Trick of Sweet Time
Disclaimer: This is a purely non-profit story written for entertainment purposes only. The characters of Demon Diary belong to their respective owners.
Author's Notes: This isn't quite the way I wanted it to turn out, but I'm in a funny sort of mood. If I didn't write it now, it probably won't get done for ages. So… this is what it is. I hope some of you enjoy. And whether you do or don't, please review!
Chapter 3
The night air was sweetly cold against his heated cheek as he opened the ancient window, rusted to the point of near immobility after extensive years of disuse. He had never particularly liked the guest quarters, as he had blatantly told his Raenef many times, but a demon lord of Raenef's sensibilities really couldn't truly understand the value of décor. He supposed he was an odd one; although he loved to burn and pillage as much as the next demon, he had a tendency to lean towards "happy" things in his likes. The dreary West wing with its antique furniture and years of tradition were chains of truth that bound him to time. If sunshine and meadows pleased him, why did it matter that they weren't "normal"? Why did it matter that they were against his very nature?
He closed his eyes and sighed. All the friends, all the parties, all the years… and not a single person understood him. The one who came closest, the one who accepted him, had died along with his youth. He had seen it all, done it all, felt it all; there had been enough life and enough death to satisfy him, enough talk and enough action, enough laughter and more than enough tears. Perhaps he was tragic; sometimes it felt that way – just a wrenching sort of feeling in his chest, hammering away at his insides until he wanted to scream. Lately he had alternated between fits of uncontrollable laughter, and periods of unprovoked tears. He really had to be getting senile; never had he been so polar, so… desolate.
A polite knock sounded at his door. He turned away from the window, waving his hand to close it as he bade the visitor to enter.
"Lord Krayon," Eclipse's lithe form materialized from behind the door. "Is everything to your satisfaction?"
"Yes, it's fine," Krayon answered sombrely, surprising the other demon. "Sorry to disturb you, Eclipse."
Never had he heard a demon lord apologize before; nor had he ever heard a demon lord apologize to him (all aside from Raenef, of course). Not knowing what else to do, he simply bowed his head. "If you should require anything, I am at your service."
"Thank you, Eclipse," Krayon smiled.
He knew something was out of the ordinary; but demons were not trained in the art of caring, of emotions. He wanted to ask if anything was wrong, if anything was amiss, but all his good intentions (the ones he denied having, of course) went to waste. More baffled than ever, the much-sought-after demon turned to leave with as much confusion in his head as had ever been there before.
"Oh, and Eclipse?"
The dark-haired demon stopped short. "Yes, milord?"
"Take good care of that master of yours. Protect him with all of your love."
That was a positively ludicrous thing to say. "Lord Krayon?"
"It's not a terrible thing to express how you feel, Eclipse. One day you may wish you had discovered that earlier."
The gap had been fortified. All that he had to say, all that was left to do, was done. He turned resolutely away, leaving Eclipse to let himself out.
-
She was still in a pensively heart-rending mood when she bumped into Chris in the corridors. He shot her a terrified sort of glare, as if both afraid that she would try to kill him again, and already irritated at the insult he knew would come when she realized he had gotten lost for the umpteenth time. He was shocked when nothing of the sort occurred. Instead, Erutis had lifted sad eyes to study his face and said nothing. When many minutes had rolled by in silence, with Erutis's eyes still on him, Chris found he couldn't stand the quiet any longer.
"Hey, quit looking at me like that!" he barked, looking away in discomfort. Just what the heck was wrong with her, anyway?
She took a few steps toward him and he winced, certain that she would now deliver a fatal blow. He was surprised when, instead of hitting him as expected, she chained her arms loosely around his torso and rested her head on his shoulder.
"H-hey…" he half-exclaimed, feeling the blush creep up his face. "What are you doing?"
"Chris?" she said quietly, her face still buried in his tunic.
"Yeah?"
"Shut up."
His anger rose. "What? You're the one that came over here and—"
"Promise me you won't leave without telling me first."
He was thrown off track by her request. "What?"
"Promise me… that you won't run off and do something stupid without telling me first."
"Heeey, what the heck is that supposed to mea—"
"Promise?"
She hadn't moved at all, but her grip on his tunic was turning her knuckles white. The insistently quiet way that she asked him, almost pleaded with him, made him worry. And the last thing he ever wanted was to worry her.
"Sure thing," he replied just as quietly, looping his arms around her in the same manner. He thought it was the right thing to do. If nothing else, he had to say it felt rather… nice.
-
He picked up his bags and discreetly closed the door.
