I hope you all will forgive me for rewriting this. The main plot will be the same, but the details will be different. I hope it is a better different, because I would hate to disappoint everyone, especially after making you wait so long for another chapter of Fate Screwed Me Over. This series will only be eleven chapters long, and there may be a lot of variability in length to stay within the parameters. I do, however, promise that these chapters will not be short. Since this is a music/song based fanfiction, I thought I should include more of that aspect in this. Every chapter will be named after an actual song. This song will also be featured in the chapter.
There will also be a Yullen version of this as well.
Chapter One
Prayer Song
Utopia, September 8, 20XX
A young man sat his desk, his hand on top of an old, worn journal. It held the secrets of someone many years younger than him, someone with a heart of an angel, and an exterior hardened in the forges of war. He had died too soon, and the young man was only too aware now that the world might have been a better place had the youth been allowed to live long enough to spread his view of good and evil.
The current owner of the journal caressed the top of the journal, feeling regret and guilt like lead in his stomach, pulling his heart down with it by a barbed wire. Years had passed since then, and he realized that his hatred had been both irrational and unfounded. Whatever reasons he had in the past to hate the deceased youth must have been foolish indeed if he could no longer remember them. Such a thing made the young man loathe himself even more. He hoped that in this lifetime he could mend his mistake, or even redeem himself, though he did not dare hope for the latter, because he did not deserve it.
"The sound of your voice
Is different than mine
But they harmonize so beautifully
When we sing with our eyes to the sky," the young man sang to himself softly. He thought of the white-haired boy whom he had condemned to death all of those years ago. He was filled with a fathomless longing to see the youth, to take his hands in his own and beg forgiveness, to make it known that he regretted all and would never again do something so heinous.
::
London, September 8, 20XX
A red-headed man sat outside his home, cigarette smoke wafting from his lips as he blew out his sweet addiction. He could hear the sounds of heavy breathing inside his house. It was the sound of a child deep asleep, walking in the land of dreams. The man was suddenly touched by the uncharacteristic desire to go into his ward's room to check on the boy while he slept. Considering their history, he supposed it was unsurprising. Still, the red-head did not like feeling soft. Softness gave one vulnerability, and at the present he could not afford to have vulnerability. No, not at the apex of a three-hundred-year-old prophecy. The man mentally admitted that rather than prophecy, it would be more accurate to call the impending event a curse. Regardless of semantics, this man made his own decisions and he decided not to give in to his suddenly vocal parental instinct.
The man jabbed the butt of his cigarette into the brick wall of his home. He hoped that this time around things would not end in a tragedy. He deserved a happy ending after the shit he had gone through, and so did his ward. Unfortunately, a happy ending could not be promised. The price of a second chance means that nothing is clear. A second chance is full of hope for the better.
His phone began to ring. The man contemplated ignoring it, since he loved to annoy others. Nothing seemed to annoy people more than their inability to get into contact with him. However, his (rather miniscule) sense of responsibility reminded him that he had a part in war to play. A role he did not dare avoid. A role he did not dare refuse for fear that it might cost him his ward's life. With heavy reluctance, the red-head slid his phone out of his pocket and hit the green phone on his screen. He put it to his ear.
"Hello?" he answered. There was a pause on the other end.
"I must admit, I did not expect you to answer," the caller confessed bluntly.
"The thought had crossed my mind."
"I will be brief then," the person on the other end replied crisply. "It's time. The members of the Black Order are congregating. Some have even regained their memories."
The red-head glanced at the window above his head, listening for the sounds of an oblivious, sleeping child. When he was certain his ward was still asleep, he returned his attention to the phone.
"When do I leave?" he asked.
"As soon as you can," the other answered. "I can make the arrangements for you. We are in a good position to protect him."
The man had no doubt about that. His superior was controlling man with a highly protective (and possessive) personality.
"I will be ready to infiltrate the Black Order in a week," he said at last. He still did not feel comfortable with the prospect of leaving the boy he had (almost) single-handedly raised, protected or not. "Please…keep him safe."
"That I can promise."
"When the sun shows itself after the rain
It stretches a rainbow across the sky
Some days may still be cloudy, and yet
We can all bring our prayers together."
"Your boy is using magic again," the red-head told his ally, sighing through his nose.
"He is feeling nostalgic," came the reply. "Never underestimate the power of song. Especially a song sung from the heart."
