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Snippet #2453501

located in Cross Academy, a part of Vampire Knight: The Devil's Dance, one of the many universes on RPG.

Cross Academy

None

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Asuka Fujiwara Character Portrait: Zenith Rosenkreuz Character Portrait: Sora Tsukino Character Portrait: Anastasia Guillory
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ā€œI didnā€™t know how dark my world really was until you lit it up.ā€



That smileā€”that subtle, sly quirk of her lipsā€”was going to undo him someday, he just knew it. He was considering how best to press this interrogation of his when he felt both of her hands on his face, and he went along as she directed, locking eyes with her. Past the point of taking blood, his had returned to their usual black color, but that was where the resemblance ended. They were not flat, nor did they seem cold. If anything, there was warmth in them, and depth. Heā€™d never bothered to do things like pick a favorite color, but he knew in that moment that his was and would always be jade-green. Her eyes reflected the light just a little, making the color seem at once pale and rich, like the sun shone through a gem. And when did he start constructing metaphors? Well, it didnā€™t matter to him. Heā€™d write her poetry if she wanted it, however unlike him it would be.

He could feel her hesitation in that too-brief moment she kissed him, and so, much as he wanted to, he didnā€™t try to push or deepen it. He was sensing that the answer he would receive had much more weight to it than heā€™d expected when he asked, and if so, she had every right to take a moment to give it. The arms that caged her to the tree dropped gently to the lines of her shoulders, delicate but strongā€”like she was. He kept his forehead bowed to touch hers, their noses scarce centimeters apart. Heā€™d never voluntarily been this close to another person before, but he didnā€™t mind it. For once, he found it hard to concentrate on all the things the environment around him was telling him through his senses, because they were all so filled with her that he didnā€™t care about anything else. Not in this moment.

At the hitch in her breath, his own stilled, his entire body freezing into a perfectly motionless render of what he was, the knowledge of what he was about to hear clicking into place a split second before he heard it. And when he did, everything else suddenly made so much sense. He hadnā€™t wanted to think that it could be the answer, because he didnā€™t truly know what it was. And yetā€¦ wasnā€™t that just another kind of cowardice? A fear of confronting the unknown only because it was unknown? Sora was many things, but he had never been a coward. Now, when things seemed more important than anything else heā€™d done in his life, seemed hardly the time to start being one.

"I love you."


He was suspended in animation for another three seconds after that, closing his eyes and processing the effect that three short syllables, such miniscule words, could have on someone like him. Nobody in his entire life had ever told him that they loved him. Not the people who called him their child, not his only friends, not his cousin, not his ward. No one, in more than a hundred years of life.

If he could call it a life.

The first word had tensed him, like a drawn bowstring, taut and immobile. The second had been a cracking blow to a barrier he had not known existed in him, and the third, with its subtle emphasis, had broken through it altogether, and whatever it was that had held him back, stopped him from feeling as other men felt, living as he desired, hearing the things his heart was so desperately yelling at him, shattered utterly. He released the breath heā€™d been holding, a palpable note of relief in it, and wrapped his arms around her, melding them together so that there was no space, not even a tiny pocket of air, between them. He held her like she was the most precious thing in all the world, breakable and fragile and his, and he shuddered, a tremor wracking his spine. ā€œAsuka,ā€ he said, and the word was uttered so tenderly, so choked with emotion that it almost didnā€™t sound like his own voice. ā€œI canā€™tā€¦ thereā€™s no way I can tell you how much that means to me, no way I can repay you for what youā€™ve given me. All I can do is love you, as much as youā€™ll let me. I donā€™t know how, and Iā€™ll probably get it wrong, a lot, but I can promise that Iā€™ll never stop.ā€

It wasnā€™t enough. Nothing would be enough. But she was generous and forgiving, and he supposed that there was a chance that sheā€™d take it, and forgive him for lacking the rest.




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ā€œEverybody has something to give or give up. Iā€™d bet youā€™ve got more than most.ā€



ā€œWhat could possibly have made you think so?ā€ she wondered aloud, shaking her head slightly. ā€œEveryone has something to give. And if they can give it, they can give it up, too. Even at the worst times, when we have nothing else, we always have ourselves, what we can do, who we are. We have a will, things we want, things we like and donā€™t like. We have our potentialā€”the things we could do. Some of us,ā€ here she paused a bit ruefully, sighing as though to herself, ā€œeven have dreams. Thatā€™s not nothing. And as long as we have that, seeing our way through the dark is only ever hard, not impossible.ā€ She was willing to bet that he had a lot to give, actually, but maybe nobody had ever told him so. Maybe heā€™d never discovered it about himself. It was hard to say.

The butterfly from earlier landed on his nose again, and she laughed. It was a light sound, and rather quiet, but her delight was obvious all the same. It was such a funny picture, and it lent him some kind ofā€¦ almost human quality. Whereas before heā€™d seemed to be something from another world, somehow, the humor of the little butterfly on his face made him look like he really belonged in this one. It was a good look for him, she thought.

ā€œI wouldnā€™t be surprised if it did think you were a flower,ā€ she noted, for a moment forgetting that the thought heā€™d had on the matter had never been voiced aloud. She wasnā€™t trying to read his mind, but like so many things, her powers werenā€™t always exactly under her control. Of course, the realization happened with his question-statementā€¦ thing. It was kind of a question, but his way of putting things was such that it sounded more like a statement. It was just something else about him that was different from most people, she supposed.

Her smile wilted a bit, until it was something almost melancholy. ā€œItā€™s not a matter of believing,ā€ she said quietly, taking a deep breath. The scent of the flowers and fresh water and life was so strong here. Was she imagining that she still smelled roses, too? ā€œI know it, in here.ā€ she tapped her temple with her first two fingers. And I can feel it, in here. The hand moved down to her heart, and she laid her palm over it gently. Rather than being spoken aloud, the words were given directly to his mind, because that way, there would be no doubt about what she meant. She was careful with it, and gentle, and she knew from experience that it caused no pain. But most people disliked it anyway.

This was the point where they left, usually. If not, they tended to get mad at her, which she supposed was a little understandable. She always had enough respect to weather either response, but that was not to deny that it hurt a little, when it happened. From new acquaintances to old friends, sheā€™d broken a lot of ties this way, and perhaps sheā€™d grown used to it, to some extent. There was no controlling what other people did, after all, and she could understand not wanting someone else to know what you were thinking, even if that person tried not to know. Even if they would never use it against you or tell anyone else. It was hard to believe that, after all. Especially when you were used to being used or hurt or sad, or some combination of the three.

ā€œPlease donā€™t think too poorly of me,ā€ she said, switching back to using her actual voice. ā€œI didnā€™t intend to know. It justā€¦ happens.ā€ She said it, but honestly, she wasnā€™t holding out a whole lot of hope for that. What she did was unnatural, and there was no reason to expect anyone to be fine with it.

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