A/N : For the beloved, talented, and beautiful YenGirl. Merry Christmas! Please accept this paltry but sincere expression of heartfelt gratitude for all the encouragement, all the time spent to answer my reviews / questions / messages you have given me, not to mention the pointing out of inadvertant flaws in my stories. Despite my intention to post this on the 25th of December, I had not planned to be internet-less during Christmas, hence the late upload. Out of my element as I am, I can only hope this is passably engaging!
Yule's Eve, 2008.
December hailed the end of year with its usual tide of ice and frost, riding on the fleeing tail of chill autumn winds. All but the tardiest of birds had departed for the south weeks ago, taking with them the raucous screech of migrating flocks; the haunting call of wolves faded to the plaintiff snorts of piglets huddling with the sow, the horses' irritable mutter as they pushed past the ice bits in their water tray.
The silence of snow dragged with it a cloak of graceless, bovine placidity; wrapped in wool and the smell of cured meat, couples moved in the somnolent, wandering manner of those replete with each other's company. In winter, the fortitude of brick and stone were smoothed over by snow and cold, corners crouched into grey slush; and, where the farmhouses were near each other, each was a snowed in vagabond leaning into other tramps for warmth. Yet Cold also made families out of neighbours; the more needy, the more intimate. This bountiful year, all shared cheerfully and willingly, recalling past helps and favours. Half a roast was exchanged with two brandy laden cakes, a barrel of cider for a side of ham, the men and women braving the frost to grasp each others' numbed fingers in companionship.
There had been too many instances in Zero's life where he had blinked impassively at the mention of grand, triumphant nouns like family and home; majestic, valiant concepts like love and loyalty were a closet of nameless, rusting hatchets hanging in line. People were never the same, but life was life wherever you went; and yet, here, the sky seemed kinder, more understanding – I cannot give you sunlight today, child. But I can give you a rainbow after the rain. Do you have the patience to wait? –
"Some stew for you, good sir?" called an elderly man from a doorstep as he doled out bowls to his neighbour's children. Surprised but grateful for the kindness, Zero accepted the offer with thanks. He was about to continue on his way, but the farmer was a jovial senior who placed the stranger's lilac eyes and white hair immediately as that of foreign origin.
"New to this area, eh? If old Casey don't recognize your face, you ain't a familiar with this place. Mm." The speaker was a round and stout, bald headed but for a scatter of curly white hairs, pressing a bowl of thick stew into Zero's hands. Zero tipped its contents into his mouth, then downed the entire bowl in pleasure. The man nodded in pride, seeing the surprise on Zero's face.
"Nothing but the freshest ingredients from my farm, Casey's finest, grown and cooked with my own hands, a good measure of love and experience, and who knows? Might be even better than fancy castle fare, no?" The farmer nodded meaningfully up the hill, where Kaname's estate was, and Zero smiled ruefully at his observance. One of the many Kuran houses sat securely midway up a rise, and, as there was a small town at the hill of his estate, Zero had come down for a bit of sightseeing.
"Yeh, it take more than a roughspun shawl to hide them city mannerisms, and the foreign landowner hi'self come down a few times, and ever' time a some young lass loses he' heart to 'im. I says to my young sister, ye's ago, - she a-grown with kids now – I says to her, them kind of persons go far the silks an' th' sparkles, takes more'n an embroidered kerche'f to win th'r hearts, don't be silly, sis. Din' stop her from brushing her hair to bits when he came, not that he was ever uppity – always smiled, minded his p's and q's, even gave her rides on 'is horse, complete gennelman. Seemed he knowed about girls that age, always treated 'em like sisters, though we farmin' peoples don't got nothin' t' give him in return, 'cept for our own food, which he always liked."
Getting comfortable with Zero, the farmer gradually slipped into the local speech dialect, patted a seat on the wooden bench by his house; and Zero folded down gracefully beside the old man, arranging his linen shawl.
