Do you guys hate me yet?! :D Sorry for the long winded updates, I'm horrible with homework/fanfiction time management. But please stick around! This story is just about to thicken:

•Why did Soul give Maka those volleyball socks when he clearly didn't know her that well before, AND on her birthday?

•Does Maka really hate Star? And why?

•Where are their PARENTS in this?

Stick around, I'm begging you! ;w; Just trying to actually form a semi-decent plot, and it's time consuming~

ALSO: I HIGHLY recommend you listen to the song "Mrs. Jones" by Billy Paul during the second sequence of Soul and Maka's dance. For the atmosphere, YA KNOW.

SO TELL ME JURR THOUGHTS, WAIT SOM MOAR, and lastly—

Enjoy~!

Spinning her as if she weighed nothing (which in hindsight she probably did), Soul pulled Maka towards his body and stepped to and fro, slinking along with the beat of the music with a grace his partner was surprised he possessed. The faint murmur of the near-empty mall was washed out by smooth jazz and Frank's strong, carefree voice, passing shoppers gazing tenderly at the sight of two teenagers' ballroom dancing during a break. The music wasn't unbearable, lacking the screaming and cursing the older audience normally assumed the younger generation usually listened to, so there was no complaint to their personal radio station. Rather, they urged the duo to continue in their refreshing display of affection. Soul silently thanked them and the pep rally that was being held after school, luckily stalling their peer population from any more disastrous double-life as a "Pizza Boy" encounters.

It also struck him that Maka's smaller (and much softer than previously imagined) hands that were being held by his were oddly stiff. Come to think of it, her whole body screamed uncomfortable. Looking down, he saw her head bent towards the floor and a slight flush rising on the tips of her ears. He leaned it just a bit, and could finally hear timid breaths being carefully measured. No way, he thought. No freakin' way.

"Albarn's got two left feet, doesn't she?"

"What? I so do NOT–"

And that was all the distraction needed for Maka to lose her footing and righteously step on Soul's unsuspecting big toe.

"–SHITFACE." He grit out, wary of not crushing her palms, if not for the sake of his skull's wholesomeness.

"Well maybe if you didn't distract me, I wouldn't have done it!"

"Hate to burst your bubble sweetheart, but you have the lifelessness of a mannequin right now. I don't think my comment had anything to do with it."

"Do you ever stop sounding so condescending? Or is that hereditary?"

"It takes one to know one, I guess."

"Ugh, you jerk."

"No, you're the one jerking here. Just take fluid steps, and stop being so abrupt when you dance."

"Can we just drop this already? Jesus, it's like trying to argue with a mule!" Maka fumed as she turned her head down once again.

Soul didn't have the chance to butt heads with her again, because he noticed her ears were burning a red much brighter than last time. Her breathing didn't improve much either, shallow breaths puffing about his collarbone serving as a distraction to his temper.

He didn't think embarrassment was a word in Maka Albarn's extensive vocabulary, but then again, until he saw her in her volleyball uniform just hours before he thought that her plaid mini-skirts were the shortest piece of clothing in all of mankind. Soul's gut wasn't always an instinct to be trusted, his brain usually the more reliable of the two primal senses.

In other words, Soul deduced that Maka was being shy.

SHY.

Soul let out a chortle by accident.

"What?! Just what's so funny about this Soul?"

Oh, you know. Maka Albarn being reduced to a stuttering puddle of self-consciousness and goop. It was downright hilarious; out of all things, dancing was the one she could never understand? Was that it?

"You know, your creepy smile isn't exactly my answer of choice. Stop it already! It's weird to see anything not resembling a frown on your face!"

"Kinda nice, actually."

"Huh?"

Slowly turning them around before they hit a wall, he resumed his simple strides that she struggled to follow, Maka patiently waiting for his strung-out explanation. Her hand was still a tight ball in his relaxed palm.

"Well, with you being the brainiac and all, it's a bit relieving knowing that you're not the best at everything. Makes you seem a little more human."

She blinked once, and bluntly stated, "Of course I'm human, Soul."

"I mean–" he looked at the ceiling, a silent prayer to God that his words could be translated to Maka-speak for once. "Everything you do is perfect. 105 percent for every paper, two pluses after each 'A', that deal. Just seeing you suck at something is refreshing."

"EXCUSE me? I do not get that on everything–"

A bland look from Soul and his red eyes practically rolling themselves shut her up.

