His eyes are sharp.
Contrary to belief, they are defiantly sharper than mine. The color of a cool steal sword, deadly and lethal. One look and I feel as if he is cutting my soul.
As if he took small pieces from me.
They glint like a freshly cut knife when we argue. It doesn't help that his eyes are unproportionate to his face. They are huge and round, and reflect light as the moon reflects the sun. Both a silver hue too. If he was the moon, I wouldn't mind using him to guide myself, but knowing him, he'd be on the wrong side of the hemisphere. A directionless idiot.
But if he was the moon, then I'd be his sky. Nighttime sky because I'd be the black surrounding him, engulfing him, letting him shine between our contrast, but in reality, we are a million miles away. Him in space, and me, down here on earth. No matter how hard I stretch, I won't reach him, and he won't reach me.
"Kanda? I have this paper Koumi wanted to show you regarding your Golem."
I'm not really ever taken off guard, so he didn't surprise me. Not his clogged up, accented voice (because British people sound like that) not his light footsteps. Nothing about Allen Walker was shocking.
Not even his gray soul.
Gray only because he's not black, not like me, but he's not white, not like Lenalee. He's gray. Gray just like his sharp eyes.
I don't say anything as I extended my hand, prompting for the paper. It's funny to say that I'm the opposite of what people think. I'm not heartless nor emotionless, in fact, I'm too moody, to affected by the war. I'm not strong in that sense, since I've been broken down. I've been mauled by my own heart. So sometimes I don't talk, don't feel like saying anything, as if it isn't physically possible for me, and thinking about speaking would cause my stomach to collapse and twist in disgust.
And Allen Walker hands me the paper with no words.
By this time, he knows. He just knows. I can tell he knows by that sharp look in his eyes.
Allen Walker is interesting.
He is strong, not letting all this emotional garbage get to him, because if I was like him, then I'd be able to smile without feeling that gut wrenching disgust to stop, the yearn to not ever smile. I wouldn't be emotionally ruined.
I would be like Allen Walker, and I'd rather kill myself, but then again isn't Allen slowly killing himself anyways?
"What do you think?" His stuffy voice asks.
Like I've been reading the paper.
"Does it matter?"
"Heh. Maybe. It's not really your choice to remove or add features, but at least you should know for the next mission." Ah, that's what this paper is about. I don't focus on the document, instead my eyes follow the way he has a habit of scratching his nose when he's waiting for something. Almost like a nervous tick, but not quite.
I don't say another word as I just put the paper down. I could feel the boys cutting eyes on me, not really something I can concentrate with, but I must be masochistic because I want his eyes there, at me.
He is definitely anticipating something.
"You okay, Kanda? You seem a little off." He titles his head to the side, eyes warm and sincere, trying to show me he means well. He sits down on the couch in stead of leaning on its back, his face a little warm. It's like this when we're alone.
Something shifts in the air, and it's as if we've been old time friends. His smile is small and his voice is quite.
But I don't say anything.
Allen Walker stays still for a record of two seconds before he grabs my hand and squeezes. And it's nice, knowing he can understand with just one look. I don't push him away because it's silent comfort, and there's times I just don't want to think, don't want to say anything.
So I grab him, grab his hand, and pull him with me, out of the lounge and into the corridors, and for only the brief times we're ever together, he just follows silently.
I don't go easy on the door as I rip it open, and neither do I go easy on Allen, as I throw him on the bed. I know he likes it, though. Because his eyes are liquid fire, melted by the passion we both want to quench. So I stalk onto the bed, ready to devour him, take him, because it has to be him.
He knows I don't like bottoming, even if I still do it for him, so he submits this time, and spreads his legs and let's his arms rest beside his head, but his fully clothed.
I grab his shirt collar with more force then I need to, and I could feel the gulp he takes as he swallows through his neck. I could care less for his clothes, and the fall of buttons everywhere doesn't surprise him, and his half way naked now, so I strip off my own shirt in record time, and start devouring.
His mouth is my first victim, as I push my tongue and dominate, his tongue swirling with mine, and grunts and moans, the rough treatment is something he enjoys. My hands wander his body as I bite his lips and make him bleed, and I massage his hot bulge, getting him harder, and he breaks our kiss to gulp air and pants.
"Hnnnnn." He rocks his hips to meet my hand, and he goes to pinch his own nipple in seek of pleasure. He face contorts into the please-filled grimace. He wants it now. He needs it as he stares at me with want. He wants me to take him, to fuck his little hole hard, and fast, like he needs it in this moment to live, and maybe I do too.
The rest comes so naturally it almost makes me think and stop about what I'm doing. I don't of course, because if I did then the moon I've been gazing at for so long will disappear as sunrise claims its place. And it's funny to think that I have a chance to stop the order of things, because if sunrise is next then I'll have to leave as well and let the blue sky fade me away.
At least we both have to leave at the same time, but unlike me, the moon is still visible in the day, as where I am lost in space, awaiting the moment I see the tantalizing moon dance around me once more. It's beautiful, but I'll never tell him that.
As I lay awake next to him, his silver eyes closed, body warm, I wonder how long I'll have to be able to see this moon, Allen Walker, in my sky. A moon only because a handful of people know that he's out there, fulfilling a duty not many are aware of. A moon only because he shines brighter when the sun is out, and not many are willing to acknowledge him out there. Not many know he is there, keeping people alive while they're asleep in their beds. But I know he is there. We know he is there. Maybe we're his stars, surrounding him with light in silent support, but I'd still rather be his sky.
But I won't be picky, because I know one day, everything ends, and if I get to surround him in any way possible, then I'll take it silently, because in the morning, when sunrise has finally claimed its place, the black sky and the silver moon won't meet again until sunset.