Chapter Text
♪♫♪
Vanitas’ fingers flitted over the piano’s keys with precision - familiarity - into a gradual crescendo. Not even having to look at the sheet music, Vanitas’ body acted on mere muscle memory; he allowed his hands to take complete control. The notes rang throughout the room, echoing down the hallways, chiming in his ears, and numbing his brain until the only thing he could think about was playing arpeggios with his left and keeping up with his right.
Vanitas chewed on his bottom lip as he concentrated, swinging his head in lieu of the tune while he lost himself in the music. His chest squeezed as he slammed his fingers down on the last keys and a sense of satisfaction bubbled in his chest. Fuck, he loved this feeling. He’d play the piano like this until the day he died if that meant he could feel like this forever.
“Very good.”
Vanitas whipped his head back, his ponytail smacking him in the face and - oh. Just his band teacher, Olivier. Damn sneaky bastard.
“Don’t sneak up on me like that,” Vanitas spat and rested a hand on his beating chest. If it were anyone else, he would have surely died from embarrassment.
“Not my fault you play so loudly,” Olivier adjusted his tie, still standing awkwardly by the band room door. “You’ve been getting better lately.”
Olivier never blatantly complimented him. Vanitas squinted. “What are you getting at?”
“Can’t keep anything from you,” Olivier sighed with a roll of his eyes. Vanitas only squinted harder.
“Roland wanted me to ask you for a favor.”
Roland…?
Vanitas swiveled on the piano’s chair, eyebrows furrowed. “You mean Mr. Fortis?”
Olivier fake coughed behind a hand. “I do.”
Vanitas turned back to face the piano, his fingers ached to start another song. He wrinkled his face, wishing Olivier would leave already. “What’s he want?”
“The upcoming musical has a piano solo.”
Vanitas sucked in a breath. No. He knew where this was going.
“He wants to know if you’d like to perform it.” Vanitas’ inner turmoil went unnoticed by Olivier; he continued talking as he picked up stray candy wrappers the last class left and chucked them into the trash.
Vanitas’ fingers hovered over the piano’s keys, trembling. No.
“It’d be a good opportunity for you.”
No. No. No. No. No-
“I look forward to your answer. Please let him know before the week ends.”
The door shut and Vanitas wasted no time in banging his head on the piano, an awful symphony blaring in his ears. Again, again, and again. If he said no, it would break Mr. Fortis’ heart - literally. That man was too wholesome and chipper for his own good. Vanitas wouldn’t be able to bear seeing that man frown at him, let alone allowing him to be disappointed in Vanitas rejecting his offer.
Vanitas’ anxiety bubbled in his throat. His hands were shaking too much to play properly - he needed a drink. He should drink something before his acid built up, come back, and continue playing. There was a vending machine full of different beverages down the hallway by the weight room - like, a dollar-fifty each? That should work.
Shakily standing up, Vanitas pushed himself off the piano bench and wobbled to the door, a million and one things racing in his mind. If he said yes, he’d have to perform in front of a crowd - not once, not twice, but probably like ten times. Fuck, no, he couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t do this; not a chance in hell.
A flash of the theatre teacher’s face appeared in his mind.
Goddammit.
Vanitas concentrated on the floor tiles as he speed-walked, and, out of sheer stupidity, ran into someone head on and found his ass hurtling to the ground. The perpetrator gasped and their hat fell off of their head, joining Vanitas who was rubbing furiously at his freshly bonked ass.
“Fuck,” he seethed through clenched teeth. That was definitely going to leave a bruise. “What the fuck?”
“I am so sorry,” the taller man apologized. “I wasn’t looking where I was going, I’m so sorry.”
Vanitas, still rubbing his ass, decided to see who exactly the man was before he punched the living shit out of him and, fuck-
The man was knelt down on hands and knees with a worried wobble to his lips. His tanned skin caught Vanitas’ attention and he noticed his face and arms were covered entirely in beauty marks - not to mention he was wearing a confusing outfit - why did he look as though he just walked straight out of a film made in eighteenth-century Paris?
“I’m so sorry! Please, let me buy you a drink,” the taller man pleaded. “I’m so sorry.” He repeated, already inserting quarters into the machine slot. “What do you want?”
Vanitas was rooted to the floor, having made no attempt in getting up or saying anything. No “oh, it’s fine,” or, “stand still and let me sock you one right there,” not even an, “I can pay for it myself.” He just sat there, staring.
“Shit, right-” he kneeled down again, “let me help you up.”
