"Then let's hear it, Scarhead."
Allen didn't realize how utterly cruel Kuri could be to people she did not like. "Kuri…I just think…I don't like people to s—"
"So now I'm 'people'? I thought we were comrades?" Kuri folded her arms. "Not off to a promising start, Exorcist."
Ouch. Allen realized that Kuri specifically didn't use a person's name when she was pissed, preferring to give them horrendous nicknames, coldly and cruelly. He had to fix this, or it would be a looooong journey.
"It's not like that." Allen bowed his head to her out of habit.
Mistake. Kuri grabbed his head. "LOOK at me when you break my heart, Allen Walker!"
Whoa. Now he wasn't so sure he wanted her to use his name.
"Kuri. I'm sorry." Allen said very softly. "I…I just…don't want you to stop liking me. Ever." He stoically met her gaze.
"Who are you to even talk." He could barely hear her now. "When I said look at me, I meant look."
With fresh eyes, Allen really looked at Kuri. Across her neck and cascading into her concave chest were long, dark scars. He boldly put out his right hand, caressing them.
"What does this matter?" Allen asked, taking her hand and putting it on his scar. "I have them too. Your a beautiful warrior. An Exorcist. The more scars you have, the stronger you are." Allen brushed the tears from her eyes and handed her his handkerchief. An English Gentleman always carried a handkerchief. "Please don't cry. You'll upset Tim."
"Uh huh." Kuri wiped her face, and pointed at Tim, who was sitting, fat and happy, on the now empty table.
"OUR FOOD!"