A/N: okay, so, this is part number one. Out of three. Can you guys believe this was supposed to be a oneshot! Hahaha, anyway, this story has been so difficult to write, I almost thought about not posting it at all but I've worked so hard on it that I couldn't bear to just throw it away. I sincerely apologize if the beginning is really choppy because it took FOREVER to get into the flow and even then I'm still not quite sure about it. When I started writing it, I had ten pages before I went back and deleted nearly the entire thing so I could start over. I've never done something like that before O.o So yeah, if you guys are having a hard time getting through it, please tell me and I'll go back and see what I can do...*cries* I tried! Surprisingly enough, it was Allen who refused to cooperate and Kanda who listened. Go figure. Well, I HOPE that you will all enjoy it and I'm just being picky and paranoid...Love for the reviews! Thanks to you all who asked me to continue! (And no, Allen's not dead! hahaha)
Part 1:
The first time he met the boy with the black hair and deep, brooding eyes was at the sandbox in the park. It had been a nice day, in the very beginning of May, new growth sprouting around them in a riot of rich greens. Manna had suggested they go to the park in town because it would be a shame to waste away inside. They had moved to that town only a few months before and six year old Allen had not had a chance to make friends but the thought of going to a park was both exciting and new, filled with possibility. So he had gone with a bright outlook, holding his adoptive father's hand as the man walked them the couple of blocks to the town park.
What he found there, in the cramped little sandbox under the wide, sweeping oak tree was more than he could ever have imagined.
He can still remember how amazing the park looked that day, the playground done up in all different colors that appealed to a child's mind, looking shiny and inviting. Manna had taken one look at his rapt, shining face and laughed, shooing the six year-old towards the beckoning playground. The swings moved gently in the soft breeze, mostly abandoned that day except for one boy with red hair that had seemed to be trying to see if he could get the swing to flip completely over the top bar. Allen had watched him with wide eyes, wondering if he would let the six year old join him but just when the other boy called out to him, offering to let him join, a group of other kids waved and told the red head to join them and the older boy went running off, only shooting one apologetic glance back over his shoulder. Allen had refused to be discouraged, though and simply turned away in search of other pursuits.
There had been several small slides made from bright blue plastic that were scattered around the playground but it was the large slide near the jungle gym that caught his eye. It had been fun at first, whooshing down the metal slide, wind snagging at his hair and the thrill of shooting uncontrollably towards the ground making him giggle. Yet the joy of it only lasted a few turns before he realized with the all the innocent clarity that it would be so much more fun if he could find a friend to share it with. There had been several kids of all different ages there that day but they all seemed to have playmates or were like the red head and were just a bit too old for him to join them. Allen had wandered through the large, connecting tunnels that were raised from the ground for a while, fascinated with the rounded plastic roof over his head and the small port holes in the sides through which he could see Manna sitting on a bench under a large, shady tree, watching him play with a smile. Yet all the children he had thought might be willing to let him participate in their games merely smiled and turned away.
Back then he hadn't understood how the mark on his face had set him apart, couldn't figure out why all the kids his age were wary of such a difference in appearance; his marked left eye, his scarred arm and his silvery hair. It wasn't until he was a little older would he realize that his past always intruded upon the present, no matter where he went.
Then, though, he had been merely discouraged that no one was willing to talk to him, the shine of the playground losing its luster. All the other kids were there in groups, running and calling out to each other and making up games of pretend but there he was, standing on the wood chips by one of the small slides, watching them with wide, lonely eyes. All of a sudden he hadn't felt like being at the playground anymore and he had started over to tell Manna that, trying not to cry when he noticed the sandbox.
Or, rather, the boy occupying it.
It wasn't a particularly big sandbox, only able to fit three small children at the most or two bigger ones and the only toys littering its beige surface were only a couple of flimsy plastic shovels. The edges were made of old wood that looked like it hadn't been treated against the weather for some years and the sand itself looked clumpy, as if it had been wet recently. But none of that was what made him pause and stare before making a beeline for it. Instead he only had eyes for the dark haired boy sitting moodily on one of the wooden sides, his elbow propped on one knee as he drew swirling patterns with his toe in the sand. Allen couldn't say why he had been so drawn to this boy. Maybe it was his exotic looks, with the dark hair that shone nearly blue in the dappled sunlight spilling through the leaves of the wide tree and the slanted eyes, setting the boy apart just like his own looks did. Or perhaps it had been the lonely, brooding expression on his face, one that Allen recognized as one he wore secretly, inside his heart. Whatever it was, it made his small feet carry him under the shade of the great oak and stop at the edge of the sandbox, staring at his new find.
"Hello," he had blurted, his voice strong and sudden, making the dark haired boy look up in surprise. His eyes were such a dark blue even then they had arrested the younger boy, making him want to stare into them fascinated by that rich, deep color. Nervous, Allen had hidden his hands behind his back and peered at the other boy through the pale strands of his hair, hoping that he wouldn't get rejected by such a pretty person. He wanted the strange boy to like him as a friend, more than he had any of the others and he had held his breath as he waited for a response. Finally the blue gaze narrowed and a pouty frown had appeared on the dark haired boy's face.
"What do you want?" he had asked, voice gruff and Allen had flinched at the sharp tone, realizing that yet again he was about to get pushed away, discarded like every other time. He had ducked his head, hiding his disappointment away behind his hair and answered in a small voice.
"I was hoping you would be my friend," he'd said, shuffling his scuffed sneakers and not daring to look up at the other boy because he wasn't sure if he had made him mad or not. Maybe it was because he hadn't used his manners like his father kept trying to teach him? So he lifted his head and smiled, sticking his scarred hand out in greeting. It was an unconscious thing to do, using that hand for everything and he had scared off more than one person that way. But before he could realize his mistake, the deep eyes flickered over him, cool and assessing and the boy didn't run. In fact, he didn't even look disgusted and as he introduced himself, he hoped that was a good sign, "I'm Allen Walker," The other boy stared at him a moment longer before looking away, frown deepening. He didn't move to take Allen's hand.
"Why do you want to be friends with me?" the older boy had asked, arms crossing defensively over his chest and the pale haired boy finally let his hand and his smile drop, uncertainty making his nose and the mark bisecting his eye wrinkle. It was a confusing question, at least for his six year old mind and he had pondered it seriously before coming up with nothing more than a strange desire to be with this boy, to maybe see the lonely look be wiped away from his face.
"Because I like you. You're like me," and that was all the explanation he could come up with. It was simple and the truth and the other boy had looked at him with a bewildered expression on his face that melted quickly into icy distain.
"You don't even know me," the dark haired by had snapped, arms like a shield before his chest as if it would protect him from some unseen enemy, "How could you like me or know anything about me if we've just met? Maybe I don't want to be your friend!" The words had cut deeper than they ever had before and Allen could remember standing there, feeling like the very breeze would cut at the wound the dark haired boy inflicted, trying his very hardest not to cry. He had bitten his bottom lip, clenching his small hands into fists before looking back at his feet as if the tops of his sneakers could give him some condolence.
"Oh," he'd finally whispered, too young to realize how sad he had let the boy see him, "I'm sorry," and he'd turned to walk away, thinking that Manna would hug him and give him a lollipop and make him feel a little better. He couldn't remember anymore why he wanted to be that boy's friend so badly and thought he might have been so hurt because he had held out such hope, more than he had for anyone else. Yet before he could make it more than two steps, he had heard a soft sigh from behind him and then he was being called back.
"Oi, wait! Hang on!" confused, Allen had turned, not even daring to hope, and found the dark haired boy sitting rim-rod straight and looking as if he was struggling with something. Finally he had closed his eyes and held out a shovel, offering it to the younger boy, "I…was going to make a sandcastle but I…can't really do it on my own. So…help me," it was abrupt and rather rude but all he had cared about was that he was being given a chance and nothing could have made him happier. He could remember the older boy's blush when he laughed and took the shovel, cradling it to his chest like it was the finest treasure he could ever have been given.
