A Thousand Winds
Rating: K+, T
Characters/pairing: AllenxKanda / KandaxAllen
Warnings: character death, emo, shounen-ai, OOC
About: Do not stand at my grave and cry; I am not there. I did not die.
Once, yesterday, a long time ago, Kanda thought about what his most precious memories were. “What will you hold dear in your memory when your time comes?” the question had come quietly, softly, from pink pale lips [that Kanda knew from experience were warm and as soft as they looked, soft as satin] “What will you remember?” Stormy grey eyes, vast and calm like the great undisturbed lakes, watched him serenely, awaiting his answer.
Kanda would never die, though. Not until he found what - who - he was looking for. As long as his will didn’t break - and that would never happen - no matter how many times his bones were broken, his lungs pierced, his head split open, no matter how many times his heart stopped - it would always restart again, and Kanda would not die.
That question was, as such, inane. Superfluous. Why ask such things? Why dwell on such thoughts? Did it matter? This was a war. Feelings were for the weak. And the dead. That is what Kanda believed in.
But every time those eerie eyes [those clear grey eyes that made half-forgotten memories of rainy days and infinite grey skies - grey like those eyes - in a country long lost to the enemy, come to the surface] shed the mask their owner always wore and gazed deep into Kanda’s eyes, Kanda’s soul was immersed in that pure gaze, bathed in silver - in those moments, the world was empty, and only the vastness of Allen’s grey lake-eyes remained.
This was one of those moments. No masks, no fear. No anger, no clashing of beliefs. Just two tired souls - so very similar to each other and yet so different - and honesty. So Kanda couldn’t simply scoff and say it was a stupid question, like he would have if Allen hadn’t let the mask go and asked it honestly. Allen really wanted to know, and thus Kanda wanted to tell him.
The golden sunlight came softly through the open window, tenderly caressing Allen’s white skin, illuminating his eyes sideways - and it looked like the Destroyer of Time was bathed in gold and glowing from within, a bright light shining from his eyes like stars, hair white as snow, skin pale as alabaster.
“What will you remember?” that beautiful ethereal creature asks with tender, tired eyes.
And Kanda glances at him and looks away, knowing he had to find an answer.
There isn’t much Kanda can - or wants to - remember from the time before he joined the Black Order.
He isn’t interested in his memories from the Second Exorcist Project - not because they aren’t important to him [no, they are. They are the reason he’ll be able to meet his goal. Seas of imaginary flowers be damned] but because they aren’t relevant in the way Moyashi meant.
So what would he like to remember?
That soft voice interrupts his thoughts. “Don’t frown like that.” He says, and then there are pale slim fingers on his forehead, trying to soothe the deep wrinkles there. The soft murmurs barely disturb the silence surrounding them.
Kanda’s eyes close without his notice.
The cool fingers trail from his forehead to his eyelids, so softly, so tenderly the touches are so light they are barely felt, are barely there at all; then ghosting down to cup the side of his face, thumb feathering over Kanda’s cheekbone.
Allen always touched him so carefully during these honest moments - like Kanda was a fragile, but terribly loved creature. Like a harsh movement on Allen’s part could shatter Kanda, or shatter the moment -
Like Allen was afraid of touching him, for fear of what he himself might do, could do-
“Please. What are your most precious memories?” Allen murmurs.
Kanda finally notices he has his eyes closed, and notices how he’s been leaning against the hand lovingly cradling his cheek. He looks up at those silver eyes, and he knows the answer.
**
One night, he’d found Allen on the old Order’s rooftop. The storm was raging at full-blast. The skies, so dark they were almost black, let the rain fall so harshly it almost hurt when the raindrops hit exposed skin directly, and a thousand furious winds lashed against everything on their path and whipped the walls of the Order’s building, almost making it sway. Lightning flashed across the sky in explosions of light as beautiful as they could be dangerous. The sounds of the storm were deafening, like the roar of a thousand giants. And in the middle of their destruction, sole figure on top of a battered dark tower, mismatched arms wide open as if welcoming the storm and head thrown back and eyes closed as the rain fell heavily, stood Allen Walker.
Soaking wet, in the middle of a violent storm, wearing only his (half unbuttoned) white shirt and black pants, barefoot and alone, his open arms inviting more rain to fall or a lightning to come and strike him right there - he was smiling.
