A/N: Another non-Staccato oneshot, because I don't really have a word for this one either, and because second person is weird and I don't want to scare off Staccato readers with it.
I don't really know if I'll ever write in second person again, but I wanted to try it.
As always, reviews make me happier than just about anything else, so if you have any thoughts, drop them by me!
The nights are darker now.
You sigh and run your fingers through your bangs. It must be painful for him– her– them– Crona. Whatever the hell they were. You look up at the moon. Its edges are barely visible; unless you strain your eyes, it is nothing more than another dark area of the sky, lit only by faint pricks of starlight. Crona must be struggling; the Kishin wouldn't stay down quietly.
It's odd, not seeing the moon glowering down at you every night. Only streetlamps produce anywhere near enough light to guide you anywhere through Death City's winding streets.
Your legs keep moving, carrying you home.
The night air stings your lungs as you breathe in deeply. It's dry, but cold. Desert nights are odd. The cold bites into your skin quickly if the wind blows, but if the air is still, it seeps in slowly, settling into your bones. It was something you had never really gotten used to after all these years.
When you arrive, you can see her bedroom light on from outside; it's well past midnight, she should be asleep by now. What was she doing? Key meets lock, handle turns, lights flick on. Home.
Without thought, you drift to her bedroom. She's well aware that you're back; you can feel her soul reaching out for yours from her room. It draws you in, and you don't even knock before you enter.
"Why were you out so late?" An easy question, thrown out just to breach the silence.
"Thinking. Just wanted some air and quiet." Her eyes meet yours and her head tilts quizically. Cute. Her question hangs silently in the air. Why not here? "Didn't want to be disturbed by our rather feisty housecat," you continue.
A smile tugs at the corners of her lips, and you hover beside her bed, hesitant to sit. She looks up at you expectantly, so you lower yourself down. "What were you thinking about?" she asks, but then she stiffens and her cheeks stain pink and she stutters. "I mean... if you're okay with talking! I don't mean to pry, you know that..." She trails off, and you can't help but smile. You're tired and her shoulder is right there, so you let your head lean down and rest on her. It's comfortable, being here like this.
"The moon. Asura. Crona."
And just like that, the comfortable atmosphere is gone. You knew it would be.
Her muscles tense, and her soul's wavelength constricts. "I promised Crona I would go back for them," she whispers, her voice rough. You just nuzzle closer to her and take her hand. "But I can't find a way. I know we can't pierce the black blood to get there, and I know that we can't really separate them right now, but..." Her unspoken statement is heavy in the air. But I promised. Crona trusted me.
"That's exactly what I was thinking about," you say without really thinking. "Crona didn't want to come back." She's suddenly mad, as if you insulted her; you can feel it, but you don't move. "Maka, you know it too. Crona didn't fit in. He... whatever, they knew that. No matter how much we tried, there would be no way to make up for what Medusa did to them. No way would they be happy here."
When Maka spoke, her voice trembled. "But I promised."
You sigh and lift your head. "I thought about it a lot tonight," you mumble. "I think... no, I know that what Crona wanted was to atone for what they did. All the damage... Crona knew it was wrong, but did it because it was Medusa's wish. They did it because it was all they knew. So this... this selfless act, this eternal battle they're stuck in, that's another thing they decided on their own. Crona doesn't know how to handle doing things for others. This was within their own interests too. Basic human stuff. Guilt. Atonement. Wanting to belong." You sigh; putting nighttime thoughts, faint shadows of ideas into words was tough, and you weren't the most eloquent person to begin with. "What I'm trying to say is, Crona knew what they were doing. They wanted to do this, one final shot at not fucking up."
The silence is thick once again. Her head leans against your arm, and you wonder if she's falling asleep; it is far past her usual bedtime, after all.
Her voice is bleary when she speaks. She should sleep soon. "Do you think Crona regrets it?"
Your lips unwittingly meet her hair and press softly. You breathe in her scent (did she change her shampoo recently? Mint was new). "Nah."
She quiets down once again. Eventually a sigh breezes out of her lips and she shifts on her bed to lay down. Her eyes meet yours expectantly, and you shuck your jacket off and strip down to your boxers.
Her body is small and warm against your skin, and when the lights go out, only the stars cast any brightness into the room.
You fall asleep with the scent of mint and Maka in the air, no moon watching with sunken eyes.