Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Kana—me…" It's a minor miracle that she can even speak as clearly as now—the wounds she’d sustained would’ve been enough to immediately kill a lesser vampire. Even now, Yuuki struggles to breathe; each breath coming out in raspy, short intervals. She knows there is no saving for her, and Yuuki thinks that, from his slightly trembling hands to the anguish in his eyes (Those eyes which had always, always been gentle and kind to her), Kaname knows it too.

Who knew her life would be cut so short? Slowly, painfully reaching out, Kuran Yuuki cups her lover’s cheek, drawing him closer. 

“I…love…you…” She whispers, putting all her energy into this one final proclamation of love.

(She hopes that he will forgive her, for leaving him so soon, when she’d finally decided to stay.

She hopes that one day, Kaname will find peace after her death.

She hopes that, if reincarnation truly exists, they’ll find each other again.)

Yuuki smiles—radiant, bright like the sun.

And shatters.

Chapter Text

Yuuki (beautiful, wondrous, dying) is like ice in his arms, as if crystallising within the seconds before she shatters in his arms. The words she’d said (I love you), echo in his mind alongside the ringing in his ears. 

Kaname stares down at his palms and finds them empty. Empty, empty, empty. 

Yuuki is dead.

(And there was not even a body left)

There is a building scream in his head, and he’s all too sure his expression is more akin to a monster than a man. The ground quakes beneath his feet, rumbling a warning to nearby unfortunate fellows. And then, for a scant few seconds, it stops.

Kaname could practically taste the relief from the ants close by, thanking their lucky stars for the Kuran heir’s iron-clad control. But all iron rusts, and Kuran Kaname has been dealt a terrible, irrevocably horrible blow. It is only the calm before the storm. He crushes the maelstrom of fury building in his chest into a ball but doesn’t swallow it whole.

Silence… And then, unceremoniously, suddenly—cracks appear in the earth, a storm builds, and the trees groan. Kaname allows the hatred and rage to explode forth whilst still, he stares, blankly, at the space where Yuuki’s small body had once been. Stares, no longer feeling the lingering residue of her warmth. His legs feel numb.

(He is sure that the filthy rats who surrounded them the moment blood hit the water will not come out alive today. Kaname will most surely make it so it will become a reality.)

Suddenly, there is no more light at the end of the road. Suddenly, Kaname is nothing but a blinded man stumbling in the cold unforgiving darkness, grasping for a warm light that will never come. The sun is gone, and already he can feel the frost settling in. Feels it deep in his bones, feels it in his heart as if it might turn to ice at any moment.

With Yuuki gone, what was there to live for? His power builds, destroying everything around him with a frightening ease as he ponders this question. All his plans, all his work—ultimately, it had all begun for Yuuki’s sake. To create a world where she would be forever safe, forever happy (within the sunlight she had so adored, that he had taken away in a moment of selfishness). He had loved her to the point where he would’ve died for her (and he had planned to). 

Yet now… She was no more. She was gone, gone, gone. And now he feels directionless, a boat lost at sea without a lighthouse to guide his way home.

(And with her had gone the warmth within his heart)

A storm rages violently around him.

Kaname stares at his empty hands, and makes a decision.

Everything comes to a standstill.

Kuran Kaname has always been a creature of patience, of control. But at this point in time, even he struggles to bite down and continue living—if only for a now nebulous goal that he brings to the altar of worship to someone beyond the land of the living.

He’ll create the world he had so desired for her. He’ll do so in her name, for the sake of preserving that world of light she had loved. Now, there was no need to temper his cruelty with gentility. Not when there was no one else to be gentle for. No one to shed the skin of a monster for.

(And perhaps if he does so, he’ll have an afterlife in her arms)

As always, the blood is bitter, nearly flavourless on his tongue, already flaking away into dust alongside the other bodies. As always, he has brought about a swift, violent end to his obstacles. The days continue to pass, and the skeletons continue to pile. He builds a kingdom of peace, brick by brick with offerings of flesh, bone and blood.

As always, he is alone, alone, alone.

(Goals were good. Goals stopped him from thinking too deeply, from remembering. From losing his way and sinking into the comforting dirt.

Soon, he’ll be done.

Soon, he’ll see her again.

Even if it’s only the never-ending dream of the dead.)

