How to Save a Life | By : saxonjesus Category: +. to F > D. Gray Man Views: 4511 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2 |
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Chapter 7—From The Heart
One of the hardest things in life
is having words in your heart that you can’t utter.
--- James Earl
Jones
September 30
“Yuu, I’m stuck!” Lavi complained, trying to extricate his foot from
the heater. How he’d gotten stuck in the first place, he had no clue, but
apparently, he wouldn’t be taking the rubbish out now. It wouldn’t have been so
bad, but his ankle was now throbbing at the awkward angle, and he could smell
yesterday’s fish sandwich, which was currently at the top of the precarious
pile of trash.
“How the hell do you get stuck taking the dustbin out?” Kanda
questioned incredulously. His eyebrows were raised in disbelief, and a tiny,
sarcastic smirk was on his lips.
“Well, I did, so will you help me?” The redhead pleaded. He tried to
look pitiful, which wasn’t hard, seeing as his eyes—even the one under the eye
patch—were starting to water.
“Che, do it yourself, idiot,”
his roommate replied. Lavi frowned and glared across the room. Kanda was
sitting on his bed, looking very comfortable with his back against the wall and
his sketchpad in his lap. He was still smirking, which elicited some kind of
fierce boiling feeling in Lavi’s chest.
“But I can’t!” He whined with much flailing of his arms.
“And this is my problem how?”
Lavi began to breathe-slash-whimper pitifully, giving Kanda his most
desperate expression.
“Take the boot off, then,” Yuu suggested, sparing him only a glance
before going back to his sketchpad.
“But it hurts.” Seriously, the throbbing was getting worse, and sharp,
stabbing pain began to shoot up his broken bone.
“Che.”
Kanda put his sketchpad down with an aggrieved expression on his face. Standing
up, he valiantly came to Lavi’s rescue. That is to say, he walked over, undid
the boot, half-carried Lavi back to his bed, and then pulled the boot from
between the wall and the heater. It must have been a bit more stuck than the
redhead had thought, because Kanda went flying backward as the dumb thing
became unstuck, and he landed rather comically on his ass.
“You okay?” Lavi asked between chuckles. Kanda shot him a glare worthy
of Al Capone. Lavi cringed.
“As if I’d be hurt by such a thing. I’d have
to be a real idiot to break
something,” Kanda replied, but it was an empty lie. Lavi wasn’t quite sure how
he knew—Yuu didn’t exhibit the usual signs—but there was a tightness around the
other boy’s dark, endless eyes that made this fact very apparent. Well, that
and the fact that Lavi had seen him come back with many a limp, cursing under
his breath about fucking idiots breaking things.
“Are you implying I’m an idiot?” Lavi pouted, sending Yuu a watery
look.
“Why do I need to imply the obvious?” Kanda shot back. Lavi let a
(fake) tear fall from his left eye and sniveled convincingly. The dark-haired
boy sighed and tossed the boot at him. From its trajectory, it was painfully
clear that Kanda was being considerate of his broken ankle. It landed a good
meter to his right.
“Yuu-chan, you’re a meanie!” The redhead
declared as he pulled the boot back on. His roommate simply scoffed and went
back over to his bed, where he lay down.
It was a magnificent sight to behold. One hand covered his face, and
his eyes were closed. His shirt rode up his stomach so that the barest hint of
midriff could be seen. Kanda looked for all the world
like he was simply reposing. And for some reason, that was very erotic.
Only not really, because Lavi didn’t think those
things. He put a line through the entire thought and shook his head to
dislodge it from his mind. Nothing was erotic. Because if
things were erotic, then he was a teenager, and he had to be above those
instincts at the moment, didn’t he?
Didn’t he?
Bookman had told him once that any type of desire could be seen as an
attachment to the world. He couldn’t be attached. That was an unforgiveable
crime amongst his clan. It gave the clichéd words fatal attraction an entirely new meaning.
Besides, he wasn’t attracted to anyone. Sure, there were aesthetically
pleasing and aesthetically displeasing people, but Lavi was not to judge. It
wasn’t his place. Kanda could not be judged either.
