D.Gray-man // One-shot // Lonely Wind
Focus: Kanda/Allen
Genres: Introspection, angst, romance, humour.
Rating: K
Wordcount: 3282
Notes: Written for sayasama for the May round of dgray-flashfics. One: my vision of the new HQ will doubtless be proven incorrect by Hoshino-sensei within a few weeks (as with Castum Caliga). Please disregard any discrepancies regarding to that when the time comes. Two: despite the fact that I ship this pairing to the end of the universe and back, this fic is amazingly close to genfic, so please don't expect smut or declarations of undying love because they are not present in this fic.
Fanart I found after writing it that goes well with it: Volatile by Beanclam.
Enjoy the fic!
Kanda doesn't want comfort. Allen isn't offering it.
Lonely Wind
Allen finds him on the roof.
The tower is strange, all corners in the wrong places and turns in the wrong directions, but the air this high up is not very different from the air he knows. Up here, Kanda can close his eyes and pretend nothing has changed. A few more enemies down, more on the horizon, same as always. Same old tower. Same old home. Same old life.
But it isn't, and the moment he opens his eyes to find out who those footsteps behind him belong to-- though he knows already, it's more habit than anything else-- he sees lake and mountains rather than cliffs and sea and everything that's different now hits him in the face all over again.
He cannot remember a home before the tower on the sea. As far back as he can stretch his memory, there are only the same stone walls with their familiar curves and cobblestone floors with pathways worn into them. That was home. This is not. It makes him feel unbalanced and uneasy. He hates it. He wants to go home, but home is full of Akuma and the stink of Noah and is no longer hidden, and is therefore not home anymore.
And now, there is Allen, who is doubtless here to try and comfort him.
Kanda doesn't want comfort. He just wants to go home.
So, without a word to his startled comrade, he stalks past him back down the stairs, leaving Allen standing on a roof that was only another in a long line of rooves for him. Allen has never had a home. He cannot understand even if he wants to.
Behind him, he hears Allen call his name.
Kanda pretends he doesn't hear.
xxxxx
The next morning, Allen finds him in the clearing.
It is his training ground, far away from the Tower, near the northern edge of the island. He made the gatekeeper promise not to tell anyone where he'd gone, but it seems Allen either convinced it or found him some other way. Perhaps by sheer instinct. Allen is good at following his gut.
He is noisy on the approach, crashing through the undergrowth like someone three times his size, but Kanda knows better than to think him clumsy. Allen is doing it on purpose, to let him know he's coming so Kanda won't accidentally cut his head off. If he wants to sneak up on someone, he does, and no one ever knows he's coming.
For a moment, Kanda marvels at just how much noise he's making. It has to be a considerable effort to step on that many branches and find all the thickest patches of undergrowth to walk through. He lets himself smile wolfishly for a moment at the respectful fear implied in Allen's caution. Why make so much noise if you are not afraid of the one you are coming to find?
He still doesn't want comfort, but thankfully he has a convenient excuse not to talk readily at hand.
Allen arrives, clothes half in tatters from the scenic route he'd taken through the forest to get here. "Kanda, I--"
Kanda takes three steps and swings Mugen at him, privately enjoying the flash of horror in Allen's eyes just before his hand comes up and changes form to protect him.
"I'm training, beansprout," he growls. "Get serious or get out."
Predictably, Allen frowns, face hardening. "Fine," he says, and raises his arm.
Mugen warms in Kanda's hand in anticipation. He much prefers this, the language of weapons and blood and pain, to talking about himself out loud. He can never seem to make himself properly understood with spoken words, but no one ever mistakes his meaning when he fights.
He happily sets out to kill Allen. He knows even as he does so that he willl never be able to. It's more relaxing than he could possibly explain to fight someone who won't die no matter how much strength Kanda throws at him. Not having to hold back makes him dizzy with relief.
Afterwards, he knows Allen will want to talk, will try again to offer comfort.
There will be plenty of time to escape then. Right now, there is only the sharp edge of death preceding every motion, the harsh whistle of air in their lungs, the slip of sweat under his hand on Mugen's hilt, the warming air around them as the sun rises higher in the sky. There is nothing but the battle for either of them.
