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"Tell me something, please..."
The darkness of a small room thickens so much, that it is almost feels on the skin. The air stucks in a throat, leaving a salty taste on the tongue. Salty as sweat. Salty as blood. Salty as those tears, which flows automaticaly, when it hurts too much to endure. Those are the most shamefull tears. They mean that the body lets you down. This seemingly better than an ordinary human's body still lets you down, even when the whole science department almost prayed for it's regeneration. What a bullshit. It never hurts less. You're only getting used to the pain.
Kanda got used to it, but he still hisses, clenching teeth as he feels nails digging into the skin of his hand. They are too long and too sharp for human ones, and they leave a new couple of scratches, right over paled marks from before. They had only started to healing, but who the hell cares anyway. No one can see it in the dark anyway.
"Please, tell me something more," Alma calls him again, his voice shakes frantically along with his fingers twitching at Kanda's hand as hard, as if there is no wrinkled bed sheet on hard mattress, just as if there is no blanket, which was thrown off on the floor when the last attack of convulsions happened. As if there is no other connection with the reality, aside from the palm, covered with scratches. "Yuu?"
Kanda clenches teeth one more time, because hearing his own name still feels like falling into frozen water. Especially when he is called by this exhausted, almost scared voice.
"Yuu, are you still here?..."
"No, I surely left!", Kanda snarls, but it's more because of being nervous, rather than being angry, as he has no idea what he should do. "Just, you know... Cut my arm away and left."
As an answer, he hears either weak laughter or convulsive cough. Or maybe both. What a dumbass, to find such a stupid thing funny.
"Just do you remember?... How we had it?.. After synchronizations?..." it takes so much struggle for Alma to say every word, as if he has to push out a stuck rock out of his chest. But it doesn't make him stop talking. Kanda doesn't understand this even after all years passed. But he nodes with a wordless noise of agreement, and tightens the grab of shaking, literally shivering fingers.
They are hot. They are so fucking hot. It might be a good sign though. It might be a prove that his body keeps on fighting with Noahs' poison. Regeneration, created by the Order against the Dark Matter. So, which one created a better monster? Kanda snorts unwillingly while thinking about it, but the thought sinks away in the dark of the room, as he is called once again. Yeah, that's right.
He brushes wet strands aside from Alma's fevered forehead with the fingers of his left hand.
Screw the Order. And screw the Noah too. Let all of them leave to their freaking angels and demons.
The pre-dawn twilight separates their tight little room away from the outside world. Screw the world too, though. The only use of it, is to tell stories about it. To make confusingly stupid answers to stupid questions, asked in feverish state. But for now Alma's voice, exhausted and trembling, seems to be more real than any serious and dumb questions Kanda have heard before. And these fingers in his hand, weakly frozen till the next sickness attack, are felt warmer than any thing he has ever touched in his whole life.
And, maybe, not only in this life.
***
The old woman, who gave them a shelter, has lost her son in another war, which rushed through this country years ago. Or maybe it was her husband, and she lost a daughter, who died at giving birth. Kanda doesn't really gets it because of her strange accent and his own poor vocabulary. But it's not important anyway, so he just nodes politely every time her speech stops and she looks at him with this expecting glance. He have never tried to create an illusion of being friendly, never actually cared about it. But now is another situation and all of his patience goes for keeping it in control. Actually, he has much more patience, than he thought before.
They were taught some basic phrases in different languages in Order, so they should be able to take care of themselves in case of finder's death. Kanda was sure that he never actually remembered any of them, as he had always left details of travelling to those who followed him. But now all necessary words just appear in his head by themselves. The sentences sound wrong, the grammar is freaking poor (what's grammar for, actually), but it turns out to be enough. Or maybe an old hag just understood everything from their awful condition. It's a miracle that she let them in.
"Is your friend surely okay?" she asks, her voice is quiet and creaking, just as the door of her house. Only God keeps this door from falling, maybe he should try to fix its hinges as a gratitude... Kanda doesn't gets her at first and blinks blankly. "I mean, it's been two days since he..."
