Chapter Text
The dark-haired exorcist stalked down the halls of the order without an ounce of the grace with which he wielded his sword. No missions, scheduled training, or paperwork, he was meant to have the entire day to himself. But, of course, his day was littered with constant annoyances. Days like this made him wonder if his curse extended beyond his body, crawling up the walls and puppeteering everyone around him with the sole purpose of making him miserable.
He gave up on sleep before the sun had. The task of reaching for unconsciousness was so tiring yet he was not tired. Frustrated, the swordsman childishly threw his damp sheets into a tangled pile on the floor, letting the cold air dry his clammy skin. He rarely ever got a full night’s rest, but this night was particularly draining. His bones creaked in protest of every movement as he stood and took his first steps of the day.
Despite his inability to sleep, he found calm by the time the sun began to rise as he reached the peak of his meditation. That was until the boisterous sounds of drunken bastards flooded into his quiet mind. It seems he was not the only one who had not slept last night. Normally he would be reaching for mugen to sober them up, but on this day, he chose to save his time and energy by letting the nuisance pass unscathed. Surely, they were about to have a worse day than him anyways, nursing hangovers and mulling over last nights questionable choices. The peace he had achieved had been successfully drowned by the time their voices were no longer in hearing range, and the samurai was simmering at a low but deadly heat.
He decided to go to the dining hall as soon as it opened, hoping to avoid any unnecessary interactions. Of course, however, Allen had to be first in line to satiate his ravenous hunger and of course he had to be whining about his empty stomach. Even Lenalee giggling at his antics made him cringe, the sound hitting his ears like nails on a chalkboard, even though she tended to bother him the least of all his coworkers. He felt a little guilty at his level of annoyance with his least irritating friend, but his groggy brain pushed that aside to make room for a dull headache. The simmer was rising to a boil, water brimming at the top but not spilling quite yet.
“Jeez, you’ve always got a stick up your ass, but you seriously look like shit!” Allen quipped upon catching the swordsman’s dead stare on his way to sit down. For the first time, Kanda’s glare was harsh enough to shut Allen up. Lenalee gave him an apologetic smile before the two went to find a table.
Kanda went about his day, getting interrupted at least once every hour by some annoyance no matter where he tried to hide. Being the closest exorcist when the science team needed saving yet again from on of their own creations, new finders not knowing their way around and somehow managing to walk into what is meant to be a private training area (and the swordsman nearly running one of them through with mugen), stepping in a pile of vomit which was surely from the journey home of the drunk assholes that ruined his morning meditation session (and now ruined his boots). He should be able to find privacy in his quarters, but honestly it was hard to relax in the same room as his useless bed and the lotus’ prying petals staring through him.
Kanda finally overflowed around when the sun reached its peak. He was making his way to the library; he wasn’t an avid reader, but he had tried every other place he normally went for peace and quite. He sharply turned a corner and was met with Komui’s face much too close to his.
“Ah, Kanda! I was just looking for you,” Komui said, seemingly unaware of the fact that he had interrupted Kanda’s silent warpath to privacy, ”it’s about some of the paperwork you handed in after your last mission, so-“
“I don’t know. I’m not a fucking secretary.” Kanda gritted through his teeth before Komui could finish his question. While he normally would huff and scowl his way through an explanation, today the director had struck his last nerve. His deep voice resonated in the large expanse of the hallway and raised in volume as he went on, “It’s my fucking day off, now leave me the hell alone before I shove that report down your throat.”
Before Komui could reply or retreat, Kanda pushed past him to storm towards the library, fueled by reignited hostility. His irritation was already potent, but it was now nauseatingly overwhelming to anyone unfortunate enough to cross his path. He reached the library in record time, but the first floor was full of people talking much too loud to be getting any work done. He had never been to other areas in the vast library, and he was not in the mood to explore, but he desperately needed a quiet place and he had exhausted all his known options. He climbed the stairs until he reached a level with the least amount of people, quickly making his way through the maze of shelves, looking for a corner to make his home for the rest of the day. As he made his way into the depths of the labyrinth, he failed to notice the places where the dust that had settled on the deeply hidden shelves was disturbed, lithe fingers having recently skimmed the surface. He failed to notice the gaps where previously untouched novels and records had been carefully plucked from their comfortable lives on skyscraper shelves. He didn’t even notice the old wood groaning under the new weight of a precarious ladder propped against it.
The light became more dim the longer he wandered, reaching areas where lightbulbs were allowed to rest in peace, as their duty had been fulfilled. They loomed above the graveyard of books which had not seen light since they passed. He finally reached a wall which brought an end to the seemingly endless stream of paper held up by nearly rotting wood. He was ready to sit down and try to recreate the bliss that was torn away from him early in the morning when he noticed the source of the dim light which allowed him to see despite the neglected state of the area.
The light was pouring from an opening which appeared to be the entrance to a room. There was no door, but that was clearly not a problem with its secluded placement. Kanda usually resisted the pull of curiosity, especially when in such a sour mood, but a secret room seemed to be exactly what he needed right now, and the chance he didn’t have to settle for sitting on the cold floor in the dark was too good to pass up. He didn’t spare a moment longer thinking about the strangeness of the situation and walked towards the entrance. When we rounded the corner to fully step inside, he was greeted with a sight he never thought possible.