Two strong hands wrapped themselves under Vanitas’ armpits and hoisted him up as if he weighed next to nothing and Vanitas didn’t know how to feel, so, naturally-
“Get your hands off of me,” he shoved out of instinct and tripped over his feet, almost toppling over for the second time.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized for the umpteenth time, thoroughly pissing Vanitas off even more. “I should have asked first.”
“Yeah, you should have,” Vanitas spat, brushing the dirt and grime off of his clothes. Fuck, this was the most embarrassing interaction he’s had this week besides walking in on his younger brother forcing his Barbies make out whilst naked. God - why did he have to think of that now of all places?
“Let me buy you a drink. That’s why you’re over here, right?”
Vanitas could walk away - should walk away. He didn’t have to deal with this shit nor did he want to. He could be at home on the couch being forced to marathon Spongebob and Octonauts with his younger brother because “I don’t like other TV shows,” and slaving away at the stove making macaroni because “I don’t like eating other food.”
Yeah, actually, you know what? Fuck that.
“Just a coffee.”
This caused the man to grin from ear to ear and Vanitas saw a ghost of a dimple on the man’s left cheek. “Okay! Which kind?”
“Fucks sake, I don’t fuckin’ know. Vanilla?”
“Interesting,” he mumbled under his breath as he pushed random buttons on the machine.
“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing!” He waved his hand dismissively. “Here!”
Vanitas cautiously took the drink from his hand and realized he didn’t even know the man’s name. Actually, he didn’t give a fuck what his name was. Clutching his coffee, Vanitas turned away and stomped down the hallway, only making it a few steps before-
“What’s your name?”
Oh, for fucks sake.
“No.”
“No? That’s really close to mine! I’m Noé!”
Vanitas held his coffee tighter and kept walking away, ignoring “Noé” and his stupid outfit he had on. Did he know he looked like an idiot walking around the school like that? Surely he didn’t wear that kind of thing every day. Vanitas would rather be caught dead than hanging out with him if that was the case.
“I’ll see you later, then!”
Go to hell.
♪♫♪
♪♫♪
“You’re going to break your back leaning like that. Try pretending like you have a stick up your ass.”
“Dominique, you’re not helping,” Noé cringed.
Dominique sighed dramatically and covered her face in frustration. “I love you, Noé, I really do.”
Noé cringed again. “...But?”
“But,” she continued, “you cannot dance for shit.”
Noé frowned and slouched over in an attempt to hide his sour expression, his hat falling off of his head and clattering to the stage. Today was awful - he was almost late for first period because his cat decided to throw up all over his bedroom carpet, he forgot to turn in his essay assignment for his French course, and, to top it all off, he bumped into someone prior to arriving for rehearsal and most definitely ruined their day along with it. Maybe buying the drink made up for it; he didn’t know. He hoped it did.
Dominique lifted his shoulders back up and faced him head-on.
“It’s okay, lots of people can’t dance!” Dominique rambled and counted her fingers as she went, “that old guy at the gas station last Friday, white people, Astolfo.”
“Hey!” Astolfo yelled.
"Practice makes perfect," Roland began, a steady hand on Astolfo's shoulder - holding him back, if Noé had to guess. "You are all wonderful actors and dancers to me."
Astolfo turned away and crossed his arms with an angered huff.
"We don't have time to practice," Noé motioned with his hands and clenched them into fists. "There isn't enough time for me to-!"
“Not with that attitude, you won’t!” Roland announced. “You all still have two weeks until showtime. If you stay after class, you’ll be professionals in no time!” The theatre teacher flung his arms out with dramatic emphasis. “I know it!”
“But-”
Roland waved a finger at Noé. “No butts except yours on the stage dancing! Come on, from the top!”
“Actually, sir?” One of the sound-techs interrupted. They were holding at least a dozen microphones and two rolls of painters tape. “Someone wants to see you.”
“Hm?” Roland moved his attention off the stage, past the audience chairs, towards the doors and-
“My dear Vincent!” he exclaimed. “It’s wonderful to see you! Did Olivier tell you the news?”
The boy at the door, Vincent, Noé concluded, was…
“You’re the guy I bumped into earlier!”
Vincent, albeit awkwardly, was still holding the coffee Noé had bought him earlier. It was half empty and for some reason that made Noé’s cheeks warm.
“Well, come on now, don’t be shy!” Roland beckoned Vincent over. “I promise we don’t bite.”
“Yeah, if ‘we’ means everyone who isn’t Astolfo,” Dominique jabbed.
