A/N: I tried to write a fluffy one for Valentines' this year.
I REALLY TRIED.
And as you can see, I failed, so...here's an angst one for you guys!
A little late, I think, but it's the thought that counts, no? Fufufufufufufufufufu...
Disclaimer: I don't own the Vocaloids. I mean, I DO want Nero, but.../stares creepily/
"Are you going to give her another chocolate this year?" His sister's blonde hair peeks out from behind the door, then her dark blue eyes that land on the wrapped delicacy he has in his hands. She blinks, then nods in quiet understanding. But that does not mean she doesn't try.
"You know she won't ever reply you," her tone is quiet and somber, a gloomy blue that contrasts with the red Valentine roses in her hands. His sister was a popular girl. Perhaps not the most popular girl, but her cheery and upbeat personality always garnered the love of those around her. Len shrugs and stands, blinking into the pale morning sunlight. "That doesn't mean I don't try," he replies dryly, and walks off into the breezy February day.
.
.
He finds her in her usual spot, and sits down beside her for a while before he speaks.
"Hey."
"Hey to you, too." She gives him a close-lipped smile, then shifts her gaze to her pale fingers, her eyes half-lidded. Her eyelashes are so, so long that when she closes her eyes, they brush against her cheeks and cast shadows.
There is silence between them again.
.
.
She scuffs her boot against the dirt.
He leans back and watches the leaves flutter down to the cold hard ground.
There are bouquets everywhere he looks; red roses and dandelions fill the dreary space. It is a nice gesture of people, he thinks, to decorate the grey dirt with something other than crystalline tears, on this day.
He silently pushes the wrapped chocolate towards her.
.
.
She smiles but doesn't accept it.
He expects it.
That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt his heart, though. The sight of her looking away from the chocolate into the sky clenches his heart, and his confidence and love slowly, slowly, seeps out into the ground.
Another blanket of silence falls between them.
.
.
"Maybe," he starts and she looks up, "maybe we weren't fated to be together."
She doesn't answer yet, just picks at her scarf.
He waits, because he knows she likes to collect her thoughts before she speaks.
And waits.
And waits.
.
.
He still waits, because sometimes she might take a detour along her thoughts. But she'll come back to the proper road and give him an answer.
"Maybe," she finally answers, after an eternity and an eternity back, "maybe we weren't back then."
He doesn't answer her, but she continues. She knows he likes to give her time to speak her thoughts, because he knows she likes to pause a little sometimes.
"Maybe we are now."
.
.
There is still no answer, but she does not expect one.
She turns and smiles at the headstone beside her.
The little pile of chocolates he's given her over the years sit at the base of her own gravestone, and she swoops them up into her own arms, ready to give him a reply.
I guess this really depends on what you think this story is about and all, but I do hope you liked it!
Reviews, nya!