The grip Soul has locked into his white hair is barbaric enough to rip out the roots. Sweat stains drench his collar and lower back, turning his gray shirt a dark black. His chest heaves uneasily. The harsh morning light tears through the blinds with the promise of returning the temperature from yesterday. Sitting up in bed, elbows on his knees, he stares hollow-eyed at the opposite wall.
What the fuck was that dream?
He isn't sure how long he's been petrified into this state; the thought of Maka's lips and her smile and her sounds overwhelmingly on loop. The fury of panic and confusion flash behind his eyes nearly all at once. What was Maka doing in his nightmare? Why did it make him feel so safe, and warm, and wanted? Why, good god, did he kiss her? He can feel the liberation still coursing through his blood, heart pounding, skin tingling where Maka's hands had been.
The heat trickles down his back.
He hadn't experienced a dream of that caliber in a very long time. To be touched, and kissed; to feel the deep embrace of lust that leaves a firm afterthought in his boxers. Yet, guilt undermines the euphoria he feels. His teasing with Maka is fun, and lighthearted- but having an erotic fantasy with his subconscious projection of his best friend is crossing the line.
He slowly lets go of his taut hair. The glaring sunlight lays slices of heat across his shoulders, and he can hear the faint chips of birds outside his window. A small nest had been forming for the past week in the nearby rain gutter. He's caught glimpses of them before; blue-feathered and spry creatures. Blackstar had teased him when he learned Soul spent several hours researching their species. Normally, the birds started fussing early in the morning.
He checks the time, 8:05am.
"Disgusting," he says.
He looks at the towel hanging on the back of his door, and sighs. A cold shower could refresh his muddled brain and rinse off the thin layer of sweat.
Once in the bathroom, he reluctantly opens his phone. His texts with Maka are still waiting patiently on the screen.
Maybe that's why she showed up, Soul bargains, the last person I thought of before going to sleep.
His thumb hovers over the song recommendation for a moment, then presses play before he steps into the shower.
Streams of icy water race down his chest, shocking his skin. His ribs tense and he resists the urge to shiver. He thinks of the imp behaving on the piano bench; he thinks of Maka's breath on his face. He deserves a miserable shower or two.
He attempts to relax into the water as it slowly becomes a refreshing wash. The soft soap lifts the feeling of grime that had settled on his body, his stink finally down the drain. A breath of contentment escapes him. He's grateful to have cold water in the absence of a working air conditioner. Maybe the weather behaved like a fever dream, giving him outlandish thoughts that now fade away with each scrub. Clean hair, clean pits, clean mind. Right?
The muffled music begins to grow louder from beyond the clear curtain.
He closes his eyes.
The lyrics crawl into his chest, bass line tangling with his heartbeat. Warmth floods his face despite the goosebumps on his skin.
His trembling hand reaches for the shower knob.
His mind is flooded with memories of Maka's smile. The water shuts off with a terrible squeak as subs still slid down his skin.
He lets the rest of the song play out as he slumps down in his towel to the bathroom floor. Wet droplets cling to his hair.
The past few months he'd been living in a haze, routinely gaming and eating and sleeping without much else to make him feel away. After repeating the same days over and over again, new interests and emotions were few and far between.
Yet, here he is, stunned by Maka's recommendation. The last notes of the song gently transition into stark silence, their vibrations fading from Soul's hollowed out soul. He hasn't felt a deep meaningful connection to music like this in a long time. He hasn't felt a connection to a person like this in a long time.
He scowls, quickly grabbing his phone, and heading to his room. Sour collections of frustration and shame churn in his stomach. Nothing has changed besides him finding a new anxiety to unnecessarily wrap his head into knots over. Sometimes, he feels that his mind will grab onto any spike in emotion, and play with it just to keep him busy.
Not this time. Not with Maka. Perhaps it will be best if he keeps his distance, until his brain tires itself out.
His phone vibrates while he's getting dressed.
Hop on Reaper, Blackstar texted.
How did you know I was up, Soul types back, Also, why are you awake? He sits down at his desk while Blackstar's bubble reappears.
