Have a Nice Day

Prompt: Handy

The rhythmic thud of the chef's knife against the cutting board echoed in the quaint, sun-lit kitchen. An eighth of an inch thick dough was cut into noodles and tossed with a sprinkling of starch before they were thrown into a large pot of boiling water. Kanda set the kitchen timer to sixty seconds then proceeded to work on the garnish. He was chopping chives when Tiedoll entered the room.

"Ah, good morning, Yuu," the elder greeted while Kanda pretended he was still alone. With an amused chuckle, Tiedoll walked into the room and began to fix his early morning tea. "I see you're making soba again. You really are quite handy with that knife, aren't you?"

The timer went off and Kanda, still choosing to ignore his adoptive father, turned the heat off and proceeded to strain and rinse the noodles. There was a resounding plop when the soba was dunked into a bowl of ice water afterwards. In a few minutes, the noodles were prepared with the dipping sauce and Kanda took the seat across Tiedoll, who was already enjoying his cup of white tea at the dining table.

The elder smiled inwardly at the gesture. Silent minutes passed, before Tiedoll attempted yet another conversation. "I take it work is going well?"

Kanda's reply was a single groan, setting his chopsticks flat on the bowl as he finished his meal. Having his father as his boss still left a bitter taste in his mouth. If he were to answer truthfully, he'd concede that the job was better than average and he was grateful. But he was Kanda. The old man should know better.

As it was, Tiedoll acknowledged that the grunt was the only response he'd be getting. He would have liked to hear more about how things were from Kanda himself, but he'll leave the topic be for now. It had been an honest gamble when he offered the job to his perpetually irate son; just knowing Kanda stayed for his first week could be counted as a win.

With a knowing smile he turned his attention back to his tea and morning paper while Kanda took care of his dishes. Once done the young man made to leave the room, only to pause by the door frame.

"You didn't bother mentioning Cross' kid."

A beat.

"Did I not? Oh, it must have slipped my mind. Old age… makes one quite forgetful, no?"

Kanda visibly stiffened at the response but stalked off without another word, missing the gentle smile on Tiedoll's face.

"Ah, Marian," the old man sighed. "All those years of putting up with your gambling is now wearing off on me."

"T-Thank you very much, Professor Wenham!" Allen all but sputtered in his gratitude. He missed the deadline for the university fees and if it wasn't for the generosity of his Chemistry professor, he would have had to drop his classes again. If he had a hat, he'd tip it. "I swear I'll have the rest of it after my shift today."

Reever waved off his concern. He'd had Allen as a student since his freshman year and he still found the boy's situation difficult and highly unreasonable. "As I've been telling you, the university can sponsor your stay, Allen. You don't need—no, you're not even supposed to be working yourself to the bone." The man scowled. "At this rate, there won't even be any bone left on you."

Allen laughed uneasily in reply. He was never good at having people so concerned about him and he doubted he ever will be. Naturally, Cross was to blame. That man did not possess an ounce of concern within him. He thanked the professor again and went on his way. He still had a few hours to spare before his shift at the pub begins, might as well spend it on what little sleep he can get.

Thankfully, the meager apartment he rented under Cross' name was but a few blocks away from the university. The keys rattled noisily as he dropped them onto an unused, chipped ash tray, before taking his coat off and heading towards the small living room. Allen's mind wearily reminded him that the place was in dire need of a cleaning but that'll have to wait as he dropped unceremoniously onto the couch. Toeing his shoes off languidly, he proceeded to take his gloves off next. The temperature had been dropping since September began and wearing gloves did not appear as uncommon as it would have, but Allen had other reasons for the garment.

Holding his mangled left arm above his face, his eyes traced the eerily exposed veins that throbbed minutely against the black and blue skin, the nails dead and akin to charcoal. He had no recollection of how this came to be. His past before Cross was a blank, empty slate, with his arm the only reminder that he at least had one. He'd often thought that perhaps it was as cruel as how the limb looked, an echo of whatever childhood he had, though that was assuming that his ill luck was all in the past. No. Allen's present was far from good. Guess having a despicable arm was a charm for bad luck…

It's just an arm.

Gray eyes shot open. He wasn't sure when his lids dropped but now he was staring at the back of his hand again, draped over his face.

He'd been having more of this—with lack of a better term—thoughts recently. Like some sort of reminder. Of what, he still didn't know. He figured he should be concerned; his mind had been conjuring images and words and thoughts that he had no understanding of. But he wasn't, and it wasn't until he'd fallen asleep again that the words rang inside his head:

It's just an arm. Not a big deal. You're being such a baby about it.

He hadn't slept smiling in a long time.

A/N: I'm such a lazy person I don't even know why I bother writing in chapters. Shoot me.