The brass handle beneath Soul's fingertips is cool to the touch, gently leaving his hand as the door glides shut. The walls of the spare room shift in the edges of his vision. When he presses the back of his knuckle;es against the paint, shimmering ripples spread and bounce corner to corner.

He tilts his head slowly to study it. Why did I come in here, again?

"It's cleaner than I expected," A voice emits from the other side of the room.

Soul takes a blind step towards the sound, and his toes connect with a dark green suitcase lying on the white carpet.

"Well, yeah. I'm not a bad host," He finds himself replying, words falling from his mouth without intention.

There's a familiar, gentle laugh. "I'll be the judge of that."

Soul looks up. "Come on, Maka. Have more faith in me."

Maka sits on the bed, bending down to untie her shoes. The fabric on the comforter beneath her is a trap of dappled stars and purple sky-dust.

"Did you vacuum before I got here?" Maka asks.

Soul's lips part to reply, but he's suddenly grasping empty into a dark void where memories escape him. Time folds absently behind his eyelids.

He stares at Maka. "When did you get here?"

"Hm?" Maka slips off her shoes. "I flew in earlier."

Soul carefully steps over the suitcase, moving closer. "Did you?"

Maka peers up at him. Her hair is clean and light, fine strands so soft Soul wonders if it'd feel like feathers under his touch. The long sleeves pushed up to her forearms expose her pale wrists. In her lap, balancing lightly against her thigh, is a pair of black bows.

"You didn't," Soul answers himself softly. He sinks to sit next to Maka, watching as the bows are tossed to the floor. "This… isn't real, is it?"

Maka's motions still for a moment, and she turns to face Soul with hesitance.

"It is if you want it to be," Maka says quietly.

Soul glances away, and carefully watches the subtly liquifying wall before them. He isn't sure what is paralyzing his limbs- the gap between where they're seated on the bed, his own inclining heart rate, or how he can barely stand to see Maka's eyes without crumbling.

"I don't think that's how this works," Soul mutters.

"What do you mean?"

A wry smile works its way onto his face. "I've wanted plenty of things that aren't real, in the past."

Maka rests a hand comfortingly on Soul's shoulder. "What about now?"

The touchtrickles warmth through his t-shirt, spreading across his skin. "Oh, I've never wanted something like you."

"Something like me, huh?" Maka says, and Soul knows by the inflection in her voice that she's grinning.

"Yeah, you're smug," he teases lightly, hand reaching up to hold Maka's fingers. "And sneaky."

Maka squeezes Soul's palm in amusement. "How am I sneaky?"

Soul finally lifts his eyes to meet Maka, breath shallowing as he falls into the intimidating green darkness. The edges of the room fade into absent blur. He can feel his heart beating in the walls.

"No matter what I do," Soul says, "You find me here."

Maka doesn't blink. Her voice is slow, and thoughtful, "Because you reach for me."

Soul's brows pinch together. "...Do I?" He lifts Maka's hand from his shoulder.

"All the time," Maka says.

The gravity lulling them into the creaking bed frame sways, for a moment.

"I can't keep bringing you in," Soul's steady wildfire of impulse raises Maka's fingers to his lips, and he murmurs a confession against them, "It's eating me alive."

Maka's touch brushes across Soul's mouth. In a sensitive symphony, Soul's light grasp relocated to hold Maka's wrist, as Maka gingerly cups the rigid tension of Soul's jaw.

"Then let it," Maka breathes.

Soul leans into the cool palm pressed to his cheek. "No."

He feels Maka's presence tangle into him with baneful beauty. The warm air that flows down his throat, the strange nebulas on the blanket beneath them, the hum between his skin and Maka's contact.

It is invigorating, and it hurts.

"What are you afraid of?" Maka asks.

Soul pulls their hands down from his face, letting Maka's fingers fall to the galaxied comforter. "You know my answer. We've been in my head before."

