(Allen)
In the end, Allen was glad he had left plenty of time for him to fin Kanda's home again. Because despite having been there before and despite having walked there himself and despite having started the walk there from a familiar location like the park he often passed near work; Allen Walker had gotten lost. No big surprise there. It wasn't even surprising how inhumanly long it took the white haired young man to find his way there.
It quite literally took all his time to get back to the familiar doorway that opened to Kanda's home; to the point where he had arrived one minute before Kanda had told him to be there. Not even waiting a second to catch his breath, Allen flew up the steps (only mildly slipping clumsily on them as he did so) to the front door and knocked on it, hoping that Kanda was awake.
Moreover, he was hoping against hope that Kanda would be in a decent mood. At the very least, Allen figured, the fact that he was perfectly on time should make a clean spot on his record. That is, unless Kanda had wanted him to come early at least a few minutes (in which case, he was screwed, so completely screwed).
Not being allowed much time to brood over all the possible ways his attempts at doing things right could go horribly wrong (in keeping with his life filled with personal bad luck), the door was promptly opened. Later in the day, when Allen had time to think and was far more calm, the student would liken the quickness with which the door was thrown open to that of someone who a heated internal debate over whether or not Kanda had cared enough (what the driving emotion had been awaiting their guest from right behind the door. What would follow that thought would be behind that supposed "caring" was not withstanding) to wait attentively by the door in such a way.
"You're late." Kanda said gruffly, his mood visibly darkening upon looking at the other man.
"Actually, Kanda, I'm on time." Allen argued gently.
"If you're on time then you're already late." Kanda stated simply. Turning on his heel, the raven haired individual walked back into his home leaving Allen standing there. The door was left hanging open presumably in invitation so Allen slipped in after him and quietly closed the door behind him.
He immediately saw that Kanda had already transversed the living room and was now standing with his head bowed muttering to himself. He was really starting to want to know what the other man was thinking . . . and Allen thought he heard something about perverts. Allen simply refused to question it. Clearing his throat lightly to get Kanda's attention, the white haired young man waited until Kanda gave him his attention.
"So. . . what shall I do for you today, Kanda?" The man asked, steeling himself for what was to come.
It seemed to take the Japanese man a long moment to come back to himself before he scowled and took off towards the stairs at a fast pace. His usual, easily annoyed self, Kanda seemed upset by Allen's presence and, in retaliation of some sort, refused to look back at him. Allen wondered, as he followed the other man, if said man was simply just assured that Allen would follow him or if he seriously didn't care if Allen was even with him or not.
Kanda stomped up the stairs in what was somehow still a graceful move. Allen followed him up with much quieter and softer steps and soon found himself standing in the blind man's room. The area was sparse with a TV and few other electronic devices sorted meticulously into a media center.
Besides that, the bed and the small bedside table, there was really no other furniture in there. It was a navy blue room with white furnishings with nothing decorating the walls and tables. Allen figured that it would be irrelevant to have more than simple decor in your room if you are blind, but it was sort of unsettling to walk into. As if the room wasn't actually lived in or something.
Kanda never paused in his movements, walking into the bedroom and heading straight to the closet like a man on a mission. He weaved past the table and around the bed, knowing with an impressive certainty the exact spots where things were.
He could probably draw me a map of this entire room. Allen thought, impressed.
Against the far wall on the other side of the room, was a double closet. Trailing Kanda over to it, the young man watched with interest as he slid the closet door open, revealing what was inside. Allen felt his eyes go wide as he took in the wide array of clothing blanketing the inside of the wardrobe.
You see this family's living room and you know they have money, but you would never know that just looking at his room. The college student contemplated. Then you see his closet and you realize where all the money for his room went.
You really could, too. Kanda seemed to own more clothing than definetly was normal of someone his age (and gender). He is the owner of a motherlode of shirts, jackets, jeans and even shoes! Is that silk?
Kanda's unexpected intonation broke into Allen's thoughts. "This is your first job." Kanda said, gruffly, not looking towards him.
"What is?" Allen asked, his voice conveying his confusion. "Organizing your closet? It looks pretty organized to me."
"No." Kanda said, clearly annoyed. "I didn't bring you over here organize and clean up after me like a maid. I can do that." [Cue Allen trying to keep sudden perverted thoughts at bay.]
