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arimiaromage · 14 hours

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well guess I'll post the NeaPasta fic I won't finish lolll. I'm not used to writing in this format (I normally write in 1st person script format) so apologies for the scuff

a Bookman and a Noah find themselves together one moonlight night...

"Bookman, show me how to dance."

Allen turned around towards the voice with a wry look on his face. His expression was only somewhat hidden underneath his wide-brimmed glasses and the low lighting of night. Nea was leaning against an illuminated window sill, arms crossed. But instead of his usual cocky grin, a thin scowl hung on his lips.

"...Why?" The words left Allen’s mouth cautiously.

Allen squinted at him, trying to discern what kind of trick this was. This was Nea we’re talking about, after all. Despite being raised as a noble with more confidence than a king, Nea didn’t have an elegant bone in his body. The Noah—and Katerina—had long given up trying to set him up with a lovely lady. This had to be a joke.

Nea’s scowl turned into a grimace.

"Because the Noah want to have some kind of damn ball for our 17th birthday."

Allen put a hand on his hip. "And you didn’t protest?"

"..."

Nea’s eyes darted away.

"Mana agreed to it."

Allen sighed. There it is. Mana "agreeing" to it probably meant Mana thought it sounded fun, and with Mana so happy-looking there was no way Nea could just not go along with it.

Nea scoffed, fiddling with his cuffs. His eyebrows were upturned, but there was something more begrudging about his demeanor tonight. Something more... impatient. High strung.

Oh my God, Allen thought. He’s serious.

Allen sighed, "...And you think I’m going to teach you? Why not ask your family?"

"Not going to happen", Nea glared.

Allen rearranged some of the books on his desk, looking downwards to hide his grin.

"I’m sure Road would be happy to help."

"No."

"Why not wing it like you normally do, stepping on people's feet until no one offers a dance?"

"I’m leaving."

"Wait!" Allen interjected.

His voice was a little too quick, a little too loud. Nea stopped in his tracks but left Allen speechless.

A stillness overtook the room as the two silently stared at each other. Allen’s heart quickened by the second.

"...Fine."

He straightened up, pressing against his vest and fixing his posture. A silent sigh. Calm down, he thought—the two had pledged to save the world together, so how bad could a late night dance be? Nea was more than capable in a fight. A few choreographed steps shouldn’t be that hard for him.

Still... There was something rising in his chest. Apprehension? Trepidation?

Allen stepped towards a table against the wall where his record player was. A few moments later and a quiet hum filled the room as piano keys started to play.

He exhaled once more, slower this time. And then he smiled.

"This’ll be good for my notes. ‘Can Noah pick up any new skill or are they helpless to change’?"

Nea held his hand out, his typical confidence returning.

"We’ll see about that."

Allen took Nea’s hand in his, becoming self conscious at how warm Nea’s were compared to his own clammy hands. Despite all of his physical training, Nea’s fingers weren’t coarse—they were smooth and slender, just like a pianists’ should be. As if he’d never had to fight before. As if he really was just a rich kid. The feeling in his chest only became more pronounced.

Nea cleared his throat, making Allen almost jump. "And?"

Allen brought his gaze to Nea’s shoulders, but couldn’t manage any higher. It’s because Nea had such a strong gaze, especially up close- yeah, that’s it, Allen told himself.

"One person puts their hand on the other person’s chest or shoulder-" Allen laid his hand on Nea’s right shoulder. "-and the other puts their hand on the person’s back, below their shoulder blade."

Much to Allen’s chagrin, Nea cupped his waist in his hand.

Allen fixed his own posture. "Stand straight."

Nea muttered a curse under his breath.

Piano notes from the major key spun around in the moonlit room. Allen took the first step. He guided Nea past his desk, each step precise.

Allen's quaint study had at first seemed too small for the pair, but with his careful guidance, the room felt like a ballroom. Two steps to the left, one backwards, one right, two forwards, and so on. As the music calmed his nerves, he eased up and let the rhythm take control.

A Noah and a Bookman, hand in hand, for none of the world to see except the moon.

In the corner of the room, a haphazardly thrown together suitcase sat open. One half had books & snacks neatly strapped down while the other side had clothes strewn about.

Nea looked back at him. "Aren’t you leaving at the end of the month?"

Allen sighed, "I was, but it looks like I’ll be leaving this weekend instead. The sooner I’m gone, the sooner I’ll get back, though."

His gaze wandered off, looking past Nea.

"Another country, another war."

"..."

He feinted a small laugh.

"If my train gets delayed any, the war might be over before I even get there."

The pair made a turn together, maneuvering around a large oak desk. A glint crossed Nea’s eyes as he opened his mouth.

"What will your name be this time?"

Allen narrowed his eyes at Nea with a thin smile on his lips. "I can’t tell you that."

Nea frowned.

"Why not? I won’t be anywhere near the place."

"You’re not involved with the record. I’m not breaking tradition."

"What if I guess it?"

"Hmm... No."

Nea leaned closer.

"I bet you haven’t even figured out a name yet."

Allen paused for a moment. Bullseye.

"...I won’t be telling it to you, so what does it matter?"

Nea threw his head back and laughed.

"What does it matter? You’ll be on a train coming back to Edinstown before you come up with a name you like! You’re so damn picky!"

The music changed time signatures. Their steps quickened to match the new pace.

"I’m not picky! I just refuse to be called anything that’s not... fitting."

Even though he tried to choose his words carefully, Nea lunged at the hesitation.

"So is ‘Allen’ a fitting name or just something you settled for to shut me up?"

