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

act six

"Soul, can you start from that part?"

"What part?"

"The...that part!" Maka fumbles. Soul gives her a blank stare, raising a brow in a wordless gesture to continue. "Y'know, the one before you start all over again!"

"You mean the fourth scene?" Soul drawls, a smirk curling his lips at her blink. "That big brain of yours finally overload with information or what?"

"Sh-shut up! I just forgot the word, that's all!" She flushes, sending him one last dark look before turning back to Tsugumi as Soul starts again. His fingers know what keys to press—these women work him harder than his piano instructor ever had—so he allows his eyes to stray towards the two dames, the one which tries to teach the younger one to seemingly no avail.

Tsugumi is not good at ballet; this is nothing new. But he gives her props for trying and he gives Maka even more props for not losing her temper when Tsugumi messes up the same step six times running. He knows he cannot say the same for himself, he's always had such little patience when it came to teaching, but Maka fits the role for it like a glove: she is patient, offers those encouraging words that raise the younger girls moral enough for her to give it another go. She's thorough and sharp but not meanly, no, there's a softness that runs beneath her firm tone. His fingers press the final key and he lets the sound vibrate through the room as Tsugumi manages to hold the position long enough for Maka to give her the okay.

"You did it!" Maka cheers, beaming when the younger girl breathlessly laughs. "See? I told you you could do it! You just needed a little more practice! You should stay behind with me after classes so you can get ahead and rehearse the parts you have trouble with!"

"I'll try!" Tsugumi eagerly says. "I was planning on switching my work schedule so I can work mornings! If I get it changed, can I...can I stay and practice with you?"

Maka's smile is warm and bright. "Of course! Just give me the heads up if you can!"

"Alright! Thank you, again, for staying and helping me!" She fidgets and meekly adds, "I know I'm not good..."

"No one is ever good from the start," Maka soothes, squeezing her shoulder.

"You are. You were cast as one of the main roles in Madam Arachne's shows! You know how hard it is to get a spot there?"

"I auditioned," Maka corrects. "That doesn't mean I'll be cast, I've just tried out for the role!"

"You will be," Tsugumi smiles, confidently. "You're so good at ballet, Maka, you're perfect!"

The hand on her should slides off at the remark and Tsugumi manages one last grateful goodbye before she scurries away, leaving Maka to mull over her words.

"Hey! How come she gets to stay but I can't?"

"What?" Maka shakes herself from her reverie enough to turn to Soul, who sulks with a childish pout by his piano. He's slouched over it, his cheek resting lazily on his hand as he watches her with the brooding gaze of an upset cat.

"You told her she could stay with you for post-class practice but I can't!"

"She needs help with her steps, Soul," Maka reminds, sharply. "You don't! You can't even dance!"

"I can so!"

Maka pauses and turns to him, her brows raised in idle amusement. "Oh? You can dance? Alright, then," she gestures to the empty floor, grinning smugly when he eyes it with something close to dread. "Show me what you got, Soul! You have the entire floor to yourself!"

"I don't mean, like, ballet," he quickly backpedals. "I meant, waltzing. Ballroom dancing. And sometimes, when I'm drunk enough, I can shuffle."

Maka laughs. "I can shuffle!"

"Get out," he leans forward, decidedly interested. "I wouldn't think so, I mean, your ankle still hurts if you overuse it, right?"

Maka is startled he remembers such a tiny detail, something briefly said when one of the girls brought it up. She smiles brightly because the thought warms her chest. She rolls her ankle out for emphasis. "It only hurts if I do it for a long time. Besides, that happened years ago! My ankles doesn't hurt so much because of the amount of dancing I do in my spare time. But if I stop, it does hurt..." she adds, wryly.

"Wonder why," he mumbles, rather uncomfortable with the idea of Maka in pain. He shrugs the thought off. "So, shuffle."

"I'll shuffle when you dance," she grins slyly.

"Do it first then I'll do it!"

"No, you do it first! You were the one who said you could dance in the first place! You already know I could dance!"

"Not shuffle!"

Maka stomps her foot, hands set on her waist. "Soul..."

"What? I need to see what I'm up against!" He whines.

"So you can make up an excuse and not dance?"

"Yes."

Maka narrows her eyes shrewdly.

He rolls his eyes. "Come off it, I was kidding. I even said when I'm drunk enough so, unless you wanna' treat me to a bottle of vodka after this, you ain't gonna' see me dance."

Maka huffs. "Fine. Then you can't come to help me practice after classes!"

