He watched, with clenched fists, as her eyes rolled to the back of her head. Heavy lust-ridden eyes drooping over; she was falling into a stupor, losing herself deeply in a state of delirium. Her legs snaked around a slender waist, as her hands trailed through silver locks. Pangs of jealousy clouted heavy knots in his chest when he realized how strikingly beautiful the contrast between the cream of her skin and the effervescent silver of the boy's hair was.

He had lost her, and was reliving the nightmare all over again. Watching them, watching her, with her back slammed against bark, shaded by heavy foliage. It was only evening, and their lovemaking had commenced, and Kaname was there, peering through the windows of the corridor, jealousy welling up. It had been eons since he had been distraught, and he himself was falling into his own stupor, his own fabricated delirium. Only his was not as flush, and forgiving as Yuuki's was.

She was rightfully his. This, them, was sacrilegious, each time their lungs heaved, each time the grooves of the gravel began to etch lavish patterns onto the small of her back, each time his lips raked over the ripples of skin, he had been confronted with his lassitude. His heartbeaked quickened with their pace, Zero was trailing lazy circles in her thighs, and she, she twisted and turned and slipped her fingers underneath his shirt, into his mouth, under the waist of his pants. Kaname took note of every flinch, every shudder, every hitch of breath that metamorphosed into dewy condensation, committed it to memory to fare him for lonely nights. He bit his lips, and tried to turn his head away from the travesty, from the shudders that he should be inducing.

She was his, and she was like sand through a sieve, slipping through his fingers if he had not lost her completely. Watching them make love, watching them consummate his quiet defeat was slowly leading his heart asunder. Watching them make love was watching any possibility of warmth fall apart for him. If there was ever a tear in his sense of security, and his sense of pride, then this was Zero plunging his fingers and creating a cataclysmic supernova in him.

Damn him, damn him, damn him.

Him mind wound, and unwound, and circled over his earlier reluctance to chase her away, to strike, to capture her, to take her, to absolutely possess her, and now, now she had fallen into someone else's grasp, and through all of it, he realized he had been a mighty fool for watching. He was no longer her savior, just a lonely, jilted voyeur.