The smell of waxed floors and copper piano wire floats into the room with remembrance of the Black Room. Soul wantrs to flick his eyes around rapidly, check the shadows for his Little Ogre or their clothes for specks of blood.

Maka takes Soul's hand, and pulls it towards her chest. With gentle guidance, Soul splays his fingers across the dark fabric until he can feel the thumping of Maka's heart against his palm.

"He's not here," Maka says softly.

A breath of shock leaves Soul's lungs. Maka's pulse flows with warm blood and honesty beneath his touch. She feels real. She feels real.

Maka's fingertips travel down the exposed length of Soul's forearm, leaving a trail of firing nerves, before wrapping at the base of his bicep.

Soul's hand moves slowly across Maka's chest, thumb tracing her rigid collarbone. The shirt hem is soft where clothes give way to skin. He stops at the nape of Maka's neck, feeling how her shoulders rise and fall with each deepening inhale.

"No one else is here," Soul reiterates in quiet assurance. Their knees bump together.

Maka gently pulls Soul closer. "It's just us."

Soul's other hand unconsciously moves to Maka's waist. His grip tightens.

"Just us," Soul murmurs. Maka's breath is hot on his face, and his lidded eyes flutter.

Maka inclines her chin slightly. "Yeah."

"Alone." Soul leans close enough to let their foreheads touch.

Maka opens her mouth to utter a response, and the skin of her lips accidentally brush against Soul's with an electric tingle.

Soul bites back a sharp inhale. "How- how do I know," He forces out, "That we're safe?"

Maka brushes a thumb across Soul's forehead, down the bridge of his nose, and over his mouth.

Soul's eyes shut.

"You're free." Maka says, and kisses him.

Soul's lips move timidly against Maka's, his brows pinched together in deep strain as he gently savors the passing seconds. It feels so familiar- the tender movements of Maka's mouth, the conflicted elation. The way his chest begins to ache because he's wanted this too much, for too long, and doesn't want to let it go.

With careful softness, Maka separates their lips and pulls centimeters away.

Soul can feel the heat radiating from Maka's cheeks, and the uneven breaths blowing across his chin. His eyelashes shudder.

His grasp on Maka's body locks fierce, fingers slowly curling into trembling muscle.

"Again," Soul says, "Do that again."

Maka does.

The moment their lips reconnect, the stoked furnace of Soul's body roars to life; he kisses back with force, breath heavy, pulling Maka closer and closer to his chest with each arching motion of their mouths.

His hands dig into Maka, eliciting soft sounds that let his hunger burn bright.

Maka's nails leave pink scrapes as her hands slide into Soul's hair.

Soul pushes further, and Maka opens effortlessly. It tastes of gold and honey and liquid fire on Soul's tongue. Wordless touches coax Soul forward, leaning Maka down, communicating with hands on chests and mouths on skin until Maka is pinned to the pillows and sheets.

Maka's hands fall to Soul's belt, and a sudden tug pulls their hips and chest flush together.

Soul's lips graze Maka's neck. He stills.

His cheek tingles with warmth and earnest intimacy where it's pressed against Maka's face. He can smell her perfume, and feel her ribs breathing. So close, so human.

An unexpected wave of emotion floods his senses, splitting open his heart and rushing through his limbs with numb tranquility. Maka is here, in his hands, finally fulfilling the hurt he's been drowning in for so long that no he can nearly-

He snakes his hands under Maka's back, and pulls her into a tight embrace.

He doesn't fight the shame. He doesn't fight the way the hearth in his chest expands with golden warmth at the closeness of Maka's heart to his own.

He screws his eyes shut, and holds her.

A tentative moment of stunned silence stretched before them. Soul's mind hums with the gentle glow of blue torches, the soft fabric of the piano bench, the moon in Maka's throat and the burn on her lips. He's him, for once, clinging to the only person that has made him feel whole in eons.

Carefully, Maka wraps her arms around Soul's back, and holds him too.

Soul wakes up devastated.


