Chapter Text
Stein doesn't try to reign in his grin as he strides towards his classroom. Students who are less familiar with him skitter out of his way, amusing him. It's close to the end of the day and they don't want any trouble.
Black☆Star seems to have already found some. It's hard to tell at first glance whether Sid, fully mid-lecture, is straightening the kid's collar, or holding him in place by it. Light-blue eyes meet green. Stein doubles his speed to escape the wordless save me his student is broadcasting loud and clear.
Sid was gone on a mission for a measly three days and you thought he wouldn't find out what mischief you've been up to? Sorry, kid, can't help ya there.
To be fair, Stein's pretty sure the scolding is as much about how stupid it is for an assassin to get caught pulling pranks as it is about the pranks themselves.
He reaches his classroom and sinks into his chair with a sigh. Lest he jinx it - things feel good right now. He's been up for spending time in the teacher's lounge, which has meant conversation and connection. A recent favourite was ragging on Sid for that one mission with the bar girls and the foreign liquor, and feeling the camaraderie of Azusa's secretly-affectionate sighs being the most she usually contributes to such antics. Quiet doesn't necessarily mean disengaged, after all.
He also regularly gets to watch Spirit get chewed out by Naigus for his horrible hydration habits and chug a bottle of water in defiance, then try to hide the relief and jubilation of his organs crying out in thanks.
Spirit.
He's been happier lately, too. Spirit loves it when Stein's around. How much of that has to do with enjoying that Stein can be around and how much is that he is and wants to, Stein doubts either of them could quantify. It's all rolled together in that puppyish quality Spirit has, the pure excitable joy that has him lighting up when Stein enters a room and running in the hall to catch up for half a minute's company between classes.
If he weren't such a princess about his hair, Stein would ruffle it more often.
It's been good being able to work - to study and experiment. He never really appreciates the ability to do so relatively unencumbered until his function dips. Coming out of those dips is like- like having lost his glasses in a garden, and, having recovered them, suddenly seeing with much greater clarity the riot of plants, animals, flowers, all around him.
And Spirit would gladly just tag along, taking in Stein's presence, gamely admiring the world through the lens of Stein's focus.
But there's more Stein likes to do with Spirit than that. He's so pretty and responsive, so interesting and sweet. So steady. Even when Stein meticulously unravels him, he's constant, precious, fascinating. Though he doesn't think he's quite as obvious about it, there are few earthly reasons Stein would ever choose to be apart from him.
He can hardly wait for Spirit's visit after work.
He doesn't have to wait that long. Stein looks up from his lecture prep, head tilted slightly as he gauges the source of the footsteps coming down the hall. He shifts his vision to lazily check the approaching soul, confirming what he instinctively knows. Joy bubbles up within him. It's a pleasant surprise.
For Spirit's sake, he tries to hide his anticipation.
The door opens, and Stein's weapon slips through in a cloud of warmer air from the hallway, fruit-scented and sweet. As he struts in, Spirit tosses his glossy red hair, hips swaying. He does a little twirl, and Stein coos appreciatively.
"Aren't you lovely?" It's rhetorical, of course. Stein rises and goes to meet his weapon. Spirit's beaming, glowing at so well-worn a bit of praise. What a darling, beautiful man. Stein has only to open his arms, and Spirit spins into them with little dancer's steps. Oh, all right, Stein is game.
Neither spares a thought for the optics of faculty dancing in an empty room after hours. It's customary for DWMA alums to have learned some dancing, not just as an avenue to resonance, but for formal events, whether mission-related or associated with the academy. Not everyone really keeps up with it after graduation, of course. It is rather romantic.
There's no music, just the sound of their shoes, their soft breathing, the rustle of their clothes. Gliding across the floor in perfect time just feels good - and nostalgic, in a pleasant way. And then, mid-dip, their setting sharpens rapidly back into focus.
Stein feels his weapon's body react almost in time with his own perception of his student peeking around the edge of the doorframe. What timing. Spirit's startlement is significant, and he gapes at his daughter, upside-down, for a long, awkward moment before tugging at Stein's steady hand in an attempt to get himself upright as fast as possible, Maka already in the process of disappearing from view.
"Maka! ¡Mi vida, regresa!" He scrambles toward the door. Stein feels a small measure of relief when the little blonde meister reappears. He hadn't thought she'd go far.
"I'm interrupting," she says stiffly. Maka sounds halfway between frustrated and sheepish. "It's not important, and I should've knocked."
"You're not, no, never! Of course it's important! How could my wonderful daughter ever be an interruption?"
Stein feels warmth spread in his chest at the reminder that his weapon is almost desperately earnest, his love as devoted as it comes. Maka seems to be experiencing a similar fondness, her angst at Spirit's shock melting away.
"Dad,-" she says, but her shoulders relax, her features softening. Brief deliberation passes over her face. "Whatever, go be gross with Professor Stein. I'll see you later." She's smiling as she ducks out of the doorway once more and is gone.
Spirit groans, a hand thrown over his eyes. "I can't believe she saw that."
"There are worse things."
Spirit turns on him, lips parting to form some snarky comeback, and Stein hastily seals it away with a kiss. "You have a debrief to get to, if I recall?"
"I have a- dammit! Always with the damn meetings!" He runs a distracted hand over his hair, trying to make it a bit less dance-mussed for Lord Death. "I'll see you this evening, love?"
"This evening," Stein affirms.
Spirit moves back toward the door, and Stein watches him go, his soul hurrying through the hall, before directing his attention to shuffling his lecture prep into his bag. It's good enough. Stein has somewhere to be. The kids ought to participate, anyway, and if they don't ask enough questions, he can always pad out the lesson with a dissection.