I appologize to people who expected this to be ultra romantic and stuff but I felt like that wouldn´t fit at all. It still stays Yullen if you look at it from the right perspective, tho. I always wanted to write something with deeper meaning, not just a regular Yullen where they meet and hook up, etc, you know it... and I think this would be exactly the relationship they would have under other circumstances.
Art references (in order, for those who are art freaks like me, and just really - imagine Allen instead of those painted people):
Cabanel - Albayde
Corradini - Veiled Lady
Reni - St. Sebastian
Cabanel - Fallen Angel
Caution: this story may include parts so deep, you can spot Adele rolling in there.
What do you want to do with your life?
That's what every parent asks their child at some point. Or at least they are supposed to. Yu Kanda heard the question very often and, unfortunately, was not able to answer it for a very long time. That made him the only one in their little odd family of abandoned children his father picked up whilst travelling across the world.
Then, one day, just before his thirteenth birthday, his art obsessed father took him to Louvre - justifying their trip with some sappy comments about his well-being - and for the first time of his life, Kanda found himself with his breath caught in his throat as he walked the vast halls filled art.
He was mute in astonishment and at first vehemently denied his awe and interest in fine arts.
The scribbles and sketches he created were always tossed into the bin or burnt, his phone and laptop locked with an impossibly long password he had trouble typing at times and he always glanced behind his shoulder as he drew. After all, what would others say if they saw the established hard-ass doodle flowers and pretty girls.
Kanda kept his secret well but nothing, literally nothing at all, can be hidden from Froi Tiedoll when he starts getting worried about his dear children's' future. Kanda wanted to set himself - or preferably his old man - on fire that one sunny afternoon when he walked into the kitchen, carelessly tossing his bag on the floor, happy to be finally rid of the weight that made his shoulder ache. His old man was sitting at the table, calmly staring at a wrinkled paper that Kanda immediately recognized.
It was a portrait of Kanda's classmate - a girl with bright eyes and way-too-cheerful smile Kanda never really had the guts to talk to.
He snatched the paper away, screaming obscenities at the man until his throat hurt and his head spun. He tore the drawing into tiny pieces, throwing them at ground before running upstairs to lock himself in his room, trembling and ashamed.
Tiedoll came to talk to him that evening, offering a tray filled with food and a freshly baked loaf of pumpkin bread as compensation. He sat on the edge of Kanda's bed, put his big warm hand on his head and spoke in a calm, patient voice.
Kanda often found himself remembering the day with a fond tickling in his chest - not that he's ever going to admit it out loud, just as he's never going to admit how thankful he is to his old man for practically bullying him not to drop the drawing.
So, there he was, sitting in the class, idly playing with his brushes, listening to his self-proclaimed best friend Lavi, whose lack of one eye was compensated in one extra gear in his brain.
"So, I've heard we're having a live model today again. How sweet is that? Hey, you think it's gonna be a sweet hot babe with pretty face and big boobies? Aw man, I hope it's a babe! Like the last time! Remember the last one? She was sweet!"
Too bad that one extra gear usually resided in Lavi's dick whenever women were involved, or at least mentioned.
Kanda made a nonchalant hum to let the redhead know that he heard him but he didn't rush to answer. He really couldn't care less who's going to be the unfortunate soul sitting on the chair in front of two dozen of students for good two hours, wrapped in nothing but a simple white sheet. How could one endure the stares for so long was beyond him.
Voices echoed from outside and shortly after that, the professor - Kanda's father, who defended his position at the university as a 'way to keep an eye on his dear son's improvement' - led in a pale young man inside, still engaged in a hushed conversation.
"Holy shit." He head from his right and saw Lavi bulging his one green eye out as he stared at the grey eyed man who tried to walk without stumbling over the white sheet wrapped around his hips. "I thought this lessons were about making art not copying it."
Kanda arched a brow at him, his eyes only briefly leaving the pale model who was making himself comfortable on the chair. "I thought you preferred women."
"I'm starting to re-evaluate my sexuality."
"You need help."
"I'll be fine with his number, thank you."
"Since the majority of this class consists of female students," Tiedoll started, nudging his glasses further up on his nose, "and we had a female model last time, I decided it would be better to have a change and try something new," he continued professionally, ignoring the none-too-silent swooning of the female population of the class. The male population - which was him and other seven guys, including Lavi - didn't seem too disappointed either.
"You have two and a half hours to work on your sketches. Mr Walker will be coming next week so don't rush it. I am not limiting your work to specific themes, so feel free to let your imagination run wild - within reason, of course. You may start working."
The room fell silent for a short while before it was filled with the sounds of pencils scraping against the canvas and an occasional wistful sigh.
"Do you think it's natural?" Lavi piped in silently, slightly leaning towards him. "The hair."
Kanda pursed his lips as he lowered his eyes at the young man's waist.
"Hard to say." Did he really need to ask questions like that? Although, he was kind of curious about how could someone bleach their hair to the point where it was stark white and still keep it so rich and healthy. "Just shut up and draw." Kanda growled, nudging the other with his elbow.
He looked around again. The class was filled with low murmurs, everyone, undoubtedly, discussing the same thing. Kanda rolled his eyes before focusing on the white-haired man who sat on the chair, relaxed and indifferent to the hushed words that spilled around him, and Kanda couldn't help but to think about Cabanel's Albayde. Except she didn't have a scar cutting through her eye.
Even more peculiar was the fact that his old man silently retreated to the corner and started sketching as well. And not like he usually did - just to pass the time while they worked - no, he put up his own painting easel and canvas and stilled, eyeing the model for good fifteen minutes before his hand finally moved to make the first line.
Interesting.
