Kanda finds Lavi in the hidden room, dust all over and murmuring distractedly to himself as he rummages through a mountain of books. "Hold this," Lavi mutters, thrusting a pile of books into Kanda's chest. He runs his fingers through his hair and sighs. "Now. Wait. Are you paying me a social visit, Yuu? I'm touched."

"There's something wrong with him."

"With the horse?" Lavi asks absently, already searching again and pulling more books out. "Bound to be someone in the village; call him out." He adds the books to the stack in Kanda's arms. "Is it Capitaine? Please tell me my Capitaine is not ill!" Lavi says with mock horror. Then he snorts. "Aw, there now, Yuu. Just like the good old days back at school."

"Allen." Kanda scowls. "He's obviously ill."

"Not ill, I don't think."

Kanda sighs and waits, but Lavi doesn't offer anything further except more books. "Maybe he has—consumption."

Lavi turns around, a wry smirk on his face. "Consumption, eh? And what has brought you to that conclusion, Dr. Kanda?"

"I'll shove these up—"

"All right, all right, look. Bring them in here instead." Lavi points at the door and follows Kanda out, then closes the door to the hallway before speaking again. "Pallor, maybe; fever, cough, no. Not consumption. Allen's always been fair. I don't know, Yuu, what do you think is wrong with him?"

Kanda looks at the books he's holding. The one on top is in a language he doesn't recognize. "What are these?"

"The only reason you would possibly be interested in—" Lavi peers over Kanda's shoulder—"that is—well, trust me, you wouldn't be. I haven't decided if it's Cross himself—"

"Maybe it was contagious." Kanda frowns at the books and sets them down on the floor next to Lavi, who has sprawled back into his chair at the desk, a thoughtful look wandering over his face. "Cross's . . . disease. How do you know he doesn't have fever?"

"Because—he just doesn't. And Cross's illness couldn't have been. Maybe you should talk to him."

"About what?" Kanda hadn't really considered it. Allen seems to be caught up in his own affairs, polite but distant. From the size of the estate, Kanda had supposed it was only natural, and the way Allen frets and fawns over his fiancée is only complicating matters. He doesn't know what Allen could have been thinking, taking on such a needless added responsibility at the worst possible time, but it's not as if Allen has ever thought things through before he acted upon them. Kanda adds romantic fool to his mental list of known things wrong with Allen. "How do you know it wasn't contagious? Allen—trotted around with him for three years and then—"

"Very unlikely." Lavi licks his thumb and starts paging through a stack of papers with his scrawl on them. "He doesn't talk much these days; maybe you can manage it now without killing one another."

Kanda snorts. "I'm not interested."

"In which? Killing him or talking to him?" Lavi's eye glimmers with something unreadable when he looks up. "It's a little bit . . . disconcerting, yeah?"

Kanda watches Lavi's hand, riffling through his papers again. "What?"

"You're being an idiot on purpose now, right?"

Glaring at the back of Lavi's head, Kanda asks, "Why don't you do something, then?"

"I've talked to him. But I'm not in the habit of rearranging people's lives to suit my tastes," Lavi mutters at his notes.

Kanda's fingers curl into fists at his sides, but Lavi doesn't look up again, even though he is too still, the rise and fall of his back even and measured with each breath. Kanda offers him a slam of the library door on his way out.