Shinigami sat at a table in the Death Room, cradling a teacup which looked tiny in his comically large hands. Dr. Stein stood before him, his expression grim.
He'd listened silently as Shinigami told him what had happened in the infirmary. Now Stein's jaw tightened, and his hands curled into fists at his sides. "I shouldn't have left them alone."
"Maka and Chrona are unharmed." Shinigami took a sip from his cup. "That's the important thing. No luck tracking down that witch, I take it?"
"We lost sight of her soul shortly after we left Death City."
Shinigami sighed. "Then we're back to square one. She certainly is slippery, isn't she?"
"Slippery and dangerous." Stein cranked the bolt in his head. "She was responsible for this attack. There's no doubt in my mind."
"I'm sure the witch is involved somehow, but she might only be part of the puzzle."
Stein frowned. "What do you mean?"
"She hasn't attacked us directly yet, which means she's either in a weakened state or prefers to manipulate others from the shadows…possibly both. Also, take a look at this." He pulled a sheet of paper out from his spiky black robes and extended it to Stein, who leaned forward.
"What is that?"
"Recently, certain people started a petition demanding that Chrona be expelled. These are their signatures."
Stein took the petition and peered at the list of names. His pulse quickened. "Quite a few people." He handed it back to Shinigami.
A small nod. "Some of the parents are threatening to withdraw their own children from Shibusen if something isn't done. They're afraid the school isn't safe with Chrona there. As a parent myself, I can understand where they're coming from. Those protective urges can be very strong, can't they? Even if they're not always rational." He sipped his tea.
Stein met Shinigami's gaze—or rather, the eyeholes of his mask. "And you think the witch is somehow involved in this, as well?"
"Well, witches are notoriously good at stirring up chaos and panic. If she's after Chrona, she'll probably find some way to use this to her advantage. But what her ultimate goal is, I can't say."
"What are you going to do?"
"Chrona will remain at the school. I've already made my decision about that. This doesn't change it."
A subtle tension eased out of Stein's shoulders. "I'm glad."
Shinigami set the cup down. "We'll remain on guard. Right now, that's all we can do." He paused, peering at Stein through his inscrutable mask. "You look as if you have something else you want to say."
Stein hesitated. "I have absolute faith in Chrona's loyalty to Shibusen. I've been treating him for awhile now, and I can say with no doubt that whatever other issues he may have, there's not a hint of treachery or deceit in his heart." He adjusted his glasses. "Still…I'm troubled by what the future might hold for him."
Shinigami tilted his head. "Oh?"
"Chrona is half-witch, and there've been indications that he's inherited the potential for witchcraft, even if those powers haven't fully developed yet."
Shinigami spread his hands. "And?"
Stein frowned.
Shinigami had a habit of feigning ignorance and asking questions he already knew the answers to. Often, he used it as a way to make people think more carefully about what they were saying, or to glean something from the person's response. But he almost never did it with Stein. Why now? "There are certain risks associated with witchcraft," he said. "Risks we can't ignore."
"Really?" Shinigami scratched his head with one finger. "What would those be?"
Still playing games. "Witch magic is destructive, by its very nature," Stein said, suppressing his impatience. "It affects their minds, influencing them toward madness and cruelty. If the sway of magic takes hold over Chrona, his mind will grow more and more unstable. He'll become like he was in the beginning, before Maka brought him here."
"That's the theory," Shinigami said. "But I do wonder. Is witchcraft inherently evil? Are they truly driven mad by their innate powers, or is there something else at work?"
Stein blinked. For a moment, he was too surprised to respond. He'd had the same doubts himself, but he'd never voiced them in the presence of Shinigami. Shibusen itself was built on the principal that witches were too dangerous to be left to their own devices, that they couldn't be reasoned with, that the only choice was to hunt them and put them down, like rabid dogs. If they were wrong…
"That's what we teach our students," Stein said. He spoke slowly and carefully, in case this was some new game meant to test him. "That's what's written in all our textbooks. Are you saying that we're mistaken? That you've been mistaken, all these years?"
"Not necessarily. But it doesn't hurt to reexamine our assumptions from time to time, does it?" He stared off into space. As usual, his simple, comical mask gave away nothing. "Chrona has done terrible things, it's true. But at heart, he's an innocent child who has suffered greatly. For that reason, I've forgiven him and allowed him to stay. But I must admit to an ulterior motive, as well."
Stein's frown deepened. "What's that, Shinigami-sama?"