Even if he was the most aesthetically pleasing person Lavi had ever
met. Even if, had Lavi been anyone else and could label him differently, Kanda
was sexy.
“Why are you even here, Rabbit?” Kanda asked, breaking the silence that
had fallen over the room like a comforting, objective blanket. Lavi
mourned—objectively, of course—its loss.
“Didn’t feel like going to class feeling like shit,” he replied
nonchalantly. It was the truth, to a certain extent. Even though the incident
had taken place six days prior, Lavi still felt uneasy and sore. Bookman would
most likely kill him for skipping classes. The redhead could almost imagine his
Master berating him—“why am I paying for you to be here if you don’t even
participate in the experience?” He would say. Or maybe he would shake his head
and call him a useless apprentice. Either way, Lavi really didn’t feel like
hearing it.
And maybe that was also the problem. Even while trying to be objective,
he was still feeling. What would he
be feeling now, if he could identify it? Would it be apathetic? Listless? He didn’t know. He just knew that he didn’t want
to leave quite yet, like there was something he needed to figure out first
before he could reemerge into the outside world.
“Stop being lazy, idiot,” Kanda said with a scoff. He sat up from his
definitely-not-erotic-or-sexy-or-attractive position and reached over to his
bed frame, from which his sword was hanging. Attaching the sheathed blade to
his left hip, the Japanese boy swaggered from the room like the cocky bastard
he was. Seeing as it was nearly two o’clock, Lavi figured he was off to sword
practice.
It was probably good that his roommate was out, because Lavi needed to
stop introspecting about trivial matters and do something Bookmanly.
Like do his logs or study. And there was also that six-page essay about Ernest
Hemmingway that he had to do for American Literature, due the following
morning…
---
October 3
It was probably a good thing that Lavi had been avoiding Kanda lately.
He’d gone to classes on Thursday and Friday and then went out with Lizzie and
her friends on Friday night. What he had forgotten about, though, was the blank
stretch of time between when he woke up midmorning Saturday and when he went
out again.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see Kanda, it
was just that he had to stop the strange thoughts circulating through his head.
They’d been coming more frequently, accompanied by dreams that, strictly
speaking, he wasn’t supposed to have (but did). Of course, those dreams usually
didn’t include anyone with a face, let alone—
Lavi shuddered, shook his head, clenched his
hands until his fingernails nearly broke the skin, but nothing could stop that
thought. Let alone
Kanda’s.
It was a dark and stormy night.
That was to say, the blinds covered their window and the light was off. Through
the darkness, Lavi heard a shuffling. The door and window were locked, and
since he hadn’t yet fallen asleep, he knew no one could have gone through them.
So that left Kanda. Perhaps he was off to the bathroom?
His bed shifted as his roommate
randomly climbed into his bed and crawled over so that he was pinning Lavi to
the mattress. The redhead’s breath hitched. What the hell had gotten into Kanda?
Was he sleepwalking?
Dark hair tickled his face and
bare chest—even though he wore shirts to sleep… but it must have gotten
stained, so that was why he wasn’t wearing it now. Yes, his mind was filling in
the strange blank now—as the Japanese boy lowered his slight but muscled form
closer to Lavi’s. Heart pumping miles a minute, blush lighting the room like a
foggy red beacon, Lavi gulped. In the dim light provided through cracks in the
blinds, he could see Kanda’s equally bare chest, smooth and golden and
tattooed.
All thoughts flew from his mind.
Kanda pressed down on him, and that was an erection, wasn’t it? Grind, grind,
where were his pants? Gone, just boxers—how? Kanda’s lips were on his, nibble,
grind, oh God. Oh yes, pull him closer, press of chests, hold and scratch and grind. Hands fell to his hips and pulled away
boxers. Yes, the fabric was happy to be gone, he was too, was Kanda? Oh, flesh
against flesh, hot flesh and maybe something a little sticky. And mouth please,
but no, it had to be on his own right now and tongue and then there was
pressure on his neck, and teeth too. Nip, bite, so good.
