Fic: They All Seem to be Asleep; Takuma; Vampire Knight
Title: They All Seem to be Asleep
Characters: Takuma, mostly. Includes others.
Pairings: Takuma/Shiki
Rating: Hard R to NC-17
Word Count: 1,600
Summary: Ichiou would have it no other way. His grandson is meant to carry on his legacy, and carry on their name into the next line.
Note: I'd normally post this into graphitinai, but I don't have posting access at the moment. And I've been meaning to write this for a while. And. Yes. Spoilers for all of Vampire Knight!
The feeling of his grandfather’s mansion is suffocating at first. He is seven, surrounded by dusty walls, old paintings, and the sound of maids slipping through and making sure it’s spotless. Though the number of visitors is small, Ichiou is certain to keep the place in top condition. They may not have pure blood moving through their veins, but they must give off the perception. They have maintained their place on the council for this long for a reason; they cannot make themselves seem undeserving.
These are the lessons he learns within these walls, where he’s meant to act as if the paintings are regal and as if the training he gets makes him one of the best. In the company of his grandfather, Takuma cannot smile, cannot waver or act as if the world is some carefree mystery. Dressed in garbs of black for mourning, he walks through the halls rigidly with the lessons filling his brain.
One day, he knows they will come true. Each lesson about the means leading toward the ends, how everything is necessary, will be enacted by his hands when his grandfather raises the strings. For now, he may be only seven, but in the years to come, he will feel the full weight of the words, and let them guide him.
Ichiou would have it no other way. His grandson is meant to carry on his legacy, and carry on their name into the next line.
*
Words are often nothing more than mantras that receive little attention.
Takuma is a boy who cannot live among dust and shadows without finding a light of his own. It comes not in his cousin, Shiki, when he comes and moves as if his mother’s strings reach him from miles away, but from the mysterious Kuran boy, with the dark hair that covers his eyes, and the smirk that eases over his lips when Takuma talks at him. They have little in common, but he is a Pureblood, and Ichiou makes it clear that he must make him have his ear. There will come a day when that ear will mean nothing, when Kuran will fit with the rest of the puzzle pieces, but it does not thwart Takuma’s smile.
He is a boy meant to live beyond the weighted words of war and destroyed pieces. He is a boy meant to shine on above all others and remain the diplomatic voice in a world where diplomacy means keeping their blood in their veins for another day. He is a boy who finds the joys in the simplicities of life, whereas the complications will live on another day, and be pulled apart by better hands.
Takuma grows with the weights on his shoulders but the smile on his face. He presents the smile to Kaname, to Aidou, to the rest, while he recommends cheerful stories and closes off the other part of the world. If he does not acknowledge it, he cannot feel it; the weight will be lessened for another day. The smile will remain as he keeps himself sinking down into the quicksand that waits below him.
*
Within the halls of Cross Academy, the weights feel heavier, stronger, as they bring Takuma down to the earth. Among the humans, he can smell the bits of blood, the girls reaching out to them, and he can see the hungry look in the eyes of the others; they have a hard time maintaining this peace, but they follow behind the steps of Kaname, who slips his fingers around Yuuki’s wrist with absolute ease, before letting it free as if she left him unaffected. Theirs is a pact they must hold together, and Takuma falls into step behind Kaname. He is his second, he has his ear, and in time, they will have to reconsider the path they walk on.
This is the path they have been walking since their first meeting. Takuma knows they all walk it. Kain with his temperament and Aidou with his loyalty; Ruka walks it with her gaze firmly planted on Kaname’s back, and the rest do the same. There will be a time when they must reconsider their loyalties, but these are not the days. These are not the nights, spent in classes filled with lessons on civility and old peace agreements between their kind and the humans.
Takuma relaxes back when they’re over, holding the manga in his hands while he waits for the dawn to come. They’ll be out in it soon, walking back toward their dormitory and waiting dusk yet again. It’s a routine, and no words, no lessons, no spotless walls and weighted lessons can prepare him for pleasant monotony. It’s a life he enjoys, despite the hunger for blood in his throat and the feeling of Shiki at his side.
When he looks at Kaname on the walks to and from their academy, he observes the mask that settles easily over his features, the mask that falters in the presence of the girl named Yuuki; he thinks he sees his every weakness, but it’s clear they all see it. But they walk his path and his way; he gives them his trust by shedding the mask, and in return, he earns their loyalty.
*
For every inch that Takuma feels himself sink, he pulls himself up higher as if it makes no difference. He flails his arms in favor of his birthday, and draws Shiki’s blood off his finger; in the distance, he smells the blood of Yuuki Cross and ignores it in favor of Shiki’s fingers around his wrist. Come, it means, come, and he goes, ignoring the evening disturbances in the distance. When he unbuttons his cousin’s shirt, he doesn’t think, simply trailing his nails down and opening small wounds to take the blood into his mouth.
