Here is the chapter!
I'm sorry this took so long, but I've been so busy. However, I'd like to thank a vital person who helped me out so much with all the help for this chapter. Eternal.Angel, give her your many many thanks! I'd love to thank her for being my beta this chapter! She was really helpful with everything, and her patience with my horrible grammar in general is very appreciated, and she is the main reason why I could release this, today!
Happy Halloween to you all! I hope that the length of this may make up for my long absence.
Disclaimer: All disclaimers apply. All characters not of my own creation are credited to Konomi Takeshi. I'm only borrowing the characters.
Chapter Ten DREAMS
-Tezuka-
The Past
"Kunimitsu," The voice called softly to him, darting past his ears gently like the wind. At this, which in any other situation he would not have spared patience for, he easily turned his head against it, as if the gesture was completely accepted into conscience. Standing next to him was the fine, slender outline of a beautiful woman, standing tolerantly at his side. He barely batted an eyebrow towards him as she set a tray next to him on the desk, the metal hitting wood with a low sound that Tezuka's ears only caught. On it was a cup, a draught of the woman's own preparation.
The dim candlelight made its way well across his room, casting an ethereal glow on her delicate face and eyes. She set a cup next to him and withdrew slightly with the metal tray in hand. Her feet made the floorboards creak, and perhaps for a minute, he thought of ordering her to sleep, well, not ordering. Asking. His fingers touched inside his pocket and he took out a pocket watch. The time read well past midnight. He then tuned his eyes to the cup, pocketed his watch, and frowned.
The draught was piteous in his opinion, one that had been of her preparation. Of course, he had been the one who had decided that an alternative was to be found. She only happily complied by compiling this draught that she prepared for him once every few days. This was not nearly as satisfying as what his food source had been for the past few months, her blood. The woman was tolerant and strong, but he no longer wanted to take the vitality from the young woman's life, even if she was more than willing to give it. Perhaps, he would think to himself as he sipped the foul-tasting liquid, he would be able to tolerate this taste, if it was only for her.
On any other night, she would have asked him to withdraw from his work for a half an hour to go walking on the empty streets, passing the general store and eyeing the glow of the streetlamps. After all, the night was the only time that they could walk together, truly. They came from two different worlds, light and dark, but she had stepped into his world to tangle with him and permanently end his affairs with any other humans. Truly, it had been effective, even when he still sometimes found human blood smeared across his lips. Her thoughts often turned to inviting him outside, away from his current tasks and worries. Instead, tonight she watched him drink.
When he did, she seemed happier, for she smiled brightly at him even when she knew she would receive no smile in return.
All he needed to know was that this made her happy; if he knew it, he could successfully transition to this without a problem, and she would never offer up her blood to him again. The blood of a woman was so pure and so sweet on his lips, but at the same time it was a sin. He hated hurting countless for his bloodlust that was always so hard to control. Sipping the liquid slowly, he thought of how this, a half-meal was not nearly as satisfying as the real thing. Soon the feeling would be numbed by the knowledge she was at his side, but until then he remained undeniably cold. Human warmth only came with human blood, and due to recent abstinence from his conventional food source, he would find need to assuage his thoughts by lying next to her.
"Thank you," he told her as she walked to the doorway. For a moment, she stopped, the fabric of her skirt sweeping her ankles slightly. His head turned at the swish of cloth, and he saw her smiling face, which was so full of life. Calmly, he went back to his task, allowing the pen to scratch across the paper. Meanwhile, the woman did what she did best; she simply observed him while remaining unobtrusive and without comment or burning stare.
Her silence was perhaps what was so attractive about her personality. She was prepared to fall well to his side while respecting his reverence for silence. She was never one to push or to pry at his personal matters, and that was how Tezuka preferred it. While their moments of affection were few, they were undeniably sweet. Even now he was resisting the urge to take her by the arm and kiss the soft lips gently, marveling at the face that radiated an elegant, womanly beauty. Even now, his temptation to simply be with her until time ended was overpowering.
"It will be dawn soon. You are dedicated Kunimitsu; only you are able to work so diligently. "
She was sometimes so silent that he forgot that she was there, and allowed her to melt into a corner while she watched him with remarkable fondness and affection, with patient reverence. She would smile as he melted into writing down thoughts and feelings that couldn't even be read by her, the power of them bleeding into the page and burning it. For her pretty, unscarred eyes, it would have not been appropriate. Eventually, she came to sit beside him and wait for a silent signal that showed she was allowed to lay her cheek on his shoulder, the smallest of smiles touching her lips.
After a moment he always looked up slightly from his work, paused as if he feared somebody would be around to see them together, and then reached over to stroke her hair for only a moment. That time was all she needed each day, to lean fully into him and sigh with content. Eventually, his fingers drew back when he was able to track the even breaths, continuing patiently with his current task while she leaned against him; in that moment, he could relax fully and act as if there was no one there.
Even when she was most precious to him, he couldn't properly express himself around her, so he left any interpretation to her broad, almost artistic imagination. He often found her sketching the night sky, and in her notebook he, too, found pictures of the daytime sky that appeared foreign to him. They alone were enough to be filled with a certain loneliness that lingered at the depths of his soul darkly. The rest of his thoughts were filled with sunlight, and her. She entranced his mind with each one of the drawings; they were windows into her outlook on life. Everything, even the night sky and the moon were lit up with an enlightened glow, free form the pall radiation of the true darkness at night. In her eyes, was he filled with that same light? He wondered, sometimes. He wondered with apathetic wistfulness if, like she was to him, he was everything to her.
Head drooping slightly against his shoulder, she allowed her eyes to flutter shut, then reached back and undid the hair tie that kept her hair above her shoulders. It fell lightly past her shoulders now, in the way she generally only kept it when she slept. Her dislike of her long hair was strange; however, her dislike of hair did not bring her to cut it above her shoulders, probably in part because of the fact that Tezuka seemed to prefer it long, and her strict upbringing taught her that it was proper to have longer hair. Her hands tangled past his hair, brushing his temple lightly, and then rested on his opposite shoulder. Woven between her fingers was the black satin ribbon she tied her hair with, usually. Mutely, he looked down on it, and then to the other, who looked weighed down with fatigue. Hesitantly, he took her ribbon-painted hand. Today, it felt cooler to the touch than usual. She dropped the ribbon in his hands while he hesitantly rubbed her palm with his fingertips. At the uncharacteristic gesture, though it wasn't unwanted in part, she closed her eyes and turned her head away.
