Disclaimer: I don't own DGM.
"You're leaving, aren't you, Lavi?"
He'd heard the steps that shadowed his own long before a hand grabbed his, preventing him from walking away from the discussion. The question being asked was one that Lavi had expected to hear, yet he also didn't understand the purpose of it.
From day one, leaving had been a part of the plan. His master had made that clear.
Allen had followed him expecting an answer, but he received none. Lavi didn't respond. He couldn't trust himself with anything other than silence. The thought of turning and looking his best friend in the eye was what kept the words at bay. What he would find in those silver eyes—or what he thought he'd find, at least—would prevent him from walking away.
After all, not even a monster like him could look Allen Walker in the eye, see what lay in those pools of mercury and still walk away.
The silence Allen received wasn't misunderstood. Allen's grip loosened, but instead of backing off like Lavi expected, arms circled around his torso, Allen's face pressing into his back.
"I just wanted to say goodbye," Allen said in a whisper, words muffled by Lavi's shirt. Lavi didn't dare turn around, but he'd have to be deaf not to hear the shaky intake of breath; he'd have to be stupid not to feel Allen's hands shaking.
But if Allen sought a way to get him to stay, he did nothing beyond the hug he offered. When Lavi's hands came up and pulled Allen's away, there was no resistance. Lavi tugged them away from his torso, but Allen let him walk away.
And that was exactly what he did; he started walking. He stepped outside and joined the old man. He didn't allow himself to be drawn in by Allen, to be swept back up into the Order's affairs.
He let go, just like he had always been trained. The name Lavi was forgotten by him as he took on a new one—his 50th alias—and he left the Order behind forever.
But what was more important was who he left there.
And when he stepped outside into the open air, he was glad Allen had said no more. If he had, Lavi would have likely not heard the old man repeat the same advice he'd spent the last decade or so pounding into his skull.
"A Bookman has no need for a heart," he said and turned his back to him, hiding the worry in his eyes as he failed to do the same with his voice. "They need tears far less than that."