So... about a year and a half later

*Gulp*

You guys are seriously the most awesome fans a person could ask for! I love each and everyone of you so much for dealing with the bumps as I have.

Enjoy!

"You're late."

Lips folded together as Allen bit back the response he had for Kanda; after a sleepless night and a ride where his senses were assaulted by stale cigarettes and cheap cologne, hearing how late he was was the last thing he wanted.

"Thought I wasn't coming?" the blind man managed to snap out as he slipped into the house, standing off to the side while the door all but slammed closed.

"I had hope," Kanda muttered as Allen shrugged off his jacket and passed it to the elder, listening as it was hung up over an armrest of some sort. "Come on," Allen heard him grumble, the footsteps retreating to the other side of the room.

"Where?" Allen protested, trying to follow as best he could, "and wait up for a second!"

"Why?" the elder snapped, his feet stopping suddenly while Allen did his best not to crash into him.

"Well, you know, because I need to take in all of the scenery and my socks could slip and- WHY THE HELL DO YOU THINK NUMBNUTS!?"

The scarred hand resisted the urge to smack himself as he wondered just why he had to be stuck with the only person in the world who seemed to be constantly forgetting the obvious fact of his blindness.

"Just… let me follow you," the young man sighed deeply, his hand outstretched to silently ask for the elder's arm to guide him.

It wasn't as though he was particularly thrilled to be in the other's house, his stomach filled with dread at the notion of spending an afternoon alone with a grumpy elder who simply despised everyone's guts. Sighing deeply, Allen's fingers simply brushed along the fabric of the long sleeve, the bulge at the bottom indicating they were rolled up. Floor creaking underfoot, Allen caught the scent of oils and paints, the air slightly cool and the humidity lowering.

"Careful, steps," Kanda informed him bluntly as the tip of Allen's toe smacked into the wooden stair, a string of curses slipping from his lips.

"Thanks ass," Allen hissed quietly, his fingers tightening on the elder's upper arm.

"You've got a cane, use that," the artist snapped as they started ascending the steps.

"I usually trust people that are guiding me," the blind man commented bitterly, "guess that's my mistake."

"So long as we both agree," Kanda commented knowingly, ignoring the unseeing glare Allen shot him.

Keeping his mouth shut to the best of his ability, the younger took the stairs cautiously, desperately trying to avoid another mistake.

"Don't go touching anything," Kanda muttered as the door opened, "in fact, in your case, don't move."

Allen glowered at the command, his hands slipping to the wall he stood near, grateful that Kanda hadn't moved him too far away.

The room he stood in smelt strongly of oils, paints, and old wood. He could tell that the room was tall and open, the cool air moving gently across his face informing him of that much. Tentatively, the younger stuck out his cane, the rubber end stopping almost as quickly as it extended, Allen figuring there were tables that held the canvases.

"If you have your inspiration, you can leave," the elder called from across the room, "I don't like anyone watching me work."

"No worries there," Allen muttered, his lungs inhaling a deep breath, "and so far, the only inspiration I've got is stale air and paint."

"Well if that's all you need-"

"With all this inspiration the most you're going to get out of me is my head banging on the piano!"

"And that would be different from your other music how?" the elder retorted smartly, Allen bristling at the comment.

"I'M BLIND!" he all but yelled at Kanda, "forgive me if I miss a note or two!"

"Or seven," Kanda murmured sarcastically, Allen wishing he could march over to the elder to smack him with his cane.

"And just how well could you paint without sight?" the younger pointed out, "oh, wait! From what I've heard, your art looks like you do paint it with your eyes closed!"

paint it with your eyes closed llen wishing he could march over to the elder Allen could practically feel the glare shot his way, a small smirk on his lip at his assumed victory.

"So… where do you get your inspiration?" the younger stated to ask, knowing that the sooner he got on with why he was there the sooner he could get out of the artist's attic and on his way home.

"Nature," Kanda muttered bluntly, "next dumb question."

"Where abouts in nature?" Allen pressed, "trees? Lakes? Up your own ass?"

"Lotus flowers and ponds," the elder told him bitterly, "why wasn't that the first question you asked someone else."

"I forgot that you were an asshole," the young man grumbled quietly.

"Well, excuse me," Kanda muttered, "why don't I make up for that and drop you off in one of my usual inspiration spots. How about the middle of a lake?"

"Can't be more unpleasant than here," Allen bit back, his arms crossing over his chest as he slouched against the wall he stood near.

