Touches

Hair

Kanda might have stopped noticing whenever they were on the train alone, he'd stroke Allen's hair. 

Whenever they sat next to each other, the samurai would gently reach for a white strand. At first, Allen was tense and unsure of what Kanda was doing. But then it hit him, Kanda was doing this to calm himself. The gentle strokes, and rhythmic nature of his movements comforted him, and Allen understood that. 

Months, after months, of these encounters with each other, and the touches grew in number and closer together. If they were alone, the Moyashi would softly lay his head again Kanda's shoulder in fatigue. Kanda didn't mind this, in fact, he almost welcomed it each time it happened. And when their stop grew nearer, he would scowl. Because soon, he'd lose this simple closeness with Allen, and he loathed that idea. 

Somewhere, within the cold hard walls surrounding Kanda's heart, there'd been a breach. Sneaky little Allen Walker had made his way through the guards, past the gates, and over the walls like he owned the place. 

And for Allen? Well, Kanda had wormed his way through Allen's defenses and facade that he had put up to mask his fears and insecurities. But Allen wasn't worried, because he knew Kanda wouldn't hurt him. Though he seemed cruel, Kanda was a nice man. 

And so they grew closer, drawn by each others mystery and quirks. Call it what you want, Destiny... maybe fate, or even just plain old luck; but those two were in love. And the only way you'd know it, was by looking at how they touched each other's hearts in such a simple way. Like the stroke of one's hair, or a simple brush of hands.