A gentle glow from his computer screen washes over the oak wood desk, colors flickering in rapid motion. The monitor whirs in self defense of the growing heat. The ceiling fan lays mockingly silent in the stifling air. Reclined in his seat, Soul's head is tilted back to watch the wooden slats for the slightest tremor.
Betrayal.
Beads of sweat collect near his hairline. He tugs absently on the sticky plastic of his headphones, where they rest around his neck. The small light on the exterior blinks green
"Soul?" He hears Maka say faintly.
"Wait, did he leave?"
"It says he's on the call, still." Maka's voice slowly grows closer. Soul begins to detach his eyes from the fan. "Soul?"
The concern in her voice makes Soul sit up. He pushes his headphones back on and wipes his face. "Yeah, yes, hellow, sorry. I zoned out for a sec." He blinks to register what's on his screen, seeing Maka's chosen character crouching in front of him. "Shoot, did Tsubaki leave already?" He quickly tabs out to check the discord call, watching Maka's icon light up as she laughs.
"She's getting ready for class, she'll be back in a second. I have to head off soon too but I wanted to say bye."Maka says. The small considerate act is enough to bloom a warmth in Soul's chest.
He smiles. "Oh, alright."
The slight ruffling of a mic being clicked on and Tsubaki's breathless giggles rang in his ears as she bidded them a final goodbye.
"Bye!" Blackstar yells, shooting his rifle at Tsubaki's idle character in game. Maka flicks on her webcam along with Tsubaki and gives a warm smile.
"Bye Tsu! Also, pray for Soul's air conditioning!" Maka waves to the camera.
"And my broken fan," Soul adds.
"Bye guys!" Tsubaki waves and disconnects from the call as she laughs at Soul's despair.
A silence filled their call for a few moments, the incoming goodbye from everyone brings familiar feeling into Soul's chest whenever that silence fills their calls; disappointment clouded with confusion. Today, it is accompanied by trickles of regret.
He frowns. "Sorry I spent so much of the call complaining about the weather," He says, clicking back to the game. Blackstar had typed in the game chat in the bottom left of the screen: waaaa soul can't take the heat. He rolls his eyes as the text box fades out.
"It's fine, really. I just feel bad for you," Maka says. Her character bounces over and starts shooting a circle of bullets into the ground around his own. "Any idea when it'll be fixed?"
"Soon, I hope," Soul answers with a huff, crouching up and down to appease Maka circling him. "I don't think I can take much more of this." They'd been playing for the past three hours, meaning Soul had been accumulating enough sweat in his boxers to stick to his chair for much longer than any man should. Physical comfort was a key component for him to stay mellow, and not much could distract him from itchy clothes tags and blistering heat. Not much, that is, besides gaming. "Seeing you was nice though, something about your cheerful face distracts me from my agony," he confesses, words leaving his mouth before he can attempt to filter. He cringes. What was that?
"Oh my god, shut up," Maka says. She sounds embarrassed.
Blackstar coos. "Maybe I should turn my camera on for our discord calls too."
Soul laughs, running away from the two of them to ease his sudden spike in nervousness. "That would keep my attention."
"Oh yeah, is my facecam not interesting enough for you Soul?" Maka says, her character throwing up a floor of ice to chase after him quickly.
"What?" Soul says, feeling a pang of guilt. "What makes you think that? I love your facecam."
Maka continues to act offended. "If you loved them you wouldn't zone out randomly."
"I didn't mean to," Soul whines, which only makes the other two laugh. "I just got distracted by my misery, and tried to airbend a breeze in here."
"Yeah right," Blackstar scoffs, "you couldn't have been doing that for ten minutes."
"Ten minutes?" Soul parrots, bewildered. He didn't feel it had been that long; he was exploring the map and then searched for Maka's nametag to see where she was, and of course Maka was smiling and yelling, but somehow so full of energy and spirit, and the hot air started to seep into Soul's chest-
"Oh," Soul says.
"Hold on, did you mean to mute yourself?" Blackstar asks, laughing as his own words leave his mouth. "A little too excited seeing Maka's facecam?"
Both Soul and Maka explode in disgusted yells. Good lord, Blackstar.
"Blackstar!" Maka sends a series of knife stabs and weapon unloading onto his character. "You are so inappropriate with Tsubaki gone."
"You're gross," Soul says with a laugh, but it's feeble and half-hearted. His pulse is rapidly drumming inside his skull. He is not lost to the strange dilemma of why he faded from their call for so long to stare at his Maka-less ceiling. Why did Maka have anything to do with it? Envy, perhaps, of his friend's ability to be wearing a hoodie in the middle of summer. He brushes it off. "It's true, though. Maka's face does get me excited."
Maka groans, making Soul and Blackstar laugh. "Now you're just trying to make me uncomfortable."
"Flustered, you mean." Soul inputs quickly.