"Yeh, once a few months or such he come traipsing down, sometimes in homey get ups like yours now, haha, and always a prince charming no matter how young the girl – or boy – " here Zero half smothered a chuckle, lulled into an easy security by the storyteller's voice, and the said storyteller broke into a gap toothed grin as well, studying Zero's sculpted features with bright eyes.
"Yeh, ya had the luck to catch his fancy, eh? You look younger than ma sons, but prince charming has a bit of fairy blood, is farmer Casey's guess, and my guesses always close to right, eh?" he nudged Zero suggestively, and Zero smiled. It has started snowing again, and exhalations condensed into formless sprites for a few moments before dissipating into the frosty air; there were more than a few delighted squeals as children toddled out wrapped and bundled in woolen scarfs, accompanied by older siblings or yelping puppies as often as not. Their cries were soothed into serene background noise by the snow.
"More fairy blood than is worth the trouble," Zero allowed, cajoled into speech by a flask of warm brandy that the farmer passed to him, allowing another gruff chortle.
"Ah, he must've decked your halls with quite a bit of holly, eh?" the villager prodded, and Zero laughed out loud at the ribald jest. Men were men, after all, and the alcohol shared by both brought more than just a physical warmth.
"Holly, sleighbells, and a good robust stuffing too," Zero agreed wryly, and the man's guffaw roared in appreciation.
"Fella-me-lad, I ne'er swung for blokes, but others here did, though they weren't granted no roll in the stables with the fairy. Be you a lucky one-of-a-kind."
Zero smiled and nodded, and the farmer asked about how they'd gotten together; having told the story, or at least a version of it, so many times, the words came easily to Zero as he inhaled another swig of brandy.
"It all began when I fell in love with his little sister," Zero recalled. "She was my age, as light and lovely a belle as ever I saw, my only – and best, friend. We spent our school days side by side, and she always treated me like a brother. One day, of course, things changed, and – well – I suppose things happen, and –" Zero paused for effect, knowing how best to string the attention of others.
"Isn't it funny how, at the age when these things happen, everyone somehow knows, right?"
"Right in one, youngster, ain't nobody keeps quiet when they s'posed to – but go on, you warmin' right up to the tellin now."
"So then, me with nothing but the clothes on my back, no family to speak of, and her with a name like that –"
"Mm, fairy blood, fairy rich," the villager interjected, ladling out his stew intermittently to passers-by.
"Precisely…I wasn't good enough for his sister, no matter what I wanted. Yuuki, I was never more than her 'dear brother', she had many better suitors, I was – well, no amount of hairbrushing or embroidery would match me up to her level. Kuran – that's his name, he knew of his sister's 'foundling brother' too, and he kept an eye on me, made sure I never got handy; once –"
Once I held her against the wall and pierced her neck, and I loved and hated it all at once.
"Once I – crossed the line, as it were, he whisked me away for a lesson in proper manners of a gentleman." He enunciated his consonants in an exaggerated manner for the benefit of amusement, enjoying the farmer's attention.
No lesson ever involved so much blood and pain, or maybe all lessons do in his world; but I was new, and I was hurting so badly, what he did hurt even more. But you don't need to know that, or maybe you can 'guess'…things like that happen everywhere, yes?
"Suffice it to say, aside from a proper schooling in those areas, I learnt something else too, something unexpected – not so much a lesson for the mind, as a revelation of the heart." Cliches, when used appropriately, could serve one well.
"The chaos, the unexplainable delight - we all think it's magic, it's special like no other feeling, and your own heart is always a step above everyone else's special – then becomes it's all the same with time, you know what I mean?"
The man nodded, and Zero let the sentence hang in the air – it was one of those lines that spoke the loudest in the quiet, especially in a tranquil, untainted, simple quiet like this.
"It was so – disturbing, I hated him at first for shaming me – making me jealous, but – but in the end, when I stayed over with them, it wasn't his sister's room whose door I hung around in the mornings and evenings, hoping to catch a private moment together. It wasn't her voice that made me smile inside, it wasn't her warmth that made me break at night. It wasn't her I worshipped anymore."
