AN: Yeah. Not sure how I feel about this story but it was bouncing around in my head after I finished the anime and I couldn't concentrate on anything else until I finished it. So, apologies for the lack of flow and general word vomit and please review so that I can improve. Thank you! :)

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There is a girl, with spring season eyes and moonlight hair and an angel-winged soul who laughs without fear and wields courage like the scythe of Death.

There is a boy, with ink colored blood and steel bones and a shark toothed smile who devours souls and has madness singing harmonies in his veins.

Her name drips off the tongue like honey: Maka. His name flares bright truths and subtle fears: Soul Eater.

There's a kind of terrible beauty in their concord, a meeting of souls so unalike yet so complementary as to be preordained.

Surely it cannot last, not with his piano fingers playing tragic rhythms to the demon laughing in his ear, not with her battered and broken trust in the dependability of the opposite sex.

But it does.

Maka, after all, enjoys the eerie and haunting lullabies his spirit plays and Soul, after all, wears his reliability in the stitches running rampant down his chest.

It's a potent kind of give and take, her innocence and determination and ferocity against his aloofness and loyalty and force of will and yet the ethereal bonds that link them are stronger than any metal.

And it works for them, a friendship blossoming and cultivating between swings of a blade that can speak, souls that can lose their edges of beginning of end, shared secrets in a dark, secluded room with jazz music twining through the air like smoke.

And then:

He notices her, the gentle curve of her spine when she's bent over a book, the fall of her hair over slender shoulders, the slim, pale ribbons of her thighs beneath the fingers of her skirt.

And then:

She notices him, the jeweled sparkle of his eyes, the sharp, attractive angle of his jaw when he's looking away, the easy manner he carries himself, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his jacket.

Suddenly feelings change, morph into something deeper and more meaningful and words start to carry hidden meanings and glances start to spirit the very breath away and the divide between hearts becomes lesser and lesser.

Soul says: I'm not good for you. In his head he thinks of dark liquid creeping up her lily-white skin, swallowing her whole, emerald eyes losing their fearsome glitter until there is nothing of her former glory left.

Maka says: You're more than that. In her head she thinks of the whistle of a blade, blood scattering the floor like so many tears, terror and fear and sorrow, deeper than any pain she's ever felt, burning their way through her body.

It's an uphill struggle, and they take their fair share of bruises and scrapes and scars, stubbornness and obduracy trying to prevent things like love from forming. But there are cracks, weak spots, and ardor and fervor find handholds to grasp and footholds to cling to.

There are no secrets between them. She can read the boundaries of his soul like so many of her books and he can hear the passions beneath her words like a melody.

The first time they kiss is a trembling, hushed sigh of hope. It's the barest whisper of a half formed dream. It's the tender brush of wings of a wish held in cupped hands. It is everything and more.

She wonders later how her soul didn't rise up out of its cocoon of blood and skin and bones and drift away to heaven right then. He wonders later how she didn't hear the cacophony of beating and thumping and pounding that was his heart against his ribs.

And it goes on, murmurs and touches and looks beneath sooty lashes building a world so lovely and radiant and enchanting even the stars turn their luminous heads to stare.

It's a kind of paradise neither ever expected. It's a happiness that fills them to the brim, warm sunshine from their fingertips, smiles so bright they could outshine the heavens, and they almost glow with it, their skin and eyes and souls radiant with this joy.

Late one night, they experience another kind of give and take, gentle sounds and touches and sighs full of the promise smoldering in every movement they make. Soul can hear the captivating, poignant symphony in the ways they shift their bodies together and Maka can see the dazzling pulse of their resonating souls as they hold one another, a dance so elegant and beautiful she never wants to look away.

They are tied to one another, gossamer threads connecting their hands and hearts and spirits even when they are not together. They are a myriad of opinions and thoughts and manners and yet they are one and the same, two puzzle pieces fitting perfectly together. The essence of Soul is Maka, the essence of Maka is Soul.

The day they are married is a moment full of promise and happiness and love, the gilded cage of brevity and mortality swinging open, because they're not joining bodies made up of impermanence, but souls and this is eternal, enduring, bliss.

And then:

There is a boy, with hair the color of purity and jade-stone eyes and a grin wider than the moon who hears music in the voices of souls and wears bravery like a splendid cloak of stars.

fin.

AN2: I didn't really proofread this, so please let me know if you find any errors so I can correct them!