Peace of mind does not like Kyoka, no it doesn't!
I'm going to make this very quick author's note. I really want to apologize for the time lapse. November is one of my busiest months in the winter. All bunched into one, I began jazz band, took up chess, studied for exams, and traveled from California and back. Busy, busy!
Thank you for all the reviews!
Before you favorite, alert, or anything else, I enjoy first and foremost any feedback—from everyone. Feedback is much appreciated. What do I need to do better? What do you want to see? What do you think?
I should be making updates a little faster… soon.
As a note for the actual story, I do delve a little more into the entire vampire concept. However, a lot of it will probably be a little different than what most people portray. If anything confuses you, feel free to ask me!
As for always, all rights and characters (except my own) are credited to Konomi Takeshi.
Chapter
Ten DREAMS
-Tezuka-
The Past
"Come walk with me, Kunimitsu,"
My dearest…
My dearest…
With the fading memories that had been taunting his eyes, Tezuka's eyes flickered dully. The fire in them had blown down for tonight despite the static, stale air that plagued the room. His pen, resting unused on the desk, begged to be touched, but his numb fingers only reached so far before they fell weakly back. In an uncharacteristic gesture, shown only when he was assured solitude, he laid his head against the desk to try and block out the screams that plagued his ears before dying down to meet deadly, yet tender whispers. All he had left was his revolve, and a firm stoic mask; inside, though, his heart began to ache with the redundancy of the moment.
Truthfully, he began to forget what came to pass many years ago, but the teenaged human made it harder. It only made him remember more vividly. With Fuji, he could not forget completely again. Without Fuji, he could no longer bear to keep hold of his sanity. With or without the either, he would be lost for a cause. All he could do was, in a strange manner, cling to Fuji while he debated each consequence and benefit with strict precision.
The letter had been folded at the bottom of a desk drawer neatly, tied in black satin ribbon and finished with a fancy bow. Cleverly, it had been hidden between papers he rarely read so that time would pass before he finally read it, and then fingered the black ribbon fondly with forlorn.
The lonely road that she asked him to walk was an empty one devoid of the beauty of life. In his strength, he could no longer share his heart with anybody as he had with her. Tezuka grew more reclusive, but perhaps it was a sad excuse after her departure, for he had sworn never to touch a single human again. The thought of soft, warm skin repulsed him, and Tezuka turned his head away.
Life was so short for humans, and it was easy to forget. Even after the death of somebody precious, most did not pull away from society. Instead, they only pulled themselves closer to their companions, as if the action was simply human nature. In sad mimicry of a species he could never become, Tezuka formed a clan and over the years, took his rightful place at the top of the noble aristocracy determined by power. Now, there were so many that feared and admired his amazing power. His power, though, was not a true feat; rather, Tezuka's only accomplishment was his extraordinary 'control'.
This is why he held this letter in his hand instead of his beloved. This was why he was denied everything most precious. Why? Tezuka couldn't love, and no matter how extraordinary his control might have been, it would never mirror the amount of patience and resistance he possessed as a human—he could never return to a truly level personality. He always had a limit that was broken when pushed in the wrong way. .
He wanted to cherish these words, but in a way, he was slowly pulling farther away from her.
In pale fingers, he took the aging, thin sheet of paper nearly translucent in the darkness. The ink glinted with untold malice, but bravely, he placed his forehead against the sheet of paper and breathed quietly while deep within his mind, he dug a plea for strength. In a corner, a ghost of a woman smiled and granted it, and this time, he was able to sit up fully, his eyes growing fiercer.
With the ribbon and an old necklace clutched in hand, he stood, took a deep breath, and felt the strength as it rushed through him. Slowly it died down to a normal pace, but he still felt the power. All too quickly, though, he put away the necklace, the ribbon, and the letter when he heard a knock at the door.
"Tezuka, I am afraid we need your help. There is a leader from a neighboring clan here that wishes to discuss our alliance."
"Very well. I will be downstairs shortly."
Acutely, his ears pricked to the sound of footsteps that glided down the stairs, and then of distant whisperings that came from a torn up kitchen made homey by a single kitchen table and various candles, a suitable lighting fixture. Tezuka opened the drawer of the desk to carefully fold the letter properly before touching a hand to his heart and closing the door with utter finality.
What Tezuka found downstairs was not surprising in a very remote respect. Tezuka found his members assembled in the kitchen, as they were designated by his law to do. At the other side of the room, sipping a proffered glass of thin, crimson liquid was a man that Tezuka knew by the name of Yukimura, a leader in the neighboring territory who had adopted similar principles to Tezuka's. Calmly, Tezuka nodded. Also assembled in the kitchen were his far more loyal members, who had joined him on appreciation for his philosophy rather than his power. Kawamura stood smiling meekly, along with Inui Sadaharu and his close companion Kaidoh Kaoru. There were others in the room, but not his own. Three stood by Yukimura's side, recognizing themselves as his elite. Sanada stood among them, who Tezuka was well acquainted with.
