Chapter Two
Soul walked down the Shibusen hallways with a set of books lodged under his arm. It had been six days since Maka had brought up the insane idea that he should give students at Shibusen piano lessons and he remembered it only too clearly.
"No!"
"But Soul, we really don't have much of a choice and I'm sure Shinigami- sama would jump at the opportunity of having a music teacher!"
Soul glared at her, sticking another piece of lasagna in his mouth. He could see the frustration at his stubbornness written in her pout and quite frankly, he didn't understand why he was so against it either. It just felt wrong for some reason, playing outside of his soul. Playing for someone other than that annoying, red and mentally demonic imp and his surprisingly persuasive technician. Teaching someone to play. He shook his head at the thought.
"Maka, kids are too annoying and difficult to work with. Which pre-teen do you know would obediently sit down to take piano lessons? Their too obnoxious, and Black Star is the perfect example!"
"But Soul," her pout vanished and a disbelieving smile was in its place. Her face suddenly seemed mature yet youthful at the same time. With slight difficulty, he swallowed, captured in her stare.
"But what?" he asked reluctantly, slowly.
"If it's you, then any kid would gladly listen."
Soul hadn't understood what she meant by that until his third day as a teacher at his old school. Most of his students were giggling female teenagers. He had brought up that topic with his meister twice since then, but she only grinned, having a secret joke all to herself. Regardless, those teenagers were the income that Maka was hoping for, and they were hoping on moving out of their friends' apartment into their own by the end of the next week into an apartment complex a fifteen minutes walk from their old home. Soul sighed, his sneakers coming to a halt before the double doors of the music room. The only thing he believed kept him coming to the doors everyday for several hours was the thought of Maka's thanks he'd get back at home and the way she personally paid him: through a few meals of his choice without complaint.
Withholding a sigh, he entered the music room, greeted by grinning teenage girls. He would have loved this seven years ago…
Maka looked up from her novel when the door opened at seven that night. Soul walked in with his eyes staring tiredly at the wooden planked floor, books heavy in his right hand and the keys in his left. He closed the door awkwardly with one foot, regaining his temporarily abandoned balance with the first step into the apartment.
"Dinner's on the table," Maka called from her seat, pointing blindly. "How was your lesson?"
Maka noticed the light over her book dim, and she glanced up. In a second, her book was on the carpet, hand paralyzed in her lap, body captured in the surrounding arms of Soul who leaned over her, face centimeters from hers. His eyes were clear again, penetrating hers easily from her suddenly lowered guard. He almost smiled, but found himself too fatigued to attempt it. He felt her breathing, almost tasted it and after a moment, he found the strength to smirk with horrifying humour that gave a further trembling reaction to his partner.
"Tommorow," he breathed, and noticed the colour etching on her face, "I'm giving you a private lesson- free."