FanFic : Intermittent Surrenders
This has been sitting in my drives for months.
Title: Intermittent Surrenders
Genre: Drama
Rating: K+
Pairing: KandaLenalee
Summary: He just can't help but become human at times.
FF.net >> (over here.)
or
CUT >>
Move along, nothing to read here.
***
Title: Intermittent Surrenders
Pairing: KandaLenalee
Summary: He just can’t help but become human at times.
The long hallway was dimly illuminated, just every fourth fluorescent lamp turned on. Shadows were long and tall, black, looking quite malevolent due to the strange atmosphere that dominated the environment. The wind howled unforgivingly outside, loudening and becoming more pronounced--the sound was no more different from a thousand souls screaming, from a banshee wailing. The thick walls of the Order hushed the displeasing ululation of the raging gust and what prominently resonated down the corridor were light footsteps.
Lenalee, half-awake, rubbed her painfully somnolent eyes. It had just turned 01:43 AM nine seconds ago--about three more hours and the first light of the new morning would break through the clouds and would try to reach the inside of the Order through the glass windows--and she needed a drink of cold water; her throat felt like a desert, it hurt whenever she swallowed. It was taking her some time to get to the water fountain due to the ill lighting and her drowsiness; her blurry vision wasn’t helping either.
There was a subtle chill in the air and it was a good thing that the clothes she wore were long and loose, providing her with sufficient warmth--the jacket draped on her shoulders offered some as well.
She yawned.
When she was three-fourths down the hallway, a look of bewilderment crossed her face. At the end of the hall she treaded was the lounge room, it was where all the people in the Order would be when they had adequate time to spare, relax--which was rare. That was where the huge comfortable sofas and couches were set up, the coffee tables, potted plants, lamps; the water dispensers (she forgot all about those), coffee and tea makers. She was surprised to see that one of the lamps was on--the one nearest to the sofa placed at the center--projecting a fraction of its light at the mouth of the hall, toward her. She wondered who could be awake at this hour. Lenalee proceeded.
The aroma of freshly boiled tea wafted around the room; a bantam trace of sweet vanilla could be perceived. The place was warm, soothing. She looked around to see if anyone was there: Nobody. Odd. She stepped toward the lamp to turn it off but she immediately halted as her eyes locked on someone sitting on the sofa in a stooped manner, huddled up in two thick blankets. The person had long black hair, eyes shadowed by long fringes. Recognition dawned in on her; she almost drew closer. “Kanda?” Her voice was meek and soft--with an undertone of worry and slim confusion.
The person turned (and it was Kanda). His eyes were reduced to tiny slits, bloodshot, glinting as the light hit them, and there were dark bags under them. His right cheek had a thick, white medical plaster taped on. Kanda didn’t say anything.
She slowly sat beside him. “What are you doing here? Is something wrong?” She knew that he had just come home from a mission--out in the Himalayas--and it didn’t make sense that he was awake this late (or early; whichever worked); he should be resting in his room. She scrutinized his face a bit and noticed that his cheeks were flushed. Her forehead creased in anxiety.
He hesitated at first, but he spoke. His voice was dark, dreary, and quite raspy. “It was cold,” he started, his jaw clenched, “in my room.” He sucked in a deep breath and shuddered, but it went without notice. He made eye contact but ignored the unspoken questions roaming through her violet irises.
“Cold…?” He came here to get warm and sleep then, she thought; though so far, he hadn’t been getting any. Again, she took note of how pinkish his cheeks were, and was she imagining it or was he respiring through his mouth? “Kanda, you’re…” She lifted her hand to touch his cheek. His expression remained nonchalant as she made contact. The instant her flesh touched his, she drew her hand back and her eyes had grown wide with--panic, more confusion, disbelief? “You’re burning up!”
He was about to retort but she was immediately on her feet. “Lenalee…”
“Hold on, I’ll get a towel.” She scurried off to the next room, the quarter adjacent to the western hall.
“Lenalee…!” He tried to call after her, a tone of exasperation lacing through her name, but she was already gone. He let out a dissatisfied sigh escape his lips. His eyebrows slanted downwards. Fucking fever. He tried to stand up, wanting--willing his body--to abscond from a treatment he did not need or want. He winced as his body was wracked in stiff pain; he looked at his torso to see if the newly wrapped bandage around it was stained with blood, if the wound reopened. It wasn’t, it didn’t. It was fine. He cursed under his breath when he tried to relax his muscles once again.
The sixteen-year-old exorcist came back with a plastic basin (contained with a moderate amount of water) and a small face towel. She sat beside him again and settled the basin on the coffee table in front of her. He watched her souse the towel in and--
“I’m fine.” His face was vexed, his eyes hard but obviously tired. The stern sound of his voice reverberated within the large room.
Lenalee did not share his mindset. “No, you’re not.” She wrung the cloth of surfeit water.
He glowered at her. “Go back to your room, Lenalee; go and sleep.” Irritation. She turned and instructed him to lie down, as if he hadn’t said anything. “There’s no need for this,” he refused.
