And He Said, a d.gray-man fanfic

And He Said.
Written by the loved birds.
Inspired & dedicated by BeLuc.

Jiaozi are dumplings.
Chaomian is "chow-mien."
Shishitou tempura are deep-fried batter-covered green peppers.
I have no idea how many lives Kanda actually has. I'm making numbers up.
And when Kanda says, "If you love me, Lavi, then I will come"—"love" doesn't necessarily mean romantic love.

Lavi remembered, vaguely, a notebook of all the beautiful words that Kanda has ever said to him—what did he do with it? He doesn't know, but what he does know is that Kanda does not say those loving, dotting words anymore. Kanda does not say, "Oh, Lavi, your hair looks like fire" because Kanda is not eight anymore. Kanda is eighteen.

Kanda has once called him sugar, honey, cabbage, honeydew, nutmeg, cinnamon, and bean sprout, and his heart hurts whenever he hears Kanda say that to Allen Walker. Maybe he calls Allen "bean sprout" because Allen reminded Kanda of himself.

Slightly.

He will look for that notebook, even though he'll waste his time on it.

(Even though the Earl of Millennium might kill him. Even though the Noah Family might kill you all—remember Skin Boric? Ignore, ignore, ignore—that what he said to himself as he dug, dug, dug through the piles and piles and piles and mountains of paperwork and books, books, books—all handed down to him by the Bookman—that old panda-bear, that old raccoon-faced shorty of a man.)

He promised himself that he will find that notebook, read it, love it, memorize it, and possibly torture himself over thoughts of Kanda, thoughts of that bean sprout (Allen, not Lavi). His heart will be sick from those love songs Kanda used to sing (horribly off-key, of course) to him to get him to sleep (or hit someone). His head will hurt from all those confusing traditional Japanese poems Kanda used to recite—(he said, "Learn it—you are going to be the next Bookman.")—and his fingers will hurt from tracing those words, over and over and over.

Sugar, honey, cabbage, honeydew, nutmeg, cinnamon, and bean sprouts.

Repeat, repeat, repeat.

Apparently, that notebook was not in his room—he knew that because he checked fifteen times, searching over and over and over—once, Lenalee came into his room and raised her eyebrows and she said, "Lavi? What are you doing?" Lavi didn't answer right away because he was currently throwing piles, piles, piles of his clothes onto his bed and he said, "I am, Lenalee, looking for a notebook."

"A… notebook?"

She won't understand, Lavi said with bitterness to himself. She doesn't understand because she can't understand.

"What kind of notebook?" she asked and he choked back a harsh laugh. So now she thought she could just barge in and demand to know what he has lost? It's his, not hers. His, his, his—his notebook, filled with Kanda's words. That is what he lost—and maybe he's lost himself and Kanda and trust, trust, trust. She paused before adding, "Was it dark blue?"

He stopped his clothes-throwing. He froze.

"Lenalee?" he said, slowly, and she winced, grimly. "Where did you find it?"

She absentmindedly pulled at her short, short, short black hair—she still hasn't trimmed it yet?—and said, just as slowly, "Kanda has it. I saw it when… you know. When… at breakfast." She played with her fingers as she watched him for any hint of surprise or any emotion. He had none. He reminded himself of Kanda, and that is what fills his mind—Kanda, Kanda, Kanda.

"Thank you," he said curtly and she smiled hesitantly and walked out.

"Oh, Lavi, your hair looks like fire." Eight.

"Are you okay?" Eight.

"I think you're very beautiful." Thirteen.

"Lavi? What's this word?" Nine.

"Lavi…? What happened to your eye?" Twelve.

"Lavi? Lavi—if you love me, Lavi. If you love me, Lavi, if you love me… —" Fifteen.

(Kanda thinks there's no way out of this war, but Lavi knew better.)

"Yu?" Lavi said at the doorway—Kanda's door was broken. He did nothing about it. "Yu?"

"What the hell do you want, Lavi?" he snapped angrily, staring at the lotus—a beautiful, beautiful, beautiful lotus in the middle of all this bloodshed—on his cracked desk. This is not Kanda—at least, this is not Kanda when he was eight and could care less about what shape the world was in. This Kanda—who was eighteen—cared. Cared so deeply that he did have the time to call you sugar and honey and… and cabbage and…

Lavi cleared your throat nervously and said, "Yu, would you, by any chance, have a notebook lying around somewhere?"

If he was surprised, then he didn't show it.

"No," he said in a bitter (I-have-the-last-word) tone, but the redhead ignored it and argue, argue, argue like you need that notebook.

"Yu," he said, "don't lie to me. Lenalee says that you do." He does not move or tear his gaze away from that damned lotus—was that lotus more important than you were? That bitter thought in his head didn't go away and he ground it out like this: "… If Allen had asked for that damn book, then would you have said 'No' to Allen? Huh?"

"Lavi," he replied, drawing up to his full height as he stood up—all 175 centimeters of him. "When will you get this straight?"

"What?" Lavi snarled. "Get what straight? That maybe you like—love, Yu! Love!—Allen more than you love me?"

