A/N: epicminion sent me the prompt SoMa and volcanoes on tumblr and this is the result.
Vinyl Records
They were never really meant to be together, really they were never supposed to be together. He was a boy who wore leather jackets and pants that were far too tight tucked into motorcycle boots while she was a girl who wore frilly skirts with flowers and tops that showed off her midriff. They were complete opposites, never meant to meet, the world always leading them down different paths, except that day, fate had a different plan for them.
Soul hadn't planned to visit the used record store again, but when he arrived home to find that his new Led Zeppelin vinyl record was scratched up to the point of being unplayable- the owner said it was in pristine condition- he was completely pissed. The fuck kind of pristine condition was he talking about? The worthless piece of shit in his hand was not worth the eighty bucks he paid, so he rode his bike back downtown- a good fifteen minutes away from his apartment- and marched back in the store to give the cheapskate a piece of his mind.
He yanked the door open with a little more force than was necessary, walked over to the counter, and slammed the record on top. "What the fuck kind of business are running here?"
The owner blinked. "I'm sorry, sir, but I don't understand what the problem is."
"The fucking problem is that you sold me a shitty ass vinyl." Soul pulled the record from the sleeve and showed it to the store owner, pointing to every scratch on top. "Look at this! How the hell do you expect me to play this shit?"
The owner picked up the record and inspected it himself. After a couple minutes, he placed back on the counter. "I'm sorry, but all sales are final."
"The fuck do you mean all sales are final? This thing is a piece of shitI want my fucking money back."
The owner, in an extremely calm voice considering he was being cursed at, said, "there is nothing I can do, I'm sorry, but you'll just have to-"
"No, fuck that bullshit. You're the fucking owner, right? So I'm sure you can do something about this?"
The other man sighed heavily and closed his eyes. "I suppose I can allow you to exchange this record for another one of equal or lesser value."
Soul smirked, and mumbled as he walked away, "good. At least I can something decent from this shitty ass place. Can't even check their damn records before selling them."
He walked to the back of the store, where they kept a majority of their older records and the better bands. When he turned the corner, there was a short blonde girl standing there, a record in her hand, browsing through the various rows of vinyls in front of her. Soul walked over to stand next to her, looking through the row next to the one she was currently looking through, and leaned back a ways to see the record she was holding.
"Who is that?" he asked when he couldn't read it properly.
The girl turned to him, flicking her braid over her shoulder, and looked down at record she was holding. "Rickie Lee Jones' Girl at Her Volcano album."
"She's decent musician. You like jazz then?"
Was he honestly hitting on a complete stranger?
"Oh, no. It's for a friend. She's the jazz lover. Her birthday's this weekend and I know this is an album she's been wanting for a while." The girl smiled politely and offered him her hand. "I'm Maka."
"Soul." He shook her hand, and they fell silent for a few minutes, inspecting a record every few seconds. "So what kind of music are you into?"
"I'm more of an Abba and Cyndi Lauper fan."
"Mmm, you're one of those people."
"What do you mean one of those people?"
"I mean you're the one that likes that electronic bullshit. If you want something good to listen to, buy this." He thrusted a KISS vinyl record into her hands. "Now that is authentic rock 'n roll music. They don't pull that electronic shit that some of those pop singers try to do."
Maka nodded, turning the record over in hand before grabbing one from her stack and handing it over to him. "Here. At least listen to Cyndi Lauper before you speak ill on her. She has some pretty good music, too. Don't be a music snob," she mumbled the last bit.
"Just because I know good music, doesn't make me a music snob."
"Yes it does. You should at least listen to different genres before making a good critique about something."
He huffed, looking from her to the vinyl in her hand. After a few minutes he took it. "Fine. I'll give Miss Lauper a chance, but I'm not guaranteeing you that I'll like it. Might turn out to be complete shit and then I will definitely be blaming you for making me waste eighty bucks."
She giggled. "I promise you that you will like it. However, I don't know how I'll end up feeling about KISS here. They could be completely terrible."
Soul feigned having his heart pierced. "How dare you speak such cruel words of one of the greatest bands ever."
"Mhm, and that's just your opinion."
"Bull. I could show you a few different music critics that agree with me."
"I'd love to see these."
"Great then give me your number and I'll do just that." His face reddened as the words he uttered registered in his brain, catching him off guard, and they had the same effect on her as her expression was a mirror image of his. "I mean- that is, if you want to, of course."
Maka gave a small nod after a few minutes, placed the records down, and started digging through her purse. "Umm, yeah, sure. Why not?" She shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, but he could tell that she was anything but that as her shaky hands wrote down her number on scrap piece of paper before handing it to him. "Call me anytime."
He took the paper and stuffed it in his jeans pocket. "Yeah. I'll do just that once I listen to this album so I can tell you how shitty it is."
She gave a small laugh, her smile cuter than when he first saw it as his heart gave a small jolt. "I'll be waiting for your call then." She picked up her records and started walking to the front of the store. "Bye, Soul."
"See ya, Maka."
He spent the rest of his day listening to the tunes of Cyndi Lauper and found that he actually did like the artist, but would never admit it to anyone. The next day he called Maka, and asked her out on a date that Friday night, which she gleefully accepted, and he found it was difficult to control the pounding of his heart as he made the phone call. He found it even harder to stop thinking about her in the days that lead up to their date.
He had it bad, and he could tell. This girl he barely even knew was making him feel like a boy going through puberty again, but somehow he liked it.
