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"The only home that a man should ever need is within his heart."
Lavi suppressed the sardonic laugh that threatened to spill from his lips, instead coming out as an ungraceful snort. Running a hand through his scarlet-hair, the action difficult while laying recumbent, Lavi found himself unable to not laugh at the comedic irony of it all.
However, Lavi was not one who was trained to let his emotions take over for much longer than a few seconds. Throwing his elbow over his eyes, Lavi calmed in his breaths into an indifferent speed.
Indifference, the iron poison mask.
The night was still, tranquil almost, but Lavi could feel the pool of shadowy arms threatening to break free of their confines. Slowly, the arms snaked their way up his neck, suffocating Lavi, until he had no choice but to open his eye and peer into the dark night.
Memories whirled through Lavi’s mind, a vivid, immaculate, recollection. Sea green eyes blinked without expression, but hidden under the darkness, storms clouds brew.
“Bookmen have no need for a heart,” Lavi muttered to himself, outstretching his hand to reach for nothing. Nothing was an accurate way to describe the identity of a Bookman, Lavi mused silently. They had no home, no allies, no friends, no enemies, no love, no hate, and no heart.
Observing his hand, waving it back and forth, much like a fan, Lavi tracked the movements with his eyes. Retracting his hand, Lavi closed his eyes, replaying the movement in his mind like a broken record.
With nothing to call their own, what of the Bookmen constituted any semblance to humanity. Humans fought for what they loved, for their future, for their own worlds.
Like Allen, Lavi pictured the Allen’s determined steel eyes as the boy cloaked his white cape, a tribute to his resolve, picturesque in Lavi’s mind. The will to keep walking, for the sake of promises, for the sake of saving, for the sake of loved ones, Allen endured and walked.
Like Leenalee, Lavi recalled the mortified dread that had tainted purple eyes at the prospect of all her friends dying; details etched into his mind, Lavi saw Lenalee, crying in joy, wallowing in despair, and loving with all her heart. To fight for one’s friends, one’s entire world, Lenalee gave her body and soul.
Like Kanda, Lavi had recorded the stories of the man who loved so deeply that even when reborn, he sought out his love. Lavi knew of Kanda’s honour, his duty, his undying pride and love. Kanda would preserver through any hardship, forsake a common man’s joys, for the sake of his purpose.
Lavi’s frown deepened at the thought of the four. They were all so pitifully human, it churned Lavi’s guts. Purpose, promises, love, it was all too human. Stupidly human.
“Humanity is stupid,” Lavi clutched his eye patch. For years, Lavi had watched wars. 48 difference aliases, Lavi had masqueraded in, and all 48 recorded the truths of humanity that the greater world tried to hide.
The world’s best kept secret.
That humanity was idiotic.
In his time with each of his 48 different allies, Lavi had seen many different shades of humans. Their struggles, their preservation, their ugly, their beautiful, Lavi had witnessed it all with his single eye. Yet, despite the underdogs dreaming of brighter days, they soon became the oppressors after power had graced their heads. The victors patted their comrades on their backs, laughing, as piles of corpses piled behind, forgotten and unimportant.
Loving, killing, it mattered not the action, every human was capable of both, and every time the coin flipped, they continued to act as though the actions were shocking.
Lavi had seen enough of it that he could concluded that he wanted no part in humanity’s idiocrasy. Killing his heart was easier than expected, once Lavi realized that if he continued to mourn every human that turned tailcoat to themselves he would have gone mad.
The irony was a masterful comedy.
When Bookman had given his Junior his 49th allies, Junior thought it was to spite him. ‘Lavi’ his 49th name had meant ‘heart.’ Junior had decided, going along with the theme, he would wear the mask of who he used to be, when he had a heart.
It was difficult to remember what he had been like before he saw humanity for what it truly was. The number of masks that Junior had donned blended into his skin, till he could no longer tell what was part of who he originally was and what was part of the porcelain that he had created.
So, for Lavi, Junior had given the traits that he remembered his younger self to have. A curious, friendly, sociable youth, Lavi was designed to be.
However, when Junior had taken the name ‘heart’ he had not expected to be given a home, a purpose, or true allies.
In truth, Junior was still an ugly human. A human who selfishly wanted a home, friends, allies, and love. However, he could not stop recording, cannot reverse the truths that he had seen, and will not stop noticing tidbits of truth along the way. “The truths of humanity that I, myself, am weak to,” Lavi bit his lip.
When he closed his eyes, he saw many things.
He saw battlefields, massacre, experimentation, abuse, and death.
But, in the black world, those images always faded away into the archives of his mind.
Instead, replaced by the image of three sturdy backs beckoning Lavi to abandon his sagacity and stand alongside them.
He couldn’t stand by them because Lavi did not really exist. Junior didn’t know if he existed anymore either, Lavi having shattered fragments of Junior. Neither had come out of this war unscathed.
Both didn’t know what they were.