Disclaimer: I don't own Soul Eater.

The seventh!

"lullaby"

She likes watching him play.

Not when he's reading it, of course, trying to recreate a sound decades old. She prefers observing the way he improvises -- not that she refers to it as improvisation, it's far too...familiar for that-- and the fashion in which he does it. His eyes closed, feather-light, as if they were the eyes of an infant, and his head lowered, humble for once, seem to give off the precognition that he was no longer, as the saying goes, on Earth, with us, but instead lost deep in the darkest section of his soul.

That's when the music -- his music -- is the most haunting, most beautiful.

Usually, he refuses to play when she's around. Usually, he glances around to check for her green eyes every few moments, to make sure she's not in earshot.

Usually, he's so aware.

Tonight, he's not paying attention. Tonight, he's not taking any precautions.

Tonight, she listens.

His slender fingers glide over the keys, bowed head bobbing with some imaginary beat. She doesn't know what he's thinking as he creates this soul-stirring, heart-pounding tune. It's nothing like what he's ever played before, nothing she's ever heard. This time, he's completely gone, and she knows that no noise she could possibly make could rouse him from the trance he's enveloped in.

This melody is coming from his heart.

It's pure, whole, unadulterated emotion; made up of heartbreaking notes and godly chords, sending a shudder down her spine.

This is what he's feeling.

She takes a step closer to the polished piano, and he doesn't notice. His brow furrows, and she can almost feel his heart crack as the music became more sorrowful, more melancholy, like a tragic event he's forcing himself to revisit. Slowly, as she continues walking towards him, his expression becomes pained, mouth quivering slightly.

It tugs at her heart like a string.

She walks carefully around where he sits, turning to face him as the music becomes louder, then soft. The corner of his mouth curves into a smirk, eyes still closed as his fingers find the ivories on their own, transforming the sound into a lighter, happier, hopeful tone.

The notes are light, tender, and something in his warm mien brought a smile to her face. Her lids lower, his velvety composition softy chiming on.

His song came to a close, the last note lingering in the air, her heart, her soul.

A flash of fear strikes through her as he lets his fingers hover over the keys for a moment before he breathes in, and opens his crimson eyes to look straight into hers. She freezes, but he smirks, eyes gentle. His hands are still held above the ivories, like he doesn't want his harmony to end, much like she does.

"It's your song."

She turns red, and looks away.

"I love it."

He stands slowly, movements sure and certain. She distantly hears his song playing in her ears as he approaches her, reaching forward to stroke the side of her face with airy fingers, barely even making contact with her skin. She exhales, breath curling on his warm skin, and shivers with anticipation.

Before she knows what's happening, his eyelashes are fluttering against her cheek as his lips rest lightly over hers. He tastes like fire and cherry passion, and she's transfixed by the feel of his mouth and his silent, unmoving benevolence. It's not awkward, it's not heated, it's gentle and loving and passionate and complete.

This is the music, the lullaby, of their souls.

I had to write one with the piano. I couldn't help myself.

Because I love your thoughts,

-datt