For a long moment, he was silent, staring off into space. "Witches and Shibusen have been bitter enemies for many years," he said at last. His voice had lost its comical lightness, grown deep and pensive. "And many consider this to be the natural way of things—an extension of the perpetual struggle between chaos and order. Our fate. Oh, there are those who change sides, but they are regarded as rare exceptions." He met Stein's gaze. "How many of them have we killed, over the centuries?"
Stein didn't answer. It seemed to be a rhetorical question, anyway.
"Is it any surprise that they hate the world order? That they want to tear it down and build a new world, even if it's one ruled by madness? So they keep attacking us, and we keep attacking them, and the harder we fight, the more enmeshed in war we become, each side unwilling to give ground for fear of being overwhelmed by the other…like a Chinese finger-trap, one we've been stuck in for centuries." He sipped his tea. "Chrona truly wishes to live in the light. You said so yourself. His heart is pure, despite all the ugliness in his past…but still, the odds are stacked against him. Fate is always trying to pull him back into the darkness. Is the will of a single, fragile soul strong enough to change destiny? That's the answer I seek."
He drained his teacup and set it down. "And if the answer is yes, then perhaps we're not bound by fate, after all. Perhaps someday, this war can end."
In that moment, Stein's already considerable respect for Shinigami-sama rose a little more. He smiled, inclining his head forward in a small nod.
Shinigami's voice lightened. "Chrona will remain a student at Shibusen." He glanced at the petition on his table. "But keep an eye on this situation."
"Understood."
"And one more thing. If Chrona chooses to continue his career as a Meister, he must gain greater control over his emotions. We can't risk him going berserk during a real battle."
"Understood. I believe his relationship with Maka will help, in that regard. She has a stabilizing influence on him, even stronger than Marie's influence over me. It's quite remarkable, actually." He paused. "I'm not certain, but at times I almost glimpse a visible link between their souls, like a cord. A luminous cord…but it's different from the link that appears during resonance. I've never encountered anything like it."
A pause as Shinigami stared into space. "I have," he said. "A long time ago. Such things are rare, particularly in the young. But they exist."
Stein waited, but Shinigami didn't seem inclined to say anymore. Before he could ask, Shinigami said, "You may go."
Stein suppressed his frustration. He wanted to know…but when Shinigami dismissed you, you didn't argue. He left the Death Room and lit a cigarette as he walked down the hall.
He'd been reluctant to bring up the fact of Chrona's witch blood and the associated problems, even knowing that Shinigami was already aware of them. This was more than he'd hoped for. That Shinigami was willing to take such risks, to question such deeply held beliefs for the sake of a single child…
An image flashed through his mind: Black Star bleeding on the ground, riddled with stab wounds. A tiny chill wriggled down Stein's spine. It was sheer luck that none of Black Star's vital organs had been punctured. If one of those spikes had impaled his heart or his lungs, he would have been finished.
Chrona danced always on the edge of madness. Stein had been doing everything in his power to keep him stable, but if something pushed Chrona far enough, all the medicines in the world wouldn't be enough to save him.
Only Maka's presence in his life kept him halfway sane. She was his anchor, the force holding the jagged shards of his mind together.
He'd just have to trust in the power of that cord, whatever it was.
It didn't seem safe to stay in the infirmary, after the attack, but Maka didn't want to send Chrona back home alone. She invited him to spend the night at her apartment, thinking it would be safer for him there.
She wondered if anyplace in Death City was truly safe for him now.
When Maka and Chrona arrived at the apartment, Soul was in the kitchen, cooking vegetable curry on the stove.
Soul looked up, and his jaw dropped. "Uh…" He stared for a moment, then snapped his jaw shut. His gaze flicked from Maka to Chrona, whose clothes were still spattered with blood. "What happened?"
"We were attacked by a kishin egg in the infirmary," Maka said. "It was acting under orders to capture Chrona, but we don't know who sent it." At the stunned look on his face, she added, "It's okay. Chrona took care of it."
"You're okay?" he asked, still looking a bit dazed.
"I'm fine. We both are." She hesitated. "Can Chrona stay here tonight?"
"Sure."
"Thank you." Maka glanced at Chrona. "We'll get some spare clothes from your apartment later. In the meantime, you can borrow some of Soul's pajamas…though they'll probably be short on you. For now, do you want to take a shower?"
Chrona glanced down at his blood-covered self and nodded, clutching his arm.
"Man." Soul gave him an awkward smile. "You just can't get a break, can you?"
Chrona looked at Soul with large, uncertain eyes. "I'm sorry to impose." He fidgeted. "I know it's a bother. I'll t-try to stay out of the way. I won't make any noise—"
Soul placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry about it, okay? You're our friend."
