Soul does not sleep. Again.

He, instead, stares up at his whiter-than-anything ceiling, which seems to almost brighten in the dark of the night. If it weren't nightmares keeping him from closing his eyes and drifting off, it'd be the fact that his mind is currently racing a thousand miles a minute over the whole breakdown Maka had over him a few hours ago. Four hours, to be exact, Soul notices when he looks at his alarm clock. It's 12:57 a.m.

The tears that had fallen down her cheeks, only to soak his own were just so real. He reaches up to touch his face at the memory, making sure there are no more. The hurt in her voice as she cried to him was just short of heart-stopping. Didn't she understand that he did like this, either? It didn't seem like she did…

But, aside from her episode that had occurred, Soul found himself wondering about other things, too.

Like, what it would be like, to share a relationship with Maka. One that surpassed just the drawn-out boundaries for weapons-meister pairs. Shibusen strongly suggested that partners who dated were serious about said relationship, because broken hearts lead only to reckless decisions, which could lead to split up partners, and other things like that. But Soul could take it seriously; he takes anything seriously if it involves Maka.

But she would never go for anything like that. He knows she wouldn't. Because of her dumbass dad, who's screwed her up for life with his womanizing ways, making her fear all other men are the same as him. Soul understands she can't see things his way, though, so he won't stop her way of thinking.

He'll still try to win her over, he decides, when the clock lights a bright red 2:17 a.m. at him the second time he turns to look.

"Look who's having trouble sleeping. Again."

"Who are you?" Soul whispers to the darkness, to the voice inside his head. "Tell me a name."

"Why, are you saying you've forgotten me? Evans, I'm shocked!"

Soul's room disappears around him. Darkness consumes his vision for a few moments, before he finds himself standing upright. Itchy cloth covers him, and he looks down to see that… same, familiar pinstripe suit….

Why is this so familiar?

His shoes click calmly on the red and black checkered floor tile as he makes his way towards the center of the… Black Room? Is that what this place is called? It's the only name that sounds right on his lips, anyway. The piano that resides in the corner makes him remember his practice studio as a child, and how this place fairly well ghosts it. With the checkered floor tiles, curtains hanging from the walls and the smell of cleaner filling his nostrils, anyway.

It's absolutely heart-stopping when he sees himself walking out from behind a cluster of red velvet, wearing a sly, devilish, not-Soul like grin as he tugs at the knot of his tie. Although he is only made up of grays, blacks and whites, the full-color Soul can't help the fear the knots his stomach. Why does this all seem so familiar?

"Stupid host," colorless Soul drawls. His voice sounds nothing like the real deal, it's too thick and crackly to even compare.

And then, Soul is washed over with memories of this place. How could he ever have forgotten?

He remembers the demon in the corner, the piano that nearly hurt to play, how Maka had saved him from it all when he was too stupid to fight for himself against his insanity. He remembers everything in a span of three seconds, gasping when his vision finally seems clear, and looks directly at the demon, whom has reverted to his normal, short self.

"I can't believe you've forgotten me. I feel so… unwanted." Sharp teeth click together as he grins sadistically at Soul, taking a seat up on the piano bench. The scythe, however, only stands with a hand in his pocket, glaring coldly at the demon.

"We fixed this. This issue is settled." Soul growls, looking around cautiously. "So just show me where the door is and we'll—"

"Door?" The red imp interjects, before bursting out into crude, spiteful cackling that makes Soul cringe back, his hearing trying not to go bad at the noise.

"Why would think there's a door, Evans, if you do not see one in plain sight? This is your mind, my boy, you're the one calling the shots behind this vision, just like all the others," the demon elaborates for Soul. The weapon dully notes how often the creature uses his oversized hands when he talks.

"So?" Soul grits out between clenched teeth, his hands balled into fists at his side. "What's this visit for? Gonna give me a lecture? Or tell me about how great you'll make everything for me if I let you? We've had this conversation a million times, I'm NOT interested in—"

"That's simple, Evans. You're sleeping. So, in order to avoid the horrors behind your eyelids, you must've conjured up another visit with myself."

Soul only stares, as if the demon had spoken in perfect Korean to him. Silence fills the rather-cold room, and both stare at each other, until the weapon shakes his head.

"No. No, no, no," he chants, his fingers reaching up to tangle in his mess of colorless hair as he paces in random directions, trying to focus hard enough in order to make some sort of escape from this terrible, terrible room that holds him captive. The walls feel like they're closing in, and it makes Soul's heart rate skyrocket and his panic worsen. The demon laughs from somewhere behind him, (he can't tell anymore) the sound echoing off any and everything in the shrinking room. Soul finally falls to his knees, then onto his side, curling up as he tugs his hair, growling and muttering and squeezing his eyes shut to just get away from this place—!


