That first video was made in a complete moment of weakness. How he got the idea? Well, technically, scrolling through porn because he was a healthy, adolescent boy so that was an every now and then past time, something he kept to a minimum since the majority of his time was spent either on missions or the idea that Maka was across the hall or in the kitchen or in the apartment at all kind of fizzled his courage to risk it. It was usually a 3 AM thing or times when he could be sure she wasn't home and wasn't going to be. Why he got the idea? Well…

Masturbating to her was off-limits. That was gross. It was pathetic. And the one or two times he did, the release only left him feeling guilty so honestly, he avoided it. Except while he scrolled through his list of options for videos, what did he always click on? Blond girls, athletic builds, pigtails a fucking bonus though rare. He might be immature at times but he was sure as hell self-evaluating enough to realize that those girls were just a sad replacement for her. Again, totally uncool. So, he found a small subsection of videos that weren't what he would necessarily consider porn. It was really just talking, girls whispering in your ear about what they would do to you if they could do something to you.

While the girls were often naked, at the very least there were no faces, no real characteristics besides maybe a body type and that at least he could say he was varying, even if that was a lie. So, mid-stroke while Maka was definitely visiting Spirit, the idea hit him that these girls could say anything. They had a freedom that he would never imagine because while he was as open as he could be with Maka, and only Maka, he definitely couldn't share with her what he really wanted to get off his chest: that he was in love with his best friend. There was a door there that he couldn't open for her.

Because she was always open with him. She would constantly tell him how it felt impossible for her to love. She looked at her parents and saw a wreck there and expected the same for herself. Not to mention her almost weekly diatribes about weapons and meisters making the leap, usually directed again at her parents but also as another dig at Black Star always chasing Tsubaki around like a dog in heat. Or all the frou-frou male protagonists that she put on pedestals for being just gag-me romantic, something that he most certainly didn't find cool or in his wheelhouse. Everything she vented just locked that door tighter because he'd be fucked if he lost her which he obviously would if he was stupid enough to get the nerve to tell her even an ounce of what he felt on a usual basis.

So, hence the videos. Saying anything and everything he ever wanted to say because who the fuck was going to find out? Definitely not Maka because there was no chance in hell she was actually surfing porn, or at least not in his opinion. On top of that, not only was this talking as a turn on a small community to begin with, but he was pretty sure the minute he started with his love-sick bullshit no one was going to watch video number two. Weirdly enough, while he wasn't exactly raking in the followers, there were people watching, and even stranger, commenting.

There were the uncomfortable comments asking about when he was going to whip out his dick, touch himself, etc: you know, all the regular expectations that came along with porn. While he did enjoy the anonymity and definitely felt safe dug into his little hole in the corner of the internet, Soul wasn't entirely sure he was actually that voyeuristic or if that was actually what he needed. So far, the release was just talking about her, and after the first two videos, he'd actually gotten over the perverted feeling.

Then there were the replies as if it were someone sure this video was about them. Those were a mix to read, some of them kind of dirty, wanting him in a much more intense way, but others just like a disjointed conversation. After that first video one actually listed what they did like about him, creating some fantasy that didn't jive with who he actually was, just what he guessed they wanted. He wasn't sure if that was more depressing than what he was feeling, going through.

Finally, there was the advice which ended up being the comments that he waited for like there was some Dr. Phil's out there just waiting to digest his obviously repetitive and negative thoughts, well, at least in the first couple videos. It felt good to hear 'you're not disgusting' and 'a lot of people say what they don't mean, it's a defense mechanism' and he guessed that was another reason why he didn't stop. Even after the residual terror of that stupid argument with her and Black Star, he didn't stop. Because there's no way Maka Albarn is going to watch porn.

Maka scrolled up and down the list of videos in chronological order. Each thumbnail still showed him clothed, the only difference between frames being his outfits. It was strange to recognize them, a specific shirt or a hoodie. No video had a particular title, just the uninspired video 1, video 2, video 3, and on to 10. She spent a week bringing it up in her browser every night before bed, each time closing it because she was still a hundred percent sure that this was breaking some kind of friendship law between the two of them. After that, she crumbled and opened video 2.

He started by clearing his throat, the fingers of his left hand tapping nervously against his chest. "Still don't know why I'm doing a second one. Who the fuck am I kidding? I felt better. Even if I cried like some pathetic sap. I felt better." This sigh wasn't as intense as the first video's, maybe something closer to a long, low breath. "So I guess I'm going to keep talking to you because maybe I can't do it to your face but, shit, do I ever want you to hear this."

Then why don't you tell me? Maka paused because she knew that thought was going to compound into another desperate tumble down into self-loathing. Or remember, it could have absolutely nothing to do with you. These are his feelings for who knows who and just like some pathetic watcher you're putting yourself into the fantasy. Because that's what it is, a fantasy. To solidify that statement, she pressed play again, sure that the next words out of his mouth would just verify her claims.

"I tried to decide when it happened," Soul let out a weak laugh. "I bet you would have something like this marked on your calendar or in the journal you on and off write in when you're mad at me and don't want to talk to me about something. You know, the one you pretend to hide under your bed but every time you're steaming at me for who knows what you make sure to take it out and write like crazy in someplace that I can see you do it. I know, I get it, and maybe this is my journal."

