HEY THERE!
Cliche, overused plotline, I know. I couldn't resist.
I REALLY haven't abandoned Luxury, I promise. It's just really hard to type one story when you have this other one prancing around your head like freaking Bambi or something... where's a gun when you need one? Haha, that joke is in extremely poor taste...
In regards to:
ORIGINAL VK PLOT - Zero will be taking Yuuki's place (kinda), but will NOT, in any way, be Kaname's unawakened pureblood brother or something... that'd just be dumb... STORY WILL NOT COMPLETELY FOLLOW THE VK STORYLINE.
PAIRING - Kaname and Zero will (eventually) have a romantic relationship, so if you don't like boyxboy, why the flip did you click on this story in the first place?
YUUKI - Yes, that bit - erherm, girl - is in the story. I'm sorry, but it's kinda hard to have VK without her, AU or not. (But don't worry, no angsty love triangles!) She will be seen as a dear sister ONLY.
OOC-NESS - Please, do not go and type something about so-and-so being OOC or something in your review because, believe it or not, I made them that way ON PURPOSE. The whole point of this story was to explore an AU where some of the characters were placed in different roles (mainly Zero and Kaname). After all, outside influences can really affect someone's personality.
SEX - Yes, this fic will contain (mild) lemons. I know, you must all be so disheartened by this news...
XOXO (Sorry I made you read that entire thing! And I love deer, so please no flames about my horrid Bambi joke!)
Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING.
Chapter Warning: blood, minor character death, slight use of foul language (mostly in the A/N hehe), adorable little boys, ...vampires?
Pure white. The color of innocence - a soft lamb rested on a cushioned meadowed floor. Of beauty - the melodic flapping of feathered angel wings. Of rest - lazy puffs of clouds breezing slowly in the sky. The color of snow.
As untainted as the shivering child's mind.
Cold, hungry, tired. Only simple feelings such as these filled the boy's dazed and wondering spirit as he sunk further into the white, wet ground beneath him. He knows there's more, with every ounce of his being, he does. But his head is too warm and heady with bright confusion and he finds that he can not focus on much more than the heat that seeps from his fingers and toes, without being replenished, and melts the snow. Can only focus on the sharp winds that pierce past his light coat, and sink into his trembling frame. Can only focus on the delicious desire to lie down and close his heavy eyelids, to be swallowed up in the enveloping peaceful darkness of rest.
Through this mindset and weakened state, it comes as no surprise that he doesn't so much as flinch when he is something viciously pierces his neck, the flick of cool, wet silk doing little to numb the initial pain. No, he doesn't even bat an eye, doesn't move an inch. Welcomes it even. Though he is not sure what has happened, if anything, he is well aware of the aching sadness forming deep in his heart. As young and ignorant as he may be, he knows that much.
He does, however, despite his condition, oddly enough come into direct contact with a single fleeting thought, and it's this: what strange we upon had he been assualted with? Not only had it been able to wound him in two equally sized punctures, both merely a few inches apart, but it had also managed to do so at the exact same time. Certainly no hunter weupon he had ever seen could do such a thing.
But, like any five year old, this thought lacked depth and was soon cast away for more simple and shallow musings, like how soft the ground felt on his knees and under his palms, or how completely white the world looked around him - how completely promising. How completely melancholy.
How, in less than a second, the cacophany of sucking and whimpered breaths that he hadn't even realized had been playing loudly in his ear stopped, as did the jabbing stabs of the double-headed weupon on his pliable flesh, and all by a single and flashing hand.
Once the blade leaves, it is replaced with unforgivable burning that rips at every nerve of his body, particulary the inflamed area around the puncture wound and licks maliciously at his throat and the backs of his eyes, coaxing out a strangled cry and twin streams of salty water. The horrible pain doesn't in the slightest begin to let up, as a matter if fact, doubling, then tripling as each slothenly second ticks by and by.
It is almost too much to bear, and more so than before, the creeping darkness is oh so welcoming, and he finds that not only is he unable to resist, but that he has no desire to do so, either. The hurt in his heart fades into insignificance and the worry over whether the blade will return does, too. Finally, he allows his head to fall forward and rest atop the pillowy shades of white and beneath the blanketing comfort of pitch black.
