Ahem, yes... several warnings:

1. This story is largely inaccurate in regard to the lotus. Instead of researching the number of petals on a website I watched the second opening, paused it, and counted the petals. I got twenty one. Big surprise. There are thirteen. Dammit!

2. I have seen up to episode 65ish. I have read up to Volume 7. I have seen many spoilers but not read them completely ergo, I have no idea what happens later on so I tried my best to allude to things vaguely and I also don't know if any history of the lotus has been revealed that I don't know of .

So basically, it isn't applicable to the actual story but I decided to post it in case it's still enjoyable. Sorry for my fallibility! (oh yes, 3.Implied lemon)

Twenty one.

I held the point of Mugen at your throat and refused to shake your cursed hand. You didn't know that it was partly because I'm shy, partly because we don't shake hands where I come from, and partly because of the reason I gave. I spoke a name, attached you to myself without realizing it. Moyashi. We met.

Twenty.

Usually more space in between but that mission was hard. The little singing girl with her ancient little boy. And the level two that shoved us both through bricks. I told you we fight to save the living, kill the dead. You told me you fought to save them both. Baka moyashi. And I let slip about that person. Things got a little personal.

Nineteen.

We had gone our separate ways a few seasons ago. My comrade died with nineteen. The Noah were on the loose. And for a reason I didn't know, I thought of a little Moyashi out in the world. And I was scared.

Eighteen.

Our paths crossed somehow. I saw you boarding a train, I was getting off. You didn't see me. I nearly let myself get left behind my group. You didn't see me.

Seventeen.

It was snowing where we were. I don't know where you were. My blood was very pretty on the white but I knew there was too much of it there. That night was the first night I realized I missed you.

Sixteen.

I cried when I woke up in the middle of the night. I don't know, I didn't know why.

Fifteen.

Everyone met up again. We died. We lived again. Kept going. I lived again. And so I told you, as I never should have done, how Moyashi tasted sweeter on my tongue every day. You said I love you too. I didn't know it was love, I knew the feeling but I'd never said the English word.

Fourteen.

Apart again on missions. I couldn't focus like I used to in between battles. Because I wondered about you and if you wondered about me and if you wondered about me wondering about you. It hurt a little bit, now that it was personal.

Thirteen.

The first time I felt the texture of your hand. It ran along my jaw to my neck and into my own hand. It was rough but not unpleasant. The first time I felt the texture of your lips. Your nose rested against mine and your chest pressed against mine and I felt your strong steady pulse and I knew. You couldn't feel mine. It wasn't supposed to, but it tasted like salt.

Twelve.

I let you in my room, as I never should have done, let you climb up in my bed and curl up in my arms, as I never should have done. But since I was lying to you I went ahead and lied to myself. And lying felt very good. And very warm.

Eleven.

You made me laugh when we woke up in the medic ward. I'd healed long ago but I stayed in my bed until you woke up in yours. You blinked a few times and then sat up so fast you got dizzy. Then you asked if you were dead because the real Kanda would never laugh. And I laughed so hard I cried.

Ten.

You said my name for the first time. It was rough but not unpleasant. I showed you how your mouth should curve to make a more authentic sound. You could say Yu with a perfect accent by the end of the day. And it didn't hurt to hear it.

Nine.

You came in my room and you noticed, though you'd been coming for over a year, you noticed for the first time. No, it wasn't the first time you noticed, the first time you spoke about it. And I wondered how long you had worked to build up the courage to ask, as long as I'd worked to ignore and forget I suppose. In a whisper you told me it was more than halfway gone. I knew why I cried that night. But I didn't cry alone.

Eight.

You dragged me to the train station. I couldn't walk. A very tough mission, I must admit. And I was the only thing you saw. We almost missed the train. I was the only thing you saw.

Seven

I kissed you softly in the snow, hiding behind my veil of hair all the while. Even after so long, I was still shy. That night we… slept together (the serious way).

Six.

I went on a solo mission and you went on a solo mission. I was sad that we were angry when one fell, I preferred to be together. It was raining and this time I knew why. I knew why.

Five.

Your 21st birthday, by your calculations. I almost missed it for a mission but that wouldn't have done at all. For some reason it made me feel old and alone in the crowd in the cafeteria. But I smiled for you and hated myself on my own time.

Four.

It began to hurt every time they came down. You could tell but I never said a word.

Three.

The moyashi I'd thought of alone, away from me was no longer a moyashi. And was with me all the time. But I hadn't stopped worrying. If anything, I worried more.

Two.

I went on missions nonstop for an entire month, some more brutal than others, but all in desperation because time was running out. But so many wounds… perhaps I should have saved my time. It felt better to save others with my time even if it shortened it. Now it was only a matter of seasons. I wanted to go in spring.

One.

I didn't leave for missions anymore. You tried to make me very happy but it was hard when looking at me broke your heart. It was hard to see in you what I was doing, to feel in myself the pain I'd imparted in you because I couldn't help but fall in love.

You kiss me hard right before, hold me as we sit on my bed, the contents of the case reminding us it's over, inverted, trickling away. I tell you I'm sorry. You tell me you love me. You whisper my name. I whisper moyashi. And the last one shakes, leans. I become your ancient little boy and you my little singing boy, like on our first mission. I stare at our hands, your warm milky one holding my icy pale fingers, cold white like a sickly little bean sprout grown away from the light.

"Allen, I love you too."...

And then there were none.