It was a bleak wrung out hour where the moon hung high in the sky obscured by clouds, turning even a beautiful evening into a morbid lonely night.
Perhaps a long night drive would have felt nice, but not today, not tonight.
Allen slumped in his seat across from Link, the bright fluorescent lights inside the Taco Bell turning his skin pallid and dry. Allen traced the lid of his soda, running his thumb over the plastic ridges over and over.
"Please," Link said, sitting ramrod straight with his shoulders stiff. "Just... say something!"
"What do you want me to say?" Allen asked blankly, focusing on his straw, tracing the condensation down his drink. They were the only ones in the place aside from the three workers, who glared at them, too tired to ask them to leave but not enough to stop burning holes into their heads.
Link opened his mouth, hesitated, licked his lips, and closed it.
And all Allen could see was Link falling apart under searching hands, eyes fluttering close and mouth opening in breathless moans as M-
Allen slammed his fist into the table, knocking his drink over. Link scrambled to pick it up, slapping napkins over the spilled drink. "Honestly!" Allen snarled, "Honestly!"
Link flinched, hands tightening in the soggy napkins, and Allen resisted the impulse to slap them and his hand away. And then he folded in on himself, shying away. Ashamed.
Allen's lip curled in disgust, and it was good. Anger was better than tears, better than begging.
"How did it start?" He demanded.
"How?" Link asked, wide eyed and looking so terribly attacked, as if he were the victim here.
"Yes, Link, how? Tell me, when did coming to see me turn into fucking Mana?"
Link paled and sucked in a breath sharply, as if Allen had slapped him, and in that moment it felt good to hurt Link using the words that burned on Allen's tongue. "Go on, tell me."
It was cruel and Allen was thriving on it.