The two decided to settle into a rather uncomfortable silence, wood and canvas banging around from Kanda's general direction, mutterings flowing over the sounds of frustration.

"Do you always start a session out like this?" the younger decided to ask, his brow lifting as he head a rather deep and exasperated sigh come from Kanda's lips.

"Guess it was too much for me to hope you'd be quiet," Kanda muttered bitterly, hands sliding over the frames as his body straightened up, "and if you must know, yes. My sessions start out like this if I've had a particularly rough or annoying day."

"Well gee, it sounds like you need a hobby to relax you," Allen grumbled, "might I suggest taking up the arts? I hear painting is good for the soul."

"Hilarious," the elder grumbled, "I already do yoga, and-"

"Be serious!"

Allen could tell by the uncomfortable silence that young man had paused to turn and glare at him, though he was surprised that there wasn't a big hole in the side of his head from all the daggers Kanda shot his way.

"I am," Kanda told him, Allen torn between laughing at the idea that someone so uptight did yoga on a daily basis or amazed that Kanda was so confident in admitting it, knowing a lot of men would think it too feminine.

"Why?"

Now Allen felt put on the spot, his brain trying desperately to come up with a reasonable explanation that would not cause him great pain.

"You're not exactly… calming," the younger finally admitted, hating the awkward silence that preceded it.

"Forgive me if I haven't been able to meditate the annoying away," Kanda growled, "there's been too much of it and not enough time."

"You're forgiven," Allen muttered, "sorry it's my fault you can't let things go."

"At least you acknowledge this," the elder grumbled, the sound of wood clapping together echoed through the small area, ruffling of cloth fluttering about preceding it.

"What are you getting ready for?" the younger asked, his head turning as he tried to gather more information from the noises around him.

"Lunch," Kanda told him sarcastically, "what do you think dumbass?"

"Wood knocking together and cloth moving about?" Allen inferred, "could very well be a picnic with a fire."

"In the middle of an attic?" the elder questioned, "right."

"I meant, what are you getting ready to paint?" the blind man rephrased his question, "since, you know, the obvious."

"You're too stupid to figure it out?"

Allen really wished he could borrow someone's eyes for only a moment or two, just long enough to chuck something at the elder's head and watch his at the elder'und him.

ed through the small area

"I figured you'd be too stupid to remember," the younger shot back, "given how you constantly seem to forget my disability."

"Thought disabled people wanted to be treated as normal," Kanda muttered, Allen bristling at the comment.

"Within reason!" the younger snapped, "you can't ask a blind person to be your designated driver or-or expect someone with Multiple Sclerosis to be able to help a person move heavy boxes or ask a person in a wheelchair to get out of the elevator when it's over capacity!"

To this Kanda said nothing, for which Allen was quite grateful.

Clearing his throat and doing his best to keep his temper under control, Allen tried to refocus on the task at hand, hoping to be done with this encounter as quickly as he could.

"So… how do you get started?" Allen asked, almost wanting to smack himself for his stupidity after the elder's breath came out in a huff.

"With paint and a canvas," Kanda told him bluntly, "and no interruptions!"

"What else," the blind man felt as though it was easier to get water from stone at this point, "do you use any references or pictures or music or-"

Wood slapped against the table, a deep sigh forced from Kanda's lungs.

"Just tell me what you need and I'll make sure you get it," Kanda grumbled, "but if all you need is reference and music you can leave me alone."

Allen huffed, his own anger rising.

"That's not… all I need," Allen told him, his temper kept under control as he heard Kanda still, his throat growing thick from anticipation.

Kanda remained silent as he let Allen gather his thoughts, the younger figuring how best to say it.

"I need to know your… energy when you paint," the young man tried to explain, hating he word he had to settle on but couldn't seem to find a better one.

"Thought you knew that already," Kanda pointed out, "it was 'asshole'."

"That's how you are with everyone," Allen grumbled, "but I need to know the you when you paint."

At this Kanda turned silent, the younger guessing that he was perhaps looking over in his direction

"What makes you so damned sure I'm not one in the same," the elder murmured, his hands arranging his pots of paint.

"If you painted with this hate, people would be talking about the 'anger' and 'passion' coming from your works," Allen deduced, "not how 'serene' and 'calming' it is."

The younger heard the glass clinking and wood rattling stop as Kanda undoubtedly turned towards him.

"You got all that about my work but not what it was about?"

The younger bristled at the blunt statement, his attempt at reconciliation thrown back in his face, the other seemingly uncaring as to their working relationship.