Glossed over like that, the story of Kaname and Zero's romance seemed to fit right into the high school squabbles of any teenager. It was a whole race, a whole culture away from the truth, and unlike some who refused to acknowledge their brutal, unpleasant pasts, Zero was wise; he remembered all its gory aspects in intimate detail, understanding how and why it all happened, and knew that no love came without heartache, no happiness without a sacrifice. The telling of that, though, was reserved for very special occasions.
"Well, summer came and went, autumn, winter, spring, summer again, autumn again; took awhile, but I made it there in the end.
"I spent the whole week mustering my courage, and finally, one afternoon, followed him out of school, intending to get him on his own – only he went into the forest, to where the river was, and started swimming! From some distance back, I knew I should have let him have privacy, but – ha! I didn't want to. So I climbed into a tree where I was sure he wouldn't see me, and spent an hour or two just waiting and enjoying the view.
And from that height, I saw everything. The hard planes of your shoulders and back slid into your hips, the twin gibbous moons contracting with every perfect stroke. I saw you and I wanted you. When you floated on your back, rocking with the current, sunlight and river water paid homage to your skin.
"To tell you the truth, I was very tempted to hide his clothes. Imagine my conundrum when he finished, dressed and sat down, right underneath the tree I was in, preventing me from running, or descending. I waited there for an unimaginably long period of time, unable to see his face, not knowing whether he was sleeping, or just sitting there fully awake; finally, I had to move, and the twigs I dislodged onto him alerted him to my presence. There was nothing for it but to come down, and stiff as I was, I slipped and landed face first at his feet, red and flustered as the leaves that broke my fall.
"Very calmly, he inquired as to how I had come to spend the entire afternoon engaged in a less than decent activity.
"The way he looked at me, I squirmed and sputtered like thief caught in his act - well, after a lot of discomfort and embarrassment on my part, everything I had bottled up for over a year found its way out. Turns out he knew all along; he was just waiting for me to find my own feet, as it were, and I rather fancy that rotten egg got a kick out of seeing me struggling for dignity. As it was, he just had to smile and ask me to walk with him back to our school. He didn't give me a straight reply for weeks!" Zero ended with a flourish of incredulity, shaking his head with remembered exasperation.
Farmer Casey roared and slapped his fleshy knees, saying, "well, I don't believe two youths would end a lover's confrontation like that with a walk back to school, but there are stories and there are stories, and everyone's first time is something special and your own. Why don't you take some of my stew up the hill for this Kuran, and tell him Casey knows a good story when he hears one? Or better still, ask him t'come don here, we ain't seen him fer years. My home and heath is his, all ours is. He do like an' know that."
"Thank you, he's not at home this time though," Zero replied.
"Well, it keeps well and it don't spoil, and my house don't move around," Casey shrugged.
"He won't be back for awhile," Zero amended, and Casey laid a large, leathery hand on his arm, nodding gently.
"All our homes and hearths are yours too, you understand."
Zero nodded, smiling.
"Thank you for your hospitality, farmer Casey, it's been a long time since I've felt this at peace, this is a wonderful place…a wonderful place."
Zero stood to leave, receiving from Casey a manly clap on his back and a reassuring grasp on his arm. The sun set early in the winter, and a late afternoon looked like early evening. He trudged out of the village, which was marked by nothing more than a hedge through which he climbed. The snowfall was enough to dust the his clothes with a layer of white, gentle enough that it did not obscure the vision.
There were no forests on this hill, just a scattering of trees at around the building at the top, so Zero's view was unobstructed. It was breathtaking in its vast, endless, purity. Warmed by the brandy and stew, Zero left only a trail of footprints that looked distinctly lonely in this sky of white and blue. It was almost an hour later, and half way to the castle, that Zero came across another set of footprints. They were already half filled with the snow, indicating that they had been made awhile back, and they were also spaced far apart, as though the person had been taking very large strides – or running. What caught his attention most were the individual small imprints in front; the largest and the deepest on the inside, and three smaller ones outward.
