AN: I couldn't think of a title, but I called it Apologies just to apologize to you, if you read it. XD

It's horrible. ;A; I just had to upload something because I've been completely unable to force myself to write anything since I discovered my love for Arystar Krory. It's his birthday today, and I decided that I may as well give myself 24 hours to write up a fan fic about him. : I think it's a oneshot. I have it down as such. And I have no idea what to categorize this as. :X

I might be contemplating a follow up, though. Not sure yet :X

(AN to the AN: I decided that I want to write some more. :3 I've edited details in below.)

And… I can't write quickly… At all.

I'll post it, edit it when I have the time, and see how different it is then. :D

I hope. _;;

If you actually put me on your Author Alert, I'm really very sorry that this wasn't from my Sweeney Todd fics xD;; I promise I'll get cracking on those ASAP. I blame...

Eh... MagiStream. Fantastic site. Amazing distraction. XD

Happy birthday, Kro-chan 3 I'm sorry to soil your existence with this piece ;_;

I don't own -man ;A; I'd do anything to own Krory. He's just a supporting character; can I have him? XD

EDIT: 12/3/10 - I was sort of doodling in English (again :P)... The first chapter as been named Apologies, and though I need to come up with a story title, there WILL be a second chapter. A third, I don't know. Sort of running out of fuel :X

Her voice was sharp, but he knew it was not with displeasure. She simply spoke that way, with slight severity and a teasing upwards lilt at the end of some sentences. It had not been his business to listen to her marvel quietly as she wandered the castle, but he had not been able to help himself. He had, though, hoped she would have engaged herself in exploring more thoroughly. All it had taken was a single misstep, and she was already briskly walking back the way she'd come.

"Count Krory? Is that you?"

His body shivered violently, and it was only by clapping a hand over his mouth that he refrained from responding. He trembled from head to toe for a reason he could not word, repressing that beastly hunger. He could barely remember the night before, aside from finding her limp beneath him, with a half crescent of the imprints of fangs on her neck, beading crimson blood. He'd reeled away, horror stricken but intrigued by that beautiful, resigned face. The horror had won over, of course, but his legs would not allow him to move, to escape the scene as his nerves had screamed for him to. He had burned to leap away and flee, but his stomach had only turned over and over, churning in disgust, all of it directed towards his very existence.

The words he'd muttered then came back to mind, although he did not dare even blink as she stepped closer and closer, the shoes he'd lent her clacking loudly against the stone floor.

What have I done? What have I done?

The cold flowerpot behind him ground unbearably noisily against the ground as he pushed back against it. In the split second of sound from behind him, the footsteps from around the corner ceased. He found himself holding his breath as though that would make him more difficult to find, but his loosely chattering teeth betrayed his instinctive intent.

"Are you… hiding, Count Krory?"

The shame he felt could not combat the swoop of his stomach at the tone he could hear. Her low voice sounded faintly disappointed, as though she had expected something more of him. His lips tingled, remembering, unbidden, the press of her against his, sweet and gentle and...

His breath caught in his throat and he found himself drawing his knees into his chest. Even through his reaction of ecstasy and joy, his teeth had burned at the proximity of her soft flesh, as they did now. Was the pulse he felt his heartbeat, racing as she stepped closer silently? Or was it his blood, rushing with a liveliness that didn't feel… real? Since when had his heart leapt high for any reason?

His fixed, empty stare failed to catch the approaching shadow as she stepped forward silently, her shoes rubbing noiselessly across the same traitorous grainy floor that had betrayed him but a moment ago. She knelt on the ground, her head cocked slightly to the right as she regarded him where he sat. His jaw trembled, hanging loose enough so that his teeth did not touch, but shaking enough to be noticeable.

"Count Krory? Is something the matter?"

Her voice was soft, gentler than he'd thought anyone could speak to him. Heat burned his skin as he recognized the tone as one that a person might use to speak with a spooked animal. What did she think of him, hidden away behind a bulbous pot, following her nonetheless? Words tumbled from his mouth, blurred and stuttered with his embarrassment.

"I-I…" he started, looking up. Her clay-toned eyes were fixed on him in a scrutinizing stare that made his fearfulness curl up within his chest, tight and unmoving. "I wanted t-to ch-check on you wh-when I realized y-you were walking about. M-my…"

His voice trailed off as he considered his next words, pressing his lips together thinly for a moment.

