A horrific screech impaled the air with a fear-filled pitch of anguished despair and utter pleading denial. The one who had sounded the shriek sat bolt upright in his bed, pink locks disheveled, and tear-streaked eyes bloodshot. The meister slowly curled his legs up to his chin, shivering at the treachery his mind had just dreamed up. He bit down on his quivering lower lip as he futilely tried to hold his tears in, until he had given up and they ran coldly down his cheeks. Weak whimpers of guilt escaped his closed mouth.
A slight pain soon wrenched at his spine, telling him that his sobs (and his screech) had woken his partner. "Crona, what the hell?! I don't care how sad you are, quit crying in the middle of the damn night!" The miniscule demon sprouted from his back and started relentlessly pounding his round fists on his meister's head "It makes it hard for me to sleep, moron!" He said slowly, as though Crona's mind was a delicate bomb, ready to explode any second. "NOW GET BACK TO BED!" With that small rant, the cranky sword dispersed back inside Crona, thoroughly disgruntled.
A few minutes of silence drenched the room, and the swordsman, having disturbing questions roam his mind, decided to speak up. "Ragnarok, are you still awake?" Seconds passed.
"What do you want now, pansy?"
Crona, now clutching his pillow for comfort, sat pondering for the right words to use. "Would... Would you still become a kishin if you could?" He spoke with a wobbly voice.
A few more unresponsive moments passed, but soon the irritable sword erupted with his usual reaction of violent behavior, slamming his balled hands down on his meister's head more vigorously now as he yelled. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN 'IF I COULD?!' I COULD BECOME A KISHIN ANY DAMN DAY NOW! I JUST DON'T THINK YOUR WEAK LITTLE PANSY BODY CAN TAKE IT! HEY DIDN'T I TELL YOU TO GO BACK TO SLEEP?!"
"Okay, OKAY Ragnarok! Ow! I'm going to sleep! I'm asleep, I'm asleep!" Crona weakly protested, as the weapon's punches were more painful than before. Upon finally hearing the meister's admittance of defeat, Ragnarok let up on his violence and reluctantly returned to his dormant state inside his partner. The swordsman quietly sighed with relief, looking up through the single window in his bedroom at the moon, its bloody teeth heaving as it unceasingly chuckled to its own private little joke. The pink-haired meister's eyelids lowered drowsily as fatigue washed over his few thoughts. As he slowly drifted into slumber, a new, more soothing lullaby sounded within him; it was one of comfort and encouragement. The lullaby was a voice that spoke directly and only to him, a voice that he had come to love so dearly, as it belonged to the specific someone that had saved him from himself. It was the voice of a girl who bore two blonde ponytails and welcoming emerald-green eyes. It was the voice of his beloved friend Maka Albarn, and it was with this voice that he fell asleep once again.
The blonde scythe-meister uncomfortably shifted in her bed from her left and right sides constantly, unable to still herself. It was quite obvious by now, at two o'clock in the morning, that she was unable to sleep. Perhaps it was because just the day before, she had literally single-handedly killed a kishin and was still terror-struck from the horrid encounter. Maybe it was because she had thought one of her closest friends had been killed before her eyes, and she had found out that he was still alive; she might still be worried about his health. Whatever the reason, there seemed to be no end to her restlessness. Finally, she decided to simply lay on her back, gazing up at her bedroom ceiling with wide attentive eyes.
More thoughts continued to roam her mind as restlessness was gradually replaced by boredom. Her friend's health seemed to be a thought appearing quite frequently, and this puzzled her. She had seen all of her other friends basically fall dead at the insane hand of the kishin, Asura, so why should she be more worried about only him in particular? Was it because he had been 'killed' by his own mother? Or maybe she had just always sensed that he was psychologically weaker than the others. Professor Stein had told her that the very first thing Crona had said when he woke up was that he needed to go find her. Could that be what was weighing so heavily on her mind? She rolled over onto her side and forced her eyes tightly shut, refusing to cry at the memory of his sacrifice for her. She quickly tried to drown these thoughts out by focusing on sleep, and, despite her failed previous attempts, tried to work toward such a thing again. The meister let her eyes gently close themselves as her mind was carefully tugged back to pleasant memories of his pink hair, dark eyes, and his small, barely-there smile. It filled her with soft relief, knowing that he was still alive and well, and perhaps it was this that finally enabled her to shut down her mind and fall into a restful, but short-lived, slumber.