She puffed her cheeks for a second. “Kanda,” she argued, “stop the macho act and put this on your forehead.” She held out the now rectangularly folded cloth. “Here.”
His expression didn’t change, his glare slightly intensified but she didn’t mind. “Tch.” He rudely grabbed--snatched--the towel from her hand and lied his head down carefully on the armrest behind him, barely abruptly. He unceremoniously tossed the cloth over his eyes instead of how she told him to. She sighed wearily and fixed it for his sake; she then laid the back of her hand on his cheek, opposite of the one with the plaster. The hotness of his skin felt alien against the mild temperature of hers.
(Long silence.)
The whole time she watched the blankets that covered him steadily rise up and fall down, evenly and easily. Sometimes her attention would drift toward Kanda’s face (though she knew that he wasn’t really slumbering; alert as ever). His appearance looked peaceful, calm and reticent; albeit under that inadvertent façade she had no doubt that he was scowling. Periodically, she would take the towel and soak it again, wring it, and replace it on his forehead; he never stirred.
Several minutes passed, everything was unmoving; the duration of early morning seemed to drag out too long, it was going too slow. Lenalee’s eyes were closing, suspended consciousness was taking her captive; darkness was beginning to swim before her vision. Just then, the couch shifted from under her--weight was being relocated. Her eyes snapped back open and she heard a groan. She turned to look at her companion.
Surely, Kanda was sitting up. The damp cloth had fallen and was now resting on his lap, soaking the sheets. His left hand was rubbing hard on his right arm, and he was exhaling through his mouth. Lenalee took the face towel and placed it on the basin. “What’s wrong? Did your fever…” She laid the back of her hand on his forehead, then on his left cheek.
He expelled air. “I felt a draft, it’s gotten cold.” His voice was low, sounding harsh due to the coarseness of his throat. He looked around to see if any of the large windows were open. His cheeks now had a reddish hue.
She drew her hand back. His fever seems worse. She wondered why he suddenly felt nippy when there was no change in temperature. She had no clue of what to do now: The thick blankets weren’t helping; his long sleeved button-up shirt wasn’t much succor either. But maybe… She thought of an idea; it was the only option at the moment. She knew that he might react violently in response to her actions, but she couldn’t just sit and let him endure the coldness by himself. She let out a breath.
Lenalee drew closer to Kanda’s now slightly quivering frame. She raised both her arms and wrapped them around him--he’s not protesting yet, she thought, he will though, sooner than later. She closed the gap between them, her body against his, her cheek touching his febrific ear.
He felt it; he knew from the start on what she was planning to do. Kanda felt uncomfortable, but he couldn’t make himself demur, to slip her off correctly, to part from such a wonderful sensation. He closed his eyes, feeling slumberous and warm; he relaxed, his unthinking mentality processed again, his taut body slacked once more. He let his head rest on the crook of her shoulder. He took in the faint rosy-strawberry-like fragrance of her long hair, the fresh dewy scent of her ivory skin. Intoxicating.
The redolence Kanda emitted made Lenalee inebriated--tipsy, drunk, besotted. He had that distinct smell of soap and the natural wafting odor of a misty early morning; she also picked up the dry trace of blood and sweat--masculine. She shrugged everything off of her mind and tried to focus. She was now going to ask if he felt any better, if the chill he was feeling had subsided, but she rephrased her question with something more general (same meaning though). “How do you feel now?” He squirmed ever so slightly and then immediately stopped.
He hesitated at first. “I’m--fine… now.” His voice had shed its scratchy surface but it was now barely above a whisper. He freed his arms from under her; he placed both hands on her shoulders and broke away vacillatingly--she slid off easily. (His eyes remained closed.) “Go; sleep.”
Lenalee’s eyebrows arched down but she wasn’t angry, exasperated maybe, but not angry. “I can’t leave you in that condition.”
“Leave.” There was a misplaced edge in his voice.
“No, I won’t. Even your hands a--”
He opened his eyes to directly look at her, his gaze piercing. “The fever will abate--it has to--”
“Kanda, your wounds and gashes might heal quickly but a fever that high is d--”
His expression turned inimical. “It will get better.”
“Regardless--”
“There’s no need for you to be--”
“Kanda--”
He unconsciously tightened his grip on her shoulders and his low, choleric voice rose above an octave. “You’re seriously wasting your time on me!” He lowered his head so that he couldn’t see the affliction he might have caused.
(It was silent for an extended span of time. It was deafening.)
Lenalee’s pursed lips parted. “I know that I’m not.” Kanda raised his head to meet her eyes; he saw the purest sincerity in them, the thing that he insisted was obsolete in the current century he existed in. It’s worthwhile; you’re worth my while. “I want to help you. Let me!”
Moderated now--restrained, temperate. “I don’t need it. I will never need it, whenever, wherever, whatever form it may morph into--you of all people should know that.”
Her face contorted in disappointment. “But still--wait, where are you going?”
He had enough. If she won’t leave, I’ll move somewhere else, he thought. He was standing up, flinching indiscernibly, when all of a sudden she pulled him back down, forcing him to sit again. He sharply turned his head toward her, and the look he gave her was menacing beyond words. “Lenal--” He was caught off-guard when her warm, delicate, hands softly held his face, settling on either side. His eyes widened and his negativity died somewhere in his chest.
