Here it is--the final chapter! =O!!! I was quite proud of this chapter, not least because it's at least 1.5 times as long as the other ones. xD Thank you all for reading this the whole way through, I'm so grateful for all the readers and all the lovely reviews! :3

6 – His Silver Eyes, Fragments of Light

The sun blazed in the sky, almost directly above; little sparks ricocheted amidst the wisps of cloud on the horizon. Tendrils of its glittering light splayed across the water, and great, warm sheets of it lay across the bridge. I felt its pleasant touch through my uniform, through my boots. The breeze brought fresh, sweet air into my lungs. It felt almost like summer.

He was already on the bridge, his feet making soft tup, tup noises on the arched wooden structure. I followed a careful distance behind, and kept myself to merely watching his stiff back as he pretended I wasn't there. His pace was slow, hand tracing softly the wooden handrail beside him; his silver eyes seemed to be directed more inwardly than at the ground beneath his feet.

My mind was all at once in a frenzy, and utterly still. I didn't know what to do, what to think. I just kept seeing him, in my mind's eye, the way he had been; and in front of me now, the way he was.

His chivalry was insufferable. He was always bitching and moaning about right and wrong, about life and death, about saving the souls of those godforsaken creatures we went out of our way to slaughter. It was like he was careening forward at light speed, lurching this way and that, thoughts bent on other people—on strangers, but never on himself. I had to ask myself, what was he trying to accomplish? Was he trying to be a better person? Was he trying to leave his mark? Was he trying to make every problem in the entire world right again, all on his own? With his lofty goals, he had this complete disregard for his own life—for his own happiness—and it never ceased to aggravate me.

So why did I care, I wondered? My eyes slid through mud to rest again on his rigid form. I watched his pale fingers as they traced unconscious lines into the railing. My gaze trailed down the sweet curve of his spine, and up along the smooth skin at the nape of his neck. I watched his eyes—or, at least, what I could see from where I was. They roiled and stirred like stormclouds, dark, heavy with rain. I imagined the sparkle, the beauty that would remain after the storm had passed and the downpour had rendered everything shiny and new again.

But who was I kidding? This wasn't something that would just pass, or go away; I did this. I did it, and it was all my fault. No one else's.

I really should have just left him alone.

Still, I couldn't tear myself away, not this time, nor any other. I couldn't stop staring at this strange thing, this person, who had so much light in his eyes, and so much darkness in his heart. I couldn't stay my hand as it inched forward, seeking any contact with his sweet-smelling skin. I couldn't keep myself from rushing to his side, pulling him out of every hole he dug himself into. What was it about him that just wouldn't leave me be? Anything? Everything?

I wanted to move closer. I wanted to talk to him; about what happened, about what was said, and what wasn't. But I was afraid. What would it mean, if I let him know? If I let him in? What could I possibly have to offer him but a broken heart, and a wrecked soul? I was damaged goods; I always had been, and that wouldn't change. I'd been through too much. And I would get through more, in the years to come. I would keep fighting—would have to keep fighting—until the war was over, or the last breath fell from my lips.

And so I watched him, and kept myself away. I limited myself to thoughts of those scenes, played across my mind time and time again in the hours that had passed. And as he crossed that sun-drenched bridge, I let myself admire his reflection in the water. The pale luster of his skin, the smooth slope of his jaw... The contemplative tilt of his head... The white of his hair, the black of his hand...the red of his scar.

~*~

The darkness rested across our shoulders like a blanket, heavy and still. Everyting was still; the darkness, the air, the trickle of soft moonlight through the window. He and I, both of us—we were still. His lips were warm against mine, and every bit as soft as I'd imagined. Against his back, my hand felt weak, on the verge of trembling; adrenalin pulsed through it with each beat of my racing heart. But I held firm.

It could have been a few hours, or maybe a few seconds. But he finally relented. His arms went up around my neck, his head turned for a better angle, and his lips melded easily into mine, like clay in the hand of a sculptor. He moaned, the sound soft and airy, sending a tremor down my spine. I breathed him in; that smell of sweet, sugary lilies, so intoxicating, so invigorating. I realized that my hair was still hanging loose when his slender fingers buried themselves in the thick, dark locks. As my wound was crushed against him, the pain was drowned in a wash of scintillating electricity.