By the time the clock struck five o'clock and Tiedoll put down his pencil, Kanda had seven useless sketches lying at his feet and an aching finger.
Fuck it, he thought as he packed his things, frustrated with the lack of inspiration. He glanced at the man again. He was silently conversing with Tiedoll, tying his shoulder-long white hair into a low ponytail on the base of his neck.
"Hurry up, I don't want to spend my life in here!" Kanda called as he sat down on the very uncomfortable hospital bench. The stench of the whole place made him sick.
"It's not like I can tell speed the doc up!" Lavi called merrily back as he ducked into the waiting room. "Go check out the buffet, grumpy pants!"
Kanda cursed the redhead under his breath and sighed, looking left and right. The corridor was filled with depressed looking patients staring at nothing in particular. The place was horrible. The ticking of the white clock on the wall seemed four times louder than it should, there was a child crying in one of the waiting rooms and someone was most probably coughing up a lung somewhere in the next hallway.
He dragged a hand down his face. Damn that one eyed ginger and his non-existent right eye. Cursing himself and his car, Kanda stood up and made his way to the apothecary. Might as well pick up the meds his blind brother was nagging him about. He took out the wallet out of the back pocket on his pants and searched for the prescription and the receipt. Hetlioz, it said, and holy shit, seven grand for thirty capsules?! The fuck are the things made of? Gold nuggets? That's one hell of a way to make money out of disabled people.
Too preoccupied with cursing all the medical companies and their immorally high prices for their products, he only noticed the person trying to open the door to the apothecary when he bumped into them.
"Sorry," he grumbled moodily, his hands reflexively shooting out to steady the poor stranger before he could fall. "I wasn't... looking." Kanda finished lamely as he stared at the face of the sickly pale model his father brought to the class the previous day.
"It's quite alright." The man replied before going into a short coughing fit. Kanda couldn't help but cringe at the thick British accent. "I wasn't paying attention, either. Oh," he gasped mildly and squinted, "do we know each other? I feel like I've seen you before..." he mumbled as he opened the door and they both went in.
"I was in the class yesterday," Kanda clarified.
"Oh, right! One of the students. Sorry, wasn't really looking around." He said sheepishly, absent-mindedly tugging on the sting of his black hoodie which did a miserable job at hiding his white hair. "Allen Walker," he offered his hand which Kanda accepted, offering his last name in return.
Their awkward conversation died shortly after but neither of them seemed to mind. They were called by a separate clerk and they went on with their own business. Kanda leaned against the counter as he waited for the woman to bring the meds and absent-mindedly scanned the room, his eyes stopping at the model when he noticed the vast amount of packets he was putting into his bag. Allen caught his eye and shrugged jerkily, giving him a small hesitant smile.
Kanda pocketed the small white bottle, murmuring his thanks to the clerk and nodding his head at the still uneasy Walker guy before he left.
He returned to the uncomfortable bench and waited for Lavi to be done.
"Took you a while," Kanda groaned when his ginger friend finally stepped out of the room after good thirty minutes.
"Hey, it's really not like I can tell him to hurry up! I don't want my other eye poked out."
"Whatever. Move your ass, I wanna go home."
"Gee, don't get your panties in a twist." Lavi sighed rolling his one healthy eye.
"Keep that up and you will lose your other eye." Kanda warned, marching ahead. He subconsciously rejoiced getting out of that awful building and breathed in a lung full of fresh air, not minding the pained yelp of his friend as he let go of the door. The satisfaction from the dull thud as it hit Lavi square in the face was, however, short lived, because just as Tiedoll's big ass Citroen beeped into life, a tall red-headed man in a long black coat stormed towards him, snarling obscenities.
"Uh-oh," Lavi chimed in, rubbing his nose.
"Who the fuck thought you how to park?! My dead grandmother can park better than you!" The man raged, gesturing towards the family sized Citroen and a black Bugatti . "How the fuck am I supposed to get into my car when your ugly tractor is blocking my door?!"
"Cross," a familiar voice interrupted the man, making him turn abruptly around, "just calm down, please, this is not going to get us anywhere." Kanda cursed his luck when he saw the hooded Brit leaning against the black sports car. "Can you just move your car and be done with all this? I'm tired, I want to go home." Allen said monotonously, grabbing the bag with meds from the top of the trunk.
"Oh, it's you!" Lavi suddenly exclaimed, walking over to Allen, totally ignoring the argument between the two men. "Hey! I'm Lavi, nice to meet you! Big fan, can I get your number, pretty please?"
Cross yanked the redhead away before Allen could recover from the shock. "You get away from him and my car before I shoot your one-eyed face," he warned, taking a swing but luckily for Lavi, Allen caught his arm before it could hit its target, emphasizing the 'calm down' again with an expression that clearly told the story of just how many time he had to go through a similar scenario.
"Maybe if you had a real car, not a Mattel Matchbox, people would take it more seriously!" Kanda snapped back promptly, after shooting Lavi a look promising murder.
"Kanda!" Allen groaned, now fully trying to restrain Cross' movements, "could you just please get into your car and move so we can go home? This is really not getting us anywhere!"
"You know each other?!" Both Cross and Lavi chorused almost impeccably.
When Allen looked at Kanda with the most desperate and exasperated look he could muster to which the man answered with a deep sigh. "Whatever," Kanda said, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Allen managed to drag the redhead to their car while Kanda and Lavi went to theirs.
"You're lucky he's here," Cross raged, shaking his fist, "if he wasn't I would have your stupid car towed off and mangled, you Japanese little-" The rest was cut off as Kanda slammed the door close and started the engine. He backed out and threw a last glance at the two still arguing men outside before Lavi got in and drove off.
