Guess who took her first Zumba class?! :DDD

So this was the inspiration for the fic, obviously. That and Maka and Soul in form fitting workout gear is a great mental image for me. AHURRR.

Maka's 18, just finishing her senior year in HS, and Soul is either 22-23, in his freshman or sophomore year in university. It is an AU. Potatoes are roots, not vegetables.

Don't own Zumba or SE or ice cubes. It's fanfiction people. Nothing here is really original. /repeatedly shot

Enjoy~! AND PLZ R&R!

"Come on Kim! You look like your piggyback-ing a mini van! Straighten that back- lift your legs for Death's sake!"

"I am, I am!"

"Okay people, enough with the laughs, I know I'm a card. Now on my count! Five, six, seven, eight-"

Thus Marie Mljoiner's dance class began to move in choreographed sync once more. A flustered Kim Pine thrust her kick with a mild frustration while the girl placed at her right with her raven black hair tied in a high ponytail (because Marie's class knew how hot their studio could get) smiled in good humor. The mirrors consisting of the three surrounding walls displayed three other sets of impassioned dancers moving to equally energetic techno and a riveting bass that shook the panels of the very building they rehearsed in, and as the ladies (and few gentlemen) stomped along side it with enthusiasm, a strange world of patterned sports bras, squeaking athletic shoes, and labored breaths barely fogging upon glassed walls lives for these few select hours. Dance remixes of popular songs create reality-drowning noise that usher the girls to move with the last of their pent-up gusto, the heated air vibrating from the speakers, or the dancers; it was hard to distinguish from their neon sweatbands to the repetitive melody reverberating in their souls.

In this world, your worries could be shaken away with contemporary hits and extensive periods of choreographed bliss. No matter the busy cars that sped past on the street just in front of the premises, nor the routine of your actual life you rue returning to, days of office work and much too early dog walks. Nevermind such a cruel reality.

Because in Ms. Mljoiner's Zumba Class, you have a whole four hours to lose yourself in colorful spandex and knee-ups, and in time you just might find something incredible, too.

"ALL RIGHT MAKA! Nice pop there! See 'yall? Let's get more of that SPUNK LITTLE PIGTAILS GOT!"

The pigtailed high school senior blushed in thanks, and only continued to sway her hips with the rest of the troop.

"Now let's try somethin a little new girlies! ON MY COUNT!"

Kim showcases a series of exuberant kicks to the new set, and a sharp hip thrust for good measure. Today just wasn't her day.

"Kim! KEEP THOSE KNEES UP!"

"-DAMMIT ALL!"

~O~

It was a day like any other, really.

Kim was brooding like a grizzly bear experiencing PMS at the electric water dispenser, Patti was re-stringing everybody's street shoe's laces at the shoe rack while her sister Liz tweeted about it not give feet away, and Marie put a bucket of ice in front of the huge metal fan a small business kindly donated to their Zumba studio, much to her class's gratitude.

Maka took great relief in relishing in these few in-between moments during their dance sessions, a breather doing more for her mentally than physically. Watching her newfound companions laugh and wind down was strangely relaxing, if you didn't focus too much on their awkward boob-sweat and hair grease.

Bodily fluids aside, Maka very much enjoyed her workout schedule, dancing not only helping her train with her martial art practice but also helping her branch out in her restrictive social life and learning to accept other people beside herself and her long-time friend (and cat) Blair into her heart. She had to admit, although one-thousand paged trilogies and late-night nature documentaries held their own distinct appeal, having "popping&locking" contests with a sugar high Patti wearing cotton socks on a recently polished dance floor would always be the pinnacle of her week.

Zumba, in short, was one hell of a workout for Maka's people skills.

Feeling a little more adventurous with some adrenaline still lingering in her veins and her favorite techno song playing in the background, Maka plucked one ice cube from the fan's bucket and discreetly dropped it in a small gap in Liz's sweat pants. She then skipped off to lift the spirits of Kim stuck in her rain cloud, the booming thunder evident from across the room, while Liz realized that cold, wet, and condensed indescribables should not be sliding down her upper thigh.

"GYAHHHH!"

"?!"