She paused, rolled over, and screamed into her pillow. It wasn't exactly elation, not one of those pre-pubescent girl meets boy band member shrill shrieks but just a nonsensical burst of sound since there were no words. There was no way to describe this moment in her head because it wasn't a delusion. Soul may as well have said her name because the description was a clear call-out. She could tear out that very journal right now from under her bed and expose sporadic entries from times that she needed to say things to him but her pride got in the way. It was a childish mess of a thing and he was laughing at her about it just like, well, just like Soul would.

This was when she knew she should completely hit the breaks, forget the entire thing, but her finger inched out and she took the luck of the draw at whether her tap would unpause the video or close it. It started playing as she practically suffocated in the pillow.

"But it's not like that, I'm not mad at you. I'm…" he cut himself off and there was shuffling, probably him resituating on the bed before he cleared his throat again. "I think about when I first started wondering about you this way and I can't pinpoint it. I guess I always liked your smile, the way you wear it and don't give a shit who sees it and whether they like it or not. And, really, you're the first and only person I've let touch me since I was a kid. I never thought I needed that, you know? Not until the first time you held my hand."

My smile? Holding my hand? That built up again to more ridiculous cries smothered in the pillow.

"So maybe it was then, but how long ago was that? When's the first time you held my hand? Was it maybe a month after we met?"

Two, Maka instantly corrected.

"I remember how fucking out of my mind I was when you did that. I tried to be indignant, like who the hell were you to grab me like that, no warning, no nothing, but… it was like the good part of my brain came right back and said that you were my partner. The part of my brain that I started listening to more and more and found that maybe I wasn't so lonely. Maybe I wasn't just easy to ignore, forget about. That's what I was when I met you, you know that? My brother was always going to be better than me at everything and I was just a leftover, a second failed attempt to my parents and I lived that. I knew that until you came along and just… you helped me be something."

The noise from her mouth this time was well-formed because it came off of the tail-end of the sob that surprised her. Who cries at porn, really? But there it was, something she'd always assumed about him, the loneliness and inadequate feelings he had because of the way he talked about his brother and his parents, but he never gave her the substantial answers that outright proved it. And again, she could really do nothing but cry out for him, to desperately want to soothe that feeling in him again.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Maka realized the voice wasn't in her headphones and ripped them out of her ears, flipping her phone over to hide the evidence. "Why did you come in without knocking?" she tried to make it a yell but it was nowhere near, just warbling at the edge of her pillow.

"Because I can hear you from the fucking living room," Soul griped as he took the full step into her room, abandoning his worry about the risks at the door. "Are you crying?" That question was part incredulous but also sprung that endless well of worry in him.

"No," and even she could tell her lie was pathetic.

"Really…?" She heard a few more footsteps and knew he was right at the bedside, probably staring down at her but she'd already preemptively tucked her face back into the pillow. "You're full of shit."

"Shut up." The words were mostly lost in the fabric, she knew that, so she added a belligerent kick of her legs for emphasis.

The sigh that escaped his lips was almost parental as if he were watching his two-year-old throwing a fit. "So, what, you were just yelling? In your pillow? For no reason?"

Maka let out a helpless groan, kicking her legs again to give her mind some momentum in the possibility for excuses. Instead, she abandoned whatever she might have formulated as a plan and rolled over, displaying her tear-stained face with a sour frown as explanation.

"So, yelling and crying," he corrected as his lips pressed into a glum, slowly withering smile.

"Yes," she admitted shakily. There was still no game plan here, and it was becoming a frightening possibility that she might just answer his questions. Normally, this was the part where she let herself be defensive, since more and more she was realizing that what she couldn't tell him usually got swept under the rug of her pretend anger.

As the sigh crumbled from his mouth so did his legs, bringing him down hard on the edge of her bed. "Angry or sad?"

"Both," the whisper was smaller this time because she was still trying to squash the normal reaction. At this point, she should be kicking him off the bed, out of the room, and then grabbing that idiot journal again.

This answer gave him pause, his mouth fiddling and working over words before he offered something even more succinct than she was expecting. "At who?"

While she never wanted to actually admit it, the answer was clear as day and if she was stealing all of his information, the least she could do was be a little freer with hers. "Myself."

"Huh." Maybe it was half of a smile on his face, a mixture of amusement and a little awe at the honesty. "You want to talk about it?"

Maka blew a huff of air to get her bangs out of her eyes before she shook her head swiftly.

"OK," he shrugged before launching back to his feet. "Look, just warn me next time. Thought you were fucking getting murdered or something." Soul was laughing at his own joke as he took easy steps back to the door.

She waited until he got to the doorway, his hand on the knob. "Soul?"

"Yeah?" His eyes were soft when they passed over his shoulder to look at her again. That was the kind of look she loved from him, the one that hinted at the depths of his concern. It made her feel like she was wrapped up in a warm, fuzzy blanket right away.

"I…" Remember that door? You've got one, too, and wishing and hoping he'd open it, really let you in without doing the same thing for him is just being a hypocrite. What you're doing isn't great, but at least don't be a hypocrite on top of it. "I'm glad you're here. You know that I… I need you, alright?"

There was an odd strangling sound in his throat and she watched it bob like he was struggling for air for a second. "OK, got it," came quickly from his mouth and his head snapped back to face the hallway. She expected more of a hurry but he stood there for an extra minute before his fist knocked into the doorframe, grinding there as if to relieve some pressure. "I, uh, same. OK?"

No one ever said Soul Evans was eloquent and while most of the protagonists in her books could produce paragraphs worth of wooing when the right moment showed itself, maybe Maka didn't need all that. Those three and half words were all he needed to say to dig into her heart and flush her face a pink that he completely missed as he catapulted down the hallway.