A/N: A much shorter chapter compared to the previous ones. Yet, I still hope you will enjoy it.
Comments, critique etc. welcomed and appreciated.
Beta: Youkai Kisaki
For years, centuries, nothing but darkness and silence had existed in the deep emptiness around him. The distant whispers of humans as they cried out for their loved ones sometimes carried through the emptiness, their sadness and grief filling his heart with sorrow, making him think of those that might mourn for him.
Memories had surfaced then, of deep, dark eyes that looked at him with undying devotion, with emotion that he would have liked to call love, but knew well enough not to name it as such. There was always pain that cut through him when he remembered those eyes, and they were always followed by a memory of another pair of eyes, these ones cold and frozen like ice, full of hatred.
It was the image of those cold eyes that kept him company in the darkness. Desperately he tried to seek for a little glimpse of warmth in their coldness, something to comfort him, but there never was anything but hate and anger in them.
And he grew resentful towards those eyes, knowing he had done nothing to deserve such hateful glances, when all he had ever done was love the one who possessed them. He had fallen in love with the arrogant beauty of that soul and had wanted it for his own. Was it too much to ask for just a little love in return for his own, boundless love, to at least once see something other than hatred in them?
Yet never, not even once did the look in those eyes change, and it drove him nearly mad when they were all he could see. Not even the warm devotion of the dark eyes brought him comfort, when he remembered seeing fire in them, passion that was not directed at him.
Jealousy raged within him like a fire storm, threatening to burn his soul to ashes just as the sun had done to his skin and flesh. The sun had burned deep, leaving only blackened bones to him, and there would have been less had he not crawled into the dark and warm bosom of the earth, into the moist soil of the graveyard that worms and the decaying flesh of humans had turned pliable during the centuries.
As time passed, he felt his body heal, muscles re-forming themselves around bones, of skin growing over them. He let it happen, not caring, content to lie deep in the ground with the hateful eyes as his company. It was enough for him and it would have continued to be so, had he not one day woken hungry, the scent of fresh blood seeping into the ground in which he lay.
The thirst now awakened within him, he crawled through the dirt, through the mud, towards the sweet scent of blood that was life and pleasure to him.
He emerged from the ground, dirt in his mouth and ears, nose and in every crook of his body, roots dangling from his neck and limbs, worms and insects crawling around him. Nothing else mattered now but the intoxicating scent of blood, of the woman lying on the ground, her wrist opened, deep red, luscious liquid that promised him strength and pleasure spilling from the wound, the offering wasted on the soil.
Slowly he crawled towards the woman, his long hair stuck to his face and over his lips like a veil. His lips were drawn back, revealing his fangs, not because he was growling, but because there was not enough flesh on him to cover them. He saw his own image reflected on the woman's terror stricken eyes and hissed. Bulging eyes, grey skin, his head like a skull, and his hands, fingers – once slender, now looked like those of a skeleton.
He growled then, in anger over what had become of him. How long had he laid on the ground, in the dirt of the graveyard, his mind empty of any images besides the eyes? The eyes that had wanted him to suffer and die, to wither away like the dying embers of an abandoned fire.
No longer would he cower before those eyes, accept their anger silently and without complaint. If he could not change the anger in those eyes, he would match it with his own. If he could not receive love, he would return the hatred by ten folds.
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As his feet touched the asphalt Kirihara ran after Atobe who had already reached far past the smoke that had covered every street and alley surrounding the buildings around the hospital.
"Wait the hell up!" he screamed after Atobe, not truly expecting him to stop or even slow down enough so that Kirihara could catch him. So when Atobe stopped, Kirihara nearly ran past him.
"How is it possible?" Atobe asked, his gaze focused up, eyes locked on a skyscraper. "How is he alive!" he screamed, hands fisted so tightly that blood dripped from between his fingers and Kirihara could not help the way his focus was drawn on it.
He licked his lips, tasting the blood in the air and took a shuttering breath of air that only worsened, not eased his fascination with the scent of Atobe's blood. "Atobe," he moaned, dragging out the name with a desperate need in his voice. "Keigo," he added a teasing, playful note to his voice, tilted his head and forced his eyes from the blood and focused on Atobe's face, whose attention was now fully on him, eyes attentive, a slight, cruel smile on his lips.
"Akaya," Atobe spoke, with a similar teasing tone and lifted a hand to his lips, spread his fingers and licked his palm clean from the blood. "Is there," he said, sliding his hand down to his collar, smearing his chin and neck with blood and letting it rest there. He lifted his chin, allowing Kirihara's gaze to easily find his jugular, "something you desire?"