Nea’s eyes were penetrating. Although there was a smile on his lips, it was sharp, his words ready to cut any indecisiveness.

Allen stepped back, leading Nea with him. He tried to scoff the idea off.

"I went with it, didn’t I?"

Taking the lead, Nea guided him back towards the window. Their faces were illuminated by the moonlight, only further showcasing Allen struggling to come up with words.

"Because I insisted?"

Nea hadn’t insisted and knew he hadn’t, but it backed Allen up even further into a corner.

When the young Bookman junior had traveled to Edinstown several years prior, tasked to document the unnatural occurrence of the Earl going missing, he hadn’t a name for the mission. Each story required a new identity to go with the record- a new lie for himself to adopt that would be solidified as the name of the record. And yet, when he arrived in Scotland for presumably the longest mission of his life, he couldn’t decide.

Bookman had always told him not to get sentimental, that names were things to pick up and throw away at the drop of a hat. The only part of it that would stick was the name of the record. But even after years of having heard it, "Allen" found that hard to swallow. If anything, his travels made it harder for him to accept it as fact.

Names were gifts. They gave people not only a sense of belonging in their communities, but a sense of self. They cemented their existence.

"Allen" had long since thrown away countless names, but the people he had encountered in those times hadn’t. Of all of the people he had met prior, there had to be at least a couple that still remembered him by those discarded names. Right?

That brief sense of existential dread is what lingered over "Allen" as a young boy when he first walked through the town. What would he want to be known as for however many years he was here? For all he knew, he might spend the rest of his life working on this mission—the Earl was 7000 years old, after all.

Despite all of his late night pondering, he was introduced to the young twins without a name- something Nea couldn’t fathom.

"Why don’t you have a name?"

The Bookman junior shifted uneasily but made an effort to put on his best face.

"I’ll have a name soon."

Nea didn’t buy it.

"You weren’t born with one? Why didn’t your parents give you one?" He questioned.

Had it been an adult asking him this or a child even younger than him, the Bookman junior would’ve shrugged it off. But being pestered about it by someone his own age was something new and uncomfortable.

"They did! ...But I...I want to go by a different one."

How could he explain the intricacies of a Bookman’s life? He had seen enough to understand that his life was a completely different existence than other humans.

Seeing the Bookman junior’s discomfort, the older twin interjected.

"When you know what you want us to call you, just let us know."

Mana’s smile felt a tinge sweeter when put next to his brother’s uncouth look.

Nea flippantly shrugged.

"Yeah, yeah. Just don’t take too long."

And so, the junior stayed with the Campbells for a time without a name. A proper name, that is, as Nea bombarded him with nicknames, each sticking less than the previous one.

"If you don’t give us a name, I’m going to put ‘four eyes’ on all of your stuff."

The junior swatted Nea away.

"I told you to call me Bookman! Why isn’t that good enough for you?"

Nea just folded his arms.

"That’s not a name, that’s a title."

From across the room, Mana chirped in.

"We call the older man Bookman, so why don’t we call you Junior?"

He shot a glare at Mana.

"No. I’m not going to have people my age call me just ‘junior’."

Nea grinned.

"Sounds just like something that a junior would say."

The Bookman junior jumped to his feet and chased Nea around the room, trying to hit him with his book. It was hard to hear what he was yelling at him over Nea’s own laughter.

...

A strong gust from the North rippled through the wheat field, making the golden sea shine extra bright in the sunlight. Sunny days like these were soon to be a rarity as fall set in, but for the moment the boys enjoyed their time outside under the broad limbs of Cornelia.

The young Noah stretched out, yawning.

"I don’t wanna go."

He said this lazily, almost aimlessly noncommittal, throwing his hand out in swishing motion.

The Bookman junior sighed.

"The Noah clan invited you to dinner. It’s best if you attend."

Nea groaned, "But I don’t like them!"

The junior readjusted his glasses, trying to come up with the quickest way to end this conversation- the same conversation they’d already had several times over.

"You’re a Noah now. You can’t just avoid your family."

Nea snorted.

"Sure I can. I’m doing a pretty good job at that now."

With the strong shadows underneath Cornelia’s branches and Nea’s head being turned, the junior couldn’t make out his expression.

"...I don’t want to go without Mana."

Nea’s gaze was set on the far off horizon, ever out of reach.

His voice was quiet as he muttered, "Why am I a Noah?"

He reached his hand out. His fingertips grazed the golden wheat fluttering in the wind.

"What’s the point of me having a near immortal body if Mana can’t even leave the house?"

The junior looked down at the book in his lap and silently closed it. He’d heard people curse the heavens; he’d seen people pass away; he’d even been witness to mindless violence, all in the name of recording history. But there was something about Nea’s small voice that made him feel a tinge of shame.

He wasn’t a doctor, but... Sitting here under the broad shade of Cornelia, with the vast blue sky cloudless in front of them...

"I feel so helpless."

The words were uttered once and carried away in the wind as soon as they left Nea’s lips. They were never meant for anyone’s ears but the junior heard them regardless.

"..."

Allen looked out over the vast field ahead of them and then back towards the house where Katerina was attending to Mana. Out here, the problem seemed so far away...

"Then live for him."

Before he knew it, he was trying to comfort Nea. They managed to shift the conversation away, talking about the flowers blooming and what boring event the Noah would drag Nea to and even what was for dinner. Anything to get their minds off of Mana's looming sickness. —Anything so Allen didn't have to record those tears.

#dgm #dgrayman #neapasta #nea d campbell #past!allen #allen walker #d gray man #my fic #pastanea #yeah this is going to be left unfinished for Reasons

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