burned into my brain are these stolen images
by. Poisoned Scarlett

act five

"Soul? Soul, you bum, wake up!"

He startles from his impromptu nap, the key designs etched on his cheek. "Wha—ouch!" He curses when he receives another smack on the head and he glares up at the green-eyed doll that glares right back with her hands set on her hips. It's his fault, really, but she had been going on and on about some business that had absolutely nothing to do with him. She should know better than to expect him to stay awake for it, given that he had already been their pianist for the past few months. He's not a stranger to the shows, he no longer curses as he struggles to keep up with the too-fast way they switch from scene to scene, act to act, show to show. He has grown accustomed to it all and the reward for that are naps that to some (mainly Maka) are inappropriate but to him are just right.

"What?" he hisses and she presses her lips together.

"We're starting again! So play!"

"What? How many times are you gonna' practice this piece, it's been thirty already!" He whines but places his fingers over the keys. "Don't you guys know it by now?"

She only rolls her eyes because he already knows the answer to that and walks back to the center of the room. The girls look weary but they don't try to usurp her status as head, resuming their stance and trying not to shake as Maka eyes every single one of them and steps forward to correct their posture if she sees anything wrong.

She's in the process of straightening up Tsugumi's back, the girl pinking because she was the only one who was corrected, when she says, "We're going to do this until we all get it right!" She smiles reassuringly at Tsugumi when she drops her eyes in embarrassment.

"That'll be never," he mumbles to himself but starts from the top, running down the entire first act of the Nutcracker, which is their next show as they had decided it would be in the Christmas spirit to do a Christmas-themed show. However, like always, there are many stops in between. It's always like this, starting from the last point until they run down the entire first couple of acts. Maka is flawless in her execution but the stops have more to do with the fact that the other girls mess up. It's not often, they're quite a talented bunch of ballerinas, but there are difficult scenes that Soul notices the other girls fumble with but Maka does not.

In fact, he has never once seen Maka fumble a scene.

"Alright, I think that's enough for the day!" Maka shouts a few hours later, noticing many of the girls were making more and more mistakes. Their exhaustion is visible in their slumped shoulders and the sheen of sweat on their foreheads. "We have two weeks until showtime, girls, we need to get through this act as soon as possible!" As Maka talks, the girls gladly begin to pack up and leave, each one giving their own wave or goodbye at Maka and Soul. Tsugumi walks up to Maka glumly, both of them having a conversation that Soul now knows is more motivational for the down-on-her-luck ballerina, until they are left to themselves again in the dance room. Maka begins to pack next, grabbing her knapsack and hoisting it on her shoulder.

"You practice at home?"

Maka looks at him curiously. "What?"

"I said, do you practice at home?" He's organizing his sheet music as he says this, sparing her a glance. "You told Tsugumi to practice at home so I figure it's because you do it, too." At her raised brow, he clarifies: "You never mess up, not even once. This is supposed to be practice but you know every single step."

"Maybe I'm just a prodigy," she slyly mocks. That single word has been attached to him since that day he challenged Maka and she knows only too well how much it grates on his nerves.

Soul scrunches his nose but that doesn't stop him from thumbing to himself, saying, "I hate to break it to you but you're just not as naturally talented as me."

"Naturally talented!" Maka snorts. "Just because you can play any piano piece after looking at it once doesn't make you naturally talented..."

He raises a brow. "You sure? It sounds like it."

Maka stifles a giggle. "No, you're not!"

His lip curls up. Flirting with Maka is easier; he doesn't know if it's because she knows he's interested in her or because she's too dense to realize she's actually flirting. Either way, he doesn't question it, and faces her a little better as he drawls: "If I'm not naturally talented, then what must you be?" He tucks the sheets into their portfolio and slips it under his arm. "Born knowing every single step or something?"

"If it were like that, life would be a lot easier."

"So you do practice at home," he smirks.

Maka shakes her head, eyes twinkling. "Not at home! I don't have enough space at home!"

"Then where do you practice?" He asks, quickly adding: "Cuz I know you do."

"Guess!"

"A park?"

"You're not even trying!" She cheeks.

He smirks. "Alright then...your backyard?"

"I live in an apartment, Soul," she snorts. "Guess again!"

"A friends house?" At her shake, he scowls. "I dunno'! Where do ballerinas go to pract..." He stops, staring at her. He can see a slow grin starting to break out on her face, gently illuminating her verdant eyes, brightening up her entire face, and she looks so gorgeous, that slow smile of hers doing things to his heart—"You practice here? Weirdo. It's creepy around here," he admits and also admits he's a moron. Nothing new, he tells himself dryly.

"It's not creepy! The lights are always on at night and, if they're off, I know where the main light switch is!"

"You come here at night?"

"I work early shifts," she explains, "so I have time to practice together with the other girls and alone at night."

"Jeez, that sounds like a lot of work," he mutters as he lets her lead the way to the doorway. "So you come here every day after practice?"

"Yep!"

She has slung a hoodie over herself, not bothering to change out of her black one-piece quite yet. She only changed into her jogging shoes, her pointe shoes tucked safely in her knapsack.

"...Don't you get tired?"

"Mmm," she hums, looking up at him with wide green eyes. She's standing so close to him he can smell her flowery perfume. He can't help his deep inhale, the next step he takes so their shoulders touch. He shadows her; she's so small and delicate-looking yet he knows she can throw him against a wall if she wanted to. "Sometimes I do. But I have to get it right."

He holds her gaze. "You don't have to."

"I do!" she says fiercely. He's startled by it. "I want to be one of the best like my mama was and the only way I'm going to make that happen is if I practice more! I want to be perfect at this so I can't afford to slack off!" At his surprised face, his parted lips, she flushes and takes a step back, using the sleeves of her hoodie to rub her nose. But he can still see the pink, the way her face grows hot. "My mama was in Broadway," she explains, voice dropping some octaves. "She was one of the best so...now I want to be one of the best, even better than her!"

"...That sounds pretty cool, Maka," he says, finally, and she looks up, hesitantly, but it melts at the sight of his toothy grin. "I think you're gonna' end up being better than your, mom! You're already pretty amazing," he says and, for once, can say he did something right because her eyes light up and her smile is wide.

"I will be!" She shouts, walking backwards down the hall. "Just watch me! Bye, Soul!"

"Later," he rasps, clearing his throat but she's gone before she notices. He stands there for a few more seconds, struggling the emotion that tightens his chest and makes his throat feel full and tight. He rubs his chest, right above his heart, and continues out with a stubborn dust of pink over his cheeks.

She has stolen her way into the spotlight in his heart without even trying.