A/N: It began with the title. Then I chose a fandom that I thought suited the title. And with that fandom came my favorite pairing. Hence, the creation of this random Laven oneshot. XD

Allen sinks lower into the moist earth, dirt worming its way beneath his fingernails. The night sky is wet with watercolor paints of charcoal, violet, indigo and navy, and dotted with twinkling white lights and orangey, greenish blobs: stars and planets. It's all so peaceful, outside of the ever-present gnawing of danger at the corners.

The bonfire in front of the Exorcist reminds him of this danger. The flickering flames are like Akuma: energetic, consuming, painful. He can almost feel the soulless waves of heat reaching out and burning up the night sky into grey ashes. He can almost imagine the world turning to dust, falling away and scattering throughout the universe, leaving only a scar in a solar system and nothing more.

It's on nights like these, when the breeze is fresh-smelling and cool, and the moon is broad and clear, that Allen dives into his darker thoughts and fights to swim back up to the surface. What would happen if he didn't do his job correctly? What if he cannot go up against the Earl, ultimately saving the world from further scorching? What if it all goes up in flames?

Then there would be nothing left, he reasons. Nothing to fight for, no reason to exist. All hell would break loose, and all that would remain would be a soulless pyre.

Allen shivers and wraps his jacket tighter around himself as he brings his knees up to his chest. He needs to find a way to erase these negative thoughts quickly, or else he might just break.

"Allen?" a voice calls from behind the white-haired teen, and he turns around to face Lavi, one of his close comrades. The redhead sits down besides him and inspects him with his single, piercing green eye. "Something's troubling you." It isn't a question.

The other sighs, because once again, Lavi is able to hit the nail on the head. "It's nothing," he murmurs in response, shrugging a little. "Just the same old depressing thoughts." He forces a smile. "Nothing major."

"You always say that," Lavi grunts. "'Don't worry about me, worry about yourselves! Everything is minuscule compared to my friends' problems!'" he quotes with a mocking smirk. He nudges Allen in the ribs, making them sore. "Come on, give it up already, Allen. We all know that you're hurting worse than any of us. So just admit it, and I swear that it will make your life a whole lot easier."

Allen laughs. He shakes his head, still smiling, and replies, "Alright, fine; you win, Lavi. I confess: my life sucks. Are you happy now?"

"Not really," Lavi says, "Because your life sucks. That's not something I should be happy about."

Allen freezes, a puzzled expression eating his face. Lavi sounds serious.

"In fact," Lavi goes on, "You might say that I want nothing more than to make you happy. Would you let me do that, Allen? Would you let me make you happy?"

Allen blinks slowly, as if he has to be thorough in his actions or else his eyes will never adjust. "A-and how do you propose to make me happy?" he wants to know.

The redhead grins. "By always being here for you. By making you laugh on occasion. By gripping your hand when you need support. By backing you up when you're in trouble. By holding you when you're lonely. And by kissing your worries away when you're overwhelmed."

The white-haired Exorcist feels heat from the fire burn his cheeks, but it could also be his own red blood cells. He isn't sure. He is sure, however, that he would very much like those things that Lavi is promising. "Please do," he whispers, because his voice doesn't dare go any louder for fear of collapsing in on itself. "I would be happy if you did."

Lavi grins. "Good, because I wasn't taking 'no' for an answer," he teases, and grasps Allen's hand long enough to give it a reassuring squeeze. "You won't have to think another thought about the world turning into a soulless pyre as long as I'm around."

And while Allen is about to question if Lavi had heard him muttering such thoughts on a different occasion, he is cut off by the Bookman-in-training's mouth connecting with his.