Sweet Demon of Mine
The dream comes unbidden, as always.
It is dark. The darkness itself swallows everything. Kirika can feel
the wind whipping through her hair, and it seems as though she’s
standing on a tiny platform, with only emptiness around her. Her hand
clutches a small card, the hard plastic digging into her palm. She
knows what it is without looking.
The sun rises suddenly, a great orange fireball driving through the sky
impossibly fast. The darkness splits just as quickly, revealing a
sprawling metropolis below Kirika. She stands atop a gigantic
skyscraper, a building so large it dwarfs every other in the area. At
the very top, the skyscraper narrows to almost a point, and Kirika's
feet rest on a platform only a few inches across.
She is not afraid for some reason. Despite the strong winds threatening
to throw her off her precarious perch, Kirika is not scared. It might
be because she knows it’s not real. Somewhere, in the back of her
consciousness, her mind understands this is only a dream. A dream she’s
experienced several times in the last few weeks. Nevertheless, this
understanding doesn’t give her the ability to end it.
As usual, the sun comes to a stop directly overhead, blinding Kirika
with its intense rays. She squints her eyes, tries to bring an arm over
to shield them. As she does so, the wind picks up, wrenching her
student card from her hand. Time pauses for a moment as the card slips
from her, the sunlight perfectly accenting the grainy picture and the
name beside it. Kirika gasps soundlessly, reaches out to retrieve what
is hers, but gravity takes over, mercilessly sucking her identity down
into the void below. Frantic, Kirika leans forward, knowing full well
what is about to happen.
She overbalances as she makes a swipe at the card, and her foot steps
forward into nothingness. The tumble does not come as a surprise.
Kirika's fall begins several hundred stories up. She doesn’t scream.
The air rushes around her as she falls, but the sound seems strangely
muted. As the ground below comes into view, she can make out cars
driving along the road.
"I'm going to die."
The thought doesn't bother her. Not this time. It’s only a dream after
all.
Her head hits the ground first. There is no sickening crunch, no
splatter of blood, no shock of impact. Instead, she falls through the
ground, passing through the road as if it were only an illusion. And as
she falls through, the darkness returns, engulfing the world.
And then, there is only oblivion... sweet oblivion.
* * *
I can see Kirika dreaming beside me. She's lying there asleep, but her
face is twitching, her head moving slightly. She's been dreaming a lot
lately, I've noticed. I don't know why, but I don't think they are very
pleasant dreams. She doesn't tell me about it, and when I ask she just
gives non-committal answers. But now, as she sleeps, I can see that she
cringes every so often, as if she is afraid of something. It seems
strange to me. I can't remember ever seeing her cringe. She's sweating
as well. That's another thing I don't recall ever seeing her do, yet in
the faint moonlight, I can make out the sheen of sweat on her forehead.
The covers on her end of the bed have been kicked off, the mess having
somehow ended up tangled between my legs. Kirika is normally very
subdued in her slumber. She is generally very good at keeping to her
side of the bed. At least we're not both like that. I tend to range
around in my sleep. It gives me an excuse. Sometimes I wake on her
half of the bed, pressed up against her. She never complains about it.
Sometimes I can almost believe she enjoys it as much as I do.
Looking at her now, I want to slide over and put my arms around her. I
want to make the bad dreams go away. I want her to rest peacefully.
Her life has already been one long nightmare, sleep should provide some
escape. But it seems the Fates are gifted with a wicked sense of irony.
Kirika's arm spasms out suddenly, momentarily catching on my nightshirt.
I shudder involuntarily as her hand brushes my side, partly because of
her touch, but also partly because of the cold. Her fingers are frigid.
I can feel the coolness even through my shirt. Just as quickly, Kirika
withdraws her arm, still caught in the throes of the dream.
As her hand begins to snake away, I place my own over it, following it
back to her side. I wonder if she can feel this, even through her
slumber. I wonder what she'll think if she wakes up now and finds me
holding her hand. I'll say "you were having a nightmare", and she'll
nod, but I wonder if she'll really understand.