Oh, fuck, that's right.
"He is perfectly fi..." he starts, but stumbles, as he mixed up freaking languages. His brain is so confused after a couple of sleepless days. Yes, he is perfectly fine, he repeats once again as he pronounces all of the words as slowly and plain as he can, carefully searching for them in dull memory. No, don't be afraid, it's not infectious thing. How growing back legs can actually be infectious, he wants to add, but stops himself in time. There's no use in shocking an old lady with unnecessary knowledge. It is one of the basic rules in Order. And maybe it's a common sense.
So she doesn't know anything, but she still smiles and offers some kind of herbal tea. Kanda feels sick from its smell even more than from being hungry. The food just stuck in his throat, but it still doesn't matter. He just has to swallow the tasteless ball to get more power for holding on some more time.
It is weird and unfamiliar to feel weakness. There are this unpleasant itch of unhealing scratches and lots of dark spots before eyes - he wants to sweep them away, like some kind of mud. But it still feels so much easier to breath. As if some kind of hole in chest, right between lungs, was suddenly filled. Oh.
He have never thought about how big was this hole before.
***
It's get better by afternoon. Maybe the Dark Matter works stronger during the night, but they would like to believe, that the worst time has finally passed. Or it least took its break, so they must really use it.
"Can you tell me something else, please?" Alma asks again with a low husky voice, grasping Kanda's wrist so desperately, as he has gone forever, instead of just walking to window to draw dusty blinds, to protect them from intrusion of annoyingly bright sunlight. Though the sun is stubborn and uses every gap to sneak into their small room. "Yuu, aren't you sleeping?..."
"Of course I'm not," he answers with a little wince, as he throws off a weird feeling of hearing everything through cotton aside with his vision going blur. "You're the one who should be sleeping."
Alma doesn't say anything, only wrinkles, and the reason are not the sun rays, dancing across his face when the blinds are lifted by sudden wind. Alma is afraid of falling asleep, and they both know it.
"Every time I close my eyes - I see them. I see him and them. You understand, right?"
As if he couldn't understand it. Kanda nodes and, in a gesture of encouragement, or maybe at least compassion, once again brushes off Alma's forehead stuck strands of hair. His skin seems to be light blue in daylight, as if he was a corpse. It's almost funny, as the skin is still hot, Kanda feels its warmness by tips of his fingers. Still hotter than normal human's temperature. But they are getting closer to it.
So they just have to wait more. Sleep is the best medicine. At least he heard about it.
"Maybe at least something?" Alma pulls the sleeve of shirt, kindly given by their hostess. And moves over to the wall, making more free space on a tight bed. "You'd better lay too, you are already falling asleep."
"I'm not falling anywhere," he argues, but it's more out of habit. So he suits himself on the bed, right after taking off boots (way too big for him, but who the hell complains about gifts). The roof watches them from above with its dark starless pit. It almost feels nostalgic.
Kanda doesn't look, but he still knows what kind of face Alma wears now. This stupid and full of guilty face when he expects to hear refuse even before voicing his request. When he is ashamed of himself in advance, for every silly thing he might say. Years ago because of such pitiful look, Kanda felt like some kind of uneasy knot was tying inside, so he was angry. Of course he was angry, but not because of any thing Alma was going to say.
And same it is now.
"Yuu..."
"I don't know what to tell you," he breaths out almost nervously. It sucks to admit that he has such an empty head for now. Blame the damn tiredness. "I just have no idea"
Alma nodes, shrinking a bit. Damn, not this kind of silence for now! Kanda turns to him and sees the pale-blue shadows from eyelashes dancing on sunken cheeks. So he tries to sleep anyway, huh? Kanda almost makes a sigh of relief when he feels through the fabric of shirt the feverish warmness of the body, clinging to his arm.