But before he's drifting, before he's swallowed alive by the empty shade that promises absolutely nothing but nothing itself, he sees it.
A boy, a good few years older than him - the boy's wise wine-colored orbs tell him so - reaching out and grasping tightly onto the beautiful, silk skin of a slender neck, his mussed chocolate strands rippling around his perfect constructed, yet softly rounded with his youth, face. The being his ivory hand is clenched so tightly around is equal, if not greater, in such undeniable beauty, with a tall, but femininely curved stature and long, cascading hair the color of moonlight. She is on her knees before him, despite being his elder, and her cherry lips are parted in a silent protest, her midnight blue eyes wide and shaking in absolute terror.
They were angels. They had to be. Their overwhelmingly stunning appearances could belong to no other.
But why did the blue-eyed one emit such fear? And why did the muddied-red globes of the other scream such malcontent and fury? Such complete and utter disgust? Hatred?
Could angels hate?
A snap, sickening, though nowhere as near as the gurgled cry that follows it and the male angel is dropping the motionless female, her lithe form simply toppling over from the lack of support. To the fading and sinking boy's shock, the angel turns to face him with a strong and unwavering gaze that shakes the boy lying helplessly on the ground to his core. Never before had he been so vulnerable - stared straight through. So bare.
The boy looks back to the woman thrown so unelegantly onto the ground, taking in her limp and twisted form. It is then that he sees the bright color painting her face, so explicit and vivid that he wonders how he couldn't have possibly seen it earlier. The shade pooling around her lips and dripping onto the pure white snow.
Red.
His eyes close, and as does the scene before him, but it does not leave. It never will. It will always be this: his first memory.
When his bleary eyes finally drift open, the setting is far different than the one he last parted with. He's no longer freezing, now cradled into a chest moving with measured and serene breaths, and nestled safely into a pair of small yet strong encircling arms that, for what they lacked in size, made up for in power. Beneath his fuzzy and jumbled head, he can hear the loud, rhythmic pounding of a beating, living heart.
He gazes up, seeing nothing but a pale neck and a defined jaw with tendrils of mahogany strands framing the sight, and though he cannot see the person's face, he can feel the gentle firmness of their grip around the backs of his knees and neck, and can note from the person's careful posture that they're doing everything in their power to keep him from being jarred by their quick and hurried footsteps. He knows that such kind actions could only belong to any equally kind face.
It is his second memory, and between the two, he thinks he likes this one the best.
He continues to fade in and out after that, though no one moment between his original awakening in a comforting hold and the time now, when the person carrying him is standing before a door, really stick out. It was mostly a blur of incredible warmth and security, loopy and irrelevant wonderings, and that same blistering white snow.
He does, at one point, recall feeling guilty, however, because the arms supporting his head and legs begin to shake in tiny, restrained shivers. He recalls the surge of gratitude and shock when he realizes that the person is cold because around his own body was an unfamiliar article of clothing - two, in fact: the unknown being's jacket and scarf.
But it's mainly the time spent in front of the door that he really begins to come to it, mostly because he's jostled slightly when the figure above him leans in with the arm underneath his legs to knock politely on the hollow wood. Well, that, and the boisterous greetings of the man who appears on the other side. Though the answering dirty-blonde seemed friendly enough, his hair pulled back to expose a kind and affectionate smile, the boy doesn't at all enjoy the volume of his voice, or the key, for that matter. It was very... squeaky. So, before his awakened state can be detected, he forces his eyes tightly shut, and tries to appear unnoticed as he buries his face into the beating and breathing chest of the person carrying him. He knows they can feel it, too, because he hears their sharp inhale and the speeded thumps of their pulse.
He can also hear the exact moment when the loud man at the door notices him, because his pitch and tone immediately lower to a soft and grave murmuring.
"Kaname-kun." So, that was his savior's name. He was male, though in retrospect, that part should have seemed fairly obvious. "Is that - "
"Please," Kaname speaks for the first time in a demanding whisper, smooth like satin, and cold almost, like the night surrounding them. But beautiful all the same. "He's wounded. We can talk later."
A hurried and worried, "Of course. Come in."
There's the sound of shuffling as Kaname no doubt attempts to get through the door without knocking the boy's head into the frame, which the boy himself is quite grateful for, and then the air around them is suddenly silent and cozy, no longer plagued by the harsh waves of whistling winds. The boy thinks he can detect a faint crackling of a fire in the distance.
