Always be wary, people say. Because Lucifer was one of God’s most beautiful angels. The devil isn’t a creature with red horns and a pitchfork. The Devil is something beautiful and enchanting. Jiaheng’s never really been one for superstition or religion. He hardly believes in the supernatural. What good is believing in something that isn’t real in the first place? He believes in what he can see. What he knows to be truth. And what has been mostly proven by science. Perhaps that’s why he doesn’t believe in things such as love. The little things like ‘destiny’ and ‘love at first sight’ and why he definitely doesn’t believe in being saved when he doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t believe in God, or the Devil. Doesn’t believe in making wishes… but in these last few minutes, it doesn’t really matter what he does and doesn’t believe in, does it? He believes in what he knows. That his limbs are cold. That his vision is blurring. That it’s getting harder and harder to breathe the longer he lies there, crimson spilling onto the cement around him. There’s red in his hair now, staining the golden blond locks a deep red. It’s soaking into his shirt, sticking what was once a white pressed shirt to lean muscle. He must be near the end, because when he closes his eyes on a soft inhale and then opens them on an exhale, there’s a man standing before him. He looks as if he’s just fallen from the sky, the way his coat rustles around him. But that can’t be. Jiaheng’s obviously just passed out and come to feeling the presence of another person. This was interesting. If he weren’t dying, Jiaheng might have found this moment horribly cliched… but of course, his mind is wavering, focusing on other things. Like the hum of the male’s voice. The deep timbre that sends the smallest of shivers through Jiaheng’s barely alive form. He closes his eyes with another sigh, though this one is noticably forced, wet sounding as he chokes on dribbles of blood that are starting to spill from his lips. Does he desire to live? What sort of question is that, really? Don’t most humans desire the chance to keep living? He tilts his chin a little, eyes opening to meet the other’s as his jaw sets in a stubborn line.
“I do.”
As gentle breaths still escaped him, traveled over cold lips and filled dead lungs, hues of celadon continues their observation of a suffering being. Leon is merciful, he always has been to some degree, and it is the reason behind his offering. It is a heart wrenching sight, but he still watches, watches with calm eyes and pain features. For he has never been a man of pure emotion, someone to feel even the simplest of things. It’s been lost to the image of a man he doesn’t remember and sometimes, it scares him enough to render him sleepless for weeks. But those thoughts are, of course not present at that current moment, when he crouches before a soul that’s about to depart and his fingertips trail gently along a bloodstained jawline. Strands of raven have fallen into his eyes, brushing against his cheekbones as he leans forward a tad, to inspect the damage done. It’ll be a quick heal, a quick transformation, however still not the most pleasant one.
" There will be, a little bit of pain. “
” Not too much, but you will still feel it. Even if you feel…“
” …like you have been numbed by now.“
Honesty is a very, very prominent feature of his own, and as his fingers retract, stained sanguine by human blood, he shakes his head, He has never enjoyed the taste, not for five hundred years. To him it’s a sacrifice, it’ll make him nauseous for a few hours, maybe even a few days — considering the amount he’s about to ingest. It makes his skin rise in goosebumps and unpleasant chills run down his spine. They almost make him shudder. But alas, it is what has to be done and he shan’t hesitate for much longer. The way he has to position his own body, how he holds up his own weight might seen quite awkward and it is with great carefulness that he grasps for broad shoulders. At least, the boy has already lost quite a bit of blood. Much to Leon’s luck — or dismay considering how urgent it makes the situation itself. He shakes his head a bit, arms slipping around the younger’s torso to hoist him up a bit, and Leon rests the human’s weight against his own before trailing lips up the pale column of an exposed neck. It’s quick, the way he sinks his fangs into supple flesh, always pliant to razor sharp fangs. He tries to ignore the bitterness of his taste, tries not to grimace as he swallows slowly.
And so, shall a new life begin.
While an old one is taken away.