Work Text:
Vanitas has a talent for showing up at inopportune moments. It’s the connection between him and Ventus’ hearts- if he can even call that thing sitting in his chest a heart- that gives him a window into Ventus’ life. If there is a time where Vanitas can come in and prod at an insecurity, make a bad moment even worse, then he will jump on that opportunity.
And sometimes, like now, Vanitas is just bored and impulsive. So without care to where or when he’ll show up, Vanitas bursts through the closet door with a loud “HEY, VENTUS!”
No satisfying startled yelp. Or anything at all. Ventus isn’t even here! How rude of him. Vanitas glances at the alarm clock on Ventus’ nightstand. It’s 1 in the morning. Where could that kid possibly be-- Oh. Vanitas feels a twinge in his heart. The pull of his weaker half from somewhere else in the castle. He fell asleep on the couch. Aqua put a blanket over him, not wanting to jostle him back awake.
“All alone, huh,” Vanitas mutters to himself. He puts his hands on his hips and surveys the room, taking his time with all of the little knick-knacks and decorations in the room. All of it so delicate and unguarded.
“Stupid Ventus,” Vanitas hums to himself in a mocking little sing-song. “Leaving all his stuff out in the open where anyone can mess with it.”
Humming his little tune, Vanitas starts knocking books off their shelves and letting them pile onto the floor. He starts to rummage through drawers- tarot decks, star charts, half-finished papercrafts, other dumb stuff- when his eyes fall onto the wooden keyblade leaning in one corner of the room.
“Even this thing’s just out there,” Vanitas mutters, crossing the room to pick it up. “When you’re always so protective of it.”
It was true. Any time Ventus was in the room, if Vanitas so much as touched that hunk of wood, he’d throw a fit and snatch it out of his hands. It’s important to him, Ventus would whine. So sickly sentimental. That sick sentiment bubbled inside Vanitas too, as much as he wanted to squash it down. Why should he care so much about some splintery toy?
Vanitas knew the answer to that too. It’s because it was a gift from Terra. The training keyblade was the symbol of Ventus’ start as an apprentice. It was a welcoming gesture into their little family. The happy little Land of Departure family, where someone will always be there to pick you back up when you fall, or tuck you in, or share a nice hot meal with you…
Vanitas’ grip tightened around the toy. He wanted to snap it right now. But no. If he’s going to do that, he wants Ventus to see it. And… besides that, if he and Ventus are parts of the same heart, then this belongs to him too. Everything in this room is his too. What’s his is mine, Vanitas thinks.
It’s stuffy in here. Vanitas puts down the wooden keyblade and pulls off his helmet, letting it melt away into darkness in his hands. He shakes out his unkempt black hair and sits on Ven’s bed. His bed. They’ll be one again soon. That was a promise.
It’s been so long since he was Ventus. 3 years, now? Vanitas didn’t know his own birthday, but he knew Ventus’. They celebrated it every year, after all, and Vanitas got to experience those parties secondhand from the Keyblade Graveyard. So now Ventus was 15 and so was Vanitas.
Vanitas couldn’t wait to be Ventus again. All he wanted was to fill in the gaps and cracks of that broken up heart and melt back into Ventus. He’d make that heart stronger, better.
Vanitas stood back up and, curiously, gingerly, took out some clothes from Ventus’ closet. Ventus always wore the same odd arrangement of clothes. The vest was dumb. Once Vanitas was back in their heart, he’d make sure that was gone from the ensemble. He tries on Ven’s turtleneck, his shirt, his pants… all of it fits perfectly. The sensation of clothes that aren’t just his darkness suit is alien yet familiar. They’re his and not his.
Putting on a show for himself, taking on the role of Ventus that was once rightfully his, Vanitas picks the wooden keyblade back up and swings it around.
“Goood morning, Aqua,” he says, in his best impression of Ventus. Cheerful, stupid, childish Ventus. “Gooood morning, Terra.”
“Hey Terra, let’s go spar outside! You can knock me onto the floor and then let me win because you feel bad about it. And then you’ll ruffle my hair.”
“Hey Aqua, let’s try magic together! Except all I know how to do is wind because I’m bad at everything. But you’ll say it’s okay and ruffle my hair too.”
He laughs to himself, but it fades away into a sigh.
No. No, he doesn’t want these things. He hates their saccharine touchy-feely friendship. Of course. That’s right.
Floods start skittering across the floor and scratching at his shoes. Vanitas shoves them to the side with his foot. He’s not jealous. He’s not. He is. This is his. It has to be his. This whole life is stolen.
Ventus won’t miss these things for too long, right? Vanitas will just borrow them. They share everything already, so it’s only fair.
Taking the wooden keyblade and new outfit with him, Vanitas pulls open the window and climbs out. He takes in the breeze on his bare face. Free, cool wind.
He’s never been to the pond, even though he’s seen it out the window so many times. He could use a break before returning to the badlands. It’s not like anyone will notice him out there. He’s just the monster in Ventus’ closet, and that’s the way it will stay.