Maka gave Chrona's hand a squeeze. "That's right."
Chrona lowered his gaze, a pink flush creeping into his cheeks. "Thank you," he whispered.
In the bathroom, Chrona turned on the shower, peeled off his bloodstained clothes, and stepped under the hot spray. He stood there for a long time, arms crossed over his chest, head bowed.
He didn't know how to deal with kindness, with Soul and Maka acting like it was okay for him to be here. Medusa-sama had always treated him as a burden and a nuisance, when she wasn't ordering him to kill something, and he'd always responded by hiding and staying quiet and generally making himself scarce. He wondered if Soul was really okay with it, or if he was pretending for Chrona's sake.
Shinigami-sama's words kept resounding in his head: You aren't well-liked right now.
Chrona hugged himself, watching the blood-tinged water circle the drain.
Someone was after him. If not a witch, then someone in Death City. They'd probably send more hired thugs…maybe things worse than a kishin egg. And as long as he was close to Maka, he was putting her in danger too. He was putting both of them in danger, and the knowledge made him sick to his stomach.
He shut off the water, his chest aching. If anything happened to Maka because of him…
Chrona shuddered.
For a moment, he wondered if it would be better just to leave Death City. Leave everything behind, go somewhere there were no people, somewhere his presence couldn't hurt anyone.
He pushed the thought away. He'd run away once already, and he'd promised himself he wouldn't do it again. Shibusen was his home, his world.
He grabbed a towel and dried off. It occurred to him that he was naked and that Maka was in the living room, with only a door between them. With everything else he had on his mind, it shouldn't have seemed so important, but the realization made him blush all the way down to his collarbones. He gulped and quickly slid into his robe, though his skin was still damp.
He had to get a hold of himself and try to smile for Maka and Soul. They'd done so much for him. It was the least he could do.
Soul had finished cooking the vegetable curry, and they sat around the table and ate it together. Chrona's stomach felt tight, but he forced food into his body, knowing he needed it; he'd eaten a little Jell-o and some soup in the infirmary, but that was all he'd had in the past twenty-four hours.
He didn't say much, and Soul and Maka didn't ask him any questions. Maybe they knew how tired and scared he was, despite his efforts to hide it.
After dinner, they led him down the hall. The apartment was surprisingly spacious. In addition to the two bedrooms, there was a small guest room they'd been using for storage. It didn't have much in the way of furnishings, but there was a couch which folded out into a bed. "You can stay here," Maka said. She looked around at the piles of books and boxes of CDs inside. "We'll get some of this stuff cleared out tomorrow. I know it's not much…"
"It's fine."
She paused, looking up at him through her wheat-colored bangs. Then she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. He tensed in surprise, slowly relaxed against her, and slipped his arms around her waist.
Hugging her felt the same as always, warm and close and comforting…yet it was different. There was an awareness between them now that hadn't existed before, and he found himself remembering the taste of her lips, the brief flick of her tongue. His body grew warmer, and he trembled a little—with nervousness or something else, he wasn't sure.
Maka rested her head against his shoulder. "Are you okay?"
He closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of her hair. She didn't use the sort of fruity-smelling shampoos that a lot of girls did, so the scent was just her; light and natural and clean as a spring morning. "I don't want anything bad to happen to you," he whispered.
"Nothing bad will happen, as long as we stick together. We'll keep each other safe. And now that Shinigami-sama knows someone is after you, he'll be on guard. What happened in the infirmary won't happen again." She gave his waist a little squeeze. "Everything will be fine. You'll see."
His arms tightened around her. It felt so good just to hold her. So right. When her arms were wrapped around him, it was easier to believe that they truly were safe, that their love was like a magic protective bubble around them, keeping all the bad things out. He knew it didn't really work that way, but it was still a good feeling.
"Maka…" He stopped, self-conscious.
"Yes, Chrona?"
The answer was obvious, but he had to ask. "W-we're more than friends now?"
"That's right."
"Are we…" He trailed off. He didn't even know the right word. He'd never thought this far ahead, had never dared to believe that this moment would ever happen. It sounded silly to ask, Are you my girlfriend? More than silly, it sounded presumptuous. But how else could he say it? He fumbled a moment longer before murmuring, "Are we…t-together? Like…a couple?"
"Do you want us to be?"
His heartbeat quickened. Did she even need to ask? "Yes."
"Then yes." She pulled back, just enough to meet his gaze. "Do you want to tell the others? About us? Or do you want to keep it private for now?"