Weirdly sensitive on his nipples. Mouth hot over his
navel and then OH GOD, DON’T STOP, YUU-CHAN! So good, hips bucking, so good, so
good, so good, AAAH—
No. Enough thinking about that. Otherwise even
thinking about Bookman sullying his records would be useless.
A firm knock on the door pulled Lavi’s mind
away from his disturbing dreams and back into the soothing objectivity of
reality.
Before he could get up and answer, though, the door swung open and
Lenalee danced in, arms flailing in some complex movement that Lavi could name
should he feel like it. With a large smile, she plopped down on his bed, her
right thigh close enough to touch his left. Subtly, Lavi scooted to the side,
just so that he wouldn’t be too close to her. It wasn’t that it was bad to be
next to her, but with his mind in such a fragile state, he could slip. Maybe he
would start caring about her too.
Too?
No. He absolutely did not care about Kanda. It wasn’t happening.
Bookman was wrong, they were all wrong. He didn’t care about anything. He didn’t care about anything, dammit!
“Hi, Lavi, where’s Yuu-kun?” She asked pleasantly. Fixing on his
fake-as-ever smile, Lavi forced a light to his eyes and responded in the same
airy, relaxed tone.
“In the kitchenette. He’s being monopolized by
the ladies, apparently.” And no, however much he thought about it, he was not jealous of those little harlots. Even if Lizzie was one of them.
“Ah.” Lenalee’s eyes went wide with understanding. Lavi wondered what
there was to understand. “Good, I didn’t want him interrupting. I have a
question for you.”
The apprentice Bookman had already gone through several possibilities
to where this conversation would go, but Lenalee having a question for him was
not one of them. He covered his surprise as only an expert could—with a smile.
“Are you gay?”
If he hadn’t had the self-control forged over years under
one of the oldest, wisest Bookmen, Lavi’s smile would’ve faltered. His eye
would have widened, his heartbeat would have increased, and he would have begun
looking for an easy exit. It was hard enough to hold his smile as it was, but
he managed it. Maybe his eye showed a little bit of shock, but it was nothing
compared to the devastating expression that could have taken over his face.
“Er, no, don’t think so,” Lavi replied, and
his voice only shook a little bit. “I’m asexual, see…”
His lie didn’t go over well. Lenalee realized at once, her expression
falling from a smile to a pout. A cute pout, Lavi would say, if he thought
things like that, which he didn’t.
“Everyone’s got a sexual preference, Lavi,” Lenalee said
matter-of-factly. The apprentice Bookman shook his head.
“Not everyone. I’m not attracted to either sex, Lenalee, and even if I
was, I’d be more partial to girls. They’re just so adorable…. In that cute… fuzzy sense.” What did that even mean?
Well, whatever it was, the girl dangerously close to him wasn’t having any of
it.
“Fuzzy sense?” She looked close to an
explosion. Whether of anger or of laughter, Lavi wasn’t sure. Still, it looked
like maybe he’d convinced her. “Are you sure?”
Lavi nodded.
“Do you have a furry fetish?”
The redhead spluttered a little. “No,”
he blurted, feeling like his defensiveness would give her the wrong impression.
“No, I just mean that… girls are cute?” He didn’t really like that he ended
that sentence with a questioning tone.
“Are you sure?” Lenalee asked again. “I mean, when you think of a man
sprawled out on the quad, naked except for a pair of shorts, doesn’t your heart
beat fast?” Lenalee’s voice was becoming slightly breathless. “Don’t you want
to go up to him and lie down, maybe run your hands up and down that beautifully
sculpted chest? Don’t you just want to… kiss those delectable, slightly-parted
lips? Don’t you want to get a small taste of the… saltiness of the… sweat on
his neck?”
The Chinese girl’s eyes were closed, as if she could imagine the scene.
A blush had come to her cheeks while she was talking, and from the way her
words had gotten hesitant, low, and quiet, Lavi had to assume she was
thoroughly enjoying the imagery. He wasn’t, though. He was completely neutral
to the entire subject, just as he was supposed to be.
