Alone.

It was nothing new.

He was always alone in this place.

It seemed to strike a nerve in his brain every time he was exposed to this feeling of isolation. He had felt this many times before, yet wanted nothing more than to leave it behind as a whisper in his past.

Loneliness had become a part of his very being; his very soul. It flowed in and out of him, lacing throughout every fiber of his being and lodging itself in his heart, as if it were a parasite. It sucked the life and emotion out of him, seeming to revel in his distress. He could hear it purr deep inside of his mind, telling him which path that it wanted him to follow.

He was ashamed that he knew it so well that he had almost given it a name as a child. The feeling of lonesomeness seemed so condensed and powerful that it was like an entity in itself, deserving of a title to call its own.

The swordsman sighed, his breath slicing through the quiet atmosphere. It seemed like a shout compared to the dead silence of his surroundings, and his ears strained.

Freezing air washed over his frail body and he fiddled with his black necktie, loosening it so he could breathe without gasping. He hated the constraining suit he wore inside this sick dreamland.

"Dreamland" was a strange word to describe it.

He was well aware that he was sleeping, but he had no idea how to wake himself. His thoughts were sluggish and exhausted, trailing behind him in the dirt.

To say that he disliked it would be a laughable understatement.

He was completely sick of it.

The darkness was so strong that it burned his dull eyes.

Somehow, he could see fairly clearly; as if he were one with the shadows.

It was lonely and silent to a painful degree. He had to put up with this unending torture every night when he shut his eyes.

He constantly wondered if he would ever wake at all.

This all began fairly recently, after he had been released from Stein's medical care and gone back to living in his room. He still had to take it easy and avoid missions due to the nasty wound he had gotten from his mother's Vector Arrow, but he was fine other than occasional pain. He took medication for it, but the stinging continued to bother him; even in rest.

He seemed to be slowly recovering physically and mentally, being able to open up to people easier than he ever thought that he would.

Then, the dreams began.

He was always consciously aware that he was not really in this room, but…

He always felt oddly real and… well, awake.

The aforementioned room was completely black, as were the leathery furniture and décor. There were blue lamps hanging from the ceiling, but they never turned on. He had previously spent hours looking for a light switch of some sort, but had never found one, much to his annoyance. Windows lined the room, but they didn't lead to outside- they were only gray frames hooked onto the walls. They seemed to tease his inability to leave his personal hell, calling out for him jokingly.

There was a door as well, but it didn't open at all, no matter what he tried.

The wall with the so-called "exit" was completely bare excluding the door, with nothing propped against it or even nearing it.

It was almost eerie.

The meister sighed, fully prepared to spend another night curled up in one of the corners, just waiting to wake up. His weary, half-lidded eyes flicked to his shoes as he thought to himself.

He was perplexed to the question of why he kept dreaming of this place. There was nothing special about it, just… darkness. He didn't like it, feeling as if he stuck out like a sore thumb.

He wondered if the impact of Medusa's attack had destroyed his ability to dream, and this was the alternative.

The boy turned towards the wall with the door, expecting to see nothing, as with every other time he had checked.

This time, he was wrong.

"Crona."

Crona jumped slightly at the sound of his name, snapping to full attention.

He was surprised that he hadn't noticed that before.

There was a black loveseat pushed up against the wall; completely isolated and untouched.

His dull eyes went wide, lips drawn apart in surprise.

Crona glanced around himself for a moment, heart thudding. "H-hello?"

Maybe someone had moved the couch there?

Maybe he wasn't alone anymore?

"Is… is anyone there?" he murmured, his eyes darting around desperately.

After a full surveillance of the room, he realized that he was wrong.

It was still silent.

There was nobody else there.

He was still alone.

A pang of disappointment filled him and his back slouched.

He came to the realization that it was going to be yet another long night.

At least now he had another place to sit down… as if that'd help anything. As his attention drifted back to the loveseat, he squeaked in shock, eyes widening.

Maka.

Maka sat in it, eyes blankly focused on him while her gloved hands rested neatly on her lap. She wore a lovely, shimmering black dress and high-heels, contrasting nicely with her pale skin. Her hair was tied up as usual, alongside small black flowers tucked in the hairbands. Her eyes were almost haunting, the green practically glowing in contrast to the bleak room.

Crona never thought that Maka was one to dress up for no reason, so the apparel only added to his surprise. His mouth hung open slightly, unsure of what he was supposed to say or do.

"…Maka…?" he asked quietly, staring at her as she studied him closely. He gripped his left arm nervously.

