Fortuitous Blunders

Allen Walker

I owned a lace thong.

It was something I wore when felt daring, or when I thought I'd get laid. Two days ago, it was the latter.

The key word there was thought.

It didn't happen. The guy took one look at my arm and ran with his tail between his legs like the coward he was.

I should've known.

My face was enough to keep most people away, and for those who were feeling adventurous, all I had to do was remove my shirt before they hit the road.

I really didn't know why I was even trying anymore. It was useless to hope.

Going back to current problem though: I'd lost my thong in the Laundromat.

Or maybe I'd dropped it somewhere along the way. That was also a likely scenario. I'd have to retrace my steps and hope to God that no one found the thing before I could throw it in the nearest trashcan and ready myself for life as a virgin.

Lifting my basket of clothes, I tipped everything out onto the counter below, and began moving clothes out of the way to check if it really was here and it hadn't just been hidden by some other article of clothing. Holding up a shirt, I glared venomously at my bare hands -because who wore gloves while doing the laundry? Wet gloves were uncomfortable and this was my apartment complex, so I didn't give a damn about who saw my arm-. This was all that stupid black arm's fault. If it didn't exist, I'd probably be rolling around in the sheets attatched at the hip -or somewhere else- with a boyfriend or girlfriend or whatever else.

I furiously threw the shirt back into the basket, blinking back hot tears and hating myself for how easily I cried.

As if this situation wasn't embarrassing enough.

"Is this yours?"

My gaze connected with a dark blue one that watched at me with a mix of dark satisfaction and interest, and I felt myself shiver.

I'd seen this guy around before. He had a nice face, along with a body to die for. His hair was long and held up in a high ponytail, tied with a red rope. His black turtleneck was skin-tight, hugging a firm stomach and strong arms. His tight navy-blue pants did the same to his legs.

Yum…

All in all, he was perfect.

And he was holding my thong.

"No," I squeaked, inwardly cursing at myself. Smooth, Allen. Real freakin' smooth.

He smirked, then pinched both sides and pulled, fully displaying the item for me to see, and my eyes automatically traced over the all-too-familiar black lace front and the string that made up the back. "It's not?"

It was mine, and he knew it. He'd been in the room when I'd removed my wet clothes from the washing machine his own basket now sat beside, so there was no way he wouldn't know.

"It isn't," I told him, my defensive tone firmer this time. I wasn't ready to give in just yet and let myself be humiliated like this, especially not by someone this good looking.

We remained locked in a peculiar silence, one in which left me sweating the longer he stared.

He really is hot…

I realised belatedly that I hadn't hid my deformity. Biting back my panic, I tucked my left hand behind my back.

Then, and only then, did I scowl as I came to the bitter realisation that after all that had happened, I was still trying. Still trying uselessly to hide my ugliness. Still blindly struggling -hoping- for someone I could one day call mine.

It was revolting. I was tripping over myself at the first bit of eye-candy that gave me the time of day.

Watching him still, I didn't fail to notice him drifting closer, but I kept my mouth shut, even when he moved his cocky self to stand right in front of me. He was in my personal space, way closer to me than what I was used to.

"Too bad it's not. You'd look good in it."

My face grew hotter, my cheeks burning a bright red. "W-what… did you just…?"

He leant in, hands finding their place at the edge of the counter on either side of my hips, preventing my escape. He was proving to me that he was the one with the upper ground in this conversation. He was the one in control. "I think you heard me, Moyashi," he purred, eyes never leaving mine.

"I'm… My name is… erm… Allen." I wetted my lips, my body trembling. "It's not… ah… I'm not a… beansprout."

The satisfaction receded, approval taking its place. "Hn. Yu Kanda." His tone made it sound like he was pleased with something. "And do you have a last name?"

"O-oh! Walker! My name is A-Allen Walker," I stuttered out, trying desperately to hide my eagerness. I didn't want him to know how much I wanted him to keep going. I didn't want him to know how much I craved the attention he was giving me.

"I'm Four-H. You?"

Four…H?