Cross' Bugatti overrun them on the highway three minutes later and the redhead made a point to roll down his window and flip him off, where as Allen just sat there with his head in his palms.
"Hey," Allen silently greeted as he buttoned up his shirt. Kanda mumbled back something that could hardly pass as a greeting in return, briefly glancing around and noting that the other students left already, leaving him, his father and the Brit alone in the room. Lavi lingered by the door for a brief second, undoubtedly still wanting to get the model's number but when his phone announced an incoming message he left. Going by the look on his face it was his grandfather looking for him.
"Sorry for my godfather's outburst yesterday," Allen said as he nervously fiddled with the rim of his waistcoat, "he is a little bit protective of his car."
Or you, Kanda mentally added, thinking about how the his redheaded godfather flipped out when Lavi tried hitting on him.
"Whatever, bean sprout," he said, flinging his backpack on his shoulder, "Though, I hope he has a good insurance - if he touches my car, he'll have a hard time finding his."
"Bean sprout?!" The British man gaped at him, his distastefully polite facade and dull, professional voice slipping. Kanda found himself liking the sudden change of character - it made the man look so much genuine, not to mention better. "Well, in his defence," Allen continued in a rather cocky voice, "you do park like the sodding, Asian knob you are. Did you even pass the driving licence lessons, or did you bully the instructor into giving it to you?"
Okay, so that wiped the smirk off Kanda's face pretty abruptly. He gaped at the Brit as he tied his scarf around his neck and then swaggered out, flipping him off with a bitchy expression on his face, much like Cross did yesterday.
Kanda stood there rooted to the floor and staring at the doorway, feeling his smirk slowly return.
"Aw, Yuu, that wasn't very nice." Tiedoll's voice brought him back from his musing and he couldn't help but to roll his eyes at the fond expression his old man was sporting.
The following few weeks passed in a similar fashion - Kanda and Allen would indulge themselves in a bitchy verbal brawl after the lesson before parting ways, Lavi would still question his wavering sexuality, trying to flirt with the model and failing at it very pathetically. Kanda made a point to look out for black Bugattis whenever he was parking his car at the hospital and even though he hated to admit it, he avoided the car like a plague.
The fourth week after the model came to their class, Kanda noticed Lavi excitedly jumping in the corner of the room like a radioactive bouncy ball, typing the Brit's number into his phone as the latter recited it with a disgustingly sweet smile.
"Did you just give him your number, bean sprout?" Kanda questioned offhandedly, when the redhead left.
Allen's smile gained a slightly disturbing hue as he answered. "It was Cross' number, actually, but keep that to yourself. Do tell me what his reaction was, though."
Kanda didn't even try to suppress his smirk. "Aren't you a mean little bitch?"Allen walked out of the room with a bright smile, flipping him off again.
And just when Kanda got used to their weekly routine and even dared to admit that he was looking forward to continue his almost finished painting, Tiedoll entered the class with a model that was definitely not the British accented bean sprout.
"I regret to say that Mr Walker is no longer going to be our live model," the announcement was followed by a chorus of disappointed groans from the female population and Lavi, "those of you who handed in your works last week - feel free to start a new painting, those who didn't - you can either finish the painting today or hand it in and start anew as well. I will mark only those who ask."
Kanda glared at his work, suddenly not feeling like painting at all. He packed his things, tucked the canvas under his arm and left the class. That new model wasn't even worth looking at anyway.
When he drove his old man home that evening, he inquired about the Brit but no matter how hard he tried, he didn't get a proper answer.
The next day was Lavi's check up again, so he volunteered to give him a ride, saying that his brother needed another bottle of pills. Sending the one-eyed idiot ahead, he took his time to look around the parking lot and sure enough, he found the thrice cursed black Bugatti parked two rows away.
It didn't take him too long to find the person he was looking for.
Allen was sitting on a bench in front of the buffet, arms wrapped around him and head between his knees, his white hair that spilled from under the hoodie almost touching his feet. Kanda walked over, making sure the man would notice him even if he didn't want to and stood in front of him, burying his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
"Are you stalking me?" the man asked, not bothering to move.
"You wish," Kanda snapped back, tapping his foot, "why didn't you come?"
"Personal reasons."
"I haven't finished my painting yet." His eyes fell on the big bag of morphine that was about to spill over.
"That's too bad," Allen answered with an ironic wistful voice that made Kanda's eye tick. "I thought the professor brought another model."
"He did. His bone structure sucks."
Allen made a sound that was probably supposed to be a laugh but came out as a painful sniff. When he finally straightened up to look at Kanda, he had that ugly unnatural polite mask on. "Is that an artist's way of hitting on someone?"
He didn't know what stopped him from throwing away that painting, but it surely as hell wasn't the Brits' face. Maybe it was because he found his old man's painting of the man and the fact it reminded him of Corradini's veiled sculptures, but then again, maybe it was just because the new model really wasn't that interesting.
Just once more, he thought as he wandered around the hospital again, this time really picking up the meds for his brother. He didn't find him in the buffet, he wasn't at the apothecary either and Kanda had half a mind to turn around and leave, when he caught the familiar mop of white hair in the nearby hallway.
The sprout was there, sporting a disturbingly expressionless look while listening to a doctor who seemed a little bit too passionate about whatever he was saying.
Dead, he mused, that's what his face looks like.
Their eyes met just as the thought flashed through his mind and the man's startled look that gradually turned into guilt and regret made Kanda frown.
It's like he has just lost a gamble. Why is he...?
Oh...
He finally noticed the panel with the name of the department that spelled ONCOLOGY with ominous bold letters.
