It is October before they make it to Germany and the festival has already been going for a week, but there have been no incidents and it looks unlikely that any will occur for the remainder of the festivities. Allen's eye stays resolutely blue and Kanda palms the hilt of his sword irritably, and Lavi, whose idea this was in the first place, gets promptly soused the first night and looks to hold forth in that manner for the next few days.

Inside the tents the air is stuffy with good feeling, and Allen smiles into the mug of beer Lavi had set in front of him. His fingers are sticky with the remains of a candied apple. Lavi attempts to cut in on some ridiculous folk dance, hair band lost somewhere on the dusty floor and hair falling into his face. A girl giggles at Lavi's expression, and Kanda watches Allen lick his fingers with dark eyes.

A handkerchief in floral print comes down behind Allen's back and pulls him upright, the movement going to his head more than he thought it would, so he catches his balance on Lavi's arm. That isn't how the dance is supposed to go, Allen whispers with all the gravity of the mostly inebriated, but Lavi just laughs and replaces the handkerchief with one of his hands, guiding Allen through a series of complicated foot movements that Allen utterly fails at following. What do you think about me getting a mustache? Lavi asks instead, nodding over to the fat men in shorts in the corner. Allen is sure his look of horror is comical.

Now the handkerchief comes up and wipes a smear of dirt off of Allen's forehead, stiff with starch and smelling faintly of roses, and in the next moment Lavi's lips are playing over the corner of Allen's mouth. Sugar has collected there, from the apple, and Lavi's tongue swipes leisurely from one end to the other. Sweet, he murmurs, and Allen can feel the vibration where his palms are splayed against Lavi's chest. He lets Lavi nudge his mouth open and dip inside; Lavi tastes overwhelmingly of beer, heady and dark, and Allen makes a pleased sound into it. Look, is what Lavi says, so Allen opens his eyes to see Kanda's flash with something sharp and unidentifiable.

Then the room spins and one warmth is traded for another; arms grasp Allen's waist to keep him from falling and Allen's legs splay across Kanda's lap. The beginnings of a sodden panic settle in his gut even as one of his arms settles around Kanda's shoulders. Kanda's nose brushes against the hair over Allen's ear, breath deep and even; Allen's breath comes shallow and quick. Idiotic, Kanda mouths, irresponsible, lips feathering across Allen's cheekbone as Allen turns his head, stopping a millimeter away from Allen's mouth. Kanda's fingers tighten on his hips, hard enough to bruise. Get your damn boyfriend off my lap, he tells Lavi, you're wasting my time.