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The thing about Kuzuha is that he's not that far thrust into the throes of immortality yet when he meets Kanae for the first time. He's around a hundred and one years old - specifically a year after he decides to stop counting said years but it's not been that long for him to forget, just yet. Not long when Kanae saunters into his life with the energy of a lazy moth stumbling against a lucky streetlamp.
And like most streetlamps, Kuzuha is still.
-
The clear difference between Aleksander Lagusa and Kanae is that Aleksander Lagusa is a hundred and one year old hellspawn, while Kanae is the head priest of the church down the road with a black cat named Rotter. Or Lottery. The vampire doesn't really care.
Currently, the priest is tending to Rotter. Or Lottery. Aleksander's watching him from the corner of his eye with his legs crossed over another on top of an ill-cared for roof, mainly because there's nothing more interesting to do. Kanae's glasses are on the very edge of the bridge of his nose and his hair is falling in front of his eyes not all that committedly and the way he pours a cup of food into the steel bowl under the shade of the tree next to him is slow. Careful. A shake, stop. A shake. Stop. The cat sits next to him on its heels with patience. It's an odd sight. He never fixes his glasses and the single arm behind his back is starting to look a little awkward as he straightens and stretches, mouth forever-encased with that delicate smile.
He almost wants to call out to him, like this. Him on the roof and the priest on the ground, under the protection of the sort of shade Aleksander would die a thousand times over just to given one of - because he's the sort of demonic entity that's more or less misjudged in fantasy novels: smart and cunning yet careful and non-violent. The fangs pushed into the flesh of his mouth always say otherwise, and so he just watches. And watches.
And watches.
-
The black cat named Lottery does little more than loiter around to eat food and rest under shades. A few days after Aleksander makes it a daily hobby to stop by the church on top of some wayward roof or another the cat makes a hobby of its own - to stare. Every step the vampire takes the day before, Lottery makes it a point to stare at it the next. Like it's either hunting for the perpetrator of the demonic aura left behind in careless, fleeting steps, or it's just found some leftover crumbs of food that's never supposed to exist in these areas in the first place. Lottery can get up roofs just fine - Kanae can not.
So Aleksander makes it a point to watch it, too. That cat feigning protector over a church that would otherwise watch it dead. He can watch over it, too.
-
In a response to the sort of parasocial relationship he thinks he's developing with the Priest of Some Church Out Here Aleksander starts leaving little trinkets in front of the church door on mornings he knows Kanae won't wake at the hour just yet, and Kanae doesn't mind these. The first time he opens his door to a white camelia resting on the ground in front of him, still wet with dew and still fresh with life, he gathers it up in his hands carefully and buries his nose in it with a small smile on his face. Aleksander thinks that smile can probably end wars, and then does not think further.
The next day, two camelias. Third, three. Fourth, four. The fifth, a cat-shaped locket Aleksander had seen in the evening market on a stroll the day before, that Kanae makes a point to trace behind his neck, fingers locking it under his collar with the delicacy and control of a butterfly perching on petals. He gives the sight in front of him a look-over and then makes a small bow to no one in particular, the previously small smile on his face now having grown to a much normal-looking grin. He thinks it's the children, probably. Some patron of the church. Lottery's second soul hanging around, wanting to give him what it thinks it owes.
Aleksander makes a small bow back from his safe place under the sun.
-
"I can see you."
Aleksander grunts in his midday nap.
A small chuckle. "It appears you're not too put off by it."
"I could just kill you if I need to," Aleksander says in response. Whatever reaction is given to this, he does not see it in favor of keeping his eyes closed. "Why should I be afraid?"
"You seemed plenty afraid of the street vendor."
Aleksander sits up like he's been swatted. "Excuse me?"
