1:23 am…

Soul's eyes snapped open, light beads of sweat glimmering against his flushed skin in the pale moonlight as he pushed himself into a sitting position, his rumpled blanket falling into his lap. Turning his head slightly he glanced out over the night skyline of Death City to watch the moon chuckle eerily, as if at some unheard joke. Soul sighed and turned his gaze away, his thoughts too clouded by the dream to contemplate the humour of the scenery.

What a dream it had been. The weapons flesh still hummed with the anticipation that had been built by the dark, chaotic and enticing dream. It had been about Maka. Or at least what could have best been described as Maka, if she were to ever develope Blair's uncanny talent for making a mans blood boil by a simple word, a suggestive look, or a pleading tone. But the Maka from his dream had done far more than use words or pouty looks. Soul trembled despite himself, still not quite awake enough to get his own body back under control.

It took a few moments of listening to his own slow breathing and trying to ignore his bodies desperate cries for relief from this frustration that had been building steadily over the last few months before he raised an unsteady hand to brush agitatedly through his white hair. Sighing heavily he glanced at the clock on his bedside table, debating whether or not it was worth risking waking Maka to take a cold shower this late at night. The last thing he wanted was to have to face her with his overly detailed and graphic thoughts of her naked body against his still so very fresh in his mind.

Before he realized it, his mind had led itself back to those darkly delicious and oh so tempting thoughts of his meister; the way her pale blonde hair cascaded around her flushed face as she sighed his name, her moist lips against his bare skin, tasting every inch of him, setting every nerve ending ablaze as she wielded complete control over him, his actions, even his thoughts.

'ARGH!'

With a loud and very irritated sigh, Soul shook himself from his reverie. It wouldn't ever happen. It couldn't. They were friends, and more importantly, they were partners. They had had to depend on one another numerous times, trusting their lives to each other more times than Soul could even hope to recollect. He couldn't let a little thing like his hormones cloud up the way he felt about his partner.

'Plus Maka would Maka Chop me into oblivion if I even suggested it…' He sighed again, a bit more resigned this time, and again turned his crimson eyes to the digital alarm clock on the table, its neon red numbers glaring back harshly in the darkness of the bedroom.

1:45 am…

The churning, roiling feeling in his stomach showed no sign of subsiding, so the Scythe pushed himself to his feet, stretching his arms over his head slowly, attempting to loosen the tightness in his shoulders. It was obvious he needed something to distract him from his own body and thoughts, but what? Glancing quickly about his bedroom he found nothing that would hold his interest long enough for him to forget this newest dream. Sadly it wasn't the first he'd had. This had become an almost nightly ritual, in which Soul would awaken at some ungodly hour of the morning, dripping with sweat, his body rigid and practically begging for some sort of release.

He had considered masturbation, but had quickly cast the thought aside, steeling his constitution.

'Cool guys don't need to do that kind of thing….I can handle my body being stupid…' Or so he had told himself.

But he was constantly aware of the pressure building inside him, especially when he was alone with Maka, or they had some sort of accidental contact. Like last week, they had been in the kitchen together, Soul had positioned himself on the counter across from Maka, who had been in the process of cooking dinner and was listening to him recount one of his many stories about a certain assassin. It had been perfectly fine and normal until Maka realized she needed something from the cupboard behind her weapon and instead of interrupting him to ask him to retrieve it for her, she moved to get it herself. Which had of course placed her right between Soul's legs, her hip rubbing gently against his inner thigh as she leaned past him to pull a box of stuffing from the cupboard. Despite himself, Soul's entire thought process had seized up, his breathe catching in his throat as the smell of her invaded his senses, cutting him off mid-sentence.

Why? Why did she have to get so close? And without warning? And then be completely oblivious to the reason for his flustered stammering and damn near breaking his own neck flinging himself from the countertop and ducking out of the kitchen, muttering something about having to 'use the can…' in a less than cool way.

Soul buried his face in his hands at the mere memory of that afternoon. Maka had been completely and utterly befuddled by his actions, and he couldn't blame her. They had always been comfortable in close proximity to one another, so why now, all of a sudden had he become so god damn aware of her? He knew very well that he respected her as a partner and cared for her as a friend, but suddenly it felt like he needed to show his appreciation of her…differently.

The low buzzing of his cell phones text alert interrupted his train of thought. He cast a sideways glance at the clock as he moved to retrieve the phone from his desk. Who would be texting him at two in the morning?

'Good ol' Black*Star…'

YO SOUL you awake??? I'm booored! Come amuse your God!!!

Soul snorted and shook his head, replying almost immediately;

Sure whatever. Where u wanna meet?

After about five minutes of texting back and forth with Black*Star and throwing on a pair of dark jeans and plain black shirt, the weapon headed for the front door of their apartment. As he pulled his keys out of his pocket, a small voice piped up in the back of his head.

'I should probably leave a note for Maka so she wont freak out if I'm not here in the morning…'

He turned on his heal and quickly spotted the stack of post it notes Maka normally had on the kitchen counter, along with the 'Property of Shibusen' pen Soul had swiped from Black*Star who had swiped it from Stein during one of his many detentions for disrupting one, if not all of Stein's classes. Chewing his lip distractedly the weapon quickly scrawled out;

Maka-

Couldn't sleep, out with Star.