"We'll share," Kirihara said eagerly, like a child gushing over a bright, red ball. "Like old times. Or just…" his whole head twitched and he rolled his shoulders. "Let me… just a…" he laughed wildly and hissed, "just a little taste, Atobe, let me have a little and you can take all you want."
"That's a foolish offer to make," Atobe replied slowly, his voice low, his eyes mere slits. "I never took you for a fool, Akaya."
"Did you just insult me?" Kirihara asked, cocking his head, grin even wider than before.
"Perhaps I was complimenting you," Atobe answered with a small smile, this one slightly less cruel than his earlier smile. "You would more likely take a compliment as an insult, and an insult as a compliment."
"So, which was it?" Kirihara growled, grin being pushed back and taken over by an annoyed growl.
"You may take it as you wish," Atobe answered and Kirihara bared his teeth.
"You…" he growled and grabbed Atobe's wrist. But then his grimace suddenly disappeared and was replaced by a sly smile. "That's fucking clever," he chuckled. "But I'm on to you, and it's not working."
Atobe frowned and attempted to pull his wrist from the other's hold.
"You seem to forget I'm not a kid anymore," Kirihara said. "Sure, I still got a temper problem, but really?" he chuckled. "You can't bait me that easily anymore. It won't work."
"It seemed to be working just fine," Atobe muttered and finally managed to shake Kirihara's hold off himself.
"Well I never could get over my repulsion for arrogant bitches," Kirihara snickered. "And you got a talent for stroking anyone's fur the wrong way." Atobe lifted his chin and raised a questioning eyebrow at Kirihara. "And that was not, a fucking compliment, in case you were wondering."
"I would not have thought it to be, not from your mouth," Atobe answered, one eyebrow still lifted.
Kirihara's snickers only increased, and the grin stretching his lips widened. "You're trying to stop me from saying it," he ruffled his messy hair and allowed the bangs to fall over his eyes. "What's wrong? Why are you scared of hearing it?"
Atobe's lip twitched and his fangs flashed.
"The kid's gone," Kirihara whispered. "You failed. You don't know where he is, do you? And you know Yukimura's got him."
Atobe snarled and turned away, but Kirihara was not finished taunting him. He crept up behind Atobe and lowered his chin on his shoulder, pressed his nose against Atobe's throat, sniffed deeply at the blood Atobe had smeared on his skin, licked at it and moaned. "It'd be just like old times," Kirihara whispered huskily.
"Just like old times, ahn?" Atobe asked, a twisted smile slowly making its way to his lips, a forgotten passion rising within him. "Why not?" he asked the sky, twisted around and pinned Kirihara to his chest, making sure his head did not rise from the crook of his neck.
Kirihara threw his arms around Atobe, pressed the mouth attached to the neck down tighter and laughed, digging his nails into the back of Atobe's neck. He was still laughing when Atobe tore into his neck, but by then he too was lost in the rush of feeling Atobe again, having him, letting someone have him.
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Time, no matter how different the concept was to an almost immortal being like a vampire, changed things. Years made a difference in the way people acted, in the way they thought of each other and acted. Relationships could evolve and change from cold resentment into something almost affectionate, perhaps even passionate, or remain the same.
Sanada's family had not changed, and in the most part neither had the way they treated each other. There was still a cold hatred between Yanagi and Atobe, fondness from Yanagi towards Kirihara and blind devotion towards their master from both Yanagi and Kirihara.
But something had changed between Atobe and Kirihara, and Sanada was once again reminded of their odd relationship and its changes during the decades they had still been together after Yukimura had been burned by the sun and they had all thought him perished.
It had begun when Atobe gave Kirihara a taste of his own blood, the boy's first taste of immortal blood. Since then they had hunted together, and on some nights both had returned with the scent of blood that was not human or animal, glowing with power. They smelled of immortal blood and at times it was not a stranger's blood that flowed in their veins.
"Would you call them lovers?" Yanagi had asked him on one such night when they returned with that same eerie glow, bite marks on their body, bloodlust still burning hungrily in their gazes. "They feed of each other for pleasure, like humans would kiss and copulate."
Some things had changed, and others remained the same.
What in me has changed? Sanada had wondered and watched Atobe push Kirihara on the floor with a delighted, happy laugh. Nothing, because even now I wish it was because of me he would laugh like that.
And some part of him now wanted to be the one running after Atobe as he fled from the truths Niou had revealed them, yearned to be the one to follow him and comfort him. But there were others still on the rooftop that needed his attention, things that needed to be taken care of.
He would need to ensure Niou, his human and the other vampire left Tokyo and assure Fuji that Atobe could handle the news of their master, that Kirihara was what he needed now, that they were good for each other.
Something even he had difficulty in believing.