"I'm just fine," answers Alma to an unasked question with a hoarse voice. It's not clear what's more in his smile - bitterness or some kind of weird fondness."Just, to think about it, Yuu... That you live for such a long time just to..."
He stumbles and swallows without speaking out that one thing he'll never be able to voice out. But they won't have to try any more.
"So many awful years..."
"They were not that awful," mutters Kanda gloomily. Maybe they were empty and blind because of unvoiced mix of anger and yearning. But he still can't think of them being just in vain.
If only he knew how to tell it the way Alma would believe him.
"You just might have been so..."
"Alma", Kanda rises his voice a bit and shakes shrunk shoulders. The body in his arms feels so unhealthily light, as if it belonged to some kind of doll. But he just keeps on shaking and speaking again."Just let it go"
Alma smiles weakly, drearly, not lifting his glance.
"How can I do so? Every time I think about all you have to go through..."
"I know," he stops another flood of words. Alma can't stop apologising, even when he has a fever. Kanda doesn't understand why, but it makes him so angry, that sometimes he wishes to scream it out. He just wishes Alma could stop thinking about how awful it was to live alone for all of these years. Does it really makes everything what had happened with Alma less worse? Does it really makes everything the Order and the Noah did with Alma freaking better?! You can't compare it, you just can't fucking compare it! But still.
Alma nodes, ashamed, as if he understood all of the unsaid (perhaps they would never be said) words. He makes a deep sigh, breathing more air into lungs, but Kanda won't let him come back to this endless circle of searching the one to blame. Because Alma always ends up blaming himself. And it's enough for him. It's enough for you, dumbass.
"I know," Kanda repeats, covering shaking shoulders with a picked up blanket. "But still, please try to let it go."
Alma nodes uncertainly, closing his eyes and grasping Kanda's wrist so tight that it hurts, but it is fine. With such desperation you hold your only last string that connects reality with world of unhappy dreams you have never wanted to see.
"Yuu, I just..."
"I'll find what story to tell you when you wake up."
Even if he'll have to stare at dark ceiling for the whole day long. They still have no reason to hurry up. For one more time world has become so small and limited, like it was in first months of their lives.
"You are more important, Yuu."
Wait, what?
"Even if I have some kind of dream," Alma gives him that weak sleepy smile he must have not seen for eternity."You always will be most important."
Kanda doesn't find what to answer, but it's not like he was expected to. So he just watches the bottomless pit of the ceiling, while listening to uneven breathing, straining ears nervously from time to time when it's getting too quiet. The sleep come here unnoticed, just as it was before, when it was enough to close tired eyes with heavy eyelids, which were hurting a dull pain as the whole body did after another synchronization test.
But this time dreams are neither about blinding by sunlight blue sky, not about endless floor, covered with blood.
***
"Will Yuu wake up soon?" troubled ringing voice calls for him through veil of heat and strangers' words he would forget after waking up. "Has he got a cold or something?"
In a week their small world will be broken because of things they couldn't stop remembering. But for that moment their ignorance was protected. The scientists try to protect it, so they answer to Alma with polite and clever words of adults - everything is okay, you just have to wait, nothing to worry about, because we'll deal with everything. Such a polite and clever desperate lie.
He feels a small cold palm touching his forehead. And it feels nice. The heat doesn't leave, but it feels somehow better anyway.
"Can I stay beside him? I'll just sit here, I won't break anything", promises Alma, and not even they can refuse to him. Not to these honest eyes. So he sits beside Yuu, and his palm is colder than stone walls, slightly covered with frost, colder than water in pools. This cold is saving, even though there is still warmness, coming from his friend's fingers when he carefully removes wet strands from his sweaty forehead.
"Everything surely will be fine" - a soft promise is voiced, as a familiar-unfamiliar echo catches it up from somewhere far far way. Further than memories, further than dreams...
