note: in case you were wondering, i really wanted to just title this ““the light of love” but both the count and arthur imagine had “love” in it so being the unoriginal person i am, i gave up and named this in japanese.
There’s many people who would claim to have no fears.
They would either boast, with an impressive inflated ego and a spectacular ignorance, or some others would simply say this devoid of any emotion. The proud, and the dead. But there’s always something that strikes fear into our souls— we are, after all, human. It is natural for humans to fear, and such sources come from million of things, including holes, sharp objects, etcetera.
And there’s one of them. It’s not darker than the rest, but it’s horrible. Nobody human in a sense could possibly come to like it. And this thing, this source of fear, is war.
You don’t know when an area was going to be blown up, or marched down by soldiers, and you don’t know when you might end up dead. All you can hear is the thunderous roar of aircrafts zooming past the sky like ravens meant to kill. To your left, there’s a mother holding her newborn, her hands working deftly to soothe the high-pitched high, while her eyes tremble. On your right, there’s a family who looked like part of their soul left along with their loved ones. The air stinks of uncertainty along with gunpowder, and fire is everywhere, and you don’t know where your feet is leading you to.
If you take cover for a few days, at the best, you would probably stumble upon a man with fatal wounds. There’s a piece of ripped cloth stained with black, a sign of long-dried blood wrapped around his shoulder, and his clothes are burnt and tattered at places. He barely has the energy to breathe, much less spare a glance towards you. He can’t move, can’t fall asleep, can’t do anything except to wait till he’s saved or succumb to death itself.
Fire. Screams. Gunshots. And blood.
“...Napoleon. Napoleon? Are you listening?”
The sight of your eyes basked in worry snapped the said man back to reality and away from the snares of his mind. He reminded himself, briefly, that you would trouble yourself to no ends just to make him feel at ease, and immediately rearranged his features to a more relaxed one.
“Geez, you… oh well, whatever. I was just asking if you’d like to go with me to Theo’s art exhibition this weekend. He was just boasting about it to me this morning.” If Napoleon wasn’t listening, he hid it well. It’s almost like a default mode he’s in, especially when you’re at this proximity to him, he just can’t help but admire you, all while absorbing your words completely. Today, like any other days, you’re glowing. It wasn’t like a harsh glare of the sun, but more like the comforting dim lighting from a bunch of fireflies in a dark field. The type where you can fall back onto the soft grass, and allow those tiny sparks to overtake you gently.
Other suitable comparisons would be like the streak of light across the night sky as it approached dawn, or the silver threads of moonlight. It’s all about light with you.
“If you want to go, I’ll come along too.”
“Really? In that case then, thank you!”
There was only one thing that was comparable to the sun, in his opinion. And that was your smile.
It had been a Tuesday when you told him that, and as clocks tick away, the much beloved weekends finally arrived. The whole mansion was very much alive with buzz, however subtle it was. You and Vincent were of course, the middle of it all, being two balls of pure excitement, jumping around and being all over the place since early morning. The rest would’ve no doubt loved to join in, but it was too amusing to watch from the sidelines than to be directly involved.
Out of the rest, a few weren’t going, but majority was. Isaac couldn’t place the priority of his student’s education before this, and couldn’t join with much regret; Jeanne said he had some business to take care of, which probably wasn’t a really good thing. As an ally and friend, Napoleon would step in, but the former assured that he would be fine, and won’t she be sad if you came with me? convinced him well enough.
Regardless, the rest travelled together, something rare since everyone did what they wanted to do all the time. Until you arrived, that is. Somehow, your smile has been their motivation to do anything, and it was one common goal they all had— whether Napoleon’s happy or not, he couldn’t deny that you did have that effect on people. It was kind of like a drug in some sense. Even now, as you skipped happily alongside him, your arm carelessly linked with his, there was a carefree and beautiful smile, blooming like the most vibrant of flowers. The sight brought butterflies in Napoleon stomach.
“Oh, that’s it, isn’t it?”
A most nondescript building, just like the one Theo described, stood a few hundred meters away. From here, Napoleon could spy a few people streaming into it just as you spoke. Theo must’ve done something to attract them, since all the artworks were by talented, but unpopular artists. It was truly a kind thing to do, he decided, as the group drew closer to the entrance.