"No, you asshole." Kanda sounded pained. Pained to the point of broken. He reached into his pocket and pulled out that dreaded notebook and handed it over to Lavi's shaking hands. "Keep it. I don't want it." He pointed to the door and growled in a low voice, "Out." All in perfect English—no accents, no slurred-over words, no stigma.

Lavi wanted to hit him. Hit him so hard that… that…

… When did he get rid of that accent?

Lenalee asked Jeryy to make her jiaozi and chaomian the next morning because she was missing China. She missed its daily markets and festivity not found in the Black Order—Kanda was probably missing Japan and its holidays, too. But what Lenalee missed most were the bright, colorful paper lanterns decorating the streets on New Year's.

(She thought about Daisya and about Turkey and Jeryy and India and Allen and England.)

Jeryy was done cooking her meal and she took it, offering a mellow thanks.

Now that she thought about it, Lenalee was sure that the Black Order was just some screwed-up plan to get people from different countries to work together, creating an "image" of "togetherness." She glanced at Lavi (who was wolfing down chicken noodle soup), glanced at Allen (who was inhaling his food at an unhealthy rate), and glanced at Kanda (who was picking at his shishitou tempura like he was anorexic or something like that) and decided that even though it wasn't very traditional in China, this was good enough for her.

This family was good enough for now.

Nothing could keep them apart for now.

Hopefully.

The akuma exploded as it was sliced in two, courtesy of Kanda. He panted, wishing that he had brought water, and looked to the east to watch Lavi and Lenalee and Allen. They seemed to have no trouble defeating the akuma and Kanda wondered what exactly was wrong with him as more and more of the akuma floated down to greet him—they seemed to always greet him instead of everyone else. Maybe they knew that he was more of a distance-fighter.

They floated closer.

Lavi, right of Kanda, stopped to take a break and wondered what his best friend would do. Curse was an option, but Kanda probably wouldn't curse unless he was angry—really angry. Or he could go berserk and start slashing anything that got in his path, but that would be wasting too much precious energy and, besides—he might miss.

He remembered the first time he saw Kanda die. He was carried on a stretcher after the battle—General Tiedoll was sobbing like there was no tomorrow, Daisya fiddled with his Charity Bell, and Mari looked away, silently brooding. Lavi cried. Cried, cried, cried—thinking that he would never, ever, ever see his friend ever again, only to be scolded by the Panda, and that Panda said, "Lavi, Kanda has more lives than that. Besides, who would die from something stupid like that?"

Kanda was thirteen when he first died, and Lavi was two weeks from it. He died, two more times, and then Lavi wondered, if not bitterly, How many lives does Yu have now?

The said-boy gripped his black katana tighter and instantly regretting doing so. He had broken his arm four months ago and it still wasn't healing as fast as it should've healed. Lavi eyed this and winced. So Yu's condition is worsening, right? Well, then, I'll just need to play the knight for now and save his sorry ass…

"Hey!" he called out quite cheerfully, catching Kanda's attention just as he hoped he would. "Yu! I'll take your place!"

Kanda smiled grimly and he said one word:

"No."

Allen momentarily stopped and if Lenalee were still on the ground, she would've fallen over. Lavi's eyes widened, and all felt silent—only the akuma, looming closer, closer, closer, and if Kanda reached out far enough, he could touch them. Allen was the first to recover.

"Kanda!" he yelled, almost desperate. "Kanda! Are you out of your damn mind? Your arm isn't healed, you've been limping, dammit—limping!—you haven't sleep more than ten hours the last week; your katana, Kanda! Look at your damn katana, Kanda, and tell me that you can do it. Let Lavi replace you—you're tired. You can't do this—" And at that, Lavi shrunk back at Allen's reckless words. One of the things Kanda hated the most was that a person told him that "he couldn't do it."

… Tiedoll. Tiedoll was the first to say so—"Kanda, your grip is lopsided," "Kanda, swing harder."

And then him—that bean sprout, that Destroyer of Time, that Allen Walker that everyone was infatuated with.

"No," Kanda repeated firmly.

No, he mouthed to Lavi.

Sugar, honey, cabbage, honeydew, nutmeg, cinnamon, and bean sprouts.

Repeat.

Kanda died again and Allen looked like the ghost of Mana was waving a very casual, very brief "Hello" and a tip of the hat. He must be wondering why Lavi and Lenalee and the rest of the Black Order weren't crying their hearts out.

"You see that tattoo above Kanda's heart?" Lenalee says in a sad whisper. Allen nodded—Lavi was holding his head with one of his good hands. "That tattoo… is what kept Kanda's heart going for all these years." She paused, as if testing new waters and asked Lavi quietly, "How many was that?" Lavi did not answer and the short hair on the back of Lenalee's neck bristled. "How many left, Lavi?!"

"… Two."

"T—" She placed her hand on her heart, as if she was startled—she had a damn good reason to be, too—and Allen looked confused, confused, confused, as if he were a mere child and they were adults; speaking in an entirely different language than he spoke. The clock—that big, big, big clock in the middle of the Order—tolled loudly, signaling that it was midnight. Kanda would not be pleased when he woke up, Lavi was sure of that.

