AN: I'm experimenting with a much more clipped style of writing in this story. It's something a lot of my favorite Soul Eater writers do, and I think it works really well for handling fluff in all series. So!—bear with me. :)

This story will come in four parts (collect them all!): Beginning, Middle, End, and Epilogue/Resonance. It follows the progession of Maka and Soul's relationship through the five senses and then through soul resonance. Not too difficult to follow, right? ;P This chapter narrates the very beginning of Maka and Soul's partnership…So light fluff on this one.

Disclaimer: Really? You think I own Soul Eater? Boy, are you out of the loop…

In the beginning, there was…

Sound

She hears him—knows the struggle in his soul—before she meets him. The devious melody, sharp and dark and oddly compelling, is bursting-full and blooming with insanity. And yet she is drawn to it—the wavelengths of sound curling perfectly inside her ear, meandering through her subconscious and beckoning to her soul.

Adrenaline sings in her veins as she opens the doors to the piano room, smiling calmly to herself. As expected…

Alone and safe in the sanctuary of his song, he pays little mind to the sound of the opening door, waiting for whoever it is to retreat.

The door bangs softly shut and the melody continues with famous indifference.

And yet…

It is the footsteps that disarm him—confident footsteps that advance towards him, instead of scurrying away.

After that, their spoken introductions feel somewhat unnecessary.

Sight

He has to admit, she isn't much to look at—impossibly small and slight, hair a washed-out color of grayish-blonde, and no curves to speak of. But there's a certain impossible stubbornness in the way she holds her thin shoulders, the way she insists on wearing her school uniform—complete with too-big boots—to this formal occasion. And there's something else as well—a sort of child-like clarity of motive in her surprised but friendly smile.

It's all he can do not to laugh aloud—she's such a contradiction. All that escapes is the wolfish grin.

Her wide, brilliant green eyes are the only really intense feature about her. They regard him with mild curiosity, intelligence. She seems to memorize him.

For her part, she finds him…curious. Everything about him—from his messily-spiked white hair to his 1930s-era pinstriped suit—gives off an air of complete coolness. He's like a riddle she can't solve—amused and waiting and frustrating in his total nonchalance. Tired scarlet eyes half-lidded, lips curving over shark-like teeth, he regards her like an old friend, seeming to say, So you finally showed up…

She can't help but like him.

And yet she doesn't miss the way—dispite the habitual slouch of his shoulders—his entire body is tensed; and he doesn't forget the look of trepidation that crosses her bright eyes as they reach out to shake hands.

Touch

When their hands touch, it's as if some unspoken test has been passed. The tension seems to ease out of Soul's body and the apprehension from Maka's eyes. This is going to be alright.

Both their hands are calloused, and though Soul's hand seems to cover more of Maka's, hers are warm. It's such an overused, inconsequential gesture. And yet it means the world to them.

When he's in scythe-form, she can feel his heartbeat in her hands—its quick doki doki rhythm—beneath warm metal. It's from this tempo—as it speeds up and slows down—that Maka orchestrates their fights and tunes into for the will to go on when injury or doubt tell her otherwise. Her hands tighten around the part of the staff that is his chest as determination surges through them both, making them giddy.

His first Maka-Chop isn't nearly as cool.

Smell

When Soul first moves into the little apartment, he brings with him the smell of boy. It isn't entirely unpleasant—just strange and foreign—and when it (inevitably) begins to cling to the rest of house, it becomes the smell of home.

The bathroom, though, belongs to Maka. Though she's not particularly girly by any stretch of the imagination, she still has her moments. She likes to buy flowery-smelling handsoaps and shampoos with such ridiculous names that it makes Soul cringe just to read them, and nearly kills him when he forgets to buy his own and has to borrow hers. (An unending source of glee for BlackStar, who—hypocritically—lets Tsubaki buy him his everything.) But he'll admit begrudgingly that it smells alright on Maka.

The only smell that they're both comfortable with is that of meals. Maka's the better cook, of course. They figured that out within the first week.

Taste

To be fair, it's difficult to know how to cook when you're used to having food served to you by servants. But Maka has no sense of pity.

He's practically having heart palpations when he sets the plates down on the table and calls her in. He'd experienced his first several Maka-Chops the day before, and isn't really sure how much more internal bleeding he can stand in such a short time period.

Maka wanders into the kitchen with her nose in a book, not bothering to looks down at the charred, lumpy mass on the plate as she lifts it to her mouth.

The first bite sends her to the bathroom. Soul decides not to touch his own. He wonders, as he searches for a hiding place, if they'll both have to survive on pre-kishin souls.

Then again, it's one of those things you have to acquire a taste for…

AN: Reviews would be very much appreciated. :3