Breathlessly, Maka asks, " Did you?"

Rain drums heavily on Soul's roof. His nerves are sheathed now by the comforting mask of darkness, and his faceless confidence grows with every inhale.

Shameful desire creeps from its hiding place in the crevices of his heart.

I can look at you, He sinks deeper. I can know you.

"I- I did," Soul answers. "I don't get to see you that way normally."

Maka's voice is careful, lightly tugging on the strings of Soul's restraint. "What way?"

He can see it all so clearly in his head- the vine of wick curling through his thoughts, winding deeper, waiting to be hit with one spark that ignites a network of gasoline, and burns him and Maka alive.

He softly heats his words. "Up close," They hover over the fuel, "So private." His chest tightens, and the flames tilt threateningly towards doom. "Just for me."

Maka's eyes flutter. "Oh."

Observations in their discord trickle in slowly, one by one and then become a unified confusion: Is she blushing? Maka is blushing?

"Yeah, are you blushing?" Soul mirrors in amusement. Red undertones in his own face are masked by glowing yellow-orange light. The scent of melting wax settles on his upper lip.

Maka takes a deep breath of sobriety, and returns to her game. I'm not blushing, it's warm in here. She types in game chat.

A prideful smile sneaks onto Soul's face. "You seem to do that a lot when I talk to you."

Maka ignores him.

"Why is that, Maka? Do I make you uncomfortable?" His voice intentionally slows to a gentle rumble, "Or do I make you feel something?"

The movement Soul witnesses is glorious.

Maka subtly lolls her head to the side as an inhale drags her bottom lip between her teeth, radiating heat and a sudden restlessness Soul has never seen before.

His stomach drops.

"Is that it?" He says quietly. "My voice?"

Maka nods slightly. A rush of air leaves Soul's lungs.

Insatiable warmth braids tension into the sinews of his muscles. "But our friends can see you, now."

"You don't think I know that," Maka mutters.

Soul touches a hand to the flaring pulse on his throat. "Makes me wonder what you'd be like when the camera isn't on you." His skin hums. "Or if I was with you."

The game on screen pauses. "Shut up."

Soul refuses. "Maybe we could do more than just talk."

Maka covers her face with a hand, elbow propped on her desk. Discord is tangled by questions and alarm- What is happening with Maka?

"Are you a physical person? I don't think I've ever asked," Soul says, trying to bait away Maka's shyness. "With friends and stuff- are you affectionate?"

"I don't know," Maka muffles from behind her palm. "Sometimes."

Soul feels his heart leap unexpectedly. "Would you… with me?"

Maka shows no hesitation. "Yes."

A tingling sensation rushes down Soul's neck and chest with a dangerous thrill.

"Good," he murmurs, "I like that."

Maka sinks back into her chair as a nervous smile peeks out under her fingers. She asks, "What about you?"

"Oh, I'm very touchy," Soul lies obviously. "I've been told plenty of times I need to come out of hiding." He confesses. "I don't really, unless I-" He wavers, "Unless I want it enough." His breath hitches. "With you, I'd want it enough."

A soft noise of surprise escapes Maka's mouth instantly. Her hand falls from her face. The warmth in her bright green eyes lulls Soul into believing she's enjoying this- it's real.

Soul's tone becomes a quiet rumble, "I wish I could feel you."

Maka's breath deepens.

"In my hands." Soul watches Maka's jaw incline. "Warm and real."

Maka glowers at her monitor, gaze hidden with dark shadows against her bright cheeks. Her voice trembles. "Stop screwing with me."

Fire drips down Soul's spine. "I'm not."

"You always do this."

"I don't get how you're this stubborn," Soul says, the frustration of hot days and endless nights sharpening his tongue. "After everything- you still don't believe you can be wanted?"

Everyone wants you. I want you. Don't you know that?

"Soul," Maka warns.

"No, Why not? You're fucking amazing Maka."

Maka scoffs, and turns her head away from the camera.

Soul sits up abruptly. "What do you need to hear? That you're smart-"

"Oh my god-"

"And impressive," he fumes, "And attractive-"

"Soul."

"What?" He exasperates. "Come on. You know I'm an honest person. You know it's true, don't give me that."

Maka is silent for a moment. Then, she shakes her head, and picks up her phone.

"I'm gonna hang up," She says.

Soul can see the trail of ashes he's already left behind, and the simmering pool of gasoline he's nearly reached. He's torn himself apart enough already.

He's ready to let it burn.

"You need to be kissed Maka," He murmurs, throat raw, "So hard you won't remember your name- maybe then you'll understand what I mean."