"Are you feeling ill?"
Softly, she shook her head; scattering bangs in her face gracefully. "No, I'm just a little tired. I haven't gotten sleep for the past few days." Even when slightly tired, her words were still filled with a poetic tone.
Wishing to raise his hand to her chin, he instead looked at her eyes. She blinked back at him, tiredly; in them, a certain light wasn't there, or simply fading with fatigue. Tezuka couldn't figure out which. Perchance, he should have worried more at the uncharacteristic combination of these elements that grew to be a frightening roar within his ears. Her weakness was that she couldn't allow others to worry; she, especially, hated it when he paid her much more attention than a few words daily and a touch on occasion, perhaps a kiss if the mood was favorable. Their relationship consisted of subtle passions woven through their beings. She, on occasion, had been more intimate with him than she had anybody else, but only on the nights when she felt coldest, those nights when she needed to be assured by the rare, almost fearful feeling of his fingers running down her sides. She would withdraw from her characteristic shyness to join him for a single night of unrestrained affections. Their intimacy was fragile, though, only assured by her dependence on him. Whenever his affection grew stronger at strange moments, she began to ponder. Tezuka was not affectionate, and therefore she took his worry as warning and perhaps to assure herself that there was nothing troublesome, she rejected any concern he gave towards the matter and paid little attention to the problem, which most likely ailed her.
Pausing, Tezuka opened his mouth to taste the cool air, and if detecting a problem, he answered suitably.
"Perhaps you should,"
Tezuka was always stern, yet capable of eliciting a small, warm chuckle from her each time he tried to impose strictness upon her. He did not want to, no, couldn't impose demands upon her out of guilt. His characteristic terseness and strict nature were only a primary component of everything. She only followed what he asked of her compliantly, obediently. Somehow, in a way, this was sad, yet suiting for Tezuka. Their relationship was no call for conflict, and she spared him needless worry. Perhaps she knew that his knowledge that she would possibly walk out of the relationship at any moment she fancied was what kept him unbelievably close to her.
"I suppose. Will you walk with me?"
"If you wish," In his motion of handing the ribbon back to her, she wrapped her fingers around his and stopped the action. Her smile was fatigue-worn, and as dusty as the floor they stood on, but even when all those components were harmful, he found it as a credible gesture. Clutching the black satin ribbon in his hands, he stood, and she gladly took her place about three steps behind him as he headed in the direction of her room. Below them, the floorboards creaked, yet this sound was all too familiar, and he was glad to hear it. She always told him there was a rustic beauty to this home, even though she couldn't have been exactly sure when it was built. They had discovered it abandoned, and in Tezuka's opinion, unwelcoming. The weeds grew to the knees in the yard, and the house was drafty and cold at night, which never affected Tezuka, but worried him about the other's health, even when she insisted that she was fine. She, though, with her strange eye for beauty, couldn't resist the old house.
That was something strange about their relationship. Their views were so often different that Tezuka knew little about the reasons a bond between them could survive. She was not his polar opposite, but she often found things beautiful that Tezuka wanted to avoid, and she had a tendency of getting Tezuka into trouble despite her obedient nature. Thrice, she had managed to unintentionally drag Tezuka and herself into a life-threatening and frightening situation.
Part of her survival was contributed to luck, and the other, charming wit. She was highly independent considering the era she was born into. Though obedient to Tezuka, it was easy to tell she was able to keep her own thoughts, and never depended solely on men for her own emotional well-being. Of course, she was nowhere near the line of disobedient, but she easily was able to stand her ground against men. Perhaps it wasn't a good thing, though; one time was enough for him to decide that. She tended to misjudge danger, and he would always have to drag her away from it. Naturally, being a woman with not many occupations to find, especially during the day while Tezuka slept, she got bored, and boredom always seemed to lead to something more significant. After all this, their bonds remained placid and close-knit. She preferred being around Tezuka to anyone else and slowly Tezuka had grown to prefer her, with complacent silence. She wasn't weak in mind, but perhaps lacked physical strength. She rarely found need to resist opposing forces, and when she did she seemed to be too overtaken to rationally deal with them; Tezuka seemed, though, that he was willing to give her protection when that happened, and her preference for him grew.
At the door, she pushed it open silently, which was the only time she chose to walk ahead of him. In the darkness her face shown through the best to Tezuka's acute eyesight, and she looked somewhat paler. Somehow, the fact that her hair was down rather than tied up made her look smaller and frailer. As if he half-expected that she would break anytime soon, he stayed near her adhering as if she was as easy to break as a thin sheet of glass. Surely, she was stronger than that; her pale, colorless cheeks told a different story though.
Seeming contented with his choice to remain, she went to the dresser and opened up the music box that sat there, humming ever so softly while unclipping the necklace she wore around her neck, to it affixed a simple ring that Tezuka had given her. The piece of jewelry glimmered strangely across the room even in darkness, and the eerie melody of her soft singing drifted to his ears. By any means, she was not an extremely talented singer, but she had the voice of a woman, the voice that was free from any roughness or sharp tonal differences that might have made the song unpleasant to the ear. She sang the rehearsed lyrics with years of knowledge behind them, and that was perhaps the only reason why the melody came out so beautifully and in unison with the soft and gentle music that accompanied her.
"I thought you agreed to sleep," he noted after the entrancing melody ended.
"I will, after I change into a nightgown."
At the time, Tezuka usually spared his gaze in a polite, courteous gesture to her, in order to give her more privacy. She always changed with her back facing him, but still then he could sense that, like most women, she wanted privacy. To her, a show of skin was something very intimate, and was not something she enjoyed. He knew very well that if he touched her then, she would tremble slightly under his touch. She enjoyed not having to feel the brush a gaze burning into the back of her neck. That single thing, Tezuka knew, was enough to make her cheeks redden slightly as if in embarrassment. Of course, they had their moments, but without that passion, she turned away from him, head lowered as if her uncovered shoulders were a shame. Before he turned his eyes politely away, he silently observed. Her shoulders always had a delicate curve to them, but today there was a small difference in her elegant form; somehow, she only seemed slightly more fragile. At the worrisome discovery, he frowned, but the realized she had noticed his gaze and had huddled closer to the corner. She looked over her shoulder, and her eyes glowed, but underneath the layer was slight worry. Her eyes told him everything; his gaze was too intense, perhaps. Sparing the woman some privacy, he turned his eyes away.
