered this, walking over to the great doors leading to the balcony. Gently and quietly he let himself out, looking around, but Maka wasn't out here either. That figured. This was his usual haunt in any kind of formal occasion at Shibusen, not hers. She wouldn't be here if she was avoiding people. Hopefully she hadn't got so pissed that she'd left. That would just make his night – she'd probably lock him out to sleep in the stairwell of their apartment complex or something equally extreme. Not like he couldn't pick a lock, but he wouldn't make things worse.

"Hey, Soul! What are you doing out here, man? Party's inside!"

He blinked, looking up. It was Kilik Rung, his grin wide enough to show that someone had been drinking a little bit too much champagne. Either that or the punch had been spiked. Oh, how he hoped it was the latter. Sid would go off his rocker and that always meant a good show.

He straightened his tie. "Meh. I'm fine away from all the noise. It's so loud in there, you know?"

"I hear that," Kilik said, and all of a sudden his sobriety was back. Maybe Soul had just imagined the alcoholic influence. The shaman meister had a big personality, after all. "Fire and Thunder didn't like all the noise much. They're enjoying dancing though. Ran off somewhere on the dance floor a little while ago."

"You're so responsible, looking after those kids in a big party like this. Glad to see you're supervising their safety," he grinned sarcastically. Kilik returned the expression once again.

They remained in companionable silence for a minute, looking out at Death City, before Kilik spoke up once again. "I'm surprised you're this cool with it."

"I'm cool with everything. What're you talking about?"

"Oh, you know. The Maka thing. I just assumed you'd be a little pissy about it and that's why you were outside."

"Huh?" What Maka thing? Great, she must be really mad at me if Kilik noticed. He probably thinks we're having a fight or something and that I'm angry at her, too.

The meister looked at him knowingly. "Look, Soul. I'm not an idiot – okay, so I'm not the brightest colour in the pencil box," he acknowledged at the Death Scythe's face, "but I can tell in situations like this. It's like Harvar and Jackie."

"What is?"

"Come on, man. I get it, chill."

What the hell is he talking about? Soul thought with a wrinkled brow. What do Harvar and Jackie have to do with my fight with Maka? Did Harvar get in shit with her? They aren't even partners! And what does he "get", anyway?

Soul cleared his throat. "I don't think we're on the same page here, Kilik. What the hell are you on about?"

Kilik rolled his eyes. "Fine. Be like that. But I can tell you have the hots for Maka, Soul. I don't know why you're tryna' cover it up."

"I'm not trying to cover – wait what?"

"You heard me," the other boy said, laughing at the change in Soul's colouring. "Don't try to deny it, man. Anyway, I can understand why you're moping out here when she's off dancing with that guy. Still, you should come enjoy the party. Lord Death wants to talk to you, anyway."

"Kid can wait. What makes you think I like Maka? Dude, she's just my meister! What the hell!"

A shrug was the response. "Be difficult all you want. You're just denying the obvious."

"There is no obvious! We're just friends, okay, why would you think differently – DANCING WITH WHO?" Soul suddenly yelled mid-sentence, making Kilik jump. A second later he was angrily stomping away from the shaman meister, throwing open the balcony doors and scanning the dance floor for Maka.

As the Death Scythe disappeared in a sudden cloud of rage, Kilik allowed himself to lean over the railing smugly. "That's what makes me think different, bro."


She hadn't hit him very hard. She must really be happy tonight. When she'd finished dancing with that other guy, some prick in Class Crescent-Moon with them, she'd made her way over to the tables to talk to Tsubaki. Soul had waited until she was promptly done before walking silently up behind her. She'd sat down at a table with Tsubaki's water bottle, taking a quick drink, and had been so immersed in the atmosphere that she didn't even notice him sitting down until he nudged her and asked for a sip.

"Soul?"

He grinned half-heartedly. "No, I'm just someone else that looks exactly like Soul, by coincidence."

"That's happened before," she reminded him, but to his surprise she was still smiling when she saw him. "Where have you been moping? I figured you'd ditch as soon as you could. I thought you'd gone home, actually."

"And leave you here?" Before she could reply, he threw his hands up. "I was running for my life! Seriously, I've been hiding in classrooms for the last half an hour. Which you did so much to prevent, by the way, thanks for your help."

She laughed. Actually laughed, with no malice or scorn whatsoever. Had the punch been spiked? Or had she just really enjoyed dancing with that other guy? Soul's gut twisted at that possibility. I bet she didn't even notice I was gone. Or care, he thought morosely.

"If you were fighting evil, maybe I would have saved your sorry ass. But a group of girls? I think you might be losing your touch, Mr. Death Scythe," Maka said, taking the water-bottle back off of him. "That's Tsubaki's, don't scull it."

"Girls are worse, Maka!" he whined to his meister, slumping onto the table. "I can't hit girls – that's just uncool."

"You punched an old lady once –"

"– We don't talk about that."

They lapsed into a companionable silence for a moment, her taking in the sights of the room dressed and decorated for celebration and him taking in the sight of her. Had there been any foundation in Kilik's words? Surely not – after all, hadn't Kilik suggested they jump off the moon because there was water under it to land in? The shaman meister wasn't a genius, that was for sure.

But when Soul had seen Maka dancing with that other guy . . .

Nope. It was impossible. He didn't like Maka. He just thought she looked really nice in her dress tonight. He just didn't like her dancing with other people, other weapons, other males. He just held her hand a lot, lived with her, occasionally hugged her when she was in a bad move, protected her, cared for her, cooked dinner for her three nights a week – completely platonic, right?

" . . . Are you going to play tonight?"