“Nope,” he replied cheerily, offering Lenalee another smile. But she was not smiling at him when she opened
her eyes. The normal cheerful feeling the she exuded was gone and was replaced
something serious and her eyes were… knowing. The same kind of expression Bookman would give him
when he knew that his apprentice was lying.
“But if you were allowed to, what would you feel?” It was almost
frightening, the intensity of her question, the amount that she had to know to
understand exactly what that question implied.
He did not what to answer. That would mean admitting things that should
stay in his subconscious. Because once it was said, he could never take it
back. And maybe, deep down, he was afraid. Because even though he was allowed
to be afraid, it was the cause of that fear that could and would, if he
admitted it, kill him.
“But I’m not, so why think about it?” That same
carefree tone, that same carefree smile.
She would have to listen, because no one saw through that particular
expression. No one but Yuu-chan.
“That doesn’t answer my question, Lavi.” Lenalee’s voice had turned
slightly dark, edging away from the pure knowing, to anger.
“Did I ever have to?” Because if he was forced to answer, he knew what
it would be. And last chances didn’t allow for such
admissions. As it was, he was dangerously close to the answer; all he had to do
was just say it.
“Well, you’re only talking to me, Lavi. “ And then she was back to
innocent and sweet, just like he remembered her from the French night. But
sweet and innocent didn’t mean anything when you only had one chance left…
Bookman was pacing in front of
him. It was unseasonably cool for September, or maybe he was shivering for a
different reason. Lavi looked down at the picture lying on the ground. Someone
had taken a picture from the party. Bookman had found it on the internet. One
of Lulubell’s Sisters had posted it on Facebook.
“What am I going to do with you,
Lavi? I let you come here because it was an experience that had never been
recorded thoroughly and because I wanted to test your ability to remain
objective. You knew that and yet you continually slip.”
“It’s
okay, Bookman, it didn’t mean anything,” Lavi assured him, willing his hands to
stop quivering. He hadn’t done anything wrong, he had been drunk. It hadn’t
meant anything, even if the mini-Lavi and the mini-Yuu
in the picture looked they were having a good time.
“Didn’t it?” Bookman asked
softly.
Lavi swallowed. He couldn’t lie
to that face. That stony, I-take-no-shit face, topped with the most disgusting
blend of stormy gray hair and too much gel. But it really didn’t mean anything.
He didn’t even remember it, for Heaven’s sake! But Bookman’s face just grew
harder and colder, forming into wizened marble.
“This will be your final chance.
You know what will happen if you slip again.” Yes, Lavi knew what would happen
if he slipped. After all, if he was no longer a Bookman, the record needed to
be protected. What was to say he wouldn’t follow his instincts in another
drunken moment and tell people. After all, only
Bookmen could give away such facts. Only Bookmen could spout the secret record.
“Lavi? Are you still there?” Lenalee’s voice
permeated his thoughts. Oh shit, he’d just slipped. Why was the bed shaking?
Why was it so hard to breathe? Why was Lenalee giving him such a horrified
look? What was that annoying keening? Was Lenalee making tea? Did they even
have a stove in their room?
The door opened, and Yuu walked in, looking confused.
“Hiya, Yuu-chan!” Lavi smiled, but his voice
cracked. Why? What the hell was wrong with him?
Kanda’s face immediately softened with concern. Why was everyone acting
so weird, and why was it so goddamn
hard to breathe!?
“What did you do?” Kanda growled, shooting him a glare, or maybe the
glare was directed at Lenalee? It was hard to tell, they were so close.
The Japanese boy was coming closer now, and Lavi needed to breathe
because his nose was completely stuffed. He didn’t think he had allergies, but
maybe he’d suddenly gotten a spontaneous attack? Didn’t they just come like
that sometimes? One minute you were normal, the next you were having an asthma
attack or breaking out in hives or something equally horrific. That would
certainly explain why his face felt so hot and why his eyes were so watery.
The keening noise had dimmed to the background, but now it was coming
back in full force, and the bed just kept shaking. And then Kanda’s arms were
around him, the soft press of cool skin to the hot, damp fabric of his shirt. A
hand came up to his head and pulled him into the other boy’s chest.