“Kanda,” she said, “for once, can you please listen?” Up that close, fictitious whispers came into reality and swirled in her ears, behind her brain; it sent her wispy thoughts. She was unintentionally deliberating now--she never realized how… attractive this man was. Those caustic eyes, able to kill; smooth, soft skin (tempting to caress), perfect bone structure underneath; the flushness of his cheeks… she trailed. Kanda’s face twisted into confusion and by then she had composed herself. “Please.”
Of course, he’d put up a tough front; of course, he’d shrug her off, he won’t let her win. Of course, he’d be obdurate, implacable, stubborn. (Any more synonyms?) He would be a steel wall tonight.
But, no. It all passed.
(Never mind.)
For the second time that night, Kanda found himself loosing the rigidity of his posture and complying. A defeated sigh escaped his lungs and he drew away from her touch; he lied down and pulled the covers up without a word. Lenalee replaced the towel back on his forehead. Kanda shielded his eyes with his forearm, trying to get some shuteye, blocking everything out. He failed.
“Hey,” he said without a warning, “is it alright to ask you a question--some?”
“Sure. What is it?”
He rehearsed the query in his head, making sure it was in the right sense, no equivocal words--double entendres. The timbre that wrapped around his words was detached. “Why do you act that way, always offering assistance even though it’s unnecessary?” He paused as if to accentuate. “You’re uselessly squandering your effort and time. Can’t you stop all that worrying--it’s inessential, especially when it comes to me; are you just that foolishly stubborn?” It came out resolutely--nicely followed.
Lenalee contemplated for a bit and then replied. “It’s because I care (very much). I want to show the important people in my life that I love them, that they’re significant to me in every way.” She breathed. “I lost my parents at an unanticipated age… I never got the chance to express how I love them, how they were irreplaceable, the best, how precious…” Her lips capsized into a frown. “I never got to say thank you… But,” she continued, “the Order is my family now--my whole world; I want to make up for what I’ve not done in the past--I don’t want to experience that same lonely hollowness when I thought I lost everything, rueful for my inert actions.” She smiled at him (although he couldn’t see it). “I figured that this is where I could start.”
The silence that followed was precise and awkward.
After a moment of taking in her elucidation, Kanda spoke. “It’s not like everyone needs it.”
“Yes, they do, every now and then.”
“Or wants it.” He retorted brusquely.
She eyed his lying form (and unmoved soul). “Everybody needs help sometimes, Kanda; even you. And there are times when the people who don’t want help are the ones who actually need it.” She exhaled and looked down. “I’ve experienced that at one point in my life.” Her voice wavered and he picked it up. The broken effect of the statement hung trenchantly above them. When he didn’t answer, she knew that the topic was dismissed. “Is it alright if I ask you a question myself?” Then she had second thoughts. “That is, if you’re not too sleepy or tired. Or if it might make your condition worse…”
“Go ahead.”
Her expression became chary and to some extent, curious. She looked at him again. “Why,” she took note of the words she would utter, careful not to offend, “do you tend to push people away?” Her eyes turned wary. “You never want to get close to anybody--it’s like you’re hiding something.”
Kanda remained stationary.
(He was very immobile that it looked like he was defunct; not breathing.)
“You keep yourself away from people,” she added. “Are you really just shy,” she knew that Kanda definitely wasn’t shy, but it had to be enumerated, “antisocial… are you afraid that you might hurt someone in the end? And don’t give me any of that emotions make you weak or bonds distract; I’m not considering it, it’s unreasonable.”
A neutral atmosphere shrouded the room. Heavy lightness. Weak boldness.
“It’s not like I push people away, that’s not how I see it, anyway. I despise the feeling I get when I get too close to people emotionally or socially, I feel vulnerable, destructible--unguarded and insecure.” He paused. “Alienation suits me better--no, it suits me best.”
“I understand where that intuition comes from, you were trained to be that way ever since you were small. But it doesn’t hurt to try and open up a little. I’ve been friends with you ever since you were ten years old and yet you still feel sort of like a stranger to me.” Her mind ran out of words to say for an infinitesimal amount of time, but she resumed--barely--and looked down on her folded hands resting on her lap. “You feel so far away,” she murmured.
She was startled to see his right hand suddenly on top of hers. Her head snapped toward him. His eyes were unemotional, like that ever altered, his visage calm and collected. “I know,” he said, the words not betraying anything.
She searched his eyes for something vaguely specific--she didn’t know what, but she would know if she found it. He let his barriers down. The ghost of a smile found her lips. “It comes off unnaturally, doesn’t it?”
A smirk. He knew what she meant. He removed his hand from hers, faced away, and closed his eyes. “Ah,” a disclosing color, “it does.”
***
Running footsteps rushing by crowded offices, shut doors, the bustling cafeteria, echoed down corridors at 09:03 in the morning.
Kanda!