That day, he and the boy with the slanted eyes, whose name he learned was Kanda Yu, played in that small sandbox for long hours, making a rather impressive sandcastle, or at least impressive in his six year old mind and forming a swift, strong bond. Even now, when he walked by that sandbox, he thought he could hear his own joyful laughter ringing in the air, clear and pure.
The day he and Kanda became friends was the day he fell in love, though he would not understand what it meant for a long time to come…
*0*0*0*0*
The warm, golden morning sun poured through the windows and into the large, spacious room at the top of the house, greeting him as he turned his head on the pillow. Everything was still really quiet, which meant it was probably quite early and he luxuriated against the cool sheets for a while, watching a soft breeze stirring the leaves of the large tree in front of one of the windows. It was a different tree than the one that stood outside his own window at home and he couldn't help but feel just a little homesick. It was so different here that even after the second day he wasn't really used to it. Not different in a bad way, of course but it was still unfamiliar.
For the twelve years he had been living in the small town of West Earl, this was his first time leaving it to go on an overnight trip.
He actually wasn't supposed to have gone at all. A girl he went to school with had invited several friends to go down to the shore house her brother owned the day after their senior prom and at the last second one of the girls she had invited had been unable to go. Road was a strange girl who Allen only really knew through Lenalee but she had come up to him the morning before the dace and stated that he would be coming whether he had plans already or not. The dark haired girl had always intimidated him a little bit and despite the fact that he had been somewhat reluctant, he was dragged along anyway.
He and Lenalee hadn't become friends until junior year of high school because he was reclusive and she tended to be a little shy. The dark haired girl had approached him with a timid smile and had asked as politely as he had ever heard if he would like to go out with her. The inquiry had shocked him speechless for a good five minutes because the only thing he knew about her was that she was in his gym and history glass and she was very smart. Yes, she was pretty but her long black hair reminded him of someone else and he had already accepted he would never be attracted to girls. So he had smiled with all of the sweetness he could muster and told her the truth.
"I'm sorry. I'm afraid I can't," what he had not been expecting was for her to breathe out a sigh of relief and grin brightly at him, as of his refusal was what she had been hoping for.
"Oh, good. It was actually my friends who said I should ask you out," he had been hurt for a minute before she had taken his hands and looked at him with such an earnest expression, he couldn't even dislike her, "What I really wanted to ask was if you wanted to come over and eat with us?" confused, he had opened his mouth before he found his voice, gaping at her like an idiot. The only friends he had made were out of school at that point and he was used to floating through his classes alone.
"Um, why didn't you just ask me that first?" he'd asked and she had laughed, her pigtails bouncing.
"Because I was hoping that it would give me a chance to get closer to you. You're not an easy person to approach, you know?" he had blinked at her then and allowed her to drag him over to where the rest of her friends were sitting, smiling when he was introduced. Her logic hadn't made any sense to him then but it had indeed broken the ice so efficiently that they became very close friends by the end of the year. She was the first female friend he'd ever had but with her came Road and Miranda, though he knew the latter a little better. Road was petite and slender, with huge eyes and a sharp tongue while Miranda was her complete opposite, tall and thin and extremely timid. But he liked all of them and was always glad Lenalee had finally worked up the courage to talk to him.
The girls had sat with him in the back of the SUV on the way down to the Cape, a soft counter point to the twin brothers who sat in the seat in front of them. David was dark haired and dark eyed where Jasdero was blond and pale but both of them were borderline insane; which was probably why everyone liked them so much. They wore too much makeup and too little clothes and had a perchance for mischief and, for some reason, had accepted Allen with not even a single question. Maybe it was because he looked as bizarre as they did or had participated in a few of their shadier pranks but either way, he enjoyed their company. They made the four hour trip exciting and unpredictable, even when Tykki, Road's older brother, threatened to pull the car over if they didn't knock it off. He had thought, as he watched Road leaning over the seat and hitting David with a small pillow while Jasdero dangled one of her shoes just out of her reach while everyone else laughed, that while they weren't who he had once wanted to share such an experience with, they were still his friends and he was glad for their company. It was better, after all, then having no one at all.
Everyone was silent, though, when they finally made it to their destination.
As soon as they drove over the little bridge and onto the island where the house was located, he was infinitely glad he had allowed himself to be muscled into it. The Cape was a good sized island that hugged the main land like it was afraid it would sink into the ocean if it ventured too far out and it was the most fascinating place the pale haired teen had ever seen. They had been greeted with the sight of hundreds of small fishing vessels bobbing alongside their docks, their tall masts a riot of stark lines against the grey swells of the bay. The air was an exciting mix of fresh fish and brine, the scent stirring something within him he had never known existed before. He was fascinated by the way the green grass swayed on the dunes that surrounded the sly inlets of water, acting like guiding paths for the fishing boats as they went out to sea or scurried back in from the waves.
Upon the Cape itself was a strange mix of domestic and wild; the places humans had touched and the preserved land that they could only wander through and admire but not leave their mark upon. Though he hadn't seen much of the nature preserves, the impression he had gotten was of tough little trees and lots of tall, thin, dry grass that sounded like snakes speaking softly to each other when the wind blew through them. All different kinds of birds flickered through the crooked branches and his heart had swelled with the freedom such a place offered.
The other half of the island was all residential and it was driving through the rows of houses one more beautiful than then next that he was captured. Every single one was large and welcoming, their colors bright, often garish and sporting porches that wrapped around at least the first level, many time two and in some cases even the third floor had spacious balconies. Each house presented a different face, unique in their regal beauty and he thought he could walk among them for years and never get tired of looking at them. As they were driving, Road had told them how the houses here had mostly fallen into disrepair twenty years ago before the residents here brought the Cape back to its original beauty by restoring them. Once she brought attention to it, he did notice a few houses that looked sad and abandoned among the general splendor of their neighbors but those were few and far between. And he couldn't get over how much there was too see, from the plentiful, spilling gardens, the scrolling woodwork and the people who watched them drive by with open, friendly faces. That isn't to say that in their town everyone was unfriendly but there was just something about the warm, soothing atmosphere here that put everyone at ease.
The driveway they pulled into wasn't big but it was paved with red brick and sat beside what had to be one of the most magnificent houses on the island. He knew that Road's brother, Tykki, made a lot of money as a businessman but he hadn't realized just how rich they really were. Allen wasn't the only one who needed to pick their jaw up from the ground when he stepped from the SUV. The house was three stories, each one with its own balcony, the colors a rich, dark blue, a lighter, greenish blue and a creamy white for the abundant, scrolling trim. Dark furniture filled the balconies, making them friendly and encouraging people to use them. There was a rounded tower room that was attached to the side of the house, reminding him of a turret on a castle and it merely added to the house's charm.
The inside was even more impressive, if that was even possible, with big open rooms on the first floor that had tall, sweeping ceilings and light walls and furnishings to make the spaces feel even bigger. The windows were huge, covered only by light, gauzy curtains and rich sunlight spilled into the rooms, all of which opened generously into one another. They had burst into the house, lead by Road who was eager to show off for her friends and then stood around gaping because it seemed impossible that they were even standing inside. Lenalee had sighed like someone love-struck, her eyes big and bright.
"Have you ever seen a place like this before, Allen?" she had asked in a breathless voice as they slowly walked through the wide, open front room then the living room before ending up in the kitchen in which stood a table big enough to seat twenty people. Road had already dashed up the narrow stairs to show the others who had come with them the bedrooms and her brother stood in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the doorjamb and surveying Allen and Lenalee's awe with some amusement.
