Soul was positive that Crona couldn't be any more different.
They grew up on opposite sides of everything.
Soul was wealthy and treated alright, he supposed, despite his constantly negative or neutral attitude. Crona was treated in a way that was most certainly not alright.
From what Soul could tell, he was always either jittery or clingy, and occasionally off-the-deep-end insane.
The weapon understood (yet he could not relate to) how the upbringing of a demon sword meister could cause him to become somewhat of a recluse, and he accepted it from afar without needing to speak any direct words. He knew the boundaries and the complications of constantly being around someone of the meister's mindset, and he unspokenly agreed to that as well.
That was how it had always been between them- a silent, mutual agreement to get along. That was all.
To top it off, the agreement was mostly because Soul was Maka's right hand and Crona was her left. She always wanted both of them around, and despite being able to settle for one or the other, she was always more satisfied with both.
To deprive Maka of her friends would be something unheard of. What is a scythe meister without her scythe and her swordsman?
A funny question, Soul could ponder. A scythe meister without her swordsman was still a scythe meister, but it was not Maka.
One would think that Crona and Soul would have had a chance to get to know each other after the Kishin passed, but they didn't. Right hands and left hands work in unison, but they do not stop to converse. Very few words were exchanged between them, and it was not any more than was required. They weren't uncomfortable speaking to each other when surrounded by friends, but when it was left to just the two of them, one would leave, not knowing what to say.
It didn't seem very important, to be entirely honest.
"Ow."
Soul paused, glancing up from the book he was reading as a class assignment. It wasn't all that interesting anyway, but it was a chore he had to complete, unless he wanted to completely flunk Professor Stein's class.
He raised an eyebrow at the form of Crona, whom was seated on the edge of the school's balcony, his legs dangling off of the ledge high above the city.
"What're you doing out here?" Soul voiced, and he heard the boy gasp in surprise. Or maybe girl? Either way, Crona had chosen to define himself as being a male, so it didn't matter to Soul what his physical form appeared to be.
The meister turned to him, his eyes wide and slightly teary along the edges. "Tsss- ffft- S-Soul, hi," he stuttered wildly, his face flushing with embarrassment as he rubbed his damp eyes across his sleeve.
Oh god, please don't cry. Soul thought, flinching internally at Crona's depressed appearance. I don't want to deal with that right now. "Yeeeahhh," he responded awkwardly, bending the corner of a page of his book to mark the page. Maka would disapprove, but it didn't really matter right then.
He snapped the book shut, walking closer to Crona and taking a seat on the ledge beside him. There was nothing better to do, anyway.
"What's up with the tears?" Soul murmured delicately, turning his head to face Crona. He decided it best to confront the problem before it turned into something even worse. "Did something happen?"
"No, nothing happened," the swordsman replied, deflating slightly. His expression was dull and tired, his young eyes holding all the sadness and stress of an old, dying man.
Soul stayed quiet for a moment. Crona had something else to say, he could tell. The only thing he could do was wait until he was ready to talk.
"…it's just…" Crona put a hand over the spot just below his ribcage, frowning with discontent. "…it still hurts…"
Oh, right.
He has a scar, too.
"Oh," Soul replied, and that was all he needed to say.
They were the same.
Everything was devoted towards their friends, every last shred of their being reaching out with gestures of self-sacrifice with the safety of companions in mind. They were willing to do anything and be anything, if it meant a benefit for their group.
A weapon and a science experiment, both created to be loyal and living up to the expectations, though not exactly in the form that was initially intended. Their bodies are scarred because they succeeded, not because they failed. Their minds are troubled because they have gained experience, not because they are weak.
Who they were no longer matters; it is who they are, and who they will continue to be.
Maka's right, and Maka's left.
A/N- eh. Just wanted to write something with these two. It's been a while since I've even watched the anime. I should be working on other things instead of messing around with one-shot writing, but... I'm tired and sick. As per the usual. Forgive my many mistakes and issues.