Her eyes rose to meet his gaze.

"Hello," she replied in a friendly voice, a smile appearing on her angelic face.

Seeing her amicable manner, Crona's tense muscles quickly relaxed. It was nothing to be worried about; it was only his friend.

He realized that this was just a part of his dream, anyway. She wasn't really Maka; simply a duplicate of her created through his very Maka-centric imagination.

Crona was impressed with himself, seeing as the girl looked exactly like the real thing. There were absolutely no flaws, her features and voice unblemished.

"Hi," he said calmly, happy to return her smile. Having Maka… or rather, a Maka-clone here was much better than being in this dreary place by himself. He could feel warmth radiating from her being, driving away the cold from every nook and cranny.

Maka's smile widened a bit as she studied his face, her curiosity reminding him vaguely of Professor Stein. "Come here," she invited, scooting over and patting the cushion next to her. She glanced at him expectantly, waiting for him.

"Um…" Crona murmured, blinking. "O… okay." He tentatively walked to her and took the open seat, his hands clasping together and coming to rest on his lap.

He only focused on her for a moment before feeling his face grow warm, prying his eyes away as he realized something he found very intriguing.

It was like owning a version of Maka.

He bit his lip, mentally slapping himself for thinking like that. It was… bad.

He stared at his feet for a moment, eventually working up the courage to speak to the dream girl.

"I-I'm sure that this room will be a lot better since you're here," he began, smiling slightly. "I've been here for a while, and I'm getting lonely…"

His words began coming more easily, and he relaxed. It wasn't all that different than speaking to the real Maka, besides the fact that this one obviously had a lot less to say.

"When I wake up every morning, I feel really cold and sick. I think that maybe I should talk to the Professor and Miss Marie about it, but… I-I dunno, it's probably just me…"

He paused, fumbling for words.

"A-anyway, how are y-"

He turned to look at her, but abruptly stopped.

She was close.

Really close.

Maka's face was mere inches away, and she seemed to be leaning towards him slightly. "You… were saying something?" she asked, her hand coming to rest on his thigh.

"Umm…" he murmured, his face burning with warmth. He turned a bit in attempt to hide the blush forming on his cheeks.

What is she doing…?

"Erm… yeah… I-I was just going to ask how…"

He gulped, noticing her leaning forwards even more than before.

"…how…"

He tried scooting back a bit, but he found himself to be completely immobile.

"…you…"

Maka's eyes became heavy lidded, and all Crona could see was her forest green. He lost his words, completely forgetting what he was trying to say.

"…um…"

He stumbled for syllables, his mouth closing in defeat.

Wait… what…

Before he could register anything else, her lips touched his; completely frozen with shock.

She was warm and soft, inviting him into her caring touch as he arms slid around his waist. She pulled closer, locking them in a kiss.

This wasn't really Maka, this was a dream, and he knew it.

He didn't understand why he was so surprised at her. He was the one unconsciously controlling this place, after all.

He had… surprised himself, he supposed.

…it wasn't all that bad.

Crona's fingers twitched and his eyes flicked shut, arms moving to embrace her. Lingering in her touch, he felt the painful cold being replaced by pleasant warmth that flowed throughout his body. Dream or no; he had never been kissed before, and was quite enjoying it.

Maka gave an uncharacteristic giggle through their lips, her nimble fingers crawling beneath his shirt. They slid upwards, trailing up his side and coming to rest just beneath his ribcage. He gasped, pain flowering from the spot that he recognized as his recent wound from Medusa as she fingered the stitched-up cut. He considered pulling away, but was stopped as the girl cuddled against him.

He realized that he could deal with it, since it was Maka.

After all, it was only a dream. It couldn't affect him too badly.

…or at least, he thought it couldn't.

He choked, the pain becoming something he could only imagine as torture worse than Lord Death's own punishments.

Crona felt blood pool down from his wound, the stitches snapping as they were pulled apart by her thin fingers.

The swordsman was paralyzed with horror, and he jerked backwards. Her grip on him tightened in response, and her hands sunk deeper and deeper into his wound. Her agile fingers poked around at his insides, pushing arteries and innards to the side as she made a grab for his soul. He felt blood rise up in his mouth, the metallic taste assaulting his taste buds. He twitched, reaching down to grab her wrist and force her off of him to stop the pain.

She didn't budge, and his muscles started to fail him as he began to go limp. His vision flickered and swam before him, and he could vaguely sense her cuddling her cheek against his own.

"Hey, Crona," Maka hissed into his ear, her breath surprisingly cold. Her voice burned into his mind, pain shooting through his entire body.