Kanda didn't really know why he had followed him to the lousy buffet, illuminated by sharp white lights that hurt his eyes. He sat down at the same table as the sprout did, biting the inside of his cheek and waited. For what? He didn't know. They just sat there and Kanda occupied himself by counting the many cracks that littered the bleak walls. The unsteady humming of the lights and the occasional whisper of the paper as the old clerk turned a page of The Daily News were the only sounds that cut through the heavy silence.
Allen sat on the other side of the table with his hood still pulled over his head, chewing on a stale sandwich.
"Should I be calling the police to report stalking?" He asked with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"You wish," Kanda scoffed half-heartedly, drumming his fingers on the table. The constant beeping of Allen's phone was annoying and he could tell that he was not the only one bothered by it. He watched the Brit answer several messages but after the sixth one he stopped and stubbornly ignored them ever since. "Shouldn't you take it?" He asked, arching an eyebrow when the sprout didn't make a move to answer his ringing phone.
Allen's eye flickered towards with a slightly irritated expression and pressed the red button. "No." He typed in a quick message and sent it."Why are you even here?"
"I'm starting to ask myself the same question." The black-haired painter mumbled watching the other fish out two pills out of a small orange bottle and dry-swallow them.
"Let me paint you."
The silence stretched out between them and Kanda almost smacked himself from blurting out things without thinking. Allen stared at him like a deer in the headlights, frozen halfway into biting his sandwich. His brow furrowed and his eyes reflected uneasiness. When he spoke up, his words were thoughtful and deliberate.
"Is this some kind of artists' slang for getting laid?" he asked, making Kanda facepalm, "because if it is, no thank you but I might know some numbers..."
"No, for the love of God, would you shut up?"
"Embarrassed?"
"By your idiocy."
Allen chuckled, going back to his food with more excitement than before. "So, what do you want?"
"Don't talk with your mouth full, you're disgusting and I told you."
"If you want the numbers then-"
"I will slap you so hard," Kanda growled, making the Brit's grin grow wider.
"You're still not happy with your model's 'ugly bone structure'?" He laughed when the painter scowled at him.
"I'll pay you."
"A grand per session," Allen answered without missing a beat.
"Deal." Kanda could see that the white-head didn't expect he'd agree. The sour look that appeared on the other man's face was ugly, but completely priceless.
He was a student, sure, but he was one of the lucky kids with rich parents - or in his case, parent, since Tiedoll never bothered to find a spouse, and even if he had one, he didn't seem too eager to bother his four oddball sons by it. Even despite his father's apparently never ending money fund, the four of them never dared to ask more than was necessary and never misused it.
One time, however, never hurts.
Kanda had exactly thirty seconds to bask in his little victory before Cross came to bust down the door, spitting fire.
"If you're not in the car in three seconds, I'm gonna have your hide, brat!" He warned, shaking a finger at Allen as if he was a little child.
The Brit scowled and stood up, leaning towards Kanda. "Send me your portfolio," he said, "and do come up with a better reason than the bone structures."
On the next Saturday, Kanda poured two cups of blooming tea and sat down on his sofa waiting for his guest to be done gazing at his collection of paintings and personal sketches that covered the walls. He took his notepad and a pencil and leaned against the armrest, so he had a nice and unobstructed view.
"They are so amazing," Allen sighed, his eyes flickering to Kanda for a brief second, "What are you doing?"
"Sketching. Take your time."
"Are you sketching me without my consent?"
"You gave me your consent when you called me back."
"No, I didn't," Allen snorted, half-laughing turning around to level the art student with a sarcastic look.
"You're awfully bitchy today, eat a pill." Kanda shot back offhandedly, his eyes lingering on the other's face a little longer. Allen grimaced like a little child but ate a pill anyway and got back to staring at the paintings.
"I find it hard to believe you created something like this."
Kanda crossed his legs and flipped a page, starting a new sketch. "What makes you think I made them?"
Allen turned around again to make sure Kanda saw his eye roll. "I saw your portfolio, idiot. I'm not dumb."
"I find that hard to believe."
"Get bent."
"Your tea is getting cold," Kanda said in an almost a singsong voice, flipping another page. "What are you doing?" He growled, stilling his hand on the paper when he felt breath ghost over the top of his head. When he looked up he saw Allen's chin.
"I said a grand per session." He said, looking down.
"This is not a session."
"But you're drawing me."
"It is a sketch!" Kanda said slowly and his irritation was almost palpable. When Allen rudely took the notepad out of his hands and started skimming through the pages Kanda mentally counted to ten to prevent himself from ripping the other one´s arms off. "If you don't give it to me in three seconds-"
"I don't look like this," Allen interrupted with a frown on his face, and if he sensed Kanda's rage, he didn't feel threatened enough to show it. Their eyes met.
"It's not you," Kanda growled, sitting up straight and reaching out to grab the notebook from Allen who just skilfully dodged to the side.
"Who else has got a scar like this?" The white-haired man mocked, sticking out his tongue and pointing at the scar on his face.
Kanda sighed and turned on the sofa, taking his cup of tea instead as Allen swaggered to his side and sat down so abruptly that it made the other jump. Kanda was sure the little asshole was just trying to see which buttons he could push until he snaps. The wide insolent grin on his face was an evidence enough.
"You know," he started, putting the notepad on the table and angled his body towards the student, "if I didn't see you in action I would have never really believed you drew that." He gestured to the wall that held the paintings. "And I think I kind of understand why you chose fine arts."
Kanda arched an eyebrow, looking at the other's face as a heavy silence fell between them. Allen was looking at him like a cunning fox that just figured out how to cross the hedge that stood between him and the chicken coop.
