Story Title: Stupid
Rated: PG-13/T
Pairing: Allen/Kanda
Disclaimer: D. Gray-Man by Hoshino Katsura
Summary: Kanda overthinks.
Steve's Notes: I was organizing my writing and I pulled out a drabble for D. Gray-Man! Please note that I've only read the first two volumes over a year ago, and this was written in a fit of "I love Kanda!" right afterwards. This is most likely not on any sort of related track to the current manga, so be forewarned.
Warnings: Babbling and a general misuse of dashes.
It was—had been, still is—stupid. Moronic, impulsive, irrational, dimwitted, idiotic, reckless, unintelligent—no matter how Kanda phrased it, cursed it, rehashed it, shoved it away only to dredge it up from his subconscious—maddening, the emotion in the pit of his stomach stirred before he could dissect it clinically, understand what it meant and why it happened—why it was happening again—why it invaded—consumed, swallowed, devoured—his senses and his common sense.
"Kanda?" A hand in front of his face, a single eye staring at him, a shock of red hair, pushing him from the gnawing in his gut—foolish to think about it, foolish to wish that Lavi was—stupid. It was stupid. "Yuu?"
'Yuu...' breathless—white clouds rose from his blue lips—Kanda wondered when he could recognize beauty again. The snowflakes on their shoulders, their boots, in his silver hair, frosted across his eyelashes—brushing them away with impatience—melting underneath his touch and on his skin. God—if there was a god—why did God do this to him?—why had God made sin so perfect?—why had God made him so perfect?—why was he so stupid—'Yuu, are you alright?'
He glowered, ice warm in comparison but—perfect and quiet and taller than him now and—'I'm fine,' he protests—against what? Why is he breathless and confused and stupid—what does he want—what has he done—will it stop the mad rush of blood underneath his skin, his pulse fluttering visibly in his neck, pushing hard even as it escapes his wounds to heat and sizzle in the winter air? He wants—he needs—
"Yuu, I'm going to eat your tempura," Lavi threatens, half in jest, half in worry, the recently broken, more recently stolen o-hashi poised, waiting to be deflected—to be pushed away so everything will settle back into its equilibrium but the world spins so fast there is nothing but a blur of sensation blazing across his body—but nothing happens as the wooden sticks inch closer and closer to his meal. Jerry's tempura meal, made with Kanda's favorite vegetables, to tempt him to eat for the first time in days.
'You've changed,' he says and the words—how useless—fall to the ground with the snow, light and soft and inconsequential to the thousands more that follow. His tongue feels heavy—did he lose too much blood again?—gloved hands on his shoulders to support him—why does that warmth feel so wonderful when he's burning?—a sigh of white and 'You haven't changed at all in three years, Yuu,' that makes him smile sloppily—he did lose too much blood. 'Come on, we have to get you to a doctor...'
"Fine," Lavi pops some of the deep-fried eggplant into his mouth and immediately gags, unused to the taste—he grasps for his beer and chugs it down—Wenhamm cringes as he approaches their table but Kanda hardly notices as Allen laughs at Lavi's actions—Allen, back early—Allen has been gone for three years—back for good now that Cross—he hasn't said anything about it yet. "Kanda, Komui wants you and Allen in his office in ten minutes, so hurry up and eat," although everyone knows Kanda hasn't been eating. Lavi starts and glares at the tempura and Allen says something that rumbles in his chest, the sound wrapping around Kanda's ears, trickling down his spine—"It won't bite you, Lavi," and Allen leans over Kanda's shoulder—sweat and musk and hope linger like heady rice wine in his mouth—and eats one of Kanda's tempura with tongue and teeth and lips and saliva and swallows.
The pale line of his throat constricts underneath his blue fingers—gloves gone, destroyed, forgotten—'You called me Yuu'—a blush hot enough even to melt the snowflakes on his cheeks, running down his face like tears—'Yes.'
Stupid. It is so stupid but he can't help it and Lavi or Wenhamm or Komui or Lenalee or one of the Finders will see—see that he needs and he wants and he takes with his blue lips and his vertigo—and Allen gently brushes his fingertips against Kanda's jaw as he pulls away—a pink tongue darts out to capture the crisp flakes on his mouth. "Allen," it comes forth without first going through his defenses and changing into Walker or bean sprout or stupid—Wenhamm pauses to raise an eyebrow—Lavi chokes on his burger and ketchup falls comically on his shirt front—and Allen says, "Yes, Yuu?"—and both eyebrows encroach Wenhamm's hairline and Lavi might turn purple and damn if the Finders down several seats haven't become an unwelcome audience.
A sin—a sin?—to kiss another man—but all humans sin—and he thinks it is alright if he dies there cocooned in Allen's warmth while his curse sputters and the cold takes him—and love, love is stupid, stupid, stupid and confusing—hot and blinding and passionate and needy—'Yuu, don't die, you can't die, I won't let you, please Yuu'—'I love you'—Kanda's eyelids flutter and he smiles sloppily again—his mouth hurts the most on his ravaged body—'I won't die bean sprout.'
"I didn't say you could call me that," Kanda retorts, and Allen laughs—a man's laugh now, different and intoxicating and Kanda makes a fist to stop the rush as it rises from somewhere he thought had been suppressed years ago—"Sorry Yuu, but you're stuck with it."
You're stuck with me.
And it's impractical because he doesn't believe in these things—Allen smiles and cocks his head so a bit of silver hair falls over his cursed, pentacled eye--but Kanda can try to believe in this sin because they love each other and—he wonders why he didn't figure that out a long time ago—and Allen beckons. "We're going to be late, Yuu."
It was stupid, stupid, stupid. But he let Allen kiss him—and he felt so warm.
.end.