A handful of scientists from different sections of the Order have asked the reason for her unusual precipitance, where she was headed to, and sometimes told her to slow down--it’s nine in the morning. But all of those have fallen on deaf ears. She was focused on one person for now that she couldn’t possibly see anything else, she’d have to apologize more properly to the people she had collided with later.
Lenalee had woken up in her room a while ago; strange, because she didn’t have the memory of going back in or being carried there. Her dubious mind raced as she recalled Kanda’s sick state. She hurriedly freshened up and headed for his room. She knocked on his door thrice but nobody acknowledged her presence, and just then one of Kanda’s neighboring exorcists came by and told her that he left already.
“What? Where’d he go?” There was concern in the substratum of her inquiry.
The seemingly jocund exorcist shrugged. “I don’t know. But he left just about fifteen minutes ag--ah! O--oi!” Lenalee called back a thank you and was off to somewhere else.
She stepped inside several offices but Kanda was nowhere to be found. She had gone to the cafeteria and asked Jerry if Kanda came in yet; he told her he did but he exited minutes ago. She then continued running, almost breaking into a sprint, her long ebony hair whisking back, until she came across Reever in the main hallway.
He was carrying a stack of not perused papers--unsigned statistical data--due to dereliction. “Kanda?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm--Ah--that’s right; the Supervisor was just assigning him his mission when I left his office.”
Mission? What is he…? “I see,” she began toward her brother’s office, “Reever-san, thank you!”
“You better hurry, though,” he said, “he could leave any time soon.”
She was already distanced.
(That jerk! He can’t go; not now!)
When she got to the office, she practically forced the wooden blockage open. Although she was out of breath, she managed to call out his name. “Kanda!”
There were only two people in the room and Komui was the only one who looked her way. Kanda kept his back facing her, unmindful of her boisterousness--clamorous, stormy entrance.
“What’s wrong, Lenalee?” Komui asked, taking a sip of coffee afterwards. “Did something happen?”
“No, nothing happened.” She said as she walked toward the two men. When she got to Kanda’s side, she grabbed his left hand commandingly, but the tenderness retained--her brother’s suspicion radar rose to about twenty-three percent and he leered. “Nii-san, you can cancel the mission for him,” she pointed accusingly at the eighteen-year-old beside her, whose face couldn’t look any blanker, “and put it off for another time or you could give it to someone else; I’ll explain later.” Knowing her brother (who could be predictable in various ways when something involved her), she would need to construe why she was doing this.
With that, she dragged Kanda out of the room and closed the door. He didn’t shake or unfasten his hand from hers; he went along with it smoothly, without an argument.
With her long strides and evenly spaced steps, and without his recalcitrance, they were already in the westernmost hallway in no time, just yards away from the staircase that lead to the exorcist dorms. She exhaled sharply. “Kanda, sometimes you’re just…” She didn’t resume.
“You’re being ridiculous.” He said calmly.
“You’re being insane.”
“If you’re still worried about me, don’t be. I’m fine. How many times do I need to repeat that?”
“I know you are. But you still can’t go: You’ve just recovered and you’re already going to do strenuous work?” She riposted. “What if you have a relapse?” She hastened her walking. He kept in perfect unison with her march, his coat fluidly rolling.
“I won’t.” Patience. Antagonism never worked on Lenalee, he learned that many years ago.
“You can’t be certain of that.”
This time, he halted and she did as well. The sunlight passed through the giant glass windows and cast their shadows up on the wall; it made the environment have an eerie effect. They stood there, motionless.
Her previously firmly sealed lips began to move, her larynx vibrating to produce her voice. “You’re always overexerting yourself, moving too quickly against time, pushing forward even though the future hasn’t decided anything yet. Don’t you think it’s about time to slow down?”
It was like talking to an inanimate object: No response. No answer. It was always the muteness he exuded--dead.
Was it because he couldn’t find the perfect, flawless statement to comeback with? He was being polite? No way. She didn’t think so because it contrasted the Kanda Yu she knew in every way.
It was simply impossible to believe it was like that when it came to him.
After a moment, Lenalee faced him, her eyes quizzical. (But he never revealed the answers--a game of charades.) He sighed and lightly placed his free hand on her head. “Trust me.”
She stared into his eyes, doubt starting to materialize. Her expression shifted into something else and it made the stoic exorcist’s mood turn bitter.
Kanda scowled. “You know what’s one of the things I hate the most? That worrisome look you give me.” He averted his sight, turning his head away. “I don’t exactly deserve it, so stop it.”
She frowned. He was proroguing the discussion; it was futile to prolong it any further: When Kanda was done, he was done. “There’s no changing your mind?” (You don’t want to.)
“No.” (Precisely.)
The next thing Kanda knew was that her arms were wrapped around his neck, her face burrowed in his shoulder. As soon as he froze, he let himself go. He allowed himself to get lost in the attachment that was tugging at him, making himself vulnerable; he tried to feel what she was giving out. He slightly bent downwards so that she wouldn’t strain herself against his height.
“Be safe.” Lenalee whispered.
He shook his head in deprecation. I always am.