::
Utopia, September 8, 20XX
A man lathered the sweat away in the gym showers. His body felt loose and deliciously tired from his workout. Recently he had added a new fighting style to his old one, and he was satisfied with the results of the addition.
Th man closed his eyes, and leaned his head against the cool tiles. A memory of silver eyes arose in his quiet mind, a faint memory muddled by time and the waters of rebirth. And yet those eyes continued to make his heart ache so terribly. Like old scars and mended bones that ached come winter.
His hand rose, clutching at the birthmark over his heart. The mark of the price he paid, proof that he had a second chance to protect what h cared about. He was not going to fail this time, nor was he going to let anyone else he cared about die under his watchful eye this time. He feared neither pain nor death. He was willing to shoulder both for the sake of that sad soul in his faded memory.
A phone rang, the sharp sound echoing in the shower room. The man sighed in annoyance, then turning off water and haphazardly threw a towel around his waist. He snatched up the cell phone sitting on a bench next to his shower stall. He put his phone on speaker so he could talk while getting dressed.
"You're on speaker," he grunted. He expected to hear pleasantries. He was surprised to be told, very straightforwardly, what the purpose of this call was.
"It's time."
The man froze, hands on his jeans. He looked down at the phone. His mind processed the implications of that single statement. A smile ghosted across his lips.
"Are we expecting a battle to end the war?" he asked, pulling on the jeans. His heart tingled with excitement and the warmth of hope.
"It is very likely. Are you prepared?" the older man on the other end asked.
"Always," was the sure reply. He frowned as he heard something. A song in the air.
"In the skies of tomorrow
We'll see the bonds that we share
In colors so deep, so strong
That it dazzles the eye."
"That idiot is feeling lonely again," the man in the shower room told his superior. "He's singing to everyone again."
"Yes, I know. I will talk to him once I am done."
::
Utopia, September 8, 20XX
The young man with an eyepatch could see the youth in his mind's eye. A sweet boy with bright silver eyes, a lovely smile. In his mind's eye, this youth was asleep, safe in his warm bed. It made the immortal's heart yearn, wishing this vision to be a true one. He continued to stroke the worn antique journal, too caught up in what he was imagining that he did not notice his lips moving or the song spilling from them. Nor did he know that his voice was being carried to those on his mind.
"The song that I sing for you
Overflows with my feelings
'May you find peace with your life'
That is the message I send."
His song went to a many people, though it was meant for one person in particular. This boy dreamed of a normal dream, and knew nothing of the tragedy from his previous life. The boy did not hear the song, for he was both asleep and oblivious to magic, but nonetheless his soul heard the song and it made feelings blossom within his breast. These emotions would be impressed when he awoke, along with the song.
The red-head's pocket buzzed, and the seemingly young man slipped his phone out of his pocket.
Cross is making his move. Be prepared. Allen is coming.
He gripped his phone tightly, drawing in a shaky breath. His chance for redemption had at last come. A chance to earn forgiveness. More importantly, it was another chance to protect someone he had previously condemned, an opportunity to do the right thing.
Roger, he texted back. Almost immediately he received a response.
You were singing. Again.
He bit his lip, feeling guilty and embarrassed. His phone buzzed again and a new message below the previous popped up.
Poor Allen will have an awful ear worm.
::
London, September 9, 20XX
"Sometimes a cold wind may blow on your back
And the portals of spring scatter the wind
But trust that someone will come along
To put a warm around you—"
"What are you singing?" Narain asked Allen. He slipped his hand into Allen's, gently swinging their arms together. They were both upset and trying to ignore the fact that this was their last date. In the past few months, the two had grown apart. The romantic spark between them had fizzled out, due to several things. Narain wanted to go to medical school, and his family would be sending him away for the best school they could afford—Allen was never in the same area constantly, due to his guardian's wanderlust. Narain and Allen still remained best friends, and they undoubtedly loved each other, likely always would, but their relationship was not possible. It would become unhealthy and unfair for them to keep it. They amicably broke up, and decided to have one last date.
Allen, having been caught singing without knowing, felt embarrassed. He tried his best not to let others hear him. He liked his privacy, trusted few people—he had lived a rough childhood, after all, before Mana had found him. Living with Cross could have been more terrible, but life still wasn't always easy, and Allen found it difficult to be himself around people, and he trusted even fewer. For him, Allen felt open when he sang. If he sang, he sang with his heart, and bared it to the world (or whoever was listening). He did not like having such vulnerability, and so he did not often sing outside of his own company or Cross's. Even with Narain, he rarely sang.
