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bcbdrums · 2 months

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Now Sings My Soul

A Soul Eater fanfic. Read on: AO3 | FFn

Gift for @mellancholy-morose for the Grigori Wings Discord server's Valentine's Day gift exchange! (we're all posting end of month)

Also, fifth in my series of 31 prompt-based one-shots (filling them out of order; this is prompt 6). Prompts from this list.

A/N: Lovingly beta-read by @asymmetryestablished and @memethebum, there was really only one way to go with this prompt... Set either manga or anime-verse, somewhere after episode 8 but before episode 12. 6. Graceful

Now Sings My Soul

The music was just loud enough that Spirit could hear it through the ancient wooden door of the classroom, the rapid pulsing of the beat from the speakers heavy in his chest and vibrating his fingertips as he fitted his hand around the doorknob. And when he tugged the door open, the fullness of the sound washed over him and he was momentarily overwhelmed.

It was more than the music itself, and little to do with the volume; it was the sheer power of so many souls slipping in and out of resonance in one place that would have taken his breath away were he not used to such an occurrence—had he not experienced the same so many times throughout the years that he knew how to filter out the confusion of curious, overlapping wavelengths and narrow his focus to exactly where it needed to be.

Spirit cast his gaze over the dance class, noting the hurried rhythms the students were creating together, and easily located the young girl Lord Death wanted to see. Her pink hair stood out among the others in the Crescent Moon Class as she and her weapon partner took turns spinning one another in time with the intense, upbeat tune. But rather than approach her to deliver the message, Spirit looked over the rest of class, noting familiar and semi-familiar faces until he found the one that mattered most to him.

The grin that had broken across his visage fell to a scowl as he watched Maka and her weapon partner, and his chest began to burn with something he still couldn't put a name to whenever he saw his daughter with the ivory-haired boy. The pair were not dancing nearly as vigorously as most of the other students, perhaps because Soul was still on the mend from the injury he'd sustained from the Demon Sword. But what had caused Spirit's blood to race was the look in the young teen's eyes—the way he bowed his head closer to Maka's, the look of some shared secret that no force in the world could pry out of them passing between them as they swayed. Soul's arm went further around Maka's back as he laughed at something she said, and Spirit's feet were carrying him down the steps into the classroom proper long before his brain had a chance to catch up.

"Soul Eater!" he said sharply, and he felt the rippling in the wavelengths of those students who had noticed his presence—a faltering in the mass of resonance that decreased the sound in the room just slightly as he approached his daughter and her far-too familiar weapon partner.

He hadn't shouted. In truth his voice had hardly been raised, and definitely wouldn't have carried over the music. But somehow the young teen had heard him, and Spirit had the chance to watch the play of emotions across the weapon's face—recognition, followed by annoyance and defiance, and finally fear, the latter of which caused Soul to release his meister and dart away, but only far enough to hide behind a taller boy in the class.

Maka was looking after her partner in confusion before she turned around, and in an instant her expression dropped to cold fury. This halted Spirit's steps briefly, but he mustered a smile for his daughter and continued his approach.

"Maka, my sweet angel..."

"Death Scythe."

Spirit stopped. Everything within him was suddenly drawn to a halt, so much so that he felt he was watching from somewhere outside himself when Maka's angry gaze left him and rose to the location of the speaker, high on the platform a few steps above the dance floor. But even Spirit's awareness of her reaction was fading in the face of his own shock.

That voice had never before addressed him by that name, and it was startling enough to focus his attention back to his purpose in coming to the class. But not before following Maka's gaze to make sure he hadn't imagined it.

Sure enough, up next to the lectern, stood Stein, hands in his coat pockets and light shining off his glasses to further conceal what the monotone inflection was already serving to do.

Spirit straightened up where he stood, though the tension in his shoulders only increased. He looked back at Maka who was now staring at him with frustrated confusion, and then he cast his gaze over the students again. Some had stopped dancing, whether due to his mere presence or because he was standing in their way in the middle of the dance floor, he didn't know.

