(A/N): Okay, so this is my first Yullen fic, and I wrote it because I felt particularly inspired a few days ago, but if you hate it, go ahead and flame anyway. *Doesn't mind*

Disclaimer: D. Gray-man doesn't belong to me, but I'm buying all rights to Allen on my birthday hehehehehe =D

Pfffffft. I wish.

I HOPE EVERYBODY HAS AN AWESOME CHRISTMAS (Because 'merry' just doesn't cut it)!

Allen had never really been one of those early bird (COUGHLenaleeCough) people, so when he pushed the warm covers mechanically over to the side before dawn that day, shivering as he went, he had to say that he was rather proud of himself. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he threw on his customary white dress shirt and black vest without pondering it too much, then tied a red ribbon around his neck in a loose bow. He knew Lenalee would only puppy-eye him into changing out of the attire later for the banquet, but for now, it didn't matter if he looked smart, or if the necktie was tight. Not a soul would be up at this hour to witness it.

So an open scowl beamed itself onto his face as he descended the last stair steps into the cafeteria, when he made quite an annoying discovery.

Because who sat at his usual table but the headache-inducing spoilsport extraordinaire, aka Kanda Yuu.

There goes my appetite, he groaned internally. But he stumbled toward the raven-haired samurai anyway, more out of irritation than anything else.

"You're not supposed to be up this early, BaKanda," Allen grumbled tiredly.

The samurai looked up from his soba (of course it was soba; what else could it be with this guy?) to glare at Allen, solid ice in his gaze. "I'm always up this early, stupid Moyashi," he growled, and said Moyashi promptly burst into a coughing fit, barely disguising the spluttered word "crazy". Kanda, gracious for once, decided he was in a good mood that day and overlooked it. "I train in the mornings. So why the hell are you here?"

Allen yawned, sliding onto the bench directly across from Kanda's. "Beating the rush," he slurred, laying his head flat on the table and closing his eyes. Christmas day breakfast was definitely an occasion to be missed, not only because of the crowds and the excitement and the rush and the buzz, but also because of the sheer amount of food Allen had to carry and eat or face untimely death by starvation. Coupled with the mob of people that trampled the floors of the place, it made to be a very uncomfortable situation overall.

Watching the white-haired boy carefully, Kanda just had to smirk at this new attitude; did he always look this drunk in the morning? But the usual glare returned as quickly as mice to a barn after the cat had gone out. Kanda didn't like disturbances in his morning ritual, and the Moyashi was most definitely causing one. He shouldn't be here, not now, anyway.

So, in response, he stabbed the mop of white hair with the butt of a chopstick.

"Leave me alone," was Allen's moaned reply. Kanda stabbed him again.

"Whaaaaa . . . stop it." The boy sat up slowly and blinked, glaring at the demon on the other side of the table through half-lidded eyes. "What do you want?"

"Moyashi, if you want to get up at my time of the fucking morning, invade my fucking personal space, at my fucking table, then get to your business and scram. Fast," he added as an afterthought in that familiar bored tone, the Kanda special.

"Well, look who's high-and-mighty," Allen mocked, sticking out his tongue.

Kanda stabbed him again, even harder, in between the eyebrows this time.

"Ow! Watch it, BaKanda! You could have gotten my eye!"

Kanda snorted. "Good riddance." Then he stared into his soba thoughtfully. Maybe if he aimed a little to the left next time . . .

And Allen had suddenly had very much enough of this. "Look," he said softly, giving simple reasoning one last shot. He just couldn't let the temperamental samurai ruin this day for him, that would suck. "This is probably the biggest holiday celebrated by people who believe in God in the world to date. It's bigger than Easter, for crying out loud. So it's also the one day when, maybe, we can set aside our differences for a few hours and just be friends, like normal people." Or maybe a little more than friends, Allen wished. "The saying goes 'love your neighbor', right? So if people believe in God, they celebrate that today. Don't you believe in God, Kanda?"

There was a silence after that. Kanda looked Allen in the eye. Allen looked right back. Then:

"Jews believe in God."

Tick, tick, tick . . . BOOM. It was that beautiful sound of Allen exploding.

"Darn it, just because you're a little taller than me and chicks think you're hot doesn't mean you are, and it doesn't make you better than me!" Allen roared. But you are hot, he added mentally. "People like being around me better, guess why? Because I'm approachable!"

Here we go again, Kanda thought sarcastically, restraining a grin. Why does he always set himself up for this? "Just because you're a geezer-haired midget doesn't mean you're allowed to make 'just because you're a-' statements around me. Don't forget it."

Wow. That was more satisfying to say than he'd ever thought it would be. Teasing the Moyashi was so damn fun that sometimes he just lost himself in it, waiting patiently for the other to erupt. It was also good to see the kid show some emotion for once, though it shouldn't really bother him that he usually didn't.