Kanda comes closest to liking Allen when they're fighting for their lives against each other.
It's still not very close, but it's something.
xxxxx
In the dining hall that evening, Allen sits down resolutely opposite him with his first platter of appetizers and stares at him ferociously.
"You ran away," he says accusingly.
"Strategically retreated," corrects Kanda with a hidden smirk.
Allen glares at him, but it's not as threatening as it might have been due to the fact that he's shoveling copious quantities of food down his throat at the same time. Somehow the speckles of rice and smears of sauce across his cheeks makes his anger lose much of its potency, probably due to the fact that he looks far too ridiculous to take seriously. "You ran," maintains Allen during a rare moment when his mouth is empty. "Like a coward. I was only trying to--"
"I know what you were trying to do, and I don't need it," interrupts Kanda angrily. He wishes he were closer to finished with his dinner, so he could slam the chopsticks down and leave. He's only barely halfway through, however, and far too hungry to simply abandon the leftovers.
"Of course not. The mighty Kanda-sama needs nothing and no one," mocks Allen, now angry as well.
Kanda smirks again. Trust Allen to state his point for him. "Exactly. Now go pester someone else, I'm trying to eat my dinner in peace."
Allen sputters. "I was being sarcastic! You haven't talked to a single person since we got here, and everyone's worried about you. Something's wrong. We already know that much, so don't bother trying to deny it. We just want to know what."
"Nothing's wrong, beansprout," snaps Kanda. "I never talk to any of you anyway. I'm fine. Leave me alone."
"Kanda--"
He's finally finished his dinner. With great relief, he folds his chopsticks neatly over the bowl and stands up to stare down coldly at Allen. "I said I'm fine. Drop it or I'll kill you."
He can feel Allen staring sorrowfully at his back all the way out of the hall.
xxxxx
The worst thing about all of this, he thinks while staring at the unfamiliar ceiling of his room half an hour later, is that really does want someone to understand his feelings. Allen coming after him is annoying, yes, but it also means that someone cares about his misery, and it's hard to avoid the rush of warmth that realization brings.
He's thought about his situation quite extensively already, however, and has found being alone to be the best answer available.
Linali and Komui would understand, but they have each other to talk to and have no problem discussing their feelings with others. Miranda might understand as well, having lived in that pinched, dark town for all her life before joining the Order, but he can't talk to her. It's not that she's too much older than him, though that's a factor as well. It's not even that she's a woman. It's just that she would care too much about his pain. She would cry and hold him and try to make it all better like an older sister, and he doesn't want that. Crowley would understand too well, and Kanda would end up comforting him over what he'd lost rather than the other way around. Lavi, Bookman, Marie would not understand, being wanderers like Allen. The generals were out of the question simply because of their position. Hevlaska wasn't even human, and had never moved in any case.
Of those who would understand, there are none he can talk to, and there is no point talking to those who don't.
That leaves him alone, as usual.
Most of the time that's how he prefers it. Alone, there is no one to answer to, no one whose feelings he is in any way responsible for. It is a sort of freedom, one which he recognizes and appreciates. The key words there, however, are 'most of the time.' 'Most,' as in a great portion of but not completely all of.
The small portion that falls outside of 'most' is where Kanda stands right now.
The ceiling above him mocks him with its strangeness, promising another night of sleeplessness.
Kanda is a light sleeper. Strange sounds wake him almost instantly. In the old tower, he had known even sleeping which sounds belonged to the tower and which were cause for concern. In this new place, everything is strange, so he wakes up every few minutes whenever stones groan or the heating system kicks in at the wrong time.
He is tired, so tired, but he cannot sleep until he learns the patterns of the new tower. Worst of all, he has no idea how long that will take. It could be only another day or two, but it could also be weeks. He has no way of knowing. On missions, he has only ever rested, not properly slept. It is sleep he needs now, and it is sleep which evades him.
The ceiling meets his glare impassively, stone steams unflinching.