Embarrassment thankfully was not forthcoming, because his head was ringing with Stein's words even as his feet carried him toward the back of the room and the reason he'd come in the first place.

"Kim Diehl," he said softly, the girl and her partner already having stopped dancing upon his approach. "Lord Death wants to see you and your weapon partner in the Death Room immediately."

The two girls exchanged nervous glances, and Spirit offered a kind smile in hopes of calming them. It was intimidating enough he knew, to be approached by Death's Weapon, but to be called to see Death personally was another matter entirely. Especially for a one-star meister and weapon pair.

The girls voiced their acknowledgment and then scurried away, up the steps and out of the room. The music hadn't stopped of course, and next to the room's mirrored wall now Spirit used the glass to glance over the students who had nearly all resumed dancing, their wavelengths pushing and pulling and nudging up against his soul unbeckoned in their inexperience. His eyes found Maka again, and she continued to glare at him even as her weapon cautiously returned to her and tentatively took her hand.

Spirit frowned, but then a small glint of light drew his gaze. He shifted his eyes upward in the mirror to where Stein still stood like a statue at the front of the room but for his hand falling from where he'd adjusted his glasses. Spirit's mind was still reeling from the address by his former meister, and taking a nervous breath, he turned and walked back to the front of the dance classroom.

He pointedly avoided looking at Maka and Soul, focusing instead on the mixture of skill he could feel among the students' resonance around him. Some were erratic and barely holding together, while others were stable and increasing as they matched with the assist of the music pulsing around them. It was familiar, and a needed distraction as Spirit felt a further tensing in his shoulders when his feet reached the stairs.

He realized he could have turned, left the room with his task completed and ignored the jarring method Stein had chosen to get his attention. But just as when they were kids, just as always, he was drawn to the meister's side like a moth to a flame. And when he had finished the ascent of the few steps, he took close position at Stein's side and turned back to face the classroom, as if it was exactly where he was meant to be.

For awhile there was only the music, and the wash of so many wavelengths in the room that even a person with the weakest sixth sense couldn't be unaware. But silence wasn't Spirit's gift, and before long he broke it.

"I thought Naigus taught this class," he said, his voice barely audible above the music.

"She's out on assignment with Sid. I'm substituting," was Stein's bland, equally quiet reply.

Spirit took a step nearer the meister's side to hear him better above the music. Their shoulders were almost brushing.

"You called me Death Scythe." He turned his head slightly, but even the glimpse behind Stein's glasses through his shaggy hair gave him no information. The slightest downward turn at the corner of the meister's mouth however, was something.

"It seemed the most appropriate in front of the students."

Spirit watched Stein's mouth as he spoke, noting the slight tensing of his jaw when he finished. Stein was right; to address him either by name or by the unique epithet he often used that denoted something between affection and respect would have been too familiar. He had chosen the best option to get Spirit's attention.

But Stein had not wanted to say it.

Spirit's mind wouldn't stop racing long enough for him to complete a thought. No matter which direction it attempted to go, he kept hearing his title on Stein's tongue over and over like a wave crashing repeatedly against an ocean shore. But even within those waves, his senses were dulled.

It wasn't something they had ever talked about, and Spirit didn't think they needed to. His guilt over the matter was enough to assume whatever Stein's thoughts may be anyway.

It should have been his former meister to strike that last blow and feed him the final, necessary witch's soul to bring him to completion. It should have been Stein at his side when he had bowed before Lord Death and transformed, tremblingly falling into the Grim Reaper's hands for the first time as his newest personal weapon.

But it had been Maka's mother instead, after too many months of confusion and misunderstandings and unexpected fatherhood had him calling Kami his meister instead of the young genius whose blinding brilliance had awed him from the first day of their five years of partnership even to the present. And so Stein had never once, not even mockingly, called Spirit by the title he should have earned in the hands of the silver-haired man who now stood at his side.

