Chrona looked around the store, hunching his thin shoulders.

There were plastic people standing everywhere, wearing designer clothes, wigs perched on their heads. Their blank, glassy eyes and frozen smiles made him shiver. He inched closer to Maka. "I don't like these things."

Maka gave him a reassuring smile and said, "They're just mannequins." She glanced at one and muttered, "I guess they are a little creepy."

Racks of shirts and jeans lined the long, brightly lit aisle. There were so many, Chrona felt overwhelmed just looking at them. How did people choose? "I d-don't see any robes."

Ragnarok burst out of Chrona's back. "Just buy normal clothes! Who cares?"

"B-but I like this." Chrona looked down at his black robe. It was getting a little frayed and worn around the cuffs, which was why Maka had offered to take him clothes shopping in the first place.

Ragnarok pulled his hair. "What the hell do you have against pants, anyway?"

"N-nothing." Chrona tapped his forefingers together, self-conscious. "I wear them sometimes. I just…feel more comfortable in this."

"Yeah, but you look stupid!"

"Don't worry about him, Chrona," Maka said. "You can get whatever you want. If you want a robe, we'll find one."

The task had proven more difficult than they'd anticipated. They'd already checked three different stores, and none of them sold the sort of traditional robes which Chrona favored. Or any robes, for that matter. He felt like he was causing Maka a lot of trouble, and a part of him just wanted to go home. Now that they'd come this far, though, they couldn't just give up.

Something caught his eye, and a little flutter of excitement stirred in his chest.

It wasn't exactly the same. The cuffs and collar were black instead of white. But it was close. "Maka, look!" He smiled and pointed. "I found one."

She turned…and blinked a few times, her expression blank. "That's a dress."

"It is?" His face fell, and he turned to stare at the simple black garment. "But it looks like my robe…"

Ragnarok grabbed his cheeks and pulled. "That's because your robe looks like a dress, idiot!"

"Ow! Stop it!"

"Ragnarok, leave him alone."

Ragnarok released his cheeks, and they snapped back into place. Chrona rubbed them, wincing, and stared forlornly at the black dress. He rubbed the material between a thumb and forefinger. It felt soft, almost silky. There was something comforting about it. It even had a nice smell. Not as nice as Maka's scent, of course, but...

Maka slipped her fingers through his, and warmth rose into his cheeks. She tugged gently, urging him forward. "We'll find one somewhere," she assured him.

"Ugh." Ragnarok huffed.

She shot a glare at Ragnarok. "What's your problem?"

"I don't really give a shit what he wears," Ragnaraok said. "He can walk around in Saran Wrap for all I care, I'm just so fucking sick of shopping. Do you know what clothes shopping is like for me? Do you? It's like being strapped to a bed of nails in a room with screaming faces on the walls and listening to a recording of children singing creepy nursery rhymes while a cackling, deranged clown pokes me in the eye over and over."

"…really?"

"Just buy something! Buy the fucking dress if that's what he wants!"

Maka frowned and looked at the dress. She tapped a finger thoughtfully against her chin. "You know, if we modified the collar and cuffs, it would look just like your robe. I can't sew, but I could ask Tsubaki for help." She lifted the dress off the rack and turned to Chrona. "Do you want to try it on?"

Chrona blinked. "Really? Th-that's okay?"

"Sure." She smiled.

"Ugh, no, don't start trying stuff on!" Ragnarok covered his face with his tiny hands. "Just leave! Buy it and leave the store!"

"Quiet down, Ragnarok, it'll only take a few minutes. If we're going to spend money on this, we need to make sure it fits."

"Aaagh!"

Minutes later, Chrona emerged from the changing room, self-consciously smoothing the black dress. Ragnarok was still slumped on top of his head, arms hanging limply to either side. Despite his lack of human features, he seemed to be scowling.

"Wh-what do you think?" Chrona asked, gripping the black fabric with both hands.

Maka hadn't known what to expect. Her eyes widened a little.

The dress was close-fitting, emphasizing the slenderness and elegance of his tall body while still hiding enough to be modest. His long, coltish limbs looked even longer and more graceful. The dress was a bit looser in the chest than it needed to be, since it was designed for someone with breasts, but the timeless simplicity of it was oddly attractive. It suited Chrona.

"You look very handsome," she said, surprised to find that the words fit.

A flush rose into Chrona's cheeks. "Th-thank you." He fidgeted a little, self-consciously holding his arms against his chest, then dropped them to his sides and interlaced his fingers behind his back.

Maka felt a smile tugging at her lips. He probably had no idea how cute his shyness was, and that made it all the more appealing. She reached out and adjusted his collar, which was a little crooked. "Do you want to try on anything else, or just get this?"

"I want this." He answered quickly, with more certainty than she was used to hearing from him. Maybe he was just worn out from all this shopping. Even Maka was getting tired; she didn't normally spend this long looking at clothes, but she'd wanted to find something that he genuinely liked, and the dress was the first thing he'd shown even a spark of interest in.

"Okay. Let's see, where's the price tag..."