The phone slips from Maka's hand and clatters against her desk. She's stunned into silence; mouth attempting to pass over invisible words.

The fire in Soul's heart roars.

"Um- I- um, sorry guys," Maka stammers, unmuted in the discord. "I have to head off. Sorry." She sits up, and moves her hands back to her setup. Her fingers shake. "Bye."

The discord app switches back to chat.

Soul waits in tense quiet for the thin red bar atop his screen to disappear- for Maka to hang up. That was too far, he knows, and Maka is surely bound to leave the moment she's officially offline.

"Oh my fucking god!" Maka exploeds unexpectedly, voice tattered with fury, "Fuck you, oh my god."

Taken aback by the sudden shift in demeanor, Soul fights the smile climbing onto his face. "What did I-"

"Fuck off, don't even try," Maka says, "You're terrible. You're really, really terrible. I was streaming in the discord, you asshole, the whole time, and you thought-"

"Maka, Maka, calm down," Soul says, stifling his laughter.

"You thought it'd be so, so funny to talk to me like that. You're a psychopath. You're insane. I hate you."

Soul adjusts the volume on his headphones. "You don't."

"I don't," Maka admits, "I knew that- but what the fuck, Soul?"

His eyebrows raise. "You seem angry."

"Do I?" Maka shrills. "Do I? You just flirted with me while all of our friends watched."

Soul's amusement falters. They don't use that word. "Flirted?"

Maka scoffs. "Don't act dumb."

He rests his phone on his chest. "I'm not."

"You're a genius, Soul, how else would you know exactly what to say to get me-" Maka cuts herself off sharply.

Soul's breath is hot. "To get you what?"

"You know," Maka says, low.

Chills break out on Soul's skin. "Tell me."

"No."

His heart hammers. "Say it."

"Why do you care, Soul?" Maka presses. "The stupid show is over."

Soul feels gentle flames licking wounds in his chest. "I couldn't give a shit about the show."

Soul understands he's pushing Maka farther than before, crossing the line and torching their unspoken rules. Rules that Maka seems to have held up for years, shoving Soul back, not letting him loose.

Maka is bound to snap. She has to.

"So you just wanted to watch," Maka mutters finally, "As you turned me on?"

Soul's body becomes weightless in seconds. His face burns as his skin becomes a collective map of energy- longing to be touched, to feel warmth, to feel her.

He brushes his fingers across his neck. Oh.

The concept of sentences fails him. "Yes."

"That's cruel." Maka says.

"I-" Soul's breath catches. He thinks of Maka's flushed cheeks, the way her chest rose and fell, her chin tilting as she listened attentively. Fuck. Was she really?

"Can you imagine if I did that to you? In front of all of our friends." Maka reiterates. "And that you need to be kissed- would that seem fair?"

"No," Soul manages to say. "You don't know what I look like."

"Hearing you is enough."

Soul sees stars. "How can that be enough?"

How can this be real?

"I don't think you know yourself, Soul," Maka says. After a moment, she quietly adds, "Your voice sounds like fire."

His head spins.

"It's enough," She murmurs.

It sounds tired. It sounds heavy. Lightning flashes outside of Soul's window, bright and furious. The walls tremble.

"I saw the way your face turned red and how you- you sank, when I said that…"

"...I need to forget my own name," Maka fills in as though the words are seared into her memory.

"I'm-" Soul pinches his brows together. An apology doesn't feel right. His voice comes out low. "I'm a mess."

"Oh yeah?" Maka says, "Prove it."

Soul lifts his phone from his chest. Unsteady, warm breaths pass by his lips as he inclines the camera, and places an arm over his eyes.

A flash emits in the darkness. Blair jumps off his bed.

He uncovers his face.

Even with nearly half his features hidden, his cheeks are glowing red, and his jaw glimmers with light traces of sweat. The muscled shape of his shoulders are captured by his fitted, dark gray shirt. His disheveled hair clearly had been tugged on.

He sends it. Maka opens it.

"Jesus," Maka breathes, "Christ."

"All you ever have to do is ask," Soul says faintly.

There's a beat of nervous silence. "You look like you could crush me."

Soul smiles. "Well, you are kind of small."

"Can i… can I keep this?" Maka asks.

"Of course," Soul says immediately. His heart races uncontrollably against his ribcage. "You're making quite the collection."

The notification of a screenshot delivers. "I mean, yeah, you're hot."

An incorrigible noise of surprise leaves Soul's throat.

He claps a hand over his mouth.

"What was that?" Maka says, followed by a light chuckle.

"You- that- um, fuck," Soul sputters. "Shut up, shut up."

"Oh my god," Maka laughs, "You're so soft."