"You're overall job is basically going to be following me around all day and assisting me with everyday tasks. It makes life easier for me and harder for you." Saying that, Kanda gave a nasty sneer even as he was still annoyed at his company. "I'll hold up an article of clothing and you describe it to me so that I know what I'm wearing."
"Eh?" The sound of surprise came from Allen's lips. He was surprised by two things. For one, he hadn't expected his job to be something so mundane and not-excruciating and also . . .
"What do you usually do when you don't have an assistant? Do you get your-" He decided at the last moment that, given the apparent relationship between the two, it would not be a good idea to bring up his father to Kanda. "D-Do you just wear whatever?"
If Kanda noticed, he didn't say anything about it. "Of course not." Kanda scoffed, derisively. "I have a system." Kanda turned to the closet and twitched his fingers behind his back gesturing for Allen to come closer. Doing as Kanda's fingers demanded, the college student took a few unsure steps towards the closet. Kanda grabbed one of the nearest shirts and pulled it off its hanger, holding it so that Allen could see it. The blind man's pale, slender fingers lightly grasped one of the buttons and then the next one.
Finally, he opened his mouth and said, "Now, I know this is a blue plaid shirt because the first button is circular, but the next button is a square." He was right, of course, Allen noted. "All of my clothes have something about them that's different so that I can tell what it is just by feeling. Jeans and shorts are different lengths and made with different material, the same goes for shirts and their sleeves. As for the colors of the shirts, if I have two similar shirts of different colors, I can tell the difference because of their button's. Father or I resew the buttons so they are unique and I can use them to differentiate which shirt I'm holding. I know the color and design of this short because of my system. It has all square buttons. That's how I knew."
"But wouldn't you run out of different shape buttons after just a few shirts?" Allen questioned, trying not to become exasperated when his question was met with a look that showed Kanda thought he was an idiot.
"That's when we got creative. We can sew one square button on the collar of one shirt, making the rest circular, and then do the exact same thing for another shirt except we sew the square button onto a spot below the collar. I'll be able to tell the difference by feeling the placement of the buttons like a code and, therefore, tell the difference between the shirts."
Allen wasn't sure whether which emotion he should display at that moment; awe, confusion or disbelief. This was not what he expected when he thought about how Kanda functioned on his own. Allen would be the first to admit that he knew next to nothing about what daily life was link for the blind or disabled, but he was really caught off guard by this one. He thought that the only real option for a blind person was to get help with what they were wearing, but Kanda crushed that idea under his boot with his explanation of his daily routine.
"Are you going to be staring like that for long?" Kanda asked, raising an eyebrow in question.
"No! No, I'm not!" Allen cried in embarrassment.
"Then get a move on." The irritation in the asian man's voice was palpable.
"But what am I supposed to do?" Allen asked, feeling a little lost.
Again, Kanda shot Allen a look that implied he thought he was stupid. "Because doing things like this require extra effort; much more than just asking you what the clothes look like. I told you that you were here to make my everyday life easier so start making it easier." After saying this, Kanda plucked another shirt out of his closet and thrust it into Allen's chest roughly.
Allen stood there for a moment, eyes wide, before taking the hint and describing the color and design of the shirt. Things continued that way for another five minutes with Kanda nearly throwing articles of clothing at Allen and Allen describing what they looked like. At the end of it all, Kanda ended up in a dark green shirt with no pattern on it and black slacks; on his feet were a pair of big, black boots. Kanda led the way back out of his room and down the staircase.
"Kaaaannndaaa . . ." Allen drug out the other man's name in a sing-song voice; he was feeling playful now. "What are we doing now?"
"Making breakfast." Kanda answered in a near growl. Allen offhandedly mused that Kanda must have been getting used to his presence if he wasn't even lashing out of him for speaking or annoying him anymore. He did seem to be reigning in his temper rather well. The two men walked to the kitchen where Allen hung back a few feet and watched Kanda sweep around the room, getting the supplies needed to make the meal.
"Know how to make scrambled eggs?" Kanda called, too busy to put his usual bite into it.
"Yep!" Allen called back, cheerfully. He was happy at the prospect of being given a task. It would be a chance to please the Japanese man and maybe even curb his temper . . . if he was lucky.
"We'll see about that." Kanda snarked. "Get started while I make some toast."
"Are you sure you don't want me to do it?" Allen asked, quickly, stepping into the room. "I mean, are you sure you-"
"What?" Kanda snapped, whipping around to face him. "Am I sure I can accomplish it? Making toast?"