Maka wants you to play some stupid game with her because I refuse to play a full match right now. You'd never miss that.
Soul is beginning to grow irritated with friends for no discernible reason.
He puts on his headphones and waits for his computer to hum to life. He drums his fingers on his mouse. A strange feeling tightness in his chest when his screen lights up and the discord window appears. It takes him a moment to realize- he's nervous. He's never been anxious about joining a call before. He glances over at the names in the voice channel.
It's only Blackstar, Kid, and Maka.
"Soul! Hi!" Kid greets happily once he's connected.
"That was fast," Blackstar says.
Soul's voice is flat when he replies, "Hey,"
"Hello," Maka says, "Is your heat wave any better today?" Her question is met with silence. "Soul?"
Soul feels his words die in his throat at the sound of Maka's voice. He really doesn't want to talk about the weather.
"Soul? Hello?" Kid says, exaggerating his words.
"It's fine." Soul watches their icons lose their green ring after catching the tone in his voice. He rubs a hand over his face. This isn't how he wanted to start the call. "Sorry, guys, I'm still a little tired."
"No worries," Maka says, but she sounds cautious. "I've set up a practice match for us if you want to join. Blackstar and I have been messing around in practice servers all morning."
Soul hesitates, a small smile forming on his features. "You finally practicing for ranked soon? Sure." He opens the game.
"Might've been a bad idea to let him play," Kid says.
Soul joins the lobby and bounds over to where they were huddled in the corner of a building knifing each other. "No, Maka is usually a good shot."
Blackstar laughs. "That might be the first time you've admitted that Maka is better than you at something."
"That's not true," Maka says, "Soul is honest with me."
All the air in Soul's lungs rushes out in one breath.
I know honesty is important to you, Maka's teasing voice echoes in his mind.
He remembers how it felt to kiss her, to touch her. How honest would that be? He glances at Maka's character, with her stupid pigtails and emerald eyes to match her oww. Is it fair to always ask for honesty from everyone else, while not being transparent himself? Maka isn't entitled to know what he dreams about, but keeping it from her feels wrong.
Then again, keeping most things from Maka tends to feel that way. Most.
"You still don't even know what he looks like Maka, how can you be so sure?" Blackstar says, voice proud.
"You're so smug," Maka headshots Blackstars character, sending him back to spawn. "I can't wait to beat you later in a real match." She pauses while Kid hops in circles around them. "I'm not going to force Soul to show me what he looks like. Though I am waiting for the day I open a snapchat he's sent me and it's of his face."
Soul laughs nervously. "I'm too pretty. I'd break Maka's mind."
"Oh please," Maka says, "Didn't we learn from yesterday that it's the other way around?"
Soul's heart skips. "Yes," he mumbles, "we did." He hears laughter in the call, and clears his throat so that he can fine-tune his joking tone. He can't afford to slip up. He says, "Maka, you are beautiful."
"Oh my god, you're annoying."
Soul grins. "You can dish all you want but the second I turn it around-"
"Yeah that's so true," Blackstar joins in, "Maka gets so uncomfortable."
"I don't," Maka says, sounding uncomfortable.
"You do. It's okay," Soul says. He feels pinpricks of warmth in his chest. The words rise up faster than he can temper, laced with soft honey, "You're so cute."
The call falls silent.
They heard it. The affection in the tone of his voice, different than usual, no trace of humor. The way it came from the hearth below his heart, glowing with secrecy and shame- for Maka, and Maka only. They had to have heard it.
He doesn't move.
"I should really start muting you," Maka says. She sounds… normal. Embarrassed, but normal.
She didn't hear it.
Soul tilts his head back against his chair in relief.
"Right… So, should we try an actual match now?" Blackstar says. Soul feels a singe of embarrassment. It's likely that Blackstar can read the inflection of his voice better than anyone from many years of listening, and Soul expects to receive a confused message in his inbox at any moment.
He waits, and nothing comes.
