The following Tuesday found Maka seated once again in Marie's office between classes. However, their chatter had nothing to do with idle gossip, and everything to do with the delicate thread on which her future was suddenly hanging. Marie was savoring a cup of coffee, and Maka had accepted a mug out of politeness, but it was currently cooling on the desk; she had no idea how Marie could stand to drink coffee in this heat.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was auditioning," Maka said. "I didn't want anybody to know and then pity me if I got rejected."

Marie waved her off with a smile. "Nonsense. Every girl has the right to a secret or two!"

Maka nodded, but looked down at her lap where her fingers were tapping rapid-fire against her thighs. "Still, it felt weird not sharing it with you."

"That's understandable," she said. "Now, did you do your own choreography?"

"No. I went with the jazz routine we designed for the Christmas program two years ago."

Marie nodded, sipping at her coffee. "That was a wonderful choice, Maka!"

"I thought it would be better to stick with something I knew already rather than risking something new that I couldn't even run past you before I gambled on it," Maka explained.

Marie nodded. "Understandable."

She sighed, and looked down again. "I guess it didn't really pay off, though. If it weren't for Dr. Stein, I'd be screwed."

"I doubt that. There's always next year, after all."

Maka shook her head. "No, the big issue they had with me was how old I am, and I'm only going to get older. If I'm going to do this, I have to do it now."

Marie frowned thoughtfully. "You may be right, you are getting on in years to be starting a professional career. Still, I would think those old windbags at DCCFFA would take into account talent alone. It's pure foolishness to ignore how gifted you are, Maka."

"Well, they did, and my only chance now is giving a great performance this November. How do I do that?" she asked. "How can I prove that I'm worth taking a chance on? I mean… Marie, he's your husband, right? What do I do to impress him?"

Setting aside her cup and saucer with a soft clink of china, Marie leaned her chin on her palm, staring up at the ceiling as she pondered this.

"Well, that's a tricky question, because Frank has a bit of an unorthodox approach to performance. He was a late bloomer too, you know." She smiled fondly, eyes going soft as she rubbed absently at her wedding band. "He earned his medical degree by the time he was twenty—"

"That doesn't sound like a late bloomer to me," Maka said skeptically.

Marie gave her what she probably thought was an annoyed look for the interruption, but it mostly just came across as mild amusement. "Yes, but once he had become a doctor, he decided he wanted to return to dancing. That was how we met, actually. I was volunteering with a community theater group, he was getting some amateur performance experience…" She had that dreamy look in her eyes again.

It was sweet to hear Marie's recounting of her love story, and at any other time Maka would have been starry-eyed and delighted to hear every word, but right now, she was too wound up to really appreciate it. "So is that why he gave me a chance, then?" she pressed. "Because he was in the same position once?"

"I suppose it must be," Marie said. She shook herself, focusing back on Maka after a few moments. "Oh, but you were wanting to know how to impress him. Well, obviously you'll need to polish up your technique. That goes without saying. Don't allow yourself to feel any inhibitions."

"No inhibitions, right." She could do that, right? It was basically just a matter of shedding fear and letting yourself get lost in the art. "What else?"

"Above all, I would say not to let down your guard on your duet with Kit."

That was surprising. "Oh?" she asked.

Marie nodded firmly. "Your solo is important, of course. You have to be able to hold your own. But partner dance is also critically important to any performance career, and despite how he seems, Frank values partner dance enormously. He would probably say it was just technical appreciation, but I think it's his sentimentality showing through."

Privately, Maka was doubtful that the blunt, clinical man she'd met had much room for sentimentality, but Marie of course knew him better, so she set aside her skepticism. "Alright, so technique, lose my inhibitions, and focus on perfecting my duet."

Marie nodded firmly. "Just your solo might be enough to impress him, but I wouldn't gamble on it. He has high standards."

If Frank Stein had high standards, Maka thought, then clearly the rest of the DCCFFA admissions board must have impossible ones.

Soul was having a minor meltdown over whether or not lighting candles was appropriate. On the one hand, with candles lit, they could have the lights off for movie night without risking death by stubbed toes. But on the other hand, candles sort of automatically set a romantic mood, and he wasn't sure if that was okay. He was fine with that, but he wasn't sure if Maka would be. As far as he knew, she could be viewing this impromptu Netflix-and-takeout evening as a purely platonic friend thing.

