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“Vanitas,” Noé whispered.
Noé could hear a startled inhale, the shift of fabric, and in the dim moonlight, see Vanitas’ figure move, turning to face Noé. He was sitting at the window, book in hand, and Noé wondered how he could possibly read in the dark. His features were backlit by the waning moon, and all Noé could see of him was the shining outlines of strands caught in light.
“You woke? That’s unusual,” Vanitas hummed, settling the book firmly in his lap as he gave Noé his full attention. “Have a nightmare?” Vanitas teased, and in it Noé could hear the hint of a smile. Noé seemed to have either caught Vanitas in a particularly content mood, or masking a terribly unhappy one. It was hard to tell, but if Noé could get a look at his face, he was sure the answer would be there.
He shifted in the bed, not quite fully awake but disturbed. Grasping the pillow more tightly, he strained to make out Vanitas’ face.
“No, I did not,” Noé said a moment later, remembering to reply. “Something woke me up, I think.”
“Something?” Vanitas mused. With a voice that sounded like laughter, Vanitas said, “Go back to sleep, Noé. It’s still a while till sunrise.”
A glance outside seemed to confirm Vanitas’ words. The window showed a heady darkness, the kind that, if Noé had been back home, would’ve frightened him. Here however, there were still lights to be seen. Astermite glowed dimly in the distance, sparks like fire dotting the landscape.
“I can’t,” Noé admitted, dragging his gaze back to Vanitas’ obscured face. “You haven’t slept at all?”
Vanitas hummed a laugh, and Noé could just barely track the path his fingers made down the spine of his book. “You could call me a bit of insomniac,” Vanitas admitted.
Noé blinked, digesting this information. It was true that he’d never known Vanitas to oversleep, and he was always up before Noé, breakfast in hand and gaze far away on the horizon. In fact, it was rare for Vanitas to sleep before or after Noé, a sudden realization that galled Noé.
“Why?” Noé demanded.
“Why?” Vanitas mocked. There was something incredibly distant rising between them, a gulf like the ocean Noé had seen only from the viewing platforms of the Whale. Despite being only a few feet away, it seemed to Noé that Vanitas was far gone, lost in thoughts he refused to share. “There’s a number of reasons for sleeplessness. I’d assume you’d know your fair share.”
Despite the mockery, Noé looked down, knowing the fear that kept one up at night, desperate to hold nightmares at bay. Was Vanitas haunted by his dreams? Was it that teasing ghost the doctor had mentioned? The horrors of those experiments? Or did he relive the death of his parents?
It bothered Noé, how blasé Vanitas was. Noé was tortured even now by the memory of Louis — it was unfathomable to him that Vanitas could forget so easily.
Vanitas held his heart close and his cards closer, and what Noé was asking for was more than Vanitas was willing to give.
However, his face could be unexpectedly honest.
“Please come here,” Noé said, less pleading and more demanding, ignoring the surprise his sudden tangent gave Vanitas. “You’re too far away.”
Vanitas didn’t move, and Noé could somehow feel his growing grin. “It’s just a few feet. Here, stretch and you could touch me.”
Noé could, but that wasn’t what he wanted.
“Come here,” Noé demanded again, refusing to let go of this point.
“You are incredibly demanding for someone who depends on others as much as you do,” Vanitas chided, tone cold, and Noé internally cheered, thrilled with the acerbic response.
What Noé had learned from each inch he pushed, each time he demanded more, each question he leveled at him, meeting piercing blue eyes undaunted, was that the closer you got to Vanitas’ heart, the crueler he was.
“Coming from the mouth of the man who demanded I be his shield, that’s very hypocritical,” Noé said, not missing a beat. “I want to see your face.”
“My face,” Vanitas muttered. “What is it with you and looking at my face?”
Stubbornly, Noé focused on where he felt Vanitas’ eyes were, and after a stretch of time, Vanitas sighed defeat. The armchair creaked as he stood, dropping his book on the cushion after him. It landed with a thump, the only other sound as Vanitas strolled the three or so feet between the chair at the bed. This close, Noé could just make out the grin Vanitas’ had plastered on, and without asking Vanitas plopped on the edge of the bed with enough vigor to send Noé bouncing minutely.
“Happy?” Vanitas asked, poison curling slick around the white of his teeth. “Or how much closer must I get before you’re satisfied?”
“This is quite good,” Noé said, brushing off the fight Vanitas was itching to pick. He shifted, using his abdomen more than his hands to lift off the bed. Without warning, he reached for Vanitas’ face.
The sudden touch must’ve startled him, and Noé could feel the way his chest swelled with his sharp intake of breath. The room was still too dark for Noé to see much, but this close he could see the white and blue of Vanitas’ eyes, the chill in his skin on Noé’s bare palms. He traced the swell of his cheeks with his thumbs, tilting Vanitas’ face down to properly meet Noé’s.
“This face,” Noé said, struggling to identify what felt so wrong, “I’ve never seen it.”
Vanitas sighed. He grasped Noé’s hands with his own and brought them away, and dimly Noé registered the gloves he still wore, the fabric a chilling reminder of the mark Vanitas hid.