When he opens his eyes again, Maka is straddling his lap in the dark of his room, grabbing him by the sleeves of his shirt. He looks around, making sure his room is really his and won't do any unwanted or un-natural things as he lies here. As his breathing slows, the scythe looks back up at his meister, who's preoccupied herself with stroking his hair. He pulls her down, to lie beside him, and she only flops down under his hands.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, his arm snaking around her waist to pull her back against his front. She flips around, to face him, their noses merely inches apart, but it doesn't seem to matter. She pets his hair back, stroking his cheek every now and then with a tiny, sad smile.

"You don't have to be sorry; it's not your fault."

He sighs, his thumb stroking at the dip of her waist while she cuddles closer into him, pressing a kiss against his Adam's apple, which makes him jolt from the sensitivity of her warm lips brushing oh-so lightly against his flesh—

He can't think like that. If he did, and so happened to pop a boner, Maka might never let him live it down. Or worse, she'd be afraid of him, and how are you supposed to catch a girl who's afraid of your little amigo?

Maka ducks her head to rest against his chest, pressing herself completely against him. The way her small torso expands and collapses as she breathes fascinates Soul as he presses his lips to her forehead in a resemblance of a kiss. He likes it when she sleeps with him…literally. Her wavelength just, soothes him, makes him calm and relaxed. But what's even better is when he can feel her against him, like this, her breaths hitting his shoulder and her silky hair spilling across his pillow.

Soul might not understand a lot, but what he does understand in the moment when Maka curls up like a cat in its owners' lap is how much he does, in fact, love this girl. He remembers how they spoke of this so long ago, like such a thing was taboo. But he loves everything there is about the little blonde in his arms, and accepts this the moment she cracks an eye open to glance at him and smile and rub his shoulder comfortingly.


Her head tilts up to look at him; he likes the way those emerald eyes glisten from the light of the moon from his window. Both stare at each other for awhile, words not needing to be said over the silent channel that is… them. But when Soul can't take anymore, and needs to show her, he presses their lips together, and holds them like that.

Maka makes a tiny squeak into his mouth, though, she does not pull away. He can legitimately feel the heat that comes from her blushing cheeks, as he carefully moves his lips against hers. He does a good job, he'd like to think, not shoving his tongue down her throat, but merely swiping it against her slightly-parted lips a few times, not daring to go any farther than that.

When they pull away, Maka stares at him with wide, confused eyes, reaching up to touch her bottom lip, which is rather cold without his lips covering them. Soul smiles at her, but she only buries her face into him to hide her embarrassment.

"Sorry," he says, rather lamely, "if you didn't like that."

Soul feels her shake her head a bit against him, but her grip around him tightens, and he assumes she's done talking about it for now. He won't pry, because cool guys don't need to, and stares off. He barely notices when she falls asleep, and when he himself is lulled into sleep by her calming breathing and touch.

Before he slips away, though, he kisses her forehead lightly, mouthing a simple, "I love you," to her before he is completely out beside her.


Blair grabs the handle of Soul's door in the morning, not noting Maka isn't up and cooking by now, and opens it with ease. Her little wake-up routine for the boy always put her in a good mood, not because she enjoyed seeing Sol get the living piss beat out of him by his female roommate, but because she liked being around the boy, even if he didn't really pleasure her company.

But when she sees Maka curled up with Soul under his blankets, the cat freezes in her tracks, praying she didn't wake the jumble of teenagers up. A smile cracks on her pinked lips, and she steps back and out of his room, grabbing the doorhandle and closing the door with a controlled 'click'.

When the feline feels she is no longer in danger of waking the teens up, she makes a squeal sort of noise, jumping up with a grin.

"Blair was right!" She whisper- cheered for herself, pumping a fist up in the air. "Blair was right, Blair was right!"

With her new source of enjoyment for the day, the purple-haired vixen grabbed her bag from the kitchen table, where she had left it when she came in a few hours prior, slipped her boots back on, and nearly skipped out the front door, making sure to close it quietly as to not wake the sleeping duo. She made her way down the street, to Chupacabra's to collect her winnings for the bet she'd just won.

Too bad for Maka and Soul, Spirit just so happened to have taken shelter in the establishment as Blair rattled off about her morning discovery to her co-workers, and nearly lost his head at the news.