Memories | Lucien Vanserra
Summary: The memories were painful, but now they were all he had left, and it was tearing him apart.
Warnings: Angst, slight suggestive theme, just general sadness guys — I'm sorry. Next Luci piece will be happy, I promise
Lucien inhaled and a scent he knew all too well invaded his senses — vanilla and spice. He remembered a time where things had been much simpler.
A week of secret glances and stolen kisses in the shadows had led to this. Her hushed laughter as Lucien hovered above her in her bed, planting kisses all over her face. His lips touched every inch of the face of the woman he loved, with a gentle warmth only she could pull from within.
With every soft touch, he admired how she looked bathed in the moonlight that spilled through the cottage window, with her legs wrapped around him.
“Luci.” She breathed his name, staring up at him with those wide eyes he fell in love with. He would never get used to the gentleness that filled them, the adoration at which she stared at him with.
Every breath he took, her familiar scent consumed him — heart and mind.
His lips claimed hers — soft and warm, spilling all of his feelings for her into the one notion, a silent declaration of love. And she returned it, one hand cupping his cheek while the other tangled itself in his long fire-red hair.
Lucien's hands wandered, like every other hormonal teenage male's hands did. . . It wasn't rushed, however, nor inexperienced — it was gentle, calculating, as if mapping out every dip and curve that would keep him sated until he could sneak in through her bedroom window the next time.
Oh, to be fifteen and in love.
The sound of her parents walking up the stone path caused both to freeze, sharing a wide eyed look before Lucien pulled away, scrambling off of her bed as their voices drew closer.
She watched in mild amusement and slight horror as he located his pants halfway across her bedroom along with the thin, white cotton of her underwear that had been hastily shed within minutes of him entering through the window.
The garment was hastily tossed over to her and she stood from the bed, putting them back on while he made quick work of lacing his pants up and slipping his boots back on.
He then got to the window before pausing, turning to look at her. Low on time, he sauntered over, bending to her level to place a gentle kiss on her lips.
“I love you.” Lucien murmured, gently stroking the smooth skin of her cheek with the pad of his thumb.
She leaned into his touch. “And I love you.” She whispered in return.
He reluctantly pulled away, the voices of her parents drawing closer, nearly to the front door of the cottage — merely a room away.
And no sooner than his boots landed in the soft, damp earth just outside her window, the front door opened and her father's booming voice could be heard, uncaring of the late hour.
She barely had enough time to close the window and slip beneath the covers before there were two sharp knocks on her door and it opened, yet she pretended she'd been asleep for a while and he had woken her up.
Lucien couldn't help but grin at how she always managed to fool her parents on nights he came over. It was thrilling — being in love and sneaking around.
He shook his head slightly, the scent no longer there. It was never there. It was his imagination. A figment of the past, toying with his heartstrings the same way a cat played with a ball of yarn.
Tamlin spared him a glance behind the golden mask embedded with emeralds, cut elegantly to look like leaves.
Lucien's hands clenched into fists and he took a deep breath, fighting the emotions that clawed at his throat. How a simple smell — or even the imagination of a smell — could bring back memories long repressed for his own sake. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair.
It had been thirteen years. Thirteen years since he lost the one he truly loved. All because she — you — had been selfless, courageous, brave, and completely and utterly stupid.
“I have to go.” She whispered, standing there in her fighting leathers — the harvest gold emblem of the Autumn Court connecting the fur pelts to the armor that replaced the fine dresses he'd grown accustomed to in the more recent years.
The emblem that controlled her life. A simple maple leaf with an embossed ‘A’ on a rounded badge. She carried it like the weight of the world was on her shoulders.
Her hands, clad in leather fingerless gloves, traced from the expanse of his sharp jawline to the fire-red hair she loved so much. She stared at him with such love in her eyes, a twinge of sorrow in the depths of her irises. Committing him to memory. That's what she was doing.
“They shouldn't be allowed to call for you. . . You left. . . You came with me.” He murmured, his remaining russet eye showing his true emotions. He didn't want her to leave. He wanted her to stay there, safe with him. Happy. Loved.
Lucien wanted to remove that sorrow from her gaze. He wanted to see that light he knew was within. The light he knew burned for him, and only him.
“I know. . . But I didn't renounce my position, like you did. I should've, but I never thought they'd need me again.”
His eyes traced her features and drifted to the swords crossed at her back. He knew there were daggers strapped to her body — ones he could see and ones couldn't, but knew they were there, because he knew her.
“If something, anything, goes wrong, you get yourself out of there, do you understand me?” His voice was pleading.
She nodded in an instant, throwing her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. “When I come home, I'll renounce my position in the force and they'll never bother us again.” She muttered softly, pulling back to look at him.
Him. Her Lucien. Her love.
He couldn't help himself, leaning down to press a kiss to her lips, the soft and warm flesh consuming him as she reciprocated without hesitation.
“I love you.” She whispered once they pulled away.
“I love you too. . . Come home to me.”
She could only smile softly and step out of his embrace entirely, the soft chime of the clock welcoming the new hour alerting her to the fact that she had to go. It was time.
“Close your eyes.” She hummed, mentally preparing herself for what she had to do.
Lucien listened after a moment, his eyes closing. She observed him for a good moment. And when he opened his eyes, she was gone.
He grew angry with himself once again. He should've begged you to stay. Tied you down so you couldn't have left that day, regardless of whether or not it made you hate him.
He could live with you being mad at him. Cursing his name, throwing paint brushes and slippers at him because he stopped you from defending your village, your family, the only home you knew before you moved into his heart.
He could've lived with that.
But leaving, dying in such a tragic way for a court that didn't even remember your name. A court that didn't offer the funeral you deserved. . . Just another name, another prayer, another blessing for your soul to rest peacefully in the great beyond.
He couldn't live with that. It was a struggle every single day, but he continued on because you would've wanted him to. Every time he was about to slip into a rut of not eating and avoiding his work, he could practically hear your soft, melodic voice in the back of his head, telling him that you were okay. That he could have his moments, but that you didn't want him to cause himself more pain — more anguish.
Some days were better, some days were worse. The good days were becoming more frequent, but the bad days hit him hard.
They brought memories. Memories he couldn't shake away. He both loved them and hated them.
They were memories, yes, but you should've been there beside him, making more. It shouldn't have been a constant loop of the good and bad, with a wild imagination of what could've been if the world and fates hadn't been cruel.
He missed you, and the memories only made it worse.
He couldn't love you for centuries and then just stop one day, not when everything reminded him of you. Your smile. Your laugh. Your scent. The way your face would scrunch up when you were concentrating hard on something. . . Not when he was haunted by the ghost of you.