Spirit had spent years burying the guilt and everything else he associated with his former meister as deeply in his soul as he could, but after their recent fight against the Demon Sword it was an ever-present buzzing in his mind, louder than Lord Death's voice or the distraction of alcohol or even the music that surrounded him now, carrying his mind back to the old days and the last time he had stood in the place of the young students before him.

He needed to apologize. For far more than allowing his ex-wife to swoop in and steal the honor that had always belonged to Stein. But as he tried to draw a breath to form the words on trembling lips, his mind shattered every beginning of a thought like waves crashing on that shore of too many memories and too much history.

A few simple words couldn't absolve him of over a decade of mistakes. And so Spirit simply stood next to the man, guilt weighing down his heart. And with the inability to anchor his mind to anything, he took to watching the students again.

He forced himself not to stare at Maka and let his gaze drift to the other young meisters and weapons he knew intimately.

Near the very center of the room was Black Star, grinning as he led his much taller weapon partner in bold, overly dramatic turns that were technically correct, but didn't match the aesthetic of the music at all. But the boy had to be the center of attention at all times, and with his antics he was definitely succeeding.

Death the Kid was hissing orders at his two weapons as the three stood side-by-side and arm-in-arm, moving in near-perfect synchronicity in some form of line dance, also not remotely following the aesthetic of the music as the son of the Grim Reaper demanded symmetry in all things, especially from his twin pistols.

Spirit couldn't help the small smile that came to his face as he watched the children he had watched grow from infancy, and his frame followed suit in beginning to relax. His gaze drifted over other students he recognized but didn't know as well—Kilik Rung and his two unique weapons, eyes closed and not even in physical contact with one another as their bodies swayed in perfect time to the rousing beat. Ox Ford and Harvar D. Éclair, dancing close and slightly awkwardly as they seemed to be quietly arguing about something. Spirit exhaled a small laugh through his nose at the familiarity as the boys seemed unable to agree upon who was leading, their knees occasionally colliding despite how well they were moving with the music.

And of course, Spirit couldn't help but bring his gaze back to the most important child in the room.

Maka wasn't looking at him when he found her again, but Soul was. The younger scythe's eyes darted away, passing around the room haphazardly until settling on Maka's face as she seemed to scold him for something. Her eyes darted up to Spirit's, and then she adjusted her step so they were dancing with her back to him. Spirit considered making eye contact through the mirror she now faced, but decided against it, instead taking in the whole of the familiar room.

Despite the variety of experience levels among the students, what music did for assisting in matching wavelengths was more than enough to have nearly all of the pairs in the room in resonance, such that Spirit could feel them as if they were reaching out to his own soul and inviting him in. He wondered what it must be like for those with soul perception, to have so much power surrounding them even as scattered as some of it was with the students who were still novices. But power it was, and rather than being distracted or put off by the chaos of it all, it had Spirit's weapon-instinct keening like it hadn't for years, further waking up a piece of him he'd forgotten until the battle against the Demon Sword.

The song on the stereo began to fade, a new one rising in volume before the first had finished. Something about the transition struck a memory in Spirit, and he was speaking before his mind had fully caught up in understanding.

"This is the same playlist."

"Yep," was Stein's reply somewhere to his right.

Spirit couldn't help another single, exhaled laugh as he shook his head.

"In almost twenty years, no one has picked different music? You'd think the kids would want something more to their taste."

"They should be able to match wavelengths with anything."

"Yes I know that," Spirit said too quickly, the words coming out with far more bite than he intended.

The guilt he felt over the brief loss of temper only made him recall everything else he'd been feeling in the presence of his former meister. After a moment, by way of silent apology Spirit took another small, shuffling step nearer. Their shoulders did touch briefly, and he felt rather than saw Stein turn to look at him.

