this is one of my Resbang 2016 entries, an event hosted on Tumblr and Grigori-Wings/Yuku. the best part of writing silly webcam shenanigans was partnering with swordbreaker, who is not only a super talented artist, but one of the sweetest people i've ever met. please take a moment to look at the accompanying art she made for this fic - i'll post a link in my profile! also, thank you to lunar-resonance for her support and to lucyrne for her help with editing.

thank you!

wish you were here

"Hey – oooh, where's your man bun? Did you get a haircut?"

Smiling shyly, Soul cards a nervous hand through his short hair. "Yeah... does it look okay?"

Maka palms her chin and leans in as if she can reach through the screen to kiss his dimpled cheek. Vulnerability looks divine on him. Maybe the fact that it's nearing midnight in his time zone adds to the thoughtfulness softening his features – not that his constant state of drowsiness is a newfound problem, but the distance between them is an obstacle wearing both of them down.

Granted, being half a world apart isn't as daunting if they video chat every day, so he stays up late and calls without fail, even if his eyelids often flutter and shut during their conversations. Today is one of those times he's struggling against sleep's beck and call. The semi-reliable internet connection provides a clear image of him for once, and she watches a bashful Soul worrying his lip as she reassures, "Shh. You look cute."

"You mean cool," he laughs, ducking his head down and rubbing the nape of his neck out of nervous habit. "I wasn't sure about getting it chopped off, but I'm getting used to it."

"It looks good. I promise," she says, lacking the bravery to offer a flirtatious wink. Long haired Soul used his fingers as a brush, made a habit out of borrowing her hair ties to control his mane, and inspired Maka to spend nights with a hand slipped beneath her panty's elastic waistband instead of studying, but clean-cut Soul has her tongue-tied. She's not sure what to do with her hands suddenly - well, she does know, but it's inappropriate and nothing she can act on because he's on the other side of the world.

Her senses are confused. Why she can hear and see him, but not touch?

Long distance relationships are hard.

The blush water coloring down his collar is satisfying and a much-needed reassurance that they're doing the right thing by staying video calling daily.

"Can you show me your window?" he asks through a yawn. To say that he's fascinated with the sky would be an understatement. How it could be dark and star-filled for him but bright and cloudless for Maka never ceases to baffle him. She's not done fawning over his hair, but she doesn't want to dwell over feelings she can't act on. Wishing a light switch existed to turn her fleeting libido on and off, Maka pushes herself away from the desk, picking up her laptop.

"It's noon-ish here," she says, knowing that he's bound to ask, like clockwork. Some things never change, and this is one she hopes is a constant.

"I'm never going to get over how you're a day ahead of me," he drawls.

What Maka can't let slide is the effect his voice has on her: it rumbles in her chest like the echo of bass speakers at EDM concerts she used to drag him to. She curls her toes to make sure the tingle that rolled down her spine wasn't the kind that leaves her wobbly-kneed. Thank heavens she has the screen turned toward the window because the look on her face must be pathetic - homesick, flustered, dizzy with want.

He's still talking: "It's eleven at night here on the east coast."

"Yeah, the time zone thing is kind of crazy," she agrees absentmindedly.

Nostalgia is overwhelming: Soul waking up early (or not sleeping through the night) to watch the sunrise, sharing a cup of tea with her. Good morning kisses to her forehead. The welcomed roughness of stubble against her cheek when he held her close. She begins to think that these daily video calls do more harm than good. Two months ago, the prospect of studying abroad didn't faze her - they're poetry in motion, after all, Ying and Yang, two ends of the same string. It's not that her confidence in the sturdiness of their relationship was wrong, but she severely underestimated how deeply ingrained Soul is in her life, how she'd feel at a loss without him at her side.

It's like wandering around in the dark.

She misses him terribly, hungrily, like she's stuck underwater without knowing which way the surface lies. She wants him in an animalistic way, teeth marks on inner thighs and all, but she also wants to hold his hand while they watch TV, or pull a blanket over their heads before a lazy makeout session, and brush his hair out of his face while he naps. She wants him wholly, and she's selfish through and through because she wants to be wanted too - sinfully.

And Soul isn't very forthcoming.

