AN: I had a really difficult time with this chapter, which is why it's been longer than usual since my last update. But here it is, finally.
Dr. Stein stands in the forest cleaning, a cigarette dangling from one corner of his mouth. He surveys the row of students before him. Chrona stands next to Maka, fidgeting. They're at resonance practice…or something. He's not sure. He doesn't remember how he got here.
"All right," Stein says, "we're going to try something a little different today. Everyone take off your clothes."
Chrona's mouth falls open, and a faint squeak escapes him. Surely he didn't just say—surely Chrona misheard.
But everyone is already undressing. They don't seem to mind. They toss their shirts and pants to the ground.
Liz unbuttons her blouse, looking bored as ever. Patty twirls her bra over her head and throws it up into a tree, giggling. Soul casually strips off his boxers. Black Star stands proudly naked and grinning, hands planted on his hips, while Kid carefully lines up his socks and briefs on the ground. Even Tsubaki smiles as she unhooks her bra.
Chrona stares at his shoes, breathing hard and fast, unable to look at any of them. When he glances up, he sees Maka stepping out of her panties. His gaze jerks away, and he gulps, face flushing hotly. He looks around, heart hammering, sweat trickling down his sides.
"What's wrong, Chrona?" Stein asks.
"I…" His gaze darts back and forth. "Wh-why are we doing this?"
"Clothes interfere with resonance," Stein replies matter-of-factly.
"Go ahead, Chrona." Maka is smiling brightly at him. He can't look directly at her. His heart is about to punch through his ribs. He dares a quick glance at her shoulder and sees dappled sunlight playing on soft, smooth flesh. He stares, paralyzed with panic.
They are all watching. All waiting.
"What's the matter?" Soul asks.
"N-nothing. I j-just…" His mind races, trying to come up with some excuse, as they all stand naked before him. How are they okay with this? Why aren't they embarrassed?
But of course, their bodies are all normal. They have nothing to be ashamed of. They don't understand.
He backs away, breathing hard, hugging himself. They all watch him in puzzlement.
"Chrona…" He feels a hand on his arm and looks up to see Maka looking at him with sad, uncertain eyes. "What's wrong?" she asks. "Don't you want to be with me?"
Chrona woke with a start. His eyes snapped open, and he stared at the ceiling as reality slowly settled into place.
Just a dream. Of course. Dr. Stein would never ask everyone to take off their clothes for resonance practice. Or at least, Chrona hoped he wouldn't.
He remembered dream-Maka's eyes, the wounded, bewildered expression, and a lump filled his throat.
It would probably be a long time before they did anything together—anything more than what they'd already been doing—but still…when the time came, how would he deal with it? He'd fainted when he saw her breasts.
Chrona gulped. Ever since that had happened, the moment kept replaying in his head, and each time it did, his face burned with equal parts embarrassment and arousal. What would happen to him if she took off all her clothes? Could he really deal with that?
Overwhelming as it was, the idea of seeing her naked wasn't nearly as terrifying as the idea of her seeing him naked.
He closed his eyes and rubbed the back of one hand across his eyelids. Slowly, he sat up and unbuttoned his pajama top.
Before he went to sleep, he always laid out the next day's clothes. Recently, he'd bought a long-sleeved black shirt and a pair of black jeans. He was still more comfortable in the robe, but he thought Maka might like to see him in something different, at least once in awhile.
He slipped out of his pajamas, stood, picked up the shirt…and froze.
Blair was sitting on the floor in her cat form, looking up at him, her tail twitching back and forth. Chrona stood, completely naked, his jaw hanging open. He fumbled with his shirt, clutching it against his body, hastily covering himself, but it was too late. She had already seen him. A plaintive little moan escaped his throat. "B-Blair…"
"Hi," she said. She was looking at him with a quizzical, bright-eyed expression.
"Wh-wh-when did you get in here?" he squeaked. "I didn't hear the door open."
"I was in here all night," she said. "I slept under your bed. Maka's bed springs are too squeaky, and Soul snores. Your room is nice and quiet." She scratched behind her ear with one hind paw, then just kept staring at him. She tilted her head, as if she were looking at a fascinating bug she'd found under a leaf.
Chrona clutched the shirt tighter against himself, shaking. "D-d-don't look at me!"
"Why not?"
He trembled. If another human had been in the bedroom with him at that moment, he probably would've been having a full-fledged meltdown. Somehow, the fact that Blair was a cat made it easier. Maybe it was different for cats. Maybe they didn't care so much about things like this.
Still, he wanted to crawl into the corner and hide. "Just…p-please look away. I can't get dressed while you're watching."
"If you say so." Blair turned away.
Chrona hastily pulled on his shirt, a pair of black boxers, and the jeans, which felt uncomfortably close-fitting. Pants always felt either too loose or way too snug, which was one of the reasons he rarely wore them. Once he'd finished buttoning them, he looked up, clutching his arm. "Blair?"
"Mew?" She looked over her shoulder.
"Please don't tell anyone about this. About…me."
A sly smile crept across her face. She reached up with one paw and tilted the brim of her hat down. "Blair can keep secrets. For a price."
His stomach turned hollow. "A price?"
Blair leaped onto the bed and licked her lips. "Lobster," she said.
"Wh-what?"
"Blair wants lobster for dinner!"
"I'll get you some, I promise, just please, please don't say anything. Pretend this didn't happen. Okay?"
"Yay!" In a poof of smoke, she transformed into her naked human form and leaped to her feet. She jumped up and down chanting, "Lob-ster, lob-ster!" Her breasts bounced with each jump.