The priest laughs, not saying anything further. His hands are behind his back as always and his hair is loosely tied over his shoulder as always and the glasses on the bridge of his nose are askew, as always. The locket around his neck isn't hidden under his clothes - Aleksander notes this. There’s a black cat by his feet, licking at its paws with all the time in the world. Grey eyes sparkling with a sort of amusement and curiosity both gaze into his own crimson ones, and Aleksander barely has the time to take in their proximity before Kanae’s leaning in, the back of his hand brushing gently against the vampire’s cheek.
“You’re as cold as they say,” he murmurs, and Aleksander thinks for a fleeting second that he wouldn’t mind being colder if it meant having his warm skin linger.
Shakes this thought off immediately, because why would he not mind that? “No shit,” he replies instantly, intelligently, and Kanae doesn’t lecture him for swearing inside church grounds like any other priest would do. He merely takes his hand away and takes in his features, like any curious human would instead. Pointed ears, the tip of his fangs protruding from his mouth to rest on his bottom lip, the long hair basking in the shade like a spread curtain left out to dry - his eyes merely rake over these features with a smile on his calm, serene features.
"Done staring?"
"Maybe. Do all vampires tend to be as beautiful as you?"
Aleksander almost stutters. "The hell?"
"I'm sure Roto agrees." At this, the priest leans down to wrap an arm around the unsuspecting cat in question, meowing irritatingly as it's brought up and against Kanae's chest. Kanae presses a small kiss on the top of his head that Aleksander can't help but scoff at, before he presents the cat to him like one would a gold prize. "Don't you agree, Roto?"
Roto doesn't exactly possess a solid opinion. He's already scrambled out of Kanae's arms and resumed his previous position next to him with the exception of staring down at the vampire like he's some sort of intruder. Aleksander only waves, unfettered.
"Roto, huh?" He says. I thought it was Lottery.
"Cute, right?" Kanae says with a sigh. "Although, he's picky with people."
No shit, Aleksander wants to say again.
"Hey."
"Hm?"
"What's your name?"
"None of your business."
"Why?" Kanae's batting his eyelashes innocently, although this expression looks ridiculous on him with that priestly garb. "You know my name, don't you?"
"So what?"
"Would it hurt an omniscient all-knowing being to give me their name?"
"Yes. Please allow me to go back to my nap."
"Doesn't have to be your real one."
Aleksander can sense a wink without seeing one. He sighs. "Why do you wanna know?"
"Is it bad to want to know the name of the guy staring down at you every single day?" Kanae laughs again, as if he hasn't just pointed out something humanely concerning. "Or are you an introvert?"
The vampire grumbles. "Kuzuha."
"Hmm?"
"My name." Aleksander, who's name we will now conveniently change back, points out. "It's Kuzuha."
-
If there's one thing about the self-convinced secrecy Kuzuha enjoyed it was the fact that he'd get to study an extraordinary human under the sun without any repercussions for it. He's not the best overt observer, and he's never really been one for covert activities, and the roof has become his safe place from the past few months that isn't exactly a safe place any longer. Kanae makes him come under the shades of trees and Kanae makes him cool tomato juice and Kanae makes Roto stand watch (take care) every single time he's not around himself, and though Kuzuha does not mind this in the slightest there had been, he thinks to the back of his mind, a sort of peace in seclusion.
Not that he's been the best at seclusion, either, he thinks again, as Kanae smiles at him for the umpteenth time from the other end of the dinner table as he watches the vampire in question chow down on a chicken leg.
"What are you starin' for?"
Kanae blinks, like he's been startled out of a thought. "Who says I'm staring?"
"I am."
He scoffs in a very un-priestley way. "Ku-chan's just making things up," he says in turn.
“Who told you to call me something disgusting like that?”
Kanae perks up, because of course he does.
“I did.”
-
The thing about self-convinced secrecy and self-convinced safety is that Kuzuha doesn't have to depend on anyone else within these frames in his mind. He doesn't have to wait on anyone to provide guidance, doesn't have to wait for anyone to kill some ripe human for their blood to drink, doesn't have to wait for anyone to clip his robe to his shoulders and brush down his hair and press their veins into the back of his wing-encased skin to keep him alive beyond mortal wishes and rising lungs.