Sex had been a new and fun development around the time she decided to hop on an airplane, so there's that to look forward to when she returns in six months, but there's a little voice in her head that insists things won't be the same. Still, it would be a damning lie if she tried to downplay how much time she dedicates to thinking about his sharp hipbones, remembering how his muscles twitched beneath her fingertips as she explored skin she'd never seen before.

Vocalizing how much she misses him in parts wouldn't be fair - especially the parts about him that technology can't communicate, like how his touch sets her skin on fire, or the comfort of catching a whiff of his shampoo as he climbed into bed. It's her ambition's fault they're separated because she wanted to study abroad for grad school, but Soul doesn't seem to outwardly mind or cast blame. Aside from playfully whining that he's never noticed how cold winters could get because she's a human electric blanket, he's careful about masking his longing. She wishes he wouldn't, that he could be more open, that he'd confess that her name slips from between parted lips when he touches himself.

Talking about that wouldn't do much good either. They're on different continents.

"Any plans for today?" Soul's voice is saying. His attempts to make normal conversation is appreciated, but she can't keep her feelings compartmentalized at the moment. That's his specialty, not hers.

"I'm back from my meeting with my mentor Tsubaki," she says, climbing onto her bed, turning the laptop so she can look at him. "I have to study, but I don't want to, Soul - I'm tired, and I miss you."

He frowns, brows knit, voice low: "I miss you too."

She wants to cry. His honesty is heart-wrenching. "Really?"

"I mean... you're my best friend." Pausing to take a breath, he goes on, "I'm kind of lost without you here. I'm pathetic."

Puffing out her cheeks is the only way she can prevent a grin and happy tears to roll down her cheeks. She's not happy that he's miserable without her, but the fact that her absence has an effect is validating, reassuring. On a 'selfishness' scale from 0 - 10, she's at an 11, relieved that she's needed, wanted, missed, irreplaceable. Not that she suspected anything otherwise, but hearing what is supposed to be understood without being said means the world.

"Tell me more," she requests, staring intently.

Soul bursts into laughter, radiantly so. "You want me to tell you more about my suffering?"

She nods, solemn. "I mean, I want to talk about us. And about you."

Springing this on him out of nowhere probably isn't fair. But it's rare that Soul opens up without a tad bit of prying, so she has to take what she can get. Unfortunately, scooting back and plopping herself against fluffy pillows for comfort during what could be a difficult conversation disconnects the call just as he opens his mouth. The internet is sensitive - she should have known that moving too much would end their call prematurely. Sometimes it's hard to get back, and she chants and begs underneath her breath for connectivity, throwing in a few of her favorite stringed curses. The need to hear Soul listing all of the ways she's missed is parallel to an emergency. Luckily, the foot of the bed, she finds, offers a stronger signal, and she's hitting the 'call' button before she can think.

"Stupid internet," she explains in a huff the second he appears on the screen again, stark lashes glinting in the darkness surrounding him. From the familiar outline of posters hung on the wall behind him, she would bet that he's in his room.

Clearing his throat, Soul shakes his head. "Yeah. Anyway, where were we? You were begging me to tell you I love you-"

She balls her fists, feeling warmth coloring her cheeks. A different kind of heat simmers in her lower belly. It's that damn haircut - she can see his eyebrows because they're not veiled behind tousled bangs anymore, and he's so expressive. Sexuality has always been a mystery to her but something about Soul is alluring, like he must have been a part of her in a past life. Apparently, Maka has a thing for the elegant look. He's every bit the refined gentlemen his parents hoped he'd grow up to be despite his affinity for disregarding the rules with a lazy shrug.

Okay, time to be serious.

"Soul," she says firmly over his exaggerated monolog. "Soul. Seriously -are you okay without me there?"

The mirth in his eyes fades into a careful stare. "Yes and no."

"Details, please."

He tsks at her. "Pushy, pushy."

She might cry. "Soul-"

"Okay - I mean, I really miss you, and things are better when you're around, but I'm feeling okay too. Get me? Not as anxious and stuff. Anyway-"

Maka leans forward, forgetting that she can't throw her arms around him to let him know he's loved beyond belief. His strength is admirable. Worrying is a habit she's picked up from him, though. "But you said you were pathetic."

