Color

She realized, with a faint grin that she managed to hide,
that her sword was the color of his hair
and his sword was the color of her eyes.

It was probably one of those usual moments when they were at the chessboard.

Both red and blue swords were unsheathed and were flying everywhere. Neither Battler nor Beatrice was shedding blood, Beatrice having fended off the usual ridiculous, desperate arguments from Battler.

Beatrice paused for a heartbeat, when the gears in Battler's brain started grinding again to think of the next insane thing he was going to spew out in blue. She realized, with a faint grin that she managed to hide, that her sword was the color of his hair and his sword was the color of her eyes.

Then she realized that her little schoolgirl metaphor was more deadly than what is common.

He wanted to kill her, give her the worst possible fate she could meet. In his eyes, she was a murderous villain who killed his beloved family to stave off boredom, and nothing more. She would have been okay with that—had he remembered that she was the one he broke beyond all repair within those six years that he was gone, left her to endlessly hope that he was going to give her the single element of the world.

It's not like she had any choice. She was born to love him. And she had no regrets—she wholeheartedly had no regrets, loved him to the end of the world. And all he wanted was to kill her.

Red was the blood that flowed through him, and as long as it did, he was alive to fight another day. Maybe it was that spirit to fight that turned his and his sister's hair red. Ironically, it was also the color of the blade that kept drawing blood from him.

Blue were her eyes, resilient and calm. She may be the one who carried out all the murders on the game board, cackling and vicious, but deep inside, she was the more composed one. She was ready to reset the board, over and over, until he realized what this game was really for. Anything, anything to remind him of the promise he made six long years ago.

It never bothered her that she caused his death so many times. Heck, she was the Endless Witch. She could revive him as many times as was necessary to remind him.

What really scared her was his reaction when he finally did remember. Would he be laid back, say a simple 'Oh, I'm sorry; however can I make it up to you?' Perhaps he wouldn't be so stupid as to say that, but Battler was stupid at times. His reaction might be something so below Beatrice's expectations that she would be forced to face the reality that she went through so much for one person, and everything didn't mean so much to him anyway…

-xxxxx-

Beatrice woke up in a cold sweat, emitting an embarrassingly loud, high-pitched scream. It wasn't the kind that you scream out of terror or anger; it was one from pure pain. Beatrice flopped back to her pillows, eyes tearing up and cheeks reddening, hoping no one heard.

As the door opened with a loud bang, Beatrice rolled her eyes. None of her furniture would come unless called.

"Hey Beato, you alright?"

She had planned to tuck herself under the blankets and come back with a snap, but he had walked over faster than she would think and had dragged back the covers forcefully, revealing her looking pathetic. She turned her back to him and said in the most authoritative voice she could muster, "I'm fine. Go back to your room."

He chuckled lightly at her feeble attempt to wave him off and sat down on the edge of her bed. Feeling resigned, she sat up to face him. "And what are you going to do if I say I'm not fine?" She hated how weak her voice sounded; tears were coming.

"Huh," he said blankly, "I dunno. Do you want to talk about it?"

She shook her head. "I don't even want you here." It was such a blatant lie that tears started leaking out the edge of her eyes again.

Battler let her wipe them off for a while before coming up to her and wrapping his arms gently around her. He heard her gasp before sobbing uncontrollably into his chest, hiccupping like a kid.

"I th-thought you wa-wanted to kill me… why are y-you doing this?"

"Because you need someone. I should need no more reason."

To Beatrice, an eternity passed, and he was still there. It was so ridiculous how he was the cause of her crying yet he was the one who was there to catch all her tears. It was sad how she was deluding herself that he actually cared for her. And if he did, he only knew her as Beatrice, and not the one he had promised to. This spurred more tears, and prompted her to sob even harder.

"Shh," Battler murmured, "Stop crying…"

"Battler," he heard her say, with a hint of hesitance, "stay here for the night…"

"Sure." He lifted her slightly and adjusted so that they were in a position that they could sleep as comfortably as possible while his arms were still around her. Sure, they were sitting up, but heck, she needed him. "Go to sleep, Beato."

He stroked her messy hair back, and she looked up at him. She wrapped her arms around him and rested her head in the crook of his neck. Soon after, both of them were breathing lightly, in the pattern of someone who was asleep.

He may not know who—or what—I really am, but for now, what matters is he is with me, and that I love him.

A/N: Not perfect reasoning, but heck, it's cute.