Pairings: Lavi/Kanda, side Allen/Lenalee, side Marie/Miranda
Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Blood and Violence, Friendship, Romance, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Lavi is Bad at Feelings, Kanda is Worse at Feelings, Seems cute at first but, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Minor World-Building, Military, Discrimination, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Hello, I bring Lavi x Kanda fic from beyond the grave.
Fair warning, this is a massive project (probably 200k words or more by the end of it) because the plot bunnies tripped me up and I'm very in over my head, but I'm determined to finish this. Also because this will be one of my last DGM fics before I move on to other fandoms.
Please also note that I numbered the chapters a certain way to reflect a specific period of time they're set in. Mostly for reader's convenience because some same-day scenes ended up being so long I had to split them up...
And that's why you're getting the first 5 chapters all at once! Enjoy~
Word count: 4,255
The Quiet Earth
Chapter 1.1
It is said that over a hundred years ago, the gods took pity upon human suffering and decided to grant them a small mercy – a scarce energy resource they eventually called "dei misericordia". Nowadays it is called by its short form: 'deim'. Most scholars could hardly consider those as official terms, and thus the scientific community coined the term 'Naturology' to categorise this new-found natural science.
The royal family of Isfelta, the Kamelots, were from birth naturally attuned to Naturology, each generation certain to be inclined towards the mysterious force. It is said their ancestor was the first being to successfully harness this energy, whether through innate talent or sheer luck it is not known. It was rumoured that they also developed special abilities other attuned did not, such as —
(13 Feb 2X00, Saturday)
The rest of the text vanished in a monochrome blur as the book was whisked away by a swift hand. Followed immediately was furious chiding and several slaps that left a young, redheaded man ducking and rushing for cover. A wizened looking old man with an irate look on his wrinkled face chased after him.
"Idiot apprentice! Wasting your time on fairy tales again!" The old man snapped as he dealt another successful blow to the younger man's head, eliciting a mournful howl.
Despite being a little old man, he moved swiftly with his hands and feet. And as The Bookman, his judgment struck even quicker, like lightning from the heavens. There came more hurried sounds of shuffling and skidding around as they scurried back and forth around a desk, a push and pull of fury and fear.
"If you're going to be useless, at least do a better job at hiding it!"
With great effort, the young man repositioned himself across the desk, putting them at an impasse. Eyes the likeness of veined emerald blinked dolefully as he protested, "But gramps, even rumours can hold truth at times..."
Bookman glowered and the young man shut up; the very picture of obedience. The cheeky little shit was pulling excuses out of his ass and they both knew it. Bookman held the glare a moment longer before letting up, but not before flipping neatly over the table and delivering a last hard knock to his apprentice's head.
Leaning back, Bookman watched in satisfaction as the boy yowled and sagged against the table like a disappointing sack of coals. Those teary green eyes squinched up in pain as the boy held his poor, little head. For a seventeen-year-old, that boy certainly persisted to be a stubborn brat.
Bookman settled into a nearby chair and put the book aside, giving it a dirty look as he glanced over its title:
Naturology – Truth or Tales?
With virtuous patience, Bookman waited for the young man to roll around a while more before speaking. "As archivists, the accuracy and genuity of the information we collect is paramount. The process of ascertaining those qualities is equally important, and that is why we only consider credible sources. Not... urban legends."
There was a pause as Bookman considered his next words.
"But I suppose it wouldn't affect your progress to indulge in stories from time to time," he finished grudgingly and rolled his eyes at the cheeky smile he was given. "Which means, only after all your work is done," he warned.
"Of course!" Came his apprentice's flippant reply.
Sniffing lightly, Bookman poured them a cup of hot tea each and handed the boy's share over. He sipped slowly, taking respite in its warmth. It was evening and quickly getting chilly.
Right now, they were set up in an inn room after he picked up his apprentice at Port Haven; one of two major ports situated at the south-western tip of their nation, the Vistenarum republic. The port was shared with their western neighbour, Isfelta – which designated the area as a neutral zone.
The boy had been on a year-long trip across the ocean, spending four mouths in the capital of each country under tutelage of the master archivists there as per tradition of his apprenticeship. Today, his journey was finally over.
"Sending you over best not have been a complete waste," Bookman remarked, watching the young man hunch sulkily over his tea on his bed.