They say the king of monsters resides in a house of the dead, a house of memories.

As strong as he is, even Kaname can fall prey to sudden weaknesses. 

Sometimes, when the desire swells to an unbearable degree, he crawls into the sheets of her bed—content to bask in her fading presence. For a moment or three, he can delude himself, can pretend that all is right in the world, as right as it always is in his dreams. Yet he dares not stay for too long, too afraid that one day her scent will only be covered by his own. That one day he will have nothing to remember her by but the gaping hole in his heart and soul. If he could, he would tie down those precious memories of her with chains; lock them down and throw away the key.

He hoards her items like a greedy dragon does with treasure, unwilling to part with a single one of them. Kaname has always been only so kind to a certain extent, and has only been the most kind to his most precious person. Years upon years passing by will slowly destroy gentility within anyone.

Again, he inhales the smell of her, feeling the exhaustion heavy in his bones. 

His throat always seizes when it does so; it is always dry and he is forevermore wanting, forevermore hungry for the blood of someone no longer in this world.

(He wonders if this was how Rido felt after Juri's death. Never satisfied, always craving. Wanting, wanting, wanting.)

The bed is always cold when he lies on it.

They say the king lives in a house that’s withering away with time, still never changing in accordance with a rapidly developing world.

Every decade or so, he journeys out around the world. Seeing the sights, taking photos, and buying souvenirs for someone who never got the chance to see the full beauty of the world. One by one, these hollow memories fill his own bedroom, a reminder of what could have been.

In the world of beasts, society is ruled by power and fear.

On a throne above the rest, he is an ever-vigilant, watching eye—daring anyone to step a toe out of line. No one ever does but the most foolish, most beastly of them all. Even then, the punishment is enough for obedience to take root.

Kaname has always been good at being alone.

(He knows that they still follow him, but it is a loyalty and trust stained by fear, chipped away by the ever-growing walls around his heart. Grief makes monsters of men.)

The world of men is not quite so different from that of beasts.

It is in the boundary between the two worlds that he meets Kiryuu Zero again.

As creatures of the night, physically, they look the same as that fateful year in the academy—young, everlasting. But like recognises like, and Kaname spies similarity in the pallor of their skin, the cold steel of his half-mad eyes, and the apathy deep within every action. His clothes, if it were even possible, look messier than Kaname remembers.

Looking at him now is like looking at a mirror. He gazes into dull lavender eyes and cannot muster up to feel anything at all. What point is there, after all?

(They have both loved and lost)

“How have you been, Kiryuu-kun?” At this point, there is no use for false airs and pleasantries, but Kaname does so anyway, going through the motions of a long-remembered script. Kiryuu is the leader of the Hunter’s Association now, and it does no good to try and shatter the newfound peace between all on a petty whim.

The coldness of his gaze does not change, and neither does his stoic face. “Fine,” is all Kiryuu offers in response. A beat of silence, and then he states, “You’ve been busy.” 

“No more than you have been.” 

Paper slowly shuffles in Kiryuu’s hands, being sorted out one by one. Their stilted conversation is bland, no better than the time they had pretended to be friendly to each other in Cross Kaien’s school office. “There are always many things to attend to, even as there’s less vermin to exterminate.” Even the acid Kiryuu tries to fling does nothing more but fizzle and pop.

“Speaking of vermin. I am quite sure that you will soon find time for a vacation.” At that, Kaname turns to gaze out of the window, eyes fixed on a brown-haired pair down below.

The papers stop shuffling. “I see. Then I should start preparing for that time.” And with that, there is only silence between the two of them.

There is no lost love between the both of them, but at the very least, they can share a moment of understanding. (Of finality)

Perhaps Kaname feels kind today, revisiting the past. Or perhaps he is simply tired. Maybe that is why he leaves behind Artemis, lying on a faded prefect’s armband.

(She had loved him too, even at the very end)

And one day, when it is all said and done—the foundations laid, the kingdom strong—Kuran Kaname allows himself to unravel, wither, and fade away.

He wonders if she’ll meet him with a smile from her heart.

Chapter Text

It’s the sunlight that wakes him. 

Bright and blinding, warm and gentle on his skin. It does not burn, does not hurt,  is not even mildly irritating. Behind his fingers shielding the light, Kaname shifts his head to gaze outside the window. Even after all these years, this feeling is as much of a novelty as it is familiar. 