“Why?”
That was a good question, but it wasn’t his voice that asked it. It was
too high to be Kanda’s, so by process of elimination, it must have been
Lenalee’s. Yes, Lavi thought as the
bed shook harder and something that sounded like a broken sob rang through the
air—was Lenalee crying?—why?
“There are things you don’t need to know,” Kanda hissed. Why was he so
angry? And why the hell wasn’t he answering the damn question? Lavi wanted to
know why the hell the bed was fucking shaking and why everything seemed so damn
blurry and why breathing was still so difficult (and getting harder by the
second) and why there was a ringing in his ears and why that keening sound was
still there, crescendoing along with other strange
noises and why Yuu was hugging him and why had Lenalee asked such pointed questions
and why he couldn’t admit that yes, maybe he did actually care for people and
why he sometimes just wanted to touch Kanda even though that idea was stupid,
stupid, stupid and why he couldn’t stop asking questions and why couldn’t he
get any fucking answers?
So many
questions. Where did they all come from?
“What? You have to speak clearer, you idiot.”
Had he said something aloud? Was there another question to add to his
long list? It’s not Kanda’s business.
“Che, it’s my business when
you’re huddled on your bed, sobbing like the animal you are.”
What?
Well, at least it wasn’t a why question. It was still a question,
though, and now there was another one.
“Would someone just answer me!?” He shouted,
his voice cracking loudly. He sounded nasally, which made sense, since he still
couldn’t really breathe.
There was a short silence during which Lavi assumed the other two were
staring at him like he was an idiot. Maybe he was.
A whimper escaped his lips, followed by that weird keening sound, and
suddenly everything made sense. He was an idiot after all.
How could he not realize he was crying? And, infuriatingly, another
question was added to the monumental list. Why
was he crying?
No, this had to stop. He was done being an idiot, and he was done not being
honest. He was tired of piling questions on himself. He needed answers. Was he
gay? Who knew and who cared? Just like the most devoted monk, he didn’t give a
shit about “matters of the flesh,” as Bookman so euphemistically called it. But
he did care about Kanda, just a little bit.
And maybe that small admission was enough for him to cling desperately
to the tight shirt Yuu was wearing and just let out all the tears that suddenly
wouldn’t stop. Had he ever cried before? Yes, he had, but had he ever cried
when he was sober?
No.
No, he hadn’t.
Sure, there had been times when he’d shed a tear of pain—one’s tear
ducts tended to go awry when one was shot—but never before had he ever cried
out of sheer emotional agony. How had his life turned out like this?
Fuzzy memories lurked in the back of his mind, and if he just explored
his head, maybe he could just…
His throat was in acute, stabbing
pain, aggravated with each cough. Each breath was a huge effort, but every time
he inhaled, he managed to drag in enough air to keep going another second. It
was cold, so he shivered as tiny snowflakes fell onto his fever-reddened
cheeks. It was important, vital even, that he stay
outside. He knew whatever he had was bad, but there was only one habitable room
in the rundown crack house, and the others could not get sick, not ever. Especially Mae. He would never forgive himself if something
happened to Mae.
Maeve was too precious to be
lost.
Throbbing wind cut at exposed
skin. They reminded him of butchers’ knives, like they were being sharpened in
his flesh. A fresh clump of mucus bubbled in his lungs, making him struggle for
more oxygen. Oh, it was so miserable, so wet and cold.
Time drifted in and out of
consciousness; it lulled with the tides and thrashed with the higher waters. He
suddenly felt very seasick. Maybe something coughed or vomited its way out onto
the dirty alleyway’s stained concrete floor. At some point, he may have cried
out for his mother, dead for the past month and a half, burned in the fire that
had been his fault.
