A/N: a collection of works and their implications for Hei and Yin. A little early Valentine's gift to my readers. Enjoy.
A/N: minor spoilers.
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/Meaning/
Perhaps Hei was lured in by the idea of protecting something so small and gentle in nature. There were times when they were alone, and her eyes would suddenly flicker—as if she recognized him for the first time. And he could swear he was shaking under her stare.
Then she would lower her eyes, as if he had already rejected her.
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/Cape/
Yin wrapped herself in his cloak. Hei first noticed it when late one night, in a sudden fit of sweat and heat and nightmares, he woke by her side. She was curled on her side, silver hair in piles around her head, her body shrouded in his clothes.
She saw him and sat up, lifted those eyes quietly to his. "Bad dreams?"
He was intrigued; he did not mean to digress, but, "Do you know what dreams are, Yin?"
Unconsciously, she pulled his cloak tighter around herself. "Like my visions, I think," her mouth mumbled. She did not meet his eye. "Except they are not real. And they are more hurtful to you."
Hei blinked in surprise. Yin lifted her eyes to his again, and he reached out to gather her to himself, as he did only on rare and special occasions. Sighing, he said, as if to a child, "Yes, sometimes they do. Thank you for understanding."
"I wish Hei did not have to comfort me when he is upset." The words dropped from her lips carelessly, un-premeditated, as if she really meant it.
He wrapped his arms tighter around her, feeling somehow that she was strange and precious at the same time.
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/Instinct/
It was completely natural for him to throw his body in the way. The shot rang out, struck, hit home. Yin stood behind him, eyes widened, mouth slightly agape; she had not seen him move in front of her. "Hei," she called, but he was already by her ear, grabbing her in his arms, lifting, carrying her away, before she could stop to think or to fear.
"Fool," she shook her head at him later. He bandaged himself in their room. "You did not need to do that."
He slid his eyes her way, blinked slowly. "My needs have nothing to do with it, I think, Yin. It's just my knee-jerk reaction—as if I were protecting my own body naturally." And he had to smile, though he was discreetly stitching up his shoulder.
"But you weren't," she argued—
"You're right. I was protecting something infinitely more important to me."
She still turned her face away in confusion. "Contractors have only self-interest in mind, though."
He could make no answer.
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/Skin/
He kissed the inside of her wrist, where she was so pale he could see the veins. She smelled like sunflowers.
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/Daylight/
4:30 AM. Traveling was exhausting for Hei. He ate more (than usual), fought off sleep at all hours of the night, stretched his weary limbs and cracked bones and knuckles. He sat across from her now on the near-empty train, eyes directed on the scenes falling away from them outside. She stared dead-on.
"Hei, something is wrong." It was not a question: she knew him absolutely. He barely flinched, but she saw that too. "And you don't want to tell me."
"I don't want to worry you," he mumbled lamely.
"I am here to serve you, Hei. You need to allow me to perform my function."
Suddenly, he leaned forward, dark strands of hair falling dangerously in his eyes. A lesser girl would have been frightened at the sight of this usually gentle and soft-spoken young man so quickly and clearly angry. Yin watched him closely.
"Your function?" he almost growled. "Yin, what function? You are with me. We are together. I am here to protect you. There is no subservience here."
But she was already slowly shaking her head. "Hei, you know better than that." When he did not answer, she said quietly, "I am a doll. I cannot—"
"There is nothing you cannot do, Yin," he insisted. His eyes had softened only a little. "Please, just trust me. You don't have to be that anymore."
They were both silent. The minutes crawled by; the train kept on doggedly.
As dawn lingered onto the land, Yin stretched out a hand across the table to touch Hei's.
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/Bright/
He still blushed like a little boy. Sometimes, at random, despite his austerity and his viciousness, and her serious, nun-like, empty face—he stammered and blushed, as if he were ten years old with his hand in the cookie jar.
"Hei," she spoke his name then, with the corners of her mouth twitching upward. Her eyes smiled. And Hei's face only flushed deeper.