He’d turned his head to the side and seen Kanda. And his smile had shined so brightly then - so, so brightly - Kanda’s breath had been stuck in his throat.
And that creature of whites and silvers and blacks had let out a light, delighted laugh, a crystalline sound that rang in air, through the raging storm. “Don’t you feel alive?” Allen had said.
**
And one time, it had been just the two of them walking through a wide expanse of snow, while crossing a mountain. In the morning light, the snow shined brightly, white and pure and beautiful.
And Allen had been two steps ahead of Kanda, ragged black coat billowing behind him, soft white bangs getting ruffled by the strong wind.
Kanda watched the shorter male walk ahead of him, confidently, back straight and proud, and thought about how so many things rested on those slim shoulders…
And that stormy night they slept together in a small cave, barely big enough for the two of them, so small they couldn’t even sit up inside it, and when morning came Kanda woke up to see the other boy - man, he was already a man, had probably been one for quite some time now - sleeping peacefully, that pale face marked by a red curse so breathtaking; and small snowflakes, coming from the entrance of the cave, were softly falling on the white hair, that shined in the sunlight with a million ice crystals covering it.
That time, for a brief moment, Kanda thought he’d never seen anything so beautiful, and that all else could go to Hell.
**
And he would never forget that day of travelling on the road that crossed the crop fields - the crops would take place soon, but in the meantime the two of them and the Finder walked that road surrounded by immense seas of gold undulating in the breeze, and Allen laughed happily like he didn’t have a care in the world, like the fate of the world didn’t rest upon his shoulders.
Like he wasn’t an Exorcist and there were no such things as Akuma, Allen laughed and cracked jokes with the Finder, and even if Kanda didn’t really understand, he could finally truly see how happy Allen felt for the moment, that the smile wasn’t fake, and for Kanda that was enough.
The Finder had been almost amazed at how Kanda had remained so calm and silent throughout the whole trip.
**
Allen liked the rain. And the sun. And the wind.
**
It was raining again.
Kanda had followed Allen outside of the inn. He’d watched the fight with Lavi from across the room.
Now here Allen was, walking down the street in the rain with fast, angry [hurt] steps, hands closed into fists, his completely soaked black coat swaying heavily as he walked, almost running. His snowy white hair was wet and sticking to the skin on his face. He was biting his bottom lip so hard it nearly bled. And for once, the joy that sometimes filled him when he was surrounded by rain and wind was completely absent.
Kanda had followed him silently, and now was grabbing Allen’s thin left wrist and tugging violently so the cursed boy would turn around, and he demands an explanation from the shorter male. Was he that weak? He’d said he could stand anything, if he could just save what was in front of his eyes. He’d promised. Was he going back on his word? Had he no pride or strength at all?
Words that, of course, anger Allen. And so they shout, scream at each other, make accusations, throw insults. And then-
-I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you-
Allen finally breaks, and everything he’s been feeling and bottling up comes spilling through his lips almost against his will, all his doubts and fears and how he hated, loathed everything and everyone who looked at him like he was their savior, like he was their enemy, and how he hated himself and how disgusting it was to have something - someone - inside him, something he didn’t know how had been put there, and how he hated everything he was and everything he was not and no, he wasn’t going back on his word, but couldn’t he have a moment of peace? Of relief? Wasn’t it enough already?! A few minutes of peace, of nothing, just that, that was all he wanted, all he needed, he wanted, he wanted-
-and then he’d thrown himself at Kanda and hugged him, thin mismatched arms wrapping themselves tightly around Kanda’s slim waist as Allen cried, his lithe frame wracked by sobs, and the rain kept falling and soaking them both and he clung to Kanda like he was drowning and the Japanese man was the only thing keeping him on the surface; crying and sobbing with abandon now that a metaphorical wind had blown too strongly and thrown him into a storm at sea and he couldn’t swim, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t escape, and, and-
And Kanda took his pale face in his hands, the red curse mark so vividly red on that pretty face, and tilting it up gently, hesitantly, Kanda leaned down swiftly and pressed their lips together, and the rain was still falling softly and it was wet and very cold, but his lips were oh so warm, and Allen’s tears were warm as well.