His hands are cold.

Dark shadows fill his room as he stares into nothingness, lying on his stomach, breathing against the mattress with deep-rooted emptiness that bounces off the walls of his skull.

Maka isn't here. The night is terrible. His hands are cold.

He clutches the pillow above his head as his eyes squeeze shut.

Please, he thinks, please. Take me back.

He pulls the soft bedding in his grip upward, rotating to his side. Maybe if he stumbles out of the covers, and flings open the spare bedroom door, he could prove that it was real- but the bed will be empty.

I just want to go back.

It's the second day, or second night, or third night Maka has been gone. Soul had been desperate to play any game- Minecraft, Valorant, even CSGO- to keep Maka's radiant voice passing between his ears until dawn stole her away for good. Eventually, their voices fade and sleep crept in, and Soul had to let go.

When he woke, Maka was already on the road with her family. They texted up until the moment Soul's messages began to rebound with red errors and crushing disappointment.

He's been alone.

He tried to not let it consume him at first- cleaning his house, participating actively on social media, negotiating careful sections of his day where he'd allow himself to feel the appropriate amount of heartache for missing a friend.

Then, an accidental trip to his camera roll forced him to rediscover his screenshot of Maka's deceitful "goodnight". It didn't take much for him to start slipping.

Checking his phone all hours of the day, bitterly ignoring Blackstar's amicable texts, rereading old messages and letting himself sink. Falling asleep at seven in the afternoon because he no longer felt compelled to stay awake. Succumbing to the destruction of his dreams.

He curls into himself, and the night dries his throat. He'd felt her, he'd kissed her, and it was so close to his heart that he can't consume any emotion but sorrow. Years of wanting, projected in his sleeping mind. He hates himself for creating a trap of wants that may never happen, needs that may never be met.

His jaw clenched. He wants to text Maka, tell her everything. Tell her anything.

He blindly pulls his phone towards him from its discarded location on his bed. The bright screen makes him wince as he opens their last text thread.

Shoot. I think I'm about to lose service, Maka sent.

Please no, Soul types.

Don't miss me too much.

Soul's next messages had never gone through: Impossible, and I miss u already, followed by a simple, Fuck.

He feels stupid. He swipes away from the messages and opens his notes app instead.

Against the white and yellow background, he types a black lettered confession that he knows he can never send.

I had another dream where I got to see you, He writes, I'm beginning to think they're nightmares. I'm beginning to think you're haunting me. A heavy sigh leaves his lungs. This fucking sucks.

He shuts his phone off and tosses it to the carpeted floor with a thud.

Unmoving, he gazes into the abyss of his room until rosy dawn lifts the shadows from his walls. Day creeps through the slats of his blinds. He listens faintly to the breeze, then the rare tires passing on his road, then the neighbors greeting the mailmen across the street. His mind is silent, until a gentle chirping picks up outside his window.

His eyes widened.

The chattering grows, and he sits up sharply.

The birds survived the storm.

He scrambles to pull on the strings of the shades, a smile breaking out onto his face as sunshine and flashes of wings flutter through the clear glass. He can't help but feel a flicker of pride- the birds were young, and delicate, but bold enough to withstand the downpour.

The scale of hope in Soul's chest gently tips upward.

It's enough to make him leave his room, cook breakfast with something other than eggs and grease, and decide to get on a game.

When he's several minutes into a match, Blackstar joins the call.

"What the fuck is up, Soul?" He greets loudly.

A surprised smile leaps onto Soul's face. "I'm in a match Star, I can't hear shit with you shouting in my ears."

"Oh what? My bad," Blackstar says. "Let me see- you never solo queue."

"Yeah, okay, what does it look like I'm doing right now?" Soul asks, eyes flitting over the monitor where he's guarding the planted spike.

"Missing that call out apparently," Blackstar says. "Turn around. No, other way."

Soul locates the opponent rounding the corner and takes the match win. "I saw that." He lied.