It wasn't hard to guess who would be running barefoot in the snow, this near to the mansion.
Taking a deep breath, Zero changed direction and followed the footprints with a brisk stride. The trail led him round the castle, into the grove of scattered trees that stood some distance from it. The fresher the prints got, the colder the air became, till his feet were plunging through thin layers of frozen water vapour on the snow, and still the feet of the runner were bare. Tears crystallized on Zero's cheeks as he came to the end of the tracks. The tree in front of him was a gigantic birch tree, and, craning his neck up, saw long, spiralling icicles hanging treacherously from every branch, many as tall as he was. Its entire trunk was encased in ice inches thick. There was a man facing the tree, with his back to Zero.
"Hana-busa Aido…" the name was hoarse on his half frozen lips, but the vampire turned around anyway.
The evening light filtered wanly through the bare boughs of the temperate deciduous forest, setting Aido's hair alight with a warm platinum glow. Ice had always been the domain of the noble, and he had been running with only a short sleeved shirt and thin pair of knee length pants. Despite the extent of his strides, he bore no sign of fatigue. His hair was the colour of winter sunlight, and his eyes the colour of the winter sky; he was winter in person, for every aspect of him seemed iced in a pitiless frigidity.
"Zero Kiriyu."
With a sound like cracking ice, Aido's jaws stretched open like a yawning carnivore's, and he ran a tongue slowly over his lower jaw. Abruptly, his jaws shut with a click and he snapped around like a tightly coiled spring, driving a fist into the tree behind him.
The ice shattered around the trunk, and all about him, icicles plunged down and crashed into glassy splinters, throwing up the snow like the monstrous teeth of a leviathan. Both the beings stood quietly, neither raising an arm to shield themselves from the shards of ice that burst out in all directions. It took the snow a few minutes to settle, and when it did, they had not moved at all. Aido raised an arm; it was bleeding around the knuckles where the ice had cut into the skin. He licked it off with a savage indifference while Zero blinked the frost from his eyes. Rods of ice as thick as their arms jutted out from the ground like the arrows of a titan.
Icy orbs flicked to Zero and away, disinterested. When Aido twisted around though, Zero grabbed his right wrist and pulled it towards him, twisting it upwards. Aido resisted only for a moment, then gave in with a shrug.
The flesh on his inner forearm was alabaster smooth and taut with muscle, unmarred except for a series of luminous red lines. Zero stared at Aido's arm for few seconds before releasing it, neither meeting the other's gaze.
In the last few times they had met, each exactly a year apart, Aido's arm had always had the same markings. No scar stained a noble vampire's skin for so long; it was freshly done each day.
Every evening Aido woke with an undamaged forearm, and every evening he would spend half an hour sitting on his bed with a silver penknife in his left hand, cutting the sharp, angry lines into his flesh. He would put the silver point in again and again, digging the cursive kanji script, while fresh blood welled from the edges, until each word was visible and deep enough to stay for the whole day, though they never lasted till the next night. He never made a sound, but concentrated solely on his task, silent and determined to perfect the calligraphy on his skin.
They were always the same three lines, the same characters.
Keep him safe.
Keep him happy.
Bring him back whole.
The solemn red tattoo on his arm was there every day, every single day, and had been there for the past twelve years.
Keep him safe.
December 23, 1996.
"Just go. Don't come back."
"No."
"Hanabusa Aido."
"No! No! Please!"
"Hanabusa Aido, you will hear and obey!"
"Kaname-sama, don't, let me stay, let me fight! Don't make me leave!!"
"Leave now. Don't come back."
"No! NO! NO! I WON'T! I WILL NOT! KANAME!"
"Go."