The number and letter swirled around in my head as I tried to make sense of them -because I knew they had to mean something-, but I didn't understand. Not surprising, considering that my circuits was practically fried right now. This stranger had turned my poor brain into goo.

Thinking on it a little longer, my heart clenched painfully within my chest, and in that split second, it clicked.

Room number! Wait… What's my room number?

"Uh…" Awkwardly, I slipped a hand into my back jeans pocket and tugged out the card to my apartment, eyes hastily scanning over the information printed on that little plastic rectangle. "Four-B…"

He cocked his head teasingly to the side, lips stretching themselves into a grin that should have scared me, but only left me wanting this even more. "So you are on my floor."

I gulped, squeezing the flimsy card in my hand to bring myself back down to reality because there was no way this was really happening.

I saw that gross mass of veiny red squeeze the card.

I'd used my left hand.

Mind numb and blank, I dropped the card, and heard it clatter to the ground as plastic met tile.

Kanda frowned, the intimate mood he'd generated draining fast.

I'd ruined it.

I'd ruined everything, again.

Brain suddenly working in overdrive, I shoved my hand back behind myself, looking away from him in shame.

The face I showed then was one that expressed my guilt and pain, along with the regret I felt at having ruined my latest chance so early on, before it had really began

Then again, maybe it was better this way. Maybe it was better for me to kill my emotions before they had the time to take root and sprout into something that would only leave me suffering.

In the end, it would hurt less this way.

There was another silence, but he broke it -and surprised me- by crouching and retrieving my card. Standing back up, he gave the card a quick onceover, and then held it out to me. "Here."

Startled, I flinched, unable to comprehend his actions.

Where was the disgust? Where was the anger? Where was the panic? Where was the swearing? Where was the yelling? Where was the blow that would leave a mark in a place so obvious I'd have to cover it with concealer? Where were the rude gestures? Where were the hands that would shove me away the moment I tried to explain myself?

Why was he once more looking at me with the same flirty stare as before?

In realising that I wasn't going to make the first move, he did instead, inserting the card into the front pocket of my jeans.

My shock only increased.

He was willingly touching me, even after he'd seen.

Tentatively, I brought my hand back out, clenching it and holding it to my chest. I looked up at him questioningly, fearful and curious and confused, wanting to know if he really didn't mind, or if he hadn't actually seen, or if he was messing with me, or if he wa-

"Relax," he whispered, the word travelling up and down my spine, echoing around in my head pleasantly, shushing the intrusive thoughts. "You look fine."

I felt blood rush to a place I begged it not to go, but it didn't stop. It continued on its path, leaving me as rigid as what lay in my pants.

He was close. Like, really, physically close. Unnaturally close, even. As in, his-nose-was-touching-mine kind of close.

I felt like pinching myself. Here this sexy god, having seen my arm,was hitting on me, and I was acting like the little virgin I was under his eyes, which looked like they were undressing me.

That train of thought didn't help my little problem in the least.

I felt each of his individual exhales and inhales on my lips as he breathed. His breaths were slow, as opposed to my quick breathless ones.

I wanted him to touch me. I wanted him to take me.

I wanted this person.

His dark eyes flicked to the door, and he made a noise of annoyance.

My head snapped to the side at the sound of muffled voices from the other side of the door.

Dread crept up within me, turning my insides cold.

Not now. Please not now! Don't ruin this. Not when I finally…

Kanda lowly chuckled, his hand brushing my thigh and effectively stealing back my attention. "I guess I'll see you later, sprout," he said, straightening back up. And wow he was tall. At least a full head taller than me for sure. "Oh yeah." He pressed something wet into my left hand, gave me one last lascivious smirk, and went back to the washing machine.

See me… later?

A child pushed open the door, a cranky look on his face as he whined to the woman behind him about having to go to the restroom.

Cheeks still warm, my heart running marathons, I glanced down, staring owlishly at the bunched-up ball of lace and string in my hand.

He has my room number.

[end]

This was inspired by an OTP prompt I saw on Tumblr.