Title: if I die tomorrow please know this

Pairing: Yullen, LaviLenalee

Disclaimer: I don't own DGM.

Summary: Wherein Kanda takes Allen for granted. Thankfully, the stubborn party makes amends.

AN: I saw this particular turn of phrase while browsing reddit, and thought hey, this seems like a good prompt.

I'm not sure how I feel about this piece; it was interesting using a more choppy sentence structure here than I usually do, but I still have some reservations about the flow. The ending is rather cheesy (barf) but who doesn't love a happy ending?

Thanks for reading!

March 2015

By the banks of the glittering river Seine, Allen turns his eyes to Kanda's striking visage. Kanda faces the river, his long hair curving like a miniature sparkling waterfall over the crisp back of his white shirt. His jaw is set, and beautiful in its sureness and strength.

Allen stares unabashedly and tunes out the incomprehensible chatter around him. Kanda does not notice. He never notices.

"That guy is hot!" a girl says. She has a high-pitched voice.

Allen wants to turn to her, to agree, to say, this man is mine, so back off. But he doesn't. He wants to take Kanda's hands in his own, to see the universe in this man's dark, brooding eyes. But he doesn't. Instead what he does, on the spur of the moment, is take a deep breath, bite down his pride and take the plunge.

"Remember the padlocks we put up near this spot two years ago?" Allen says. Please say you remember. Please remember. Please tell me I'm significant enough for you to remember.

Kanda turns his head and looks Allen in the eye for the first time since they reached the Seine. They've had some thirty minutes of awkward shuffling, hands brushing and retracting and stale silence.

"What?" Kanda says.

"You remember them, Kanda? The padlocks we put up?" Allen asks. You don't remember? You really don't remember? Why are we doing this?

"Yeah," Kanda said, looking away again.

Allen deflates a little but determines to push on. "I love you," he says, grabbing Kanda's gloved hands.

"Why are you telling me this?" Kanda says. "And here?"

Allen looks down and fights back sudden tears. "I know we agreed not to take things too seriously but… it's been three years. I thought you might want to hear. Hear me say that, I mean."

"Hmph," Kanda says. "I'm not going to say it back."

"I know," Allen says. "I don't expect you to."

"Good," Kanda says. He pulls his hands away, stares out over the river and doesn't say anything else.

Allen wonders, not for the first time, if Kanda has ever loved him. The tears, they sting his eyes. The pain, it pierces his heart.

:::

May 2012

In a dingy dive bar in downtown Chicago, Allen eyes a moustached man with large biceps with disdain.

"He's checking you out," Allen tells Kanda.

"So?" Kanda says. "I don't care. As long as he doesn't talk to me."

"Honestly," Allen says. "I don't understand you."

"You don't need to," Kanda says, emptying his glass. "It's getting late. Whose room?"

"We can go to mine," Allen says. "I have a better bed. Yours is really intolerable. I couldn't sleep last night."

"Fine by me," Kanda says. "I'll get the bill."

Before he knows what he's doing, Allen grabs Kanda by the wrist. "Wait a minute," he says.

"Yeah?" Kanda says.

"I – we – Kanda, let's be exclusive," Allen says. The words come out in a rush, and Allen turns beet red.

Kanda leans back and raises his thick, well-groomed eyebrows. "Exclusive?" he repeats. He sounds neither convinced nor amused.

"I know we said at first that we should just go with the flow and not care about labels, but… I feel ready to commit to exclusiveness," Allen says. He blushes.

Kanda almost smiles. "I'm not ready," he says. "Our lifestyles make exclusiveness difficult, wouldn't you say, Beansprout?"

"I know, but –"

"We're fine this way, aren't we?" Kanda says.

Allen's gaze dips to the stained and worn tablecloth. "I guess you're right," he says. "We don't know when we'll meet again after this."

"Of course I'm right," Kanda says. He briefly ruffles Allen's hair, almost affectionately, and then gets up and walks to the counter, black leather wallet already in his hands.

Allen wipes away a solitary tear and follows after.

:::

June 2015

Allen swipes upwards as he browses one of his social media feed pages. An interesting article leaps out at him, and he clicks on the link. He reads the article, then lays his phone aside with a thoughtful expression on his face.

So the padlocks on the Pont des Arts bridge are gone, he thinks. How apt. We were never meant to last forever. How naïve we were… we had no name, no true status. We weren't even exclusive. We were nothing more than fuck buddies. What was I thinking?

I wonder where those two locks are now.

I wonder where Kanda is now.