They mess around with a few deathmatches, testing out different gameplay moves and communications. Soul lets himself sink into the comforting familiarity of days like these. He discusses a few strategies with Maka, comparing skill, and plays one match against Kid where he narrowly wins. He can't catch any mistakes Maka makes with her gameplay, spectating her against Blackstar. Soul is surprised when it gives him a wave of admiration. Watching his friends grow and change as the years go by is a humbling and exciting experience; seeing them mature, learn, lose, and keep moving forward. He didn't know when he started seeing himself as younger than Maka, but every once in a while, he is reminded of the truth.
Eventually Kid disconnects from the call and Soul leaves the lobby to spectate Maka as she joins a solo queue.
As Maka complains about her teammates, mostly Blackstar, in the discord call, Soul's eyes are drawn to the corner of the discord window where Maka's face beams happily. He takes in the curve of her mouth, her high cheekbones, her eyes. Maka looked surreal in the late afternoon light that shone through her curtains, like it glowed from within her, and shined through her skin and voice. Soul reaches his hand up to his own face, and traces over his lips gently where Maka had kissed him.
He flushes immediately, clenching his hand and dropping it into his lap. Way too far.
He keeps his fingers curled tautly against his palm as her game continues, eyes darting between her gameplay to Maka's face with enough restlessness to raise him from his chair.
"I'm going to go make some food," He says, and Blackstar groans.
"Right when I need you the most?"
Soul switches his specating to Blackstar, seeing Blackstar is hurting on the scoreboard and Maka is several places higher on the leaderboard. "You'll be fine."
He pulls his wireless headphones down to his neck, and heads to the kitchen. When he opens the fridge, he lowers his head for a blast of cool air to greet his face. The breeze slips over his brows and down his throat. He hums happily.
He sets a few items on the counter to make a sandwich, and feels a soft rub against his calf. He looks down to see Blair peering up at him.
"Hi there, lil' girl," He says sweetly. "Are you hungry? Let me get you some breakfast."
"Aww," Maka's voice comes quietly from his headphones, and he half tugs them back on. "Soul, you're not muted."
He rolls his eyes. "I don't care, Blair says hi."
He pours her some food and fills her water, then goes back to his meal. He cracks the eggs into the pan, listening to them sizzle with satisfaction. The smell is nice; Blair takes a break from her bowl to mewl in curiosity. He can hear Blackstar and Maka talking faintly. He smiles to himself, then pulls out his phone and sends a snap of his meal to Maka.
"Ooh, Soul send me something," Maka says. "Blackstar, what do you think it is?"
"I don't think that's a good idea to ask," Blackstar says as he starts typing frantically into the group chat, pauses, and starts laughing as Maka groans. "Yeah, exactly."
"What is he saying?" Soul asks towards his mic in his headset, muttering a small 'ow' while moving his hot sandwich from the skillet to his plate.
"Feet pics, mostly," Maka replies.
"Mostly," Blackstar says.
"Let me see what it is," Maka says, and Soul watches as the delivered sign changes to opened.
It was a photo of the sandwich, but Soul had added a text that read; bet you wished it was my face, didn't you? He's floored with anticipation instead of the humored confidence he normally feels.
His pulse races. Maybe he shouldn't have sent that.
"Maka's blushing!" Blackstar calls her out, cackling.
Soul's heart soars.
"I'm not! You're so dumb," Maka says, "it was just his breakfast, calm down. Alright, Blackstar. Can you just start the match already?"
Soul thinks that'll be the last of it- Maka often leaves him on read anyway- but when he's carrying his plate of food out of the kitchen, he gets a notification.
Maka is typing…
He waits. The typing stops, then starts again.
The sandwich looks good, but I bet you look better, Maka texts back.
Soul's eyes widen and he nearly drops his plate. He yanks the mic on his headset close to his mouth. "Maka!" his voice distorted from proximity and volume in the discord call.
Maka's laugh is quiet but still adds to the pink blooming on Soul's face. He can only imagine what Blackstar is thinking.
"What- stop texting Soul, okay, we have a serious game going on," Blackstar scolds.
Soul can't help rereading the text over again while he goes back to his room. He keeps the door open slightly in case Blair wants to slip in to say hi. Maka doesnt compliment him much, and avoids making comments that Soul considers 'forward' behavior.
