Chapter Text
Lavi, Allen has come to find even with the limited time he’s spent with the man, is a living contradiction.
His aura is almost predominantly yellow, all the time, with a range from dull yellow to golden yellow, and the shift between is as fast as it is startling.
His aura always has an underlying hum of dark blue and turquoise as well as golden yellow, which he finds actually suits the bookman apprentice.
And worst of all, Allen thinks, is that he can’t tell what’s truly genuine half the time.
And neither can Lavi.
Because if Allen can’t tell from looking at the redhead’s colors (a direct reflection of what the person themself feels), then Lavi has literally no chance of deciphering it.
That, in itself, is worrying.
Lavi lives to contradict, switching colors fast enough to qualify as bipolar and sporting smiles that cut like shattered glass and shine bright enough to blind.
His hair blares carrot orange, full of life and enthusiasm, and his eyes glint jade, tired and jealous and underhanded.
His aura is almost always yellow, but his core is dark blue and turquoise, and Allen’s always found comfort in turquoise.
Lavi hurts to look at because Allen can’t tell what’s real and what part’s a mask, and he knows Lavi can’t either.
Shattered glass in a battlefield of broken shields and blundered armor with a cracked mirror beneath his feet, and even as each step makes another line and he looks down to watch it grow and join others and build beneath him until he falls through and drowns; he knows he’ll keep going because he’s done it dozens of times before.
When Allen looks at Lavi, he sees himself but honed and focused and apathetic.
It hurts because he knows he’s already broken, what it feels like, and he can’t let that happen to Lavi too.
Not again.
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(One day, Allen will find out how golden yellow Lavi’s core really is. Maybe, someday, Lavi will too.)