Words

He's waiting for you again. You figured he might be, hoped he would be, but never let yourself completely believe he'd appear. Sliding out from beside the dead stone pillar, he falls into step beside you. Your friends fall away, frightened by the frigid cold he exudes. Perhaps that's what you've been looking for. You, who does everything with a raw passion. Maybe you were only looking for someone who understood your extremity.

There's a brief catch. A stumble. A moment of hesitation. Perhaps the blood does carry the taint you always prayed it wouldn't. He's choking on the hate that has been bred into him. He looks puzzled, and smiles as much as he can. You can see the inner struggle lurking behind the pale skin and searching eyes.

Can he? Can he ever get past the name that he used to spit with such venom at you? If you tell him he can't, what does that mean? You tell him he can, if only to see where this will go. You've drifted far from the bustling halls, and are now standing in a dusty corridor. You could reach out and touch him, but you're worlds apart.

He sighs, his inner strength used up. He self-consciously runs a hand through his hair, the white on gold a beautiful sight. He's frightened, his porcelain hands shaking beyond his control. What could he possibly want from you? Why had he asked you here to begin with? A secret is poised within him, but it seems beyond him. He holds out his hand, palm up. He looks at you, and you see the uncertainty in his eyes. You can almost hear the rage within him, the powers of mind and heart battling the lure of blood. You put your hand on top of his. There is a brief tremble, as if the earth is aware of what has just occurred. You look back at him, willing your eyes to say what neither of you can. He reaches up and takes off your glasses, placing them in your pocket.

He moves again and brushes the dark hair out of your eyes. He lets one delicate hand trail down your cheek. It feels sinful in its simplicity, and you shiver. He smiles again, and now you know you're beaten. You would do anything to keep that smile gracing his lips. You both lean in at the same time, and yet the kiss surprises you both. It's warm and yielding but hides poison and passion. When you break it, his eyes dart over you, and he laughs. It isn't the bitter laugh of triumph, but a free laugh. You've never heard him laugh freely before. You start to laugh, leaning on him for support. It comes to an end in his arms, him holding you, and you holding him. It's silent and perfect. You both know you'll have to bare your souls to make this work, but for now, words are useless. What matters is love. And you have plenty.