The new song playing was a ballad in six-eight time, slower and lacking the drive of the other, but full of passion. The students had already adjusted to it and were stabilizing their resonance with the easier, more melodic tune.

Spirit remembered the song, if not its lyrics. He remembered where the phrases began and ended, how he used to move his feet to turn and navigate around others in his class to experience the fullness of the piece that others would take as a breather from the more intense options in the playlist.

Nostalgia was crashing over the guilt he felt standing next to Stein, turning it into something else that he couldn't put a name to. All he knew was that his soul felt near to bursting as the music reverberated through him, around him, and again his mouth was moving ahead of his brain as he turned to face his former meister.

"Do you—"

"Spirit—"

Stein had spoken in the same instant, had turned towards him and lifted his hands out of his coat pockets.

Spirit licked his lips as his mouth suddenly went dry. His gaze dropped to where Stein's hands hovered low between them, then back to his face. The reflection off his glasses hid his eyes, but Spirit could read enough in the slight parting of Stein's lips, the slow bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed.

Spirit lifted his hands and Stein moved in response. And then both looked down in unison at their mirrored pose. A soft chuckle left Spirit's lips, breaking at least some of the tension.

"Every time," he said through a grin, his voice low as visions of the past flickered through his mind. It had always been a debate as to which of them would lead, Spirit feeling it his role as the elder of the two and notably taller when they'd been kids. But Stein as the meister had argued it was definitely his role to lead the weapon.

The matter had never been settled during their academy tenure. But it was with a gentle smile reflecting Spirit's own that Stein was the one to acquiesce this time, adjusting his hands accordingly.

"You lead."

Spirit licked his lips again, but found them worse for how dry his mouth had gone. Stein was watching him, waiting, and Spirit realized he was holding his breath. He closed his eyes for just a moment, listened to the familiar music and recalled the steps he used to take. And then he opened his eyes and gently fit his hand to Stein's.

He let instinct guide him immediately into step with the music, and he lifted his chin as a shaky breath left his lips. He tried to school his face into something that matched the confidence of his movements rather than the maelstrom in his soul, but his heart was fluttering for nerves with Stein's hand resting atop his shoulder, his own fingers spread across the meister's back as he guided them in a simple pattern over the platform.

It was the first time they had danced, Spirit realized, since Stein had caught up to him in height, and there was a different feeling to it now he was able to look the man directly in the eye. There was still something unreadable in the depths of green hidden behind Stein's glasses, something Spirit had spent their entire partnership trying and failing to understand. His eyes were locked on Spirit's as they moved together, saying too much and nothing all at once, and it sent a flush of heat over the weapon's skin. But absent was the look of challenge from their youth and the hardness with which Stein greeted the rest of the world. There was something soft at the edge of his gaze; something meant only for Spirit to see.

It was while marveling at this change that Spirit realized they had a bit of an audience, but he couldn't find it within himself to care. In just the first few steps, Spirit had felt the tension in his body begin to bleed away, and a heady lightness rushed in to overwhelm his senses as his ex-partner's touch began to satisfy a craving in his soul that he hadn't even known was present until the other man's hand sought his. He let his awareness spread out beyond the pull of the green gaze in front of him to the pattern of their feet, to the swaying feel of the song around them, to the soft brushing of young soul wavelengths against his own.

The call to resonance was like swimming toward the surface of the sea from below; a call to air, a call to light. He and Stein didn't need the assist of music with their individual and combined experience, but it was drawing their souls together with a force that was almost magnetic that Spirit was struggling to resist. The yearning Spirit felt to entwine his soul with his former meister's was rapidly taking over his every sense until he suddenly realized he was forgetting to breathe. And it was then as he embarrassingly sucked in air that his focus snapped back to the present and onto Stein's face, the meister's eyes curious behind his glasses as he watched the weapon, his lips still parted.

