Title: dreams of a fabricated reality
Rating: PG
Summary: Am I just who they created me to be? The lotuses are blossoming again.
Quote at the end is a line from the song "At Least I Have You" by Super Junior M. Wow, this is longer than what I usually write for Petals. I'm not sure I like this one…it was hard to end, and this was the best I could get it. As always, please tell me what you think in the reviews!
The sound of ringing metal echoed in the near-empty box he called his room.
He stared hard at the thin sheet of silver he held in his hands, looking but not really seeing. Sheathing Mugen with a flick of his wrist, he cursed silently.
Mugen would be no good against his demons.
Lately, he'd been spending his life buffeted by a flood of images, flashing and unrelenting in his mind. Images of dead and dying bodies being crowded out by the unforgiving petals.
Hey Kanda, we're friends, right?
Lips twisting upwards bitterly, he eyed the windowpane in disgust. The Black Order was really something, treating human life like a game based on their whims.
I want to be friends!
How different was he from those Akuma? Like them, he was merely a recycled soul, thrust back onto the wheel of life against his wishes.
Sometimes he wondered what would have happened if he had truly died. The dead were best left alone, but this was something the Order flouted openly. Never really spoken of, it was their dirty little secret. Thinking about it, he felt an acidic satisfaction at the destruction Alma had left in his wake.
Once monsters are created, they never go away.
Just die…please, just die…
After all, he was still here, wasn't he? Alma, at least, had finally gotten his peace. He was free from the Order now, never again to be reanimated and used for the purposes of others.
I'm sorry, Kanda…
Kanda had known for a while, of course, that he was not who he seemed to be. The experiments, the pain
—Alma—
had awakened his memories of a life long dead. He supposed he should have left the Order long ago, but of course, he stayed only for her.
An image of a little girl with bright eyes, scared and angry in an unfamiliar place. The little girl who used to always hide in his room, pleading with him to hide her.
She was his only reason to live now.
It was times like these where he hated himself the most. Trust her to fall in love with a mannequin, a mockery bound by living skin. He was not who she thought he was, and he never would be.
How he wished so very hard that he had died long ago.
It was times like these where he truly hated the Order for what they had done to him. He would have gladly let them ruin his life three times over if just so they would spare hers.
For the first time, Kanda was afraid. He was afraid to face Lenalee, afraid to see the look on her face when she looked at him—really looked at him. She would know that there is no "Kanda". No such man existed.
He couldn't bear to see the love die in her eyes.
He couldn't bear to see it directed at him.
Slumped against the wall, he leaned his forehead on the cold glass. Raindrops trailed by, forlorn and lost. Just like him.
Closing his eyes, he prayed with the ever decreasing shreds of faith to some distant and laughing god that she would be alright. Erase her memories, if need be. Make her forget everything, forget the pain, the lies, the anguish.
Make her forget him.
He had not seen her since that day.
with Alma
The day the Order ruined his life all over again. He laughed bitterly—he had tried to delude himself into believing that she would never know, would never find out the truth. But such an event could hardly be overlooked; surely, by now, she would have heard.
As if hearing his thoughts, his door opened and shut with a muted click. He could feel her presence—
—so warm and inviting—
would it still be?
—but he dared not turn around. He could see her murky reflection in the window, but he kept his gaze from wandering to her face. He did not want to see.
The air hummed with such intensity he almost felt compelled to look at her. Instead, he stubbornly held his silence. He could feel his throat constricting and out of sheer force of will he kept his breathing even.
His arm twitched and his heart leapt out of his chest when he felt her hands snake around his waist. She was kneeling directly behind him now and he could feel her lips graze his neck.
"Why do you keep hiding from me?"
The uneasy feeling rose in his chest again. This was not what he expected—then again, he didn't know what to expect. She was hardly the type to shout angrily at him, but given the circumstances…
He drew in a breath. "It is best if I leave." Better get this over with. It was the least he could do.
Her sardonic laugh surprised him. "Best for who?"
He remained silent and eventually she sighed, a ghost of air trailing delicate fingers across his ear.
"Let me guess what this is about. You feel guilty—about…you know."
He assumed she didn't voice it more for his benefit than hers, but still he kept quiet with only a slight tic in his jaw giving him away.
She continued, "It's not like it was your fault, you know."
They were all just pawns in a deadly game.
"I'm hardly unaware of what the Order has been doing…" She was quiet for a long time, as if deciding whether or not to say whatever she was thinking. Her fingers gently stroked his hair, occasionally drifting to his cheek. Finally, she spoke again.
"I—I had a feeling. All those years ago when you first showed me that tattoo…it sounded too much like…like what had happened in the past."
At this, he couldn't help but jerk his head around in surprise. So she had known, then, or guessed. She must have known for a while.
His eyes drifted upwards to meet hers. He couldn't help himself. Despite it always being her who came to him seeking solace, he was the same. She was his comfort, and even now, he still sought her reassurance.
Her eyes were gentle, as they always were. Her soft, loving gaze washed over him, and suddenly he felt overcome with remorse. He had known her for years—how could he think so lowly of her, that she would stop loving because of this?
A shaky sigh escaped him as he lurched forward to hold her, encase her in his arms.
Never again will I let you go
Lenalee, face leaned into his neck, smiled softly, fingers tangling in his hair.
Explanations were not needed—she knew him like no one else. One glance, one movement was like a waterfall of words between them. Even so, he needed to make sure she understood. The time for laying things out in the open had long gone, but still he tried because she deserved that much.
"I'm not meant to exist," he whispered quietly. "You shouldn't have to settle for this, for a—a forged human being."
Even before his last words trailed off, he could hear her angry huff. Shoving away from him so she could glare heatedly into his eyes, she tugged a lock of his hair gently.
—so gentle, always so gentle—
"I'm not settling for anything. This is what I want. I don't care if you used to be someone else, or that you're not really supposed to be here. That's all in the past, and…" She closed the distance again, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.
"…and all I want is you, the Kanda Yu I have always known. Nothing else matters."
He could hear that her words rang true and that was enough for him. They sat there together silently, the warmth from each other all that they needed. After all, words were an inferior vessel for their emotions.
"Even if I can give up the whole world, you're the only thing worth treasuring."