Characters/Pairings: Kanda/Lenalee, mentions of others
Word count: 773
Notes: For the prompt "D.Gray-man, Kanda/Linali: Scents trigger memory - Jasmine tea and peach blossoms" over at springkink. Not prony or kinky, but I actually really liked it.
Despite being an avowed pessimist, even Yuu Kanda had to admit to possessing a very small, very tightly guarded trove of precious memories.
"Are... you... girl... too?"
The little boy's eyes widened in horror, then fury as the broken English tumbled out of the younger girl's mouth. His master refused to let him carry his Innocence around while at headquarters, otherwise, he would have drawn on her. "Are you stupid, girl?!"
The little girl didn't cower at his outburst, she merely blinked. Then she smiled, eyes full of tears. "Girl... yes." She flung herself at him, holding him tightly. "Leenalee... is name."
Poleaxed and still furious, but without a razor-sharp reply, he didn't hug her back. But he couldn't bring himself to push her away, either.
The small room he rented looked much like his room back at the Black Order -- sparse and seemingly uninhabited. Save for a single table, where he kept a shard of Mugen, a lotus petal sealed between two panes of glass, and a red filigree button with a name etched into the back of it that wasn't his.
Lenalee smiled as she entered the mess hall. "Good morning, Kanda."
A grunt was his only reply as he took his tray from Jerry's window. He sat at his usual seat at his usual table, and muttered a phrase in Japanese under his breath before breaking his chopsticks apart.
He refused to look up when she sat down in the seat across from him. She didn't say anything, either; he heard the faint clink of her silverware as she ate her breakfast. But a strong, floral scent finally forced him to look up, toward the cup on her tray. "What is that?"
She blinked at his growl, then followed his gaze. "Oh, jasmine tea." She picked up her teacup and offered it to him. "Would you like to try it?"
Kanda grimaced. He knew the British fucked up tea beyond recognition, but he had no idea the Chinese did it too. "No."
One side of the room had a small woven grass pallet with two cushions on it. One appeared brand new.
She had come to ask him for a place to hide, masking the plea in a request to meditate with him. He had let her in, with every intention of ignoring her presence as usual, when a booming voice calling her name passed through the door.
She flinched and stepped closer to him, breaking the routine just as Leverrier's presence broke the unspoken rule that the Inspector never ventured into the Exorcists' wing. Kanda settled a hand on her upper arm, uncertain, now, of what to do. "S, sorry," she murmured, staying where she was.
"He shouldn't be here."
He felt the tension in her arm ease as her hair brushed against his chest when she nodded. "Thank you, Kanda." She glanced up at him, tucking the errant lock of hair nervously behind her ear. His free hand followed the path of her fingers, and she closed her eyes. He told himself he had merely been curious. He never comforted in the traditional sense, but she had stopped apologizing for intruding ages ago.
She lifted up on her bare toes and kissed him just as he leaned down and kissed her.
She smelled like peach blossoms.
He made his bed every morning, and placed the "knick knacks" he kept in the table drawer before he left. If no one thought he lived there, no one could take what was important.
All he had done was fallen asleep. All she had done was the same. He missed his morning training session, and his idiot master had sent Chaozii to fetch him. Lenalee had been between him and Mugen, so instead of dying messily -- and silently -- as he should have, the ex-sailor's loudly stammered apology and flight had started the gossip wheels in motion.
Komui had found a mission that sent him and Marie to Belarus.
They returned just in time to help repel the last of the assault on the Order. Walker and the Earl killed each other; Kanda had had to threaten five people before someone told him Lenalee had died protecting Bookman Junior, for all the good it had done. The redhead hadn't survived his injuries.
There was a park across the street from his boarding house. Every February, he would spend a day beneath the small cluster of budding peach trees with a cup of tea he never drank.
The rest of the year, he tried, in vain, to forget her.