There they remained, kissing in the rain.
**
Once, when Kanda had had to stay longer than usual in the infirmary, Tiedoll had brought him flowers.
Big, white flowers. Very pretty. Their shape resembled that of lotuses.
Kanda had sat on that narrow infirmary bed, expressionless, staring at the flowers.
At his side, his hand twitched once, then suddenly flew towards the bouquet to send it flying, rip it apart, destroy it, make it disappear-
- but black fingers had wrapped themselves firmly around his wrist.
Panting, midnight-blue eyes wide, Kanda somehow unglued his eyes from the flowers to look to his right, and Allen gives him a small smile.
Under Kanda’s intense gaze, whose wrist had not been freed yet, the white-haired male then picked up the bouquet carefully. Only then did he let go of the black-haired man’s wrist, as he turns to Tiedoll and thanks him quietly for the flowers. Taking a step towards the bed and letting the hand holding the flowers drop so they’re hidden from Kanda’s view beside his own body and the bed, then Allen started some inane, light hearted conversation with the General, in which Kanda barely participated as he slowly relaxed.
Kanda only noticed the bouquet was missing when Allen used both hands on Tiedoll’s shoulders to steer him towards the door, claiming that “Yuu-kun” needed to rest.
The door closed with a soft click behind the General, and Kanda watched Allen lean against it with a sigh, short white bangs that stopped around his ears obscuring his grey eyes.
When he finally looked up at Kanda, his clear eyes intently examined the Japanese man’s expression for a few long seconds. And he didn’t smile, but he pulled away from the door and gracefully approached Kanda’s bed again.
Without a word, Allen reached out with his black hand to put a few strands of long black hair behind Kanda’s ear. When he lowered his hand, there lay a tiny blooming flower, one of those vividly yellow little things that grow on the sides of the roads, barely bigger than Kanda’s little finger.
Allen smiled then, offering up the little yellow flower to the Japanese man.
Kanda scowled darkly, glaring at the little thing on the other’s hand like it had committed some heinous crime, and Allen couldn’t take it and burst out laughing.
The following fight (“Are you making fun of me, Moyashi?!” “Pfffft, hahahaha, no! Hahaha… and it’s Allen, BaKanda! Hehehe…!”) was interrupted by the Head Nurse coming stomping into the room with Kanda’s meal, and as the long-haired man ate his food he kept mumbling about idiot bean sprouts and their stupid magic tricks and soft hearts and good-for-nothing gifts, while a beaming snowy-haired young Moyashi sat by his bed.
**
Sometime after Cross Marian’s disappearance, Allen would occasionally for a few hours whenever he was stationed at HQ for too long.
Every time, everyone in the building would frantically start looking for him (often with Howard Link in the lead) and every time Kanda would be the only one to know where to find Allen, always in a different place.
How many times did it happen? Kanda lost count. One, two, then three and four, a dozen, a thousand. A thousand escapes, a thousand rooms, and thousand by-chance meetings.
How did Kanda always know where to find him, Allen once asked. Kanda didn’t know, and he said so. Allen didn’t ask again.
-_-_-_-_-
One of those times, like every other time, Kanda opened the door and there he was, calm and quiet as always, white hair bright in the shadow.
He was sitting on a windowsill in one of the empty, dusty rooms of the new HQ - watching the sunset with melancholic grey eyes that reminded Kanda of calm great lakes. His clothes were torn and ragged, and there were makeshift bandages on his arm and leg, and small wounds in nearly every area of his body. A scrape on his cheek was still bleeding. There was a bruise on his jaw.
The Japanese man stayed on the doorway, silent, dark blue gaze boring into the back of that white head.
The room remained quiet.
And then Allen, for the thousandth time, just like every other time, turned around to smile at him - truly smile, and it was breathtaking - and with a nod of his head, invite Kanda to join him.
Kanda took a step, then another, then walked to the table in the middle of the room and kicked it so it would get closer to the window, and sat on it. Like always, Kanda had accepted the invitation graciously.
Occasionally, they would quietly throw mild insults at each other, in a manner that made the insults sound like love words, sweet little nothings. Sometimes, they would just talk. Calmly. Enjoying it. And about nothing in particular. But usually they would just remain in companionable silence.
