Heart for My Love
Insomnia, that's what it's called right? The inability to fall asleep and the inability to remain asleep; it was fitting though, for a person like him. His mind was perpetually occupied with a thousand useless thoughts and incoherent phrases – fragments of memories that have been bent out of shape and melded together to create horrible mockeries of the truth. Sleep was to be a luxury, a means of resolving problems and concerns on a subconscious level, yet he found nothing peaceful about it and as a result couldn't bring himself to indulge in its practice. Sleep for him was now only a word...never a wilful action.
It was a deep and inducing pain that bled into his chest from his heart; a throbbing ache that refused to stop. And yet he just sat there, with eyes unseeing to everything around him but the shattered images of what he once called home – there was no home without the smiling faces welcoming him back, there was no home without the bickering and bantering of comrades he'd learned to call family, this was no longer home, for his home no longer existed.
He sat there arms wrapped around his frail from feeling hands reach out to him, hearing voices cooing and calling. Then there was her voice; her sweet voice singing symphonies of lullabies that he could not understand – still it was soothing. Waking up was the last thing he wanted and yet he could not find sleep in his muddled thoughts – rather he shied away from its hold like poisoned fruit.
As he was, he no longer lived, merely existed. Fading in and out of lucidity, and mind warped by a mass of things that he should have never had to bear.
It had happened a couple months ago, though the time seemed to have dragged on for much longer – the incident that put him in this wretched state.
He remembered it as little more than a game gone wrong; the images of akuma exploding around him and the stench of blood clinging to everything and everyone. The Earl had mounted a massive attack, one that was meant to wipe out the entire Order, meant to deal the Vatican a devastating blow – for they could not fight if they no longer had pawns to move. He remembered hands reaching out to him, shrill screams, and voices begging to be saved. He remembered friends fighting at his side and then abandoning them in favour of winning the game.
What he remembered was not the truth, but as much as his twisted mind could comprehend, it was his fault that his comrades had died, and his fault that the enemy had bested them. He could not recall garnering injuries in attempts at protecting those he held dear. He could not recall turning his back on the enemy in order to shield a friend.
His memories of the incident were sketchy at best, and he could not fathom the stories deemed to be truth that were told to him when he'd returned to headquarters.
There was one thing he did remember, a person. He remembered a conversation – rather an exchange of words – he'd had with a navy haired Japanese male before engaging in battle that day. It was the only thing in his messed up head that he remembered correctly.
The incident left the Order shaken, the death count far outweighing those surviving. Even so, the Earl had also seen his share of loss and his activity was thus lessened. With both sides more or less stagnant, and more than half their fighting forces diminished the Vatican were determined to get as much use out of their remaining pawns as possible. What they didn't count on was their ace card, Allen Walker, to have become so damaged.
They couldn't leave him to his own devices when he'd clearly lost his mind, and they could find no way to slow his body's deterioration so they locked him away, deep within the bowels of the Order – to remain there where he would cause no trouble and they had easy access to should they find a use for him.
At first they didn't stop coming down to see him, and they persisted with pointless questioning. They just didn't stop. It was a prison, but he didn't care about the confinement – he'd lived his whole life caged in some way or another – he liked being alone or at least that's what he'd convinced himself of.
When they'd come he would absently register the fact that they were talking about him just beyond the door. One man he recognized and felt hatred brew in him every time he came by, Malcolm Louvelier and his loyal watch dog Howard Link – the Vatican's favourite tools for enforcing their will. They were worried – though worried wouldn't be the right word since it was more out of duty and convenience to have Allen around than actual fear for the boy's welfare – for his deteriorating health. Apparently he was getting paler and more sickly looking by the day, not that it mattered to him at this point, he barely even registered the nagging of hunger anymore.
He did little more than spend his days memorizing the textures of the walls, and thinking about things in a manner befitting an uneducated child – thoughts following no clear pattern and holding as much consistency as a dream.
One day, a few weeks after his isolation he'd woken to a mind-numbing pain in his heart. He'd screamed and screamed and screamed his agony until his throat was sore and his vision blanked out. He woke screaming several times after that, sometimes there was no pain and yet something locked away in the shadows of the dreaming world tortured him.
When he finally woke to silence, there was another person in the room.
"Moyashi, how are you feeling?"
He hadn't said anything in response, though a smile found its way to his face. It had been so long since he'd had a reason to smile.
xXx
Silver eyes cracked open, squinting against the light flooding his corneas.
"How are you feeling?"
