A/N: More Vampire AU, which really should be called OC Story AU but considering the OC story doesn't have a name, let's go with Vampire AU. Set at the beginning, about two weeks after Soul is assigned to Maka.

Prompt: Four nations, soma. Four Nations quote was "You have a very strong scent", from anonymous.

Rating is K+. Enjoy.

Soul pressed a couple of the keys on the piano, testing to see if it was tuned. He almost scoffed to himself. Of course it was tuned, it would've been an outrage if the piano in his Master's home was not kept in proper condition. Though by the looks of it, it had never been used before, which in all honesty, didn't surprise him.

While his Master may have had great taste in literature and interior furnishing, she did not have great taste in music. Not that he would ever dare say that to her face, he didn't particularly want to find out if the rumours that his Master castrated those who slighted her were true.

His hands slipped onto the keys and he tapped out a little tune, something Wes would've liked if he had been there. He kept the piece quiet, his Master would still be sleeping, it was only five in the afternoon.

Technically, he wasn't supposed to be messing about, he should have been resting too. As a Blood Letter he was not quite a servant but by no means an equal. It would've been more accurate to say he was a walking, talking blood bag, a sentient snack-on-the-go. He had to keep his strength and health up in order to perform his purpose.

The piece drifted into something he was working on, though still quiet. If he had free reign, he would have been banging out the notes, letting them ring loudly in the room, almost deafening in their intensity.

"I didn't know you could play," a light, feminine voice said from behind him.

He whirled around to see his Master standing in the doorway, baggy sweatshirt and sweat pants on, ash blonde hair hanging loosely. He choked a little and rose from the piano stool, hurriedly bowing, keeping his eyes on the ground.

"I-I'm sorry my Master, if I woke you."

She snorted and he looked up in time to see her wave her hand dismissively. "You did not wake me Soul, I was already awake when I heard you." He met her bright green eyes for a moment before looking back down at the floor as he had been taught since birth to do. "How long have you been able to play?"

"Uh, since I was six, my Master. My family have been musicians since before your coven became our masters. But I am not nearly as talented as my brother is," he said, clasping his hands behind his back, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. She hummed and he wondered if he had failed as badly as he feared.

"Would you mind closing the curtain Soul?" she asked suddenly and he looked up at her before his gaze moved to the sunlight streaking across the floor that prevented his master from entering the room.

"O-of course my Master," he stuttered, rushing over to the window and pulling the thick drapes across it, blocking out the sun and shrouding the room in darkness.

He gulped as he lost his vision but he heard movement on the other side of the room and a switch was flicked, the chandelier above the piano coming to life to cast light about the room.

Soul returned to his place by the piano as his Master came closer, standing beside him and placing a hand upon the grand piano.

"I'm afraid I do not know much about music. Would you mind playing something for me?"

He gaped at her and tried to speak for a moment before finally stuttering, "I-If my Master wishes-"

"Please, Soul, call me Maka."

He gaped at her again and she shrugged, smiling a little.

"If you are to be my Blood Letter for the rest of your natural life, then it would probably do not to be so formal with each other, as long as it is just the two of us," she explained, looking at him with kind eyes. Well, as kind a near toxic green could look.

He sat gently on the piano stool and nodded. "If you're sure my-ah, I mean, if you're sure, Maka."

"I am. Very."

He grinned up at her a little sheepishly. "Well, is there anything you particularly wish to hear, Maka?"

She shook her head. "Not really. Unless you compose as well, then I would like to hear something you have written."

"Uh, well, most of what I compose is very dark my Ma-um, Maka," he said softly.

A hand alighted on his shoulder and he looked up at her sharply to meet a fanged smile. "I don't mind. I am a creature of the night after all. You need not worry."

He gritted his teeth and settled on a piece. This could go very wrong or it could be alright. Either way, he was probably an idiot for agreeing but then, he wasn't really known in the Blood Bank for being particularly smart.

The notes sang out fast and loud, trailing up and down the scales, all clashing together in a dissonance that somehow sounded beautiful. Some bits became light for a moment before turning dark again. It continued like that for a few minutes before the last note rang through the air.

The hand on his shoulder did not leave but it did not stiffen or clench as he had expected. He turned his head to look up at his Master and met her eyes. He did not need to ask aloud for her opinion, she could see it in his expression. One of the many myths about vampires was that they could see into your soul. In that moment, he could almost believe it.

"As I said, I do not understand music, but I do know that that was very beautiful Soul. Thank you for sharing that with me," Maka said softly, squeezing his shoulder in a comforting way.

He felt his cheeks go a little hot, nobody had ever really given him such praise. Wes had often told him his music was cool but it had been hard to hear over the sound of his inferiority complex. But hearing it from Maka made him feel at least a little better about his unorthodox method of composing.

"Come," Maka said suddenly, tugging him up with a hand under his arm. In a daze he rose and followed her out of the room, enchanted by her bright smile. "We'll find something for you to eat, then I can feed and you can tell me about your music. I am very interested to hear about what inspired such a piece."

His cheeks flushed hotter. He couldn't dare tell her the piece he had played had been composed only a few days ago, just a week after being assigned to her and moving into her grand house. How was he supposed to tell her that the song was inspired by none other than herself? It would be incredibly stupid. But as she babbled happily about how much she liked his style, he couldn't help but think that maybe it was OK.

Maybe it was OK that she made his heart thump with something other than fear. Maybe it was OK that she made him feel flustered and nervous in a way none of the girls in the Blood Bank had ever made him feel. Maybe it was OK that he desired her company, her conversation, her bite, her.

Or maybe he was just a really twisted fucker. Which was nothing new.