Her voice rings in his ears, echoing within the walls of his skull. He's drunk again, obviously, simple noises always intensified when he was intoxicated. German beer wasn't strong, but Russian vodka was. He's laughing like a madman in his brain, keeping his silence golden.
She's singing to herself at this hour in the night outside, almost dawn actually, on the roof of the base. She sings louder than usual. It's a sad song she sings. His heart wrenches with her articulation. She rarely sings in German. He rarely understands the songs she sings. Some of the words he doesn't understand in his drunken state, but he gets the meaning. It has to be a love song. It's a tragic sonnet between star-crossed lovers. It's another modern Romeo and Juliet.
With a burning throat, he opens balcony doors, the cold winter wind ramming the doors closed behind him. The alcohol forgets to remind him that he's not wearing a coat, or a shirt, for that matter. The snow had stopped, leaving the sky a clouded purple with the full moon. It was peaceful, the winter landscape. The bare trees look serene with a layer of snow covering them. The balcony had a foot of snow on it, covering his boots with every step.
She doesn't stop singing. The sun will be up in ten minutes, maybe less. Everybody else was asleep, pardon maybe the major, or the doctor. He thought about going to sleep, but he liked the base in silence, and decided to spend a couple hours awake.
Vampires are curious creatures, he thinks to himself, leaning on the railing. He looks up to her on the highest point of the roof. He didn't think very differently of vampires. It's a bad habit, he supposes, simply because they were so far away from everything he's ever understood. Vampires don't like the sunlight. They drink blood to survive. They're weapons to the military. He was too. Everybody was. The military could do anything with very little. Werewolves. Vampires. Humans. Everything.
There's a temptation looming in him to call out to her, but he won't. Silence is his closest friend, is it not?
Her song ends, and she staring at the sky in silence. She pulls her knees to her chest, resting her chin on them. She's in melancholy. There's no doubt that's she upset in some way.
The alcohol sings to him now, playing a strange lullaby. She's still in silence staring before her, maybe to the sky or the snowy landscape. Maybe a little bit further.
Sunlight orange begins to paint the sky, and she stands in her own narrow way, her boyish body straight, and her back stiff as a board.
She looks down to him with no expression on her face. They lock eyes for a few seconds. His heart melts a bit, but he shows no expression. She turns away, leaping down to the other side of the building.
He crosses his arms, looking down at his feet. His breath forms a cloud with every puff. It's strangely comforting. He certainly feels human.
There's a small knock at the glass of the balcony door's window, her shadow behind it. Her face is still expressionless.
He takes a few steps towards the door, stopping right before it. He looks at her through the window, taking in her big eyes and dark freckles. She has such a look of innocence. His hand goes to the doorknob, she takes a step back.
The wind throws the door open, some of the snowflakes ride in, falling at her feet. He pulls the door closed, leaving them in silence.
She runs into him, wrapping her arms around his ribs. She's breathing heavily, despite her still heart. His heart beats in his ears, thumping furiously. His hands go to her cheeks. She's cold as ice.
Her lips part slightly. They're surprisingly dark for her pale skin tone, and absolutely welcoming.
He gives her a small kiss, his arms going to her waist. Her lips are colder than she thought they would be. They always are.
She pulls away looking up to him. "You smell like alcohol…"
He shrugs, with the slightest smirk.
She lays her head on his chest. "The Major sent Jan and Luke to London today…"
He puts his chin on her head, taking in her smell. She smells like cinnamon. She adores the smell of cinnamon.
"It's all over isn't it? We're never going to see each other anymore. I have to admit I'm scared, Hans…" her voice is weary. Her fingers press into his back.
There is no denying that she's right. Completely right. She has every right to be scared. It's going to complete war. A dark, bloody war. Why can't she leave? Why can't she run away?
His arms grip her tighter, kissing her forehead.
"Ugh, Hans," she tips her head up, kissing him feverously, giving him a spark in his chest. Her hands go to his cheeks, pulling him in deeper. She's beautiful. She's sexy. He wants her, but he's also drunk, and she's upset. His head if fuzzy.
Pulling away, she doesn't look at him, and murmurs, "Stay with me today. I want to spend as much time together as we can."
He nods, grabbing her hands. Even through his drunk brain, he couldn't think of anything better than staying with her.
She starts down the hall, hand in hand with him, a hand in her pocket. He's warm. She's cold. They were the perfect opposites of each other. No other way to put it.
Opposites attract.
And the nights will grow colder.