"I'm glad it meets to your approval," he'd said, his dark hair falling into his eyes and his commanding voice soft, "You would never believe the condition it was in when I first bought it three years ago. It had to be practically gutted," there was a quiet, pleased pride tucked away in his words as he spoke and Allen realized just how much the man loved the house. Though he didn't know the older man very well, respect and a little bit of admiration bloomed within the pale haired teen then. If someone could love a place such as this with such shining passion, then that could only mean they had a good heart. He'd smiled at Road's older brother and wasn't as surprised as he might have been when it was returned.
"It is beautiful, Mr. Noah. Thank you again for allowing us to come here," the dark haired man had simply waved his hand at the teen, dismissing his formality.
"Please just call me Tykki. I hope your stay is enjoyable," just then Lavi, two years older than the rest of them and only present because he was dating Tykki, had stomped down the stairs, his single visible eye shining and a crooked grin lighting up his face. The dark haired man waved Allen and Lenalee towards the stairs, "go ahead and pick out your rooms," and they had done so, climbing up the stairs to meet up with Road as she showed everyone around.
The second floor had four bedrooms, each of them a decent size and furnished tastefully. The biggest one belonged to Tykki, whom he would be sharing with Lavi and the one in the back was Road's. The other two would be taken by the twins, David and Jasdero while Lenalee and Miranda would take the other. That left the third floor all to Allen and he had climbed the stairs with some trepidation, wondering if he had just gotten the raw end of the deal. The stairs had been steep and a little unfriendly but once he reached the top, his face split into a wide grin.
Clearly this was the best room in the entire house.
There was a decent sized bathroom right at the head of the steps, all done in gray and blue tiles with light blue walls and white appliances. The shower was the biggest he had ever seen and it was lined entirely with tile that looked like stone. The rest of the attic, however, was one wide open space, all in different color blues that reminded him of all the shades the sky could possibly be. Two beds sat along one wall and across from it was a large window with a wide window seat. Another, smaller window was tucked into the wall beside the beds, a contrast to the rest of the ceilings that sloped down lower than his waist level. It was such an open, airy room and he loved it immediately, glad that he could have it all to himself. And from all the windows the sunlight seeped in, inviting him to put his things down and stay a while.
All in all, it was a beautiful place and he found himself relaxing into the peaceful flow that filled the air. Here it was quiet and slow, where the oppressive weight of his guardian's presence wasn't pushing on the back of his mind and where he was able to forget reality for a little while. Here he could wallow in the bed he had chosen, staring at the way the steady, ever present breeze teased the leaves of the trees outside the window and not have to worry about debts or working or the loneliness that had seeped back into his life no matter how he tried to battle against its oppressive pall. Yes he had his friends and his guardian but in his heart the darkness ate away at him, silent and unseen. Here, though, in this place so far from everything that was familiar, he could forget for a while that he longed for something else, something without a name but which hounded him until he lay awake some nights, casing it's elusive identity around in his head.
Allen turned onto his side and stared at the smooth sheets next to his nose, breathing in the scent of laundry detergent and fabric softener, hugging one of the many pillows to his chest. He didn't know why it felt so different coming here, why the darkness that lurked in the back of his mind seemed strangely absent. He was still the same person after all and still carried all the same cares and worries; the fact that they were miles away from home couldn't change that. After all, he was only here for five days and would be going back to the same place to pick up where he had left off. Still, there was just something about the Cape, the atmosphere or the change in location that made him feel like there was something waiting for him, lurking around the corner. Like something was about to change, something monumental.
Suddenly restless, he flipped to his other side and sighed, picking at the covers with a hand that was scarred and then tattooed over to hide the deformity. There was something he felt like he needed to do, hanging over his head like going to work did or a chore that he had yet to complete but what could that be, since this was the first time he had been here and it was not his house? He could hear someone moving around downstairs and the twins were making some kind of racket that usually involved the accumulation of one of their pranks but he knew the strange feeling had nothing to do with anyone there. Just as he was about to flip onto his back to consult the ceiling some more, there was a commotion by the stairs and Lavi was yelling up to him.
"Allen! Get the hell out of bed! There's pancakes!" the shout was promptly followed by a sudden thump then a crash before the red head was fairly blistering the paint off the walls as he cursed while the twins howled from somewhere on the first floor. Allen snorted his amusement into the pillow, glad that Lavi had tripped instead of himself and then huffed when his stomach rumbled loudly.
He actually really liked the energetic red head, having been friends with him since grammar school but because the other boy was several years older, they didn't really run in the same circles and thus he didn't get much time to spend with Lavi. He actually saw more of the older boy now that Lavi was going out with Tykki than he did before. The twins were Road's friends more than they were his but they certainly were very lively and never discriminated when they picked their next subject for their numerous and rather creative practical jokes. Between Lavi and David and Jasdero, things always had the potential to get a little out of hand.
Realizing that continuing to wallow in bed would probably prove to be rather fruitless, he untangled himself from the clinging sheets and wandered into the bathroom, scrubbing one had through his hair. Already the buttery, warm scent of cooking pancakes had meandered up the stairwell and his stomach rumbled loudly again, reminding him that last night's dinner had actually been a very long time ago and it would like to be fed again please. So he rushed through the process of dragging his toothbrush over his teeth and washed his face, throwing clothes on before practically tripping down the stairs. And the faster he did it, the less he had to look in the mirror.
If he didn't look at his reflection, he didn't have to see himself and then he wouldn't have to think about the mark on his face or the scars on his arm that he'd had tattooed over so that people's eyes would look at the heavy black ink rather than the silvery deformities.
Or think about how he had gotten them.
He did, however, pause on his way out of the bathroom, now dressed in a pair of plaid shorts and a plain white t-shirt and peer out the window to the row of houses across the street and thick, shady trees beyond it. It's beautiful, here, Manna. I wish you could have seen it. But Manna never could see it, not anymore.
Or maybe he saw it all, from his place in the afterlife.
It was just an accident, a thing that happened on a daily basis but he had never thought could happen to them. Back then he had still been too young and too naive, dreaming and wishing for life to offer him something more. He hadn't understood that every time he dared to hope that he might someday see his dreams become true, the delusions turned out to be made of wispy smoke and were always snatched from his grasping hands.
When he was young, his room had been filled with cutout articles and pictures of all the places he wanted to visit with Manna. He could still remember them, a menagerie of paper, all different shades and textures marching haphazardly over the walls, looking like some paper-beast had shed its skin. Every place imaginable found it way there; the cliffs in Kerry and the pyramids in Egypt, the palaces in Saudi Arabia and the jungles in India. The art in Florence and the mountains in Switzerland and even the rice fields in China. He'd wanted to see it all and every new place he discovered in magazines or on the television, he made a new spot for it on one of his walls and added it to the list of places they would go when he was a little older and they had a little more money. With every new dream, Manna would smile kindly and add each location to the list he kept on the wall in the kitchen, written in bold black marker that could never be erased. And each time he would look at Allen and say,
"I would be honored to go anywhere, as long as it is with you," The words would make the young boy's heart so happy, he would eagerly search for the next place and dream of all the ones he already knew about. They had been close then, as any father and son could be and in his foolish, young heart he had believed that they would be together forever. Now he thinks that he should have known but he had been so young and so much had happened to him that he had thought the worst parts of his life were over. He had been stuck in the darkness, branded as a slave, had his family taken away and then the first person after Manna he had ever loved snatched his heart and disappeared. It was more than any seven year old should ever have suffered through but his heart would be shattered once more.
The day that Manna died was the day Allen stopped dreaming.
