Archive of Our Own

Meeting Noe and immediately deciding that he had to have this vampire as his partner was both the worst thing to ever happen to Vanitas, and the only good decision he’s ever made in his entire life. 

Noe was a creature of his own. There wasn’t anyone alive who was like him, and for good reason. For someone so otherwise competent, he has no survival skills.

The more reason Vanitas gave Noe to seek better company, the more tightly he clung to Vanitas. Like a psychopath. Nothing Noe does in regards to Vanitas makes any sense at all. Vanitas had him at knifepoint once (sorta), and Noe’s response was to swear to never leave his side. Maybe he was intrigued by the descent of self destruction Vanitas was slowly falling down, and was morbidly curious to see what would happen. That would be the most logical answer, except everything Noe did suggested the contrary; that Noe remained glued to Vanitas’ side because he was intrigued by his personality. Like a psychopath. 

There’s a part of Vanitas that’s actually fairly certain that Noe is, at least a little bit, attracted to Vanitas, which is absurd. Not that Noe seems to be aware of it. And it’s not even in the superficial way Jeanne was attracted to Vanitas. No, Noe seems to be attracted to who he is as a person. Like a psychopath. 

Jeanne’s attraction was reasonable. It made sense.

Just the other day, Jeanne led Vanitas through the city in a fruitless attempt to get Vanitas to stop teasing her, which ended in them both frustrated with each other, Vanitas getting exactly what he wanted (Jeanne drinking his blood and then leaving him alone), and absolutely nothing else. Jeanne was attracted to Vanitas physically, but it was clear that his personality repulsed her. That worked perfectly for Vanitas, who only enjoyed her company because of how she reacted to teasing. 

Jeanne was trained to see herself as a weapon, much like Vanitas himself when he was young. But unlike Vanitas, Jeanne had never been the focus of someone’s affection before. And so, every time Vanitas would compliment or flirt with her, she would freeze and have no idea how to respond. It was hilarious, and her having genuine romantic feelings for him would ruin that entirely. 

Besides, Jeanne was an older vampire, like Lord Ruthven. Noe and Miss de Sade were much younger, even overlapping Vanitas’ age. The idea that an ancient vampire like Lady Jeanne taking an interest in someone so much younger than her— a human at that— was part of the humor of it all. 

In comparison, what Noe felt for Vanitas wasn’t funny at all. It was painful and uncomfortable. Noe has bled for him. He has saved Vanitas’ life more times than he can count. He’s trusted Vanitas blindly, even when he’d had no reason to. He’s picked Vanitas up by his cloak like he were a misbehaving kitten and dragged him to safety, he’s scolded Vanitas about keeping himself safe. He banters, he worries, he purposefully spends time with Vanitas, he goes along with Vanitas’ insane, self destructive plans. When Vanitas flirts or teases, there is never any disgust. There’s a roll of the eyes, a fond smile, a cuff around the ears. There’s a laugh, a response, an interest. And it’s that interest that’s freaking out Vanitas the most.

Because Noe isn’t alone in that interest. The more time they spend as partners, the more Vanitas finds himself being interested as well. He finds himself jumping off buildings expecting Noe to be there to catch him. And that wouldn’t be a problem if Noe wasn’t there to catch him every damn time. Because he is.

And Vanitas knows this is dangerous. How insane would he have to be to have such faith in another, perfectly fallible person like that? He’s not stupid enough to think Noe will stay around forever. They’re only rooming together right now because their interests happen to be aligned. Noe is a complete moral paradox, something of pure virtue that can’t possibly exist in a world like this one— and certainly can’t exist in the same space as Vanitas. Vanitas' existence didn’t allow for someone so… kind… to exist as well. Noe’s very existence went against every long held belief about the world that Vanitas thought he knew. 

People are inherently cruel and self-serving. Even those who believed they were doing good had a selfish reason for doing it. People were opportunistic at heart, there’s only so far a person would go for someone else if it didn’t benefit themselves. 

None of these things applied to Noe. He was a universal exception to humanity and vampire-kind. He made Vanitas question everything. 

Why would he follow Vanitas out into the tundra like this? Why would he put his life at risk just to stay at his side?

“And if I fall asleep, you won’t leave me?”

Noe’s voice is scratchy from sleep, his eyes barely open as he forces himself awake on the train. He can’t bring himself to take his eyes off Vanitas. He says it as if the worst thing in the world would be Vanitas leaving him for even a moment.

“Just go to bed.”

And Vanitas feels dread creeping up his throat, threatening to suffocate him, as he starts to realize that he, too, couldn’t imagine anything worse than Noe leaving him. Even for just a moment. Even as Vanitas knows that the dumbest thing in the world would be to trust someone like Noe this way, to put his faith so completely in Noe’s hands. And Vanitas has never been that stupid.

When Vanitas loses him in the tundra, he doesn’t have any energy to spare on Jeanne, and it seems Jeanne is very much in the same boat. She secures them inside a cabin and warms them up, then insists that Vanitas return to Paris. Vanitas knows that she’s lying when she says she wants to be the one to slay the beast of Gévaudan. But those were her orders, and Jeanne is either unwilling or unable to even question Lord Ruthven when it comes to her orders.  

A living weapon. Looking at her as she treats herself like this makes Vanitas feel sick, in a strange, parasympathetic way. 

He stays in the cabin with her only because he can’t leave. And he drowns himself in fear, and then self loathing for feeling that fear. Noe is fine. And even if he weren’t, Vanitas shouldn’t care. When did he become so dependent on this ridiculous, naive vampire? Vanitas doesn’t need him. He knows he doesn’t. It shouldn’t feel like he does. 

Everything happens too fast and far too slowly, and Vanitas is finally able to do what he came here for— curing Jean-Jacques— and the battlefield goes silent.

“Quack! Quack! Holy fuck! Get over here!”

Not quiet enough, it seems.

Vanitas’ eye twitches as he looks over to Dante, watching the dhampir sprint in his direction.

“They cut off his hand! They cut off his fucking hand! Oh my god—“

Vanitas waits until Dante has caught his breath before asking for clarification. “Care to run that by me again?”

“Noe—“ Dante spoke again. “He was fighting that pink-hair’d guy, and he cut off his fucking hand! There’s so much blood. I think I’m gonna be sick. There’s a major artery in your wrist, right?”

Vanitas felt the cold permeate his whole body. “Where.” He says it like a statement, not a question.

“That way!” Dante insists, pointing to the collapsed bridge behind him. “You’re a doctor. You can fix this, right? I have to go find the others. I think I saw Johann fall somewhere, I don’t know if he’s okay— but I don’t want to leave Noe, and— I put him in the recovery position like you said to. I think.”

“The recovery—?!” Vanitas gaped openly. “That isn't for having a limb cleaved off, you moron! Just— get out of my way.”

Vanitas pushes Dante aside before he has the chance to respond, and sprints as fast as he could in the direction Dante had pointed toward.

The crunch of snow and the ringing in his ears was all Vanitas could hear until he got close enough to smell the blood.

Dante didn’t do it justice. Major arteries bleed fast. It was pooling around Noe’s body, staining the snow and his clothes. Noe’s normally warm skin was deathly pale and cold. Vanitas fell to his knees at Noe’s side, uncaring to see how his pants immediately soaked up the blood like a sponge. The smell of iron was so strong. The blood was nearly black it was so thick. Oh god. That’s not the kind blood you can get back without some kind of magical assistance. 

Vanitas ignores the bite of cold in his lungs as he forces himself to breathe, forces himself to open the Book of Vanitas and flip through its pages. One of the first things Vanitas learned to do with this book was basic healing magic. He knew that he knew how to do this. He just had to fucking do it.

He noticed something sitting in the pool of blood, nearly engulfed, laying in the snow. It was— oh Christ, Vanitas could puke. It was Noe’s severed hand. 

The next action Vanitas took was taken on complete autopilot. He took the severed limb and recited the spell, watching the magic work exactly the way it was meant to, mending the limb back in place and finally, finally, the bleeding stopped.

Vanitas’ hands were shaking, he could feel them shake where he held the book in one hand, and Noe’s hand in the other. Vanitas dropped the book, grabbing Noe with both hands. His eyes hadn’t opened back up yet.

“Get up.” He commanded. “Noe, get. Up. I know you can.”

When he was met with silence, Vanitas felt the sting of tears welling in his eyes, bitten by the cold air. He moved his hands to rest on either side of Noe’s neck, feeling his pulse. Christ almighty— it was faint. It was beyond faint. If Noe wasn’t a vampire, Vanitas would’ve thought he was dead. His breathing was shallow. He was still so pale. He looked dead.

He isn’t, though. Vanitas told himself. He isn’t dead. I saved him. He’s just being stubborn, like when he refuses to get out of bed in the morning. 

Vanitas shakes Noe by the shoulders. “I said get up!” He hisses. “This is a pathetic way to die, even for you!”

Vanitas noticed that Noe is trembling under his hands. Well, of course he is. He just lost a severe amount of blood and they’re in the tundra. The cold was only killing him faster. Vanitas felt like he was the one who was dying. All the air was punched out of him, he could feel the impact in his ribs. 

“Hey.” Vanitas tried again. “Hey.”

Noe stirred under his grasp, but only enough to shiver in full force and just barely open his eyes.

“Noe!” Vanitas hissed impatiently.

Noe seemed to find Vanitas with his eyes, recognizing his presence. His jaw was clenched too hard for him to reply.

“You’re going to be fine.” Vanitas told him. “Don’t be dramatic, okay? You have to get up.”

Noe’s eyes clenched tight again. His whole body clenched tight, shivering and spasming. His body wasn’t regenerating fast enough.

“Damn it, Noe, heal faster!” He scowled. “Don’t you dare die!”

It occurs to Vanitas that Noe is a vampire. And although vampires have incredible self healing abilities, they need to be full on blood to be able to actually heal themselves. And Noe is running on empty.

“It’s going to be okay. Do you hear me, Noe?” Noe doesn’t seem to hear this, shivering and trying to close in on himself. Vanitas looked out into the open tundra to see if anyone was nearby, and saw no one. “Dante!” He called as loud as he could. “Jeanne! Dante, Johann! Somebody!”

But no answer came, and Noe’s breathing slowed down even more under Vanitas’ hands, and the situation became incredibly clear to Vanitas in that moment.

Noe was going to die if he didn’t get to feed in the next few seconds, and Vanitas was the only living thing around for miles.

And Vanitas will blame the cold later. He’ll blame Noe for freaking him out, he’ll blame the leftover adrenaline from their fight. But the truth is, Vanitas has no idea why he did it. He didn’t even think— he reaches into his coat and grabs the knife he stored there, and cuts open a vein on his own forearm. 

He shoves it in Noe’s face. “Quickly, drink.” He instructs.

Noe’s eyes open again— red this time. But his pupils expand so quickly, Vanitas can hardly see the red anyway. He licks his lips, looks at the bleeding wound, and quickly squeezes his eyes shut again and turns his whole head away from him.

Vanitas feels himself flush in frustration. “Are you serious? You can’t refuse blood right now. Don’t be stupid!”

Noe keeps his eyes locked tight, refusing to let his face anywhere near the blood Vanitas offers.

“You stupid vampire! Come here—!”

Vanitas grabs Noe’s head and moves to lean over him, pulling Noe’s face and forcing it to rest against the crook of his own neck. And then— then—

Canines pierce his skin, sinking deep into his neck.

Vanitas knows how this is supposed to feel because he’s let Jeanne do it plenty of times by now. It’s a blistering heat that spreads from the inside out. It burns, it hurts, but in a way that feels nice. 

That’s not what this feels like.

Vanitas almost doesn’t notice anything past that first pinch of fangs sliding into his skin. Then, a fuzzy warmth starts to spread from his core. It’s not a blazing sun, but a cozy furnace, radiating heat outward until his whole body is engulfed in it. He goes fuzzy around the edges, like his limbs are starting to tingle and go numb. Even his mind starts to go fuzzy and blank. It’s like he’s basking in a warm summer’s sun, soaking up the rays of light into his skin and making his inside turn to mush. 

Vanitas was only half aware of hands on his body, plush lips on the side of his neck, until Noe had somehow found the strength to flip the two of them over. Vanitas’ back was against the snow and Noe laid atop him, sliding his teeth back into his skin. Noe made a hungry noise against his ear and Vanitas felt gooseflesh raise along the back of his neck and up his arms. 

Heat pierced through him— no longer warm and fuzzy, but searing and liquid. Vanitas couldn’t feel the cold of the snow under him, nor the stickiness of the blood that now soaked through his coat and hair— only the blistering heat that seemed to melt his insides entirely.

His limbs grew heavy, and suddenly it felt like a monumental task just to keep his eyes open, so he let them fall closed. His mind was completely, utterly, blissfully blank, and Vanitas was certain that he had never felt this comfortable in his entire life. No— not comfortable. This was something Vanitas lacked the words to even describe. Vanitas was wrapped so entirely in Noe’s warmth that it was impossible to tell where Vanitas ended and Noe began. It felt like a sin that there was so much fabric between them. Vanitas couldn’t think, he could only want. And what he wanted was more. More of Noe, more of this sweet warmth that permeated his very bones and mind. 

The heat then turned up a degree, burning even hotter. And this— this heat boarded on being familiar. White hot desire sliced through him, and Vanitas realized he could hear his own loud panting as he gasped for air against Noe’s fluffy white hair. He was suddenly also hyper aware that Noe was laying directly on top of him, their torsos pressed close together. Every point of contact felt like a burning iron on his skin. Noe’s weight was a comforting presence, a desired one. Vanitas was being pressed against the snow and it felt amazing. Imagine that— being trapped between a person and a surface and not being terrified for your life. Vanitas didn’t have any instinct to push away, only craving more closeness. 

The smell of iron and copper reached his nose, and Vanitas wanted— no, he needed more of it. Fuck. He needed… he needed… His limbs were far too heavy, but as his breath grew quicker, Vanitas couldn’t resist the urge to move, to do something. He needed more touch, more warmth, more friction. His hips twitched up on a reflex, trying to create it. He hears himself mutter in something like please, please, please—

Without any warning, Noe’s mouth was suddenly leaving his neck, baring it to the cold of the arctic. Vanitas shivered as the heat disappeared all at once. He was left fluttering his eyes in confusion, trying to remember his own name. 

Noe had propped himself up on his elbows, looking down at Vanitas. He was still so pale, his mouth open and stained with blood, much like the rest of him, as tears slowly fell from his face. His eyes were lilac. He didn’t seem able to focus his vision enough to keep it on Vanitas.

“Va… ni…” Noe’s voice wavered, barely conscious. “I didn’t… ‘m sorry.” His arms gave out on him, and he collapsed back down on Vanitas’ chest. “Mm sorry.” He murmured against his shirt, before his breathing evened out and his tears stopped.

Vanitas was left staring at the sky, arms splayed out around him, laying in a pool of his and Noe’s blood that was seeping into the snow below. He… he couldn’t think. What the hell had just happened?

“Boss!”

“Quack! Where the fuck are you?!”

Fuck. Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

Vanitas pushed himself up with trembling forearms to sit upright, and Noe’s sleeping form slid off his body and into the rapidly cooling pool of blood around them. Free of Noe’s touch, the freezing cold of the winter air surrounded him again, and Vanitas wondered how he’d ever felt that warm to begin with. 

Finally able to fully sit up, Vanitas maneuvered Noe to rest his head on Vanitas’ lap, then reached for Noe’s hand. It seemed… well, it was attached to his body, wasn’t it? He moved his touch to the pulse point on Noe’s wrist. Beating steadily, a fairly average pulse for a vampire, albeit still a little slow. Color had returned to his face, but not nearly enough.

You stupid vampire, Vanitas chastised in his mind, you stopped yourself well before you were full. What is wrong with you?!

Dante and Johann came running up to the wreckage of the bridge he and Noe were resting.