The reciprocation brings a feeling of satisfaction and nervous embarrassment- does Maka really think that, even without knowing what he looks like? Soul tries to ignore the low warmth it gives him, little webs stretching out in his mind, connecting his emotions to Maka's friendship to his dream. He wants nothing more than to bet them away and break the ties all together.
He munches on his food remorsefully.
"Oh my god, no," Blackstar says, "I didn't see that. What the hell Maka?"
Soul looks at the screen, sitting down in his chair. In the time he'd been gone, Maka's kicked blackstar down to the bottom of the leaderboard and her name sitting proudly at the top.
"Maka, come on, don't. Let me spawn god damnit. I can see you hovering around the corner, please," Blackstar whines, "Soul, help me!"
He laughs. "What am I supposed to do?"
"Distract her, I don't know!"
Maka rolls her eyes. She seems confident, bright, and happy. Soul remembers seeing that look close, feeling his friend's presence next to him. It hits him all of the sudden how badly he wants to meet her- in person. The thought alone makes him lightheaded.
"Do something!" Blackstar pleads.
Maka scoffs, beginning to move from her spot and across the room to get a different angle on him. "That's not going to work-"
"I had a dream about you." Soul blurts.
Maka's eyes widen and her head turns sharply to look at the discord window, letting go of her aim and losing sight of Blackstar.
"Yes! Yes!" Blackstar screams. "You lost me, I'm gone baby!"
"You what?" Maka's voice is complicated by confusion and surprise.
Soul's head falls into his hands. Why.
"You were in my dream last night," he says slowly through his teeth.
Blackstar laughs, exploding a grenade behind Maka. "Oh God, that was perfect. Thank you."
Maka's attention is brought back to the game, and she groans. "I don't think we should count that, that's cheating."
"It's so not," Blacklist says happily.
"A cheap trick, shame on both of you," Maka complains. "What the fuck was the dream about?"
Soul's face burns. It is time for some gentle damage control. "You were in Nevada," he says, keeping his voice even, "and it was cool. I normally have a recurring uh, dream, about a cool place we were at but you showed up instead."
"Oh," Maka says. She pauses briefly. "Well, did I have my pigtails in with black bows?"
Soul lifts his head quizzically. "Yes, actually. You were wearing a black dress too."
"The fuck?" Blackstar scoffs at the conversation.
"It's a weird thing people tell me. Whenever I'm in their dreams, I'm always wearing a dress and those black bows or something," Maka clarifies.
"That's actually facts," Blackstar inputs, "I once had a dream we went to Ohio and Maka greeted us at the airport with her black dress and bows, it was creepy."
"What…" Soul begins to laugh. "A ridiculous coincidence."
Maka giggles. "I like to think it's because I'd be too intimidating with my actual clothes."
Soul laughs loudly. "More like a princess that needs to be protected," he says.
"Are you kidding me? You are watching the same game as us, right?" Maka voices with acute confidence.
Soul watches her screenshare with a smile, completely lost on how he managed to escape that conversation. He'd been surprised by Maka's immediate reaction, and feels a faint flicker of hope.
Hope? Hope for what? He wipes the look off his face. Nothing, he assures himself.
He hopes for nothing.
Maka has a valid point, though. She is, in short, defeating Blackstar by a landslide. They continue playing, Maka winning the first three games and barely losing the fourth, where Soul and Blackstar combine forces to try and take her down. As time passes by, the clock slowly shifts from early morning to mid-noon; the hottest part of the day. Soul doesn't notice at first when the air around him grows stagnant, and sweat begins to lightly ghost his upper lip. He unknowingly drains his water bottle, and it isn't until he wipes his clammy hand on his shirt absently that he realizes.
"Oh my god," he says. Maka and Blackstar both ask him what happened. "It's back," he whines, slumping in his chair in defeat, "I was so naive, so ignorant. I thought I was safe."
Sounds like it's hot again," Blackstar says, "Sorry, dude."
"I might cry," Soul feigns.
"So it really is a sad summer," Maka says, "I was just kidding about it earlier. I hope I didn't curse you." Soul tried not to look at the small smile on her face, to think of how the song numbed his mind and cut him open.