Kirika kicks her legs again, starts to turn away, but I squeeze her hand
gently and she rolls to face me instead. Maybe the dream has ended, her
eyes don't seem to be twitching anymore. Unfortunately for me, her
movement has trapped my hand beneath her. I can feel the warm weight of
her thin body pressing against my arm. Perhaps my predicament is less
than unfortunate...
I don't know how long I stayed like that, staring into Kirika's face and
watching her sleep, counting her rhythmic breaths. Eventually though,
she shifts enough so that I can retract my hand. Reluctantly, I trace
my fingers up the smooth skin of her arm, longingly exploring up to her
bare shoulder.
Her eyes flutter, and for a moment, I'm afraid she will wake. My hand
jerks away, returning to my side of the bed. I close my eyes,
pretending to be asleep, but Kirika does not stir. After a few minutes
of silence, I let one eye creak open. Kirika has curled herself into a
ball, her knees almost up to her pillow. Maybe she's cold. Carefully,
I straighten out the covers, drape them over her. She sighs and
snuggles deeper into her pillow.
Content that my partner is comfortable, I lie back and try to get some
rest.
* * *
Kirika blinks her eyes open. It is dark. The blackness presses in
around her, hemming her in. For a moment, she thinks that she is still
asleep, that the dream has repeated itself, but the digital alarm clock
nearby shows otherwise. It is nearly three in the morning.
Slowly, Kirika releases her breath, closing her eyes again in hopes of
banishing the nightmare. Why? Why did she keep having this dream? Why
did she keep waking during the night with the same feeling of dread and
loneliness?
She didn't understand. Kirika was not a person who was frightened
easily, yet this dream continually haunted her. In the last few weeks,
the sensation of falling had repeatedly drawn her out of slumber. She
would wake with a sudden start, sometimes at dawn, sometimes during the
night, and for a fleeting moment, she would feel nothing but emptiness
beneath her.
A quick glance at Mireille reassures her. The blonde is sleeping
peacefully, her back turned towards her partner. Gingerly, Kirika
slides out of bed, rearranging the covers so that Mireille won’t be
cold. She shivers as she stands, the cool air in the apartment running
over her bare legs. Silently, she pads over to the window, drawn by the
bright half-moon shining in the sky. It is even colder by the window,
and Kirika wraps her arms tightly around herself.
On the street below, the world has come to a stop. There are no cars
passing by, no pedestrians hurrying home, not even a stray animal
huddling in the light of streetlamp. The sky is somewhat less dreary,
but not filled with life either. A thin layer of clouds blocks out all
but the moon and the brightest stars.
Kirika’s eyes wander over the few visible stars. Mireille had named
some of them for her at one point, but Kirika cannot identify any of the
bright points she can see. She doesn’t know if the stars Mireille had
pointed out are visible at this time of night, or even at this time of
year. Perhaps it is the wrong season for stargazing.
Kirika’s sighs, remembering the night she had spent with Mireille,
camped out in the French countryside.
~{ }~
“Actually, that bright one there is Jupiter, and next to it over there,
that’s Saturn. This constellation is called Orion, the hunter, you can
recognize it by the three stars in a line right there.”
“Why do you know so much about the stars, Mireille?” Kirika looked over
at Mireille as she asked.
“Nighttime is the time for assassins.” Mireille turned to face Kirika.
Her features softened as her eyes fell on the younger girl. There was
even a faint hint of a smile. “But really, it’s beautiful out here, I
just like looking at the stars.”
“That one there is moving.”
Mireille’s eyes followed Kirika’s pointing finger. “A shooting star!
Make a wish.”
“Why?”
“They say if you make a wish when you see a shooting star it will come
true. So make a wish.”
“Mmm.”
“That’s it? What did you wish for?”
“Happiness.”
“Me too.”
“Aren’t you happy, Mireille?” Kirika blushed and looked away as she
felt the blonde’s penetrating gaze on her.
“Yes, but I think I could be happier.”
~{ }~
I’m awakened by a sneeze. Not my own. Kirika is standing by the
window, staring outwards, wearing nothing but those light clothes she
sleeps in. I see the slouch in her stance, the tilt in her head, signs
that her thoughts are not really focused on whatever’s outside.
It’s not the first time she’s done this. In fact, she often gets up in
the middle of the night to sit by the window. Maybe it calms her.
