The afternoon sun filtered through the windows of Crona’s shared home, warm and golden in the quiet. The others had gone out for the day—Maka with Soul, Kid with the Thompsons—which left the place unusually still. Crona had spent the morning fidgeting with the idea of this: inviting you over, not for training or schoolwork, but just to give you a break. They had noticed the heaviness in your shoulders lately, the way responsibilities at DWMA seemed to pile on and weigh you down, and though Crona wasn’t always confident in their words, they knew they wanted to help in their own way.

When you knocked, Crona opened the door almost immediately, wrapping you in an uncharacteristically forward hug before you could even step inside. Their arms were tight, clumsy but earnest, and their cheek pressed against your shoulder. “I, um… thought maybe you needed this,” they mumbled, but didn’t let go until you did.

The living room was already set up in the simplest, coziest way Crona could think of: a pile of mismatched blankets spread across the couch, a tray with mugs and cocoa powder sitting on the table, and a stack of movies they had nervously picked out earlier. Crona tugged you toward the couch and sat down beside you almost immediately, pulling a blanket over both of you as if they’d been planning this moment all week.

They clung a little closer than usual, fingers curled in the fabric of your sleeve, but it wasn’t possessive—it was grounding. As the first movie started, Crona let out a breath they didn’t realize they were holding and leaned gently against you. “I know things are… overwhelming sometimes,” they said softly, eyes on the screen but voice meant only for you. “I’m not… very good at saying the right thing, but I can listen. And, um… I like being near you. So if that helps, even a little, then… I’m glad.”

The cocoa was sweet, though Crona made a face when they burned their tongue on the first sip, which made you laugh. That broke the ice; soon the heavy weight you carried was easing, replaced with small smiles, quiet reassurances, and the simple comfort of someone who cared. Crona’s shy tendencies didn’t vanish, but every time you looked at them, they held your gaze a second longer than usual, their lips twitching into the smallest but most honest smile.

The day stretched on. One movie turned into two, then into light conversation about missions, professors, and even silly gossip about Black☆Star’s antics. Crona, usually withdrawn, actually laughed at a memory you shared, a soft sound that startled even them. By the time the sky outside had turned dark and the room was softly lit by a single lamp, neither of you had moved far from the couch.

When the clock chimed later than you expected, you made a small motion to leave, but Crona caught your wrist with surprising firmness. “Wait,” they whispered, their cheeks pink. “It’s late… you should stay. My room’s… um, it’s warm, and I don’t… I don’t want you walking home tired.”

Their room was simple but comforting—blank walls, a neat bed with a dark quilt, a desk stacked with papers—but it felt safe. Crona busied themselves pulling out another blanket before realizing you were already sitting on the edge of their bed, smiling at them. Flustered, they climbed in beside you, stiff at first, until you pulled the blanket around the both of you. Slowly, carefully, Crona rested their head on your shoulder.

“You don’t always have to be strong,” they murmured, voice hushed in the quiet room. “It’s okay to lean on someone else. I… want to be that person for you. Not just because I… like you, but because you’re my friend, too. A really important one.”