"Are you sure you aren't ill?"
Straightening the material of the nightgown, she turned and smiled as if his question had been nothing but a gust of wind, unpleasant to her ears. However, her silence was unusual this time; he wasn't unaccustomed to this type of quiet that ran over the atmosphere awkwardly, as if she was intentionally keeping something from him. Behind his spectacles, his eyes became glowing fire that bade her for answers that she dared not procure. The nightgown only revealed her ribs slightly, and he wondered if she had been eating. There was a kind neighbor only a ways off by the name of Kikumaru, and he was more than happy to provide her with food. He, and one of his best friends were the most charitable people in the area. Tezuka rarely spoke with Kikumaru, but perhaps if she insisted on remaining silent, he would become his source for answers. Unexpectedly, though, she gave him the words that he wished, but not in a tone that satisfied the unsettling feeling that something wasn't quite right.
"Kunimitsu, it isn't that I'm ill."
She was being unusually clingy tonight, as if there was something deathly wrong. Hair sweeping her shoulders, she made her way over to where the man sat on the bed. He tore his eyes away from the pure white nightgown that only seemed impure to him, and unsatisfying to his burning eyes, which protested to him that keep his gaze unblinking and intense to earn the answers that he believed to rightfully deserve. She was, after all, living with him. He cared for her in all the ways he could, so in part, he deserved to know what was wrong. The woman, however, fumbled with her words in difficulty. Sitting next to him, she dared not lean her cheek against his shoulder again, but allowed herself to give into the temptation of running a hand against his strong arm.
"Tell me what it is," He then spoke her name sternly, which was his warning that he did not like having secrets kept from him. Indeed, his tone grew slightly stricter than usual, and the closest thing to an order that he would ever get. "You have grown thinner. There is something wrong." She gave a glimmering, sad smile that glowed like sunlight even in darkness, yet at the same time made him directly upset.
"I went to see a doctor about it today," Her blustery voice grew a little softer and lacked the grace that she spoke with earlier. Unable to find words he watched as the other slowly worked out a way to tell him, perhaps by placing a hand rightfully at his shoulder and brushing her nose against his neck. The warm skin against his made his senses prickle slightly, but his heart was weighed down with concern and wasn't lifted when she nuzzled against him sweetly. "He told me that I am slightly ill, but he is certain that it is because of a child." At this, Tezuka only blinked.
"A child?"
"Kunimitsu…" the manner in which she spoke hit him with the force of a ton of lead, and all he could do was blink, while she looked at him with plain expectation, waiting with baited breath for his reaction. As if he was trying to compose himself for the moment, he ran his hands through his hair in question. The news was really quite exasperating, and the knowledge weighted his chest down strangely. He wasn't even sure if he could draw breath.
"I didn't know that was possible."
"Neither did I."
As if she expected another type of reaction, other than shock, she waited with softly glowing eyes, hoping to see some sort of expression that showed the positive. Surely, for this small thing, he would not cast her out? Time and time again he treated her in the tenderest way possible, and cared very greatly for her. If their bonds didn't go beyond the realms of physical attraction, her heart probably would have broken. What was she supposed to have from him? Approval? Happiness? Why should she have expected a positive reaction from the obviously shocked man when she herself couldn't even understand how such a fate came about? In their knowledge, there had never been an instance of any rendezvous between a vampire and a human producing a child. No, this was the first that Tezuka had ever heard of it.
"Are you sure?"
"Even if the doctor didn't know…I can feel it myself. I've been worried about it, Kunimitsu. My dreams, though… I had to be sure." There she was, sitting there with the saddest look on her face; the expression radiated shame. Her parents may have been dead, but she was bringing misfortune and shame upon their memories in her very relationship with Tezuka. The man knew, for he could see the look in her eyes that told him that she was ashamed of bringing such disgrace to her very name. She was not in an honorable marriage, and the child was a result of a forbidden and unconventional relationship between monster and human. Even through all this shame and her sadness, he felt a pang in her heart for her, with her eyes that shone with clear tears from fear of abandonment.
There was his answer to why she had previously been so clingy, yet his own brain could not process the belief. Maybe once, when he was human, he had thought of children easily. One day, if he had remained human, it would have been practical to marry and have children. Their situation was strange, though, yet with radiating beauty and grace. All Tezuka could see in his future was her, not a child. Right now she looked so fragile that she might not have been easily carrying a child. If she were weak right now, what would it be in a few months? What would Tezuka do if she got sick? Tezuka was, in all meanings of the word, dead. He didn't even know if the charity Kikumaru offered her extended beyond the realms of giving her food. Besides, caring for a child was not a burden he could knowingly put on another man.
There were families, fabled by the vampire community. They knew of vampires, yes, but unlike hunters, they reveled in the vampires' beings. Tezuka would have paid little tribute to them if it hadn't been for the small fact that they offered jobs to vampires as bodyguards. Little was important about this, save for the fact that this one chance at a paying job was the closest thing Tezuka had to being able to support a family.
However, with a child and a female, human companion, the risks were too numerous. He could not seek that opportunity.
He did not no what a child who was half-blooded would be like; the risks were innumerable. As she was clearly not sure as well, he didn't know what to ask, or what to say. Her eyes were wide and gaping at him, almost frightened; beneath the orbs were violently brewing emotions and fears. From this situation spawned sudden, instinctive fear that Tezuka would grow angry and pin her to the bed with uncharacteristic roughness. The scenes played about sickeningly behind her eyes, and she almost backed away from the other, wanting to suddenly get as far away as possible from the man. Yet, at the same time, her desperation begged her to stay near him and seek his gentle touch. Beneath her trembling fright was her trust for the man she loved. She was too obedient to move, but her adrenaline kept her from doing anything other than blinking. Tezuka seemed only just to realize that her shock that made her heart pound was beginning to through her into a nervous breakdown. Her interpretation of Tezuka's lack of an answer was simple; he disapproved.
Deeply, truly, she never wanted Tezuka to disapprove of her. Never.
"If you are having a child, and the child is mind, I will accept it."
As if it was long-drawn to speak, and played in slow motion, the meaning at first didn't really hit her. Instead she sat there giving him a strange bug-eyed look that infringed her radiating beauty that was so admirable even on the darkest of nights. Ever so slowly, he could watch as the meaning slowly began to take its effect, and like the tearing joy that sped through her heart at the sudden realization that she wasn't going to be abandoned, a smile raced across her face, making the other's heart flutter at the brightness it reflected. At her joy, she nearly threw her arms around his neck, though she had enough self-control to know otherwise.