It will be a long night.
xxxxx
A few hours later, as dusk is falling and Kanda is preparing to attempt sleep in earnest, there are footsteps outside his door.
He knows those footsteps. How could he not, when he'd followed after them for endless days and weeks on the mission to Edo? They are light, cautious, but also sure and unfaltering. The person they belong to knows their own strength, and is comfortable with it, but is also aware of their surroundings and works within them.
Kanda pretends to be asleep in the hopes that Allen will give up.
It seems this is not his night. Instead of a knock at the door like any civilized person would think of first, there is a subtle snick, a quiet metallic clank, and then a groan. His door is opening. It is-- was-- locked. The only people with keys are himself and Komui, and Komui goes to bed early.
Kanda's hand finds Mugen's hilt, mere inches away under the quilt, and in seconds he is across the room with the blade held to Allen's throat. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he asks.
"Er, good evening, Kanda," stutters Allen with a disarming smile. "I just... er..."
"I'm trying to sleep, beansprout," he says furiously. "How did you get in here, and why are you here?"
Allen takes a deep breath, then lets it out, seemingly unconcerned about Mugen's superbly sharp edge being a fraction of an inch from his vulnerable throat. "To answer your first question: I picked the lock. The second: this room is seventeen stories off the ground, and there's only one exit. You can't run away."
Kanda presses Mugen directly against Allen's skin and leans in so that his glare will be more clear and effective in the dim light. "I am not going to talk about my feelings like some simpering woman," he growls, "so you can just turn around and walk right back out if you'd like to live."
"I know," says Allen, with a puzzled tilt to his head. "Kanda, I know that. We've been working together for years now, and if there's one thing I've learned in that time, it's that you don't talk about your feelings. That's not why I'm here."
Mugen falls away from Allen's throat without his conscious consent, but Kanda barely notices. His head is spinning. Allen doesn't want him to talk? Then why has he been stalking him these past two days? What is he here for, why is he going to such lengths? "Then what--" he starts.
Allen cuts him off by closing the last few inches between them and slipping his arms around Kanda's waist. One hand spreads across his lower back, the other across his shoulder blades, and Allen's chin settles onto his left shoulder like it belongs there. He is warm, warmer than Kanda, warm as though he'd run all the way here up all seventeen flights of stairs... which he probably had, now that Kanda thinks about it.
"You're my comrade," says Allen, oddly quiet, his mouth inches from Kanda's ear and his breath warm on Kanda's neck. "And my friend. I know I probably wouldn't understand what's bothering you, since we're so different, but I don't have to understand the problem to be here for you. Right?"
Kanda has no idea what to say. Allen's right, exactly right, but how can he possibly admit that after spending two days running? He'd look like an idiot. He can't do it.
"I'm not asking you to tell me," says Allen, his fingers digging into Kanda's back with near-painful strength. "Like I said, I probably wouldn't understand even if you did. All I'm asking is that you not pretend everything's all right. It's not. I can tell. Everyone can tell."
"So you're here on behalf of everyone else?" Kanda asks, glad for something he can finally respond to.
Allen shakes his head slightly, crown bumping into Kanda's chin. "Well, yes and no. I'm here because the others are worried for you, yes, but I'm also here because I'm worried for you. I know you don't like me-- you've hardly been subtle about that. But we're still comrades; and whether or not you like me, I like you. I want you to be happy... well, I have a hard time picturing you happy in the conventional sense, so... I want you to be content. Not unhappy, at the very least. I want you to tell me what I can do to help."
"You can leave me alone," says Kanda, but it's half-hearted. Also, he knows that of all the things he could have asked for, this is the most impossible. Allen can't leave him alone. He's the representative of everyone who cares for Kanda in the world, and he also cares for Kanda himself. Leaving him alone is completely out of the question.
"No, I can't," says Allen, echoing Kanda's thoughts eerily. "You know I can't."
"What do you want from me?" asks Kanda flatly. His voice is cold, but he is genuinely curious. What is Allen looking for?
Allen turns his face into Kanda's neck and exhales. Goosebumps ripple across his skin, completely involuntary.
"I just want you to be honest," replies Allen after a minute, so quietly Kanda almost misses it.
