Chapter Text
Day 1 : 2 AM [Mangaverse]
Light sound of a rather dark piano piece was echoing throughout their little apartment. Maka roused from her bed with a sigh, the alarm on the nightstand pointed at 02:04 in the morning.
He couldn’t sleep again.
She slipped her feet into the stupid baby-pink fluffy bunny slippers Blair got her and stalked to her partner’s room. Instead of knocking, she opened the door quietly. And yes, there he was, sitting on his bed with his right leg sprouting his scythe keyboard. The light was off, but she could see the slightly paler skin of the scar that bisected his bare chest, eerily bold in the darkened moonlight.
“Hey…”
Soul lifted his head, smiling sheepishly, “Hey… Sorry, did I wake you again?”
Maka returned his smile with a lingering sadness. “It’s okay. I’m supposed to keep you company anyway.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I know,” Maka cut him off. “But I want to. And I know it’s easier for you if I’m here.”
Her weapon smiled sourly. This had happened almost every night since the battle on the moon two months before. Every time the black moon hung in the dark sky, Soul would grow antsy and having trouble sleeping. He'd never told Maka anything, but she knew he had nightmares and had been violently woken up with his scar hurting almost every night. These days, usually around the witching hour when his blood became nearly unbearable, he would play his soul piano to release his wavelength a bit.
He had determined to keep this from Maka, and he had succeeded for the first week. What he didn’t know was Maka also felt his spiked anxieties and his stirred blood thanks to her now greatly extended Soul Perception. They had been linked so strongly that sometimes it was difficult to tell what feeling was whose. She dismissed the first four episodes as her own trauma over the awful battle, but by the fifth she finally realized those weren’t hers.
That was the point where she was awoken by the sound of a broken piano playing, much like this night, but far worse. She had vaguely realized that she didn’t hear the sounds with her ears, but rather felt it in her soul. She had found her weapon in the dark, gritting his own teeth, trying very hard to keep any whimpers from escaping his mouth. His fogged eyes told her he was away in the Black Room; that was the source of the piano sounds.
She had been livid, had been hurt because he had hide something this important from her, suffering alone every night. But she couldn’t stay angry for a minute longer because Soul had been so miserable, clearly still living whatever nightmare he'd been dreaming and whispering apologies to her until five in the morning. She had enveloped him with her own wavelength, holding him tightly until he drifted off to uneasy sleep at six. They stayed that way until almost noon, with her stroking his hair softly while he napped in her embrace. She was very grateful she had Anti-Demon Wavelength, because she could actually help him instead of just helplessly watching him suffer.
They never clearly talked about it. He just endured the pain silently until she found him, and she just embraced him silently until it faded out. It had been a routine for the past two months.
Luckily, Soul did become better. Stein’s red pills did wonders to improve his physical condition. His episodes were not as bad as the first month, and he had found that physically playing his soul piano helped easing the pain and lightening the mind torture, releasing them in the form of sound waves. And so he did, almost every night, playing his keyboard until Maka walked into his room, listening to his playing while hugging him until morning.
Soul scooted over as Maka climbed to his bed and made herself comfortable behind him. Her hands snaked to his waist while she snuggled to his back, burying her face in his shoulder. Soul let out a contented sigh before playing a piece he started to write the night after the battle.
It was titled Salve Maria. A tribute to every fallen soldiers generally, and to Crona specifically.
Maka tightened her hug, letting out all of her own sadness into powerful wavelengths, happy to have a useful way of releasing her grief. Soul answered with a supporting gesture of his own wavelength. They kept supporting each other with their soul waves until the end of the piece. Soul rubbed his bare chest absentmindedly.
“Is it still hurt?” Maka frowned in worry.
Soul answered with a negative hum and a head shake. He could already feel the chest pains dissipating. Maka really was his own personal charm.
“Not really.”
Maka was not wholly convinced, but she nodded anyway. Her right hand gently caressed the jagged skin above his heart, wishing for her to be able to ease his physical pain as well. Soul caught the hand and linked their fingers together, silently telling her that he really was okay.
“Any request?” he asked cheekily, other fingers tapping on random notes.
Maka stifled a blush, “Your song, please.”
She could feel her weapon smiling. As he pressed the first note, she was mentally flying to the tiny local cafe where he first played the same song as his introduction, feeling as if she was eleven again. The first time he played it, it was only three minutes long. But he had added second and third movements over the years, making it nearly ten minutes.
The first movement was of his past life, of his dark and twisted soul, of his every anxieties and complexes. The second movement was of his change throughout the years, of his newfound purpose and how he really grew to love himself. The third movement was a lot more brighter than the first two. He only added the last part for Maka to listen after he confessed at Kid’s coronation day (he admitted he had written it far before that). It was of his love for her, of his devotion, of his will to protect her with his life, about how she made his world brighter and made him think that he maybe was worth something. The piece started as dark and twisted but ended in happy but intense tones. The last movement was what molded his song into their song.
When the last note chimed, they both were filled with deep affection for their other half. Maka buried her nose to her weapon’s back and said weapon was chuckling fondly.
“Thanks, Maka… For being here,” he whispered under his breath, feeling his back heated from Maka’s blush. His own pain and fucked up blood was long since forgotten. “Love you.” And he felt his back got warmer.
“Love you too…” came Maka’s timid mumble. It was always amusing to see how his kickass and bold meister could be reduced into a puddle of blushing mess when it came to admitting her own feelings for him. She was good at reading people’s feelings but never quite the best when speaking her own. He supposed it was one of a few things they surprisingly had in common. Well, at least he was better in 'managing to voice the love without setting his face on fire' thing.
“Now you choose,” she commanded to hide her embarrassment.
“Yes, my Meister,” Soul playfully singsonged. He inhaled once before pressing the G note. The piece was his greatest work and his all-time favorite as well.
It was titled Maka in G Major.