The events of that day he could remember with such clarity it was as if they had been branded into the back of his retinas with smoldering fire. It was a month before his eighth birthday and they were planning on visiting one of the places on their "must visit" list. Allen could still remember how excited he was, even though they were only taking an extended weekend up to Niagara Falls. Pamphlets and other information packets had been littering the kitchen table for months and he would leaf through them again and again when he came home from school every day, long after he had them all memorized. It was the pictures that mostly held him in thrall, images of the huge, arching falls that surely shook the ground as the water plunged towards the ground. He would imagine what it would feel like to stand beside such a monstrous and incredible force of nature and something would well up inside of him like a storm, ready to burst forth in a flurry of excitement.
But they would never get to go on that trip. Thirty-one days, three hours and sixteen minutes before they were supposed to depart (because he had been counting) found him being pulled out of math class where he had been doodling figures of himself and Manna standing next to a giant waterfall on the side of his notebook. Everyone had stared at him when the principle herself stepped into the room and asked the teacher if she could please send Allen to the office with all of his things. Confused and embarrassed with all the attention he had been receiving, he had gathered his knapsack together with all of the things he would need and rushed from the room. They had been waiting for him when he had stepped into the school's main office, two police officers who looked especially large stood beside the front desk, together with the principle, speaking in soft voices that waned away when they noticed him standing nervously in the door way. He wonders now sometimes what they saw when they had looked at him, a small boy of only seven with a shock of bone white hair, a blood red tattoo branding his eye and scars deforming his one hand because the pity had been so stark in their eyes that he could almost feel it touching upon his skin like slime.
He hadn't realized at that moment that what they were seeing was a small boy with a past that was already riddled with darkness whom had just lost his only family.
The younger of the two cops, a tall man with dark hair and deep lines already forming around his eyes had knelt down in front of the pale haired boy, face kind but lips pulled down, as if he would have preferred being anywhere else but there in that school about to tell Allen about the tragedy that had just befallen him. The man's voice was soft and gentle but there was no kind way to tell someone their father, adoptive or not, had just been killed. No matter how it happens or why or who the person was, it surely must be the hardest job in the world to do.
"Son, I'm really sorry but your father was killed this morning on his way to work. The driver in the other lane was drunk and cross the line. The ambulance got there quickly but there was nothing they could do. I really am very sorry," and he really might have been too but Allen couldn't bring himself to notice any of that. The words had struck him like a blow to the gut, stealing away his air and leaving him awash in a numbing cocoon. At first he thought that it must be a mistake. Manna had promised, the day he had pulled the young boy of five out of a flaming basement that he would always be Allen's side, no matter what and he knew that his father never, ever broke a promise. So it could only make sense that it had to be a mistake because if Manna was dead, that meant he had gone back on his word. Even as he allowed the principle to give him a gentle hug before one of the police officers grasped his hand and led him from the school, he held on to the rationality that someone somewhere along the way must have messed up somehow because Manna would never leave him after he said he wouldn't.
In the shroud of unfeeling surrealism that descended upon him, he allowed himself to be lead along and refused to believe anything until he saw for himself his father's unmoving body for himself. He couldn't acknowledge the pity and distant compassion in the eyes of the people he met, all of them treating him like he was made from glass that would shatter if they moved too suddenly or said a potentially sharp word in his presence. They thought that if they treated him like some fragile butterfly that would get swept away by life's cruel tides he might not feel his pain so sharply. He hated them for it and he had wanted to tell them to stop it, that their pity was unwanted but he was only a child and all adults must know better.
How could they know the pain of losing an entire family before he could remember, being sold into slavery at the tender age of four and then nearly dying in a fire at the age of six that destroyed the place where he was kept only to have the man who rescued him from the flames die a year later? How could they understand what it's like to lose everything twice? How could they know what it's like to be branded as someone different and then have no one on their side at all to protect them from the stares and the ridicule and the loneliness? They would never understand that all he wanted to do was run out into the rain and stand there, letting it wash away his agony while he screamed his throat raw. He wanted to rage and cry and shatter from the unfairness of it all but when they took him to the morgue, there was nothing but cold loss weighing down his chest until he could barely breathe.
Just a stupid, simple accident, another driver entering the lane Manna was in and stealing his life away. The only father Allen had ever known and as the small boy with the pale hair and broken heart stared down at the still features that should have been so familiar but were alien due to lack of life, he couldn't even find it in himself to cry. Ice filled his heart and his voice shriveled up in his throat until the adults that found themselves shackled with a young boy of seven him flapped around him in concern. Their useless squawking faded into the background and as he was driven back to the police station and seated in the outdated waiting room upon a cracked, worn leather chair, all he could see in his mind was Manna's cold face. That beloved face, reduced to nothing but a mound of disintegrating flesh; that used to smile so kindly at him, that used to laugh and frown and fill with such love it would warm Allen's little heart would forever be lost.
In those first few horrible, bleak hours, he was like a blank sheet of ice, staring ahead of himself with not a whit of feeling or expression passing across his small face. In fact, he was sure he would still be like that, still lost in his own grief, becoming nothing more than an empty husk and growing into someone with half a soul, if it hadn't been for Cross Marian.
Because Allen had been adopted and now no longer had any family who could take him, the state needed to get involved so that he could be given a foster home until he was adopted again, if he ever was. The thought might have been terrifying because going into foster care meant never having a true home or a true family ever again but all of that had been taken from him already and he just couldn't bring himself to care anymore. The boy that he had thought he would be with forever had been in foster care and had disappeared one day without a trace. Allen had found himself wishing as he sat upon the old upholstery that he could be sent to where Kanda was. Maybe one love would help assuage the loss of another. But that was just a wild fantasy of a grieving boy's mind and it could never become true.
If the tall, red headed man had not stepped into the police station, cigarette smoke hanging around his head like a cloud and his single visible eye gleaming in the artificial light, Allen knows he would have been lost forever. That day, though, he was not meant to lose himself. The older man had taken one look at him, sitting there like a shattered husk and stepped up to the desk to demand information about him. His voice had been loud and strident, his tone indicating that he was used to getting what he wanted and the secretary behind the main desk caved, her eyes wide as she told the man about Allen's plight. The red head had taken one last drag from his cigarette as he listened to her, his eye trained on the small boy staring straight ahead on the worn chair and then simply strode over and knelt on the ground beside Allen's feet. The movement had startled him out of his icy stupor and he had found himself looking into a sharply handsome face that was half hidden by a strange looking mask. The older man had studied him for a moment, his presence so large that the young boy couldn't find it within himself to look away before he crooked a lopsided smile.
"Self pity is for cowards and those who had nothing left to live for. You do not look like either one of those so knock it off," the words had been so jarring that he hadn't even been able get angry. Instead he had blinked at the older man with his mouth open before realizing that it had been mostly said just to get some kind of reaction from him. The red head had winked then stood up, addressing the entire room as he laid a heavy hand upon the seven year old's shoulder, "Since this boy has no family I have decided that I will take him with me," a stunned silence had followed before one of the officers that had been handling the case spluttered a protest.
"Sir, we cannot possibly allow that! It's against the law! Paperwork needs to be filled out and—" that was the day that Allen learned Cross Marian could be not only abrupt, strange and a little rude, but also rather frightening. He had not shifted a muscle but all at once his presence was towering, filling the entire room and making Allen feel like he had just been engulfed by a shadowy eclipse.
"Call the agency. Have them draw up the adoption papers. I will wait," and he plunked himself down in the chair beside Allen's, looking as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. After that the young boy could not seem to stop staring at the red haired man, wondering why a stranger was so insistent about adopting him. Yet at the same time he had been grateful. The man wasn't Manna and he could never take his father's place but he was someone. Someone that was willing to give Allen a place for whatever reason and he was grateful that he was not going to be left behind or forgotten.