"Wake up."

"Crona! CRONA!"

He heard someone calling him, but for a moment, he didn't feel like answering.

He was just so tired…

"CRONA, FOR DEATH'S SAKE, WAKE THE HELL UP BEFORE I KILL YOU MYSELF!"

Crona moaned wearily, recognizing Ragnarok's squeaky voice. He wasn't going to get up for the likes of that demon.

The swordsman moved a bit, planning on turning over and burying his face into his pillow.

He stopped abruptly when he noticed a stabbing pain in his stomach.

His eyes snapped open and he sat up, cringing at the hurting centered in his wound. The first thing that his sleep-deprived mind registered was Ragnarok, sticking out of his stomach. The demon was screaming shouts of frustration, appearing to be very concentrated on something.

Crona paled considerably when he realized...

His wound was completely open, all of the stitches snapped in two.

Just like that dream.

"Ragnarok, what did you do?!" Crona asked frantically, grabbing the sheets below him with worry. His mind was swimming with confusion, jumping to whatever conclusion he could grasp. "D-did you-?!"

"Don't go accusing me, you dick!" he growled violently, his composure completely in disarray. "This is your fault!"

"My fault?! How is it my fault?!" Crona hissed, the pain causing him to be on edge.

Ragnarok's rounded eyes narrowed, and his voice lowered.

"Look at your hands, you frigging lunatic."

Crona's attention warily turned to his fingers that still clutched at the blackening sheets, somewhat worried about what he would find.

He drew in a sharp breath.

His nails were caked in black blood and small pieces of the material that bandaged his wound in place, soaked in evidence.

He had done it himself.

Crona cried out in alarm, pushing himself out of bed and onto his feet. He stumbled for a moment in attempt to find balance, the room seeming to spin around him. Blood dripped to the floor, pooling at his feet on the cold, stone floor.

He gripped onto the edge of his desk, using it for support. His free hand came to rest on his aching forehead, eyes flicking shut.

"Oh my Death…"

"Yeah! Mhm! Ya see?" Ragnarok half-gloated, half-panicked; trying to stay upright while pawing at Crona's skin in attempt to stop the bleeding. "Now, call that stupid goddamn professor so I don't have to be your shitty nurse!"

"Why don't you just harden the blood…?" the boy asked breathlessly, biting his lip. He tried to ignore the pain, but considering the sheer amounts of blood, it wasn't really working.

"Uh, because I can't, stupid!" he muttered impatiently. "Your dysfunctional mommy's attack-thingy made your blood all soft, and it hasn't healed completely yet!" He began muttering foul insults under his breath, sweat trailing down his forehead. "I shouldn't be involved in stupid fucking family issues…"

Crona let out a frustrated hiss of breath, clenching his teeth. "You can call Professor Stein; I don't feel so well…"

"I CAN'T," the demon screeched, shoving one of his rounded hands into his meister's face. "DO YOU SEE ANY FRIGGING FINGERS? BECAUSE I DON'T."

"Alright, alright," he sighed reluctantly, reaching shakily towards the pocket mirror resting on the table. He managed to curl his fingers around the mirror and bring it towards his face, breathing gently on the surface. Pulling it away, he traced Stein's number on the foggy screen, careful not to dial the wrong number; as he had done so more often than he would have liked.

The screen pulsed, lighting up and buzzing as a signal that it was waiting for the Professor to answer.

"Come on," Crona muttered, eyes growing heavy.

Stein's face flickered to life on the screen. He was sitting in his laboratory, a cup of fresh tea steaming in his hand. The lights were off besides a dim lamp, so it was obvious that he was doing some late-night test composing. His glasses glared in the light provided by the mirror.

"Do you need something?" the Professor questioned, taking a sip from his teacup nonchalantly.

Crona opened his mouth to speak, but Ragnarok interrupted.

"HELL YEAH. GET YOUR FAT ASS OVER HERE RIGHT NOW! MY BEAUTIFUL BLACK BLOOD IS GETTING ALL OVER THE FLOOR AND I HAVE THE FEELING THAT IT'S GOING TO BE A SHITLOAD OF WORK TO CLEAN UP!"

Stein froze, and his hand moved to set down the teacup.

"I'll be right there. Hang on."

The screen went black.

"How exactly did this happen?"

Stein examined Crona's wound as the leaking blood began to slow to a halt, dabbing at it with disinfectant wipes. The boy sat on one of DWMA's examination tables, legs dangling off of the side. He felt somewhat self-conscious because he wasn't wearing a shirt, but he supposed that he didn't really have any other option, deciding to accept the terms.

