Rated: T for Len being death. Yes, you read that right. No, it isn't a typo.
Summary: Immortality, from Len's eyes – or, that one time when Len wasn't the one died in every freaking PVs.
Dedicated: To my snail waify. Have avocado today, hAH! MY AVOCADO, MINE!
Author's Note: Who is the one falling face first into this mess? This one. Who is the one crying because my one and only source for internet is going to be taken away? Still this one XD This is a prologue for an upcoming chapter, but can stand alone too.
Also, one might wonder why I haven't even been in a relationship with anyone and yet all I ever write is love XD If you have a legit answer, well, feel free to tell me XD
A little juicier than usual – yes, readers, all hail the new almost-rated-M-thing~ And yes, waify, I know you are cackling like the crazy person you secretly are. I just know. Intuition, maybe? XD
And this is unfinished, to anyone dare going in and said "If this is a one shot, mark this as 'complete'." Uh, no, this is not. I didn't remember asking you to criticize the status of my work, thank you very much.
Aside from that, have fun reading~
Warning: Unbeta'd, but then again, my works are mostly unbeta'd XD
Disclaimer: I own my imaginary, Len's fling with girls – a.k.a flirting shamelessly – and characters' death in this one-shot. Other than that, own nothing. *sob in a corner*
i. the first.
/this is fine. this is enough. but never enough to satisfy./
I am glad it cannot happen twice, the fever of first love. For it is a fever, and a burden, too, whatever the poets may say.
― Daphne du Maurier, Rebecca
He hadn't been human for a very long time, but sure enough, feeling stayed. Fierce, colorful – red, green, blue; a vast of colors so bright and blinding. A cut on the skin, deep and bleeding, he remembered blood pouring out so much and flesh screaming. The satisfaction of achieving something so hard. The clumsy first kiss, teeth clattering together and lips crashing lousily, lacking in skills and grace and the only thing made up for those qualities was the affection behind this.
He didn't remember much about his past either. It had been a story – one so tiring and bland. And as soon as he part way with it, it was immediately erased from his mind. He was Death, and that was all he would ever be.
She came along one day, starlit and gentle, half smirks and mischievous eyes, so lovely, so otherworldly. A small smile, waving with only her fingertips and accepting, always accepting. She didn't question much, only nodded and let things slide on its own. Rin, her name echoed, simple and shy and mysterious.
She smiled a little but made no objection when he called her Rinne.
She didn't even doubt it when he introduced himself.
"So you are Death, huh? Cool."
Why, he narrowed his eyes at him, almost like she was doubting his very existence – and judging from her easy response, maybe she was.
"Don't get me wrong, I know you are Death – because, duh, who would go around carrying a big scythe like that all day? Well, maybe cosplayers, but – um, I just know."
So why was she so carefree toward him, he wanted to ask, but then swallowed. It was the tranquility radiating from her, so soothing, so precious. She took everything life dished out at her. It was enough. It was fine. Her hair rustled against his cheeks like folded papers as he held her, closer, closer. She didn't fight, but didn't exactly enjoy his embrace, either. Never reacted. Like flowing water.
Battered and soft and formless.
He wanted to know more, more, dug deeper under her skin, under all her lies, but she just turned her head, turning away, running away from the world, and everything he saw was his own reflection. Even when they were intimate, she would just closed her eyes, shielding away deep blue eyes. Never made any noises; no whisper, no moans, nothing to give away her feelings. His kisses pressed against her cold lips would only be reward by her tiny sigh. His claim about love, the three words girls cherished so much would earn a smile and a shake of head. But never, never the same words back. Always asleep, always dreamy, and only awake when he loomed too close to push him away.
It was enough, but never enough to satisfy him.
She reminded him of himself. Someone trying to ran away, alone, unbound and not tired of the world under her feet.
"Maybe," she whispered, the tiniest of smile gracing her lips, "what do you think?"
He turned his head away away, digging his spoon into the orange-flavored ice-cream she so loved, partially because he didn't want to face her.
"I don't think anything. It's just an observation."
She hummed under her breath.