The room was filled with his members, though some were outside. Of course, this was unavoidable. Had not a system of winding tunnels been built under the house, he would not have been able to house his entire clan, even in a house so large. However, not everyone fitted well in the kitchen, and some had gone outside to soak in the night's rare moonlight while the night lasted. The rest grew silent and drew their heads up as Tezuka entered. Yukimura was knowingly glancing around.
In this world, his word was law. Tezuka befriended many of the elite among the vampires, so an enemy of Tezuka was likely an enemy of the strongest in vampire society. Their alliance though, based on his power, was beginning to waver. Many vampires, if not able to agree with his law, tolerated it, but in a world of violence streaked by thick, human blood, many were firmly opposed to it. Their growing movement would soon be enough to sweep them, but for now he remained firmly in control.
Perhaps this had to do with his recent companionship with Fuji, and the murders.
Already, he began to hear whispers when his subordinates thought he was gone.
"Did you hear Tezuka's fallen victim to a human?"
"Yes, I saw her. She's quite a fair beauty, but she's weakening him."
"Typical woman."
These conversations began erupting at odd hours of the day, and Tezuka's ears could not help but catch them as he basked in the solitude of his confines. They made him frown further and turn his head down. Of course, they had mistaken Fuji as a girl, but that wasn't what worried him.
Fuji wasn't weakening him. What did they know about the matter?
Yukimura spoke up.
"Tezuka, has your clan changed its rules, or do you have any particular traitor in your midst?"
In the darkness, Yukimura's fangs glinted slightly as he spoke, though Yukimura did not mean to be menacing. There was a certain, peculiar grace about Yukimura. It almost reminded Tezuka of Fuji. However, today on Yukimura's face was a slight frown.
"Word of the murders has reached your territory."
"Tezuka, you know that in our world, news travels fast. Have you changed your laws?"
"No."
Yukimura turned on his heels and faced the opposite wall, looking sternly at Sanada who was staring at the two strangely. With a glint of eyes and fangs, Yukimura turned back gracefully, running a hand through his chin-length hair. "Tezuka, I am not here to discuss your laws, actually, but it is curious of how obvious these murders are becoming. You risk the exposure of our kind. The humans know that there is something strange about these deaths. They won't even tell the media about the autopsy reports. It's troublesome, Tezuka; if the deaths are traced back to our group, there will be trouble. Our world is so carefully concealed. I cannot stand by while you risk the survival of our kin."
"I believe that this is the work of another—not one in my clan."
Yukimura frowned and sipped from his cup. Only one with acute senses could tangibly see the tension that tightened between them, pulling betwixt Yukimura and Tezuka like taut string. "Are you sure, Tezuka?"
For the past month, Fuji had spoken much of the strange murders, as if something was bothering him about them. Nothing on Fuji's calm, contented expression gave it away, but Fuji's emotional spectrum radiated to him like colored light. Fuji knew something, but Tezuka was not quite audacious enough to ask it, especially when he knew the answer that he would get. Fuji would never reveal anything substantial. Besides, what information was there to be earned? No, the murders were not from his group. Quite easily, he could tell the difference between one that had fed simply from the prepared draught, or chose their sinful option that was sometimes far too tempting. Only many years ago, after all, and woman had spoken gently to him while her eyes lingered upon his mouth, streaked crimson with fresh blood, and then a matching set of eyes that abandoned hazel flames to melt into bloody pools.
"I am certain."
"Then what will you do, Tezuka? There's growing opposition of your power in the territories in Europe. There are new vampires coming into our world—ones that were half-blooded before they were turned. I've heard whisperings of it—they're vicious. What will you do?"
A long time ago, Tezuka never thought that he would live to hear the word 'half-blood'. Their world varied so little from decade to decade, simply because vampires simply did not die easily. Vampires could live for hundreds, if not, thousands of years. Their world seldom changed. Their culture and lifestyle remained nearly the same. Small changes often took place, of course. In the modern world, the life of a vampire was far harder than life was three hundred years ago. Now, on the horizon rose a race bearing the ignominious name of 'half-bloods.' Vampire lineage was difficult to trace. As the world modernized, one-night-stands became more and more often. Simply put, it was far easier for an affair between a vampire and a young human woman. When the mothers had their children, the secrets of their concealed tryst were never even revealed. Even a mother could not tell the difference between a human and half-blooded child.
As vampires lived onwards, the weaknesses of human blood slowly dirtied the proud creature's veins. Vampires were not humans; humans were not vampires. However, when humans began to make the leap to eternal life, the thick blood began to vanish. Were half-blooded vampires simply another revolution?
Simply put, these children lived normal lives. There were subtle definitions. A mutt child, after all, could not impersonate one species or another. These subtle, intriguing differences were concealed within the DNA and hidden so deep in the blood that not even the strongest microscope could tell a difference. Their personalities would always be… different, perhaps a little more predatory. These ancestors of some of the strongest monsters never even knew of the noble blood they inherited. They, in turn, passed the heritage onto other bloodlines and never knew truly about their unique existence.
Even now, Tezuka knew very specific details, hallowed in the vampire world. Children were nearly all male, and possessed abilities of both species. Simply put, they were mutts. Though vampires could never stand sunlight, half-blooded vampires tolerated it very well. Though human bodies rejected different blood types, these half bloods were able to tolerate any type without going into shock, even though blood was hardly a food source, the tolerance of any type of blood came with its advantages.
