It's only been summer vacation for a while, but KC is the only fun thing I have to do currently. Whatever! Find fun in unexpected places!

--

If Kanda had acted like he truly cared about the state of Allen's health before, he sure was a damn good actor. Upon arriving at the Med Center, he plopped Allen roughly into a chair after calling for a doctor and then walked to the farthest part of the room from the sick boy, which was the corner. He leaned against the wall, Mugen in one hand, long legs crossed. Allen suddenly felt very self-conscious, and inspected his clothing. He was wearing what he wore yesterday, and was thankful that no vomit had gotten onto his exorcist uniform. He looked up and saw Kanda turn away sharply. Allen laughed inwardly, Kanda was staring at me, and he hasn't changed either. The pale youth didn't know why this fact made him feel just a bit warm inside.

"Hello, sirs." A petite yet full-figured woman with immensely curly hair entered the room. "You must be Mr. Allen Walker, correct? My name is Dr. Marstein. Mr. Kanda has informed me you vomited quite a bit this morning. How are you feeling?"

"Err, I'm quite alright now," Allen began slowly, wondering why Kanda wouldn't make eye contact with him, "But I just felt really nauseous when I woke up. Yesterday I was fine." Odd, he couldn't remember anything that happened the day before other than he'd been talking with Kanda, then talking with Komui, and then being hit by a- Oh. Komui. Was so gonna get it.

"Did you eat anything you don't normally eat or something questionable prior to boarding?" Allen could tell Dr. Marstein was scared by his scar, as well as his white hair. He didn't feel like explaining anything and hid his left hand quickly.

"No, nothing. I actually think it was just sea-sickness, that's all." Dr. Marstein nodded; Allen didn't need any medicine. Then she began to rant about the 666 dangers (EVERYONE knows) about being on a ship before you get the good ol' sea legs. Allen felt himself getting woozy again from the mentions of painful death and terrible increase in acne; even Kanda rubbed his eyes tiredly.

"HOLY SHIT, LOOK AT CABIN 707, THERE'S PUKE AAALL OVER!! THIS'LL TAKE AGES AND AGES AND AGES AND AGES..." A member of the cleaning crew came running past the Med Center, mop and spray bottle of orange-scented Fantastik in hand. Allen went a bright, bright red.

"Uhh, erm, thank you very much for your time but I'm totally fine now so I'm going to excuse myself and leave!" Allen rushed to the corner, grabbing Kanda hastily and dragging him from the room. As they were running, Allen kept muttering about the indecencies of people these days, and how back in the day young hooligans were put in their place. When the two finally stopped, they were on the bottom level, outside the cafeteria. Allen's stomach growled, and he gripped Kanda harder, ignoring the black-haired teen's annoyed comments. Inside, Allen ordered several stacks of pancakes since it was still morning, although late.

"That's proposterous, sonny boy!" Guffawed the cook, adjusting his eyepatch and slapping his wooden stump of a left leg, "No one can finish twenty-three stacks o' pancakes! You crazy, or somethin'?" Allen fixed him with a serious cough.

"If I do, then can you give me twenty more?" The cook boomed raucous laughter even harder, threatening to fall over into a frying pail of batter. (Pity he didn't, thought Kanda, who was following this thought sequence.)

"Sure, kid, sure! Whatever ya want! 'Cept they'll be raspberry, 'cause no one really likes that flavor and I can't just give ya all of another. Got a surplus o' raspberries, raspberries! Haw-haw!" Allen accepted his food graciously, which pleased the cook.

"Kanda, I'll wait for you by table four, alright?" All he got was an annoyed "che," but even that made him feel happier. Who the hell would have thought I'd actually be having a fair time with Kanda on a boat? Speaking of which... Where does this boat go? Crap, don't tell me... Allen was worried for a moment. Oh well, I'd better finish these pancakes first.

Meanwhile, by the food counter, things weren't going so smoothly.

"You wan' sobo, sweetheart? Wha's sobo?" The cook scratched his head.

"No! You idiot! It's soba. Japanese noodles! Can't you even understand that?" Kanda was spitting mad. Nothing got between him and soba! Nothing!

"You wan' NOODLES fer breakfast, honey? You crazy? Gotta eat something, uh, breakfasty. Ya know, milk, cereal, paaaancakes."

"Sweetheart?! HONEY?? DO YOU HAVE SHIT FOR BRAINS??" Kanda's eyes narrowed dangerously, "Are you fucking trying to hit on me, old man?"

The cook swallowed, a blush showing on his wrinkly, liverspotted cheeks, "Well, teh be honest, ain't so many young girls pretty as you been on board recently. An' you know old cookie likes them girls dirty."

"Cookie" just lost himself his right leg.

Over at table four, Allen was just finishing his twenty-third plate of food. "Hmph. Why do they always make portions so small? Seven pancakes for a serving is hardly a lot. I better hope this is an eat-all-you-want kind of place."

Kanda came out with one plate of plain toast, and twenty dishes of pancakes all balanced on one hand. In the other, he held a glass of orange juice. He noticed Allen getting up to get more, and hurriedly said, "Moyashi, just eat these."

"Why, Kanda? And don't call me Moyashi." Kanda flicked his hair back gracefully.

"Trust me. Just don't. And anyway, I got your food for you." Allen felt a surge of joy. Kanda must still be suffering from those darts of Komui's, otherwise he'd never be so nice to me, he thought. Smiling, he'd enjoy it as much as he could.

"Thanks."

--

You're right, Allen! Kanda must still be on a drug high! Or is he? XP