Slowly, I leaned into him. His back flattened against the wall, his snow-white locks bunching up above his head as I pressed my chest softly to his. Against my lips, his churned, tantalizingly slow. His tongue rolled out to brush my mouth, and a single breath rushed, sharp, into my lungs; I felt him smirk against me. My mouth opened, and my breath came slow and ragged as our tongues danced together. I felt his hand drifting from my neck, his touch slithering down the length of my body, his fingers wriggling underneath my shirt to tease lines across my feverish skin.

The air I breathed was hot and thick. He receded barely an inch, and his eyelids drifted open, revealing the roiling pools of silver beneath. His half-lidded gaze smoldered, dark with lust. Clear as water, his eyes shattered the moonlight, scattering fragments in all directions; but not even moonlight could have made silver so bright.

Something in me snapped like a twig.

~*~

My feet soon met solid stone, steps clicking softly in the silence. We passed beneath a familiar crumbling archway; the stone was still scored and cracked from all the blows that had landed there. That small skirmish felt like it had happened years ago, but it had only been a few days.

The ancient Greek style of architecture was evident here; no rough cobblestones or worn bricks to be found. Everything was carved from some kind of thick, sturdy stone, and carefully placed in beautiful geometric patterns. Every little bit of it was a work of art.

That part of it, at least, reminded me of him.

Not that I needed reminding. Aside from the fact that he was my every waking thought, and he held my dreams in the palm of his hand, he walked stiffly in front of me, leading the party at a brisk pace down the time-worn path to our destination.

The bright light of the sun, so free and open, glinted off his rigid form; but even sunlight could not tear open his closed doors.

This wasn't right. He wasn't the type of person who just closed himself off; if he had a problem, he addressed it. He had no regrets, but for those problems he couldn't fix.

What had I done to him? An ice-cold knife twisted in my heart. I kept my face carefully blank.

~*~

My mouth was on his once more, harsh, fierce, and my hands wandered recklessly downwards, trying to get at the clothing that separated his skin from mine. He reciprocated beautifully, his breathing sharp against my mouth, his tongue clumsy as it twisted with mine, his fingers fumbling with the buttons at my throat. I lent him my hands, making quick work of the offending clothing before moving on to his.

While I was at work with his shirt, his cool hands were pressed flat against my back, his lips pushing into mine with bruising force. It was delicious, this desperation, the fervor with which he shoved me backward. My footsteps followed him easily across the room as I tossed his shirt to the floor, and my hands slid down his toned chest to rest on his hips. Simultaneously, I rolled his hips with my hands, and my own against them. His fingernails dug into the skin of my back, and his moan this time was low and desperate. The sound sucked the breath from my lungs.

My legs met wood with a soft thunk, and we tumbled backwards onto the bed.

His hands were frantic now. They periodically shifted from the button on my pants, to the skin of my chest, to the roots of my hair, as if he couldn't decide what he wanted to touch. His trembling fingers were cool against my skin, his lips wet on my neck, his body hot as the weight of gravity itself held us together—but it still wasn't enough, I wanted to press against him so hard that our bodies would melt into one. At this moment, with the darkness wrapped around us, I was feeling everything all at once, and it just welled up in my chest and spilled over, cascading like a river over a collapsing dam, flooding my mind with life and love and light. It was physically painful, deep in my chest, with that clump of muscle beating hard and fast, to try and hold it in, and it came out in the reckless groans and helpless moans rolling from my throat.

He rocked his hips against me now, rooting the movement with his hands on my waist, and I took the time to rake my fingers through his tangling white locks, to trail butterfly kisses along the pulsing artery in his neck, to whisper softly into the sweet-tasting skin along his collarbone. His warm breath rolled across the top of my head, slithering through the strands of hair there, leaving a layer of cool moisture and sending endless shivers up and down my body. And his voice, so sweet, so helpless, so desperate—the sharp hisses and long moans that enfolded indecipherable words and pleas. I could feel him unraveling in my hands, feel him coming apart at the seams, and it felt so raw, so real.