The whole point of dancing was resonance; it didn't need to be stated. Spirit's soul was aching for it even as his body was relaxing further within their shared rhythm, and he assumed by Stein's uncharacteristic offer for connection that he was in no better state than Spirit. But the meister wouldn't cross that barrier of intimacy without permission. It was written in the brightness of his irises, in his dilated pupils, in the weight of his hand on Spirit's shoulder. And it was that simple courtesy Stein afforded him that caused Spirit to feel yet another cracking in his years of confused resolve.

"I'm sorry."

"...What?"

The words had fallen thoughtlessly from Spirit's lips, and despite how he was holding back he could feel the tension in Stein's soul rise in response.

It wasn't enough. He wasn't sure anything could ever be enough to mend their years of separation; of silence, misunderstandings and confusion, and of rejection that was ultimately unfounded and that Spirit knew he could no longer pretend was what he had wanted.

He didn't think the words existed to express how deeply he regretted the downward spiral of their final year of partnership, nearly every problem they'd struggled through the result of his own recklessness. And a true mending of those wounds, if it were even possible, couldn't happen without hours of conversation, explanation, and begging for a forgiveness that he didn't deserve.

Stein's fingers pressed lightly against Spirit's shoulder, his expression tight with unease in a way only the weapon would notice. He'd stilled after the blurted apology, their knees almost touching where they'd stopped mid-step, and he looked down at their joined hands with a sigh of despair.

It was all wrong. Everything had been wrong, for nearly fifteen years now. And the words were hardly a beginning at fixing it.

He released his hold on the meister and Stein's hands fell away instantly as if he'd been stung, followed by a soft shudder of breath. Stein tilted his head just so, causing the light to reflect off his glasses and hide his eyes. But Spirit could still see the tension along his jaw and in his neck, and his own chest was ever-tightening with the pain of want and regret.

He set his hand on Stein's shoulder and left the other upturned in the space between them. The meister's lips parted again and Spirit could feel the anxiety in the taut muscles under his fingers.

"You lead," Spirit breathed as he bowed his head low, his hair falling forward to conceal his face. His tone was unintentionally one of apology, of capitulation. And he hadn't meant to grip Stein's shoulder so hard as he waited for a response, but he felt as if some part of him would shrivel away into nothing if he didn't feel the answer of Stein's hand in his.

When he looked up, Stein was licking his lips, his brow twisted in confusion. And then with more caution than when Spirit led, he took Spirit's hand and slowly spread his fingers across the weapon's back.

Spirit sighed in slow relief as the worst of the tension seeped away when he resumed stepping with Stein in time to the music and cautiously met his eyes again. He felt bad that he had thrown the meister mentally off balance, judging by his expression. And he realized suddenly that he had indeed broken a barrier with his words, that there would need to be conversation later if he truly wanted to attempt to mend all that had been torn as his words had offered. But that thought slipped to the back of his mind as Stein led him skillfully across the platform and Spirit followed with ease, moving in remembered patterns that soothed the ache in his chest with every step.

They were closer than they had been in years, sharing heat, sharing breath. Stein's hand was pressed firmly beneath his shoulder blade, his fingers spread broadly as if by the sheer contact alone he could reclaim Spirit as part of himself, take his soul back and become again what they were always supposed to be.

Spirit didn't know if it was the nostalgia of the music and the familiar dance motivating him. He didn't know if it was the eager young wavelengths nudging up against his. He didn't know if it was the foreign but familiar feeling of Stein's hand, inviting him in even as the other hesitated to pull him close. But it was the hope veiled deep within green eyes that was finally Spirit's undoing as the song reached its bridge.

"Stein," Spirit sighed, his brow twisting as he allowed himself to let go and simply be.

The meister, to all appearances, had always taken care of business efficiently and without ceremony no matter what he had been tasked with. He was adept in all things, and one ever took a second look at his work nor at the man himself, knowing the job would be completed.

It was only Spirit who had ever been privy to the man's moments of grace.