Chrona squeaked, covered his eyes with both hands, and backed away until his legs hit the bed. "Ch-change back into a cat! I don't know how to deal with you like this!"
"Aww, you're so shy!" She pounced on him, knocking him to the bed.
"L-let me go!"
Blair pinned his shoulders to the bed, smiling with sharp little cat-teeth. "Don't be afraid. Blair isn't going to hurt a cutie like you." She rubbed her cheek against his hair, purring. The movement squashed her breasts against his face, and the rush of blood to his head was so sudden and intense, Chrona felt dizzy. "Blair just wants to cuddle you!"
He whimpered. Where Maka's breasts were small and sweet, like peaches, Blair's were huge and intimidating and seemed like they were actively trying to suffocate him. A nipple poked his left eye. He struggled, but he couldn't push her away without touching her and he was afraid to touch a naked person.
Panic seized his chest in its iron grip. Blair kept rubbing her cheek against his hair, oblivious, as he gasped, straining against the pressure on his lungs. "Ragnarok, help me!" he cried out, his voice muffled by too much flesh.
Ragnarok popped out of his back. "Hey, Maka!" he yelled. "Chrona's being molested!"
Seconds later, Maka burst into the room, a spray bottle of water in one hand. Blair looked up, ears perked. Maka advanced toward her, her expression grimly determined, and squirted her with the spray bottle. "Off! Bad kitty! Get off him!"
Blair yowled and shielded her face with one arm. "Whyyy? I'm not hurting him!"
"Off!" Maka sprayed her again.
In another poof of smoke, Blair transformed back into a cat and raced out the door, hissing. Chrona huddled on the bed, shaking. Maka climbed onto the bed, her eyes wide with concern. "Are you okay?"
Chrona nodded but remained curled into a tiny ball.
Maka hugged him and stroked his hair. "I won't let her near you anymore, I promise."
"Oh, come on," Ragnarok said, "is it really that traumatic to have some hot chick on top of you?"
"She's scary."
Blair peeked in around the doorframe. Maka looked up, and her expression darkened. She sprang to her feet, pointing. "You!"
Blair mewed in fear and vanished. Maka grabbed the spray bottle and stalked across the room, but Chrona stood and caught her arm. "Maka, it's okay. Ih-it's no big deal—"
"She can't just start sexually harassing someone whenever she feels like it! Blair, do you hear me?" Maka held up a fist. "Touch him again, and you'll get worse than the spray bottle!"
"Blair is sorry!" she called, peeking in again. Her ears drooped. "Blair won't do it again."
"And stop talking about yourself in third person. It's not as cute as you think."
"Meanie," Blair muttered. She stuck out her tongue at Maka, looked at Chrona, winked, and said, "Lobster, remember?" Then she vanished.
Maka turned to Chrona with a bewildered look. "Lobster?"
"N-nothing." He fidgeted, hands bunched into fists in his lap. Even if Blair had promised not to tell, what if she slipped up and told someone by accident? She wasn't the best person at keeping secrets. Oh God, what was he going to do? Chrona shoved the thoughts away. Maybe nothing would happen, maybe she'd forget all about it. "L-let's just go make breakfast."
"Chrona, is everything okay?"
He forced a shaky smile. "Fine."
"You were kinda hard on Blair, don't you think?" Soul asked, slathering butter onto his French toast. "She's been hiding under my bed all morning."
"Sulking, you mean." Maka stabbed a piece of sausage with her fork. "You're such a softie when it comes to her. You know that innocence is an act, right?"
"Well, she is a cat, remember? She tends to be a bit clueless about what's appropriate. I mean, it probably wasn't even sexual. Maybe she was just being friendly."
"Friendly, my ass. She was rubbing her boobs all over his face."
Soul shrugged. "If she was rubbing against him in cat form it wouldn't seem that weird, would it?"
Maka huffed. "She doesn't have boobs in cat form."
Soul glanced at Chrona. "You okay, man? You haven't said much."
"Hm? Oh…fine." Chrona gave him a distracted smile and stared down at his plate.
Maka took a bite of French toast. "This is really good," she said. "You're completely spoiling us, you know."
"Th-thank you."
"What did you call this bread, again? Brioche?"
A small nod. He poked at his own food, which he'd barely touched.
Maka frowned. Chrona had seemed preoccupied all morning. Was he still shaken by the incident with Blair? Or was something else going on?
She poked at a bit of sausage with her fork, rolling it around on the plate, and found herself thinking about yesterday. She wondered how far things would have gone if Ragnarok hadn't interrupted.
At the memory, her cheeks grew warm. She'd just done what felt right in the moment. She'd wanted to show him how much she liked his hands—to make him feel good—but maybe she'd gone too far, too fast. Was that why Chrona wouldn't meet her eyes?
She shifted in her chair, uneasy.
Maka had always prided herself on her restraint. Before Chrona, she'd never even been kissed. Despite what others probably thought, it wasn't that she was stuck up or obsessed with keeping herself pure. It was just…
Sexual attraction did funny things to people. It made them act differently. She'd seen her father ruin his marriage because he couldn't control his urges. She'd always sworn to herself that she wouldn't become like her parents. Mostly she'd been afraid of ending up like Mama, tied to some man who was only interested in that, someone oversexed and selfish. But Chrona obviously wasn't that kind of man.
She'd never expected to be the one struggling to control her desires. She always wanted to do more with him, to keep going, and she found herself doing things she'd never expected to do, as if she were becoming someone else. It scared her, a little.