“I found Johann,” Dante called as the two of them came to a stop, “but I can’t find Jeanne or— uh, the other two. Jacques and, uh… Charlotte? Fuck, I already forgot their names. Is Noe still alive?”

“Holy shit that’s a lot of blood.” Johann exclaimed, clapping a hand over his nose and mouth. 

“He—he’ll be fine.” Vanitas heard himself say over the roaring in his ears. His hands were still shaking where he held Noe in place. 

“Oh thank god.” Dante exhaled.

“Since Noe’s not dying, would it still be insensitive to say he smells really nice?” Johann asked.

“What? Really?” Dante gawked at him.

“Yeah. That blood is his, isn’t it?” He repeated. “It smells sweet, like freshly cut fruit. Citrusy.”

“That’s how this smells to you?” Dante scowled, scrunching his nose away from the scent. “This is, like, motor oil and tree nuts. It probably tastes even worse.”

Vanitas licked his lower lip, catching some of the blood on his face with his tongue. Vanitas only smelt and tasted the coppery flavor of blood, because he wasn’t a vampire. He wondered what Noe would taste like if he were a vampire, though. He imagined he’d be sweet, like Tartetatin. Or maybe he’d just smell like that stupid cat. Vanitas felt a smile pull at his lips. I wonder what I tasted like to him? He wondered. Didn’t Noe once say that I smelt sweet…?

The cold of the air froze Vanitas solid for a moment as that thought echoed through his mind. He stared down at Noe, his cheeks flush with Vanitas’ blood. He let Noe drink his blood. He let Noe drink his blood.

The heat from before was completely gone now, and only the cold remained. Dante and Johann’s pointless bickering faded to background noise. Noe, an Archiviste, with his lips wrapped around the pulse point of his neck. 

I told him to do that. Vanitas realized with sudden, terrifying clarity. Noe tried to push me away, he tried to refuse, and I pushed him to do it. 

Vanitas wants to blame whatever vampire venom had scorched Vanitas’ veins for the way he’d acted, but he had completely forgotten about the Archiviste ability to see into memories through blood long before that bite, it had left his mind the moment Dante had pointed Vanitas in Noe’s direction. 

He saw my memories. Vanitas realized. He took my memories. He took them. He took them. He took them he took them he took them—

How could Vanitas have let this happen? How could he possibly forget?! Had he been so terrified to lose Noe that he’d forgotten something that important? Noe wasn’t worth that, he wasn’t even close. No terror at losing— not even a friend! A convenience at best— was worth anyone else having these memories. 

Why didn’t Vanitas fight back? What happened to his instincts? They have never failed him like this before. Even when Vanitas is aware that a touch is perfectly safe, his most base instinct is to protect himself from it. Oftentimes it’s inconvenient. He can’t even mindlessly shake someone’s hand without his gut reaction telling him to pull away. Even when Vanitas was with Jeanne and he wanted to be touched, he had to convince his body to relax and let it happen. But there was no resistance when it came to Noe flipping him over and pressing him into a pool of his own blood. He had been caged in by Noe’s limbs, unable to escape, and Vanitas had felt… safe?

There was no denying it— Vanitas had felt good. Like, really fucking good. How had none of that made Vanitas’ instincts react? In fact, when was the last time Vanitas instinctively brushed away Noe’s touch? Suddenly, Vanitas can’t remember anymore. 

When did Noe lower Vanitas’ defenses like this? How could Vanitas have possibly allowed an exception to slip by him? It didn’t matter how harmless Noe appeared, he was a vampire. a vampire who had taken Vanitas’ memories from him. 

And that means he had to die.

This was a horrible mistake. And now, he had to correct it. Noe couldn’t live now, he couldn’t have these memories and walk away. Those memories were the only things that Vanitas could truly call his own, and Noe was not allowed to have them— no one was. And so, he had to die. 

But not here, not yet. Not where Dante and Johann were standing here and staring at him, asking him to stand up. While not full vampires, dhampirs were still pretty strong, and these two dhampirs cared about Noe quite a bit. If Vanitas tried to kill Noe right in front of them, he’d lose two of his closest allies. No, he would have to wait. He would wait until he and Noe were alone, then he’d get it over with and he’d tell the others that there were complications with the healing spell. 

The cold air sunk beneath his skin, and Vanitas absentmindedly touched the now healed puncture marks on his neck. And he thought about nothing.

…

Jeanne’s second of hesitation had cost her her mission. And the worst part was— it wasn’t even a hesitation. She had stopped on purpose.

Many years ago, Jeanne had failed to slay the beast of Gévaudan. This new order to kill it given by Lord Ruthven was a chance to rectify that mistake. She wouldn’t allow anyone to stand in her way, not even Vanitas. For it didn’t matter if the beast was a curse-bearer or not, Jeanne had her orders and she was not meant to defy them. Why else would she have been woken from her slumber after all this time? There is an ease with knowing your purpose for existence, and Jeanne was fortunate enough to know hers. The young girl Jeanne once was when she had first met Chloè has long been dead. The weapon that rose from her ashes did not ask questions.

So perhaps this was a moment of weakness, or maybe that child wasn’t quite as dead as Jeanne thought she was. But when Vanitas retrieved his book, Jeanne didn’t do what she should have done. She had to kill the beast— even if it was Chloé, or Chloé’s friend. Their history didn’t matter, the orders mattered. But when the moment of truth came, Jeanne let Vanitas have it. 

That man was incredibly frustrating, but when they were in that cabin earlier on the day and he spoke of Jeanne’s history with war and being used like a weapon, he seemed to speak of personal experience. Jeanne didn’t care enough to seek more information, but something about the way Vanitas assumed to know what Jeanne truly wanted made her hesitate. Jeanne didn’t “truly want” anything, because she was a weapon. And weapons don’t “want.” But, looking into Chloé’s eyes as she watched Jean-Jacques roar in pain… Jeanne had stopped herself. She had been doing her job, about to kill them both, and she… stopped. She’d let Vanitas win, she’d let him get to Jean-Jacques first. 

As she crashed into the snow and the battlefield went quiet, Jeanne thinks she understands.

She doesn’t want Chloé to die. 

That’s the simple truth of it; Jeanne wants Chloé to live, even if it goes against her orders.

Maybe the child she used to be really isn’t dead, and that heart she used to have still beats inside her chest. From where she lays in the snow, Jeanne raises a hand to place on her chest to feel for it. It thumps strongly under her palm. Her eyes start to burn. This want is painful. It’s massive. Jeanne can’t kill Chloé. Why does it hurt so much to want?

“…Jeanne?”

The sound of Chloé’s voice comes from somewhere behind her, soft and uncertain. Jeanne forces herself to stand, and purposefully faces away from where she heard the voice. 

“You should go.” Jeanne called out into the tundra. 

She hears the crunch of snow as Chloé walks closer, but still Jeanne doesn’t turn around. “I saw you.” Chloé continued. “You stopped. You could’ve ended it, but you didn’t.”

A sweet and sour scent like lemon water permeated the air, that must be Jean-Jacques’ blood. He was injured, if Jeanne remembers correctly— two slashes across his back. 

“You need to leave, you aren’t safe here.” Jeanne insisted. “Go find Vanitas. He can heal your friend’s wound and find you somewhere to lay low for a while.” 

“Jeanne…” Chloé tried again, “what about you?”

“I’m… I have to report honestly back to Lord Ruthven.” Jeanne replied, still facing the other way. “He can see into my head, learn all that I know. If I am told where you’re going and he asks me to tell him, I won’t be able to lie. I shouldn’t even see that you’ve survived this. The less I know the better.”

“Jeanne.” Chloé’s voice came out as a sigh. Jeanne imagined Chloé’s face thick with emotion. There’s the crunch of snow, and that’s the only warning Jeanne gets before Chloé throws her arms around Jeanne and hugs her tightly from behind. “Thank you.” Chloé gently whispers into her back. 

Jeanne freezes stiff under the touch. She feels something wet slide down past her own cheek— when was the last time Jeanne cried? She can’t even remember. All at once, Jeanne feels like the little girl she was when she first met Chloé. 

“You’re exactly like I pictured you.” Chloé admitted. “You’ve grown up into the beautiful, strong, incredible woman I knew you’d become. I’m so, so proud of you.”

Jeanne’s chest goes tight, it feels like she can barely breathe. Her breath hitches and stutters, she can’t even talk. She doesn’t deserve this praise. She is nothing like the woman Chloé is describing. It hurts, it all hurts. 

“Keep yourself safe, Jeanne.” Chloé instructs kindly, slowly releasing her hold on Jeanne. “We’ll see each other again. Some day.”

The crunch of snow follows as Chloé leads Jean-Jacques away, further and further, until Jeanne can’t hear them anymore.

Jeanne knows she’s alone, and she still doesn’t move. Her vision blurs with tears, and suddenly, Jeanne can’t stop them from streaming down her face. She falls to her knees and lets out a loud sob, letting the sadness and the relief and the pain of it all consume her. 

I do have a heart. Jeanne realizes. What else inside me could be hurting this much?

She sobs, watching her tears fall into the snow, and loses track of time.

…

Chloé and Jean-Jacques find Vanitas soon after Dante and Johann do. Vanitas heals Jean-Jacques’ injury and sends them on their way. The details of it all are blurry, and Vanitas isn’t focused on it entirely the way he should be. His mind repeats the scenes of Naenia, Noe, their fall, all the blood, over and over and over again.

The sun starts to set outside and Vanitas instructs Dante to go get them two rooms at a local inn. Noe is still out cold, and they don’t know where Jeanne went, so they’re not getting back to Paris any time tonight. That’s fine, it doesn’t matter where Vanitas kills Noe so long as he does it. 

Vanitas would buy the rooms himself, but he’s still covered in Noe’s blood, and the innkeepers might turn him away if he looks like he just killed somebody. He hates that he has to specify “two rooms” to Dante, because he hates the knowing look Dante gives him in response. No, Vanitas doesn’t want to share a room with Noe for that reason, he wants to share a room with Noe so he can kill him. 

Once the rooms are purchased, Vanitas has the decency to feel bad for the innkeeper as he drags Noe’s unconscious blood-soaked body into one of his rooms. 

Once inside, Vanitas shed his coat and draped Noe across the bed. He grabbed towels from the bathroom, stripped Noe of his outer coat and dabbed the wet towel across Noe’s face and hair, trying to get rid of the crusted blood.

Dante and Johann return to his and Noe’s room the moment they’d settled into their own, hurriedly asking after Noe.

“Is he gonna wake up soon?” Johann asked for the millionth time.

“Again, Johann, I don’t know.” Vanitas insisted. “Now can you please leave? I need to take a shower.”

Dante smirked, leaning against the doorframe. “Why in such a rush to be alone again? Was it really that good?”

Vanitas glared at him. “What.” He deadpans.

Johann looked up as well. “Oh??” He wonders openly.

“C’mon, do you think we’re stupid?” Dante replies. “When I left you two alone, Noe was literally bleeding to death. The second I get back— he’s flushed pink, he’s laying on top of you— I mean, he clearly just fed, and there was no one else but you two for miles. Plus, you were staring off into nowhere like you just got your brain rearranged. I know post-feed bliss when I see it.”

“Oho?!” Johann gasps.

Vanitas felt himself bristle and flush against his will. “Shut up, baldy! That isn’t even a thing!”

“What was it like?” Johann followed up. “Oh, I bet Noe was so gentle and caring.”

“He was dying!” Vanitas shrieked defensively. “It was an emergency!”

Dante laughed openly at him, and Vanitas swat at him until he could force him from the room. “I said I’m taking a shower! Now leave!”

“Fine!” Dante relented, taking Johann and leaving the room. “I’ll just ask Noe when he wakes up!”

The door slams shut and Vanitas flinches at the sound. When Noe wakes up. Sure.

Vanitas ignores the pit that forms in his stomach, and pointedly doesn’t look at Noe as he moves to the attached bathroom. He’ll kill Noe after this shower, it can’t wait another minute. 

He leaves his various layers all about the room, stepping into the bath and filling it up. The buckets of cold water was a welcome sensation. The blood had been starting to dry and crust against his skin and hair, it was disgusting. And the smell— Vanitas still isn’t a vampire, and he’s never liked the smell of blood. Every time he catches a whiff of it today, his mind’s eye conjures up the image of Noe blood-soaked in the snow, shivering and in pain—

Imagine how much worse it’ll be when you kill him—

Vanitas steps out of the bath, grabbing another towel to dry himself with. He passes by the mirror that hangs above the sink and catches sight of himself. Christ, he looks revolting. The mark of the Blue Moon has crept higher up his forearm, infecting his body even more than before. That last spell really took it out of him.

Vanitas nearly moves on before noticing… something missing. The rose on his neck— Jeanne’s Mark of Possession. Where was it?!

In a panic, Vanitas rushes to the mirror, inspecting his otherwise clear skin frantically. Do possession marks just disappear? In Vanitas’ deep research about vampires, he hadn’t heard of anything like that happening. His Mark of Possession from the Vampire of the Blue Moon was still very clear against his forearm, so that suggests not. A Mark of Possession was typically embedded on the skin of a human victim after feeding as a callsign left behind by a vampire who claims this particular human as their prey. It’s meant to emulate their own scent on the human, warding off other vampires who may desire that human’s blood for themselves, a clear sign to other vampires that this human is taken. 

So, how then did Jeanne’s mark disappear? Did something happen to her? They hadn’t been able to find her after the battle, would her mark fade if she were injured or killed?! No, the Vampire of the Blue Moon had been dead for ages, and their Mark of Possession was just fine. Did Jeanne simply not consider Vanitas “prey” anymore? Could it really be that simple? 

It’s then that another mark on his skin catches Vanitas’s eye. On the other side of his body from where Jeanne’s mark had been, just below his collarbone, right above where his heart would be, was a new mark. It looked like a circlet of small purple orchids, gentle and soft, not taking up much space.

Noe.

Oh fuck. God fucking damn it.

Vanitas felt heat rise to his face. Good god, Noe, could you not control yourself? Well, no, probably not, considering he had been dying of blood loss at the time. He’d displayed a rather impressive show of restraint by refusing himself blood initially and then stopping himself from feeding before he went too far, and that was already a stretch. But still— two vampires now had left possession marks on his body entirely by accident. How easy was it, exactly, to create a mark, then?

Dread climbed back up Vanitas’ throat, making him genuinely nauseous. He tried to ignore it, collecting his scattered layers and redressing himself. This didn’t matter. It didn’t. Maybe Noe’s claim on him was so strong, it had wiped Jeanne’s away. So what? Who cares? It was possessive and disgusting and Vanitas doesn’t need this. He doesn’t need a symbol literally attatched to his body as proof that somebody like Noe genuinely wants him around. Someone like Noe sees Vanitas as part of himself. He couldn’t care less. He doesn’t need it. 

Vanitas, now dressed and clean, forced himself to leave the bathroom, rejoining his and Noe’s shared space. He knew what he had to do, and he ignored the part of himself that was making him feel sick. It didn’t matter. Noe didn’t matter.

Noe was asleep still, quiet and tranquil over the covers of the single bed in the room. Vanitas would’ve been worried about sharing it with him if he didn’t already know he wasn’t going to.

He approached his sleeping form slowly, taking his time to look while he still could. Even asleep, Noe was beautiful. Vanitas had always thought so. He still remembered seeing Noe for the first time on that airship. The grace in which he dodged Vanitas’ attacks, the casual strength he displayed in fleeing, the genuine care in which he showed Amelia, a person whom he’d never even met before. Noe was beautiful, that was just a fact.

Absentmindedly, Vanitas ran a hand through Noe’s fluffy white hair. Even after all that fighting and all the blood, it was still so soft. How did Noe accomplish that?