Blackstar chuckles. "You so did not. I think I'm better at this than you."

Soul glances at the discord call. "Your match history says otherwise."

"You can kiss my ass."

"Blackstar,"

"So how come you're actually playing today?"

Soul feels his brain stall at the subtle change in his tone. Worried. "I dunno, was bored, I guess."

"Just bored?" Blackstar asks .

Soul's eyes narrow. They aren't going to have this conversation in the public discord where all of their friends could join to listen in, Blackstar knows, but he always attempts to coax it out of Soul before he retreats to his desolate den of unanswered calls and vague excuses.

Soul opens his mouth, but a comment from blackstar saves him from a response.

After a beat of silence, Blackstar adds, "Lemme queue with you, we'll play duos. We dont need Maka anyway,"

Soul huffs, "Speak for yourself,"

"Love me, Soul," Blackstar pleads. "Play me back in eight-ball."

"No," he says with exasperation, "You take way too long and always lose. It's not even fun to win anymore."

"That is not true. You're so competitive."

Soul grins. "I've never been competitive in my life."

"Oh, please," Blackstar says.

"Leave me alone, when was the last time you left your house?" Soul asks, trying to change the subject.

"Yesterday, I had dinner with my mom," Blackstar replies easily. "When was the last time you saw your mom, huh?"

"Who's competitive now," Soul mumbles. It has been a while. Even though Blackstar is only teasing, guilt slips into his conscious. "I should really go see her, I-I haven;t been very present, lately."

"Oh," Blackstar's voice softens. "Well, that's okay. You've had a lot to deal with."

A weight settles on Soul's shoulders. "Yeah."

"With your broken house," Blackstar teases quickly to brighten the mood, "Electricity and all, y'know, the weather."

The weather. "My AC man says he's actually going to stop by tomorrow. I might marry him."

Blackstar laughs shortly. "Livestream it."

"Face reveal and a wedding at the same time," Soul says. "Now that would break the discord."

"Hey," Blackstar says suddenly, " can I be your best man?"

A quizzical smile leads Soul away from his spiraling thoughts.

"At your wedding. With the really, really good air conditioning."

He hums thoughtfully. "No, I'd be missing a flower girl."

Blackstar laughs. "Please, don't do this to me- oh my god,"

"You wouldn't be too bad at it." Soul creates another match with Blackstar in the lobby. "Can you skip down the aisle?"

"Hey, hey, I'd be great." Blackstar defends. "I'll do fucking cartwheels."

They descend into a fit of contagious wheezing and warm laugher that floods Soul's headphones. It feels easy, to let refreshing happiness settle on his face, easier than the past few days have allowed.

Blackstar sighs, and huffs softly. Soul blinks the gleam from his eyes.

He's needed this.

After recouping composure, they continue to chat and pass casula remarks as they play matches. In the middle of a match, Blackstar asks curiously, "Do you think you will get married, though? When you're older?"

Soul mindlessly wanders the map on his screen, and turns the idea over in his head a few times. "I don't know, to be honest. I'm definitely a romantic person, but…" he frowns. "Marriage has a strange stigma. Like it's unbreakable, which it's not."

He shoves the memory to his parents marriage struggles deep into his mind.

"I get that," Blackstar says. "But like, a life partner. I could see myself having one of those."

"A life partner," Soul echos.

You reach for me, Maka's gentle voice ambushes him without warning.

He bites the inside of his cheek, hard. "No. That's not really my thing."

The second the words leave his lips, his stomach revolts with a painful ache that reeks bile and green. He tastes the acidic gas of his breakfast, and swallows thickly.

It shouldn't mean anything that he'd wanted to hold her more than kiss her senseless. The texts and calls shouldn't live in him; the absence shouldn't curl up and rot.

It shouldn't, but it does.

"I'm getting a little tired," Soul says weakly. Tired of always moving too fast, too heavy; burning out before he can catch up to his own breath.

"How much sleep did you get last night?" Blackstar asks.