He heard whispers of it as well, though. Blood was no longer a question—rather, vampires began to wonder to what extent having qualities of both species granted. Of course, any creature with a drop of human blood in their veins lost every relatively human characteristic in their ascension to immortality, but that was not the question.
Did having noble vampire blood already running through a person's veins strengthen that reaction?
As vampire bloodlines passed their abilities down, their abilities slowly dissipated. The last of the original vampires held unbelievable strength in the palm of their hands that Tezuka would never posses. Did having just a drop of pure blood in one's veins before the transformation strengthen this?
Oh, how Tezuka wished that he knew this so many years ago, when the knowledge would have counted the most.
Even when Tezuka understood this, many of his subordinates did not. Their world was not filled with tactile knowledge as much as it was primitive survival. There were the people who named him leader who simply thought of blood every day. This was all they needed to be content. One of them piped up. "Tezuka, what does that mean?
"There are humans that were granted vampire blood by an ancestor or even a father or mother. Half bloods appear to be perfectly normal human beings. However, if they were to enter our world, their lineage would likely grant them power beyond anybody's reach. As from what I've heard, their strength is what closely rivals a pure-blooded vampire."
"I see."
"So, what will you do?" Yukimura interjected.
They had nothing to do with these murders, though, he was sure.
Yes—and not only that, but lingering systematically along these murders were tiny, unnoticeable signs that grew into a warning for Tezuka. Only recently, his dreams had visited a bloody chamber, and though Tezuka was not gifted with foresight, the more he tried to dismiss the strange, violent vision, the more it seemed to occur as a subconscious warning to him. Yes, there was something wrong about the obvious way the murders were conducted. On the larger scale, though, was a greater enemy that stood before him smirking. On the oncoming rush of tide, Tezuka could not see the face.
Yet he would not pay attention to half-blooded vampires turned into full vampires… Yet within his heart, he knew there was a small pang where his heart used to be.
"There will be zero tolerance. Zero."
If Tezuka had not the ability to keep his expression even and controlled, his eyes would have glinted with a strange, implacable malice that glinted through his words. When Tezuka said that he had zero tolerance, he meant that he would tolerate no one. "I will banish anyone who disobeys, and I will deal with murderer. As for these new vampires, we will not know until these whisperings are declared true. I am sure they are educated in our way of life—they will not be so careless as to recklessly invade established clan territory."
"You speak bravely, Tezuka."
As if they expected Yukimura and Tezuka to break out in bloody battle, everyone waited with baited breath to see who would leap for an attack first. Fights between vampires were not uncommon, but nothing of that fact diminished their danger. Fights were vicious and cruel, though usually it was only power struggles. If there were one way to disrupt the rather cool relations among their kind, a fight would be exactly how to achieve it. Vampires challenging each other rarely allowed death, but their intentions soared higher. Their kind never entered fights without intentions to kill.
Unlike their groups' expectations, Yukimura and Tezuka remained calm.
"Yukimura, if there isn't anything else you need to ask of me, perhaps I should see that you and your elite make it back to your territory safely. You are welcome to remain, but I wish to adjourn our meeting."
"Very well. Remember what I said, though, Tezuka. I do not wish to become enemies, but unless you show wishes to maintain our alliance, I will begin to think otherwise."
Once in their history, their kind lived in relative peace; however, as time passed, these relationships became fragile; war decimated clans and tore apart groups that were allied for hundred of years. Battles and uprisings—all over blood—endangered the survival of their kind. Kinship was no longer a very simple word—it had never been in their world. Even now, blood bonds—the strongest type of bond that their kind was capable of forging—were broken. Yet, among it all they were able to keep it secret. Hunters were scorned. This was, in fact, the coming of a new era. Now more than ever, it was growing more common to see vampires apart from normal lineage. In Tezuka's time, it had been uncommon, but now these people made up almost all of their kind. The original vampires, originally so superior, were losing power.
Silently, Tezuka left bathed in stares from either side, until quiet whispers erupted, hushed and in awe. "Tezuka is going crazy." Tezuka shot a warning glare towards the group of underlings speaking and pushed the door open, the wood feeling cool under his pale fingers. Tezuka knew that he didn't want to stay here now. No, he wasn't in the mood to deal with those of his clan anymore. Shaking his head, he left to sit in the solace of the weeded yard, eyeing Yukimura and his elite as they left in silence. Across the road, Fuji stood, and Tezuka frowned, watching as Fuji traced the others that left. He crossed the road and glanced up at the mid-winter moon, then stared at the ground, caked with frost.
"You look troubled, Tezuka."