***
Gonna go watch cartoons, k? (:
And: wai! new header for me!
Title: Intermittent Surrenders
Genre: Drama
Rating: K+
Pairing: KandaLenalee
Summary: He just can't help but become human at times.
FF.net >> (over here.)
or
CUT >>
Move along, nothing to read here.
***
Title: Intermittent Surrenders
Pairing: KandaLenalee
Summary: He just can’t help but become human at times.
The long hallway was dimly illuminated, just every fourth fluorescent lamp turned on. Shadows were long and tall, black, looking quite malevolent due to the strange atmosphere that dominated the environment. The wind howled unforgivingly outside, loudening and becoming more pronounced--the sound was no more different from a thousand souls screaming, from a banshee wailing. The thick walls of the Order hushed the displeasing ululation of the raging gust and what prominently resonated down the corridor were light footsteps.
Lenalee, half-awake, rubbed her painfully somnolent eyes. It had just turned 01:43 AM nine seconds ago--about three more hours and the first light of the new morning would break through the clouds and would try to reach the inside of the Order through the glass windows--and she needed a drink of cold water; her throat felt like a desert, it hurt whenever she swallowed. It was taking her some time to get to the water fountain due to the ill lighting and her drowsiness; her blurry vision wasn’t helping either.
There was a subtle chill in the air and it was a good thing that the clothes she wore were long and loose, providing her with sufficient warmth--the jacket draped on her shoulders offered some as well.
She yawned.
When she was three-fourths down the hallway, a look of bewilderment crossed her face. At the end of the hall she treaded was the lounge room, it was where all the people in the Order would be when they had adequate time to spare, relax--which was rare. That was where the huge comfortable sofas and couches were set up, the coffee tables, potted plants, lamps; the water dispensers (she forgot all about those), coffee and tea makers. She was surprised to see that one of the lamps was on--the one nearest to the sofa placed at the center--projecting a fraction of its light at the mouth of the hall, toward her. She wondered who could be awake at this hour. Lenalee proceeded.
The aroma of freshly boiled tea wafted around the room; a bantam trace of sweet vanilla could be perceived. The place was warm, soothing. She looked around to see if anyone was there: Nobody. Odd. She stepped toward the lamp to turn it off but she immediately halted as her eyes locked on someone sitting on the sofa in a stooped manner, huddled up in two thick blankets. The person had long black hair, eyes shadowed by long fringes. Recognition dawned in on her; she almost drew closer. “Kanda?” Her voice was meek and soft--with an undertone of worry and slim confusion.
The person turned (and it was Kanda). His eyes were reduced to tiny slits, bloodshot, glinting as the light hit them, and there were dark bags under them. His right cheek had a thick, white medical plaster taped on. Kanda didn’t say anything.
She slowly sat beside him. “What are you doing here? Is something wrong?” She knew that he had just come home from a mission--out in the Himalayas--and it didn’t make sense that he was awake this late (or early; whichever worked); he should be resting in his room. She scrutinized his face a bit and noticed that his cheeks were flushed. Her forehead creased in anxiety.
He hesitated at first, but he spoke. His voice was dark, dreary, and quite raspy. “It was cold,” he started, his jaw clenched, “in my room.” He sucked in a deep breath and shuddered, but it went without notice. He made eye contact but ignored the unspoken questions roaming through her violet irises.
“Cold…?” He came here to get warm and sleep then, she thought; though so far, he hadn’t been getting any. Again, she took note of how pinkish his cheeks were, and was she imagining it or was he respiring through his mouth? “Kanda, you’re…” She lifted her hand to touch his cheek. His expression remained nonchalant as she made contact. The instant her flesh touched his, she drew her hand back and her eyes had grown wide with--panic, more confusion, disbelief? “You’re burning up!”
He was about to retort but she was immediately on her feet. “Lenalee…”
“Hold on, I’ll get a towel.” She scurried off to the next room, the quarter adjacent to the western hall.
“Lenalee…!” He tried to call after her, a tone of exasperation lacing through her name, but she was already gone. He let out a dissatisfied sigh escape his lips. His eyebrows slanted downwards. Fucking fever. He tried to stand up, wanting--willing his body--to abscond from a treatment he did not need or want. He winced as his body was wracked in stiff pain; he looked at his torso to see if the newly wrapped bandage around it was stained with blood, if the wound reopened. It wasn’t, it didn’t. It was fine. He cursed under his breath when he tried to relax his muscles once again.
The sixteen-year-old exorcist came back with a plastic basin (contained with a moderate amount of water) and a small face towel. She sat beside him again and settled the basin on the coffee table in front of her. He watched her souse the towel in and--
“I’m fine.” His face was vexed, his eyes hard but obviously tired. The stern sound of his voice reverberated within the large room.
Lenalee did not share his mindset. “No, you’re not.” She wrung the cloth of surfeit water.
He glowered at her. “Go back to your room, Lenalee; go and sleep.” Irritation. She turned and instructed him to lie down, as if he hadn’t said anything. “There’s no need for this,” he refused.
She puffed her cheeks for a second. “Kanda,” she argued, “stop the macho act and put this on your forehead.” She held out the now rectangularly folded cloth. “Here.”