It was really not a secret why he chose to be painter like his old man and everyone who knew him long enough understood it, too. He was shit with words and emotions - that's why he never asked that girl with bright eyes out - and he learned to live with that and yet he never needed to explain the meaning behind his paintings. And this smug asshole here knew it because he could read him like an open book.
"Wipe that smile off your face or I'll do it for you."
"I'll do it," Allen said suddenly, "I'll be your model."
Kanda smirked and put his cup down.
"So paint me like one of your French girls, Jack." Allen laughed when the student's face contorted into a horrified grimace.
It was Friday, five o'clock and Kanda was just finishing preparing the third oversized canvas while Allen was getting ready in his bedroom. He glanced out of the window, trying to follow the raindrops as they fell from the railing.
"This is the most silent and depressing place I've ever been to." Allen commented as he entered the room.
Kanda looked up with a snappy answer on the tip of the tongue that died away when he saw the other man's torso.
"Is this the reason why you stopped coming?" Kanda asked, finding it quite difficult not to stare at the clusters of blisters and bruises that covered a good half of his chest.
"One of them, yes." Allen nodded, walking over to the huge stack of pillows piled up against the wall and covered by a white sheet, "radiation treatment is not forgiving. Is that going to be a problem?"
Kanda mutely shook his head, averting his eyes to the set of oil colours and picked up red and cadmium, putting them aside next to white and black.
"So, maestro, how are we going to do this?"
"Don't sit down," Kanda said, standing up and walking over to the pile, "just try to lean against it and put your arms up. Like this. Don't fucking drop the sheet or I'm going to punch you." He warned when he saw the amused look on the man's face.
"You know, when I said 'draw me like one of your French girls', I didn't mean it literally."
Kanda rolled his eyes, pushing an extra pillow under his lower back, "keep your back as straight as possible," he said, returning to his little chair, mentally starting the count of how long it would take until the whining and complaining starts. The room was filled with silence for a good hour - what, Kanda thought, was a big achievement - but then suddenly, Allen started squirming and hissing. At first softly, so he ignored it but then it got more frequent and quite hard to overlook.
"What?" The artist asked, putting an extra effort into sounding especially annoyed.
Allen hummed and cleared his throat, "I need to take my meds."
A sigh fought its way out of Kanda's mouth as he put his pencil down, "don't move, I'm gonna get them for you."
"The left pocket on my bag!" Allen called after the painter's retreating back, "and water, please!"
When Kanda returned, he had a glass of water in on hand and the bottle of pills in the other. "You call this meds?" He hissed with a frown on his face, internally fighting the urge to punch the stupid polite smile off the brat's face.
"Don't be an asshole and just give it to me," Allen said, opening his mouth and sticking out his tongue. Kanda complied, shoving the pill into his mouth. He returned to his seat, biting the inside of his cheek, thinking about how the pain made the Brit drop the politeness. He watched him lean his head backwards and close his eyes, slowly letting out a long shaky breath, his body shining with tiny drops of sweat.
"Don't move," he heard himself say.
Perfect, he thought, not even saint Sebastian can compare to this.
"How long?" Allen asked suddenly, making Kanda still his hand again.
"Isn't that what I should be asking you?"
"I'm not the one who's painting a picture."
"No, you're the one who's d-" Kanda bit his tongue in the last second and saw Allen grin from the corner of his eye.
"Wow, did you just really stop yourself? That must be the first time!" He laughed.
"Shut up." And yet the sudden spike of guilt and paranoia wouldn't let him get back to the painting. He lowered his hand and sighed, silently asking the question, his eyes never leaving the canvas, "how long?"
He heard Allen huff in exaggerated annoyance as if too many people have asked him about the weather, "long enough for you to finish your pictures."
"Paintings," Kanda corrected reflexively. "It's going to take a while," he added, locking eyes with the other man, "three years?" They weren't talking about the painting anymore. There was no answer, only a polite smile. "Two years?"
Allen sighed, closing his eyes, "you don't strike me as the sentimental guy, don't bugger it up."
"I just don't want to be the one who calls the ambulance if you decide to kick the bucket in my apartment."
"That's much better."
The next session was on Thursday after Kanda received a message from Allen who was asking him to pick him up from the hospital. After a small argument, the student agreed and a half an hour later he was sitting on an uncomfortable hospital bench in the oncology department with a strange feeling in his gut.
Something fishy was going on and he didn't like it.
His bad feeling was confirmed when a nurse - and not just any nurse - wheelchaired Allen out of the radiation room. Kanda shot up from the bench, looking positively gobsmacked.
"A-Alma!" he blurted out, catching the nurse's attention before looking down at the Brit who made himself comfortable in the chair, a shit-eating grin plastered over his face.
"Oh, hello there, Yuu!" The woman smiled at him with that way too bright smile, her eyes twinkling, "long time no see!"
Kanda felt like he was ready to find out what defenestration feels like.
"A-Alma!" Allen gasped dramatically, bursting into a fit of giggles a second later, "Wow, you're a sucker!"
"Keep that up and I'm going to smack that grin off your face and it will hurt!" Kanda growled lowly, gripping the steering wheel with a force that made his knuckles white, imagining it was the Brit's neck.
Allen looked at him with a wide smile, "You can try," he teased, "but I had morphine for lunch."
Kanda glanced at the man, frowning, "You seem awfully cheerful today," he commented.
"I got some news today." he said with a voice that made the painter look at him again and then shut up. The rest of the ride was relatively silent if it wasn't for the constant beeping of the sprout's phone. When they arrived at the flat, Kanda retreated to the kitchen to make some tea while Allen busied himself with replying to whomever who was messaging him every thirty seconds.