Kanda doesn't know what to do. This is exactly what he had been wishing for, but now that he has it, he doesn't know what to do with it. Anything he does to encourage Allen now can and probably will be used against him in future encounters, but anything he does to discourage him will either not work or worse, make Allen leave him alone. He does not want to be alone. Not now, not when the echoes through the stone hallways make him tense with wariness and every little sound makes his hand reach instinctively for Mugen. He wants someone at his back to protect him from the wrongness. Allen is here to do exactly that.
He lets his shoulders sag in implicit surrender. "I'm homesick," he whispers, then tenses again when he realizes what Allen could do with this information now that he has it. "But if you ever tell anyone else, I'll kill you. Understand?"
"I'm not going to tell anyone," Allen says with a harrumph of disgust. "What kind of person do you think I am, anyway?"
"Beansprout," Kanda says, almost touched.
Allen stiffens against him, then pulls away to glare at him reprovingly. "I have a name. Repeat after me: A-lle-n."
It's late, it's dark, Kanda is tired. He holds onto that as something to blame later as he rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. "Allen," he says defeatedly. "Are you going to go away now?"
"No," says Allen, mouth flattening. "I'm not. You can't sleep, right? You have huge bags under your eyes."
"None of your business."
"It is my business!" cries Allen, grasping his shoulders with battle-roughened hands.
How are his eyes still so gentle, so kind and innocent? He's seen so much blood and death and agony it seems unthinkable that he can still smile... and yet he smiles all the time. Every time Kanda looks at him, he is smiling, as though he is completely unaffected by the horror of everything he exists for, the reason he's an Exorcist.
Kanda simultaneously wants to kill that sweetness and preserve it forever.
"Go to bed, beansprout," he says, more gently than he's accustomed to, and turns away. "I'll be alright." Even if he can't sleep, he can still rest, and right now that's all he wants. He crawls back beneath the covers, positions Mugen conveniently within arm's reach, and waits for Allen to leave.
Allen doesn't leave. Instead, he follows Kanda across the room and sits on the edge of the bed after he lies down.
"What are you doing?" asks Kanda wearily.
"I'm keeping watch," says Allen, as if that's any kind of answer. "You should be able to sleep if you know you're safe, right?"
How does he know? How does he always, always know what's in Kanda's mind, and in his heart?
Allen is right. With him mere inches away, staring vigilantly into the darkness, Kanda knows nothing can reach him. He is as safe as he has ever been. Exhaustion rears its head, making his muscles weak and slow and his eyes blurry and useless. He needs to sleep. Maybe now, like this, he finally can.
"Idiot," he mutters under his breath, but there is only fondness behind it, no malice or anger at all.
"Good night, Kanda," Allen says gently.
xxxxx
In the early morning, Kanda wakes up to find himself tangled up.
Allen's head is tucked hard under his chin, his arms are tight around Kanda even asleep, and his legs are wound throughout Kanda's like a Chinese puzzle.
Kanda is warm and rested, far too relaxed to move.
He looks up at the ceiling and finds to his mild astonishment that it is familiar now, most every crack and grain of its grey stone known to him. The groan and creak of shifting walls is longer alarming to his ears. The air no longer smells wrong and discomfiting.
This isn't home yet, but neither is it strange.
Allen stirs against him, pulls away and looks up blearily to meet Kanda's eyes. "G'morning," he slurs.
There is only one thing Kanda could possibly say in this situation, so he says it. "Get off me, beansprout."
"Right, sorry," Allen says, then sits up to stretch and make painful sounds as his spine cracks. "Did you sleep well?" he asks after he wakes up most of the rest of the way.
"Better," Kanda admits.
Allen beams. "Good." Then he stands up, smooths out his rumpled clothing, ruffles his untameable hair, and walks towards the door. "See you at breakfast."
"Che," says Kanda, noncommittal, doing his best to shake off the lingering warmth of Allen's body from his side.
He feels wonderful despite himself.
XxxxxxX
A/N: I just realized that I've written more fic from Kanda's POV than I have from anyone else's in any fandom... actually, twice as much. Apparently I identify with him somehow?