Today, the morning sky is a bright blue.

Turning his head, Kaname observes the way the sunlight highlights her face, golden and warm, casting a dreamy, hazy glow. But, he realises, all over again, as his fingers ghost over her cheek; as he watches her steady, slumbering breaths—it is not a dream. It is not a dream at all.

Yuuki is right here, beside him, alive.

He presses his face close to hers, just til they’re nose to nose, forehead pressed against hers, just enough to softly nudge her awake. His fingers slip into her hair, cradling the back of her head.

“...Hm…Kana-me…?” 

He kisses her, just a peck, softly and gently. 

“Good morning, Yuuki.”

The first time they try to cook together, it goes terribly. Perhaps it’s the complexity of their choice of meal (that was possibly out of an underlying need to one-up Kiryuu), or perhaps it was the truly baffling recipe they used (in hindsight, they should’ve taken their time researching rather than using the first one they saw).

Water spills everywhere on the countertops, and the smell of burnt food permeates the entire kitchen. The final product is some strange mix of over and undercooked, half-wet and half-dry, with the only saving grace being the rice. And that was only because it was cooked in the rice cooker. 

All in all, it looks like some strange deconstruction of a regular meal.

Despite the abysmal state of their intended dinner, they both take one look at it and laugh. Yuuki practically collapses against him from the force of her laughter, and Kaname pulls her in, laughing alongside her. It isn’t even that funny, yet like always, when it comes to Yuuki, Kaname finds himself swept up in exciting mundanity, so peaceful yet colourful. 

The kitchen is messy, there are numerous dishes and utensils to be washed, and they’ll have to order takeout instead. Yet, in spite of it all, when Yuuki finally looks up at him, her laughter trickling away into soft giggles, Kaname can’t even feel annoyed at the impending clean-up.

After all, they’ll be doing it together.

(Together, together, together—the word tastes like honey in his mouth)

It’s…odd to be referred to as “Cross” rather than “Kuran”, but not entirely unwelcome. There are no vampires or vampire hunters in this world, well advanced beyond anything he remembers; a world that marches on endlessly instead of staying stagnant. Kaien is an inexperienced father, but neither an unwelcome nor poor one.  

In another life, he thinks, eating the latest batch of innovative food that Kaien has cooked up, it was Yuuki who experienced this sort of loud, brash, yet endearingly sincere love. But in this life, Yuuki could experience both this kind of love and her parents’ (their parents?) love—a love that was just as loud, just as sincere, and just as kind and gentle. 

The soup dumpling Kaname bites into explodes with a warm flavour he could only truly appreciate as a human. That appreciation must have shown itself on his face, because the next thing he knows, Kaien is eagerly piling up a veritable mountain of them into his bowl. Yuuki, on the other hand, looks mournfully at the depleting stock of dumplings. 

So, of course, he gives half of his pile to her. The beaming smile and the lisped “Thank you!” he receives in return are worth more than anything to him. Watching them all—Haruka, Juuri, the son they lost in a bygone past, Kaien, and Yuuki (darling, darling Yuuki) happily enjoying the shared feast the two fathers cooked up—leaves him with a feeling so warm that reality almost feels like a dream.

Yes, this life is not unwelcome.

The way they meet once more is completely and utterly ordinary. No wretched Level-E threatening her life, no eyes devoid of all memory and light, staring with newborn fear at him. No, her eyes sparkle with childish guilelessness—eager to know him, the new boy next door, “Uncle Kaien’s son.”

“What’s your name?” She asks, hands fisted in a cute frilly dress, leaning in as much as she dared towards him. Her cheeks are rosy red, flushed with excitement. Yuuki Kuran, so adorably human, and despite everything, the same budding rose. In this way, in this form, he can call her nothing else but beautiful—a kind of beauty that settles into his bones, imprints itself into his blood.

“Kaname,” he answers, finding himself easily smiling, no, beaming, at her, despite the twinge of pain he feels from cheeks unaccustomed to such extreme expressions.

“Ka-na-me,” she repeats—slowly, as if his name were something so important that it needed concentrated attention to detail. “Kaname!” She cheers, clasping her hands together with a cute “ pap! ” Like the sun, like a blooming rose, Yuuki’s joy is palpable, manifestly obvious. “Nice to meet you, Kaname!” 

