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Vanitas was fluid, shifting through his moods like water from a pitcher.
Noé sometimes wondered if he’d ever be able to catch him.
The thought brought a wave of confusion to the vampire as he watched Vanitas pace the length of the room. Like a trapped animal, he turned through their shared space, muttering to himself. Noé wasn’t sure what was on his mind. It’d been a chaotic last few days, despite the lack of anything happening. Perhaps it was the down time. Noé couldn’t disagree; it was rather quiet around here.
Noé wished there was something going on. Anything. Between Vanitas’ moods and the lack of stimuli, Noé’d found a strange air of confusion around himself. It seemed to set in whenever he was around Vanitas—or more specifically, when Vanitas was around him. He had a tendency of disappearing on Noé, and even in his shadow, Noé felt a strange loneliness when he was gone.
Noé leaned back in bed, shoving the thoughts way. Murr purred on his lap. He scratched the cat behind the ears and Murr shook his head irritably, jumping down off the bed. Noé sighed. Apparently, he was the only one without an attitude tonight.
He watched Vanitas take another turn in the room, and cleared his throat. “We could play chess?”
Vanitas stopped, cold. He looked at Noé like he’d forgotten he was there. “I’m busy.”
“Busy doing what?” Noé wasn’t sure what the pacing was accomplishing. It seemed Vanitas was only wearing out the floor of their hotel room.
“Nothing.”
“Then, you’re not busy.”
Vanitas dropped himself into a chair. He picked up a book, and rested his cheek on his hand, smiling sharply. “I’m reading.”
Noé shook his head. “Just say you don’t want to play with me.”
“I don’t want to play with you.”
The smile on Vanitas’ face could wilt a flower, but Noé had been around Vanitas long enough to know he was trying to get a rise out of him. He huffed out a breath, and scooted himself down onto his bed. “Fine. I’m going to bed.”
“Sweet dreams,” Vanitas said in a singsong voice.
Noé didn’t grace that with a response. He was irritated. He knew it was an overreaction. Vanitas was always inconsistent like this. His twisting moods shouldn’t leave him upset like this. Noé’d noticed, though, lately when Vanitas went flippant like that, it hurt his feelings. He wasn’t sure why. It felt like any time he almost got close to the other man, Vanitas changed in the light into something else. Something further away. Noé wasn’t sure why it frustrated him. What had changed? He didn’t feel like he’d changed. Neither had Vanitas.
The feelings cycled in his head until sleep pulled at his eyes and he drifted off. In his dream, he was in the forest where he’d grown up. Darting through the trees, he searched, calling out Vanitas’ name. Where was he? Images flashed past his eyes, so many memories that weren’t his own. So many memories he didn’t remember taking in. He shook, dropping to the fresh-fallen snow and held his head in his hands. Vanitas. Where was Vanitas? He needed to find him. Needed to tell him something important. He couldn’t remember what it was. He was sure he’d remember, if he could just find Vanitas.
Static crumbled the dream. Noé woke with a start. The room was dark, silent. He took in a shuddering breath and tried to turn over. It was then he was aware that he wasn’t the only one in the bed. As his eyesight adjusted, he gazed into two blue eyes staring back at him.
“This is a dream,” Vanitas said in a whisper. His hand came up to Noé’s face, caressing his cheek. “Just a dream.”
“Just a dream,” Noé agreed, blearily. His head was fuzzy. It felt too real to be a dream, but as his mind caught up, he wasn’t sure it wasn’t a dream. Vanitas didn’t come this close to him usually. He moved into the touch, sighing. “I finally found you.”
Vanitas cracked a mischievous smile. “Was I missing?”
“I was looking for you,” Noé said. “In my dream. And if this is a dream too, then I must have found you.”
Vanitas was silent. Noé could feel his warmth through the covers. This was the most vivid dream he’d ever had. Vanitas’ hand came to his hair, the fabric of his glove sliding across the white locks. Noé hummed his approval.
“I don’t know what I was supposed to tell you,” Noé admitted after a moment. “It was important. I thought I’d remember when I found you, but I don’t remember.”
“It’s okay,” Vanitas said.