Biting back a bitter frown, Tezuka exhaled. In the cold of the night, his breath never formed clouds like Fuji's did. No, there wasn't enough human left in the darkness of his heart for even that much warmth. His pale cheeks hadn't even been graced with the telltale signs of warmth. Fuji's cheeks, on the other hand, were graced pink from the cold, and his lips responded to temperature as well. Tezuka remained firmly silent. Whenever he chose not to go out and about, he wore a far more traditional outfit, though something generally frightening to humans. Needing no insulation from the cold, he simply wore monotone black pants and his white shirt. However, something far different, something that even Fuji hadn't glimpsed was the traditional cloak. Glancing at it, Fuji chuckled. The bond between them was unspoken, but understanding. Not once had they ever spoken of the fact that Tezuka wasn't human, though each time he could see questions begging to be answered in Fuji's eyes. What sort of blood did he drink? Did he ever drink human blood? Why didn't he drink Fuji's?
"No."
Fuji blinked, and then glanced in the direction in which Yukimura had departed. That expression was a curse, inwardly. Fuji was far too intelligent for a human. He knew far too much. Fuji was able to question while looking past Tezuka's handsome exterior. His intuitiveness was unparalleled, and it was constantly trouble for Tezuka.
"Well, you look handsome tonight. What's the cloak for? Was it a special occasion?" Fuji's voice teased, partially. Today, he was talking too much for Tezuka's liking. Tezuka hadn't wanted to spend the night with Fuji, no, not now. There were things too worrisome that preoccupied his soul. Sometimes, his thoughts would venture to forbidden territory, and he would plead that they stay away from unwanted thoughts, of the taste of Fuji's blood on his tongue while he kissed Fuji's lips, staring at the beautiful face framed by pale hair. Tezuka closed his eyes and turned his gaze away.
"No. It's traditional."
Fuji sat down beside and glanced at the pond, so overgrown with algae that the surface had turned to an eternal green. "You know, you really sound like something is bothering you, Tezuka. I don't think you're a good liar." No, he was perfectly skilled at lying. The deep, blue eyes just had a supernatural ability to delve between layers like nothing else to see inwards at true emotions. Fuji paused and placed his hand against Tezuka's chest as if to search for a heartbeat. Nothing yielded under his warm, human hand. Tezuka remained firmly silent. At the very moment, he was sure that perhaps there was somebody glancing upon them through the cracks in the boarded-up windows. Yet, Tezuka couldn't bring himself to ask Fuji to stop.
"Fuji, this isn't proper." Though Fuji acceded to his request and removed his hand, he did not acknowledge Tezuka's order. Fuji's whim moved him. Sometimes, it felt like the words Tezuka gave him affected Fuji very little.
"These murders are troublesome, Tezuka. They keep talking about them on the news. Who do you think is doing them? Why are they not even concealed? I'd think that if it were any serial murderer, he would try and cover up anything. It seems like he's trying to say something. Ne, Tezuka—" His speech morphed into Japanese rather quickly, and Tezuka immediately silenced him with a firm hand under his chin. Fuji's words dissipated slowly to give way for Tezuka's intense, nearly violent stare.
"Stay away from that, Fuji. It's dangerous."
"I can take care of myself! Besides, you know something about this—mph" Tezuka was not normally a being that was easily frustrated, but Fuji was trying his abnormally thin patience, and he was running short of ways to silence the boy. As if on impulse, he tilted his head to the side and in a gesture uncharacteristic of Tezuka, he leaned forwards and stole every single mean that Fuji possessed to continue their conversation. Only seconds later, he wasn't able to figure out why exactly that he acted in a manner so rash. Tezuka generally was able to think rationally. However, there was something that drove him crazy whenever he was alone with this human boy. Eventually, even Tezuka's steadfast resolve couldn't hold up against the Fuji's charm. Though he was a remarkable being with incredible drive, he was still a victim on sinful lust, noble pride, and insatiable thirst. Tezuka, a man who to so many seemed to be filled with so many morals, constructed clever shields to cloak his crimes. Fuji seemed to have fallen for each little trick, hard.
Somehow, Tezuka couldn't stop even among the painful throbs of regret.
Fuji made a small sound of protest, though partially frustrated when Tezuka pulled away. Fuji was stubborn, and he did not like to meet resistance from Tezuka. Nothing helped, not even the quick kiss Tezuka stole, for it was largely unsatisfying. Fuji hadn't grown to appreciate the way Tezuka quickly took kisses; they were seldom with vapory form. Fuji preferred more direct signs of affection. He didn't like how whenever Tezuka kissed him, he tasted of guilt, as if in kissing Fuji, he had broken a promise.
Fuji did not know the whole story, and Tezuka ignored Fuji's ignorance.
"You're—" Fuji knew he wasn't going to receive an answer from Tezuka anymore. Peevishly, he pulled away, seeming upset that once again, nothing had come out of his tangle with Tezuka. Calmly, Tezuka stared up at the night sky. Fuji lay back in the overgrown grass to try and catch the few stars in the sky. Here, it was nearly impossible. The city was far too polluted. Almost, Tezuka wished he could transfer his memories of clear night skies to Fuji. They were beautiful, and Fuji would have liked them. Fuji wished for impossible things, and Tezuka was willing to give little. Tezuka's many qualms remained locked in his heart, and Fuji clearly wanted the key. Tezuka couldn't; he just could no longer allow a human to see his sins and misgivings. In the night air, he could sense Fuji's anger disappearing, but his warm breath, clouding in front of his face and pink lips, did not.