After showing his apprentice to his room for the night, Bookman left to inspect his own and found it satisfactory. But said satisfaction had quickly departed when he quietly returned and found his apprentice with a story book in hand.
The nerve of the boy.
Truth be told, Bookman quite missed his student. The boy proved a boisterous handful but there was a reason to pick him over the rest as his protégé – and the successor to his role as head of the National Archives. One reason being the great potential in the boy's extraordinary memory. Most importantly, he exhibited passion and discipline for the craft.
Despite Bookman's personal beliefs about human attachment, the kid had grown on him. Perhaps it was precisely due to this type of stoicism regarding the issue, that saw him limping into old age without the typical family structure. And thus, as life meandered on, he began to subconsciously seek out the familial bonds he lacked.
Human nature could be so finicky yet so predictable.
Nonetheless, Bookman decided he could allow himself to show a tiny bit of human nature for once. The mechanism for it felt rusty, like the times he fumbled with thin pages stuck together, trying to peel them apart without tearing.
"Lavi. Welcome back."
Lavi glanced up, surprise only strengthening at the sight of the world's smallest smile directed at him. He grinned and carefully put his tea away before launching himself at his mentor in a great, big hug. "I've missed you too, old panda!"
He was rewarded with a smack for his affections and another kick to his side for good measure. Perhaps he deserved it, but who could blame him for taking a habitual jab at Bookman's eccentric eye makeup after a year apart?
With their little show of emotions over, he returned to his bed in a tumble. He flopped onto his back and let out a long sigh that was equal parts weariness and happiness. It felt good to be home.
This trip was his first time overseas. Upon setting foot on Easfrija, he was given a day's rest before being immediately put to hard work under the most prestigious professors within the first week.
It embroiled him in a routine of non-stop studying and shadowing the professors around confidential locations, absorbing all the knowledge available. Although they allowed a free weekday and the weekend per week, he often found himself studying into the late nights regardless.
Those professors put Lavi's nose to the grindstone far more rigorously than Bookman did, and damn, Easfrijians could be so intense.
The academic environment was exceptionally competitive. It was during his time here that he learnt his excellent memory sometimes fell short in the face of the other students' sheer willpower and hard work. The art of near perfect memory by itself failed to get him by, as he discovered via the ego-deflating way. He needed to step up and use the dusty parts of his brain for once.
That meant Lavi found himself ready to drop with exhaustion by the end of the day. Which was a shame, because he might have enjoyed chatting up the fashionable ladies and gentlemen of Easfrija during his free time. Even then, he always found the opportunity to write letters back home every other week or so. His recipients wrote back in their own time.
As always, Lenalee's letters were warm and sweet, asking about his days and reminding him to heed his health.
Allen was especially interested in conversing with him about the food in Easfrija. He pressed Lavi for recipes, drawings and descriptions of the exotic ingredients unique to the continent. No doubt Allen intended to curry favour with the Head Chef, Jerry, and have him reproduce the recipes to sate Allen's insatiable hunger.
That little rascal also shyly – as far as text could convey an emotion – requested a favour; to bring a gift back from Wen Haisha, the nation which Lenalee originally hailed from. Allen would trust Lavi's expertise for the choice of gift, but he hoped for a thoughtful and unique one. A couple months in said country hardly made one an expert on these matters, and it heaped additional work upon his already hectic schedule. But he didn't mind; it provided an excuse to talk to pretty Wen girls while wiggling out some ideas.
Krory and Miranda had both been formal but supportive, lending a listening ear as he griped. They enjoyed discussing the similarities and differences between the many cultures and from time to time also sent him gifts from home; clothing, packaged snacks, books and more.
Daisya had written back once and never again.
At some point, everyone that Lavi wrote to eventually returned his well wishes.
Everyone except Kanda.
Had it been anyone else, Lavi would have laughed and shrugged, and added it to his list of foregone conclusions. But he received nary a reply – not when he sent Kanda a birthday card, nor during his last month in Easfrija.
It felt like both a feat and defeat.
Kanda clung to apathy like a shield, as stubborn and prideful as a mule. And unfortunately for Lavi, his fate seemed subscribed to the age-old saying that goes: the heart wants what it wants.
Try as he might, Lavi simply couldn't muster the strength to pull away. Some nights he wondered if he had been cursed with puppy love – a recurring event he often read or heard about from others. But those stories hadn't quite spoken of such long silences and how one could deal with it.