"S-someone put ICE down my sweats! Who the- PATTI."

"Yes'm!"

"Patti get the HELL over here so I can re-lace your FACE."

"Ahahaha~! Sis looks like a penguin when she walks!"

"Well this penguin hates ice, and cold things in general! ESPECIALLY WHEN THEIR STUCK IN MY ASS!"

Laughter and proclaims of innocence and Liz's teeth chatters mixed with loose applause from the other dancers filled the room, and on the opposite wall of the room Maka handed Kim a styrofoam cup of ice water as compensation for earlier, which she accepted gratefully. "That was real sly Albarn. What happened to that weirdo bookworm who couldn't count song beats in time?"

Maka sighed in reply. "Guess you guys rubbed off on me. Thought it was getting too quiet in here anyways."

"That's good to know."

Maka smiled warmly, and swished her water in gentle circles.

"Anyways, how is your-YOW! What the-"

Maka rubbed her red ear tenderly, it being oddly cold for such a scalding sting, and something wet sliding off of her shoulder. Liz smirked across the floor.

"Good thing our loud traps rubbed off too. That's a cube for a cube, my dear."

"Your eloquence stuns me from a witty retaliation, Liz." She flicked off the ice cube from her shoulder with a mock scowl. "You've won this round."

"Oh, come 'ere you!"

It was then that their Zumba instructor intervened, group noogies and bra strap-flicks pushed aside for another break that day. Her odd eyepatch did little in hiding the mirth in her forever-young, amber eyes, as she made a quick announcement before they started on another playlist.

"Class, class, gather 'round! Big news awaits you, and I simply cannot prolong this anxiety any longer!"

The girls looked amongst each other in mutual confusion, a half-circle of anxious 80's wear and band tee's surrounding a suspiciously jolly middle aged woman.

"I have a change of scenery for you. And since all you really see in front of you is me, that translates to: GUEST INSTRUCTOR!"

Wait wait wait.

Maka forced herself to cancel out the few cheers and more common "huh's?" humming about the crowd. Using her pigtails as antennae's to hone in on what words were just carelessly spurted out into the open, she began to process what was happening, and how the front door, which was locked during Zumba sessions, was being opened and an unknown man was making his way to the dance floor, keys jingling like white background noise.

"Ladies, meet Soul! I-oh dearie! I meant, Mr. Evans."

"It's Eater, actually."

"Really? But, on your form-"

"It's a recent change."

"Alrighty then..!"

A couple awkward smiles and name re-corrections later, a girl swooning here and there, Maka could focus on her new teacher's hair color.

White.

Strange, not really a common mop to see in the Nevada population. Now, just remember how to move your eyes Maka, there you go! Don't let his hair get the best of you, just a few inches lower now. Ah, here we are. Even his eyebrows are pale! So, what would you call that eye color, burgundy? Maroon? A sapphire..?

"Oh my gosh, Mister Eater! Are your teeth, like, real?"

" 'S far as I know."

"Like a shark!"

"A hot one. Did you even look at his ass-"

"Ahem. Remember who you're representing, my darlings~ You are young ladies!"

"Yes, Madam!"

Well, screw her sideways.

She was just barely computing his iris coloration, how can they make such sudden decisions as having him- a HIM- take over their previous dance rehearsal? Someone they didn't even know beforehand!

This was her off time from her off time! That special place in her day where she can escape her bumbling drunkard of a Papa and idiotic high school skirt-chasing punks. Maka most certainly did NOT sign up for this just to be brought back into her actual life. This is blasphemous, treason, digging their own grave! Girls, get it together!

"-bye, Miss Marie!"

...Um, what?

"See you girls next week!"

Slam. Pit-pat-pit-pat-pit-pat.

That was the back door clanking shut, and THAT was the distinct sound of footsteps fading into silence. That translates to: yep. Marie's really going to leave her "darlings" in the hands of...of...

"Mister Eater!"

Dear lord.

"Hmn?"

"What routine will we be dancing?"

"Oh, I brought my own iPod. We'll be dancing to my playlist I've prepared for you."

Murmurs of awe, praise, and appreciative ass-glances followed, soft claps finding their way into the girlish noise, completely uncalled for in her opinion.