"Uhm…" Crona murmured, his face flushing as his dream came to mind.

No.

It couldn't have had anything to do with his sick nightmare. It would be silly to bring it up at all.

Besides, it would be embarrassing to bring up what had happened with that dream Maka…

"…I guess I scratched it open in my sleep…" he admitted, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. Technically, he wasn't lying. "I-it was an accident, though…"

"I see," Stein murmured expressionlessly, turning away and removing his gloves. He threw them into the garbage, reaching for a new pair as he continued speaking. "Has it been itching at all? Healing cuts tend to get irritated often."

"Uhm, sure," Crona lied, feeling it best to agree.

Stein paused, giving him a questioning look. "'Sure'? I'm looking for a 'yes' or a 'no', Crona."

"Yes! Yes. I meant yes."

The Professor seemed to be contemplating, and then he turned away and continued gathering supplies from the counter.

"You seem very anxious." He paused for a long moment, as if waiting for Crona to say something. The boy remained silent, and he took that as an affirmative. He spoke again, voice quieter and less accusing. "…Is there something I should know about?"

Crona shook his head hastily, denying him the truth. "N-no, sir. I'll be fine. I-I just haven't been sleeping very well for a while."

Stein chose not to continue the conversation, sensing the lie with trained ease.

The man turned back to Crona, carrying a small box full of equipment to suture his wound shut again. His hands were gloved protectively and all of the tools looked sharp and painful. Crona felt a pang of unease, his fingers tightening on the edge of the table.

"Let me answer before you ask. Yes, Crona, I do need to seal your injury." Stein spoke without looking at him, seeming practically programmed to act so uncaring. "Since Ragnarok hasn't been able to heal you on his own recently, I need to provide some assistance." He dug around in the box, searching for something. "I would be lying if I said that it won't hurt. It definitely will hurt. Think of it this way- it won't be half as bad as the things you've experienced in the past."

Crona bit his lip, watching with wide, trembling eyes.

However, as terrifying as the Professor could be at times, Crona did trust him enough for this. He would never allow Stein to do this sort of thing to Maka, but he felt as though he was much more disposable and it wouldn't hurt him to put more faith in others.

"F-fine… I guess…" he muttered, eyes darting about.

"Good," the man said, taking out a needle from the box with a sort of sick glee written on his face. As much as Crona tried to ignore it, it was a well-known fact that this man was truly a mad scientist, albeit kind at times.

The boy was wary of him, but he was the only doctor available at such a late hour… even though Crona was pretty sure that Stein wasn't actually licensed to be operating on people.

If Marie and Maka said that he was alright, then he must have been alright.

…probably.

Maka tapped her pencil on the desk impatiently.

For what seemed like the millionth time, she was the first one in class. The meister grew weary of waiting for everyone to arrive, but she couldn't help it. She had to be first; it was in her nature.

One of her soul studies text books lay open in front of her while her eyes lazily scanned it. She didn't have to read it because she had already memorized it from cover to cover, yet she still felt obligated to know more. The pages held no new information for her, though she tried to squeeze every bit of knowledge from the pages. Maka could recite every fact with ease. Instead of singing in the shower, she muttered scythe techniques. Most people would call her silly for having such an obsession, but she loved the way she was, and wouldn't change for anyone.

Feeling the need to get to school first was something that bugged her, however. For that reason, she had been setting Soul's alarm clock to an early hour so that he would wake at the same time as her. Sadly, he had been incredibly irked by the whole idea, developing the nasty habit of smashing his clock to pieces each time it woke him so early.

Then, of course, he had blamed her and told her to buy new alarm clocks every time he broke his other ones. That was a painful money loss, and that morning, she had decided to just leave him in bed. He would catch up on sleep and fall behind on class work. If he wanted to waste his time napping, he could learn the hard way for all she cared. Maka knew that he'd be upset once he finally woke up, but it was worth it if it meant that she might not be the only one sitting in class as the sun rose.

She set her pencil near the book, moving to rest her head in her palms. Although she felt refreshed from waking so early, it wasn't very nice when she had stayed up too late the night before. She mentally cursed herself for agreeing to watch that movie with Soul and Black*Star.

Maka's eyes drifted towards the clock.

Half of an hour left until class.

She frowned deeply, wondering why everyone felt the need to be so slow in getting to school. They cut so close to the bell that she constantly pondered how they weren't panicked half to death every morning.