Genres: Introspection, angst, romance, humour.
Rating: K
Wordcount: 3282
Notes: Written for sayasama for the May round of dgray-flashfics. One: my vision of the new HQ will doubtless be proven incorrect by Hoshino-sensei within a few weeks (as with Castum Caliga). Please disregard any discrepancies regarding to that when the time comes. Two: despite the fact that I ship this pairing to the end of the universe and back, this fic is amazingly close to genfic, so please don't expect smut or declarations of undying love because they are not present in this fic.
Fanart I found after writing it that goes well with it: Volatile by Beanclam.
Enjoy the fic!
Kanda doesn't want comfort. Allen isn't offering it.
Lonely Wind
Allen finds him on the roof.
The tower is strange, all corners in the wrong places and turns in the wrong directions, but the air this high up is not very different from the air he knows. Up here, Kanda can close his eyes and pretend nothing has changed. A few more enemies down, more on the horizon, same as always. Same old tower. Same old home. Same old life.
But it isn't, and the moment he opens his eyes to find out who those footsteps behind him belong to-- though he knows already, it's more habit than anything else-- he sees lake and mountains rather than cliffs and sea and everything that's different now hits him in the face all over again.
He cannot remember a home before the tower on the sea. As far back as he can stretch his memory, there are only the same stone walls with their familiar curves and cobblestone floors with pathways worn into them. That was home. This is not. It makes him feel unbalanced and uneasy. He hates it. He wants to go home, but home is full of Akuma and the stink of Noah and is no longer hidden, and is therefore not home anymore.
And now, there is Allen, who is doubtless here to try and comfort him.
Kanda doesn't want comfort. He just wants to go home.
So, without a word to his startled comrade, he stalks past him back down the stairs, leaving Allen standing on a roof that was only another in a long line of rooves for him. Allen has never had a home. He cannot understand even if he wants to.
Behind him, he hears Allen call his name.
Kanda pretends he doesn't hear.
xxxxx
The next morning, Allen finds him in the clearing.
It is his training ground, far away from the Tower, near the northern edge of the island. He made the gatekeeper promise not to tell anyone where he'd gone, but it seems Allen either convinced it or found him some other way. Perhaps by sheer instinct. Allen is good at following his gut.
He is noisy on the approach, crashing through the undergrowth like someone three times his size, but Kanda knows better than to think him clumsy. Allen is doing it on purpose, to let him know he's coming so Kanda won't accidentally cut his head off. If he wants to sneak up on someone, he does, and no one ever knows he's coming.
For a moment, Kanda marvels at just how much noise he's making. It has to be a considerable effort to step on that many branches and find all the thickest patches of undergrowth to walk through. He lets himself smile wolfishly for a moment at the respectful fear implied in Allen's caution. Why make so much noise if you are not afraid of the one you are coming to find?
He still doesn't want comfort, but thankfully he has a convenient excuse not to talk readily at hand.
Allen arrives, clothes half in tatters from the scenic route he'd taken through the forest to get here. "Kanda, I--"
Kanda takes three steps and swings Mugen at him, privately enjoying the flash of horror in Allen's eyes just before his hand comes up and changes form to protect him.
"I'm training, beansprout," he growls. "Get serious or get out."
Predictably, Allen frowns, face hardening. "Fine," he says, and raises his arm.
Mugen warms in Kanda's hand in anticipation. He much prefers this, the language of weapons and blood and pain, to talking about himself out loud. He can never seem to make himself properly understood with spoken words, but no one ever mistakes his meaning when he fights.
He happily sets out to kill Allen. He knows even as he does so that he willl never be able to. It's more relaxing than he could possibly explain to fight someone who won't die no matter how much strength Kanda throws at him. Not having to hold back makes him dizzy with relief.
Afterwards, he knows Allen will want to talk, will try again to offer comfort.
There will be plenty of time to escape then. Right now, there is only the sharp edge of death preceding every motion, the harsh whistle of air in their lungs, the slip of sweat under his hand on Mugen's hilt, the warming air around them as the sun rises higher in the sky. There is nothing but the battle for either of them.