His hips rolled again, and I groaned, breathing fast as friction built between us. "Allen," came the moan from my lips, a mere trickle of that feeling that sloshed around in my chest. A rush of emotion came over me, a shudder, a sigh, and I said it again. "Allen..." My fingernails dug into his back, and my tongue pressed hard into his neck. It was like there was some animal need welling up inside me, telling me to take him apart, to consume him.

He moved downwards, resting his forehead against mine, breathing harshly into my open mouth. His hand found mine, and he laced our fingers together, gripping them tight; smoothly, his eyes opened, and fragmented moonlight washed my heart in silver.

His lips curled upward in a sweet smile. "Kanda..." he sighed, and his lips descended on mine once more.

~*~

We passed beneath a familiar stone archway, and into a familiar stone chamber. Its boundaries were lined with stone columns, its ceiling lain with thick stone slabs, noonday sun spilling through the large hole in the center. The floor below was cracked, and protruding from the cracks were the thick roots that had made them.

The roots, of course, came from the tree across the way. Its appearance had not changed in the slightest; its trunk was still as thick as the average building, and as tall as a skyscraper—so tall it had broken through the ceiling; its branches still appeared like thousands upon thousands of limbs, as if the tree were writhing with some unknown pain. The branches were weighed down with countless white leaves, which sparkled eerily in the light of the sun.

Still white. No girl in sight.

Lavi plopped down on one of the roots. "Well," he declared, "guess we'll just have to wait."

Lenalee sighed in silent agreement, sitting down beside him. Link checked his watch. A head of white hair disappeared around the trunk, and I said nothing.

My feet carried me to the base of the trunk, where, as if by instinct, I grabbed onto the peeling bark and began to climb.

My movements were idle, and I stopped before I had even broken a sweat. But I was high enough now that none of them could speak to me without shouting. I'd also somehow moved around the tree about ninety degrees, so that the bean sprout's ducked head was visible to me below.

Watching him, I felt my expression harden.

I was despicable.

He was just a kid, barely older than fifteen, who still had that sweet, childish light in his eyes, a light that I had somehow come to look forward to seeing. I might even go so far as to say I loved it. The way that silver sparkled, even after all he'd been through, I should have known to stay away. I was toxic. Everything he touched turned to gold; everything I touched turned to dust.

Looking at him now, I saw that my misery had roped in some company.

In truth, I could understand his confusion. I had once felt the same way. And how was I to know what this feeling was? I had always shied away from any form of affection, of companionship; only those willing to hammer away at my barriers had any chance with me. And he didn't come off as one of those people; if anything, he pushed me away with the same force with which I pushed him.

Yet, there were those times, few and far between as they were, when everything was different. Just for a second, I felt like I could be capable of what everyone else had, all the talk and laughs and affection. Because just for a second, he opened up to me; he spilled all of his heart's deepest longings, all of its most debilitating pain, and it awoke in me a fire I thought had been staunched long ago.

He was broken, and I could see it. Clear as the sun in my eyes, the sky above my head; as clear as my own pain, I could see that his was a fractured existence. And for a split second, I wanted to help him. I wanted to save him.

For a long time, I wasn't sure what to think. Maybe the fact that I wanted to be around him so much—even when I tried my best to act otherwise—simply meant that I was really an insufferable hero at heart, and I was in love with the feeling that I could save someone, as low as I was. Or maybe I was just like everyone else, and thought that his light served to brighten my darkness, even a little.

I hadn't even begun to entertain the possibility that ended up being the truth.

"He cares, you know."

I tore my eyes sharply from the white mop of hair below, looking instead on the one person I least expected to see.

"What you think, I mean," Link clarified, stepping down onto a slightly lower branch. "He really does care what you think."

The inspector sat down a good six feet away, but his deep brown gaze bore down on me like it was only six inches. I looked away quickly, burying my gaze somewhere in the tufts of white leaves, stifling my shudder with a sharp, "Che, yeah right."

Link seemed undeterred. "Believe what you will."