And Cross did wait, sitting in that chair like he owned the entire town and speaking to Allen every once and a while like the boy was an equal rather than a scared, grief-stricken seven year old. He wasn't kind. In all the years the pale haired boy knew him, never once could the word kind be used in reference to Cross Marian but his gruff mannerisms probably worked better than any gentleness would have in pulling Allen slowly from the brink of bitter, blackened despair. Because of his unrelenting insistence, they were able to contact the state agency and procure a child services agent that drew up the papers with little hesitance when they heard about the young boy who had lost everything. They did ask Allen if he was okay with going home with Cross and he had looked at the older man, reclining in that worn chair, smoking a cigarette and looking completely unconcerned with everything. They didn't know each other but he hadn't known Manna very well in the beginning either. It didn't matter anyway, as he wouldn't know the next set of foster parents he would be sent to. The older man with the long red hair gazed calmly at him from under the wide brimmed hat he wore, intelligence burning in his gaze and the boy felt he could trust him. But most of all, he didn't want to disappear.
"Yes," he had whispered, voice small from not being used all day, "I'll go," and that was that. It took a full week and a half to get the papers in and signed, during which he had stayed with Cross who gave him not a moment where he was allowed to feel sorry for himself. It wasn't Manna and it could never feel like home but it was better than being lost in the system and being taken far from the town he had lived in for nearly two years.
Allen understood now the enormity of what Cross had give him. Though he might have lost sight of his dreams, abandoned by the wayside after losing so much already, he still had a life. It was a good one, a solid one, normal almost to a fault and he was grateful for it. He had left all the articles and pictures of places he wanted to travel to in the house he had lived in with Manna the day he went back to get his things but he still went to school, still did his homework, still played soccer and then baseball and still wandered to the park on clear days to sit in an old, mostly forgotten sandbox to stare through the leaves at the clouds scuttling across the sky. He no longer dreamed of places he would probably never see and he didn't ponder all of the cool and wonderful things he could do when he got older but he made a few friends who didn't think his hair color or his scars were strange and he found that he was good at art and English and loved history class. There were no adventures he conjured up in his mind that he could go on, either by himself or with his friends but as he got older, he would hang out at the basketball court in the park and then, even later, go to work at the local inn where he stood behind the desk and checked in the odd guest that wandered into their town. The love for books he had been shown by a boy with deep blue eyes was squashed and instead he wandered around with his sketchbook, doodling and scratching out anything that might catch his attention. Instead of sharing stories and ideas, Cross taught him how to play poker and chess and how to shoot a gun. It was him, of a sort and that was fine. He didn't need to wish for something more to live.
Sometimes, when he wasn't careful, he would think about what it would be like if things hadn't gone so wrong. Would he have been able to see all those places with Manna like they said they would instead of remaining in his small little country town, going to school and working off his guardian's insane debts? Would he and Kanda have finished all of the books in the library of the house the other boy had lived in instead of drawing other worlds and characters on the pages of his notebooks when the need to dream spilled over and leaked out through the end of his pen? Would he have smiled with the carefree grace all of his friends did instead of acquiring one made of plaster and pebbles? Then he would catch himself and remember that he was not that person and never would be and it hurt less a little more each time he turned away. The boy that he was no longer existed, had broken when his only true friend left without saying goodbye and had died in the car beside the only man he had ever thought of as his father. What was left was just the broken pieces and he had decided a long time ago that it would have to be good enough.
Besides, Cross was a good man even if he tended to get himself into money trouble and expected Allen to pay off the bills and it was okay that his friends believed his concealing smiles because it was only his fault he never let them see who he really was. He was going to graduate in a couple of weeks from high school and then go on to the local college to get his Associates in Fine Art. It was a life and if he walked through like he was simply passing by then no one needed to know. He could live even if he wasn't happy.
Allen paused on the second floor of the large beach house and stared down the brightly lit hall out the window at the end, his hand gripping the fabric of his t-shirt over his heart. Just because he had stopped dreaming those many years ago didn't mean he couldn't feel anything and now his heart throbbed mercilessly. It was a familiar sensation, one he fought off many times before and most of the time he ignored it because it usually went away after a while. But there was something else, something different here that he had not ever felt before. Something was about to change, the strange sensation shifting through the air like a magnetic storm and it played off the ache in his chest and turned it into longing. No matter how he tried, it would not go away and could not be ignored. He stood in the hallway, frowning and listening to his friends in the kitchen below his feet, head cocked like he was trying to catch a faint sound in the distance. It was anticipation and restlessness and a little bit of fear and for a moment he wondered why these things were making him feel so much different than normal. Then he realized.
Yes, he might have been living. But before now, ever since he was seven, he had never felt alive.
Shaken, he gulped a few deep breaths of cool air and bolted down the steps, hoping that the presence of his friends would bring back the aching deadness and sweep away this electricity that bubbled under his skin. He didn't want it to come back; bad things happened when he felt like this. Longing led to hope and hope led to dreaming and that was something he had given up forever.
So as he stepped into the kitchen, he made sure his smile was in place, the plaster around it a little more cracked than normal but it still held up under the pressure and for a little bit, everything righted itself again.
That in itself, however, was a twisted kind of hope and even as he slipped effortlessly into his place among the people around the table he called his friends and dove for the huge plate of fluffy, golden pancakes, the shifting, restive knowledge that his life was about to take a swift turn never really went away.
*0*0*0*
He could still remember how the stupid nickname came about.
It had been raining out that day, the drops fat and icy, making the ground dark and slick and streaking down the windows like long, flat fingers. He had lived with an older couple in the town of West Earl for about two years by that point but it was the first time he could ever remember having someone to spend the long summer days with. As a matter of fact, Kanda didn't make friends. Because his life had always been hectic and unpredictable, he made a point not to get attached to anyone because he never knew when he had to leave them behind again. Something about the young boy with the pale hair, the strange facial marking and the painfully sweet smile had captured him though and that summer he had been almost been convinced that they might just be together for a long time.
That was not to happen, of course. As a foster kid owned by the state, he was forced to move around so much he had forgotten at a very early age what having a true home felt like. But that summer he'd had a friend, his first and last and every day he wished he hadn't been made to move on. If that summer he had spent in blissful unconcern for reality had lasted forever, he would not have minded. Though he had learned to be accepting about his situation, leaving that sleepy little town had been the hardest thing he had ever had to do.
The relationship he'd had with Allen was a strange one. Though they both knew on some level that they treasured the affection they held for each other, Kanda had never been a very patient or kind person and Allen had been somewhat volatile. It made for an interesting dynamic between the two young boys, always interesting and changing and while from an outsiders perspective they might see a couple of children always at each other's throats, there had been a certain affection between them that slipped out between the snarky insults and whining complaints. And when they weren't being like that it was the best of all and no one needed to witness it for it to be real.
The library in the old house that Kanda lived in at the time was their favorite haunt when the weather was too temperamental for them to venture out into. He liked it because books had always been a safe haven for him, an escape when the place he was staying in became too much or the people treated him like something dug up from the garbage. They didn't try to hurt him or yell at him and they didn't ignore him. They gave him a place where he could be safe from the realities of the world and he fairly consumed books, the feat made easier as he had taught himself to read at a very young age. The first time he had shown the warm, cozy library to the six year old Allen, the boy had been enthralled, going from one title to the next and ruffling through pages of books he couldn't understand. The older boy had watched him with some satisfaction, feeling foolishly happy that the pale haired boy was so enthusiastic about something Kanda liked so much but had been disappointed to learn that Allen was not a great reader.
That didn't stop Allen though. That very first day in the library, he kept going back to a small book with a painted dragon on the cover, lovingly turning pages that he could only read one word in five on. By then Kanda had sat down at the end of the aisle, already pouring over a hard cover copy of the Hobbit and had not noticed the other boy's struggle until he knelt in front of the dark haired boy and held out the book. His silvery eyes had been huge and pleading when Kanda glanced up with an annoyed remark on his lips and he had felt his heart melt.