"It's just a song stuck in my head," he answered, though where it came from, he had no idea. He had woken up, and the lyrics had been there, along with the tune and strange emotions swelling to the brim.
"It's pretty," Narain complimented him. Allen smiled back at him, continuing his song more comfortably, as a 'thank you'. Together they walked through the park, empty due to the sun having set over an hour ago. At las they came to the destination thy had in mind for their last date. It was a hill, slightly higher than the trees, with a wonderful view of an open sky. Narain and Allen walked up the hill at their leisure, the former releasing his boyfriend's hand to spread out a blanket on the ground. From the pack, Allen also pulled out two bottles of cream soda. They plopped down together, opening the bottles with extravagant flourish. The tapped the glass together I a toast to what they had, what they were, and what they would always be. Together they reclined and lounged, pointing at the stars and telling stories about how the constellations came to be. Deeper into the night, after they had run out of stories they knew, they began to make new ones.
"There was once a young man who lived in a castle," Narain said gravely, pointing to a random cluster that looked vaguely tower-shaped. "All loved him, and the heavens parted to make a place for him to escape daily boredom—"
And on his tale went, both long and ridiculous, making Allen smile and chuckle. Then it was Allen's turn to tell a story.
Allen looked at the night sky, gazing upon the numerous stars, too many to count, and let his mind wander. He could see shape in the stars, the form of a broad back, arms wielding a hammer as if striking out towards a foe. He smiled, not recognizing the bittersweet emotion lingering as an ache in his heart.
"Once, there was a brave man who fought in a hopeless war. He was a great warrior, and used a hammer to strike down his enemies. He was good, and strong, and everyone loved him," Allen began. He was lost in imagination, the story so vivid in his mind he could almost see it, almost feel it. "One of his comrades loved him too, though he loved him as something more than a comrade in arms. Every day, he would watch this hero with a painful longing in his chest, aching for something that would never be. This hero had a sweetheart he cared for more than the world, and the comrade wanted nothing more for than man to be happy, so he watched them from afar.
"It was sad, but over time the hero came to hate the comrade who loved him. He hated him so much that one day the comrade confided in him a secret. The hero was spiteful, and told everyone this secret. The comrade was imprisoned, and executed."
Allen felt dampness at his eyes, and in confusion he wiped them away, quickly making up an end to the story. He felt Narain's surprised eyes on him, but he ignored it.
"The hero died of old age, gaining his happy ending, and he was placed in the stars for all eternity. But for the sin he committed against one who loved him, the hero was forced to stay frozen above for all eternity," Allen ended.
"What became of the comrade who loved the hero?" Narain asked Allen softly. The boy with white hair frowned, confused by the question.
"He died," Allen answered simply.
"Death is not always an end," Narain pointed out. "Perhaps the heavens took pity and allowed him to be reborn, and he found happiness."
"Maybe," Allen said skeptically. He then realized that his eyelids were heavy and he felt tired. He glanced up at the moon's position and saw that the sun would be rising in only an hour or two. Allen felt a little worried, since he had told Cross he would be back around midnight. Unfortunately, he had also forgotten his phone in Narain's car, and therefore he (probably) had at least fifty texts and/or calls from a worried guardian. Who would more than likely use him for target practice after he returned home safe and sound.
"It's about time for us to leave," Allen told Narain. He saw a shadow pass over his best friend's face, and an answering sadness to his own. The other boy reached out to cup Allen's cheeks. He pressed his lips against Allen's. Allen turned his head away, unable to kiss someone he was breaking up with.
"Narain…"
His best friend pulled back slightly, then gently leaned his forehead against Allen's.
"You always give me happiness, and sing for me," Narain told him. "I'm no good at signing, but if you let me, I want to return the favor."
Allen waited for a moment, then nodded his consent. Narain wrapped his arms loosely around Allen's waist and gently began to move them into a formless dance from side to side.
"Go on and close the curtains," Narain began, his voice shaky, but sweet. It made Allen both smile and cry. Narain was singing the song they had heard on their first date together. "'Cause all we need is candle light,
You and me, and a bottle of wine
To hold you tonight."
Narain wiped away Allen's tears, even though he looked like he wanted to cry himself. He took Allen's hand in his own, and put the free arm around Allen's so they could dance a modified waltz. Allen chuckled despite the tears.