All he had wanted to make was
grilled cheese. But gas leaks happened, and when the spark went off—the
kitchen, the entire apartment complex, everything, it was all ablaze, flames
licking at walls and dancing away the shadows until everything was hot and dry
and scary. Run, shouted his father. They did. He grabbed Mae’s hand and ran
down the rickety old fire escape. Metallic footsteps didn’t cover the sirens as
firemen came to the scene and failed to save his parents. His mother, so oddly
sick that morning, napping in her bedroom, and his father, so oddly happy,
going in to rouse her—gone in the same flash that had ignited the building.
It was his fault, and maybe he
wasn’t qualified to shout out for the person he had betrayed, but he was six,
and he wanted his mum.
Forgive me, and she did. She had
to, because a strange man was in front of him, and he was scared and sick,
exhausted and really, really sad.
Come with me. I can make you
better.
Miniscule hands barely larger
than his own pulled him up and into equally miniscule arms. How such a strange
and old man could support such a burden, he didn’t know, but soon it was warm,
even if it smelled funny.
And the man did make him better.
More warm arms encircled him, but there was strength to them, like
something crafted of metal. Like an anchor, maybe, to reality or perhaps to
sanity itself. He’d forgotten some things, yes, but remembering them felt like
a tidal wave of repressed emotion. What hit him hardest was that he no longer
felt guilty. The many years of being a Bookman had jaded him too much for him
to feel responsibility for the death of just two people, even if they were his
parents. After all, hadn’t he done much, much worse? Hadn’t there been
starving, wounded soldiers crying out for help from their friends—and then
anyone on their side—and then anyone at all—as they died from wounds no one had
seen them receive? Hadn’t he left them all there to die? Wouldn’t it have been
a mercy to help or even kill them? But no, he’d stood, objective to everything,
even his heart, and he’d watched as the soldiers gurgled on overflowing blood
in their chests, watched as the soldiers’ lives faded before his all-seeing
eye.
And he felt no guilt for that, too.
And yet he did, because why else would he be crying for all that he had
done—and more importantly, what he hadn’t done.
The arms didn’t feel old. They felt young and limber, much more likely
to win a “who can lift Lavi” contest. Slowly, reality seeped back into his
brain like tea into hot water. Yuu was holding him, the very image of the
valiant soldier rescuing the fair damsel.
Well, being a damsel wasn’t too bad, so Lavi sank further into the
embrace, pressing his face to Kanda’s firm, muscled chest.
Nothing was different. He still felt guilty and yet not. He was still
confused. But beneath all that, everything
was different. Kanda was shiny and strong, tying him tight as a sailor’s knot
to this newfound awareness.
Answers started pouring into him. He didn’t know his sexual
orientation, but he could find out if he really wanted to. He thought Yuu was
really sexy, especially when he wore that delectable tight black shirt. The
rest of the answers didn’t matter. They could come later, once he’d figured out
what to do about the Bookman situation. Obviously, he couldn’t let the old man
figure out that he’d slipped beyond repair. There’d be more than just hell to
pay—seeing as Hell was where he was going. Even though he didn’t believe in any
invisible deities with the power to see all (nasty pervert), hear all (eavesdropping
nasty pervert), and judge all (self-righteous, eavesdropping nasty pervert).
Hell was a figment of overactive zealots’ imaginations. It was for the weak to
fear.
Hadn’t there been a time when he hadn’t feared for anything but his own
life? What had happened to those simple days? Why had they disappeared so
abruptly?
Lavi knew the answer to that, too.
Yuu.
A refreshing breeze blew through his chest. Everything was a bit
clearer, like the mustiness that followed loud, obnoxious sobs had been
vanquished. Like Kanda had become a dehumidifier.
When he finally looked up, Lavi blinked in surprise. Where had all the
light gone? The light that usually filtered through the window was
conspicuously absent, as if time had just sped forward, changing afternoon to
night.
“Er, Yuu-chan?” He asked hesitantly. His
anchor moved almost irritably and grunted.
“What?”
“Why is it so dark out?” Lavi asked innocently, even though if he truly
asked himself, he knew the answer.
“That’s what happens when the sun sets, or did you lose a few brain
cells crying?” It almost sounded as if Kanda was trying to hold back emotion.