"...Alright. So what if I have good grades? It's just memorizing what they teach you in the books and class."

"Yeah, easy for Poindexter to say. What do you have, a photographic memory or something?"

"Uhm, yes."

"No."

"I do."

"Woman."

"You asked, so don't get all huffy with me, jerk!"

"I swear, just when it couldn't get more unbelievable. What? Can you shoot lasers out of your eyes too?"

"NO, it's just that I don't get why this is such a big problem, because you're the one who everyone thinks is flawless!"

"...So what, are we some sort of sitcom now?"

Soul chuckled deeply at her less-than-amused expression. "Looks like."

"I just adore your sense of humor Sou- HEY!"

And thus Maka Albarn was spontaneously lifted by one shark-jerk with the most confident smirk any self-presumptuous man could offer into the air and was plainly settled on one of the outer food court's table tops. The other party soon joined her on the new elevation, and began to waltz with a renewed vigor, much to her blatant surprise (and admitted admiration).

Sweet flutterings of flutes and Mr. Sinatra had abruptly changed into a saxophone lazily wrapping around a smooth melody, which actually reminded her of Soul himself. Laid back, low, and easy going. He actually got her to relax her stiff back, for she was now doing better for matching his slinky, long-legged strides across table counters. But before she could think about an oversized saxophone wearing a white wig and cartoon-ish droopy red eyes, not to mention they were dancing on the food court tables while on the job for God's sake, the first line of the song interrupted her just in time to execute the mood-killer.

"Me and Missus Joness~

We got a thing~, goin' on~."

Was it possible to turn so red you looked purple? Then consider Maka an eggplant, because she might as well have been one out on the vegetable isle. Did this man have to possess all of the world's classic love songs in one convenient playlist?

"Was this on purpose? Are we being recorded, by Black*Star and Killik? Thishas to be some sort of sick prank."

"Geez muffin, what's so funny about giving you proper music lessons? I thought I was being chivalrous here."

"On the greasy table tops of Death City's mega mall food court?"

Way to hit it home, Maka.

"Whatever." He brushed off the minor offset with a toss of his unruly hair, which, when brushed against Maka's forehead, she found out to be softer than made out to be. "We have all the perfect atmosphere we need."

"Is that so?" She drawled out.

" 'Course. You got yourself and an extra cool guy like me next to you. I think that's plenty atmosphere."

This time, they did not break eye contact, and could clearly read each other's mutual bashfulness and curiosity in a clash of red and green. Soul mused about complimentary colors and spring clovers on fire, as well as how Maka never once mis-stepped on his feet this song.

"We meet every day, at the same cafe~.

Six-thirty— I know she'll be in."

They were floating across the table tops as if gravity heeled to their sole concentration on each other. Soul inwardly sighed as the spitfire allowed herself to become lax in his embrace. Though Maka had never taken a dance class in her life, Soul's mellow lead led her faithfully, and she couldn't find herself feeling weak or less-superior as they not-so-obliviously intertwined their fingers. Soul was not a man (okay, he IS a fine one, but still.) and Maka was not a woman; they were partners, pushing and pulling, giving and taking weight, gliding over used napkins and spilt Diet Coke.

Though it sounded silly, it felt like a sort of soul resonance from within them, even if it was over someone's abandoned lunch.

"I like your apron."

"It was my dead grandmother's, Soul."

"That's not really cool...but still like the ruffles on you."

And for the second time in Soul "Eater" Evans' life, he was witness to another galaxy-rearranging, starlit smile of Maka's.

"Me~ and~ Missus—"

"Thanks, Soul."

"Missus Jones—~!"

~O~

"This is stupid."

"No Soul, do you know what's REALLY stupid?"

He groaned in reply, fully aware of what she would haughtily say, something along the lines of—

"It's because YOU hang out with that jerk Black*Star and YOU have to get dragged into whatever he has cooked up in his shrunken– oof!–head!"

And perhaps her petite form caused her anger to swelter to a higher degree, the deli meats put on an impossibly high shelf and the tippy-toes method proving more degrading than helpful. A couple of ten year olds with Spider-Man shoes and PSP's on hand strode by snickering at the entire scene, and cowered when they finally caught Soul's fearsome snarl. He guessed sharp teeth were good for something other than travel-can-opening after all.

" I mean come on, taking the blame for eating all of our pepperoni supply?" Maka continued. "Who else has the equivalent of a black hole for a stomach besides him?"

