Title: Spectrum
Characters: Allen and
Kanda
Summary: Master told him once that visible light was
organized along a spectrum
Notes: You can read anything into this
that you want. It was originally intended to be a longer story, but
my mind kept insisting 'that person' was actually Itachi. No
spoilers.
Master told him once that visible light was organized along a spectrum, from red to violet, and while he didn't really get it then, because light is light, isn't it, when he watches Kanda get worked up, he thinks he kind of understands, because Kanda has his own visible spectrum, ranging from furious glares to sword-waving irritation, usually accompanied by fuming threats of "I'll kill you!" and, like with light, you need special tools to grasp what isn't readily visible outside of the spectrum. But anger and irritation can always be seen with the naked eye.
He wants to see more.
He takes to watching Kanda. He's not terribly subtle on the best of days; it's not something he's good at, and so he makes no effort to hide his stares. The resulting explosions are predictable and yield very little information.
Because, secretly, he's a little fond of the way Kanda looks when he's worked up, and because he always knows where he stands with an angry Kanda, he occasionally goes out of his way to say extra-naïve things just to make him angry.
He takes care never to go too far because the angrier Kanda gets, the quieter Kanda gets, and he can't say exactly why, but a quiet Kanda upsets him, seems wrong, on a level he doesn't understand, like blue grass or tea without sugar or Master being accomodating.
Which brings him to here where he stands, shocked, shaken, by the sight of this Kanda, white-knuckled grip on the hilt of his sword, its tip at the throat of a woman who wears his face.
He doesn't know what to do with this flat-eyed, controlled, quiet stranger whose rage seethes and burns, bubbling hotly just underneath the surface. In all of his Kanda-studies, he has never seen a mood like this, and he's at a loss about how to approach this stranger who possesses a face as familiar to him as his own.
He forces his legs to move forward. He takes the first step, and the second and third come faster. By the fourth, he's running, breath discharging in a rush. He hopes it's enough.