He jokes when he unbuttons Shiki’s pants, telling him about the manga he read last week with a similar plot and story. But they didn’t end happily, Takuma laments, but he concludes that anything else can be changed with the right elements. He grins against Shiki’s neck when he’s inside of him, pressing against him; he grins and ignores how loosely his cousin’s arms are around his neck, or his nonexistent enthusiasm. Takuma can ignore what’s right in front of him as long as he continues with his carefree life.
It is not a lie for him like it is for the others. A step back will reveal it all-a step back will make him realize how desperately they all reach out toward Kaname, waiting for his acceptance. But he lives on through it, knowing that his time will be coming when he’ll reach out, too. He’s not reaching, not yet, not even with the glare of his grandfather in his direction or the foreboding feeling in the future.
When his time comes, though, Takuma knows there will be no turning back. He’ll have sunk, and by then, there will be no way to fill his lungs with air again.
*
It is just as suffocating as when he was younger when he fights his grandfather. The ground is broken, but they cannot bring out their powers yet again. Without feeding on one another, there is no other way but to fight with their swords. They fight fast enough that sparks erupt from their actions; they don’t think, because they can see the next move coming before they jerk a leg. They both know there is only one way for this to end, and his grandfather tries to trick him into ending it first.
But Takuma is quick-his grandfather’s words never stuck, and he doesn’t believe in a world where there must always be a victor, where there must always be someone of superior quality. He swings his word around and allows his grandfather’s to impale him as his sword does the same to his grandfather. He quirks up with a grin as the blood fills his throat.
Good-bye, he says, and good riddance, but even he is not without sadness, even he is not without the tears that brim his eyes and overwhelm the fading grin on his lips.
*
He opens his eyes, still wet from blood and sweat, with the smell of his grandfather’s blood pooling close to him. Drink him, Takuma, a voice demands, and he can tell who it belongs to-his leader, his friend, the one whose ear he actually had all along. Drink him and be strong again. It’s a drink-and-be-strong mantra he’s been raised with; they are creatures that must draw their strength from one another, and Ichiou is no different. Takuma is no different. Even if the blood is not close enough to taste, his stomach churns and his throat is dry with desire. But he is too deep to breathe, and if he takes a taste, he will be swallowed-not by the ideals he wants, by his resolution, but by the paintings, the dust, and the shadows of his youth.
The line has come to an end, he tells Kaname before quirking his lips upward again. Let it live on in you, for whatever ends you wish to meet. His eyes close tight and he waits for Kaname’s hands to slip over his body. But he is not surprised that his last thought is that Kaname is waiting, letting him slip away, letting him have his final breath by his own will instead of another’s. If this is the ending that Kaname should like to meet, then he will let it trickle by as freely as it wishes.
Characters: Takuma, mostly. Includes others.
Pairings: Takuma/Shiki
Rating: Hard R to NC-17
Word Count: 1,600
Summary: Ichiou would have it no other way. His grandson is meant to carry on his legacy, and carry on their name into the next line.
Note: I'd normally post this into graphitinai, but I don't have posting access at the moment. And I've been meaning to write this for a while. And. Yes. Spoilers for all of Vampire Knight!
The feeling of his grandfather’s mansion is suffocating at first. He is seven, surrounded by dusty walls, old paintings, and the sound of maids slipping through and making sure it’s spotless. Though the number of visitors is small, Ichiou is certain to keep the place in top condition. They may not have pure blood moving through their veins, but they must give off the perception. They have maintained their place on the council for this long for a reason; they cannot make themselves seem undeserving.
These are the lessons he learns within these walls, where he’s meant to act as if the paintings are regal and as if the training he gets makes him one of the best. In the company of his grandfather, Takuma cannot smile, cannot waver or act as if the world is some carefree mystery. Dressed in garbs of black for mourning, he walks through the halls rigidly with the lessons filling his brain.
One day, he knows they will come true. Each lesson about the means leading toward the ends, how everything is necessary, will be enacted by his hands when his grandfather raises the strings. For now, he may be only seven, but in the years to come, he will feel the full weight of the words, and let them guide him.
Ichiou would have it no other way. His grandson is meant to carry on his legacy, and carry on their name into the next line.
*
Words are often nothing more than mantras that receive little attention.
Takuma is a boy who cannot live among dust and shadows without finding a light of his own. It comes not in his cousin, Shiki, when he comes and moves as if his mother’s strings reach him from miles away, but from the mysterious Kuran boy, with the dark hair that covers his eyes, and the smirk that eases over his lips when Takuma talks at him. They have little in common, but he is a Pureblood, and Ichiou makes it clear that he must make him have his ear. There will come a day when that ear will mean nothing, when Kuran will fit with the rest of the puzzle pieces, but it does not thwart Takuma’s smile.
He is a boy meant to live beyond the weighted words of war and destroyed pieces. He is a boy meant to shine on above all others and remain the diplomatic voice in a world where diplomacy means keeping their blood in their veins for another day. He is a boy who finds the joys in the simplicities of life, whereas the complications will live on another day, and be pulled apart by better hands.