She, amazingly, was the one thing that could make his heart speed like that. When she smiled, he felt each time as if a bit of his humanity was brought back with accompanying warmth. Years from now, on the darkest of cold nights, perhaps these memories would be what kept him from falling as a victim to biting, laughing insanity. Her earthly haven was the only thing he had left to indulge in. A child would not change it.
In ways, it was beautiful. For, he never knew that his intimacy would lead to a child. Like a legal, binding contract, they were together as a father and a mother, and it was undeniable that the idea of being a father didn't pique his interest at least for a millisecond. For Tezuka, the very meaning of the word was amazing. He, who had condemned himself to living death the day he chose to take a shortcut on the way home had given up everything having to do with a normal life. Slowly, ever so slowly, he lost the human part of himself in the process. Each ruthless kill, each feeding was only what made the monster in him live. So significant, that when he met the true human beauty one day, he found it fitting to wait for only a while before choosing the right moment to pounce.
Her beauty had been captivating, but her personality even more so. For a long time Tezuka nearly stalked from afar, noting almost every aspect of her personality while mapping every nook and cranny of her strengths and weaknesses, he had in turn brought only more interest to the woman living an unusual lifestyle; he isolation was similar, yet different to his, and this was what perhaps attracted him most. By the time he finally managed to pull his head out of the clouds and corner her one day, he could no longer bring himself to do her any harm, though perhaps out of pity. She had no parents, no family, not even a husband. She was unmarried, had few friends, and had taken up residence with one of her best friends.
Of course, she was by far a beautiful woman, but friendship and a casual appreciation of beauty were two entirely different things. Unless one chose to delve deeper than the surface, she seemed nothing but a stubborn woman who was frightened of her own decisions. Tezuka knew otherwise, but few others did.
So, she sought both companionship and love in her relationship by him. The very desire cemented their bonds and slowly took root. She was never quite without him, save for when he slept in the day, or when she slept and duties called him elsewhere. Even when she needed to stay in the corner and remain ignored by Tezuka, she took that option over the idea of being utterly alone. In ways, her deepest fear was that he would one day leave her alone, for even in strength, she secretly feared abandonment and loss.
Like the blue sky above, she became the light of his world, and he slowly could not resist her call. Their relationship took time to blossom out of tentative, shy natures coming from both. As soon as it took full bloom, though, the petals were something beyond beautiful. Their relationship was full of trust, full of pure love. Perhaps their love may have been innocent, but Tezuka knew that at best, it was only blind. She was a pure, untainted woman. He, on the other hand, was a monster who had once killed without a second thought. Relationships between monster and beauty weren't supposed to happen. Tezuka was not the fabled 'knight in shining armor'. His being, though once a proud figure with noble morals, had degraded upon his assimilation into the role of a vampire. As always, his kinds were connected with sin. There were fables of good vampires, and fables of bad, but in that world, a whole society existed. Vampires had little more to do with humans than as a source of food. Supposedly, vampires could feel lust, but never love. Their relationship was built on all that was unconventional, and all that every vampire in the world looked down upon. Out of that had come a child, and somehow, Tezuka felt proud even though his position was that of shame.
She was a young twenty-two, but he was easily proud of her.
As the soft melody of the music box faded into the night, it sung her off to sleep with the comfort of Tezuka sitting on the side of the bed, next to her. Tezuka fancied ensuring she was warm. If this child would be a major weakness, Tezuka was ready to take care of her with all his strength. Though her cheeks still appeared as fragile glass, she was having an easier time sleeping and breathing now, so small amounts of color returned there. With the black ribbon still artfully entangled in his fingers, he waited until sleep took her before daring to run fingers gently through her hair.
Nobody would tell him that only a few months later, that melody of beauty would sour. Darkly, his fingers touched across her cheek, and his lips enjoyed speaking her name a multitude of times, as if the word brought him the most joy in the world just to simply to speak. Sensations danced warmly across his heart, and for once, Tezuka felt undeniably happy. His heartbeats did not follow the steady pace, which were all too human for him to mimic. For a while he allowed himself to lie beside her and willed himself to listen to that steady, strong beat. The lingering remnants of fear brushed past him slowly—he still feared for her, of course, but the fear was slowly diminishing. She would be fine. Sometimes women got sick in the early stages of pregnancy. She would be fine, like all others, and she would gain the weight back within the course of a month.
A child.
They would have a child.
Though at that moment, he didn't quite smile, there was something that seemed more suiting that came into view. He seemed at least slightly contented by the idea that he would be a father.
In a warm flash of orange and pink, the sunlight fell to the tightening hold of dusk, and navy spread serenely across the horizon. As the last of twilight faded away to give into the depths of the deep, wild night, Tezuka found his thoughts being pulled unwillingly away from dusty memories that played countless times through his mind. All the actions were rough, worn over by forlorn gestures and words aged by painful time. These scenes enjoyed playing themselves in front of his eyes, and they focused in like a clear-shot camera at the object of his strange, yet strong affections. Even in the passing of many years, so many that insanity drove Tezuka to lose count, her image was forever immortalized like beautiful embroidery on clear white fabric.
Imbued upon his mind was the plague of her lovely face, her smile; slowly, ever so slowly the image had degraded him. Human beauty slowly faded away into the darkness. The tragedy of the beauty was not that it was beautiful, but simply that it could not last forever. His features were different from hers; though his were attractive, they could not be pure beauty. Pure beauty could never be immortal. His face was rough, and his eyes a little too sharp; surely, those features were undeserving of the pure, unharmed beauty of a woman's face. She had only been a simple human, and the only thing that set her apart was her pure loveliness; in a span of time, his love had grown far too dear for him to let go. Young age was the only time of pure beauty to creatures as he; when she grew older, he knew that all this vitality would be drained by cruel time. Surely, she would crumble. He knew this all, but the image of pure beauty still rested in his mind coupled with sad melodies of forlorn emotions.
