Chapter Text
A smile.
Warm, kind words that puzzle him, yet wrap around him like a blanket.
Eyes that look at him, really look at him. Eyes that scare him so much, yet he can't help but find some sort of comfort in.
A sensation that baffles him so much he forgets how to do anything.
Something that feels so right and yet-
Oh.
Oh no.
A realization.
This is not what Vanitas had planned.
There's an itch in his throat.
He coughs, grunts and swallows all day in attempt to get it out. No matter how hard he tries, it doesn't stop.
Noé asks him if he's sick that day. His eyebrows are furrowned a little, it's that expression of slight but completely sincere concern Vanitas can't get used to again.
He wants to answer, complain about how irritating this day has been because of this stupid itch but... The itchy spot suddenly feels sore in a way that makes him almost choke when he wants to speak up. He gives up talking.
Something is... off.
He feels his heart racing a little, a brief but overwhelming heat travels through his body like a shiver down his spine.
Huh. Weird.
The sun is emerging slowly from behind the skyline of Paris, beginning to shower the city streets with warm streaks of light, and Vanitas is sitting on his favorite spot of the rooftop of Hotel Chou Chou as he usually does at this hour. It's a great place to think. Though he has to admit he's not happy with what he has been forced to think about so much recently.
He has been throwing up flowers for the past week. And yet he's going around, distracting himself with everything to convince himself it's not true. He knows nothing about this is good but he just... doesn't want to admit it to himself.
He's in this weird state where all this fear feels like it's buried under his skin, deep below the surface, the facade that even Vanitas himself can't clearly see. Or maybe he's just internally panicking so much his body can't take it and it makes him oddly calm about everything.
Either way, he doesn't quite believe what's happening to him for a while.
But the thing about the state of denial is; it has to end at some point. You have to come to terms with the thing you deny and accept it, no matter how hard it is. This means Vanitas has to stop lying to himself and he hates that. Because truth is so much harder than lies.
Even if it's so goddamn ironical.
The thing about hanahaki is, it's the "illness of miserable lovers", where unrequited feelings for somebody are the cause and the cure is to be loved back by that person.
Vanitas has no interest in people who could love him. Or at least that's what he wants to believe.
Vanitas doesn't believe in God, but if he exists, he must be having a great time watching this hilariously miserable shitshow that his life turned out to be.
Vanitas smiles bitterly to himself and notes that even if he wanted to he couldn't let out an sarcastic laugh, his throat hurts too much to allow that luxury.
If he's going go get beat to death by someone way stronger, he'd like to at least have a chance to spit them in the face. If he can't do it this way, he'll find another, he tells himself. He wants to find one but now... He just can't help feeling helpless.
His smile only breaks when the first tear reaches it.
During breakfast, he can't avoid Noé's concerned glances. He's been giving them to him for a few days now but didn't dare to say anything. Noé knew his deductions about Vanitas' emotions and true motives were very irritating to him. And with Vanitas seeming not in the mood to deal with Noé being, well, Noé, he just stayed quiet.
They've been eating (or more precisely, Noé's been eating and Vanitas has been pretending to do the same, overwhelmed with nausea) in silence for a while now and it was only interrupted a few times by Vanitas' muffled coughs. Noé seemed to stiffen gardually at the sound of each of them. Finally their eyes meet, even though Noé has been trying to avoid Vanitas' cold glare.
Vanitas sighs.
"You want to tell me something?"
It catches Noé off guard, he takes a split second to look into Vanitas' eyes hesitantly, but then he adjusts his position, seeming much more decided.
"Actually, I do," he says. There's not only an unusual amount of seriousness in his tone, but some sort of relief as well. "I'm worried about you. You seem..."
"Sick?" Vanitas finishes after him.
Noé nods but before Vanitas can say anything more, he continues.
"But it's not only that... You seem worse than ever. Mentally." He lowers his head and raises it with this sad smile that makes the other man feel sicker than he already is. "Vanitas, just please, for once, talk to me."
There we go again, Vanitas thinks. He hates how easily Noé can read him. He can't stand having someone try to "figure him out", because it just means getting too close to the truth about him, making him feel... exposed. He knows Noé means well and that he just wants to understand. But Vanitas also knows allowing himself to get close to someone would leave both of them hurt in the end.
He sighs. This whole situation he's in made him want to lose it, but he supposes there's no point in yelling.
"I appreciate your concern but the best thing you can do for me is leave me alone," he states icily, small unwanted bites of emotion showing in his voice. He says it loud enough for his fatigued lungs to have to put effort in finishing it.
