Bells
Summary: Crona and Ragnarok take a walk around Death City. Human!Ragnarok. Crona using They/Them pronouns
(A/N: I wanted to post a Crona one-shot, since my Tumblr feed full of awesome people inspired me. Any excuse to write about my baby!)
"You need to get outside more Crona." Ragnarok insists, pulling the covers off their bed, "it's been over a week since you went outside."
"Nothing's stopping you Ragnarok!" Crona insists, "If you want to go play basketball with the others, you can go. I don't want to."
The black haired weapon furrows his brow. Yes, it was true that nothing was stopping him from leaving the room. He could avoid Crona for days, he had that freedom now. But even though he's had a human-ish body for months now, he still kept by his meister's side 99% of the time, going to far as to share a room with them. He just couldn't let the child out of his sight.
"We won't play basketball." He negotiates, "you just need to get out of this room Crona."
Reluctantly, Crona rises from the bed. They rub their eyes, and swing their feet to the cold floor, where Ragnarok had already put out a pair of shoes. Crona gives a weak smile as their weapon pulls a long draping shawl out of the closet.
"It's cold out." He explains, tossing it to them, "you aren't much use sick."
"Kid says that being cold has nothing to do with it." Crona counters.
"Well it won't help you any, will it?" he replies sternly, "better to be safe than sorry."
The two of them make an odd pair, in the dark halls. A slender, shy teen with an abnormally tall man with an incredibly intimidating appearance. But they made steady progress, with no one to stop them. Everyone was either out enjoying the break between storms, or huddled by a fire somewhere. Despite the school being present in a desert, their weather was rather varied.
According to Kid, it even snowed a few times. Crona had never seen snow before, not that they could remember anyway. Apparently it was a beautiful, pristine white powder that could be molded and shaped into anything, but melted away at the touch of a sunbeam. A rather poetic thing, in Crona's opinion.
They reached into the pocket of their dress, a new one they received for the winter holidays. In hand was a small notebook, and a pen with several colors of ink. These were also gifts.
"Going to write something?" Ragnarok asks, turning to look at his companion.
"Maybe. It's kind of difficult to write about what you've never seen though. I was thinking about snow." Crona replies with a shrug.
Break
It was very cold, especially for Death City. Their breath materialized in front of their faces, and their hands soon found refuge with each other for warmth. Everything was covered in frost, and icicles hung from overhangs.
"You might just get your wish Crona. This is perfect weather for snow." Ragnarok notes, looking up at the titanium clouds. His white eyes flit down to his pink haired companion for a moment, and can't hide his smile as their eyes light up.
"y-you think so?"
"I don't lie to you! Why would I do that?" he pushes Crona lightly in the shoulder, causing them to stumble.
The duo falls into a content silence, ambling through the back streets of the city. Soon enough they find themselves near the eastern wall, in an artsy part of town full of replicated versions of famous buildings. Crona's favorite was a large church with a bell tower.
"How's the drawing going?" they ask suddenly, shattering the silence.
"Pretty good. Better than last time you asked. I spend time in Stein's class practicing!"
Crona rolls their eyes, but says nothing in regards to it. it would be somewhat hypocritical, as they spent a lot of time writing in that class.
"Crona… I think you should look up." Ragnarok blurts.
Curious, Crona lifts their head to the sky, squinting against the white expanse. At first, it was impossible to tell what their weapon was so enamored with, until it literally hit them. A wet, cold spot on their forehead, much colder and softer than a rain drop.
"Is that…"
"Yes, it's snowing."
With a gasp, Crona leaps forward into an open square. The flakes begin to fall more frequently, sticking to the ground, and Crona's hair, crowning them with a white veil.
Ragnarok's face heats up as Crona begins to giggle and spin.
"This is so amazing!" the meister calls, "Ragnarok it's snowing!"
Before he can even reply, the bells on the church begin to ring, enticing Crona to run off towards it, notebook in hand. When Crona was inspired by something, nothing could stop them from writing. So Ragnarok simply followed them.
He found the pink haired teen on the steps of the church, scribbling messily in the small notebook. Their hair was even messier than usual, and slightly damp. The shawl had fallen off their shoulders, and onto the concrete.
He plops down next to them and pulls the fabric back up. A few more minutes pass and Crona puts away the pen.
"done."
Ragnarok snatches the journal and looks at the blue writing.
Silver shattered sunbeams fall
Frozen and scattered from the heavens.
A miracle we rarely see in these
Walls of ethereal ends.
As the echo of a big brass bell
Fills the cold and open air.
I turn to lock eyes with you
Across the snowy plaza here.
This experience I could only share
With the other half of my soul.
I'll still hold your hand and let you
Guide me again back home.
Ragnarok closes the book and hands it back to Crona. Standing, he offers his hand.
They do not speak as they walk back to the school, but his hand is noticeably tighter around Crona's.
(A/N: half-assed poem for the win! Originally this wasn't going to be romance, but the characters have minds of their own I swear.)