Softly, Noe’s eyes fluttered open. Lazily and still half asleep, he looked around the room, noticing Vanitas’s presence and moving his head. “Vanitas…?” He murmured. “Wha…?”

Vanitas withdrew his hand as if burned, watching Noe slowly wake up, still clearly lethargic and recovering. As he sat up, he wobbled, nearly falling back down had Vanitas not instinctively reached out to stray him.

Oh, there you are, reflexes. How nice of you to join the party. Vanitas remarked to himself sarcastically. Why is my instinct to catch him?

“You lost a lot of blood,” Vanitas told him, “don’t move so suddenly. You’re going to be dizzy for a little while you regenerate.”

Noe blinked at him again. “Lost…?” He wondered.

Vanitas glared at him. “You got your hand cut off?” He attempted to remind him. “Remember?”

Noe stared blankly at him, then moved to look at his hands, flexing them open and closed. “Oh… yeah… that’s right. Astolfo.” He then crinkled his brows, as if realizing he still had both hands. “Wha— wait, shouldn’t I be missing one of these?!”

Vanitas sighed, releasing Noe from his grasp. “I healed you, stupid. Don’t you remember?”

“No.” Noe answered. “You can heal severed limbs?! That’s incredible!”

Vanitas stared at him. “What do you mean you don’t remember?!” He snapped. “What exactly do you not remember about it?!”

Noe blinked. “Uh… I remember Astolfo cutting my hand off.” He recalled. “Then, uh… Dante was there, I think. I told him that this hurt way more than I thought it would. Then he said to stay still for something, and ran away. I think I was laying in the snow for a while? I don’t remember anything after that though.” He took another look around the room. “Did you bring me to safety? Thank you, Vanitas. Where are we?”

Vanitas staggered backward, suddenly incredibly dizzy as blood rushed up to his brain. “You… don’t remember?”

Noe flexed the healed hand, looking up at him, his expression still wonderfully blank. “Hm?”

“You don’t remember.” Vanitas repeated with more certainty. He has no idea the name of the emotion that floods through him at that moment. Relief? Anger? Frustration? He can’t be sure of any of it. All he knows is that he’s stuffed so full of it that he doesn’t have room for anything else. He has the urge to laugh manicly the way he did when he and Noe had saved that child curse-bearer back when they first met Roland beneath the church. 

Noe’s expression turned to concern. “Vanitas? Are you okay?” He wondered. “Did I forget something? Did something happen?” His expression turned even more frantic as more possibilities for Vanitas’ oddness began to come to him. “Is Chloé and Jean-Jacques right? Jeanne didn’t actually get to them after you did, did she? Is Jeanne okay? What about Dante and Johann?!”

“Everyone is fine you stupid vampire!” Vanitas yowled. “I can’t believe you! You— you don’t remember any of it!? You— you—!” 

“Remember any of what Vanitas?” Noe asked innocently. Vanitas resisted the urge to kill this vampire. To kill himself. To fling the both of them into the sun. “What happened? Are you okay?!”

“No!” Vanitas shrieked. “You—! You heathen! You utter moron! I can’t— you can’t just—!”

Noe’s face was so soft in its worry. So genuine. It made Vanitas sick. “Vanitas? Please, what happened?”

“You!” Vanitas exclaimed furiously, grabbing at Noe’s waistcoat and pulling him in closer. “You happened, you absolute—! You utter—!”

Noe didn’t even flinch, allowing Vanitas to manhandle him like he wasn’t ten times stronger than Vanitas and would easily be able to break out of this hold if he wanted to. No, he only looked up at Vanitas wide wide, innocent eyes— the bastard. 

“You— you drank my blood.”

Noe’s eyes went even wider, if that was possible. “No,” he denied, “no, I wouldn’t do that. I promised you I wouldn’t.”

“Well, you did.” Vanitas insisted. “You were bleeding out, and you—“ he flubbed over the words, stuttering, “you— it— I was— you can’t honestly say you don’t remember. You’re the one that did it! What did you see? What memories did you steal from me?!”

Noe’s gaze grew more distressed and concerned, still letting Vanitas grab at his clothes and hold him still. “What? No, Vanitas, I would never betray your trust like that. I’m being honest— I don’t remember a thing! I have no idea what I saw! I’m so sorry, I’m being honest! I’m sorry, Vanitas.” His gaze turned pitiful, like a pleading puppy, as he looked up at him. Those lilac eyes, the same soft lilac as the orchids on his chest, must’ve mesmerized him or something, it’s the only explanation. “Are you…. Oh god, are you going to kill me?”

Vanitas released him. Took a step back. “No.” He heard himself say. “I… you aren’t lying to me, you don’t remember what you saw. But— listen to me well, vampire.” He made sure their gaze stayed connected. “If you ever come to remember any of it, I’ll be able to tell. Don’t try hiding it from me, because I’ll know, and I’ll kill you.”

Noe only blinked up at him, nodding wordlessly, accepting the statement. Accepting his own demise at Vanitas’ hand. 

“I’m sorry, Vanitas.” Noe said again. “It won’t happen again, I guarantee it.”

“Don’t give me empty words, vampire.” Vanitas snapped. “If you’re well enough to speak, you should go take a bath. You’ve got dried blood all over you.”

“Vanitas,” Noe tried again, still fixing him with that gentle look. “I really am sorry. Please believe me.”

Vanitas couldn’t look at him anymore. He turned to face the opposite wall and waited for Noe’s next move. 

Noe stood up, wobbling and nearly falling over. He used the bed frame for support, and dizzily walked over to the connected bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Vanitas let out a loud sigh, sitting down where Noe had been moments before. His heart was beating too fast, like he had just survived a plummet he was sure would kill him. Why is Vanitas reacting like his life was just spared? Noe should be the one freaking out right now, not him. 

He isn’t sure how long he sat there before his brain started working again, but it was long after he started hearing the running of water from their connected bathroom. As his thoughts once again got off the ground, Vanitas realized what was troubling him so.

When Noe had reassured him; It won’t happen again, I guarantee it. I really am sorry. Please believe me. Vanitas had believed him. Vanitas’ most base instinct was to believe him, there was no resistance coming from within like he would’ve expected. It’s as if in his heart of hearts, Vanitas truly believed that Noe would never hurt him intentionally.

Unbelievable. Vanitas cursed internally. What have you done to me? 

A soft knock came from the room’s door, and Vanitas forced himself to his feet and walked over, opening it.

Jeanne stood on the other side. As always, she towered over him, her yellow eyes found his and none of her visible emotions changed. The only oddities were the state of her clothes, being ruffled and dirtied from battle, and her face… it was puffy and red, she looked like she’d been crying. But Vanitas literally couldn’t picture such a thing, so he figured he must be imagining things.

“Oh good, you’re well.” Jeanne greeted with no preamble. “I’m sorry it took me so long to catch up with the rest of you. I had some things to wrap up before reconvening with you all.”

Vanitas blinked at her. “How did you find me?”

“Dante and Johann told me which room you were staying in.” She said, like that explained anything. “They also said Noe was in dire straits. Could I see him?”

“If you really want to, sure. But he’s in the shower.”

“Ah,” Jeanne exhaled, and there it was. The cracks in her armour. She flushed and turned away, likely imagining Noe naked. Vanitas smiled. Not because he was imagining the same thing, but because Jeanne was quite the sight to behold when she allowed emotions to rise to the surface. In another instance, he might’ve pushed the issue further, making her even more flustered. But right now, he was too tired for it. “In that case, I’ll wait until he’s finished.”

“How polite.” Vanitas snipped. 

Just as he was about to slam the door shut on her, she caught it and shoved herself into the room. She sniffed at the air, and then— as if smelling something off— grabbed Vanitas by the collar and shoved the fabric aside. Vanitas flinched away from the touch, convincing his body to relax as she manhandled him, knowing whatever Jeanne was doing wasn’t going to hurt him.

Why hello, instincts. Welcome to the party. Where the hell have you been?

His bare neck faced open to the world. Jeanne stared, scrutinizing it. “How did…?”

Vanitas, suddenly hyper aware of what Jeanne was now seeing (or, rather, not seeing), hastily shoved her and himself out of their room, closing the door behind him. Jeanne didn’t flinch, her gaze lingering on the bare skin where her Mark of Possession used to lay. 

Vanitas gave a quick glance to his left and right, checking the hallway to make sure they were alone. When he saw no one, he released his hold on Jeanne.

“Have you ever heard of anything like this happening before?” He hissed.

“No, I haven’t.” Jeanne answered. “But I can ask Lord Ruthven or Miss de Sade when I return, if you want—“

“No!” Vanitas yowled. “Jeanne, no one can know about this.”

Jeanne blinked at him. “No one? Is it that big of a deal? If you’re that concerned, I can just create another mark.”

“No!” He repeated. “That isn’t—!” He cut himself short with a sigh. “That’s not what’s concerning me.”

“Oh.” Jeanne replied. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Good. You don’t need to.” Vanitas said. “Just… don’t tell anyone about this, okay? It stays between us.”

Jeanne stared, as if confused about Vanitas’ cageiness about this. Vanitas didn’t know if he had any answers for her. “Well… alright, then.”

Ah, yes. This is another thing Vantas adores about Jeanne. She never asks questions. Unlike some other vampires he knows. 

“I suppose that means we won’t be able to meet anymore. I don’t want to offend another vampire if they were to mark you now.” Jeanne says. “It’s just as well, I was just thinking that having a possession over you was getting inconvenient.”

Vanitas gave her his biggest, pleading eyes. “Inconvenient? You don’t like having me as your own personal blood bag? And here I was, thinking we were having such a good time together.”

There it is— another crack. Jeanne flushes again, turning away. “That isn’t at all what I meant! You know very well that I— I mean—!”

The running of water from the inn’s room stopped, and Vanitas had to assume Noe was finally done with his bath.

“If you’re still concerned about Noe, he should be done just about now.” Vanitas told her. And then— really, he couldn’t help himself— “But maybe wait until he’s dressed.

As expected, her flush grew darker. “I despise you.”

She shoved Vanitas aside and opened the door, waking inside. A moment later, Noe emerged from the shared bathroom, looking clean and soft from his shower. His white clothes were stained dark brown with blood. The poor maids at the hotel who will have to get those stains out…

“Noe.” Jeanne addressed. If you strained for it, you could almost hear a pleased tone to her voice.

Noe looked up, noticing her presence in the room. “Jeanne! It’s good to see you. Are you alright? What happened to you after the battle?”

“I’m fine,” Jeanne answered, “and I’m glad to see you are as well. I was informed by Dante that you lost a lot of blood. Thank goodness you’re alright.”

Completely without subtlety, Noe guiltily glanced to Vanitas before answering. “Yes, I’m definitely feeling better now, thank you.”

“Actually, I came here to thank you.” Jeanne corrected. “Both of you.” She repeated, opening up her stance to address both men. “For saving Chloé and her friend, and stopping me from killing them. I was being stubborn. I had given up on seeing the good within Choé, but you didn’t. I’m so grateful.”

“Don’t thank me, I only tagged along.” Noe replied humbly. Quick to brush off his contributions, as always. “Vanitas is the one you should be thanking.”

Jeanne smiled kindly at him. “Oh, I’m sure he would have been killed long before he reached the battlefield had you not been with him, so I figured I’d extend my thanks to you both.”

Noe didn’t respond right away, a light flush creeping up his cheeks, and a saddened expression as he looked away. And then, he didn’t reply at all. Did he still feel guilty?

Vanitas felt an echo of that guilt in his own chest. Oh please, what do I have to feel guilty about?! He’s the one who drank my blood! I have nothing to be sorry for!

“Yes, well,” Vanitas replied in his stead, “I just did my job. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going for a walk.”

He left Noe and their room behind as fast as he could, before Noe’s inevitable puppy dog eyes made him hesitate.

…

Vanitas returned after it was well and truly dark out, and he assumed Noe must already be asleep. Noe went to bed fairly early anyway, there was no reason for him to still be awake by this point.

Of course, this is the one time when he happened to be wrong.

When Vanitas returned to their temporary room, Noe was still awake. He sat on the bed, clearly exhausted, but forcing himself to stay up. He greeted Vanitas with a nervous smile when he noticed him enter.

“Vanitas!” He chirped. “I, um— Dante and Johann came by earlier with something to eat. I saved a plate for you!”

Noe stood up too fast, nearly falling over in his eagerness, and grabbed the silver plate on the nightstand and presented it to Vanitas. Mashed potatoes, peas, and a slab of chicken in the center. Noe held it out like it was a peace offering, his smile was strained and he was turned down and away, looking up at Vanitas through his light eyelashes. His body language was all but screaming his guilt. Vanitas couldn’t look him in the eye.

“Right.” He growled, snatching the plate from him.

“And, um, I'm feeling much better!” Noe told him nervously. “So, I asked for some spare bedding from the maids, and, see—“ Noe stood aside, showing Vanitas a spot on the floor where he had collected extra pillows and blankets, “I figured you should take the bed, and I’ll sleep down here. It’s actually a lot more comfortable than it looks!”

Vanitas was going to throw up. “You’re going to sleep on the floor? Like an animal?” He spat. “You’re pathetic.”

Noe looked away. “I’m sorry.” He said, his voice small and pitiful. It made Vanitas’ stomach clench. Christ almighty.

“And— it— it doesn’t matter how much better you feel, you’re still healing, dumbass.” Vanitas told him. “You shouldn’t even be using that arm right now! Give it a chance to rest.”

“Sorry.” Noe repeated.

“It should be in a sling, for Christ’s sake! If you want it to get any better, you can’t be curling yourself up into a little nest on the floor like a chipmunk.” Vanitas continued harshly. “Go sleep on the bed like a regular person.”

Noe risked a look up, his eyes wide and curious and full of hope. “Really?” He asks, as if wondering if maybe his food offering had been accepted, and maybe this bed was an offering in return. Vanitas hates how he can read Noe’s intent like this.

“I’m your doctor, I know what’s best.” Vanitas insisted. “Don’t make me repeat myself!”

Noe broke into a tender smile, one Vanitas couldn’t bring himself to look at directly. “Thank you, Vanitas.”

And the way he says his name—

“Just go to sleep already. Can’t you tell your body needs it? Stop fighting it.” Vanitas spat. “Doctors orders.”

“Of course.” Noe replies, chipper as ever. “Do you want to take the nest? Or— if it’s not comfortable, we can share the bed—“

“Wha— share? With you?!” Vanitas sputtered. “So you can kick my ribs all night? No thanks. Worry about yourself, I’ll manage just fine.”

“Okay.” Noe says, that same loving tone unchanged. “Thank you, Vanitas.”

“Oh, enough!” He revolts, sitting down on the wooden chair in the corner of the room to stuff his face with food and avoid further conversation, ignoring how his cheeks flushed red.

Noe only giggles at his expense, and dutifully returns to the bed to go to sleep.

Vanitas watches him as his breathing evens out, clutching the pillow to his chest as he always does, and the pain in Vanitas’ chest settles into something warm and fuzzy, and Vanitas can’t stand it. He closes his eyes, trying to squeeze the feeling out of his mind, but all he could think of was the utter relief he felt seeing Noe, alive, sleeping in that bed.

No. He told himself sternly. No no no no no no. Not allowed. Stop it.

But the churning in his guts didn’t heed the warning, continuing to churn and whine, making him feel nearly ill with wanting. Why was this painful? Why did it hurt so much to want?

...

That night, as Vanitas sat on that chair and tried to drift off to sleep, a memory came to him. He wasn't sure if he fell asleep and it came to him in a dream, or if he just closed his eyes for a moment, but the memory came in sudden and striking clarity.

It had been several years ago by this point. He was with Luna and Misha, wandering the forest picking berries to go with their lunch. 

Vanitas lagged behind the other two, and Luna strayed to let him catch up with them. He doesn’t remember how they got him to talk about it, but they came upon the subject of Vanitas’ loneliness.

