A/N: Um, surprisingly, I'm not obsessed with Loveless at all. Quite the opposite, in fact. But I felt like some good, old fashioned angst and what better fandom then this one, eh?


"They always want more they want more"

-St. Vincent, "Human Racing"

Loveless; one who is without love.

Beloved; one who is dearly loved.

Which did he prefer?

It wasn't even a question, not a real one. A lingering thought passed through the all-knowing subconscious. Ritsuka was not about to, not ever going to, think of this again. It would do no good, it would only cause more arguments then was necessary, ones where the result was never a secret and the answer was always the same.

I love you.

But then, he is loveless, isn't he?


He is as loveless as a boy can be, so loveless he can feel the prying eyes of all those that he doesn't want on him, the ones that want him, that want things from him. He can feel them now, cold and…yes, and loveless. Lustful, maybe, but never, ever, would they be filled with love.

This was a foreign emotion to Ritsuka, one he knew only with Seimei, one that is horrendously false with Soubi. But both, both, offer a want. Not love, but want.

Seimei for the words he will never say, Soubi for the things neither will ever do. He will want them both.

And this is the difference. One could never stop wanting. It is easy, simple to be without love. It is impossible to not want it, though.

One day after school, while he and Soubi walked slowly down the street, Ritsuka asked, "Who decided I was Loveless?"

Soubi had smiled, like he always did, with a cigarette between his lips. "Someone we do not know; you were Loveless long before you were born."

Ritsuka stopped walking, put his hands in his pockets and looked down. "Seimei loved me," he said thoughtfully, "I'm sure of it. I'm sure he did."

"I love you."

These words should stop getting to him and eating and grinding at his head, but they never do, they never lose their painful value.

"Stop saying that," he said without his usual frustration. "That's an order."

Soubi smiled and leaned back against the fence, staring pensively at the slow-moving world beyond them. "Of course it is."

"You don't love me," Ritsuka continued. "You love me because Seimei told you to love me. Seimei loved me. You want me."

That is what he truly should be, Ritsuka thought. To be without anguish, to be without the sharp agony of love, the contradictory of his name and the hollowness of those words. To be Loveless would be no different then he is. To be without want, from himself and those around him. This is the true colors of this Ritsuka, the one his mother didn't want, the one without Seimei, but the one with Soubi, the one with the suddenness of those words. To be without want.