"There's a log, in the fire
And it burns, like me for you
Tomorrow comes, with one desire
To take me away…"
Allen joined in Narain's song, wondering rather grimly why their song happened to be a perfect song for their break up as well.
"Save tonight, and fight the break of dawn
Come tomorrow, tomorrow I'll be gone
Save tonight, and fight the break of dawn
Come tomorrow, tomorrow I'll be gone."
They danced until the sun began to color the sky, and then they returned to their blanket and held one another to watch their last sunrise together. Neither one had wanted the night to end, and yet even their love could not stop the night from falling away, nor the sun from climbing into a new day. As they say, all good things must come to an end. Allen lingered as long as he could, but Cross finally found them, using the GPS in his cellphone. He chewed both of them out, and while it was not a fun experience, it was worth it.
::
Allen was utterly exhausted when Cross finally took him home. His guardian was still pissed, but he seemed more relieved than anything else. As punishment, he was not allowed to go to sleep until Cross did (meaning eleven at the earliest, and three in the morning at the latest). Allen admitted he had certainly pushed his luck too far and agreed to the man's terms. He was rather surprised when they returned home and Cross immediately set him to work packing things away. Carboard boxes had already been bought, along with tape and a box cutter.
"Are we moving again?" Allen asked in alarm. He saw his guardian was stressed enough to have stuck a cigarette in his mouth (though it remained unlit because he kept Allen's health away from his habit).
"We are. Pack your things into the duffle bags, no more than two. You may as well take a backpack as well, for you will be going to a school," Cross informed him. He gestured to the goods around them. They were not pretty nor expensive, but in the past months, they had really made this place feel like home. Allen was a little sad to know that they were leaving. "We will pack up the other things and sell them off."
Allen knew better than to ask the reason of why they were moving. Cross always moved, for various reasons. Usually it was due to money problems. Allen assumed that their luck had finally run out.
"Where are we going?" Allen asked Cross, moving to begin setting the dishes from the kitchen into a box.
"The United States. I have some relatives there that are willing to provide some housing," Cross replied.
"You have relatives?" Allen asked, frowning. He had never heard about Cross's relatives before.
"Actually, they are your relatives," Cross amended, rolling his sleeves up so he could also get to work. He glanced at Allen and sawt that the boy had frozen, and was staring at him. "What?"
"I have relatives? Why haven't I heard about them before?"
"I may or may not have manipulated the law for custody over you," Cross admitted. Allen wasn't really surprised by that, though he questioned why Cross would want to raise a child. He wasn't an affectionate or paternal man. Allen wouldn't doubt that he was even being held for ransom, though he admitted it was a little extreme for Cross. "I have to go undercover for a while, so they will be taking care of you while I'm gone."
"You can't just leave me," Allen protested. He felt fear and unease rolling in his stomach at the thought of his guardian, someone he trusted more than anyone else in the world, abandoning him to some strangers.
"You will be safe," Cross promised, stopping to look Allen in the eye so that his ward knew he wasn't being cruel or abandoning him. "They would protect you with their lives, and they already love you."
Allen did not look convinced, so Cross added, "They are also rich enough to feed your bottomless pit of a stomach."
Allen decided that was the real reason Cross had taken him in after Mana. He was using him to get money from his rich relatives. And now, he was probably using him to extort more money from them.
Actually, Allen knew that probably wasn't true. Still, it was the best theory he had so far. And he was feeling particularly vindictive towards his guardian and wanted to think the worst of that man.
"I'm going to pack my belongings," Allen said at last. He needed time to process their conversation, the revelation of his relatives' existence, and the fact they were moving again. All of this right after his break up with Narain.
"Before you go, I have a question," Cross said, stopping him. Allen waited. "Did you lose you v-card with Narain? Because I never took you for an exhibition—"
Allen left his guardian without a word, and slammed the door behind himself.
::
Utopia, September 12, 20XX
"No one can stand being all alone
But you don't have to bear it all
As long as your voice blends together with mine
I'll follow wherever you go."
"What are you singing?" Cross asked, drawing Allen from his mind. Allen was still upset with his guardian and did not really want to have an in-depth conversation with him. On the other hand, it was both rude and disrespectful to ignore the question.
"I was thinking about the people who settled in America in the early days," Allen said at last, staring out the window, his eyes focused on the scenery. It was pretty. Not like England, but then he didn't expect it to look like England. "It must have been hard to settle in a place so unknown. I can't even imagine what it might have been like for them."
