The silence of the square seemed all the more deafening, suffocating.
He couldn’t look Vanitas in the eyes, no less look at him at all. The pain Noé felt at that moment made getting his hand sliced off feel like a small cut.
SNOW DAZE CANON ENDING FREE
Vanitas, now free from his hold, scrambled off the bench and took a few quick steps away from him. It was when he felt the sharp sting on his cheek that he knew what he’d just done. He fell on his bottom, almost comically so, like a child. His head snapped to the side and he was suddenly shoved back, losing his balance. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing!?” He fought back the urge to sink his teeth into Vanitas’ exposed neck.īefore Noé knew what he was doing, their faces were closing in on each other, his eyes, bordering a colour between its usual amethyst to garnet or even ruby, fluttered close and he could already imagine what Vanitas’ lips would feel against his, soft and succulent and. From the curve of Vanitas’ neck to the blush on his cheeks, he looked… delicious. In such a position, Noé struggled against his vampiric urges. The cold could be blamed for the reddish tint on his unblemished cheeks, his petite nose, his small ears, his eyes-those absolute gems that bore straight into Noé’s soul, a beautiful blue that most vampires came to hate-but Noé knew better than that. He hated seeing him look that way, like he was about to cry. I’m tired.” was all he could say.įuck, Noé hated this.
That face-that expression, why was Vanitas wearing it? Why did he look so miserable, so pained? Why? Vanitas’ eyes, brighter than the blue sky, instantly met his, widening. Looking off into the distance, as if he thought Noé didn’t care. Looking off into the distance, as if Noé wasn’t right there, as if he wasn’t pinning him down, as if he wasn’t begging for Vanitas to let him understand him. The less you understand me, the better.” countered Vanitas, nonchalantly tipping his head to the side. Noé grit his teeth, “I… I’ll never understand you.” His senses discerned a lingering scent of wine from their drinking session the night before, and he could see its reddish hue staining Vanitas’ naturally pale lips. Eventually, he rolled Vanitas onto his back, holding him by the wrists, pinning him down. Alas, in a fight of raw strength, Noé would win. Anger was an ugly thing, and jealousy was even worse. In the middle of the square, they clambered over each other, trying their very best to control the other. Around that time of the year, it would be the first snow that winter. Their breaths were hot and cloudy in the cold, the temperature biting their faces. “Where’s the difference? What about the times I let Jeanne drink my blood? What about the time I seduced that duchess? What about those times, huh?” “I’ve tolerated it for so long, but this crosses the line!” Noé exclaimed, raising his voice. “And what’s the difference now, huh? I flirt with every woman like that, and only now you berate me for it?” Irritation prevailed, and purged all sense of reason in him. Then, the fuse of his heart was lit, beginning to singe the bandages that prevented it from falling apart. “Why did you do that? Why did you-Why did you try to seduce her like that? It’s unbecoming and vile, absolutely revolting!” It was sharp and angry and echoed in the empty square, and shot a bullet straight through the said man’s heart. “Vanitas!” he shouted, snapping out of his daze. “That mademoiselle didn’t quite appreciate us visiting her at midnight, did she?” laughed the other, unaware of the situation. “I can’t believe you just did that.” said Noé, incredulous. Soon Noé followed suit, slinking, and gracefully sat himself next to the other.
Panting heavily, Vanitas slugged over to the nearby bench and collapsed onto it. By night, it was dead silent, save for the eerie howls of the wind that rustled the surrounding trees and bushes, the monochrome afterimages of the morning crowd floating about. Locals would crowd the area by day, dressed in all sorts of colours and styles. They came to a stop at the market square. The wind was cold and had no mercy on those that dared roam the streets at the dead of night. The thin black lampposts flickered to life, casting a gentle and warm glow on the dirtied cobblestone of the path. A pair of shadows-side by side, but never touching, never coalescing-retreated down the empty streets of Paris.