Title: Heartbeat
Day/Theme: Dec 20 / A step-by-step guide on how to crash and burn.
Series: Vampire knight
Character/Pairing: Kaname, The Female Vampire of the Past
A/N: Okay, I still don't like Kaname. Despite the fact that I understand him and his actions, I'm still annoyed by him. However, I did find his relationship with the unknown vampire (why must she have no name?) rather adorable, and so I had to write this. =D
Summary: There is no time to grieve, not when there is so much left to be done.
...
...
Hollow.
Perhaps that is it. Hollow. Hollowing. He doesn't really care about what words he uses, only the swelling feeling that threatens to take over him as he stares at her dead body.
It's still, almost slumbering. He's seen her enough times to know that when she sleeps, she's quiet, almost blending in with the scenery. Softly breathing, her lips a thin smile, long fingers clutching his. Sometimes she'll turn over, wake up, and raise an eyebrow.
Shouldn't you be sleeping?
Not the question she wants to ask, not the question that lies hidden beneath it. He doesn't know how to answer either, merely smiles (in that light way, the way that annoys her when she is waiting for a response). She deals with it as she always does, a sigh and a ruffle to his hair.
He resumes watching her when she closes her eyes, still unsure as to why he's in this room, why he's still here with her, when he doesn't need any of this.
"Aren't you supposed to be immortal?" the man, a survivor, asks. He seems almost shocked, as though an axiom on which the world is based has been proven false.
And in a sense, it has.
Still, he ignores his question, instead trying to touch her. Her skin must be cold now, hair silky as ever. He can't count the times he's run his digits through her strands, until each lock became its own fingerprint.
She probably won't open her eyes and give him that calm stare. She does that a lot, giving him this look that has a weight beyond his comprehension.
He thinks he's only understanding it now, when it's too late.
"I wish," could be an answer he gives. If it were so, she would pull him close once more, murmur, "Such a good boy" into his hair, into his heart. If it were so, he wouldn't have to let go of her.
She crumbles at his fingertips, returning to the dust from whence they came from.
(You'll have to continue without me. How long had she been planning this?)
(something aches. When did this attachment start?)
There will be no more of those talks in the meadow, the moonlight lighting her hair, her eyes soft and words soothing. No more of those plans at noon, of her leaning forward for a quick kiss, of a quiet understanding between the brush of thumbs and shoulders.
No more of anything.
He wants nothing more than to sleep, to close his eyes and go away from it all. To just dream, of her and of him and of nothing, just a darkness that consumes all.
But that will come later, when their plan is completed. When everything is over and her ghost is no longer pushing him forward.
(she will never leave him)
"We're not," he replies instead, composing himself.
In the molten metal, her heart beats steady, and this, at least, is one part of her he still has.