Cross glanced at him, thinking of the lyrics of the song. They seemed appropriate.
"At least we didn't go to Massachusetts," Allen said under his breath. His words startled Cross.
"What do you mean?" his guardian asked. The boy shrugged.
"I've always thought of Massachusetts as harsh place," he said at last, without giving any more explanation. Cross was silent, taking his words, and knowing the reason why Allen did not want to go near Massachusetts.
In silence, Cross drove for another twenty minutes. They were on the outskirts of a town named Utopia, for Allen's relatives lived in the countryside. Allen hadn't been told much about them. He only knew that they led private lives, owned a large house and a lot of land, and that they were considered somewhat eccentric.
Allen saw the house in the distance, a mere smudge. He had been daydreaming, his mind lulled towards ideas of melodies and lyrics in his head. Allen barely gave it any acknowledgement and continued his thoughts about the odd song suck in his head. Then they drew closer, and the smudge became an identifiable shape. Allen's attention was caught and he was in awe of the house they drove towards. No, it was not quite a house, but a manor. A very beautiful and elegant manor with columns in the front, and what appeared to be an observatory.
"Is that—" Allen couldn't even finish his sentence, because they pulled off of the highways onto a private road and drove directly towards the opulent manor. He stared at it unabashedly, taking in all of the wonderful details as they drew closer. It stood three stories high, two stories filled with windows, and the third dedicated to the observatory on top. Above the front door lay a balcony. A simple, pretty garden led up the steps.
"I told you, your relatives are rich," said Cross. He pulled into the circle leading to the front door.
"Why aren't they the ones raising me?" Allen asked, in awe of the beautiful place they were stopping in front of. Cross threw the car into park and pulled the lever to open the trunk. Cross gave him a dark look, and he added, "Not that I'm unsatisfied with you as my guardian."
"When the opportunity arose, you were already attached to me," he answered. "I've kept them informed about you over the years, and they help me pay for your food."
Well, Allen had always wondered how Cross had managed to feed his ferocious appetite while somehow managing to have a debt larger than the square footage of Asia.
They both disembarked from the car rental. Cross took out Allen's two duffle bags—he threw the heavier one at the boy, who caught it with a glare—he shouldered the keyboard and gave the other bag to Allen once he had a proper hold of it.
"I would have brought the backpack instead of the keyboard," Cross remarked.
"Well, I'm not you," Allen replied smartly. He followed his guardian up the front steps of the manor. He admired the pretty wooden planks of the porch, looking up high towards the tops of the columns. The simplicity made it very elegant, and Allen wondered if this was not a movie set or something of similar class. It looked too perfect to be real.
He heard a sudden thud thud thud, and was appalled to see Cross knocking on the door with the toe of his boot.
"Isn't that too rude?" he asked. His question was ignored in favor of more kicking. By the time the door was opened, there were several scuff marks at the bottom of the wood.
"Honestly Cross, could you be anymore uncivilized Your manners have degraded over the years," the man who answered the door chastised. Allen studied him closely, wondering if they were relatives. He didn't look familiar. Considering he was the one who opened the door, and his relatives' apparent wealth, he supposed this could be a servant. Allen scrutinized him closer and decided he did not look the part. He was likely a relative of Mana, for that shared the same air of class and propriety. He was also of a fair complexion, and enviously perfect skin. Allen was even more jealous to note that the tone of the man's skin hinted that he probably did not burn, but tan. Even more unfairly, his features were attractive, his dark hair thick and wavy, pulled into a stylish ponytail. He looked well-bred and high-class.
"Like I care," Cross replied shortly. He nudged Allen forward. The stranger's gaze fell onto the boy, taking in the odd appearance of Allen Walker without looking derisive. Such openness unnerved Allen and he found himself stepping back slightly. His back met the palm of the very hand that had propelled him forward the first time. "This is my ward, Allen Walker."
The stranger held out his hand. Allen hesitantly shook it.
"It's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Sheryl. Welcome to my home," the man said sincerely.
"Thank you," Allen replied politely, uncertain of what to do next. Luckily Sheryl moved aside and beckoned them inwards. Cross and Allen crossed the threshold as they followed Sheryl inside the house—manor.
Allen looked around inside. It was even nicer than the manor looked from the outside. The floors were a dark polished wood. The walls were paneled with a light wood, and wallpaper reminiscent of the sky. Everything was decorated tastefully and carefully. Allen did not usually like such places because they did not usually feel lived-in, but even he could appreciate this place. He liked the open, bright feeling of this floor. It felt refreshing, and crisp.