Aside from the shock of bright red hair only slightly softened by the warm light, the room was the perfect picture of tranquility. Pillowy seats and cozy nooks rested low to the floor covered in rugs, blankets, and discarded books. A large oak desk was awkwardly placed close to the farthest corner of the room, the person using it perched on an almost comically large wingback chair facing the entrance. The only light in the room came from an old lamp on the desk illuminating the expanse of books and loose papers lining its surface. The impossibility of the scene was not the room itself, but the person he knew but did not recognize occupying it.
Lavi sat curled up behind the desk with his nose buried in a book. His hair was not in its signature headband, and Kanda was surprised to see it was long enough to almost tickle his shoulders. Upon noticing this, he realized the bookman had also abandoned his eyepatch, however his posture made it so the right side of his face was partially obscured from his fellow exorcist’s view. The expression he wore was one the other had never seen before, despite knowing him for years. He was the definition of content, yet no smile graced his features. Kanda had the thought that this was the happiest he had ever seen the redhead, his broad grin never really convinced the swordsman he could feel anything at all. He had shed the many layers he usually wears in favour of a thin long sleeve barely hanging on to a freckled shoulder and loose black pants pooled comfortably around long slim legs. He melted seamlessly into the calm scene. Kanda had never seen him look less out of place, yet he could not take his eyes off him.
Lavi was engrossed in his book which allowed the voyeur to take in the scene for longer than he would like to admit. Eventually, the redhead broke from his role of object of study and realized he was no longer in his own personal realm of warmth and woefully written words. The moment his eyes landed on Kanda he slapped his palm over his right eye, panic clearly visible in his left. As fast as the anxiety overtook his features, the mask was plastered on top.
“ah, Yuu! You should really learn to knock! I know it’s not really your style but one day you’re gonna get more than you bargained for-” The redhead found and secured his eyepatch, never pausing his cheerful yet somehow still lazy blabbing, “unless you were trying to creep on me! Yuu, I always knew you were a pervert-“
Kanda was still processing the people he just met and the frightening speed with which Lavi had introduced them. However, Kanda still had a goal, and clinging to that was the only thing that would keep him sane.
“I’m just trying to find somewhere I won’t be disturbed. I never believed it anyways so just drop it. Bookman isn’t here and I’m not a snitch.”
He told the truth. He always knew ‘Lavi’ was a character, he knew how the Bookmen got their work done, and he was never great at reading people, but he could spot a lie from a mile away. He never really judged him, he was only doing his job, though he did wish he could have chosen or been assigned a less obnoxious personality. He never thought too hard about what could be behind the over-the-top acting, but he never so much as got a glimpse until this moment. Right now, however, though he was begrudgingly intrigued, he truly just needed some peace and quiet, and the Lavi he just walked in on seemed much more likely to allow him that.
Lavi paused for a moment, failing to mask the surprise on his face (which Kanda can’t help but take some pride in). He could see the cogs turning in his head, and he could only imagine what the other was thinking; his allegiance to the Bookmen, how this will affect his records, the costs and benefits of trusting the hot-headed exorcist. With a soft sigh and a slouch of resignation (or relief, Kanda can’t tell), the redhead simply gives a subtle nod and turns his attention back to his book.
The dark-haired exorcist takes the non-verbal invitation, situating himself on a pillow on the floor and assuming his regular meditation pose. The atmosphere is a bit tense for a while, but eventually he settles in and both men slowly got comfortable in pretending to be alone together. Kanda still finds himself distracted by the quiet presence in the room with him, but the distraction is not wholly unwelcome. The swordsman wanted to respect the others privacy in kind (as well as in repentance, as he did sort of barge into his secret room and put him in an extremely compromising position), but he couldn’t help but spend the time he was not meditating staring at this person he thought he at least sort of knew but never met. He watches the junior bookman work and take periodic ‘breaks’ in which he devours entire novels. Kanda would hardly call it a break, but his expression and body language when he puts down his pen and records in favour for a novel is very telling.
When he’s working, his muscles are stiff, that crease between his brows is never absent, his posture makes Kanda’s back ache and his hand cramps just watching him write. But when he picks up a novel, he assumes a comfortable lounging position. Kanda can almost see the words on the page reflected on his face. They’re printed in the fondness that touches his lips when he finds something pleasing, and the sorrow behind his eyes when a tragedy reaches its peak. The way he wrinkles his nose in revulsion, and the blush that is oh so obvious on that ginger complexion. He supposed the bookman didn’t have to be impartial to good story telling, especially when not under the scrutiny of his master’s glare. Kanda can’t help but be captivated by his subtlety, a shocking contrast to the Lavi everyone knows, all dramatic swings and theatrical antics.
They spent hours in silent companionship, stealing glances at one another, a trained bookman and a cutthroat exorcist both nearly oblivious to the other’s gaze. Despite the lack of windows, Kanda realized the sun must have already set, as he suddenly became aware that he was beginning to nod off any time he turned his attention back to his meditation. He reluctantly decides its time to exit gracefully while he still can. He rises wordlessly and turns to Lavi, bowing his head slightly towards the redhead in humble gratitude. The bookworm only looks up from his work to quickly return the acknowledgement. Kanda’s eyes linger for a moment, pausing on his lips before he turns away, and he can’t help but imagine the ghost of a smile.
He spends some time before bed staring at the ceiling, but instead of irritation he feels only wonder. His horrible first half of the day was forgotten as he contemplates what he had witnessed. Would he ever see that quiet thoughtful man again? His dreams are littered with the sound of pen scratching paper, the smell of old books, and an expressive emerald eye.