Silence fell, tense and buzzing with electricity, as I waited for him to leave. But he made no move, just sitting there, so fucking smug.

I was this close to opening my mouth and telling him to fuck off when he spoke up again.

"I don't know what happened between the two of you," he murmured, "but he hasn't spoken more than three words since yesterday. And you've been more pompous and irritated than ever."

I snorted, catching the fabric of my pants in a white-knuckled grip.

"Just, whatever it is," he continued, and I could feel his eyes drilling little bloody holes in my head, "you should talk to him about it. I know that's not 'what you do,' but he really does care. What you think."

The way he said it made me think that Mr. Link knew more than he was letting on. I looked up at him, meeting his sharp gaze head-on, the grimace on my face only half-hearted.

Saying nothing, I averted my eyes, resting them instead on all those leaves, whose brilliant white hue reminded me so much of that ridiculous mop of hair, and whose radiant luster reminded me so much of those sparkling silver eyes.

As I watched, the white seemed to darken, lose its brightness. It went from being snowy and pure to kind of cream-colored, and darker, to a light brown. I looked away sharply.

But when my eyes fell on Link again, he, too, was staring at the leaves, a look of bewilderment plastered on his face.

Turning back, I saw that they'd only gotten darker, the color approaching a kind of ruddy black.

I jumped to my feet, eyes darting downwards. The trunk of the tree was cracking, in a big jagged rectangle—and then it began to swing open.

Beside me, Link leapt from the branch and landed on his feet on the ground below, square in front of the widening gap. I hurried to follow, and stood a few feet behind the investigator. A head of white hair bobbed into view to my left, stark against the newfound black of the trunk; a red and a green form came into view on the right.

And so we all watched as the door opened, and a deep blackness seemed to creep forth from within.

We waited, a tense silence weighing on our shoulders. The longer I looked, the more the darkness seemed to move, to breathe; I shuddered, willing myself not to look away.

Nothing happened. We stood, and stared. The darkness just swirled lazily in circles, making me kind of dizzy. No one came out. Nothing emerged.

A pair of gold flecks appeared in the black.

My blade was out before I could think, and beside me, Lavi's hammer was at the ready; Lenalee had jumped up, and was standing on air; Link had practically shredded his sleeves in his haste to draw a weapon. The bean sprout stood a little to the side, cloaked in white, face covered with a silver mask.

"Why, look, Lord Millenium," a deep, suave voice echoed from the darkness, and out came the tall, tailcoated form of a Noah. "A welcome committee. And it's just as well, for our two guests."

In the Noah's arms were the struggling forms of two children—one was Alex, gagged and blindfolded and bound, wiggling like a worm. The other, a girl I'd never seen before, was in a similar position.

As if in slow motion, a round form emerged from the shadows, and they seemed to swirl along after him like a thick black mist, reluctant to release him from their clutches. On his tophat was a large, grinning pumpkin, its vines curling around the structure like fingers of bone. The pumpkin's grin paled in comparison to his.

"...Millenium Earl," came the low, feral hiss. I turned; the bean sprout was staring at the Earl with a look I'd never seen on him, his silver eyes tinged red with pure hatred.

"Aah," the Earl drawled, laughter struggling to clamber from his throat, "if it isn't my favorite Exorcist, the one and only Allen Walker. Say, how's the 14th doing?"

The kid bared his teeth, like a dog on the hunt.

The Earl's beady little eyes slid away from that head of white hair, coming to a halt when they met the cold blue glare I hadn't realized I'd been giving him. My knuckles were white as my fingers tightened around Mugen.

"And if it isn't the young Kanda Yuu..." The Earl's smile widened, a sickening glint in his eye. "Road was very distraught by your last encounter, you know. She hardly expected you to be so violent." The fat man bounced forward a couple steps, twirling idly. "She thought she had you down cold... But then you went and slit her throat, after she went to all the trouble of dressing up like your little bean spro—"

A roar rent the air, just as I was poised to strike; I looked in time to see the white-haired boy careening through the air, eyes blazing, to strike at the Millenium Earl.