"So you're approachable, huh? Doesn't really change much. Anyone would still choose me over a scrawny midget like you, y' know? You can't do half the things I could, if you wanted to." Kanda flexed his arm experimentally, biceps bulging even more than normal in front of little Allen's face. Little Allen's beet-red face.

That last bit had been more of a flick than anything, really, but to Allen, it didn't matter. It was just as good as a push, and what little was left of Allen's restrained self-control knew it as it fell and crumbled upon his mental floor. With a snarl, he leaped on top of the table in what he hoped was a tough, threatening manner, glaring down at Kanda's bored-looking face with thoughts of sleep all but forgotten.

And just like that, he ruined the image he'd worked so hard to prepare, practically screaming, "Who's taller NOW?" at the BaKanda.

Meanwhile, Kanda was wondering just how far he could push the little beansprout this time (before boiling over himself, that is). Spark of curiosity lit, he decided to find out. So he too jumped up, but only onto the bench. That was all it took to be on eye level with the Moyashi, and it amused him to no end.

"Me," he replied evilly, his drawn-back fist shooting forward to make contact with Allen's jaw.

The shock on the white-head's face as he twirled and flew gracefully through the air on his way to the hard, unwelcoming floor was enough to make Kanda smirk again, even stifle a laugh. I win again, he thought in glee. As usual. Then: I shouldn't be taking this much pleasure in beating a bean to a pulp.

Aw, shucks, I guess that last part was just the author's wandering, Yullen-encroached wishful thinking. Too bad Kanda wasn't in any way a remorseful person. So instead, he continued to watch in sadistic glee as Allen finally fell with a plop and a thud and a groan. Here it comes.

Only the complacent smirk disappeared about fifteen seconds later, when the Moyashi didn't rise and lunge at his throat, like he'd do any other day.

Thirty seconds, and the raven's face was expressionless.

Forty-five, and the corners of his lips were turned down in a frown.

"Get up, Moyashi," he said coldly. Not a budge from the boy on the floor.

"Moyashi," he growled, trying again.

Nothing but heavy breathing.

Sighing resignedly, he stepped over the table in all his magnificent, graceful glory, glaring at the rapidly-cooling soba sitting there with lack of anything better to glare at. He poked the boy with his foot. Then poked harder.

Again, he didn't even stir.

How hard did I punch this kid? Kanda was beginning to wonder. If he'd put some special force behind the hit, he definitely hadn't meant it.

Then he caught himself regretting hurting the Moyashi, and regretted it. Why the hell am I even doing this? he thought angrily as he leaned down, closer to the white-haired bastard. Why do I even care?

Kanda made sure he was breathing down the kid's neck. He made sure his eyes were locked on the closed ones, frozen in a terrifying glare. Then, he said in the coldest, scariest, fiercest, softest, deadliest, most threatening voice he'd ever used, "Allen. Get up."

Then he frowned. The beansprout sure didn't look all that unconsci-

Allen's eyes snapped open and a very sadistic, very scary grin crossed his face, and he grabbed Kanda's collar to yank him sharply forward. Even before the samurai could draw breath to protest, the younger's lips were on his, and his tongue asked for, no, demanded entrance. Kanda could do nothing but grant it; Allen left no room for argument. In spite of himself, he closed his eyes to savor the moment.

Laughter bubbled up inside Allen's throat as he kissed his samurai. For a two-second plan, it hadn't worked out badly at all. Much better than leaping at him with fangs bared, anyway. He'd finally found the way to get back at the teasings, the taunts, the annoyance caused by the raven in a way that returned all of it inside a beautiful, neatly-wrapped package. Hell, it was more satisfying than he could have dreamed, seeing the shocked face of the usually stoic warrior above him, blinking in surprise. Absolutely priceless.

Then, just as quickly as it'd begun, it was over, with Allen pushing the elder man off him with surprising force packed behind his left arm. As an afterthought, he twisted around and wrapped his fingers around Kanda's collar again, making him almost believe another onslaught of kissing was due; he wouldn't have rejected it either, this realization being one that shocked him greatly.

And nothing happened the way Kanda had anticipated, or hoped for even.

That devious little grin had gotten a hold of the beansprout's face again. His fingers clenched into a fist, which drew back and back and back until it POWed straight into Kanda's perfect face.

"Merry fucking Christmas," he chuckled out, in a way so very unlike him it was laughable. He turned away and began walking toward a now-gaping pink-haired head cook, who'd watched the whole encounter, and was almost excited to give his enormous breakfast order to the man just to see how he'd react. Coming down here this early had become totally worth it after all.

Unbeknownst to Allen, or maybe forgotten by him, he'd just turned his back on a very disheveled, very confused, very enraged arch-rival BaKanda.

Big mistake.

(A/N): Well, to make this short, methinks Allen and Kanda are going to have one heck of an interesting Christmas day . . .

Review if you so desire. Or not. This really isn't my best work ever, so I won't be surprised if no one does.