RIBBON BOXES

chapter four
"falling in love at a coffee shop"

It was nearing 8:30 when they sauntered through the door, the bells sounding, place deserted. The waitress was waiting at the counter. Her face lit up when they entered and she promptly bounced over to introduce herself.

"You must be Maka." The waitress, the same that he'd met for the first time just days ago, took his girlfriend's hand in hers and shook it erratically. "I've heard about you."

"Oh, have you?" Maka smiled and returned the gesture as best as she could. "It's nice to meet you." Soul knew that Maka was a firecracker. She was bright and riled up mostly, but she was good at sucking herself back down. She knew how to make a good first impression. Very respectful, very reserved. Her eyes were bright and kind and intelligent. He adored it when she gave people that look. "I hear he's got something for me, would you know anything about that?"

The waitress looked to Soul tentatively, and he nodded as to give her permission to tell her. "He wrote you a song." She paused, "But don't worry, I haven't heard it. He wouldn't let me."

"Is it that bad?" Maka looked to her boyfriend, a smirk playing at her lips.

"Well, if you feel like it'll deafen you, please, let's take out business elsewhere." Soul offered, walking over and sitting down at the piano anyway. He was sure she would follow him. She did.

"No, no. I'll listen. But only out of pity." He scooted over and she took a seat beside him, folding her hands into her lap. Her bright green eyes stared intently down at the keys and the sheets of music he put out in front of him. It was a wonder he could even read it. It was thrown together atrociously. The notes hovered between hand-crafted lines. Some of the ink was smudged. But, he rested his fingers upon the ivories without even missing a beat.

"Ready?" He turned to her, his smile broadening. Maka nodded quickly. The waitress dipped back into the kitchen but peered around the corner.

The whole room fell silent except for a shaky breath that passed through his lips just before his fingers pressed into the keys. A deep, prolonged chord resonated in the air for a moment and then lithe fingers rushed from bass to treble, creating a quick melody that sang like the chattering of birds.

His hands seemed wise. They knew exactly where to go at exactly the right time. It was as if he had practiced the piece a thousand times over, and he poured his heart into where the notes traveled. He leaned when it slowed, straightened when the pace quickened. His eyes fluttered shut and if his mind hadn't been completely blank, he probably would have wondered why he had even bothered to write it all down in the first place. It just came so easy. Playing was second nature to him.

Maka melted beside him. She brought her hands to her lips, her eyes flickering back and forth from him, to the piano, and back again. He used to play for her when they were kids. She was one of the only people he felt comfortable practicing in front of. Despite the fact that she was judgemental, he knew that she wouldn't criticize. She would acknowledge the good points, but not let him get away with the mistakes. He wished his parents could have been more like her. Maybe he wouldn't have been so ready to give up on it, then.

Melodies flowed like waterways and his shoulders curved over the piano, breathing with the rests and inhaling on the pick-ups. He was practically a part of it. The son of the piano.

Finally, after minutes of keys singing, he removed his foot from the pedal. The final chord, bright and shining, faded into oblivion and he turned to her. His eyes opened once more to look down at her, who gazed up at him like he had just discovered the fountain of youth.

"That was beautiful." She breathed.

"Welcome home." He smiled, and raising a hand to cup her cheek, pressed his lips against hers.

It's done! Thank you guys for sticking with me, if you have. Y'all are brilliant. I'll try and be lest of a stranger.