"Wha—c'mon, I have nothing to do after this and I'm willing to play the piano for you guys without extra pay! I'm doing overtime for free!" Soul complains. She just hums a silly melody to herself, packing up her things and holding back a smile when he continues his whining. She doesn't want to admit it, not aloud, not so soon, but sometimes Soul can be the cutest thing she has ever seen. He makes her smile wider than she should, makes her laugh louder than she should, and makes her feel like the words can't quite fit in her mouth. It's strange but she likes it, the uncertainty of it all.

"What about waltzing?" Maka offers, halting his string of whines. "I don't know how to do that."

"You don't?" He looks at her strangely. "Seriously?"

"Well, no. I've seen people waltz but I've never tried it myself. It looks easy, though!"

"Easy," he scoffs. "I thought so, too, but it's the most painful thing in the world when your dance partner doesn't know the steps and keeps stepping on your toes..." he trails off, darkly.

"Did that happen to you?"

"More than once," he grimaces. He gets up off the piano and approaches her, holding his hand out. Maka looks at it curiously, her own twitching towards it despite herself. "But I figure I can teach you the basics. You're light on your feet," he grins a little, "it won't hurt too bad. C'mon, I'll lead."

"But there's no music," she argues halfheartedly as she takes his hand, allowing him to lead her to the middle of the room. He shrugs at her, adjusting her posture and placing his hand lightly on her waist. She holds his hand tentatively, feeling awkward and unusually skittish. But she swallows it down, meets his eyes and nods.

"Just follow me, alright? This is a pretty common move," he says as he moves, nudging her to follow. "Put your foot between mine and...yeah, now you're getting it. Keep going for a few more paces, then we'll switch."

She doesn't get it, to be honest. It has nothing to do with his explanations, however inaccurate and unclear they may be, it has more to do with the fact that she her limbs don't cooperate the way they usually do. She's clumsy and awkward and every time her hand squeezes his, more reflexively than consciously, when he squeezes back her heart gallops in her throat and little trembles run down her skin. She tries not to step on him but she does, a lot, and he mutters about soft shoes versus spiked heels and twirls her, ignoring her frantic steps, and the grin he wears when he realizes how hard she's trying to keep up with him makes her want to cry out in frustration and smack and hug him. She settles on the second one, slamming her foot into his shoe although it doesn't hurt as much as she wants it to.

"You're doing fine," he assures and now they're on the other side of the room. She doesn't quite know how they got there, how they breached such a large space in such little time, but he's bringing her closer now, her nose bumping into his chest when she loses her pace. Maka holds his hand tightly, his other like a brand against her waist the further he tours her around the room. Maka hasn't ever realized just how big the room is—or how silent, as her rapid breaths reach her ears and his calm ones make her uncomfortably aware of just who is taking things to another level.

I think I got it. We can stop now. But she keeps moving, stepping a little closer, so their chests touch and moving feels more like a uniform motion than the second lag it had been before. It's fluid and awkwardness has dissolved in the waters of harmony and Soul feels nice, like this, pressed against her, his hand warm and big in her own, his breath fanning her forehead, tips of his hair tickling her cheek with every abrupt twirl. There's an impulse to lay her cheek on his chest, feel it rise and fall beneath her, but she ducks her head and counts to ten and the urge is gone and replaced with her usual bravado.

He stops and she comes to a stumbling halt, not expecting it, and when she looks up to ask, he's smirking down at her. Urges come back, make words feel heavy and broken in her throat.

"Who can't dance?" He jeers, leaning down. "Huh? Told you I could dance! You're the one who can't dance this time!"

Words come back, still heavy but not as broken. "I...I caught up eventually!"

"Could still dance," he mumbles to himself and they don't move, still in each others arms, his hand big and warm in her own, his other like a brand against her waist, realization of how big the room is and how quiet it can become making little trembles run down her skin. "Hey, uh, Maka?"

"Yeah?"

"So..." He darts his eyes away from hers. "Can we, y'know..."

She doesn't know what to expect, she really doesn't, but her chest grows all tight and her throat closes off and words are heavy and broken and hopeful on the tip of her tongue.

"...can I help Tsugumi out after classes, too? I can play the piano afterwards, it's cool. Marie doesn't need to pay me for it," he adds quickly and she really hadn't known what to expect but it certainly hadn't been that.

She slips her hand out of his, drops her eyes and ignores the crestfallen ache that's settled in her chest, and steps back and tells him that he can come if he likes, if that's what he really wants. And she packs up, quickly, before he can notice the red on her cheeks and the disappointment in her eyes, and tells him that next time he should teach Tsugumi how to waltz, too.

"Nah, I think you're the only girl I'd teach."

Her heart does that thump, thump, thump thing in her chest.

"How come?"

He grins, crookedly. The rooms never been so big, so silent. "When you step on my toes, it doesn't hurt, even when you try."

Those become words she remembers for a long, long time.