Once upon a time there was a girl who loved too much
The slip of a girl seemed too young to be in High School. If not for the uniform, many would probably have mistaken her for an elementary student, or at least a middle schooler. She was short and far too flat for a girl of fourteen, with spiky, unladylike hair and a tendency to act childish and odd. Her skin was ashen, and her eyes were gold; her best friend was an umbrella, and she drew macabre pictures on the backs of her notebooks.
Nobody seemed to like her.
It was raining that day, a frigid downpour that came all of a sudden and unexpectedly, considering the blue skies of the morning. She did not have Relo with her (missing, taken from her locker), and her white dress shirt was humiliatingly clinging to her upper body, utterly transparent, hiding nothing. She had to cross her arms over her chest to hide her black bra, and duck her head to hide the hot tears. Even without them there to witness it, she didn't want to give them the pleasure of bringing her down.
She wanted a jacket, her umbrella, and a friend.
He came from amidst the rain, heading from behind until he stood by her side, a white, wavering apparition swimming in her vision. His hand on her soaked, quivering shoulder was warm. His voice was so gentle on her ears she could barely make it out amongst the hiss of the rain against the sidewalk, but the gesture of him removing his jacket and placing it over her shoulders spoke volumes.
He smiled at her, and something inside of her fluttered.
"You looked cold," he had said to her through the gentle grin, silver eyes impossibly kind. Eyes, she recognized, she had seen in the hallways, or roaming the student body from the auditorium. The lovely, loving eyes of Allen Walker, the Student Council President. He looked at her like nobody ever had before. She distinctly remembers how she, in that moment, wanted those eyes to keep looking at her, forever.
She kept the jacket on her bed, the smile in her mind, and those eyes covetously in her heart.
ooo
Even after it was all over, the world seemed to keep slipping by him. Maybe he wasn't holding on tight enough, maybe his fingers were spread too far apart, or perhaps he simply wasn't trying adequately, but everything was impossibly hard to catch onto. Voices echoed along his senses as uncomprehensive sound, and he'd tune in only to find himself hearing garbled nonsense one moment, then absolutely nothing the next. He may as well have been blind for all the help his eyes were giving him; the darkness of his eyelids was punctuated by slanted light, blurred shadows of what may have been faces, and harsh, fast scenes that rushed through his brain like a bullet, thegirlthegunlenaleelyinghalfconsciousaholethroughherlegbleedingbleedingredthesmashthebatthebreakhisscreamherlipsonhisthehorrorhisarmsaroundhisshoulderstheturntheshottheworldonfireburningdownaroundhim.
The warm puff of breath against his face was a welcome change to his frigid skin. His eyes wouldn't open, but he could smell cedar wood and black coffee and polish and antiseptic and the metallic scent of blood. Arms were under him but he could barely feel them, so focused as he was on the feeling of drifting through the air like a cloud. He felt weightless, almost nonexistent, unfettered from the ties binding him to reality, a ghost composed of blood and hands on shoulders in the rain and memories of kisses under the bleachers between first and second period just before the warning bell.
Something was drifting perpetually down his stomach and side, a constant stream of water or something else that was very wet.
Hands grip his shirt, pull it taut, and pain lances through his chest, digging deep and suffusing through his body. The world begins to collapse on top of him, pinning him down. His head spins, his lungs are covered in napalm until they stretch taut enough to rip with one more breath, and his entire universe is compressed to the size of a pinprick in his mind. Consciousness wavers, balancing on the edge of a precipice entirely too steep for his comfort.
In panic, he tries to struggle, and the stream becomes a river. The throbbing becomes a searing, then a brief tearing. He lands on a soft surface, his movement coming to an abrupt standstill as he is forced into the spongy whateveritis, strong clamps braced around his arms, near his shoulders. The belts around his chest pull tight. Pain spikes. Something screams. A sword-calluoused hand on his shoulder, gripping, in the rain. Utterly nothing; a void forever black.
Her teeth, white and red; her grin, his blood, that final shriek before everything fell away and he was left cupping sangria with his hands.
A/N- There is, in fact, quite a long story behind this crazy tidbit of broken apart jumbling (I was practicing a more abstract style; how'd I do?).
To put it simply: Rhode, teased in school, becomes obsessed with Allen, the one person to offer her kindness. However, she is heartbroken to find that he is already in a relationship with Kanda, and takes it in her hands to bring a gun to school and get her man…through force. She corners Allen in the Council room and keeps him there by threatening to kill Lenalee, who she already shot in the leg. Throughout the struggle she manages to both kiss Allen, and break his kneecap with a bat when he attempts to take her down. Kanda tries to save his Moyashi, but Allen ends up getting shot anyway. Komui saves the day, and what you see is Allen unconscious on his way to the hospital. You can fill in the rest, if you want. :)
A brief and shining return to the DGM fandom. XD