The exhibition, in summary, was an interesting one. Napoleon wasn’t one to pay much attention to the arts, and he realises it even more so whenever Vincent or Theo ask about his opinion on something, or even Mozart. Literature-wise, he didn’t fare as bad, but the point was that he did expect to breeze through room after room in this building. And yet, something about these paintings rendered him speechless, made him feel as if he was sucked into this otherworldly place— the stoic woman, the merry young girl on the swings, he could see all this happening in front of his eyes, like a animated picture.
The enormous painting of two worlds merged into one, namely, Hell and Heaven. The way the artist expressed their form of Hell was painful to even look at. Bare, bloody bodies twisting and turning, people moaning for salvation, all while standing atop of a black, burnt mass, and fire could be seen dancing in the background.
It reminded him of something.
The moment it rang out, he stiffened. For a while, Napoleon thought the nightmares that he thought had faded long ago rushed back all to him, and that he heard it all in his head, but there were people screaming, running and shoving past him, and smoke assaulted his nostrils. His reflexes told him to run, but his eyes searched for you; you should be around him, nearby, or with one of the guys, and Isaac was tugging on his sleeve with surprising force, so he caved in and ran to the exit. All was well, or so he hoped.
“Damn. Damn!” Theo muttered, clenching and unclenching his fists repeatedly.
The building was now in flames, shining like an unearthly light amidst the deep darkness of the night, and Napoleon was starting to think that it might not be a fleeting nightmare after all. This was real. There were kids wailing, people screaming, there had been a gunshot, and there’s a fire. To him, Hell just presented itself in the human world; and to make matters worse, you were gone.
“I’m going in.” He declares to no one in particular.
“Are you out of your mind? We don’t even know if she’s trapped in there for sure. What if she’s somewhere out here, safe?”
Anyone who’s seen his expression that night would’ve said that he looked like a man on the brink of desperation. That there was a insane fire in his eyes rivaling the one right in front of him, and that he ran into the fiery inferno without even a second’s hesitation.
It was hot. Of course it was, with the long tongues of flames licking any surface possible bare, and the wooden structure of the ceiling was about to collapse any moment soon. The cement floor, however, was safe enough to cross, and with a great kick, Napoleon easily unhinged the door to the next room. He seemed calm enough, and one would’ve thought that he’s got his nerves together. It wasn’t true at all, for his mind was a mess of thoughts, ranging from what if it’s too late to what if I don’t find her. His muscles were the ones that deserved the credit for his fluid actions, toned by years after years on the battlefield. It was so vividly imprinted into his mind, and the images flash across his eyelids whenever he closes them. Crimson-dyed dried grass, the remains of a tattered flag dancing its last solo— it makes him sick. Just like that first time, bile threatens to spill out, and his heart is hammering away at his ribcage. He can’t move an inch, nor mutter a single word. It was terrifying to the core, and everything stench of death.
A single, weak cough. Then two. It sounded like heaven compared to the crackling of fire surrounding him, and the sight of you curled up in a corner of the room almost brought him to his knees.
You were decently away from any flame nearby, thanks to the lack of objects in the room itself, except for one painting that’s reduced to blackened metal and ashes on the ground. Your clothes were dirty and soot stuck to your sweaty limbs and face, but all that matters was that you were very much alive, and without anything like a bullet wound found on your body. Napoleon silently held you up in his arms, bridal-style, and although you could barely crack open your eyes to look at him through the sting, the way you relaxed into his arms brought him back to earth a little. It was a reminder, of how you trusted him with your life, and that you two would never be apart in times like this.
And so, just like that, the whole thing ends with the both of you exiting the place from the window in the room. Thankfully, you were on the first floor, but Napoleon doubted that it would’ve been a problem even if he jumped from the second. There’s the rest of the guys, for one, who attended immediately and somewhat frantically to you, and secondly, you weren’t majorly harmed. Napoleon had got you out just in time before you could inhale too much of the smoke, and you obtained some first degree burns, but it was overall a miracle that you should be generally fine after being stuck in a burning building.
Everything afterwards passed by in a flash. The fire and gunshot were caused by a man called Gauguin, and Napoleon would’ve liked to personally give him a piece of his mind, but he entrusted the task to Theo instead. It wasn’t really his part to interfere, especially when it concerns past grudges and such affairs.
He remembers so clearly when it happened. It was nighttime, and there was a gunshot, followed by screaming and fire, and later he discovered that he obtained a bleeding ankle. It would’ve been an eternal night, if not for his love of the dim little fireflies.
If not for his love of light.