:::

March 2013

They meet in France this time.

It's the tail end of winter – and Allen braves the still-chilly wind to pull Kanda along a touristy street. Men and women in woolly coats and puffer jackets speed past them, racing along the paths, their caps pulled down over their foreheads and scarves wrapped tight around their necks.

"It's cold," Kanda says as the wind howls around them. He pulls his gloved hands away from Allen's and tucks them into his coat pockets.

Allen flinches slightly as Kanda's hands leave his grasp. "Wait," he says, pleadingly, and then he forgets his sorrows as an array of brightly-coloured trinkets catches his attention.

"There're padlocks for sale over there," Allen says. He pulls a resisting Kanda over with him.

"What are those?" Kanda says. "Let's go."

"This is a special day! We're in France like we said we would be! Don't be such a wet blanket, Kanda."

"Beansprout –"

"Look at these two colours – don't they match?" Allen says, holding up a black lock and a white one.

"They look normal," Kanda says. "Can we go now?"

"Not yet," Allen says. "We're at the Pont des Arts, we have to do the traditional touristy thing!"

"No, we don't fucking have to do anything," Kanda says sourly.

"It's not just a touristy thing," the seller says, smiling. Her hair is white and wiry and there is a big gap between her front teeth; she is absolutely not intimidated by Kanda.

Kanda grimaces. The seller's smile intensifies.

"Let's do it since we're here," Allen says, almost pleading again. He grins at Kanda.

"Fine," Kanda says, glaring at Allen. "Hurry the fuck up."

Allen digs up a wad of notes to buy the two locks.

"Your keys," the old lady says, handing Allen the keys to the locks. "I wish you a very long and happy time together."

"Thank you," Allen says, and beams as he collects the change.

Meanwhile, Kanda snorts and walks on first.

:::

March 2012

In the Old Quarter of Hanoi, motorcycles zip past, navigating their ways through the crowded streets and busy alleys. The scene goes unnoticed by Kanda, who sits at a second-floor balcony of a quiet bar and glares at the beer in his hands as jazz music floats softly through the room.

"There's a cutie over there," Lavi says, returning from the washroom.

"What," Kanda says.

"I said there's a cutie over there," Lavi says. "Can't hear now, Kanda?"

"Fuck you," Kanda says conversationally.

"Yeah, no thanks," Lavi says. "Love you, but not in that way, and Lenalee would kill me if I dared to bone you, y'know? Don't want to anger her."

Kanda ignores the comment and looks around the room. "You must be blind," he says, "there's no one here."

Lavi jabs a finger over his shoulder. "The guy with the white hair," he says.

"That looks like an under aged kid," Kanda says.

"I saw him at the Water Puppet Theatre just now too. He was staring at you with his mouth this much open," Lavi says, gesturing with his hands and an open mouth. "He has the hots for you, Yu my good man!"

"Hmph. You don't even know what type he –"

"Oh, look at his jeans," Lavi said. "I do know. And he was staring at you, so that pretty much tells me everything I need to know." Lavi shrugs. "And he's pretty cute."

"Then go talk to him," Kanda says.

"My dear man," Lavi says, "I'm not about to proposition him. I don't swing that way. And don't forget about Lenalee and her crazy brother."

"Then shut up about how cute you think he is."

"Hey, I can appreciate a nice face when I see one," Lavi says. "I can be your wingman if you want, don't sound so sour."

"I'm not bloody sour," Kanda says.

"Yeah, but you haven't got laid in three months," Lavi says.

"How do you know that?" Kanda says.

"You told me when you were drunk last week, when we were in Ho Chi Minh," Lavi says. "I'm your best friend, I oughta know."

"Fuck you," Kanda says again, for lack of a better way of expressing his feelings.

"I know, I know, you want to fuck the cutie over there. I'll help," Lavi says, and slides off his stool.

The young man in question hasn't noticed anything – in fact, he doesn't notice anything until Lavi sits beside him and winks.

"Hello there," Lavi says, grinning.

"Hi," the man says. "Do I – happen to know you?"

"No," Lavi says. "But now you do. The name's Lavi."

"Pleasure," the man says. "I'm Allen."

"Nice to meet you," Lavi says, shaking Allen's hand. "You're British, I presume?"

"Yes," Allen says.

"Love your accent," Lavi says. "Now, Allen, I saw you at the Water Puppet Theatre just now."

"I was there, yes," Allen says. "It was lovely, wasn't it? They were really skilful –"

"Oh yes," Lavi says. "Oh – you might have noticed my good-looking friend over there, the rather feminine-looking one."