He's left these things with the Lagusas, he wants to tell himself, even when Kanae does these things himself, unasked. He's left these things with the Lagusas, he mumbles to no one in particular, when Kanae is adjusting Kuzuha's shirt with a delicate concentration and dexterous fingers and that irritating smile on his face. He's left these things with the Lagusas, when Kanae's touch is this gentle, the brush soft on his head as the hair from his eyes is swept away. He's left these things with the Lagusas, even when Kanae's pressing his fingers to Kuzuha's back, willing out wings not meant to be seen by God and Everybody. Latching onto them, running his fingers on them as one would testing the waters of something new and scary, careful. He's careful in a way priests don't tend to be with demonic entities like him, careful in a way that would get them both tied down into the very curtains of hell forevermore.
I've left these things with the Lagusas, Kuzuha mumbles to no one in particular, when Kanae's lips are as soft as he's imagined on his own.
-
Roto doesn't exactly approve of their PDA, in the few moments Kuzuha does miraculously allow Kanae to touch him, slinking away with a manner of disgust every time they approach him next to each other. They're on their own here, and the walls are more than just familiar, now. If there's one thing he's learned, it's that Kanae is insistent in his affections - whether it be twining his fingers into Kuzuha's when they walk, or harsh kisses pressed to his pale collarbone against some pillar or another. Like he's been waiting for these specific moments his entire life - as if he'd been born for nothing in particular but to devote his sanity to some demonic overlord despite his status.
Maybe he just appreciates irony, Kuzuha vaguely thinks to himself, when he's pushing Kanae away and yelling at him to get it together.
Kanae only laughs, because in moments like these there's nothing else he can allow himself to do.
His glasses are lying down on the ground somewhere, waiting to crack.
-
“You don’t plan on telling me, do you, Ku-chan?”
“Tell you what?”
It’s one of those late nights. The few times they can allow themselves to stay up and talk in hushed whispers and kick their legs without a care in the world and breathe warmth into each other’s skin, uninterrupted and serene and in the sort of grip of love that doesn’t allow them to do more than just clutch onto each other’s shirt and bask in the sort of glow that’s never been theirs for the taking. Kanae’s quieter today, and Kuzuha’s been too wrapped up twirling a lock of his partner’s long hair between his fingers to think about anything else.
“About your past.”
“Nn.” Kuzuha feels those blue-grey eyes on him, and doesn't hesitate in the slightest. “No.”
Senses the pout before it comes, too. “Maybe," he rephrases.
Kanae moves, then, the skin of his cheeks brushing against Kuzuha's own as he shifts to lay down on his back, facing up to gaze. Or just watch. Or-
Kuzuha leans down, presses a small kiss to his lips out of instinct. Kanae's arms are already wounding around his neck, like he wants him to stay there, and Kuzuha wants to. Wants, and yet pulls away and untangles himself from Kanae's limbs to take his shirt off, throwing it aside before going back.
"Someday," he mumbles, breathing his partner in. "I'll tell you."
Kanae grins. "I'll tell you about me, too."
Maybe, to gaze. Just a little.
-
Time was supposed to go slowly, Aleksander is thinking, when his hand is covered with the sort of bloody crimson anyone else would just simply scream at. Time was supposed to go slower, is his only thought, as he's pulling up a fresh collar to Kanae's chin and pressing it towards his skin in some low attempt to keep him from bursting into dust. Buttons it up, leans back to grab at that sash. Places it gently around his neck, and Kanae does not sigh in warm serenity like he's so used to doing as a response to his partner's touch, scared and witless and borderline terrible. Doesn't put his hand over his own to calm him down, and Aleksander doesn't want to. Not like this.
Not when he's placing those white camellias under his arms like this - all of those camellias from heat-based summers placed into pots and vases and ornaments and pressed into portraits all around. Not when he's pressing the same scent of it onto his shirt, willing it deeper, finding home in flesh.