Who could he approach for help? Bookman? Ridiculous. And so, the unhappy silence between them stretched on.
The smooth sheets beneath his cheek did little to ease the choppiness of his thoughts.
Yu... What's wrong?
How many times had Lavi whispered these words in the past year? How many times did he try to push those invasive thoughts out of his mind? His musings always flew to Kanda without fail like moths to a flame, no matter how he repeatedly got burnt for getting too close.
Irrationally afraid that others could read the pained look in his eyes, Lavi turned his head towards the wall by instinct. Would Bookman be able to tell of his affliction? Probably not, or the old man would be whacking him around the head about now.
At times these unreciprocated emotions wrangled quite a tortuous ache into Lavi's chest. They dumped him into a rut of pessimism too steep to climb out of, leaving him to wonder if being beaten by his mentor would be a better alternative to this intangible malady of the heart. At least it would serve as a quick distraction.
Lavi suppressed a sigh. Why did things have to be so difficult? Why couldn't he have caught feelings for someone less prickly and murderous? Why Kanda, the most violent person Lavi had ever met, especially when it involved his personal space or hair?
Whenever the other man threatened bodily harm, Lavi would put on a show of bravado. But in the face of flashing eyes and steely words, he couldn't stop the chills running down his spine. Kanda could be so terrifying.
Only a fool like Lavi could perceive beauty in violence.
It made no sense to him that an entire year away couldn't dampen his longing. Did absence truly make the heart fonder? Or was it a case of desiring a forbidden fruit, and the spice of its flavour was what ramped up his desire for the other?
Might this simply be self-sabotaging behaviour? Cosmic retribution, perhaps, from all the times he flirted with strangers and enticed them with no intention of continuing past fun.
Karma wasn't a concept Lavi believed in, but it certainly felt like he was being punished for something.
All the elegant ladies and handsome men in Easfrija, with their distinctive features, merely hammered in reminders of the one whom Lavi had left back home.
In the beginning it felt impossible to walk a step without seeing the ghost of Kanda in their eyes, cheekbones, and straight black hair. This strange affliction partially dialled back as weeks passed and Lavi was swamped by his studies, but the sting of longing ached with the same intensity as its first time.
Since that revelation some months ago, Lavi had concluded that it was hopeless, and he was hopeless. It was definitely at least a touch masochistic, the way he kept coming back no matter how many times Kanda shut him out. To add insult to injury, he felt fairly certain that Kanda hadn't the foggiest idea of his desires – if that punch had been anything to go by.
"Get some sleep, we leave for the capital tomorrow."
Bookman's voice dispersed his troubled thoughts. He turned his head back in time to see the old man walking away with a book in hand.
Lavi immediately shot up. "Gramps, wait! My book!"
Bookman dropped him a reproving look. "I'll return it once I'm satisfied that you haven't spent the entirety of the last year reading story books."
His jaw dropped. "You know that's not even possible—"
The room door interrupted him with a click as it fell shut.
Lavi groaned loudly and collapsed back into bed. He glared up at the ceiling for a moment before sourly taking his frustrations out on the innocent blankets in a tangle of flailing limbs and muffled yelling into a pillow.
He had barely begun reading it. Bookman knew how much he hated not finishing a book at a time. But he refused to curb how he threw a little tantrum like a kid, because he knew what that old man's words entailed.
More work.
⁂
They rose early the next morning, before the rooster's crow.
There wasn't much to pack as they had only stayed for a night. Lavi washed up before slipping into his usual apprentice ensemble – a simple knee-length coat, long-sleeved shirt and long pants – and tucking his pyjamas neatly away in his suitcase. He then spent a good five minutes in front of the bathroom mirror, adjusting and re-adjusting his bandana and the eyepatch he wore over his right eye.
With all the upcoming travelling, it probably wouldn't matter how precisely fitted his accessories were by the time he reached the capital, but he still felt a tinge of anxiety and nervousness. Today would be the first time in a year he could reconnect with his friends, and he didn't want to look unkempt.
He raked his reflection with a critical eye for a few more seconds, pulling and smoothing out creases, before deeming it presentable enough. Then he gathered his belongings, including his bag of gifts for the people back home, and joined Bookman downstairs in the dining room.
The inn was owned by a sweet old couple who liked beach-themed decorations, which was apt as the building was situated a street down from the port and had a spectacular view of the Pearlia Ocean. One could make out the misty mass of Lumina Island in the distance.