Blinking a couple times, Allen's eyes adjusted to the light in the room. Scanning his surroundings he took note of the white walls and ceiling, powder blue curtains dividing the room in half and the soft featured man in a white lab coat.
"Allen, you scared everyone with that stunt earlier," Komui chided as he looked piteously at the young male on the hospital bed, hands and feet strapped to the rails like some sort of mental patient.
"Why?" Allen's dull silver eyes landed on Komui, the older man forcing a smile to his face – Allen was completely sincere, he had no idea what was wrong with what he'd attempted to do.
"You could have died Allen."
"Die?"
"Yes, die. You'd go to sleep forever," Komui said heart tightening in his chest. 'He really doesn't understand anything anymore.'
"I don't like sleep," Allen frowned, "but for him I would. For him I'd do anything."
"What?"
"He'll be back soon," Allen said a small smile curving up his lips.
"Kanda," Komui assessed with a nod. Allen only ever held that kind of expression now when he was thinking about the temperamental samurai.
"There's something I want him to know…this…I wasn't trying to kill myself," Allen said looking genuinely apologetic, "I just wanted to give him my heart."
Komui was silent for a long time; he had no idea what to do or what to say that would get through to Allen – nothing that he hadn't already tried. 'Lenalee, if you were still here, what would you do?'
"You can't do that," Komui said, resting a hand on Allen's shoulder.
"But it'll be Valentine's Day soon won't it?"
"Valentine's Day?"
"Yes, I heard one of the guards talking about it," Allen said confusion furrowing his snowy brows.
"I see," Komui muttered to himself with a heavy sigh, understanding if only the slightest what it was that had been going through Allen's head.
"Is it wrong to want to give him my heart?" Allen asked, the innocent shine in his otherwise sorrowful eyes causing the knot in Komui's chest to tighten.
"No, it's not wrong," Komui smiled kindly, "but if you took it out of your chest, you'd die. Then who'd give it to him?"
Silver eyes widened in shocked realization. He'd not thought of that. Allen hung his head in embarrassment, wondering how he could have been so stupid.
"Allen, I have to put you to sleep for a little while," Komui said noting the pained expression to cross the boy's pale features as he shifted on the bed. "It'll make the pain go away."
xXx
It was quiet at the Black Order. It had been quiet for quiet sometime.
The hollow sound of boots against the stone floors, echoed down the hall. Cobalt eyes hard and emotionless stared ahead as he descended a set of narrow spiralling stairs into an area of the tower that he'd not been aware of until a month ago. He displayed nothing in his expression or his movements, but inside he was ablaze with confliction. Even as navigated the dark halls, passing several masked guards he could feel his heart rate increasing, the thrill of anticipation slithering up his spine and coiling in his chest.
It had been almost a full month since he'd been at the Black Order, just that long since he'd last seen Allen. He did not hold any feelings of desire or love for the younger male, but he was worried. The first time he'd screwed up the resolve to see the boy after the incident, it was after convincing himself that if Lenalee or Lavi were still alive they'd scold him for being so stubborn.
He'd been seriously thrown when Allen confessed to him before the battle, he'd been angry with him for his stupid feelings, but he didn't hate him. Though he hated to admit it and probably never would, he missed the other's company, just like he missed the idiot redhead's pestering and the amethyst eyed female's constant worrying. Things weren't the same.
His footsteps came to a stop in front of a large metal door. Cobalt glanced to the guard standing to his right, the masked man spared no glance to the navy haired exorcist – he already knew why Kanda was there, and he already knew that said exorcist was allowed to enter the room.
The guard to the other side of the door unlocked it before stepping back to his post. There was only a moment of hesitation in Kanda's thoughts as he held his hand over the door handle. It wasn't fear from what he'd heard from Komui, but he wasn't sure he was ready to see how much worse the young male could have gotten in his month of absence.
Pushing the door open without further delay he entered the room. There was no movement in the room, nothing to show that Allen had acknowledged his presence and he wondered if he was asleep. He waited a moment before walking over to the edge of the bed.
"Kanda?"
The navy haired male paused in mid-stride at the familiar call of his name, his eyes having adjusted to the darkness enough to make out the outline of the sparse contents of the room.
"I just got back this morning," Kanda said voice even as he stared at the pale figure sitting atop the lone piece of furniture in the room – a wooden bench about the length of an average adult and the width of two. "They told me that you caused some trouble…that you broke out."
The figure shifted, movements slow and cautious, deadened grey eyes looked up from beneath dirty white locks. A small smile turned up the corners of the boy's face as he carefully moved his frail body to sit at the edge of the bench.