"I was gonna tell you," he says, then, like it's the first thing he's said in centuries. I wanted to trust you.
Roto stares on from beyond mortal comprehension.
-
The thing about being self-convinced in your own safety while being some omniscient all-knowing vampiric being is that you get to wait. It's not a long process if you don't stick by a grave behind a church your lover died in and it's not a long process if you leave behind that folder of memories to go on for a better future. But Aleksander watches Kanae die in his own hands like any accursed being is meant to do and Aleksander watches Roto the black cat an year later, curling up on Kanae's grave and falling asleep next to it, never to wake again.
For the first time in a century, he's alone. For the first time in a century, he feels lost.
-
"And you're supposed to - what?" Kanae stops abruptly, opting to stare at Kuzuha. "What's wrong?"
"Nn?" Kuzuha blinks, hands coming up to his eyes and pulling away with wet residue. "Shit."
"Ku-chan's crying?" Kanae asks, softly, though there's a hint of a malicious chuckle behind his lips so like him that Kuzuha thinks he might cry at again. "Did I say something wrong?"
"The hell- no. No." Kuzuha wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand, and then scoffs at the computer screen in front of him. "Why the fuck are you so interested in that? "
"What?" It's Kanae's turn to blink in confusion, as he turns back to the screen. "You don't like shooting games?"
Kuzuha mumbles something incoherent.
"Ah. Would you rather I put on something more-" he's grinning openly, the bastard. "Adult-like?"
Kuzuha slaps his back noncommittally.
-
If it's an understatement to say that Kuzuha simply missed his presence, it's hell on earth to realize he'd been driven half crazy without him. Kanae's been slower in this life - he's patient and resolute and happy, with that black cat plushie named Roto under his arms and Kuzuha's words imprinted on his skin without knowing.
Doesn't have a lot to say, either, when Kuzuha's the one claiming his lips for the first time in this life. Doesn't have a lot to offer instead of smiling into their kisses and playing complacent for a minute or two. Doesn't have a lot to say, at all.
"You're going to be the death of me," Kuzuha tells him once.
"Aren't you supposed to be immortal?" Kanae shoots back in response.
Kuzuha doesn't look at him, then. Maybe immortality is a hoax when it doesn't involve you.
-
Kuzuha realizes it's not shooting games he's technically afraid of. He's more or less just afraid of Kanae with a weapon in his hands not meant for souls as toxic as his and for souls as gentle as his.
-
"Kuzuha," Kanae says. "Kuzuha. Kuzuha."
"What?" Kuzuha grumbles.
"Nothing." He's smiling, the vampire can tell. "It's nice, isn't it? Having someone to call out to."
Kuzuha doesn't look at him. There's a clenching in his chest he's not unfamiliar with. "Kanae," he tries. He's put his game console aside and he's trudged on the bed next to the brunet and his hands are pressed into the sheets like a noncommittal deed.
"Yeah?"
"Kanae." More resolutely. "Kanae."
"Kuzuha." Kanae breaks out into a small laugh.
"Kanae," Kuzuha says again, like it's the only thing running in his veins and it's the only thing propelling his dead heart forward and it's the only thing keeping the blood under his skin as crimson as it is. He grins, too, leaning forward and cupping his partner's cheeks as carefully as possible without his nails getting in the way.
"I'm glad you're my soulmate." It's a reasonable thing to say.
Kuzuha doesn't reply. He's already aware.
-
The thing about soulmates is that Kuzuha doesn't really have to believe in them. There's one thing about fate and there's one thing about red strings tied onto their fingers and there's one thing about reincarnation stories but there's a million things about Kanae. A million and more, grabbing him together and locking a million keys on his body, and he's aware of this, too.
Aware, as he'll always be.
Aleksander doesn't take long to become a memory of a hundred and one years ago, then, back when Kuzuha stops counting his years once and for all. Maybe it's alright.
Kanae likes white camellias.
Maybe it's alright.