"Hey." Soul poked her shoulder. "Did you hear me?"
She blinked. Had he just said something? "Sorry, I was just, um…thinking about that test we're having today."
Soul gave her an odd look. "The test is on Friday."
"Oh. Right." She stole another glance at Chrona. He still hadn't touched his food.
Ragnarok popped out of his back. "Hey, if you're not gonna eat that…"
Chrona handed him the plate, and Ragnarok upended it over his open mouth.
"You need to eat something," Maka said. "Or you'll be starving at school today."
"I'll be fine," he mumbled.
Maka stuck her fork into a fragment of French toast and held it to his lips. "Just a bite?"
Chrona hesitated, then accepted it and chewed slowly.
Once they'd finished eating, Chrona carried the dishes to the sink and started washing them. She stared at his back, at his hunched shoulders. After a minute, she stood, approached, and started drying the dishes he'd washed. Soul went into the bathroom to gel his hair.
"Can I talk to you?" Maka asked.
"S-sure."
"In private, I mean."
He tensed, going very still, and she wondered why he suddenly seemed so nervous about the idea of being alone with her. He drew in a deep breath, as if steeling himself. "Okay," he said.
They went into Maka's bedroom—they always seemed to go there instead of Chrona's, though she wasn't sure why—and sat on the edge of her bed. Chrona clutched his arm, shoulders rigid. Maka bit her lower lip.
"I don't want to be like my father," she blurted out.
"What?" His mouth fell open. "Maka, you're nothing like him. Why would you even say that? You don't do the sort of things he does."
"I don't. But I wonder, sometimes. About myself."
"Wait…d-do you mean…" His voice wavered. "Do you…l-like someone else?"
"No!" She shook her head hard, pigtails whipping back and forth. "That's not what I meant! You're the only one I want."
He relaxed visibly, but the uncertain look remained. "Then why—"
"It's just…sometimes, I think I'm a very selfish person." Her fingers clenched on the blankets. "Lately, I know I've been kind of…aggressive. I want you to know that it's not all about sex. What I feel for you. If I've been pressuring you, if you want me to back off, I—"
He hugged her, so suddenly and tightly that she gasped, and buried his face in her hair. "Please don't blame yourself, Maka," he whispered. "Please don't think you're doing anything wrong. Please, please, please, please."
"Chrona…"
"I don't want you to feel sad." He hugged her tighter. "It's not your fault I'm always pulling away. It's just me, I'm broken, I'm a weakling, I get scared. It's stupid, I know, it's crazy that I'm like this. I'm sorry."
"It's not stupid." She pulled back, reached up, and held his face between her hands. "You don't have to apologize. Not for anything. If you don't want me to do things like that, then I won't. Just being with you is enough."
"Ih-it's not that I don't want it." His cheeks turned pink, growing warm beneath her hands. He ducked his head and tapped his forefingers together. "I liked that…what you did yesterday," he mumbled. "It felt good."
"It did?"
"Y-yes. I liked it a lot. I know I've been acting strange today. But that's not why."
Her hands fell away from his face. "What is it, then?"
"I don't know how to explain."
"Try?"
For a moment, he stared into space, not speaking. His hands were balled into tight fists in his lap. "What if there was something about me you didn't like?"
"I like everything about you," she replied, puzzled.
"But…if it was s-something you didn't know about me yet…"
"Chrona, what are you talking about?"
"I just wondered." His gaze remained fixed on the wall. "I mean…w-what if you found out I'd been keeping a secret from you? Would you be angry?"
Her pulse quickened. She sat up straighter, staring at him intently. Medusa was dead; Maka had killed her. Still, what if she was somehow wrong? "Chrona, is it her? Is she back? If anything's happened, I need you to tell me, now."
"It's nothing like that. Nothing dangerous. It's just…s-something about me."
The tension eased out of her shoulders, but the unease remained, stirring deep in her bones. "I don't understand," she said. "But if it's not something dangerous, then I don't think you have to worry about it. Everyone has a few secrets. Telling them is part of the fun of getting closer to someone. Don't you think?" She smiled.
He didn't smile back. He tilted his head downward, and his hair fell in his eyes, hiding them. "If it was something bad enough, would you stop wanting me?"
Maka cupped his chin and turned his face toward her. "Nothing could make me stop wanting you," she said firmly.
He stared at her, a strange, complicated look in his eyes. "How can you say that, not knowing what it is?"
"Because I love you. I know who you are. I've felt your soul. There's nothing that could change the way I feel about you."
His lips started to tremble. He pressed them together.
"Tell me." She gripped his chin gently, anchoring his head in place so he couldn't turn away. "It's bothering you, isn't it? It's been bothering you for awhile. I promise not to tell anyone else, if you don't want me to." Silence. "You trust me, don't you?" A pleading note crept into her voice.
"I do trust you."
"Then what's wrong?" More silence. "Chrona, please. I want to help you, but I can't help you if you don't let me in. Whatever it is, I promise it's not as bad as you think. Just tell me."
He shut his eyes and whispered, "Corner."
Maka released his chin and leaned back.
For a moment, she wanted to keep pushing. He was close to telling her, she could feel it. Just a little more, and he'd…
But she had promised. She'd told him specifically that he should use that word if she was asking too many questions or doing anything else that made him uncomfortable. "Okay," she said softly.
He sat, shoulders slumped, his eyes closed tightly. Tears glistened at the corners. "I'm sorry, Maka. I just, I can't, not now."
