Soul Theory
by. Poisoned Scarlett
.10
Nineteen, twenty, my plate's empty
The stage is hot, as if a magnifying glass has been placed beneath a bright lamp and the pin-point of light is aimed directly at him. He pulls on his collar, able to feel an exhale of heat rise from underneath his shirt like the heat waves on the pavement. His blazer is heavy and black, his shirt starch stiff and rigid. His pants feel as if they were made of the most uncomfortable material known to man and his feet are beginning to hurt from the hard soles of his dress shoes. He doesn't remember the last time he has been fitted in such a fancy suit, but he knows that he does not miss it one bit as he approaches the grand piano sitting dauntingly under the spotlight.
The guests mingling in the ballroom, by the snack tables, by the open balconies, watch passionlessly as he turns to face them for a moment. His eyes seek out his parents, who he finds standing somewhere by the side silently. He can tell they're not expecting much just by the way his father looks blank and his mother continues to purse her lips and shift her weight; as if impatient that this is taking so long.
His brother, he knows, is standing somewhere in the swarm of guests. He is not bothering to pay much attention to him. He'll be the first to snort, but not laugh – no, not outright laugh.
That wouldn't be appropriate in such a setting, Soul thinks bitterly.
"Soul, have you gathered your thoughts yet?" Justin Law asks patiently, smiling vaguely at him from just outside the rim of the light. He is the only one who looks confident in his skill and the only one who has spoken to him because he wants to; not because the occasion calls for it. He's grateful for that small amount of support. He glances back out to the crowd and wonders, with a pang, if he had invited Maka to his recital after all, she would be standing there, watching him with those compassionate eyes of her, wearing that soft smile that always endeared him.
"Yeah. Let's do this," Soul says, glancing down at the black and white teeth of the piano. His eyes shift to his composition, neatly stacked so he could easily refer to it should he become uncertain. Because now he's having doubts about its competency; his skill. If it turns out to be a bust, he could very well ruin his own chance at redeeming his name. Perhaps it would have been wiser to memorize a song from another composer instead of trying his hand at the process. But that just wouldn't be his style, Soul muses with some annoyance. He takes seat on the piano bench and shakes out his hands.
What's life without a little risk? His eyes are darting back to the murmuring crowd.
Risk, he hummed to himself, making a decision in that moment.
"Good luck." Law quietly bids.
"Hey…" Soul says, cementing his resolve. "If this goes well, you mind giving me a lift somewhere?"
Law furrows a brow at his odd request but nods. "Of course, Soul," and watches his student place his fingers over the keys lightly. Soul's eyes glance at the page for a second, as anticipation and fear cramp his stomach and make his throat tight. But the instant his hands begin moving, Justin knows that everything will be okay.
The sounds vibrates through the room, strong and fierce. Law closes his eyes and allows the powerful and moving sounds of his students souls inner woes pierce through him a fraction. A faint smile clings on his lips when he hears the room has been drenched in complete, thickening, silence. It's a rather haphazard song, a song that quickly shifts into something less violent and more calm. Justin almost chuckles at the stunned look of Soul's mother, the surprise on Soul's father, as the notes become soft and sweet before picking back up like dominoes falling in a row.
Law presses a hand over his chest, a full smile breaking on his face as Soul continues without falter. Justin notes Soul hasn't spared a single glance at the score out for display. He cannot hear a single error in his recital but he's sure that afterwards, Soul will be complaining about how many errors he had made. The recital seems to go on for hours yet it's only a few minutes; a fraction of time that manages to rob the breath of hundreds of guests and steal their complete attention like nothing before it.
And when he stops, with a final, resounding, chord that strikes their heart sharply like a hammer upon a bell, is the silence its most tangible. It's quiet for a few seconds - seconds that Justin waits with baited breath - before the applause rings high and clear. It's then that Law nods at Soul proudly, clapping when Soul stands, bows, walks out of the spotlight with his shoulders squared and his chin up.
"You did great! Fabulous!" Law praises, clapping a hand tightly on Soul's shoulder and realizing it's tense and trembling. He has always had a magnificent poker face, the music teacher sighs wryly. "You did well, Soul. Pardon me but I don't think that even your parents expected you to do this well!"
Soul pulls on a sharp-toothed grin and looks up at him, with accomplished yet weary eyes. The time spent on that piece of work, the time spent practicing and studying and making up for time lost in his reckless youth, was worth it after all. His fingers ache, his back is sore, and don't even get him started on his achy shoulders from slouching so much. He can feel perspiration run down his neck but it's worth the weight lifted from the hunches of his shoulders. It feels like he can stand up straight again, with dignity.
