With both of their massive neuroticisms, the relationship should have been impossible. Kidd was far from normal or functioning, despite having matured quite a bit in the years since the final battle against Asura. His battle with symmetry was still raging; the knowledge that his hair could become symmetrical was something that he was always torn about (he had even attempted to access the same level of power he had used in the battle on a daily basis. The memory of hospitalization was only a slight warning against trying it again.) Though he had finally learned to control himself in the face of an asymmetrical location during battle, it could still slay him in his everyday life. His penchant for paranoia and feeling of crushing responsibility due to being the next Death had yet to truly abate, either.

Chrona had improved on a much larger scale than the reaper, but because of the huge distance he had to go towards normalcy, the progress still left much to be achieved. His decision to go after the Lady Medusa had unleashed a strength in him; at the slightest hint of threat or need in his friends, the swordsman found himself able to deal with anything for their sakes. Yet Chrona, with his crippling anxieties and self doubts, still had no backbone for himself. Most of the populace was still terrifying. There were times when the things in Chrona's past had him retreating to Mr. Corner, wallowing in fear and misery. There were still times when he wanted to die. There were still times when he just wanted to be left alone, forever.

Somehow, despite the anxieties and eccentricities abound, their relationship did work. Death the Kidd was an impressive figure; while he has been handsome as a boy, as a young adult, he had continued to grow taller and broader in the shoulder. His sternness had not abated with age. Despite this, Chrona had come to find the man's thin strength a haven and a joy rather than a terror. Kidd had been Chrona's guide after the battle. Ragnorak had never rejoined him, and it was an ache that Chrona did not understand fully; though Ragnorak himself had been recovered into a human form of his own, he had spit in Chrona's face and walked into the desert. Weaponless, terrified, and suddenly mortal, the young half-witch had nearly given up completely. It was then that Kidd had become a part of Chrona's life.

Kidd didn't talk about emotion much. But every time the reaper adjusted Chrona's defensive stance, his hands were gentle as he cupped the pinkette's elbows. His words, though clipped and informative, were always soft. His patience never ended. Lord Death had made his son Chrona's keeper, to train and to teach in the ways of the world and of the DWMA. This was a constant effort, but not once did Kidd fail to be at the swordsman's side. Every morning, Chrona would step out of his room to find Kidd waiting, sometimes with and sometimes without the companionship of his weapons. Every meal, every break, every class – Kidd was there. His dedication raised the eyebrows of a few of his friends, but poor Chrona was a clueless as a newborn lamb.

Until the first time someone had tried to bully Chrona -the first and the last time.

Chrona had been seventeen, and had grown in the manner that was expected. His form remained lithe and androgynous, minus the new, lean muscle in his arms. His cheekbones had hollowed, not unbecomingly, and he had only become slightly more diligent in the tidiness of his hair. But he was still a shivering, pale slip of a boy with shadows under his eyes and an occasional stutter. He had always been the butt of a few quiet jokes behind hands, but none had dared to advance on Chrona physically before; rumor of his strong friendship with the four-star Meister Maka Albarn, as well as the Death Scythe Soul Evans, had gifted the boy a thin but ever-present shield from the minor cruelties of other students.

That shield did not apply to Raphael. Burly, arrogant, and only passably intelligent, Raphael was innately offended by Chrona's quiet, shivering nature. In his small and simple mind, anyone who would not fight for their reputation was a weak individual, unworthy of the stature of a DWMA student. In a twisted sense, he believed in what he did as a "cleansing." Though he had never mortally wounded another person, he had left a few bruises and sprains in his wake. Any more would have resulted in expulsion.

His advance was uneventful, as bullying typically is. The fear Chrona felt as he trembled in an empty hallway, backed up step for step, his fists raised in the poorest of defensive stands, was not. It was a fear he instantly disliked, crushing his eyes closed and screaming at himself to be a man about this, to stop being a coward, to knock the guy out. It wasn't as if Chrona was weak – years of intense physical training had been needed to wield Ragnorak with the level of deadly accuracy he had possessed. The very process of carrying black blood in your veins strengthens you to the core. But there was a component he lacked – the will to strike at someone he felt no righteous aggression towards. In Chrona's mind, he probably deserved this on some level or another. It had been ground into him that he was trash. Why should his lack of will be surprising?

Raphael landed one blow. With both meaty fists he had taken the fabric of his robe and forcefully thrown Chrona against the wall, resulting in a faintly echoing crack as his skull met stone. The resulting throb and blood had been instantaneous, a hot, damp matting of pink fringe in red. Chrona hissed through his teeth, putting a hand on the wall behind him to push himself back up with. Even that small effort cost him, his stomach swirling in his ribcage and black birds flitting across his vision. But before he could raise his head, there had been a crash and a cry of alarm. When he had managed to raise his head, he saw with his unfocused vision a familiar, unexpected, unmistakable figure. Kidd was standing before him, cool and erect, staring at the now crumpled heap of Raphael. He held no weapons, but his fists were clenched to white knuckles at his side. Chrona couldn't see his face, but the promise in the reaper's voice chilled his blood.