The Earl blocked the boy's sword easily with his own—the similarity between the nearly identical weapons was unnerving.

The boy's eyes flashed with malice...but was that gold I was seeing?

"Ooh, hit a soft spot, did I?" The Earl's smile split his face clean in two. "Well, allow me to hit another one."

And, quick as a snake, his hand shot out to swat the bean sprout right between the eyes.

There was a brief pause, and then he was soaring backward, his body hitting the tree with a resounding crack.

"Moyashi—"

"Cyril," the Earl intoned, unperturbed, "take care of the Innocence."

Quick as a flash, the Noah tossed the kids to the ground—to mixed cries of pain and bewilderment—and produced from his pocket not one, but two shards of Innocence.

And as we all watched, he crushed them between his fingers.

The Earl clapped his hands. "Hah, well, now that's all through... Cyril, if you wouldn't mind taking the young ones. We should be able to use them for our experiments—"

"Think again, jackass." Everyone turned with some form of shock. Did Lavi just curse?

"My, my," the Earl tsked, "such language. And with children around... What are you Exorcists coming to? Cyril, please dispose of them."

Cyril smiled broadly, and his kanines looked impossibly sharp. "With pleasure, Lord Millenium."

I held my sword firm before me, not breaking eye contact with the malicious golden eyes of the Noah. Lavi squared his feet, and Lenalee vaulted through the air to stand beside him; Link took a defensive stance.

But as the Earl turned to leave, a white blur appeared before him. Sparks flew as blade met blade, and the Earl sneered down at the boy standing in his way.

"Mr. Walker, while I do enjoy your company, I really need to be going, so—" But he stopped. And stared.

Because the bean sprout's eyes were gold.

'God dammit...'

The Earl seemed to falter. "...Hm. Well, I didn't expect to be seeing you here. We haven't even tried to call you out yet."

The 14th didn't reply. He just stared, his golden gaze cold. Flat. Unrelenting.

"...I see what you want," the Earl went on, shuffling a little to the left. "You'll get your chance. But first you must let me pass."

The Noah didn't move.

Shuffling a bit more, the Earl tried again. "Now, I can see that you're not really feeling up to it yet. But once you've gathered your strength, and recovered all your anger, you will see me again. Then we can talk."

Not a twitch.

The Millenium Earl pursed his lips. "Hm. Very well. You leave me no choice."

He raised his hand toward the 14th, but it hadn't even touched him before he was hurled away. He spiraled through the air, arced back down, and landed on his head with a loud crack.

"Allen-kun!"

"Moyashi-chan!"

"Walker!"

"Fucking bean sprout!"

The passage having been cleared, the Earl strode off into the darkness.

I hesitated. Did I approach? If that was the 14th over there, he could kill me in an instant. But if it was the bean sprout, he needed help...

I looked back at Cyril, whose eyes and teeth glittered like a cat before it pounces.

"Lavi," I hissed.

"Yeah." A bead of sweat dripped down his face. " 'S alright, we got this. Go."

One last pause, and I nodded once, walking carefully backwards toward the limp form lying on the roots of the dead tree.

"Aww, leaving so soon?" Cyril whined, curling his fingers ominously. A sharp twitch, and Lavi, Lenalee, and Link were all suspended in air, unable to move. I felt a shadow rise up behind me.

I hadn't even turned fully around before I felt my feet leave the ground, and my body soared through the air until it was stopped abruptly by the trunk of the tree.

But I didn't fall; I was pinned there by a pair of cold hands. Two flat orbs of gold stared back at me.

"The Earl has told us about you," Cyril smiled, "about the two of you. How you both have the same darkness in your hearts." Sneering, he crooned, "How romantic."

I might've sneered back at him, called him profane names, asked him what the fuck he was talking about; but then the 14th's thumbs were digging into my throat, and my vision was going blurry, and white spots appeared all over his face as he choked off my air supply.

"M...moya...shi..."

I clawed at his hands, like two arms of a statue carved around my throat—they wouldn't budge.

"And after all that," Cyril taunted, "what will it be like, to watch him kill you?"

"Fucking...bean sprout..." I choked, staring him down with watering eyes. "Wa...wake up, you...you goddamn...moron..."

