#hate it or love it you have to admit yuuki is a very integral person to both of these men

[industria-adastra]

[Vampire Knight] If I'm to be reborn, I'll find you (again, again, again) - CHAPTER ONE: my clematis (hope died in the abyss) - [2/4]

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Summary: And in his hands, his flower wilts, and fades away.

There is not even a body left.

Note: Does anyone actually write VK fic in 2023. Is the VK fandom alive lmao

Would Kaname be like this if Yuuki died? Perhaps. He's a character deeply shaped by loss and hinges a lot of his desire to live or die on Yuuki. He also probably considered her 95% minimum as his own emotional support system. Kaname is very messed up lmao. Honestly, I feel like this was a better potential ending for Yuuki dying before his original plans were complete. (Sorry Kaname I'm sad about killing off my personal best girl too) At least I didn't make him go apeshit. (That would be more in line with my WIP Shizuka Hiou character study fic).

Like last time, I recommend playing Miyashita Yuu's cover of "Condolences, and Then Life Goes On". Ah, and the ao3 link.

Pairings featured: Yuuki/Kaname, Yuuki/Zero (mentioned)

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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.

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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.)

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

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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.

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

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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.

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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.)

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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)

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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.