Yin and Yang.
He loves the sound of his blade slicing through flesh. The cuts are always clean, right on target, perfect. And he loves it.
He loves blood, too. Not drinking it—that actually disgusts him—but looking at it. Blood is beautiful and red. Red is such a bright, vibrant color, the exact opposite of the blackness of his own hair and even his eyes. He is dull. He is lifeless. And he wants everyone to be the same as him, because he is sick and tired of being alone.
So he goes out every night and makes others like himself and paints the world that beautiful, haunting shade of red. For just a few moments, he doesn't feel alone. Because the others are dead now, just like him.
Light and shadow.
But then he meets the boy. The boy is so bright and full of life—the exact opposite of himself. The boy has snow-white hair and shining silver eyes, and above the boy's left eye, there is a red star. And oh, how he loves the color red. When he's around the boy he feels even more alone than usual, but for whatever reason, that makes him want the boy.
He knows the boy knows what he does every night, and somewhere deep down inside himself, he wants the boy to stop him. Because they're opposites, it's the boy's job to end his cycle of death. So he won't kill the boy. Instead, he'll wait.
Life and death.
They're opposites, and one cannot exist without the other. There must be a balance, and he knows this. And maybe that's why the boy does nothing to stop him—because the boy knows, too. They need eachother to survive, so while he goes out every night and brings death to those that cross him, the boy saves lives every day.
And he realizes one day that he loves the boy. Too bad the boy hates him.
Heaven and Hell.