Kanda comes closest to liking Allen when they're fighting for their lives against each other.
It's still not very close, but it's something.
xxxxx
In the dining hall that evening, Allen sits down resolutely opposite him with his first platter of appetizers and stares at him ferociously.
"You ran away," he says accusingly.
"Strategically retreated," corrects Kanda with a hidden smirk.
Allen glares at him, but it's not as threatening as it might have been due to the fact that he's shoveling copious quantities of food down his throat at the same time. Somehow the speckles of rice and smears of sauce across his cheeks makes his anger lose much of its potency, probably due to the fact that he looks far too ridiculous to take seriously. "You ran," maintains Allen during a rare moment when his mouth is empty. "Like a coward. I was only trying to--"
"I know what you were trying to do, and I don't need it," interrupts Kanda angrily. He wishes he were closer to finished with his dinner, so he could slam the chopsticks down and leave. He's only barely halfway through, however, and far too hungry to simply abandon the leftovers.
"Of course not. The mighty Kanda-sama needs nothing and no one," mocks Allen, now angry as well.
Kanda smirks again. Trust Allen to state his point for him. "Exactly. Now go pester someone else, I'm trying to eat my dinner in peace."
Allen sputters. "I was being sarcastic! You haven't talked to a single person since we got here, and everyone's worried about you. Something's wrong. We already know that much, so don't bother trying to deny it. We just want to know what."
"Nothing's wrong, beansprout," snaps Kanda. "I never talk to any of you anyway. I'm fine. Leave me alone."
"Kanda--"
He's finally finished his dinner. With great relief, he folds his chopsticks neatly over the bowl and stands up to stare down coldly at Allen. "I said I'm fine. Drop it or I'll kill you."
He can feel Allen staring sorrowfully at his back all the way out of the hall.
xxxxx
The worst thing about all of this, he thinks while staring at the unfamiliar ceiling of his room half an hour later, is that really does want someone to understand his feelings. Allen coming after him is annoying, yes, but it also means that someone cares about his misery, and it's hard to avoid the rush of warmth that realization brings.
He's thought about his situation quite extensively already, however, and has found being alone to be the best answer available.
Linali and Komui would understand, but they have each other to talk to and have no problem discussing their feelings with others. Miranda might understand as well, having lived in that pinched, dark town for all her life before joining the Order, but he can't talk to her. It's not that she's too much older than him, though that's a factor as well. It's not even that she's a woman. It's just that she would care too much about his pain. She would cry and hold him and try to make it all better like an older sister, and he doesn't want that. Crowley would understand too well, and Kanda would end up comforting him over what he'd lost rather than the other way around. Lavi, Bookman, Marie would not understand, being wanderers like Allen. The generals were out of the question simply because of their position. Hevlaska wasn't even human, and had never moved in any case.
Of those who would understand, there are none he can talk to, and there is no point talking to those who don't.
That leaves him alone, as usual.
Most of the time that's how he prefers it. Alone, there is no one to answer to, no one whose feelings he is in any way responsible for. It is a sort of freedom, one which he recognizes and appreciates. The key words there, however, are 'most of the time.' 'Most,' as in a great portion of but not completely all of.
The small portion that falls outside of 'most' is where Kanda stands right now.
The ceiling above him mocks him with its strangeness, promising another night of sleeplessness.
Kanda is a light sleeper. Strange sounds wake him almost instantly. In the old tower, he had known even sleeping which sounds belonged to the tower and which were cause for concern. In this new place, everything is strange, so he wakes up every few minutes whenever stones groan or the heating system kicks in at the wrong time.
He is tired, so tired, but he cannot sleep until he learns the patterns of the new tower. Worst of all, he has no idea how long that will take. It could be only another day or two, but it could also be weeks. He has no way of knowing. On missions, he has only ever rested, not properly slept. It is sleep he needs now, and it is sleep which evades him.
The ceiling meets his glare impassively, stone steams unflinching.
It will be a long night.
xxxxx
A few hours later, as dusk is falling and Kanda is preparing to attempt sleep in earnest, there are footsteps outside his door.