Lavi spotted his mentor sat at a table for two by a window, legs crossed as he perused the daily newspaper over tea.
Bookman was dressed in the official court uniform; a double-breasted suit – that would have fell to mid-thigh had he been standing up – of the same smart and stoic dark greys as Lavi's. Its sharp design lent the old man's small stature a more impressive aura.
The outfit additionally bore fine embroidered trimmings along the collar and cuffs, paired with two sparse rows of buttons and a small brooch in the design of a rose pinned above the heart – all in a shiny gold colour.
These were the signature colours and uniform of Visteranum's finest.
Of course, the military wore these colours in a far more practical – that is, battle-ready – design. They did also ditch the white wool for black cloth, although that attire was still primarily ceremonial in nature. The proper combat uniform was instead a light grey with boots and a cap, with more pockets and of a hardier material, but still managed to retain a little of that dignified style.
Lavi used to own a set, until he prematurely exited the military.
As he drew closer, he found his eyes and stomach awestruck by the spread of food laid out in front of them. There were over-easy eggs, baked beans, crisp bacon, bread rolls with butter and jam on the side, and a small bowl of oats with assorted fruits.
Bookman's plate was wiped almost clean, the remnants of somewhat burnt bacon pushed to the side. That stoked a little amazement in Lavi as he knew how his mentor preferred vegetarian items.
"Morning, gramps! Woah, that's a feast."
Bookman grunted, as always a man of few words.
Unbothered, Lavi set his luggage down and slid into his seat. Breakfast smelt incredible and, upon tucking in, quickly proved that it tasted as good as it looked. He groaned, savouring the silky texture of yolk mixed with the soft, aromatic flakiness of bread dunked in butter.
"Oh, this is so good. And is this truly coffee? How I have missed you, my bittersweet love!"
"Eat with your mouth shut," Bookman snapped.
Lavi swallowed his mouthful of bread and cast a pointed gaze at his mentor's neglected newspapers. Bookman sniffed and shook the thin pages out with a few crackles.
"Mrs Silva insisted on making a full breakfast for us despite how early it is, so you had best finish it all."
Lavi doubted there would be leftovers even if he tried.
After breakfast, he sat in the lobby with their belongings while Bookman conversed with the Silvas about transport schedules.
Soft, orange light had begun filtering in through the clouds, refracting past the windowpanes and illuminating the lacquered wood floor in irregular squares. Things were picking up outside as people roused from slumber and more vehicles were put to the road. The morning air breezed in through the open entrance, fresh and dewy, not yet weighed down by human activities.
Weighed down by a heavy meal, the different sensations all coalesced into a comfortable drowsiness. It wasn't long until the muffled sound of shoes on carpet roused Lavi, and he looked up blearily to see that Bookman had returned.
"The next train is in ten minutes," Bookman said, map held loosely in a hand. "We'll take that to Corterram and then a carriage to the First District."
With that, he picked his suitcase up and was off, leaving a grumbling Lavi to carry the rest of their luggage.
They reserved a moment to warmly voice their gratitude to the Silva couple for their exceptional generosity, then hurried the rest of the way to the station and proceeded to the platforms.
A couple minutes later, their designated train cruised into the station. It announced its arrival with a billowing of white smoke, its large front light winking brightly. Its countless wheels clanked against the tracks in a steadily slowing rhythm.
Lavi watched sleek carriages filled with people rumble past, the black and red metal gleaming under the rising sun. There was another short wait as the passengers alighted, then they were allowed to board.
The train conductor took one look at Bookman's uniform and quickly ushered them onto the private carriages behind the locomotive at the front of the train. A porter assisted them in hauling their belongings on board, stowing the smaller ones up on the luggage rack. Lavi thanked them before taking his seat opposite his mentor, placing the bag of gifts carefully beside him.
A year had passed since he last took this train, when he was setting off for another continent, and its fine interiors impressed itself upon him once again. Simple but elegant – each set of high-backed cushioned benches fitted to a rectangular table with rounded edges and metallic trimmings. The floor was a dusky mahogany, beautifully varnished into an uninterrupted shine.
Lavi sank back into his cushy seat, drumming his fingers on the table's smooth wood as he stared through the large windows. He could see the small crowds dispersing, replaced by swirls of smoke as the train engines roared to life.