Which was fine, right? Being her friend was good— great, even. Wes was always telling him he should make more friends, because he "couldn't have only Harvar as a friend for the rest of his life," apparently. So being friends should be fine. He'd only known Maka for a few months, but he could already tell she was a fantastic friend to everybody she cared about, and if that eventually came to include him, then he would be damn lucky.

Problem with that, though, was that he also really really really wanted to take her out on dates and snuggle with her on the couch on rainy days and violently make out with her in the back of his car like a couple of horny teenagers and whoa, slow down buddy, she probably doesn't even like you like that.

So, back to his current problem, then. Was a casual movie might-be-a-date candle worthy? Or would Maka be weirded out if she came over for a Very Platonic Friendly Evening Of Friendship and he had candles lit all over the place like a slightly less creepy version of the Phantom of the Opera, complete with baby grand in the corner of the living room? He didn't want to make her uncomfortable, but his apartment looked nice by candlelight, and anyway he was never going to get anywhere if he didn't at least try to show her how he felt, and candles would be a subtle way to set a mood, a nice slow start so he could build up to the scary stuff, definitely more subtle than trying to grope her without finding out if she even—

The knock at the door interrupted his train of thought and he jumped.

Shit. No more time to decide, then. Impulsively, he lit the cinnamon jar candle sitting in the center of the coffee table, threw the lighter behind the couch, and scrambled for the door.

As he grabbed the door handle, he realized belatedly that maybe it would have been a good idea to shove his ginormous stack of shoes into the closet instead of leaving them lying around by the door. Well, there went his opportunity to impress Maka with his ability to make his house look like an actual grown-ass adult lived there.

When he opened the door, she was standing there with a white plastic sack with a little yellow happy face on it in her hands and a smile to match.

"Hi!" she chirped, and his heart did a funny little thing that in any other situation he would have assumed meant he should probably go to the emergency room. Seriously, how the hell could she be so adorable in a floppy sweater and messy pigtails? Then again, the answer to that question was kind of self-evident, but still. Christ, he'd only known this girl for four months and he was having heart palpitations at the sight of her?

His life was morphing into a disgustingly cliche pop ballad.

"Um… Soul?"

"Huh?"

She was looking at him like she thought he might be a little funny in the head. "Are you okay? You kinda spaced there."

He blinked. Shit. "Yeah, fine. Just… have some stuff on my mind."

"If you say so. Can I come in?"

"Oh. Shit. Yeah." He stepped back and let her pass, shutting the door behind her. While he was still kicking himself for being an awkward human shitstain, she found her way to the kitchen and started unpacking the carry-out boxes.

"You know, you didn't have to bring food," he said. "We could have gotten delivery."

She shrugged. "I live two doors down from a pretty good Chinese place, it was quicker just to stop. I brought a variety, since I wasn't sure what you like."

"I'll eat pretty much anything, honestly. I'm not too pic— is that shrimp with lobster sauce?"

That sunshine grin that made his knees go all wobbly appeared on her face. "You said you liked seafood, so I took a calculated risk."

"You are the best ever," he said reverently, and just about fell over at how much brighter her smile grew at that.

"I'm really glad you suggested this," she said as they divvied up the egg rolls and fried rice. "I didn't even realize how much I needed a break until you invited me over."

He nodded. "I noticed you've been practically living at the studio this entire month," he said, and he wasn't really fishing for information except he kind of was. Something was going on with her, and he was disgustingly hopeful that maybe she'd choose to confide in him.

No such luck, though. She suddenly became very involved in scooping sweet and sour chicken over her rice, avoiding his eyes. "Yeah, I guess I'm a little over-enthusiastic about the recital at the end of November."

"The senior and staff holiday recital, right?"

She nodded. "Is Marie going to have you play?"

"Yeah. Since the auditorium at Centerfield is old as shit and doesn't have an actual sound system, she's giving me double time and a half to be there."

It was kind of ridiculous how happy it made him when she said, "That's good. I've gotten used to dancing to your music. It'd be a shame to have to go back to a crappy stereo."