Listen, everyone is alone. They’d said, watching Misha prance around trying to catch butterflies. Both humans and vampires. It isn’t possible to understand another person completely. And because of that, no matter how hard we try to get close to another person, a space will remain. Sometimes that space can feel very cold, that’s what we call “loneliness.”  But it’s human and vampiric nature to grow close to others, even if we can’t completely close that gap, because we can at least share our warmth to starve off the cold. 

Vanitas scoffed at this disbelievingly. They’d sounded too cheesy to take seriously, at the time. Luna bent down, letting Vanitas climb onto their back so they could carry them.

Someday… yes— even after I’m gone, I hope you’ll have someone who’ll be close to you like this. They said. …No, I’m sure you will. Provided that you don’t close yourself off to it. If you avoid that, then I know even when you feel lonely, you won’t be alone. Just as the two of you are here for me, even you— one who’s forever cold— will meet someone who’ll keep you warm.

When Vanitas opens his eyes, it’s morning. 

That happened so long ago, Vanitas thought to himself, rubbing his eyes. Why am I thinking about it now? 

…

And thus began Vanitas’ descent into madness.

Or, something like that. It was his descent into something, though he lacked the vocabulary and understanding to name it. Or, rather, he was too busy looking for an alternate explanation that would give him the answers he wanted, rather than name what he vaguely knew to be true. 

When he and Noe returned to their shared room at the hotel, Vanitas felt like the world was caving in on him. He remained in the room, covering himself up with the blanket and hiding from the world. 

Noe started asking questions immediately— 

“Are you okay? Are you sick? Should I get help?”

And Vanitas has waved him off every time. He doesn’t need Noe’s pity or his help. He stays alone, caught up in his mind, going over the events of Gévaudan. The battle, Noe collapsed on the snow covered in blood, Vanitas’ own inability to think straight seeing him in that state, the bite, the Mark of Possession, Vanitas’ reaction. The way it had felt. The way Noe pleaded with him— It won’t happen again, I guarantee it. I really am sorry— those sad, guilt ridden puppy dog eyes—

This is impossible, he can’t be going through this. This is obscene, it’s— it’s— it can’t be happening. He must be sick, that’s the only natural conclusion. The only problem is; he has no idea what he could’ve possibly come down with. Or when. Or how. The cold? Maybe?

Vanitas makes a mental checklist of every possibility he can think of and goes through the process of elimination to discover what could be wrong with him. Starting with illness, he opens his medical textbooks and skims over every page. Nothing describes what he’s feeling. That rules out a sickness. It could be indigestion, food poisoning, but if that were the case, it could have passed by now. And while it would explain his stomach pain, it wouldn’t explain his altered mental state. Repeating the same scenes over and over— why can’t he think straight?

Is it an effect of having a new Mark of Possession? Vanitas ravages his collection of vampire medicinal and historical texts, looking for examples of something like this happening before, and finds shockingly little. In all fairness, vampires haven't put as much research into this topic as they ought to.

Vanitas thinks about bringing this up to Noe multiple times throughout the day, but decides against it every time.

It's been too long now, it'll be weird to bring it up.

I'm still mad at Noe for this, I don't want to talk to him.

I'd rather understand this for myself before Noe buts his stupid face into it.

Even to Vanitas' ears, these sound like pitiful excuses.

This mark feels so different from Jeanne's. Not that the marks feel like anything in particular. Maybe it's just in the way that Vanitas associates it. Noe's mark feels so much more... weighty. Like, Noe's mark upon his body means so much more than Jeanne's did. To be perfectly honest, talking about it may lead to Vanitas thinking about it, which may lead him to discover why this means so much to him, and Vanitas would really rather not.

Does Vanitas even want Noe to know what he did? Somehow, that feels even more terrifying. Acknowledging how much of an impact Noe has had on Vanitas... Noe knowing— seeing the proof of how much he's impacted Vanitas... kill me now.

Besides— none of his books describe any sort of side effects for humans receiving a mark. At least, not like this.

Vanitas eliminates possibility after possibility. It isn’t a disease, and it isn’t a cold. It isn’t indigestion or food poisoning. Okay, so maybe his body is reacting to stress? Sometimes the body can suffer the effects of too much strain on the mind. That may explain his altered mental state, but usually stress manifests as aches and pains in his back or hips, not as stomach pains. 

But this could just be an odd manifestation of stress. An outlier. It’s the closest thing Vanitas can attribute to his delima. Now, if only he could figure out what’s stressing him out so much—

Noe’s lips on the side of his neck, those lilac eyes filled with terror as he asks “are you going to kill me?”

Nope! Not that! 

Vanitas is stressed about something that happened in Gévuadan, that’s not hard to guess. His mind keeps returning to Noe, and what happened between them that day. Obviously, this is the source of his stress. But what about that is stressing him out?

“Va… ni… ‘m sorry…”

Nope!!

It would make sense if Vanitas were this stressed when Noe was still unconscious, then he would easily be able to deduct that he was stressed because Noe had gleaned his memories. But Vanitas knows now that Noe didn’t see anything— or, didn’t remember anything he saw. So what did Vanitas have left to be stressed about?

“It won’t happen again, I guarantee it. I really am sorry—“

Enough!!!

This must just be a delayed reaction to the stress Vanitas felt when he thought Noe had stolen his memories. He didn’t have the time to internalize what that meant for him because it all happened and then resolved itself so quickly. And now the stress he felt then has caught up with him, and his body is paying the price. 

Yep. That’s what it is. It can’t be anything else. The process of elimination never lies. 

“Thank you, Vanitas.”

Stooooooop.

Okay, that’s a flimsy excuse, Vanitas is big enough to admit that. But “that” explanation was one of the very first things he eliminated. It wasn’t possible, that wouldn’t happen to him. And even if it did, admitting it gave into defeat. And Vanitas would not be defeated.

There was a logical, medical explanation for his symptoms, there always is. And Vanitas will find it, because he always does. That’s all there is to it. End of story!

The day they return, Vanitas spends the entirety of in his bed, tossing and turning and unable to shut off his thoughts. He endures Noe’s worrying, and falls into a fitful sleep.

When the morning of the next day comes around, it seems that Noe is done worrying. 

He yanks Vanitas’ bedcovers off him.

“What the hell is your problem!?”

“You didn’t leave your bed all day yesterday,” Noe said, wrestling the blankets away from him, “and now you’re going to do the same thing today unless someone makes you get out of bed.”

“And that’s a good excuse to wake someone up like this first thing in the morning?!” Vanitas hissed.

Noe sighed. “Vanitas, it’s noon.”

The news of this surprised Vanitas enough to let Noe catch him off guard, swipe away the blankets, and toss them elsewhere on the floor.

“There we go!” Noe chirped in delight. “All ready to start the day.”

Vanitas buried his face in his pillow. “You’re the devil.”

“Vanitas, please,” Noe leaned over the bed, over Vanitas, bracing his arms against the bedsheets, “if you’re sick, you should go to the doctor.”

“I don’t need a doctor,” Vanitas said for the millionth time, “I am a doctor.”

“Well, I don’t see you treating yourself, do I?” Noe argued. “Please let me call a doctor.”

“Absolutely not!” Vanitas revolted, keeping his face covered. “I will not have some stranger give me a physical.”

A soft sound came from Noe. “Then… what can I do?”

“Nothing.” Vanitas hissed. “Go away.”

There was a pause where Vanitas almost believed that Noe gave up, until—

Suddenly, Noe had his hands on him, effortlessly lifting him up over his shoulder with only one hand (because the other was in a sling at Vanitas’ request) and fleeing from their room.

“What the hell?!” Vanitas protested. “Let me go! What is this?! Noe! Noe!”

But Noe didn’t listen to a word of it. He continued to drag Vanitas through the halls of the hotel and through a set of doors.

“Count Orlock!” Noe announced. “I need your help!”

“Orlock?!” Vanitas exclaimed. “You took me to Orlock? What the hell is he gonna do?!”

All at once, Vanitas was dumped on the guest couch in Count Orlock’s office, laying down on his back. Orlock was at his desk, Manet and Nox were standing nearby. He spotted Murr sitting on the table, eating something out of a bowl. 

“Monsieur Archiviste, I didn’t authorize an appointment for you today.” Orlock says tirelessly. 

“Please?” Noe pleaded. “He’s been like this ever since we returned to Paris. He won’t leave his bed, he won’t eat— I think he’s sick. And he won’t allow me to call a doctor. I don’t know what else to do.”

“I’m not sick!” Vanitas shrieked.

“You said you were sick yesterday!” Noe argued.

“I just said that to get you to leave me alone!”

Noe glared at him. “Well, then, what’s the matter with you?”

“The Count can’t help you with your depression.” Nox spoke.

“I’m not depressed either!”

“Then what are you?” Manet asked.

Nox hit him on the side. “Don’t encourage this!” She whispered to him.

“I— I don’t know!” Vanitas sputtered.

“Well, what are your symptoms?” Orlock asks curiously over the counter of the desk.

“Count.” Nox sighs.

“I’m not talking about this with you people.” Vanitas said, retreating into the couch to hide his face. 

“Good.” Nox muttered.

“You said your stomach hurt.” Noe answered for him. “But then you said you don’t have a stomach bug.”

“Because I don’t.” Vanitas replied. “I know what a stomach bug looks like, I’m a doctor.”

“With no medical license." Nox said under her breath.

Vanitas, having ignored her other snipes, sat up and addressed this one personally. “Do you have something you wanna say to me?!”

“It all started when we returned home from Gévuadan.” Noe described. “Do you at least know when you started feeling this way?”

“Do I—? Of course I do!” Vanitas hissed. “And so do you!”

“Hm?” Noe hummed blankly.

“It was after you—“ he cleared his throat, remembering they had an audience, “after you did… that thing. To me.”

“Ah.” Noe said, finally getting it.

“Oh?!” Manet gasped loudly.

“You did what to who?!” Nox exclaimed.

Vanitas felt himself flush red. Okay, way to back yourself into a corner. Good going, Vanitas.

“I fed from him.” Noe explained.

“Noe!” Vanitas hissed. 

“What?” Noe wondered innocently. “You’ve had vampires feed from you before, it’s not groundbreaking news. I don’t see why we have to keep it vague.”

Vanitas groaned, cursing Noe’s lack of general knowledge and social awareness. Why must Vanitas be more knowledgeable than Noe about vampire social customs and the implications of feeding in modern day France? Now their bosses and coworkers are all going to get the wrong idea.

“Ooooh.” Manet coo’d.

“What did he taste like?” Orlock asked.

“Oh, um, I don’t know.” Noe replied. “I was dying of blood loss. I don’t really remember the whole thing.”

“Oh.” Orlock replied, clearly expecting more.

“So sorry to disappoint you.” Vanitas snapped. 

“Hey, you’re the ones who interrupted my very important… paperwork.” Orlock countered, looking down at the stacks of paper on his desk with disdain. “Something I definitely wasn’t dreading doing. So if you’re going to distract me from work, you should at least make it interesting.”

“Count Orlock, you have to at least start it.” Nox pleaded.

“So, you’ve been feeling off because I fed from you?” Noe asked Vanitas. “Do you feel anemic?”

“What? No. My blood levels are perfectly fine.” Vanitas insisted. “This doesn’t have anything to do with… that. I don’t think. And that’s not— I mean, listen— I know that something's off, and I know when it started, but none of the ailments in any of my medical textbooks for humans align with any of my symptoms, so I’m at a bit of a loss right now.”

“What are your other symptoms?” Manet inquired.

“I— I don’t know!” Vanitas screeched. “Just like— well— I feel hot all the time.”

“Uh huh.” Noe encouraged. 

“And I don’t have an appetite. And I can’t sleep, because I can’t stop thinking in circles.” Vanitas finds himself describing. “I keep thinking about that day, and I keep picturing you bleeding out into the snow, and I keep remembering how it felt to…” Noe’s lips on the side of his neck, white hot desire slicing through him— “And I keep feeling sick to my stomach, especially when my thoughts loop around to when I almost—“ when I almost killed you “—lost you. And, mostly, I’m just pissed off. I'm angry, and I’m sweaty, and I feel like I’m going to either throw up or die.”

The three other vampires only stared at him in response, slowly sliding their gazes over to Noe.

Noe, meanwhile, looked up at Vanitas from the couch with those big, lilac puppy dog eyes. “You’re angry?” He wondered. “Are you… maybe… still upset with me for drinking your blood?”

Oh god almighty, those eyes. Noe looks devastated, shrinking in on himself and pleading with those big sad eyes of his. The feeling comes back in full force, and Vanitas feels utterly sick, sick to his stomach. He’s going to puke. 

“Stop looking at me like that!” Vanitas yowled. “Good god! It’s like you’re trying to—“

Vanitas’ brain connected to unrelated dots, doing mental gymnastics like a champion. 

“Wait a minute,” Vanitas said suddenly. He stood up on the couch and pointed an accusatory finger in Noe’s direction. “This is your fault!”

Noe frowned. “It is?”

“You must’ve put some kind of curse on me or something!” Vanitas accused. “This all started when you drank from me, and that’s the moment I can’t stop thinking of. And— come to think of it— I’ve never felt like this when any other vampires have fed from me in the past. It was far more intense and… strange. You must’ve done something to me! If it isn't a curse, maybe you poisoned me!”

“But…” Noe replied slowly, confused, “I don’t know how to do that.”

Vanitas’ frantic vindictiveness deflated. “You wha?”

“I… I don’t know how to curse people. And my fangs aren’t venomous.” Noe elaborated, looking up at him from the couch. “Can you think of any other theories?”

Vanitas sucked in a long stream of air, feeling himself grow hot with embarrassment. Yeah, okay, maybe that didn’t actually make the most sense. But the only other explanation is one he can’t seriously consider. It’s one that he’s already crossed off when he tried to diagnose himself via process of elimination. It wasn’t possible, it was just absurd. He wouldn’t entertain it. 

Silence enveloped the room for several seconds too long until, eventually, Count Orlock snickered. All at once, Nox and Manet burst out laughing. Noe looked just as confused as ever. If it were possible for Vanitas to burn even hotter, then it happened.

“Don’t laugh!” Vanitas hissed. 

Nox recovered first. “Okay, that was very entertaining, but the Count has to return to work.” She quickly ushered Vanitas and Noe off the couch and pushed them to the door.

“But—! Wait,” Noe protested, “we haven’t figured out what’s wrong with him!”

With one final shove, Nox kicked them out of the room. “We can’t cure stupidity, Monsieur Archiviste.” She told him. “Have a good day.” Then, she slammed the door on their faces.

Noe, panicked, banged on the door, begging to be let back in. Vanitas, wanting to crawl into a hole and die, made a French exit as fast as possible, leaving the hotel without Noe even noticing he had moved. He needed a moment to himself. 

…

“If there ever comes a day when I’m truly not myself anymore, I need you to kill me, okay? Promise me.”

Jeanne’s words echo in Domique’s mind. She had confided in Dominique many years ago now that she was cursed in some way. Not like the curse-bearers the vampiric world is familiar with, but something else. Something unique. 

Dominique has been the only person who Jeanne has come to with this. Until recently, that is. Because Vanitas.

She had no idea what Jeanne or Noe saw in that little freak, but Dominique didn’t like it one bit. Her two closest friends are both suddenly fawning over some guy? A guy who came out of nowhere and inserted himself into both their lives in a matter of days, and happened to be carrying around an ancient relic on a keychain. Was nobody else suspicious of this?

In Dominique’s humble opinion, Vanitas looked like a little rat. A very kickable little rat, and she didn’t trust him one bit.

Jeanne had asked this of Dominique years ago, when they were finally getting close for the first time. Jeanne had been woken from her slumber, and she had a hard time adjusting back to the world. Jeanne didn’t see herself as a person, and seeing that broke Dominique’s heart. She took it upon herself to insert herself into Jeanne’s life, become her friend, someone she can rely on. 