Tonight, he chose to join at Fuji's side at this park, though it had not been of his free will. As Tezuka withdrew from his daytime prison to greet the night, he met the seventeen-year-old walking down the street with a young girl clinging to his hands and speaking amicably with him. The threads of their conversation had barely reached his ears when Fuji's face glowed with strange light, and he suggested that after taking the young girl home, they spend time together. Before he had time to protest Fuji had cleverly woven a situation for them, and after taking the young girl home Fuji insisted they travel back to the park where Tezuka had originally forbidden Fuji to travel to at night. Of course, the human's subtle, sly techniques were not invisible to his tuned senses, and he was keen enough to sense a red flag. Drawing himself against the rushing tide, he felt that he would be able to resist anything, but Fuji found ways around it. With strange perception, Fuji was able to wield minute weaknesses against him in order reach his whim and desire. Tezuka finally, though feeling dark fatigue and exasperation at the feeling of being defeated, agreed. .
If, perchance, those features matched that personality and Fuji were more like here, it would have been automatic for Tezuka to follow him. Somehow, though, through sly tricks and promises, Fuji managed to bend Tezuka to his request even without the likeness in personality. Somehow, he didn't feel like he minded. Being with Fuji was not nearly calming, but something about the smooth features that flowed smoothly between emotions was somewhat attractive, with a magnetic pull.
Despite his own burning eyes, he did suppose that part of this ordeal was contributed to the likeness in facial features. Fuji's masculine, yet effeminate features were too gentle and remotely reminded him of her. Still, though, it was embarrassing that slowly Fuji managed to drag him back to the forbidden playground through coy persuasion and clever tricks. He knew now that for the next few hours, he would be condemned to watching Fuji as if in obsession while Fuji swung back and forth on the park swings, his feet kicking up a cloud of dust as they scraped the ground. It was late, but Fuji was becoming a master escape artist and defying all curfew hours in the process, he found subtle enjoyment in spending far more time with Tezuka than what could be considered healthy, as if there wasn't the smallest worry in his heart that the knowledge of his late-night antics would give his poor mother a heart attack.
"Tezuka, are you feeling okay?" They soft, youthful face was looking at him; it glowed through the darkness and at it, Tezuka could feel his heart begin to tremble, and then beat with only a slightly more human rhythm. As the memories began to weigh heavily upon him, the face of the most precious person that had ever walked the depths of his heart easily melted into Fuji's expression. At a wave of thoughts, he groaned and had to clench his fists only to repress them.
"Don't be childish, Fuji. I'm fine, but you need to go home." Fuji's warm, rusty chuckle rumbled through the air and the chains on the swing set creaked. When the eerie echo vibrated through the air and met his ears slowly, Tezuka gave a delayed pause. That laugh was so gentle and childish, yet at the same time, it proved that Fuji had knowledge beyond his years. In distaste, Tezuka could have almost turned his nose up at it. If it weren't for Fuji's graceful, androgynous beauty, he wouldn't need to listen to his laugh and ponder on why Fuji seemed to know everything.
"Ah, Tezuka, you need to learn how to have some fun."
"It will rain soon."
No, it would probably snow. It was certainly cold enough.
Pausing only slightly at Tezuka's strange tone, he only was able to imitate his usual smile at this small, yet calculated gesture. Ever so quietly, he shifted his weight onto his feet and pulled up on the chains of the swings in order to simply meet the blowing wind that had the ability to make weaker men tremble out of weakness. Fuji looked up to the moon silently as its light faded behind the clouds. The glowing stairway leading to the heavens, built out of moonlight and the night stars, faded. Perhaps in a while, Fuji would propose that they would travel back to the rocky cove they had only discovered a week ago. Fuji enjoyed wandering among the rocky shoals, and Tezuka slowly grew to admit that amidst the stresses of daily life, the chance to forget the problems of daily life was more than irresistible; it was addictive. The local murders grew more and more worrisome, and Tezuka hadn't seen nor heard of Wolfe for almost two weeks. Maybe the boy was growing sickly like his father. Forgetting the hunters and the glow of the city lights was easy, and he almost enjoyed that one night when all he had to watch was Fuji as he trailed ahead slightly. From these small moments he knew that one day, Fuji would get into trouble with this beauty, but Tezuka felt that perhaps he could help if he was able to pull him back only the slightest and keep danger away. Even then, Fuji pulled a little ahead of him, and Tezuka, being who he was, couldn't hold Fuji back in those moments that he chose to stray. Fuji lived in the moment, and Tezuka did not. For a person who never took calculated risks as Fuji did, it was fascinating to watch Fuji.
"If it rains, then come home with me. You shouldn't be wandering the streets in the rain either. Doesn't it bet boring walking the same route every night?" In their time together, Fuji had attached himself firmly to Tezuka as if there wasn't anything strange about clinging to another man with all his strength. Quietly. Tezuka found peace within his inner being and grew to be able to ignore it as if Fuji's presence meant nothing to him, and that there was nothing unusual about their sudden friendly bonds. Fuji had pulled him dangerously close, and as the last of his desire for space dissolved, he could no longer keep himself away from the thought of at least friendship with Fuji. Fuji had a certain, wild pheromone that tangled with his senses in the most unusual matter that made their proximity addictive. Of course, he still had the strength to stand against a sudden wave that Fuji created, but his resolve softened towards the boy, strangely. Tezuka no longer had any desire to push Fuji away.
Right, that was probably just the scent of his blood that caused this uncharacteristic reaction.
Fuji was bred among tragic, bloody martyrs by simply remaining that close to Tezuka. Fuji's blood should not have been a sacrifice for the bond between them, but in creeping realization, Tezuka realized that it was what Fuji had given the day he decided to follow behind Tezuka rather than stay with Anna on the doorstep. He knew though that this tragic and fatal gift would never be given tribute, but he also knew that Fuji wasn't stupid. Upon realizing his being, Fuji knew the danger and the sacrifices he had unknowingly set forth on the stage. Whether or not Fuji accepted, he could not tell. All his world had grown into was Fuji, his duties, and the murders. The newspapers were turning out numerous articles about these mysterious articles, and he could only watch as Fuji's opinion developed; he did not know if Fuji thought him the culprit. Sometimes, though, those clear blue eyes asked him if he knew.
Tezuka didn't.
Fuji's smooth assimilation of the role of a bloody martyr had gone silently, without even verbal tribute. Fuji seemed to gladly join him at his side now as if there was nothing to fear. Perhaps he expected from Tezuka the protection he had once bestowed on somebody who he loved more than he thought he could have ever loved. What Fuji wanted was to become Tezuka's 'dearly beloved' when he clearly was not. Tezuka could not place an exact value on his ties with Fuji, but he knew that deep within Fuji's soul, those fears could be confirmed. Tezuka's uncontrolled, sometimes almost violent actions were not just because Fuji had a pretty face, or special blood. Darkness clouding his eyes, all he could see was the person that Fuji resembled. His desire to leap at the boy and poses the very person that didn't exist was sometimes overpowering.