"Will. You. Just. Help. Me. Out." Allen emphasized each syllable, part of him wondering if wisdom teeth extraction without anesthesia would be more or less painful than this.

"FINE!"

The younger jerked slightly at the volume of the voice, his arm pulled to the opposite end of the room, his feet tripping and stumbling over each other.

"OH COME ON!"

"Hey! Even if I wasn't blind I'd still have fallen over!" Allen retorted, his hand patting his jeaned legs before he let Kanda continue to pull him, a little gentler this time though.

"Better?" Kanda muttered bitterly, the younger sighing as he was forced to agree.

"No," the younger retorted, his body standing tall as he walked slowly with Kanda's hand around his wrist, "you're still an asshole."

"Funny how I haven't changed in the last thirty seconds," the elder muttered sarcastically.

Allen glared up at the direction of Kanda's voice.

Less, he decided. Considerably less.

"Now shut up and come here."

Allen squawked as he was yanked to stand in front of the table, hips slamming into the wooden corner, hands needing to come out in front of him to stop his body from toppling over.

"OI!"

"Relax!" Kanda grumbled, his body coming around the blind man's, arms encircling arms, back to chest.

"Since you're complaining about only feeling," Kanda muttered bitterly, his hands shoving something slender and cool in between the open and right hand.

Ignoring the spluttering protests, Kanda adjusted the hand around what Allen now knew was a paint brush. Slowly, Allen felt the move over to touch the small dab of oil paint, the smell making him sniffle, trying to focus on something else.

Like Kanda.

The younger stilled as he was pulled tighter into the stronger, the minute adjusting of muscles, the deep breaths Kanda took to steady himself, the fingers finding their usual curve.

Allen felt it all

The blind man swallowed thickly as he felt the wrist move beneath his thumb, the soft skin adjusting underneath the pads of his fingers, his back feeling the steady heartbeat drum slowly, his taking up a much quicker tempo. Kanda's breath was on the back of his neck, the young man having had something minty in the last hour, Allen's nostrils trying to focus on something else.

It didn't help.

Kanda's body smelt warm; whatever shampoo and soap were almost musky, with sweeter notes dancing off his body.

Were men supposed to smell so sweet?

Others around him had been appealing sure, some earthy and rich-smelling (if that was even possible). Tyki always smelt of expensive cologne, Cross of stale cigarettes and wine, and other band mates smelt of oil for their instruments and the coffee that was keeping them vertical.

Kanda was just… Kanda.

And God it was good.

Too good.

"I… I gotta go," Allen swallowed thickly, his hand on the wall guiding him towards the stairway as best he could.

"What!?"

The younger heard but did not still as he was grateful for the corner. His decision was impulsive and very stupid, but one he needed to make.

Now.

"You're the one that wanted to do this!" the painter yelled out, "what the Hell!"

"I got what I need for now," the blind man tried to remain calm, "next week?"

"Not if you're going to run off on me!" Kanda called out to him, "after I did all that for you!?"

"Which I greatly appreciate," Allen retorted, feeling very unlike himself as he managed to find the door left open, "but… inspiration, you know," he shrugged, "when it hits you, you gotta go with it," he turned to smile the general direction, "and I have equipment I need to write with that I can't bring here so… gotta go!"

"What the Hell!" Kanda shouted at him, "unlike you, I don't have all the free time in the world!"

"Well, when do you have free time next?" the younger asked, trying to figure out how long he had to let go some of the stress that was obviously manifesting in this way.

"Next Tuesday evening-"

"Great!" Allen loathed taking a leaf from Tyki's book by brushing off the other for your own desire, "see you then!"

"Oi!"

Ignoring the elder calling him back, the younger shuffled down the stairs as best he could, rather impressed that he did not tumble to the landing as he predicted, and almost bolted out the he could, rather impressed that he did not tumble to the landing as he predicted, and

Damn.

Fingers reached to dial the number pre-programmed into his phone, Allen praying that Kanda wouldn't chase after him, stomach churning into knots at the thought of his discomfort.

There was only one conclusion.

He hated it; he didn't want to think about it.

But it was so obvious.

Allen Walker really needed to have sex.

Maybe then he'd be able to focus on his work.

Or maybe it was time for him to see his councillor again, he always helped Allen out in those matters. A mental note made to call him after Tyki, Allen felt rather grateful that he had the foresight to ask the elder to stick nearby, given their past interactions. Though, it was more apparent that, until he sorted out his own "issue", the ones between him and Kanda wouldn't be getting any better.

So? I wll try to make more updates shorter I promise!

Reviews?