Author's Note: Set post-movie with a classic Howl/Sophie pairing (completely Howl-centric throughout, though), the story turned out to be about 500% fluffier than originally planned, but it would be unforgivably rude to argue with the plot bunny now, wouldn't it? Oh, and sorry in advance for any and all OCC-ishness!

Be kind, please? ;)

Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own Howl's Moving Castle.

Heartless & Whole

-#-

Over the years there had been many, so many that he could no longer remember their names or even recall their faces. The only thing that he knew for certain was that they all must have been very beautiful; indeed, Howl would unashamedly admit to anyone daring enough to ask that what he lacked in principles, he certainly made up for in standards. But his ears had since long ceased to ring with the ghostly echoes of their pearly laughter, affectionate coos and desperate pleas, and his skin had since long forgotten the excited tingling from their hot breaths and yearning touches. He retained no true memories of the small, delicate hands that must have buried themselves deep in the soft locks of his hair – or the countless, tear-filled eyes that had begged him to stay for just a short moment longer.

Now, contrary to popular belief, Howl was neither foolish nor selfish enough to deny responsibility for the pain he brought upon those innocent creatures, or the gross injustice of his ways. But he never felt remorseful, never regretting any of his numerous conquests. He did not think of himself as particularly cruel, but he had never once felt accountable for the fragile, fluttering hearts that were so eagerly entrusted in his care.

That said, once he found a new object to elevate to the skies, she would, if only for a brief moment in time, become the centre of his entire world; to Calcifer's immense amusement and Markl's poorly-hidden irritation, she would be the single reason for his existence, and he would pursue her tirelessly and relentlessly until she inevitably succumbed to his charm. It was a vicious cycle – that initial intoxicating, delicious excitement, which was then was eventually overcome by a creeping restlessness, which in turn gave way to polite indifference – before which he stood just as helpless as she: for no matter how lovely, he would always cast her aside as he would an old, expendable potion bottle when his feelings inevitably waned.

And so, the many beautiful women (all of whom had been his beautiful women once) and their youthful radiance and earnest adoration were thus reduced to mere shapeless shadows in his memories.

He had stolen their hearts – this part of the various rumours about him was true – but it was their own desires that had ultimately led to their downfalls; each had given him her heart quite willingly, perhaps hoping that it would be she who finally ended his cavalier wanderings. But, maybe it really was he who stood to blame, because he never told them no; never had he rejected that which was offered to him. He had been fascinated, blinded, by the one thing that lay beyond even his vast knowledge and understanding: namely, love.

So perhaps it was this, the strange yearning for something he had thought he could never hope to neither comprehend nor possess, that had been his true curse and what had driven him into forever new pairs of slender arms?

But that was before she had turned his existence upside down and inside out, suddenly and unexpectedly – and long before she returned to him his heart and Calcifer his freedom.

His heart...

As he looked down at her sleeping form and even breathing, he mused over the fact that after all the women whose hearts he had stolen, a little grey mouse would be the one to steal his. And yet, Sophie Hatter – resourceful, brave, beautiful Sophie Hatter – had gone and done just that. During the war, it had been for her that he finally stepped out of hiding, for the first time releasing all of his monstrous power: he had fought bombs, airships, soldiers, even his own kind to protect her. He, who abhorred all violence, had even killed to keep her safe.

She couldn't possibly have known the extent to which he had her under his skin; not when he had hardly understood it himself, not at first. But he, the most infamous skirt chaser in all the land, had in fact fallen in love. With her.

After everything they had been through and after all the time they had spent together, he had felt confident that he had solved the mystery that was Sophie Hatter; foolishly, he had thought that he knew all that there was to know about her. But she had proven him wrong as late as the previous evening when they had admired the sunset over Star Lake together. The night had been perfect, and his newly acquired heart had nearly stopped at the sight that met him when he stepped outside to join her. The last rays of warm evening sun had surrounded her slight shape and silver hair with a warm glow – and as hard as he tried, he couldn't recall that he had ever seen anything or anyone more beautiful.

But once the sun had disappeared behind the mountains, she had turned to him with a curious smile that had reflected equal parts of satisfaction and sadness.

There had been no other warning.

"Howl?"

The sense of urgency in her question had prompted him to glance down at the young woman by his side. She was still looking out over the water, but her eyes revealed that her mind in fact was far, far away.