"Don't apologize." She lay a hand over his. "I'm the one who keeps pushing you out of your comfort zone."
He looked down at her hand. "Sometimes I need you to push me. If you didn't, I'd still be hiding inside that circle. That's my comfort zone. That tiny little space where I have nothing to do but listen to my own thoughts and go crazy. If not for you, I'd still be trapped in there, too afraid to step out."
"Maybe. But that was then. This is now."
He shook his head. "It's no different now. It was scary when you erased that circle, and it's still scary. But I need that from you. And it's okay…because it's you, and I trust you. But it's…sometimes, it's just too much, and I…I'm sorry. I'm not making any sense at all, am I?"
"I understand." Her fingers curled around his, squeezing gently. "That's why we have the word. I do want you to tell me your secret, but only when you're ready. I can wait. And I'm glad that you stopped me."
"You are?"
She nodded. "It makes me feel better knowing that you can, if you need to. This way, I don't have to worry about pushing you too far and hurting you by mistake."
He hid his face against her hair. "Maka…"
Maka rested her head against his chest and listened to the steady beat of his heart. She lay a hand against it, fingers splayed, over the place where his soul glowed softly inside his chest. "I like how you look in this," she said, running a hand over the soft cotton shirt. "It's cute."
"Th-thank you."
She continued to run her hand up and down his chest. His breath hitched, as if she'd accidentally touched a sore spot. "Sorry." She looked up at him uncertainly. "Are you hurt? Did something happen?"
"It's nothing."
She hesitated, looking up at him. Her pulse drummed in her throat. It wasn't nothing. That was obvious from the sudden tension in his muscles. "Can I see?"
Silence. She looked into his eyes and saw fear there. For a moment, she thought he was going to pull away again, and her heart sank.
Then he took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. Slowly—with shaking hands—he lifted his shirt and pulled it off. He sat with his shoulders hunched, head bowed, the shirt balled up in his hands as he trembled. Her eyes widened.
She'd never seen him without a shirt. His chest was slim and pale, the sleek layer of muscle not quite enough to mask his too-prominent ribs. Her gaze moved over his slender shoulders, down to his dagger-thin waist.
Most of her attention, however, was on the huge scar in the center of his chest.
It formed a rough starburst pattern, darker than normal scar tissue—because of the black blood, she supposed. Another scar, thick and nearly black, ran across his stomach where Medusa's arrow had penetrated him. Maka's heart lurched at the sight, at the memory…but her gaze kept wandering back to the one on his chest. She wondered where this wound had come from. Some past battle?
As she looked closer, however, she realized that it wasn't a single scar, but countless tiny, thin scars, overlapping and crisscrossing, forming a complicated and delicate web. Scars upon scars. Hundreds of them, some old and faded and pale, some dark and vivid; a labyrinth of razor-thin ridges, dense in the center, thinning out toward the edges.
Her mouth had gone dry. She swallowed, trying to work up some moisture.
She'd expected him to have scars. All Meisters acquired a few, over the years. But these weren't from battles. They looked like marks of physical torture. There were a few on his arms and wrists, too, but nothing compared to the mass of accumulated scar tissue on his chest. Where had they all come from? Had Medusa done this to him?
No, she realized. A few were still fresh, recent. There was a cut running across the left side of his chest—half-healed, the flesh around it still pink and tender—which looked just a few days old. Why would...
Realization hit like lightning, and she whispered, "Oh."
Chrona remained sitting on the edge of the bed, silent, motionless. A bead of sweat slipped down his neck.
The shock faded, and an ache spread through her chest. All those years of pain, fear and darkness, with no respite, no one to turn to for comfort…was this how he'd learned to cope?
She touched the cut on his chest, and he flinched. His shuddering breaths echoed through the silence. He bowed his head lower, hair hiding his eyes, cheeks flushed.
She rested her head against his chest, against the scars. "How long?" she asked quietly.
"Awhile." His voice was a half-audible mumble. "S-since I was nine or ten…I don't know."
She realized, distantly, that her hands were shaking, damp with sweat.
"N-not…not all the time," he added, "just when things were really bad." He kneaded the shirt in his hands. "The first time was by accident. I was slicing an apple in the kitchen. The knife slipped. It hurt, but it…relaxed me, somehow." His breathing filled the silence, shallow and unsteady. "D-Dr. Stein says it has something to do with endorphins. B-brain chemicals. I don't know. I didn't really understand everything he said."
His heart kept beating too fast against her cheek. Thump-thump-thump.
"Once I came to Shibusen, I told myself I was going to stop," he said. "I t-tried. I really, truly did. I kept telling myself it would be the last time. I didn't want you to find out. I was scared."
"Why?" she whispered.
"I thought it would disgust you. Or make you sad." The shirt slipped from his hands and fell to the floor. He gripped his knees, knuckles whitening. Soft, shaky breathing echoed through the silence. "I never wanted you to know. B-but...if we're a couple now, I can't hide...things like this."
Maka tried to speak, but a lump had risen into her throat, cutting off air and voice. She just squeezed his hand instead.
"I don't want to be like this," he whispered. "I want things to be normal. I want to fight by your side and go to school and walk home with you, and when it's rainy I want to sit on the couch and watch TV with you and Soul and play board games and listen to you two teasing each other, and I want to make dinner for you and for you to tell me if something's good or if it needs more cinnamon or less salt. I want to hold you and kiss you and cuddle with you under the blankets. I don't want these scars to be part of it. I don't want my past. But I can't get away from it. It's all still there under the surface and it's just…it keeps coming back…and it's too much and I just, I need to let it out somehow, and sometimes it's late and everyone else is asleep and I can't breathe because of the memories and the pills aren't enough, but I don't want to bother anyone because you've already done so much, but I'm alone in the dark and I keep thinking about things, and it helps, a little, wh-when I…"
She turned her head, and her lips brushed against the scar over his heart. His breath hitched. "Pain helps?" Her voice was very soft.