No one ever saw this side of them. Yes, their personalities and beliefs clashed horribly most of the time. But then there were these special occasions, when they weren’t mad at each other and they were alone together for a while with their differences put aside - and everything was peaceful.
Allen liked feeling free. And he liked the wind and the rain, and the sun. Warm socks in Winter, too. And sometimes, singing.
Before ever hearing about the 14th, Kanda often entered the room where Allen had taken refuge for the moment to find him humming or singing something softly.
He also liked neat little tricks with cards or other small things, but Kanda already knew about that.
Kanda liked gardening [Allen had been surprised at that]. And he faintly remembered liking poetry- but that had been a long time ago. He barely remembered anything, and he didn’t care about such things anymore, so…
But Allen knew a bit of poetry. Not much, just two or three poems he’d heard or read here and there. He declaimed them to Kanda anyway.
This didn’t change even after that first kiss in the rain.
Allen, while at HQ, would still hide in some abandoned room from time to time, Kanda would soon join him, and together they stayed in their own bubble of silence and peace until the both of them felt ready to face the world again.
On that one time on the windowsill, Allen had just returned from a failed mission with two Third Exorcists and quickly disappeared. And after finally being invited to sit next to him, the first thing Allen said, face wearing that calm and melancholic mask but his voice sounding so old and tired, was: “They begged me to save them.”
Allen had stopped singing and humming even before their first kiss - he’d stopped after what happened in the Ark. Singing had comforted him somewhat. And now here he was, turning his head to look at Kanda and say, smiling: “They begged me to save them and I couldn’t do anything.”
There were a thousand things Kanda could have said. A thousand (hurtful, truthful, cynic) things Kanda would have normally said.
(But this wasn’t ‘normally’.)
Instead, the long-haired man wrapped an arm around Allen’s shoulders and pulled him into a hug, his other hand going to the back of the shorter male’s head to cradle it against Kanda’s chest.
With an inaudible sigh, the Japanese male rested his chin on the top of the white head and began humming one of Allen’s songs, then singing it softly. Kanda is no excellent or even experienced singer, but that doesn’t matter because he’s just singing for Allen and the sound is nice anyway.
Wrapped around each other, Kanda’s deep voice surrounding them like a pleasantly warm blanket, time might not have stopped, but it lost all meaning altogether for the two of them.
A thousand times this happened. A thousand songs, a thousand empty, quiet rooms.
**
And that glorious, glorious morning -
-after that night when they’d encountered two Noahs but escaped alive and uninjured, and they’d been drunk on the thrill of narrowly achieved victory over the enemy, drunk on the triumph and the mind-numbing relief that the other was safe and sound, and they’d disappeared in the night and ran, ran, ran, ran as fast as they could until they couldn’t take it anymore and they lay on the side of a small hill panting, exhausted, without food or tents, but so very triumphant, and their heads spun, and Allen had looked so beautiful and happy and honest and alive under the shine of the stars, and he’d sat up, white hair all ruffled, eyes shining, and he’d turned to Kanda, leaned down and then they were kissing and nipping and licking all they could reach and clinging to and touching each other. Soft sounds, slick soft skin and heat and delicious friction and then screams and they couldn’t get enough, they would never get enough of each other; and for once, for one unforgettable, ever-lasting moment in Kanda’s life, he hadn’t been Kanda, the human, or Kanda, the akuma, or Kanda, the mix of both, or Kanda, the Exorcist, or Kanda, the sinner, he’d been just Kanda, just normal, plain Kanda, and he had loved and been loved in return-
-that glorious morning, when the first rays of light shined over the mountains, Kanda had opened his eyes to see Allen - white [grey] Allen, pure Allen, flawed Allen, beautiful Allen, his Allen - sitting up, looking up at the soft blue sky and the birds lazily flying in wide circles above them, and there was the truest of smiles on his pale, curse-marked face - a small smile, but it radiated so much happiness and peace and love and it was so, so sincere that the British male’s face was almost different - so relaxed, so young, so much more beautiful than usual. To Kanda, Allen shined with an ethereal inner light.
And it was then that Yuu Kanda - Yuu Kanda! - made a foolish, impossible wish: I don’t want this to end. I want to see that smile forever.
Oblivious, Allen stared at the infinite blue sky.