"Mm?" He returned his gaze to the scenery that was slowly disappearing in darkness. Soon it would be too chilly for them to be outside, and the last thing he wanted was for her to catch a cold.

"How many?"

"...what do you mean, Sophie?" he replied after a moment, a little startled.

"Please, Howl, how many before me?"

"Now what would a little mouse know about such things?" The question had caught his completely off guard, and he had hoped that the gentle jibe would be enough to distract her.

"I'm not a stupid, Howl." The sudden sharpness in her voice had reminded him that the unusually bright girl indeed was anything but.

"Why is that important? What does the past matter now?"

"I'd like to know—" Had her low voice been deliberately slow or was that just part of his imagination? "I'd like to know so that I can prepare."

"Prepare? Prepare for what?"

"For when you no longer look only at me."

A horrendous realization had dawned upon him then: she didn't know. But after the war, after everything that had happened between them, how couldn't she know just how much she meant to him? He had been so certain that she did... simply assuming that she did. Or could it be that she did know, but felt uncertain of his intentions? Could it be that she didn't trust him to love her...? His dazed mind couldn't quite decide what was worse.

"Sophie! I would nev—"

"I know. You would never leave on purpose."

"Then why...?"

"You won't be able to stop searching."

"That's not true!" he had protested. "Sophie, believe me, I…"

"It is true," she had stated in a disturbingly matter-of-factly manner. "It's part of who you are, Howl."

Had there even been a point in denying the obvious?

"But I can change, I know I can!" His voice sounded so desperate, so pathetic, even to his own ears, and he had despised himself for it. "I'll change for you, Sophie. I promise that I will!"

But she had merely shaken her head and a sad smile had graced her lips. "You know better than making promises you can't keep."

Once her words registered in his confused mind, a numbing iciness had spread from the pit of his stomach to the tips of his fingers. Had she... Could it really be...?

She didn't want him.

Sophie didn't want him.

He had finally found her, someone who had seen and accepted him for all that he was. She knew that he was wicked; she knew that he was terrible, and yet she had not turned her back on him in disgust. He did not need to pretend for her like he pretended for the whole world. But what did all that matter, when she... if she…

If the unexpected storm clouds on his blue, perfect skies had anything to do with that annoyingly handsome, blonde idiot prince-turned-scarecrow-turned-prince-again, he swore that he would—

"Howl?" Her voice had broken through his increasingly sinister thoughts, hauling him back to reality.

"If you really think so lowly of me, then why are you still here?" he had spit out with more venom than he had intended.

"I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. I love you, Howl. I love you just the way you are, because of who you are. I just need to know."

"Sophie, I—"

"It's okay. Tell me when you're ready. Good night, Howl."

She had to balance on her tiptoes when she reached up to gently peck his cheek goodnight; he had just stood there, frozen stiff with shock and aching with defeat. But before she disappeared within the walls of his castle, the sound of her footsteps had ceased for a moment; the air had suddenly been thick with the unsaid, but he let her go without a single word.

-#-

"Sophie?" He had spent the rest of the night deep in thoughts, but he had discovered many a thing about himself and his new emotional centre. "...can I come in?"

When he received no reply, he had carefully opened the door and peeked inside her darkened room. She was still sleeping, but her furrowed brow, tangled hair and twisted bed sheets told of tosses and turns and many hours of restlessness.

He gently closed the door behind him, and two steps later he was by her side. Then, silently as not to wake her, he bent down to whisper in her ear, "You were right, Sophie. I can't change who I am, but that it is because you already changed me. Please, be patient with me for just a little while longer. I'm still learning about everything that's new and different... and what it all means."

It would seem that his little grey mouse had been right all along.

A heart was indeed a heavy burden, he thought to himself as he gently tucked a stray lock of silver hair behind her ear, his hand lingering a moment longer than was necessary on her soft skin. But he hadn't been Madame Suliman's greatest pupil for nothing; he would learn. Though, more importantly, the small smile, which slowly spread over her lips as she instinctively leaned into his touch, confirmed something he ought to have known already: there was still time.

He had not realized, as he had been pacing back and forth over his bedroom floor in agony, but all she had asked of him was that he would be honest in his feelings for her. But there was no need to rush; when the time was right, he would have an answer for her.

And the inexplicable warmth settling in his chest when she gazed up at him with eyes still hazy and full of dreams and sleep, told him that she understood.