Sheryl led them through the atrium, to the right. Firstly, Allen was shocked to find himself in (what he assumed to be) a parlor. He had never been in one before. Secondly, he was surprised to see that the room had an occupant. He was older than Sheryl by five to ten years. His dark hair was swept back, scruffy stubble untamed above his lip and along his jaw. He looked different than Sheryl, but something about the way he held himself seemed proper, noble. The man's eyes were as dark as his hair, but oh they were expressive. In an instant, Allen's voice caught in his throat, realizing that this man was an unkempt version of his adoptive father, Mana. But that wasn't right, Mana had died years ago in a fire. So then this was Mana's brother?
Allen stared at the man, who sat sipping a steaming cup of tea. The moment their eyes met, the boy's breath caught and his fingers loosened. His luggage slipped through his fingers and hit the ground hard.
Is this fear? Happiness? Nostalgia? Allen wondered. He felt a dampness burning his eyes, a tear running down his cheek. Through blurry eyes, he saw the stranger smiling gently at him. Allen quickly collected himself and swiped a hand across his face. He decided it was merely the similarity in appearance to Mana that made him cry.
"Allen. It is wonderful to finally see you in person. I hope that I did not frighten you."
"No, it's just you look like…" Allen trailed off. He wasn't sure if he should mention Mana or not, or if he could even attribute the tears to Mana. But the man seemed to understand, and his smile warmed even more.
"I apologize for causing you pain." He gestured to the seats, asking if Allen was alright joining him. Two cups and saucers sat before the man, already filled. Sheryl took Allen's luggage, and his keyboard. He left the three of them alone in the parlor.
Allen stood there, trying to decide whether or not he should speak or sit. He glanced at his guardian and saw gleam of impatience in the man's face. It was a warning that, if Allen did not act quickly enough, Cross had no qualms using his elbow to move him into action. And generally, if Cross elbowed someone, it was quite hard. With that incentive in mind, Allen took the seat by the window. Cross took the other free one.
"Welcome to Noah Manor. This is Sheryl's home, although our entire family lives beneath this roof. It is usually not a quiet place, but I hope you will grow to love it like home," the unnamed man said to Allen, his manner and eyes friendly. "It may be large, and seem too luxurious to live in, but it is still our home."
"How long will I be staying here?" Allen asked. He did not look forward to spending any great length of time without his guardian. The man's eyes met Cross's, concern flickering in them.
"We do not know," Cross admitted. "It may be a year or longer."
"A year?" Allen had never lived anywhere for a year, let alone without Cross.
"Hopefully, after six months, Marian will join us," the stranger amended soothingly. "He will not be separate from you for too long."
Allen looked at Cross, feeling genuine fear for the man. He wondered what the man had gotten himself entangled in. It must have been very serious and extremely dangerous. The longest Cross had ever left him with someone was two weeks. For Cross to go under cover was serious enough—to be left with a stranger for a minimum of six months spoke of something even more frightening.
"What are you involved in?" he asked in a low, fearful voice. On the wall, the ticking of the clock echoed ominously through the room.
::
"You are Tyki's neighbor," Earl, as he had been introduced in the parlor, told Allen. "He is the comparatively normal member of our family. He is also fairly quiet and friendly."
Allen surveyed his room, trying to soothe the irritation and worry caused by Cross during their conversation and their farewell. His bed was queen-sized, clad in boring white pillows, sheets, and duvet. At the foot sat his keyboard and the duffle bags. The walls were equally white and tasteless, like the flowing curtains that framed his window. He was a little hurt that the manor was so elegantly decorated, yet his room was so devoid of any décor or personality. He did not voice this aloud, however. His room was a decent size, after all, and the furniture nice. It was all of the same dark wood. His bed looked like he could hang curtains around it, there were two nightstands by each side of the bed, and an armoire next to a door he assumed to lead to his own bathroom. Décor aside, Allen was really happy with his accommodation.
"I apologize. We did not decorate your room, since we used it for unexpected guests," Earl explained apologetically. Allen nodded wordlessly, feeling a little better. "We will buy you some things to decorate your room with this weekend, alright?"
The boy's head snapped around in disbelief. "Why would you do that?"
"You are family," the man answered matter-of-factly. "You ought to have a room of your own, one you feel comfortable in."
Earl went over to the armoire and opened it. Inside a few outfits (they looked an awful lot like uniforms) hung.