Suddenly, he feels as if a giant hand held his chest in a grasp, beggining to slowly press harder and harder. The nausea he's been dealing with nonstop, within one second escalates to a point Vanitas didn't know was possible.
He curses under his raspy breath and continues in his mind: Why now, of all time?
He stands up rapidly and without any explanation to his companion, he runs out to the bathroom. He hears Noé say something, but he can't make out the words, all the sounds in his head are his raging heartbeat and this voice that keeps repeating that he has to get out of here, now.
His legs are so shaky he almost falls a few times and the fact that some dark spots cloud his vision isn't helping. He has this second of doubt, when he thinks he isn't going to make it. And yet, in the last moment possible, he gets there, immediately collapsing on the floor in front of the toilet, clinging to it and vomiting his guts out.
Noé appears right behind him soon.
"Vanitas, oh my god..." His words come out as a strangled whisper.
Vanitas feels Noé place his hand on his back, in such a sickenigly gentle manner. More flowers spill out of his mouth, wet and sticky. A mixture of vibrant colors spins before his eyes, the pain makes him dizzy.
"Are you okay?" Noé echoes.
"Do I look okay to you?" Vanitas gasps out in between coughs and spasms.
He throws up again and again, and again. Each time his chest moves, the pain grows almost unbearable and he can't help letting out the tears he's been trying to hold back. He imagines how miserable he must look to Noé, how much his whole body is shaking beyond control and how the only sound coming out of his mouth at this point is sobbing.
Even when he stops vomiting, his whole body feels gruesome. Having to look at those allegedly beautiful plants soaked in the whatever-poured-out-of-his-insides doesn't make it any better.
His vision is so blurry it looks like an abstract painting. He thinks he might pass out.
Noé is still here. Still touching him warmly, as some sort of paradoxically both comforting and uncomfortable presence.
"Are you finished?" He asks quietly. There wasn't that much nervousness in his voice anymore, just... pity.
It makes Vanitas' stomach drop.
I think so, he wants to say but he knows his voice would crack pathetically, so he just nods hesitantly.
Vanitas slowly lets go of the lavatory seat as Noé pulls him closer carefully, and Vanitas is surprised by himself letting him do this. He yelps faintly while changing the position, his ribs ache whenever he moves.
They are sitting on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor, as silence fills the room. Noé's arm is still wrapped around Vanitas' back lightly, it feels ready pull away if he showed the smallest hint of protest.
Vanitas hates how he just can't help and sink into the soothing warmth of Noé's touch.
His eyes struggle to meet Noé's.
"I'm sorry you had to find out this way." His throat is sore as he speaks.
"It's alright... but I wish you could've just told me." There's a beat of silence. "I thought you trusted me."
Vanitas squeezes his eyes shut. The pressure in his chest intensifies once again.
He has stopped trusting people a long time ago, he can't even remember how it feels to rely on anyone but himself.
Yet, it doesn't feel fair to Noé.
Vanitas doesn't usually care about what other people think of him but it somehow hurts to feel like he's dissapointed him.
"It doesn't matter," Noé brushes it off when he sees the guilt Vanitas doesn't bother to mask. "I just want you to know that I'd do whatever I can to help you... No, I will do whatever I can to help you."
God, of course. Of course he'd say something like that.
Vanitas flinches. Why does Noé care so much? What makes him think Vanitas deserves this much of concern?
Why hasn't Vanitas cut him off by now? Noé is both so perfect and inconvenient, he throws Vanitas off the rythym, makes him hesitate and make decisions he wouldn't normally allow himself to make.
And he's so naive.
Vanitas clenches his fists.
"I don't need help," he grinds out. "There's no point."
"What are you talking about? How can you say something like this?" The mixture of genuine surprise, Noé's typical stubbornness and his incurable optimism in his voice bodes no good.
Vanitas really isn't in the mood to argue with him, but it nettles him already because Noé just won't give up on trying to protect him. When will he learn Vanitas doesn't want that? He's flattered with the concern, but his self-destructive nature isn't any of Noé's business. Caring for Vanitas isn't a good choice, anyway.
Vanitas sighs.
"Do you know what hanahaki is, Noé?"
"Yes, I do and I know it's not incurable!" He raises his voice in disbelief of Vanitas' refusal to even try.
"But have you considered it's just not going to happen to me?"
"How do you know?"
Fuck. He really doesn't want to deal with this now.
Vanitas knows what's going to happen if he doesn't escape this situation. They'll just fight until Vanitas runs out of arguments he can say out loud. He'll slip down into a losing position and go silent as Noé makes him vulnerable because he's so defensless. Vanitas will do something stupid, maybe something even he himself wouldn't predict.