"Can you read this to me?" Allen had asked and there was no way nine year old Kanda could refuse. After that it had become something of a tradition, one they enjoyed so much that even on sunny days they could sometimes be found in a brightly lit corner of the library, the boy with pale hair leaning against Kanda as he read from one book or another. Allen eye's would go dreamy as they traversed the pages of many books together and later the dark haired boy would admit to himself that he agreed to it as much as he did just for that expression. He supposed they were both lucky that the couple he was staying with were very kind and allowed them to do as they wished because in most foster homes he was often fortunate to get fed three meals a day. Not all of them were bad, of course but this one would stand out in his memory as the best, although he was positive that might have had something to do with Allen.
It was the middle of June and the chilling storm had rolled in like a fierce wave or like a thousand black knights riding to battle, thunderous and huge. The dark clouds and stinging rains had swept in and forced the two boys into the house lest they be swept away and they had found their way inevitably back to the tall, silent books.
"I get to pick the book this time!" Allen had cried, racing into the room and flinging himself between the shelves. Kanda had followed at a slower pace, fiddling with his long hair that had gotten soggy despite their hast into the house and grimacing at the way it dripped down the back of his neck. Only Mr. Fields, the husband of the couple who was caring for him was home and he been the one to greet them at the door with towels and lemonade before shooing them into the library with a warm smile. Unfortunately for Kanda towels could only do so much and his long hair was beginning to soak the back of his shirt.
"You picked it last time, dummy," he had groused, pulling on the ends of his hair to get the water to stop dripping all over the place before wandering through the shelves to find where Allen had disappeared to. It was a large room, the biggest in the house, the walls completely lined with solid, oak shelves and then with more shelves running in three rows through the middle of the room. Every available space was crammed with all kinds of books, informative and otherwise, the covers all types, colorful, bland, leather, paper, hard or soft. The air was filled with the rich, musky scent of them and the atmosphere was inviting and warm. There was a fireplace in the back of the room that was encircled with a very comfortable couch and several deep armchairs. All in all it was a very relaxing place to be and he found himself thinking, not for the first time, that he would like it if he could eventually call this place home.
It was near the back that he found the other boy, holding onto a shelf above his head and straining on his toes while trying to reach a book that was clearly out of his reach. For a moment he had stood at the end of the row and watched how the pale face was set in concentration and little white teeth bit in to his plump lower lip. Kanda had thought Allen was adorable the moment he met him but sometimes he found himself caught and unable to move while he stared. It wasn't physical desire or lust. Not then. They had both been much too young but there was something there, something he'd not felt with anyone else before and that day had been the first time he acknowledged it. It was like a bright possession, a need to keep this boy safe and happy and always with ready with a smile. He didn't want to see Allen get hurt because that would hurt himself as well, though he couldn't figure out why. All he knew was that he wanted to be close to the pale haired boy for whatever reason.
"We have a ladder for that, moyashi," he wasn't sure why he had chosen that nickname in particular. He didn't usually speak Japanese in front of other people because it had gotten him beaten on more than one occasion but it was his first language and for some reason the insult had just come out that way. Allen had looked at him in surprise, wide cerulean eyes blinking before he dropped down to his heels and huffed.
"I know but it's too heavy for me to move," he had retorted, small face scrunched up in annoyance before he wrinkled his nose further and tipped his head to the side, pale hair sliding into his eyes, "and what is…moy-ah-shee?" the foreign word dropped and shattered off the younger boy's tongue and Kanda winced to hear it. He had rolled his eyes and stepped forward, snatching the book Allen had been reaching for off the shelf and handing it to him with a small scowl.
"Moyashi," he corrected gently, "It's Japanese for bean-sprout," the other boy had continued to blink at him, cradling the book in his arms and then he had tilted his head to the other side, gaze questioning. Kanda remembers watching him with some fascination, thinking the younger boy really was incredibly cute.
"You mean, like a plant? Why would you call me that?" the older boy rolled his eyes again and snatched the book from Allen's grip before leading the way over to the couch, which was where they usually sat while reading together. The younger boy was getting better at recognizing tougher words by himself, aided by reading along with Kanda over his shoulder but it was still a halting and slow process. Not that the dark haired boy really minded. In fact, he quite enjoyed Allen's attention. He wouldn't admit as much, out loud, of course, but it was safe locked away in his own head.
"Because a bean sprout is small, just like you," he had explained as they settled themselves onto the soft cushions and earned himself a bright glare from under pale, drawn eyebrows.
"I'm not that small!" Allen had argued, his arms crossed defiantly over his chest, " just because I'm littler than you doesn't mean I'm small and someday I'm going to catch up to you and then you'll be sorry!" the tirade had the opposite effect than Allen probably wanted it to have, making Kanda bite back a smile and reach out to tug on a lock of silvery hair.
"I know. But until then you are a moyashi," the younger boy had huffed but surprised the dark haired boy by looking away and leaning his shoulder against Kanda's side, his body solid and warm. He didn't argue again but he did send a few glares in the older boy's direction, as if making sure his displeasure was clear and Kanda had been amused as he cracked open the cover of the book Allen had chosen and began to read.
In moments all that existed was the words that Kanda coxed softly from the page and into being, his companion's large eyes luminescent with wonder as he listened to the story, the nickname and the argument that came along with it temporarily forgotten. The storm continued to rage outside but neither boy heard it because all that mattered to them was the new adventure unfolding before them. They could stay like that for hours, too, until one of them inevitably fell asleep, content in each other's company. The nickname, however, would stick and become what he regularly addressed his young friend as. Of course it made Allen angry because what child liked being called small but Kanda had never once, after that day, used it with the intention to insult. Moyashi had become a name of affection, an endearment and there was no venom in his voice when he addressed the other boy so. It belonged to the other boy, something he would never gift anyone else with and it would remain so long after he had left West Earl and his only friend behind.
That day, when Kanda finally stopped reading it was because the younger boy had tipped to the side and had fallen asleep in the dark haired boy's lap. He had stared down at the pale head for long moments before a soft smile stole across his face. It was a smile he didn't show anyone else and that, like the silly nickname, belong solely to Allen. Yet before he could tilt his head back against the couch and drift off as well, the other boy had stirred, his breath warm where it puffed against the bigger boy's thigh.
"Why'dya stop readin?" the small voice was slurred with sleep and he thought that if he didn't answer Allen would drift off again. But then the younger boy had blinked his eyes open and looked up at Kanda, the color of the wide gaze soft and fuzzy.
"You fell asleep," he whispered and the pale eyes slid closed again. It seemed like the pale haired boy had dropped back off but then a small hand had curled into his shirt and tugged weakly.
"Stay…stay here," the words were so soft that he had barely even heard them and he had caught his breath, wondering what the boy could have meant. It wasn't like he had been trying to dislodge the silvery head from his lap so he could move. If only he could have said with confidence that he would never leave but the Fields had not yet signed the adoption papers like they had been talking about and Kanda's position there was as precarious as ever. But there was one thing he could do and that was remain with Allen for as long as he could. Carefully, he slid one hand under the sleeping boy's head and lifted it just enough so he could slide his legs up onto the couch and settle himself down beside the smaller boy. They slept like this many times before, including during sleepovers and trips to the rolling meadows at the edge of town, laying so closely side by side he could feel Allen's breath ghosting gently over his face. It was familiar and calming and he wished as he wrapped his arms around the other boy that they could remain there, together, for many long years to come.
"I'm right here," he'd said and did not say the single word that clamored in his heart, even though he ached to be able to. I'm right here, forever. Because even at the tender age of nine, Kanda knew that even when it came to love, there was no forever.