There he goes, running a hand through his hair again, kindling misplaced arousal that she's glad she can't act upon because she's not graceful when nudity is involved. Initiating sex was awkward, neither of them wanting to come on too strong, both too shy to ask for what they wanted or what the other needed. Maybe the time apart has allowed an opportunity to polish their communication skills, because if they were in the same room, she'd ask him to take off her clothes with his teeth.

"Yeah," Soul admits, bringing Maka back to the present moment. "I meant, I'm pathetic 'cuz I miss you so much… You're kind of fun to be around." Both of his hands fly to his face as he coughs, though Maka suspects it's to cover up a bright red blush. It takes the edge off his ever-present scowl, which is only a mask for the reticent, uncertain softie hidden underneath hoodies and feigned apathy.

Maka bites back a beam. "You miss me," she singsongs, wishing he were there so she could climb into his lap.

"Don't make me take it back," he grumbles, covering his face. "I'm so sleep drunk and it's not even that late. Forget I said anything."

"You're cute," she insists, daydreaming about running her hand through his hair, phantom pinpricks of electricity blooming at her fingertips. She wishes she could be there in the flesh to feel the change in his aura, to feel the goosebumps blossoming along his arm. The effect she has is empowering - he melts when she looks at him, and she's sure he'd sacrifice blinking if it meant he could see her more. She only uses her powers for the greater good, of course, never asking him to stay up longer than necessary, always ending their Skype calls with things like "I think about you a lot" that leave him beaming.

"I wish you were here," she sighs, laying down. Bad posture might be contagious - the spot between her shoulder blades aches like the muscles are stretched out too thin due to her slumping forward. No wonder Soul always looks grumpy. She decides to reward him with plenty of messages when they're together again. "I miss you, too."

Soul smiles sleepily, peeking between his fingers at her. "Yeah," he whispers. "I know."

X

Maka always wants what she can't have. It's not a negative thing, though - she's nothing if not persistent until she gets her way, and she welcomes the challenge of seducing her boyfriend with stubborn resolve.

"...What are you wearing?"

Soul licks his lips, unblinking. "Uh, a… shirt?"

"I meant bottoms," she wants to say, instead falling silent. She can't say the word 'underwear' to save her life.

Flirting with Soul is an anxiety-filled, frustrating adventure. She has no idea how they wound up naked and between his sheets the first time, giggling through their own insecurities and kissing the other's away. The boy does not understand that she's trying to steer their conversation in a more risque direction. Maka isn't sure how internet sex works, but she knows she wants it, and for that to come about he has to be on board, too.

Articulating that need is an entirely different feat. She wants to be coy, sexy, and she's not willing to sacrifice those to see galaxies in the darkness behind her eyelids.

"Maka, you can see me, you know what I'm wearing," Soul continues, tugging at his shirt.

"I know, I know, I just…," she sighs, feeling stupid. "I wanted to try something-"

Soul stares as she stops abruptly. "...Yeah?"

For once, words fail her. How is she supposed to say that she wants to pick up where they left off sexually? Pervertedness may be a rampant gene she's inherited (shoutout to her adventurous, raunchy father for carrying and passing-down dominant traits), but said traits aren't active unless Soul is the subject. Now the haircut is the newest piece of the mystifying attraction puzzle, proving that she's indeed head over heels about him.

She feels dirty. Wanting to ask if he would show more skin because she misses him seems too lewd, especially when he's staring at her so innocently. "Yeah," she decides to say, letting go of her game plan. "Want to play Sudoku online with me? I found a great website-"

He scrunches up his face, pretending to gag. "I forgot I have to go do something, bye," he jokes, shaking his head, detangling his hair with his fingers. "Puh-lease don't make me sit through your nerdy hobbies - oh hey, I know something we could do. Close your eyes," he interrupts himself, lighting up.

Disappointment about the failed flirting attempt punches her in the gut, but then she sees him pull a guitar into view, laying it across his lap. "Oh! I want to hear you play-"

"Close your eyes. You know I get stage fright." Soul may be oblivious, but he's obliviously sweet.

Maka shields her eyes behind her hands. "Is this good?"

"Perfect," he says. "No peeking."

The silence before he strums a ballad is like anticipating a long-awaited gift. She's not sure when to expect the sound to start, or how loud it will be, or what mood the song will take because Soul tends to surprise, but excitement buzzes beneath her skin like a high voltage powerline. If she were there, they'd be cocooned by blankets on the couch in his apartment, Maka's head resting against his shoulder as he played well into the early morning hours.