But he wasn't there. His hands were ice, and his eyes were gold, and my bean sprout was gone.

~*~

The blanket of darkness had settled down, covering the room in a pleasant warmth. Streams of moonlight sprinkled through the water droplets on the windowpane; it had rained a little while before, though I hadn't noticed. The way the water splintered the moonlight, it didn't even come close to the way his eyes shattered it, gave it life.

He was asleep now. His chest rose and fell steadily as breath hissed in and out of his lungs; in my arms, he was limp, relaxed. His white locks fell in wisps across his face, and across his scar, concealing the stark red from view. His fingers were still tangled in mine, arms wrapped tight around me.

Watching him, I felt myself let go—of the tension in my muscles, of the fear in my mind, of the sadness in my heart. Because here, he was asleep, and at peace. He looked almost whole.

I didn't even feel the small smile spread across my face.

Settling back, I held him close, wriggling down until my ear rested against his chest. I let the sound of his softly beating heart lull me to sleep.

~*~

"D..." Air barely hissed between my teeth now. "D...amm... Dammit..."

My vision was blurring; my head lolled, I couldn't support it.

"Moya—A...All...en..."

As consciousness fled me, and darkness consumed my vision, he blinked... I thought I saw a hint of silver...

His arms began straining, veins popping out as he struggled to release his hands. Cyril held them firmly there, but they loosened around my neck—oxygen trickled back into my system, and my head became light.

Over the bean sprout's shoulder, I could see Cyril falter, the smirk on his face sliding away.

And then Alex kicked him in the shin.

He cried out, rounding on the boy with fire in his flaxen eyes. But Lavi, Lenalee, and Link, having been freed from their invisible prisons, all lunged at once. Alex leapt away, and Cyril took at least two hammer blows to the head, another dozen quick-succession kicks, and quite a few nasty cuts before he had the good sense to flee.

The Moyashi wrenched his hands free.

"Kanda? Kanda, are you okay? Kanda!"

"Sh...shut the h...hell up..." I coughed, rubbing my throat. The skin was chafing, and I could feel the bruises as they formed beneath the skin.

I looked up at him, and his silver eyes were whirring like little silver turbines, the sunlight becoming blurred with all the motion.

No, wait, that wasn't his eyes... That was just me...

I felt my muscles failing me as I collapsed to the ground.

"K...Kanda!"

~*~

When I awoke, sunlight poured thickly through the window. The room was still, silent. Beside me, the bed was cold and empty.

~*~

I rounded the corner into the cafeteria and took a full two steps before I looked up. As soon as I saw that white mop of hair, I wanted to turn around and leave.

I just stood there, staring. Thinking. There was so much that I wanted to say, to tell him. But how could I? He only asked me how I felt, and I...I just...exploded. I let everything gush out, all these pent-up feelings that I'd harbored for so long. He must have felt overwhelmed. I couldn't blame him for leaving. Hell, I would have left, too.

But that didn't change the fact that he had. He left. He got up before the sun, took all of his things, and left me in that room, sleeping, unaware. He didn't even give me the chance to properly explain.

And now he sat at that table, playing idle games of chess with Johnny and a bunch of other scientists, with that Timothy kid lounging in his lap. He had on his face a look of frustration, but I could see in his eyes that he was enjoying himself. He was happy.

I grimaced, grabbing the doorjamb, about to leave.

But then he turned, almost as though he'd sensed me there; he turned and fixed me with that clear silver gaze. As he caught sight of me, the smile never fell from his face. But his eyes, they sobered. They saddened.

I blinked, looking away. And I walked out.

'What the hell was I thinking,' I cursed. 'What the fuck was going through my head?'

My feet carried me swiftly through hallways and passages, out the front door and into the crisp night air. I shivered in the chill, relishing the feeling as my mind calmed. I could physically feel myself settling, back into anger, back into darkness.

'That's the thing,' a forlorn voice echoed, somewhere in the back of my head, 'I wasn't thinking.'

"Kanda?"

I turned at the sound; stony blue eyes met quivering silver ones.

