In Allen's dream there is a desert, vast and dry. He walks across it as part of an army, a countless multitude swarming over the dunes, marching toward a destination he can't remember. They all have his face but none of them have his features, smooth and blank instead, the harsh red line of his scar all the more prominent for it. He feels like he's been walking for days, every breath painful in his throat as harsh desert air comes in and precious moisture comes out.

Eventually, his knees buckle, the sand rough on the skin of his hands and face. When his eyes open again it's dark and the sand has turned to silk; Kanda props Allen up against his naked chest and Lavi slides the back of his hand against Allen's forehead, checking temperature. It is no less warm here but the air is heavy with humidity. Lavi is saying something and the words flow like water from his lips; they are water, splashing cool against Allen's bare legs.

"Drink," Kanda orders, cheek against Allen's ear. Allen's throat contracts with thirst but still he rasps,

"There won't be enough."

Kanda's breath gusts out over his shoulder and Lavi shifts in, brushing Allen's hair out of his face, still speaking, saying something that Allen can almost but not quite make out.

"There's no one else here," Kanda says,

and Allen realizes that it's true; the army is gone, the war is over.

"Drink," Kanda says again and slides a hand down Allen's side and over his cock, firm, no-nonsense. Allen gasps and water fills his mouth; he swallows reflexively, lips closing around Lavi's. Kanda jerks Allen slowly and after a moment Lavi pulls away, smiling. He guides Kanda and Allen down and slides in against Allen's front, just as snug as Kanda is against Allen's back, cock pressing into Allen's hip. One of Lavi's hands traces over Allen's face, around his eyes, over his nose, across his lips, and Allen swallows panic, terrifyingly exposed.

It's too hot, and Lavi's single eye is too clear, and Allen has no one left to hide behind. Whatever Allen is going to say dies in his throat when Kanda presses his nose against Allen's temple. Something that Allen doesn't understand winds its way around the three of them, curling in when Lavi presses his lips to Allen's other temple, a signal to movement. Allen finds himself caught up in it, calm and inevitable, back and forth like waves lapping against the shore.

Allen wakes up just before he comes, body jackknifing, hand between his legs. "God," he says and slowly unfolds himself. There is no sign of the sun yet but the sky to the east is a pale pink. After a long time, he dresses and picks his way carefully down the stairs. When he reaches the dining room, he sees the table is already set in one corner, and Kanda stares quietly out the window with his hands curled around a cup of coffee while Lavi scribbles something on a notepad, face full of bread. Kanda's eyes flick to him briefly, then back again for longer as frown lines develop on Kanda's forehead.

"Are you sick?" Kanda asks. Lavi looks up and swallows, but doesn't say anything. Allen fights to keep his breathing steady and smiles, close-lipped.

"It's nothing," he says. The sheets will have to be washed.