D. Gray-man, Allen/Lenalee, promised future, on the last page
On the last battleground, nothing alive or whole for miles around, Rinali found Allen with his word dragging on the ground, eyes blank and dark as she flew through the air to alight next to him, breath coming harsh and fast. "Allen," she said, and when he turned, dark eyes haunted and too-wide, she ran to him, her arms going around him, her face pressed into the curve of his neck, lips moving against his skin.
He felt solid and real and there, in her arms, and she could have cried from the sheer, shuddering relief that it rocked through her, her thighs aching, the hint of smoke clinging to her hair, the echo of the devastation she left in her wake searching for him.
His arms rose too slowly around her, and when he whispered her name hoarsely she lifted her head and kissed him.
"Rinali," he breathed, and then her name again against her lips, and then he was holding her tightly, the sword shifting into warm inhuman flesh. And she curled her hands into fists in his coat and pulled him close, mouth opening against his, kissing him hard and deep, pressed against him like she was trying crawl into his skin. He was holding on so tight it almost hurt but she didn't say a word, just sank to her knees and dragged him down with her, and his hands dropped to her legs--feeling her ragged hem, skimming along the smooth surface of her thighs to check for wounds--and she shuddered against him.
"Rinali," he said, so soft, eyes dark and fierce, and she answered, "touch me."
He did. They were too hungry for comfort, or even grace, too desperate for touch to go slow and careful, and Crown Clown stirred around her legs, lacing up behind her knees as the thin sharp curl of his Innocense wrapped against the small of her back and she pulled him against her, eyes fluttering shut as he pushed deep inside, gasping out his name.
They were smeared with ash and the sun was rising and in that brief, evanescent moment he was all the promise of future she needed.