He trembled against her. "It's sick, I know. It's gross and weird, and it m-makes me so ashamed…but back when I lived with her, it was the only thing…th-the only control I had. To control when I hurt, and how much."
Her fingertips wandered over his chest, the rippled landscape of scars. She closed her eyes, squeezing back tears. "I understand," she said.
"Y-you do?"
"Yes."
His breathing echoed through the silence, and she skimmed her fingertips over his ribs, over the hollows between them. His heartbeat echoed in her ear, and she could feel his soul fluttering and quivering in his chest. She found herself wishing she could reach inside him and cup her hands around it, the way she might shelter a candle flame from the wind.
Her hands slid down his back, feeling the smoothness of his skin, the roughness of scar tissue on the small of his back, where Medusa's arrow had gone through him; evidence of the sacrifice he'd made for her. It was the first time she'd seen this much of Chrona's body exposed, the first time she'd touched him like this, her palms on his bare skin. She'd touched his hands, his face, but he'd always kept the rest of his body carefully covered. Now she knew why. Or did she?
"Was this the secret you were afraid to tell me?" she asked.
He hesitated. "Part of it."
"There's something else?"
He nodded.
One thing at a time, she thought.
Maka rested her head against his chest. Her fingertips climbed the ladder of his spine, tracing the little bumps. She looked up at him. "Chrona?"
His eyes remained downcast. She took his face between her hands, lifting it. "If you ever start feeling like you need to hurt yourself again, come to me, and I'll hold you and talk to you until the feeling passes. Even if it's three o'clock in the morning, even if I'm asleep, anytime at all, just come to me. You don't have to do this kind of thing anymore. You don't have to face the memories alone…so don't. Okay?"
His chest hitched. He hid his face against her hair. "I shouldn't have showed you this. It was selfish of me. N-now you feel obligated…"
"No. I'm glad you showed me. I want to understand you. All of you, not just the parts that are easy to deal with."
"I already depend on you too much," he whispered. "You're always the strong one. You deserve someone who can take better care of you. It must be hard...b-being with someone like me."
Maka stood slowly. She grabbed a book from the nightstand, raised it, and brought it down softly on top of his head; the world's gentlest Maka Chop. Thunk. Chrona blinked.
"Don't say such silly things," she said.
He looked up at her with wide eyes.
"I love being with you," she said. "Every moment."
"B-but...I'm..."
She touched his pale lips, silencing him. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, Chrona. I won't let you think otherwise, even for a second. If I was hurting myself and if you found out, you wouldn't be angry or disgusted. You would hold me and help me overcome it. You would give me all the love and patience and gentleness in the world. So that's what I want to do for you." She gripped his shoulders gently, and rested her forehead against his. "Promise me," she said. "Promise that you'll let me help you."
"I promise," he said in a small voice.
"Good." Maka straightened. More tears welled up before she could stop them.
He looked at her, his eyes filled with anxious guilt, his hands bunched into fists and held tight against his scarred chest. "Maka..." He reached up to touch her cheek. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I won't ever do it again, I swear. Please don't cry."
"There's nothing to be sorry for." She pressed his hand firmly against her cheek. "And I'm not crying." She gave him a small, wry smile. "I never cry. Remember?"
A tiny, answering smile twitched across his lips. "R-right."
She stood like that for a long moment, just holding Chrona's hand to her face.
There was a knock at the door, and Maka gave a start.
"Oi," Soul's voice called, "we're gonna be late for school if we don't leave soon. You two ready?"
She took a deep breath, pulled back, and smiled. "Guess we should. Unless...do you want to stay home today?"
Chrona shook his head. "I'm okay." He pulled his shirt on. For a moment he sat, clutching his arm, looking shyly up at her through his bangs. "Maka? Thank you."
She looked into his eyes. "Thank you, too. For trusting me."
They left the apartment, Maka and Soul walking to either side of Chrona.
She had accepted it, Chrona thought. Just like that. His mind was still spinning.
He didn't know what had possessed him to show her. He hadn't planned to. He'd been certain that if she knew, she would be horrified, disgusted, even angry—or worse, heartbroken.
But she'd held him and tenderly stroked each scar.
Now, as they walked together, she looked over at him and smiled. As if this was just a normal morning. As if he hadn't just revealed what a sick, damaged person he really was. As if he hadn't just admitted that he'd been cutting himself for almost half his life. As if everything was okay.
Maybe everything was okay.
He gave her a tiny, shy smile in response. Maka threaded her fingers through his.
And he felt…happy. Giddy, as if his body weighed no more than air, as if he could float up into the sky like a balloon.
It was crazy to feel like this. He'd just shown her something really depressing and awful. But maybe that was why. It was as if a weight had been lifted off his heart...because it wasn't his secret anymore, it wasn't something he had to hide from her and keep locked away inside him. The sheer relief was like some powerful drug sizzling through his veins, incinerating his doubts and fears.
He felt like he could start skipping. Maybe he really had gone crazy. But he didn't care.
She looked so beautiful in the sunlight. Her eyes looked even greener. He wanted to tell her. So he did. "You're pretty."