"Pardon?"

"Oh come on, Al," Lavi says, "I know you want him! I'm all ready to introduce the two of you, so come along."

"What? No – no – you're mistaken!" Allen says, spluttering.

"He's hot, isn't he?" Lavi says. "I'll introduce you."

Allen's eyes dart to Kanda. "I thought you were his –"

"No, no, no," Lavi says. He laughs and pats Allen on the shoulder. "He's my best friend. He's hot, damn it, but I have a girlfriend and I love her. And she has a scary brother who'll kill me if I dare to let even my thoughts stray."

"Oh," Allen says.

"So come on," Lavi says. "Don't be shy, Al. Kanda doesn't bite. Well, he glares and spits vulgarities, but you'll survive just fine with me around."

Lavi pulls Allen with him to the balcony seats.

"Look who's here, Yu!" Lavi says, shoving Allen into the seat opposite Kanda's. "Yu, this is Allen. Allen, this is Yu, but you'd better call him Kanda."

"Nice to meet you, Kanda," Allen says.

"Hmph," Kanda says.

Their eyes meet, and Allen feels the world around him fade away. He has never seen such darkly brooding eyes, never seen such a ferociously nonchalant expression on any other person's face. Allen's heart does the physiologically impossible thing of skipping a beat, and his hands go cold, his fingers go numb.

"Are you licking your lips yet?" Lavi says, laughing. "It's hard not to, eh? Yu is so hot."

"Shut up," Kanda says, glaring at Lavi. His eyes stray to Allen's, and he stares at the younger man.

"Oooh, I sense the tension," Lavi says. He winked at them. "I also sense that I am not needed around these parts right now."

Kanda reaches into his pocket, pulls out a key, and slides the key over the wooden table into Lavi's waiting hands. "Don't lose it," he says.

"Of course I won't," Lavi says.

"I keep it because you're idiot who loses things, for chrissake," Kanda says.

Lavi laughs. "I'll be careful today. I won't lock myself out, yadda yadda." He stands and smiles at them like a benevolent father. "Have fun, boys."

Allen watches Lavi leave. Their table is silent now, and Kanda simply stares at him with those magical eyes.

"What are we doing now?" Allen says, when he is unable to bear both the tension and the silence.

Under the table, Kanda slides a hand across Allen's thigh. "We'll go to your room," he says.

As Kanda's hand trails across the tight fabric of Allen's jeans, Allen feels the touch through the fabric, feels the yearning to be touched grow in the centre of his body, feels an unarticulated desire for the mysterious stranger to peel his clothes away from his skin.

"Now?" Allen says.

Kanda nods, his hand hovering just south of Allen's crotch.

Allen feels the desire well up in him, feels the tightening of his jeans. He stands, and they disappear into the night, away from the night-time revellers, away from the bustling night markets and road-side stalls and tourists wandering the tiny backstreets, away from the red headlights of the unsleeping motorcycles in the chaotic city of Hanoi, away from the curse of reality.

They wake the next morning in Allen's hostel room, a tangle of limbs and white sheets. Allen finds some of Kanda's hair in his mouth, and he pulls those long strands out and away from his teeth and tongue. Kanda smells good; he smells of soap and beer and green tea. Allen nuzzles his face into Kanda's neck, relishing the warmth of the other's body.

Soon, the room is bright with sunlight. The city is awake too, and Allen hears the calls of the street vendors, hears a blast of ballads from the neighbouring hostel. Kanda shifts beside him, and Allen feels the hard muscles of Kanda's chest rub against his hand; he stiffens and feels his need grow again.

"You want to do it again?" Kanda says.

Allen startles and scoots away from Kanda. "No," he says.

"I can feel you," Kanda says.

"It… just happened," Allen says. "I can take care of it in the bathroom."

"I can help you," Kanda says.

Again, even in the morning when the glamour of the dimly-lit bar has fallen away, Kanda's eyes are still breathtakingly deep. Allen drowns in them again.

"Well?" Kanda says.

"Yes please," Allen says.

When they are done, they lie dripping with sweat, again with their limbs tangled up.

"You're good," Kanda says.

Allen blushes. "You're – you're really – one of the hottest ones I've ever –"

"Yeah."

"Tonight – are you free tonight?" Allen asks. He doesn't dare to meet Kanda's eyes.

"I'll be here till next Monday," Kanda says.

Allen wonders if that was an invitation covering the rest of the week. "Well, I – where will you go next?"