He opened his mouth; shut it again. The silence stretched on.

"...K...Kanda, listen, I..."

"You what?"

He blinked at me, a look of shock across his face. But I was angry, I had a right to be angry, and I could snap at him if I damn well wanted to.

I could see him grasping for something to say as he stepped closer.

"Kanda, I'm... The choking, I... I'm sor—"

"I don't want to hear it," I hissed, turning away.

For a long while, it was quiet. I almost thought he'd left.

But then there came an exasperated sigh. "You idiot," he muttered, and then I felt his hand on my arm, whirling me around—and his lips pressed firmly to mine.

I did nothing. Just stood there, a block of stone. His eyes bored into mine, searching, as he pulled away. The silver in them appeared bright with fear.

"Kanda," he said again, and it sounded so desperate, so melancholy, that I faltered a little. "Kanda, I'm sorry I did that to you... I'm sorry I let the 14th take control."

"Whatever."

He sighed. "You're angry. You have a right to be. But, Kanda... You know I'd never hurt you."

"I said don't worry about it."

Silence reigned again, for a time.

"Then... Then, about that night..." My gaze flicked back to him; he was looking at the ground, eyes downturned, sad. "Kanda, I need to know... What...what does this mean? I mean, you... You and I, we..." He seemed at a loss. "Kanda..."

"You left." I whirled on him. "After all that, even after I'd... I'd said..." Because I remembered it. I knew I said it. Those three words that I'd been struggling with since he'd first blundered into my life, I'd said them. Finally, I'd said them.

"Said what, Kanda?" He grasped my hand before I could turn away. "Because after you... After we'd talked, the next thing you said was...was my name...and, um..." He coughed. "...and then you lapsed into Japanese."

"...What?"

"...Yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck, averting his gaze; a bit of pink dusted his cheeks, and his silver eyes glowed in the moonlight. "I, I didn't know what you were saying, but...but it didn't really feel like it m—mattered, at the time, I mean... I-I was, and you were...uhm...a bit distracted, and... Ah..."

A bark escaped me, and he turned; I tried to stifle it, but before I knew it, I was doubled over in laughter. The sound of it rang out into the still air, so strange even to my own ears. He was wearing a look on his face that plainly said to me, "Where the hell did that come from?"

But really, how ridiculous had all this become? I was as bad as some lovesick girl on a stupid TV show, pining after him for so long... And then I finally get him in bed with me, and I tell him how I feel, and he can't even understand me because it's in a different language...

He'd run because he was scared, but not of my affection. He thought I'd just used him for meaningless sex. I had to admit, it wasn't quite as funny as it was insulting.

Finally, the laughter subsided. The last time I'd laughed like that, I was bleeding on the floor, my body falling apart because I'd gotten into a fist fight with my best friend. I'd all but forgotten the feeling.

When I looked up at him, he seemed kind of scared. A smile still tugged at my lips.

"Y'know, bean sprout," I drawled, "contrary to popular belief, I do actually laugh. There's no need to look like I just sprouted an extra arm."

He blinked, and the light in his eyes was so bright. Blushing, he turned away and chuckled to himself. "Yeah, I guess it makes sense... I mean, nobody really thought you could—" he waved his arms and gave me a look "—but, I mean, you and I... So..." At my raised eyebrow, he looked mortified, and only reddened further. "Oh, God, I didn't mean... Oh, God..."

Another laugh bubbled, unbidden, from my chest, and I reached out, pulling him close.

Stroking his hair, I whispered, "I told you I love you."

He pushed away a bit, looking up at me with an awed expression and wide silver eyes. But when he smiled, it was like the stars had all gathered in his eyes, like the moon itself had lent its light to his face. He pulled me in again, tucked his head into my neck, and breathed deeply.

"I love you," he whispered.

We stood wordlessly for a few moments, breathing the cool night air and listening to one another's heartbeats. I was the first to break the silence.

"If you tell the rabbit about any of this, you're dead."

He laughed, sweet and melodic, and I smiled again, a quieter smile. His friendliness, his stubbornness, his laugh; all of it reminded me so much of him...

Of Alma.