Being around Fuji was a constant test of his wits. Almost, he grew crazy just being around Fuji.
"Really, Tezuka, I don't know how you have adjusted to living at night so well."
A gust of wind blew past in forlorn hope; winter would be coming soon by sign of the chilling, arctic breeze. Perhaps rather than rain, it would snow. So surprisingly, it snowed in the city, a city that was only about forty minutes from the coast. That pure white would dye the world for a time until it gave way for the more vivid colors of spring. Perhaps, even tonight was favorable for ice crystals to form. By the way Fuji shivered, he knew that it was cold enough. He was firmly desensitized to the breeze but, in traditional fear of being discovered, he wore a jacket to blend in with the crowds. Fuji liked to rebel, and he did not. Almost, Tezuka thought of offering out his coat to the boy, whose face and lips were touched with a light pink from cold. The corners of Fuji's mouth grew red and his lips trembled minutely. Expertly, his eyes tracked each movement with glowing fire, until Fuji's lips shot downwards into a soft frown at such scrutiny.
"When one must live a certain lifestyle, it only takes a time to adjust."
With his calculative eyes, Fuji certainly did not overlook his words.
"I suppose that you've had a long time to get used to it."
This time, Tezuka's lips were the ones to pull downwards with the weight of the world touching upon them painfully, and as the atmosphere seemed to lighten up, Fuji was the one smiling beautifully. As if the sweet melody had been a challenge, he could only frown more as gravity spun around him, and he turned instinctively away trying to think of the delicate, glasslike beauty of his memories that slid leisurely across thin ice. One touch, only one would break everything he had worked for, the years of anguish that he had endured to become a stronger, better person. At that moment, he could only think about how it was better not to love, and to ignore that tragic beauty dancing under his nose. Tezuka was old and weathered, youthful yet wise. All memories were built upon his solid foundation.
"That sounds very much like you, Tezuka,"
There was a warm chuckle when Fuji put his fingers up to his mouth, brushing his hair gracefully from his face and staring at Tezuka with strange, yet friendly compassion. Fuji, with his intelligent, witty ways, liked to converse fluently and uncover true beauty like many humans wished for.
Coldly, he thought that he did not want to tangle with any beauty anymore.
As many said philosophically, it was perhaps better to have never loved at all than to have loved, for love, though a wonderful thing, was not truly romantic. For a while, it was easy to get caught up in the moment and truly fall in love, yet the real world and all its problems were unforgiving, and easily hit lovers with the force of a moving train. Precious gems were torn apart, and false stories of uninhibited love were shredded. Fantasies told lies of ideal love, innocent love between two people, yet they were so quick to use tender words that the gesture lost all significant meaning. Everything slowly dissolved into thin air like smoke and ash being whipped away into the wind. The particles, scattered loosely, were carried away from him, mixed with previous emotions, pleasures, and desires—rather, his displeasure that the gods wished to deny him a family and a permanent lover. After all, for vampires crossing the line between life and death was no light task. Tezuka's existence was sin. Those who stole vitality from any living creature so cruelly surely could not have any hope of retribution.
Even then, life was not eternal.
Eventually, vampires died, too. That was the fate of the world. Immortality was only a sad deception. Nothing lived forever; everything fell to the darkness. The only reward to a vampire was the gift of eternal youth. Such only worked to the vain and mindless. Tezuka was neither, and his existence was only continued from his rather human desire to live on. Truly, not many wanted to die, and Tezuka had nowhere near enough nobility to finally decide that this half-life was a true disgrace. Perhaps when he discovered that one day, he would throw himself to the hunters in a disgraceful form of suicide, or he would darkly find a man brave enough to plot an introverted version of seppuku so as to spare his almost noble honor.
Like the sad, sad melody of that music box so many years ago, the wind painted a song of lament across the sky, and he almost wished to send Fuji home to hide the youthful, innocent eyes from it. Yet another selfish part of him stayed there and indulged fully in Fuji to taste the full sweetness of their bonds, as if he could draw all of Fuji's energy and essence out of him by standing next to him. Fuji was all too complacent, it seemed, to give that to Tezuka until he dropped onto the floor from weakness. Tezuka didn't want that.
To think that right now, at that very moment Fuji dropped every memory on the page of a journal would have been outrageous. Tezuka's calm exterior bade him to stay calm, but as if sensing danger in the air, he pulled on Fuji's wrist so that his heels dragged against the dust suddenly. He stumbled and nearly fell forward as if he expected Tezuka would catch him, but was sorely disappointed when Tezuka only pulled on ahead in determination.
Perhaps at that moment they were the famed scene in the movie, exuding a strange aura. Yet they were not appearing as the loving or 'perfect' couple. Nothing in life was perfect, not even Tezuka, despite his seemingly flawless skin and silken eyes. Tezuka's eyes and face would kiss the darkness whenever he pulled Fuji along into an alley, but distinctly Fuji did not belong there. Tezuka was a shadow of the night, and Fuji, so full of life, was like a flower growing in a place dominated by darkness. Yet somehow, the petals still glowed.
"Tezuka, where are we going?" His light inquiry was followed by a tilt of the head, and an almost tired yawn that was stifled by those graceful, beautiful fingers. For a moment, Tezuka was seized by a spasm, the chimerical thoughts that he would reach out and kiss each of those fingers and then perhaps the palm. He did not lay such earthly affections across the hand, yet in his other he held one of them and pulled Fuji commandingly along like a strict parent.
"I'm taking you home."
Never had there been a time when he had spoken an answer that was so curt, yet so drawn out. They passed a familiar corner and Fuji looked around absentmindedly to watch a cat that perched itself on top of a garbage can, mewling at them when they passed. Had Tezuka not been pulling him along, one might have easily believed that he could have run straight into a brick wall without even noticing that he had smacked into something solid. His feet, rather than his mind, had memorized the way to the doorstep, and the path that they took had been worn by the passing of many times. The simple action of pulling Fuji back to the safety and warmth of his home took little more mind than general attentiveness; little focus needed to be paid in tribute to the task that rested in his palm.
"Sometimes, you worry too much, Tezuka. You need to lighten up. Smile."