Soul kicks the stifling covers away. "You can't just drop that on me."

"You're joking right? You have to be joking."

Soul huffs stubbornly, but hope flutters in his stomach. Joking. Aren't you?

"You send me a photo like that and can't handle me pointing out the obvious," Maka says.

"The obvious," Soul repeats. He feels as though he could pass out.

"You said it yourself," Maka says, amused. "How it's different to see me up close. And private."

Soul can hardly believe himself. "And just for me." He can hardly believe Maka is tolerating it.

"...That'd be nice, wouldn't it?"

Soul feels red hot blood drain from his fair, failing to fight the dark path it flows to instead. "If you were mine?"

Maka's breath hitches. "Maybe."

"You," Soul's voice is barely audible, the air in his lungs stolen by the floating static, "Can't just say that. To me."

"Why not?" Maka asks softly.

Soul's eyes screw shut. She's not serious. It's not serious. He clasps desperately for composure- the moldy mug of tea in his kitchen sink, the faint sting of his sunburn, the worry of his powerless house.

The putrid smell of mold. The sink. The smell. Pinning Maka against his kitchen counter; hands digging into hips, nails crawling up spines, warm mouths on flesh.

Get out of my head.

His sunburned skin, irritated and pained. He thinks of Maka's soft, careful fingers soothing the redness away with cool gel- chills dripping down his neck, tender touches, slow kisses.

Don't go there. Stay here, come on, idiot.

His broken air conditioning. No electricity. Lightless. Having Maka in his bedroom, between the cotton sheets and outside rain.. He'd devour her whole.

"I-I can't talk anymore," Soul's voices finally, throat tight. "My-my head is just…"

"Oh," Maka says, "...Alright."

Soul lightly runs a hand down his lower abdomen, fingers brushing against a stiffnes that makes him wince. Please don't hate me.

"It's been a long day," Maka supplies comfortingly.

He stares into the black void of his room. "It has." How much does Maka understand of this, of him?

"Goodbye, Soul."

"Bye." He breathes.

The call disconnects. He can't think when he stumbles out of bed, knocks a flashlight over, bumps the door frame on the way out.

Somehow, he makes it back to his holy cathedral of cathartic emotions- the bathroom.

He shines the light from his phone at himself in the mirror.

Maka texts him, Sleep well you demon.

A shaky smile forms on Soul's face. He snaps a photo of his blurry reflection in the dark bathroom and captions it: goodnight.

Maka responds with a photo immediately, a quick selfie aimed at her jaw and neck. The loose scoop of her shirt exposes the pale skin of her collarbones. Goodnight.

Soul presses warm fingers against his lips. It feels like danger.

He screenshots it.

Maka rapidly responds, ugh. Go to bed.

Soul leans against the marbled sink. He sends a photo of his outstretched hand. Okay.

Wait, Maka types after opening it, hold on.

Soul bites his lip, amusement tangling with arousal. He'd hung up, was going to grab tissues from the bathroom, and peacefully put himself to sleep- but Maka sent him another photo.

It's one of her own hand this time, grasping her green and white sheets, wrists slender and fingers long.

Soul wants to bring them to his mouth. He wants to taste them.

Probably smaller than yours, Maka texts separately.

His chest heaves with recklessness. Easier to hold down.

He thinks of the heatwave he's dealing with outside.

Maka types, I think you'd leave bruises.

Soul clenches his jaw, replying: They'd look good on you.

Further, and further, he walks through hell with a hand over his eyes.

What would happen, if he looked back? Lost his patience?

You seem like a gentle giant, Maka repolies.

Soul huffs. Maybe I am.

Maka continues, Some of the things you say make me doubt that.

When you visit, Soul says, Maybe we can find out.

Maka doesn't respond for a long, tense moment. When she finally does, it's a simple: Okay Soul. Then, she sends, night.

Soul laughs shortly- none of this makes sense, he's delicious from lack of sleep, and dizzy from emotional whiplash. Maka is forever an unobtainable enigma, woven with scraps and pieces that he hardly understands. She jokes when Soul jokes. She strikes after Soul does first. It's meaningless, isn't it?

He shuts down his phone and plunges himself into darkness.

Isn't it?

The dead hollow of night carries him back to his bed, whispering in his ears with sweet toxicity, mingling his pulsing want. He kicks off his sweats, and collapses into a puddle of pillows and fabric.

I can't fight it.

He settles a hand atop his boxes. His eyes flutter shut.

Fuck you, Maka, he thinks, and gives in.


Bright, beautiful morning rips Soul from his sleep painfully. White flashes of sun glare at him through the open blinds, heating up his barren chest as though the blue sky has never seen rain.