His expression didn’t change, his glare slightly intensified but she didn’t mind. “Tch.” He rudely grabbed--snatched--the towel from her hand and lied his head down carefully on the armrest behind him, barely abruptly. He unceremoniously tossed the cloth over his eyes instead of how she told him to. She sighed wearily and fixed it for his sake; she then laid the back of her hand on his cheek, opposite of the one with the plaster. The hotness of his skin felt alien against the mild temperature of hers.
(Long silence.)
The whole time she watched the blankets that covered him steadily rise up and fall down, evenly and easily. Sometimes her attention would drift toward Kanda’s face (though she knew that he wasn’t really slumbering; alert as ever). His appearance looked peaceful, calm and reticent; albeit under that inadvertent façade she had no doubt that he was scowling. Periodically, she would take the towel and soak it again, wring it, and replace it on his forehead; he never stirred.
Several minutes passed, everything was unmoving; the duration of early morning seemed to drag out too long, it was going too slow. Lenalee’s eyes were closing, suspended consciousness was taking her captive; darkness was beginning to swim before her vision. Just then, the couch shifted from under her--weight was being relocated. Her eyes snapped back open and she heard a groan. She turned to look at her companion.
Surely, Kanda was sitting up. The damp cloth had fallen and was now resting on his lap, soaking the sheets. His left hand was rubbing hard on his right arm, and he was exhaling through his mouth. Lenalee took the face towel and placed it on the basin. “What’s wrong? Did your fever…” She laid the back of her hand on his forehead, then on his left cheek.
He expelled air. “I felt a draft, it’s gotten cold.” His voice was low, sounding harsh due to the coarseness of his throat. He looked around to see if any of the large windows were open. His cheeks now had a reddish hue.
She drew her hand back. His fever seems worse. She wondered why he suddenly felt nippy when there was no change in temperature. She had no clue of what to do now: The thick blankets weren’t helping; his long sleeved button-up shirt wasn’t much succor either. But maybe… She thought of an idea; it was the only option at the moment. She knew that he might react violently in response to her actions, but she couldn’t just sit and let him endure the coldness by himself. She let out a breath.
Lenalee drew closer to Kanda’s now slightly quivering frame. She raised both her arms and wrapped them around him--he’s not protesting yet, she thought, he will though, sooner than later. She closed the gap between them, her body against his, her cheek touching his febrific ear.
He felt it; he knew from the start on what she was planning to do. Kanda felt uncomfortable, but he couldn’t make himself demur, to slip her off correctly, to part from such a wonderful sensation. He closed his eyes, feeling slumberous and warm; he relaxed, his unthinking mentality processed again, his taut body slacked once more. He let his head rest on the crook of her shoulder. He took in the faint rosy-strawberry-like fragrance of her long hair, the fresh dewy scent of her ivory skin. Intoxicating.
The redolence Kanda emitted made Lenalee inebriated--tipsy, drunk, besotted. He had that distinct smell of soap and the natural wafting odor of a misty early morning; she also picked up the dry trace of blood and sweat--masculine. She shrugged everything off of her mind and tried to focus. She was now going to ask if he felt any better, if the chill he was feeling had subsided, but she rephrased her question with something more general (same meaning though). “How do you feel now?” He squirmed ever so slightly and then immediately stopped.
He hesitated at first. “I’m--fine… now.” His voice had shed its scratchy surface but it was now barely above a whisper. He freed his arms from under her; he placed both hands on her shoulders and broke away vacillatingly--she slid off easily. (His eyes remained closed.) “Go; sleep.”
Lenalee’s eyebrows arched down but she wasn’t angry, exasperated maybe, but not angry. “I can’t leave you in that condition.”
“Leave.” There was a misplaced edge in his voice.
“No, I won’t. Even your hands a--”
He opened his eyes to directly look at her, his gaze piercing. “The fever will abate--it has to--”
“Kanda, your wounds and gashes might heal quickly but a fever that high is d--”
His expression turned inimical. “It will get better.”
“Regardless--”
“There’s no need for you to be--”
“Kanda--”
He unconsciously tightened his grip on her shoulders and his low, choleric voice rose above an octave. “You’re seriously wasting your time on me!” He lowered his head so that he couldn’t see the affliction he might have caused.
(It was silent for an extended span of time. It was deafening.)
Lenalee’s pursed lips parted. “I know that I’m not.” Kanda raised his head to meet her eyes; he saw the purest sincerity in them, the thing that he insisted was obsolete in the current century he existed in. It’s worthwhile; you’re worth my while. “I want to help you. Let me!”
Moderated now--restrained, temperate. “I don’t need it. I will never need it, whenever, wherever, whatever form it may morph into--you of all people should know that.”
Her face contorted in disappointment. “But still--wait, where are you going?”
He had enough. If she won’t leave, I’ll move somewhere else, he thought. He was standing up, flinching indiscernibly, when all of a sudden she pulled him back down, forcing him to sit again. He sharply turned his head toward her, and the look he gave her was menacing beyond words. “Lenal--” He was caught off-guard when her warm, delicate, hands softly held his face, settling on either side. His eyes widened and his negativity died somewhere in his chest.