Dominique, aside from Luca who she was assigned to protect, was the only one to take any real interest in her, and so she was the first to find out about Jeanne’s… affliction.

Neither of them could figure out what exactly Jeanne was afflicted with, exactly. Only that it caused Jeanne to be overcome with bloodlust and lose control over herself. And it was getting worse.

Jeanne attacked Dominique the night she discovered it. They had been out and about, Dominique showing her around the city, and something had… triggered her, somehow. And Dominique found herself being pinned against a brick wall with Jeanne’s fangs in her neck. 

“I woke up like this.” Jeanne had explained to her. “It wasn’t like this before. And it keeps getting worse. I’m afraid it’ll only continue to get worse and worse until I can’t control it, until I can’t even recognize myself anymore. If there ever comes a day when I’m truly not myself anymore, I need you to kill me, okay? Promise me.”

Of course Dominique had promised. She remembers—

“The way I see it— if I have to die, I want you to be the one that kills me. Noe, please—!”

Dominique can never forget. She can take this burden onto herself, just as she had taken Louis’ burden from Noe. All it would cost her is her blood.

At first, Jeanne was embarrassed about it all. Worried about besmirching Dominique’s good name by allowing herself, a bourreau, to be seen with her in public. But Dominique had never cared for things like that, and she had made it clear to Jeanne that it shouldn’t matter. Still, Jeanne insisted they meet behind closed doors, and Dominique obliged if it meant Jeanne felt safe enough to come to her.

From then on, Jeanne would find Dominique when her urges became uncontrollable. It was convenient, as they ran in the same social circles. Jeanne always knew where to find her if she needed it, and Dominique was always prepared to give whatever she needed. Even if it bled her dry, she would offer her neck. Just as she did for Noe— he couldn’t feed from anyone else because no one else would let him, for fear of him seeing into their memories. But Dominique knew he was harmless, and she knew he needed someone, and Dominique had always been prepared to sacrifice whatever she needed to in order to become that someone.

What would be the difference doing that for Jeanne as well? Besides always being a little tired or dizzy, besides sacrificing her strength, her time, her health. It didn’t matter. It never did. She could be dead right now, instead of Louis. It was only by a random flip of a coin that Dominique had been the one to survive out of the two of them, and somehow, Dominique had lucked out. What was the purpose of her survival if she didn’t use it for something? What was the point of being alive if she could not be of use? 

Whatever happened to Jeanne in Gévaudan had left her ravenous. She had found Dominique and pulled her aside, feeding until Dominique felt lightheaded. She left angry bites all up her neck and down her collarbones. They would be hard to hide later, but the vampiric elite already knew Dominique de Sade was fond of high collars and turtlenecks. 

“Vanitas was there with you, wasn’t he?” Dominique found herself saying, getting a bit delirious from blood loss. “How come you forced yourself to wait until returning to feed?”

Jeanne, while not actively sucking her blood, placed kitten licks on the open puncture wounds around her collar, lapping up the blood that poured out from them. “I think he got a mark from someone else.”

“A Mark of Possession?” Dominique wondered. “From who?”

“I don’t know.” Jeanne replied. “All I know is that he smelt different. Someone else put a claim on him, and I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes. My claim on him was pure accident, anyway. I’m not concerned by the loss.”

Dominique pushed away the satisfaction she felt at that. Maybe it was petty, but she didn’t care. She had been Jeanne’s first pick. Sure, Vanitas discovered her ailment by accident in the same way Dominique did all those years ago, but Dominique was here first. And she never saw the appeal in having a human as a secondary source of blood for when she needed it. Jeanne was never in the human realm anyway, and a human wouldn’t be able to take as much feeding as a vampire would. Now, Jeanne was all hers again.

“You wouldn’t be able to get full from feeding on a human anyway.” Dominique reassured her in her decision. “They don’t replace their blood as quickly, and they’re so fragile. If you ever fully lost control, he wouldn’t be strong enough to shove you off him. I think it’s for the better that you cut him loose.”

Dominique sneaks a hand up Jeanne’s back, subtly pulling her in closer, requesting to be bitten again.

But Jeanne pulls away, sitting across from her on the bed and looking downcast. …Maybe that was too far. Jeanne must not have enjoyed being reminded of how easily she could accidentally hurt someone. And, really, who does enjoy feeling like a bull in a china shop? Stupid, Dominique. Why did you say that?

“I’m sorry.” She remedied quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that. I know you… like him.” She tries not to say it with too much disgust.

Jeanne doesn’t look back up at her.

“Mademoiselle Dominique," Jeanne asks, always so formal, “do you remember what you promised me?”

Dominique blinks. “Yes.” Of course she does, how could she forget?

“If there ever comes a day when I’m truly not myself anymore, I need you to kill me, okay? Promise me.”

“I nearly killed my friend today.” Jeanne spoke, monotone.

A chill runs down Dominique’s spine. “Who? Vanitas?”

She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter who. What matters is that I nearly did it. It would have been so easy, too…”

Dominique grabs her wrist. “I didn’t mean what I said. Jeanne, you’re not some mindless monster. You’re a person with a beating heart, you wouldn’t do something like that.”

“But I would have.” Jeanne argued, finally looking back up at her. “I remember how it felt. I just… I want you to remember your promise.”

Dominique swallowed. She had made that promise a long time ago now, knowing full well what it meant. But to know Jeanne thought it was this close to coming to fruition…

“I remember.” She said. “I promise, Jeanne.”

Jeanne looked away. She smiled. “Thank you, Mademoiselle Dominique.”

Jeanne’s blood on her hands. It was a burden she was willing to bear. Louis’ blood already stained her, what’s a little more?

…

Vanitas finally stopped fleeing halfway across a bridge that crossed the Seine. His mind keeps looping the same memories, over and over.

“And if I fall asleep, you won’t leave me?”

“No, Vanitas, I would never betray your trust like that.”

“Thank you, Vanitas.”

He caught his breath, leaning over the side of the river. 

This can’t be happening. Vanitas decided. He clutched desperately at the fabric around his chest, like he could tear this feeling out with his bare hands. What am I supposed to do with this?

“Je t’aime!”

Vanitas flinched, swiveling his head to a random man, lowering himself down in the middle of the bridge to kneel in front of a woman. He was clogging up traffic, so the people around them also stopped to stare.

“We’ve known each other for a long time now,” he said to her, “and I’ve realized just how much you mean to me. That time last month where you were bed ridden with the flu, I had never been more terrified in my life. When I’m in pain or I need someone to talk to, your image appears in my mind. Around you, I feel safe and happy. Your wellbeing took over all my thoughts, and I imagined a world where I didn’t have you to confide in or be with, and it scared me more than anything. It was then that I knew I couldn’t live without you. Maria, will you marry me?”

The crowd that had gathered around them cheered and coo’d, ooh’d and aww’d, as the girl, Maria, wept and kissed her man over and over. 

Vanitas, meanwhile, felt the world collapse. Fire rained from the sky, the earth cracked open the pits of hell, and Vanitas needed to get the fuck out of here.

There’s literally no way. It’s just not possible. Why would something like this even happen? And to Vanitas of all people? No, it wouldn’t happen, it can’t. Vanitas wouldn’t— he wouldn’t—

“Vanitas,” Noe had asked under the radiant light of the moon, spinning Vanitas around and holding him in his arms, “what on earth is love?”

No. No. No no no no no. Motherfucing fuck piece of shit. Vanitas cursed privately, stomping off the bridge and towards nothing in particular. Get out of my head!

Vanitas turned a random street corner and stubbed his toe on some random stranger’s outside seating chair leg, and screamed. Because of course he did. Of course this would happen. The universe hates him.

Vanitas stumbles back and gets a glance at this random stranger—

“What’re you doing here?!”

Roland the insufferable Chasseur beamed his radiant smile up at Vanitas, completely blind to his troubles. “Vincent! Fancy meeting you here!”

Vanitas froze. This was one thing too many. He no longer had the processing power to take in any more information. He’s at his limit.

“…Friend of yours?” A man is sitting across from Roland. He has long, sleek black hair and piercing eyes, and he looks deeply unamused.

“Yes!” Roland chirped. “Let me introduce you, Vincent! This is my colleague, Olivier!”

Vanitas winced. Another Chasseaur, what joy.

Olivier looked at Vanitas up and down, quickly, and Vanitas felt incredibly judged. “Roland,” he says, not addressing Vanitas at all, “I don’t care what you do on your own time— quite frankly, the people you take to bed are none of my business— but for the love of all things holy, can you please keep me out of it?”

Roland got as close to a frown as Vanitas has ever seen him. “Olivier. Oh my god. Vincent is not a sex worker.”

“What?!” Vanitas yowled.

“Really?” Olivier questioned, giving Vanitas another once-over. “Then what’s with the getup?”

Self conscious, Vanitas tugged at his coat. “These are just my clothes.”

“Olivier, honestly,” Roland contented, “it’s like you think I’m some deviant.”

“Whoever you have waiting for you on the outside is your business.” Olivier repeated. “I don’t want to know. I’d really rather not have a repeat incident.”

Roland leaned in to whisper-shout “That was one time! I told you not to bother me that night.”

“You didn’t say you were sneaking someone into your room.” Olivier argued. “How do you even know this guy? None of us have time for shit like this outside of work.”

Oh. Vanitas had never taken Roland for the type, he couldn’t imagine him having experience with something like that. Huh…

Roland waved his critique away bashfully. “Vincent and I met over a drinking contest! That’s all.”

“Really?” Olivier raised an eyebrow at him. “Because he’s looking at you like you killed his grandmother.”

“I’m being honest!” Roland assured him. “What, you don’t believe me?”

Olivier gave him a silent, disbelieving look. He raised an eyebrow like Really? When he finally looked away, he directed a question toward Vanitas.

“I’m sorry if my colleague has inconvenienced you in any way.” He says. “If you’d like, you can sit with us and he’ll buy you a coffee to make up for it.”

“Oh! That’s a great idea!” Roland was quick to second. “Sit with us, Vincent! It’s been so long since we last caught up.”

Vanitas, only taking in about half of everything being said, absently sat down on the third chair gathered by the small table the two Chasseaurs were sitting at. “Yeah. Sure.” He said with no emotion whatsoever.

He missed Roland and Olivier exchanging a worried glance. 

…

“…And so, Olivier and I were flying over Paris just a moment ago! Once the exhibition starts, it’s bound to be crowded. So I’d go now if I were you!”

Vanitas doesn't know how long he’s been sitting here listening to Roland talk about nothing, but it’s been long enough that he is having one or he thoughts in his mind at a time instead of nothing at all. But that doesn’t mean he’s comprehending any of what Roland is saying. Anxiously, he turned the question he wanted to ask over and over in his mind, trying to build up the courage to ask it without sounding like a complete idiot.

“You know,” Roland said to break the silence, “you’re coffee’s getting cold.”

Vanitas swallowed. “Are you…”

Roland and Olivier sat up straighter. “Yes?”

“Are you, like, used to that sort of thing?” Vanitas asked, his voice meek and unsure. He hates it.

“Piloting a small aircraft?” Roland guessed incorrectly. "Fairly used to it, yes!”

“No!” Vanitas snapped. “The other thing! The thing you said earlier!”

It two blank stares, Vanitas attempted to elaborate.

“The… the thing about— you know!” God, this was so fucking stupid. “Like, a special someone.”

Roland eyes lit up in understanding. “Oh! Like a lover!” He recognized. Christ, even the word was mortifying. “No, I don’t! Not right now anyway.”

Olivier snorted. “‘Not right now’.” He repeats humorously.

“But you do… have… experience?” Vanitas tried again.

Roland and Olivier shared another look before Roland answered. “Uh, yeah! Sure. What about it?”

“So, um, there’s this… acquaintance of mine…”

Rolan beamed at him while Olivier looked uncomfortable. “Oho?”

"And he has this… friend.” Vanitas attempted to explain. “Except— no, it’s not really a friend. They’re more like… colleagues. They just work together, that’s all.”

“Sure.” Roland chirped. “I know how that is.”

“And uh…” Vanitas’ words start to become a little more certain as he goes along. “So… so they aren’t even friends, you see. Actually, the two of them don’t even really like each other. So he came to me the other day, because something happened and he was really confused.”

“What happened?” Roland asked patiently.

“Well, he didn’t give me all the details.” Vanitas explained as vaguely as possible. “But apparently, he saw his coworker in a lot of danger, and for some reason, it really freaked him out. The coworker is totally fine now— better than fine, and he’s still all worked up over it.”

Roland’s smile grew cheeky. “Worked up how?”

“I don’t know!” Vanitas snapped. “He just— he keeps thinking about how his coworker almost died, and how that would’ve changed things. Like, at his work. And he thinks about what a big empty space would be left behind if anything happened to hi— them. And he doesn’t know when that space got so big, or why he let it get to that size. And he feels stupid and clueless and angry at himself and he doesn’t know why.”

Roland’s expression pinched, his smile knowing. “Are we suuuure this ‘acquaintance’ of yours really doesn’t know why he’s feeling all this?”

Vanitas slammed his hands on the table. “What does that mean?!”

Sporting a pained look on his face, Olivier— who had been silent this whole time— finally spoke. “Good god I can’t take this anymore.” He relented. He fixed Vanitas with a sharp look. “You’re in love with him. This coworker of yours? You’re madly in love with the guy. And pretending you don’t know that you’re in love with him isn’t going to make you any less in love with him, it’s just going to make you look stupid.”

Vanitas felt his insides freeze.

“Olivier!” Roland hissed urgently.

“Someone had to say it!” Olivier insisted. “He wasn’t gonna admit it on his own, and I can’t stand this conversation anymore! I’m not sorry.”

“No.” Vanitas says to himself. “No, I… I know.” He said. “Fuck. I know. I hate this.” He feels pressure behind his eyes and chooses to ignore it. “How do I make it stop?”

“Huh?” Roland hummed.

“I’m used to pain, but this is unbearable.” Vanitas murmured. “I have to make it stop.”

“But, um, Vincent—“ Roland spoke hesitantly, “if you’re talking about who I think you’re talking about, I think he likes you too, you know?”

“Stop it!” Vanitas growled. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Va— Vincent,” Roland spoke gently in a way that felt grating, “I’ve seen the two of you together. Noe adores you.”

“I said shut up!” Vanitas yelled. “That isn’t the point! I don’t want him to, he can’t!”

“He can’t?” Roland repeated. “Why?”

“Because it’s such a revolting idea!” Vanitas insisted. “How could it be possible… to love a person like me…? I’m so…” Vanitas looked down, finding his voice growing smaller and smaller. “I’m so cruel. I’m terrible to him. I push him away, I yell, I… I don’t need him. I don’t want to need him, I can’t…”

Roland gave him another small smile. “I don’t think that’s something you can just decide.”

Vanitas scowled at him. “Oh, forget this!” He hissed, pushing out his chair and standing up. “I was a moron to try and talk about it with the likes of you. Get out of my way!”

Vanitas slammed the chair back into the table and huffed, stomping away from the Chasseurs. Screw them. Screw this whole thing! Vanitas didn’t need any of it!

…

Noe had been looking for Vanitas ever since the latter had gone and disappeared on him. Honestly, running off like this while sick? It’s a miracle Vanitas hasn’t gotten himself killed yet.

As he’s walking down the Paris streets, he suddenly hears Vanitas’ voice. He turns a corner and sees him sitting at a table with a familiar figure. Was that Roland? 

“Because it’s such a revolting idea!” Vanitas shouted. “How could it be possible… to love a person like me…?”

Noe froze. He was only a foot or so away, but it felt like an intrusion to approach him now. Whatever Vanitas said next was too quiet for Noe to hear. Roland said something in response, and Vanitas stood up. “Oh, forget this! I was a moron to try and talk about it with the likes of you. Get out of my way!”