“Yes,” his voice wavers imperceptibly minutely, as bittersweet memories threaten to clog his throat. “It’s wonderful to meet you too, Yuuki.”

It’s not as if he doesn’t expect it. After all, given the number of familiar faces popping up in his new life, it’s no wonder that eventually even Kiryuu would come stumbling out of the woodworks—a bit like how weeds inevitably show up in gardens. 

Because fate is a fickle thing, the Kiryuu family have decided to move over from a nearby prefecture right into the house directly opposite the Kurans. And because fate likes the occasional practical joke, Kiryuu is still Yuuki’s friend, and they have kept remarkably close contact for young children who only met at a summer camp. From the frequent exchange of letters (thank goodness Yuuki wasn’t old enough for a smartphone) to the now annoyingly close way Kiryuu sticks to Yuuki, it doesn’t take any sort of intellect to realise that this could potentially be a problem for the future.

Kaname isn’t quite sure whether he should thank or throttle (metaphorically) Ichijou for forcing so much romance manga down his throat. Either way, at least he already knows that active sabotage is a perfectly fine and viable method, so long as no one finds out. Case in point: strategic utilisation of Kaien’s close friendship with the Kurans to subtly monopolise Yuuki’s time. Proximity and consistency breed affection, and it never hurts to have more of Yuuki’s affection (and love, of course).

“Would you like more of the parfait, Yuuki?”

And, after all, in something like the war called love, all is fair. (No, Ichijou, this is not “beefing with a literal child” —whatever that meant)

Yuuki’s first major experience with snow and ice is not bloodstained and soaked in terror, but a fun, normal affair in which she gets to try out ice skating for the very first time. Looking utterly adorable in fashionable winter clothes, Yuuki and the underlying responsibility of ensuring no serious mishaps occur are both secure in Kaname’s awaiting arms. Of course, he has no thoughts of slacking off at such an important task. Kaname double, triple-checks Yuuki’s laces, blades and all of her safety gear—ensuring that all of them are either firmly in place or in good condition. (Ichijou would, and has, call this “overprotective” and “even more of an older brother than Yuuki’s own”, but Kaname likes to think of this as something anyone would do with a loved one’s first time on the ice, and especially with someone you think of as your future.)

In the gentle tones he always uses with her, Kaname says, “Remember to hold my hand tight, Yuuki.” And, honestly, smiling has never been easier than when he’s with her. Clad in thick mittens, the weight of Yuuki’s hand feels akin to cradling a baby bird, all downy fluff and light bones. 

“Okay, Kaname!” She chirps in reply, cheeks rosy red, and warm breaths coming out in tiny little puffs. But Kaname can see that her attention is fixed towards the wide expanse of sheer ice for her to skate on, rather than on his reminder. Yuuki’s grip only becomes marginally tighter, as expected from the still young girl, so new to everything, and therefore all the more eager to devour every sight and scene before her. So, of course, Kaname holds her hand in a strong, firm grip, so as to ensure her safety.

At the feel of her hands and the continued realisation that he could grow up by her side, exhilaration, wonder, and a light sense of fear pump through his veins. Thump-thump-thump, his heart goes, a steadily accelerating rhythm. While Kaname no longer holds any vampiric strength, a faint anxiety still rises within him at the thought of him accidentally hurting her.

That anxiety only continues to bubble at Yuuki’s sudden rush onto the ice rink, nearly making Kaname scramble after her, were it not for his much longer legs allowing him to easily keep pace. Thankfully, neither of them takes a sudden tumble from their rapid entry. Rather, they both manage to keep their balance, precarious as it might be. Something within Kaname squirms uncomfortably at his rather mediocre performance in front of Yuuki, for a reason that he would rather not look into. 

Perhaps he allows that discomfort to show in some form or manner, because rather immediately Yuuki tugs gently at his hand with the accompanying call of  “Kaname, Kaname!”

“Yes, Yuuki?” He’s not quite sure of the reason for the determined look on her face.

“Ah, um…” Her determination transforms into an oscillation between nervous courage and halting insecurity, before finally settling back upon determination with a sense of brave finality. “I just wanted to say that… I’m glad Kaname isn’t super good at ice-skating— Ah! Not that I mean that Kaname’s bad at it! You’re probably a lot better at it than me. But, um. I’m just happy that we can learn together, if— If you can get what I mean…” At that, both her bravery and words trail off into nothingness, and Yuuki’s cheeks flare a delicious sort of pink as she pointedly looks away from him.