"That was a good song," he mutters. Maka says nothing, and they carry on.
Eventually, Maka leaves the lobby and Blacktar tells them he's going back to sleep, exhausted from carrying so many losses in a row. Once he leaves the call, they are alone.
With no other tabs open on his computer, Soul stares at his keyboard as the room slowly turns into a swamp. Maka is being rather quiet, like she often is after playing for a while. Soul thinks she becomes burnt out by talking so much, but it's secretly his favorite time to be on a call with her. Maka is a little tired, so she speaks softer and more contemplative than usual. Soul finds it very comforting. It's a space where most of their profound conversations have come from so far.
"Blackstar kept telling me to ask you about your dream," Maka says, breaking the silence. "I feel like he's going to keep bothering me until I do."
"There's not much else to know," Soul lies. I kissed you. "Nothing really happened." I wanted you. He can hear Maka start and stop typing on her keyboard- and then nothing. Is Maka idly sitting there, staring at her computer too?
"You mentioned that… I showed up instead," Maka starts.
"What?"
"You said I showed up 'instead', in the reoccurring dream," Maka pauses. She's speaking carefully. "Instead of who?"
"Oh," Soul says. He wraps his arms around himself subconsciously despite the heat. "Uh, well… an imp. Instead of an imp."
"An imp?"
Soul feels his chest grow tight. "I… yeah. He's like all my fears and uh, issues bundled into one monster."
The seconds of silence that follow terrify him. He hears Maka inhale, then speaks very softly. "What kind of dream is it normally, Soul?"
He closes his eyes at the sound of his name coming from Maka's mouth in that tone- it is rare, like she only saves it for the moments when Soul feels the most vulnerable.
"A nightmare," he mutters, pinching his eyebrows together. "I've been having it for so long I've memorized every second of it. I wake up on this couch in the middle of a checkered floored room; a piano on the right side of the room about ten feet from me. I always have a pinstripe suit on and I can't see very far in the room. Out of the shadows comes the imp- he's dressed similarly, but he's covered in blood. He gives me a few seconds, and then…" His voice died. He's never told anyone about his nightmares before.
"Then what?" Maka asks.
Soul grips his arms tightly, fingernails digging into his skin. "I try running as fast as I can. The room is never ending. And it's never fast enough. You know, dream logic." He pauses, letting himself take a breath. "We fight. We always fight. Sometimes she stabs me, sometimes I end up drowning through the floor as it turns into this black goo, and sometimes I… I don't run. I just stand there, and let him get me."
"Do you… ever win?" Maka's voice is serious and low.
"Every once in a while," Soul says. "But then the next time I'm back there, I'm the one at the edge of the shadows, seeing myself wake up on the couch. It's fucked up." He hates those nights the most, because he understands the fear of being chased. Sitting on the couch, waiting for the slightest quiver in the shadows to start sprinting into the void, heart in his ears and terror on his tongue. Yet there's a frenetic burning he feels standing in the Blackroom with a weapon in hand- a sense of raw duty, urgency, survival. It's as if only one of them is supposed to exist in that space, and he's never been able to figure out who.
"Why do you think I was there?" Maka asks.
Why are we here? His memories echo.
"I don't know, honestly," Soul says, "it took me by surprise. But when you were there, it… wasn't a nightmare anymore." He prays he won't have to explain any further.
"I'm not sure what to say to that," Maka admits. Soul whinces, forever fearing that he's gone too far until she adds, "I kind of feel like it was a compliment?"
His hands gently let go of his arms. "It was."
"Okay," Maka says, the smile in her voice audible.
Soul finds himself starting to grin, too, as the quiet space between them grows warm. The dust suspended in the hot air floats idly by, his empty plate radiates a faint smell of bread and eggs, and he reclines into the comfort of his chair. Not speaking for long moments on calls tends to make Soul anxious, and it is only when he and Maka are alone that he finds solace in it. He wonders if the feeling passes through his microphone and permeates Maka's world, too.
He wonders if they really could be connected in the way that both frightens and calms him.
"You know," Maka says finally, "you were once in a dream I had, too."