In the same breath, the weapon fell in closer with the meister's suddenly elegant step as they continued in both practiced patterns and new, crossing the platform with hurried strides in response to the desire of their souls. Spirit's eyes fluttered closed as his chest pressed to Stein's, fitting warm against him as he was led around in circles, the insides of their knees brushing repeatedly as they moved with an ease that could only come with practiced and perfect synchrony.

Spirit's lashes rose when he felt Stein's soft sigh on his cheek, and mere inches away now he locked eyes with the man. For a moment he was lost in the intensity—the open, unblinking astonishment with which Stein was staring back at him. And then Spirit broadened his attention to the weight of the dark circles under Stein's eyes, the slight wrinkling of his forehead he could see past his hair as confusion remained one of his dominant emotions.

Despite Spirit's allowing the meister to lead, despite how close they were physically, Stein still refused to take anything that Spirit wasn't explicitly offering. And Spirit's heart ached for the knowing of one another that had been lost with time, lost when he had abandoned their resonance and drawn a hard line between them.

Spirit knew what he needed to do.

It wasn't that it was difficult; in fact he was surprised he had avoided being in resonance with Stein thus far as they danced with greater freedom, following the music's rise and fall and responding to its passions more than they commanded their steps.

It was that it wasn't necessary.

This wasn't a battle where they needed to be in sync to complete a task. This would be a resonance simply for its own sake, for them, to bring them closer. And it was for that reason that Stein wasn't allowing their souls to slip together into that unity so pure that it would be near impossible to tell where one of them began and the other ended.

Spirit missed it. Had needed it for over a decade, and had denied himself for reasons he couldn't begin to consider in that moment with Stein's hand in his, his arm around him and fingers clutching his flesh through his jacket almost painfully, as if to let go in that moment would be to let go forever.

The music demanded a spin, and with sweating fingers tightening on his own Stein released Spirit's back so that he spun out and away, the toe of his outer shoe pointing on the beat of the song before he almost immediately twirled back to fit his body to the meister's again. His eyes scarcely left Stein's as he turned, and when they came back together he stopped, set his forehead to Stein's and felt the heat of their breath mingle.

Words weren't possible, because the correct ones didn't exist. But as the song approached its final chorus Spirit let go of thought with the last thread of resistance in his mind and reached out with his soul wavelength.

The air around them sang as it began vibrating with power at the first hint of connection. He briefly caught the scent of smoke with Stein's abrupt inhale of startled response, and then awareness slipped away from his human senses as he instinctively transformed, and the imposing form of a scythe took presence with magical light.

Electricity danced across his wavelength, coursing wildly around him and through him and over the shape of Stein's soul as it engulfed him. Their resonance erupted with such power that Spirit was sure the room would be set aflame, and as he fit his soul into the overwhelming strength of Stein's he felt like he could breathe again for the first time in a long time.

It had all happened in an instant, but time felt slowed as for a moment he was falling, heat and power surrounding him as their wavelengths aligned. And then before he could draw a second breath, he was in the meister's hands again.

Stein had never been one for elegance in battle, either, favoring brutality when the opportunity allowed. But Spirit remembered well their practice sessions that occurred in private, away from their classmates and away from any threat. Even without music it had felt like dancing, the way Stein twirled him 'round and 'round, and that was the foundation of the first sweeping turn the meister made now with the scythe on the platform.

Spirit felt the air warm as it rushed across his blade, and he let go his sense of self at the same time he followed Stein's lead. They were still moving in time to the music, but Stein was the one spinning now and Spirit with him. He relaxed into Stein's hands as he was lifted and skillfully turned around the meister's neck, the weight of the staff falling on Stein's shoulder so he could follow the momentum of his turn. And just for a moment, as they moved in unison and the room blurred before his eyes, it was as if he was floating, his self maintained only by the melding of his soul with Stein's.