Part 2
Characters/pairing: AllenxKanda / KandaxAllen
Warnings: character death, emo, shounen-ai, OOC
About: Do not stand at my grave and cry; I am not there. I did not die.
Once, yesterday, a long time ago, Kanda thought about what his most precious memories were. “What will you hold dear in your memory when your time comes?” the question had come quietly, softly, from pink pale lips [that Kanda knew from experience were warm and as soft as they looked, soft as satin] “What will you remember?” Stormy grey eyes, vast and calm like the great undisturbed lakes, watched him serenely, awaiting his answer.
Kanda would never die, though. Not until he found what - who - he was looking for. As long as his will didn’t break - and that would never happen - no matter how many times his bones were broken, his lungs pierced, his head split open, no matter how many times his heart stopped - it would always restart again, and Kanda would not die.
That question was, as such, inane. Superfluous. Why ask such things? Why dwell on such thoughts? Did it matter? This was a war. Feelings were for the weak. And the dead. That is what Kanda believed in.
But every time those eerie eyes [those clear grey eyes that made half-forgotten memories of rainy days and infinite grey skies - grey like those eyes - in a country long lost to the enemy, come to the surface] shed the mask their owner always wore and gazed deep into Kanda’s eyes, Kanda’s soul was immersed in that pure gaze, bathed in silver - in those moments, the world was empty, and only the vastness of Allen’s grey lake-eyes remained.
This was one of those moments. No masks, no fear. No anger, no clashing of beliefs. Just two tired souls - so very similar to each other and yet so different - and honesty. So Kanda couldn’t simply scoff and say it was a stupid question, like he would have if Allen hadn’t let the mask go and asked it honestly. Allen really wanted to know, and thus Kanda wanted to tell him.
The golden sunlight came softly through the open window, tenderly caressing Allen’s white skin, illuminating his eyes sideways - and it looked like the Destroyer of Time was bathed in gold and glowing from within, a bright light shining from his eyes like stars, hair white as snow, skin pale as alabaster.
“What will you remember?” that beautiful ethereal creature asks with tender, tired eyes.
And Kanda glances at him and looks away, knowing he had to find an answer.
There isn’t much Kanda can - or wants to - remember from the time before he joined the Black Order.
He isn’t interested in his memories from the Second Exorcist Project - not because they aren’t important to him [no, they are. They are the reason he’ll be able to meet his goal. Seas of imaginary flowers be damned] but because they aren’t relevant in the way Moyashi meant.
So what would he like to remember?
That soft voice interrupts his thoughts. “Don’t frown like that.” He says, and then there are pale slim fingers on his forehead, trying to soothe the deep wrinkles there. The soft murmurs barely disturb the silence surrounding them.
Kanda’s eyes close without his notice.
The cool fingers trail from his forehead to his eyelids, so softly, so tenderly the touches are so light they are barely felt, are barely there at all; then ghosting down to cup the side of his face, thumb feathering over Kanda’s cheekbone.
Allen always touched him so carefully during these honest moments - like Kanda was a fragile, but terribly loved creature. Like a harsh movement on Allen’s part could shatter Kanda, or shatter the moment -
Like Allen was afraid of touching him, for fear of what he himself might do, could do-
“Please. What are your most precious memories?” Allen murmurs.
Kanda finally notices he has his eyes closed, and notices how he’s been leaning against the hand lovingly cradling his cheek. He looks up at those silver eyes, and he knows the answer.
**
One night, he’d found Allen on the old Order’s rooftop. The storm was raging at full-blast. The skies, so dark they were almost black, let the rain fall so harshly it almost hurt when the raindrops hit exposed skin directly, and a thousand furious winds lashed against everything on their path and whipped the walls of the Order’s building, almost making it sway. Lightning flashed across the sky in explosions of light as beautiful as they could be dangerous. The sounds of the storm were deafening, like the roar of a thousand giants. And in the middle of their destruction, sole figure on top of a battered dark tower, mismatched arms wide open as if welcoming the storm and head thrown back and eyes closed as the rain fell heavily, stood Allen Walker.
Soaking wet, in the middle of a violent storm, wearing only his (half unbuttoned) white shirt and black pants, barefoot and alone, his open arms inviting more rain to fall or a lightning to come and strike him right there - he was smiling.
