Elaine goes and finds him the morning after. It isn't hard to do considering how he's sitting again in the same place he had been the day before. She double-checks when she sees him and holds down the brim of her hat when the wind picks up.

She doesn't even bother with a proper greeting, which is something he figures isn't really her style. Her eyes widen. "What happened to you? Are you alright?"

She's referring to his face. Lavi touches the thick bruise swelled purple under his eye, makes sure to hide a wince, and grins. "Are you talking about this? I thought it'd be a good addition to my face. Doesn't it make me look more distinct?" He quips cheerfully.

She doesn't buy it and impatiently swats his hand away instead. She squints down at the bruise and sounds appropriately worried, he supposes. "No, really, you should get that checked. It looks pretty bad."

He really should, but he isn't ready to face Bookman's disapproving silence quite yet. He tentatively fingers the bruise, applies some pressure, and actually winces this time. Every now and then, he's been pressing his index finger down on it. The sensation is actually somewhat comforting in its dull pain. It is difficult to explain, but that doesn't really matter, he decides. It's enough to remind him of how very real this really is.

Elaine is getting pretty insistent for a stranger. "Look—you flinched just now, didn't you? That's definitely not a good sign."

"Yeah, I'll get to it in a bit," he says blithely. "Thanks for worrying."

"You're kidding, right? Do you need help getting to the hospital or anything?"

"I don't need anything like that." He pauses briefly and selects his words with care. It's not even a lie this time. "My gramps is a genius about this kind of stuff."

"Oh." She's still fidgeting. "You're going to get it looked at, right?"

"'Course."

"Don't lie. Please."

Lavi blinks. She's somewhat more annoying than he'd bargained for, but the response is still weird. There is a hint of distress hanging on the corners of her words. "I'm not," he says breezily and points to his bruise, mouth still tipped up. "My grandpa will treat it later. Don't worry about it, really."

Pauses. "So how did you get that, anyway?"

"Got in a fight."

A beat. "Wait, really? Are you okay? Why?"

Her questions are asked all in the wrong order, and it's kind of amusing. Some people really are like that, he supposes. He shouldn't be surprised. Lavi grins and thumbs along the edge of his head wrap. "I've never gotten in a fight before," he confesses.

Elaine just gapes at him for a while before she finally speaks, and it's stubborn, accusing, and defensive all at once. "You're not taking me seriously."

She's at least half-right. The corners of his mouth tip up again. "No, I'm serious. Really. This is my first fist fight, and I guess it didn't turn out so well for me. Oh, well, it was fun while it lasted, I guess."

She swats his explanation away impatiently again, distracted. "No, not that. You're evading my question. I mean, how did you get that? Why? Did someone hit you?"

He has to grin at this one. "Well, obviously." He points at his bruise. "You can't exactly get accidentally injured in a place like this."

She pauses. "You're making fun of me," she says uncertainly.

He is. "Alright, alright, sorry, that was kind of rude of me." He covers a yawn before speaking again. "Well, the truth is, I insulted a guy last night and he punched me in the face."

Another pause. "Why?"

"Why?" He scratches at his head. "Well, I guess I've always wanted to try it out."

"But why?"

He grins in good humor. "Sorry, I don't think I can really explain it." He pretends to think about it for a while. "Like, this is probably one of those things that a girl won't understand, you know?"

There is not much to say to that, so Elaine just pulls out the chair next to him. "Does it hurt?" She finally asks.

"Not even," He waves it off. "You can stop worrying about it, really."

There is another silence before Elaine picks at it again. She scratches at her neck and smiles at him sheepishly. "Sorry about all that. It's just that, well, how should I say this? Someone close to me is really... well, sick right now, so..."

It sounds sufficiently reasonable, so Lavi just shrugs and offers another easy smile. "It's fine. Compassion is always good thing."

"Yeah."

Another thought occurs to him. "Is this why you gave me bread the other day then?"

What he really wants to ask is whether it had been out of pity, but he already knows the answer to that one. This is one thing that doesn't need to be confirmed.

She leans back into her chair and looks up at the sky. "Kind of."

He blinks. "Kind of?"

She smiles but doesn't say a thing. After a while, the wind picks up again, and the church bells toll, monochrome. Elaine holds down her hat, stands up, and the slant of the shadow of her silhouette grins down at him. "I have to go now," she says. "I'll see you later, though?"

He salutes and doesn't expect a thing. "Gotcha."

He watches her make for the church at corner of the next street. He's never been any good at the whole faith thing, but he stares up at the stained glass and thinks about all the times he's tried so hard to believe.

He only sees the glass shattering and can't. Bookman probably explains it best.

People are all the same, no matter who you meet, when you meet them, or where you meet them, Bookman had said. They don't change.

And what he had left unsaid.

Don't expect much.

Four and a half weeks.

It isn't so much that he doesn't want to believe. He does. Honest. It's just a lot harder than it sounds.