***
Kanda feels light and soft touches tickling his temples, and makes a grimace, trying to throw them away along with a stubborn hardness of slumber. Waking up was easier before. It was easier to come back to reality from web of illusions and broken images of his mind (it has never been healthy, hasn't it? This mind has never fully belonged to him anyway). This body has been plunging forward before, so his thoughts couldn't catch up with its movements. His soul couldn't live in the same rhythm. Maybe the scientists should have take care not only about his synchronization with Innocence. But nothing can be fixed now. And waking up feels another way now somehow.
He feels his body and mind as if they are made of cotton: weak and will-less. Now his reality restores slowly with cloudy stains. Time stretches and becomes viscous; it seems that he have wasted more than an hour just to open his eyes. And almost eternity is wasted on separate present from gone away past, like gentle fingers separate one thread from another, or brush strands, carefully taking care of awkward mats of hair. Or, maybe, not always carefully.
"Easier, damn it," he grunts when Alma carelessly pulls his hair, and the dull pain is felt in the back of his head. It's not that painful, a mosquito's bite in comparison with anything they have gone through, but it is still annoying."Have you woken up long ago?"
"I don't think so..." Alma bends his brows uncertainly, and almost draws back his hand, as it dares to stay long in other's hair for too long, but Kanda catches his wrist in time and returns his palm at its place. With his neck and side of his ear, he feels weak and soft warmness of the skin, and more feels than sees in evening's twilight how Alma's pale face turns red. But it doesn't feels uncomfortable. Alma used to blush for any possible reason - when he laughed, when he cried, when he was angry, or like this, from something pretty obvious, but the word still runs away from being named, teasing them. "You have such a strange voice..."
"I might have, as I slept for too long," Kanda agrees as he swallows a tickling feeling his throat. But then he wonders - what if Alma means it another way?
Too many years passed since they'd heard each other the last time.
"And the hair is so long," he doesn't understand what hides between this thoughtful muttering, and it almost scares him. Kanda looks with intensity into other's face, expecting to see troubled expression, as if he won't be acknowledged. But the one he finds is just a weird warmness as Alma laughs peacefully."It must be so awkward, why won't you cut it, Yuu?"
"If you think so, cut your own instead," Kanda answers, trying not to think about strange feeling of relief, raised inside. His fingers make their own way to make their way in (was it actually forgotten) gesture of pulling the cheek of this smiling idiot, but they stop almost touching his pale as paper sheet skin. It seems so fragile, that it seems, that once you squeeze too hard, and there will be blood. There is some kind of anxious snake, somewhere deep in the chest, and it makes him ask question immediately." So, what's up with you legs? Can you sit already? And, speaking of food, can you wait till the morning? An old hag might be sleeping already..."
He stops when he sees these big eyes, filled with surprise, staring at him. They blink for a couple of seconds, but then their owner turns moody again. The blush dances across the line of his scar and lank cheeks; Kanda just wants to believe that the attack of fever isn't returning. Will the world fucking over, if they have a break from this shit at least for a day?!
"I still feel sick, so I'm not hungry at all..." Alma explains drearly, as he shivers from gentle touch to his forehead(as if he is some kind of stray cat)."I guess, I'll never ever want to eat..."
Kanda is secretly sure that it's just for now. He remembers too much of his friend's appetite from the times when everything felt right as if where couldn't be better way. So, when things will come into an order...
"Does Akuma need food at all, Yuu?"
Their life must come into an order at last, mustn't it?
"I'm not sure that it will turn back to normal", Alma goes on with his muttering as he nervously fingers dark hair, winding its strands and muddling into it, but Kanda doesn't stop him. They need to learn how to talk about it. Talking hurts even more than thinking; words cut the throat sharper than needles. He knows it perfectly, that's why he tries to encourage the other by touching his cheek as softly, as he understand the meaning of this word. Why even being gentle is so much harder than being harsh? It doesn't matter, though. The only thing that matters it that his awkward encouragement works, and a quiet voice keeps on talking."I just mean... These marks on my skin... My ears are still sharp, and teeth might be too... Not to mention this tail!"