He’d turned his head to the side and seen Kanda. And his smile had shined so brightly then - so, so brightly - Kanda’s breath had been stuck in his throat.
And that creature of whites and silvers and blacks had let out a light, delighted laugh, a crystalline sound that rang in air, through the raging storm. “Don’t you feel alive?” Allen had said.
**
And one time, it had been just the two of them walking through a wide expanse of snow, while crossing a mountain. In the morning light, the snow shined brightly, white and pure and beautiful.
And Allen had been two steps ahead of Kanda, ragged black coat billowing behind him, soft white bangs getting ruffled by the strong wind.
Kanda watched the shorter male walk ahead of him, confidently, back straight and proud, and thought about how so many things rested on those slim shoulders…
And that stormy night they slept together in a small cave, barely big enough for the two of them, so small they couldn’t even sit up inside it, and when morning came Kanda woke up to see the other boy - man, he was already a man, had probably been one for quite some time now - sleeping peacefully, that pale face marked by a red curse so breathtaking; and small snowflakes, coming from the entrance of the cave, were softly falling on the white hair, that shined in the sunlight with a million ice crystals covering it.
That time, for a brief moment, Kanda thought he’d never seen anything so beautiful, and that all else could go to Hell.
**
And he would never forget that day of travelling on the road that crossed the crop fields - the crops would take place soon, but in the meantime the two of them and the Finder walked that road surrounded by immense seas of gold undulating in the breeze, and Allen laughed happily like he didn’t have a care in the world, like the fate of the world didn’t rest upon his shoulders.
Like he wasn’t an Exorcist and there were no such things as Akuma, Allen laughed and cracked jokes with the Finder, and even if Kanda didn’t really understand, he could finally truly see how happy Allen felt for the moment, that the smile wasn’t fake, and for Kanda that was enough.
The Finder had been almost amazed at how Kanda had remained so calm and silent throughout the whole trip.
**
Allen liked the rain. And the sun. And the wind.
**
It was raining again.
Kanda had followed Allen outside of the inn. He’d watched the fight with Lavi from across the room.
Now here Allen was, walking down the street in the rain with fast, angry [hurt] steps, hands closed into fists, his completely soaked black coat swaying heavily as he walked, almost running. His snowy white hair was wet and sticking to the skin on his face. He was biting his bottom lip so hard it nearly bled. And for once, the joy that sometimes filled him when he was surrounded by rain and wind was completely absent.
Kanda had followed him silently, and now was grabbing Allen’s thin left wrist and tugging violently so the cursed boy would turn around, and he demands an explanation from the shorter male. Was he that weak? He’d said he could stand anything, if he could just save what was in front of his eyes. He’d promised. Was he going back on his word? Had he no pride or strength at all?
Words that, of course, anger Allen. And so they shout, scream at each other, make accusations, throw insults. And then-
-I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you-
Allen finally breaks, and everything he’s been feeling and bottling up comes spilling through his lips almost against his will, all his doubts and fears and how he hated, loathed everything and everyone who looked at him like he was their savior, like he was their enemy, and how he hated himself and how disgusting it was to have something - someone - inside him, something he didn’t know how had been put there, and how he hated everything he was and everything he was not and no, he wasn’t going back on his word, but couldn’t he have a moment of peace? Of relief? Wasn’t it enough already?! A few minutes of peace, of nothing, just that, that was all he wanted, all he needed, he wanted, he wanted-
-and then he’d thrown himself at Kanda and hugged him, thin mismatched arms wrapping themselves tightly around Kanda’s slim waist as Allen cried, his lithe frame wracked by sobs, and the rain kept falling and soaking them both and he clung to Kanda like he was drowning and the Japanese man was the only thing keeping him on the surface; crying and sobbing with abandon now that a metaphorical wind had blown too strongly and thrown him into a storm at sea and he couldn’t swim, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t escape, and, and-
And Kanda took his pale face in his hands, the red curse mark so vividly red on that pretty face, and tilting it up gently, hesitantly, Kanda leaned down swiftly and pressed their lips together, and the rain was still falling softly and it was wet and very cold, but his lips were oh so warm, and Allen’s tears were warm as well.
There they remained, kissing in the rain.