“Kanda,” she said, “for once, can you please listen?” Up that close, fictitious whispers came into reality and swirled in her ears, behind her brain; it sent her wispy thoughts. She was unintentionally deliberating now--she never realized how… attractive this man was. Those caustic eyes, able to kill; smooth, soft skin (tempting to caress), perfect bone structure underneath; the flushness of his cheeks… she trailed. Kanda’s face twisted into confusion and by then she had composed herself. “Please.”
Of course, he’d put up a tough front; of course, he’d shrug her off, he won’t let her win. Of course, he’d be obdurate, implacable, stubborn. (Any more synonyms?) He would be a steel wall tonight.
But, no. It all passed.
(Never mind.)
For the second time that night, Kanda found himself loosing the rigidity of his posture and complying. A defeated sigh escaped his lungs and he drew away from her touch; he lied down and pulled the covers up without a word. Lenalee replaced the towel back on his forehead. Kanda shielded his eyes with his forearm, trying to get some shuteye, blocking everything out. He failed.
“Hey,” he said without a warning, “is it alright to ask you a question--some?”
“Sure. What is it?”
He rehearsed the query in his head, making sure it was in the right sense, no equivocal words--double entendres. The timbre that wrapped around his words was detached. “Why do you act that way, always offering assistance even though it’s unnecessary?” He paused as if to accentuate. “You’re uselessly squandering your effort and time. Can’t you stop all that worrying--it’s inessential, especially when it comes to me; are you just that foolishly stubborn?” It came out resolutely--nicely followed.
Lenalee contemplated for a bit and then replied. “It’s because I care (very much). I want to show the important people in my life that I love them, that they’re significant to me in every way.” She breathed. “I lost my parents at an unanticipated age… I never got the chance to express how I love them, how they were irreplaceable, the best, how precious…” Her lips capsized into a frown. “I never got to say thank you… But,” she continued, “the Order is my family now--my whole world; I want to make up for what I’ve not done in the past--I don’t want to experience that same lonely hollowness when I thought I lost everything, rueful for my inert actions.” She smiled at him (although he couldn’t see it). “I figured that this is where I could start.”
The silence that followed was precise and awkward.
After a moment of taking in her elucidation, Kanda spoke. “It’s not like everyone needs it.”
“Yes, they do, every now and then.”
“Or wants it.” He retorted brusquely.
She eyed his lying form (and unmoved soul). “Everybody needs help sometimes, Kanda; even you. And there are times when the people who don’t want help are the ones who actually need it.” She exhaled and looked down. “I’ve experienced that at one point in my life.” Her voice wavered and he picked it up. The broken effect of the statement hung trenchantly above them. When he didn’t answer, she knew that the topic was dismissed. “Is it alright if I ask you a question myself?” Then she had second thoughts. “That is, if you’re not too sleepy or tired. Or if it might make your condition worse…”
“Go ahead.”
Her expression became chary and to some extent, curious. She looked at him again. “Why,” she took note of the words she would utter, careful not to offend, “do you tend to push people away?” Her eyes turned wary. “You never want to get close to anybody--it’s like you’re hiding something.”
Kanda remained stationary.
(He was very immobile that it looked like he was defunct; not breathing.)
“You keep yourself away from people,” she added. “Are you really just shy,” she knew that Kanda definitely wasn’t shy, but it had to be enumerated, “antisocial… are you afraid that you might hurt someone in the end? And don’t give me any of that emotions make you weak or bonds distract; I’m not considering it, it’s unreasonable.”
A neutral atmosphere shrouded the room. Heavy lightness. Weak boldness.
“It’s not like I push people away, that’s not how I see it, anyway. I despise the feeling I get when I get too close to people emotionally or socially, I feel vulnerable, destructible--unguarded and insecure.” He paused. “Alienation suits me better--no, it suits me best.”
“I understand where that intuition comes from, you were trained to be that way ever since you were small. But it doesn’t hurt to try and open up a little. I’ve been friends with you ever since you were ten years old and yet you still feel sort of like a stranger to me.” Her mind ran out of words to say for an infinitesimal amount of time, but she resumed--barely--and looked down on her folded hands resting on her lap. “You feel so far away,” she murmured.
She was startled to see his right hand suddenly on top of hers. Her head snapped toward him. His eyes were unemotional, like that ever altered, his visage calm and collected. “I know,” he said, the words not betraying anything.
She searched his eyes for something vaguely specific--she didn’t know what, but she would know if she found it. He let his barriers down. The ghost of a smile found her lips. “It comes off unnaturally, doesn’t it?”
A smirk. He knew what she meant. He removed his hand from hers, faced away, and closed his eyes. “Ah,” a disclosing color, “it does.”
***
Running footsteps rushing by crowded offices, shut doors, the bustling cafeteria, echoed down corridors at 09:03 in the morning.
Kanda!
