A couple of weeks passed, and Maka and Soul went about their usual routine, same as ever. Eat, engage in some ubercool baddassery by slaying a kishin or twelve, come home, shower, sleep (and/or make out). There was nothing unusual about it.

Well, nothing unusual to Maka.

Soul was practically a livewire, and she could feel it through their wavelength. It vibrated with tension, and that made her uneasy. Every time she'd look at him he would subtly flush and drop his eyes or excuse himself from the room. She didn't want to pry or make him uncomfortable, but he was already uncomfortable anyway. Maybe he needed a little push to talk about what was bothering him.

Though she was often impulsive and could be brash in her approach to various obstacles in her way, Maka was also able to bide her time when necessary. She wasn't the immature thirteen year old she once was, and understood the importance of patience. Especially when it came to someone as flighty as Soul.

He was undeniably loyal, steadfast in his devotion, and incredibly demonstrative in his adoration of her. But he expressed that physically, by hugging, kissing, stroking her hair, or through action, like buying her a new book he knew she'd been wanting, or making her favorite food while foregoing his own preference. Getting him to express his feelings verbally? It was like trying to get Kid to leave a room when he knew a painting was tilted.

It just didn't happen.

And so she waited. She waited until they were settled down on their ratty old couch, watching some crappy horror movie that Soul had picked. He almost always picked horror films. While the vast majority of movie nights now ended in giant grope fests, he was smart enough to realize that horror films got his hands under her shirt more quickly than any other genre. Maka admired his ability to observe and adapt so quickly, even if his reasons leaned toward the perverse. It wasn't like she was going to complain.

They were barely twenty minutes into the film before Maka found herself sprawled over Soul, his lips attached to the junction between neck and shoulder, and his fingers pressed against her crotch, rubbing through the thin material of her pajama pants. She was completely unsure if the groan she heard as she rolled her hips against his fingers had come from him or a zombie in the movie.

Now was as good a chance as any. He was relaxed, and mildly distracted, and trapped beneath her. She couldn't have possibly planned it better.

"Soouuul," she half whispered half moaned at him. His free hand had found its way beneath her shirt and he was lazily rubbing his thumb in circles over a nipple.

"Hmmm?" he responded, a quiet, distracted hum.

"Do you want to have sex?" she emphasized her question with a strong roll of her hips against his palm. And while she had hoped for an emphatic "Oh fuck, yes!", the response she got was far more disappointing and frustratingly expected. He stiffened beneath her, both hands ceasing their movements, his lips disengaging from her neck where he had been working on giving her a nice hickey with a loud pop.

He swallowed thickly before he answered her question with a question of his own.

"Right now?" he said softly, crimson eyes flitting up to meet cool green.

She shook her head gently and offered her wavelength to him, almost like a caress to his face, in an attempt to soothe the nervousness that emanated from him.

"Not right now," she began. It was a half truth. "I mean do you want to have sex with me at all?"

She stared at him keenly, trying to rein in her own nervousness. She knew he loved her. She loved him, too. But she didn't understand why, after years of being best friends, partners, and now being romantically involved, he hadn't been willing to try to get in her pants. All the reading she had done (because Maka was forever a studious bookworm) said that he should practically be begging to take her to bed. He was a nineteen year old virgin (not that she judged, it wasn't like she'd been with anybody), and she knew the things he'd done, the things he still did when he had a private moment to himself.

They had done practically everything but have sex and while it was all satisfying in its own way, it still lacked that connection that she wanted. That last piece of intimacy she felt would make her a whole person. He was a part of her after all. Not just part of her life, but part of her, and if he didn't want to share that part of himself, she didn't understand what the point of their relationship was.

She blinked slowly, eyes soft, her finger tips kneading his shoulders gently. She felt his hands slide from their hidden recesses and come to rest on her hips, his thumbs tracing lazy circles over the bones. He opened his mouth and then slowly closed it again, his eyes darting from hers to the tv screen where a zombie was openly devouring some poor soul. He sincerely empathized with the victim.

"It's…it's not that I don't want to," he started slowly, tongue darting out to wet his lips. His eyes found hers again and he took a deep breath. "I do, Maka. I really do. I love you, and I want to love all of you every single way I can, but I…" he trailed off and his eyes darted about again, this time pitching towards the ceiling. His wavelength bounced about like a hamster on caffeine and Maka felt her brow furrow, disturbed by his discomfort.

"But what, Soul?" she cupped a cheek gently before sliding her hand up to stroke his hair. He always liked it when she did that, and now was no different. His eyes slid closed as he leaned into her touch and released a heavy sigh.

"Please don't laugh at me," he murmured.

"I would never laugh at you."

"You laugh at me all the time!" he huffed.

"I won't laugh at you about this," she stated emphatically, trying to tamp down her indignation.

He wrinkled his nose and sighed again, willing himself to look her in the eye.

"I'm scared, ok? It's totally uncool, and unmanly, but it's the truth," he blurted. His eyes were earnest, and she knew that at this moment his heart was totally open to her, unguarded and honest.

She smiled a little, but as she promised she did not laugh. She could ask him why he was scared, but it was unnecessary. She understood, and she leaned down and placed chaste kisses on his forehead, his nose, his lips.

"I'm scared, too," she said before she slid off his body. She silently turned off the TV and offered her hand to him. She didn't allow herself to say anything else and Soul didn't ask her to. He simply took her hand in his and followed her into his bedroom.