As Vanitas stalks off once again, Noe sighs and attempts to catch up with him. Roland, who had of course seen Noe the entire time, smiled as he passed. His companion, a man Noe didn’t recognize at all, spared him a small, knowing glance.

“Um. Hi.” Noe greets, unsure what kind of expression rests on his and his companion’s face. 

“Go on.” Roland says. “Hurry up after him.”

Noe blinks. “Right.” He said. “See you later, Roland!”

…

Dominique roamed about the human realm later that night, after her rendezvous with Jeanne. She had originally come here with the intention of finding Noe and talking this out with him, but the moment she stepped foot in human Paris, she knew she couldn’t.

This was Dominique’s burden to bear, not Noe’s. He had enough going on. Both he and Jeanne were relying on her. She had to be strong enough to endure this on her own, she knew that.

And here she was, roaming the streets of Paris with the desire to lay her burdens on someone else. How pathetic. 

It all just feels so heavy. She wants Jeanne to see her as a pillar of strength, someone she can rely on with her heaviest burdens. She wants to be the person she comes to when she needs a friend. She was taught very young that the strength of a facade was her most important tool, and Dominique would never break. It’s just that… the idea of losing her, the idea of not being enough… it’s heavy.

The weight of losing Louis hasn’t gotten any lighter over the years. If she were to lose Jeanne in the same way, would she be strong enough to carry on?

She sits down on a bench, trying to clear her thoughts. She has to return back home before anyone knows she was missing, she’s just… she just needs some air.

She couldn’t have been sitting there for more than a minute before a young boy walking down the street notices her. He has light hair, and the bluest eyes she’s ever seen. He sits right now next to her, startling her. 

“Hello Mademoiselle.” Said the boy. “Are you alright? You look sad.”

Dominique looks up at him. There’s something familiar about his blue eyes, something she’s seen before, but she can’t place it.

…

Noe is aware Vanitas is sulking on the roof. Vanitas knows he is, because he keeps opening the window and checking if he’s still there. Eventually this isn’t enough, and Noe decides to come outside himself.

“If you stay out here, you’ll catch a cold. Like, for real this time.”

“Shut up.”

Noe climbed up the side of the hotel— still only using one hand, the other being in a sling— and moved to stand next to him.

“Manet just told me that there’s been a string in murder victims that seem to have been killed by a vampire in the city, starting around the time we left for Gévaudan.” Noe continued, sitting down next to him. “Sounds like it could be a curse-bearer, don’t you think?”

“I don’t care.” Vanitas groaned.

Noe sighed. After a short pause, he flung something at Vanitas— a blanket.

Oh.

“You know,” Noe spoke, “I’ve been thinking about that man I fought in Gévaudan, the one who cut off my hand, Astolfo.”

Vanitas, softened by the gesture, tugged the blanket around himself. “What’s there left to think about?”

“It was the first time I’d met a human who hates vampires like that, who saw vampires as monsters. It was scary. I didn’t understand how someone could blindly hate a whole race like that.” Noe explained, standing back up on the roof. “Then, Roland told me a little about him. He said that Astolfo had a bad experience with vampires, once. That a young vampire had murdered his entire family, and how he used the hatred he feels for that vampire to fuel his hatred for all of us. And it got me thinking.”

“About what,” Vanitas scoffed, "racism?"

“About you.” He answered.

Vanitas blinked. “Pardonemé?”

Noe lept down from their roof to the second, glass roof beneath them. He looked back up at Vanitas.

“You also had your family taken from you by vampires.” Noe explained. “Just like him. You’ve been hurt by vampires and humans alike, and like his Astolfo, that anger consumes you. I can see it clear as day.”

Vanitas fumes. “What’re you trying to say, here?”

“I’m saying that you could’ve easily turned out just like Astolfo, but you didn’t.” Noe said. “In case it wasn’t clear, I still dislike you as much as before. You’re annoying, and reckless, and you can be a real pain. But you don’t use your pain to cause pain to others, even when you have every right to. You choose not to. The reason you didn’t become Astolfo was because you chose to become something else. Something better. What I’m saying is; I’m glad it wasn’t a Chasseur who greeted me onboard La Baleine, but a doctor who specializes in saving vampires. And,”

He turned to look up at Vanitas, the soft glow from the ballroom below Noe shown through the glass, cutting soft golden rays across his cheekbones and hair.

“I’m glad I didn't remember anything I’d seen in your memories.” Noe said, the fondness of his smile making Vanitas pause. “Because I don’t need to know who you used to be to know who you are now. And, Vanitas, you are a person who chooses every day to help people. Maybe you’re stubborn, and maybe you can be cruel, but at the end of the day, your heart is kind. You are kind. And I’m happy you’re here with me exactly the way you are.” 

Noe’s smile turned painfully honest. Like this is the easiest feeling in the world to him. And maybe it is. Maybe, to Noe, loving is as easy as breathing.

“I’m sure you’d rather not have heard it, but I wanted to say that at least once.”

Vanitas’ chest constricts until he feels like he can’t breathe. How can Noe say something like that and believe it? Vanitas always assumed that if anyone were to love him, that person would revolt Vanitas. Because what kind of person must you be to see everything horrible thing Vanitas has ever done and excuse it? A person with no morals, surely. A person Vanitas would never associate with. 

But Noe…

Noe is the antithesis to everything Vanitas has ever believed about people. People are inherently cruel and self-serving. Even those who believed they were doing good had a selfish reason for doing it. People were opportunistic at heart, there’s only so far a person would go for someone else if it didn’t benefit themselves. 

But to Noe, the world was inverse. It didn’t matter why you did what you did— if you saved people out of spite, you were still saving people. Instead of wondering when someone’s charity would run out, Noe wondered how much of his affection Vanitas would accept before pushing him away. Was there a limit to what Noe to give? Did Vanitas really want to see the bottom? 

Oh, Vanitas hates this. He feels like there’s a cushion under him now. And if he were to fall, Noe would surely be there to soften his landing. How did he come to rely on Noe so? No, that’s not the question he should be asking himself anymore. It’s clear that Noe is just a reliable person. He wears his heart on his sleeve, and always speaks his mind. He cares for Vanitas, and the allure of being in Noe’s affections was impossible to ignore. Of course Vanitas fell for him. How could anyone be caught in that lilac gaze and not fall in love? The real question is; why did Vanitas allow himself to let this happen? How could he? He should have severed ties with Noe the moment he felt warmth at his touch. Now, he feels the threads of affection that tie them together like a noose. There is no escape. Vanitas loves him. He loves him.

There's a warmth that fills him at the concept, and suddenly, the memory from the other night flashes into his mind-

Even you- one who's forever cold- will meet someone who'll keep you warm.

Vanitas' hands find their way up to his clavicle, where he knew Noe's possession mark rest on his skin.

“You… you… y-you can’t just…” Vanitas stutters. 

Fuck. God fucking damn it.

“You can’t just say shit like that!” Vanitas hisses. “Go away! I don’t want your bullshit!”

Noe only looks up at him and giggles.

“Don’t laugh at me!” In a fit of anger, Vanitas takes off one of his shoes and launches it at him. “Piss off!”

Noe dodges easily, and his shoe bounces on the glass ceiling uselessly. He scowls at him. “Did you just throw something at me?!” Noe gasped. “What the hell is your problem? I try to have a civil conversation—!”

“Go awaaaaayyyeeeaahhh!!!” Vanitas whines, covering his ears.

“—and you throw shit at me—“

“Noooooo!” 

“—like a toddler throwing a tantrum—!”

“Piss ooofffff!!!”

“Okay fine!” Noe snapped. He bent down to pick up what Vanitas threw. “But take your shoe back!”

Before Vanitas has time to dodge, Now launches the shoe right back at him, and it hits him right on the forehead. 

“I’m going for a walk.” Noe announces, leaping off the building.

Vanitas winces in sudden anxiety. “Noe!” He called, clamoring to look over the side of the roof.

Noe, who had landed as gracefully as a cat on the cobblestone below, looked back up at him with an innocent expression. That bastard, he totally did that to scare Vanitas, and he did it on purpose.

“Yes?” Noe calls back up to him.

Vanitas burns. His face must be near scarlet by now. “Don’t come back!”

Noe laughs again, the joyous sound ringing out through the Parisian streets. Noe waves him goodbye, and heads out on his walk.

Finally alone again, Vanitas sighs. He falls down on his back and stares up at the moon. He’s doomed. 

…

I will not leave you! I won’t set you free!

Vanitas doesn’t need him.

He tells himself this over and over. He doesn’t need Noe, he has never needed Noe. If it really came down to it, he would have been able to kill Noe that day in Gévaudan. 

Vanitas knows that what he feels is love, but he won’t be a slave to it. He is stronger than this feeling. He doesn’t need Noe, he doesn’t need anyone.

Vanitas needs to prove it, desperately, to himself. 

He doesn’t need Noe. If it came down to protecting Noe or his memories, it would be easy to get rid of him.

He tells Noe as much when the opportunity arises, just days later in an abandoned amusement park his “brother” lured them both to. 

You seem to have misinterpreted our relationship, vampire. The two of us have only been working together up until this point because our ambitions coincide. You’re nobody to me. I don’t need you. I don’t need you. I don’t need you. I don’t.

Vanitas thought it would be so easy to convince himself of it. Killing Noe would be easy. Noe didn’t matter to him, and it would be easy. But as Vanitas holds his knife over Noe’s throat, his own throat constricts. It feels like he’s the one that’s about to die. He feels a pain in his chest that he’s never felt before. It spreads from his ribs to his gut to his palms, until there’s not an inch of his body that doesn’t feel like it’s dying. Not even the hypnosis is strong enough to beat this feeling out of him. 

Those beautiful lilac eyes look up at him, and Vanitas can no longer feel his own resolve. It’s suddenly apparent to him that there is nothing more important to him than the vampire currently laying underneath him, throat bared, ready to accept whatever Vanitas decides. 

This selfless, tender-hearted man… he’s snuck past every defense Vanitas could have used against him. And now, here he is, breaking down in tears, unable to kill for the very first time in his whole life. 

What have you made of me? Vanitas wails to himself. Why can’t I kill you?

But he knows the answer. He loves this man. He needs this man. He’s doomed. 

…

He couldn’t let Domi leave without saying goodbye, so when she asked him to come see her off, he left the hotel room and walked outside with her.

She was silent for a long time, leading him to a bench on the side of the road, and sat down. Noe sat beside her.

“I’m sorry.” She said, the first she’s spoken in the ten minutes since they’ve left the hotel. Domi looks exhausted. It makes Noe’s chest hurt.

“Don’t be sorry.” Noe cut in. “I’m the one who should be sorry. All these years and I never noticed this was weighing on you so heavily. I should have noticed, I should be the one apologizing.”

Domi shook her head. “No, you don’t understand.” She said again. 

Noe reached out, holding her wrist. “Help me understand, then.”

Domi looks at him, defeated, and sighs. “You and Louis were my only family.” She says. “And yes, I know— grandfather, and Veronica. But they’re not my family. It was always the two of you. When we were growing up, I looked up to you both. I hated that I had to be separated from you guys all the time. I didn’t understand why I had to have etiquette lessons, and why I wasn’t allowed to talk about either of you with anyone else but grandfather. There was a lot I didn’t understand, back then.”

“Me either.” Noe agrees.

“But there is something I figured out for myself.” Domi continued. “As the years passed, you and Louis grew closer, and I realized that the two of you shared something that I wasn’t part of. I thought, maybe, that’s because I spent so much time away from you, but that wasn’t the only reason.”

Noe raised an eyebrow, confused. Domi held his hand.

“Did you know you were in love with him, Noe?”

Noe’s eyes widen. “I’m… what?”

“It was something I couldn’t touch.” Domi went on. “When he died, and I learned that it could have easily been me instead, I often wondered if maybe you felt the same way I did. That maybe you also wished he’d been the one that lived, and not me.”

Noe shook his head. Of course not, how could Domi think such a thing?

“With Louis gone, you were my only family. I saw how much you missed him.” She said. “Did you know, during that week after his death when you were out of it, you actually woke up once? I was there. You mistook me for Louis and cried, so happy he was still with you.”

“I… didn’t know that.” Noe replied. 

“I should’ve been the one that died that night. I wish it had been me.” She admits. “And it’s just—“ emotion starts to pool in her eyes. “Now that he’s gone, you’re all that’s left, Noe. The only family I have, the only person whose opinion matters anymore. I thought that maybe… maybe if I could get you to love me the way you loved him, if I could be him for you, if I could fill the void Louis had left in your heart, then maybe I could finally convince myself that I deserved to live. Afterall, I’m the reason you don’t have him now, right?”

“Domi,” Noe spoke, unbelieving. 

“You’re my only family, Noe. And I love you.” She says. “But… not like that. I never have. I… I don’t think I’ve ever loved a man that way. I’ve been awful, Noe. I didn’t love you, but I wanted you to love me, just so I could prove something to myself. But I don’t think… even if you did feel that way for me, I still don’t think it would be enough. I don’t think anything is enough to convince me that I deserve this chance at life. Because I know I don’t.”

“Domi,” Noe says desperately, “don’t ever say that about yourself! You’re my family too. Of course I love you. And even if it isn’t in that way, it shouldn’t matter! Don’t you think I’m glad you’re here with me? Do you really think I’d trade you for anything? Of course I miss Louis, just like you do, but if you had been the one who died, I would have missed you just as much. So don’t talk like your life matters less than his did, especially to me. Both of you were my friends, and you both mattered so much to me back then. Even if—“ he chokes on it, this concept Domi seems so sure of that Noe has never even considered before, “even if the way I felt for Louis was… different… than the way I feel for you, it was never any less.”

A small, sad smile pulls at Domi’s lips. “I’ve been so scared to tell you any of this. I didn’t want to know what you thought, because I knew it would be something like this. The truth is, if I never told anybody about how I felt, then I could just keep hating myself forever. No one could talk me out of it, because no one would know. I didn’t want you to talk me out of it, I wanted to hate myself. I wanted that pain, that grief— something about it was… comfortable. And I’m still scared, Noe. I don’t want to move on.”

“Domi,” Noe pleaded, holding her still, “please don’t suffer by yourself. Let me be there with you. I miss him too.”

Domi’s emotionless expression broke, and tears burned in her eyes. Noe hugged her close, refusing to let go as she sobbed with him.

…

Vanitas decides to give up. 

When he finally wakes after their fight, every part of his body hurts. He is sore all over, he’s too tired to be angry or to hate himself. And yet, the feelings he has for Noe remains. 

It doesn’t seem worth it to fight them anymore. It’s clear that the love he feels isn’t going anywhere. It’s frustrating. Vanitas wishes he could hate it with the same fervor that he used to, but what’s the point? It’s too late now. He couldn’t cut ties with Noe even if he wanted to. And maybe more importantly, he doesn’t want to. 

For the first time ever, someone’s affection doesn’t scare him. The love Noe gives him feels soft. It feels safe. Vanitas could snuggle into it and stay warm forever. 

Maybe he’ll just be selfish now. He has Noe’s affection and he never wants to let go. Imagine that when Vanitas finally meets his end, he can die knowing he was genuinely loved?

“If I truly have to die, then I only have one wish. To die at the hands of Noe.”

The little circlet of orchids on Vanitas' chest feels warm to the touch, even though Vanitas knows it's the same temperature as the rest of his skin. He thinks again about bringing it up to Noe, letting him know about it, but again he refrains.

The mark feels like physical evidence of how Noe has changed him. Proof that Noe's presence in his life has changed him irrevocably, and how he can never go back to how he was before. The idea of Noe seeing and understanding that terrifies him. Knowing how big of a space Noe takes up, just how massive his influence is... it's scary. What if Noe sees that and it scares him too? What if Noe sees it and he doesn't understand? What if Noe apologizes? What if he wants to take the mark back? What if Noe says I'm so sorry Vanitas, you know I didn't mean it like that! You know I'd never—

Never in a million years—

I'd never try and claim you! I'd never want you as my own!