"You're saying it like you're the one who took the framing." Palming a jar of pizza sauce with a dancing tomato on the front cover, he decided that he officially hated Winco. " 'Snot like I asked you to come."

She did not dignify his comment with a response, instead choosing to jump her way up to the top shelf pepperoni packages. Surely they couldn't stay there forever, she would get them down somehow goddammit!

Earlier that day, Maka had come into their afternoon shift on Saturday, in a fairly happy mood seeing as her stay was during Soul's hours as the double doors to the kitchen swung open. However, she was not the one to open them; a wide-eyed Black*Star nearly toppled her over with the force of their swing, a pepperoni sausage dangling from his mouth and a dozen others stashed inside his shirt.

Too shell-shocked to stop him in his tracks, the boy made a run for the packed food court mob, too crowded and distracted by mass production and corn dogs to notice the bright blue blur wreaking of deli meat and laughing to the high heavens. Her hand was mid-paused in its unsuccessful reach for the door handle as she peered inside the kitchen to see whatever damage or evidence the idiot could have left.

All that she found was an empty freezer and a paling Soul who looked at Maka as if staring into the eyes of an executioner who was holding the basket for his soon-to-be rolling head.

On cue, their manager (whom was given the friendlier nickname of 'Kidd') stepped in for a surprise inspection, only to find his fridge half full and kitchen doors still swinging.

Let's just say there might have been some minor conniptions about the perfect symmetry of the kitchen being ruined, threats of pink slips and waking up tomorrow underwater, and a lot of persuading on Maka's behalf. Luckily, the pigtailed wonder managed to plug her boss's anxiety nosebleed up with some tissue and arrange a make-up shopping trip with Soul in one day. Lord bless this woman.

"Soul, get your lazy butt over here and help me already!"

Or damn her. Whichever works.

In Maka's defense, it was stupid logic. A drop-out like Black*Star was nothing but a weight on anybody's shoulders; he was a slacker, and what he did do in pride and exuberance was entirely self centered and conceited, most likely concerning his god-like status among the mere mortals of his high school class. And to steal store property just because he was an employee– who NEVER came to work! Kidd was about to drop his high and mighty butt if Soul hadn't vouched for him on multiple occasions.

Now it was Soul who got the rotten end of the bargain, being framed for his "best friend's" crime. During this whole time, just what did he do to protect his good name?

Nothing. Zip. He took the heat for that blue haired orangutan, for no good reason! How could someone take advantage of such kindness, from the laziest man on the planet?! Either the meaning of the term "friends" has changed without Maka's vast knowledge having the time to swallow it up or he must really see something in that boy that she is missing, because Maka can't wrap her head around it. To her, he was looking with closed eyes.

This was something so strange, so foreign to her; Soul "Eater" Evans, taking responsibility for his lost cause of a 'bro', biting his tongue when she danced with drunken grace, always wiping up figuratively AND literally whatever mess she made. Was she not rolling her eyes at his plain existence three weeks before? His noisy motorcycle, sagging basketball shorts, etcetera etcetera?

Perhaps, she entertained, for it was nonsense really, that it was her with her eyes unopened.

Because his eyes had never looked so red, so burning, and full of curiosity.

Full of something she saw in her.

It was a shock to Maka when as soon as she uttered the last of her demand for service while simultaneously arguing with herself (or was it a confession?), there was a lean chest pressed against her back and a strong chin on the crown of her head muttering about fat ankled nerds, as if their major height difference wasn't enough to chide about. She noted how he didn't notice the way he caged her into the freezer shelves as he reached over her to grab at the pepperoni slabs, seemingly blind and totally unlike the all-knowing, hyper aware waltzer she floated over the cafeteria with a few days before. From what Maka could feel (since he was making them an awkward human sandwich after all) Soul's pectorals WERE in fact well-kept, just as Patti had proclaimed. As well as his triceps, and thighs, and—

Oh. He's moving down the isle now.

"Oi Maka, keep up! Or would you like to stare at the pork chops a bit longer?"

"Yeah yeah, keep on smirking like that Evans, you'll see how far it'll get you."

But he wasn't smirking at all. Soul was smiling, though two rows of serrated teeth gave it a little of a morbid touch, she could tell it was sincere. And he continued to smile as she hid her own by stalking ahead of him once again, also overhearing her hum Missus Jones unconsciously as she threw in a couple bottles of pizza sauce.

R&R? For the Pepperoni funds?