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/Moonlight/
She only took her hair down at night. She kept her magic bound with a purple ribbon by day, neat and prim in the face of constant danger. But at night—she came.
She seemed to alight from the sky itself, so bright was that glow of hair that streamed and curled and twisted—her skin mimicked the face of the moon itself, gleaming in the palest of lights, as if she were most real in the dead of night, when clowns and witches and magicians came out to play.
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/Endless/
Could it conceivably have been any different? Neither came from a happy home. Neither knew much joy, or knew much from their former lives. They only divided time into two categories: before and after. Between his scattered memories of a sweet Amber smile and of a face similar to his own—a female face that he longed to tenderly hold and cherish—Hei was trapped in the here and now, under-equipped to deal with his destiny. She, reduced to an insensate being, eyes dull and red as death, had only vague, cloudy dreams of ivory keys and a tall man standing beside her.
It was impossible, without some familiarity with the emotion, to have happiness.
But—Yin's gentle, random touches to his shoulder or hand—
And, oh—when he touched the soft down of her hair or made her flighty promises—
They knew they had each other, though they may be at a loss for time and place and purpose, and that had to count for something.
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/Blood/
The sight of blood made him sick, especially hers. Her wounds racked up, despite his attempts to protect her. Some wounds were real—the time that thug had the nerve to strike her across the face, or the time they had almost taken her away forever, and he had to carry her back to their safe house, broken and bleeding and silent. She had scars, long jagged ones and small faint ones, everywhere on her body, crawling across her skin like cursed insects—how dare you.
Other wounds were imaginary.
He woke too many nights, pale and limp and exhausted, emotional at the brief memory of Yin lying across pavement, a slack body with its blood splattered everywhere, on everyone, on him.
He dreamt that she was tortured, slowly, in new and inventive ways. Her hair stained red, her bright eyes a dull crimson.
He had visions of her body mutilated, but breathing, as he held her—and as he was powerless to stop the last drops of life from draining.
What—what if something did happen? What would he do? Where would he go, and why? What was the use of it? He would be hunted, likely charged with her murder—friendless, resourceless, and no plan or discovery could possibly be worthwhile enough to keep him in the world—
"Hei." Yin's voice was sharp and clear, but soft, almost a whisper.
He blinked; his eyes were bloodshot. She was sitting across from him at the café. He had been staring at his red Kool-Aid for the last twenty minutes.
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/Twisted/
He fell asleep against her neck. They shared a bed—but not an intimacy beyond gentle touches. Tonight, he fell asleep against her after inching closer and closer and closer—watching her and not feeling himself—till his nose was buried in the floral scent of her skin. Yin lied back against the bed as carelessly as if she were alone. When she felt Hei's soft hair under her cheek, she reached up a hand as if to touch him, but quickly put it back down. She heard him inhale deeply, then he threw an arm across her collarbone, locking her in place. Did he realize what he was doing? She doubted it. Hei was beyond exhaustion these days; she frequently saw him zone out.
Besides, it was kind of nice.
She liked the easy way his head fitted into the crook of her shoulder, and how silky his hair was against her. His arm was a pleasant weight on her body—dark skin streaked with scars against her bloodless skin. He smelled like a man, husky and brown and warm. Like the earth, sweet and firm and real. Yin closed her eyes and felt completely at home.
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/Present/
He bought her a bouquet of flowers for Valentine's Day. He held them out to her with a genuine smile, the first in days. They were purple irises—fitting. She took the bouquet and leaned in to smell them: sweet and soothing.
Hei leaned in, too. He caught her eye. "For someone who's been good to me. Thank you."
Her fingers curled, then she reached up and placed her palm against his cheek. It felt so cozy and right that he placed his hand over hers.
"Hei," she said, and on her lips, his name sounded like music. "Thank you."
A/N: this couple is actually pretty difficult. OOC is hard to avoid- reward me, guys ;) review