Of course I don't want you, Vanitas. Who would?

Vanitas tells himself that Noe would never be that cruel, but he's not convinced. Noe would apologize.

I’m sorry, Vanitas. Vanitas remembers Noe saying to him, eyes pleading, still lying covered in his dried blood on the bed in that inn. It won’t happen again, I guarantee it.

Won’t happen. Never again. 

He would see the mark as an act of ownership, and Vanitas— he doesn't think he could take it if— if Noe says he regrets the mark. If Noe apologizes like the mark is something bad, something he's ashamed to have done. If he says he's ashamed of this attachment to Vanitas, if he says he wishes it were never even there—

Anyway, Vanitas keeps the mark to himself, concealing it under layers of clothes every morning, changing his bandages in the bathroom to hide his skin.

Vanitas tells Noe whatever he wants to know, once they’re both healed and rested, and his brother has finally left them alone. Noe asks for shockingly little.

“I wish I had more to tell you about teacher,” Noe tells him. “But even I don’t know all that much about him. I don’t know what his plans are, I’ve never… I’ve never seen him as the kind of person to do anything like this. I don’t know what to think.”

Vanitas swallows. This must be hard for Noe, he always spoke so highly of his teacher.

“Domi doesn't know either. I asked her before she left.”

“I said I would look into it.” Vanitas told him. “Don’t worry about it anymore, okay?”

Noe’s smile was small, but it was sincere. It warmed Vanitas’ heart. “Thank you, Vanitas.”

They can’t return to work for a while, both of them needing to heal from their last fight, and Count Orlock is strangely lenient with them about it. Maybe the old man is finally warming up to them. 

As the days turn into weeks and the weeks into about a month and a half, Vanitas keeps expecting Noe to go right back to his usual chipper self, but it doesn’t happen. Noe smiles, but it never reaches his eyes. He spends time with Vanitas, but he feels so distant. Anxiety grows in his lungs like a cancer, and Vanitas starts to worry that something’s on his mind.

It isn’t until he goes down to the cafe one morning for breakfast and sees Noe chatting away with Amelia that he notices something. Noe is bright and alert while talking to her, he’s at his usual old self again. But the moment he turns to Vanitas—

His smile runs from his face, and he looks all forlorn again.

Vanitas doesn’t quite know what to make of it. It doesn’t seem like Noe is mad at him exactly, but something’s definitely off. And it has something to do with Vanitas.

Not only that, but Noe seems to be avoiding him. Or, maybe not exactly avoiding, but the usual way that he seeks out Vanitas’ company is gone, leaving Vanitas in a situation where he has to actively seek out Noe’s company when he wants it. And Vanitas doesn’t ever really do that. So he’s a bit lost at this sudden change.

Now that Vanitas has noticed the lack of Noe’s attention on him, he can un-notice it. He feels its lack, and it’s starting to get on Vanitas’ nerves. 

Noe works in the cafe downstairs. Once he’s deemed “fit to work again” by his doctor, Vanitas, he returns to usual shifts of being a waiter. 

Vanitas can’t get used to the fondness he feels towards this man. It’s unprecedented, he had no idea it could be this intense. Now that he’s not actively in denial about it, anyway. And that fondness tells him that Noe looks… nice. In his uniform.

He’s not very good at this, is he?

Let’s start again— Noe looks… well, he’s got this little half apron tied around his waist, and it’s… cute. And he has his hair is tied back so it doesn’t get into the food, and that looks… nice.

Whatever. He looks nice. His stomach is all up in arms about it, and it’s making it very hard to eat anything. 

But Vanitas isn’t here for food, he’s here for Noe. It’s not that he has some kind of master plan or anything, he just wants to stay in Noe’s general vicinity. Maybe if he just hangs around long enough, Noe will take note of his existence again. Maybe if Vanitas stares at him long enough, Noe will be able to read his mind and sense that Vanitas wants him to come over here.

It doesn’t work. Mostly, Noe just does his job and Vanitas sits there. When he finally does come up to Vanitas, it’s to tell him to move.

“What? Why?”

“Because there are people waiting to be sat.” Noe tells him. “So if you aren’t here to order anything, then go back to the room.”

“Who says I don’t wanna order anything?” Vanitas retaliated defensively.

Noe raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? What do you want to order?”

Well, Noe got him there. Vanitas doesn’t even know what’s on the menu at this place.

“Uh, I dunno, a coffee?”

“A coffee?” Noe repeats. “Okay then, what kind?”

Vanitas blinks at him. “What do you mean ‘what kind’? Just a coffee.”

“That’s not how coffee works.” Noe lectured him. “Do you want it, like, straight black? Or—“

“I don’t know!” Vanitas hissed. “Uh,” he tried to think of things he’s heard other customers say today. “A… venti?”

“Oooookay,” Noe drawls. “But what kind of venti coffee?”

“I just told you!” Vanitas yelled.

“A venti is a size, it doesn’t explain the contents of the coffee!”

“What’s the difference?!”

“Vanitas,” Noe sighed, “if you don’t want coffee, then don’t order coffee.”

“No! I want the coffee, I just—“ he ransacked the remains of his brain, trying to think of anything to add. Quickly, he gave up. Vanitas dropped his head against the table. “Just… get me whatever you think I’d like.”

A small smile tugs at Noe’s lips. “You want me to decide for you?”

“Yeah, sure,” said Vanitas, “why not?”

Noe chuckled, and Vanitas snapped his neck back up to try and catch a glimpse of it. 

“Uh… sure? Just give me a moment.”

Vanitas couldn’t say anything, mesmerized by the small but genuine smile on Noe’s face. Noe turned around, heading back to the kitchenette area. 

Christ, I’m behaving like an addict going through withdrawls. Vanitas scolded himself. Get it together!

Noe returns moments later with a small mug, placing it down in front of him. Before reaching for the mug, Vanitas caught Amelia and another one of her coworkers standing nearby, staring, as if waiting for something to happen. Immediately nervous, Vanitas cautiously picked up the glass and took a sip.

Then immediately spat it back out.

“What the hell are you trying to do, poison me?!”

Whatever concoction Noe just handed him couldn’t be what half the vampires wandering into this dump paid five euros for every morning. It was so sweet, Vanitas thought his teeth may fall out.

The other two working vampires burst into a fit of giggles, Noe at the helm. 

Vanitas suddenly forgot about being angry.

“Two pumps of caramel, four sugar cubes, and a cup of milk. That’s my usual order.” Noe tells him through his laughter. “I hope you like it!”

…

Vanitas barks some other insult that he can’t remember now, but this cements a new routine for him. Since his body is much slower at healing than Noe’s, he hasn’t yet deemed himself “fit for work” the way Noe is. Basically leaving Vanitas with nothing to do all day but sit in the cafe and bother Noe until his shift ends.

It’s boring most of the time. But sometimes, when it’s slow, Vanitas can badger Noe into talking to him. Noe keeps wandering off mid conversation. Not literally walking, just wandering with his mind. Floating off somewhere and leaving Vanitas hanging. Whenever he feels himself getting upset about it, he feels like a toddler whining for attention. 

Stop spacing out! Look at meeee!

Yeah, okay, let’s maybe go take a nap, alright?

The room is a different story. When Noe isn’t working, which is fairly often, the two of them just exist in the same space doing nothing. Vanitas hadn’t realized how much he relied on Noe to create conversation. Not that they had to be talking all the time, but a bit of conversation now and then would’ve been nice. Like before, when Vanitas bothered to stay in the room, Noe always took advantage. He would create question based games or just ask him things about the book or about medicine. Noe just sits in his bed now, looking sad and withdrawn. 

Vanitas wished he had any idea how to approach things like this. He wanted the skill to just go up to him and ask “what’s wrong?” without it sounding like a threat. 

Vanitas wonders if he can invent a new vampiric disease to test Noe for as an excuse to touch him.

No. That’s desperate and pathetic. He told himself. And we are not desperate and pathetic.

…

Which is how Vanitas finds himself in the hotel’s kitchen baking Tartetatin in the middle of the night. A very sound and logical train of action. 

“What am I doing…?” Vanitas sighed to himself for the millionth time in a row, looking down at the batter and the cookbook laid out on the countertop in front of him. 

What was he going to say when he gave this to Noe, anyway? Hey, I noticed you’ve been avoiding me, so I made you a cake in the middle of the night. Here, eat it and like me again! Who says shit like that? He should stop. He should stop baking and go to bed.

In the morning, Vanitas has a freshly baked Tartetatin sitting on the desk of their shared living space. He didn't sleep at all that night. 

Noe wakes up late, as usual, crawling out of bed and, half awake, notices the pastry.

“Vanitas,” he asks, “did someone leave this here for us?”

“No.” Vanitas said, loathing every word he spoke. “I guess I bake now.”

“You made Tartetatin?” Noe explained. “Can I have some?”

Vanitas rolled over on his side to hide his embarrassment from him. “You can have the whole thing, I don’t even like desserts.”

“Then why did you—?”

“I don’t know!”

Noe paused. “Alright then.” He decided. “I’m… going to head downstairs. My shift is going to start soon. I’ll just take it with me.” There was the sound of something moving, a clinking of silverware, the shifting of cloth, and the door opened. “See you later, Vanitas.”

Sure he will. Noe’s shift doesn’t start for another hour, he just doesn’t want to be in the room with Vanitas anymore. Vanitas sinks further into the mattress and hopes he’ll disappear.

…

His “moping” as Dante as so called it, has caught the attention of others. Mostly Dante. Who is being a dick about it. 

“Are you guys even dating yet?” 

Vanitas could slap him. “Can you go be stupid somewhere else?!”

“I know you aren’t going to listen to me when I tell you to just go talk to him about it,” Riche says, “so I’m not even going to try. But maybe you could, like, suggest a game of cards?”

“Take him out drinking.” Dante adds.

“Oh! Or buy him something nice.” Johann pitches in.

These are all, of course, terrible ideas. But Vanitas doesn’t have any other ones.

…

“I’m sorry, Vanitas,” Noe says, looking away from the stupid deck of cards Vanitas “borrowed” from Dante. “I’m not really in the mood for a game right now. Maybe later?”

Vanitas resists the urge to throw the cards all around the room and maybe tear apart his pillow with his teeth in a fit of rage and embarrassment. “Whatever.”

…

Vanitas gets into baking. He starts bringing up treats to their room at random. They disappear within the day, so he knows Noe is eating them. Neither of them bring it up. 

Vanitas continues to tend to his wounds in the privacy of the bathroom. He can tell Noe is aware of his obvious attempt at hiding something. Vanitas doesn't even try to pretend like he isn't. Maybe he wants Noe to notice. To ask.

Noe never asks.

This “missing Noe” emotion starts to feel like a craving. If he could just have Noe’s eyes on him again, just for another second, maybe he’d stop feeling like he was on fire. Vanitas was hyper aware of how pathetic the concept was, but this whole thing was making him fucking stupid. It felt like he had an itch somewhere he couldn’t reach, and he was driving himself insane trying to find it as the itch got worse and worse.

He just needed a second. One more second of Noe’s affection. 

…

“Hey, Noe?”

Sitting across from one another in the room, Vanitas faces a wall, his heart beating a mile a minute in anticipation for what he’s about to do.

“Hm?”

“I’m… taking off my bandages.” Vanitas told him. “Like, to assess how much longer I’ll need to heal. But I can’t see the ones on my back. Can you look for me?”

The pause before Noe responds feels like it expands into infinity. Vanitas could drown in it. He could drown and die.

Say something. Say you want to see me. Say you want to know.

“Okay.” Noe says lightly.

Vanitas doesn’t dare move. He waits for Noe, who stands up and walks over to Vanitas’ bed, sitting down on the comforter next to him. Only then does Vanitas risk glancing over at him.

Noe is looking down at his lap. He looks… sad.

Shit. Whatever.

Vanitas sheds his coat, scarf, and shirt, moving slowly to make sure he doesn’t irritate anything. He knows he has a lot of scars on his body from the years he spent having tests run on him, but he stopped trying to hide those from Noe a while ago. This sort of thing just happens when you share a living space, they see a lot of each other. But Noe hasn't seen them for a while, Vanitas has been careful to hide himself for the last month and a half, not wanting Noe to see the little orchids that mark his chest.

He wants Noe to see them now, he can’t wait another second. He’s terrified of Noe seeing them. He doesn’t want to know what his reaction will be, he doesn’t want Noe to regret it, he doesn’t want to hear those apologies. He’s terrifying of anyone knowing him, he’s scared shitless of Noe seeing all of him like this. He can’t go another minute without knowing what Noe will say, what he’ll do. It’s the morbid sort of curiosity that drives someone to take out their own stitches to see how deep their wound is. 

Slowly, feeling Noe’s eyes on his back, Vanitas undoes the bandages on his arms, then the one around his torso, letting his wounds breathe. He's faced away from Noe where he's sitting on the bed, but his skin still prickles with alertness, all too aware that the circle of orchids is bare. He’s too scared to look up at Noe. Everything feels so delicate, like it might break if Vanitas makes a wrong move. Can Noe hear how fast his heart beats? Vampires can usually hear that sort of thing. 

He wonders if Noe is looking at him. He wants Noe to be looking at him.

Slowly, giving Noe time to retreat if he wants it, Vanitas looks over his shoulder. He sees Noe sitting there. He bites his bottom lip, looking at whatever scars litter his back with sorrow in his eyes. His hand is raised as if to reach out and touch.

Do it. He silently pleads with so much desperation it feels like a physical ache. Touch me.

But he doesn’t. His hand hesitates there for a long moment before retreating. Vanitas’ stomach clenches. Noe looks away, tears shining in his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” He says, his voice sore and so soft he barely heard it at all.

“Don’t be sorry.” Vanitas attempts, feeling the situation fall out of his grasp.

Noe takes a deep breath in, and looks back up, raking his gaze over Vanitas’ back. “You’ve only got a few bruises left, and they’re yellowing.”

“Can you show me where?” Vanitas begs, his voice uncharacteristically small.

Noe hesitates again, and it’s agony. If you’re going to reject me, then do it. He didn’t mean to make Noe feel guilty about all this, he had to know Vanitas didn’t blame him, right?

Look. Look at me closer. Lean in. Just lean in closer and see it.

Slowly, Noe reached out a hand, leaned it forward, Vanitas braced for impact, and felt a feather-light brush of fingertips draw a line down his spine.

“Here.” Noe’s voice croaked. “And here.”

Goosebumps raised where Noe touched, and Vanitas felt his brain go blank. He unconsciously leaned into it, craving more. 

Immediately, Noe drew his hand away. “Sorry,” he said hastily, standing up and leaving the space he was in just moments before cold and empty. “I have to, um, open the window. For Murr.”

Vanitas stared at the wall. He didn’t say anything as his heart sunk deeper and deeper.

Am I really so repulsive? Or is he just feeling that guilty about it?

Vanitas looks over his shoulder, watching Noe retreat. He stares and he waits, shifting around to make his front more open to the room, but Noe doesn't look at him. He sits on his bed and faces the window.

Look at me, look at me, Vanitas silently begs. The mark starts to feel cold.

Vanitas slowly takes off the rest of his clothes and bandages, taking the time to clean and disinfect his scrapes.

Murr does indeed return through the window. He jumps up onto Noe’s bed and splays his body out, asking for attention. He receives it when Noe, reading a book, reaches down and absentmindedly starts scratching the cat’s head in slow circles. In no time, he’s purring from the attention.

Vanitas throws his pants down onto the floor with a loud thud. Look up. Look at me. But Noe doesn't look, even as Vanitas stands in the center of their room, nearly naked, the mark bared for all to see. Furiously, he storms off into their bathroom.