This must be a dream, Noé thought. Vanitas’ voice was never so soft.
He scooched closer, bringing his arms around dream-Vanitas. He sucked in a breath as Noé rested his head on his collarbone.
“Noé,” Vanitas said, his voice strained. “Remember, this is a dream.”
“I remember,” Noé said, irritably. Even in his dream, Vanitas bossed him around.
“Just a dream,” Vanitas mumbled, tilting Noé’s head up to him. “Just a dream.”
Vanitas’ lips were on his. Soft, searching, like a question against him. Noé kissed back, no reservations. It was a dream, after all, and Vanitas was so warm against him. Everything seemed to freeze around them. Noé could hear his own heartbeat in his ears, could feel Vanitas’ against his chest. They nearly synced as their lips slid across each others’. Noé moved his hands to Vanitas’ hair, tangling into the long locks. He felt Vanitas breathe, softly, as he deepened the kiss. Noé’s head swam with it.
Then, as fast as it happened, it was over. Vanitas pulled back, something in his eyes Noé couldn’t read. His expression looked almost pained. Noé brought his hand up to Vanitas’ cheek.
“I remembered,” he whispered. “I needed to tell you—tell you I love you.”
Vanitas shifted like mercury.
Where he’d once been soft, Vanitas turned to stone, his mouth in a tight line. Noé couldn’t believe those were the lips he’d just kissed. He wanted to reach out, to soften those edges, but he was stunned still, the dream turning into a nightmare.
“Don’t—” Vanitas started, stopped, then turned. He left the bed, walking across the room and out the window. Noé stared at the place he once was. The covers were still warm, and Noé sank into the shadow of touch there. Something horrible in his chest broke, but no tears came to his eyes.
Maybe, he thought, if he went back to sleep, the dream would change. Maybe Vanitas would come back. He closed his eyes, swallowing something like grief, and drifted off into a mass of swirling nightmares.
When Noé woke the next morning, Vanitas was in the chair he’d left him in. A book dangled from his fingertips, Vanitas’ expression far off. Noé rubbed his eyes.
“Morning,” he croaked. Murr was on the bed again, at Noé’s feet. He made a small sound as Noé got out of bed.
“Morning,” Vanitas said, blinking. He gave Noé a once over. “Rough night, I take it?”
“I—” Noé started. Had it really been a dream? Vanitas smiled at him casually. It had to be a dream. There was no way Vanitas would be so calm if it were real.
“Yeah,” Noé said. “Nightmares.”
“That’s what you get for sleeping so hard.” Vanitas yawned. “Now, get ready. Orlok summoned us.”
It all seemed so normal. Noé didn’t know that he wanted normal. The feeling of Vanitas’ lips on his still lingered, the words Noé’d to him spoken still reverberated in his bones. Was it true? Did he love Vanitas? It was so easy to say in the dream. So simple. So true. He looked to Vanitas, who eyed him with an eyebrow raised.
Yes, he thought. He loved Vanitas. That was the feeling he’d had these past few days. The confusion swept away, and he saw himself clearly now.
He remembered how dream-Vanitas responded when he’d told him.
He bit his lip.
“Well?” Vanitas asked, his tone warm, but his eyes guarded. “Are you just going to stand there all day?”
Noé shook his head. With a stretch, he began to get dressed, ignoring the fluttering in his chest and Vanitas’ gaze.
“I’ll be downstairs,” Vanitas said after a moment. He flowed out the door, and Noé was glad to be alone with his thoughts for a moment. The dream weighed heavily on him. He swallowed hard. Bringing his fingers to his lips, he closed his eyes, remembering the kiss. The question in Vanitas’ touch. He breathed out, steadily. It was a dream. No more, no less. He threw his clothes on, and walked to the door. With a backwards glance at the window, he tilted his head. It was open.
He was certain it hadn’t been open when he’d gone to bed last night.
With a shake of his head, he followed after Vanitas. He wouldn’t think about the dream. He wouldn’t think about his feelings. There was no future to it. Vanitas had told him as much once.
I have absolutely no interest in the sort of person who would fall for me.