But now everything's different, and she'd have to cross a vast ocean and numerous state lines to even be in the same city as him, and the first few chords he plays lack a certain pureness that can only be appreciated fully by hearing them in person. The moment finds her digging the heel of her palms into her eye sockets to keep tears at bay because Soul settles on humming along to the melancholic tune instead of singing.

He's such a great singer. His talents are magnified thanks to her, he's always said, and here he is battling his demons to play for her. She's a terrible partner for not thinking this long distance relationship through -

Soul's voice is like a light switching on, chasing away the darkness. When the music ends and she's still hiding behind her hands, he asks softly, "Are you okay?"

Maka gulps, sighs to mask the sniffles, and rubs her eyes. Maybe these tactics will make him mistake her tears for midday tiredness. When she moves her hands, Soul's face greets her, the skin between his brows pinched in the same fashion that prompts teasing about 'thinking too much'. A wave of adoration hits her. She's so lucky to have him.

"I'm okay," she promises.

X

It's safe to bet that she's an emotional wreck.

There is an internal tug-a-war she can't win waging on, one that mercilessly yanks her between dealing with the frustration of stifling her increasingly overzealous libido and avoiding a miserable hell, all because she misses Soul like she hasn't taken a sip of water in days. Daily skype calls both irritate the psychological wound and appease it. Part of her wonders how he'd react if she proposed a break, though she knows his sensitive heart would take it the wrong way no matter how she phrased it. When she puts herself on the other end of the question, she would definitely smile through the heartbreak and agree if it made him happy, but she'd be reduced to an anxiety-riddled, overthinking mess until she either snapped and demanded a thesis-length explanation of why he ended the relationship.

So, there isn't much that can be done about missing Soul. Maka isn't above accepting the morsels of him she can get in the form of text messages, video chats, and sporadic, shy proclamations of "I miss you", and as far as her sexual frustration goes… she has fingers. Fantasizing is free and her preferred method of relieving stress. Closing her eyes, visualizing a mass of white, newly cut mop of hair between her thighs, pretending her finger pads are a wet, hot wave, and mouthing his name does the trick. Splurging on a vibrator is a viable option, one she plans to carry out via the lifesaving means of the internet, except she's afraid of her nosy roommate opening the package before Maka even knows of its arrival.

Thank Hell and all its wonderful sins for overbearing roommates, though. It's exactly what Maka needs to get the ball rolling with Soul, even if it's presented as a burden at first.

Kim Diehl has no boundaries, no shame, no sense of boundaries, and endless creative innovation when it comes to having fun - something she claims Maka knows nothing about. At first, the two hadn't met eye to eye, which nothing like bonding over the disapproval of strange men's gratuitous ogling couldn't fix. Now they're practically best friends, borrowing the other's hair tools and products, Maka helping Kim with Japanese grammar and Kim returning the favor by cooking meals and making sure they're never out of toilet paper. Of course, Kim, who is an open book, tries to wheedle information out of Maka about her 'mysterious boyfriend', and has become more and more persistent the less Maka reveals.

"You need to get out and have fun," Kim declares one Friday evening, knocking Maka's textbook off its stand with a swat. "When you're not crying over assignments you're crying over your boy toy, and neither are healthy. Do you realize you're not tied to your desk? You have something called 'Free Will.' Let's go out and do something!"

Maka thumbs through the pages to look for the paragraph she had barely started on before Kim barged into the room. "I'm busy," she says, more harshly than intended. Inwardly cringing at her rudeness, she continues, "Maybe we can watch a movie or something when I'm done with this report?"

"When I said 'out', I meant out of the apartment. You know… outside," Kim says, closing the book again, this time snatching it away and dangling it above Maka's head like a prize. "Remember that cute girl I was telling you about? The one from the tattoo shop where I got my nose pierced?"

Maka squints. "Sure?"

"You weren't listening!" Kim sighs through her nose loudly. "Anyway, she invited to hang out tonight. You should come with me. I'm begging you, actually-"

"After I do one last thing." Maka's attempts to compromise go in one ear and out the other. Her chair screeching back as she stands, ready to reclaim her possession and go back to reading about Japanese consonants and vowels. Although Kim is three-and-a-half inches taller than Maka, it's enough to prove advantageous. Jumping to reach it only inspires Kim to swing the book left and right and up and down to avoid capture until Maka settles on directly accosting her, bringing out her nails carefully as she claws for her book.