With this new calm and homely setting, the naturally curious child wants nothing more than to unglue his eyelids and study the room for all it was worth, especially when his nose catches the powerful, but not overbearing, aroma of sweet vanilla. Surely one peek wouldn't hurt -
"Set him on the couch," and the boy recognizes it to be the other man's voice, and that it's retreating to another room. "I'll get something to treat his wound..." There's a clanging in the far background and a muted thud before, "Is it a...?" The gravity in his tone is daunting, enough to fill the boy with a befuddled sense of dread. Was it a what?
"Yes," Kaname states placidly, and the boy almost jumps in shock when the side of his cheek leaves the safety of his savior's chest, and meets the chilled leather of what he suspects to be the couch the other man had mentioned. "A bite. It's a bite." The words are chipped like the plating of rusting metal.
"Fuck," the dirty-blonde-haired man hisses, and at the curse word, the boy emits a tiny gasp, which he quickly tries to cover with a sleepy sigh.
Bite wound? He was bitten? By what?
The couch shifts slightly as Kaname settles in beside the boy's resting form. "There's no need to pretend. You can open your eyes now." It takes the boy a second to realize that Kaname is, in fact, speaking to him, and with an embarrassed and sheepish expression, he allows his eyes to drift open, flinching as they met light they weren't at all accustomed to from the hours of pitch black darkness. It was white and bright, like the snow, but much more striking.
When his vision finally sets comfortably, and he no longer has to blink the white away, he can see it, coming more an more into focus as each second passes - the faint outline of a pale face. It takes him a moment, mind muddled and weakened, but he sees it - the connection. He stares up into wine-colored orbs framed by long, thick eyelashes, and puts two and two together.
His angel. It was his angel. The one from before. Only, he looked far more different now. Instead of the ugly disgust and hatred that had painted them earlier, his eyes are bright and soft - more like melted chocolate than they were red. upon catching the boy's gaze, Kaname smiles warmly, and the boy knows he must have seen wrong - that such a pretty and gentle expression could not have been in the same place as the one of such contempt was before.
The hand belonging to such a face surely couldn't have been at another's throat.
No, he simply must have remembered wrong.
"Oh, he's awake," the ponytail man proclaims abruptly, waltzing into the room completely unannounced, with a rag tucked under his armpit and a bowl filled to the brim with sloshing water in his palm. Being able to now really view the man, the boy must admit that he most certainly was right about his kindness, that was for sure. Beneath his flashing glasses lied a pair of pleasantly sparkling, caramel irises. However, it's also quite obvious that this man had a tendency to be a little much.
And really, the boy didn't like being interrupted. Especially when he had so many questions so many sentiments of his appreciation.
"Yes," Kaname murmurs, his gaze not leaving the figure beside him, and the boy blinks up at him with wide and wondering lilac eyes.
"I'm glad," the man voices, grinning placatingly after noting the pinched look of irritation and distaste that had crossed the boy's features at his arrival, and what a great start. "That'll make this - " he raises the hand balancing the bowl " - a whole lot easier." Another smile. "Now, if you would please sit up..."
The boy does nothing but bite his lip in uncertainty and peek up at Kaname, who nods encouragingly, and places a hand on the boy's shoulder. With little difficulty, he maneuvers his way to a sitting position, Kaname's hand not once losing contact, and looks expectantly back to the man.
"There you go," he praises with a happy nod, and the boy resists the urge to stick his tongue out. He hadn't done it to appease him. "Now, I need you to take your jacket off, okay? Can you do that?"
The boy looks to Kaname who nods again. He repeats the motion. With hesitance, he slides the clothing of one arm, and then the other, shivering slightly as his skin was exposed to the cool air. He uncurls the scarf from around his neck and then hands it, along with the jacket to the awaiting hands of Kaname, watching as the brunette quickly sets them on the arm rest beside him, out of view. Still, before he had done so, the boy's almost fairly certain the fabric of both had been stained. But with what?
A tiny squeeze as Kaname's hand returns to his shoulder, though this time, it's flesh against flesh, and in a fleeting thought, the boy wonders where his shirt and actual jacket had gone. He doesn't at all recall either being removed.
