Just… a bunch of LaviYuu. Some friendship. Some romance. Some utterly cracktastic.

Because it doesn't get enough love. Series of drabbles, snapshots, etc. UnBETAed.

When you smiled, he smiled

When you cried, he cried

And when you withered and spoke in soft tones;

'I think I'm dying'

He pressed your hand to his chest

Where a heart didn't beat

And replied

'Then join me'


He hates him.

But the way they portray things outwardly, anyone will say it's the other way around. It's not true.

Lavi hates him.

He hates those black tresses and those cold grayish blue eyes, he hates that triumphant smirk that will grace his pale lips when he's pleased with something or taunting someone—whichever.

But what the redhead hates most of all is that he's the only one that wasn't ever (ever, not in a million fucking years and then some) convinced.

He never took in the too-brilliant smiles or the forced laughs or the attempts of the eye-patch sporting Bookman's apprentice to be happy, hearty and whole—because Kanda knew all too well that he was far, far from it (a million starlit miles, too far to reach because yes he bledbrokefelt just like everyone else did).

The reason Kanda glares at him so icily whenever they're in the same room is because he knows Lavi's faking (he can see right through to where he's transparent, more of an open book than anything the to-be-Bookman's ever read). And the reason the redhead tries and tries and tries so hard to be his happiest and most teasing around him is to somehow convince him that maybe, maybe it's not fake.

Kanda Yuu was many things, but not stupid.

And Lavi despised being figured out when everything was supposed to be a convincing lie.