If she was an atheist before, consider Maka a devoted Catholic now. If God is as forgiving as people preach he is, she shouldn't be an acceptation, should she? This is her first prayer in her life, surely that deserves some sort of heavenly audience! A desperate wish for a random wrecking ball to crash into the establishment and whisk Mister Eater, Mister-ivory-haired-slouched-over-lazy-city-boy-dr awl Eater, to the nearest mountain top and away from her all but eager class.

"-ow about you."

Silence.

Maka had the worst feeling that low timber rattling her spine was directed towards her person.

"Err, what?"

A group chuckle seemed to rebound off of the mirrored walls about the room. Soul gave an idle blink of passiveness and continued.

"Said, do you want to be my partner to lead the dance for the class?"

"Uhm, no thanks. I'm good."

"Eh? What's the smart-ass tone for?"

...Excuse her? Who's being the smartass?

"What's that supposed to mean, sir?"

"Means that whenever you seem to look my way, you're about to hurl chunks. What's the damage, kid?"

"This 'kid' has a name, and she politely passes on your offer."

"That's nice to know, you having manners and all." He gave a wicked smirk, molten eyes gleaming in wait. "Cause I know you'll thank me properly for giving you the position of my permanent dancing partner."

"EH?! But I didn't...!"

Hushed complaints and pouts courtesy of a heartbroken class were unnoticed by the two conversation holders, each too caught up in their own spitfire to recognize anything in their peripheral vision range. Mischievous ruby sparked against stony jade, and Maka gave a curt nod; years of mannerisms and excellent student behavior taking over any ego having accidentally slipped out. But of course their guest "instructor" had to notice this minuscule detail, for he has been looking only at a small, doe-eyed girl; a miniature, wind-up ballerina caught in the middle of a Grease musical rehearsal. Yet she hasn't noticed, too caught up in trying to ignore him to take notice of his lingering stares, eyes like burning coals, tracing her white, unblemished skin with heated glances.

He wonders if she even remembers him.

"Oh Maka! It's just not fair! How come YOU get to be held all this week by Mister Eater?"

"Well, it's not like I...!"

"Yeah, trade with one of us! You're like, the most asexual thing to come here besides my lunch's tuna sandwich."

"HEY!"

"What? It's true..."

"Why do we even need partners, though? That's what I don't understand."

"Maka, haven't you been listening?"

A Spanish guitar riff cut off their bantering, it's rich plucks resonating throughout Maka's head. The beat started to pick up, and a zesty Latin song was about to come into its four-minute life.

"Class, partner up! Tango lessons begin now!"

Tango lessons.

Well, fuck Maka upside down too.

"Oi, short stack. Over here, with me."

Not only has Maka seen the light of Jesus Christ, but today, she also becomes a SMIDGEN less asexual from a certain shark-man and his shit-eating grins as she walks to him to haughtily link one hand in his and place her opposite on his surprisingly (and insufferably delightful) sturdy shoulder.

~O~

The couples started off fairly well, Soul's quick overviews of the basic Tango steps being enough to give them a base to stick to. Some tried to incorporate spins of their partner as well as other extra moves, but lost their momentum afterward and couldn't find their feet to match the rhythm of the song resounding about the stuffy air anymore.

Maka and Soul, however, did not find this to be a problem. In fact, you could say that the song had trouble keeping up with THEM.

Or Soul, come to think of it. Being a grown man of twenty, he had several more years of practice to boast of, and it certainly showed.

From what Maka could feel from discreet twitches of her undeniably curious fingers, his well-sculpted biceps were firm and on fire, and though not too big or rippling, they suited him like badges on a boy scout.

His tan calfs that his basketball shorts barely brushed over were fine as well, and Maka could summarize he had the physique of a well-trained dancer. But certainly with those triceps, tango wasn't the only type of dance he practiced-

"-ey! Yo munchkin! Eyes off of the wall onto your partner."

"Huh?"

Was she spacing out again? And did he just state that she was allowed to stare at his demi-god-like body without a care like she was doing moments before at some undeserving wall? At least it was the brightly painted plaster and not his enticing collarbone-

"-GAHH! No! Off. Limits. Of. Thought!"