**
Once, when Kanda had had to stay longer than usual in the infirmary, Tiedoll had brought him flowers.
Big, white flowers. Very pretty. Their shape resembled that of lotuses.
Kanda had sat on that narrow infirmary bed, expressionless, staring at the flowers.
At his side, his hand twitched once, then suddenly flew towards the bouquet to send it flying, rip it apart, destroy it, make it disappear-
- but black fingers had wrapped themselves firmly around his wrist.
Panting, midnight-blue eyes wide, Kanda somehow unglued his eyes from the flowers to look to his right, and Allen gives him a small smile.
Under Kanda’s intense gaze, whose wrist had not been freed yet, the white-haired male then picked up the bouquet carefully. Only then did he let go of the black-haired man’s wrist, as he turns to Tiedoll and thanks him quietly for the flowers. Taking a step towards the bed and letting the hand holding the flowers drop so they’re hidden from Kanda’s view beside his own body and the bed, then Allen started some inane, light hearted conversation with the General, in which Kanda barely participated as he slowly relaxed.
Kanda only noticed the bouquet was missing when Allen used both hands on Tiedoll’s shoulders to steer him towards the door, claiming that “Yuu-kun” needed to rest.
The door closed with a soft click behind the General, and Kanda watched Allen lean against it with a sigh, short white bangs that stopped around his ears obscuring his grey eyes.
When he finally looked up at Kanda, his clear eyes intently examined the Japanese man’s expression for a few long seconds. And he didn’t smile, but he pulled away from the door and gracefully approached Kanda’s bed again.
Without a word, Allen reached out with his black hand to put a few strands of long black hair behind Kanda’s ear. When he lowered his hand, there lay a tiny blooming flower, one of those vividly yellow little things that grow on the sides of the roads, barely bigger than Kanda’s little finger.
Allen smiled then, offering up the little yellow flower to the Japanese man.
Kanda scowled darkly, glaring at the little thing on the other’s hand like it had committed some heinous crime, and Allen couldn’t take it and burst out laughing.
The following fight (“Are you making fun of me, Moyashi?!” “Pfffft, hahahaha, no! Hahaha… and it’s Allen, BaKanda! Hehehe…!”) was interrupted by the Head Nurse coming stomping into the room with Kanda’s meal, and as the long-haired man ate his food he kept mumbling about idiot bean sprouts and their stupid magic tricks and soft hearts and good-for-nothing gifts, while a beaming snowy-haired young Moyashi sat by his bed.
**
Sometime after Cross Marian’s disappearance, Allen would occasionally for a few hours whenever he was stationed at HQ for too long.
Every time, everyone in the building would frantically start looking for him (often with Howard Link in the lead) and every time Kanda would be the only one to know where to find Allen, always in a different place.
How many times did it happen? Kanda lost count. One, two, then three and four, a dozen, a thousand. A thousand escapes, a thousand rooms, and thousand by-chance meetings.
How did Kanda always know where to find him, Allen once asked. Kanda didn’t know, and he said so. Allen didn’t ask again.
-_-_-_-_-
One of those times, like every other time, Kanda opened the door and there he was, calm and quiet as always, white hair bright in the shadow.
He was sitting on a windowsill in one of the empty, dusty rooms of the new HQ - watching the sunset with melancholic grey eyes that reminded Kanda of calm great lakes. His clothes were torn and ragged, and there were makeshift bandages on his arm and leg, and small wounds in nearly every area of his body. A scrape on his cheek was still bleeding. There was a bruise on his jaw.
The Japanese man stayed on the doorway, silent, dark blue gaze boring into the back of that white head.
The room remained quiet.
And then Allen, for the thousandth time, just like every other time, turned around to smile at him - truly smile, and it was breathtaking - and with a nod of his head, invite Kanda to join him.
Kanda took a step, then another, then walked to the table in the middle of the room and kicked it so it would get closer to the window, and sat on it. Like always, Kanda had accepted the invitation graciously.
Occasionally, they would quietly throw mild insults at each other, in a manner that made the insults sound like love words, sweet little nothings. Sometimes, they would just talk. Calmly. Enjoying it. And about nothing in particular. But usually they would just remain in companionable silence.