But then, before he could even take a breath in the strange way that metal breathed, he felt himself falling, his blade moving in a sharp curve toward the floor. He was caught just in time and swept up and out before he picked up on the pattern and was fairly soaring, so close to the ceiling he could have seen the entire room had he looked, and then he was spinning and falling again, the speed at which Stein turned him vibrating his staff even as he was kept under complete control.

His focus fell to the strength and confidence of Stein's hands as they alternately gripped and released him, slid down to extend the staff or gripped him firmly and moved him with power and utmost control. Spirit sighed into the peace the meister's touch brought him, something that could only come from the implicit trust borne of years of resonance. And he did trust Stein, Spirit realized. After everything that had happened in the past and all the conversations that still needed having, he realized there was no one he trusted more.

This assurance sent a fresh rush of sound across their joined wavelengths, and it was he who guided the next passionate swing of the blade that brought him sweeping out in power over the platform before he was rapidly spun again. He would never get over the feeling of flying when he was within Stein's hands, but, as he listened to the nostalgic music he knew it was time to come in for a landing. The song they'd been dancing to was reaching its close, and their indulgence was taking away from the class of students.

Stein knew it too, and after one more graceful twirl with Spirit spinning above his head, rather than release him Stein brought the end of the staff down and planted it in front of him. For a moment, Spirit felt the heat of shuddering breaths against his blade; was certain he heard his name whispered in affection before the next song on the playlist rose in volume to hide any words that may be shared between them.

Spirit's back was to the students when he transformed, staying right where he was so that the fingers of one of his hands wove together with Stein's as his human form took shape again. But the applause of the younger meisters and weapons over the exhibition was a mere backdrop to the look in Stein's eyes that overwhelmed his senses even more than the dance.

They were still in resonance, as Spirit felt his own soul would surely be lost if not connected to Stein's, and Stein's fingers gripping his waist spoke as much of the reciprocal need the meister felt for him as did the yearning in his depths of green eyes—an almost pleading hope as he stood trembling before the death scythe and barely breathing.

Spirit's free hand had landed on Stein's chest when he transformed, and he slid it slowly up to Stein's shoulder where he dug his fingers into tight muscle, feeling the strength hidden beneath soft clothing. Stein's breath hitched in response, and Spirit let his eyes close to hide something of himself away from the hope and raw desire in the meister's gaze. He released his grip to let his hand move further, curling around the back of Stein's neck until his fingertips brushed the ends of his hair. Stein's skin was cool to the touch even with the thin sheen of sweat that had risen from exertion, and Spirit could feel the rapid race of his pulse as he let his thumb settle against the meister's throat.

His forehead came forward, hit Stein's with slightly more force than intended and not aligned quite right. But it suited him as he leaned closer to whisper, his upper lip just brushing Stein's cheekbone under his glasses as he spoke.

"I need to talk to you. Later."

Spirit didn't move until he felt the answer of breath against his own cheek, a sigh of acceptance that eased his soul before he heard the words.

"All right."

Spirit didn't know which of them was shaking more, but it was with great effort that he took a step back and slowly, they both let go their desperate holds on the other. The applause on the dance floor below had died down and Spirit realized that something of an acknowledgement was necessary.

As he put on his celebrity smile he began to feel the gentle, hesitant retreat of Stein's wavelength from his own. He wanted to cling to it, but he had been selfish enough in the past several minutes. And as much as their souls spoke for them, he couldn't deny that a great many words were still necessary.

Spirit took in a slow breath, another, until he felt steady on his feet again and finally turned. He flashed the prepared smile to the crowd of awed and somewhat confused students, and he couldn't help but hope they would all find the type of resonance someday that he had found in his five years of partnership.

Then, his eyes ghosted over Maka. And it was with an abrupt realization that he ungracefully retreated from the touch of Stein's wavelength as he considered the subconscious thread of his thoughts. A myriad of emotions coursed through him, anxiety briefly dominating the embarrassment as he vehemently protested the idea of his little girl ever being in such close resonance with anyone.