His lead did not falter, but his eyes did light in a bemused quirk.

"What? Am I going too fast for you?"

Putting the devilish double-meaning to the dark recesses of her mind, Maka lifted her chin and scoffed.

"Oh please, don't get started. If anything, I'm waiting for you to catch up."

"Is that so?"

"That's right."

"Well then-"

And Soul promptly lifted his T-shirt with one arm, and threw it across the room to land neatly next to his workout bag.

"-I guess I should catch up, shouldn't I?"

From there, he tugged her hip so that way their stomachs were just a hair off of flat against each other, and rotated his hips with a new vigor. Maka gave a squeak of surprise, but her half-hearted tugging at his hand intertwined with hers was plainly ignored. The low simmer in their hearts escalated into a crackling fire in their abdomens as he seemingly carried a captive wet noodle of a girl.

"Hey, get a hold of yourself. Flattery isn't going to get you anywhere." Cue one shit-eating, face stretching grin, now. "You dance like a natural on your own, but with a partner, you're a robot."

Well, Maka couldn't help it! Keeping sour thoughts to herself, she bit her lip and looked at the floor. Although, his now exposed flexing pectorals and slowly gyrating pelvis were great distractions (okay, WONDERFUL distractions), just the term "partner" made Maka shiver, and not in the pleasurable way.

Men were vague and far spaced in her life, and none of them, not even her sad excuse of a man-whore of a father, had given her any reason to trust them. The only thing she could ever rely on was herself, the only whole, true, and sure person she knows, that can follow through on their word. And Maka never disappoints herself.

The idea of a "couple" is internally faulted; two separate people keep two separate lives with independent thoughts, actions, and relationships. There's too much risk for failure.

So, why is it that whenever she looks into his molten eyes, she can only think of excited, strumming guitars, naked torsos, and something resembling a competitive, white-furred puppy?

"I...don't know. I'm sorry, things have been on my mind lately."

A certain zesty trumpet solo played, and Maka found herself rolling her hips in time with it, and in time with Soul's, much to his carefully maintained pleasure.

"I think you've found a good distraction then."

This time, Maka enjoyed seeing his sharp array of teeth curling into another smirk.

"Yeah, that's it. Move with the music. Dance is a form of expression, so no need to-"

And Maka's shirt soon joined Soul's comparatively bigger one on the hardwood, and was left with no more than a wonderfully curve hugging, low-lying, purple striped Zumba sports bra.

"-hold...back..."

It was Maka's turn to lift her lips in her small (more like 34B in Soul's close speculation) victory.

"Thanks for the advice, Mister Evans. I'll be sure to keep it in mind."

Now, for the majority of Soul's young life, his last name gave him nothing but strife and unwanted comparison to his older, better, and less insufferable brother. However, the way it sounded rolling off of her slightly twisted, pink lips, he couldn't see himself minding being called that by her.

"So then, kid-"

"-I have a name, you know."

"Congradulations- OW! God, DAMMIT! That wasn't very cool kid!"

"Whoops, my bad! I could've sworn your foot was WAY over there! My bad."

"Guess you still need some cleaning up on your dancing, anyways."

"Excuse me?"

"Excused."

"Why I oughtta- WOAH!"

Soul then swooped Maka down, making a "U" shape as he held her with one strong hand at her back, the other holding loyally onto hers, as he turned to face the opposite direction. He also didn't bother to hide his unabashed appreciation of her pert mounds, stretching the stripes of her bra into a gentle "m" shape.

"Sorry, what was that? I couldn't hear you over the sound of my charisma."

"Charisma?"

They continued into a graceful lift of her into midair, simultaneously turning them to face the other mirrored wall.

"I think you meant your enormous ego."

Soul used their close proximity to his advantage, and leaned his head to rest right against her ear to whisper hotly, "And do you know what else is ENORMOUS of mine?"

"Hmnn..." Maka desperately tried to find a witty rebuttal. Her knees may turn into jello at the mercy of his curious lips and lightly nipping canines, but she won't go down (to an undeniable path) without a good fight!

"Well that's easy."