"Your school's uniform has already been bought, and they are inside here. You have a few days to unpack and settle in. On Wednesday we will take you to school with the others," Earl told him.
"Others?" Allen asked curiously.
"Yes, there are four family members who are about your age living here. A family friend is also staying here with his grandson in this house. I believe he is only a year or two older than you," Earl explained. "I am certain you will get along with at least one of them. The twins, however, are an acquired tasted."
Allen wasn't sure how he felt about that last remark. He wasn't used to having relatives around his age, nor going to school with them. Did Earl's statement mean the twins might ignore him? Bully him? The boy had no idea what to expect.
"I'll leave you alone to unpack. Feel free to explore once you finish. Dinner will be in three hours. It's family night," he added. "We all eat together at one big table."
"I eat a lot," Allen warned him. Earl's gaze was warm and understanding. The boy recalled Cross's earlier remark about his relative's helping pay for his food. If Earl's expression was anything to go by, then they were used to it, and did in fact have an idea about the monstrous amounts of food he ate.
"I know. The cook has already been informed. Eat to your heart's content while you are here, Allen." After the boy thanked him, Earl left. With a sigh, Allen set to work unpacking. His bags mostly held clothes and shoes—he put those in the armoire. Then he took out two picture frames: one picture of Cross carrying a little Allen on his shoulders, their backs to the camera. Allen had turned slightly to stick his tongue out at the photographer, so a part of his face visible. The second photograph was the crooked selfie he and Narain had taken during one of their early outings as friends. Allen set one frame on each nightstand. His last possessions consisted of a rarely-used-moleskin journal, a worn edition of Shakespeare's works, and a small photo album filled with memories of him and Cross over the years. Allen put them all in the nightstand drawer.
He set his keyboard up in the corner of his room, next to an outlet. He decided to ask for a chair borrow later. He slipped music sheets out from the carrying case and slid it into the empty nightstand drawer. Much to his dismay, Allen realized he had left his pack of cards somewhere at the airport.
Lastly, he put away the keyboard's case and the duffle bags. He shoved those under his bed. Then he peeked into the bathroom, disappointed, though unsurprised, to find it was as boring as his room. There were towels, and toiletries inside already, though, so he was pleased about that.
Allen decided to plop onto the bed for bit to stretch out his stiff body. He was tired from the flight, and his body ached to stretch out after the long flight and the long car drive back to back. As he lay on his back, upper body dangling slightly off of the edge of the bed, his mind wandered to his guardian.
What are you involved in? he had asked his infuriating guardian.
And of course, Cross answered,
The Mafia. What else?
Allen knew a lie when he heard one, and Cross had been lying. He had been pissed in the parlor and refused to talk to the man until the time of their separation came. While saying a farewell, Cross hugged him. Cross only hugged Allen like that when he was afraid they would not meet again. Cross had only done that three times before. One time, Allen had even thought Cross had died, when news of his body being found came (of course, it turned out the man had faked his own death, and neglected to tell Allen).
"Stupid guardian," Allen muttered.
::
The chess board was set. Everyone was in position. A war, frozen for centuries, was about to begin again. A war that had previously forced hearts and souls to curse one another with over a thousand sleepless nights and haunted hours of wakefulness.
Exorcists versus Noahs, as it has always been. Only this time, one side will win in an epic battling the world will never forget.
::
"How do you feel about the last season of this show?" the reporter asked one of the judges. The woman wore a huge grin on her face.
"It's sad to say goodbye," she admitted, "but I really think that his year will be the best year we have ever had."
"It will be an epic season," her fellow judge agreed.
::
It was the last season of Crowd Surfing, it was the most unforgettable, epic season of them all. It was a season full of love, friendship, drama, and, of course, great music.
::
This is how a seven-thousand-year war ended.
::
What a bunch of hippie—dippie baloney
Thank you for the first Chapter. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I couldn't help use a line from The Lego Movie as the last line of this chapter.
For songs, I used The Prayer Song, from Daimajin Kanon. I also used some lyrics of Save Tonight, by Eagle Eye Cherry.
Once again, I apologize for how different this will be from Fate Screwed Me Over. I can only hope it is a better kind of different. For those of you who read this and are confused, there is a prequel I suggest reading, since this makes references to it, but will not go into detail about the past. I will also have a Lavi Route and a Kanda Route. They will mostly be the same, with a few tweaks here and there.
