When Lightning Strikes Twice (KHR Fanfiction)

Chapter 20

Disclaimer: I do not own KHR in any way, shape, or form.

Author's Note: See bottom.

OoO

Alaude was annoyed.

Alaude was very annoyed.

He had come out expecting to have a nice, quiet training ground, perfect for a good bout of stress-releasing training. The last person he wanted to see- which, to be fair, would be anyone he saw at the moment- was the weakling's relative.

And the brunet dared to address him so flippantly?

He felt rage building inside him, and his restlessness only added to the flame. For a minute, all he could see was red, and so he subtly changed his body language to offense. He saw the man across from him change his body language too. He bared his teeth and-

He closed his eyes and forced his snarling temper down, replacing it with cool indifference. He was above such matters. He would not be controlled by his temper as he had so often been in his past. He opened his eyes and stiffly walked away from the wary man.

OoO

Had- had Alaude just walked away from a fight?!

Lambo stared, dumbfounded, as the skylark, who was fairly vibrating with untapped energy, walked away, heading towards the far end of the training field until he could no longer see him.

Well.

That was different.

Hib-

Nope. Nopenopenope.

He mimicked the blond's previous actions and shut his eye, forcing his memories down until he could no longer see them.

He sighed and leaned against his tree, feeling the rough bark dig into his bandages. He swore under his breath and eased away from the rough surface, feeling pain run up and down his back. He maneuvered himself so he was lying on his stomach in the grass. It was, despite his ribs, the most comfortable position to be in.

He sighed again and turned his head to look at the blades of grass, musing upon his methods of coping. He knew that it wasn't healthy to do push everything down. It would explode and hurt others around him.

Perhaps it was time to come to terms with their… Passing.

He didn't want to forgive and forget, nor did he think he could. But he knew he should accept it, at least.

It wasn't as if he hadn't accepted it, per se. He knew that they were- they were- dead. He knew that they weren't coming back, and that there would be no more smiles or laughs or fighting. He also knew that he hadn't actually come to terms with it. He avoided thinking about them, to the point where he didn't even let himself think their names.

Perhaps it was time to explore the memories. In doing so, he would open his wounds, (hopefully, but not probably, because he was far from a master in the mind arts) clear out the infection, and stitch back up neatly. Then, when he had a relatively sound mind, he could leave Italy and carve out a living for himself somewhere.