How-To #1: Make the First Move

It was funny. Death the Kid, as renowned as he was, could not get the girl of his dreams. Thoughts of what he lacked plagued him; he, a shinigami, without love? Or perhaps it was even worse that he ached for romance. To love is one's greatest weakness. Death the Kid knew this to be truth, and yet it did not stop him from being caught up in its clutches.

But did he ever have a choice?

Maka Albarn was a meister of few words. It did not take much for a man to fall for a woman like her. It took even less for a shinigami like Kid. She preferred a manner of speaking that many felt unladylike, but to him it was more. Her tongue was not as sharp or as fast as her fists, and she was not afraid to use either. Her smile would reach you and warm your heart far sooner than her words. But like many others before him, Kid sought more.

Maka was one of the strongest and bravest meisters the academy ever had. Her friends would joke that she caused more pain in heartbreaks among the boys than she ever did in combat. Kid knew it was unintentional, but he also knew she was already in love.

Maybe he was Romeo and she was his Juliet. Not in death but in misfortune: a love like that would only end in misery. On second thought, maybe it would end in both. Pain and misery and death were all that Kid knew. It was his middle name—or rather, his first.

Kid thought that every time Maka rejected another boy, it was because her heart was under lock and key, promised to another. To Soul.

He was too late. He could beat Soul in a fight any day of the week, but he had no chance when it came to Maka. If only it were as easy as landing a punch. Soul knew Maka far longer than he had and probably knew her far better as well. How could he compete? That was what frustrated him most of all, that there was nothing he could do. No grand gesture to take her as his own.

That's where he was wrong.

Maka was tired of waiting. She had read enough romance novels to know that the man was supposed to make the first move. She had considered bridging the distance herself but her girl friends had warned her against it. Liz had said it would "freak out any dude" and make them feel as if she "were getting down on one knee and proposing." It was worth a laugh at the time. But just how blind could you be?

She tried hard. She wore more dresses and did her make-up and made a point of asking him out on dates. Well, study dates but weren't they the same thing?

Maybe not. They always did end up in some kind of disagreement over abstract ideas. She would say the soul was connected to a person to become one, and he would say they were two different entities entirely and not to be mixed.

God. All she wanted was a damn kiss.

It had been several years of her turning down suitors and trying her best to flirt. Her flirting was bad but it wasn't that bad. What was a girl to do?

Her friends were going to have to chill out because she was going to go for it. Unlike him, she did not have all of eternity to wait.

But she did have a few days to read up on how to clue a guy in. Not that they had helped her any in the past couple of years, but it was still some comfort. All the different articles had the same main points:

1. Smile.

2. Initiate physical contact.

3. Compliment him.

4. Give him a gift.

5. Go out and tell him already, girl!

Lousiness aside, there were some good points here and there. One told her that she should not pick a place "as per the usual," which she realized was just what she had done. The library was a normal hang-out spot for the two. Another advised against being too forward about her feelings while a different article said just the opposite, that she needed to be more assertive.

Whatever.

Maka closed her laptop and pulled her phone out of her pocket. It was eight-thirty at night. She knew Kid would still be awake but was unsure if it was appropriate to call. She stared at the screen and her contact list, Death the Kid's name highlighted. The blankets felt warmer and so did her cheeks.

She clumsily pressed her finger against his name.

The phone rang twice before she heard his voice once more.

"Hello?" said Kid.

Crap, I forgot what I was going to say! Maka panicked. The warmth she had felt only a moment earlier increased in temperature and felt like a blaze. She considered hanging up and blaming it on accident.

"Maka, is that you? Is something wrong?" There was an edge of concern in his voice. It had taken on a higher pitch than she was accustomed to from him.

"Oh, Kid?" Maka almost bit her tongue. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to call so late."

Maka was surprised at how cool she had come off despite the heat. She was never the best under pressure and was even worse when it came to downright luck. It was a sign!

"That's okay, I understand," he relaxed. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yup! Good night!"