"Personally, I think death is closer to love than to someone so boring," like me; it wasn't spelled out, but they both knew.
"Why?"
She hummed. Ever so carefree.
"After all, they both require eternity."
And when it was time, he took her away. She slipped a smile so small at his hesistance, a smile he knew would forever burn in his mind and soul as long as he existed.
"This is fine."
This was enough. But never enough to satisfy.
ii. the second.
/because this isn't meant to continue./
Did I make it that easy
To walk right in and out of my life?
– Almost Lover, A Fine Frenzy.
He never gave much thought about love, and unlike human, he didn't have needs. Len could be asexual for all he knew. And after the encounter with Rin, he couldn't even think about this anymore.
(After all, no-one had ever tried to figure out death's interest, much less sexual orientation – thank you very much.)
She caught his eyes one hot summer day, humid and crowded; scent of sweat filling his nose, making him dizzy. She sparked, bright and burning. Girl on Fire, he observed amusedly; chopping reality and dream, cutting and bruising and ending. Breaking the favor when he could only play with it.
He found her one day, lying on the bathroom floor, her hand in the ceramic-white tub and blood dripping down from cut wrist. Mild blue hair tied in two pigtails, soaked with water. A metal blade lay innocently next to her, and his eyes crinkled, an almost frown settled.
It wasn't her time – he knew, because she wasn't on his list. She wasn't meant to die – not yet – not now, anyway.
So why did she want to end her life this way?
He wouldn't allow her to die, of course. With a snap of the fingers, she was turned unharmed. Healthy and breathing as ever.
Her eyes cracked open.
She knew too. Call it intuition, call it wild guess, but she knew. She knew. The first thing she did was hitting him. Icy blue eyes hardened into metal color, pink lips turned down in a sneer, a desperate cry.
"Why didn't you let me die?!"
"It's not your time yet," he answered, simply like that.
"Oh no it is," she smiled bitterly, "it is."
She yanked his hand. Placing it on her heart, faintly beating, exhausted, tired, beating heart.
"It's my time," she concluded. "My love is gone."
So it was just like that? A girl, heart-broken by a break up, shallowly thinking this is the end of her world, and then rush to end everything? His eyes narrowed.
Oh, don't say it just simple like that, she waggled a manicured finger at him, it's never that simple. You are death. Of all people, I think you should know.
And there is that again. Instinctively, he dipped his hand underwater. Why do you human keep insisting that death and love are similar?
Oh, you don't know?
A slightest of smirk traced her eyes. So cold. So hard. She was tired, so tired of this life, of this love. This was a mistake. It never should have happened. It never should have been there. She was a mistake, coming from a single mom and a dad who was never there.
This was wrong, wrong, wrong.
It's a mistake to continue thing. I need to die because I love this life.
His hands froze in their place. This made no senses. She was crazy.
I love this life. And because of that, I want, selfishly want to continue. Don't think I want to end it here.
Then why?
She was a piece of work, he realized. Glass eyes and a beautiful name – Ring, almost like hers – but all fire and no water, and burnt, burnt so brightly it lit up the air and hurt everyone near it.
Because love has no sense of continuity. Where there is a sense of continuity, love is already dead, and it smells of yesterday, with all its ugly memories, quarrels, brutalities.
He knew the exact moment she snapped. The moment something clashed, because it leaked through her eyes, and at first she screamed words, then just a boy's name, and eventually she forgot even that. But the screaming went on.
Her hand traced the hilt of the knife. Eyes wide open, and a smile so empty swallowed it all.
To love, is to die.
An ending to it all. She laughed so freely, so hurt, wet blood coloring her porcelain skin and she was again, the Girl on Fire.
He had seen people die. Some time fast, too fast for his mind to progess. Sometime slow and angry. Sometime tearful, sometime agonizing.
She went out blazing.
Metal flung up her neck, and this time, he made no move.
iii. the last.
/don't fall in love with me./
I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once.
― John Green, The Fault in Our Stars
And then she came.
A friendly reminder that this is NOT complete.
Review it, ladies~