A handful of scientists from different sections of the Order have asked the reason for her unusual precipitance, where she was headed to, and sometimes told her to slow down--it’s nine in the morning. But all of those have fallen on deaf ears. She was focused on one person for now that she couldn’t possibly see anything else, she’d have to apologize more properly to the people she had collided with later.
Lenalee had woken up in her room a while ago; strange, because she didn’t have the memory of going back in or being carried there. Her dubious mind raced as she recalled Kanda’s sick state. She hurriedly freshened up and headed for his room. She knocked on his door thrice but nobody acknowledged her presence, and just then one of Kanda’s neighboring exorcists came by and told her that he left already.
“What? Where’d he go?” There was concern in the substratum of her inquiry.
The seemingly jocund exorcist shrugged. “I don’t know. But he left just about fifteen minutes ag--ah! O--oi!” Lenalee called back a thank you and was off to somewhere else.
She stepped inside several offices but Kanda was nowhere to be found. She had gone to the cafeteria and asked Jerry if Kanda came in yet; he told her he did but he exited minutes ago. She then continued running, almost breaking into a sprint, her long ebony hair whisking back, until she came across Reever in the main hallway.
He was carrying a stack of not perused papers--unsigned statistical data--due to dereliction. “Kanda?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm--Ah--that’s right; the Supervisor was just assigning him his mission when I left his office.”
Mission? What is he…? “I see,” she began toward her brother’s office, “Reever-san, thank you!”
“You better hurry, though,” he said, “he could leave any time soon.”
She was already distanced.
(That jerk! He can’t go; not now!)
When she got to the office, she practically forced the wooden blockage open. Although she was out of breath, she managed to call out his name. “Kanda!”
There were only two people in the room and Komui was the only one who looked her way. Kanda kept his back facing her, unmindful of her boisterousness--clamorous, stormy entrance.
“What’s wrong, Lenalee?” Komui asked, taking a sip of coffee afterwards. “Did something happen?”
“No, nothing happened.” She said as she walked toward the two men. When she got to Kanda’s side, she grabbed his left hand commandingly, but the tenderness retained--her brother’s suspicion radar rose to about twenty-three percent and he leered. “Nii-san, you can cancel the mission for him,” she pointed accusingly at the eighteen-year-old beside her, whose face couldn’t look any blanker, “and put it off for another time or you could give it to someone else; I’ll explain later.” Knowing her brother (who could be predictable in various ways when something involved her), she would need to construe why she was doing this.
With that, she dragged Kanda out of the room and closed the door. He didn’t shake or unfasten his hand from hers; he went along with it smoothly, without an argument.
With her long strides and evenly spaced steps, and without his recalcitrance, they were already in the westernmost hallway in no time, just yards away from the staircase that lead to the exorcist dorms. She exhaled sharply. “Kanda, sometimes you’re just…” She didn’t resume.
“You’re being ridiculous.” He said calmly.
“You’re being insane.”
“If you’re still worried about me, don’t be. I’m fine. How many times do I need to repeat that?”
“I know you are. But you still can’t go: You’ve just recovered and you’re already going to do strenuous work?” She riposted. “What if you have a relapse?” She hastened her walking. He kept in perfect unison with her march, his coat fluidly rolling.
“I won’t.” Patience. Antagonism never worked on Lenalee, he learned that many years ago.
“You can’t be certain of that.”
This time, he halted and she did as well. The sunlight passed through the giant glass windows and cast their shadows up on the wall; it made the environment have an eerie effect. They stood there, motionless.
Her previously firmly sealed lips began to move, her larynx vibrating to produce her voice. “You’re always overexerting yourself, moving too quickly against time, pushing forward even though the future hasn’t decided anything yet. Don’t you think it’s about time to slow down?”
It was like talking to an inanimate object: No response. No answer. It was always the muteness he exuded--dead.
Was it because he couldn’t find the perfect, flawless statement to comeback with? He was being polite? No way. She didn’t think so because it contrasted the Kanda Yu she knew in every way.
It was simply impossible to believe it was like that when it came to him.
After a moment, Lenalee faced him, her eyes quizzical. (But he never revealed the answers--a game of charades.) He sighed and lightly placed his free hand on her head. “Trust me.”
She stared into his eyes, doubt starting to materialize. Her expression shifted into something else and it made the stoic exorcist’s mood turn bitter.
Kanda scowled. “You know what’s one of the things I hate the most? That worrisome look you give me.” He averted his sight, turning his head away. “I don’t exactly deserve it, so stop it.”
She frowned. He was proroguing the discussion; it was futile to prolong it any further: When Kanda was done, he was done. “There’s no changing your mind?” (You don’t want to.)
“No.” (Precisely.)
The next thing Kanda knew was that her arms were wrapped around his neck, her face burrowed in his shoulder. As soon as he froze, he let himself go. He allowed himself to get lost in the attachment that was tugging at him, making himself vulnerable; he tried to feel what she was giving out. He slightly bent downwards so that she wouldn’t strain herself against his height.
“Be safe.” Lenalee whispered.
He shook his head in deprecation. I always am.
***
Gonna go watch cartoons, k? (:
And: wai! new header for me!