Maka was looking up at him curiously, not angry at his existence for once, and Spirit tried to calm the sudden pounding of his heart. He turned back to look at Stein behind him who had been understandably startled by the abrupt change, and then gently nudged the edge of his wavelength against the meister's in unspoken apology.

"Sorry," he said under his breath, and then looked back to Maka. She was still gazing at him in perplexity, and Spirit felt his embarrassment rise again as he considered the spectacle he'd made of himself in front of her and the other students. He glanced over his shoulder again and spoke quickly. "See you later."

And with that, he hurriedly crossed the platform and made his way to the door, eager to be away from the music and the raw emotion that was surging through the room, most powerfully from his meister.

When Spirit let his hand rest heavy on the doorknob he couldn't help but pause and look back, the wavelength he knew as well as his own still pulling at the edges of his.

Stein had taken a seat in the single chair on the platform in his usual way, legs spread around its back and awkwardly hunched over for how tall he was. His arms were folded across the top of the chair and his chin was rested behind his forearms, so his face was concealed by white sleeves and the fall of his hair. But as Spirit took another moment, he watched green eyes slowly slide to meet his, and he could just see the upward curl of Stein's lips from behind his arms.

Spirit couldn't help but echo the meister's smile, and then he felt a cautious but definite wave of pleasure ripple across his wavelength. A flush rose on his cheeks, and with one last glance at the students he hurried to leave the room and get away from more unashamed passion than he'd experienced in over a decade.

He desperately needed a drink. Or, he thought wryly, perhaps a cold shower.

He had a lot to think about.

------------------

Soul felt even more relief at Death Scythe's exit than he had at the cessation of his and the professor's dance. It had reminded him of their remedial test against Dr. Stein and the sheer power the man wielded within his wavelength, except it had been even more evident when he resonated with Lord Death's weapon. The air had hummed the entire time with their joint frequency, and it overwhelmed the room with an electric energy that demanded attention.

He was considering asking Maka if she'd watched with her soul perception, curious what such a powerful resonance would look like, but Kilik's voice cutting through the music changed the course of his thoughts.

"Hey, Black Star... Twenty bucks says Death Scythe is waiting for the nutty professor after class," their friend said, elbowing the snickering boy.

"No way!" Black Star replied. "I don't wanna lose my money!"

"Soul," Maka said, and he glanced at her confused expression as her eyes remained on the professor. Soul glanced up to see the man hadn't moved since sitting down and his half-lidded gaze remained on the closed door. "What are they talking about?"

"Come on guys," Tsubaki said quietly, leaning down to lower her voice. "That's not really respectful."

"I'll take that bet," Soul piped up, walking the few steps to join them.

"All right!" Kilik said, giving him a high five.

"I don't get it," Maka said, frowning.

Black Star and Kilik looked from Maka to one another and then struggled to stifle guffaws. Behind them, Kid, who had resumed dancing with Liz and Patty, was shaking his head and had adopted a mildly perturbed frown.

"Your lack of respect for soul resonance disgusts me."

Soul could just see Harvar nodding in agreement a little further from the group, also having resumed dancing with Ox. He schooled his face into something that gained a look of approval from the young reaper, though the warning was still present, and he turned away from his fellow conspirators to attempt to refocus.

"Soul, I don't understand," Maka continued. "Why would they bet on whether or not Papa is waiting for Professor Stein?"

Soul stared at her frustrated, genuinely confused expression for a moment. How could she not understand? Or perhaps she didn't want to.

He sighed and offered her his hand again, and she closed the distance between them. He ignored the rush he felt when her hand rested atop his shoulder and stepped back into time with the music—a jazz piece now to which they easily found a rhythm.

"Soul?"

He sighed and glanced at their joined hands.

"The same reason your old man doesn't want to see us dancing."

"Huh?"

Soul looked back up and grinned as he spun her away, following the music, and reached out for her soul with his.