What felt like ten hours had been merely ten seconds; one second of spinning, another of breathing and the rest avoiding eye contact with Maka. He inhaled her perfume and underneath that perfume, he could smell the faint sweet scent of slightly burnt blueberry pancakes. Death the Kid was an absolute nut over details and he was obsessed in the worst way possible about them. His eyes constantly scanned his surroundings for imperfections, asymmetry and all things repulsively imbalanced. If a person near Kid had a split-end, he’d notice. He was just that perceptive. How ironic that his nose would be the one to fail him this time around. Maka never wore perfume, at least not that he knew of. Not that he’ll ever know of again.
She smelled like cool blues and freshly dried laundry. Maka’s taste in scents was obvious to Kid. She was never the one for all that glamour and grandeur. It wasn’t that it didn’t suit her, but her lifestyle didn’t require it and she didn’t deem those details as important in her life as a meister. The first memory of Maka being dolled up was at another party just like this when they were younger. He remembers it clearly because of the way her hair managed to retain her everyday twin-tail style with a hint of formal elegance. It was the symmetry of her hair that he remembered. It definitely was the symmetry.
The ambiance of the music allowed Kid to slip away in his thoughts. The memories of being comrades helping one another in battle, the memories of Maka’s unwavering belief in his ideals and that one memory of her being held in his arms once before. That moment didn’t last for very long, for they were on a mission to hunt down Medusa. He didn’t think of it as an embrace, it him hushing her because they both were the best in their group with soul perception and wavelength detection – the more silent, the easier it was to perceive. Regardless or not if he counted that moment as an embrace, it was the first time had ever placed his arms wrapped around her. Tonight would be the last.
Dancing had certain requirements for it to be successful. The first step is to have a certain amount of space between your partner and yourself. The second step is to have a decent amount of eye contact with said partner while being able to look around the room to lead them. Kid was incapable of looking at anywhere else but Maka. His eyes were fixated on that horrendously uneven curl of the lips she does when she laughs. Maka was laughing at their dancing neighbors: Black Star and Patti. Black Star can barely manage three steps to a dance and it entertained the room to see Black Star get outshined by Patti and him not making a fuss over it because was Patti. And as unattractive as the asymmetry in her curled up smile was, he couldn’t help but return the smile, but in a much more symmetrical manner.
Kid’s eyes eventually broke away from Maka to look for the time. Was the dance over, will the music stop? No, no. It was far from over. All the while Kid was reminiscing over old memories and foreign feelings, twenty seconds had past them by. Each step that was taken would lead to another and another. The steps sounded like the ticking of a clock that echoed in his mind. Each step brings him closer of letting her go off to her rightful partner. He would never be able to hold her this close again; his hands wouldn’t be the ones she’d hold so intimately after this was all over. The stronger the desire to continue dancing had grown, the faster the time went. Life was cruel in that manner. Time always flies by faster when people enjoy themselves and that was the cruel part of it all. The only time left for Kid was the time he’ll never be able to tell her about.
As life would have it: the song ends, he bows and she curtsies. They exchange small smiles, bubbly conversation and laughter. He walks her off and returns her hand to the man she loves. He tells her his goodbyes and moves onto the side to watch her where has always watched over her.
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