And Aido had had to run, away from the battle, away from his leader, because a pureblood's word was law. He ran, screaming and fighting his body every inch of the way, while the elder Thirteen and their army rose up around Kaname Kuran, one pureblood against the might of the Ancient Council.
Keep him happy.
Where are you? Tell me!
Not this time, Zero, you'll have to sit this one out for now.
Sit what out?! Where are you?
Stay there, Zero. Don't come.
I'm coming! Fuck you for a bastard! Where are you!
No.
Where are you! Answer me! Answer me! Kuran! Don't cut me off, don't you dare, don't you dare! My place is with you! You're mine! You live with me, you die with me! Don't leave me behind! Don't-you-dare-leave-me-behind! Answer me! Kuran! Kuran! Kuran! Answer me!
Bring him back whole.
"He's gone, isn't he."
Zero drove his fist into Takuma's serene face almost before the noble stopped speaking, splitting his jaw to the bone. The normally peppy vampire was unnervingly impassive, licking away the blood while his skin healed over.
"Where did he go!?"
"He didn't want any of us to follow, Zero. Not Seiren, not any of us, not even you."
"Where did he go!?"
"Only he knows. It is his duty to go."
"Takuma. Where is he!?"
"It is his right."
"Find him!"
"He is pureblood."
Zero screamed in fury, clawing at Takuma, hitting him, kicking every bit of the noble he could come into contact with. The slight being took it stoically, absorbing every blow, until Zero collapsed, spent, into his arms, weaker than a baby.
"It is his right, Zero. He is pureblood."
He abhorred those two lines.
Bring him back whole.
Aido returned, a keening, wailing mess of flesh and ferocity.
How could you have left? Zero exploded again, violent and brutal, attacking the blonde noble.
How could I have left?
It is his right.
My place is with him.
He is pureblood.
Bring him back whole.
Seiren had slept for two days. It was something Kaname had told her to eat. When she awoke, the Moon dormitory was a writhing, seething mess of anger and misery. She only needed to hear two lines.
It is his right. He is pureblood.
Only two lines, and she was gone.
Yule's Eve, 1996. Stay. Wait. I will find him. – Seiren.
Yule's Eve, 1997. Seiren, come in. Please answer if you can. – Takuma.
Yule's Eve, 1998. Seiren, come in. Please answer if you can. – Takuma.
Find her, find him, Takuma whispered to the stars. The telepathy between us spans the entirety of this world.
Yule's Eve, 1999. Seiren, come in. Please answer if you can. – Takuma.
Yule's Eve, 2000. Seiren, come in. Please answer if you can. – Takuma.
Yule's Eve, 2001. Seiren, come in. Please answer if you can. – Takuma.
Yule's Eve, 2002. Seiren, come in. Please answer if you can. – Takuma.
Crimson liquid slid over the Aido's silver blade every evening, staining the bedsheets with the blood of rubies.
Yule's Eve, 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008 :
Seiren. Just this once, please answer. – Takuma.
Keep him safe. Keep him happy. Bring him back whole.
Day of Yule, 2008
"This time next year..." Zero's voice cracked in the chill. He swallowed and tried again.
"This time next year – "
"It will be the thirteenth year." Aido finished the sentence from him. The blonde angel gave a cursory nod, then stalked off.
Zero stood silently amidst the shards of ice. The temperature rose with Aido's departure, and they melted away to water, silent transparent rivulets seeping into the snow like all their thoughts. They had been standing here, waiting, since yesterday, Christmas Eve.
Yule's Eve, 2009.
They had been there for days. It had been a year since Zero had seen Aido, thirteen years since he had met the rest. Takuma, Kain and Ruka had turned up later, silent. Seiren had never replied since the day she vanished.
Each evening, they woke to the sight of Aido carving intently into his arm.
Day of Yule, December 25, 2009.
Midnight was the first hour of Christmas, and the vampires were sitting in a circle in the snow, outside Kaname's mansion, the very same place Aido visited last year, the place Zero had been living in for years, just waiting.
