They really didn't know how much time they had left—how much time they had until the familiar contact and the soft kisses would all have to come to an end and it would all be nothing more than a distant memory. It's like a child's game of hide-and-seek. You don't know when it'll end—when you'll turn a corner and find what you found in the closet isn't what you're looking for. But, you do know that it all comes to an end—everything comes to an end. That is what the two have known since everything began—since they started this futile game. They haven't been resistant to the flow of time. They couldn't be because it would be in vain and it would never work. One a Bookman and the other a true exorcist of the Black Order—they both knew rationality after having faced loss. Still, as the war broke down and it seemed to be ending, they had hushed wishes, though they knew it would neither work nor be right, that the war wouldn't end—perhaps, a few more years; a few more months; a few more weeks—anything, so long as this game would never have to end—this game they affectionately called love. Though, how much of it was real, they knew not.
For years, Lavi, or rather, Bookman Junior, had been working to become the Bookman. He was Bookman's successor. It had been his life's goal or, in truth, his life's obligation. It wasn't as though he had no ambitions, it was more so that he had no worthy ambitions and had discarded them long ago deeming them useless and pointless. Sentimentality was both useless and pointless yet he found himself delving into it and relishing in its warm grasp. Still, he knew that that strong grip that held itself over his head and his seemingly non-existent was painful. Every time he thought of or felt Allen, he would shiver and his mask and shell, both made of glass, would crack and break away just a little more. Only time could tell when that mask would be completely gone.
Lavi was only his alias. To be more precise, it was his forty-ninth alias. He had gone through the process of taking on and releasing personas many times. He knew that when you became attached to something or someone through a persona, it became more difficult to give up the alter ego. That was how he felt now. He couldn't turn away from this massive presence that had become a burning passion inside him and had melted the ice walls he had built all around his heart. He was now frail, weak, and exposed. There was only so much he could do to resist and he knew it wouldn't change a thing.
Lavi had never known what had pulled him in to Allen Walker. Perhaps, it was his angelic appearance and personality or his peculiar white hair, scar, and mutated arm. Or, more likely, it was the prophecy of the Destroyer of Time that had first drawn Bookman Junior's intrigue. After all, that prophecy alone had brought the Head Bookman and Bookman's successor to the Black Order. It was mere coincidence. Lavi didn't believe in coincidence any longer, though. He had seen and been through his fair share of different "lives" and wars in his short time and knew that things never happened by mistake. That being said, him and Allen meeting had never been a mistake. Something so beautiful and wonderful blossoming between them could never be a mistake. Still, the rose that was their love had its thorns.
What about the Destroyer of Time was in Allen? Allen was far too pure and innocent with the naivety of a lamb and could never be what would destroy time—history. But, Allen had destroyed Lavi—he had stormed the castle gates of Lavi's heart and stolen the heart that was the treasure buried beneath the "X" of a stoic face marked with a stone cold lack of emotions...or, so he thought.
What about the prediction of being the Fourteenth Noah? The Fourteenth Noah, to Lavi's understanding (or was it Bookman Junior?), was a hideous, grotesque creature with a marred soul that could never be the kind, sweet Allen. Allen was something so gentle that he could never even hurt a fly. Lavi knew as much. Or, perhaps, it was the love of humanity so much that he would betray the Millennium Earl knowing the great risk to save the world. Perhaps, in that sense, he wasn't so terrible, after all.
No matter how Lavi thought of it, it was nothing more than pure speculation. Love was an emotion and emotions and feelings were irrational—especially love—and could never be reasoned out. It was something Lavi had learned himself. All that Lavi could know was that it was true. He could never avoid the fact that he had fallen in love with Allen Walker and everything about him. Be it his androgynous appearance, his loving, self-sacrificing heart, the peculiar past and secrets held in it, the prediction of him being the Destroyer of Time, or the possibility of him being the Fourteenth Noah, Lavi and Bookman Junior both loved him—everything about him. It no longer mattered what had drawn him in because he had already been drawn in and there was no changing that. He could never change that.
So, until then—until the time they were forced to part—he would play the role of Allen's lover, Allen's protector, Allen's best friend, Allen's comrade—the role of Lavi. Because, a part of him had melded into Lavi's existence. And, as a false character cannot truly love someone real, nor can a real character truly love someone false. So, until then, he would be Lavi—Lavi would be him—so that both of their loves were real. But, when the time came, neither ends would be real. He knew he would never be content with not spending more time with Allen, but he knew also that no matter how much more time he had with Allen, it was never enough. So, until then, this game would continue...
Until then...
Author's Note: Oh boy…this is lovely. By which, I mean, it's not. So um…feedback is lovely. If you enjoyed it, that's wonderful. Do tell. So um…later.