A sharp intake of breath, and Kaname's throat is rumbling with an odd noise.
The boy jumps, letting out a tiny squeak of shock, and Kaname, with a suddenly worried and guilty expression, cuts off the sound immediately, instead throwing the gasping man a sharp glare.
"Sorry," the man apologizes, eyes fixed on the boy's neck, though the boy's not entirely sure what he's looking at, "Sorry. I just... it's just..."
"Don't," Kaname mutters, leaving the boy confused beyond words. "Not now. Later."
"Right," the man responds shaikly. Back straightening, he exhales slowly. The aghast look in his eyes disappears, and is replaced by the benevolence that inhabited it earlier. "This may sting a little," the man warns while dipping the white towel into the bowl, the water tinting the fabric a shade darker. With delicacy, he brings it to the boy's neck and traces it softly against the wounded flesh.
Hissing, the boy pulls back and grimaces in pain.
"I know," the man soothes, sharing the boy's discomfort. "I know, but please, bear with me. I have to clean it."
Inhaling slowly, the boy nods and returns to his original position, shoulders tensed.
The man demurs slightly, but then places the cloth back on the boy's stinging neck, rubbing it as painlessly as he can manange. When he finally sets the white towel back into the bowl of water, it's pink.
The boy stomach sickens at that observation.
Red. Bright red. Dripping. Tainting. Sinisterly darkening the innocent white.
He swallows, but the arising lump in his throat refuses to disappear.
"Kaname-kun," the man says, placing the bowl on a near by table. "Could you fetch me the bandages? I left them over there on the kitchen counter."
With a nod, Kaname begins to rise, and the boy's heart stutters, an acute fear forming in the center of his uneasy stomach.
Where was he going? Was he leaving?
Eyes desperate and pulse racing, the boy grabs onto Kaname's sleeve and gives it a desperate yank. "No," he pleads, head shaking. "No."
Instantly, Kaname falls back into the seat, without so much as sending the other man an apologetic glance, and wraps his arm around the shaking and trembling boy's shoulders.
"Okay, okay," he breathes against the boy's silver hair. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
Sighing, the other man stands. "I'll do it," and the boy is almost positive he hears more grumbles of complaint, but by then, he's too far away to tell.
"There," the man clucks, securing the last bit of the boy's bandage with a self-satisfied grin. "All done."
He looks at the boy and smiles, his head tilting slightly to the side, and it's an odd expression, but the boy doesn't mind it. It wasn't the least bit threatening, after all, and that was really all that mattered.
"Now," the dirty-blonde says with a puff of air, "I'm Kaien." He reaches his hand out and holds it in front of the child's own, tiny one.
Reluctantly, he takes it, shaking it twice before letting go, but it doesn't discourage Kaien's pleasant attitude, which was a little impressive, and very obnoxious.
Kaien eyes him expectantly, and the boy merely blinks back, bemused.
"And your name?"
Another blink.
Name? The word sounds strange in the boy's mind. Like it's something he should know, something very imortant.
Kaien smiles mischeviously. "I know you can talk, remember?"
But the boy can't at all be soothed by the notion, and he wants to scream at the man, because that's not the problem. He knows he can talk, too. But his name, he doesn't know, and shouldn't he know his name? Frightened tears began to form in the corners of his glistening lilac eyes. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he remember?
"Stop," Kaname orders and the boy looks up at him through the blurry shine. Though the word came out heavy and strong like a boulder, the face it belongs to is gentle and soothing. "It's okay," he assures the tearful boy. "You're name is Kiryuu Zero."
Zero. Zay-ro.
"Zero?" the boy repeats, tasting the name on his tongue.
Kaname smiles warmly. "Yes, Zero."
"You can sleep here for tonight, Zero," Kaien murmurs to the small boy. His torso is no longer naked, now covered in the smallest shirt Kaien could manage to locate in his closet (though it still hangs to his knees). Behind him, barely an inch away, is Kaname, and at that, Kaien has to grin knowingly. It had been a mere few hours, but somehow, the Kiryuu child had the soon-to-be pureblood prince wrapped around his tiny finger.
He couldn't fault Kaname for that completely, though. This boy, Zero, made quite an endearing sight, with his messy mop of moonlight strands and his wide, trusting lilac eyes. He was simply adorable, though Kaien suspected that his attitude was probably far from it. Or at least, it was when he was around him. When he was with Kaname, on the otherhand...