Fuji's words, though they were so carefree, were finally enough to begin to unsettle him. After all, he always paid so little attention to the concept of safety and preferred to divert much-needed attention to his favorite, mindless pastimes and pleasures. In the past, he may have discovered that in love, self-reliance was placed squarely in his palms. However, Fuji was far more independent than that and seemed to deviate from the idea of Tezuka's protection. Even so, ever move and every choice seemed to beckon for the monsters of the world in a wild gesture. In that sense, Fuji perhaps needed at least a little protection from the monsters of the world, but it didn't help that Tezuka was a monster as well.
In Fuji's defense, the boy was strong, stronger than many humans that he had ever seen. Sometimes, though, this advantage could be wielded against Fuji as a fatal weakness. Perhaps one day a pursuer would grow lucky and rise to attack Fuji's vulnerability to find no barrier that deflected every attempt with the accuracy of a sharp knife. Fuji was talented, but careless, and with such a weakness in that very trait, his amazing talents faded into nothing. At that very moment, all his morbid thoughts chased themselves around his mind and he felt a small, yet dark feeling begin to grow in his hear and consume his chest; maybe it was sadness and lament coupled with his worry that he would destroy Fuji's very being.
Fuji's attitude was somewhat childish; he enjoyed fashioning the world as his playground and paid little mind to the dangers that crept across it. He far more enjoyed playing mind with people and creatures that would wait to take advantage of him when he was weakest. Fuji, the martyr, would fall to the evils of the world like a golden, glowing sacrifice that was thrown as a gift to the darkness only to be consumed by the very being he had earlier tempted. Fuji was a desirable creature, one of great grace and androgynous beauty that made Tezuka's fingertips tingle.
"You are careless, Fuji. Never let your guard down." His voice was passive, yet at the same time, his words of warning were significant, and Fuji tilted an eyebrow at them.
"You aren't yourself tonight."
Perhaps not, because as of late, Tezuka had truly not acted as his character permitted. Tezuka dwelt upon dusty, yet unfading memories for so long that today his syntax had transformed in favor of an uncharacteristic view. What turned out to be most worrisome was Fuji's personal, introverted perception, as he had an ability to carefully tack and monitor each of Tezuka's emotions and thoughts. Tezuka's ears perked for only a moment in favor of the rush of the wind, but lowered to find comfort in the sound of Fuji's soft breathing. The effect was calming, like the sound of the waves and wind in the morning coupled with the soothing, familiar scent of salt-weighted air that told him he was close to the unending blue, where water met sky in a hazy, yet lovely mirage. Fuji's perception seemed to be the strangest at these moments, and yet odder because he seemed to be only attuned to Tezuka, something that was all too strange to be normal.
As if he only fashioned Fuji's presence as a gesture of many simple pleasures, he seemed to enjoy indulging every once in a while, and couldn't allow his hold on the warm wrist to slip at all until they reached Fuji's doorstep. Even then, he allowed silence to fall, especially seeing as no crickets were there to sing tribute to their presence. The wind slipped away to leave them alone for a few minutes, allowing the quiet to be better accompanied. Slowly, their hands drew apart. As Fuji's returned to his side, Tezuka allowed his fingers to curl in what may have been a gesture of slight discomfort. As if it had suddenly realized its role was needed again, the wind picked up in an unseemly gust that was strong enough to knock Tezuka's glasses askew. The matter seemed to be quite enough to provide Fuji with entertainment for the night, for he smiled widely at the wildness of Tezuka's hair. For only a moment, only on account that they were so obviously alone, he dared himself to run his fingers through the beautiful, yet untamable locks that almost seemed ancient under his fingers. He twisted his fingers gently through them fondly, and then paused to rub Tezuka's temples.
Tezuka frowned.
"Wouldn't you enjoy visiting the beach tomorrow? I don't have any school tomorrow, so maybe we can go all night and stay there for as long as we want." At that suggestion, Tezuka's eyes traced the delicately pale face, touched with human color, as Fuji spoke, noting how each feature moved in elegant expression. "Wouldn't that be fun?" Fuji asked this so carelessly, as if the world was only built on fun and the pure thrill of the situation. Tezuka did not like it when people looked upon the world so callously. In fact, Fuji was perhaps keen on discovering gain the rocky cove, where barren wilderness covered the rocky shoals in a strange, wild manner. That place may have seemed undesirable to some, but Fuji found strange enjoyment in exploring it, especially with the reassurance of Tezuka at his side. He sought enjoyment on balancing on boulders and leaping from rock to rock. Fuji liked to spin on the sand when nobody was looking up at the clear, starry sky while he tested the tug of the tide at his ankles and explored the shoreline.
"If time permits,"
Maybe, just maybe Fuji sometimes wondered if Tezuka believed that fun was something that could only be experience in one's spare time; maybe Tezuka thought that he didn't have time for things that many would consider trivial. To a vampire, the chemistry of life didn't affect them; most literally, he was only a walking corpse. Tezuka stood firmly apart from the thrilling adrenaline rush that Fuji experienced whenever he experienced the raw excitement and exasperation of experiencing something brand new. Rather than considering those things entertaining, Tezuka turned the other cheek to them and went on his own path. Fuji only thought of trivial things.
"Come with me,"
Fuji breathed out each cheerful word in warm breath, as if there were no inhibitions to hold them back. Tezuka felt scorn come upon his soul suddenly upon realization that in the midst of their cordial conversation, they had allowed their bodies to drift closer together, as if hoping to entangle within an elegant style of ballroom dance. His eyes, wide and full of stoic, unsettled emotion were only what Fuji sought in entertainment. Tezuka was only able to blink at this small solace, their silence, ran its course. Before Fuji, he lay fully revealed from fingertips to toes; he was never spared by that calculative stare. Like millions of tiny threads, his emotions unraveled gracefully. His senses began to prickle when he innately felt the temptingly warm breath so close to his lips. He need only incline his head slightly, and his lips would be against the neck of the human in an awkward kiss, or perhaps a bite. Would Fuji allow that?
A single snowflake fluttered in the air hoping to break the tense atmosphere and silence between them that created a thick, yet invisible wall between them when they were only centimeters apart. Whenever this symphony of dangers sounded in the background, though its beauty was tempting, they both had to step back for fear of harming the other, or perhaps loosing what little they had. Sometimes, temptation was a challenge of its own, though. These sensations coupled with their proximity were laughable, and Fuji chose to let his warm chuckles form clouds in the chilly evening air when the snowflakes fell harder. As if suddenly growing more serious, the laughs grew mocking, and Tezuka repressed a shudder at the ice-cold tone they mocked.