Noé is the only one that can mess with him this way and that's what makes him so dangerous.
When Vanitas doesn't respond to his previous question, Noé leans in slightly, it's as if he's looking for the missing answer in Vanitas' eyes, only to prove there's none.
Vanitas can't help but freeze for a split second, yet he snaps back into reality quickly, pushing Noé away and getting up. He strangles a quiet groan, as a wave of sharp pain hits his ribs. Some dark spots in his vision appear like petals blown right into his face. Vanitas falters thrown off by them and by how weak his body feels, but he manages to regain balance fast enough.
Before he can do anything, Noé is already on his feet, back in his worry mode.
Vanitas stumbles back until his back hits the wall. He curses under his breath. He coughs and it hurts but it doesn't matter. What matters is he needs to get out.
Noé looks like he's about to ask him what's wrong but Vanitas blurts out something first.
"I need to go."
"What?" Before Noé can comprehend what's happening, Vanitas is already heading to the window. "Vanitas, wait!"
He doesn't listen. His foot is already placed on the windowsill when he feels a tug on his arm. He tries to shove it off. Noé is quite strong though, damn him.
"You can't just run off like that. You'll get hurt!" He protested.
"I'm not a child, Noé."
"You're sick. Besides, I wasn't finished."
"I don't care. Let me go."
Noé frowns and stares at him like he doesn't know what to say. Stop being so fucking concerned. Just stop. Vanitas feels like he's going to explode if he stays here any longer. He could try to jerk his arm out of Noé's grip, couldn't he? He doesn't know why he's just... Not doing it.
Irrational decisions, God, it's getting bad.
"Why?"
"Because-" Vanitas almost yells but then he realizes what to say next. It throws him off, he isn't used to doing... Whatever he's doing. He isn't used to not knowing what he's doing. Usually, even when what he's doing is complete improvisation, he's aware of his every move.
His mind goes blank, for a short moment. And it's something that could possibly break the surface of his mask, whichever one he's trying to put on... So he can't let that throw him off. He's been far too exposed today.
He just has to breathe in and muzzle the fear. Hide it below the surface. Think. Act.
"Because I want to be alone," he says, calmly.
It's something Noé might buy.
And it works. Works for whatever Vanitas intended, no longer conversation, he just needed to throw Noé off too.
All it takes is for his grip to loosen and Vanitas is out.
Vanitas doesn't know exactly where he is. He knows Paris well, but he's been wandering around for hours, he can't even tell what time it is.
His legs are getting numb from walking. His throat is so dry he'd kill for a glass of water but he has no money and besides talking to anyone just to buy it is the least appealing thing he could do right now.
This day has been overwhelming, to say the least. He doesn't feel like he wants to scream, cry or throw himself in a river anymore though. He doesn't feel much at all, actually. He thought a lot. He felt a lot. And it was all too much until well... It still is. But he's given up. There's no strength in him left to fight or run. All he can do is accept. He's just tired of all this.
He wants to go home.
He sways a bit as walks and only then realizes what a weird thought it is for him to have.
Home? What is a home, anyway? He never properly felt like he had one. Safety, he muses. A home is a place that's supposed to feel safe, familiar... warm.
He wants to go home - it's a desire phrased in a way that makes him feel like a child. It makes sense now though, doesn't it? He feels like anything could hurt him today. Like he couldn't fight back.
He walks until he finds a bench. He's in some park now, it seems. There doesn't seem to be many people which is good, great even. He sits down, relief settles into his sore muscles. Vanitas leans back, sighs and lets himself close his eyes.
He's tempted to stay like this forever.
A one good thing is, he's too tired to start overthinking again. All his thoughts feel abstract and distant. He thinks about Noé, he thinks about dying but it doesn't feel as significant anymore. He can think about things like the weather or birds flying by too.
He really could fall asleep here.
He should go back to the hotel, at some point. Maybe later. Maybe never.
Maybe he could leave. Go somewhere far, far away so he never has to face that damn vampire again. Die alone in some ditch. Maybe he wouldn't mind that.
Maybe it would actually be nice. Dying.
It's like falling asleep, right? Except you don't have to wake up. You don't have to put up with anything anymore.
Just cold, omnipresent darkness.
Well, if he's lucky. He could end up in hell or something. He doesn't really believe in hell, but if it exists, he knows he belongs there.
For now, a nap could be enough.
And what comes later is a problem to solve for later.
"Quack?" A voice comes from somewhere behind, piercing through the blissful unawerness of sleep.
He's never been a heavy sleeper.