He rolls onto his stomach in , he blinks at the lotion and tissues on his nightstand.

A groan escapes his throat as he buries his face in the soft, white pillow. The quiet cotton muffles his shame. He wonders if this should be the place he spends the rest of his life- never returning to the light of day.

Blair meows at him loudly.

He sits up, hair fluffed from the static of his mattress, and looks at her.

"What," he says.

She peers at him expectantly.

"Hungry?" He asks and she immediately exits the room. He sighs.

Pulling himself out of bed, he winces at the dried sweat and traces of irresponsibility on his dirty clothes. He hastily sweeps the trash from his nightstand into a nearby bin he'd been too defeated to reach last night.

He changes clothes.

God, he thinks, tugging on a white tank that smells of lavender detergent. Last night.

He leaves his room to follow Blair to the kitchen. If he thinks about it too much, he'll worsen the dull ache penetrating his temples.

He runs a hand over the pale paint in his hallway till he reaches the light switch. His feet scuff to a stop. The plastic is cool and slick beneath his fingers.

He flicks the switch.

The dangling bulbs overhead illuminate his tousled state with a fluorescent glow. At least, he thinks, the lights are back on.

He can make himself some breakfast, finally- lazily microwave a burrito or pizza slice to keep his limbs moving. Once he reaches the kitchen, however, and gives Blair a meal to much on happily, hunger eludes him.

Maybe this is bad. Not eating, not sleeping.

He runs a hand over his face. No wonder his friends are worried.

Just as his eyes pass over the dishes he has yet to wash in the sink, the landline phone begins to ring from its receiver. The income call blinks red.

He frowns, and picks up, "Mom?"

"Nope," Blackstar says.

"Why." Soul sits onto the countertop. "Are you calling my house?"

"You weren't picking up."

"I was asleep," Soul snaps. "How did you even get this number?"

"Your brother gave it to me for emergencies, jeez. How late were you up with Maka?" Blackstar asks.

Soul bites back a remark, rubbing his jaw tiredly. "I don't even know, dude. Time stopped existing after a while."

"Well, I don't mean to alarm you," Blackstar says cautiously, "But Maka is making everyone go nuts right now."

"I don't have my phone on me. What are they saying?"

"They think you and Maka hate each other because of last night," Blackstar explains.

Soul scowls. "Tell Maka to calm them down then."

"She- she did," Blackstar says. "She said everything is fine, but that she also isn't going to be on for a while because of personal reasons. I thought you knew and I wanted to check in-"

Soul tenses immediately. "Wait, what?"

"I'm not really sure what she means," Blackstar continues. "She hasn't answered me yet."

He slowly slides off the counter. "She's not going to be online for a while?"

Blackstar hums slightly. "Like a hiatus, I don't know- can you just look at her message?"

Soul quickly leaves Blair and navigates to fetch his phone. "I-I didn't think anything bad had happened that she'd…" Guilt begins to steal air from his lungs. "God, did I do something? Fuck, Blackstar-"

"Don't freak out, man, it's fine." He assures. "Just talk to her first. Don't be dumb."

He finds his phone wrapped in the fabric of his sweats from yesterday, tossed onto the floor with disdain. When the screen brightens, it's flooded with notifications.

He opens Maka's messages.

Soul and I are fine, I promise we didn't fight yesterday lol. I am going to take a break from being online however, for personal reasons.

"I don't know what to make of this," Soul says. "She doesn't seem upset, or anything."

"Exactly."

"So I should just ask her," Soul reasons.

"Yes."

He hesitates. "But what if you-"

"No." Blackstar says.

Soul sits on his unmade bed. "Fine."

He texts Maka, You're going offline for a while? After a second, he adds, Also good morning.

Blackstar says, "I swear to god, if she answers you after hours of ignoring me-"

Soul hurriedly interrupts, "She just did."

Morning. Let me call and talk to you about it?

"What'd she say?" Blackstar asks.

"She asked to call and talk about it," Soul repeats. He stares at it. "What do you think that means?"

"Oh my god. You're so stupid," Blackstar says, and promptly hangs up.

Soul mumbles a few self-protective jabs as he sets the home phone on his nightstand. What did Blackstar know about feeling this way for a best friend, anyway?

Ready whenever you are, he replies to Maka, sinking from his mattress to his floor.

Maka calls.

"Soul," She greets.

Nerves cut his friendliness in half, "Hello."

They fall quiet. Soul's hand locates frizzy grooves in the carpet beneath him, and begins to thumb over them absently.

"How did you sleep?" Soul asks slowly.

"Fine," Maka answers. "How about you?"

