A/N: Revised version. :D
-x.x.x.x-
lovekisstouchme
by mirakuru rein
-x.x.x.x-
I. can I tell you all the ways that I love you?
-x.x.x.x-
He doesn't love his hair, no, not that silky midnight blue river, that hair that everyone else seems to love and envy and want to touch at the same time. He doesn't love his eyes either – he thinks they look empty, empty – not his lips, not his neck, not his arms and legs. In fact, he doesn't love almost any part of Kanda. Loving Kanda is like loving a stone, loving a ghost – being in a cemetery of bad memories. But he does love those hands, those hands that grip and guide the Muugen blade through countless hordes of Akuma, those hands that run obsessively through that silky blue hair all the time, those hands that caress him at night when he's lonely and wants to feel loved. (Kanda can't sleep on cold nights – he crawls into bed with Lavi every night for body warmth. It's summer now, but it's become a habit, addicting, every night, wanting some more.)
He doesn't feel loved, he says, he's never loved, he can't be loved. But Kanda, Kanda with midnight hair and empty cold eyes and loving hands seem to make him want to feel that traitorous feeling again.
-x.x.x.x-
He hates that skinny waist of his, of Kanda's, that is. A skinny girl's waist, he would say. (a waist to wrap your arms around.) He hates the way he talks - arrogant, condescending - belying the surface. He's disgusted by Kanda's effeminacy – the only reminders he gets of the boy's gender are his eyes, sharp eyes that shoot daggers, an angriness ready to pounce. He's found that lately, though, in the cover of the silent darkness and layers of blankets, in the secrecy and confidentiality of the moon, he's been putting his hands on Kanda's hips and pressing his lips against Kanda's soft abdominal skin. This scares him a bit.
During the day, they don't talk about their evening closeness. In fact, no one knows except them. Kanda's forbidden him to say anything about it, and they avoid the topic like the plague. But Lavi, he's afraid - afraid - of their secret. He's afraid of Kanda and his hands that make him warm at night, regardless of the temperature. He's afraid of the way Kanda makes him feel. Two days ago Lavi started locking his door, barricading with chairs and furniture and anything else he could find. Yesterday Kanda fell asleep outside the door, his hand still grasped tightly in a fist, knuckles red from knocking. Tonight Kanda somehow found a way and climbed into the room through the window.
-x.x.x.x-
Lenalee, evidently, is the object of affection by all in the Black Order, but she only had eyes for a certain, hard-spoken Japanese boy with long, nightlight blue hair. She was entranced by his speech, his face, everything - about - him. It vexes Lavi in a way that he's not jealous of Kanda anymore; in fact, he's more jealous of Lenalee.
Lavi watches. He watches with eyes that hate the arctic of Kanda's. He watches Lenalee who loves Kanda, she loves him to the point of fatal obsession. It's a 13-year-old's obsession, unlucky and uncoveted in every way. She'll get over him in a year, but Lavi won't.
-x.x.x.x-
II. can I tell you all the ways that I want to?
-x.x.x.x-
"Touch me."
Lavi shivered at the sound of his voice. "What?"
"You won't touch me. You won't even look at me today."
They were on opposite sides of the bed, hanging on the very edges of a small twin-sized sanity.
"I don't want to."
Their fingers existed only inches from each other, and yet were so impossibly far away.
"Why not." Kanda's eyes didn't plead - they were blank with expression, yet there was still something to be expressed, Lavi felt.
He didn't answer, but retracted his hand from the almost-confrontation.
That night they fell asleep, backs turned to each other. That morning Lavi woke up alone, a Kanda-shaped impression on his mattress, the man himself gone, and somehow Lavi was disappointed with himself.
He didn't even know why he was.
-x.x.x.x-
"Love me, Kanda."
He remembers the day he said this – on his eleventh birthday, as his birthday wish. Kanda is short-tempered with short hair and talks in short sentences. On Lavi's birthday, Lavi met Kanda for the first time and had never really experienced love before. Love was an interesting concept. Love meant caring. He'd care about Kanda.
There was only one problem with it, though.
He said his wish out loud, when he wasn't supposed to.
-x.x.x.x-
Lavi seemed to trespass some unspoken contract, since Kanda wouldn't even acknowledge his existence for the next week. Nights were cold; days were colder, and Lavi felt empty like Kanda's eyes.
He asked Kanda one day – "Do you hate me?"
Kanda wouldn't let him see his eyes. "More than you know."
-x.x.x.x-
"Do you love me?"
"More than you love me."
-x.x.x.x-
fin.
-x.x.x.x-