AN: Happy New Year people! I know it's a bit early in some places, and too late in others, and just right somewhere in between, but this is for all of you! To celebrate, here's a new -man story! I hope you enjoy and I wish you all the best in the coming year!
You Are the Moon
by Starlit Skyline
~Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Shadows all around you as you surface from the dark
Emerging from the gentle grip of night's unfolding arms
Darkness, darkness everywhere, do you feel all alone?
The subtle grace of gravity, the heavy weight of stone
–You Are the Moon, The Hushed Sound
i
(Cross Marian)
Marian couldn't help but feel guilty, sometimes, even though he tried to convince himself that he shouldn't.
It wasn't his fault, in the end. The Fourteenth had chosen his vessel, he's just taking care of it for him. Nothing more, nothing less. But then it turned out the vessel was actually a kid. He hated kids, but this one was an exception. Marian loathed this one.
Cross knew he shouldn't, it's not like it was the kid's fault, but he couldn't help but hate the fact that the face of that incompetent, hair-brained, sad-eyed brat will soon be no more than a fragment of his memory.
It was a cruel fate and Marian wouldn't have wished it upon the worst of his enemies, but there's nothing he can do about it. He felt his resolve weaver every time the brat smiles that small, sad smile of his and talked about Mana or helping people and Akuma alike.
Akuma are tragic creatures,he remembers his student saying on several occasion. Marian snorts. If they're tragic, what about the boy that tries so desperate to save them. Who's going to save him?
„Eat." he uttered flatly. Once, it might have been a command, now – and his pride was suffering greatly for this – it sounded more like a plea.
The boy, small and curled up on rough sheets, left go of his knees and reached for the bowl slowly. It was progress, Marian reflected, and silently cursed the unrational inkling of satisfaction.
He watched as Allen finished his meal, eyes still wary and haunted as he watched Marian in turn, but his round, youthful face was softer and more trusting than when they'd first met.
„You're a good person, Master." Allen said suddenly, breaking the strangely comfortable silence that had settled between them. He'd smiled. „You're just like Mana."
For a reason he couldn't decipher, Marian felt as though he should have shot himself then and there.
The memory was old, barely a few months after their initial meeting in the cemetery, and it had been stuck to the cobwebs of Cross's mind for what seemed like an eternity.
Love and hate were intertwined, Marian knew, but he'd never been one for the familial or friendly kind of love. He didn't know when that brat had wormed his way under his skin, when he'd become so protective even while trying so hard to keep his distance.
The whole thing was such a bloody, ridiculous mess and yet the tragic little brat with a martyr-complex was the only thing that somehow remained untainted, somehow innocent despite all the tragedy and war that painted his world in such bleak coluors.
It's a kind of beauty that's so twisted and broken, thought Cross, it shouldn't even be called that.
ii
(Kanda Yuu)
They're on a mission in Venice. He, the Moyashi, the Baka Usagi and Lenalee. There's going to be some big carnival tomorrow with a lot of locals and people from the surrounding area gathering to celebrate. A perfect opportunity for the Akuma to strike.
Of course, since loosing the Egg the Earl of Millenium had become more cautious, but passing such an opportunity to wreck havoc and tragedy was way too tempting to pass up. Not to mention stupid.
Still, that meant that the Akuma – and Noah, if they chose to show up in person – already desperate and wary as they were, and Kanda knew how nasty that combination could be, were sure to be on guard, alert and ready with a strong offensive.
The enemy wouldn't be targeting exorcists anymore, but avoiding them and causing grief and suffering while keeping a low profile.
It was going to be a long mission... if it weren't for the Moyashi's cursed eye. Che, at least he was useful for once.
That didn't change the fact that they would be spending a few days in Venice either way, which meant blending in with the locals and their festivities, which Kanda was decidedly not happy about.
Lenalee had already picked out his costume, however. It considered of a long, about the length of his exorcist one, midnight blue cloak with padding that broadened his shoulders considerably. Hidden by the cloak was a combination of a black vest and matching pants embroidered with light, sky-blue thread into intricate patterns. Beneath the vest peeked a dark purple silk dress-shirt. The ensemble was completed by a typical Venetian mask that covered the entirety of his face and which blank, expressionless face was engraved with what looked suspiciously like indigo lotus flowers.
It wasn't as bad as it could have been, Kanda admitted but only to himself.
Lenalee's own mask was small, just something to cover the upper portion of her face, around her eyes. On her, it was more like an attribute than any actual concealment. The colors that painted her costume considered of various shades of gold and burgundy and Kanda had had to blink at how stunning the overdecorated gown had looked on her. It hugged her torso and waist nicely, but was over-inflated everywhere else. Disproportionate as it was, Lenaless still manage to pull it off somehow. Lavi, who'd had no such reservations, had openly whistled.
Lavi himself chose a theatrical face, with this giant smile that Kanda thought looks more forced – pained – than anything else. But then, he preferred to keep his observations to himself. The rest of the redhead's clothing was too ridiculous for Kanda to recite with a straight face.
Central's dog looked more like he belonged in a circus than out walking the streets.
Worst, however, was the one and only Allen Walker.
„So, how do I look?" the Moyashi had asked, twisting his form in front of a mirror. His body was covered in white and faint traces of silver and black. He wore tight pants and a vest like all the other males in the group, thought the embroidery and decor of it was much more simpistic. The thing that really cought one's eye was the billowing, white fur cloak that hugged Allen's back and gave the impression of Allen being swallowed by the many folds and waves of the white fabric. It brought a slightly uneasy feeling to the pit of his stomach, but Kanda pretended it was just hunger. It was dinner-time, after all.
Allen's mask itself was strange. On the left portion of the face, the lips were curled into a wide smile while on the right side it was downtrodden and trailed down into a frown. There was even a crimson tear staining the cheek above.
„Repulsive. Take it off." Kanda snapped, glaring at the reflection in the mirror. He'd seen the Moyashi do the same minutes before, through his gaze had been locked to a spot behind his right shoulder. Once again, Kanda kept this observation to himself. What was that about? Kanda wondered with a scowl.
Walker retaliated with a similar expression, though it was still hidden by the mask. The Japanese man caught sight of two blurs – one white, the other pitch black – coming up to cup the expressionless excuse for a face that separated Walker from the rest of the world. The gloves had been the biggest surprise for Kanda. To think that the Moyashi would have deliberately marked his left, cursed hand with a black glove instead of letting it blend in with the rest of his white-washed facade was enough to make Kanda's eyebrows raise.
"Happy?" Walker barked, his face as blank as the porcelain one he'd been wearing seconds before, his eyes though were fierce. But the Moyashi wasn't letting any of that fire, any of the emotions he so carefully edited before every performance break the surface of his well-crafted, proverbial masquerade. Kanda's scowl deppened.
"I said take it off."
The Moyashi blinked twice, his eyes wide and openly expressive for once, before the bemused expression boiled into an irritable rage.
„Are you blind, BaKanda?" yelled Walker „I just did!"
Allen Walker seethed at his rival, eyes ablaze with a sort of spark that had seemed to have been buried long ago under dozens of corpses since the sixteen-year-old had joined the Black Order. Seeing that anger – that fighting spirit that refused to give up, that life – Kanda felt satisfaction spread through him.
Allen glowered at him.
„Why the hell are you smiling like that?" the Moyashi demanded hotly.
Kanda just smirked to himself.
iii
(Johnny Gill)
Johnny Gill had never thought much of himself. He'd never been particularly strong, whether in the physical sense or any other, and he knew he wasn't all that handsome either. He knew he was smart and prided himself on every invention he ever made, but on the whole, he'd like to think of himself as average.
There was nothing special about him really, nothing strong, or handsome, or exceptionally kind or any other quality that would raise him above a regular human. Nothing else that could have helped him save Tupp or any of the others.
Allen, on the other hand, was everything he wasn't.
Allen was his idol, for a good while. He was an exorcist, something Johnny had always felt, somewhere in his subconscious, was higher than an ordinary guy like him. Allen, like all other exorcists, was out of reach. Back then, when the teen had just joined the Order, Johnny never would have guessed they'd become friends.
But that was what Allen needed, wasn't it? A friend, not an admirer. A shoulder to lean on, not another reason to pretend.
Johnny remembered, distinctly, one instance when they were lunching together – he, Allen, Link and Lenalee – and the way Allen kept glaring into his soup. Then pushed it away from himself a moment later with something akin to disgust. The sight would have been comical, if it weren't for the fact that that soup had been pumpkin soup and that Allen had just passed up the offer of one his favorite foods.
When it came to Allen Walker, that was as good as saying he'd just become terminally ill.
By the time Johnny got over his quiet shock, Allen had already found another thing to glare at. It was the water pitcher.
Johnny had laughed nervously, asking „What's wrong Allen? Are you thirsty?"
Allen's head had snapped up as if he'd been slapped, before he plastered on a sheepish smile so fast Johnny had to blink and wonder if he'd imagined the slip up from just a few milliseconds ago.
„Oh, no, it's nothing." Allen assured, acutely aware of his watch-dog's eyes on him „I just got lost in thought."
It should have been enough to placate them – Link and Lenalee had accepted the excuse – but something didn't feel quite right to Johnny.
Hesitating, he opened his mouth and asked the question that had been weighting him down whenever the young exorcist came to mind „Why do you keep glaring at yourself?"
Was that panic that had fluttered over Allen's face? No, surely not. He must have imagined it.
„Excuse me?" Allen's voice, strangely resembling a croak, gave it away though. Johnny was starting to regret even asking, but what was done was done. Maybe it would make things easier for Allen if he just talked about his problems?
Mind set, the ditsy scientist pressed on.
„The soup, the pitcher, the windows..." Johnny clarified patiently.
Allen's eyes shifted to the pitcher almost subconsciously, the movement so slight and quick it could have easily been missed. „I... don't want to look at them." Allen answered honestly.
A pause.
„You're not ugly Allen."
The white-haired exorcist just blinked „What?"
But before he could say anything else, Lenalee put in her two-pence. „Mmm, I think Allen is actually very pretty." she agreed, a faint blush dusting her cheeks by the end where her voice had trailed off slightly.
Allen, too, was blushing. „I'm not a girl, Lenalee..." he grumbled. He would have protested, would have yelled, if someone else – Kanda, as the primary example – had been the one to say those words, because they would have been meant to insult rather than flatter. Lenalee, however, was a different story.
They had finished their meal a few minutes later. Lenalee had gotten up first and excused herself. Johnny had just been finishing his deserts when Allen and Link stood up to take their leave. As he had passed, Allen touched Johnny on the shoulder briefly, making the scientist look about and meet his meaningful gaze.
„I..." he began, pausing as if trying to find the right words. He mustn't have found them, because his shoulders sagged and a grateful smile stretched across his face, more real and less polite than it had been in a good while „Thanks."
With that, he was gone and Johnny was left with the distinct feeling that wasn't what Allen had wanted to say – needed to, if it would get rid of the shadows under his eyes and the dark look in his gray irises – but Allen had already disappeared into the maze of hallways that was the Black Order and Johnny recognized he didn't want to be found for a while longer.
Remembering that now, Johnny could help but be dogged by the words Allen hadn't been able to say. What secret had he wanted to bare his soul of? What burden? Had Allen really thought Johnny was a worthy keeper?
That thought gave him the confidence he needed.
Johnny had never thought of himself as heroic, not really, but this time he knew it was his turn to save the savior.
Even if Allen didn't want to be saved.
iv
(Lenalee Lee)
The room was dimly lit and smelt of beer and cheap alcohol and Lenalee wanted to get out of there, fast. She hadn't even wanted to be there in the first place, but Allen had insisted. They were stranded and dead-broke in a foreign country and hadn't even enough money for the cheapest inn the town had to offer.
They had called Headquarters, but it would take a couple of days for any kind of help to reach them. Thus, they were stuck.
Then Allen had had the bright idea to try this place. A rickety old tavern at the edge of town that sold cheap booze, hosted fist fights between drunkards and was the hot-spot for gamblers and light women. In other words, a good and quick way for Allen to ear money as he'd manage to convince her.
Lenalee wasn't all that convinced still, and betting the few dimes they had left was definitely not a good idea in her books, but Allen was her partner and she trusted him. She had to.
Allen had asked her to remain at the town square at first, for some reason she couldn't comprehend back then. Lenalee'd been insulted by the offer and stubbornly tagged along. She was starting to rethink that decision as a particularly grubby, fat guy leaned towards her with a leer on his face and breath so foul it made her want to cover her mouth.
„Whatcha doin', honey?" he asked in a drunk slur.
Before she could answer, or just plainly step away, Allen cut in icily „She's with me."
He put an arm over her shoulders to empathize his point and Lenalee was caught off guard by the sudden contact. Allen wasn't the kind of person that usually initialized in physical contact or touching of any kind – that was Lavi's role – so why do it now? The youngest Lee had the sinking feeling it had to do with the people surrounding them.
The drunkard who'd tried to hit on her was frowning „Such a cute thing witha begga' like u?"
Allen's grip on her shoulder tightened ever so slightly, but she hardly noticed. A cloud of red-hot indignation swelled up inside her. How dare this man – this scum – insult her best friend, her family?!
Stepping forward and out of Allen's protective hold, she put her hands on her hips and stared the rude man dead in the eye. „Yes, I'm with him." she confirmed in a level tone, her eyes blazing.
No matter how drunk, the man must have sensed the approaching danger. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, yes?
The drunkard backed away from them, headed towards the bar, but not before muttering in an overly loud tone:
„Hee, ya' got some bad taste girly."
Which Allen politely ignored and Lenalee fumed at. Honestly, the nerve of some people. She almost wished her brother was here, just so she could let him and his Kumorins loose on the idiot that had dared insulted and disdain one of the best and most treasured people she had in the world?
„Are we ready to play now?" a voice barked from behind. Lenalee turned in sync with Allen to look at the middle-aged gambler frowning in his seat by the corner table. Lenalee watched as Allen's eyes narrowed and he stepped forward, making his way to the back table. She followed him cautiously.
„Yes, we are." Allen said when they arrived, lowering himself in an empty chair. There was only one, so Lenalee was left to stand. If they were at any other place, Lenalee might have reprimanded him – she was still appealed that Allen, who was always such a gentleman, didn't offer her his seat – but as it were, he kept her peace.
„No, we ain't." Another, much older stick of a man protested „We ain't letting ya' play with just that."
Vaguely he pointed towards Allen's part of the table, where up until now only a few dimes had been sitting, before his eyes traveled up Lenalee's figure, causing the girl to fidget uneasily. „However, if ya'–"
„Absolutely not." Allen cut him off, his face as hard as stone.
„Will this be enough money for you?" he asked, taking a leather sack from his pocket and tossing it's contents on the table-top. It wasn't much – not enough for a train ticket, all in all – but it certainly would have been enough for a decent meal, Lenalee thought. Where had he gotten that money from? She'll have to ask later.
The grumpy old gambler must have been wondering the same thing, by the look on his face, but there was also begrudging acceptance in his expression.
„Yeah, yeah, let's just play all ready." he mumbled discontentedly, reaching for the deck of cards in the middle of the wooden table, shuffling it with both hands. A few minutes later, all four players had their hands and the game was ready to begin.
It was over before anyone could truly understand what had even happened.
But Lenalee, having stood just behind Allen's shoulder the entire match, recognized what he had done. The other players must have too, but they were either too drunk or had no real proof that Allen had actually cheated. Still, if they got angry enough they might choose to attack the two exorcists and Allen wanted to avoid that just as much as Lenalee herself did.
„We're going." she said, her voice hard and unreadable, as Allen collected his winnings. She turn her back to him, her emotions raging chaotically inside her and uttered „Now, Allen." clear and loud before all but running to the door.
She stopped some thirty feet from the tavern though, trying to make sense of what she'd just seen. Allen was beside her faster than she would have liked.
„Lenalee, we needed the money." Allen said gently, as if there was nothing more to it, laying a hand on her shoulder. She slapped it away, spinning around to face her partner.
„But you cheated, Allen!" the Chinese girl snapped.
A part of her regretted those words as soon as she saw how Allen flinched away from her, but another was pleased that she was indeed getting to him. The former won out however, as regret turned to worry.
„Allen?" she called.
Silence. Allen's white bangs had come to down to curtain his eyes, a shadow passing over his face and obscuring it in the last, bloody-red rays of sunlight.
„Life can't always be what you want it, Lenalee." Allen said quietly, his voice taking on a strange quality.
He raised his head then, meeting her eyes and Lenalee almost took a step back from the intensity – sadness, quiet loathing and hurt – in the tortured gray of his irises. „You have to take what you can get and live with it."
With that he bypassed her, went over to the place they'd hidden their suitcases in and retrieved them. Without turning to look at her, he said „Let's go."
He takes a step away from her, then another, and she was transfixed as she watched him walking away from her, towards of the sunset that to her looked more like a open wound weeping blood.
It was then that Lenalee realizes just how perfect Allen's poker face really was.
v
(Kumoi Lee)
The boy was fifteen, with a hair of snow-covered tresses and shimmering gray eyes and a body made of scars and a spirit to match. He was a knight in shining armor, the hope of the hundred year war–
He was a child.
He was Lenalee's age, younger than Kanda and Lavi and still so, so old.
He was supposed to be the eldest, the leader, the one to save them from themselves – Kumoi, that is, because Allen wasn't supposed to be a soldier. Just like Lenalee, neither of them deserved that fate. Kanda too, and even the Bookman's young apprentice. Everyone, really.
His precious, poor little sister was cheated by fate, lost a family that would have loved her and a life that was free and truly and completely her own instead of the tailored art of being someone dog. But that was why he was here, to protect her. To give her a life even if it mean throwing his own away.
That was why he was here.
Kumoi was a big brother, always was and always would be, but Lenalee wasn't the only one in need of saving. There was Kanda, also, who was killed and born and bred to be an exorcist and exorcists were, at the end of it all, but unmarked grave-stones.
Director Kumoi Lee feels sick whenever a child comes in, frightened and oh so alone and looking around dark hallways and stone walls to the abyss of it's new prison and all the monsters that were putting it there.
Monsters that ended human lives and monsters that take away all freedom and joy for the sake of those lives. Maybe, Kumoi pondered, the Noah weren't the only monsters around.
Kumoi didn't know how his charges survived under these circumstance, how his sister could call this desolate place home with the brightest of smiles on her face. Or how Kanda could still keep himself together and ignore all the brokenness inside or how Miranda was happy to put her life on the line and torture herself with her Innocence every time she used it. Or how Marrie sung children's songs to the younger – much, much too young – recruits and still manages to keep the smile on his face when they would ask him „What happened to your eyes, Mister?". Or how Arystar Krory managed to be an utter child even after tainting himself in the world of Akuma. Or how Allen Walker always smiled and laughed, as though content with his life – and Kumoi thought, privately, it's because Allen has never even had a taste of the life he should have had, the one where he wasn't born with such an atrocity of an arm.
Damn you, Innocence. Damn you...
Some days, Kumoi can't help but think that the Order is even more evil than the Noah, and he would blame God for this, and he would blame the Noah, and he would blame all things human. Irrationally, Kumoi blamed himself the most.
Kumoi Lee hated himself a bit more every day, because it took the god-damned Noah combined with the narcissists in Central to make him remember that one of his best weapons was merely a fifteen-year-old boy.
It was so easy to forget such a thing – so easy, in fact, that he wondered if Allen had ever done the same.
vi
(Lavi Bookman)
It's late one night and Lavi couldn't sleep – and for once it wasn't because of Bookman harassing him into doing some secretive work or such. Nope, he was awake and doing nothing, which was for him an extremely rare occurrence. Even his thoughts were scattered and far and few in between.
Somewhere down the deserted hall he'd taken sanctuary in, footsteps resounded in a quick staccato. Lavi knew he should probably move, he didn't need news getting to the Panda that he'd been brooding again, but he recognized the rhythm of the walk and smiled ever so slightly to himself. Combined with the melancholy that had taken over him, the expression couldn't really be called happy, but it was wry and hopefully that would be enough to fool the Order's resident samurai.
Sure enough, Kanda emerged from the shadowed hall not long after Lavi had pulled his walls up again. The blue-eyed man frowned when he saw him.
„What are you doing here, Baka Usagi?" he demanded.
Lavi shrugged, appearing non-pulsed „Oh, nothing much."
Kanda gave him a look Lavi couldn't quite decipher.
„For someone who lies so much, you're terrible at it." he said finally – he didn't snap or yell like he usually would have – but said it as a matter of fact. Lavi wasn't sure what surprised him more, the words or the tone. Whatever it was, it made him laugh, though the sound came out bitter.
It died down soon enough as the statement only served to remind him of the cause of his late night wanderings.
„Yeah, well, I guess I'm not as great an actor as Allen." he said morosely. He'd meant it as a joke, but he was too tired to pretend to be the „Lavi" everyone thought he was, thus the quip came out half-hearted. Lavi could help it. The Bookman-to-be just wanted a moment of peace and quiet and to be able to curl up and ask the world why over and over again like some small child he'd never quite outgrown.
It didn't really matter, he figured, because Kanda didn't care either way.
If the man in question noticed his blatant slip-ups, he chose not to comment on them. He was too busy growling to himself, demanding „What's that brat done now?"
The familiarity of it all brought a smile to Lavi's face, even he couldn't tell if it were real or false. The lines had blurred too much for him to decipher anyway, and maybe he didn't want to. „Aw, Yuu, I didn't know you cared." he chirped with some forced cheer.
The ever predictable response did not disappoint, as always.
„It's Kanda, and no I don't!"
„You're a terrible liar, Yuu." Lavi teased, using the Japanese man's own words against him.
„Then spill it." spat Kanda. Lavi was about to tease him again, rile him up and evade the samurai's interrogation when he caught the other's eye. Kanda had that look, the one Lavi was all too familiar with – he'd seen it in the mirror enough times, after all – and it made him freeze. He knew that expression well, two storming eyes embroidered on a deceptively blank face. The eyes that were filled with a worry and care of one who shouldn't give a damn about the thing that had somehow, against their will, became one of the most important beings in their lives.
Just this once, Lavi though to himself, just this once.
Tell the truth.
„It's just... I was thinking about Akuma..." he began, feeling strangely uncertain. Why was it so hard for him to say this? To admit weakness? To admit how much the Moyashi meant to him?
Lavi gulped „...and how someone can still keep fighting them even after they see the souls trapped in them."
A pause.
The only prompting Kanda provided him with was silence, and Lavi found that he was grateful for it. He wouldn't run from this. Just this once, don't lie to yourself.
„It's hard to describe..." Lavi continued finally, pausing as if a phantom pain and a detached horror – the living Hell one of his best friends lived through every day – sent a pang of something unknown through his system „but if you really want to know, it's like watching a person being suspended above the deepest pit of Hell by a spider's tread."
Lavi shut his mouth then, whether unwilling or unable to continue, and the two men don't speak for a while after. For a fracture of a moment, Lavi wished Allen was there instead of Kanda, but the thought died quickly. He couldn't face him. He could never face Allen. There were no words that he knew of, no expressions or gestures or any other form of communication that could convey all that he felt. Lavi wanted to say so much, do so much, yet giving voice to those thoughts and desires filled him with an unbearable sense of terror. Allen would probably understand what he was going through and would convey his support with the most minimal of gestures. Lavi couldn't do that for him, no matter how much he wanted to.
As it was, he was here in the lonely hallway of the Order's new Headquarters doing absolutely nothing. Except acting like an utter child. Kanda didn't seem to mind. Lavi guessed his thoughts were similar to his own, at least he'd like to think they were. There was an odd, almost serene moment of what Lavi would like to believe – yet still denied with well-worn, half-hearted excuses – was camaraderie. It passed all too soon and the sound of Kanda's departure resounded through the empty corridors.
Lavi was surprised by the sudden urge to call his unlikely companion back, to continue this talk, this... something. He dismissed the urge with some difficulty. What could Kanda provide him with anyway? And the thought of just using the samurai for his own devices... hurt, even though he knew it wasn't supposed to.
He wasn't supposed to care – not about Kanda or Lenalee or even Allen. He wasn't supposed to rush into battle whenever they were cornered or in need or hurt. He wasn't supposed to hold and comfort Lenalee when she cried or was insecure. He wasn't supposed to banter with Kanda as if he'd known him since forever. He wasn't supposed to think of the Exorcists' garb as his own. Most of all, he wasn't supposed to stay up almost every night thinking of theories and speculations and ways to separate Allen from the Foutheenth, to prevent the horrid transformation from human to Noah. He wasn't supposed to fall into an uneasy sleep there after, dreaming of dark skin and broken clowns.
He wasn't supposed to save Allen.
But Lavi knows himself well enough to know that was a thinly-veiled, sorry excuse for him to say that he doesn't know how to.
vii
(Howard Link)
Allen Walker was slacking off again.
And to think, Howard Link had merely gotten up to retrieve a book. The secretary had turned his back from his charge for just a minute and the soft scratching of Allen's quill had almost immediately ceased, throwing the Library into a state of quiet.
Not for long, if Howard had anything to say about it.
Turning, retort already at the tip of his tongue, Howard froze. A dumbfounded, slightly slack-jawed expression fluttered across his features before he managed to compose himself. Because, lo and behold, Allen Walker – the Destroyer of Time, the host of the mysterious Foutheenth Noah – had fallen asleep sitting up.
His quill still in hand, though his fingers had gone slack, and leaning dangerously to the right, Allen slumbered as if he hadn't a care in the world.
Huffing, Howard made his way to the table they had been working on, fully intending to shake the boy awake so they could resume their duties. He paused when he saw the look on Allen's face, previously obscured by his snowy bangs. Allen looks so peaceful, and it suddenly hit Link just how different Allen's face looked now compared to when the exorcist was awake.
While awake, Howard had observed, Allen always seemed tense and on edge. He still smiled and laughed and interacted with other exorcists regularly and did his duties to the Order accordingly. If Link wasn't so perceptive – or, perhaps, if he hadn't spent so much time with the boy these past few months – he might have been fooled.
Allen was tense and wary and tired and his mask was starting to slip, slowly beginning to crack despite all of the boy's attempt to keep his charade going a while little longer.
And sometimes, when Walker looked into a mirror, either careless or unaware of Link's presence, he'd suddenly look much older, much more tired and bone-wary than he'd ever let on. That was, of course, in the rare instances when he wasn't glaring at himself in every reflective surface.
Thus, Howard reasons, he can make an exception, just this once. He'll cut the kid some slack- No one needs to know and Link told himself, firmly, that this way, when Allen was rested and able to stay fully awake, he could pile all his paperwork on him and then some. It's not like he's allowed to skim his duties, after all.
Howard stands there for while, just looking down at his charge and wondered what was going on in that head of his.
A moment later, Howard sat back into his chair, grabbed a pen and decided he was better off not knowing.
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