Hearing this, Kaname’s fears slowly fizzle out, bubble by bubble. Yes, there is no need for Kaname to be perfect in front of Yuuki, is there? After all, isn’t that exactly what he loves about her? That without even realising it, Yuuki can always make him feel comfortable within his own skin—even long ago, when he felt like a pantomime of a living being, only immersed within a role out of bone-deep guilt. Yuuki allows him to be imperfect, to be simply “Kaname.”

“Ka— Kaname?” 

“Yuuki.” Firmly, firmly, he holds her hand, using his free one to guide her gaze back towards him. “I’m happy too. Because Yuuki will be by my side.”

(Yes, she will always be by his side, forever, forever, forever)

“...Yuuki? Ah, have you fallen asleep?” 

Yuuki’s head rests comfortably against his thighs as she slumbers. After all these years, casual skinship now comes easily to the both of them—perhaps even easier than before, now that they have the years between them, tying their hearts and bodies together with an ever-thickening red rope. Now, there is no need for him to hold back, to carefully consider each and every action of intimacy like how one might with pieces on a chessboard. Kaname does not have to allow himself anything, for he can now simply do as he wishes. 

So he skims his fingers across Yuuki’s cheek, ghosts them above her assuredly soft lips—a rosebud yet to bloom. Moving to her hair, long and shiny, they run through Yuuki’s tresses, and Kaname distantly notes the smell of roses blooming from her. She must’ve finally stopped using that body cream Kiryuu gifted her. A good decision—roses suit her much better than bergamot. 

Without him realising, a vague, unwanted memory begins to crystallise within his mind. A memory of a similar scene, of a distant past where Yuuki was in his arms, bleeding out alongside his humanity. Yet, upon seeing Yuuki’s peaceful smile, the memory bursts into being. Like looking through distorted glass, jamming ill-fitting puzzle pieces together; unblemished skin becomes scarred with wounds, and mahogany hair becomes matted with gore and blood. 

Only lifetimes of learned restraint ensure that the only reaction he gives is a singular spasm of his hand and quietly held breath. But still, that animal fear builds, clawing its way throughout his mind, and before he can even stop to think, Kaname is already pulling Yuuki into his arms, cradling her, pressing her head against his neck, burying his face against her hair—which blessedly only smell of roses, untainted by iron.

She’s alive, it tells her. Yuuki is alive. They are both alive. These confirmations slowly smooth out the glass, connecting the correct pieces to each other. 

Yuuki is alive. Right in his arms, his darling, darling girl; the beloved rose within the glass. He loves her, he loves her, drowsily blinking away the sleep in her eyes, gazing up at him in question. He loves her, a warm weight against him, solid and alive and real.

Kaname places a kiss against Yuuki’s hair, and lets it linger as his fingers tenderly comb through her hair.

“It’s all right, my dear. You can go back to sleep.”

She’s resplendent in bridal white.

“Yuuki, please, never let go of my hand, alright?”

“Of course, Kaname!”

Her smile, as always, is like a blooming rose. As they lace their fingers together and lean in closer to one another, their rings clink against each other; press against each other in a way he wishes their hearts could—just before their lips meet.

(Ah, sometimes he wishes that they were still vampires, if only so Yuuki could sink her fangs in his throat and consume his feelings in their purest form)

Above, the sun shines brilliantly upon them both. 

His darling, darling girl.

He’ll never let her go.

Not this time.

He loves her, Kaname thinks, lying in bed beside her, watching Yuuki sleep, his arm under her head, his palm on her back. Loves her in a way he can only now try to express through what feels like ill-fitting words and actions, where his blood had once condensed the depth and weight of it all into a single liquid for her to drink. Her heart beats, ever so steadily, thump, thump, thump beneath his palm. Proof of her living, that she’s right here, next to him all over again. The feeling of awe from knowing such may never wear off, so precious such knowledge is to him.

He loves her —Yuuki, Yuuki, Yuuki—so, so dearly.

His lips brush against her forehead.

“I love you too,” he whispers—a reply he never got to say, long ago.