"If you ever come near this student again, it will be the very last thing you do with your body in one piece," the reaper told him, voice cold and unwavering. "I will personally see to it." As he was righting himself, he met Kidd's eyes momentarily; Raphael had let out a whimper of terror and sprinted in a most ungainly manner in the opposite direction. Chrona's last conscious thought as he slipped down the wall was that he would probably have run, too. He could remember the terror that came with meeting that glance at the wrong side of a fight. With the dimmest impression of Kidd turning, hands outstretched, the swordsman blacked out.

….

Kidd had sighed, then. It was obviously no cause for alarm. While the blow had been enough to knock him out, it was far from life threatening. With a crack of his neck, the reaper bent and picked up the alarming light frame of the other boy, sliding him onto his back, and started at slow, steady pace towards Chrona's rooms. There was no reason to jostle the pinkette unnecessarily with a light jog.

….

Since Ragnorak had left, Chrona had woken up alone. He felt the difference in the marrow his bones before he ever opened his eyes, or registered the cool, soft touch on his brow. The only noise in the room was two people's breath. The fingers rhythmically brushing the hair from his forehead were gentle and welcome, bearing with them a warm sent of clean, crisp linens and expensive cologne. Chrona was blissfully thankful, in a part of him that was still starved for affection and love, that the touch did not end as he opened his eyes, squinting against the dim light. He was unable to suppress a groan as the throbbing in his head thrashed at him with a vengeance, and the hand from his brow cupped the back of his neck, helping him to rise to a sitting position, knees close to his chest.

Kidd allowed him a moment of pain and stretching before speaking. "He will not come near you again, Chrona." Hesitantly, his trembling returning, he met Kidd's eyes; they were soft, but unreadable. He made Chrona endlessly nervous. He just wasn't sure if he could handle having Death the Kid actually pay attention to him. They were on completely different levels, in fighting, and only just more importantly, in life. "How does your head feel?" He asked, pulling in the pinkette's attention, who had been focusing on how nerve-racking the situation was.

"A-alright, I-I guess. Th-thanks for… rescuing me, I g-guess." Chrona's face flushed. He really was pathetic. And now Kidd had to come and not only witness this fact, but come to his aid. How absolutely mortifying. If he was there, Ragnorak would have been beating him intensely.

"It was my pleasure. I simply cannot allow you to be treated that way." This brought Chrona's face back up, eyes a little wide, in a mixture of surprise and confusion.

"Kidd…w-why are you being so nice to me!" he almost shouted, his voice a little too loud in his discomfort. Nothing was right. His head ached, there was someone in his room, someone who had defended him that wasn't Maka and who touched him softly and acted like he was…he was… almost important in some way. "You never forget me, you listen to the things I have to say, you never yell at me or scold me for screwing up or falling down or failing you, you take time out of every single day for me!" Something had unhinged, perhaps from that blow to his head or the touch on his hair, he couldn't be sure. "I don't get it," he said, his voice a tad forlorn. His eyes were laced with tears; angry tears – angry at himself, for being so pathetic, for being so weak, for being so awkward and strange. They gathered in his eyelashes, his eyes screwed shut and his face leaning in to his knees as he suppressed the emotion rising in his throat.

The hand under his chin was unexpected. It was soft, something of a hallmark in Kidd's treatment of Chrona, but insistent, and a confused and off-balance swordsman met his eyes. Kidd moved his hand to the side of his face, brushing his knuckles down Chrona's defined cheekbones. "Is it so hard to believe that someone views you as precious?" He murmured, head cocked just slightly to one side, the side with the three, asymmetrical stripes.

Chrona did not have an answer. With the barest of chuckles, barely a more than a breath given a voice, Kidd touched his hair one last time and turned to leave. The door shut behind him with a quiet click, and Chrona was left with a sense of puzzlement and a flicker of something unfamiliar in his chest.

….

Kidd slid down the wall, just around the bend in the hallway from Chrona's bedroom door. A whoosh of air came out of his chest, and he was smiling in a way that purely unusual for the young reaper. But that was the effect the swordsman had on him. Little and fragile and strange as he was, he had grown on him in the strangest of ways. And now that he was learning to keep his hair in proper order, he was lovely in his symmetry and simplicity. After spending day after day together for the last year, he had found that he cared for the disjointed little swordsman in a way he could never have predicted. Not only wanting to hold him, cherish him, kiss him (Gods, how many times had he imagined kissing him?) but to protect him, teach him, watch him grow into his own individual. He wanted to see him whole.

So when he saw the pinkette cornered by that walking meatball, his vision had gone white with rage. Chrona was by no means weak, but he spooked easily, and to watch someone take advantage of that was an unmitigated horror. So he ended it, coarse and low as it may have been, in the traditional manner among brigands – with his fists. But despite knowing he had seemingly lowered himself, he was conscious that word would also spread: that Death the Kidd, son of Lord Death and a Reaper, was protecting Swordsmaster Chrona. And the taunts would stop. And that was all that mattered.