It had never been his intention to stay in the West wing. There was nothing to draw him, nothing to comfort him before he had to depart. Instead, he walked – light-footed – towards Raenef IV's chambers.
-
He returned to his master in the same state of confusion in which he had left. What could that crazy demon lord have meant?
As his eyes fell upon his current master, hair in disarray and head bent intently over a book, he felt a little tug in his chest. He didn't know about love, but this was the feeling he always got; a kind of protectiveness, consideration. He didn't know about love, but perhaps this came close.
"Eclipse?" Raenef asked questioningly when he spied his tutor standing immobile at the door. His eyes followed him as Eclipse came to kneel in front of his chair, placing a gentle kiss on his master's lips.
The young demon lord smiled fondly when they broke apart. "What was that for?" he asked innocently.
Eclipse opened his mouth to answer, but found he didn't have one. The look in his eyes was completely vulnerable. Raenef smiled and shushed him with another chaste kiss.
"Ok."
-
He closed the ornate doors silently, and walked brusquely to the fireplace to set down his bags. Undoing the clasp, he pulled out the only item inside – an elaborate gold mirror – and set it gently on the mantle. Casting his eyes about, he found that everything was almost the same as he remembered, simply covered up and burdened with age. He walked slowly about the room, letting his hands glide over the layer of dust that had settled over each sheet that covered the furnishings before smoothly pulling the fabric away. The folds of thread would cascade to the floor and pool by his feet, revealing a new piece of his recollection. His fingers would trail as memoirs floated by before he pushed them all aside and moved on to the next piece.
He had found it hardest to leave the bed. His hands clamoured desperately over the sheets that had once been like clouds between their legs, that had slipped through his fingers with barely a whisper. Their days of teasing and flirtation had dissipated eons ago. His eyes drifted to the life-size portrait, where Raenef's vivacity had been captured so well. The sea-green eyes and charcoal hair, coupled with the evasive smirk hiding childishly behind luscious lips. Was there ever a time he had not loved it?
Was there a time he had ever said he did?
There was one piece left to unveil. He could barely tear his eyes away from the seductive likeness, but he managed to will himself to in the end. This was the piece he had been anticipating, the one that would make it all complete. It had been swirling about in his head since the first day he had set eyes on it, and he found that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get it out. But there was something else he needed to do first.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of scissors, fingering a few locks cautiously.
Fisting all of his hair, he unleashed the scissors and made a resounding snip. Pulling aside the last white sheet, he pressed his wrinkled fingers onto the blended colours of paint, letting himself fall into a dream.
-
They lay silently side-by-side, content simply to be. Their legs were entwined loosely, his lover's arm thrown over his waist in a quasi-protective gesture. The strands of their contrasting hairs mingled on the pillowcase, their smiles mirroring one another; the pinnacle of life, that absolute contentment. But he had thought it was the beginning, and he thought there would always be more(1). He could never understand it for what it was, and he could never accept it until it was too late.
As he was lulled closer to the point of sleep, the edge of reason, his eyes fell on an object of interest. He lifted his head a little, using his arm to prop himself up. His lover's finished painting stood just beyond the comfortable reach of his eyes, so he squinted at it to make out the details. It didn't look any different; perhaps a few more brushstrokes, a better unification of the colours, but it seemed to him just as dreary as ever. Although, he had to admit it was beautiful. In all its morose glory, it still struck him as one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen.
The little boat seemed to shout at him to save it.
"Love?"
"Hmm?" the reply was drugged with sleep.
"What's it called?" he turned to look at the sleeping face.
"What's what called?" Raenef asked, more alert as he cracked a sleepy eye open to look up at his lover. "You're really going to have to be—" he was interrupted by a yawn, "—more specific."
Krayon had to smile. What else was there to do? "Your painting, love. I want to know what your painting is called."
"Oh." For some reason, Raenef seemed to hesitate. He had brushed it off then, more impatient than anything. He hadn't realized half of what he should've; he hadn't realized what he needed to save.
"What's it called?" he asked a little more insistently.
This time there was no hesitation. "Ne'er to return."
And he never did. The next morning, Krayon vanished as if he never existed. The only traces he left behind were the hacked locks of tangled hair and the dying glitter of twin stars, all lying agedly beside a cracked canvas of a once-beautiful picture
END(1) - Borrowed from The Hours. If you haven't seen it, it's a brilliant movie. And if you do decide to see it, take lots of tissues.
AN: Ah, the angst. It seems a little odd towards the end, but I have this habit of writing endings first. Well, that is all. Finally, it's complete!