Disclamer: I don't own Soul Eater. If I did, I would be out making this a reality, not writing about it. ;D
Warning: Spoilers.
AN:
"Tamashii no Kyōmei"—Resonance of the Souls.
Kyōmei is from the verb Kyōmei suru which has two meanings:
1) Resonance
2) Sympathy
So, Tamashii no Kyōmei can also be read as "Sympathy of the Souls." That's part of the inspiration for this story.
The other part comes from episode 50 of the anime, when Soul is consumed by insanity and Maka has to rescue him the little box he's locked his "true self" in. This is a bit of a retelling of that segment, I suppose. :)
His fingers crash against the piano keys, crawling along a black and white path without a plan. And all there is is the breaking waves of sharp chords over the boiling melody. The signature wolfish grind spreads across his lips.
He plays the song for battle. He plays the song they call his talent—their strength.
"But it ain't strength, is it, Soul Eater Evans?" croons the little red imp. "Not really. It's something different."
The melody grows darker, louder. He mutters at the creature not to call him that.
The imp chuckles delightedly, and his burglar eyes grow wider as he leans in towards the pianist boy. "But you can't go not naming things, mate. 'Cause it knows your name, Evans, and it's gonna eat you alive."
The boy's fingers freeze midair, the shivering dissonance of a wrongly-struck note hanging thickly in the air. And his eyes are going wide as he realizes that he can't move—can't breathe. Limbs tremble as the black-tar blood forces its way though his veins uncalled.
It squeezes through the valves in his heart, cutting short the flutter-flutter panic rhythm. The darkness creeps behind his eyelids and all he is black.
No piano. No imp. No Soul.
Just a box: a tiny little that could fill up the universe. And the lingering metallic smell of something yet unnamed.
Goddammit. Goddammit all.
~*~
It might be seconds, it might be millennia, but look now—somewhere there is a girl with green eyes. She is talking with the Devil, a thing made all in shades of gray, like piano keys running together.
And the girl is the key and in her hand she holds the box/universe with the little-bird heartbeat. The Devil is asking her to open it, asking her to give him life—save him—asking her to be Pandora.
But the girl is Maka; Maka is clever.
And yet she opens the damn box.
~*~
There is no such thing as darkness until light comes to tell it what it is. Ad so there is nothing but nothing and the unnamed thing smothering what's left of a heartbeat until the candlelight flicker of another soul wavers far ahead.
Out of the dust and darkness and past it floats nearer and nearer…Until it's close—so close—he can almost feel the breath of it whisper across his forehead. And he's reaching out his fingers, straining to grasp hers—to grasp hope.
Their souls are barely touching when the wave of black surrounds them like the evening tide.
~*~
It's quiet inside that space with two souls, the rest of the world shut out; dark, but not like before. And the silence is not long.
"Soul?"
His name.
"Soul, how did we get here?"
We? That wasn't right…
"I'm not strong enough."
The brush of something light and warm, the sensation of being watched by penetrating green eyes.
"But you don't need to be."
It's more definite now. He can trace the rounded outline of her jawbone, half-obscured in shadow.
Her lips curve sweetly into a smile. "We're going to get stronger together."
Together.
He shrinks away from the warmth of her soul—retreats back into the coolness of insanity where shame isn't ugly. Where guilt doesn't exist.
But there's still Maka. Always Maka.
"Soul?"
What if he can't protect her? What if she dies and it's his fault? How could he do that to her?
"Soul…You know, that's why there's two of us, right?"
What?
"You don't have to be afraid. I know."
Something shatters inside him, snapped and splintering like glass. Fear. The thing has a name.
The shadows gradually drift away, like thick fog rolling off of a hilltop, and he's back in the piano room, smartly dressed. Maka stands across from him.
"You don't need to be afraid," she repeats, extending a hand like she did the day they'd become partners—that same little girl smile and all.
A grin flashes across Soul Eater's face. How stupid.
He ignores her hand and pulls her into a rough hug, not letting go even after her laughs and protest end. And holding her so close to his chest, he can feel her heart beat. It is a surprisingly strong, resolved.
His is there as well.
And their two heartbeats—juxtaposed—drum in a contrary rhythm that make his fingers itch for the piano keys. His mind is far away, but those fingers compose a song.
He thinks it shall be a piece in G.
AN: I have an…unusual style of writing when I allow myself. I hope it wasn't terribly unclear or difficult to follow. I did sort of choose flow over proper English grammar. My intent was to make it read like a dream. Or Soul's insanity.
Reviews would be gratefully welcomed!—when I don't get any feedback I end up assuming that I've done terribly. D: