Title: Just the End of the Road
Word Count: 1,243
Rating: T+
Summary: It's been four years since Lavi left the Order without telling anyone, and Kanda's a little more than pissed off.
I don't know how this happened, honest. I was just listening to music, and I was suddenly inspired. I don't know, but whatever. Just enjoy whatever this is.
Disclaimer: I don't own D. Gray- Man.
It's been years - exactly four years, two months, three weeks, two days, thirteen hours, fifty-four minutes, thirty-one...thirty-two...thirty-three...
That was the amount of time that passed the moment Lavi's foot hit the boat. Bookman decided it was time to leave when everything was finally over at the Order, when there weren't anymore akuma to worry about, when there wasn't an Earl or Noah to defeat, when Allen came back, when he finally felt the same way...
Lavi had been a bit reluctant at first, unable to bear the thought of leaving; Bookman had somehow managed to convince him anyways.
Then after two years, eight months, one week, four days, twelve hours, sixteen minutes, and two seconds, Bookman died. The old man was laying on the bed, weak and somewhat brittle from old age, and Lavi (he just couldn't let go of number forty-nine) sat on the wooden stool with his tattered headband in his fisted hand. The redhead didn't know what to do, but with his final breath, the old panda told him to carry on, do what he wanted - he didn't have someone to hold him back anymore. At that, Lavi couldn't help but burst into tears and bury his head in his arms that were curled at the bedside. Bookman could only smile at the ceiling, too weak to turn, and pat Junior's head. Then, he let go of his last breath, and the withered hand just laid there, unmoving.
Shoving those thoughts in the back of his mind, Lavi continued dragging the tip of the quill across the piece of parchment, connecting lines and forming new ones.
He had become an artist, dropping the Bookman name, having already met someone who took over for this generation (it was a clan for a reason). It was a good way to keep life simple - and a good way to make a living, especially at this level of skill. His studio and office were simple: pastel blue and green walls with white and grey linoleum floors that was always covered with a white tarp to keep it clean. Copies of his past (and sold) work were sparsely hung on the walls.
Slowly, the blank palette came to life as the oils and pastels blended and contrasted; the colorful hues clashed with the underlying grey tones of the picture before him. He frowned, feeling disappointed. It didn't come out the way he wanted it to - it still carried that lingering, unidentifiable, sad feeling. Giving up, he sighed, letting the plate of oils and sticks of the pastels fall on the small stool that stood beside him. Lavi took the apron off, hooking the paint-covered cloth on the hook beside the door he was about to exit through.
Lavi's hand gripped the handle, and turned it, walking outside.
It was a strange town, he moved to. It was much different than the towns or cities he's been to while at the Order. Then again, he had moved to the other side of the world.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, the redhead strolled through the familiar cobblestone streets, greeting people he knew every now and then. Suddenly, a flash of black appeared in the corner of his left eye; he did a double-take, unsure of what or who he just saw.
Lavi assumed his mind was playing tricks on him (again), so he decided it was nothing. Continuing his walk, he pitched ideas to himself about new paintings, feeling the pile of different ideas that sat in his head long ago grow.
Abruptly, his headband was yanked downward, from wrapped around his head to sitting on his shoulders. His instincts, which were still very much as violent as they were four years ago, kicked in, and he jumped back, skidding on the sandy grass. A small cloud of dust appeared, particles blanketing his brown boots. He reached for the weapon in the holster strapped to his thigh, only to find nothing as he realized he didn't carry the weapon anymore.
His eyes flashed up, ready to fight hand-to-hand, but when he saw who was in front of him, his face broke out into a grin.
"Yuu!"
"So," Lavi started as he opened the door to his apartment, "what're you doing on the other side of the world?"
"Business," was the simple reply.
Kanda had his arms crossed over his chest as he was looking around the plain flat - white walls, a large bookshelf that took up an entire wall, and a set of couches that formed a right angle with the open area facing the books.
The exorcist uniform changed again - from black and red trims to stormy grey with white trims. The white rose was still the same, but slightly larger and on the shoulder area of the arm.
Lavi slanted his mouth to the side at the vague answer. "What kind of business?"
Suddenly, the redhead was forcibly turned around, and Kanda gripped the front of his shirt, pulling the other close enough their noses almost touched. "Enough of the small talk, rabbit." The samurai narrowed his eyes. "You know why I'm here."
It was true; someone like Kanda wouldn't waste time tracking someone like Lavi down for just any reason. Junior opened his mouth to say something, but closed it. Awkwardly, he turned his head and let his fiery red locks fall over his eye.
"Why did you leave?"
The simple words echoed itself in Lavi's head, over and over, and he simply didn't know how to respond. But picking his words carefully, he reluctantly answered,
"It wasn't like I wanted to."
"I'm not asking that," the ebony ground out. "I'm asking why. You knew, I knew, we both knew that you'd leave, but not like this. Not when we finally happened."
"I-" Lavi chewed his lip, unsure how to answer. "I had to. Bookman and my business were finished at the Order; we couldn't stay."
"So why the heck are you a goddamn artist going almost nowhere with your life when you could have gone back? God- I came back from the fucking dead to save you from the damned Noah."
Lavi paused. "I couldn't come back," he paused again, unsure of whether he should continue or not, "because I wasn't number forty-nine. I wasn't Lavi-"
"Don't lie to my face, rabbit. There's no way you could have let go. Bookman knew; you care too much, you got too attached."
For a while, neither said anything, until Junior asked, "Why did you find me?"
"Lavi." It's been four years since he's heard his name like that, and he couldn't help but feel a bit giddy inside. "Look at me."
Slowly, Lavi turned his head, and steeled eyes stared back at his forest green one.
Almost viciously, Kanda pressed his lips against Lavi's, and the latter let his lone eye close. Both felt the sharp spark run through their bodies. The hand that was gripping the redhead's shirt moved to the back of his neck, tangling pale fingers in fiery red hair. Lavi placed his hands on the other's waist, and pulled them impossibly closer together.
They pulled away together, acknowledging the deprivation of oxygen at the same time.
"You didn't answer my question," Junior mumbled.
"Isn't that an answer in itself?" Kanda growled.
"So angry, Yuu," the redhead teased.
"Shut up."
"Make me." Lavi stuck his tongue out, and Kanda gave a crooked smirk.
"You bet I will."