Fuji seemed comfortable sprawled across the frostbitten grass. His fingers stretched above his head and his legs crossed casually. Fuji was an image of nature, blending so well into the grass while his light-colored bangs crossed across his eyes and strands came to rest on his warm cheeks. Tezuka blinked.
Their bond was misty—strange.
As if touching Fuji in itself was a sin, he brought a hand down to rub through Fuji's hair, and his fingers touched a small piece of metal hidden among Fuji's hair. Pulling back the strands revealed an old hair clip, perhaps a good fifty- or sixty-year-old piece with a jeweled butterfly. He paused in reverence before his fingers allowed the hair to fall back in place. Fuji looked at him strangely, his eyes glinting in the moonlight. Perhaps it was a family heirloom; Tezuka could find little reason to why Fuji might be wearing it.
In the night, the face morphed into somebody else. "Shui…" Fuji blinked at the silent utterance as soft as the wind, and then sat up, blinking as if to ask silent questions. Sometimes the lines between reality and fantasy blurred—a woman's face sometimes replaced Fuji's, and around his neck would be the glint of a ring affixed to a chain. The night sky wielded no answers to him—not one. Fuji's face glowed like an angel's, speaking words to him.
At that very moment, perhaps there were people who glanced at him and question his sanity as a leader. For, he sat there looking as if anything could have compelled him to lay his lips against Fuji's neck and break his own rules. They were damnable—Tezuka was a sinner and a murderer. No, he couldn't transfer any of that grime to Fuji. He couldn't bear the idea of harming a pure soul anymore. Fuji quieted and their gazes often spoke words. There wasn't much to be told verbally, though. Fuji couldn't say anything else to him. They remained centimeters apart. Each moment, this proximity frustrated him beyond belief? As a human, he used to be a man of amazing control; however, the fact that so many seemed to miss was that in his ascension to immortality, he lost every attribute he once possessed as a mortal. Of course, over the years, when fate was kind, he regained his personality bit by bit. Life had not been kind enough to allow him such control, though. Right there, Tezuka tried to quell the impulse to lean over and press Fuji into the grass, to breathe in the thick scent of the earth that mingled with Fuji's blood. If he was a true man of impulse and instinct, he would have followed every urge that arose within his body, even the thought of running his hands across the warm body and pressing his lips against the human's tender earlobe.
Without even thinking, his lips moved. "Come inside. It's too cold for you out here." Obviously Fuji wasn't going home, but did he have to say that? This was creating problems, and Fuji was all too quick to stand and then follow Tezuka inside to stare in wonder at the dusty, ancient halls surprisingly devoid of his brethren. Tezuka grabbed Fuji's wrist, and in a gesture so quickly that Fuji couldn't even blink, he pulled him down a corridor, up a rickety set of stairs, and into his room where few would notice it was he who invited a human into their home.
Of course, he had done the unspeakable now. There would be yet more whispers, more instability. At the moment, he couldn't bring himself to think about it. He merely asked Fuji if it was warmer as Fuji straightened his jacket. That was crazy—it wasn't far too warm in here. In a house full of creatures that rejected light and reveled on cold nights, heating was not necessary. Fuji merely nodded and went to press a key on the piano. The note didn't echo across the room.
He played a chromatic scale, and the notes climbed into a crescendo and dissipated again when Fuji hit a sour note.
"You play piano?" he asked after a few seconds of roaring silence. Tezuka nodded and sat on the bench, placing his fingers in familiar positions. His head bowed a little, and his golden eyes darkened but a fraction.
"Yes. Not as much anymore."
"Can you still play something?" Wordlessly, Tezuka moved his fingers against the keys, and the piano came to life with a mysterious melody, one of Tezuka's own creation. Yet, as each key was pressed, the echoing sadness of the true tone was conveyed in such a beautiful way that Fuji couldn't believe Tezuka was the one playing. The pale fingers pressed each note with delicate, swift motions, and Fuji watched in awe before sinking down to sit beside Tezuka. The radiating warmth drove his strength. The melody quickened, its tone richening. Outside the door, walking across hallway each person passing the door would pause and wonder of the beautiful melody that they heard coming from the room and wondered that if they were imaging a human heartbeat that mimicked the constant tick of a steady metronome.
Inside, Fuji sat close to Tezuka, even when they never touched until Fuji reached out and placed a hand over his shoulder, letting his warmth seep into Tezuka's very being in hopes of warming the cold skin. Even through the black cloak, Tezuka felt deathly cold, and was frightfully pale. Fuji wondered silently if he would ever see those cheeks tinted with human warmth. The melody slowed to a stop and Fuji paused. Under his hand, Tezuka was deathly cold and tense. The touch bothered him, obviously. Slowly, with such difficulty, he drew his hand away from Tezuka and breathed a sigh in awe.
"What is that called?" Tezuka only shrugged.
"It doesn't have a name."
The reaction was yet but telltale. Fuji's face slackened in surprise and then drew into a warm smile, a turn of well-colored lips. In turn, Tezuka's pale, colorless lips drew into an absolutely straight line; he was talented at never expressing any of his emotions, thankfully not his desires to kiss Fuji right then and there, to perhaps steal that human warmth for only a while. "So… you wrote it yourself?"
