Chapter Text
Vanitas wakes with a start.
Red eyes… Vampire—
In a flash, Vanitas is sitting up, eyes darting around, frantic; Noé voices a protest, aware of Vanitas’s injuries, but it seems to fall on deaf ears. When Vanitas moves as if to get up, though, nearly falling over in the process, Noé grabs him; it leads to one of Vanitas’ hands shooting towards his face - “claws” going for the eyes, just like Vanitas told Noé that Chausseurs would do - but Noé catches that hand, too, and yells, “Vanitas! I’m Noé!”
Vanitas’s hand twitches in his grip, as if he wants to fight it instinctively, but thankfully the call seems to have snapped him out of it somewhat. For a few seconds, Vanitas seems confused, looking at Noé but clearly not actually seeing him, eyes unfocused and bleary, but then clarity like a knife returns to them, and immediately Vanitas is yanking his arm back, wrenching with enough strength to hurt himself; Noé lets him go, not wanting to cause him more pain. Vanitas immediately curls his legs up in front of his chest, arm cradled against himself defensively, and snaps, “Did you drink my blood?!”
The accusation… stings, honestly, but Noé can’t exactly blame him for it. Vanitas is clearly pretty out of it, and he’d pushed himself so hard during the fight that he likely doesn’t even remember everything that happened, yet; how Jeanne had shown up and saved Domi, allowing Noé to no longer feel forced to try, and more than that… Noé’s own words to Vanitas, the promise that he would never “set him ‘free’”, in Vanitas’s twisted definition of the word… Noé shakes his head. “No, I didn’t.”
Vanitas hisses. "Liar.”
“I’m not lying. Vanitas, calm down, you’re injured.”
Injured and acting very much like a wounded, caged animal… Backed up against the headboard of his bed, curled up defensively to cover his injuries, practically growling in warning, panting… He’s clearly terrified, disoriented and overwhelmed, so Noé is trying to handle him gently.
Vanitas looks like he’s about to lash out again for a moment, and Noé prepares himself for… not a fight, Vanitas is in no real condition to do any serious damage right now, but at least resistance, but before Vanitas can say anything, he winces, instead, looking pained as he starts to slump a bit more. The burst of adrenaline wearing off, most likely, body becoming aware of his pain and exhaustion again; he starts lilting dangerously to one side - the side Noé’s sitting on - so Noé reaches out a hand to stabilize him, but Vanitas gives it a weak smack.
Noé can’t help a flash of irritation - he knows Vanitas isn’t actually trying to be uncooperative for once, that it’s just instinct and terror, but still, Noé is just trying to help - but when his eyes flit back to Vanitas’s face to tell him off, Vanitas’s expression…
He looks close to crying again.
It deflates Noé’s annoyance all at once, a rush of concern and sympathy taking its place instead. Vanitas must notice it himself, though, and unfortunately he’s conscious enough to immediately bury his face in his knees, bringing his arms up to shield himself further, completely closing himself off as he curls up even tighter. He’s undoubtedly irritating his injuries. Noé’s voice softens. “Vanitas…”
There’s no response. Noé knows he probably won’t get one for a while. A lot happened, and Vanitas had been so clearly affected by Noé’s promise… He’s probably starting to remember everything, judging by the expression he’d just been making, so…
Noé isn’t quite sure what to do. He wants to offer comfort, but… Honestly, right now, he doesn’t have the faintest idea of how. He could… just keep talking, stay quiet but try to distract Vanitas from all of it a little bit, or maybe even talk about it, about Misha and the fight, but… That feels like risky ground to tread on while Vanitas is so unstable. Maybe once he’s had a chance to get his feet back under himself, because they can’t just let this sit and fester between them, but right now…
What Vanitas probably needs most of all is space.
It’s… dangerous, leaving him alone - he’s a flight risk on a good day, and this is hardly a good day - but… Vanitas is injured, and exhausted, and although he may very well want to run away, he may genuinely be physically incapable of doing so at the moment. But… even if he isn’t, even if he does push his luck and decide to flee… Noé has to trust him. And if he won’t come back… then Noé can just go find him.
He’ll find Vanitas as many times as it takes, so…
“… I’m going to have a shower.”
As expected, no response. It’s perhaps cruel, but Noé almost hopes that Vanitas remains too exhausted to run, that his adrenaline won’t come rushing back and allow him to escape. Hopefully since he’s already sagged from it once, it won’t happen again.
Noé heads to the bathroom, wary as he shuts the door behind him.
— — — — —
It’s… genuinely a surprise to see Vanitas still sitting there when he comes out.
Of course, just because he’s still physically present doesn’t mean the situation has improved; Vanitas is still curled up defensively, sitting as before with his knees to his chest, but now with his arms folded on top of them, chin resting atop them. His eyes, while visible like this, are still clearly staring a thousand yards from here, lost in thoughts that Noé can only begin to fathom.
Noé had been hopeful, yes, but realistically, he’d thought there was almost no way Vanitas wouldn’t flee.
Approaching Vanitas’s bed carefully, Noé keeps an eye on Vanitas’s face, watching for any signs of danger, but nothing happens. Even as he moves to sit on the edge of the mattress, Vanitas doesn’t so much as blink to acknowledge him.
Well, it’s good that he’s not lashing out, but… “Vanitas?”
Vivid blue eyes slide shut. He seems exhausted, which isn’t surprising. “… What?”
Noé almost asks if he’s okay, but realizes what a foolish question that is before the words can leave his mouth. “… Is there anything I can do?”
In a rare moment of honesty, Vanitas admits, “I don’t know.” Before Noé can suggest anything, though, Vanitas’s eyes reopen, gaze sliding over to look at Noé. “Isn’t it driving you crazy by now?”
“Hm?”
“The scent of my blood.”
Ah, that. “… It’s… a little overwhelming, but I can handle myself. I understand your feelings on the matter. I don’t need it, anyway.”
“But you want it.”
“No, I don’t.” … Well, that’s only half true. If Vanitas was okay with it, he’d certainly jump at the opportunity, but he doesn’t want Vanitas’s blood more than he respects Vanitas’s wishes.
“Oh, really? What a pity, I was going to offer.”
Noé’s pulse jumps at the thought, and Vanitas even shifts the collar of his clothes aside, revealing the unmarked side of his neck; bruised from his injuries, but away from Jeanne’s mark on the other side, ripe for the taking… But the moment Noé’s eyes flick to meet Vanitas’s, seeing that cold smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and, if anything, only makes him seem all the more dead inside…
He doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want to give Noé his blood, but he will let it happen if Noé leans forward to take it.
The only other times Noé’s seen him wear an expression like that… This situation is completely unique, but…
“Please don’t try to force me to hurt you so that you can make yourself hate me. I already said I’ll never ‘set you free’.”
Vanitas looks like he’d just been slapped.
Then he’s practically growling, yanking his clothes back into place with a harsh “Tch,” standing up despite Noé’s protests, heading for the window and disappearing into the night air without another word.
… He probably should have expected that.
Nevertheless, Noé sighs, frustrated, and flops down, uncaring that this is Vanitas’s bed rather than his own. Not like Vanitas uses it most of the time anyway, and he’s clearly agitated enough to probably not come back tonight, either, so… Whatever.
… The mental image of Vanitas’s exposed neck and the delectable smell of his blood haunts Noé for hours.