AN> Those obsessing over Blood+ currently kindly raise their hands now. I am so going to not graduate. Oh well. Comments of any kind are welcome.
Spoilers, spoilers: Extremely vague and well-concealed, for up to Ep 17.
Acknowledgments: I owe the 'cold fingers' inspiration to the story 'Cold Hands' by miya wada. Go read it.
The Two, Awake
by onescape
She could not sleep.
She lay on her back, occassionally tossing, turning this and that way and wishing for a shower. It had been hours now that she could not rid herself of the image. Was it because she knew now?
Her eyes slid to the side to watch the blissfully sleeping form of her little brother. Thank God next to nothing could wake up Riku.
Saya felt her face heat up in guilt as her hand crept slowly across the flat of her middle to clutch the hipbone.
Family, is it?
She could almost feel his arm about her ribcage like a band of steel, the act itself so very in opposition with his slight, unassuming countenance. Fingers bruising her chin, unyielding just like he was, and a mouth invading hers in such a way that her fifteen-year-old self felt like she was drowning. There had been a strange sort of desperation in his movements, and suspended in the moment she had realized that she wanted, although she could not remember what or why. Her lips fell open willingly and she felt the cool, wet slide of his tongue against the roof of her mouth, filling it with the taste of copper. While Saya had recoiled, absolutely horrified at the gluttonous reaction of her body, the much older (how much older?) being inside of her had been acutely aware of her breasts straining against the fabric of the blouse she wore, her pelvis rising from the dirty linoleum to meet his, while a single thought had whispered over and over through her boiling mind.
'Finally.'
She hadn't thought...she hadn't thought it would be like this. Saya did not remember. But sometimes she knew, and that knowledge drove her into futile waking dreams of things that had never been: of cold, cold fingers in secret places, while her hips circled against the bedspread restlessly. The rhytmic movement of the train wasn't helping any.
Saya kicked off the tangled, sweat-soaked sheets tiredly and swung her bare legs over the edge of the small pull out bed. The floor was freezing her toes off, but she did not have the strength to bother putting shoes on.
The landscape beyond the window was uniformly white, providing a canvas to the reflection of a girl who looked like she was running a fever – which she just might have been – her eyes glassy and tinged with red, her mouth swollen and parted slightly. She licked her lips wantonly and Saya had to turn away, shame flooding her.
And she froze.
"Saya."
Her hand flew to her mouth. She had called him, she had called him unwittingly.
She could not think straight.
He took a soundless step towards her. Saya took a step back, ended up pushing against the window. His eyes were as unreadable as ever, but she could see his nostrils flare once, twice. She was seized by the absolute certainty that he knew.
"Saya." Her name on his lips sounded like a low keen, like the howling of the wind. Her name seemed to be a gateway to his soul, the only sign of real emotion he ever gave.
He then stopped and stood impassively as always, but in a sudden bout of insight Saya could read the ever-present tension spanning each muscle of his bony shoulders, his jaw, the hollow of his cheeks, the tendons in his neck, his one human hand. He was thrumming like a musical instrument.
"Haji." She sounded pleading and silly, even to herself. "When you fed me your blood, when you ...held me, it felt... Have we ever – before?"
Something in him changed.
His half-lidded gaze hung on her shivering form, more palpable than physical touch. He then looked to the side where Riku was sleeping the encounter away.
"You are cold," he stated flatly, dropping her blanket around her shoulders, tucking the corners into her unresponsive hands. Goosebumps rose on her bare arms in his wake, her skin stretched taut and overly sensitive to the brush of fabric.
Saya reached out blindly and caught his sleeve. "Haji, tell me. I need to know."
The moonlight reflected off the snow outside reached his face in that moment and Saya thought he looked as if she had slapped him, while the other one marveled at the signs of his silent madness.
He averted his eyes.
"That was the only time."
The door of the compartment slid closed.
Saya understood. The other one, the one he wanted, the one he had waited for, had never looked at him that way, no matter what the promise. And he never would have touched the other one the way he'd touched her.
Saya was but a fifteen-year-old girl.
Realization made her rip the door open, already knowing he would be gone. "Haji!" She whispered fiercely.
Receiving no response, she stood in the darkened corridor, leaning against the wall, her head knocked back. Having lost the blanket in her rush to get out, she trembled again. He could not very well refuse her call, she understood at least that much. She could feel him nearby, always nearby, even though he chose not to make his presence known.
She had to tell him.
She spoke into the darkness.
"Haji, you don't have to wait any longer. I'm awake now. Saya and Saya – they aren't two different people. We are one, a new one, but still me." She had no idea, how much of what she said was the truth and what was wishful thinking. Saya didn't care, and knew he did not, either.
"And this Saya – she wants you. She does."
Something akin to a sigh floated down the corridor, but if it was an unsealed window or something else, she couldn't tell. Saya swallowed heavily, overwhelmed by embarrassment and the surprising intensity of the actual feeling.
"Haji, I promise. I will remember. And I won't disappear."