Work Text:
It was disgusting. The paleness of his skin. The stillness of his heart. The sharpness of his fangs. And that burning, aching, stinging, constant constant constant thirst.
Yes, Mikaela found himself utterly disgusting. An ugly vampire. A monster who did not deserve to live. Because wouldn’t death be his only savior? Wouldn’t its embrace breathe life into his skin, make his heart throb from beating, and kiss him so tenderly on his lips?
Yes, in his life, Mikaela wanted nothing more than to die.
Another sharp pain in a body he swears to himself at night doesn’t belong to him. But he refuses to drink any more blood. He took her --the Queen’s-- blood. That vampire’s blood. He hated it. He hated it so much. He hated the way the saccharine coated his tongue, making his lashes flutter in delight. He hated how it slipped down his throat, smooth as velvet, comforting as such. It was delicious. And he hated it.
He could still remember it, crystal clear, as if it were happening right before him once again. The way he stumbled out of that room, trembling and crying, trying to get as far as possible, even if he knew he couldn’t escape it. The way his feet tripped over one another. The way his body hunched over, knees pressed against the stone, fingernails only there to claw at the ground and bleed. The way he heaved. The way his eyes burned. The way bile rose up his throat, feeling that familiar stinging and pain, before he emptied his stomach again. It hurt. It hurt so, so bad. Every single time. It always hurts. But it was worth it. Worth the pain and agony.
It reminded him that he was once human.
It reminded him he was once human, and he was once normal. Reminded him that he looks into memories which feel more like false dreams that did not belong to him. False dreams which stem from the mind of a madman and not the mind of the so-called innocent child he once was. Reminded him that if, just maybe, he were to look far enough into memories that he was somehow convinced were not his own… that he could find solace in the decrepitness of it all. But how could they? How could such wonderful memories, even amidst the chaos, belong to such a disgusting creature like Mikaela?
Those memories… he was no longer worthy to hold them. No, not anymore. They served to comfort a monster which did not deserve such a thing. Served to remind him that once upon a time, Mikaela had truly been human. And truly been happy. And truly did not despise every breath he took to keep himself alive. And once upon a time, Mikaela was not alone. And, once upon a time, Mikaela had been loved. Yes, once upon a time, Mikaela had a family.
A flutter in his heart, or what would be a flutter if his heart hadn’t been killed, as his mind drifts towards green eyes, tanned skin, and raven hair. A soft smile pulls at the corners of his lips. These days, it was the only thing able to tug his lips into such a soft expression. Mikaela finds himself thinking of him more than he’d like to admit. Thinking, fantasizing, dreaming.
And yet, those were only the thoughts of a foolish child. One of which he was not anymore. Mikaela is a vampire. Every waking moment, every rise and fall of his lungs, Mikaela could feel such blissful and beautiful and human emotions slipping away from his grasp. They flee ever so slowly, like water leaking between his fingers that he had desperately tried to keep. As if he were unbearably thirsty, kneeling at a river bank, hands quivering as he cups water to try and bring it to his chapped lips. And yet, before even a drop can wet his lips, it all falls right through his fingers. And he does it again. And again. And again. And again. But the same thing happens. Over and over. Always the same. Nothing changes.
His thirst is never quenched. The water never reaches his lips. Mikaela is still a vampire.
And, truly, wouldn’t death be more merciful than this?
He was utterly powerless against this. It was normal for a vampire to forget such pleasures. Yes, for within this abnormality, this is what is considered normal. But he rejects it. He refuses to forget him. His Yuu-chan. His lovely, lovely, Yuu-chan. Yuu-chan…I hope you’re doing okay out there. I’m glad it was me who stayed behind. I’m glad it’s only me who suffers like this. I’ll find you someday. I swear, I’ll save you one day.
I just hope I’m still able to love you when I do.
His brows furrow and he whirls around as he senses someone behind him. He stands up tall, jaw clenched, and nose pointed upward. A stance he’s learned to take around the other vampires. Although he despises them, although he hates them with every single cell in his body, he is still a noble. And he’s been taught how to act like one. Yes, not only was he a monster, but one of high status. And wouldn’t that just make everything so devastatingly worse? How the garments he wears are only granted to those who are special? It was sickening. Mikaela was anything but special. He was a monster. A freak.
One who still loves. One who craves and yearns for something other than blood. One who refuses to drink the blood of a human. A freak within freaks.