No one ever saw this side of them. Yes, their personalities and beliefs clashed horribly most of the time. But then there were these special occasions, when they weren’t mad at each other and they were alone together for a while with their differences put aside - and everything was peaceful.
Allen liked feeling free. And he liked the wind and the rain, and the sun. Warm socks in Winter, too. And sometimes, singing.
Before ever hearing about the 14th, Kanda often entered the room where Allen had taken refuge for the moment to find him humming or singing something softly.
He also liked neat little tricks with cards or other small things, but Kanda already knew about that.
Kanda liked gardening [Allen had been surprised at that]. And he faintly remembered liking poetry- but that had been a long time ago. He barely remembered anything, and he didn’t care about such things anymore, so…
But Allen knew a bit of poetry. Not much, just two or three poems he’d heard or read here and there. He declaimed them to Kanda anyway.
This didn’t change even after that first kiss in the rain.
Allen, while at HQ, would still hide in some abandoned room from time to time, Kanda would soon join him, and together they stayed in their own bubble of silence and peace until the both of them felt ready to face the world again.
On that one time on the windowsill, Allen had just returned from a failed mission with two Third Exorcists and quickly disappeared. And after finally being invited to sit next to him, the first thing Allen said, face wearing that calm and melancholic mask but his voice sounding so old and tired, was: “They begged me to save them.”
Allen had stopped singing and humming even before their first kiss - he’d stopped after what happened in the Ark. Singing had comforted him somewhat. And now here he was, turning his head to look at Kanda and say, smiling: “They begged me to save them and I couldn’t do anything.”
There were a thousand things Kanda could have said. A thousand (hurtful, truthful, cynic) things Kanda would have normally said.
(But this wasn’t ‘normally’.)
Instead, the long-haired man wrapped an arm around Allen’s shoulders and pulled him into a hug, his other hand going to the back of the shorter male’s head to cradle it against Kanda’s chest.
With an inaudible sigh, the Japanese male rested his chin on the top of the white head and began humming one of Allen’s songs, then singing it softly. Kanda is no excellent or even experienced singer, but that doesn’t matter because he’s just singing for Allen and the sound is nice anyway.
Wrapped around each other, Kanda’s deep voice surrounding them like a pleasantly warm blanket, time might not have stopped, but it lost all meaning altogether for the two of them.
A thousand times this happened. A thousand songs, a thousand empty, quiet rooms.
**
And that glorious, glorious morning -
-after that night when they’d encountered two Noahs but escaped alive and uninjured, and they’d been drunk on the thrill of narrowly achieved victory over the enemy, drunk on the triumph and the mind-numbing relief that the other was safe and sound, and they’d disappeared in the night and ran, ran, ran, ran as fast as they could until they couldn’t take it anymore and they lay on the side of a small hill panting, exhausted, without food or tents, but so very triumphant, and their heads spun, and Allen had looked so beautiful and happy and honest and alive under the shine of the stars, and he’d sat up, white hair all ruffled, eyes shining, and he’d turned to Kanda, leaned down and then they were kissing and nipping and licking all they could reach and clinging to and touching each other. Soft sounds, slick soft skin and heat and delicious friction and then screams and they couldn’t get enough, they would never get enough of each other; and for once, for one unforgettable, ever-lasting moment in Kanda’s life, he hadn’t been Kanda, the human, or Kanda, the akuma, or Kanda, the mix of both, or Kanda, the Exorcist, or Kanda, the sinner, he’d been just Kanda, just normal, plain Kanda, and he had loved and been loved in return-
-that glorious morning, when the first rays of light shined over the mountains, Kanda had opened his eyes to see Allen - white [grey] Allen, pure Allen, flawed Allen, beautiful Allen, his Allen - sitting up, looking up at the soft blue sky and the birds lazily flying in wide circles above them, and there was the truest of smiles on his pale, curse-marked face - a small smile, but it radiated so much happiness and peace and love and it was so, so sincere that the British male’s face was almost different - so relaxed, so young, so much more beautiful than usual. To Kanda, Allen shined with an ethereal inner light.
And it was then that Yuu Kanda - Yuu Kanda! - made a foolish, impossible wish: I don’t want this to end. I want to see that smile forever.
Oblivious, Allen stared at the infinite blue sky.
Part 2