VIGIL
His hand should be rough against your cheek, you know this, all callouses from a sword and sharp nails, but the blood makes it impossible for it to be anything but warm and slick against your skin.
Your dream. Yeah, right, you snort internally except it really isn't a laughing matter and you have never realized it more clearly than in this precise moment, with Aion's hand intimately cradling your face, almost, almost stroking, his breath moist on your lips and colder than Pandemonium's fire-warmed air, as he whispers 'Freedom' and 'us', and 'our dream'.
Soot flakes darken the air, or what passes for it down below, swirling round and round and round in little, ubiquitous weirs of black, and the sort of weary resignation you feel seems strangely fitting, all things considered. Not incongruous at all.
Aion is insane. Not because the dream – their dream, and that kind of burns very bitter indeed, this little 'their' that isn't yours anymore, not really – has no basis. Not because you don't want the freedom, not because you don't see the need for change, not because you've stopped believing, just… You just know the price, now. And you aren't quite sure if you're willing to pay it, or let others do it for you.
This is why Aion is insane, and so are the others. They too know the price the mortal world would pay, and they revel in it. As a lump of soil detaches from beneath one of your feet, rolls down and splashes in a puddle of blood, which you hear sharply over the whispers, you know you will do it anyway.
Because it's Aion, who has hair as white as things get outside of Heaven, twilight eyes that glow crimson as madness progresses, the skin at the base of his wings and horns is unbelievably sensitive to the touch, and so is the nape of his neck. And you think that okay, maybe this is selfish of you, but as much as you don't want to lose him, you know you will, so the few centuries you have left…
You have enough resolve to protect this time, at least. You whisper yes, voice timid and awed and uncertain, exactly what Aion wants to hear so he grins at you, savagely, and lets your face go. The slide of his hand, fingers, nails against your skin is definitely a caress, this time, because you are a precious weapon to him, and these should be treated well.
A few hundred years later, and you don't really need the radiant Saint to tell you that your time is running out. You appreciate it anyway, because she is, in her own accepting, mellow way, the best humanity has to offer, and the price… the price of your dream repulses you even more. You don't love her, or at least are not in love with her, but she wakes in you an echo of what it felt like to still be an Angel and love all creation.
In the dark, you can forget her death sometimes, as earth and stone take years to shift centimeters and you hear life buried outside the walls of the tomb, however blessedly uncomplicated it might be. Yes, you can forget her death, but you can never…
… never forget how beautiful and fierce he looked, when your worth to him lowered just enough for him to turn on you, when he – when the cause – didn't need you anymore. You wonder if he is still capable of feeling regret, not for the loss a tool but a friend/companion/lover. Except you had never been that to him, although maybe, at the very beginning, when he was still the Aion you thought you knew…
It doesn't matter. Not anymore, although if you ever meet him again, it will be in battle and you will be on the opposite side. You think you may give him a quick death then, because… just because. Then you don't ponder on it at all.
You have a vigil to keep.
A/N: Have just finished watching Chrno Crusade, and got the distinct impression that Aion was not only completely insane, but also would sleep with anything at all to gain an advantage. Except… Yeah, except. And I can just see Chrno himself being that stupid.
Second person's POV, as usual. One day, I must really learn to write proper narrative. I have the distinct, uneasy feeling that I do this as a way to overcompensate for not being able to literally get into real people's heads, but oh well…