theme/day: lies, day 9.
pairing: established Kanda/Allen, Allen/Kanda.
rating: t for language.
warnings: language.
a/n: There is fluff in here! I personally like this one. I don't like seeing Allen portrayed as innocent all the time so I had a bit of fun with this theme.
Leave a review on your way out! :)
lies
He knows what it's like to lie.
He lives one every day when he walks through the many corridors of headquarters; when he smiles to Lenalee and Lavi and promises them that he just didn't get much sleep, too busy training; he lies when he tells Jerry that the food is delicious but he's not that hungry, so he only orders half of what he used to because in reality, he can't eat. He lies when he tells Kanda that the assignment was a bit more than he bargained for and that's why his stomach is badly injured and his head feels like Lavi decided to play whack-a-sprout.
He lies.
He thinks, anyways.
There are times when he believes he lies only to find that the truth slips out instead. No one notices the difference—or they choose not to. It's a tangled web of confusion that he's weaved for himself yet he can't escape it; everything is blurred, a thin line that separates what is real and what is not. He doesn't lie to harm anyone yet even in his days with Cross he learned the art of burying the truth.
It scares him sometimes.
But what worries him more is that he doesn't entirely mind.
He knows he can't lie to Kanda.
Because it's always Kanda who catches him.
Always.
"Idiot, what happened?"
"Level three, didn't block in time."
I was too distracted.
Allen compulsively places a hand over the bandage on his human arm, wincing when it throbs with sharp pains. Kanda scowls, flicking the boy on the back of the head. It's easy to see through the flimsy mask he constructs, if only because he's learned to read what Allen does and says; it's a strange feeling, being able to understand someone so simply, yet it's not entirely unwelcome—just annoying. Allen grumbles in response to the abuse but doesn't say anything, instead leaning back against the pillow in the infirmary and staring at the ceiling.
Kanda knows that look.
And he doesn't like it.
"Stop thinking."
"You tell me to do that at least once a week," Allen responds, glancing over and smiling. It doesn't reach his eyes and it looks strained, something Kanda sees far too much. "But I'm not you."
Kanda's glare intensifies and he goes to leave, already frustrated at the attitude of the sprout and hating the tiny flicker of worry that pulses through his veins.
"Hey, wait," Allen mutters, grabbing hold of the other man's sleeve. He pauses long enough to hear the boy out but no longer, his patience thin and his body tired. "Don't go yet."
"Che, let go, idiot."
But Allen doesn't; he tugs harder.
"Stay for a bit."
"Why?"
"Because it's boring in here and I can't leave until tomorrow."
Because I want you here, idiot.
Kanda has learned to read Allen's lies.
Sometimes the lies are necessary.
When Allen grabs his head in obvious pain, Kanda can see the unsteady shine of gold that's gone in a blink; he can feel the distressed aura he's only felt when near a Noah. And when Allen's breathing evens out and he glances back up to smile shakily, forehead glistening with sweat and nightshirt tangled around his frame, Kanda can only frown and pull the boy closer in the too-small bed, wondering if maybe he's the one who's gone crazy to ever allow such a thing.
What thing? The sprout in your bed or the sprout turning into a fucking Noah?
He tightens his hold imperceptibly and Allen curls in closer, shaking and sweating and dry sobbing as the pain recedes. It's nights like these that Allen needs to lie, needs to convince himself that he's not going insane and succumbing to the darkness that surrounds him every day.
"Nightmares," he says, shifting his head to look up and smile at Kanda. "Just another nightmare."
"Bullshit."
"Don't," Allen whispers, so helplessly and brokenly that Kanda's frown eases and he runs a hand through damp hair. "Please don't."
"Che, just go back to sleep."
Allen doesn't have any more 'nightmares' that night.
Sometimes the lies are ridiculously stupid and have no merit.
It's when he's exhausted and everyone asks him if he's doing alright; when the questions become too heavy and his eyes can barely stay open. He'll glance to Kanda but the latter won't do anything because it's not his problem. So Allen smiles, rubs the back of his neck, and breathes I'm fine.
It's overused and it's not convincing in the slightest.
"Allen, you're not fine, you're working yourself to death—"
"Geez, even Yu gets some sleep every once in a while—"
"Allen, maybe you should take a break…"
A heartbeat, then—
"I'm fine."
Kanda scoffs.
It's not the idea of lying itself but rather: why.
Allen's a liar because it's a masquerade and he's a puppet; he walks a path that's already been walked while struggling to forge his own. He's felt pain and he hides himself to shoulder the burden of being a savior, to protect others from the harsh, bitter reality he knows they'll suffer anyways. He's mastered deception and he's tweaked the art of covering up, has been doing it for as long as he can remember after the time with Mana and the life with Cross.
And now he's afraid of who he's becoming and that frightens him more than the lies.
And Kanda can see through it all.
Allen knows Kanda is a liar as well. Cold and harsh and rough and unfeeling yet offering a warmth that matches no other; Allen can't express how much he's come to rely on the rocky persona that is the samurai, how much the man keeps him grounded to a reality he isn't sure of. It's a bizarre and extraordinary wall they've built around themselves, sheltering others from the truth as the two of them embrace every single thread of actuality.
When they're together, the walls come down.
When they're no longer alone, the walls are reconstructed.
Sometimes Allen wonders if maybe he's already lost his mind.