It was soft and mushy, like a bowl of porridge. Or maybe crème brulée would be a better analogy, as there was a hard,
burnt top and a gushing inside of sugary deliciousness. Except that Kanda was
not sweet.
“Even if I lost brain cells, I’d still be smarter than you,” Lavi
commented, nuzzling a bit into his roommate’s chest. His words, just like the
Japanese boy’s, were completely empty. It was mindless banter, stupid arguments
made out of habit rather than necessity. They both had feelings to hide, and
tormenting the other was always a very good way to do that.
“Che, as
if. You’re even more of an idiot than before now. I bet you can’t even
get sick.” Kanda’s voice sounded almost light.
It was weird, Lavi decided.
“Well, now I don’t have to worry about Swine Flu!” The redhead said
cheerfully. He wasn’t quite sure if the smile on his face (still pressed
against Kanda’s chest) was real or not. Had he ever been genuinely happy?
Of course he had. With Mae, of course, and with the
others. What were their names? M… M… Michael? Yes, Michael. And Gavin. Or Gavel. No, it was Gavin. Yes, things had been
happy with them. Good times in the crack house.
He’d been happy when he’d made out with Kanda, he’d be willing to bet.
Even if he couldn’t remember the experience, he did know that sometimes his
eyes got caught on those thin, frowning, scowling lips. Objectively observing
them, he’d told himself. He’d been in denial, of course. He’d been objectively
observing just how kissable they were.
Even if he didn’t really know what the hell that even meant. But that
pretty much described how he was feeling at the moment, so he could let it
pass. Just for now.
“No, even idiots get Swine Flu,” Kanda countered. “It’s natural
selection.”
“Doesn’t that negate your last statement? The one about stupid people
being too dumb to get sick…”
“Nature makes exceptions.”
And suddenly, he was back. He was still confused, still lost and
hopelessly touchy-feely, but he was still Lavi, and there was still a part of
him that could be objective. Last chances meant he couldn’t lose objectivity.
So he could make a compromise, couldn’t he?
“Kanda, I’m going to be genuine, but only around you. If I’m outside of
this dorm, I’m ‘Lavi.’ I’ve said this before, sort of, but I just want you to
know—I can’t lose. Not yet.” He couldn’t lose all that was suddenly very, very
precious to him. A friend, his mind
reflexively told him. Kanda is your most precious and treasured friend. He couldn’t
very well keep that friend if Bookman… well, it was best not to delve deeper
into those topics. Those were for rainy days. And Mondays.
“Don’t call me by my surname, it sounds weird.”
Lavi leaned back to look into his roommate’s face. Kanda was
conveniently looking away, but Lavi’s keen eye could see the blush on the other
boy’s cheek. It was cute, almost, maybe even adorable—in a fuzzy way.
A sly look came to his eye at the same time a sly smile took his lips.
“Aww, you just don’t want to admit that you love me.”
For some reason, the blush grew—and Lavi would not think back to that graphic dream wherein he was the one
blushing as those… damn kissable lips
trailed down his neck and chest. Nope. Not thinking of it. Not
at all.
“I don’t love idiots.”
“But just like nature, you gotta make
exceptions, ne?” Lavi teased,
elbowing the dark-haired boy lightly in the ribs. He got a scowl in return, but
it was familiar and nonthreatening. And maybe his heart was beating a little
faster, because gay or straight, Kanda was damn
sexy.
Even though, strictly speaking, he didn’t care.
---
A/N: It’s not Kanda’s business
was almost it’s not his business. But
Em2 wrote it as Kanda’s business due to the precious factor. That is, when we
talked about that particular phrasing, we simultaneously said, it’s not his business, precious in
Gollum-ish voices. Even though Gollum would say “it’s
not its business, precious.” Teehee :B
we’re dorks.
Sooo, we’re officially going to Ohayocon. Yay! We’ll be cosplaying with a group from our anime club. Heretofore,
Em1 shall be known as Doitsu and Em2 shall be known
as Italia. (rawr) We were
gonna be Kyouya and Haruhi
from Ouran, and Em2’ll still make the costumes, but
we can’t resist possible gaiety, can we? >:3
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