His pulse jumped. "What do you want, Maka?"
She smiled. "I asked you first." Her tone was playful and gentle, but there was a serious note beneath. Maybe she knew that if she answered before him, he'd just go along with whatever she wanted.
Chrona didn't know what to say.
What would happen, if they told everyone? How would people react?
Their friends would accept it, probably. But Chrona knew all too well how most of the other students saw him. Already, people judged Maka for being his friend. If they found out she and Chrona were together, it might get worse for her. And what about her father? What would he think? Would he disapprove of his daughter being with a half-witch traitor? Would it make Maka sad, if he did? She pretended not to care about Spirit or what he thought, but she was still hurt by the things he did, which meant she did care.
So many bad things could happen to her. But if he said he wanted to keep it private, Maka might be hurt. She might think…he didn't know what she might think, but it probably wouldn't be good. "I don't want to hide it," he whispered. "But…I'm afraid. I'm afraid of what will happen to you if people know. I'm…" He trailed off, staring at his feet.
"I don't care what anyone else thinks, Chrona. I'm asking what you want."
"I want to do what makes you happy. That's all."
For a long moment, she didn't reply. That green gaze searched his again, as if her eyes were reaching deep inside his for the answers she sought. "This is still new," she said. "For both of us. And we have plenty of time. We can wait until we're ready."
He probably shouldn't feel relieved at those words. He should want to tell the world about this, shouldn't he? But it was all so much, and everything felt so raw and fragile, and he just didn't want her to get hurt. He would die if she got hurt because of him. "Okay."
She stood, looking up at him, as if she were waiting for something. His already rapid pulse sped. Did she want to kiss him again? Or did she want him to kiss her?
His breathing quickened as he stared at her lips, remembering the way they'd tasted. He wanted to taste them again. Surely that was okay. Surely that was allowed. But something held him back. A paralyzing shyness crept over him, and he clutched his arm nervously, looking away.
Even now, fear clung to him. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he—
Maka's hands came up to frame his face, turning it toward her. She stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips gently to his. His breath hitched. Slowly, timidly, his lips began to move against hers. Her hands settled on his waist, pulling him closer. The tip of her tongue touched his parted lips, teasing them, running back and forth in a way that made them tingle pleasantly.
When she pulled back, he was flushed and breathless.
She smiled up at him. Her lips were damp, glistening, slightly swollen with kisses. He stared at them raptly. And for a moment, he wondered if they would keep going, if—
His heart leaped into his throat, and he gulped, trying to push it back down. But Maka simply whispered, "Good night, Chrona. I'll see you in the morning?"
He nodded, dazed.
She paused, one hand still resting on his shoulder. "Thank you," she said. "For giving me that book." Her thumb brushed against the side of his neck. "It took your words to make me realize how I felt. I know it wasn't easy. But I'm so glad you did it."
He wondered if she really knew just how scary it had been. Maka was so brave and strong. She wasn't scared of anything.
But looking into her eyes, he had the strange feeling she understood.
"I meant it all, you know," he whispered. "Every word."
"I know." She looked up at him for a moment, her eyes filled with a tangle of emotions. There were too many to sort out, and there shadows of uncertainty mixed in, but the love shone through, like sunbeams breaking through clouds.
Quietly, she left the room.
Maka had left a set of pajamas for Chrona. He changed into them and curled up on the bed, hugging his pillow. Outside his window, he could see the moon's grin and the blood dripping between its teeth.
Now that Maka wasn't there, the sense of safety and warmth quickly faded. Doubts and fears started to creep back into his heart, like cold rain leaking through the roof of a shoddy house.
His back prickled and stung as Ragnarok emerged. He settled atop Chrona's head and peered down at his face. "What's wrong now? You've finally got your little girlfriend. You get to be all soppy and lovey-dovey and have your faggy fairytale romance just like you always dreamed."
"Ragnarok—"
"And I don't care if she is a girl, you're both total fags. But whatever. You ought to be on cloud nine. I'm the one who should be moping. Now I have to put up with that annoying cow all the time."
"Don't call her that," Chrona replied automatically. He hugged his pillow tighter. "And I am happy."
"So why do you look like someone just pissed on your ice cream sundae?"
He closed his eyes. He couldn't hide anything from Ragnarok; they'd known each other too long. "Because I'm endangering my friends just by being here."
"You're worried about what ol' Skullface said? Who cares? If anyone else comes after us, we'll just cut them to ribbons." He yawned and lightly punched Chrona's head. "Get some sleep."
