Soul's mother had forced him into ballroom dance classes at a young age. It was something about having to be ready to partake in such things at parties should there pretty young girls around. He was pretty sure it was just because she wanted him to get heavily mocked by his peers. Either way, he had gone to each class from the time he was six and had learned to waltz, tango, and fox-trot with the best of them. He liked to consider himself rather talented at it, but it didn't really matter, because at the end of the day Soul hated dancing. Right now is a perfect example of why.

He'd been dragged to this formal event by Maka who had claimed that they had no choice. He was a Death Scythe now. This required some public appearances that he wasn't always too happy to make, apparently to prove themselves as the figureheads for the Academy. Soul had not signed up to be a figure head. He had just signed up to kill bad guys and eat their souls.

Still, that wasn't the point. The point was he was at a dance and he wanted to actually dance. More important, he wanted to dance with his meister. He had been standing across the way from her while she chatted with some girls he had never really spoken to before and looked like she was having a pretty good time. It would be rude to interrupt her, wouldn't it? But he could just say 'excuse me' really politely and offer out his hand like the suave son of a bitch he was supposed to be. James Bond did that kind of stuff, right? He could totally be James Bond. Tony Stark or Bruce Wayne wouldn't be quivering in the corner afraid of rejection from the prettier sex, now would they? He was just as cool a guy as either of them. Just as smooth. Just as heroic! He took two steps forward in determination.

And quickly took three steps back, burying his face into his hands and groaning. No, he'd just look like an idiot. A creepy idiot who probably had cake crumbs on his suit jacket. He brushed off his front just in case that last part turned out to be true, feeling his face burning. This was the exact opposite of cool. Maybe he just needed practice. A little bit of practice never hurt anyone.

Making sure that there was no one within hearing's distance of his little corner, he cleared his throat, pretending the candelabra closest by was his meister. "Hey, Maka - you wanna dance?" There was a pause and he sighed, running his hand through his hair. "No. Lame." He cleared his throat and went to try again. "Maka… dance with me. No, fuck - how do you - Maka. Excuse me, but - would you like to —?"

"Would I like to what?"

Soul nearly jumped out of his skin as he spun around to see her standing just a couple of steps away, hands clasped behind her back and blinking at him curiously. She had an amused look on her face, fully in view with the way her hair was pulled back in an incredible waterfall braid. He swallowed roughly, wiping his sweaty palms on the front of his suit jacket.


"Well, come on, out with it, silly."

"I uh - I was thinking - if you wanted - maybe - you could just - I mean, you know, since we're at a dance, we could -" He gulped, feeling his cheeks growing pinker by the moment as she started to let out a small chuckle. This was going terribly. He was going to get laughed at. Shit, this was the worst idea. "Will you dance with me?"

She bit her lip, looking like she was carefully mulling it over. He was expecting to be mocked, or told that she'd just step on his feet so forget it, or have something about how he'd made fun of her for her dancing all these years thrown back in his face. Instead she beamed, grabbing his hand and nodding. "Okay."

"… Okay?"

"Yeah. But you're gonna have to teach me, because I still don't know the first thing about this waltzing stuff."

He smiled a little, shaking his head as he let her lead him out onto the floor. "Yeah. Sure. I guess I can make that sacrifice."