"Do you like the snow?"
A tense, unexpected silence passed between them as Tezuka surveyed Fuji's face with a little too much scrutiny—too much to be normal for even him, yet not a generous enough amount for to spark heat on this cold, snowy night. Not even for a moment, he tried to wonder why exactly his lips and eyes were surveyed with such intensity. Those eyes were too kind for their own good, and filled with masked fascination that Fuji could discern only barely beneath a calm, controlled expression. They gave each tiny feature drawn across his expression appreciation for the beauty of its elegance.
Only half aware of a cool, stony hand that traced lightly across his face and rubbed under his half opened eyes as if unaware of every single pretentious action, Tezuka only acted as if he was staring into an atmosphere even thinner than air, as if he was in a deep trance that not even Fuji could break. Slowly, they blinked. Possibly, his eyes widened only a fraction to realize how much his every feature was scrutinized. The glowing orbs came to rest on his lips intensely. Before Fuji could suppress a gasp, Tezuka closed the final distance between them. All his awareness rushed passed him at the speed of a snapping whip when he felt the firm press of the cool mouth against his. Everything was dissolving into thin air as if the particles were weakened by this single touch, and frightened away by the sudden warmth they produced on this cold, cold night. The very fever of the moment was unparalleled to anything he had ever felt, a fire in his chest. The longer their lips pressed, the more the overwhelming sensations enveloped him in their chilling embrace until he was numb. Tezuka had only enough skill to capture him in mind, body and soul even without frightening force, and stole his breath from him in the process greedily, yet so tenderly at the same time. Even now, his heart pounded in his chest that each small action and decision was enough to bring the welcoming chill into his heart; it enveloped every faction of his being until he was completely numb. Without any clear thoughts left, he threw all caution to the wind and without even eyeing the consequences he threw his arms around Tezuka mindlessly and returned the gesture with strange, fervid enthusiasm.
Then, in a gesture that was even to curt for even Tezuka's character, he pulled away so quickly that Fuji was nearly knocked off of his feet at the sudden, dizzying effect of the rush of air between them and sudden, unwanted space; Fuji's mind swam, and his vision darkened so far that he could only see Tezuka standing in front of him giving him a far too intense stare, his hazel eyes burning like somber flames that danced in the sorrow of each passing moment.
Perhaps for only a moment, while the solace of a silence for only three seconds, the two took a few steps away from each other, their feet scraping the cement and dragging against the ground as if a compelling opposite force was needed to pry them apart. Such a little touch had produced a rush of emotions, something so similar to pain-numbing endorphins. Not a hair on Fuji's head was displaced, as if the gesture didn't displace a single thread of sanity, as a target that stood calmly before him to challenge him strangely to another tangle and a brush with fate and death. Those eyes dared him only to touch and kiss again, to do more. A small thread of sanity and reason brought him to stand there solidly and firmly resist the temptation to leap at the other. Though their sudden and unexpected brush with fate was unexpected, dangerous as it was, the very feeling, the rush of adrenaline, was far too tempting to even try and resist.
When his vision blurred over like a muted abstract painting, Tezuka couldn't have been sure if it was his imagination or if Fuji really leaned in closer and allowed their lips to brush once more. He was sure, though, that if this touch, this sacred contact was to continue for only a minute more, he would lose all control. Fuji's human touch was warm and full of temptation; each small grant of skin against skin was maddening and dampened all sanity and rationality that Tezuka had left in him.
"Good night," his voice was in barely a whisper. There was utter finality in the way that Tezuka bade it, his voice echoing solemnly across the tense, cold air. At that moment, the sadness rushed up to numb the momentary shock and tension that the impulsive gesture had awakened like a flame. Slowly, Tezuka turned on his heels to leave a very confused Fuji resting behind, carefully tracking the man's movements until his eyes came to rest on the back and the strong shoulders. Though he had been able to see his breath cloud before him in the air all night, nothing had felt colder than that moment when the unsatisfying gesture left him longing, without pretense. His lonely heart was left abandoned on the doorstep, and slowly died with the departure of Tezuka's retreating form. While Tezuka suffocated in a wave of tangible memories, insanity washed over in a rather uncomfortable moment.
Fuji's felt the very chill of Tezuka's being was over him. Was he sane anymore? He didn't know. Deafly, he was aware of his pounding heart that halted his breathing until he shook from the lack of oxygen. Surely, he hadn't just kissed Tezuka.
"Tezuka…"
The snow fell harder and tangled through his bangs, clung to his eyelashes, and melted on his cheek, yet Fuji could no longer think around this mind-numbing cold. A gesture that had just been so warm and so fervid had suddenly left him feeling far more unsettled than he had been in a long time—no, that was a true touch of pain, emotional pain.
Everything felt sadly melancholy.
She laid her head on his lap weakly while her lips trembled and the silence spoke whispers of memories that passed both their deaf ears; he played absently with the black satin ribbon in his fingers. In turn she would then listen to the whispered words of affection meant for her ears only, and never for anyone else. Her eyes lowered in depression and closed, while perhaps a single tear escaped for true sadness.
The unbeatable quiet was maddening, and as the effect had begun to run its course, the effects became more and more apparent through every tiny action she made, the actions that mimicked her tired, clouded eyes with dark, unattractive circles around them from fatigue. For warmth she may have instinctively curled closer to him, yet he was no source of heat. Even then, her sorrow did not allow her to withdraw from the only utopia of numb, distant comforts that tried without success to quell her grief.
He spoke her name, but across the quiet of the night, his voice did not reach her ears. She turned her face slightly when he reached down to rest a hand on her forehead, perhaps to check her temperature. She seemed so cold, yet her flushed face told otherwise. At her fever, he frowned.
"This wasn't your fault."
This time she knowingly ignored him.
She wouldn't even seek help through the solace of words.
At that very moment, he solemnly swore that he would never tangle with humans again.
He pulled her up from his lap to hold her constantly trembling body in an attempt to soothe the untamable cold that overtook her soul—the intense guilt that had burned her to a point of absolute silence. Sadly, he kissed the corner of her mouth in a weak attempt to lighten the melancholy song that rang through the room.
That had been their last kiss.
He once had loved her.