This crush was going to kill him.

Once they had filled their plates with the variety of sauce-smothered entrees Maka had brought with her, he pointed her in the direction of the living room, and they settled down together on the couch.

"I thought I smelled cinnamon," Maka commented, nodding at the cheerfully-burning candle on the coffee table. "You don't see a lot of guys our age lighting candles in their house."

He would not blush he would not blush he would not blush. "Yeah, well. It's good to have them if the power goes out."

She giggled. "Say what you want, Soul, but I think you just like having a pretty candle that makes your house smell nice."

There went the no-blushing plan. The fact that she was right just made it worse. "Think what you want," he muttered. "Can you just pick a movie already?"

She still had that disgustingly smug little smirk on her face that made him want to kiss her until she was too dizzy to laugh at him anymore, but to his relief, she left it alone. "How about Men In Black?" she suggested

"Never seen it," he said, and popped a chunk of pineapple from the sweet and sour chicken in his mouth.

Maka's eyes went wide with disbelief. "You've never seen Men In Black?" she asked. "How is that possible?"

He swallowed the pineapple and shrugged. "Just never got around to it."

"Well, that's it then, we're watching that, because you can never be a true movie buff until you've seen Men In Black."

"Who says I even want to be a movie buff?" Soul grumbled, but Maka, who had taken the remote hostage and was happily scrolling through the on-demand screens in search of the action listings, either didn't hear or didn't care. Oh well. It was a token protest anyway; he'd heard the MIB films were pretty good.

Once Maka finally found the movie she was looking for, she clicked the purchase button and flopped back on the couch. She munched on an eggroll as the Columbia Pictures fanfare played, but after a few moments and half the eggroll, she looked over at him.

"Your place is nice, by the way," she said. "I didn't realize Marie paid you enough to afford a place like this."

She didn't. He was leaching the interest off his trust fund to make up the rent difference, but at least it was money that was rightfully his, inheritance from his grandparents, and not borrowed from his parents. Besides, like hell was he living in the kind of shithole that was all he could have afforded on the pittance Marie paid him.

But Maka was waiting on a response from him. "I, uh, have other income."

"From where?" she asked. "Another job?"

"Uh, sort of?" If you counted being the family disappointment as a job, anyway.

Her eyes narrowed. "Do you sell drugs or something?"

"What?! No!"

"Sounds like something a drug dealer would say."

He was definitely kind of maybe panicking a little bit. Somewhat. Slightly. She might just be teasing him, but if she wasn't… If he lost his chance with the girl of his dreams because she thought he was selling speed to teenagers, he was going to have to drown himself in his bathtub because at that point he would just be too pathetic to live. Okay, Soul, be cool. Talk her down with logic.

"Seriously, Maka, an albino guy peddling crack? That's gotta be the least-inconspicuous thing ever. I'd be begging for a search warrant," he said, and he almost managed to keep his voice from squeaking.

"Wait, so you actually are albino? I couldn't tell if this—" She waved a hand in his general direction. "—was some kind of new wave scene kid thing or not."

He was pretty sure he should be offended. "Nope. 100% all-natural freak genes."

She frowned at him. "Don't say that, you're cute. The albino thing just adds some color. Metaphorically speaking, of course," she added with a wink.

Soul's brain pretty much shorted out at the words you're cute, and if you asked him later, he'd have to confess that he still hadn't really seen Men In Black, because he spent the entire rest of the movie in a happy daze.

Maka was just fastening the straps on her shiny black character shoes when she heard the distinct clearing of a throat. She looked up from her seat and, seeing Kit standing a few feet away, gave him a broad smile.

"Hey, Kit!" she said. "I'm glad you're here early, we really need to... to… Kit? Is everything alright?" The smile slid off her face as she got a closer look at her partner's expression; the grim set of his mouth and his troubled eyes made her nervous.

He shook his head slowly. "No, I'm afraid not," he said. "Maka… my dad is sick. Really sick."

"Oh god, Kit," she breathed. "What's— I mean, is he—?"

"I don't know. The doctors don't—" He swallowed hard. "He collapsed last night. His secretary found him and…" He sighed, wringing his hands distractedly. "Something with his heart, they think, but they have to run more tests. Azusa wasn't very clear. Maka, I need to go to him. I have a flight back to Nevada tonight."