He knows those footsteps. How could he not, when he'd followed after them for endless days and weeks on the mission to Edo? They are light, cautious, but also sure and unfaltering. The person they belong to knows their own strength, and is comfortable with it, but is also aware of their surroundings and works within them.
Kanda pretends to be asleep in the hopes that Allen will give up.
It seems this is not his night. Instead of a knock at the door like any civilized person would think of first, there is a subtle snick, a quiet metallic clank, and then a groan. His door is opening. It is-- was-- locked. The only people with keys are himself and Komui, and Komui goes to bed early.
Kanda's hand finds Mugen's hilt, mere inches away under the quilt, and in seconds he is across the room with the blade held to Allen's throat. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he asks.
"Er, good evening, Kanda," stutters Allen with a disarming smile. "I just... er..."
"I'm trying to sleep, beansprout," he says furiously. "How did you get in here, and why are you here?"
Allen takes a deep breath, then lets it out, seemingly unconcerned about Mugen's superbly sharp edge being a fraction of an inch from his vulnerable throat. "To answer your first question: I picked the lock. The second: this room is seventeen stories off the ground, and there's only one exit. You can't run away."
Kanda presses Mugen directly against Allen's skin and leans in so that his glare will be more clear and effective in the dim light. "I am not going to talk about my feelings like some simpering woman," he growls, "so you can just turn around and walk right back out if you'd like to live."
"I know," says Allen, with a puzzled tilt to his head. "Kanda, I know that. We've been working together for years now, and if there's one thing I've learned in that time, it's that you don't talk about your feelings. That's not why I'm here."
Mugen falls away from Allen's throat without his conscious consent, but Kanda barely notices. His head is spinning. Allen doesn't want him to talk? Then why has he been stalking him these past two days? What is he here for, why is he going to such lengths? "Then what--" he starts.
Allen cuts him off by closing the last few inches between them and slipping his arms around Kanda's waist. One hand spreads across his lower back, the other across his shoulder blades, and Allen's chin settles onto his left shoulder like it belongs there. He is warm, warmer than Kanda, warm as though he'd run all the way here up all seventeen flights of stairs... which he probably had, now that Kanda thinks about it.
"You're my comrade," says Allen, oddly quiet, his mouth inches from Kanda's ear and his breath warm on Kanda's neck. "And my friend. I know I probably wouldn't understand what's bothering you, since we're so different, but I don't have to understand the problem to be here for you. Right?"
Kanda has no idea what to say. Allen's right, exactly right, but how can he possibly admit that after spending two days running? He'd look like an idiot. He can't do it.
"I'm not asking you to tell me," says Allen, his fingers digging into Kanda's back with near-painful strength. "Like I said, I probably wouldn't understand even if you did. All I'm asking is that you not pretend everything's all right. It's not. I can tell. Everyone can tell."
"So you're here on behalf of everyone else?" Kanda asks, glad for something he can finally respond to.
Allen shakes his head slightly, crown bumping into Kanda's chin. "Well, yes and no. I'm here because the others are worried for you, yes, but I'm also here because I'm worried for you. I know you don't like me-- you've hardly been subtle about that. But we're still comrades; and whether or not you like me, I like you. I want you to be happy... well, I have a hard time picturing you happy in the conventional sense, so... I want you to be content. Not unhappy, at the very least. I want you to tell me what I can do to help."
"You can leave me alone," says Kanda, but it's half-hearted. Also, he knows that of all the things he could have asked for, this is the most impossible. Allen can't leave him alone. He's the representative of everyone who cares for Kanda in the world, and he also cares for Kanda himself. Leaving him alone is completely out of the question.
"No, I can't," says Allen, echoing Kanda's thoughts eerily. "You know I can't."
"What do you want from me?" asks Kanda flatly. His voice is cold, but he is genuinely curious. What is Allen looking for?
Allen turns his face into Kanda's neck and exhales. Goosebumps ripple across his skin, completely involuntary.
"I just want you to be honest," replies Allen after a minute, so quietly Kanda almost misses it.
