Summary: Kanda Yuu is just an assassin. The targets don't matter, and his feelings don't matter. That's the way it works. So why does it break him to kill someone who might as well be asking to die?

Whee more Yullen. facepalm. My muse must be pretty darn lively right now or something, I swear. Well, anyways, enjoy. xD

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Target

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"I'm back." Kanda strode through the towering ebony double doors without a second glance at the crowd around him. He climbed the large, spiraling staircase briskly without even a breaking a sweat, and when he reached the supervisor's office, he merely tossed off his bloodstained coat and the "item" – the proof of the success of his mission – onto the expensive mahogany desk. It landed with an echoing clang.

"Kanda, you're back? Good job. Why don't you have a rest?" The supervisor, an eccentric Chinese man with medium-length hair and thick glasses, adjusted his hat before rummaging through a large pile of paperwork on his desk. Kanda waited impatiently. After several minutes, the man's eyes lit up as he pulled out a thin packets. "Here, this is your next mission. No need to rush – you don't need to have it done until next month. Take a break first. It's very important."

Kanda's face merely twitched in reply as he accepted the papers wordlessly before gliding back out the office and towards his own room. When he reached it, he sank into the soft mattress with a tired sigh. He didn't like killing people, and it wore him out emotionally sometimes, but there was no other choice; he was an assassin.

His eyes drifted towards the package he had received, and he decided that he might as well open it while he rested. Carefully, he slipped a thumb under the fold of the envelope and pulled it open. Inside were a photo and a job description. For some reason, he suddenly felt as if he shouldn't get the papers dirty, so he quickly got up and hurried to the bathroom. He didn't like looking at his face in the mirror if he could help it, but he had to pass by it in order to get to the shower.

A flash of red caught his eye. He looked up. He had taken off his dirty, blood-splattered coat, but smears of red still covered his face and shirt. His sleeve was ripped. Absently, he lifted his wrist and trailed his fingers along the tattered fabric… it reminded him of the gash that he had sliced into his target's chest that morning. His target had been a disgusting old man who embezzled government funds in order to host elaborate banquets and employ hundreds of prostitutes. Disgusting. He lifted a finger to the blood on his face; it was the old man's blood. Red.

The sticky feel of blood on his finger made him snap out of his daze. He shook his head. He was merely an assassin, a tool of the Empire. The targets didn't matter. His fingers trembling ever so slightly, he grabbed the shower knob and turned it with sudden, fierce resolve, as if to drive the haunting thoughts out of his head. Water doused his head, and he quickly pulled himself away from the shower to undress. The feel of the warm liquid trailing down his skin felt too much like the sensation of blood splattering on his face, though, and he climbed out in revulsion as soon as he had managed to rid himself of all of the sticky streaks of red.

Numbly, he dressed and sat back down on his bed, the only piece of furniture in the small, dark room. The opened envelope was where he had left it; he lifted it by the edges, taking care not to touch any of the bloodstains from his fingers earlier, and gently pulled out the photo. His breath caught in his throat. A child. No older than thirteen, certainly. He had to kill a child this time? As his thoughts began to veer off in a dangerous direction, he closed his eyes and quickly suppressed them. It wasn't his job to feel for the victim.

After several deep breaths, he opened his eyes again and inspected the boy in the photo. Young, certainly. His eyes were entrancing – they were a deep, warm shade of grayish-silver, full of kindness and sparkling with mischief. So very much alive. His hair was a strange color, a snowy white, but it somehow fit him. It was light and feathery, and it glistened in the sunlight with an ethereal charm. Kanda shuddered as a flash of red entered his vision. His fingers flew to his face involuntarily, but there was no blood there. Of course.

Unable to look at the photo any more, he snatched at the papers, almost dropping them in the process. The target's name was Allen Walker, age fifteen. Fifteen? How odd. But that was none of his business.