"When will you be back?" Maka asked, and immediately afterwards wanted to go back in time and staple her mouth shut.

He looked at her, still with that lost look in his eyes. "I don't know. Someone's going to have to run the company until he— until he recovers." She didn't miss the trip of his tongue, that uncertainty, that question of whether there would even be a recovery, and it made her hate herself just a little bit more for the selfish thoughts she was having.

"You won't be back in time, right?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. But I just can't… Maka, you understand, right?" he asked pleadingly, looking so helpless and desperate it broke her heart. And she did understand, which somehow made it worse.

"Of course. Your family has to come first," she said, and was relieved to know that she meant it. How could she not? She'd been in the same situation not so long ago, and she might be selfish, but she wasn't short on empathy.

Kit nodded. "Thank you, Maka. I'm so sorry to leave you in the lurch, but—"

He broke off sharply, and she suspected that he didn't want her to hear the waver in his voice. Kit was like that. He felt things deeply, but he preferred to express his feelings verbally rather than through emotional displays. She gave him a watered-down smile and opened her arms slightly, inviting a hug.

He dove into her arms fast enough that it surprised her. He clutched her around the shoulders, holding on tight. She hugged him back a little awkwardly, since he was more or less pinning her arms to her side with how tightly he was holding onto her.

"It's okay," she said, patting his back lightly. "I get it. Take care of your dad, it's more important."

Kit nodded against her shoulder, then stepped back, taking a deep, cleansing breath. He squared his narrow shoulders and raised his head. "I'll keep you posted, if I think I might be back in time—"

She shook her head. "No, no, don't worry about me. It's just a recital, right?" The words burned in her throat.

He gave her a skeptical look, like he knew she had no backup plan and was just saying it to make him feel better. If that was what he was thinking, he was entirely correct, but that was a shitty thing to actually say to somebody whose dad was sick, maybe dying.

"Go home, Kit," she said. "You still need to pack, right? That'll take you awhile, I know you're really particular about getting that right."

He gave a single bark of laughter, and looked a little caught off guard by it, as if surprised that he currently had the capacity to laugh. "Thank you for understanding," he said. "I wish you the best of luck."

"Thanks, Kit."

Maka watched him turn, and followed him with her eyes as he left the studio floor. She watched the silk curtain that separated the changing rooms from the practice space flutter back down into place behind him, holding her breath as she heard the door shut— softly, carefully— and the rhythmic sound of Kit's light tread on the squeaky stairs.

It was only once she heard the jingle of the bell that hung inside the street front door that she buried her face in her hands and let out a scream of frustration that she barely bothered to muffle into the over-long sleeves of her sweater. She slumped back against the mirror, not caring that she was probably smearing it, and slid down onto the floor.

This is it, she thought numbly. This is the end of it all.

It was the end of her dream, for real this time. She still had her solo dance, of course, but Dr. Stein wasn't going to put a bug in the admissions board's ear just for proving she could dance well on her own. She'd already proven that much. She needed to prove she could work with a partner, too. Marie had said so.

She leaned her head back against the mirror with a thunk, staring up at the copper-green ceiling blankly, her wrists resting limply on her folded knees, just breathing and trying not to think.

Maka wasn't sure how long she'd been sitting there when another set of footsteps intruded on her silence.

"Hey, sorry I'm late, I got a little caught up in… traffic? Um… Maka? Are you okay?"

She looked up at Soul, who had his music bag over his shoulder, looking at her with curious concern.

"Not really," she said. "Kit's dad is sick, he's gotta go out of state to… to deal with family stuff, and…"

"And he's not gonna be back in time, is he?" Soul guessed, staring down at her with that perfectly neutral expression she was too familiar with.

Maka nodded. "I feel so selfish, thinking about that when he's got such serious stuff going on. What kind of horrible person worries about their own problems in a situation like this? He was apologizing to me and I—"

"Hey, stop, it's not selfish!" he interrupted, plopping down on the floor beside her, just close enough that his thigh brushed hers. "You're allowed to feel bad, you know? You were looking forward to this recital."