Alma makes this list and stares at him, as if he expects some kind of advice. But all Kanda can think about is how sharp the other's cheekbones are now. It seems that you can cut your finger if you touch it.
"Seriously, Yuu, say something!"
He blinks and finally notices this expecting look, with some kind of panic at the bottom of these childishly opened eyes. But the panic dissolves as the fingers slide across the cheek in unthinking gesture, which came from somewhere deep inside. Kanda is not even sure that it is returning of something forgotten from the darkness of subconsciousness. He just knows that he can't do it another way.
"Who cares about this freaking tail," he says the first thing that comes into his mind, but then adds:"The Siscomplex and others might take care about it. They are kind of... clever or something."
"You talking about Lenalee's brother, aren't you?", Alma's doubtful question makes him choke.
"Did you hear what I was talking about?"
It's not like he was telling stories, he couldn't call stories that monotonous and senseless voicing of every memory that came across in his tired mind. It was orderless and dumb, but did he actually have a choice? He had to say at least something, to make his voice sound as a reminder to the one who laid beside him in his conciousless fight of regenerations with the Dark Matter. He had to remind that he is here, that there are things worth fighting for, and that the his hand to grasp is not an illusion.
He thought it was enough if Alma could hear him, and clung to his hand. But now Alma is smiling at him with a shy pride, and it somehow feels hard to breath.
"I'm not sure if I heard everything right, but... I'd like to know more about your life."
Kanda nodes and carefully, almost clumsily, touches his finally cold enough forehead with his lips. They feel the temperature better than other parts of the body, he explains for some reason, and the quiet giggling feels that emptiness in lungs, because of which breathing was so unbearably hard.
"Stop laughing, damn it! Komui was talking about it too."
"And did he checked your temperature like this too?"
"Nah, only to Lena. He is crazy, but not suicidal. I guess so..."
Alma bursts out with laughter and tries to say something, but as he can't stop laughing his words are not clear at all. But it doesn't matter. It is enough to hear this laughter, so the world beside the walls of this small close dark room stops being scary. Even if it's breaking into pieces. Even if they are breaking into pieces along with this world.
It has been enough to have Alma beside to find some sense of living this wrong life. It has been always enough.
Kanda needs to tell him about it, but not now. Now is the time of another talks, which are no less important. But it's not about thing they are afraid or hurting too much to discuss, and it's not about things they might never forgive to themselves or to the whole word: from heart-ache of broken hope, till sensible enough bruises from intravenous pipes, the marks are like spots on the corpse, are still noticeable on the pale skin of artificial Akuma. Kanda looks at them and feels the need to choke to death all those fucking cruds who did it. But it's not the right time.
There is no time for their anger, that might never go away, only will seek the bottom as a bitter sand. There is too few time for them to live in a world without the Order, the Noah, and that one small naive exorcist they seem to have to save from all the shit he'd got into because of them. But it would be the most ungrateful thing - not to use all those minutes, hours and days Allen Walker had granted to them. That's why they live this time till the last drop of it.
"Tell me something more about this Komui," makes Alma a peaceful request, and Kanda rolls his eyes.
"I'll make my throat dry if I'll start talking about his failures."
"Then tell me something about Allen, he seems to be such a nice person..."
"Fine, I'll tell you about the Siscomplex..."
"I can't believe that you're so rude, Yuu!"
Alma's smile is still slightly painful, but also it is cincere (just like after synchronization tests, when he was running to Yuu, risking to loose one of his limbs) so it's enough. If Kanda is going to die, and his memories will be erased, he will hold on to these moments with everything he can call a soul.
If that was a wish of that person, whose hand was reaching to the endless sky, then Kanda finally understands him. So he pulls closer to his chest the person he'd lost long ago, but lived long enough to have him returned to him.
This night the past doesn't disturbs their dreams, only soughs away with a fabric of old-fashioned capes. The past has paid its debts to them, finally.
As the fate should be kinder to them, at least sometimes.