Allen flinched as if he had been punched. When Kanda said it like that, it sounded so insulting. And stupid. He really hadn't meant it like that. "I-" Allen tried to answer, but Kanda, in his apparent rage, cut him off.
In just two steps the raven haired man was standing right in front of him, only an inch or so between them. A second later saw said man grabbing onto the front of Walker's shirt with a death grip. Wrenching the shorter man up even closer to him, Kanda spoke in an unexpectedly low voice.
"Don't you dare pity me. I am not 'unfortunate' and I do not need you doing everything for me in order to survive. I am not helpless." The man spoke in a low and slow manner, but he was not, in any way, calm. His tone had a dangerous edge to it. If the situation hadn't been so serious, Allen Walker probably would have greatly appreciated being pulled so close to Kanda (especially his face).
But it was serious and the emotion in the room was palpable. Allen was swamped in his guilt for making such an insensitive and insulting comment especially because Kanda had been right in his assertions on what Allen had been thinking when he made them. These feelings were heightened as he could actually feel Kanda's distress leaking out into the atmosphere.
"I'm sorry." Allen apologized, trying to keep his voice calm. He softened his eyes and forced them to gaze into Kanda's hard black-blue eyes even though he knew that Kanda wouldn't see it. He wanted desperately for Kanda to know he meant it. The young man made sure that his voice was as soft as his eyes. "I didn't mean to insult you, Kanda."
The seconds ticked by as the two men continued to stare into each other's eyes, Kanda evaluating Allen's words and Allen hoping the blind man could feel the sincerity in his emotions.
The young man tried to ignore the unnerving little jolts of energy he was certain he was imagining he was feeling. What the young man did know was that this strange energy was triggered by looking into Kanda's azure eyes.
Somehow, even knowing intellectually that it wasn't possible, Allen still felt certain that Kanda really could see him. This eerie feeling was in no way helped by the fact that Kanda managed to look him right in the eye, as well. How was he able to do that if he couldn't see?
After what felt to Allen like a lifetime, he felt the harsh grip on the front of his shirt gradually loosen before dropping away, entirely. Without a word about what had happened, Kanda turned his back to him and started the process of making toast. Reeling, Allen stood several feet behind Kanda, staring at the man's back. If said man felt his gaze, he refused to show it and simply worked on.
Does this mean I'm forgiven? Allen wondered. Does Kanda ever forgive anyone? Silence answered his unasked question. Allen sighed, resigning himself to being vaguely but not quite forgiven by his potential love.
Tearing his gaze away from the blind man's back, Allen noticed a carton of eggs sitting at the end of the counter a bit away from where Kanda stood.
He must have taken that out when I was lost in thought; it wasn't there earlier . . . That is actually happening a lot lately. Allen reflected, taking in the distance between the eggs and the area of the counter that Kanda was currently occupying. And I think he left them so far away from himself because he didn't want me to come near him.
So, thinking that perhaps he could make it up to Kanda and increase the raven haired man's mood, he just quietly began making the eggs like he was asked to. Especially if he could make them perfectly, Allen decided. He did all of the cooking in his dorm whenever he wasn't eating canned, frozen or fast food. (When fast food is concerned, it may be all three.)
The young man went carefull to the carton and grabbed it, quickly darting a glance at Kanda who did not give any indication that he was paying him any attention. Somewhat relieved about that, Allen made his way to the stove with the eggs and began to scramble them. The two worked quietly in the kitchen, each completing their own task.
Somewhere in the time it took to make the meal, the tension in the room had dissipated and a comfortable silence took its place. The sound of sizzling and the smell of cooking eggs pervaded the air, infiltrating the college student's being and almost forcibly relaxing him. The white haired boy felt the remaining tension in his body ebb away and his shoulders relax with the familiar movement of cooking.
The smell of cooking bread, very faint compared to the smell of the eggs, was also around and he heard Kanda breathe in deeply. He likely found the smells as appetizing as Allen did. Sooner than the young man would liked, the toast popped up and the scrambled eggs were properly cooked. Both men moved their food onto plates and placed them onto the dining table.
Just before Allen set his plate on the table, he thought of something and put the plate down harder than he initially would have so that it made a loud banging sound and Kanda would hear where it was placed. Kanda didn't say anything about it so Allen either did the right thing or the man was giving him the cold shoulder.
Slowly, as if Kanda was going to be set off by the smallest movement, Allen pulled out a chair and sat down. Well, I fucked up royally. Now it's time to fix things.