He was the sole heir of the rich and corrupt duke, Cross Marian, who harbored too much power for the Emperor's comfort. Cross Marian could not be touched; but the boy, the boy would be the duke's downfall – without another heir, all of Marian's power and wealth would have to revert to the Crown as soon as he died. A crease formed between Kanda's eyebrows. He knew of Cross Marian, the infamous duke who had started a war for his personal gain, who nearly drowned himself in alcohol and women, who had sent hundreds of innocents to the hangman's noose because they had lost his favor. Cross Marian, he wouldn't mind killing. But the boy? He resisted the urge to glance at the photo. The boy had done nothing. He was innocent. Kanda clenched his fingers, creasing the thin, white paper.

He was just a tool. An assassin without a heart. He hadn't needed a heart since he had first accepted his new life at age ten, and he couldn't start now. He closed his eyes and breathed as slowly as he could for several minutes, calming the ache in his chest. When he thought it had subsided enough, he opened his eyes.

With a desperate edge to his footsteps, he quickly grabbed his sword and exited his room, heading outside as fast as he possibly could without attracting attention. He had to finish the target off now, before he could dwell on it any further.

The target's residence wasn't hard to locate; it was the largest mansion in the city. He entered through the relatively low-security garden without too much trouble and scanned the windows for any sign of the boy. None. Cautiously, he made his way through the maze of hedges and trees, keeping his eye out for a flash of silver, a streak of glistening white. There! That was unmistakably the target, sitting alone under a small cherry tree in full bloom. Asleep, from the looks of it. He carried such a delicate air that Kanda wondered whether he really needed to stab him; the boy might have died from a single breath of wind.

He shook off those thoughts – the action was becoming uncomfortable frequent – and slowly approached the target. Without warning, the boy's eyes flew open and turned directly to him. Kanda froze. He was hidden; he was an expert at stealth. This was no ordinary boy, then. No wonder the garden had so little security. No wonder he was the heir of Cross Marian. No wonder Kanda had a whole month to finish the job.

"Who are you?" The boy tilted his head curiously, his tone strangely polite, as if he were greeting a well-respected guest.

Kanda didn't say a word, waiting to see what the boy would do next. But those eyes – those warm eyes – just kept gazing at him, as if they could see straight into his thoughts. Those eyes were different from the photo; they carried an unmistakable loneliness, a deep sorrow that no boy of fifteen should have. Why? For whom? But Kanda caught himself again. He couldn't be thinking such thoughts.

Without warning, he charged, gripping his sword rightly. Almost instantaneously, he had crossed the distance between them and slashed out with his sword. The boy blocked expertly with an iron staff that Kanda hadn't noticed. He cursed himself for being distracted, but he had to admit that the boy was good. Maybe he was better than Kanda. Maybe Kanda wouldn't even be able to kill him.

"An assassin? I see, this is about my master, right?" The boy smiled at him, unnaturally calm and pleasant. Kanda scowled.

"If you know, then why are you so calm?" It annoyed him.

"My master's not a good person, I know that. He's done a lot of bad things. Shouldn't you be going after him, though? Not me?" Allen laughed lightly.

Kanda made an irritated noise in his throat. "No, the target is you this time. We can't touch Cross Marian."

Allen blinked and tilted his head. "Me, huh? That's hardly fair."

"The world's not fair," Kanda snapped, raising his sword to slash again. To no avail, of course; the boy blocked just as neatly and efficiently as before. Gritting his teeth, Kanda leaped back just in case the boy planned to counterattack, but he simply stood there.

Kanda sighed. "If you die, Marian's power will be severely diminished. It's as simple as that. So fight harder, damn bean sprout, or else you'll really be killed. You're the target this time." Why was he saying all this, anyways?

"Bean sprout?" Allen raised an eyebrow. "My name's Allen. Want me to spell it for you?"

"Does it really matter what you're called right now?"

Allen shrugged. "You said that if I die, Master's power will be diminished?"

"…Yeah." Kanda narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"I see." Allen glanced at his weapon and shrugged again, tossing it away. "That's fine, then."

"…what…?" K stared dumbly, not even able to register what the boy was doing. "What the hell do you think you're trying to do?"