"It's not just that," she mumbled. "My entire future was hanging on how this recital goes."

He stared at her. "Huh?"

"I didn't want to tell anybody in case nothing came of it, but you remember how I auditioned to get back into the conservatory back in September?"

Soul nodded.

"Well, I didn't get in. But Marie's husband is a professor there so he knew we had this recital coming up and he, um, said that if I could impress him next month he'd get the admissions board to reconsider my application."

"Whoa."

"Yeah," Maka said bitterly, "it was nice of him. But without a partner, my ballroom set's going to have to be taken off the program, and with only my solo there's no way I'll be able to…" She sighed and left it hanging. Soul would get the picture. He was good at reading between the lines.

There was a moment of silence, and then Soul said the last thing she would have ever expected to hear from him: "You know, I… uh… I used to take ballroom dance lessons."

She whipped around, staring at him with wide green eyes. "You what?"

He rolled his shoulders awkwardly, avoiding her eyes by staring at his lap. "My family's kind of… well, they've got a lot of money, and when I was growing up I was kinda raised into that. A gentleman's education, they called it." Even without the eye roll, Maka would have been able to tell just from his inflection what he thought of that concept.

"Part of that was ballroom lessons," he continued. "For like eight years. I mean, I haven't danced since I was 16 or something, but I still remember some stuff. So maybe I could stand in for you?"

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, and Maka thought he looked a little bit shy. "I mean, if you'd rather not, that's fine. You and Kit have worked together for a really long time, so I could understand why you might not want to dance with another partner, but I thought, maybe a stand-in would be better than nothing at all, but it's totally okay if you don't—"

"You'd do that for me?"

"Yeah, why not?"

She gaped at him. "But… you hate being on stage, Soul! I thought that's why you decided not to be a professional musician!"

"This is different," he mumbled. "It's not about me, you know? It's about helping you out."

It was hard to tell against his tan complexion, but Maka thought he might be blushing. She was unreasonably pleased by this, for reasons she already kind of knew, but didn't want to think about right now. There were other things to think about— like getting her severely out-of-practice partner back in the swing of things in time for this to make a difference.

"Come on, Soul," she said. "We've got work to do.

"Jesus Christ, Soul, move your sloth ass and pick up your feet!"

The only effect Kim's shouting had was to distract Soul, resulting in him fumbling and stepping on her toes. Maka yelped in surprise and pain and pushed him away as he muttered apologies.

"Dammit, Kim, can you maybe not be so goddamn loud?" he groused.

"You've got three weeks 'til the curtain rises, buddy-boy," the ballroom instructor said. "Doing a favor to Maka's all well and good, but if you can't at least make it look good, you're hurting her more than you're helping her."

For a whole tenth of a second, Maka saw a stricken look in Soul's eyes before he shut down and went back to glowering at Kim. "Well, maybe if I didn't have somebody bitching at me every six seconds, I'd be able to concentrate!"

"Yeah, and maybe if you weren't being such a damn jellyfish about it, you guys would've actually made some progress the last couple weeks," Kim snapped.

"It's not my fault!" Soul protested. "It's too fucking fast!"

"It's a quickstep! What the hell d'you expect?"

"GUYS!" Maka interrupted. "If you can't stop bickering for three seconds, then we're gonna have to be done for the day, because I can't stand listening to you anymore!"

Instantly they both looked contrite. "Sorry, Maka," they said in unison, and immediately glared at each other.

She heaved a sigh, running a hand through her hair, lifting the long blonde locks up to allow some cooling air to reach the sweaty back of her neck. It had been like this all day. She knew her rehearsals with Soul in these last couple weeks hadn't really been going well, so she'd brought Kim in to spot them and see if she could give them advice to tighten up their performance. So far all that had been achieved so far was Kim and Soul becoming mortal enemies. Progress was at a standstill, and as much as she hated to admit it, Kim was right: Soul was hindering her more than helping her at this point.

That sucked, too, because she really wanted to make this work. She liked Soul, a lot, more than she'd liked anyone in a long time; dancing with him, even just for a little while, felt like it should be an amazing bonding experience. She wanted to share her passion for her art with him, just like he shared his with her every time he sat down at the keyboard.