Takuma grows with the weights on his shoulders but the smile on his face. He presents the smile to Kaname, to Aidou, to the rest, while he recommends cheerful stories and closes off the other part of the world. If he does not acknowledge it, he cannot feel it; the weight will be lessened for another day. The smile will remain as he keeps himself sinking down into the quicksand that waits below him.
*
Within the halls of Cross Academy, the weights feel heavier, stronger, as they bring Takuma down to the earth. Among the humans, he can smell the bits of blood, the girls reaching out to them, and he can see the hungry look in the eyes of the others; they have a hard time maintaining this peace, but they follow behind the steps of Kaname, who slips his fingers around Yuuki’s wrist with absolute ease, before letting it free as if she left him unaffected. Theirs is a pact they must hold together, and Takuma falls into step behind Kaname. He is his second, he has his ear, and in time, they will have to reconsider the path they walk on.
This is the path they have been walking since their first meeting. Takuma knows they all walk it. Kain with his temperament and Aidou with his loyalty; Ruka walks it with her gaze firmly planted on Kaname’s back, and the rest do the same. There will be a time when they must reconsider their loyalties, but these are not the days. These are not the nights, spent in classes filled with lessons on civility and old peace agreements between their kind and the humans.
Takuma relaxes back when they’re over, holding the manga in his hands while he waits for the dawn to come. They’ll be out in it soon, walking back toward their dormitory and waiting dusk yet again. It’s a routine, and no words, no lessons, no spotless walls and weighted lessons can prepare him for pleasant monotony. It’s a life he enjoys, despite the hunger for blood in his throat and the feeling of Shiki at his side.
When he looks at Kaname on the walks to and from their academy, he observes the mask that settles easily over his features, the mask that falters in the presence of the girl named Yuuki; he thinks he sees his every weakness, but it’s clear they all see it. But they walk his path and his way; he gives them his trust by shedding the mask, and in return, he earns their loyalty.
*
For every inch that Takuma feels himself sink, he pulls himself up higher as if it makes no difference. He flails his arms in favor of his birthday, and draws Shiki’s blood off his finger; in the distance, he smells the blood of Yuuki Cross and ignores it in favor of Shiki’s fingers around his wrist. Come, it means, come, and he goes, ignoring the evening disturbances in the distance. When he unbuttons his cousin’s shirt, he doesn’t think, simply trailing his nails down and opening small wounds to take the blood into his mouth.
He jokes when he unbuttons Shiki’s pants, telling him about the manga he read last week with a similar plot and story. But they didn’t end happily, Takuma laments, but he concludes that anything else can be changed with the right elements. He grins against Shiki’s neck when he’s inside of him, pressing against him; he grins and ignores how loosely his cousin’s arms are around his neck, or his nonexistent enthusiasm. Takuma can ignore what’s right in front of him as long as he continues with his carefree life.
It is not a lie for him like it is for the others. A step back will reveal it all-a step back will make him realize how desperately they all reach out toward Kaname, waiting for his acceptance. But he lives on through it, knowing that his time will be coming when he’ll reach out, too. He’s not reaching, not yet, not even with the glare of his grandfather in his direction or the foreboding feeling in the future.
When his time comes, though, Takuma knows there will be no turning back. He’ll have sunk, and by then, there will be no way to fill his lungs with air again.
*
It is just as suffocating as when he was younger when he fights his grandfather. The ground is broken, but they cannot bring out their powers yet again. Without feeding on one another, there is no other way but to fight with their swords. They fight fast enough that sparks erupt from their actions; they don’t think, because they can see the next move coming before they jerk a leg. They both know there is only one way for this to end, and his grandfather tries to trick him into ending it first.
But Takuma is quick-his grandfather’s words never stuck, and he doesn’t believe in a world where there must always be a victor, where there must always be someone of superior quality. He swings his word around and allows his grandfather’s to impale him as his sword does the same to his grandfather. He quirks up with a grin as the blood fills his throat.
Good-bye, he says, and good riddance, but even he is not without sadness, even he is not without the tears that brim his eyes and overwhelm the fading grin on his lips.
*
He opens his eyes, still wet from blood and sweat, with the smell of his grandfather’s blood pooling close to him. Drink him, Takuma, a voice demands, and he can tell who it belongs to-his leader, his friend, the one whose ear he actually had all along. Drink him and be strong again. It’s a drink-and-be-strong mantra he’s been raised with; they are creatures that must draw their strength from one another, and Ichiou is no different. Takuma is no different. Even if the blood is not close enough to taste, his stomach churns and his throat is dry with desire. But he is too deep to breathe, and if he takes a taste, he will be swallowed-not by the ideals he wants, by his resolution, but by the paintings, the dust, and the shadows of his youth.
The line has come to an end, he tells Kaname before quirking his lips upward again. Let it live on in you, for whatever ends you wish to meet. His eyes close tight and he waits for Kaname’s hands to slip over his body. But he is not surprised that his last thought is that Kaname is waiting, letting him slip away, letting him have his final breath by his own will instead of another’s. If this is the ending that Kaname should like to meet, then he will let it trickle by as freely as it wishes.