HEY! So, I haven't been able to upload anything on here for a few months it seems like and I'm fairly out of practice. So, instead of taking on my other two fics (and no doubt royally effing them up), I decided to type up this incredibly short, weird thing.

It's not really like anything I've ever written before... so we'll see what happens I guess haha...

... Awkward laughter...

No flames please!


Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Heck, I don't even own my car. It's leased. Double sadface.

Warnings: hints of malexmale relationship; train-of-thought writing style, so not everything will be grammatically correct, but there shouldn't be anything too distracting; kinda angsty; established relationship


"In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again."

―Lewis Carroll


He chased after each picture, one by one - watched them get swallowed into the pit of darkness below:

Yuuki.

A hand resting delicately at the back of his head, fingers firmly but gently tangled in the twisted hairs that curled a few inches above the nape of his neck. They guided him forwards and forwards until his lips would meet ivory flesh that always emitted an overwhelming aroma of lilac and orange blossoms. There wouldn't even be a flinch when he greedily dug his teeth into the innocent and undeserving soft skin.

Cross.

A stern expression, deemed shallow and forced in a single look. After all, it wasn't hard to see that beneath it were happy lines that crinkled the skin around eyes full of unbridled love and the flesh along the outer corners of his mouth. Said strictness would never last for long, or at least, not when it was directed towards him.

Ichiru.

Hollowed lilac orbs that held such an unbearable sadness - one that only he could even begin to understand. Similar appearances aside, they were different. These down-turned lips look nothing like the ones from his bathroom mirror. They weren't bitter with resentment - they weren't vengeful. In them, one could see melancholy, yes, that wasn't different, but something else was... Forgiveness. It was palpable, and unrecognizable to he who had never really witnessed it in so pure a form before.

A juxtapose of faces and the memories carefully strung alongside them filled his mind, flashing before his eyes and greedily demanding for his full attention.

And that's how he saw them, too. Rushed, clumsy blinks of images that, had new ones not already formed to replace them, might have made sense upon closer examination.

His parents.

The warm breath of a lullaby tickling just below his jaw, accompanied by a pair of equally warm arms wrapping protectively around his body. A square, masculine jaw, made up of nothing but harsh lines and angles, and yet, in the very center, as if framed by the edges, lied a thin-lipped smile.

Yagari.

Gruff and calloused, half-assed insults that said everything the man couldn't. A disapproving glare, a disappointed sigh, but those kind, unspoken words were always there, hidden beneath cloth, painted across his right eye in a no doubt gruesome-looking slash.

An unwavering gaze that made him twitch uncomfortably with an unexplained and sudden contempt. The forming of a crooked grin, and his entire being would shake with uncontrollable spite. It was like he was being looked down on - it was the pair of blank, wine-colored irises that made him unsure of his conclusion - and for some reason, he just cared. When it came to others, he didn't - he just ignored it; he ignored them. But that smile? Those eyes? He couldn't, and -

It wasn't always that way. It changed. He's not sure when, but it did. It was different. So different. Like something from an entirely separate existence.

Gentle caresses hidden beneath a mask of sheets. Late nights and early mornings when the sun still lingered sleepily on the horizon, casting vibrant rays of violet and magenta in the otherwise dark, bleary sky. Soft satin against even softer skin - the slick red and unblemished ivory forming a startling and stunning contrast. A pleasantly deep rumbling in a chest - its tiny vibrations tickling his cheek and chin, though he would not for the world lift his head from that very spot. Slender, lithe limbs with sinewy muscles, that tangled up in each other about as often as the blankets surrounding the two figures did.

A brush of the lips, chaste and innocent like the sensation was merely caused by a passing breeze.

Another brush of the lips, only this one isn't innocent at all. Pale hands. Piano fingers wrapping around wrists. Hot, heavy breaths against his ear. A tongue moving over blue ink.

The scene shifts, as does the mouth. Now, it's on his - slow and heated like molten lava. He wants to suck on the lips. Wants to run his teeth over the flesh, knowing that it will be an abused red and searing when he's done.

And he does, and they are. But it doesn't last. Nothing does. They all have to disappear into the blackness eventually.

Zero knows this story by heart. How could he not?

He remembers each and every moment like it was painted on a canvas for him.

He remembers all of it - chocolate eyes, the flashing of glasses, a gilded bell tied loosely to a pale pink string, the astringent smell of cigarettes as well as the mouth-watering one of apple pie, the feeling of absolute content. The feeling of absolute despair.

No, nothing lasts - not even if you wished with everything you had that it did.

And that's why, he tells himself. That's why he left.

It had nothing to do with cowardice. It had nothing to do with his fear of the unknown. It had nothing to do with those forbidden mornings where he would wake up and wonder just where the fuck his life was going, and just how the fuck he was going to be able to fall asleep to another day of blissful ignorance.

It was doomed from the start. They both knew that, and for a long time, they pretended they didn't.

One of them still did.

But Zero - Zero refused to sit around idly and wait for the inevitable end. And so he left. Simple and quick and clean as that. The slice of a sterile scalpel. A cut not even deep enough to require stitches. Not even to scar.

He'd saved them from a bloody mess, he's assured himself often.

And ultimately, he'd saved Kaname from this. From what he's feared happening his entire life. From a fate he now could care less about. A bottomless pit.

A hum of pleasure. The feeling of being so deliciously full in a way he never thought he could. A tidal wave of euphoria that swallowed them both up whole - neither would care if they drowned at that very moment, both are sure.

So many memories. So many painted canvases adorning the plain walls of his mind.

He once treasured these. In a way, he still does.

But they hurt. And it's too much. The thick material cuts and slashes at his broken and worn soul, and the only thing he desires above reliving them is erasing them from existence completely.

Funny how, out of all the things he's ever wanted, this is the one thing he gets.

The whispered words of, "I love you."

A horrid tearing sound, as if the collage was ripped straight from the center of his temple, and gone. All of it gone. One after another - into the ground.

There was just him. Just Zero, alone at last. Without pain. And then -

There wasn't even that.

There was nothing.

He was falling - down the rabbit hole.

However, unlike Alice, he'd never get to find out what was waiting for him on the other side.


This was kind of my weird, jumbled up take on how it would be to fall from the stage of Level D to E (if you hadn't guessed what the "falling down the rabbit hole" symbolized, now you know. The backstory part kinda just happened by accident haha (originally, I had it written without any hints at a pairing at all, but you know Kaname and Zero... they always have to get their way)... Sorry for the shortness... and the oddness. It was just kinda something that spoke to me, ya know?

In a totally non-crazy, hearing voices kinda way...