He looked up at her words, leaving his mind behind in its puzzled state. "Wasn't planning on it. Then again, I'll probably be forced to, knowing Kid – 'Lord Death', whatever. He's gonna be called Kid for the next five hundred years if I've got any say in it, symmetrical bastard," he added at her expression.

"It's just a speech, Soul, stop over-reacting over it."

"I will when he stops re-arranging the salt and pepper stand when we eat out as a group. Or when you stop hitting me with books."

She grinned. "I can't stop, because you're always an idiot."

" . . . Thanks."

Her smile stayed, softening slightly as she looked back at the dancers. Kid and Liz were somewhere out there. Patti still had the guy she'd started with – he must have good arm strength, Soul mused – and Black*Star had surprisingly asked Tsubaki to "dance."

Not that that was dancing, but the thought was there. All of their friends were out with their partners, or they'd picked a new one for the evening. Soul looked out at the crush of bodies one last time before sighing and shrugging. He thought of what Kilik said before forcefully suppressing it. Ah, what the hell.

"Hey Maka, you wanna dance?"


"And now, the Last Death Scythe will make a speech as a survivor of the final battle against Asura," Kid said to a smattering of applause, having just given a speech himself.

Soul made sure to 'accidentally' kick Kid in the ankle on the way up the steps, murmuring out an apology in the form of, "I have a name, you know" before he was up at that stupid microphone, looking out at a sea of faces. There were the girls who had chased him. The teachers who had watched the moon from a distance, or been up there fighting as hard as they could. The resonance team that formed the other half of Spartoi – Kim and Ox too close together to not be suspicious, Jackie looking at Harvar's back. Liz and Patti, who smiled at the reaper as he sat down and then gave him the thumbs-up sign. Tsubaki, who held the arm of Black*Star, both of them looking up at him with smiles.

And Maka, who still had flushed cheeks from when he'd asked her to dance, and when she'd accepted. Who'd watched Crona get stuck on the moon, who'd cried her heart out, who'd matched soul wavelengths with him so many times and who'd given him courage.

And he started to speak easily, not even needing to look down at the paper copy of the words he was reciting.

"A whole year. It's been a whole year since we were up on the moon. 365 days. We've been through the memorials, the celebrations, the sadness and the happiness. We've cried, we've been broken; we've picked up the pieces and moved on. Some have left. More have joined. All in one year.

"And yet, we still don't talk about it. Sure, there have been reports on what happened up there, the way Asura was sealed away. We've discussed the theories on the insanity suppression, we've wondered how strong that Black Blood is, and we've complained because the nights are so much darker now and it's impossible to see a foot in front of our face. All of the trivial things, the little words and the big stories have been told. But did we ever stop and think about what was going on up there? It's hard to imagine, I know. Sometimes I can't tell whether it all happened. We've all heard the great stories about how Maka got sucked inside the Kishin. How Black*Star landed blows strong enough to defeat a God. How Kid – Death the Kid, his real name – connected the lines of Sanzu in his hair and became perfectly symmetrical, using power we could only dream of. I'm not saying that none of that happened or should have been talked about. All of that was real.

"But what about the things we didn't stop to think about? There was another person up there. One who didn't come back, who won't ever come back. We lost our sanity on the moon, we lost our comrades on the moon. And we lost one of our best friends. Someone so dedicated to protecting Death City, protecting the world, that they made the ultimate sacrifice and sealed themselves away with Asura, never to come home. Crona never left that place. Still hasn't."

The crowd was deathly silent. A few people had started to hold hands. He could see clearly, too, the way Tsubaki pressed close to Black*Star. The way Maka's eyes were wide and wet as she looked up at him, and as he looked straight back at her. Stein was watching with surprise from the corner, Death Scythe stiff in his seat as he listened, Marie with shining eyes and her hand clenched in her husband's. Sid and Nygus did not move, watching and taking in all that was said.

He continued. "The former Shinigami fell. Crona fell. Many brave weapons and meisters fell, and I know each one of them was cared about by somebody here. Allegiances were made and everyone was pushed to the limit. The 'Death Scythe' became a mere legend, ending with the few you see on stage here tonight. Everything was so enormous, so huge, that we thought we'd never be able to deal with any of it.

"And yet we did. One year later, we stand here with our heads bowed, remembering someone close, thanking someone as far away as anyone can be. A lot changed in this year, and a lot is still changing; but one thing won't. We won't ever forget. None of us who were up there, not one, will forget what happened in those last minutes when the Black Blood took over the moon and Crona made the ultimate sacrifice. None of you from the ground will forget what you saw, and what you felt. The former Lord Death will never become a mere memory, not in our souls.

"So next year, when some more are gone and some more have come, this will be just as hard as it was today, as it was one year ago. We won't forget. Ever. And after everything that's happened, I don't think any of us would want to. And I may be the Last Death Scythe, but that doesn't mean there won't be another day when someone else is standing on stage here, talking about that day, saying how they remember."

He looked at Maka again, another face among a sea of others. Most had wet eyes now. Keeping eye contact with her, he gave a grin. "So don't forget. Show the world what Shinigami did. What Crona did. What everyone did. Show them your courage."

And then he left the stage, ignoring the seconds of silence before the thunderous applause began. There, he thought with a slight smile. How was that for a speech?


* - Soul went back to using 'Evans' in the last chapter.

I love Kilik so much as a character. I mean, he does twice the work to make try to both of the Pots Death Scythes (just like Kid does), and he's just a mix of skill, strength, gallantry and stupidity. Ah, Kilik, you needed more chapters, bro. Ox/Kim and Jackie/Harvar. We ship it.