Those Nights
Chapter Two— Seeking Salvation
"Come in."
Allen obeyed with only the slightest pause of hesitation, apparently not completely grasping the fact that he had just snuck out of his room to visit Lenalee Lee in the dead of night. He looked at her as she closed the door behind him and realized why she'd been hiding; she was wearing a large black shirt, and nothing else but a pair of black underwear that were just barely visible beneath the hem. Understandable, she had probably been climbing into bed when he knocked; it was very late. He wondered vaguely why she was awake at all. Lenalee glanced at him nervously, a faint blush coloring her neck and cheeks as she tugged at the bottom of her shirt. Allen was hardly in the mood or state of mind to feel aroused, but he certainly felt… something, which was a change in itself. A layer of the veil engulfing his mind seemed to lift, leaving him with enough clarity to glance around the room; Lenalee seemed slightly less flustered now that he'd stopped staring.
"Um, so why did you… is something wrong?" she asked. Allen looked at her again, gaze still glassy enough to worry her.
"I don't know," he stated, eyes leaving her to travel across the room; it was similar to his in design, with one bed instead of two and a double-door closet no doubt stuffed with expensive, lacy garments she never actually wore, courtesy of Komui. "Maybe," he trailed off, eyes continuing to rove the room before settling back on Lenalee; her expression confused him. Worried, certainly, perhaps a little frightened. "Yes, I think that… something's wrong."
"What is it?" she asked, stepping closer as the words settled over Allen, trapping him. Yes, something was wrong. Something was very wrong. "Allen?" He flinched as Lenalee's hand settled on his shoulder, and she immediately withdrew it. Allen wished that he had missed the flash of hurt that crossed her expression, but it was soon replaced by concern as she returned to worrying the hem of her shirt.
"Are you alright?" she asked quietly. The proper answer was clear; yes, I'm alright. It was the common answer every man and woman replied with when facing such a daunting question.
"No," he answered, clearing his throat when his voice came out shaky and thin. "I don't think that I am." Lenalee stared at him with an intensity that made Allen glance aside, unable to meet her eyes and speak all at once. She waited impatiently for him to continue, hand continuing to pull at the fabric of her shirt as if to restrain herself from touching him. He was grateful for it, but the lack of contact was lonely.
"I'm… fading," he said, clearly unhappy with the word choice but unable to offer anything of greater merit. Lenalee waited a moment for him to clarify this enigmatic statement.
"How so?" she finally prompted. She glanced down at his right hand, and Allen noticed in the same moment that she did that he was shaking. Slowly, cautiously, Lenalee took his quivering hand in hers, fingertips just barely ghosting across the back of his hand as she sat down on the bed, beckoning him to follow suit. Allen did so without deliberation. His complete compliance worried her; they held hands often, without seeming to notice it many times, but he was normally awkward and hesitant when it came to more bodily contact or intimate situations. He looked at their hands, resting atop one another on the black satin of her comforter, and ran his free hand across the silky surface, engrossed in the sensation. Lenalee prayed for patience.
"Allen," she gently rested a pale hand on his rough, red one. "What makes you think that you're fading?"
Allen looked at her, sparing their hands one last glance before facing her completely. "He's taking over," Allen struggled to explain. "My mind is going, he… chipping away, piece by piece, making room… there's so much I don't remember. I don't know what's happening to me." A trace of helplessness colored his voice.
But he did, he did; sometimes. When he was lucid and sharp and he stared into the mirror, eyes spilling over with nothing but raw determination. When he gestured to himself and challenged the Noah in a fierce whisper, you can't have this. When the chuckle he received in return did not faze him, because he was going to win. When he believed in that absolute truth above everything else. When he trusted in Mana and loved him, and trusted in their promise, the pact that he made with his Innocence. He can't have this.
But it was dark, and people slept, and it felt like his mind was filled with cotton. He was slow, and then he was sharp, and then slow again, but perhaps his mind was always a lethargic thing and there were only bursts where he noticed it. He noticed it now, clinging to Lenalee's hand as if it could anchor his mind to his body. The shaking had returned.
"I don't think that I'm going to win."
The words were painful, chain lengths dipped in acid that sizzled as they wound around him, overwhelming him. They were at once a relief and more horrible than before once spoken aloud. They too would consume him. He would fade into nothing.
"I don't think that I'm going to win."
"Oh, Allen." Arms wrapped around him, pulling him into a warm embrace. He turned into in, lifting one leg onto the bed to stabilize himself as Lenalee squeezed him as close to her body as space would allow, having already drawn both legs under herself to perch precariously on her knees. She burrowed her face in the hollow of his neck, stroking his hair.
"You will."
The words were spoken with such certainty that Allen accepted them as fact before their meaning had even begun to sink in.
"You will win, Allen. You always do. You can make it through this, I believe in you." She never once stopped running her fingers through his hair, scraping gently from his scalp to the nape of his neck. She drew back now to stare into his eyes as she spoke, face a mask of determination that she was resolved to impart to him. He retuned her gaze with an open-mouthed gape and rapt attention. "You can beat him, I know you can. You'll always be Allen."
With that, he broke.
Allen leaned his head against Lenalee's chest, looping his arms around the low of her waist and clinging to her fiercely, as if seeking her salvation. She gladly gave it, resuming her previous ministrations as sobs racked his body.
"You're going to be okay, Allen." Was that really all it took? No, it was temporary relief backed by nothing— but it sounded like deliverance.
"It's going to be okay." He wanted so much to believe it.
"I'll always be here with you." That seemed impossible, but with her slender body crushed against his in an embrace that was both painful and comforting, it seemed like the only thing left to believe in. He clung to her like a lifeboat, anchoring him in reality; like she was the only thing left worth clinging to. For tonight, it was enough.
"Yes," he muttered tiredly.
It was enough.