Fifteen minutes later, the Brit finally silenced the damn device and slammed it on the table, his cheerful mask never wavering.
"Shall we continue?" he asked, downing the tea with a bunch of pills. Kanda nodded silently and put on his once plain white painting shirt and sorted out his brushes while Allen got ready in the bedroom again.
They didn't speak for at least an hour after that - Kanda was too engrossed in the painting and Allen didn't seem really eager to talk anyway. Not right away, at least. Three hours later, when Kanda was putting finishing touches on the first painting, the Brit finally gave in.
"Hey," he started, "tell me about Lavi."
"Are you kidding me?"
"No, really, tell me about him, you promised to tell me what his reaction was when he called the number I gave him."
He really didn't but he was there when it happened. The redhead was bothering him about it for a week before he finally manned up and called, putting it on the speaker. Too bad it was really Cross who picked up and Lavi ended up having a mild panic attack after accidentally calling the man 'the hot babe's sugar daddy'.
"Wait, wait, he called my godfather sugar daddy?!" Allen asked with a horrified face.
Kanda shrugged nonchalantly, "First impressions..."
"What did he do then?"
"He asked me to hide him for a week - or at least until he was sure your godfather is not going to hunt him down with a shotgun."
"Did you?"
"Hell no," Kanda smirked, making the other man laugh. The bad feeling in his gut was dissolved and he went back to the painting as Allen doubled in laughter on the other side of the room. "Hey, it was not all that funny," Kanda commented when the laugh started to sound a little bit forced. Thankfully, he didn't need him to hold the pose since he was only finishing the last details. He paused to look at the other man again, frowning when the laugh turned to coughs.
"You alright, bean sprout?"
Then Allen suddenly drew a long, horrible, wheezy breath as if he was drowning and Kanda was sure the sound was going to haunt him in his nightmares for a very long time. He cursed under his breath and bolted from his seat, feeling panic tingling in his fingertips as his hands awkwardly hovered over the white-haired man's body. Allen croaked something that might have 'bathroom' and Kanda helped him to get there only to have the door smack him in the face once the Brit crossed the threshold. He heard the click of the lock and then more coughing that sounded too way too fucking wet for his liking.
He slid down the wall and sat on the ground, massaging the back of his neck with his hands, trying not to cringe every time he heard the other man moan in pain and throw up. The time dragged itself painfully slow and it only seemed like whatever hell was going on in the bathroom, it was only getting worse.
"Are you alive?" Kanda murmured when the pained sounds died down.
The lock clicked again and the door opened but Kanda didn't really feel like looking up. He heard Allen sigh and slide down on the floor as well, leaning his head against the cold doorframe.
"Yeah," the model whispered weakly, exhaling shakily, "can you bring me my bag?"
Kanda wordlessly stood up and brought the bag, returning to the exact position he was in before. What would Tiedoll do in this situation? Probably burst into tears and assure the other that everything is going to be fine. He couldn't do that - he didn't know how, but most importantly, he didn't want to. He was not that kind of person, and he'll probably never be. What could he even say?
He leaned his head against the wall and watched Allen swallow a hand full of pills. "So, what was the good news?" Kanda found himself asking despite the biting feeling that told him there was no good news.
Allen sighed and looked at him with a smile that said the entire story. He swallowed hardly and tossed the orange bottle of pills in the bag. He stayed silent and Kanda knew he was trying to bite back the pain, both physical and emotional. He clenched his jaw and swallowed again, still shuffling through the black leather bag.
A tired, half-high grin slowly formed on his lips and their eyes met. "Do you have school tomorrow?" Allen asked and Kanda shook his head. He then took out a stack of money - the pay for the previous sessions - and dangled it between them. "I want to go out," he said finally.
Kanda turned around to look out of the window and then back. He didn't really want to go but he had nothing better to do anyway. "Where?"
Allen slid a card over the floor, his eyes twinkling with mischief, "I never understood why people go there, but I want to try it. At least once."
"You've got to be kidding me," the painter half-groaned, half-laughed. Of all the places... "are you serious?"
Allen nodded, "It's gonna be fun," he said dryly.
They both laughed weakly, like two desperate men that were waiting in a queue for execution.
"I hate you," Kanda smirked.
"Sure you do."
They stopped by at the petrol station to get some smaller bills and then drove straight to the place that was written on the card. Kanda parked the car two streets away knowing that he won't find any place to park in front of the club. Allen downed two more pills, checked their money and got out of the car.
Kanda mentally swore and cursed the bean sprout for leading him there when he saw the queue of people waiting to get in but then the white-haired man grabbed his elbow and dragged him straight to the bouncer, ignoring the angered mutters from the other still waiting customers as if it was a thing he did on a daily basis.
The bald bouncer - that Kanda initially mistook for a man - greeted Allen as if they had know each other for a long time. The Brit then whispered something into her ear to which the bouncer-woman answered with a weird look and an uncertain nod. She unhooked the red rope and let them in.
Allen led him to the VIP lounge with dim reddish lights, comfortable couches and pleasant music as opposed to the chaotic beats that played downstairs and split the money into halves, giving one to him. Two girls then approached them, looking as if they had just stepped out of Moulin Rouge - going by the smirk that played on Allen's lips, he was the one who requested them. The one that sat next to Kanda had bright eyes, rich blond hair and nicely shaped lips - just like her, he thought and couldn't resist brutally pinching the other man's thigh. Allen's girl was dark haired and tattooed, with mischievous dark eyes and dimples on her round cheeks.
The girls left to fetch their drinks and Kanda used it to make Allen talk.
"You said you weren't here before."
