Summary: It's when the sun fades, that the clouds are at their lowest. Daemon finds Alaude, days before what would be his death, at his weakest. No pairings, Alaude/Knuckle friendship. Character death.
Disclaimer: KHR is not mine.
I recommend you listen to Reminiscent by Yiruma whilst reading this.
Thanks for reading.
What had he done to deserve this? What could the good man have done? He was holy, he was good. He was a priest, he was a friend. He had done nothing wrong, except that one… unfortunate event in the ring. He had done nothing wrong, was what kept running through Alaude's head.
He was told the news a few hours ago- Knuckle was pronounced dead. He had kept the strong facade, but as soon as he was out of peering eyes, he collapsed to his knees. Slim, gentle hands cradled his face as tears began to cascade down his cheeks. He wasn't supposed to feel. He wasn't supposed to be this heartbroken. Time and time again, he had denied their friendship and their closeness.
And it was now, when the black haired priest was gone, that a cold hand grasped at the blond's heart.
So, the tears kept falling onto the carpeted floor, slow sobs racking the blond's frame.
The door opened.
Standing there, although Alaude refused to face him, was the unforgettable silhouette of Daemon Spade.
He knew who it was. The man had no respect for Alaude's personal life, and was well aware of his friendship with Knuckle. He felt soft footsteps towards him, but he refused to look up. He would keep that pride.
"Nufufu… The great and stone-faced Alaude, hunched over and sobbing. How much I would pay for a picture," came the smug address.
"Out," Alaude's voice rang, somehow managed to stay strong even considering the emotional stress he was in.
"How rude. Has his death taken away your courtesy? Nufufu, you'll be dead before you know it," Daemon spoke back.
"Don't talk like you're friends with me," he hissed sharply, fiercely banishing the tears and drying his eyes with his sleeve. He got up slowly.
"I'm not. I'm talking as an ally. Would Knuckle want to see you like this? Do you think he'd be fine, knowing you've broken to this state?" the teal haired man questioned idly.
"Don't you dare talk like you knew him!" Alaude retorted, whirling around. He forcefully grasped the front of Daemon's shirt, pulling the other downwards so that their faces were equal. "Don't you talk about what he would want! It should have been you!"
Daemon stared at the blond's ice eyes, seeing the discord in those obviously emotionally broken eyes. The skylark was in a terrible shape, this he knew. He could see all the emotions swirling around, something that was simply unheard of for the blond. He brought up a gloved hand and pulled Alaude's hand from his shirt.
"Calm down. If you keep at this, you'll be useless to us. Get yourself back together." Daemon's face was serious for once, no teasing, no joking. Dead serious.
Alaude glared weakly, not able to find much strength after the distressing news earlier. It had broken him in more ways than one, in spirit and in mind. He had no energy to fight with Daemon now, not when he was still weak in the head about Knuckle's death.
"Good bye, Alaude," Daemon bid farewell, walking away.
… Little did Alaude know, a few days later, he'd be joining his best friend.
The sky was rainy, cloudy. They hadn't seen sun since… his death. They dare not mention his name around Alaude, whose face was looking paler, and his body thinner. If this continued, he'd be dead, from malnutrition or insomnia.
It's too bad that Daemon beat them to it.
He lay there, blood dribbling out of his mouth, eyes lowered and facing towards the raining sky. There was a pool of crimson around him, beautiful like a jewel. His hair was stained a fine shade of red, and vibrant eyes had lost their gleam. His once perfect waistcoat, punctured and red.
He was just… red.
And he was dying.
The rain reminded him of Asari, calming and soothing. He felt at peace, not minding the water dropping onto his face. The sky, reminded him of Giotto, who managed to gather them all and kept them together.
But, there was no sun.
In one way, he was glad. He didn't have to cry over the death of Knuckle again. Didn't have to cry over the absence of brightness, of light, since his departure.
His eyes began to slide close, not wanting to let anyone see his soulless, dull eyes.
The rain stopped.
The clouds parted.
Sunlight gently shown down on the fallen blond.
He smiled faintly. This entire scene was so reminiscent, sunlight shining down on a fallen Alaude. But… he was glad. Glad that Knuckle came to get him, for the two of them to leave, together.
And, his eyes slid closed when his soul raised an arm into the sunlight.
rem·i·nis·cent(rem-uh-nis-uh nt)
adjective
1. awakening memories of something similar