"Okay." Chrona closed his eyes, but sleep wouldn't come.
He was worried about what Shinigami-sama had said, but it was more than that. He found himself replaying the last few days in his head—the Halloween Dance, the decision to give Maka that book, the overdose, the kiss in the infirmary—and the more he thought about how everything had happened, the more he wondered…
It couldn't be, could it?
He tried to push the thought away, but it kept drifting back.
He tossed and turned for awhile. His throat prickled with thirst. He wondered if it would be okay for him to get a glass of water. No one was awake, so he couldn't ask permission. But as long as he was very careful not to disturb anyone, maybe it was all right.
He slid out of bed, crept down the hall toward the kitchen…and froze.
Soul was in the living room, sitting on the couch, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and boxers. The TV was on, the volume turned down low. Soul looked up. "Can't sleep?"
Chrona shook his head.
"Me neither."
Chrona wondered if Soul, too, was worried about what had happened in the infirmary. "I-is it okay if I have a glass of water?"
Soul blinked. "Sure. The glasses are in the cabinet on the left." After a moment, he added, "You don't need to ask permission for something like that. You might be staying here awhile, so make yourself at home."
Home. The word sent a shiver of emotion rippling through him, something he couldn't define, something that was both happy and sad. "Thank you." Chrona filled a glass from the tap and gulped it down. He hesitated in the doorway to the living room. "Soul? C-can I ask you something?"
Soul muted the TV. "Go ahead."
Chrona bit his lower lip.
He knew he shouldn't doubt Maka's words. Surely, she wouldn't lie about something so important, not even to protect his feelings. But a hint of uncertainty remained, itching in the back of his brain. Soul would know the answer. He was Maka's best friend; she'd probably talked to him about this.
Chrona took a deep breath, steeled himself, and asked, "Is she pretending?"
Soul frowned. "Huh?"
"I mean…sh-she told me how she feels about me, but…" He looked down at his bare feet, hair hanging in his eyes. "Is she telling the truth? Or…"
"Why do you think she'd lie about that?" Soul sounded bewildered.
Chrona's gaze remained on his feet. They were long and skinny and pale and he'd never liked them. "She's always protected me," he said. "Even from myself. And after what I did, after taking all those pills…" His throat swelled, and his voice dropped to a faint whisper. "Sh-she might feel like she has to lie. She might be afraid that if she rejects me, I'll…do something drastic. A-and I don't want—"
"Dude," Soul said, "I know you've got some self-esteem issues, but this is ridiculous. I mean, you've met Maka, right? Do you really think she's the sort of girl who would pretend to be in love with a guy just to avoid hurting his feelings?"
Chrona didn't answer. But he knew—and Soul knew, surely—that it wasn't that simple. Maka had brought Chrona here, and she felt responsible for him. She'd already risked everything for him. She didn't lie easily, but she might lie if she thought it was necessary to preserve Chrona's sanity.
And Soul still hadn't answered the question. The fingers of Chrona's right hand dug into his left arm. "Please," he blurted out, "just tell me the truth."
Soul was silent a long moment, and a void of dread grew in Chrona's stomach. He didn't quite dare to look at Soul's expression.
"You remember when you and Marie-sensei went after Medusa?" Soul asked at last, quietly.
He looked up and blinked, puzzled. Of course he remembered.
"A lot was going on, then," Soul said. "The madness was swallowing everyone. Shibusen's forces were all sent to Arachne's castle to take her down, along with the Kishin. The fate of the world was at stake, basically."
Chrona was silent.
Soul rubbed the back of his neck and averted his gaze. "As long as I've known Maka, she's always thought with her head instead of her heart. She's always been a good student, doing things by the book and pushing her own feelings aside. But during that whole mess, when the world was coming apart at the seams, all she could think about was you. I'd never seen her so obsessed with anything or anyone. When the time came to make a choice, she chose to abandon the mission and go after you. You realize what that means, don't you?"
Still, he said nothing.
"It means that you were more important to her than the entire world."
Chrona drew in his breath sharply.
Soul met his gaze. "She's not pretending. She loves you. And she's in love with you. She told me as much, before you woke up." He smiled. It was a strange, complicated, half-sad smile. Chrona didn't know what to make of it. "This sorta thing comes along once in a lifetime. Don't fuck it up with a bunch of crazy self-doubt. Okay?"
Chrona's hands had started to tremble. A lump formed in his throat, cutting off air and voice. "Thank you," he whispered.
Soul smiled, and this time it was more like his usual grin, full of confidence and sharp teeth. "Don't mention it."