The time that he and his moyashi had together would just have to be enough.
*0*0*0*0*
The sun shimmered like a low orb of blood upon the horizon as Kanda stepped from his apartment and turned to lock the door behind him. Seagulls screeched and reeled in the sky above the balcony and he shot them an annoyed glance before striding towards the stairs. Their voices were like a tumulus riot of sound that followed him down to the ground floor as he made his way to his car. They were boisterous creatures but the screeching calls fit in with the setting and he usually didn't even hear it any more. Today, though, he was running a little late and found himself getting more easily irritated than usual. Thankfully the restaurant he worked at was only three minutes down the road and he had a pretty good record about being on time. Kanda just didn't like being late for things and he was already feeling a little strange today as it was.
He didn't know why but he had felt like something was about to happen or like he needed to do something all day, hanging over his head like a heavy cloud. It grated at him, like sandpaper rasping against his skin and he growled as he yanked his car door open and tossed his knapsack that held his uniform into the passenger seat. He just wanted to go to work and finish the day because it hadn't been the greatest and he didn't need strange feelings of premonitions shadowing him. The last time he had felt like this he had been getting ready to run away from the last foster home he'd lived in.
Things didn't need to change. For once he wanted them to stay exactly the way they were but the feeling didn't go away as he backed from his parking place and peeled away from his apartment.
Kanda didn't actually live in an apartment building but had procured a room at the large shore hotel for the entire summer. It was a beautiful hotel, with several sweeping wings constructed in the shape of an L and looking out over the coastline like a squatting yellow guardian. Balconies lined every floor so that the guests could sit outside their doors and watch as the tides tumbled and worried at the golden beach and large white pillars marched the length of it, making it look regal. Usually hotels of this sort did not allow permanent residents but business had been rather poor lately due to the declining economy and Kanda had actually worked there the prior summer so he knew the manager, whom had readily agreed to let the dark haired boy stay as long as he paid a reasonable rent.
It was actually quite nice, especially compared to some of the dives he had lived in before and he found himself hoping that maybe he could come back the next year since he had a pretty permanent summer job. If he could, he would stay all year round. The Cape was the only place he had ever lived that had ever really felt like it could offer him some semblance of home but because most of the jobs disappeared once the summer season was over, there was no way for him to earn a living. It was his third year coming to the shore to work for the summer, only leaving in the beginning of the fall to find someplace to wait out winter before he came back once May rolled around again. Kanda couldn't describe why he felt so attached to such a place when he had never felt that way before for anywhere else. It wasn't like he had never lived at the shore before. Child services had shipped him to a home once that resided on the edge of Asbury Park, a run-down beach town that was really only known for their rock concert venue. That particular house was one of the ones he pretended never existed but it was still a sea-side residence.
No, there was something special about the Cape that kept drawing him back again and again, as if there was something there, something waiting for him. Most of the time he was able to ignore the feeling that he was supposed to be looking for something, that there was something here that he needed to find but when he couldn't he would go down to the point and dive into the water where he would swim in the cool ocean waves until he was exhausted and his mind was quiet.
The reason he had come to the Cape in the first place was because he had been in desperate need of a job and they were looking for lifeguards during the summer. Despite the fact that he had never really had a consistent child hood, Kanda was a strong swimmer and he wasn't afraid of all the dangers the ocean. By the end of his training, he was one of the best swimmers in their employ and he had found that wouldn't mind if he could continue doing it forever. He had only been nineteen when he first started and running from the huge mistake of trying his hand at college. Why he had thought it would be a good idea to go to the state university he had no idea as had never really liked school to begin with but he'd gotten it in his head that he would get a degree in business. Biggest mistake he had ever made and he was much more content to bounce from job to job while lifeguarding in this beautiful beach town during the summer. He thought that if he did that, he might find what he was looking for, whatever that might be.
The employee parking lot was nearly full by the time he got to the restaurant and the usual line of cars that belonged to customers paraded in front of the building, announcing another busy night. Not that they ever really had a slow night. Between the actual restaurant and the take out counter on the other side, the business was always swamped with people. It really wasn't all that surprising, since the food was excellent and it merited the crowds that were drawn in every night. People could come in, sit down and watch the fishing boats and the large, fancy yachts pulling into the docks right beside the establishment while eating an excellent meal of lobster or shrimp. As long as they didn't mind the hour wait before being seated, that is, but the people that came here usually didn't. In fact, most anticipated it but even for an establishment that he had been working at for nearly a month and a half, Kanda had to say that the food really was worth it.
He flicked his long black hair over his shoulder as he snatched his bag and slipped in the service entrance. If only the customers saw the work that went into preparing and serving their meals. Maybe if they did, they might tip a little better he thought somewhat bitterly, thinking how light his wallet always seemed to feel. It didn't really matter, though. As long as he had enough money to pay rent and feed himself, he really didn't need too much.
It was a good thing, he supposed, that he had learned to be resourceful and knew how to be low maintenance so that he didn't always need to go out to buy himself new things. He had taught himself how to sew so that he could mend his clothes when need be and he knew how to make everyday necessities like shampoo and toothpaste last until there was absolutely nothing left. The only thing he was willing to splurge on was extra strength conditioner because, really, it was the only way he could keep his hair long and the ugly split ends to a minimum. Still, it would be nice if he could manage to dig up some extra cash as he was in rather desperate need of new shoes.
"Hey, Kanda! How good of you to show up!" his thoughts were broken into by the one voice that had a knack for setting his teeth on edge no matter what kind of mood he was in and he felt a few muscles in his shoulders actually cramp as he tensed. Of all of the other people that he worked with at the restaurant, he was pretty sure his boss, Jack, was the worst. Though he was only the floor manager and by no means gave the big orders, he still had the authority to put any of the waiters and hosts wherever he felt like. Though they were all supposed to be on a rotating schedule so that no all of the same people got the more crowded sections every shift, Jack tended to by-pass the rules when he had it out for someone. Kanda tried to avoid the man until he was already clocked in and working but sometimes it was unavoidable. With a deep sigh, he kept his movements slow and deliberate as he set his bag down in the locker room/break room and turned to face his boss.
"I'm sorry I'm late," his voice was tight and Clarissa, the only other person by the lockers, threw him a sympathetic look. Everyone knew the story behind Jack's behavior towards the dark haired Japanese boy and it was one he would rather not contemplate. It was bad enough that he had to see the bastard everyday but his boss's hard feelings came from a perverted crush he had on the younger man that had been harshly rejected as soon as it came to light.
Okay, so maybe Kanda didn't have to knee him in the balls but the asshole had cornered him in one of the bathrooms after hours and had tried to pin him to one of the metal stall doors. In his mind, he had only gotten what he deserved and if Kanda had his way, he would have just castrated the man altogether. Though, he had to admit it was satisfying seeing Jack going around with a limp for two days afterwards. Now the older man was smiling as he leaned up against the lockers, his arms crossed in front of him but there was a sharp glint in his eye that always meant Kanda was about to get shafted.
"Well, be that as it may, it seems we have an opening in section 6 that you could fill quite nicely. I'm sure Donna would be willing to take your spot hosting the mid-desk," fury burned in his veins as Kanda glared at the older man, hands clenched so hard into fists that there would be little crescent indents in his palms for hours. Honestly, he didn't mind waiting. He had done it before in many different places and this one was actually not that bad, if very busy. The problem was that there weren't any men on the wait staff; it was usually pretty girls that wore their little sailor outfits and sparkled when they took the orders. The only reason Kanda ever waited was because Jack was a nasty little fucker with a grudge and a hard-on for seeing the dark haired man in his adapted waiter's uniform.