"Okay, no, I'm sick of you two," Maka say's immediately exiting their lobby. "Consider this a rage quit."
ScytheMeister has left the game. Soul sends a :( into the chat.
"Nooo, Maks," Blackstar pleads.
"The gaming session was fun today," Soul says, wholeheartedly. "Probably going to rewatch some playbacks of what I missed when I zoned out later." Maka laughs.
"I seriously have to go now. I'll talk to you guys soon," She says, a small sound emitting from the Discord signifying she's left the call.
The feeling returns to Soul's chest- it's akin to the cold rush that follows when he removes his hands from a steaming cup of coffee. Some nights after their friends have logged off for good, he'll do anything to avoid giving in and going to bed. Twitter, solo games, creating playlists. His favorite nights, though, are when Maka wakes up early enough to keep him company before she has to leave for work. Their conversations radiate with the warmth of both the Nevadan night and the Ohio sunrise.
So whenever Maka jokingly becomes angry with him, Soul can't dispel the tiny tremor of worry that maybe he's gone too far. He doesn't like to mull over the thought of them really fighting; it would terrify him like nothing else. He knows Maka will call again tomorrow, and that she isn't nearly as upset as she lets on. Yet, he still finds himself carefully watching the dot next to Maka's name switch from green to a pale gray.
"I think I'm going to hop off too," Soul says to Blackstar.
"Alright, see ya."
After disconnecting, he swivels around in his chair to face his bed. The dark red comforter has been kicked to the floor, sheets askew. The window above his bed is shut tight to keep out the dry air and insects, but he can see the soft orange streetlights in the distance.
He sighs and wishes for rain.
He remembers running barefoot on his neighborhood streets as a child when storms would roll in, splashing in gravelly puddles and letting the cool raindrops dampen his hair. That space was always euphoric- a brief temperance from the smoldering air, Joshua trees swaying in the wind, the hunt of thunder and lightning- but it feels so far from him now. Especially in this dreadful weather.
He turns off his computer and begrudgingly gets in bed. He's nearly grown accustomed to the dark when his phone vibrates, the notification lighting up the room. He squints.
A text from Maka.
I feel like this song is a good way for me to get back at you, it reads. Soul clicks on the link, opening his Spotify to a 'Lana Del Ray' song.
"Summertime Sadness," he responds, smiling. Very funny.
He'll listen to that in the morning. As he sets his phone back on the nightstand, Soul finds himself warmed by the gesture, even though it was an insult on his behalf. Maka is a thoughtful girl. Nothing wrong with appreciating that. Not that Soul finds it unnerving that interacting with Maka has a direct correlation with his general contentment and moods; in fact, it isn't worth overthinking.
Settled by his own logic, he allows his body to focus on sleep. He slips in and out of shadows, occasionally tossing and turning in irritation at the cotton sheets. The fabric clings to his dampened skin up to the moment he sluggishly kicks it away. Something clatters to the floor, but Soul rolls onto his side. Eventually, the night cools enough for him to sink deeper, and deeper, until he turns his head from his soft, warm pillow to a cool satin couch cushion.
He sits up rapidly, glancing down at the deep red satin couch beneath him. The checkered black and white floor under the couch is suspiciously clean. Although the image is narrow, he can tell the room around him seems never ending. The lighting seemingly coming from thin air shining on the floor's ominous surface. The room is quiet; a taunting breeze brushing the back of his neck and bringing chills down his spine.
He looks down at his hands, seeing black sleeves stopping at his wrists. Pinstripes.
A sinking feeling begins to rot in his stomach as the familiarity sets in. He's been here before. He shifts his head cautiously, realizing there were shadows at the edge of his vision.
He tensed as he anticipates the next subject he'll recognize. At any moment, behind his right shoulder, a voice will call from the edge of the darkness that'll say-
"Soul?"
He freezes. That's- that's not right, it isn't supposed to be-
"Maka?" He asks quietly, turning around with caution, realizing he's standing now, the couch nowhere in sight. Maka stands a few feet behind him, pigtails held tight with black bows and a black satin dress stopping at her ankles. She's looking around their location, dazed. The checkered floor reflects itself in her glossy eyes.
She walks across the tile floor towards Soul slowly. "Where… are we?"
"Um." Soul considers curling in on himself, but can't help fighting the comfort of honesty. ""My head, I guess." He knows from experience that this place values integrity more than anything. Facing it head on, so to speak. He just doesn't know why he'd let Maka in here- it isn't safe.
"It's pretty," Maka says, stepping beside him, admiring the red curtains that have appeared in his peripheral vision.
Soul's heart aches faintly at her remark. Once, he'd thought it was pretty, too. He can't find the words to tell Maka that after so many years of frantically slipping on the floor, coughing up lung-fulls of dark blood and running from the shadows- it has become a thing of nightmares.