"I'm totally right, though," Kim said. "The quickstep is such an aerobic dance, and frankly, Soul just doesn't have the stamina for something like this. The leader has to anticipate their partner's movements, but he isn't even managing to lead properly."

Maka let the words sink in, then looked up and met Soul's arresting eyes squarely. "She's right, Soul," she said.

He had that panicked look in his eyes again. "No, Maka, I can do this!"

"Not with the quickstep, you can't," she countered. "Kit and I put that together because it was such a structured dance. Lots of mirroring, which suits his taste pretty well. But it's too fast for you, there's no way you can master this in the time we've got left."

"So what the hell are we supposed to do?" he asked.

We. She liked that. "We'll have to choose a different style, something a little slower so that you can keep up."

The expression on Soul's face was dangerously close to a pout, and it really shouldn't be as cute as it was. "You shouldn't have to slow down just for me," he said, staring at his shoes with embarrassed pink in his cheeks.

"It's okay," she said reassuringly. "It'll be a nice change of pace, right?"

He didn't look entirely pacified, but he seemed to have run out of reasons— or maybe will— to argue. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well, back when you took dance lessons, what styles did you study?"

Soul shrugged. "The waltz. English and Viennese both. And the foxtrot, but I was always really bad at that, even worse than I am at this bullshit."

Maka glanced at Kim, who caught her eye, one eyebrow raised skeptically. Maka shrugged. A Viennese waltz might do the trick… it'd be hard to put together in just three weeks, though, it's one of the most difficult ballroom styles, even if he has studied it before…

"Oh, and I learned to tango," he added as an afterthought. "My dad thought it was too risqué for a teenagers, but my grandmother liked it, so…"

A lightbulb went off in Maka's head. "Argentine or ballroom style?" she asked.

"Little bit of both," he said with a shrug.

Maka had to admit, the idea of dancing something so passionate with Soul was incredibly appealing. A slow smile crept across her face…

"Hey, Kim?" she said, not taking her eyes off Soul's face, "Do you and Jackie have any choreography for an Argentine tango stashed away somewhere?"

Tango, as it turned out, was much more Soul's speed. He insisted that he would do better with a waltz, but Maka refused to change their dance again. If asked, she would have said it was because they were running out of time and that the tango was flashier. Privately, however, it was mostly because she was enjoying the sensuality of the dance. She'd never have been able to pull off a routine like this with Kit, the chemistry would be all wrong. With Soul, however…

He whirled her around and the dance ended with her dipped low, his warm hand supporting her back just inches from the floor and their lips a hairsbreadth apart.

Maka swallowed hard, trying not to get too drawn in by the heat that flared in his eyes. "That was… really great, Soul," she murmured, trying to avoid the fact that their lips were brushing together as she spoke.

He cleared his throat roughly, and with a slight effort, pulled her upright again. "Y-yeah," he said.

It was sweet, really, how flustered he always was every time they danced. Maka had to admit, the best part of the slow burn they had going on was watching Soul get all muddled. They'd have to cross the threshold eventually if they were going to keep spending time together, but the anticipation was made all the more delicious, knowing that he was at least as wound up as she was.

To be fair, the choreography she had picked from Kim and Jackie's selection couldn't be making it easy on him. She'd gone with something a little less athletic than some of the showier tangoes, to account for Soul not really being in dancing shape, but the trade-off for that was that it was a much more intimate, sensual routine.

Clearly trying to play off the awkwardness, Soul forced up a chuckle and said, "Every time you kick your foot between my legs like that I'm convinced you're gonna end up kneeing me in the balls by mistake."

"Oh please. I am a consummate professional," she teased. "If I were going to knee you in the balls, it would be one hundred percent intentional."

"Really reassuring, Maka," he scoffed.

"We've still got work to do," she said, ignoring him. "That last drag was a little slow, and you still need to get more comfortable with the contrapasos. You up for one more go-around?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Might as well. We've only got a week left, right? It'd be good to get in as much practice as possible before the big night."

"No kidding." She really wished he hadn't said anything, because she was trying really hard to focus on the rehearsal bit and not the fact that one way or another, her fate would be decided in just over seven days. "I know I've said it before, Soul, but thank you so much for doing this. It means so much to me."