Kidd ran a hand through his hair, smiling at the memory of the boy's weight on his back. He was small, but warm, and his clothes had smelled like wood smoke and cotton and cold winter air. Lonely smells that he loved. He had decided that he was tired of living without those smells. That he wanted to feel that warmth at night. That he wanted to know what that kiss felt like, not just imagine it. So he would strive, and work, and maybe even pray.

….

Chrona woke up in the warm embrace of Mr. Corner the next morning, his body rested and relaxed despite the curled up position he preferred. After the tension and confusion of last night, he had required the comfort of his old sleeping place. Maka had forced him to get used to sleeping in a bed, and for the most part, he did; occasionally, it just wasn't enough. He tentatively touched the back of his head, sifting through his hair to find nothing more than a small, curved split, already connecting. Sometimes, he struggled to deal with his life without the black blood. His skin almost never broke before. The few times he had seen his blood only helped to insulate his madness. Now, when he saw the same red blood that ran in everyone else's veins, he couldn't handle the little bubble of panic. "My blood is black, you know?" It was momentarily terrifying. But then he would remember that this was how he was supposed to be, that this was how normal people were. Right?

Shaking his head slightly, he had gotten up and proceeded to get ready for classes. Maka had taken him shopping with Tsubaki the moment he would allow it, choosing to get him a few other options than a black dress. It was strange for him; witches existed in a purely female society, so it was only reasonable that he had been made to dress like one. Now that he lived in the DWMA, Maka said that he should have "choices". On days where he had classes to go to, he tried to wear them, to make her happy; when he was free, he usually wore the same cloistered gown of his youth. He wore instead a pure black gakuran with small silver buttons, paired with nondescript black dress shoes. Soul said it was stuffy, but Kidd had approved of the decorum it displayed.

Kidd. He would be there in a moment to pick him up, Chrona was sure; well, mostly sure. He couldn't help the nibbles of doubt he always felt. Would this time be different? Would Kidd be cold towards him, or maybe not come at all, after their contact last night? Fear crept into the swordsman, making him nervously grip is forearm. He just couldn't handle this.

But his fears were for naught. The crisp, profession single knock on his door that always signaled Kidd's arrival caused him to jump a little, and he anxiously checked his hair in the mirror, to make sure it was symmetrical. It had been three years, but Chrona still struggled to understand the dressing rituals of his new home. He picked up his belted stack of books for the day and walked silently to the door, opening with a moment's hesitation and a blush on his cheeks.

"H-hello, Kidd," he stuttered, eyes downcast. "Th-thank you for coming to get me."

Kidd chuckled. "Will you thank me every day, Chrona? I enjoy your company." When Chrona didn't answer, he only smiled, turning in the direction of their class. He knew that the pinkette would follow his lead. "They're having a weapons' showing at the pavilion later. Would you like to attend with me? Perhaps there is a Weapon there you could resonate well with?" The question was soft. Chrona avoided these events like the plague. It had thus far been impossible for him to even consider choosing a new weapon. Deep in his soul, Chrona knew that he only wanted Ragnorak as his partner. He didn't know how to deal with anyone else.

But if I go, Kidd-kun will come with me.

"I-I'm not sure I know h-how to deal with that, K-Kidd-kun," murmured Chrona, his eyes flitting to Kidd's face to the floor and back again.

"You don't have to if you aren't ready. But you'd do well with a weapon partner; you're a strong meister. Any weapon would be proud to serve with you." The pinkette flushed at the compliment. "And once you have a weapon, we can determine what level you're at. I would judge you a three star meister at the least. You belong at the DWMA." Looking down at their feet, Chrona smiled. They were walking in time with each other.

"Thank y-you," he said. "C-can I just watch? I-I don't think I want t-to talk t anyone there." He wasn't sure of the proper behavior at such a showing.

"Of course. And I'll be with you. Would you like me to bring Liz and Pattie?" Chrona gulped a bit.

"Sh-she's really nice, but I d-don't know how to handle P-Pattie." At this, Kidd broke out into a full bought of laughter, his head tilted back.

"She's a bit much, I agree. She likes you quite a bit though. No matter. They've been itching to wear out my new black Miestercard anyway. I'll let them go shopping." Chrona felt a surge of relief, and chuckled nervously as Kidd opened the door of their classroom for him. When Kidd didn't follow, the swordsman turned.

"Y-you're not c-coming today?" he asked, somewhat alarmed. Kidd never missed class.

"My father wants to see me. I should be around just as class is ending. Take notes for me?" He asked, casting Chrona a small smile and a wave, heading in the direction of the Death Room. Chrona felt a bit disappointed, for reasons he didn't really understand, but went and took his seat next to Maka. Ever obedient, ever hoping to please, he took out his notebook and paid diligent attention to ever word from Professor Rin's mouth, copying it as clearly and as symmetrically as he was capable. Kidd deserved nothing but the best. As promised, Kidd slipped into an empty desk near the door five minutes before the bell went off, releasing them. Chrona was so engrossed in his note taking that he didn't even notice. But when the lecture was over, he glanced at the door, only to meet a pair of searing, focused golden eyes staring at him.

There was that funny feeling in his chest again.