A hollow whistle pierced the air as the train pulled out of the station. They gradually picked up speed, leaving Port Haven behind for green, open fields and foresty hills. Lavi drank in this familiar and comforting sight, giddily recognising certain structures or natural landmarks flying by.
Anticipation and anxiety pinched a little harder now at the prospect of home, channelling itself through a tumble of words. Bookman never was the type for small talk and had already returned to his papers, but when did that ever stop Lavi?
"I can't believe I'm back. Time really flies, eh? A whole year just—" Lavi snapped his fingers. "—poof, gone like that. I miss my bed so much. Some Easfrijians sleep on wooden mats, did you know? Well, you probably do... But how crazy is that? They told me those were special mats and healthy for the spine, so I gave it a go. Well, the only thing special was the terrible backache I had the next morning! I felt as ancient as you are! Ouch! Gramps, what was that for?"
Lavi pouted but carried on.
"Anyways, how are the rest are doing back home? They didn't write back much in the past few weeks... Maybe because it's assessment period? Say, gramps, did we get any assessment results yet? Has anyone been approved for transfer?"
Bookman, being the department head of the National Archives, oversaw all original articles of the official and historical kind. Legal documents such as public and citizen records also fell under their responsibility. It was a particularly labour-extensive job and required a great deal of diligence. Out of the hundreds of recruits per year, only a few opted into this line of work, Lavi being one of them.
From the age of sixteen, eligible teenagers from all corners of Vistenarum were conscripted into a two-year national program called Basic Military Training or 'BMT' for short. Most of them could travel to the nearest town registered with the program and complete it there. But everyone knew that the capital city held the best accommodations and educational standards, and the more affluent families fought to send their children there.
After successfully passing the program, a recruit would be obligated to serve out an additional two years of service as a cadet and, once completed, be free to pursue other careers while being on standby. If, however, they chose to specialise in a provided military field, they would be transferred to the relevant department within the Visterian army or government within the capital to continue their studies and apprenticeship there.
Lavi had chased his interest in history. Backed by his near-photographic memory, he was dubbed a special case and allowed to transfer into the National Archives department a year early. Bookman had recognised Lavi's talent and personally took him under his wing.
The old man in question frowned irately over his newspapers, looking ready to sew Lavi's lips together with those acupuncture needles he loved bringing around in a little pouch. "Why do you ask?"
Lavi kept his eye on the scenery zipping past the windows, fiddling with the strap of his gift bag. "I was curious about where my friends might be going."
Most school years started after the spring break, which lasted for the month of February. It was not too different within government-related programs or courses. Processing student transfers could take over two weeks, depending on how busy the administrative departments got.
By now, it was mid-February, and the papers should already be in the works. They had to be dealt with before March or it would be too late otherwise, resulting in a great hassle. After the admin officers did their part, it fell upon those at the National Archives to ensure it all added up with existing records before making copies and filing the originals away.
"You mean your colleagues."
Lavi affected a nonchalant shrug. "Yeah, my colleagues! Well?"
Bookman didn't look convinced. "You can find out when you get back."
"Aw, why do I have to wait when gramps can tell me now?"
"Because gramps can't be bothered to." Came the dry reply. "Now zip it, for the love of Gaia! Unless you're dying, I don't want to hear another squeak for the rest of this ride or I'm throwing you out the window myself. Don't make me regret bringing you back!"
Any amount of wordless huffing and puffing on Lavi's part could not encourage the old man to budge one bit. He was even threatened with book-dusting duty for a week.
Oh, no. Nonono. He wasn't about to push it with that over his head, nor additionally risk the old man's suspicion.
Resigned to his growing anxiety, he resumed gazing out the window. Nothing but silence accompanied the remainder of their journey – a state that his mentor surely found bliss in.
The utter lack of response to his letters left Lavi in the dark about any possible developments, and he could only hope that Kanda had not been assigned outside of the capital.
*THIS IS IMPORTANT FOR FFNET READERS, PLEASE NOTE.
Rating & tags will be updated as story progresses, I will state clearly the new additions in relevant chapters.
In the future there will be: self-harm, unhealthy/abusive behaviour, more graphic violence/torture, deaths. There may also be: eventual smut (Lavi/Kanda). Hence early M rating.
These content will not be included here in the FFNET version as such content (MA+) is not allowed. Those explicit scenes will only be on the AO3 version. So feel free to head over only if you're of age for such content. Thank you for understanding!