With no one looking down at him anymore.
"That's the best part," Soul smirks. "It's what I was aiming for."
"Then you accomplished that and more! Now, then! I believe your parents would like a few words with you!" Law chirps, clapping his hands together as he always did when he made an order. Soul glances over at them, catching glimpses of them as guests approach him to congratulate him on his recital. There were a couple who asked for the author of the piece, their amazement when they realize it came from his hand all the more satisfying for Soul. It served them right, to be surprised, for putting him down so much during his youth.
"Wait a sec, didn't we agree on something?" Soul reminds with an arched brow, dismissing those who greet and congratulate him with an aloof nod and thanks. "Y'know, giving me a ride?"
Law blinks then remembers. "Oh! Yes, you wished for me to take you somewhere – ah, are you sure you don't want to stay here a little while?" As Soul's parents approach, somewhat disgruntled they had to go to their son rather the other way around, Justin coaxes weakly: "It is Christmas, after all."
"Exactly." Soul nods, distantly. "I need to be home."
"With Maka," Justin offers hesitantly. Soul snaps his head up at the sound of her name and, after a heartbeat, nods and turns away.
"I owe her," Soul mumbles, ruffling his hair guiltily. "She wanted to come."
"Why didn't you bring her? She could have offered her support. It's harder than it looks, y'know," he adds, dryly.
"I...didn't want her to hear it." Soul admits, slowly. "Not yet."
Law parts his lips before closing them with a small smile just as Soul's mother calls for his name and things begin to look up for the better after many years of disdain.
"Ouch!" Maka hisses somewhere far from the monumental events taking place at the Evans Manor, shaking out her finger. She sucks on it, glaring back to the hot cookie pan that's half-way out of the oven. She kneels, gazing at it for a moment. The cookies under the orange light look delicious but she can't find herself hungry enough to take one from the pan like she would do when her mother made them. Instead, Maka stands up and finally grabs the oven gloves.
She places the pan on the burners of the stove, tossing the oven gloves on the counter. She made a dozen cookies to show some holiday cheer. She had made them in an attempt to convince herself she was okay, spending the holiday alone. She had finished eating a small meal earlier, around six, but hadn't been able to eat very well knowing that Soul was somewhere in his parents estate trying to earn his name back. She wonders, even now, if he accomplished that and shakes herself right afterward.
Of course he did! She doesn't doubt him, she really doesn't, but although to her it may sound beautiful she knows that to others it may not. She just hopes it inspires them just like it inspires her. She takes one cookie from the pan and bites into it, deciding it's not all so bad. It's warm, soft, and chewy. She wonders if Soul would have liked them better fresh out or left out to cool for a few minutes…
She shuffles the cookies into a plate and leaves them on the table.
She sets her hands on her hips. "There! All done!" She nods to herself.
Silence replies.
Maka sighs in defeat, snatching a cookie from the plate.
She wanders back to the couch, falling back on it. There went her attempt at being cheerful. She turns on the television, grabbing a cushion and stuffing it under her arm. She curled up on the couch, making herself comfortable. The cookie hangs out of her mouth as she lowers the sweater that rode up her waist when she laid down, quickly grabbing the treat before it made a mess of crumbs on the couch. She doesn't need Soul's messy habits rubbing off on her, Maka grimaces, but it's a little too late for that if she's laying on the couch without a plate with the television on full-blast.
Funny how a few weeks with a person can change you.
She's dusting some crumbs from her shirt when the door knob jingles. Heart picking up with hope, Maka peeks up from the couch just as Soul walks in, blazer thrown over his shoulder casually. He hinted about coming home if he could but she didn't - although she had hoped he would - think he'd actually do it. His sudden appearance takes her by surprise anyway.
"Hey, you're awake!" Soul greets with a lazy wave, tossing his jacket on a nearby table. He shuts the door behind him, already kicking off his shoes as he nears her. He's loosening up his tie when she regains her vocals:
"What are you doing here? It's almost midnight! You're suppose to be at home with your parents! You said you'd stay there for the entire Christmas vacation!" Maka argues stumbling into a sitting position while he sits back beside her.
"Are you kidding me? I'm not gonna' spend my entire vacation with them," Soul snorts. "I haven't called that place home since I was eleven!"
"Wait, then…"
"Hey, is that cookies I smell?" Soul suddenly says, snapping his head to the kitchen. He looks back at her, with friendly and content eyes. They're the most expressive they've ever been after speaking about his parents. It's a sore topic, but he's not depressed today. Something must have gone right, Maka thinks with rising spirits. Had he really done it? "Maka?"