He's actually a bit of an idealist, not that he'll ever confess to it. He knows exactly how much Bookman won't approve of this either, but after immersing himself in a world of Descartes, Nietzsche, knowing how long he still has to live, and knowing how much more he still has yet to see, it's too depressing and just suicidal to give up completely on the alive. Descartes writes that God gives us enough resources to ascertain the true nature of reality and attributes all errors on human willfulness. Nietzsche just claims that if you aren't a superman, then you are an ant. The implication here is that there are lives that are worth more than others.

It's too much to realize how hopelessly pathetic, irrelevant, and not in control you really are. It's even worse once you begin to understand that your impact is wiped clean once you die. That you don't even matter. Your efforts are futile.

Or at least, Lavi's seen enough to know this much. People really just can't be trusted.

So at the very least, he learns, you have to trust yourself. When you can't even do that anymore, it's game over.

Bookman neatly slides into the seat across from him.

Lavi sits up a little straighter in acknowledgment and yawns. "Morning, gramps."

Bookman returns the greeting. "Morning," he says before pausing for a while and looking a little more closely at Lavi.

Lavi blinks and speaks through a mouthful of food. "What?"

Bookman calmly picks up his cup of tea and observes lightly. "No, you just look like you didn't get much sleep last night. There are some pretty big bags under your eyes," he indicates. "And swallow before you speak."

Lavi makes a grand show of swallowing his food down before grinning cheekily. "They're nowhere as bad as yours though, right?"

Bookman squarely steps on his foot underneath the table without even missing a beat.

Lavi winces. "Holy shi—"

"Watch your tongue," Bookman says primly before neatly cutting up his egg.

Lavi shuts up. For a while, they eat in companionable silence. It's nice and comfortable, and this definitely won't last.

He's right. Bookman is the first to speak, and the subject matter is grim. "That last battle."

Lavi holds his breath.

"The body count?"

"Yeah, I gotcha." He swallows the food down and, with a twirl of his fork, recites, "57 killed, 64 injured."

"Lavi." He pauses briefly. "What do you think of this war?"

Lavi forks at the rest of his breakfast and makes a big mess in his plate. "I'll just watch for now," he concedes. "But it seems like the war's the same. Only, just the object's changed."

Bookman just watches for a while. "Don't play with your food."

"Yeah, yeah," he yawns.

Four and a half weeks is how long he's been Lavi. Or how long he's tried to be Lavi. This time, letting go had been more difficult than he could have ever imagined.

Trust yourself. The thing is, it only gets harder and harder to do the longer you try and live like this. Lavi presses his hands to his temples briefly before looking up at Bookman. "Hey, gramps," he says and waits for Bookman to look up before continuing. He's still putting his words together, dangling off that last bit of string.

"What is it?"

"Are we gonna stay here till this war is over, too?"

Bookman doesn't say anything for a while. "Wherever the record is, we'll go," he concedes.

It is such a typical Bookman response that Lavi puts his fork down. It's not like he should have expected more. "Just like that, huh?" He yawns again. "Can't tell if this is going to be better than Deak."

A longer silence.

"Deak is Deak. Just watch," Bookman finally says, and it is neither harsh nor comforting. "Just watch and concentrate on being who you are right now, Lavi."

A few more days pass by before anything really happens again. He has all the time in the world for that.

The seat he usually occupies is taken and he's already been at that spot for too long already anyway. Bookman doesn't have any work for him today, so he spends the day wandering around the town, even though he knows it far too well by now.

At some point, she runs into him. Or, more accurately, she would've passed by him completely if he hadn't called her out.

"Hey," he says cheerfully once he recognizes the contours of her silhouette.

Elaine blinks and backtracks. "Oh, hi."

He holds up two fingers in greeting. "What's up?"

"Oh, I was just running an errand—well I have time now, I guess. How are you?" She blinks again. "Your bruise!"

Lavi grins toothily. "I toldya so, didn't I?"

She's still gaping in wonder. "It's really gone."

"Like I said, my gramps is a genius with this stuff."

She steps into the shade. "Is he a doctor or something?"

Not even. "You could say that." He scratches at the back of his head. "Or, well, the relationship between us is more like master and apprentice than gramps and grandkid, so later I can take care of my own bruises."

Her mouth tips up. "I wasn't even thinking about that. But if he's a practitioner, then why are you guys traveling?"

"To see and learn about the world and all it has to offer... or something like that, kinda."

Elaine's eyes are wide. "That's incredible," she says. "I've never even been out of this district." Pauses. "What's it like?"

"'What's it like'?" He repeats.

"Yeah. If you travel all the time, then that means you get to see a lot of things that most people never get to, right? That's really incredible."

Her words hit so close to home. "That's right."

"And?" She prompts.

His mouth splits into another big grin. "It's grand. A big, old adventure," he says extravagantly. "You really do get to see all the things you never even thought possible."

Elaine doesn't say anything.

He blinks. "What?"

She pauses. "I can't figure you out."

This time, he pauses. "What does that mean?"

Uncertain. "I mean—your tone. You don't sound happy about it."

Lavi looks up, surprised. He hadn't anticipated this much. But then again, he already knows better than to forge any sorts of expectations. "Well, not everything you see is... good in this line of work."

A pause. "I get that."