"A long time ago."
Fuji chuckled at how verbose Tezuka had become. Beautifully, Fuji drew away from him and he eyed Fuji. The temptation was almost too much to resist. Tezuka had become talented at staying away from all temptation, though; so for now, he laid not a finger on Fuji. His lips did not touch the gentle curve of the neck like he wished only to find a pulse—the small spot where blood flow was so strong that Tezuka could feel it under his teeth.
"Well, then, can you play something else?"
Fuji was pleased by his abilities, obviously, and his eyes traced Tezuka like he was trying to take in the very image of the man sitting before him. Tezuka, nodding tremulously, raised his fingers again and began playing a far more familiar melody, something so famous that Fuji was able to recognize it, but pause in his appreciation to run his fingers along the line of Tezuka's neck, fingering the black material of the cloak. If it was even possible, Tezuka's eyes darkened further, and slowly, the entrancing melody dissipated so he could turn his head and eye Fuji's rich beauty.
Fuji was oh, so, innocent, and Tezuka hated it. Fuji shouldn't be sitting next to him at that very moment. The boy belonged at home, helping take care of his mother. He wasn't meant to be at a supposedly abandoned mansion on the wrong side of the city sitting next to a man who had the power to kill him in the blink of an eye. Fuji wasn't supposed to smile at him like that, or admire him in the way he did.
Those fingers continued to trace down his neck in admiration. Fuji chuckled softly—he was so close that Tezuka could feel his warm breath. It made every hair on the back of his neck stand up.
Fuji was astoundingly beautiful.
Horror struck though his heart like a funeral hymn creeping about the halls—the sure sign that somebody was dead. Tezuka's eyes must have widened just a fraction, or dilated, perhaps.
"Tezuka?" Fuji never questioned out of fear, but out of curiosity for Tezuka's strange eyes. No, no, Fuji was far too much a temptation. This was not being very fair at all to Tezuka. His resolve was shattering easily upon Fuji's careless touch. It touched down his neck and pressed gently under his chin. Tezuka trembled minutely, not even a movement that Fuji's fingers could track.
"Don't touch him. Humans and vampires should not be mixed."
There was an uncharacteristic pang of anger. Tezuka turned his eyes away from the past and to Fuji, ignoring the voices that erupted in his head. However, another passed, and it was not the voice of another human, but a mentor.
"When a vampire drinks a human's blood, it generally does not forge a bond. From one feeding to the next, we vary our sources of food. However, there are those who chose to keep the same human, and from that, a strong bond can be formed purely off the dependence we have off our food. With each feeding, a vampire takes vitality, but transfers also another form of energy to a human. This is minute—not effective enough to do anything to a human initially, but over time it strengthens bonds."
Tezuka blinked as the odd memory arose. He eyed Fuji again, stopping the hand from tracing anymore by placing his hand over Fuji's.
"However, it is debated about how effective this method truly is. Varying the food source can add strength to your system, and depending upon the human, it can have varying results. Any human can withstand a single feeding as long as enough blood is left. However, multiple feedings can decimate the humans. Their bodies are delicate. Some can take it, some cannot. It is all calculated risk."
It's all calculated risk.
The human can likely be killed.
Calculated risk. That was a dangerous word. Tezuka was, in no sense, somebody who liked to take risks. No, he simply was not the kind of man who was ready to say that he would go against any sort of odd and sacrifice one thing and potentially face the failure of another. No, Tezuka did not have many morals left, but the one thing he was not was reckless. He wouldn't lay a finger upon Fuji for that very reason, even when the hand paused, tracing across the fabric of his shirt and Fuji looked at him. When his eyes were open, they revealed ice blue, wild beauty that many humans had never seen. Across his lips laid a lazy smile, warming over Fuji's human face, plastered with expressions that vampires were incapable of. His lips never moved, but they spoke lovely words twisting with sweet happiness. "You're too serious," Fuji's voice grew breezy. "But you are talented," he mentioned.
Calmly, he wrapped his arms around Tezuka's neck as his eyes slipped shut languidly. However, even upon the initial touch of a pair of lips to his, Tezuka couldn't be sure about Fuji's true intentions. Every meaning slipped past him like water through his fingertips. The warmth crept slowly into his heart, though. Fuji wasn't letting go. No, he was far too deeply absorbed in a kiss of his own initiation, while Tezuka sat there unresponsive.
Why did Fuji nearly always take initiative?
How did not Fuji fear for his own life in doing so? Tezuka radiated of danger; surely, Fuji was sharp enough to realize it. One fatal thing that Tezuka hadn't realized, though, was Fuji never cared far too much for personal safety. If there was any scent of adventure or thrill involved, Fuji grabbed everything he could and chased after the adventure. To him, it didn't matter that he could be hurt or killed.
It was strong enough a sensation in Tezuka's consciousness to make him sting.