Chrona lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
Maka loved him. Was in love with him. His mind spun.
It was all real.
A flush of warmth spread through his chest, and he hugged his pillow tightly, dizzy with the knowledge—which, for the first time, felt like a certainty. He buried his face against the pillow and whispered her name over and over, like a prayer. Maka. A soft breath of air broken by a tap of the tongue against the roof of his mouth. Such a simple name. But to him, those two syllables were the whole world.
He was still whispering it as he drifted off to sleep.
A slim, cloaked figure crept through the streets of Death City. The faint glow of streetlights did little to penetrate the darkness, but it didn't matter. She didn't need light to see.
She paused, pulled up her sleeve, and stared down at the sickly purple splotches on her arm. A sigh escaped her lips.
Already, this body was rotting.
She'd done everything she could to purge herself of that foul wavelength. She'd split her soul into a thousand tiny fragments and reassembled it a dozen times, but the offending particles remained within her like a stubborn virus. Her counter-spells weren't strong enough to destroy it, only slow its effects. Always, she could feel it eating away at her, trying to push her soul out of its host body, to ravage her mind and destroy her essence.
The sickness itched and burned like maggots writhing beneath her skin. Worse, with each new body she took, the rot spread more quickly. This host might last another week, if she was lucky.
But another week was all she needed.
She paused outside an apartment complex, staring up at a single lit window. She could sense Chrona's soul within, along with that meddlesome girl's and her Weapon's, and the soul of an animal. A cat?
Chrona was living with others, now. She hadn't expected that.
Her gaze remained fixed on the window, and her eyes narrowed. So close. Yet she dared not approach him directly. Not when that irritating girl was so close—she could envision the scythe-Meister prowling at his side like a loyal guard dog, ready to rend and kill anything that threatened his little glass mind.
How frustrating it was, to be so weakened. It was all she could do to hold her Soul Protect in place. She touched her cheek and felt spots of purple rot burning and stinging under her fingertips.
But it didn't matter. She didn't need to approach him. Soon enough, he would come to her.
A smile curved her lips. She breathed deep of the cool night air and stared up at the grinning moon.
Still smiling, she turned and padded away on silent, bare feet.
"Chrona!" Maka's voice sing-songed from the kitchen. "Breakfast is ready!"
He uncurled himself slowly and glanced at the clock. He hadn't meant to sleep this late. He changed out of his striped pajamas and into his robe, ran a comb through his messy hair, and glanced into the mirror. Self-consciously, he smoothed his robe and straightened the collar. There were faint bags visible under his eyes—they never quite went away—but aside from that, he looked okay. Or at least, as "okay" as he ever looked.
Chrona had always hated his appearance; the sickly paleness of his skin, the way his eyes always seemed to be begging mutely, the way his hair looked messy and uneven no matter what he did to it, the way his spine refused to straighten. He hated his frail, gangly, scarred body. Just looking at his own image filled him with jittery anxiety.
But Maka liked him as more than a friend. Did that mean she liked his body, too?
It was hard for him to wrap his head around the idea. But even if it was true, what would happen when she saw—
Chrona shoved the thought away. He couldn't deal with that. Not yet.
He turned away from the mirror and headed into the kitchen, where Maka and Soul were already at the table. A massive plate of pancakes sat in the center, along with butter and syrup, and more pancakes bubbled on the griddle. Bacon sizzled in a pan nearby.
Blair sat on the counter in her cat form, wearing a miniature apron and waving a paw, humming. "Pum-pumpkin!" she turned her paw. The pancake flew off the griddle, into the air, and stuck to the ceiling.
"Wouldn't it be easier to use a spatula?" Maka asked.
"I'll get the next one right," Blair said. "I need to practice my magic."
The half-cooked pancake dropped from the ceiling. Ragnarok burst from Chrona's back, caught it in his mouth, and swallowed it in one gulp.
Maka winced. "That batter has raw egg in it."
"I don't care." Ragnarok grabbed the bowl of batter and began scooping it into his mouth with one tiny, round hand. "It tastes better like this."
Maka tried to grab the bowl from him, and he held it out of her reach, cackling. "Give me that!"
"Pum-pum-pumpkin!" Another pancake hit the ceiling with a splat.
Chrona stood, clutching his arm, not sure what to do.
Soul nodded toward an empty chair and said, "You can go ahead and start eating if you want. Breakfasts around here are a little chaotic, as you might have noticed."
Chrona nodded uncertainly and sat. Ragnarok grabbed a pancake from the pile in the middle and stuffed it into his mouth.
