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It finally started snowing just as Vanitas walked in.
For days now the sky had been a gray concrete slab heavy with the anticipation of winter weather, and Vanitas’ abrupt arrival at the coffee shop seemed a harbinger of sorts, the catalyst in a building reaction waiting to erupt. As usual he was dressed head to toe in black, like an omen of dark things to come; as usual, he sparked a churning conflict of turmoil in Ventus’ chest. Why did he always feel this sense of restless dread whenever Vanitas was around?
Probably because he knew that wherever Vanitas went, trouble always followed close behind.
Ventus expected him to saunter up to the counter as usual, all cocky smiles and affected swagger, but instead Vanitas just copped a seat at a table near the window and fixedly turned his gaze out onto the busy street. For a while Ventus pretended not to notice him, though he kept stealing furtive glances over between his orders. Not once did Vanitas turn to look at him, and as time passed a strange apprehension mounted in Ventus. After all, what was Vanitas here for, if not to harass him?
Finally, when he’d finished with the last of the customers in line, Ventus slipped out from behind the counter and headed over to the spot Vanitas had claimed for himself. He smacked Vanitas none too gently on the shoulder, and got a sharp, icy glare in return.
“Hey. If you’re not gonna buy anything, you can’t hang out here. That’s called loitering, you know.”
Vanitas snorted, and shifted his gaze outside again.
“So call the fucking cops, then.”
“Language.”
“Fuck off, Ven.”
Ventus sighed, and rolled his eyes. Vanitas was often mercurial at best, swinging without notice from mood to mood, angry in an instant and laughing the next. In some ways Ventus envied the depth and passion of his emotions, such a sharp contrast to the carefully guarded nature of his own heart. And yet, this was the first time he’d seen Vanitas quite so prickly, especially when it came to him. Usually Ventus was the one rebuffing Vanitas, not the other way around, and this blunt rejection made him feel…
How did it make him feel?
Better, perhaps, not to linger on that.
He pursed his lips into a frown and stared at Vanitas for a little longer, but got no further response from him. Finally Ventus retreated, only to return a few minutes later two cups of hot coffee in ceramic mugs. Usually, when Vanitas showed up out of the blue to pester him, Ventus was quick to shove a to go cup in his hand; this one read more as an invitation for him to stay.
Ventus sat both mugs on the table, and pushed one towards Vanitas.
“Black, extra hot. Your usual.”
“I didn’t ask for that,” Vanitas grumbled.
“Yeah, I know. It’s on the house.”
Vanitas scoffed, but reached for the mug with a trembling hand. The uncertainty in that gesture was so unexpected that, without thinking, Ventus reached for Vanitas’ hand and held it for a moment in his own. Vanitas tensed, his eyes widening, though he didn’t yet pull away.
“You’re freezing,” Ventus said, frowning, “What have you been doing?”
“Nothing. Walking.”
“Not a great day for walking.”
“Says you.”
“Seriously,” Ventus said, “What’s going on? Did something happen?”
“No,” Vanitas growled, jerking his hand free of Ventus’ grip. “It’s none of your business.”
Ventus’ frown deepened. He ought to have left it at that - as Vanitas had so eloquently quipped, it really was none of his concern. And yet...he couldn’t forget the chill lingering on Vanitas’ skin, so cold that it seemed to have seeped straight into his heart. How long had he been outside, for his hands to still be so cold?
“Alright. Fine,” he said, finally. “You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to. But I’ll keep bringing you coffee until you warm up. Deal?”
Vanitas made a grumbling, noncommittal sound, and reached for the coffee mug. He drained it in a few sips, seemingly heedless of the heat, his hands cupped tightly around the mug like he was clinging to some kind of lifeline. He sat it down then wordlessly nudged it towards Ventus, who picked it up and dutifully returned with it freshly refilled. Vanitas took the next cup slower, and eyed Ventus warily as he drank.
“Aren’t you supposed to be working? Do you really have time to sit here and stare at me?”
“Actually, my shift just ended, so I guess it’s good timing,” Ventus said, cheerfully. “I can sit here and stare at you all I want.”
“Huh.” Vanitas managed a small, toothy smile. “Well, take a good look, then.”
Normally Vanitas’ snide flirting did little more than annoy Ventus, but that comment had been so perfectly in character that Ventus couldn’t help laughing. It seemed to lighten the mood anyway, and for a while the silence between them was peaceful instead of awkward.
“...I got in a fight with the old man,” Vanitas said suddenly, his voice a low rumble, his gaze focused on some indistinct spot outside. “He kicked me out.”
“What?” Ventus leaned forward, concern written in his face and expression. “When?”
“Last night sometime. I didn’t have anywhere else to go, so I just wandered around. Then I wound up here, for some reason.”
Ventus opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it. He didn’t really know Vanitas that well - he had only a vague understanding of his family life, enough to know that it wasn’t great. He’d never heard Vanitas mention friends, but hadn’t assumed that there was literally no one Vanitas could go to for help. That the first place he thought to come was here - what did that mean?
“You could have called me.”
Vanitas arched an eyebrow.
“And what would you have done if I did, Ven? That’s not exactly the kind of relationship we have.”
‘It could be.’
The thought rose unbidden in his mind, and Ventus felt his face flush. There wasn’t much to their ‘relationship’ at all - a casual fling at best, a means to an end for both of them. Weren’t they both in agreement about that?
“Still. I would have helped you.”
Vanitas looked at him as if trying to weigh the truth of his words. Behind him, the snow outside the window fell in a whirlwind of flurries, creating a soft and ethereal backdrop to the scene.
“What would you have done? Let me crash at your place with your obnoxious babysitters? No thanks. Besides, you and I both know about how well your old man thinks of me.”
“Don’t talk about Terra and Aqua like that. As for Eraqus...well...I think he’d understand.” Ventus sighed, and looked down at his own cup of coffee. “What are you going to do, then?”
“Cool off for a bit and slink back home I guess,” Vanitas said, face scrunched up as if something particularly distasteful was on his tongue. “The ol’ bastard just wants to know he made me suffer, so, fine. He can have the satisfaction, I don’t care.”
“Van…” Ventus started to reach for him, instinctively, but stopped his hand just short of touching him. “Well, look. Just do me a favor, okay?”
“A favor?”
“Yeah. If you need a place to go, come to me,” Ventus said, “Whatever’s going on, whenever it is, doesn’t matter. I promise you can stay with me.”
Vanitas stared at him for a long time, then purposefully angled his body away, so that Ventus couldn’t see his expression.
“Yeah. Okay, sure, whatever.”
“Promise me.”
“What do you want, a pinky swear or something?!”
“That’d be nice, yes,” Ventus said, with a sweet smile. He extended his hand to Vanitas, expectantly. “Come on, then.”
“Ugh, you have got to be joking…” Vanitas rolled his eyes, but obediently hooked his pinky around Ventus’. “There, happy?”
The point of contact between them was small but warm, the chill gone from Vanitas’ touch. A long moment passed before Ventus pulled his hand back, smiled, and said,
“Yes.”