"… My grandfather's flowers… They have a t-taste for f-flesh, and I w-wanted to be sure th-that you would be unh-h-harmed."

It was as close to the truth as he could manage; he would never admit to simply having followed her about. How easy it would be, though, to tell her the truth…

Her smile broke through his brief reverie. Her heavily lidded eyes glinted red in the light of the candles that lined the hall, and her lips curled upwards at the corners, pursing slightly as she gave a light tinkling laugh.

"Is that what it was, Master Arystar?" she murmured, her tone amused for a reason he could not understand. He did not have the space in his mind to think about why she would be amused by his reasoning, transfixed as he was by her gaze. There would be no beating around the bush about it: this Eliade was beautiful. She was different from the collection, different from the flowers in that way.

She was different in another way. She was real, she was living, and though he scarcely believed it, she had pressed her lips to his.

"You needn't worry about that," she said softly, reaching a hand out to touch his cheek. His flesh seemed to burn at her touch, and he jerked away slightly. She frowned, straightening her head as her brow wrinkled in confusion.

"I-I'm sorry," he stammered, his voice barely a whisper. "I attacked you once, I'm s-sorry!"

He gripped his head in his hands, barely able to think around the overwhelming urge to leap to his feet and sink his teeth into her soft flesh again.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

His cries rang out, growing quieter as she watched, expressionless. The repressed urge sank away, as though disappointed. He turned his tear-filled eyes to her, rubbing an arm fiercely across his face, just as she pitched forward, her face blank and her eyes shut lightly. Without thinking twice about it, he parted his cape and opened his arms as though to embrace her, catching her limp body against his. His bracelets screeched softly as she brushed against them, and his face instantly grew a flaring red.

"M-miss Eliade!" he murmured in surprise. She did not stir, merely lying against him, unmoving. "H-hello? Are you alright?"

There was no reply from her, not even a groan. Frantic now, he lay her across his legs, doing his best to keep her bare skin from rubbing the cold ground. He noted with detached interest that it seemed she had redesigned his great-grandmother's clothes that he'd found in one of the hundreds of wardrobes around the castle. His long fingers took her hand, turned it over, and pressed gently against her wrist.

He was not sure what the proper technique was, only that his grandfather had used it on some of the guests after an encounter with the flowers. A thin pulse grew more pronounced, although he still was not quite sure if it was his own or not. He sighed with light relief, deciding it was enough to prove she had merely fallen unconscious.

He wanted to slump backwards, to lean against the wall and let his heart grow still, but he could imagine that the skin of her legs was already growing cold. A thought struck him as he began to stand, almost comical but for the honesty with which he meant it.

How do I carry a lady to her room?

It took every bit of her being to refrain from moving as his body shifted against her, rubbing cloth and skin gingerly. Her fingers longed to twitch or move, to give away her position, her act. His steps were measured, the walk was smooth. It was almost deplorable to act so helpless, but for this one time, she felt…

Her mind raced. What was it that she was feeling? Those fangs… they meant nothing but trouble, and yet, to know that they would not touch her because of him… What was it? She was afraid to word it, for fear that it was not what she wanted, and that she would be disappointed.

The arms supporting her slipped away, and she found herself seated upright on a soft chair, presumably an armchair. The velvet texture made her skin tingle pleasantly. His hands lingered on her shoulder, tentative and gentle. A hiss filled the room and her heart leapt into her throat, a phrase she'd never understood before she had met this human. Hot breaths blew across her neck, but there was no momentary pain, no sudden flow of excess bleeding.

"I'm sorry!"

A fierce rippling of cloth gave testament to his sudden turnabout. Her eye opened fractionally, barely parting her eyelids. He was gone from the room already, his form retreating down the hall as he fled.

Her eyes opened, the gaze narrow and thoughtful. She put a finger to her neck, rubbing it gently as she thought.

Her lips parted as she spoke a single word aloud, unaware that she had done so.

"Innocence…"

I came up with the outline eighth period in school, took a nap, did my homework, and cranked this out.

I may need to destroy the evidence of this thing's existence when I have a clearer mind. And when it's not 12am :P