Soul tapped the keys experimentally. Was that the right chord? Soul played another bar from the song laid out in front of him, and then he took a pen lying against the score and replaced one note with another. Just a few more bars now…

A shuffle interrupted his thought. Soul turned to glare at his little red nuisance, who had been sitting in the high-backed chair in the corner of the room, looking absolutely bored with his oversized head propped on one hand. At least the imp had been quiet thus far—a rare but unwasted opportunity.

Soul hunched over the piano once more. He wasn't sure quite when he began to travel to the Black Room in his sleep, and he didn't know the last time the imp had shut his mouth long enough to allow Soul to finish more than a few bars at a time. He had been writing this song for a while now, ever since Maka's battle with the Clown and his discovery of her preference for G. Tonight he would finish it.

Soul woke up at three a.m. with a triumphant grin. He had done it.

Getting up, he stretched and ambled toward the kitchen. He didn't bother to turn on any lights; he knew the path by heart. Opening the fridge, he drank some milk straight from the carton, hoping Maka wouldn't wake up and catch him. Imagine how he jumped when he shut the fridge door and found her standing next to him.

"M-Maka? What's up?" he asked, taking in her drooping eyes and apparent drowsiness. She smiled a tiny smile, and Soul realized she wasn't quite awake yet.

"I thought I heard…" She yawned mid-sentence. "… a piano?"

Typical Maka, Soul thought, and he smirked. The expression seemed to perk his partner's interest, and she raised a sleepy eyebrow. Taking her hand in his—how tiny it felt against his larger palm—Soul led her to the living room, and she followed obediently, not awake enough to question his motives. Soul sat on the couch, pulling her down beside him, and patted his lap welcomingly. Maka sighed as she repositioned herself, her head pillowed on his leg. No doubt she was preparing a question. Soul took a moment to wrap her in an afghan, tucking her in to make sure she was warm.

"Now go to sleep," he commanded, trying to look stern. He smiled when she giggled, wiping her eyes with a hand. She looked so damn cute doing that….

"Why am I going to sleep here?" she asked playfully, although she was nodding off already. "You're not planning something, are you?"

"Of course I'm planning something, but you're not going to find out what it is until you go to sleep." Soul made a show of closing his eyes and pretending to snore, and when he snuck a glance to see if she was watching, he saw that she was stubbornly pursing her lips. Then the stubbornness passed, tiredness won, and she fell asleep.

Pleased as he was to have his meister resting on his lap, her face devoid of any stress and relaxed as an infant's, Soul had no trouble joining her. After all, three a.m. is not a cool time to be awake.

Maka stared at her surroundings: black and white tiles, red velvet curtains, the skipping record player (which, now, had fallen silent). Then she glanced down at herself. Her hair was down, and she was not wearing the black dress she usually wore in the Black Room, but in her simply designed, ice blue nightgown. How had she gotten here? "What's going on…?"

"You're dreaming," Soul explained, appearing suddenly behind her. He was still in his pajamas, too—at least, in his pajama pants, apparently having lost his shirt sometime during the night. Maka blushed slightly, not because she could see his scar or his abs (although the view was excellent, she had to admit), but because she had bought those pants he was wearing the same day she had bought this nightgown. The blue matched exactly.

"Dreaming?" she asked, looking around again, this time noting the rather prominent position of the grand piano and the apparent absence of the red imp, Soul's "little oni."

"Hmm, he must be giving us some privacy," Soul muttered, following her gaze. Then he took both of her hands in his, gently leading her toward the piano. "I wasn't sure this would work, but I needed to show you something. It seems that when our bodies sleep in close proximity, our souls can share a dream. You and Ox could probably figure out the mechanics, but all I'm interested in is the results."

"… you're confusing me, Soul," Maka said, allowing herself to be lowered onto the end of the piano bench. She watched as Soul sat down beside her, sliding back the cover to reveal the smooth ivory keys. As her partner flipped through a scorebook leaning against the piano, Maka realized that Soul looked just as distinguished in his pajama pants as he did in his pinstriped suit. He had that same expression he always wore when sitting at a piano—a mixture of open adulation and guarded respect. He tapped a key once, and Maka recognized it as her key—the note G.

Soul tossed her one of his trademark smirks. "Ready?" She nodded, eager as she always was to hear her partner play, and Soul raised both hands theatrically over the piano keys.

His hands dove into the melody, instantly bringing the huge instrument to life with a lively, haunting, dramatic, dark song—how could she describe it? It was insane, and it resonated within her. It sounded much like his usual improvisation, yet there was something different, something wild and strong and vibrant beneath those chords, something that caused the blood to rise beneath her cheeks. Watching Soul, whose face looked eerily calm in face of this impassioned playing, Maka wondered if he experienced these emotions. Then she smiled; of course he felt this. He had written this piece. How she knew that wasn't important; she needed only to hear it and revel in her partner's talent.

Just then Soul hit G, and held it. Maka could not breath again until he released the key, switching to a melody with an equally quick pace but a mellower tone. Soul glanced at her with a secret smile, and Maka could have laughed—this sudden switch was so much more playful from his usual piano! It reminded her of grass and summer and playing basketball with Black Star and the gang. She could have hummed along, except she was afraid to ruin the perfection of the piece, so she settled for listening, memorizing the sounds.

Again, just as Maka settled into the new melody, Soul used G once more to transition into a new section. His song slowed considerably, and the notes became irresistibly sweet as they hung in the air. He held each key just long enough to allow her to hear all of its beauty, and each note felt, to her, as if it had been drawn from her own heart. This new melody was so peaceful, so saturated with contentment, so directly in contrast with Soul's usual maddened playing, that she had difficulty with the idea that he was the one playing it. What had possessed him to write this?

However Soul had written this, Maka knew it had changed him. When he looked up at her again, his smile looked gentler than she had seen it in a long time. What had gotten into him?

Oh. Maka realized two things at once. One, her face was wet with tears. Two, she knew Soul's inspiration. The thing that had gotten into him… was her.

The song ended with a flourish, and the note that hung in the air was so familiar that it made Maka answer Soul's questioning smile with her own. Maka didn't know how long she could have stared at her piano player, her partner and weapon, her best friend, but as Soul slowly bent his face toward hers, she realized that staring might not be what she wanted most to do.

That was when the oni returned.

In a move so unexpected that neither Maka nor Soul could react fast enough to stop him, the oni wrapped his fingers around Maka's waist and lifted her right off the piano bench. Maka screamed instinctively, clawing at the giant fingers grasping her. She stared at the imp, who had—somehow—grown several times larger than his usual self, now taller than Soul when he stood, and significantly wider due to the fact that the imp retained his poorly proportioned body through this sudden, inexplicable expansion.

"Soul, what's happening?!"

"Maka!" Soul yelled back, and she realized he was caught between sitting and standing, straining toward her—but he could not move his hands, which were now shackled to the piano with a pair of blood-red manacles. Maka stared at the manacles, trying to figure out when the hell those got there, anger rising in her like white heat off the Nevada desert. How dare anyone touch her weapon!

Apparently, Soul felt likewise. "Don't you dare touch my tech, you poor excuse for a—what the hell are you doing?!"

Maka felt the oni's fingers suddenly squeezing her torso, his clutch becoming such a choking pressure that she had trouble breathing. "Maka!!"

Then Maka passed out.