The swordsman eyed his plate curiously, adorned with two of the waffles, drenched with syrup and lightly buttered. He gently jabbed a piece with his fork.

He had never had waffles before, but Ragnarok seemed to be eating his just fine- his meaning Crona's. Then again, Crona had never really had much of anything to eat; he really didn't have a right to be picky.

He lifted the bite to his mouth, right before his weapon's saliva-drenched tongue snatched it directly off of his utensil.

Soul grimaced with disgust as he distractedly let his own bite fall from his fork.

Maka narrowed her eyes at the demon. "So, what, are you a frog now?" She gave an exasperated sigh as he took another of his meister's waffles chomping it down whilst messily dripping syrup on the poor boy's head. "Stop eating Crona's food already, get your own!"

"Oh, please!" Ragnarok spat, crumbs flying from his mouth. "Like Crona wants to eat your crappy food, anyway!"

Hearing the remark, the swordsman swiftly stabbed another piece and stuffed it into his mouth. Syrup had dribbled onto his lower lip, and he poked the tip of his tongue out to clean it.

Seeing him react, so desperate to make sure she didn't think he disliked her cooking, Maka's face broke into a grin, suppressing a giggle that threatened her throat. "I'm glad you like it, Crona."

He couldn't help but give a timid smile in return, seeing hers, relieved he'd made her happy.

Maka's gaze darted toward the wall clock, and she leaped from seat. "Crap! We're going to be late!" She hurriedly scooped up her syrup-stained dish and made her way towards the sink.

"Calm down, Lord Death is making us take a few days off." Soul spoke, taming his meister's anxiety. "Besides, there's no school today anyway. There's gonna be big party at the DWMA tonight celebrating the kishin's death."

Maka perked up. "Really?" She looked toward their guest. "You'll be coming too, won't you Crona?" Head tilted slightly at him, she spoke in a hopeful tone, warm smile on her face.

How could he say no to her? The swordsman gripped his arm. "Uh, sure! If you w- want me to..." A timid smile crept onto his lips.

"Oh, HELL, no!" Now finished stuffing his face with stolen food, Ragnarok objected. "I am NOT about to forfeit my night just so this wuss can go to some STUPID party! If you hadn't NOTICED, I'M still exhausted from all the damn blood-loss from this moron's decision to save your sorry ass!"

Maka faked sympathy. "Aw, that's too bad. The Academy's parties always have the best food..."

A moment passed. The weapon exhaled exasperatedly. "Fine, I'll go... if the food's really that good..." He mumbled, then shrunk back into his meister's spine.

It was then that the magical cat named Blair decided to hop onto the table, addressing the swordsman. "Sooo, do you have anything to wear to it?" She spoke with a wink, her voice implying an undertone Crona couldn't quite understand.

"He has clothes, Blair." Maka said with an exasperation.

"Well, I just thought he might want something nice to wear, if he wants to-"

"SCRAM, YOU DAMN CAT!" A balled glove smacked the side of the animal. A vein pulsed on the demon's head as he made his appearance once more. She retorted with a bat of her paw, a yowl, and a hiss. Offended, she scampered to the next room.

Crona raised an eyebrow at his weapon partner's behavior.

"What was that for?" The scythe-meister questioned accusingly.

Pondering an excuse, Ragnarok replied. "He doesn't need anyone filling his head with stupid ideas! He does that well enough on his own!" Again, he melted into his meister's spine.

Crona rubbed his shoulder awkwardly. "I- I might actually need some new clothes..."

Soul lifted a bite of waffle to his lips. "I'm not big on shopping, but I've been told I'm pretty good with formal-wear." He looked to Crona with earnest crimson eyes. "I could take you later, if you want."

Maka lifted an eyebrow with a slight concern. "Do you want me to come with, Crona?"

"N-no. I'll be fine." He reassured her.

The swordsman's boots clicked along the tile as his eyes fought to take in the sheer enormity of the interior. This was the first time he'd ever been to the Death City Mall, and the variety of clothes astonished him.

His gaze flitted self-consciously from one person to the next, noticing how misplaced he was with his bland robe and boots.

"Follow me." Soul said as he entered a clothing department, Crona on his heels.

Inside were nothing but men's formal attire, ranging from tuxedos and ties to waistcoats and collared shirts. The meister wondered what the purpose was to have so many squarely-cut shoulders on the shirts, and straight-legged pants. Not all men's bodies were shaped exactly like that. How was he going to find something that fit him in here?

"Hey, Soul. W- what are we doing at this place?" Crona spoke.

A sharp grin stretched his face. "You need a tux for the party, don't you?"

"I've got a suit already."

"I thought you said you needed new clothes." He chuckled at Crona's expression. "Come on." Soul walked over to the thinner-fitting suits, comparing their size to Crona's. "But first, we might have to get you fitted. I don't know a lot of guys who have hips like yours…"

He turned over a pair of black slacks with a wider waist. "Of course, suits aren't made overnight. Let's just browse and see what fits." The scythe picked the pants off the rack and handed them to Crona. "These might fit you."

They walked to another rack, and Soul held a white button-down up to the swordsman.

"Hm, do you think this is too big?"

Crona looked down at the shirt. "M- maybe a little…" He picked up a smaller size for himself.

"Okay, now let's get you a jacket" He eyed the blazers thoughtfully, and grabbed one with narrower shoulders.

"The fitting rooms are this way, you'll be fine." Soul grinned his jagged-tooth smile to reassure Crona's nervousness. The swordsman had a death-grip on his left arm, and his eyebrows knitted with uncertainty. As they made their way to the fitting rooms, Soul grabbed a matching black belt off of a rack.

The scythe handed Crona the blazer and belt when they entered one of the changing stalls. "Get changed in there, I'll find you a tie and a pair of shoes. Do you know your size?"

"Er- seven."

"Alright, I'll be right back, okay? Tell me if any of it is uncomfortable or doesn't fit right."

As Soul left him, Crona felt a twinge of pain on his upper back, and Ragnarock made his appearance.

"Why do you need new clothes anyway? This just seems like a hassle, all for this dumb party." The demon crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. "Fancy this, black that. All I agreed to was food…"

Crona pulled his robe up from beneath him to undress. "What's wrong with getting new clothes? Soul's already gone through all this trouble… A- and besides I want to look nice for the party."

"'For the party' my ass…" And he dissolved inside his meister once more.

Crona pulled the dress pants up and zipped them, looking in the mirror to see how they fit him. They hugged his hips surprisingly well, considering they were found in the men's department. As he was buttoning up the shirt, a couple light knocks sounded on the door.

"Yo, Crona? Can I come in? I've got a pair of loafers, and the tie looks pretty nice."

"Y- yeah." The swordsman unlocked the door, and Soul entered.

The scythe's eyes widened slightly at the sight of the horizontal stitched ebony scar across Crona's abdomen. The wound was healing quickly, but it was still a shocking sight.

"That healing up okay?" Soul asked casually, handing Crona the pink necktie.

"Wha- Oh, yeah… A- after Professor Stein stitched it up, Ragnarock was able to harden the blood again, so I'm okay." Crona's cheeks flushed, and he finished buttoning the shirt.

"Cool." Soul smiled, "You know, I've got a scar from doing the same thing—Protecting Maka, that is."

Crona's face fell when he remembered he'd been the cause of Soul's scar.

"Hey, don't worry about it. Just—Thanks for taking one for my meister back there. We may not have made it if not for you."