“…I’ll excuse your behavior as sleep-addled and barely awake. Enough of this, Noé.”
Noé traced the arch of his brows, the curve of his lips, the proud sweep of his lashes. “What are you thinking?” Noé demanded.
“Of how stupid you are,” Vanitas said, without hesitation.
Noé huffed, unamused. “Not now. I meant when you were sitting by the window, staring outside as if you’re a caged bird longing to fly.”
“The things you say,” Vanitas muttered. “You’re like a child, Noé. Naïve, stupid, wearing your perpetual bleeding heart on your sleeve. It makes me want to crush all of it that I can reach.”
They are all terribly ugly, endlessly selfish creatures.
“Why would you say that?” Noé demanded, not hurt or even disturbed but hopelessly lost. Vanitas refused to be understood, no matter how Noé tried. Noé could only assume it was in his nature to attempt to unravel every secret there was.
Without warning, Vanitas surged forward, grasping Noé’s shoulders to slam him back on the bed. Noé’s breath left him in a gasp that barely had room to escape as Vanitas leaned over him, close enough that their noses brushed.
“Because,” Vanitas grit out, seething with an anger so sudden that Noé felt his heart seize, mind racing to connect what button he’d pushed now, what landmine he’d nearly stepped on. Vanitas wasn’t pushing him away yet, but that he was close to it meant that Noé had nearly found the root of the problem. “You infuriate me. You’re incredibly simplistic, you’re like the stuff of stories, the heroes of legends. You want to save everyone. Who is that naïve? Who truly believes that God called only glory and honor into man, and left sin for the devil? Everyone is disgustingly selfish, but you refuse to show those colors.”
Noé searched Vanitas’ eyes, aware of how hard his heart hammered but feeling distant from it all. Vanitas’ nails were digging into his shoulders now, nothing too painful but definitely with warning intent, and his eyes—
Facing Noé like this, parallel and hovering over him, the moonlight finally lit up the side of his features. The blue of his gaze was alarmingly bright, frighteningly so. It seemingly glowed against the darkness, and his pupils were blown wide, swallowing even Noé’s reflection that he could see there.
“You’re angry with me,” Noé breathed, voice muted in the space between them, “because I confuse you?”
“You make no sense,” Vanitas corrected sharply, but Noé’s curiosity must’ve tipped the scales in his favor. The heat in Vanitas’ words had gone out, leaving only the smoldering remains. “You refuse to play by the rules, or to do anything conventionally normal, but then demand the answers to every inane thought that crosses your head. You can’t just let sleeping dogs lie.”
Noé blinked, attempting to assess himself the way Vanitas had. His expression must’ve tickled Vanitas, because he smiled then, sweet and low.
Reaching between them, Noé touched Vanitas cheek, barely grazing him with his fingertips as Noé’s eyes flickered over this new expression.
“…I’ve never seen this face either.”
Vanitas’ smile broke into a full-on grin and he barked out a laugh, head falling forward to dip beside Noé’s, breath hot on Noé’s neck. His moods were changing so quickly that Noé, still sleepy, was struggling to follow along.
“You never explained this fascination you have,” Vanitas accused, words tracing paths on Noé’s neck. It sent shivers down his spine, reminding him of how very close Vanitas’ neck was to Noé’s mouth, a realization that left his breath hitching. He could tilt his head and press his lips there, part them and claim his own mark on the sweet blood that tempted him.
Vanitas’ hand in his hair startled him, and the ghost of Vanitas’ lips on the shell of Noé’s ear sent blood rushing to his ears. “Do you want my blood?” Vanitas whispered.
I do.
I don’t.
I did.
I don’t know.
Noé flickered through each thought, hesitating. He did, but somehow, it felt wrong to indulge just then. He shook his head, shifting Vanitas’ hand in his hair but not dislodging it, loathe to lose that warmth.
Thoughts of drinking Vanitas’ blood inevitably led to thoughts of Jeanne and without thinking Noé opened his mouth and asked, “What is it like to kiss someone?”
The sudden question dispelled whatever tense mood there was and Vanitas ducked into Noé’s shoulders as he struggled to contain his sudden bout of laughter.
“You!” Vanitas gasped, body shaking where it touched Noé’s, “The questions you ask!” Vanitas indulged in a few more chuckles before shifting, pressing his palm on the bedspread beside Noé’s neck as Vanitas finally lifted himself off. His smile was this small strange thing, but still similar to the one he’d given Noé moments ago. “You’ve never kissed someone?”
“I never thought to,” Noé said, honest.
Vanitas stifled another laugh, lips twisting into a grin. “But you’ve thought of it now, hm? Poor Domi, she really suffers with you, doesn’t she?”
“Huh?”
“Do you want to know?” Vanitas teased, head dipping lower.
“I do,” Noé confirmed, still trying to figure out how Dominique fit into all this.
Vanitas grew closer, eyes gleaming. “Do you really want to know?”
“I really,” Noé parroted, losing patience, “want to know.”
Then, the moment the words left Noé’s lips, Vanitas ducked down and kissed him.
It was so sudden that Noé’s mind fell completely blank, nothing but the construction of stars on Atlus’ sky rearing in his mind.