The response is strange. Actually, half of her responses are strange and unpredictable. On edge, almost. He pauses and isn't sure if he's meant to probe further or not. He knows better than to. But sometimes, you really just get tired of waiting to live all the time, so he dives. "So what's your story?"

A slight pause. "What do you mean?"

He's never been good at this caring-and-talking-about-it thing, and now he's thoroughly convinced he's saying all the wrong things at all the wrong moments. He scratches the back of his head sheepishly. "Oh, ah, well, I didn't mean to get into your private life. I'm sorr—"

She cuts him off in mid-apology. "Don't."

He blinks slow.

"I never asked you to feel sorry for me."

Don't expect much.

And she starts.

He's gotten better at this, somewhat.

He learns to flirt with Lenalee at every other opportunity he gets. Komui, he learns quickly enough, is pretty good at putting on the whole overdramatic protective-older-brother charade, and the theatrics both of them put on are enough for the rest of the science department to decide what kind of person Lavi is. Now, they really do know better than to take him seriously.

And with a job like this, he figures, it's probably better to keep things simple and stupid anyway. Being a soldier and a comrade out on the battlefield is every bit as grim as it had sounded like it would be. This might be hard for you to adjust to. Bookman wasn't kidding.

He knows what it's like to kill now, too. His targets aren't human in that sense, but the concept is still the same, and that's what counts. He can't flourish his Innocence with the same efficient elegance that Kanda does, but he's gotten fairly decent at his job now. He's gotten used to seeing skin peeled raw, and anticipating that second when mechanics click, and hearing the nonexistent plea of someone who doesn't even live anymore. He can relate.

He grins at Kanda. "You're still up, Yu?"

Kanda doesn't even look at him. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

Kanda doesn't even hesitate to bring his katana to Lavi's throat. "Don't be stupid. You should already know by now. I go by Kanda."

Lavi gulps for real and takes a step back. "Gotcha, gotcha," he says lightly. "But why are you still up? It's pretty late now, you know."

Kanda readjusts his stance. "Training," he says.

"Training?"

Kanda doesn't even bother to explain, but Lavi's already expected as much. Instead, the other Exorcist just looks over at him. "You?"

"Ah, well, I can't really sleep well right now." He suppresses a yawn. "So I'm just out for a walk right now."

Kanda stops and stares at him.

Lavi blinks. "What?"

"You spend half your time on missions sleeping."

Lavi scratches his eyes and averts his eyes. "Oh. Right. Well."

Kanda closes his eyes briefly and resumes practicing his footwork. "I'm training here," he says. "And I'm not liable for whatever injuries you get in my way. Walk somewhere else."

Lavi signs a salute with his fingers before turning to leave. "Yeah, yeah, gotcha." Before he leaves the room, he looks back cheerfully and the corners of his mouth tip up. "Don't work too hard, Yu."

He is not even a full four inches away from the room when he hears Kanda's response and chilling hiss of a blade cutting straight across thin air. Both resound in chambers of the hall.

"You should try harder."

Lavi closes his eyes.

Some people dream to escape. Others dream to remember.

Lavi does neither in particular. This is how Lavi dreams.

He starts by remembering how he had started his life. He hasn't been a Bookman heir for literally as long as he can remember, but it comes pretty close. The first few years he shadowed Bookman, he had seen, eyes wide open and eyes wide shut. Whichever makes more sense. Then, he had breathed, really breathed, for the first time in his life. He's breathing he's laughing he's existing he's living and

And he imagines dying by the seconds every fucking time.

This doesn't really ever happen, either.

Tonight, he's at that goddamn table again, and the deck is stacked neat. He'd never wanted to see this happen twice.

But it does, and all he can do is watch helplessly, like some stupid puppet waiting for a cue. The dealer doesn't exist, and technically he doesn't really either, but the cards are laid flat in front of him anyway.

He draws the Joker card again, but this time the meaning of the card is cut clear.

There's only one thing.

And it's.

Live, Deak.

The rest is up for reality control.

He looks up and offers a lazy half-smile. After some pointless and some more almost-deep conversations, he's starting to get used to her, even though he should know so much better than this. "Yeah?"

She hesitates.

Lavi scratches at the back of his head and yawns. He glances up at that impossible picture of night sky and thinks of how very crystal the stars are tonight. It's starting to get late, too. "What's up?"

She takes a deep breath. It turns out it's something she really, really needs to do. Her words are rushed out fast and completely messed up anyway—just, disorganized. Later – much, much later – he'll realize that she's not thinking straight.

But as for now, her words just spill like liquid. They crash and shatter helplessly, "Well, I had something I wanted to ask, but now that I'm here, I don't know if it's appropriate. I think I'm right. And, to be honest, I've been wanting to know for a while now. But I mean, still, I don't know if it's even—"

"Just go for it."

He's kind of amused. He can't see her face, she doesn't look at his either, and it's unclear who wants to be the one to speak first. Then again, maybe it doesn't even matter. He starts to count to nine but doesn't even make it halfway before the air is cut cold.

"Why did you try to kill yourself?"