Maybe it gives her a way to organize her thoughts. I wonder what she
thinks about. I never ask, mostly because I don’t think I’ll get a
truthful answer.
She straightens slightly, starts to turn around. I close my eyes.
Better not to let her know I’m watching her.
* * *
For Kirika, the feel of Mireille’s eyes on her back is almost a tangible
sensation. The girl pivots to regard her partner, but the form on the
bed is lying asleep. (Feigning sleep) She corrects herself.
Kirika rubs her arms for warmth as she makes her way back to the bed.
Mireille is not sleeping. She has spent enough time observing the
blonde to know. There are subtle hints. The way Mireille’s head is
leaning forward, in a position that is not naturally comfortable. Her
legs are stacked together, in a way she never sleeps. The pace of her
breathing is too rhythmic, even for sleep. Mireille is controlling her
breathing. But even without any of these clues, without looking from
this close, Kirika can tell. She had been able to deduce it from her
vantage point at the window. She had known, even before she had turned
around. It was as though she was linked to her partner somehow, bound
by something she did not fully understand.
“We are Noir.” Kirika tells herself silently, but the thought is not
comforting at all. She can’t shake the feeling of loneliness the dream
has washed over her. Slowly, she sits down on the bed, managing to
settle in without making any noise. As she pulls the covers around
herself, she spares a glance at Mireille.
The blonde hasn’t moved. She is still lying there, pretending. Kirika
has a sudden urge to reach out and touch her, but she stifles it.
Instead, she draws her knees up to her chin and hugs herself. Twice,
her mouth opens, as though she means to say something, but both times
she closes it again just as quickly. Her lips are suddenly very dry.
Kirika sighs, her thoughts having drifted to the past.
She remembers the promise she made to watch over Mireille. She
remembers the fires of Hell burning beneath her as Mireille begged her
to take one more chance at life. She wishes it could have been
different. She wishes it didn’t have to be this way. She wishes it
didn’t have to be so complicated. Maybe, if she had been just another
girl instead of a murderer, it wouldn’t be so wrong for her to love
Mireille. Maybe, if hadn’t been for Soldats’ meddling in her life, she
would know what to do now, what to say. But she knows, deep down
inside, that if it hadn’t been for all these things, she would probably
never have met Mireille Bouquet. Kirika sighs again, and the sound
seems loud in the stillness of the night.
Mireille remains prone, immobile, unfeeling. Kirika fights the need to
scream.
* * *
I hear her sigh, and again. Then, the mattress shifts as Kirika tenses.
I wish I knew what was bothering her. It‘s not something as simple as a
bad dream. I think her despair runs deeper. Perhaps the nightmare
triggered this bout of depression, but there is something else that
worries her. Part of me wants to get up and talk to her, comfort her,
but I don’t know how much I can really accomplish. I’m afraid I won’t
be able to help. I’m afraid she won’t let me help her.
There’s a sudden jerk as Kirika kicks off the covers, and my eyes flash
open. I almost roll over and confront her, but for some reason I hold
back. Every time I see her downcast, I can feel my throat well up, I
can feel my heart melting. Sometimes I catch her, sitting by the
window, with tears rolling down her face. I curse myself for not having
the courage to speak up. And then I hate myself for not paying more
attention to this girl. I hate myself for being so reticent about my
feelings for her. I sit up slowly, determined not to let this go.
Kirika is sitting with her back to me, hunched over so that her hair
falls forward. Even though she makes no noise and I cannot see her
face, I can tell she is crying. She trembles, ever so slightly. Her
hands are clutching something to her chest. She seems so delicate,
crying there silently. She seems so frail and weak. It pains me to
think that she believes she has to hide this weakness from me. Even
assassins can cry. And if Death itself feels sorrow, then perhaps there
is hope yet for this world.
Without another thought I slide over behind her, drape one arm over her
shoulders, wrap the other around her waist, pull her tightly against me.
She shudders as my arms encircle her, but she melts willingly into my
embrace. I can feel the wetness on her clothes now, I can hear her
sniffling. I can see her gripping her student card so tightly her hands
are shaking.
“Kirika, what’s wrong?” I whisper.