He half-smiled. "I'm not Master's son."

Kanda had no response, not understanding what the stupid kid was trying to get at. He waited.

"Cross has done a lot of terrible things." Allen paused. "My father's death was a result of one of his actions, too. He was a nice person, you know. A traveling clown. He always smiled." At this, Allen smiled as well, tucking a strand of hair behind his ears. "I lost everything I really cared about that day. I don't really need to live. If my death will save someone else, that's fine."

Numb from shock, Kanda fell to his knees, but he didn't even notice the pain. What the hell was this kid saying? Did he understand his own words? The sword dropped to the grass with a muffled thud, and he began to laugh weakly with a hysteric edge. "What… kind of joke is this?" He noticed his pathetic laughter and began to speak angrily. "You're about to die! Do you not understand that? When you die, you lose everything! Your dreams, your future… God damn it all, fucking defend yourself, you stupid, stupid bean sprout!" In one swift motion, he grabbed his sword and lunged at the boy who was standing wordlessly in the grass.

Allen just stood there, making no move to block or even dodge. Kanda's sword stopped just inches from his face as his hands began to tremble. He tried to push the blade just one inch further, but the thought of that delicate face stained with red pushed itself into his mind, and a lump formed in his throat, choking him. Unnoticed, tears began to trail down his skin. Tears that had not formed since he had been ten, not for anyone that had died nor for anyone that he had killed.

"… I'm sorry." Allen's spoke soothingly, laying a hand on Kanda's softly. With gentle fingers, he pried Kanda's clenched fist open and took the sword. "It's too much of a burden for me to ask something like this of you." He wrapped a slender arm around Kanda's shoulders and patted his soft hair comfortingly, murmuring, "It's not your fault. This wasn't your intention at all, so it's not your fault."

Kanda's head snapped up at those last words just in time to see the sharp blade of his sword being raised to the pale skin Allen's neck. "No!" He had time to scream before a trickle of stark red broke the pale peach color of flesh.

The sword clattered to the soft grass without a sound. His breathing ragged, Kanda gripped the boy's thin wrist tightly, desperately. It's not supposed to matter if he dies. But it did, it does, it matters, it matters… A thin line of red slowly passed down into his vision, mocking him.

"… You…" Allen blinked, his hand unable to free itself. "What are you doing?"

"What… what am I doing?" Kanda's tone was harsh, bitter. He was filled with an inexplicable anger. "How can you just throw your life away like that?"

"I'm not throwing my life away," Allen sounded almost offended. "I have to power to save who knows how many people right now. It's not like I want to be a hero or anything, but my life… I can prevent so much more sadness."

"You think you can save people by dying like this?" Kanda's voice broke slightly. He ignored it. "Value yourself more! What about the people who care for you? Are you just going to die like that? Don't you have anything, anything at all that's precious to you?" His breathing was ragged and slightly frantic by now, but he did not raise his head. He didn't want to look at that face.

"… I…" The voice trailed off, uncertain. "If—"

Before he could speak, Kanda pressed a rough hand against the boy's lips. "My name is Kanda Yuu," he whispered viciously with a vehemence that shocked even himself. "Do you understand? Kanda Yuu. Now you have something to live for. And you're just a bean sprout whose name I don't know, so until I learn your name, you're not allowed to die. If you die, I really will forget your name. There, that's another thing to live for. Do you understand, stupid bean sprout?" He released his hand.

Allen blinked again. Slowly, a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "All right. But my name's Allen, did you hear that? Allen. Allen. Or is your brain not big enough to remember that?"

"Tch. Damn bean sprout." Kanda glared. "You're certainly acting cheeky now."

It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. I'm just a tool, a killer. That's it.

That wasn't right. He was someone's reason to live now. And that would be his reason for living, too.

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End. How was it? Felt a bit... melodramatic. D: Gah. The ending's a bit rushed, I think. I might edit it later...

Well, that makes two stories that I've ended with the name thing... I guess I just like it too much. xD Anyways, I'd like to know how you like it. :3 So please review!