He glances at the crumpled pair of boxers several feet from him. "Fine."

"That's good."

"Yeah." he pulls tufts from the rug.

"So," Maka says, "they think we hate each other."

A wave of relief rushes through Soul's bloodstream. "Yeah, okay, what is up with that?"

"I don't really know- I think I got short with you on the discord video, but honestly, I don't really remember," Maka admits.

Soul smiles. "They should've heard you the moment you logged off. You were a sailor."

"Yeah yeah," Maka dismisses. "They should've heard you."

"You're the one who took me off speaker."

"Because you started throwing pickup lines at me," Maka says with fevor.

"I'd do it again," Soul says. He chuckles lightly. "God, it really went downhill after that, huh?"

"Yeah," Maka agrees, "It did."

Soul feels his face warm as they grow silent. He'll forever be at the whim of his unmanageable tongue.

He clears his throat. "I think I make our discord calls more interesting."

"I'll ban you from the server." Maka warns.

"Yeah, right," Soul says playfully, but it fades as he quietly prods. "So… how come you're taking a break? If you still want to talk about it."

"Oh, yeah," He hears Maka shuffle. "It's nothing too serious, really. I mean, it's sort of sad but I'm fine." She pauses. "This might be hard to explain."

"No worries," Soul says. "Take your time." Timid fear tangles in his gut.

"My mom told me this morning that I need to go with her to visit my grandparents for a week," Maka explains. "They aren't sick or anything- but that's the point. I haven't been to see them in a while, and she said it might be good to- to go while they're still here." Her voice fades. "I don't even want to think about when they're not."

He's flooded with guilt for thinking it had anything to do with last night. Their jokes, from last night, since that's all it really way.

Soul's voice drops to a worried murmur, "I'm really sorry to hear that, Maka."

"There's nothing to be sorry about, it's going to be a happy holiday. Really."

"I'll still be here if you need anything," Soul says reflexively.

"Thank you, but-" Maka hesitates. "That's the thing. They're my grandparents who live a few hours north of here."

"Wait," Soul furrows his brow. "The ones that live on the…"

"Farm," Maka finishes.

A hollow, putrid feeling claws its way into Soul's chest. "With no cell or internet connection."

"Yeah."

The gravity of his world tilts, and all he can mutter is, "Oh."

Maka's voice is soft. "I'm leaving tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," he repeats. This shouldn't matter, so much. "What… what time?"

"Um, early morning for me, I think."

A week without hearing Maka's lips pass gently over words on the opposite end of their phone line, not texting her the moment he wakes up and before she falls asleep. Days, and nights, of staring empty at the offline status next to Maka's name.

Why does it hurt?

"I'll miss you," Soul confesses, and his lungs seize at his own temerity. Is there a chance that somehow, in the quiet strain of Maka's tone, the threads of pain extend to her, too?

After a moment of shocked silence, Maka breathes. "I'll miss you, too."

Self-righteous waves of sorrow crash into Soul as he exhales. Vindication, bubbling elation that he's wanted, he's worthy to be missed, battles with the sinking stones of despair.

Whatever happened the night before, it had to have meant something. Maka wouldn't be this way if it hadn't meant something. It teeters on the tip of Soul's tongue, a concept he desperately wants to clutch, but cannot reach. The dark words and subtle clips of frustration brought them close, didn't it? Closer to something that now is being taken away by the harsh morning light.

Soul's lips part, then close. How the fuck am I supposed to do this?I

"God," Maka says suddenly, "I don't know why this sucks so much."

Soul's heart pangs. "I know, right?"

"I didn't mean to make this call such a downer," Maka mutters. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Soul tries. "I'll still be here when you get back. It won't be that long."

"Right. It's just a week."

"Just a week," Soul says, and somehow, it makes him feel lighter.

"Okay. Yeah." Maka clears her throat. "Yeah. Not too bad,"

Maka huffs. "That's not something I'm normally excited about."

Soul reclines his head to gaze at his dormant ceiling fan. "Well, let's think of something else for you to look forward to then. Something sunny."

Maka doesn't miss a beat. "Like you?"

A bashful smile blooms across Soul's features immediately, and a warm laugh escapes his lips. "Yeah, like me."

They dive into investigating online, checking travel loads and refreshing pages of scheduled dates. Marking off which days Maka has booked, when Soul has to celebrate his brother's birthday, eyeing the weather projection for the month of August, and September.

Soul asks Blackstar to join their call, but he's unable to communicate beyond texts. They resort to putting unsteady faith in his skills to click on links and read their messages.

After an hour and a half of bickering, planning and giddy excitement- it's official.

Two plane tickets to Nevada are purchased.