He waved a casual hand. "Don't worry about it. What are friends for?"

"Friends, right. But seriously, you've taken so much time out of your own practice schedule to… to…" She trailed off, and her stomach iced over as a horrifying thought occurred to her.

"Maka?" he asked, and she guessed some of what she was thinking must have shown on her face.

"Soul, the auditorium doesn't have a sound system!" she said, trying not to panic. "We won't be able to keep using the recording you made! That little stereo doesn't have enough volume!" She pointed wildly at the CD player sitting in front of the mirrors. "And you're the piano player! We can't dance without music, and we can't have music if you don't play, and if you play, you can't dance with me! What the hell are we going to do?!"

Soul grinned. "I think I've got that covered," he said. "What would you say to dancing to a violin…?"

"I still cannot believe you're Soul Evans-as-in-yes-that-Evans," Maka said, eyeing Soul's unnervingly charming older brother as he tightened up his bow and slid over the hair with resin.

"Yeah, that's why I didn't mention it before," Soul said from where he was sitting on the piano bench. "I was trying to get away from that life."

Wes snorted. "If by 'that life' you mean the incredibly privileged upbringing with a superior education, all of your material needs taken care of, access to experiences and luxuries only a tiny number of people are lucky enough to enjoy, and a big brother who loves you despite your broody ways," he said, "then I really don't pity you, little bro."

"Shut up, Wes," Soul groaned.

Maka turned around to look at him. He had shed his pinstripe jacket somewhere backstage and was sitting there in his slacks, the sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled up past the elbow beneath his shiny black vest, and he would have looked amazing… if he didn't also look like he was about to throw up.

"Hey, are you okay?" she asked, concerned. "You're all pale."

He slumped forward, head in his hands. "Yeah, fine," he said unconvincingly. "Just nervous."

"Don't worry about him, Gorgeous," Wes chimed in sweetly. "He always gets like this before a performance. He'll get it together by the time the curtain rises."

"Fuck you," Soul grumbled.

Maka sighed, wrapping her arms around her midriff to grasp her elbows. "Just don't pass out on me," she said. "I'm nervous enough as it is, I don't need to be fretting about you, too." Her solo routine had gone well— spectacularly so, in fact, a very contemporary ballet piece that brought a gratifying lengthy round of applause from the audience— but this dance was the moment of truth.

"Nah, I'm fine. Seriously," Soul said, though he really didn't look it. "I'm just glad we're the last on the program so I don't have to go back to playing after this. Are you fucking ready yet, Wes?"

"Perfectly ready, you're the one holding us up," Wes said merrily.

Soul sent a gesture his way that was most decidedly not part of their choreography, but got to his feet with an expression reminiscent of a man facing a guillotine.

Maka led him out to the center of the stage as Wes took up his cue and began to play. The melody began soft, Latin in flavor just like the dance it was intended to accompany, and Maka could feel Soul's hand relax in hers before she turned to press her back to his chest, their clasped hands extended over their heads as she tucked her face against his shoulder, nose just brushing the skin of his neck.

She waved a hand at Tsugumi, their one-girl tech crew, who immediately began cranking open the curtains. As the curtains slid apart with a slow clatter of metal and a thump of blue fabric, revealing the audience, a spotlight flashed on and exposed the two of them to the crowd. The little trill that signaled that the first step of the dance was about to begin floated from the strings of Wes's violin.

One… two… three… breathe.

Stein found them outside the changing rooms, sharing a bottle of water and laughing as the adrenaline of the performance slowly drained from their systems. Maka felt positively giddy. With or without a favorable review tonight, she had had a fantastic time performing with Soul, and if the wide grin on his face was any indication, he also had managed to have a good time despite his nerves.

"Well well, Miss Albarn."

The deep voice of the professor broke through their dizzy mood and brought Maka back to earth with a sharp impact. She was wary as she turned to face him, but she kept her shoulders back and her head high.

"Dr. Stein," she greeted him, as calmly as she could manage.

He surveyed them coolly, glasses flashing in the glaring fluorescent light. "I was under the impression that your usual dance partner was Darby Mortimer," Stein said.