The second hour passed.
Snow was the feathers of angel's wings, displaced when glorious seraphim howled with the wind and alighting on the statues on the mountain side.
The third hour, and the moon hung comfortably behind the clouds, no more than a sleepy grey glow.
Early into the fourth hour, the wind fidgeted restlessly.
They rose as one, silent, watchful wraiths.
Five pairs of eyes, purple, blue, grey, green and orange flickered and shone in the dark, probing the inky night for the source of that evanescent disturbance.
When a pair of red eyes flickered into visibility, they were strong and deep and haunting as love.
A ring of fire writhed into being around the six vampires, illuminating everyone, including the last person in the middle of the circle. His dark hair was crowned by the winter stars.
"Well, well, well...what have we here?"
Kaname Kuran stood haughtily under the fevered, furious gaze of his five loyal lieutenants, letting them drink in the sight of his physical presence. No inch of his skin seemed unmarked by scars. Dead tissue and dried blood made a ravine from the cleft of his collar bones to his right ear, and there was a fresh slash deep in his left shoulder, from which a withering flap of muscle hung, revealing the stark white bone of his shoulder blade. His right arm has been burnt to a raw, cracking, blistering mess, dangling uselessly and oozing yellow pus; three fingers on his left hand and his whole right hand was entirely black and smelled of seared flesh. His shirt was hanging by one shoulder, the other side having been torn off to reveal that his midriff was being held together, like an ugly patchwork quilt, by a series of crude stitches that were corrupt with infection. He rested his weight on his left leg, for his right thigh was bleeding, bound by a filthy strip of cloth. Only half his shirt, hanging by his right shoulder, remained, and his pants had been torn off at the knee and calf.
"Welcome back, Kuran Kaname-sama. We are honoured by your return." It was Ruka who spoke the formal words, the pureblood princess who fell back onto the rules of her kind the most easily.
Kaname nodded, and sat. The others sat then, silent, unspeaking, unmoving. The silence of the snow was comforting, not because they were content with quiet, but because speaking was too awkward. Even if they had wanted to express their feelings, they did not know how to.
The rising of the sun brought with its brilliance a halo of decadence onto the six ethereal beings sitting in the snow. Kaname lounged in the sunlight, letting his ravaged body heal slowly, his eyes half lidded in rest, while the others looked at him, memorizing every feature, as though comparing it to what they remembered, like they had been doing since his return.
Thump.
It was Seiren who landed beside him, uncaring of the others. She crouched down on all fours, thin and wiry, with the fixed, voided look of someone driven beyond food, beyond a physical fatigue, focused only on a single goal.
"Kuran-sama, I apologize for my incompetence. I should not have taken so long."
Somewhere amidst the numbed wariness of Zero's mind was shocked into a profound respect for this slip of a girl who had followed a trail of blood and death for thirteen years, and turned up just hours after her elusive quarry, acting as though she had not sacrificed her life for the nonchalant blink that Kaname acknowledged her with now.
Aloof and professional as ever, Seiren shifted to her knees, a hand thumbing through her travel worn clothes, the other prodding Kaname's flesh gingerly. Something long and thin flashed in the light – a long needle, and some thread. With quick, ungentle tugs, she snapped the threads holding Kaname's side together, replacing them with her own stitches. The raw flesh sagged apart, revealing the dark red, almost black depths of his liver throbbing within. His muscle fluid steamed in the cold air, and the smell of raw flesh. Kaname 'tsked' in annoyance and pain as Seiren stuck her needle in and yanked the seams close with swift, sure movements, moving down three different directions with surgical precision. The tight, neat stitches were a marked improvement from the previous clumsy efforts.
