A/N: Ah I felt so bad having all this stuff not posted, so I've complied a couple of scenes that I've been writing for this story. When I come back in three months, a lot will change, and there's still a lot to go. I am still including Black Star, Tsubaki, Kid, Liz and Patti; and probably a few other characters; but these bits are all about Maka and Soul. Here's a sneak peek at what's to come! Enjoy!

Maka lay on her back, closing her eyes. Her hair was spread around her, and she was twirling a strand of it lazily with one finger.

"Why don't you just quit?" he asked her.

She sighed. "I've thought about it so many times," she said eventually. "But…in all the times when I'm not dancing, my body just feels wrong."

"I think…I dance because I don't know how not to dance. As much as it hurts, as much pain as it puts me through, I can't imagine not dancing."

"Yeah," he said. "I know what you mean. It's like… even though you're tired of all the judgment, of all the criticism, you just don't know how to be anybody else."

"I'm impressed," she said, lifting herself up onto the bench. "You're actually doing work."

He shook his head, looking at her from around his sheet music. "I don't know why you're in here."

She shrugged. "Because I felt like it."

"I can't play with you distracting me, Maka."

"Soul, stop making up excuses. You actually need to practice."

"Fine," he said, rearranging the papers in front of him. "Mum."

"Soul."

"Alright, alright! Calm your tiny tits." He took a deep breath and placed his fingers on the keys and began to play.

She could immediately understand why people would dislike his music. It was different.

But she liked it. She stopped swinging her legs against the wall and shut her eyes. She could hear him in the complication of notes, the way they overlapped each other in strange combinations, in ways nobody would think of except for Soul. She could feel the sounds deep in her soul, resonating with her. Almost as if he was playing exactly what was on his mind.

After practice for the school production.

Maka ran back through the wings and onto the stage, heading toward the further wing.

"Soul, I'm sorry, I was just talking to –"

"It's cool, Maka." His voice sounded lazy, as if he was thinking about something else.

He was standing in the centre of the stage, looking out onto the rows and rows of red seats.

"Whatcha looking at?" she asked him. She kept walking towards him, but stopped at his side, turning to face the stage. And then she saw what he saw.

Maka had been in a lot of performances in her life. She'd been on a lot of different stages. But this stage felt so different. It felt grand, and wide: empty, as if it were waiting to be filled with something. She didn't know what that something was, but it filled her with hollowness. Not the bad kind, though. The type of hollowness that a long, open straight stretch of road gives you; the same way you feel gazing at the stars. You feel small, and excited for a future that's full of possibilities. Anything could happen.

"Hey, Maka," he said eventually, breaking her train of thought. "Wait here."

She didn't say anything, but just watched him position himself at the piano that had been wheeled onto the stage for today's rehearsal. Usually, it'd be in the orchestral pit, but it was difficult to see when they needed to start and stop during rehearsals from the pit. He started to play.

It wasn't a song she'd heard before, but it was one she'd be able to recognise in any context. It was his.

Maka didn't know when she started moving, or how her body knew what to do without her mind guiding it. She could feel the pain and tiredness in her muscles melt away beneath her as they began to warm up.

And there she was, just her, the stage, and Soul.

She hadn't felt this kind of thoughtless joy very often in her life, and it made her feel so light and airy. Like that in this moment, all of her fears melted away, all of her tiredness. It was moments like these that we strived so hard for. It was in search of moments like this that they'd both subconsciously come to Shibusen for.

Soul watched her dance. The music he played was muscle memory to him, and she was so captivating. This was the kind of the person he knew. While she'd danced beautifully in rehearsal, this was just so much more Maka.

So he lost himself in the music and in Maka.

And he too, felt a sort of thoughtless joy.

He was almost sad when he realised the piece was slowing down, that it was ending. Maka seemed to sense it as well, because that's when she began to fouette.

One, two, three. A fourth. A fifth.

Soul lost count.

Maka landed softly, her arms in demi-bras, breathing deeply. Neither of them said anything for a while, and the room returned to its previous silence. Soul faced away from Maka, gazing out over the rows of seats again.

"Well," said Maka, clearing her throat. "Guess we better get going."

"Yeah," Soul agreed eventually, standing. He picked his bag up off the floor and slung it over his shoulder. He turned away from her, heading towards the stage exit.

"Hey, Soul," Maka called out.

He stopped, but didn't turn to look at her.

"You're wrong."

"Wrong?"

"You do belong here."

He smiled to himself.

"So do you, Maka."

And it was with Soul at her side that took the anxiety of the unknown away.

Soul could smell her clean scent in the sheets. He could smell it before he even walked into the room. And he wondered if it was normal for someone to have such a strong scent, and one that made his heart beat so much faster. He wondered if it were normal for him to bury his face in the pillows and press the sheets closer to his face, just so he could pretend she was there with him. He could feel her fingers in his hair and lightly tracing his skin, which left a trail of goose bumps, but also warmed him down to the bone. He could feel her touch lingering for hours after she'd let go.

Soul was unsure if this was a blessing or a curse. You often heard that love was so easy and breezy, like everything just made sense when you found it. Soul disagreed – it had only made him more confused, more lost. It kind of felt like he was happy about stabbing himself in the eye repeatedly. Or being Maka-chopped. It really, really sucked. You had to learn to love and trust while still being a whole person yourself. And he knew that it could go horribly wrong. He decided that he didn't really care how it ended. He cared about Maka – he really, truly did. But he had to be rational, and not emotional; because that's always where it went wrong.

But how could anybody be rational about this?

That was what made him afraid, more than anything. Messing it up.