He sets the water to boiling, not caring about how it makes everything sting. He wants to throw something, break something, do something. This is so fucking stupid, why can’t they just talk? Noe’s never had a problem bringing up any issues he has had to Vanitas before! 

I don’t wanna have to be the one to bring it up! He wails silently. Doesn’t he know I suck at that?!

He stays under the water for far longer than he has to, knowing they’re going to send Amelia to hound him about it later. He doesn’t care. He feels hungry, but not in his stomach. It’s like his skin is hungry, somehow. He can feel it all over his body like a pulsing ache that won’t go away. 

Slowly and unthinkingly, while washing his hair, Vanitas finds himself scratching his scalp in small, soothing circles, right before catching himself and realizing he was repeating the action he caught Noe giving to Murr. 

Oh, this has to stop.

But he doesn’t stop. Vanitas lets his eye fall closed and he leans up against the shower wall and he keeps scratching lightly, imagining the scene from earlier, but with himself laying on Noe’s bed and soaking up his attention. His other hand reaches across his heart, feeling for the mark.

It scratches that itch of hunger that won’t leave him alone, and he feels himself get drowsy. A needy whine makes its way out of his mouth and he freezes.

Nope! Okay, enough of that. 

Vanitas turns off the shower and steps out of it. When he catches himself in the mirror, he sees a flustered mess. He tries to tell himself that it’s from the heat of the shower, but he knows he’s lying to himself.

Something has to give.

…

Dominique corners Jeanne at the snack table.

It’s been a while since they’ve been at the same event at the same time, but Lord Ruthven brought his favorite bourreau to attend with him tonight. Dominique has never been thankful to him before now.

“I’m not made of glass.”

“Hm?” 

Jeanne looks up from where she had previously been stuffing her face with small pastries that had been laid out for the guests. Christ, Dominique had come over here in an attempt to be cross with her, but that was a little hard when she was being so adorable.

Jeanne swallowed and wiped her face with the back of her sleeve. “I’m sorry, Lady Dominique, what did you say?”

“I said that I’m not made of glass, so you don’t have to treat me like I’m going to break.”

Jeanne has the decency to look guilty.

“That’s why you’ve been avoiding me, right?” Dominique accused. “Because you don’t want to bother me with anything after seeing me in a moment of weakness last month? You think I’ll shatter if you do. You think I can’t take it.”

“No! That’s not it at all!” Jeanne argues. Curious how she doesn’t deny that she had been avoiding her. “I know your strength, Lady Dominique.”

“Then why are you treating me this way?” Dominique demanded. “Really, I want to know.”

Jeanne looks away, slowly going to hug herself. “I just… I hadn’t realized how much had been weighing on you all this time.” She said. “Me coming to you with my problems must’ve only added onto it. I never meant to cause you any strife, Mademoiselle.” 

Dominique grabbed Jeanne’s arm. “You haven’t.” She insists. “My only strife is you avoiding me.” She leans in closer. “Who have you fed from since we saw each other last?”

Jeanne looks away and doesn’t answer.

“How have you been dealing with your cravings?”

Jeanne shakes off the touch, stepping away, ashamed. “It shouldn’t have to be your concern, Lady Dominique. I don’t want to be another burden that you carry. I wouldn’t be able to stand it if I was just another thing that weighed you down.”

“You had never weighed me down, Jeanne.” Dominique takes a step closer, and gently holds Jeanne’s hands in hers. “Maybe it’s true that I had a tendency to offer aid while refusing to seek it. And maybe I had taken on too many of my friends’ burdens while refusing to offload any of mine onto others. But I have never seen your trust in me as a burden. I treasure it.”

Jeanne milky white skin flushes deeply, refusing still to look Dominique in the eye. Gotcha.

“Would you lay your trust upon me again, Jeanne?” Dominique pleads in a voice she knows is impossible to deny. “Please? I miss you.”

Jeanne breaks, squeezing her eyes shut before looking back up at her. “I— fine!” She exclaims. “But only if you do the same for me.”

Dominique blinks. “Huh?”

Jeanne returns Dominique’s hold on her hands. “All these years that we’ve known each other, you had been the one coaxing me out of my shell. You’ve been there for me when no one else was, but I was never there for you.” A determined look settled on Jeanne’s face. “I saw you as infallible, but that wasn’t true. All that time, you were suffering just as much as I was.”

“Jeanne,” Dominique exhaled.

“I want you to trust me as well, with anything that ails you. I won’t rely on you if you can’t confide in me as well.” She smiles brightly, in a way Dominique has never seen her do before. “I don’t want to take from you without being able to give back.”

Dominique can only stare at her. Incredible. Who knew Jeanne was capable of such intensity? To see her smile like that… Dominique couldn’t look away.

“I… understand.” Dominique replied. “Yes, I promise I’ll trust you in return.”

Jeanne’s smile turns soft and gentle. “Thank you, Lady Dominique.”

Dominique squeezes her hands. “Do you want to dance with me?”

Jeanne’s eyes widen. “But, Mademoiselle, your good name—“

Dominique cuts her off with a laugh. “Haven’t I told you before? How could something like that possibly matter more than the beautiful girl I have in my arms right now?”

Jeanne flushes a shade darker, and allows Dominique to drag her out onto the ballroom’s floor. She sways to the music tentatively, as if afraid to draw anyone’s attention. Dominique only laughs and twirls her around. 

They have all night, and Dominique plans to make the most of it.

…

“I know there’s something wrong with you.”

Blurting it out on a random Thursday evening wasn’t how Vanitas was planning on bringing this up, but he had to do it eventually, and it was killing him inside. He can’t live like this any more.

“Hm?” Noe asks in that perfectly innocent way of his.

They’re just standing around in their hotel room, getting ready for bed. He really hadn’t meant to say it. He hadn’t planned anything. 

“I— you know what I mean!” Vanitas insists. “You’re being all weird! And distant! And I know it’s just with me, cause you’ve been normal to everyone else in the hotel. So enough with avoiding me! Just tell me what it is.”

“What? I’m not avoiding you, we live together. I see you every day.” Noe argued.

Vanitas hated the way he grew embarrassed at his insistence on this. He knew he wasn’t crazy, this distance wasn’t just in his head! “But there’s something wrong, isn’t there? Just tell me already!”

Noe winced. “Why am I being threatened?”

“You’re not being threatened!” Vanitas took a deep breath, trying to sound less like he was yelling. “I just… I’ve noticed you’ve been quiet lately. And if there’s anything wrong, you can talk to me about it, okay? That’s all.”

Noe blinked at him. “Oh.” He said. He sat down on his bed slowly. “I’m sorry, I guess I’ve been… thinking a lot, recently.”

Christ. 

Anxiety crawls up Vanitas’ throat. Awkwardly, he shuffles closer to Noe’s bed and stands there. “Uh, like, about what?”

Noe tucks a lock of white hair behind his ear. “Have I ever told you about Louis?”

Oooh Christ.

Vanitas shakes his head. “Milkhail mentioned him, I think.” He says. “Lady de Sade’s brother, yeah?”

Noe nods.

He doesn’t say anything else.

Vanitas stands there, fidgeting, awkward. Is that it? No, of course not. Vanitas has to push. But he had to do it delicately or he’ll look like an ass. 

“Um. S-so you’ve been, uh, thinking about him recently?” Vanitas says. An excellent start.

Noe nods. 

“Okay.” Vanitas continues. “What, uh… what have you been thinking about? About… him. I mean. Like, what about him?”

Noe looks up at him as if in pain. “Can you sit down or something? You’re stressing me out.”

“I’m stressing you out?!” Vanitas snaps. “Do you even realize the utter hurricane of chaos that’s been destroying my brain over the last two months I’ve been trying to get you to talk to me?!”

Noe breaks into a laugh, one that finally feels real, and it eases the tension away. “I’m sorry,” he says, “it’s just that you’re being so stiff and serious, it’s freaking me out a little. It’s weird.”

“I’m trying to be nice! And sensitive! And whatever!” Vanitas barks.

Noe giggles again, and this feels normal. It feels like them again. Vanitas scoffs and sits back down next to Noe on the bedsheets, startling Murr, who hops off and finds somewhere else in the room to nap.

“I’m sorry I’ve been distant.” Noe says. “It doesn’t have anything to do with you. Or— well, it does, but… it’s nothing that you’ve done wrong.”

Vanitas looks to him, noting the crease in his brow. “Well, whatever it is, don’t avoid me about it. It’s annoying.”

“Okay.” Noe accepts.

“So?” Vanitas prompts.

Noe takes a deep breath, and the air around them turns delicate again, but it’s a soft delicate. Not one that will break if Vanitas looks at it wrong. 

“Why do you want me to be the one to kill you?” Noe asks. “I’m being serious, I need to know.”

Oh. Huh. Okay…?

“Well,” Vanitas begins to answer, “I guess I just… jeez, how do you even say this? Um…” he rummages around his brain, trying to find the right words. “When I learned that the blood of the Blue Moon Vampire that had been put in my veins was going to kill me, I just assumed that I’d die alone somewhere. I would die young, not having accomplished much, and no one would mourn me. That won’t be true now, though. I mean, I know a couple people would be sad if I died, but it’s hard to really believe that to be true. I guess my body doesn’t trust it. Except when it comes to you, for some reason.” This feels far more revealing than he had meant for it to sound. Does Noe even know Vanitas loves him in this way? Does he even suspect it? “But I think… no, I know that if I died in your arms, by your hands, I’d go out feeling like I was loved. And… I think I’d like that.”

When Vanitas dares to look back at Noe, he finds Noe on the verge of tears again. But he looks angry, he looks devastated. Suddenly, Vanitas is anxious again. “Noe?”

He tries to reach out, but Noe makes a sudden move and it scares him off. Noe sits upright and wipes at his face. “I’m fine. I figured you’d say something like that.”

“Uh, okay.” Vanitas says eloquently.

Noe chuckles. It’s a sad little noise, but it’s earnest. 

“I don’t remember a whole lot before meeting teacher.” Noe tells him. “I guess I have a tendency to forget things if they get too traumatic.” He has the decency to laugh about it. “I know I was orphaned at some point when I was very young, but there’s no point in rehashing that whole thing to you. You studied vampires for a long time, you probably know more about the Archivistes than I do, don’t you?”

Vanitas nodded. He did know quite a bit about the clan Noe was from. Surely not more than Noe himself, though.

“I was adopted and raised by humans, and when they passed, I was taken by vampires, and sold to teacher.”

“Sold?” Vanitas echoed, disgusted.

Noe ignored it. “When he brought me to his home, I met the first two real friends I’d ever had; Domi and Louis. We clicked right away, but Domi was always gone. She didn’t live in the castle with us, she only ever visited us for short amounts of time, so I spent most of my time with Louis.” He explained. “Louis was… he was a lot of things. He was funny, he had this dry sense of humor that always made me laugh. But he could be so serious, too. He spent a lot of his time reading, and sometimes it felt like he knew everything. Sometimes he would tease me, but he was never cruel. He would offer his blood to me all the time. He said that it didn’t matter what I saw in his mind, because the two of us were closer than anything. What was his was mine, and I was free to roam his memories wherever I wanted to. He said he didn’t need to hide things from me. He said he didn’t want there to be anything between us.”

A lump formed in Vanitas’ throat. It must be nice to be able to feel trust in that way. Vanitas can almost imagine it, what it must be like to allow intimacy like that for yourself and feel love instead of terror. Noe must miss having a friend who can trust him like that, instead of Vanitas who can barely talk about himself without getting angry or changing the subject.

“Domi said something to me recently that I can’t stop thinking about.” Noe followed up with. “I wasn’t sure because I’d never thought about it before, but I think she was right.”

“What’d she say?”

“That I was in love with him.”

The world stopped spinning.

Oh.

Noe’s smile was so sad it made Vanitas want to cry. “I told you once that I had no idea what love was, and I really did mean it. I think I was in love with him. I almost feel kinda stupid, actually. Domi noticed, but I didn’t. She was right— he was special to me in a way I can’t explain. When we were young, I did everything with him. I thought he was perfect.”

“He… sounds incredible.” Vanitas attempted. 

“One day, he stopped letting me drink his blood.” Noe continued. “I didn’t really notice it at first— actually, I don’t think I noticed at all at the time.” He chuckled. “But we stopped sharing blood, and Louis became… cagey. I could tell there was something he was thinking about, but I was really stupid. I never considered it was anything I should worry or ask about. He spent a lot of time alone, and would avoid being in the same room as teacher. He started, like, wood-carving. He would do it all the time. When I asked what he was doing, he said he was making a gift for me, but that it was a surprise and he would give it to me when it was done. I was so excited.”

Vanitas shifted in his seat. He could feel where this was going.

“The thing he was keeping from me was that he was a curse-bearer.” Noe concluded. “But you knew that, right? Domi told Mikhail, and he said it to you. Teacher cut his head off. But…” he swallowed. “Before he did that, Louis didn’t attack me. He saved us from another curse-bearer. Right before losing control, he came right up to me and he— he begged me to kill him.” Oh no. “He begged and begged. He said that he wanted it to be me. But I said no. And I let him bite me. I would’ve let him kill me if teacher hadn’t shown up.”

Vanitas felt sick. “I’m sorry.” Christ, is that all you can say?  “Sorry, that’s lame. I just…”

“It’s okay.” Noe replied. “You don’t have to say anything. The fact that you’re listening means a lot.”

Vanitas nodded wordlessly. 

“After he died, Domi found the gift he had been making for me. It was a trunk full of wooden stakes.” Noe said. “Louis… he’d been planning on asking me to kill him for a long time. It wasn’t something he just thought of on a whim. He really did want it to be me, probably for the same reasons you do. But I couldn’t do it.” Noe made sure to keep eye contact with Vanitas when he spoke next. “You should ask someone else to help you. Because when the moment comes and you need me to kill you, I won’t be able to do it. I’ll fail you too. I know I will. I don’t have it in me, Vanitas.”

Vanitas couldn’t think of a single good thing to say. He hadn’t known— and even if he had, would it have made a difference? He would still want to die being loved. But as tears start to silently fall down Noe’s face beside him, Vanitas has nothing to console him with. Why did he think he would? They’re not even friends. 

Vanitas decides to turn to him, bumping their shoulders together. Noe finally starts to cry. Really cry. He turns to face Vanitas and grabs him, pulling him in tight for a hug.

All the air escapes Vanitas’ lungs, he feels lightheaded. That hunger within him roars. Imagine being loved this much. It asked him. Imagine someone loving you enough to bring them to tears. 

Noe holds him like he wants to press their two bodies into one, like he wants them to be attached forever. His frame shakes and shutters against him, and Vanitas feels his mind go blank. Oh, to be wanted. Oh, to be loved. Vanitas’ eyes fall closed and he leans into the touch, fully tilting his body against Noe’s and burying his face in white, fluffy hair. Noe’s face leans into the crook of Vanitas’ neck, and Vanitas is fully enveloped by Noe and his warmth, and his mind has never been this quiet. His body has never been this lax. He has never, ever, felt safe like this before.

And this is how Vanitas knows he must be a horrible person. Because now, more than ever, he is positive that this is how he wants to die. He wants to feel like this when it happens, he wants to feel delicate and precious. Vanitas won’t suggest that he’ll find someone else to kill him when the time comes, he won’t tell Noe not to worry about it. Because Vanitas is horrible. If he really were Noe’s friend, he’d never measure up to Louis. But Noe loves him anyway.

But Noe loves him anyway.

And Vanitas could die right in this moment, Noe sobbing in pure despair, and be happy. 

“I’m sorry.” Vanitas decides to say into the silence. Noe doesn’t respond. Maybe it’s because he knows that it isn’t true.

But Noe keeps holding him. Noe keeps loving him. Noe stays, just like he said he would.