"Not as a customer," the man clarified, crossing his legs on the table. The frown on Kanda's face made him continue, "Cross comes here often. A friend of his owns the place so he lives off all the benefits he gets from their friendship. I always had to come here and get him home when he was drunk - they kinda know me around here at this point."
The girls came back with a bottle of wine and Allen lost himself in a conversation with his attendant a second after. Kanda watched him down his glass and a bad feeling stirred in his stomach. He heard him feed the girl lies and stories covered with flowery words that made her swoon and gosh over him. He snuck bills into her clothes whenever she giggled.
Kanda humoured his girl for a while but he just couldn't keep it up. The girl knew it, too.
"You look at him as if he is going to disappear any second," she commented , her beautiful blue eyes flickering between him and the other man, "and he looks like a man that has nothing left to live for."
"'He's an idiot," Kanda said, downing his own glass and letting the girl pour him another, "so am I." He took out the stack of money and put half of it on the table, "but apparently, we're here to have a good time, so why not really enjoy it." She took the hint and smiled. She stood on the table and started to dance to the rhythm of the slow erotic music while Kanda leaned back and drank the wine, keeping his eyes on her but not really looking. Allen's girl joined her on the table and he felt the Brit shuffle closer and sink lower on the couch.
"What a lovely sight," he commented, raising his glass in mock toast. He wasn't really looking at them either. "I still don't know why people come here."
"That's because you're a fag," Kanda returned with a smirk.
"You're the one to talk," Allen shot back grinning, "I still wanted to try it out." He stared into his glass for a while, swirling the wine absentmindedly and Kanda somehow knew what was coming.
"The news was," he started slowly, keeping his eyes down, "that I won't suffer for much longer. In other words, I should be giving my measurements to the undertaker."
"And instead of that you're in a strip club with me of all people."
"Yeah," the Brit shrugged, "because you don't pity me like everyone else."
"So, what? Going to tell me your last wish?"
"No, I just don't want to go home tonight. Cross is slipping again - he's getting all sentimental and stuff, even though he promised not to. I just don't want to face him while he's like that."
Kanda hummed, pouring them another round of wine. It was understandable, he wouldn't be able to stand it either. They mutely watched the girls dance and then sent them to fetch another bottle.
"Why did you come to the classes?"
Allen laughed bitterly, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, "because I'm a naive idiot," he paused, "because maybe I thought that there would be something left of me after I bite the dust."
They left the club at four in the morning, completely drunk They shambled down the street looking for Kanda's car and burst into laughter when the painter loudly yelled 'I don't give a fuck' when Allen asked him whether he really wants to drive in his condition.
At half past six they finally managed to fit the key into the keyhole on Kanda's flat. Allen dived head first onto the couch, sighing contently, ready to retreat into the dream world.
"Say, how about a deal?" Kanda asked, as he shuffled through the chest in search for a blanket.
The white-haired man sat up, blinking tiredly, "What kind of deal?"
"If you make it to through the year, I'm going to make you immortal. I'm gonna make everyone remember you face."
Heavy silence followed his statement and Kanda still refused to look over to the couch.
"That was so gay," he heard Allen say with a trembling voice and when Kanda finally turned around he saw the man curled up with his face buried in his hands.
"Shut up," the painter mumbled, throwing a deep blue blanket over the other man's head.
Allen made a strangled sound that was something between a laugh and a sob and flipped him off.
The next morning was miserable. Kanda woke up to the sound of coughing and pained moans that were coming from his bathroom, his aching head making it sound more horrible than it actually was. He wordlessly got up to get Allen's pills from his bag and a bottle of water and knocked on the bathroom door and waited only until he heard the toilet flush. He found the man leaning against his bathtub, all sweaty and shaking, wiping off the last traces of blood from his chin.
Kanda tossed the pills at him, placing the bottle between them as he sat down on the cold tiles. "You look like shit," he commented as he watched the other wipe the sweat off his ashen grey skin.
"Good morning to you too, asshole," the white-haired man rasped after he ate his morning dose of morphine.
They sat on the bathroom floor until the drugs kicked in and Allen could at least breathe without wincing.
When Allen left that night, Kanda was left staring at a half-finished painting and an unfinished cup of green tea. His mind was blank and inspiration dropping and Kanda found himself taking out the painting he didn't finish in his class and putting it up next to the two recent ones. He mutely stood in front of them, tracing his fingers over the dried up paint of the first work.
They didn't know each other for too long - he still didn't quite know what to call their bitchy relationship - but he was an artist, and an artist draws things how he sees them, not how they are. And in Allen, he saw a man who conquered the world and sat on a throne like a king. He covered his irritation with a gentlemanly mask when people pitied and compromised him because of his condition and held everyone at arm's length - not afraid for himself, no, afraid that they are going to hurt when he's gone. He acted generous and selfless around others but let that mask slip when he was around Kanda, letting him see the glimpse of selfishness and the anger of an angel that was cast out of the heaven, left to die.
Yet his eyes were always filled with fight and determination and he laughed Death in the face and kept walking even though he stumbled every other step.
This is why he hasn't finished the first painting - because he didn't see it back then.
Kanda picked up the brush, dipping it into red and turned the wounds on his chest into blooming lilies.
When Allen walked into his apartment next week, his face was calm and content and his eyes glittering with mischief but Kanda noticed the rattling that disturbed his breath. They drank tea together and bickered about which flavour was better, acting like they had all the time in the world.
Kanda didn't give him any instructions whatsoever and let him choose the position for the last painting and Allen opted to lay down on the sheet-covered pillows near the wall as if he was preparing for a nap.
"Hey," Allen murmured, staring out of the window.
"Hm?"
"You going to finish the painting tonight?"
"Probably."
"How's Lavi?"