Kanda doesn't know what to do. This is exactly what he had been wishing for, but now that he has it, he doesn't know what to do with it. Anything he does to encourage Allen now can and probably will be used against him in future encounters, but anything he does to discourage him will either not work or worse, make Allen leave him alone. He does not want to be alone. Not now, not when the echoes through the stone hallways make him tense with wariness and every little sound makes his hand reach instinctively for Mugen. He wants someone at his back to protect him from the wrongness. Allen is here to do exactly that.
He lets his shoulders sag in implicit surrender. "I'm homesick," he whispers, then tenses again when he realizes what Allen could do with this information now that he has it. "But if you ever tell anyone else, I'll kill you. Understand?"
"I'm not going to tell anyone," Allen says with a harrumph of disgust. "What kind of person do you think I am, anyway?"
"Beansprout," Kanda says, almost touched.
Allen stiffens against him, then pulls away to glare at him reprovingly. "I have a name. Repeat after me: A-lle-n."
It's late, it's dark, Kanda is tired. He holds onto that as something to blame later as he rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. "Allen," he says defeatedly. "Are you going to go away now?"
"No," says Allen, mouth flattening. "I'm not. You can't sleep, right? You have huge bags under your eyes."
"None of your business."
"It is my business!" cries Allen, grasping his shoulders with battle-roughened hands.
How are his eyes still so gentle, so kind and innocent? He's seen so much blood and death and agony it seems unthinkable that he can still smile... and yet he smiles all the time. Every time Kanda looks at him, he is smiling, as though he is completely unaffected by the horror of everything he exists for, the reason he's an Exorcist.
Kanda simultaneously wants to kill that sweetness and preserve it forever.
"Go to bed, beansprout," he says, more gently than he's accustomed to, and turns away. "I'll be alright." Even if he can't sleep, he can still rest, and right now that's all he wants. He crawls back beneath the covers, positions Mugen conveniently within arm's reach, and waits for Allen to leave.
Allen doesn't leave. Instead, he follows Kanda across the room and sits on the edge of the bed after he lies down.
"What are you doing?" asks Kanda wearily.
"I'm keeping watch," says Allen, as if that's any kind of answer. "You should be able to sleep if you know you're safe, right?"
How does he know? How does he always, always know what's in Kanda's mind, and in his heart?
Allen is right. With him mere inches away, staring vigilantly into the darkness, Kanda knows nothing can reach him. He is as safe as he has ever been. Exhaustion rears its head, making his muscles weak and slow and his eyes blurry and useless. He needs to sleep. Maybe now, like this, he finally can.
"Idiot," he mutters under his breath, but there is only fondness behind it, no malice or anger at all.
"Good night, Kanda," Allen says gently.
xxxxx
In the early morning, Kanda wakes up to find himself tangled up.
Allen's head is tucked hard under his chin, his arms are tight around Kanda even asleep, and his legs are wound throughout Kanda's like a Chinese puzzle.
Kanda is warm and rested, far too relaxed to move.
He looks up at the ceiling and finds to his mild astonishment that it is familiar now, most every crack and grain of its grey stone known to him. The groan and creak of shifting walls is longer alarming to his ears. The air no longer smells wrong and discomfiting.
This isn't home yet, but neither is it strange.
Allen stirs against him, pulls away and looks up blearily to meet Kanda's eyes. "G'morning," he slurs.
There is only one thing Kanda could possibly say in this situation, so he says it. "Get off me, beansprout."
"Right, sorry," Allen says, then sits up to stretch and make painful sounds as his spine cracks. "Did you sleep well?" he asks after he wakes up most of the rest of the way.
"Better," Kanda admits.
Allen beams. "Good." Then he stands up, smooths out his rumpled clothing, ruffles his untameable hair, and walks towards the door. "See you at breakfast."
"Che," says Kanda, noncommittal, doing his best to shake off the lingering warmth of Allen's body from his side.
He feels wonderful despite himself.
XxxxxxX
A/N: I just realized that I've written more fic from Kanda's POV than I have from anyone else's in any fandom... actually, twice as much. Apparently I identify with him somehow?