Maka gave him a frown. "Don't you know how to use a fork and knife?"
"Don't need 'em. What am I supposed to do anyway, balance the plate on Chrona's head?" He leaned down and grabbed another pancake. "This is easier. Unless you want to feed me." He opened his mouth wide, long strings of drool glistening between his teeth.
Maka winced. "Yuck. Close your mouth."
Ragnarok stuck his tongue out. It was covered with gooey pancake crumbs. "Bleeeagh."
"Gross! Learn some table manners, or you're not getting any food!"
"Pum-pumpkin!" Blair waved her paw, and a pancake flew across the room and hit the wall. "Oops!" She giggled.
Soul sighed and smiled at Chrona, who was huddled in his chair, wondering what to do. "Welcome to the family."
Chrona looked around at them all.
Family.
Tears welled in his eyes. He ducked his head and wiped them away before anyone could see.
For the next few days, Chrona felt like he was floating. When he walked, his steps were light and buoyant. Giddiness bubbled up in him at odd moments, making his heartbeat quicken and his stomach do funny things.
Just the memory of kissing Maka would have been enough to sustain him. He could replay those memories in his head a thousand times and never get tired of them. He could spend hours just hugging his pillow, happily daydreaming about her. But she kept giving him more. Whenever they were alone together, she would lean over, and her lips would find his, sending thrills to the base of his spine and making his toes clench in his shoes.
It still felt unreal. Like a beautiful dream he would wake up from at any moment.
In class, Maka kept looking over at him and smiling, and he would blush and fiddle with his pencil and smile back shyly.
She still hadn't told anyone except Soul and Blair, and at school, they didn't do things like hold hands or kiss…but Maka touched him more often than usual, reaching out to tuck a lock of hair behind his ear, straighten the collar of his robe, or brush a hand against his arm. There was something deliberate about those seemingly casual touches, as if she wanted everyone to see.
The thought made him feel strange. Not only was Maka not embarrassed by him, but she actually wanted people to know about the feelings between them. Her smiles and touches warmed him. Bit by bit, they thawed the icy core of doubt and fear inside his heart.
One day, after class, they were walking down the hall. No one else was around. Maka had already put her books away in her locker, and she walked with her gloved hands interlaced behind her back.
It was November. The weather was starting to turn cool—or as cool as it ever got in Death City, anyway—so lately she'd been wearing her black coat and gloves all the time.
He watched her from the corner of his eye as they walked.
So many times, in the past, he'd wanted to tell her how pretty she was or how he liked the way she looked in certain things, but he'd always held back, not sure if it was appropriate for a friend to say something like that. But now that they were more than friends…
"I like how that looks on you," he murmured.
She stopped and turned to him with a curious expression. "What?"
"Th-the coat." He fiddled with a button on his cuff, self-conscious. He could feel the blood creeping into his cheeks and ears. "And the gloves. I like them."
She glanced down at herself, a puzzled frown on her face. He wondered if he'd said something wrong, and his stomach did an uneasy flip-flop. "I always dress like this," she said.
"I know. B-but I always thought…" He gulped. "When I look at you, it just makes me…I don't know."
He wished—not for the first time—that he had better words to give her. He wished, at least, that he could express himself without stuttering for once.
When he looked up, Maka was staring at him intently. She wasn't smiling, but there was a light flush in her cheeks. "It makes you what?" she asked. Her voice sounded odd. Lower than usual, slightly husky.
His pulse drummed in his throat, and his fingers pressed hard into his arm. "Every time I look at you, it's like that moment when our souls first touched."
Maka was still staring at him with that intent, focused gaze, locked onto him, as if he were the only thing in the world. As if she couldn't see anything else.
She placed her gloved hands on his chest and pushed him up against the nearest wall. His breathing quickened, and he tensed, looking down at her with wide eyes. "Maka?" Her name escaped him as a breathless whisper.
Then her lips were on his.
His heartbeat sped. His first, panicked thought was that someone might see them, someone might get angry that they were kissing in school. A moment later, his eyes slipped shut and all he could think about was how warm and silky her lips felt against his, the taste of strawberry chapstick and Maka. His hands settled shyly on her waist, then drifted up to slide into her hair. His lips parted, gasping for breath, and her tongue touched his…then it was in his mouth, a shock of heat and wetness.
They'd kissed a few times since that moment in the infirmary, but not like this, not so deeply. It felt different. Weird and slippery, but good. Her tongue was like damp velvet, and the inside of her mouth was hot and slick.