Kim retaliates by stuffing the book underneath her shirt.

"Okay, that's not going to stop me," Maka declares, diving for the rectangular lump on Kim's belly, screaming gently along with her roommate's demanding squawks.

"Just. Go. Out. With me! I'm want to see Jackie again, but I need you to come along so it's not awkward," Kim screeches, now doubled over, securing the book between her bent knees and chest. She doesn't give in when Maka tries to open her up like a clam, nor does she surrender when Maka settles on tickling. "It won't kill you to get out once in awhile, too!"

Maka stands up from where they ended up piled on the floor, stomping toward her closet. "FINE!"

X

Two hours later finds the pair in a cab.

"Are you sure you shaved your legs? And your armpits?" Kim's asking loudly as Maka types out 'SOS! Kim kidnapped me. Send a search party if I stop answering' in a text message thread to Soul. Beside her, Kim is reaching down to test the smoothness of Maka's shins while Maka's phone vibrates in her hand almost immediately.

'Yea? Send me a selfie so I can show the police' reads Soul's accidental suave reply. Maka can imagine him burrito-wrapped in fuzzy blankets on his bed, one eye barely cracked open and struggling to string coherent words together, not knowing that half a world away she's reading too much into his text. He's too innocent. In fact, he's probably stuffing potato chips into his mouth in his drowsy stupor, and here she is, burning up because she's thinking a million dirty thoughts a second.

It's inspiring, though. She's rocking a new mini-skirt, ankle boots, and she knows a picture is worth a thousand words. Not only is she happy with the view of herself when she looks down at her lap, but the image her phone captures is one Soul would be ecstatic to see: legs for days, bare thighs, her skirt ridden up high. Attaching it to a message makes her heart thud against her sternum, and swatting away Kim's hands from her armpits is a temporary distraction until her phone vibrates again to notify her of Soul's response:

'Damn.'

X

The bar and club scenes aren't Maka's style - too stuffy and dark and filled with the looming stench of alcohol she's come to associate with her papa's cheating - so the pair ends up arcade-hopping until it's time to meet Jackie and her friends. At first, Kim scoffs at the neon blinking signs and preteens who shamelessly and gracelessly hit on her, but as the night wears on, the age range of the arcade-going changes and she's suddenly on board with the idea.

Of course, the change of heart is only because a certain long haired, eyebrow-ring wearing beauty declares arcades are 'retro and fun.'

"My family traveled a lot because of the military. I fell in love with Japan, so I stayed here. I do tattoos and piercings to get by," Jackie says to Maka when they're introducing themselves, though she has eyes only for Kim, who blushes a red so bright she glows.

One thing Maka had expected was becoming the awkward third wheel to an impromptu date because Jackie's friends ditch them early on. The pompous bastard named Ox, who threw a tantrum when he lost a brief battle of Mortal Combat to Maka, declared he and Harvar had 'more pressing matters' to attend to after Harvar demolished them all at DDR.

Not that Jackie and Kim notice their absence. Or Maka's.

The girls continue their arcade-hopping adventure, Maka looking the other way to give Kim and Jackie some privacy whenever they send each other love-eyes. Four in the morning sees the trio high off soda, candy, and victory after having challenged and taken away a local gang of teenager's Space Bowling winning title.

"Idiots," Jackie says as she leads them down the street. "They didn't even notice the skewed the scores-"

Maka's internal code of honor flares up. "Jackie! That's just wrong-"

"Like I said, not my fault."

Meanwhile, Kim seemingly puts on a straight face and pretends not to care that she's fallen in step with Jackie, that their hands briefly touch as they sway back and forth. It's obvious to Maka that the first few times are a mistake, but the next fifty times are calculated and welcomed. Maka speeds up to lead the way even if there's no particular place to go, partly because she doesn't want to intrude on their moment, mostly because she wants to have time for herself.