Vanitas hand on his cheek, encouraging Noé’s face up, finally wrenched Noé from his daze, and his eyes fluttered shut of their own accord, lost in this new knowledge.
For all the cruel words Vanitas could say — words designed to hurt best they could — his mouth in contrast was very soft and very warm and very firm against Noé’s. Inane as it was, the way Vanitas pressed against him, cupping his cheek, lips moving over his, gentle, it felt as if he was trying to convey something.
But Noé couldn’t focus at all, all at once aware of Vanitas like he’d never been before. His hands fluttered up, found the divot of Vanitas’ waist, and held him there, fingers splayed and fabric bending to accommodate his grip as Noé surrendered to this sensation, the answer to his sudden curiosity. For the first time all night, Vanitas had answered him straightforwardly when Noé had asked.
His eyes fluttered open, and this close, he could see how dark Vanitas’ lashes were against his cheek, feel his bangs on his forehead, marvel at how somehow, Vanitas’ beauty had escaped him.
All Noé could think of was Astermite glowing like stars in the night, of rewriting the laws of gravity and the funny feeling in his stomach when he did so, of how blue Vanitas’ eyes were, like the moon he once spent a midnight dancing and laughing under.
Then, as abruptly as it begun, Vanitas pulled back, the hand on Noé’s cheek staying his impulse to follow. A feeling like the wind in spring furled around Noé’s ribs as he watched Vanitas’ eyes slowly open, gaze tracking and memorizing Vanitas’ face.
Vanitas stared back at Noé, flickering between his eyes, and whatever feeling that was there was shunted away before Noé could decipher it.
“I’m sorry,” Vanitas whispered, mask piecing itself together bit by bit. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
Without reason, Vanitas’ words came back to Noé, a chilled fear chasing the warmth that had filled Noé only moments ago.
I have absolutely no interest in the sort of person who would fall for me.
“You didn’t have to go so far,” Noé murmured, attempting to grasp his thoughts together. He still hadn’t let go of Vanitas and Vanitas still hadn’t moved away, but Noé was loathe to be the first one to make a move. “But… I see.”
“You see?” Vanitas asked, lips curving back into that smile, that damnable twist of his lips that Noé couldn’t put a name to. “See what?”
“I can see why Jeanne turned so red,” Noé answered. “It… it makes your heart race. I feel like I’m trembling, and it’s almost like I’m scared, but—”
“But?”
“It’s not like that at all, at the same time,” Noé confessed. “Why is that?”
His question sent tremors of laughter through Vanitas’ again, a sensation that thrilled Noé to feel against his hands, tight around Vanitas’ sides.
“That’s an answer you’ll have to find out yourself,” Vanitas teased. “I can’t make it all easy for you, now can I?”
“Tell me!” Noé insisted, lips beginning to dip into something of a mix between a pout and scowl. “If you know, you shouldn’t hold it back!”
“Oh, my dear Noé,” Vanitas, and there, there was that emotion again, all at once fond, teasing, exasperated, and somehow so warm it left Noé feeling weightless, “I never thought you’d hurt me, but I fear I might’ve been too shortsighted. Lucky that you’re so slow.”
“Hey!” Noé said, squeezing Vanitas’ sides in indignation. “You say I never make sense, but you are the one talking nonsense! First mentioning Dominique, and now this? Why can’t you city-folk ever speak clearly?”
Again, Vanitas fell against Noé’s shoulder in laughter, but this time he rolled to his side to lay fully on the bed, his laughter almost tangible through the mattress.
“Oh, you are so good for nights like these. Come now, it’s really getting late at this rate, and I haven’t slept like you. Let’s save this talk for the morning, hm?”
Noé knew if he let it go, it’d follow the way of countless threads he’d allowed to slip through his fingers before, but he thought of Vanitas resting against his back, voice muted with weary grief, of the way he could still feel the ghost of Vanitas’ lips against his own, and like the fool Vanitas always claimed he was, Noé listened to his heart again.
“Tomorrow,” Noé demanded, turning to face Vanitas. “Promise it!”
“I promise,” Vanitas murmured, voice sleepy already. “You can chase me all across Paris if I break it. Or, how’s this, I’ll treat you to tarte tatin?”
Damn! Now Noé was seriously contemplating if tarte tatin was worth allowing Vanitas to be himself and to avoid the subject. The indecision must’ve shown, because Vanitas laughed lightly again, face tucking into the pillow he’d thieved from Noé.
“Truly,” Vanitas mumbled, words half lost to sleep, “you might be the one to hurt me the most, now.”
“I would never harm you,” Noé said, brow knit. “At least, not severely.”
But Vanitas was already asleep. Or pretending to be.
Noé settled more firmly, gazing at Vanitas’ profile. His mind raced over the evening’s events, and he tried in vain to recover what might have woken him up.
He thought it might have been the sound of tears, but it very well could have been the wind against the walls.
Eyes slipping closed, Noé snuggled closer, content now that whatever feeling Vanitas had in the beginning, it was gone now, chased away into the night where it belonged, and not in this circle of warmth between them.