The pair of warm, human hands slipped past his cheeks languidly, and for that moment, perhaps a spark of instinct arose him, for the next moment, the contact between their mouths was broken. Fuji's breathing grew softer, but his heartbeat grew quicker. The very feeling was enough to drive him crazy alone. It sent his heart into wild tremors that were almost enough to shake him when he saw Fuji's eyes half-open, half-closed in obvious enjoyment of the kiss. Never once did he think that he would be in this position, where he sat next to Fuji, arms place over Fuji's and teeth resting dangerously against skin. Though the human paused, he could feel Fuji's hands resting against his shoulder, as if he had given into the inevitability of the situation.
As if there was nothing to do.
He knew Fuji would have done very little to resist. Maybe Fuji's choices were what made Tezuka feel so guilty, as if there was something he could do in order to reverse the situation. Of course, there had to be. At that moment, if Tezuka was able to better grasp his control, he probably could have shoved him away and ordered him to leave. The control wavered; Tezuka hadn't felt this amount of chaos cloud his mind for years, and it was beginning to frustrate him as his heart began to flood with guilt. Here before him sat a human being, intelligent, beautiful and accomplished. Fuji was no child, nor was he a coward. Yet, it was that same bold, steadfast nature that was so fatal to humans. Fuji would be better off as a coward that ran away at each of Tezuka's advances. Instead, he only sat there and challenged, as if he fancied himself a worthy opponent of Tezuka.
That was so… stupid.
This time, there was little attempt at delay. Tezuka spared pressing more than a few kisses and nips across skin, perhaps because Fuji fell suddenly silent, though with his fine senses he never once felt Fuji tense. Perhaps it was the thundering sound of Fuji's rapid heart rate that masked it, or that the sudden adrenaline rush had stunned Fuji so much that he couldn't even react. Yet even then, even then there was a small part of him that resented the very idea of taking blood. Right now, his rules were cast away. He and Fuji were in a world apart. They didn't need… rules. Only personal, personal morals were left, and if he were to cast them away, he would no longer have inhibitions. Slowly, threads of conscious past him like the brush of warm ocean water. Fuji murmured something, but not in a tongue he could understand. The only way his cold body would be calmed was by the sure press of his mouth flush against Fuji's neck, tracking the pulse acutely.
At that moment, he forgot all his own laws—laws that he was forbidden to break.
Fuji was there—this was all the reinsurance, no, temptation he needed to be pushed over the edge.
Then, even then, it was different than what he had experienced before. Fuji's touch sapped the energy from him like a leech, and Fuji was not begging. The silence was maddening, in fact. It made Tezuka to pull back for a moment, eyeing Fuji's flushed face wildly before making the final plunge in a sickeningly familiar sensation of his teeth against skin, and then the slow, languid feeling of blood sliding across the skin to meet his tongue.
Each reaction was as Tezuka remembered it. Fuji stilled in his arms, still drawn to Tezuka by strange, irresistible charm. His gestures had not made Fuji tense quite yet, though his well-adapted mind knew that the sensation was not an entirely pleasant one, the feeling of teeth imbedded into the skin that stole blood away greedily. What Fuji felt now was probably a mixture of sensations, but even before that, he was ensnared in Tezuka's trap as he felt his blood being forcibly drawn away from him. Human instinct and fear had yet to play a role, when even beneath his teeth, the heart raced and the blood was intoxicating, weighted down with the sweet taste of adrenaline and something far deeper than anything Tezuka had ever experienced.
At that moment, he could see everything. Fuji's thoughts were an open door to him. They ran deeply through the fabric of his mind like a raging river. Each emotion was a sensation, and each memory only further excitement, until his mind numbed over. He couldn't be quite sure about how long he simply sat there while blood seeped languidly past his lips to remain on his tongue.
He wouldn't have been surprised to feel the warmth of Fuji's tears, running damply between their faces. Yet, somehow, none came. Fuji showed no fear for his life even when he trembled and his heart raced.
Fuji didn't struggle or plea, but there was some unalienable force that pushed Tezuka away from Fuji—so much that he could no longer touch the boy. There was nothing for a moment—no words, no kisses, nothing. Fuji's eyes were still dazed and shocked—wide. And then, before he had even time to respond, Tezuka grabbed him by the wrist, jerked him out of the room, pulled him down the stairs and across the hallway, and shoved him roughly out the door. Fuji opened his mouth, and only then had his eyes washed over with anger from shock. His hand raised to slap Tezuka, yet his own hand, now flushed with human warmth, sped to met Fuji's and in a fierce, yet oddly gentle gesture, he put Fuji's hand back at his side and stared Fuji directly in the eye. Even then, he could see how Fuji's heart suddenly hit the ground, and all the shock of his sudden decision hit him.
"Don't come back here, Fuji."
The door slammed, and as the reaction slowly spread through him like singeing fire, Fuji only blinked. For only that moment, he was sure that his heart had gathered up all other thoughts and died right within his chest. Tezuka's mouth was smeared red, of course, and his cheeks were tinted with strange warmth. All of that, though, ever-intelligent Fuji had calculated well. What sent mind-numbing shock through the fabric of his very being was that simply, only a moment ago he had looked upon the eyes of Tezuka. No, they weren't even Tezuka's eyes.