"Oh...oh, yeah, I made some cookies for myself." Maka elaborates, clearing her throat. She smiles back. "You want some?"
"Hell yeah!" Soul grins toothily, vaulting over the couch and making a dash to the kitchen. She winces when she hears the pan clatter against the burners.
"You better not have broken anything, Soul! They're on the table, you idiot!"
"I knew that!" He says through a mouthful of dough. "Just dropped the stupid thin'!" He swallows, taking two more and heading back out. He hands her another one, leaning back against the couch while she watches him act as if he'd just won another basketball game against Black Star. Nothing too big, that's what he's coming off as. It's not fooling her.
Wasn't he going to tell her? Was she going to have to ask? Maka frowns, taking a bite of her cookie.
"What's with that face?" Soul arches a brow.
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"How did it go?"
"...Pretty cool."
There's a short silence.
"That's it? Pretty cool?" Maka deadpans, disappointed. "So you mean to tell me that nothing unexpected happened? Everything went according to plan?"
Soul shrugs before sighing at her sharp look. "What do you want me to say? I did it. I surprised the hell out of them – they didn't expect me to learn how to play the piano and compose so quickly. I only had a year to learn what I was supposed to over a course of eleven years. I thought I did pretty good," Soul looks down at his black socks. "Y'know, for a years worth of practice."
Maka smiles, brightly. "See? I told you you'd do well! I kind of wished I was there, though." She laughs a little hurt, leaning back down on the couch. Soul glances at her for a moment, shifting his eyes back down to his sock-clad feet. He knows she wanted to be there - he had wanted her to be there, actually, all things considered.
"You could've been…" Soul admits, slowly.
"What?"
"I said, you could've been." He straightens, awkwardly. "I could have invited you but, uh… I kind of didn't want you to hear me play."
"What? Why!" Maka exclaims, disheartened he'd think so. "I've always liked to listen to you play! You know that…"
"I know!It's just, well…" Soul weighs his words for a moment before sighing: "The composition I wrote… it's really personal."
"….So that's why you played it in front of hundreds of guests?" She says, scathingly.
"Okay, that came out wrong. It's personal in the way that it relates to you," he rephrases and this only throws her into more confusion. When he sees this, he jams his hands in the pockets of his slacks and wearily admits: "I wrote it with you in mind. More than eighty percent of it was… inspired by you." He mutters, scowling when he hears nothing. "So it's weird, to have played it in front of you. It would've thrown me off if you were there."
"How is that weird?" Maka says softly. She smiles when he steals a worried glance at her. "I would have really liked to hear it. You worked on it so hard. I have no idea how I can be inspiring, there's not really much to me…"
"You're wrong." Soul rebukes, immediately. She waits, expectantly, and he deflates. Now he has to explain himself. "There's a lot you don't notice, but I do." He confesses, rubbing the back of his neck. His thoughts stray back to Justin, his nudging elbow and uncool wink before he hopped out of the car. That man was too dramatic, Soul thinks wryly. But he's always onto something. "There's a lot more to you than just some violent bookworm with people issues," he grins at her slit eyes. "You're stupidly nice sometimes. You don't know when to give up. You put your all into everything, even if it hurts you in the end." He says, softly. His hand reaches over to rest on her head, brushing his knuckles down to her warm cheek. "You just don't see how perfect you are, uncool Maka-Chops and all."
She tenses her jaw, closing her eyes when his knuckles rub her cheek affectionately. There's a second where all those butterflies in her stomach are so much it could bring her down to her knees. She believes he's had time to mediate upon what he's going to say because there's no way someone as impulsive as Soul would be able to say something like that without thinking about it first. But then she thinks about his impulsivity and decides he did come up with it all on the spot. That's probably why his hand feels so tense now, his throat clearing uncertainly, as his words slowly sink in.
"I still want to listen to it." Maka replies. Her eyes are crinkled from where she smiles, her cheeks pinking in the way they did when she smiled. He can't find it in himself to look at, not yet. "I want to know just what you think about me."
Soul stills for a second, collecting his quickly vanishing cool, before huffing out a chuckle she echoes. Soon he's laughing a little louder and she's raising a hand to rub away the red splotches on her cheeks. Then he's vaulting over the couch again, plopping down beside her and draping an arm around her shoulders as if it's nothing out of the ordinary.
"Maybe one day." Soul promises, deciding he likes the way she rests her weight on him. "When you're a little older. It's not something for children to hear," he taunts, side-glancing her.
Maka just smacks his chest halfheartedly, her laughter contagious.
A/N: Just so you all know...
...no, it's not over yet. Did you really think I'd leave you all with these last touching moments? Even I'm not that cruel :P
Scarlett.