[fic] Déjà vu (lavi/kanda)
Title: Déjà vu
Pairing: Lavi/Kanda
Rating: PG
A/N: High School AU series drabble.
"I could do better," Kanda says, smiling and then not smiling. It's almost a jilt.
"Can you now," Lavi says, mirroring the smile a hundred fold. He's sure to add a few more folds to it.
"Yes. You see, you're not concentrating enough. You put your fingers where they're wasting their time being." He rubs his fore finger against Lavi's middle one, where it not ought to be. This creates the kind of ephemeral friction that only fairy tales dream of. Maybe Kanda knows what he is doing, with that jilted grin. Then that unperturbed silence that might as well be taken as condemning both their souls. Lavi is not good enough. He's just not good.
"Good," Kanda says. Lavi laughs, frowns, chuckles nervously like he's a clown's fool, and soon lapses into nodding along. He'll let Kanda humor him for the time being. That's what he's good at. It's the only thing. (Somebody's gotta tell him he's not good enough.)
His stomach bubbles up and Kanda busies himself with Lavi's ring finger. "This one - no - not right. Why did you move it back there? Correct that. Lavi. You don't blow until I tell you to - "
"Kanda," Lavi says (because this is usually when Kanda so chooses to listen - whenever he hears the Preferred Name. It's like the preferred card; it earns the Serious Look.) "It's no good. Allow me to give up 'n go about my day in peace. How 'bout a game o' cards? I can give Allen a ring?" Lavi hopes Kanda will not argue and also allow Lavi to put on some British rock. (But Kanda lurves that British indie, no lie, it gets him in the mood for dice.)
"Lavi, if you give up now, you'll have wasted all my time. Put your fingers back to where they belong." Lavi sighs, gripes, and finally puts his fingers at the holes of the flute. He makes sure they are good and stuck, tips and everything. But then they get too stuck and Kanda notices.
"Would you like for me to demonstrate for you again?" He unceremoniously jerks it away. Lavi fans his fingers in the air; Kanda licks his top lip and puts the mouthpiece to his - "I've just realized."
"I know. We're swappin' spit here. It's all fun 'n games before somebody's gotta lose somethin'. Maybe an eye?" He continues to nurse his sore fingertips. And knuckles. Where Kanda had thwacked him with a binder earlier over tea and French.
Kanda deadpans, scrunching his nose up at the flute's nearest orifice. "No, actually. I was thinking." He looks at Lavi very plainly. Kind of. Too into him. "This is familiar to me." Lavi drops his hands down onto his lap, growing still. He looks away toward Kanda's bedroom door. Sunlight glances upon the light wood and dangling glass shards. It bounces right through them. Cracks. Splinters. "This is not the first time," Kanda finishes.
Nor will it be the last. "You think this coulda happened before?" Lavi ventures, face set in steel. At this point, he stands at crossroads. He does not stand up for himself. This must all be written down somewhere. This is all very dramatic in another universe. Here, he does not stir the pot. It is Very Underwhelming.
Kanda seems to, not consider, but drown in it for a while, occupying himself by cleaning the spit from the mouthpiece. Lavi watches those lips press firmly together, like sex. He smells that sandalwood soap, hears that timeless breathing. A part of him really wants to quit. Die at the side of the road. Be possessed by someone else who deserves the courage to face those he. Must face.
The courage has never left them. "No," Kanda finally says. "No." He blows on the mouthpiece and tosses a used rag at Lavi's face. "No."
Just like that. History has erased itself and Lavi has learned how to play the flute.
Times like these will always repeat themselves. You can count on it.
Pairing: Lavi/Kanda
Rating: PG
A/N: High School AU series drabble.
"I could do better," Kanda says, smiling and then not smiling. It's almost a jilt.
"Can you now," Lavi says, mirroring the smile a hundred fold. He's sure to add a few more folds to it.
"Yes. You see, you're not concentrating enough. You put your fingers where they're wasting their time being." He rubs his fore finger against Lavi's middle one, where it not ought to be. This creates the kind of ephemeral friction that only fairy tales dream of. Maybe Kanda knows what he is doing, with that jilted grin. Then that unperturbed silence that might as well be taken as condemning both their souls. Lavi is not good enough. He's just not good.
"Good," Kanda says. Lavi laughs, frowns, chuckles nervously like he's a clown's fool, and soon lapses into nodding along. He'll let Kanda humor him for the time being. That's what he's good at. It's the only thing. (Somebody's gotta tell him he's not good enough.)
His stomach bubbles up and Kanda busies himself with Lavi's ring finger. "This one - no - not right. Why did you move it back there? Correct that. Lavi. You don't blow until I tell you to - "
"Kanda," Lavi says (because this is usually when Kanda so chooses to listen - whenever he hears the Preferred Name. It's like the preferred card; it earns the Serious Look.) "It's no good. Allow me to give up 'n go about my day in peace. How 'bout a game o' cards? I can give Allen a ring?" Lavi hopes Kanda will not argue and also allow Lavi to put on some British rock. (But Kanda lurves that British indie, no lie, it gets him in the mood for dice.)
"Lavi, if you give up now, you'll have wasted all my time. Put your fingers back to where they belong." Lavi sighs, gripes, and finally puts his fingers at the holes of the flute. He makes sure they are good and stuck, tips and everything. But then they get too stuck and Kanda notices.
"Would you like for me to demonstrate for you again?" He unceremoniously jerks it away. Lavi fans his fingers in the air; Kanda licks his top lip and puts the mouthpiece to his - "I've just realized."
"I know. We're swappin' spit here. It's all fun 'n games before somebody's gotta lose somethin'. Maybe an eye?" He continues to nurse his sore fingertips. And knuckles. Where Kanda had thwacked him with a binder earlier over tea and French.
Kanda deadpans, scrunching his nose up at the flute's nearest orifice. "No, actually. I was thinking." He looks at Lavi very plainly. Kind of. Too into him. "This is familiar to me." Lavi drops his hands down onto his lap, growing still. He looks away toward Kanda's bedroom door. Sunlight glances upon the light wood and dangling glass shards. It bounces right through them. Cracks. Splinters. "This is not the first time," Kanda finishes.
Nor will it be the last. "You think this coulda happened before?" Lavi ventures, face set in steel. At this point, he stands at crossroads. He does not stand up for himself. This must all be written down somewhere. This is all very dramatic in another universe. Here, he does not stir the pot. It is Very Underwhelming.
Kanda seems to, not consider, but drown in it for a while, occupying himself by cleaning the spit from the mouthpiece. Lavi watches those lips press firmly together, like sex. He smells that sandalwood soap, hears that timeless breathing. A part of him really wants to quit. Die at the side of the road. Be possessed by someone else who deserves the courage to face those he. Must face.
The courage has never left them. "No," Kanda finally says. "No." He blows on the mouthpiece and tosses a used rag at Lavi's face. "No."
Just like that. History has erased itself and Lavi has learned how to play the flute.
Times like these will always repeat themselves. You can count on it.