Title: The Conspiracy

Author: SpiritualEnergy

Disclaimer: Vampire Knight © Matsuri Hino

Rating: PG

Time Line: No exact place. Pre-Shizuka.

Summary: He doesn't dream of her. Not once. (He's always been a good liar.) Aidou/Yori

Author's Notes: This is my first Vampire Knight fic, and my favorite pairing. I realize it's complete crack, but I think they'd be good together. These are unconnected drabbles (unless stated otherwise) that I will post as inspiration hits for these two. I suggest listening to the songs I post lyrics to as well, because, well, they're quite enjoyable and because I thought they fit the pairing. I hope you enjoy and that I got their characters right.

The Night Will Go As Follows—The Spill Canvas

Consider this song a testament
Of my devotion to your saccharine scent
And to be completely honest
You're not like all the rest

She smelled of lavender.

He'd always enjoyed the scent, and this was no exception. It was a soothing smell, one that helped him sleep. He was able to pick her out easily from the crowd of admiring girls.

He noticed she always stood further away from everyone. Further from the gates, further from the other girls, further from the Night Class. She was an odd one. Her eyes shone and her brown hair was blown by the wind; it made her hard to miss, practically smacked him in the face.

Just like she had done, he began to ignore her completely. Besides admiring the sweet smell of her, he didn't give her a spare glance.

In the days to follow, he would sniff the air and would find new scents mingled with the old one. Some days he'd find her smelling of ink along with the lavender. Other days she'd smell of paint and wet grass. One time he detected a hint of marmalade, an indicator of what she had for breakfast.

He wrinkled his nose in revulsion. The wonderful smell was mixed in with all the others to the point where he wanted to pinch his nose with his fingers to block it all out. He'd become so used to her during the past few weeks, he'd been startled at the sudden alteration. It was almost as if it'd been engraved in him; no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop it from invading his senses until he was forced to distinguish one part of her from another. It became a habit, maybe even a game; searching out her scent and then pin-pointing what she reeked of. He tried to search out others to occupy his senses, but he always found the lack of her a strange reminder of shoulders aching with tensed muscles and weary eyes. He'd never been a fan.

Perhaps the lavender was shampoo. She was different from the other girls, who all changed their lotions and body wash every week. She stayed the same, with the little changes and -

- mint. Today was mint.

Fresh. Cold. Fitting. He hardly questioned the fact that he was basing her entirely on this one aspect, and tried not to think of the fact that he's stopped asking other girls what their blood type was. Or the fact that he's interested in finding out hers.

It's strange how he knew her now; knew what she did in the morning, knew what she did at night, knew what she ate and touched and what she didn't and probably never would.

He knew everything about her but didn't even know her name. He'd seen her walking around Cross Academy, books in hand and talking to Cross Yuuki. The very idea of that girl made him scoff - the irritation and bubbling resentment might've caused him to overlook her friend. He thought back on that now and still couldn't remember her name.

It was during these brief moments of rotating schedules that made him used to the changes. (Maybe even like it.)

He's told himself he's not obsessed with running his fingers through her hair, or eying her dark sweater to compare it to his own, or letting his fangs sink into her skin to finally taste what he'd become so familiar and comfortable with. He told himself he doesn't look forward to searching her out, to letting his eyes rest on her stiff figure in the cold of winter.

He's given up ignoring her. This strange devotion was foreign to him, sand in a wound that made him want to scratch at it until it bled (and he'd be left to clean and lick up the mess afterwards). It made him almost feel human, not born of noble blood and duties to uphold.

It came as a surprise to realize that, one day, her scent was gone altogether, lost in the snow-covered ground and his memories.

Akatsuki glanced over at him quietly. "Hanabusa."

He noticed. Of course he noticed. The entire Night Class has probably noticed (he refuses to think of Kaname-sama).

"It's nothing, Akatsuki," he replied easily, the complete opposite of what he was feeling.

Akatsuki said nothing, but continued to look at him as if he was waiting for something to happen.

Yuuki's whistle sounded shrill and expected behind the tall gates.

His mouth was carved into a frown, and his eyes narrowed with a sudden resolve. When the gate opened, he pushed past the giggling girls and ignored their affronted looks when he didn't point at them with an imaginary gun and smile.

His focus was only on Yuuki, who didn't notice him coming up behind to wrap his arms around her. The sudden gasps and screams from the crowd made her flush and struggle against his hold.

"A-Aidou-senpai!" she protested. "Let go!"

It was then that Zero walked towards them, a menacing look on his face. The crowd backed away instantly, deciding it best to walk to class quickly now. "You…"

"Where's your friend?" he asked lightly in her ear, almost as if this was small talk building up to the big issue.

"Huh?" Yuuki halted her wild movements to look up at him over her shoulder, and gave him a raised eyebrow. It made him want to freeze her to a tree, and Zero's piercing look wasn't helping matters either. "Who…?"

"You know who," he said through gritted teeth. If there was anyone else who noticed, it had to be Cross. "She's not here today."

Yuuki bit her lip, and finally he let her go so she could look at him straight. "You mean Yori-chan?" she asked softly.

Yori. It was another change, one he thought he could get used to. He'd gone so long - a month? Two months? He didn't know anymore - just thinking of her as 'that girl'. Having something to call her wasn't something he particularly cared about before. He didn't know why it felt like he'd accomplished something.

Yuuki scratched the back of her head, a frown crossing her features. "Yori-chan caught a cold yesterday. She's back at the Sun Dorms resting…" She squinted, confused. "Aidou-senpai, why -"

But then he was already off, leaving the two prefects standing in the light of morning and melting snow.

He'd already given up too much sleep for this… for this human. It wasn't enough that she stole whatever cool he had; she had to force him out into the daylight as well. He'd show her - he'd go to bed with his usual green pajamas on with his usual curtains closed and not think about brown eyes and short hair and sweet human blood that coursed through her veins.

Like usual.

--

He doesn't dream of her.

Not once.

(He's always been a good liar.)

--

After days of thinking he'd finally forgotten her, she came back. And not only back, but close. So close he thought he could reach out and touch her. The sight of her walking up with Yuuki made his throat constrict. She was so small, wrapped in a jacket too big for her, her nose red with remnants of her cold. He wanted to put his hand on her cheek, but he's not exactly a master of fire. He'd kill her faster.

She was all cough syrup and clean sheets. She hadn't gotten enough rest.

"Thank you, Yuuki," she said, voice low and calm, slightly raspy. "I appreciate it."

"No problem, Yori-chan!" Yuuki said cheerfully, probably happy her friend was there at all. "I'm sorry I haven't brought you the assignments in the first place. Prefect duties have been running late." She forced out a tiny laugh. "I'm sure the teachers will gladly give you the stuff you missed."

Yori nodded.

Yuuki blinked and looked over at him, and then at Yori, who wasn't looking at either of them. "Um…"

"Good morning," Yori said to him as she passed, giving him a tiny nod in acknowledgment. It was almost as if she hadn't said anything at all, but of course he heard her.

He found himself wanting to know what she sounded like when she wasn't weak with sickness, when she wasn't simply being polite.

Without a shadow of a doubt, he realized this strange devotion - this obsession, this longing - wouldn't end well.