It made him think about another part of her. He wondered if it would feel like that. Soft and wet.
As soon as the thought darted through his mind, he tensed. He tried very hard not to think about—about things like that, but it was difficult to stop himself, especially when she was doing this, pushing him up against the wall and kissing him as if she couldn't get enough, as if she wanted to eat him up. He felt himself getting hard beneath his robe, and the rush of embarrassment made him dizzy.
But Maka didn't seem to notice, or if she did, she didn't mind. She just kept kissing him. Hungry. Aggressive. Like she was losing control, like she'd been when the madness took hold of her, licking and biting like a wild animal.
In the depths of his mind, something stirred; a faint memory. He tried to push it away, to shove it back into the darkness, but it was too late.
He started to shake. His lips stopped moving against hers. He stood frozen, paralyzed.
She pulled back. "Chrona?" Her voice was breathless. "Are you okay?"
"Y-yes." His voice emerged small and soft, unconvincing. He couldn't stop shaking.
Her brows knitted together as she searched his eyes. Her hands fell away from his chest. Small, even teeth caught at her lower lip. "Is it something I did?" She looked suddenly guilty, fearful, like a child who'd been caught doing something bad.
He hated that he'd put that look in her eyes.
"No," he whispered. "It's not you. I-it felt good. I just…" He trailed off. How could he possibly explain this to her? "I'm sorry."
He was always apologizing. Those words were so small and useless—they didn't matter, couldn't change anything—but he couldn't seem to help himself.
"It's okay," Maka said.
For a moment, they stood in awkward silence. "Do you want to go home?" Maka asked quietly.
He nodded, unable to look at her.
They walked back to the apartment. Maka watched Chrona from the corner of her eye. Neither one of them had spoken since they left the school, and the silence bothered her. Often, when she was with Chrona, there was no need to speak—it was enough just to be together—but the quiet didn't usually feel this awkward.
"What do you want to have for dinner?" she asked, keeping her tone bright. "I thought we could stop and get takeout from that sushi place."
He gave her a tiny, strained smile. "That sounds good."
Ragnarok burst from his back and said, "I want the fried tempura tuna rolls. With that spicy sauce."
"Okay. Chrona, what would you like?"
"Cucumber rolls."
"Man, you always get that," Ragnarok said. "That's not even real sushi. Get something with dead fish in it! This is why you're still a scrawny little bean sprout." He grabbed Chrona's cheeks and pulled.
"Ow! Cut it out!"
"Ragnarok, leave him alone."
"It's okay, Maka," Chrona said, wincing as Ragnarok pulled his cheeks harder. "I can deal with it."
Ragnarok started pinching his nose.
"Ow, Ragnarok, that stings. It's going to start bleeding."
Ragnarok ignored him and kept squishing his face around like clay. Chrona reached up and knocked a fist against the side of the Weapon's head. "I said stop."
"Ooh, scary." Ragnarok gave him one last punch and then vanished into his back.
They kept walking. The awkward silence descended on them again. Maka almost wished Ragnarok would come out and say something obnoxious again, just to break up the tension.
She tried to think of something to say, but before she could, Chrona spoke quietly. "I'm sorry. About what happened back there."
"You don't have to be sorry. You didn't do anything wrong."
He gripped his arm, knuckles whitening. "I shouldn't have stopped. You wanted to keep going. I wanted to keep going. I just…"
"It's all right," she said. "I can understand why you wouldn't want to do that in a public place." In truth, Maka was a little embarrassed about the way she'd acted, grabbing him and pushing him against the wall like some kind of crazed nymphomaniac. It was the sort of thing she might have expected from Blair, not herself. Maka had always believed that things like that—intimate things—should be done in privacy. And Chrona was so shy, she should have known...
But she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something else going on. The way he'd suddenly tensed up and started to shake…
She reached out and took his hand. "Do you want to talk about it?"
He stared at the ground. "I don't know how to explain."
She stared at his face for a moment, trying to read those pale, blue-gray eyes. At last, she gave his hand a squeeze and said, "When you're ready."
He met her gaze. "You're not mad? Or disappointed?"
"Of course not."
He hesitated…then leaned toward her and kissed the corner of her mouth. It was the softest ghost of a kiss, just a brush of lips over skin, but it sent a sweet shiver through her. Chrona rarely initiated kisses—having gone most of his life without love, he was still learning how to give and receive it—but that just made it all the more special when he did.
As they walked, the back of her neck tingled suddenly, as if eyes watched them from the shadows. But when she looked over her shoulder, there was nothing there.
-To be continued