Waiting.
Silently, ever so quietly, Sitting against this wall.
Alone again. . . It's not a such a surprise anymore.
After all, you've always ran away from me. . .
From your own feelings. From happiness.
We were perfect together.
Never did we hurt one another.
Play fighting, yes, but never in seriousness.
Makes a person wonder what happened.
What did happen. . .
Can you come out of hiding to answer this?
We were in love. . . at least I was. Am
Who cares if you think it's wrong, I never thought so.
Apparently you did.
Why is that?
What's wrong with two people being happy together?
I say nothing is wrong with that at all.
I guess I won't ever change, like you said.
Hell, I'm sitting outside the place you wanted to meet,
And then you never showed up, skipped town. . .
Maybe I'm hoping that you'll turn up here.
Or perhaps I'm a fool,
A big one at that mind you.
What's even more pathetic, it's been a whole fucking year. . .
Kanda shivered in the cold wind outside the local tavern. The cobblestone streets were worn with use, and filthy from lack of cleaning. The lamp posts were dimly lit, providing little light to see with, put was efficient enough. There was a bench next to Kanda, but he preferred to sit cross–legged on the ground. He shivered again, as his thin wool blanket was not enough to keep his body temperature warm against the freezing cold. Sighing, he put down his pen and notebook beside him, and proceeded to wrap the blanket more securely around himself. Still shivering, but not as bad as before, he reached out to get his book when it was snatched from off the ground by a pair of gloved hands. Not yet processing what has happened, Kanda sat there looking at the spot where the book should have been.
In its' stead, there was a pair of expensive looking black slacks. He let his eyes trail upwards from the slacks, eyes finding a well tailored pin-stripped black suit, coat unbuttoned to reveal a white dress shirt with a red ribbon neck tie, and a gorgeous man with white hair, a scar running up his left eye, and a very interesting black top hat, with a silver ribbon around it, tied into a big bow and the front. Kanda also noticed that the man had silver eyes too.
'How absurd,' Kanda thought to himself, ' the man's hat matches his eyes. And yet . . . he seems oddly familiar.' Then, out of the blue it hit him. This strangely attractive man had his book in his hands. His book about Alma.
"GIVE THAT BACK YOU MOTHER FUCKER!" Kanda screamed in rage, trying to grab his notebook from the odd man. The albino merely chuckled, and stepped aside as Kanda fell flat on his face where the other man stood seconds before.
"It took you that long to notice that I had taken your book. I'm quite surprised. I thought you were smarter than that." The man, satisfied to rile up the Japanese man. Seething with anger, Kanda got up, and gave the albino man his worst death glare, since his body was weak from hunger.
"I have to say," the man started, "I thought you'd have more fight in you." The man smirked, closed Kanda's book, and sat on the bench next to where Kanda was standing.
"Che, you're not worth it moyashi." Kanda sat down on the other end of the bench, crossing his arms. Promptly, as if waiting for the chance to speak, Kanda's stomach let out a long, drawn out growl. The albino on the other end of the bench burst into laughter. Holding his stomach, and wiping the tear from his eye, he said, "Why don't I get you something to eat, I'm hungry myself." Said albino stood up, smiling and offering his hand to the man that had attempted to throttle him for taking a silly book.
"Che. Give me my damn book back then, moyashi," Kanda growled out, refusing the hand. Sighing, the albino held the book over the Japanese boy's head, "I won't give it back if you don't let me buy you dinner," The elder smirked. Kanda weighed his options, go to dinner with the strange man, or never see the book again. . .
"Fine, I'll go but don't try anything funny," Kanda said, venom dripping off of his words. 'I really hate this guy,' He thought to himself.
The albino man held his hand out to the bitter Japanese man, and smiled a smile that would change the other male into a creature that can love, and in return be loved. Of course they never knew that to begin with, they found that out along the way, through all the troubles, all the laughs, the sadness, the anger, and the doubt, they found something irreplaceable. . . real love. Not the love that bends, breaks or withers away. A love that starts with something as simple as a smile.
