Men.

It was ironic that the first time Maka met Soul it was men in particular that Maka hated the most.

It was at the height of fervor between her mama and her papa's divorce, and she could only imagine the grief her mama and going through; the grief her papa was putting her through.

Every time Maka saw her father he looked away with shame, but his lips and eyes clearly formed the words, "I love you."

And every time he did it Maka hated him more. "Who are you to love me? What gives you the right?"

Soul however, he wasn't a boy- wasn't a man- in the pale lighting of the music room he had appeared to her as the spirit of hope.

It was his music that beckoned her at first. She had been wandering around the DWMA- running away from the sound of her mothers sorrow and avoiding the sound of her father's footsteps as she stumbled around in a self-pitying stupor.

Yes, the music had called her. She had heard the haunting melody and grateful for the mental reprieve had followed it.

When she first saw him he looked like an angel: with his snow-white hair and his graceful fingers. Those pale fingers had gently kissed each ivory key like they were long lost lovers now returned to him, and during the rests his hands fluttered like butterfly's- like poetry.

(Little did she know that it was exactly those hands that she would become so use to holding; and that they would come to no longer symbolize grace and beauty, but strength and comfort and stability.)

And then, when he turned to look at her; his eyes were red.

Red.

Red: the color of love, and the color of lust, and the color of passion.

And that's what his eyes were filled with- but it was passion for music and lust for expressing himself, not longing for the girls with succulent red lips and curvy bodies- which is the way her father always lusted.

And then he spoke, and his voice was deep and soothing.

"Hello, Maka Albarn."

They had met several times before, but never had they spoke like this. Before, each other's parents had introduced them, and Soul had been standing behind his brother, or rather, his brother had been standing in front of him. His eyes had been catching then too- but Maka had been too focused on the fact that she had wanted to be anywhere but there at the time.

When she did not answer him he spoke again. "You look surprised to see me playing. You probably thought my brother was the only one with talent." Soul scowled. "To everyone else he might as well be- but what about you?"

Maka's brow frumpled, and Soul's eyes pierced through her.

"Will you listen to me play, Maka?"

There was a connection then, something so small and fragile that it struggled like the heartbeat of a baby bird. Maka knew that if she wanted too she could shake her head no and break away any relationship that would form between them.

But why would she? She was so alone now, and Soul was reaching out for her, so why would she say no?

She nodded yes.

He turned and began to play.

Once again Maka was moved.

The way he lost himself in the music was something to marvel at, but Maka didn't quite understand it. The music was beautiful most definitely, but how did he summon up so much love for it? Maka had only felt such love for her parent's, and now even that love was broken and confused.

But it wasn't the same kind of love Soul was channeling; Soul seemed to have become some God of energy, for Maka could feel it's erratic pulse beating through the room.

And then the music was over, and his ruby eyes were bleeding through her again, infecting her blood with his own.

(But not black blood- that would come later.)

"Do you see that kind of person I am now?"

(Yes, a person. Not a man- Maka reminded herself- not a boy.)

Maka spoke for the first. "Yeah. I do."

And thus, a partnership was born.