She blinked. A slight flush rose into her cheeks. "Thank you."
Chrona kissed the top of her head. "You are." He nuzzled her hair, then the side of her neck. "And you smell so nice. You smell like rainbows…"
He kept nuzzling, rubbing against her like a cat, and she squirmed and giggled. "Chrona, that tickles!"
He wrapped his arms around her. "Can I tell you a secret?" He leaned closer and whispered into her ear, "I think you're the nicest, smartest, bravest, prettiest person in the whole world." He buried his face in the curve between her neck and shoulder, nuzzling deeper into the warm, inviting hollow, making her giggle some more. Her laughter was addictive. "Mmmmaka..."
Normally he would have been too shy to do anything like that outside of the apartment, or in front of Soul, but right now, he didn't care. Right now he just wanted to be close to her.
"I'm so lucky-lucky-lucky," he said, squeezing her tight. "You're so nice to me no matter what, you make me so happy. I want to make you happy. I want to do something for you. I want to go on a quest."
She blinked. "A quest?"
He bobbed his head. "I want to find something special for you. Like a moonbeam or a diamond the size of a cabbage, or-"
Ragnarok popped out of his back. "Chrona, are you high?"
Chrona ignored him and just buried his face in Maka's hair and breathed in her scent. He almost wondered if it was something chemical, if the latest addition to his cocktail of antidepressants was finally kicking in, or something—or maybe it was just the dizzying knowledge that he was here and alive and that Maka loved him, that she wasn't disgusted by his scars.
There was still the other thing, but in that moment, he could almost believe that she'd accept that too. Maybe everything would be okay. Maybe even after all the darkness and horror, there could still be smiling and laughing and sunlight.
Laughing, he grabbed her hands and twirled her around in a circle. Overhead, the sun huffed laughter, and Soul stood watching them with a mystified expression while Ragnarok shouted, "Hey, hey! What the fuck are you two on and where can I get some?"
He twirled her around again and pulled her into a tight hug. "Chrona," she gasped, breathless and smiling, "what's gotten into you?"
"You," he said, pressing the tip of his nose to hers. "I'm in love with you. And I can say it out loud, and I don't have to hide it anymore. I love you, Maka."
She stared up at him, green eyes wide, little reflections of him inside them. Then her lips were on his and she was kissing him right there in the middle of the street, her arms around him, and for the first time in his life, he felt…fearless. It felt like he could fly to the moon, if he really wanted. But he wanted to stay right here on the ground, kissing her.
Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and he looked up to see Soul standing there. "I hate to interrupt," he said, "but you have an audience." He jerked a thumb, pointing at something over his shoulder.
A group of about a dozen people stood before them, blocking the street. A flush rose into Chrona's cheeks, and he squirmed with self-consciousness. They were all staring. Well, he supposed two people kissing passionately in the middle of the street would be a reason to stare. But the more he looked, the more he realized that it wasn't that. The people didn't look like random gawkers.
They looked angry.
Maka's heartbeat quickened as she stared at the cluster of men and women in the street. They were silent, their expressions grim as they glared at her.
No, she realized. Not her. Chrona.
Her hands curled into fists, nails pressing into her palms. It wouldn't be the first time Chrona had gotten dirty looks in the streets, but for people to mob together like this…that wasn't a good sign. "What's their problem?" she said.
"I don't know," Soul replied. "Somehow, though, I don't think they're here to invite us over for dinner."
A chill skittered down her spine. "Maybe we should just turn around," Maka said. "Go another way."
"Look behind you."
Maka looked over her shoulder and saw another cluster of people blocking the street behind them. Her heartbeat quickened. There were buildings looming to either side, blocking every possible escape route. Of course, these people were just ordinary citizens; they didn't pose a physical danger to two pairs of Meisters and Weapons.
Still, Maka didn't like the feel of this.
She gripped Chrona's hand. "Stay close to us," she whispered.
"M-Maka…"
"Witch!" someone yelled behind them.
Maka spun around, glaring at the mob, but it was impossible to tell who had spoken. She gritted her teeth, her pulse pounding in her head. "Who said that?"
No one replied. Some people shifted uneasily and looked away.
"If you've got something to say, then say it to our faces!"
"Maka…" Soul placed a hand on her shoulder. "There's no point in talking to these people. Let's just go. If they try to stop us, we'll deal with them. But don't agitate them any more than you need to." His voice was low and tense.
Maka glared at him. She wanted to argue, but the look on his face was so serious that the words died in her throat. She simply nodded, gave Chrona's hand another squeeze, and kept walking.
Footsteps thudded behind them. The mob in front of them advanced. Tension hummed all around her—a sense of something about to explode, as if the air were filled with combustible chemicals. The two mobs kept drawing closer, forming a ring around them. Some of the people were pale and sweating, some flushed with anger.
"You mind letting us through?" Soul asked, keeping his voice casual. "We're just walking to school."
For a moment, nobody spoke. People shifted, looking at each other uneasily. Then one woman stepped forward and said, "That witch-child doesn't belong in Shibusen. We won't let him pass."
"That's right," a man said.
Chrona hunched his shoulders and stared at his feet.
Maka gripped his shoulder. "Look up," she said. "You have nothing to be ashamed of."
Slowly, Chrona raised his head. He was pale, his forehead bathed with sweat.
"Chrona does belong in Shibusen," Maka said, "and you can't stop us from going to school. What are you planning to do? Attack us? Or are you just going to stand around looking intimidating and hope that we'll slink home with our tails between our legs?"
