Disclaimer: Soul Eater, like most of the good things in life, does not belong to me.
Maka. Even just her name makes my soul smile. She's the umbrella I use when it won't stop raining, the sunlight that pierces through my dark veil, the ocean that laps at the dunes of my desert. She was the first person. The first person ever.
I'm alone. For the longest time, I've hid inside myself, beaten into submission by... by mother, by Ragnarok. No good, useless, spineless. Worthless. I've drawn a circle in my desert, and hid inside, cowered. Not even waiting for someone to come. Who would? It's me. I'm nothing. If I have no use, I'll be thrown away, and my only use is to be a weapon. I don't want to be thrown away. I don't know how to deal with that. It was easier just to be mad, to give in to the black blood surging through me. It was the closest thing to happiness, letting it pulse through my veins while I hid. It was stronger than me, it knew how to deal with things. Kill them. I'm weak, and if they're weaker than me, they deserve to die. They were just a bunch of souls I'd been told to devour, and they split apart so easily. They weren't people, they were orders. And the whole time I'd sat in my desert, safe in my circle, drawing lines in the sand, and trying to just be... calm. Alone. I don't have to deal with anything in there. It's safe.
And then Maka came and kicked away the circle I'd so carefully drawn, and I was lost in that vast desert again. But she took my hand, and she smiled, and she looked at me. Just me, Crona. My very soul. I'd been thirsting so long for something I'd never had, something I couldn't conceive of; a friend. She looked inside the shell that housed me, and touched my very soul. No one had ever done that. She broke me apart, and saw all the pieces. She ran through my defences, she bled for me, even though she was terrified. I could feel her fear. Just like the Little One. But she refused to die, and it killed the madness in me. She brought me out from my desert, so I could peer through my eyes again, so I could feel my heart pounding as she held me. So I could cry the oceans she'd flooded me with. For the first time that I could remember, I felt something beyond pain, beyond loneliness. It felt like happiness, it felt like strength. She smelled like sunshine.
I still don't understand her. I still don't know how to deal with her, but she's patient. She smiles when I can't think of anything to say, and when she speaks to me, her voice is bright, and kind, and she waits for me to answer. She listens to me, and not even the others do that. The others I call my friends. They all treat me so nicely, but if it wasn't for her, they'd hate me. I know they would. They don't see what she sees in me, and I don't see it either. I'm weak. I can't stand up to anyone. I'm a doormat, and doormats are made to be walked on. I'm wet cardboard; I fall apart so easily. I'm not brave, I'm not smart, I'm not funny. I'm a coward, and sometimes I'd much rather be alone. It's easier to be alone. But I can't let her go. She makes me feel things. When she smiles, my throat goes all tight, when she hugs me, my heart pounds and sends that black blood wish-washing through me. When she says my name, it erodes a little more of my desert each time. She makes me fill my skin, see through my eyes, she makes my soul burn brighter. I wonder if she sees that? She must... Maka can see souls. Maybe that's what she sees in me? Maybe I have a good soul?
She makes me look forward to waking every morning. Before, I was never really sure when I slept, or if I slept. It was always nothing, blankness, interspersed with Ragnarok's sinuous voice, coiling around my ears, and his fists, beating me down, hurting me. She makes Ragnarok small, and his punches, his teasing doesn't hurt so much. They bounce off, they don't sink in. Maybe she's my weapon. She protects me, even if she doesn't transform. Maybe she's a kind of weapon that doesn't have to, because all she has to fight against is myself. When I spend time with her, it's like being alone; it seems to last forever, but it's filled with smiles and laughter instead of tears and silence. She says Crona like it's a nice word, like it's her favourite snack. She makes my name into something beautiful. And even though she's pulled me out into the world, held my hand tight then pushed me gently forward while I squinted at the sunlight, she's still the first. The first person who was ever a person to me. She still shines brighter than the sun. She's touched my soul.
I don't know how to deal with these feelings. I like holding her hand. I like hugging her. But I don't what it means. I know I like the others, they're my friends, but I like Maka a different way. A way that makes me feel like she's touching my soul again, and her hands are warm and gentle. Is it what people call love? Love sounds scary. I don't know how to deal with that. It feels almost like madness. It clouds my brain, and makes me say things that aren't me, that are bolder, more like a person, and less like Crona. Cowering, lonely Crona. She makes me the Crona I might have been. The Crona who wasn't shut up in a dark room, the Crona who didn't go mad.
"Hey Crona. Is something wrong?" I turn my head from where we're sitting on the wall, overlooking Death City, and she's looking at me, green eyes touching my soul again. She tilts her head, afternoon light colouring her warm, staining her skin. I shake my head soundlessly, feeling my heart rattle around my frail ribs, and her hand takes mine as we watch the sun set. She still smells like sunshine. She's light, and I'm dark, and we were never meant to be friends, this was never meant to work. I was never meant to have anyone.
"Maka?" My voice is quiet, hesitant.
"Mm?"
"Can I a-ask you something?" Her fingers tighten on mine supportively, and she nods with a broad smile. She's like summer, and I've spent all my life trapped in a blizzard. She's melting me, thawing me out and bringing me back to life. Even if I were shut in the dark again, the rest of the world gone but her, I'd be okay. Even just the memory of her keeps me strong, keeps my heart beating. That's something I've never felt before. I've never... felt before her. I turn to look at her, licking my lips nervously and taking a deep breath.
Maybe it is love, maybe I can deal with this.
A/N: Dear readers, I prostrate myself before you. Yes you, the one with the hat. Wait... what? That's your hair? Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't... are you sure though? Because it looks a lot like... right. Sorry. My mistake.
Anyway, please review. And perhaps wash your hair?