Another "U" dip intervened their conversation. When they both looked up at each other once again, two cunning smiles and tight hand grips were shared by them both.

"Your heart."

They started to dance in another direction, the saucy movements only adding fuel to their passionate fire aroused from mere sparks years before.

Somehow, dangerous thoughts of cheating Papas and wolfish old men never came into Maka's mind. Not with him.

"Say, you remind me of someone.."

"Really? You've seen another set of pearly whites like these before?"

"Well, yeah!"

Maka chose to ignore how his hand settled protectively at her hip and his head nestled at the curve of her neck, and regained her train of thought quickly.

"He was this Junior at my high school, Shibusen, and he showed me around the campus when I was a freshman."

She couldn't feel the smile that was slowly coming out of Soul. "Uh huh."

"Yeah. He had white hair, too. He tried to play off this bad-boy deal, but he was really quite a gentlemen. So thoughtful, and funny! I forgot his name, since he never told me...But I never forgot him, though. He was a real-"

It was then that Maka looked at Soul, and saw the biggest shit-eating grin yet; and there, unlike before, was a warmth to his eyes, not like in their usual chilled uninterest.

Was it possible to fall in love with the same guy twice (no matter how long the time skip)?

"...jerk."

Soul saw right through her irritated front.

"A real JERK."

"Sounds like a pretty cool guy. Heard he had a thing for nerdettes and mini skirts."

"Those?! I stopped wearing them...like Sophomore year!"

"That's too bad then."

He pulled her closer, if that was even possible, so that way their lips danced on each other's breaths.

"Cause you rocked them."

There was no chance, not THIS close, that he didn't catch her entire face flush. He missed seeing her make faces like these, so funny and agitated it was adorable. Almost three whole years, and he still hasn't gotten over some pigtails in 9th grade, lost in the library.

"I'm not into old men."

"And I ain't so found of middle schoolers either. But here we are-"

He spun her there, and just slow enough so he could whisper to her, "Maka."

An involuntary shiver wracked Maka's spine, as she gasped while simultaneously being pulled back into his warm chest, "Can you stop?! How do you even know my name, creep?"

"I believe it was YOU whom told ME, when we first met."

Her head plunked in defeat onto him, barely reaching his shoulder.

"Aw shit."

"And I also remember you having a much cleaner vocabulary. What happened to you, pigtails?"

"I met you, of course."

The song transition was about to commence, and as it came to, their heated tango simmered down into a drawn out waltz, lazy steps met with hazy eyes, matching the song's decreasing tempo.

Nevermind the other couples, once watching them like a Saturday night TV drama, now exiting for a much deserved lunch break. Pay no attention to the playlist ending from his iPod, the speakers going blank and the lights lowering along with it.

In that room, where a little world continues to spin on its own accord, no matter to the reality outside its double doors, there is a guy and a girl, who continue to dance to their own beat.

The guy makes laziness an art, likes play the piano for himself and ONLY himself, and when forced to choose, prefers Italian over Chinese takeout.

The girl likes novels over two-hundred-fifty pages long, is allergic to seafood, and loves to sing to her Momma over the phone, although musically inept.

They liked each other, and that was that. There was no logical explanation, nor sappy confessions by the cherry blossom trees. There was only a school map, a lent leather jacket, and a peeved off librarian who thought that their air band practice session in the historical fiction section was not high school protocol in the least.

Three years past, and they still remember the drum solo.

"You even sucked at imaginary instruments too."

They were merely swaying now, holding each other with an intimacy they never knew they had.

"I so did not! I was given the drums- you got an easy instrument even!"

"The air guitar isn't 'EASY'. Only totally cool guys like me can master them."

"...I can't believe you remembered that."

"Could say the same for you. You still owe me a new jacket."

"Oh! you know, I have it! It's actually in my..."

"..."

"What...? What's with the smirk? WHAT?"

"That was a Harley Davidson."

"Eh?"

"Three-hundred-sixty bucks worth of quality leather, gone. You know how much you need to cough up?"

"W-well..! It's in one of my drawers, I could just drive there right now and-umph!"