"Quack, you idiot!" The voice gets closer, along with the sound of angry, fast footsteps.
Vanitas turns his head towards it reluctantly. Dante looks pissed out of his mind.
"We've been looking for you all day!"
We? Only then does Vanitas see a tall figure in the background trying to keep up with the dhampir's pace.
"Vanitas!" Noé half yells, half gasps.
Right.
Vanitas stands up.
"I knew you were fucking idiot but running off like that? At this stage of an illness?" Dante scolds him. "And why did you let it get to this point anyway? I'd look into the topic if you had just fucking asked me! There has to be some kind of medicine that-"
"There isn't." Vanitas says coldly.
"Not even to slow the process?" He argues.
"Maybe... I don't know. But it doesn't matter."
"They won't love you anyway - blah, blah, blah. Self-loathing won't help you right now. Aren't you supposed to be a doctor?"
"I'm not that kind of a doctor and you know it!"
"My point is; you don't give up. You're a vampire doctor and the most insufferable human in all of Paris. How can you give up now, over some stupid feelings?"
Vanitas doesn't know what to say to this.
"He's right!" Noé, who was previously watching the conversation from behind Dante, agrees. "The Vanitas I know wouldn't just let himself die over something like this."
Vanitas looks at him, then at Dante, then at the ground and quietly says:
"Then maybe you don't know me at all."
Noé steps closer and Vanitas only realizes when he sees the vampire's shoes in front of his own. He wants to step back but before he can go through with this plan, Noé grips him by the shoulders. Vanitas can't help but look up at his face.
"But I do. I know I know you more than anyone. I know that even if you want to give up right now, you're strong enough not to." It's that face again; that determined scrunch between his eyebrows and that stubbornly hopeful gleam in his eyes. "And no matter what happens, I won't let you. We can do it, as long as we're together, remember?"
Vanitas watches him, eyes widening after each word, disbelieving. He watches him and knows Noé means it a hundred percent. Still he can't comprehend that he gets to be a recipent of such words. For a moment, he feels like it's all going to be alright. For a moment, he believes he's safe now because it's them now against this, not only him. And he could cry. But then, he remembers and his heart clenches.
Except us being together is the problem. Except you've loved me more than anyone and you don't even love me, do you? Because then we wouldn't be here right now.
You know me more than anyone, but you don't know me at all.
Vanitas swallows, lowering his head. Hair fall over his eyes that are now glassy with tears. His hands turn into fists in an attempt to prevent them from shaking.
"You don't understand. It's not-- It's not that simple." He whispers because if he spoke louder his voice might break.
"Oh, is it?" Dante mocks. "Or is the 'complicated nature' the same as of every problem you have? These bullshit reasons you don't bother to explain that are only there because you need to cover up the fact that you're too scared to let anyone help you?"
Vanitas takes a breath to put his emotions on a leash and wiggles his way out of Noé's grip.
"I'm not paying you to play therapist on me, Baldy." He says now louder, steadier.
"The first session is for free." Dante rolls his eyes, sarcasm dripping off his tongue. "I'm not here for business tonight, Vanitas. For Noé it isn't about the Book either."
"We care about you!" Noé exclaims and Dante looks thankful he didn't have to say it himself.
Vanitas opens his mouth, but for nothing; he doesn't know what to say. He forces his expression of shock to turn into a scowl, but even under a mask this situation feels unsafe. The silence hangs in the air like toxic smoke.
A small part of him wants to lash out at them. Reject any sort of care he might receive. There's always a voice that says he doesn't deserve it and that they should hate him.
The other part feels like he's crumbling to pieces and will lose control any moment now. It's scared... He's scared. This part is too panicked to say anything. Still, the pounding in his chest feels like its voice.
They're both loud.
He reaches desperately to wake the rational part. He has to grit his teeth to manage not exploding, whatever that might mean today, before he does that. It tells him to stay cool, collected. Come up with some defence against... whatever this is.
The words still don't come.
"Just... let us take you home. That's all, for now. If you don't want to... talk about it." Noé says now more quietly, raising his arm like he wants to reach for Vanitas again but he hesitates midair.
Vanitas' eyes looks at him, then at his hand, then at Dante. He considers.
He's so tired. All he wants to do is go home and that thought makes him realize he really does consider that hotel room he shares with Noé home. And he does too.
Except this home now feels permamently broken. It's not going to be the same. Nothing will be.
He should be used to things breaking in his life, it feels like that's all they do. So why does it feel the same every time, if not worse?
Still, he nods, even though the realization made him feel like he'd just got stabbed.
"Alright. Let's go."
They don't talk after that and Vanitas is thankful for that.