See you in class.

Soul

Satisfied it would keep Maka from having an aneurysm; Soul quietly let himself out the front door, locking it behind him. It was only about a 5 minute walk from the apartment to Black*Star's house, and the lone weapon quietly enjoyed the calm of the early spring morning. His brain had finally started to clear when he made his way up the front stoop of Black*Star and Tsubaki's home. Not surprisingly he didn't even get the chance to raise his hand to knock on the front door when it was yanked open and Soul was greeted by the assassins signature lungpower.

'JAA-HOOOoo! SOUL! What took you so long?!' Black*Star grinned widely at the weapon, who just raised an eyebrow, far too used to this behavior to be phased by his endless energy.

'Could you yell a bit louder? I don't think the dead are awake yet.' Soul smirked, brushing past the demon blade meister and his best friend, who laughed loudly.

'The dead could only hope to be awoken by someone as purely awesome as myself!'

Snickering despite himself, Soul kicked his shoes off and wandered into the clean and tidy (thanks to a certain chain-scythe) living room, promptly flopping onto the long brown couch facing the television. He looked around the empty room, then raised a brow at Black*Star, who had followed him into the room and was now sitting crosslegged on the floor in front of the T.V. digging through a stack of game and DVD cases.

'Ne, where's Tsubaki? Don't tell me she actually left you alone and unsupervised.' The thought of Tsubaki being that irresponsible fled his mind quickly as the assassin laughed loudly, turning on the Xbox in front of him and placing a disk in the open tray.

'I gave her permission to go out with Liz and Patti. Some sort of girly get-together-and-talk-about-our-partners-and-boys-and-clothes-and-hair-and-nails…thing. She's staying the night at Kid's.' He waved the subject away as he energetically leapt to his feet and dug the large instrumental controllers out from behind the entertainment system. Soul groaned loudly.

'Man, Rock Band again?! Havent we already played through all the sets in ALL the countries?' The weapon sighed, but resigned himself to leaning forward to reach for the outstretched plastic guitar Black*Star was offering him, knowing all too well he was better off just going along with it rather than trying to fight with the meister over the matter.

Soul really didn't mind the game. He actually really liked it, especially when everyone in the group got together and played. It was fun to watch how each of their friends were particularly skilled with one instrument yet failed miserably at the others. Maka, for example, was especially good with lead guitar, at least, once Soul had taken about 20 minutes and 3 Maka Chops to show her the correct way of positioning and moving her hands about the plastic instrument in time to the notes on the screen. But no amount of tutoring or instructions could keep her from being absolutely terrible with the drums, which lead to much fun being had at her expense, leading of course to even more painful and concussion causing Maka Chops for everyone. Mostly himself and Black*Star.

Soul didn't realize he had been grinning stupidly at his own thoughts until he caught the look on Black*Star's face. The smug look that told Soul his best friend knew exactly what he had been thinking about. Clearing his throat, the scythe leaned farther forward, making a grab for the guitar controller still in the others outstretched hand. But at the last second, the assassin lifted the instrument quickly out of his reach, damn near causing him to topple off the edge of the couch.

'Dammit man! We gonna play or not?!' He fixed his red eyes on the other in a deadly glare, but Black*Star appeared not to notice. Or care. He suddenly seemed to be contemplating something, as Soul could almost hear the wheels grinding inside the others thick skull. Slowly a wide grin spread across the blue haired boys face, his green eyes lighting up as they landed on the rather timid looking weapon sitting before him.

'Ah, shit…' Soul knew that look. He also knew that whatever Black*Star had cooking in that muddled mess of a brain was more than likely going to be totally worth whatever shit he landed them in. It always was. Without a word the assassin dropped the plastic guitar on the couch next to a bewildered Soul and sprinted out of the room. He was gone only a few seconds; long enough for Soul to shrug off his paranoia and grab the guitar strap and toss it over his head, when Black*Star came skidding back into the room, his bare feet squeaking loudly on the polished hardwood floor. He was holding a small dark box, which Soul eyed suspiciously as the meister plopped himself down on the couch next to his friend, still grinning like the hyperactive tard he was.

'The hell is that?' Soul asked, raising a questioning brow as the assassin fiddled with the small latch on the front of the box.

'This, oh foolish mortal, is our pregame entertainment!' With that, he flipped open the lid of the small pencil-box sized container, revealing what looked like a rolled up plastic sandwich baggy and a small, darkly colored glass pipe. It took a moment for realization to sink in, and when it did Soul almost had to catch his own jaw to stop it from hitting the floor at mach 5. He stared in disbelief at Black*Star, who looked ever so pleased with himself and Soul's more than amusing reaction.

'…Is that..?'

'Sure is, Einstein.'

'Where…?'

'Kilik loaned it to me. Said he needed to get it out of his house for a while. He told me it was okay to help myself to some so long as I paid him back, or just let him bask in my presence at his leisure.' Black*Star was grinning again, busying himself with the contents of the box.

Soul just watched the other, a bit dumbfounded for the moment. Once he regained his composure, he sighed and leaned back against the couch cushions, deciding once again that the best plan of action was to not make a scene. What could it hurt?

It was 2:35 Thursday morning, and one thing was for certain; the dreams, and Maka, were far from his thoughts now.