A/N- A challenge has been issued in the tumblr universe to write a drabble every day for 30 days to 30 set themes. I took up that challenge because who am I to ignore the tumblrverse? Here is the first of 30 Yullen drabbles. Rated T for language and implications of smut (no actual, detailed smut though, I'm hiding from the authorities)

6/28 beginning.

In the beginning, he was just some boy, just another annoying disturbance at the gate that I had to deal with. He had pure white hair and a red mark that transformed what would be a pretty-boy face into something else; something more like us, the exorcists, the freaks, the hosts for the innocence. Hosts, that made it sound like a parasite feeding off of us. Parasites eventually drink their hosts dry, leave them drained and dead. They even called his a parasite. At least they admitted it.

In the beginning, it was a refusal to shake that parasite hand, touch the boy with the pretty-boy face and a curse scar. It wasn't special treatment; I didn't bother with any of the newbies. They die too fast. Idiocy, naivety, inexperience, heroic but stupid notions, whatever, something always got them. If I acknowledged them and they died, then it was just a waste of my time. I could tell he was just like every other fresh-faced dumbass to walk through that door. They would learn the harsh reality quickly, or they would die. He didn't strike me as a fast learner. I was proved right on one count and wrong several others. He didn't learn, because he already knew too much of reality, but he didn't let go of that obnoxiously noble outlook and he didn't die.

In the beginning, it was true hatred of each other that caused us to yell and pick fights. I thought he was going to get himself killed one day with his idiotic hero act. His disregard for his own life, his willingness to throw it away for any old sap in trouble pissed me off. He thought too highly of people, and he trusted too much and too easily. He thought I was rude, pessimistic and violent; all true, but most people were too terrified to point it out. Eventually it became clear that to yell, to release thoughts, words and emotions into the air was a great way to get them off our chests, relieve the stresses of living on the frontlines of a war. Throwing scathing insults and hatred at each other helped with those things we couldn't yell about, couldn't speak about or show anyone else. His accusations were destined for an Order who cared more for results than the lives of soldiers or victims. My snapping retorts lashed against a world that had cursed me without thought or care. That didn't mean we never fought in earnest, but we always knew when we were battling the other or some unknown demon.

In the beginning, it was that white-haired boy being a nuisance. He refused to give up some point neither of us remembered or cared to. I could tune him out for the most part, but the part I couldn't was giving me a headache. I decided the best way to shut him up was a stop his mouth; if it shocked him into silence for a bit, then that was just two birds for one stone. I grabbed the front of his uniform and pulled him into a forceful crush of lips. I let him go and leaned back with a smirk at the dumbstruck look on that pretty-boy face. I should have known trouble when it morphed into his devious poker face just a bit too fast. That was when the cursed boy decided to return the favor.

"What the fuck Moyashi?" I spluttered, "Why the hell would you do it again?"

He shrugged and settled back, his face now mirroring mine from a moment ago. "I liked it. Does there have to be anything else to it?"

In the tangle of damp skin, writhing bodies and quickened, loud breaths, we learned there was more than one way to relieve stress. We tried to convince ourselves there wasn't anything else to it, just as he had said that day, but it was the only time I ever called him by his real name, and he would mumble something suspiciously like 'love' amidst the noise of his pleasure. Neither could I just take what I wanted and leave, no matter how much I tried to convince myself I should do just that.

In the middle of the night, when the silver moonlight spilling into the room matched the strands of his hair, I would watch the slow rise and fall of his breath and the twitch of his hand against the sheets as he dreamed. Somehow he would always end up resting that moonlight head on my chest, right over the mark of my own curse. When the strands fell just right and covered his scar as well, it was like a scene stolen from someone else's life. We looked like two ordinary people, people who could have a future together and weren't expected to throw ourselves as sacrifices into this pointless battle. He looked young and innocent, not like a 'destroyer of time.' I'm not sure how I looked in those moments but I'm sure something was different.

In the beginning it was a specter that haunted mirrors and windows, he told me. Slowly it developed a shape and a voice, and it tried to control him. I sometimes watched him fighting it; his face would darken, literally, his fists would clench and he lips would move in words of defiance of the thing that was trying to drive out everything that made him that white-haired boy with a pretty-boy face and a curse scar.

In the beginning, I could break him out of it. If I yelled or kissed him or distracted him so his mind was too full for the specter, he would sometimes come back. When it didn't, I hated that the fight was all up to him. I knew he would put up a good struggle though. He hadn't died too fast. He hadn't learned, he hadn't let go of that obnoxiously noble outlook and he hadn't died. But he was slipping away, not dying, even if it had the same result, and I didn't know whether to count the time left in days or hours.

In the beginning, he didn't mean anything. In the beginning, losing him wouldn't have meant anything. It was still calm and nice and simple in the beginning, before these parasites began to eat away. Even so, as I look at that head of white from across the room, I hate the beginning, because every beginning has an end.

A/N: Might as well rip your heart to shreds with the first one. Don't worry, they won't all be heart-wrenching. Day 4 should be upbeat for sure.

Sorry if Kanda's narration style was a little ooc.