The crowd glared and muttered. It seemed no one wanted to be the first to speak. At last, a man said, "We'll do whatever we have to do."
"Is that a threat?" She glared at him. "What's your name?"
He shifted, averting his gaze.
"Too cowardly even to name yourself? You people disgust me."
Chrona remained silent.
"Listen to me," she said, raising her voice. "You don't know Chrona. None of you do. You're all judging him based on what you've heard from other people. What right do you have?"
"We know he acted as a spy for Medusa," someone called from the back of the crowd. "Or is that a lie?" Silence. "Well, boy? I asked you a question. Answer me."
Chrona drew in a slow, shaky breath. "No," he said quietly, "it's not a lie."
Maka trembled with anger. She felt sick. Why wouldn't these people just leave him alone? "He was forced to! He never wanted to do it! If you people could just look beyond your stupid prejudices, you'd see—"
A rock whistled through the air. It struck her forehead with enough force to knock her head backward. She cried out and fell to her knees, cradling her head. Her palm came away wet with blood.
A hush fell over the street.
She looked up to see Chrona staring down at her, his eyes huge, his face dead white. His gaze fastened on the man who'd thrown the rock—a big, burly man with a heavy beard.
Chrona's pupils shrank to tiny points. His ragged breathing quickened. He held a hand out and said, "Ragnarok." The sword materialized in his hand. He lunged, and in an instant, the blade was at the man's throat.
The man stared at him, eyes huge, as the color drained out of his face. The tip of the sword just touched his Adam's apple. The crowd stood stone-still, as if they'd been turned to statues.
"I don't care what you do to me," Chrona said. His voice was flat and strangely calm, but it carried through the silence. "Whatever you can throw at me, I've been through things a thousand times worse. But if you ever lay a hand on her again—if any of you dare to hurt Maka—I will kill you. Do you understand?"
Silence.
"I asked you a question." Chrona pushed the tip of the sword a little harder against his throat. "Answer me."
"Yes." The man's voice emerged thin and squeaky. "I understand."
"Good." Chrona withdrew the sword. The man swayed on his feet. A moment later, he collapsed, gasping and clutching his throat, as if to assure himself it was still intact.
"I know you're all afraid of me," Chrona said in that deathly calm voice. "I know that's why you're doing this. I understand, because I used to be afraid of other people, too. Sometimes I still am. But throwing rocks at someone isn't nice." He smiled, madness dancing in his eyes—but it was controlled. Contained. "If something's bothering you, why don't you write a poem about it?"
The crowd backed off, edging away.
Slowly, Maka reached out and lay a hand on his shoulder.
Chrona's head turned. He blinked, his gaze focusing on her slowly. "Maka…" He looked around. He looked at the sword in his own hand. A moment later, it vanished into his body. "A-are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she said.
The crowd around them didn't move, didn't speak. Maka gripped Chrona's hand tightly and kept walking. "Let's go," she said.
Soul nodded grimly. They hurried toward Shibusen, Soul at Chrona's back and Maka walking beside him. Only when the crowd was well behind them did they slow their pace.
Chrona stared at the pavement, his breathing unsteady. "I'm sorry." He clutched his arm as he walked. His throat constricted as he swallowed. When he spoke again, his voice was small and soft. "I just made everything worse, didn't I?"
"Are you kidding?" Maka said. "You were great."
"Yeah, that was pretty cool," Soul said, smirking. "That guy was about to piss his pants."
Chrona looked from Soul to Maka in surprise. "Y-you're not mad? About what I did?"
"Why would we be mad?" Maka asked.
"I threatened to kill someone."
"Those people were threatening us. Maybe now they'll think twice before menacing innocent passers-by." Maka's fingers slipped between his. "You stood up to them, but you didn't lose control." She squeezed his hand, leaned closer, and whispered into his ear, "I'm proud of you."
Chrona's cheeks turned bright pink.
Ragnarok sprang from his back. "Hey, what about me? I helped. Don't I get any thanks?"
"I'll buy you some gummy worms on the way home from school," Maka said. "How about that?"
"Tch. What do you think I am, a kid?"
"What do you want, then?"
"Tequila."
She rolled her eyes. "You've never even had tequila. And you're too young to drink, anyway…I think. How old are you?"
"Thirty."
"That's silly, Ragnarok," Chrona said, looking up at him. "You're the same age I am."
"I am so older than you, pipsqueak!"
"I'll get you some gummy worms and some pudding. That's my final offer."
Blood still trickled from the small wound on her forehead. Chrona stared at it. He reached out and lightly touched her cheek, tilting her face toward him.
"Oh—this?" She smiled. "This is nothing. I'll have the school nurse take a look, but it's fine. Really. It doesn't even hurt—"
He pulled her into a tight hug. Maka stiffened in surprise, breath catching. Slowly, she relaxed into the embrace.
His arms tightened around her. "I'll keep you safe," he whispered into her ear. "No matter what."
Later, in class, Chrona strained to focus on the lecture and take notes. But he kept thinking about what had happened. The pencil trembled in his hand.
He'd come so close to killing someone. Sure, he'd stopped himself, but for a moment he'd wanted to. Because that man had hurt Maka, his most important person. His gaze strayed over to where she sat, an open book in her hands and a small, square bandage taped to her forehead. She'd gotten the cut cleaned out in the infirmary earlier that day. The nurse had said it wasn't serious, but still, the sight of it made Chrona's insides go cold.
It was his fault, he knew. The mob had been after him. Even if he'd dealt with it, it still wouldn't have happened if not for him.