Kaien couldn't help but feel slightly jealous. Among other things, he's always desired having a child. Someone to look after and care for, someone to care back. And now that the dream was right in his grasp, it seemed typical that the child wouldn't like him, and would prefer the company of someone else. Of course, Kaname had been the one who'd save him.
But oh well, at least he was safe for the time being. That should and would be enough.
"Go ahead," said pureblood nudged Zero forward and to the bed, stopping his persuasion only when the boy was securely tucked underneath the covers with his head resting on the fluffy pillow.
Simply adorable, indeed.
With a sigh, Kaien turned at made for the door, giving Kaname one quick head flick to follow.
Kaien's not sure how Kaname knows to nod in response because when the vampire does so, he's still smiling softly at the already near passed out boy, whose breaths are long and peaceful, blowing a single strand hanging in his face up with each puff.
"And you're sure it was a pureblood?"
"Yes," Kaname grimaces. "It was my uncle's wife."
Kaien's eyes widen. "Hio Shizuka..."
"Yes," Kaname repeats with a grave expression. "She said it was because the Kiryuu's killed someone very close to her. A secret lover, I think. But I will not even begin to try to understand anything that madwoman says..." he trails off, ignoring Kaien's surprise at the use of the term. "When I found him, Zero, they were all already - " he stops, not bothering to continue what they both knew would follow.
Nodding sadly, Kaien asks, "And you - "
"Killed her?" Kaname interjects. "Yes."
Kaien sucks in a shaky inhale at his words, especially with the knowledge that they were leaving an eleven year old's mouth. He knew vampires, specifically purebloods, were raised in a more mature environment, and therefore, knew about things like murder or love affairs, but it still chilled his heart to hear.
"So then, Zero..." the ex-hunter muses.
"I think we can both agree to worry about that when we come to it."
One year later
Heart pounding rapidly in his chest, Zero advances forward, each step slowed slightly by the snow that attempts to swallow his feet, but it doesn't at all lower his spirits.
"Kaname-sama!" he cries excitedly, immediately latching himself onto the older boy's leg in a vice-like grip.
With a hearty laugh, Kaname, smiling widely, picks the boy up into his arms and makes his way towards the gaping door. "Zero, where's your coat?"
Grinning sheepishly, the boy stares into Kaname's narrowed wine-colored orbs, and mumbles, "I left it inside." The pureblood raises a single chastising eyebrow. "But, it's okay, Kaname-sama," Zero assures him, head shaking furiously. "I'm not even cold."
"That's not the point," Kaname admonishes, but his stern expression last only for a few seconds before crumbling under the small boy's innocently happy gaze, and he gives up with a laugh, carrying them through the doorway and shutting the door behind them with a click.
From his spot at the table, Kaien looks up, steaming tea pot in one hand and a small cake decorated with frilly white icing in the other. "Kaname-kun," he grins, taking in the heap of flesh in the pureblood's arms. "I see you and Zero have said your hello's."
Kaname chuckles good-naturedly. "Yes, and I see you're letting him go outside by himself now."
With an exasperated sigh, Kaien grumbles, "The word 'letting' implies that I actually have a say in the matter."
Kaname emits another loud laugh at that and looks pointedly at the boy in his arms. "Zero, you are behaving for Cross-san, right?"
"Yes," Zero replies innocently, though Kaien's responding eye roll begs to differ.
Still smiling, Kaname sets the boy onto that very same couch he had the night of their meeting, and seats himself next to him.
"Kaname-sama!" Zero suddenly exclaims, eyes wide, and he all but throws himself onto the elder boy's lap. "I forgot to tell you!"
"Tell me what?" Kaname appeases, lips upturned in the corners fondly.
"Today is the day you saved me." The boy says, as if Kaname could have possibly forgotten. "So, happy birthday!"
It doesn't receive the desired response, and Zero finds himself blinking anxiously at the way Kaname's cheshire grin falls to a sad smile and the skin on his forhead crinkles. Had he said something wrong? "No, Zero," he sighs with a head shake. "It's your birthday, not mine."
Zero's head tilts to the side, and he studies Kaname's rich mahogany eyes in bemused wonder.
"So, happy birthday."