It wasn't really phrased as a question, but Maka treated it as one. "Kit had a family emergency," she said.

"And so the studio's resident pianist filled in?" His eyes flickered to Soul, who was doing an excellent job of trying to fade into the painted brickwork behind him. "Quite a risky move, don't you think? Taking the stage with someone so green?"

"Not any riskier than missing the chance to show you the real extent of my skill," she challenged.

His expression was difficult to read, and Maka's heart was going at about a thousand miles an hour. She reached behind her to grab Soul's hand, needing the reassurance badly. He squeezed her fingers in reply, and it was exactly what she needed.

"So what did you think?" she asked, meeting his eyes squarely and trying to hide the fact that her knees were trembling.

"I think that you made some very unorthodox choices tonight," Stein said, and Maka's veins froze in a moment of sheer anticipatory terror.

"Lucky for you," he continued, "I have a higher than usual appreciation for the unorthodox."

Her blood started flowing again and she sagged a bit in relief. "So you'll do it?" she asked, somewhat disbelieving. "You'll get me in?"

A genuine smile appeared on Stein's face. "I think DCCFFA would be fortunate to have you as a student, Maka."

She couldn't help it— she shrieked like a little girl and whirled to face Soul, grabbing his shoulders and jumping up and down. He didn't quite join in her jubilant bouncing, but the enthusiasm was clearly infectious as he beamed at her, allowing her to yank him around in her fit of joy.

"Thank you so much!" she squealed. "I couldn't have done it without you!"

"Nah, you'd have pulled it off," he demurred, but his eyes were alive with something blazing and tender. "You're amazing like that."

And she didn't even have to think about it; she leapt up on her toes and kissed him square on the mouth.

Soul's arms came around her and he lifted her up off her feet for a moment, joining in the kiss with an enthusiasm that proved to her that she had most definitely not been reading him wrong all these months. His mouth was soft and warm and tasted like cinnamon gum, and she could feel him smiling against her lips.

Their kiss was chaste compared to the depth of the attraction Maka felt for him, but a few seconds later, she found herself infinitely glad of that when Stein cleared his throat behind them.

Soul jumped in surprise and very nearly dropped her, and Maka let out an indignant squawk as she scrambled to keep her feet.

"I'll be going then," Stein said dryly. "I can see you two have better things to do. Maka, speak to Marie when you get the chance, she can discuss the details of your re-application."

Feeling the heat in her cheeks, Maka nodded, and kept her eyes fixed on Stein and her hands clenched tightly together until he had disappeared around the corner.

Once he was out of sight, however, she turned to face Soul who was, if possible, even redder than she must be at the moment. A few seconds ago the air between them had been ecstatic and affectionate, but Stein had broken the mood, and now things were just awkward.

"So..." she said, trying to prompt him into starting a conversation.

Soul shuffled his feet a little and almost managed to meet her eye as he said, "That's really not how I pictured our first kiss going."

"Been thinking about us kissing a lot, then?" she teased.

"Hey, you started it, not me," he groused.

She reached out again to grab his hands, tugging him closer. He didn't resist, allowing himself to be reeled in, and just like that, the intimate warmth of the atmosphere returned. She let him initiate contact this time, and he leaned in eagerly to find her lips in another soft, sweet kiss. It was still shorter and more chaste than Maka wanted, but maybe that was okay. They'd have time to work their way up to that, after all.

Soul broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against hers in a gesture so affectionate she thought she might have a heart attack right then and there.

"Wanna get coffee sometime?" he asked, looking utterly delighted with his lot in life.

"Wanna go get coffee right now?" she countered, beaming up at him.

"That sounds awesome."

Maka was a pretty cheerful person naturally, but she was fairly certain that if she kept smiling this hard, she was going to break her jaw or something. "Great, just let me get out of this stupid thing and into something a little more weather appropriate," she said. She made to step away, but Soul didn't let go of her hands just yet.

"I dunno," he said, giving her a once-over, "I think you look pretty good in green."

"I'll keep that in mind for future reference," she said with a devious smirk. Slipping her fingers free from his, she sashayed away, biting her lip to muffle her delighted laughter until she was out of his earshot and bubbling with the anticipation of what she hoped would be the first date of many.