A little voice in the back of his head kept whispering, telling him that she would be better off—safer—if he just left Death City. But he knew that wasn't true. He knew Maka would be sad if he disappeared. He couldn't do that to her.
Still, the thought kept coming back.
The witch crept through the streets of Death City. The sun hung low in the sky, wheezing.
After a long trek across the desert, she'd discarded the corpse of her old, half-rotted host in an alley and wriggled out of its throat, onto the pavement. Shortly after, she'd found a homeless man asleep on a doorstep and lunged into his open mouth. He was under her control before he knew what was happening.
She didn't like taking male hosts—men's bodies felt so clumsy and awkward—but at this point, she couldn't be choosy. If the fate of her last few hosts had been any indication, this body would only last her a few days, anyway.
Everything hinged on Chrona. She had fanned the flames of the citizens' hatred and orchestrated the kishin egg's attack for a single purpose: to make his life here unbearable, to push him to his breaking point so that he would come to her willingly. Everything would be so much easier if he was willing. She'd wanted to wait a little longer, to let the seeds of her plan germinate, but time was a luxury she didn't have.
Now, she just had to find someone to kill.
As luck would have it, she spotted a young woman—scarcely more than a girl—walking alone, her purse swinging at her side. She was dressed too scantily for the cool weather. A prostitute? No, she didn't have that street-hardened look. Just some girl.
The witch reached beneath her cloak, and her fingers closed around the hilt of the knife nestled against her hip. She approached in brisk strides. The girl stopped and turned toward her, lips parted in surprise.
"You picked an unfortunate night to go for a walk," the witch said. She pulled out the knife.
The girl's eyes widened. Before she had time to scream, the blade slashed across her throat, silencing her forever.
The witch stared down at the bloodstained corpse for a moment, swaying back and forth. She crouched, rummaged through the girl's purse with her clumsy male hands, and found a piece of paper and a ballpoint pen. She scrawled her message. Her lips shaped the words of a spell, then she stuffed the note into the corpse's mouth. This wasn't a highly traversed street, but still, the body would be found soon enough.
A dull burn seized her gut, and she doubled over, clutching her stomach and gasping. She gagged, eyes bulging, mouth opening wider and wider as she coughed, until finally, she squeezed herself out of the man's mouth and hopped away. The hopping seemed wrong somehow, but her head was too clouded to make sense of it.
Her host swayed a moment longer, then collapsed to the street.
On the way home, Chrona bought the biggest lobster from the tank in the local grocery store, emptying out his meager savings in the process. A deal was a deal, after all.
After dinner, he murmured that he didn't feel well and was going to his room to take a nap. He retreated into the bedroom, shut the door, and curled up under the covers, hugging his pillow.
Ragnarok settled atop his head. "Stop moping already. Do you really care what a bunch of stupid schmucks think? Those are the kinda people who just want someone to hate. If you weren't around they'd be hating someone else."
"It's not that." He hugged his pillow tighter. "I don't care what those people think about me. Not anymore. But I don't want Maka or any of my friends to get hurt."
"They can take care of themselves."
That was probably true, but it didn't stop him from worrying. He stared at the wall. "Why is this happening? I mean, I know a lot of people don't like me, but this is the first time they've ever done something like that. Why now?"
"Beats me. I'm going to sleep." Ragnarok vanished into his body.
Chrona hid his face against the pillow. He tossed and turned, kicked off the sheets, started to shiver, and pulled them over himself again.
He knew he wasn't going to fall asleep. Not tonight. His thoughts kept turning in circles.
Inevitably, they turned to the thing he'd been trying not to think about. He stared down at himself. He hadn't bothered to change into his pajamas that night; he was still in his t-shirt and boxers, his feet bare. "Ragnarok?"
"What?" he growled.
"Do you think she'll still want me? Wh-when she…"
"This again?" He sighed in annoyance. "You already showed her the scars. This isn't any worse than that, is it?"
"Yes, it is. It's worse." A part of him wondered if he was just being paranoid, if maybe it wasn't as big a deal as he thought. But most of him knew better.
"Well, you're gonna have to tell her sooner or later," Ragnarok said. "Might as well get it over with."
Chrona sat up slowly. He huddled on the edge of the bed, looking out the window at the grinning moon, the blood dripping between its teeth. He hugged himself and stared down at his bare feet. "I don't want to lose this…ow!"
Ragnarok yanked on his hair. "I swear, if you keep pissing and moaning, I'm going to whisper 'angry bees' in your ears over and over while you're asleep so that you dream about angry bees."
"Don't do that! I don't know how to deal with angry bees."
"Then just fucking tell her."
Chrona slumped, his head sinking into his hands. He knew Ragnarok was right. There was no point in putting this off.
But that didn't make it any easier.
After awhile, he heard a soft knock on his door, and Maka's voice called, "Chrona?"
His heart nearly punched a hole through his ribs, and he started to shake. Automatically he nodded his head before remembering she couldn't see him through the door, and he felt like an idiot. The tip of his tongue crept out, moistening dry lips.
"C-come in."
The door eased open. Maka stood there. She was in her pajamas—blue and white striped pajamas—and the sight made him a little dizzy.
"I just wanted to check on you," she said. "I was worried." She stood in the doorway, one hand still on the knob, small, even white teeth pressing into her lower lip. "Is everything okay?"
He took a deep breath. He'd made up his mind. He was going to do this. The longer he waited, the worse it would be, and it wasn't fair to her.
"M-Maka...can we talk?"
-To be continued