(If he ever woke up—the first time took only five days. The second time took two weeks. The third time took a month. And this one… looked severe.)

"Remember?" said Lavi to Allen, explaining. "Remember that one time Yu got his left arm broken and it healed in less than a week? And now, this arm—the right one that he broke—it's still healing, Allen. It's taking more than four months." Kanda would be definitely pissed if he found out Lavi told the bean sprout. Lenalee looked heartbroken. Allen's eyes widened in disbelief.

"So he's—Kanda… he's—"

"Yeah, pretty much."

Yeah, he's dying, all right.

He won't lie to himself anymore.

It took two months for Kanda to wake up and by then, the Order was in shambles. He was a little surprised at the changes he saw—Allen looked scrawnier, Lenalee's hair was even more messed up, Komui's glasses were cracked, Reever's dirty blonde head was not as well-kept, and Lavi's hair continued to burn bright like fire, fire, fire and the light in his life.

His own hair has grown longer and Lavi tiredly hands him a pair of scissors and grins a weak grin and said, "Trim a little off." He did, and when he was done, Lavi leaned in—so close that Kanda could hear him shallowly breathing—and said, "Yu, I'm so tired. I've tired—tired so damn hard, but it's like I can't go on anymore, you know? It's—the Earl, Yu, the Earl—he's haunting us, and maybe that's his plan." His expression turned grim—something so unlike Lavi. "I think he's trying to kill you first."

"Kill me."

"Yeah—kill you because… because… then, you'll be just like us."

"What makes you think that?"

The clocking, tolling, and midnight rang through their ears and into their heads.

"Once," Kanda said, "Lenalee told me something like this: ye chang, meng duo—the longer the night, the more dreams we'll have." He offered a jaded fake-smile. "Although I'm not one of those prayer-type-people."

"You aren't? I've always thought you were."

"Were is the key word here, Lavi."

And he said; quietly, guiltily, "I don't believe in God."

These were the words that Kanda whispered into his ears right before the mission:

"If you love me, Lavi, then I will come," and he left to join Lenalee, leaving himself and Allen, feeling slightly awkward but strong, strong, strong because it's not every day that Kanda—Yu Kanda—whispers into your ears, "If you love me, Lavi, then I will come." Those words were a prayer for him, and Lavi clutched his hammer as if his life depended on it and Allen readied his Innocence.

Lavi grinned and Allen grinned back—this was so much better than I've-got-a-stick-stuck-up-my-ass Kanda who never smiled and when he did smile, they were fake ones—and nodded. Gravely. Bravely.

Kanda has once called him sugar, honey, cabbage, honeydew, nutmeg, cinnamon, and bean sprout, but now, in this moment, in this part, it doesn't matter anymore because there are akuma to worry about, not his friendships. His love life isn't at stake. His real life is at stake and Kanda will be so pissed if Lavi died that he'll probably take Mugen and shove it where the sun doesn't shine. That would hurt, Lavi decided, and decided to try his best not to die.

Allen looked ready.

They all looked ready.

They probably weren't.

Allen was knocked unconscious and Lavi couldn't get him to wake up.

Oh God, oh God, oh God. He was not the one that didn't believe in God—that was Kanda, dammit, Kanda.

"You're doing this to the wrong person!" he yelled up into the sky, praying for a miracle.

It started to rain.

And Lavi whistled. Whistled like he had never whistled before and prayed, prayed, prayed that over the din, Kanda could hear him just fine, just fine, just fine.

He did.

Kanda ran.

No—Kanda flew. He apologized to Lenalee who was doing excellent in exorcizing the akuma and so he didn't worry about her, but there were, however, two people that Kanda was afraid about: Lavi and that bean sprout. Apparently, the bean sprout fainted. Passed out. Either that, or was knocked unconscious, but whatever—Kanda wasn't a man that liked to linger onto those details. He saw Lavi's flame-colored hair and Allen's snow-colored hair and he whipped out Mugen so quickly that he nearly cut himself, but years have made him experienced.

"Fan him awake, Lavi," Kanda commanded like a military sergeant. He sliced open an akuma that dared approach him from behind and he paused. "Actually… no. Don't fan him awake because you are going to get your ass here before I force you to and you are going to help me, goddammit, because I think I broke my left arm again."

Lavi grinned and held his hammer, already wanting to feel the breaking of bones he would cause.

(And in the distance, both Exorcists could hear an angered Lenalee screech, "Sha! Si, yao guai!"—"Die, akuma!"—and Lavi's grin grew even wider as he swung his hammer around and Kanda yelled, "Mugen! Saiyaku Shourai! Kaichuu: Ichigen!"—"Invitation of Disaster! First Illusion: Hell's Insects!")

Kanda has once called him sugar, honey, cabbage, honeydew, nutmeg, cinnamon, and bean sprout.

He will call him "Lavi" for now.

Go.