The human side of Zero was disbelieving of Kaname's lack of emotion; the human side of him would have, at the very least, demanded that Kaname break down and show heartfelt gratitude at their loyalty. The vampire part of him understood that vampire lords as strong and powerful as the likes of Ruka or Kain or even Aido would only bow to those stronger than them, and that a pureblood's authority was granted only to those who were god-like, untouchable. Generations, millennia of breeding had culminated in the ruling of the fiercest, proudest clans; from one of the oldest, most respected names, only flawless invulnerability would earn their undisputed obeisance. The way humans had moved on from cavemen practices, so had the purebloods abandoned certain emotions for their redundancy, and retained those that served them best – arrogance and dominance.
When Seiren was done, she stood back, bowed, and retreated, vanishing again; Zero never knew how she disappeared and appeared at Kaname's bequest, for she always seemed to be nearby but unseen.
"Kaname, your absence?" Takuma had never lost the child's mildly inquisitive demeanour, and even now his question was in the tone of a toddler asking, curiously, why the sky was blue.
The pureblood shifted from his languorous half sprawl against a tree, looking at Takuma directly. His eyes closed once, briefly, then opened, and held his oldest friend's inquiring green gaze.
"It is done. The Council of Ancients is no more."
Men would have exploded if this dispassionate sentence was Kaname's idea of describing his past thirteen years. To the vampires, only the result mattered. Takuma got to his feet, eyebrows raised slightly to confirm his statement, as Kaname spoke again, a little more forcefully.
"You are your father's son. Claim your right as the lord of clan Ichijou."
If there was ever a time for Takuma to shed his charmingly innocent facade, it was now; yet instead of straightening his features to a lordly countenance, the ever present gentle smile eased into his lips and eyes, a child's look of content.
"I, Takuma Ichijou, third of this name, answer the call of my tribe. I take my place as stag of Ichijou." Still smiling, he went to one knee before Kaname. "I hereby swear fealty and pledge the allegiance of my name to the wolf of Kuran." Takuma inclined his golden head like a vassal, but when he stood back up, it was with no reservations that he clasped Kaname's uninjured shoulder.
"Honour to you, my lord."
With a final smile and a gentle nod of farewell, Takuma turned and stepped away, light as a deer over the snow.
Ruka and Kain were standing next, the swan and the serpent wed in a political alliance, towering over Kaname's slack, dishevelled form.
"Our loyalty is yours, Kuran sama. Honour to you."
Ruka Souen spoke with the grave authority of her breeding. Kain was indolent and incongruous as ever.
"Good to have you back, Kuran. Honour to you."
And they left together.
Moments passed. Kaname shifted and settled back with a sigh, closing his eyes leaving Aido and Zero waiting in an opaque wintry silence. For the two who had spent their lives waiting for him, he had, as yet, spared no word of acknowledgement. Zero was unbothered, sitting where he had sat days before; thirteen years of unabated, agonizing fear, the desperate prayers to each and every God of each and every religion, the nights he spent living in his dreams and clinging to his nightmares - for at least in his nightmares, even if it was just a bloody, chopped up corpse, Kaname was there, not a faceless, featureless thimble of shadow that made him doubt his memory, doubt that Kaname had ever existed – more susceptible as humans were to the passage of time, Kaname was now to him as a dead relative, gone the way of his parents, and it was more strange to have Kaname physically before him, than Kaname as a figment of recalled childhood; and now, he was weary. Did Kaname still love him? It doesn't matter anymore, does it? Zero wondered, idly making a circle in the snow with his finger.
He looked over at Aido. Snow had decorated the angel's golden curls with a wispy circlet, and Aido had never once taken his eyes off Kaname's face. He read nothing in Aido's posture or his expression; slightly slouched and cross legged, hands in his lap. The tattoo had not been scratched in this morning.
"Hanabusa Aido."
Aido rose with the lumbering awkwardness of one who has sat too long, and swayed for awhile; then he took quick, light steps to Kaname's side and knelt, bowed his head, hands on both side of his knees.