Her apology was cut off by his lips on hers, and Maka swore her face was putting red roses to shame. Eager lips devouring hers, she could only stand and watch (through closed eyes?) as he expressed just how much payment from over the passing years he desired. Her hands escaped from his loosening grasp to fist at his pectorals while he ran his through her sandy hair, mussing up her pigtails in the process.

Somehow, between the slamming of her into a mirror and the squeaking of his Nikes on hardwood floor, tongues were introduced, and Maka couldn't find herself to sit back and let him do all of the work. She kissed right back in equal vigor, though stumbling here and there due to inexperience, where Soul would lowly chuckle and swallow her complaints with a flick of her elastic bra strap. Tongues met in a hot embrace, sliding wetly against one another, breathes being shared, mouths being tasted, saliva eagerly exchanged. Bodies gravitated to each other, hips clashing and moving in sync and performing a whole other type of passionate dance.

Unspoken words, impulses they regretted not acting on, emotions they were ashamed of letting out were all being revealed now; through a tangle of limbs and work out wear, they each let out what they had forgotten was stored inside them years prior. Her bruised lips for his marked earlobe. His raked back for her be-speckled neck. This is what was never said in a dusty school library, in the historical fiction section.

Imagine what it would be like if they said they loved each other.

Deciding that a whole mob of females would soon witness their dry romp, they hesitantly disengaged from one another (an ass squeeze and a mini-maka-chop not to be left out), and all that was left out in the open had to be acknowledged at some point.

"Soo...can we-"

"No."

"Come on! Their break isn't over for fifteen more minutes, we could-"

"NO."

"Okay, okay."

"..."

"..."

"...The least you can do is invite me to another air band session."

"Like, a...date?"

"Preferably."

Maka couldn't look up from her rainbow Sketchers, her forward-ness stunning even her.

"Alright, where's the nearest library?"

"EVANS!"

"Woah, WOAH, take it easy tiger! Ouch, ouch, OKAY! Point taken- Just look up for a sec."

"What?!"

"Soul; Soul Eater Evans."

She blinked once. Twice. Her hands found their way back to his chest, much to Soul's amusement.

"I don't..."

"That's my full name. Soul Eater Evans. So, now you, uhm, know."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Maka smiled with what would be dubbed "star-light" eyes, and as their green shimmered like an emerald pond, it was Soul who was at a loss for words.

"That's a cool name, Soul. I like it."

A seemingly fearsome smile came out to join hers; serrated joy in a boy.

"Cool name for a cool guy, what can I say?"

She kissed him chastely, but genuinely on the lips, making haste so he wasn't left with enough thought to interrupt.

"How about nothing?"

He shook his head and cleared out whatever mush she inadvertently put in.

"Aha, clever girl, aren't you?"

"So I've been told."

"So, it's at your place, right?"

"What?"

"The jacket-"

"Oh yeah! It-it is."

"Okay. I can-"

"You know...I wouldn't mind if you left other stuff there too. Like, toothbrushes, or boots..."

"Seriously? You mean, even my bike?"

"Yeah..."

"My school work?"

"Y-yeah."

"Me?"

"Yeah! ...Hey, wait!"

"Sorry! We'll have time to arrange plans after the lesson. Welcome girls!"

"Yo, Mr. Eater!"

"Jackie was right, I so DID get stretch marks this winter! Is it noticeable?"

"Patti drew spots on my banana with her sharpie and pretended it was a giraffe again!"

"Hehehe~"

"It's NOT FUNNY!"

"I mean, I think they have creams for marks like that, right?

"Alright, positions everybody!"

"Hey, wait!"

But all Maka was given in reply was Mr. Eater's extended hand in front of her awe-stricken face, an expectant smile on his lips, and the sound of sneakers squeaking in the background.

She took his hand without hesitation. It was rigged really.

"My Papa's gonna hate my new roommate."

"Yeesh, that stick? He was a tight ass back then too."

Glancing at him, then looking back at her feet, she quietly responded, "Guess he'll have to deal with it."

He pulled her close, as she rested her feet atop of his, Soul gently moving them to the beat of a starting song. The rosy blush that flamed on her cheeks ignited another one on his, though the gleam in his ruby eyes never went away.

"Guess he will."