Kanda swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat at the piteous display and closed the distance between himself and the boy. He hadn't been gone long, but there was a world of difference between the feeble creature before him and the vibrant young exorcist he'd visited before leaving on his last mission. Cobalt drifted from the sickly pale skin, to the inky left arm that was plastered with sealing spell papers – another one of the Vatican's inventions to keep their soldiers in line – and the loosely closed fist of his right hand.
"Komui said that you hurt yourself and then broke out of the infirmary," Kanda said as he took a seat next to the boy, "he also said that you came back on your own."
A brief nod was the only response Kanda received to his musings.
"He told me that you had something for me. Is that true, Allen?"
The boy turned his gaze up, eyes shimmering with thanks, as if he'd not heard his own name in a century. He nodded as he brought his right hand up, fingers trembling as he fought to remain loose around the fragile item. He extended his hand reverently to him and waited for Kanda to extend his own to receive the gift. Kanda sighed as he cupped his hands beneath Allen's smaller one, something of deep red, almost black slid from the pale hand into his. It was cool, and almost slimy in the viscous fluid coating it.
Kanda stiffened as he studied the item as best he could in the dim room, stomach churning with unease as he lifted his gaze to meet Allen's.
"What is this?"
"It's a heart," Allen said, his voice husky and rough as though he'd not spoken in quite some time and had not drank in just as long. "I'd have gotten you a bigger one, but all I could catch was a rabbit…there's not much I can do as I am now."
"Why?" Kanda's cobalt gaze bore into Allen's, he'd seen too much on the battlefield to be disturbed by an animal heart, but he couldn't help the agony that was writhing within him as he looked at the Allen that was before him now. "Why are you giving me a rabbit heart?"
The boy frowned, looking away sadly as if knowing the question was coming and misunderstanding the reason behind it. Mismatched hands meticulously unfastened the buttons on the white one sleeved shirt to reveal his bandaged chest. Kanda felt his heart growing heavy with each breath, time defying all logic and slowing as Allen carefully unwound the strips of gauze.
If not for the heart in his hand, Kanda would have clenched both of his fists; as he was he just stared at the crisscross of red scars that marred Allen's left pectoral.
"I realized that I needed mine, no matter how damaged it is…" Allen murmured softly, "Komui scolded me, said that I could have killed myself, said that if I was dead, who'd give my heart to you."
Kanda lifted his free hand resting it against Allen's chest, fingers brushing the scars with reverence. "You wanted to give me your heart?"
Allen nodded, wondering as to the reason for the hand touching his tainted skin and the almost undetectable quiver in Kanda's voice. Then he seemed to come to some sort of realization, looking away shamefully.
"Y-you don't want it…if you…I know it's not pretty, not pretty like a Valentine is supposed to be," Allen's voice was chocked with tears, "I'm sorry…r-really sorry."
'Valentine?' Kanda thought with a frown, 'you really can't do anything half-way, can you?'
Allen wasn't crazy, just a bit lost.
xXx
"I love you."
The words hung heavy in the air, cobalt eyes hardening and narrowing at the speaker with disgust.
"What kind of game are you playing?"
"I'm not…I don't expect anything of you I just wanted you to know."
With that Allen stepped through the gate into the fray with no reservation.
xXx
"Baka," Kanda muttered as he closed his hand around the cold heart, "you don't need to give me anything. I understand your feelings without you going to such lengths."
For a moment Allen's eyes sparkled with joy as tears began to spill down his cheeks. Kanda frowned as he retracted his hand, the pale boy wiping furiously at the unbidden tears.
"Why are you crying?"
"I'm so happy," Allen said between soft breaths, "so very happy."
"You're as foolish as always," Kanda said his gaze softening as he drew Allen's form into his arms, resting his chin atop the snowy locks, a sigh of contentment escaping him. He couldn't say that he would return Allen's affection, but there was no way he could ignore such pure feelings.
Chocolate hearts and candy roses fail in the face of true emotion no matter how they are wrapped.
End
A/N: Happy Valentine's Day and Happy Chinese New Year! This one turned out rather weird, so I apologize for that, but I hope you enjoyed it just the same.
My first year of university is drawing to a close and assignments are starting to roll in, so I don't know when I'll be able to upload anything new. I have made some substantial progress in Withering to Death and will have the next chapter out as soon as my beta is back.
Anyway, thanks to everyone who's read and reviewed my works.
Comments are welcomed – they make me happy :)