"Gah, I'm so fucking bored!" Ragnarok clutched his head. "You know what I just figured out? The ninth circle of hell isn't a fiery lake. It's a fucking clothes store filled with annoying music and fucking bossy girls who won't fucking let you leave so you can go home and eat some fucking pizza pockets!"

Maka shot a poisonous glare at Ragnarok. "We're almost ready. Good grief, you're like a five year old." She smiled at Chrona, who was looking nervous at the sudden tension in the air. "Here, turn around so I can see the other side."

He turned obediently. The dress was a little more snug in back than his robe had been, and Maka couldn't help noticing that for someone so skinny, he had a very curvy, very round bottom. She pulled her gaze away, her cheeks warm.

Ragnarok snickered, and Maka tensed, wondering if he'd noticed her staring. But Ragnarok wasn't even looking at her; he'd snatched a wig off a nearby mannequin and put it on his own head.

"Hey Chrona, look at me!" He grabbed the long ash-blonde hair in his tiny hands, forming two makeshift pigtails. "I'm Maka! I have dumb-looking hair and teensy-weensy tits!"

"Ragnarok, stop that." Chrona tried to grab the wig off his head, but Ragnarok moved to one side, evading him. "Don't make fun of Maka."

Of course, this only encouraged him. Ragnarok spoke in a shrill, sing-song voice. "Oh dearie me! My chest is so flat, it's caving in!"

"I s-said stop that!"

Maka felt her blush growing hotter. "Very mature, Ragnarok," she snapped. If it had been anyone else she would have Maka Chopped him, but she couldn't hit Ragnarok without Chrona feeling the impact as well. And poor Chrona already looked so mortified. "Don't worry about it, Chrona," she said, softening her tone. "Let him have his little chuckle. He's just making himself look like an idiot."

Pointedly, she looked away from Ragnarok and feigned interest in a display of hats.

He snickered again and continued, undeterred: "Ooh, maybe if I act like a big shot, people won't notice how microscopic my tits are! Hey boys, you all better behave, or I'll beat you up, 'cause I have daddy issues and I can't control my rage! Grrr!"

Maka's teeth ground together. A vein pulsed in her temple.

Ragnarok cackled. "Hey, what's wrong, can'tcha take a joke? You on the rag or something? No wonder you've been so bitchy to me—"

Maka's pulse filled her head like thunder, and a red haze crept across her vision. "That's it, you little prick!" She grabbed Ragnarok's neck in both hands and shook him violently back and forth. The wig flopped around on his head, blonde hair falling in his face.

"Aagh!" he cried, flailing his tiny arms. "Help, someone help! I'm being murdered!"

"Excuse me, what's going on here?" A stout, stern-faced woman in a store uniform stood before them, hands on her hips.

Maka gulped and quickly released Ragnarok. "I—I was just—"

Ragnarok put his hands to his face and began to cry in loud, sniffly, fake sobs. "The mean lady was hurting me! I was just minding my own business, and—"

"Ragnarok, don't lie," Chrona said. "You started it."

Ragnaork glared down at him. "Traitor."

The woman blinked at Ragnarok, and a look of utter bewilderment swept across her face. There were a lot of odd things in Death City—talking cats, living Weapons, a moon that grinned and oozed blood—but most people were still mystified by the weird little creature who shared a body with Chrona. "Wh-what…what is that?" Her voice wavered.

"I'm not a what, you bitch, I'm a who."

"Oh." She stared blankly, apparently too taken aback to be offended.

Chrona stared down at his feet, shuffling them, his hair hanging in his eyes. He'd grown considerably less shy around Maka and her friends, but he still froze up whenever a stranger spoke to him. He gripped his arm, fingers pressing into his bicep with near-bruising force.

Maka sighed and forced a smile. "Can we just buy this dress, please?"

"Of course." The saleswoman still looked a little dazed. "Right this way."

They left the store and walked out into the sunlight, Chrona still wearing the black dress. Ragnarok had vanished into his body.

"I'm s-sorry," Chrona murmured, clutching his arm.

"For what?"

"What he said. H-he shouldn't have…I'm sorry."

"It's okay." Make gave him a smile that was only slightly strained. "It's not your fault." By now, she was used to Ragnarok's ways...enough that she could usually restrain herself from throttling him, anyway. Today had been an exception. "I'm just glad we were finally able to find something."

"M-me too. I like it a lot. But…" Chrona looked down at himself. "You didn't have to pay for this."

"Don't worry about it," she said. "I wanted to get something for you. Just consider it an early birthday present, okay?" She paused, thinking. "Say, when is your birthday?"

"I don't know."

She blinked. "You don't—"

Maka fell silent. Of course. Chrona had probably never been given any birthday parties or presents as a child. She wondered if anyone had ever given him a present before. Something inside her ached, but she kept her tone bright. "Well, let's just say it's today, then."

He looked up at her uncertainly.

"Happy birthday, Chrona."

A tiny smile tugged at his lips. "Th-thank you." He hesitated. "I still feel bad, though. It was a lot of money. C-can I…can I get something for you, too?"