Soul winces. "Don't make me answer that."

"Okay."

He clicks around his screen absently. A light nudge presses against his calf, and he exits the lobby to look down.

Blair tangles herself between his legs. He smiles softly, leaning his chair away from his desk so she can hop into his lap.

"Hi," he says. She settles on his thighs, and he chuckles. "Blair just jumped on me, one sec." He mutes his mic, and runs a hand over her small spine.

Soul let's Blackstar ramble in his ears while Blair begins to purr contentedly. His heart blooms with fondness, and she nuzzles into his chest.

"You know something, don't you," He says quietly, scratching her chin. "Yeah, you're smart."

She mewls at him.

He pokes her nose. "Did you see that the birdies are okay?"

"Soul. Soul. I know you can still hear me," Blackstar says. "Come back."

He quickly unmutes his mic. "Sorry. Sorry, she's distracting."

"Kid wants to lobby up."

He reads several messages in the discord. "Oh, okay." He carefully hunches over Blair, hovering over the text bar in the discord channel. "You gonna stream it?"

"You're not gonna stay on with me?" Blackstar asks.

Soul glances down at the curious, yellow eyes staring at him. "I don't know if I'm up for it. Who else is gonna play?"

"Let me check." He hears Blackstar's keyboard click away as he messages the discord server. "Looks like… Liz, Patty, and oh- Tsubaki. We should play."

Soul hesitates. "Um, yeah. I don't-" Want to be around you two right now. "Want to do something super energetic, so I think I'll just log off."

"Oh," Blackstar says. "Okay, well, text me. Alright?"

"Yeah," Soul mumbles.

"Soul, I'm serious."

His face reddens. "Got it."

He gives Blackstar his departing goodbye before going dark. The second his computer shuts down, he sinks into his chair with relief.

He scoops Blair up and pulls her towards his chest. She rubs her face against his cheek.

"What are we gonna do huh?" he murmurs into her soft fur. He knows he misses Maka, and knows he's descended far too quickly for it to be meaningless. For it to have come from nowhere; only a dream.

There's something out there in the aether, tugging at him. Whispering at him. Eyes open, it's saying, and look.

His phone vibrates. He's slow to pick it up from the desk.

It was great to talk to you, Blackstar says. Sorry things aren't going so well right now. Can't even beat the promos smh.

Soul huffs. Not trying to light myself on fire more than I already have. Thx tho.

He considers ditching the rectangular trap, but hesitates.

I think you were right, he finds himself texting unexpectedly, about it meaning more to me than just stupid dreams.

Blackstar responds, What.

Her not being here is worse than I thought. Soul chews his lip. You know how I get.

Blackstar's bubble appears, then hovers for a while, then blinks away.

Soul quickly types, Sorry for being weird about this.

Don't be, Blackstar responds. There's something that I could bring up but I don't know if it's going to help you or not. It might be bad. Idk.

Soul frowns. What do you- he hits the backspace carefully. It's up to you if you want to tell me or not.

Alright. Blackstar says.

Soul doesn't receive another text for several, tense minutes. His heart rate begins to rise and fall on whim. He's never sure what Blackstar knows- he and Maka have spent plenty of secretive hours on Discord together when Soul's been busy. He wonders if they talk about him. He wonders if he truly is perceived by others as a real person, not just a name.

Must be nice to know you exist, he thinks absently. He studies the grooves on his desk to avoid wandering back to their call from Nevada.

His phone dings, and he grabs its immediately.

Blackstar sent him a paragraph.

Soul carefully passes over the words as they descend down his screen, and his eyes widen. His heart leaps into his throat as he reads, and rereads, and rereads.

His hands begin to shake.

He can't think. He can't breathe. Before he knows what he's doing, the notepad of confessions to Maka is open beneath his trembling fingers.

Blackstar told me what you said, he writes.

His vision blurs into gleaming light and distorted blobs of color.

I know what you said.