She doesn’t answer me, only squeezes her eyes shut and tilts her head
back so that it rests on my shoulder. Her hair falls away, and I can
see teary streaks glistening on her face. Gently, I stroke her bare
arm, surprised at how cool her skin actually feels. She shivers again
under my fingers.
* * *
Kirika closes her eyes, lets herself fall back against Mireille. The
touch on her shoulder gradually becomes a caress. The warmth
surrounding her spawns another within. Unable to help herself, Kirika
snuggles further, reluctant to speak.
“What’s wrong?” Mireille asks again when no answer is forthcoming, her
voice soft and not slurred from sleep. “Why are you crying?”
Slowly, Kirika blinks away the tears, dares to open her eyes.
Mireille’s face appears, her expression tinged with genuine worry.
“Why do you care?” The dark-haired girl retorts, twisting away from
Mireille.
“Because you’re my partner.”
Kirika looks down at the student card she is still holding against her
chest. She pulls her hand away, carefully inspects the picture for the
umpteenth time, rereading the lie written beside it. In a sudden fit of
rage, she flings it across the room. Somewhere off in the darkness, the
card clatters to the floor.
* * *
“Because you’re my friend.” I say this time, emphasizing my words by
taking her shoulders and turning her back around to face me.
She stares at me, her eyes searching mine for any hint of deceit. I try
to pour affection out through my eyes. I try to tell her with a look
that I care for her more than all the world. I don’t know if I can.
Have I been an assassin so long that I don’t know how to show kindness?
I wish I could tell her. I wish I could tell her how much I love her.
The past be damned, Soldats be damned, but I can’t. I can’t bear to be
the one to take this last bit of innocence from her. Instead, I meet
her gaze, I don’t look away.
“Who am I?” She finally asks after several minutes.
“Kirika Yuumura.” I say without hesitation.
“No, Mireille. Who am I to you?”
“You’re the friend who stood by me when I went to unearth the secrets of
the past. You’re the lonely girl who showed me there’s more to life
than killing, even for a professional assassin. We may be darkness
incarnate, but so what? Let the world fear us; we have nothing to fear
from each other.”
“And the demon of your past?” Her voice sounds so very small.
“Sweet demon of mine,” I whisper as I enfold her in my arms again, “I
don’t care about the past.”
* * *
Kirika feels the wetness run down her cheeks again as Mireille breathes
the words into her ear. Tentatively, her arms snake their way around
Mireille’s body. It feels good to be here, to be held by someone who
cares, someone who truly wants nothing but the best for her. Kirika
presses herself up against the blonde, letting her eyes drift closed.
She squeezes, gently and first, and then more forcibly, crushing
Mireille’s body against her own. The tears haven’t stopped, but this
time, she doesn’t mind them. For a fleeting moment, she worries that
she will wet Mireille’s nightshirt, but the thought disappears as she
feels her partner hug back.
They cuddle together for a long while, and when they finally break
apart, both of them look away, embarrassed at having lingered so long.
“Get some sleep.” Mireille whispers, settling back underneath the
covers.
Kirika nods, rearranges the sheets, and pushes herself far closer to
Mireille than usual. She sighs, feeling the warmth of another person
wash over her.
* * *
I sleep facing Kirika. I usually don’t, afraid that I’ll give something
away, but this night, I want to see her. I want to watch her fall
asleep.
Those enchanting rust-coloured eyes of her are closed now, but just a
minute ago they were open, full of softness and kindness. Her small
nose and thin lips give her a delicate look, one that is misleading,
yet I find it strangely wonderful to behold. I can see her lips
quivering as she breathes in her sleep. I watch her shift slightly,
into a more comfortable position, and a stray lock of hair falls over
her face. Careful not to disturb her, I brush it away so I can continue
to admire her.
At rest, her features are almost angelic, irreconcilable with those of
my family’s murderer. I try to tell myself that it was not her doing,
not her fault. Part of me truly wants to believe that. I think part of
me already accepts it. I am in love with this girl. Maybe I shouldn’t
be, but I can’t help what I feel. It is twisted path that I walk, one
that is filled with darkness, but I look for the light. And I dare to
think that I have found it.
Shrouded in the deepest night, I look upon the face of Death... And she
smiles at me.
Back to Noir Shoujo-Ai Fanfiction