Texting Soul about missing her bed, her laptop, and his hands is a distraction from Jackie and Kim. A weird wave of jealousy-nostalgia has her silently wanting a tender moment like they're having, but with Soul. The last time they held hands was when he saw her off at the airport, neither of them saying anything as they sat and waited for her to board. Maka becomes too focused on her cell phone screen, ends up following behind the flirting almost-couple, and feels a stone drop in her stomach when she overhears Jackie say, "Want to hang out at my tattoo parlor? I live in the apartment right above it…"

No way is Maka going to shadow them and sit it on what's looking like a hookup, but as she scans her surroundings, she realizes with a start that she's not sure where they've ended up. It's four in the morning, she isn't sure pepper spray will equate the security of traveling in a group, and the arches of her feet are screaming for reprieve.

"Jackie, I'd love to see your place, too."

Speaking up shakes Jackie and Kim from their lovestruck trace, shocked expressions confirming Maka's suspicion they had forgotten she was still around. Jackie looks between her and Kim, blinks as she gathers her thoughts, and tilts her head in the direction of her apartment. "That way!"

Kim has no boundaries and plenty of shameless grace. "I've always wanted my nipples pierced."

Jackie's flustered state is palpable; it's a wonder the whole city doesn't tilt. Even from watching the back of her head, Maka can tell Jackie's blushing brighter than a lightbulb. "I could…I could help you with that. I am an expert at piercing."

"I've always wanted a belly button piercing!" Maybe Maka's envy drives her temporarily mad; maybe she's subconsciously dedicated herself to sabotaging any opportunities Kim might have for romance as revenge for having her studying night ruined. Either way, her raunchy roommate doesn't waver - she spins around so fast she almost falls, so abruptly that Maka walks into her.

"Really? Well, we could do fix that right up before Jackie does my nipples," Kim says cheerily, grabbing Maka by the wrist so she doesn't run away.

Plot twist. Maka hadn't expected this, or she would've been prepared with a better comeback other than, "It's late and I have to go home." Pitiful.

"Nonsense, Maka. I'm so glad you're taking my advice and decided to live a little!" '

"Ahh…" She can't think quickly enough. "Maybe I can get another earlobe piercing instead? "

The artist in Jackie shines through when she proclaims she has just the piece of jewelry that would suit Maka - an angel-shaped opal. "It would dangle against your belly. I'd be cute!"

Kim scrunches up her face at Maka, jealousy running rampant, before sending Jackie a sweet smile. "What about my nipples, Jackie? What jewelry piece would they look cute with?"

Cue Jackie blushing. She stammers all the way to her place, where she drops her keys twice while trying to unlock the door because she's shaking too much. Part of Maka wants to pull Kim to the side and beg her to tone the blatant flirting down. Can't she see poor Jackie's a nervous, smitten mess? Also, Maka can do without being caught in the mix of their bantering seduction of each other. It's awkward. It makes Maka think of Soul, which leads to Maka regretting the study abroad trip and consequently, her life.

"There's something I've never told you," Maka says when they're at the parlor, as Kim pushes her onto the chair pushed up against a mirror. A variety of metal tools lay on a towel on the tray next to the chair - the setup reminds Maka of a horror movie. Lying might be the only way out of this: "I'm afraid of needles."

"Conquer your fears." Kim pats her on the head gently. "I'll hold your hand - wait, do you think that would make Jackie think I'm into you?"

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Maka shakes her head.

The object of Kim's affections returns wearing a professional expression and her hair in a low ponytail. Maka barely met her tonight but she's already seen many sides of this stranger. "This is the piece. Do you like it?"

In the palm of Jackie's light blue latex-covered hand is something Maka thinks is a miniature ball and chain until she takes deep breaths, focusing, bottling up her panic. Attached to the short silver chain is an iridescent semi-sphere that looks like a dream caught in a photograph. All of her favorites colors are melted into mists - lavender, pink, blue, and silver - and it's nothing short of iridescent.

"Ohh.. that is beautiful," Maka breathes.

Jackie motions for her to recline. Maka swallows the huge knot of fear clogging her throat, squeezes every muscle in her body, and rationalizes the terror away while Jackie cleans the area around Maka's navel. The metal clamp-like tool in Jackie's hand only makes Maka flinch a little. If either of the girls heard Maka let out a tiny squeak, they don't take the opportunity to tease. Once Jackie grasps the skin above Maka's navel, Maka turns her head away.

It's been a long night.