"Kaname s-sama." His whisper so faint, it was barely audible. Without opening his eyes, Kaname threaded his blistered fingers through Aido's hair, rolling the cool golden threads between his fingers. He twirled the soft locks around till he grasped a fistful of spun gold, tightened once, pulling Aido's hair taut. The noble's eyes widened to blue marbles, and his expression did not change when Kaname relaxed his grip and stroked his head, smoothing the gnarls back. An eternity, or a while, went by with Aido's muscles locked in position, afraid to move away as Kaname stroked him tenderly.
The pureblood withdrew his arm, and Aido's own sprang to life, seizing Kaname's hand, grabbing them in both of his own before hesitating at his own daring. Will warred with breeding for only a split second; then Kaname's lips lifted minutely in a very slight smile when he felt the warmth of Aido's lips on his fingers. The vampire dedicated all attention to his lord's injured hand, letting his tongue linger and salve the charred skin. In all this lethargic tranquillity, it was stirring and almost erotic, punctuated with the susurrus murmur of Aido's quick inhalations. So it was that Kaname branded Aido with blood and a silver blade, but Aido's life was to Kaname no more than drying saliva, lingering no deeper than the skin of an extremity; yet this one would have, had he been allowed to, worshipped his lord entirely with his whole body. Time did not pass in this period of obeisance, and when Aido had let a last exhalation alight on Kaname's fingers, his hands dropped back to his knees, the moment of weakness passed.
"Honour to you, Kaname-sama."
And Aido was gone, a flash of white and gold through the trees, running as swiftly as the winter chill.
Now it was just Kaname and Zero, the lovers as opposite as black and white, two sides of the world that had, long ago, sworn to belong to each other. The event of uniting had been imagined so many times in Zero's mind, each fancy carefully constructed and lived in, as an like an illusion of hope.
"Why did you come back?" Zero asked without preamble, in a voice of death. Anger, worry, despair had been too long in the grave.
Kaname looked at him down the length of his nose, and with a pureblood's customary sneer, replied,
"This is my land. I should be questioning your presence here, as you have no doubt been living here without my consent for awhile."
"Very well, Kuran-sama, I now humbly beg forgiveness and ask for your legal consent."
"Granted."
The sun traipsed carefully into the sky, tracing the sky's route to late morning.
Thirteen years. It had been so, so, so long.
"You owe me an apology, Kuran."
"I am pureblood."
"And I am half human, Kuran. It has been thirteen years long, and it is thirteen years too long. You owe me. Open your eyes and look at me!"
Zero's fists were balled, and he was standing in front of Kaname's sprawled form, clenching his jaw. Instead of responding to the threat, Kaname only asked another question.
"How much of you do I have?"
Zero grabbed Kaname's upper arms and hauled him to his feet, shoving him roughly against the tree, incensed by his half-lidded, disinterested stare. His body was an unwelcome source of tepid heat, smelling of the injury and fatigue that belied his pureblood healing.
"How much of you do I have left, Zero?"
Suddenly Zero flung his arms around the pureblood, pulling his tired body close, burying his nose in the pureblood's scarred neck.
"Everything," he sobbed, digging his fingers uncaringly into Kaname's marred back. "You have everything."
End
Unaccustomed as I am to this genre (as some readers will know), I have second guessed this piece of work countless of times, and while I refrain from posting works I am unsatisfied with, this comes pretty close to cutting that border - it has been in the making for weeks, and while I can't find any flaw, it is not yet 'good enough.' It it too long and rambly and draggy? Too minimalist? Too unemotional? Too many things jumbled into one story?
What I really mean to say is, all criticisms are desired and welcome. Thoughts about the scenery, setting description, sentence structures, character portrayal, anything, please leave your thoughts! Thank you for reading, and I have an "epilogue" of sorts in mind that I will upload if the feedback is good; in any case, do leave a review, guys! Especially if you disliked the story, because I can only improve on honesty and criticism.
Merry Christmas to all, and a very happy new year!
P.S : I AM working on my other stories. I promise!!! Thank you for all the support so far!
- Talking Cockerel