He stares at Maka. Can she feel the memories here?
"So this is…" Maka gestures around with her hands vaguely. "A place in Nevada?"
Soul cracks a smile. "Yeah, you can say that. You finally made it." He teases softly. Maka's grin is bright enough to make him look away. "It's the piano room I used to practice in as a kid."
"You make it sound like that was a lifetime ago."
Something foreign and lost weights on the tension in Soul's features, forgotten behind his worried eyes. "Maybe," he says, "I've had multiple lives here."
Maka says nothing. She lifts a fluorescent light-soaked hand to point at the piano. "Do you see that?"
Soul turns his head, and a small imp sits politely on the bench. Their red color is stark against the darkness of the piano.
"That's Little Ogre," Soul says in disbelief. He's never seen him behave that way before. The curling darkness steals all hint of life beside him, his beating heart, and occasional whispers in the wind.
Maka hums in approval. Soul looks at her again, grateful for her being distracted by the imp. The fluorescent light makes Maka's skin glow a soft porcelain, pink lips pressed together in a delicate brush stroke.
The word bubbles up from deep in Soul's chest, winding into his bloodstream and landing gracefully in his head.
Beautiful.
He wants to back away from it, to shove it deep down. But for once, it feels safe here, safe to admit it to himself without needing an air of humor to skate by on. Here, it isn't a joke.
"Why are we here?" Maka asks in a murmur, gaze lifting to face Soul. The word here hands with a heavy lilt, as if she'd meant to say, what brought me? Who pulled me?
Was it you?
In her large emerald eyes, Soul can see the faded reflection of himself.
"I know why I'm here," Soul said carefully, "but I don't know why you are." A brief rustling of the curtain behind the piano causes him to tense again, as he notices the imp is gone. "It's dangerous here, Maka. We should go."
"Why? Don't you want to stay in this memory?"
Soul ignores the comment, and lightly wraps an arm around her shoulders to move her. Maka doesn't budge. She keeps them rooted to the checkered floor with a confused frown.
"Nothing is going to hurt us when I'm here," she says.
Soul feels his face grow hot. "Knock it off. This is serious."
Maka looks at him earnestly. "I'm being serious."
Now that his arm is draped protectively over Maka's small frame, Soul becomes extremely aware of how close they are. He can sense Maka's body heat, watch her chest rise and fall, see the goosebumps on her neck. Soul's heart begins to pound. For how long has he wanted to meet her? To hear her voice in person? The fear inside him slowly begins to fade away into fondness.
The imp reappears on the piano bench with a warm smile on his face.
Maka grins. "I told you, safe."
"Because of you," Soul says warmly. Even though Maka rolls her eyes, he means it. They laugh lightly at each other, glowing floor and gentle sparks blooming as the moment passes.
Maka's gaze lingers on Soul for a few heartbeats, before she raises her hand to reach for his face.
Soul freezes as his eyes follow the motion. His shoulders raise when Maka runs her fingers gently through his hair- he can't remember the last time he let someone do this. It feels intimate. It feels terrifying. His eyes shut when Maka rests her hand on the back of his head.
The breeze is cold on his warm cheeks. He can smell the cleaner radiating off the floor. He opens his eyes, and sees a blue door sitting in the far corner of the room. His eyes flick back down to Maka's.
"How did you do that? I've never…" He looks at maka, who is smiling softly.
"I know honesty is important to you," Maka says. Her hand moves to gently touch Soul's cheekbone.
Soul reaches and delicately takes Maka's hand in his, slender knuckles and fingers sliding together with timid grace. He feels alive. He leans in closer, studying Maka's eyes until he slips down, further, to her soft lips. His breath is trembling.
"And what if I kissed you right now?" He murmurs, heart racing. "How honest would that be?"
Maka's eyes grow wide. "I- well, Soul- you-" She stammers, giving Soul exactly what he needs to let go.
Their movements happen nearly all at once- the inclining of Maka's jaw, the slide of Soul's hand into her hair, the connection of their lips. The kiss is raw with emotion, and gentle. How embers rise from Soul's chest to heat his face. The soft presence of Maka's mouth against his own is surreal, as their senses collectively slip away into the blackroom. His hand rises to softly cup Maka's jaw. He pulls her face closer, breath hot, heart stuttering. Nervous energy quickly fades into a strong hearth of longing, as he kisses Maka again, and again, and again. Maka emits a soft noise that makes Soul melt. He can feel Maka's hands in his hair, then on his neck, then on his chest.
Soul pulls away to capture brief puffs of air. His chest rises and falls rapidly, as he looks at Maka's flushed cheeks and mouth kissed rid. Because of him. A low feeling stirs in the space just below his ribcage, the first flickering of a dangerously hot flame. All of it, all of Maka, just for him.
Soul parts his lips to say something, anything- and promptly wakes up.