"I'll be going home after this," Kanda says. "To London."

"I live in London too," Allen says. "But I'm rarely there."

"I'm rarely in London too," Kanda says. "Need to travel for work."

"Me too," Allen says. "Maybe we could meet up if we're ever in the same city again. After Hanoi, I mean."

Kanda nods.

:::

April 2015

Lavi ambles into the kitchen one rainy morning. His hair is mussed and random red locks fall over his forehead and into his eyes.

"Morning," Lavi says, yawning. His hands are filled with letters.

"You look like shit," Kanda says. "Where you been?"

"Of course I look like shit, I just woke up, like, five minutes ago, dude. And I went to get the mail, can't you tell? Someone," Lavi says, staring at Kanda, "hasn't been opening the letterbox."

Kanda shrugs and pours some oatmeal from the pot into his bowl. "Forgot to."

"I know," Lavi says. "I want some of that."

"I didn't cook your share," Kanda says. "Don't leech off me."

"Fine. Treat your best friend like that. Anyway, you've got a letter," Lavi says, tossing an envelope to Kanda. "Can't think why anyone would write to you..."

Kanda lays a spoon by his bowl and tears open the envelope. A small slip of paper falls out onto the table; the paper is filled with small, cursive handwriting which is irritatingly familiar.

"Who's it from?" Lavi asks, inching closer to Kanda.

"Stay right there, idiot," Kanda says. He picks up the paper and realises that the letter was written by the Beansprout.

Dear Kanda, he read,

While we were in Paris we agreed to meet again in July in Argentina. But now that I've had time away from you, I think we need some more time apart. You see, Kanda, the issue is one of commitment and dare I say it – love. We started out as fuck buddies, I can understand that. But we've had years behind us and we haven't progressed.

I can't live like this. Did these past few years mean nothing to you? Truly nothing? Am I stupid for hoping for me?

You know, I'm ready to drop the big L word. In fact, I did say it in Paris. You didn't seem pleased to hear it, and you don't seem ready for greater commitment. So let's call it quits for now, alright?

If you think over this and decide that you actually do feel ready for more – I'll be in Bintan in October. Look for me. Drop me a text or an email. If I don't hear from you come October, I'll know it's all over.

For now, take care.

Allen.

Lavi scratches his head and leans over. "This from Al?" he asks. "What's happened between the two of you?"

All of a sudden, Kanda doesn't feel hungry. He pushes the bowl of oatmeal towards Lavi. "You can have it," he says and gets up.

"Wait, Yu," Lavi says, standing too. "What happened? Are you okay?"

"Just eat and stop talking," Kanda says, leaving the kitchen.

Lavi waits; he hears Kanda's door slam.

:::

October 2015

Bintan is beautiful in October, in that golden month, in that last month before the advent of the rainy season. Allen lounges on his deck chair, soaking up the sun, watching the waves roll against the edges of the sand. He's been here for a week, and there has been no sign of Kanda. Allen has almost given up on hoping.

When the evening comes, Allen heads back to his room. A porter seems to be standing before his door – what does the man want?

"Excuse me," Allen says.

The man turns around.

Allen feels a sudden lump arise in his throat. "Kanda," he says. "You came after all."

"Yes."

"Why?" Allen asks, reaching out to touch Kanda; he gently brushes his hands across Kanda's shoulders.

"You set a deadline," Kanda says. "You clearly don't trust me."

"You're accusing me of having trust issues?" Allen wants to laugh, and he also wants to cry.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?" Kanda says.

Allen rests a hand on the doorknob. "First tell me what we are now." His emotions knot themselves together into a ball of tension and fear, pressing heavily on the bruised centre of his heart.

"I came," Kanda says.

"I want to hear you say it," Allen says. "I want strict proof."

"We –" Kanda says. "We need each other."

Allen smiles and gives Kanda a side hug. "I'm so happy," he says.

"You look ready to cry," Kanda says.

"I am," Allen says.

"Open the door," Kanda says.

Allen isn't satisfied yet, however. "Do you love me?" he asks.

The dim light in the corridor turns Kanda's face into a mosaic of black and white. "I – I love you," Kanda says.

Allen leans in for a quick kiss. "Can you say it again?" he asks.

Kanda frowns a most majestic frown. "I won't say it again, fuck you."

"Love you too," Allen says, and his heart unknots itself from the fear and the pain of yesteryear. This is where their life together begins for real, he thinks, and pure joy erupts through his body.

"Let's go in," Kanda says, reaching for Allen's hand for the first time.