"Sir, I was supposed to be on—" That was as far as he got before he was cut off with one of Jack's sneering replies. Usually Kanda didn't even bother to protest anymore. After the first four times, he finally gave up and brought the damned uniform with him, just in case something like this happened. Thankfully, he wasn't made to wear the skirt but the top? He winced just thinking about it. By then everyone who was in the adjoining break room, either on their breaks or waiting for their shift to start, were watching warily, waiting to see if Kanda would argue.
"Like I said, you were late so you can take section 6," the man lifted one eyebrow and looked the Japanese man up and down before pushing off the lockers and turning away, "Oh, and you shouldn't worry so much about that uniform. You're pretty enough to pull it off," Jack said over his shoulder and his laugh made Kanda feel like he was covered in a layer of slime. As soon as the man was gone, he snarled out loud and banged his fist into the closest locker, the sound rattling through the room.
"Hey, samurai, don't let that ass get to you," the girl that stood in the doorway of the break room was short, with dark hair and brilliant green eyes and she had a slight southern accent that he found either soothing or irritating. Today he just shot her a dark look before taking a deep breath to forcefully calm himself down. Angela had declared herself his friend the day he started and he was often glad for her steadfast and determined friendship as his prickly demeanor tended to scare most people who might have become acquaintances away. Once he had turned to her when he was in a particularly bad mood and demanded to know why she was so resolute about being his friend, even when he didn't want it. She had laughed in response, her eyes bright and dark head tipped to the side. "I was actually going to ask you out in the beginning because, let's face it, there aren't too many guys around here that look like you but I think now I'm just doing it to protect everyone else from your wrath," He was pretty sure it was meant as a joke but there had been a hint of truth in it that struck him like iron. Since then he had been trying to keep a handle on his temper better but Jack just knew how to crawl under his skin to smash his resolve to dust.
"One of these days, I'm going to rip his face off and hang it up next to all of the crap on the walls in the main dining room," his voice was sinister growl but Angela laughed her high, tinkling laugh and he felt himself relax a bit.
"And you know I'll be right there with you, holding his arms down," her grin was bright with understanding and for a second he almost believed they might actually get away with it but no one liked to see blood while they were eating, "Until then, just hang in there and do your job. At least this way you make tips and I'm on section 7 so it won't be so bad," he huffed at her then lifted his backpack, giving it a little, illustrative shake.
"Easy for you to say. At least your uniform wasn't originally made for the opposite sex!" the dark haired girl fixed him with a look and then burst out laughing, punching him on the arm playfully. Sometimes he wondered if she would have been better off having been born as a guy, especially when she burped. "Paying compliments to the chef" she always said but he still wrinkled his nose at the crude behavior. Still, despite himself, he found that she was one of the most real people he had ever met and he liked that she didn't feel like she needed to apologize for being who she was. He had known someone else like that, the only person that his heart had never let go.
"Oh, come on, samurai! Wear it like the man you are!" several others who had been listening shamelessly in snickered behind their hands and only grinned when Kanda shot them a caustic glare. Everyone here knew by now his bark was usually worse than his bite but they still kept their distance, just in case. One thing that she did that he hated was calling him by that stupid nickname but every since the day he had nearly ripped Jack's manhood clean off and the girl had shouted across the kitchen when they were all cleaning up that he was "as fierce as a samurai", the name had stuck. No matter what he said, she merely ignored his protests and had gotten nearly all of the waiting and kitchen staff to begin calling him that as well. He included Angela in his glare, who missed it because she was still chortling before practically crushing his bag in his fist as he stomped towards the bathroom.
He'd wear the damn thing, all right, and he could smile while doing it. They'd see. Of course, it didn't help that Angela, who had been waiting for him in the break room when he came back out, eyed him up and down and said,
"I'll say, I think you look better in that than most of us poor girls do, Mr. Samurai, sir!" and she fled to the kitchen as he bellowed at her in rage, ignoring the way everyone howled in mirth. As he stormed into the kitchen where he was welcomed by a chorus of greetings, he rubbed absently at his right temple where a sharp pain had started to bloom. He could already tell it was going to be a long night.
So when nine o'clock rolled around and he was more than ready to take his break, he blamed it on the fact that he wasn't paying attention that he got caught so terribly off guard; though he doubted anything could have prepared him for the shock he received that night.
Normally he could tell what kind of people he was about to serve just by looking at them; by how they sat in their chairs, how they interacted with each other and how they looked around at the other customers in the dining room. It was a skill that had served him well over the years and he liked knowing that kind of thing so that he knew what to expect. But that night he was already burnt out from the bad day he'd had, only aggravated by the fact that he was wearing what was essentially the woman's uniform only with pants, which in turn had Jack harassing him more than usual. His head throbbed, the dull pain knocking persistently against the inside of his skull and he had not had a chance to sit down for his break yet as it was busier than usual so his feet felt swollen and too big for his shoes.
And on top of all that, the aggravating feeling that had been niggling at the back of his mind like coarse, unrefined wool only strengthened as the night went on, becoming this black, seething mass that he could barely see past. So it was no surprise that as he gathered himself together and went to help the new crowd that had been seated at table 6-D, he had barely given them a half a glance.
"Hello, my name is Kanda. Would you like to start off with some drinks?" it was a line he used so much he probably muttered it in his sleep and he didn't look at anyone's faces as he flipped his little pad open in anticipation of their orders. It was a party of eight, mostly guys but he had taken perfunctory note of three girls at the table and that was about all he noticed. They all kind of blended together after a while anyway and he was in no mood to care very much right about then. The older, dark haired man at the end of the table started his order, ignoring the antics of several of his companions seated midway at the table with a finesse that Kanda almost envied.
"I'll have a glass of your finest Bordeaux and—" but he got no further than that before being cut off by someone at the end of the table.
"Kanda?" for a second it didn't register because the buzzing in his head had begin to vibrate with an intensity that almost hurt and he was scowling at his note pad as he tried to hide his discomfort from his customers. Then he realized that he didn't recognize the voice that had spoken and no one around there called him by his real name except for Jack, who knew enough not to bother him while he was taking orders. He looked up just as he heard a chair scrape against the floor with a low dragging sound and glanced down towards the end of the table, where the person who had spoken had been hiding in the dim shadows.
For a moment he thought his knees would buckle and all the air had been knocked from his chest. There, standing not more than fifteen feet away, was someone straight from his memory.
It was surely impossible, it had to be, but the other boy was looking at him with wide eyes that were the color of silver water, the livid red tattoo stark against his snowy skin and there was no other person he could be. He didn't realize the table had gone very quiet as they stared at one another, nor that his pad had slipped from his nerveless fingers and had fallen onto one of the plates. The rest of the dining room had faded away because he had been positive he would never see this person again.
"Allen, do you know this guy?" someone asked and the name rang in his mind like a clear bell. Allen. Allen, his Allen, with the pale hair and the wide eyes who had been his one and only friend and who Kanda had been forced to leave behind, even though his heart broke. Just like that, the pulling, nagging, horrible feeling he had been fighting all day disappeared and something seemed to fall into place, like he had been missing a part of himself for all this time. The boy in the photograph, the one he had never been able to let go of, was here, though he was no longer a boy anymore. He was beautiful and Kanda couldn't seem to draw a breath.
Then Allen smiled, such a heartrending expression because he looked like he was about to cry too and just like that Kanda could breathe again.
"Kanda, it's me, Allen…" the dark haired waiter blinked for a second, opening his mouth because he had to say something, anything, despite the fact the words were crowding the back of his throat, making it difficult to form them properly. The smile faltered on the face that he knew so well and yet was so different at the same time and he tried again but his mouth was impossibly dry and his palms were sweating and now they were all staring at him; even some of his coworkers had noticed and were watching. So he did the only thing he could think of.
He turned and ran.
To be continued...
haha! Kanda ran away! Who would'a thunk it?(ooc, here we come!)