Allen ate all of the soba that Kanda didn't touch, and tried to hide his disappointment when he realized there was none left. The kid, Kanda had learned, was a fucking vacuum when it came to food. When was the last time he had eaten? How the hell had he been surviving with a single peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch? Was that guy—Cross or whatever—even giving him enough food? His manners flew out the window nearly as fast as the food flew down his throat, too.
Kanda dumped the dirty dishes in the sink as soon as Allen was done inhaling everything but the dishes themselves.
"Oh, do you want me to wash those?" Allen, still sitting at the cramped kitchen table, asked.
"Don't bother, they can wait until morning. I'm gonna go get ready for bed, you do… whatever." Kanda stood in the kitchen for a second, staring at Allen, before he retreated to the bedroom. He was sleeping fully clothed, in his fucking jeans. And if he had another one of those goddamned dreams tonight…Kanda grumbled half-words to himself as he pulled spare blankets out of Froi's linen closet. He knew Marie wouldn't care—probably—if Allen slept in his temporarily-vacant bed, but he also knew the little shit was too polite to do that. So Kanda laid out as many blankets as he could find on the narrow space between his bed and Marie's.
"This room's too fucking small," Kanda muttered. Allen was going to be sleeping too damn close to him and there was a very limited list of things he could do about that.
He pulled a spare pillow off his bed and threw it on the blankets, then returned to the kitchen. Allen had his sleeves pushed up and was fighting his way through a sinkfull of bubbles. Kanda half-shouted over the running water, "Oi. I'm going to bed. There are blankets and shit on the floor."
Allen looked up and smiled a closed-lip grin so big he couldn't maintain it and keep his eyes open at the same time. "Oh, thank you!" he finally said when he broke the smile. He turned off the faucet and whiped his hands off on a towel. "Great timing, I just finished!"
Kanda turned around and returned to the bedroom. Allen followed. His footsteps were light and annoying.
Kanda sat on the bed and yanked his hair out of his ponytail. He ran his fingers through it, untangling and ripping at any knots he found until he got fed up and actually used a comb. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Allen stripping down to his boxers and carefully folding his clothes. The bruises were still there, albeit a shade lighter. It wasn't anything Kanda hadn't seen before, thanks to their shared gym class, but Kanda still looked down and away. This was different. This was weird. His stomach kept clenching and unclenching with spasms that weren't exactly painful.
"Oh… Wow."
Kanda looked up. Allen was standing next to him—too close to him—read hand outstretched. He was seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was only wearing boxers. Kanda leaned away and glared. Allen withdrew.
"Sorry," he muttered, "but your hair… I, um, didn't realize how long it was, I guess." He was blushing again, although not as harshly as before, and seemed to suddenly realize how very close to naked he was. He yanked back the first few layers of blankets on the floor and scooted under them. "Um… well… goodnight."
"Che." Kanda put his comb down on the nightstand and turned off the light.
"Oh, you sleep in your jeans?" Allen asked.
"Yes. Go the fuck to sleep and stop saying stupid shit."
"Sorry," Allen muttered. Kanda could tell he didn't mean it. He smirked.
"Is this your pillow?" Allen asked after a second, once Kanda had crawled under his own covers.
Kanda groaned. "Do you need a different one, you fucking baby?"
"No, it's fine. It just… smells like you, I guess." He paused for a second, but Kanda waited for him to continue. "Thank you… for letting me sleep here. Really."
Kanda stared up at the ceiling with his arms hugging his chest. There was no fucking way he was getting any sleep.
After an hour of staring up at nothing and listening to Allen breathing, Kanda looked down at the floor, at Allen. He was dead asleep, Kanda was sure of it. One of Allen's hands was curled around the edge of the pillow, and what Kanda could see of his mouth kept twitching into something that resembled a soft smile. His face was nearly buried in the pillow, and he had rolled and scooted until he was at the very edge of the blanket pile, dangerously close to Kanda's bed.
"Oi," Kanda said under his breath, "Moyashi?"
No answer.
Kanda moved so he was lying on his stomach and peeking over the edge of the mattress at Allen below him. A few strands of his hair fell and brushed against Allen's cheek. Allen gently swatted them away without waking.
Before he even had a chance to think about it, Kanda reached a hand out and advanced towards Allen. He froze when he realized what he was doing, but then let his fingers slowly run through the messy white hair. It was soft, softer than Kanda had imagined. He buried his hand deeper, pads of his fingertips skimming along the surface of Allen's scalp. It was warm, like the rest of him. A sunbathed kind of warm, though, not scalding by any means. A quiet warm.
Kanda felt like his blood had suddenly been replaced with pure electricity. He jerked his hand away and shifted until his body was pressed against the panel wood wall, as far away from Allen as possible.
"Kanda?" Allen muttered sleepily.
Kanda did not respond. His heartbeat echoed in the silent room so he pressed his hands against his chest in an attempt to muffle the sound.
"Kanda?" Allen asked once more, firmer. Kanda dug his fingers into the fabric of his shirt and clenched his jaw shut.
It was only once he was sure Allen had fallen back asleep—his soft sighs and steady, slow breathing filling Kanda's ears—that Kanda relaxed, marginally.