LIFE. LIFE is given to this story once again. There is no apology I could give to make up for the absence of chapters, the boredom, the lack of Muse. I'd say "the important thing is, there is a chapter now" but that is rude. There were times I wanted to write more of this, but I just didn't. And that sorta sucks. Thanks to those who are still hanging in there.

Disclaimer: There is nothing owned here but a sad idea.


The sun is far too hot, but Kanda only notices the heat when he moves. If he stays still, the burning of the sun through his clothes will not reach his skin. And he thinks that he has got this worked out, until Lenalee shifts her legs and the dark fabric of his pants presses against his knee and Kanda digs his fingers into the warm grass.

"Sorry." She mumbles. "My legs are cramping."

He feels Lenalee comb her fingers through his hair apologetically with one hand, and hears her ripping up blades of grass with the other. Two rhythms: one soothing and graceful, one haphazard and dangerous. Maybe she is not even conscious of both of them in the same way he is, but Kanda relishes in debating which one is him.

"Are your eyes open?" She asks.

"No," He lies.

"The sun," She says, "is right above us."

Kanda already knows it, but he nods, feeling Lenalee's hair against his chin; he knows she feels it too.

"I don't want to go home," She says. Then, almost laughing, "That's horrible, isn't it?"

He does not say anything, because he knows that he does not want to go back either. He wants to lie in the grass under the blistering sun and the weight of her sprawled over his legs. He does not want to go through the trouble of tying back his hair even though he knows Lenalee would gladly do it for him.

"It's almost over." He says.

It is only a second before he sees the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. Her face is not that far from his; he is close enough to see the scabs on her lips, the scar on her ear, and the gaps in her eyelashes she makes by nervously pulling them out.

Out of nowhere, or almost nowhere her voice pierces through the silence, "He is going to die, isn't he?"

Staring into the sun does not hurt Kanda's eyes the way he would like. He does not want to talk about this. No matter how much it would comfort her. No matter how he knows he could change the expression on her face. "Look," He says, "the sun is right above us."

"I can't see it anymore." She says. "The sky is too bright."

"Don't…"

"He can't see me, Kanda. He can't see me at all."

Kanda groans, tilting his head back, hoping the sun would burn his eyes out, and then he too could sit in the infirmary, being worried over, being wracked with guilt, being terrified of the future, wishing it could be him instead.

"I can't reach him," She sobs, shifting her body off of his, so that her back is to him. "He doesn't want me to."

Kanda cannot explain that he knows exactly how that feels. He cannot explain how he would like nothing better than to be Allen Walker and not Yuu Kanda. To be able to shut himself off from the world and everyone else unintentionally, to be a ghost of a person, to have a goal so strong he would not mind dying for it, to be unreachable. He wants to die. He knows all about the psychological defects in exorcists; not the science, but the way they implod, the way they kill themselves with walls, sex, hatred, fear and love. It all meshes together in their heads desperately, trying to make something out of something else.

"I don't know what to do, Kanda."

There is still nothing to say to her. Kanda cannot tell her to keep loving Allen, he cannot tell her to give up, the way he has, he cannot tell her to find someone who makes her truly happy—someone who does not fight akuma or Noah, or who does not make her worry, or who does not represent everything she wants, or who does not leave her.

"I don't know how you stand it."

And he blinks. He cannot find his voice to tell her to leave it the fuck alone because she thinks talking about it will make him feel better. Like their stories are similar or how Lenalee knows she is not as strong as he is, to be able to fight alongside Lavi.

Of all the people he does not talk to, Lenalee is the one he talks to both the most and the least. She talks. She talks about her brother, about China, about Allen. And he listens. He listens to her devotion, her nostalgia, her love. And he talks. He talks about Mugen, about akuma, about Lavi. And she listens. She listens to his pride, his tests, his lies. There is no judging or advice on either side, sometimes a pat on the back or a kiss on the fingers. Because they both know how similar they are.

But now, Kanda does not know how to help her because he could not help himself when he lay in the grass two months, one week and three days ago, wanting to die that day the way he would every day that followed.

"I cry too much, huh?" Lenalee wipes her eyes but still will not look at Kanda. "I'm sorry I didn't help you before…you must sorta hate me, huh? No, no that's not fair…I don't…I don't…it's not fair."

He thinks about that day when Lenalee did not come to lay with him in the grass. How she decided to try a new spiced coffee, and how she served it up with a smile while he went for a walk and ran into Bookman. She apologized, the way he had to the old man that day. She promised it would never happen again, the same way he had to Komui that day. She held his hand, the way Lavi used to, before that day.

"He can't love me."

Kanda felt the words sink past his skin. Bleeding through like it was his own realization.