Snowflake
It's been raining, sleeting, snowing and every other cold weather verb he can attach to it. It's not necessarily a thing he dislikes, though he'll not smile and chatter happily about it. Of course, that could be because he doesn't smile and chatter at all. He leaves that to his mission companion—who can seem to find happy thoughts about anything and everything. He really doesn't care about the happy thoughts; he just wants the realism that he can believe in.
"Kanda, it's snowing again!"
Great, he mutters and keeps walking, boots wet from the frost and cold because of the subarctic weather. "I don't care."
Allen face scrunches up at Kanda's soured tone of voice and he steps quicker to match gait with the longer legged exorcist. "You know, you could really try to be less than unpleasant all the time."
"I'll pass." The snow flickers down now and he wants to be out of it. His dark hair is flecked with icy flakes and he hates how it makes his hair wet. On second thought, he thinks he hates the snow after all.
"Yeesh, Kanda…If you were nice to people, you'd get anything you wanted," Allen mutters and brushes his jacket a bit before tucking Timcanpy comfortably within it. Gray eyes cast over to the annoyed man next to him and he nearly lets a sigh escape.
"And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Kanda's tone is bitter and directed with a swordsman's cut. It was as if it was simply his nature to be so terse.
"Why must you be defensive about everything?" The question comes back, but he's already brushed it aside in favor of focus over the flake dropping down into his open hand—melting as they touched the warm skin of his good hand. "Did you know that no two snowflakes are alike? They're all unique, even if you can't tell. Like people are," he chatters and notices only after a moment that Kanda's in the process of moving on without him.
"That's ridiculous. People aren't individual. That's just something they tell children to make them feel like their lives are worth a shit. We're instantly replaceable and permanently forgotten." Shaking his head, the long strands of hair spill over his shoulder—left down for the sake of shielding from the cold breeze. He walks on, no longer feeling it necessary to be part of this discussion.
"Kanda," Allen's voice is behind him, calling out at his back and fighting with the wind and snow for attention. "Just because everyone as a whole doesn't see each person as unique, doesn't mean we're not. Just like snow. When you look off into the distance, it all looks like a blanket of white that may as well be bland and unspecial. But when you see each flake fall into your hand and you can see them for how special they are, they become one of a kind," he says and he smiles, because he really feels that way.
"In our world, moyashi, the sun never stops burning enough for the snow to fall."
"Well, I don't agree." Watching Kanda, he follows him, moving his legs and placing his feet one after the other in the sunken tracks left by Kanda's shoes. "Because I've never seen another snowflake like you before."
Kanda stops just briefly. Not even a second in action and it goes unnoticed by Allen, but he does none the less. Shaking it off, he continues to walk, letting the words slide off and melt into the rest of the snow on his skin. It's not important. People are replaceable and none of them ultimately matter. He isn't special and he will die forgotten.
But still, he quietly opens his hand in front of him.
And watches the flakes fall into it.