Maka knew he didn't have money to spare. The school gave him a small allowance, but it was just enough to cover the bare essentials. She didn't want him to spend his scarce funds on her, but if she said no, he'd probably feel guilty.

She looked around, trying to think of something that wouldn't cost too much, and spotted an ice cream parlor nearby. Smiling, she linked arms with him and pointed. "Why don't you buy us some ice cream?"

Shortly after, Maka and Chrona sat together in a booth, sharing a banana split. Ragnarok had already devoured his own cone (two scoops of chocolate chip cookie dough) and retreated back into Chrona's body.

Chrona stared at a spoonful of chocolate ice cream, his expression distant and preoccupied.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

He peered at her through his messy pink bangs. "Do you think I'm weird, Maka?"

"No, of course not. Why do you ask?"

"I don't know." The ice cream had started to melt off his spoon. He watched the chocolate goo dripping down onto their half-finished banana split, then took another bite. He'd only been picking at it, but then, Chrona's appetite was half-hearted at the best of times. No wonder he was so skinny.

"Maka...what's a tranny?"

Her mouth fell open. "What?"

"At school the other day, someone called me that."

"Who?"

He didn't look up. "A boy. I don't know his name." After a moment, Chrona added in a murmur, "He was giving me a mean look. I-is it…something bad?"

Maka's hand tightened on her spoon.

She knew Chrona had been called things much worse than that. He was the child of Medusa, Shibusen's enemy, and seen by many as a traitor. Hardly a day went by when she didn't hear someone talking about him in low, disapproving tones.

Still, that never stopped the flash of protectiveness she felt whenever something like this happened. Being a half-witch in Death City was difficult enough on its own, but Chrona was…well, different in so many ways. His black blood, his crippling shyness, his tendency to hide in corners when he was overwhelmed, his timid, almost feminine mannerisms, the fact that he had a Weapon inside his body—people talked, they made jokes, they gave him dirty looks in the halls. She and Soul tried to shield him from the worst of it, but of course, they couldn't watch over him all the time.

"It's…it's not bad, but you're not...it's just..." She trailed off, wondering how to explain something like this. Chrona waited, looking at her with big, uncertain eyes, like a lost puppy. "People can be judgmental sometimes," she finished lamely.

Chrona's slender brows knitted together.

"It's just…boys don't usually wear dresses. Or things that look like dresses."

His teeth caught at his lower lip. "Why not? Is there something wrong with it?"

Maka shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

Despite his horrific childhood, Chrona was—in many ways—remarkably innocent. He'd been raised in near total isolation, confined to his house unless he was on missions; his only contact had been with his emotionally distant, abusive mother and his bullying Weapon. She doubted Medusa had ever taught him anything except killing, and Ragnarok probably didn't know much more about human interaction than he did.

Talking to him, she often felt as if she were explaining things to a child. Yet he wasn't a child. He'd seen more horror and darkness in his short life than most people ever did.

They could go return the dress and get something else, she supposed. If he started wearing shirts and jeans, he might get teased a little less. Or maybe not.

She remembered the way Chrona's face had lit up when he saw it.

"There's nothing wrong with it," she said.

He placed a hand against his chest, and his fingers tightened on the fabric. "But that's why he said that...isn't it?"

"Probably."

Silence.

"I've always worn things like this." Chrona hunched his shoulders, curling in on himself. "I don't understand why it matters so much."

"It doesn't. It's a person's soul that matters, not what he wears or what he looks like." She reached out and lay a hand over his. "Don't worry about what those people think, okay? Just be yourself. Your real friends will accept you and like you for who you are."

Chrona nodded, and the tension eased out of his shoulders. "Okay."

"I like you, Chrona. You know that, don't you? I think you're a wonderful person."

His eyes widened. "You do?" His voice escaped as a small, breathless whisper.

She nodded.

A flush rose into his cheeks, and he lowered his gaze shyly. "I think you're wonderful, too." When he spoke again, his voice was so soft, it was almost inaudible. "You're the most wonderful person I've ever known."

At those words, a strange feeling washed over Maka.

She knew she wasn't half as good a person as Chrona thought. Ragnarok was right about one thing, at least; she had trouble managing her temper. She could be stubborn and difficult and controlling. But somehow, Chrona never saw her flaws. He looked at her with such trust and admiration, as if his eyes were a mirror that reflected only her best self.

It was oddly humbling, looking into those eyes.

"Thank you," Maka said. She smiled and scooped up a bite of ice cream. It was half-melted and mixed with chocolate syrup and caramel sauce. She raised the spoon to Chrona's lips, and his breath hitched in surprise. Slowly, his mouth closed around the spoon. A bit of chocolate syrup oozed onto his lower lip. She watched his small pink tongue sweep over it, licking it up.

Later, as they walked out of the ice cream parlor, Maka reached out and threaded her fingers through his. "I'm glad we did this today," she said.

"Me too," he whispered.

She gave his hand a light squeeze. After a moment, he squeezed back.

-The End