Deep crimson, the color of his blood, glaring at him fiercely through darkness…
They were the eyes of a monster.
Fuji didn't know what to expect—not this. Numbly, his hand ran up to the burning spot on his neck. The blood was beginning to run down his skin and on to his shirt. Then, as if the fire suddenly caught hold of his heart, he turned and sped into the freezing night, not knowing where to go, nor why he was running. All he wanted to do was to get as far away from those cold, monstrous, red eyes as he possibly could.
Fuji trusted Tezuka.
Whether it was his mind, or simply his legs that wouldn't allow him to stop running, Fuji never knew. Fuji shot across crosswalks and ignored every single traffic light he came across. He bumped past pedestrians and ran blindly.
The shouts began to follow him into the advancing night, and Fuji covered his ears. The night was already advancing on him, and the only choice his burning lungs and dead heart were faced with was to run faster until he stumbled across his doorstep and his legs gave out from under him. Fuji's mouth was gaping, and he took deep gulps of air while his fingers clutched his neck painfully.
No matter how much air he swallowed, his lungs were never satisfied. Fuji breathed, but was never parched of his ravaging need for more oxygen. The cold, hard pavement froze his flushed cheeks, but his fever didn't subside. Fuji didn't know what else to do. His scream tore across the air so sharply that his ears began to ache. He curled into a fetal position and clutched his aching head weakly. Taking a deep breath, he opened his mouth and licked his dry, red lips, then poured every lament into the icy darkness as if he expected everyone to hear.
The words met silence, and only burnt his frozen lips.
Somewhere across the city Tezuka's hand only hesitated for a moment before he slammed the door to his room in complete, uncharacteristic fury. His heart raced—his body was alight with sensation that he knew all too well—the familiar, pleasant aftereffect of the taste of human blood. Now, though, all he could see was the horrible, haunting image of Fuji. The beautiful, yet wide and expressionless eyes pleaded with him. Tezuka's anger heightened. Why did that image haunt him?
In shame, Tezuka wiped the blood on his mouth on the corner of his sleeve.
Fuji's beautiful eyes and face were clearer to him now than ever before, and they spoke to him sweetly. However, he stole away Fuji's happiness all in one night. Fuji trusted him, and Tezuka sorely betrayed that trust. Darkness crept across his heart. Everything was wrong—wrong. Fuji was being misled. Tezuka was sorely deceptive. How far did these guilty faults go? Human culture had its problems, too. Humans fantasized far too much about their kind; they created false notions of 'pleasure and pain' and of 'power'. Many painted a beautiful picture of vampires, but Tezuka knew those images were sorely deceptive.
Vampires were a mix of mythological and fictional traits. Tezuka wasn't dull—he knew the evil of his doings. He could no longer justify them. Even when he tried to appease his sin with animal blood, he could never truly cleanse himself. Tezuka thrived off the vitality of others, and that was enough of a sin. Being bitten by a vampire certainly was not a gift.
Vampires were despicable creatures; nothing on earth could justify it. Nothing in the world constituted a pure, innocent relationship between a vampire and a human. They had their weaknesses, and they were evil. Their danger was latent, and upon slipping into bloodlust, they became uncontrollable.
However, humans still wanted to paint a wistful, ideal picture of it.
The price of mankind's mistakes was swift and just. Fuji fell into his hands all too easily and drowned in the sudden, unexpected sensation. Fuji was so captured that as Tezuka drained his life force, he couldn't even muster the strength to fight back. It was hideously pathetic.
Tezuka's memories spanned so far that he could remember the feeling; even now, he wasn't very far akin to the idea of it. A vampire bite seared through the body like hot fire and wreaked upon the soul the greatest sadness of all and wielded even the sense of guilt as a lethal weapon. What seared his heart most, though, was not the sting of his guilt at the realization he betrayed Fuji, nor was it the thought of the human's pain.
He didn't know quite what it was, though.
Fuji still lay on his doorstep, struggling until he managed to compose himself. Slowly, his fingers traveled up to his neck again and touched the wound. The bleeding had slowed, and already, some of the blood had was drying and flaking. Flecks of brown, dried blood appeared in his palm, and with numb resignation, Fuji pulled open the front door and stumbled inside.
His mother was nowhere to be found, of course; even if she was waiting angrily for him at the door, Fuji's apathy crept so far across the surface of his heart that he couldn't muster enough emotion to worry about the consequences. He carried himself sluggishly to the bedroom, forgetting to even remove his shoes, collapsed onto his bed, and buried his face in the pillow. Even now, the scent was entirely his own. There was no trace of Tezuka's bloody scent scattered across the surface. Here, he could simply breath and release his worries. Here, he could forget about Tezuka.
That's what he needed to do; he needed to let go of his memories.
With a sigh that radiated into the lonely night, he let his worries out past his lips. This time, they slipped languidly past his lips as if his barriers were already raised. It was cold, though. Closing his eyes, he curled his knees to his chest and buried his head. His hands abandoned their lonely, distant position and looped around his head.
Hidden under the warmth of the blanket, Fuji could no longer muster the strength to care.