There was a faint click as the classroom door opened, and Maka turned her head to look at the entrance. Her frown changed to a soft smile as she saw who it was.

"Hey Crona," Maka greeted, watching as he shut the door behind him.

"Mm, hello," the pink-haired swordsman replied, yawning sleepily. "Good morning…"

Her lips tightened with curiosity as he ascended the stairs to take his seat next to her. His movements were slow and pained; dark bags visible beneath his eyes.

"Did you not sleep well?" Maka asked, closing her text book and putting it beneath the desk.

"O-only a couple hours…" he murmured, practically collapsing into the seat. "And my w-wound started acting up… I had to go see Stein to get it fixed…"

At that, concern began to well up in her throat, and her brow furrowed. "What? Did something happen to it?"

"Mm…" Crona said, deep in thought. She could tell from his eyes that he was conflicted. "…I-I accidently scratched it open while I was asleep…"

"Oh, Crona," she said worriedly, putting a hand against his forehead as if checking for a fever. "It was itchy, right?" She sighed in frustration. "And here I was, thinking that you had already healed enough so that it wouldn't be a problem… I guess we're not out of the woods yet, huh?"

"G-guess not," he agreed simply, yawning and resting his chin on the desk. "Stein had to stitch it shut again…" He shivered at the memory, the corners of his mouth turning downwards. "…I… wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy…"

"Not that you actually have any enemies. No one could hate you," Maka said matter-of-factly.

He felt a faint blush creep onto his face, and he glanced away. "Y-you're just too nice."

"Nah," she said, pinching his blushing cheek between her thumb and forefinger. "Remember why you have that wound in the first place?" Maka let go of his cheek and moved to run her fingers through his hair, brushing it out of his starry-eyed gaze. "It's because you saved me." She smiled, her expression striking him as something that even an angel would be envious of. "I'll never be able to thank you enough for that."

Crona had trouble speaking, lost in her gaze as he was reminded for the millionth time why he was so fond of her. "A-ah-uhm… Maka…" He fumbled, rendered helpless by her perfection. "…you saved me first."

"Are you trying to argue with me?" she questioned teasingly, completely oblivious to his admiring of her.

"N-n-no!" he blurted, waving his hands in front of himself defensively. His eyes were wide; sincerely concerned that he had made her upset. "I-I'd never do that! R-really!"

Maka couldn't help but laugh at his childlike mind, shaking her head. "I know you wouldn't. I'm just kidding."

"…that's not a very nice joke…"

There was a click as the door opened again, and they looked towards the sound to see Professor Stein scooting in, riding on a swivel chair. The man stared for a moment, his glasses glaring.

"Crona? I thought I told you to stay at home today," the man said, raising an eyebrow. "What are you doing here?"

"P-p-professor," Crona stuttered, searching for an excuse. "I… er…" He was quiet for a moment, eventually sighing in defeat. "I wanted to see Maka," he admitted sheepishly, face reddening. "…please don't make me go home… it's lonely there…"

Stein was silent for a moment, examining him and Maka closely, as if searching for something. "Well, since you seem to be doing better than earlier, I suppose that you can stay. I guess it can't hurt anything." He pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and began scooting towards his desk leisurely. "Even though the black blood is weaker than it was, you're still more capable of healing than a normal person is. Just don't move around too much, alright? We don't want to have to stitch you back together again."

"Th-thank you, Professor," Crona smiled, beaming with pleasure at just being able to stay with his pigtailed meister.

"Crona," Maka began, and he glanced at her. She looked concerned, worry showing on her face. "Are you sure that it's alright for you to be at school when you're hurt? I don't want to be the reason that you injure yourself."

"Oh, M-Maka," Crona quickly objected, putting a tentative hand on her shoulder. "I'm fine… I-I was really sick when I first woke up, b-but now I'm alright. I promise."

She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Well, you'd better be alright."

Stein reached his desk, shuffling through the documents scattered all over the surface. "What are you two still doing here, anyway?" He spoke without looking up, pushing some paper into the trash next to him.

Maka blinked, clearly confused.

"What do you mean? Are we not having class inside today?"

Crona was equally lost, fingers tapping absent-mindedly as he watched Stein, waiting for an answer.

Stein paused. His nonchalant attitude flickered for a moment, giving way to something more serious as he looked away from his papers.

"Lord Death wants all of the students in the Especially Advanced Talent class to report to the Death Room. It's an urgent matter."

A/N- What're your thoughts so far? I know where the story is going, but I'm not sure if anyone is interested. xD Please drop a review and let me know if I should continue. :) See ya!