Beep.

…Wait.

What?

How did that happen?!

Maka buried her head into her pillow. She rolled over and tugged at the strings of her pajama pants. She must have been bright red, she figured, as she felt shame fall upon her like a heavy weight. Impulse took over as she found herself dialing Kid up again.

Again, she was at a loss of what to say.

"Um… Hello?" Kid's voice was even more uncertain than the one in her head.

"Hey!" she attempted lamely. She could practically hear his brows furrowing.

"What's up? Are you sure nothing's wrong?" His words rushed together and ran into one another clumsily. It was one of the rare instances Maka had felt he wasn't on stilts, when he wasn't the perfect person everyone had assumed he was. She liked this Kid more than the one he showed to the rest of the world. It made him more real, somehow.

"Let's go out tonight," her words spilled out perhaps even more awkwardly than his. Her head was spinning and she wished she had put more thought into this. It was like running head-first into a brick wall at seventy miles an hour without a helmet.

There was a pause. Maka regretted her words at once and wished desperately to take them back. Why was she so stubborn?

His response came as a complete surprise. Dumbly, he said, "Really?"

Kid's tongue was heavy and suddenly very dry. His suit was very tight and constrictive and he blamed his lack of elegance on it. His normally pale complexion contrasted heavily with how red he was now.

"Yes, really."

There was another pause. Both parties felt equally awkward and out of place. This was already out of the norm and neither knew if it was a positive change yet. They didn't even know what it meant yet that this had happened. Was it a date?

Kid couldn't keep himself contained. That exact question rattled around in his brain and forced itself out. He enunciated very clearly, so as not to be misunderstood, "A date?"

She swallowed thickly. "Yes."

Kid fumbled with his cuff links and tugged at his collar. He was extremely conscious of his appearance then and hoped his hair was still intact from the last time he had checked himself in the mirror (approximately twelve minutes and twenty-four seconds ago).

Maka heard a beeping on the end of the line, and was slow to realize that he had ended the call.

At first she was surprised. Did he really dislike her that much? Despair filled her heart and she bundled up tighter in the blankets. She couldn't possibly face him tomorrow after she made a complete fool of herself already. Soul would almost certainly tell her how uncool she was.

Not even five minutes had passed before she heard the doorbell ring. Afraid it would wake up her partner, who had spent all day today training, she hopped out of bed and rushed to the door. She hadn't a moment to think, a prime example of her impulsive behavior.

Death the Kid stood behind the door, holding a messy looking collection of flowers in his hands and a pink tint to his face. What Maka was interpreting was stiffness over the phone was really nerves, she realized.

He was just as nervous and afraid as she had been. That must have been why he had been unable to make a move without prompting.

"Good evening, Maka." He handed her the raggedy bouquet. "You look… um… great."

"Oh…" Her eyes trailed downwards. Green and yellow striped pajamas greeted her view. He was dressed formally and looking absolutely perfect and she was a mess. Her hair was down, her button-up top wasn't even straight, and she was without shoes or socks. "Oh! I'm so sorry, I-I'll get ready."

"No, don't," he said.

"It'll only take a minute," she promised.

She didn't give him the chance to stop her. She closed the door and raced back to her room. She didn't have time to peruse for the perfect outfit and instead donned on the first decent thing she found: a short pink dress that ended mid-thigh. She quickly brushed her hair and attached a bow. She threw on a pair of flats and was back to the door. She only had a moment to check the mirror to ensure there were no unwanted creases on the fabric.

The door creaked open and she was met with Kid's splendid frame yet again.

"Woah," he said. His eyes drank in the sight.

She felt triumphant this time around. She replied with a hint of humor, "Let's try that again."

"You look beautiful," he said with even more confidence. Then, he slowly said, "Are you sure… This is what you want? Me?"

It was funny that he would say such a thing. Maka hesitated for only a fraction of a second before she reached for his hand. It was warmer than she had expected and his eyes softer.

"I've never wanted anything more, Kid."