The vampire in the hooded cloak gives Mikaela a look. Crimson eyes meet blue. Disgust meets disgust. Mikaela holds his gaze, and he tries, god he tries, to be unwavering. He must get used to this, right? These are his kin. His kind. His species. So why is his breath short? Why can’t he breathe? Oh, he’s shaking and he’s nervous and his throat is tight and he’s breathing but there’s nothing in his lungs he’s gonna die he’s gonna die he’s gonna die he’s-
Mikaela turns away. He can’t stand looking at them. Looking for too long and too much makes his head spin with the fact all of this is real and human Mika is not. A hand reaches to clutch at his chest as he scurries away, breath short and- god is he even breathing right now? Does he even want to? Hands push at heavy doors, eyes wide and panting as he stumbles into the room.
“Mikaela, what are you doing here?” The sound of a horridly sweet and tantalizing voice carries out through the room. Mikaela’s throat tightens, and he instinctively licks his lips.
“I can’t… I can’t do this…” Mikaela mutters in a hushed and shaky whisper. He looked up at Krul with bleary eyes. “Please, Krul, I can’t take it anymore. Just kill me already.”
Krul sighed. She motioned for Mikaela to come closer, and the blonde hesitantly did. He kneels at her side, and she gently moves his head onto her lap. Her fingers run through his hair as she speaks. “You know I can’t do that.”
Mikaela clenched his jaw. He knows. He’s, oh, so painfully aware. And yet, he cannot help but yearn for things that do not belong to him. Things he cannot have. And still, he desperately hopes for them. Things of which none are plausible, or sweet things to desire. Simply the hopeless hopes from the mind of someone who cannot even dream to hope.
I don’t want to have fangs.
I don’t want to drink blood.
I don’t want to wear these clothes.
I don’t want to be looked at.
I don’t want to be perceived.
I don’t want to be a vampire.
I want. I don’t want. I want I don’t want I want I don’t want I want-
I don’t want to be alive.
And yet, grief is simply love persevering, is it not? Perseverance. That is the only human trait Mikaela has left. His desire to be human, perseveres. His desire to be loved, perseveres. His utter disgust at being alive, perseveres. But the only, only, thing that has kept him alive for so long, is not the grief, but the opposite. The only thing the vampire’s corpse of a heart still remembers, and desperately yearns for. The only sweet, hopeful thought, that isn’t quite so unachievable.
Yuu-chan. Yuu-chan. Yuu-chan.
The name rings out throughout his chest, spiraling and pressing and flooding his mind. It cradles him, holding him gently, shielding him from the horrors and frigid desires of death and blood and everything else that he now instinctively craves.
Yuu-chan.
Yuu-chan.
Yuu-chan.
Green. Black. Tan. Green. Green. Green. Green. Colors colors colors. Colors which Mikaela loves and adores from the very depths of his entirety. The flutter of dark lashes, the furrowing of raven brows, the playful glare of forest eyes, the smile of pink lips, the warmth of tanned skin.
That’s right. If I die, I cannot see you again. His ocean blue eyes glance up at Krul, his head slack against her legs. Whenever he thought of his Yuu-chan, his body seemed to react to it. He would both tense, and relax at once.
Yes, in his life, Mikaela wanted something more than to die.
And it’s you, Yuu-chan.
Mikaela did have a reason to live. A reason to move forward. A reason to exist. And it wasn’t from within himself. And that didn’t matter. He didn’t matter. But not in the same way he thought before. He didn’t matter, simply because Yuu-chan was the one who mattered.
Slowly, Mikaela lifts his head from the deceitfully tender embrace. He looks back toward the door, and forces himself to stand on shaky legs. A deep breath, and a newfound and reignited determination. Hard, heavy steps. Loud, breathless pants. Mikaela ran. From the terror of his existence. To the only thing that could console his existence, could give the monster that he was a purpose and reason to simply continue living.
He ran. Into the deep, dark, night sky. Boots hitting against the stone, until he came to a stop in an all too familiar area. A place where a Yuu-chan and Mikaela of the past would spend their time, simply gazing down at the city, fantasizing about a day that the false freedom it gave them would be real. He clutches hard at the mossy, stone wall.
And he screams, nails digging into the rock, cracking and breaking them. And he wails, uncaring of who could hear him. Eyes wide, staring up into the moon, Mikaela’s voice was loud. It bellows out from deep within his chest, a screech from the purests parts left of his heart.
“Yuu-chan, I will find you! I promise! I swear that I will!” Mikaela shrieks, panting. He growls, ignoring the pain and ache in his body, and pushes forward. “And when I do, I’ll never leave you again! I’ll save you!”
Chest heaving, cheeks flushed from the effort, he looks. And he smiles softly.
To you, Yuu-chan. A declaration of utter and complete devotion solely dedicated to your being and entirety. From me, Mikaela. A promise from a broken heart not allowed to cry.