Kanda's hand stilled but only for a second, "Shouldn't you know? Haven't you gone out this week?"
"Oh? Jealous maybe?"
"You wish," Kanda tched, focusing back on the canvas.
Allen hummed thoughtfully, closing his eyes, "So, about Alma-"
"Don't," Kanda warned, grinding his teeth, "I'm going to punch you."
"I told you already, that's not going to work. So, are you ever going to grow balls and ask her out?"
The painter mentally counted to ten to calm himself down. When has the brat became so unbearably obnoxious?
"Hey," Allen tried again and Kanda knew it was futile to hope that he would shut up if he stayed silent, "I reserved a special place for you at my corrie."
The brush froze on the canvas once more. "Why?"
"Because you seem like that kind of guy who would love to crush my funeral." Wrong, the painter thought, I'm that kind of guy who doesn't give a shit about funerals. "I already told Cross, but I know he's not going to do it, 'coz he only acts like he's a badass."
"You planning your funeral that soon? You still have the rest of the year." It was a pathetic try but he couldn't help himself. He heard Allen huff in laugh that made him go in a small fit of cough.
"Yeah, well, I like to be prepared," he commented offhandedly, "Anyway, asshole, could you do me a favour?"
So Kanda spent the next hour listening to the stupid favour that was childish and idiotic and yet it still fit him like a glove. He didn't promise anything, though, and Allen answered to that with a toss of one of the pillows which Kanda barely managed to catch before it hit the canvas. The simple tossing turned into an impromptu pillow fight after which Allen spent fifteen minutes coughing up his lung in the toilet.
They agreed on a draw and both returned to their places so Kanda could finish the painting. Allen still complained about the silence but when he saw that the other man was not going to do anything about it he gave up.
Kanda watched the Brit fall asleep soon after that and thanked the God that he was able to continue working in peace.
He finished the painting when the clock announced eleven in the evening. Kanda massaged his stiff shoulder and stretched his back, content with what he created. Only then he noticed that he couldn't hear the rattling of Allen's breath anymore.
"Hey, bean sprout, wake up," he called, staring at the still form that almost completely blended it with the sheet. Allen didn't answer him, though, and Kanda felt his heart jump into his throat.
"Idiot, wake up!" he called again, slowly walking over to the man. He knelt next to him and reached out with his trembling hand, gently touching the spot on his neck where his pulse should have been but felt nothing but his cold skin.
"We had a deal," Kanda said, slumping against the wall, "We had a fucking deal, you liar."
The next thing he knew, he was sitting on the cold pavement in front of the building, numb and half-blind from the flashing blue lights of the ambulance, squeezing his phone. The medics were asking him questions he could barely answer which made them give up fifteen minutes later and toss a bright orange blanket over his shoulders.
Lavi came running to him shortly after, looking spooked and panicked and only then Kanda remembered that he had called the redhead because he didn't know what else to do and it seemed like a good idea at the time.
"What the fuck happened, Kanda?" He asked, looking at him as if he has never seen him before, but then again, maybe it was because he probably looked like shit. He couldn't bring himself to care. "Whom are they taking away?"
"Allen," was all Kanda managed to get out of himself.
The funeral was exactly how the brat has predicted - boring and pathetic. There were not many people there but by the sound of excessive sobbing, it was enough. Kanda was one of the men who carried the casket, along with Cross and Lavi and a dark-haired young man he didn't recognize.
They stood in a half-circle around the grave and watched the coffin being lowered in it. Kanda looked around at the people - all snivelling and heartbroken. He didn't know why, but it all felt so forced and fake and just plain wrong. It was like a scene out of a movie. There was Tiedoll crying his eyes as if he has just lost one of his sons. Cross was next to him, glaring at the coffin as if its very existence was insulting him, yet Kanda could see the tears the man was trying so hard to hold back. Alma was there, too, clad in a simple black dress that mocked the essence of her being with its bleakness.
And suddenly it was too much. He turned on his heel and walked away to his car, ignoring the confused looks everyone gave him, the scoffs and angry murmurs that meant nothing to him.
He slammed the door of Tiedoll's car and drove off, catching Cross' confused eyes from afar before the willows blocked the view.
He would do him that stupid fucking favour.
Kanda managed to come back before the ceremony was over, the tires of his car screeching on the road in front of the cemetery as he stomped on the breaks. He opened all doors and pressed play on the radio, turning the volume to maximum so that everyone could hear the Bee Gees playing in at least a three block radius. He took four bottles of wine from his back seat and a bouquet of red lilies he hasty bought at the nearest florist and marched back to the grave, keeping his eyes stubbornly ahead.
When the first refrain of Stayin' Alive started playing he opened one of the bottles and thrust it into Cross' hands and silenced the priest with a single look.
"Drink," he said to the tall redhead, whose face looked like a mixture of 'I-am-going-to-punch-you' and 'I-want-to-kiss-you', "You know what he wanted, so do it." He then tossed the bouquet into the grave and opened the second bottle, pouring it on the casket.
"He didn't want to have a sad funeral, so don't fuck up his only wish."
His paintings reduced the committee into tears. He received his Master of Fine Arts degree like he wanted and sold the paintings to the art gallery. The money started literally raining down on him shortly afterwards.
He lived a comfortable life in his once bare flat that was now filled with even more paintings, sketches, useless - but according to Alma, too cute - trinkets and way too many toys for the child they were expecting.
Alma never commented on his habit of vanishing for one entire day every year and never scolded him for coming back completely drunk the next morning. She knew where he was and what he was doing and during that one day in the year, she poured a cup of blooming green tea and set him down on the floor by the wall that was covered with paintings and sketches of a white haired man with blooming red flowers on his chest.