“Oh, hush!” Roland raced down the stage stairs, but faltered slightly when he caught sight of the student’s frown. “...I take it you bring good news?”
“I’m sorry, sir. I can’t do it.”
Now that got Noé’s attention.
“Can’t do what?” Noé butted into the conversation, following his teacher’s footsteps and appearing right next to him. “What’s the matter?”
“Noé, dear, quit barging into conversations that don’t involve you,” Dominique sighed, but it fell on deaf ears.
“Are you alright, sir?” Noé asked, brows furrowed as he noticed his teacher and Vincent’s frowns.
“Yes, I am,” Roland bit his bottom lip, deep in thought. “It’s just…finding a skilled pianist like Vincent on such short notice…”
Pianist?
“You play piano?” Noé found himself asking. Damn, maybe he should take Dominique’s advice sometime.
Vincent, who, Noé suddenly realized, was…extremely short, to keep it simple. Noé was at least a foot-and-a-half taller and something about that made his stomach churn.
“I can’t perform in front of a crowd like that, sir.” Vincent dipped his head to hide his face. “I’m sorry.”
“You won’t be!” Roland grasped Vincents’ hands in his, a newfound giddiness shining in his eyes. “You’ll be off in the wings where nobody can see you! Isn’t that wonderful?”
Vincent fumbled, almost dropping his coffee. “I-”
“So you’ll do it, right? Since nobody will see you?”
“I-”
“Mr. Fortis, you’re scaring him.”
“I am doing no such thing!” Roland shook his head fervently, still holding onto Vincent’s hands. “Please? It would open up so many wonderful opportunities for you if you wish to pursue music as a career! You’ll have your name and face on the playbill and everything!”
Vincent was nothing short of a deer caught in a car’s headlights on the highway with a drunk driver at the wheel going twenty miles over the speed limit. Noé was witnessing an awful car crash and he couldn’t look away.
“Okay,” Vincent unraveled his hands from Mr. Fortis’ and stepped back in an attempt at putting some distance between the two before the teacher picked him up and crushed him in a hug. “Fine.”
Roland ran up and hugged him, chanting ‘thank you’s’ and ‘you won’t regret it’s’. Go figure.
After a few moments, Vincent was set free. He was only here to meet up with Dante and go home - he wasn’t expecting to see Mr. Fortis, let alone being squeezed to death for an answer so suddenly. Thankfully, Roland ran off to help someone with microphone checks, so he wouldn’t die of suffocation today. Tomorrow, maybe, but not today.
“So…Vincent, huh?”
“Vincent is not my name.” Not-Vincent chugged a few gulps of his coffee with a frown. “It’s Vanitas.”
“Vanitas,” Noé echoed. “Wow.”
“‘Wow’?” Vanitas lowered the bottle from his lips. “You got an issue with it?”
“No, not at all!” Noé waved his hands frantically. “The opposite, actually! I think it’s…pretty.”
“Pretty,” Vanitas repeated, sloshing the coffee bottle around, watching the liquid jump up and fall back down. Then, quietly, “you think my name is pretty.”
It was a statement more than a question, as if Vanitas had to repeat it to believe it.
“I do!” Noé nodded, that damn dimple appearing on his left cheek. Curse that wretched thing. “I’ve never heard anything like it.”
Vanitas stayed silent, his bottle of coffee one sip away from being empty, silently debating on whether or not to buy another. The silence was becoming awkward. Noé wasn’t sure what to say or how to start up a conversation without sounding weird, but hell, he just had to go for it. If he hesitated, he’d probably never talk to Vanitas again. He had to take this chance!
“Is your…um…butt okay?”
Perfect.
Dominique howled with laughter and curled an arm around her stomach, falling forward. Vanitas flared up an intimidating red and immediately started to yell to hide his furiously blushing cheeks.
“Why would you say something like that?!”
“I just wanted to make sure you were alright!”
“Yeah, Noé, check and see if he has a bruise!”
“Shut up!” Noé and Vanitas yelled at Dominique in unison.
“God,” everything about this was awful, Vanitas concluded. He already met part of the cast and told Mr. Fortis that he’d play for them in the mere span of ten-ish minutes. This was a curse, right? He’s cursed because he told his younger brother to shut up the other day and he had cried for half an hour; this was just payback, wasn’t it? Vanitas grinded the palms of his hands into his eyes with a dramatic groan. He wouldn’t freak out, not here, not now. He could cry into his pillow when he was alone like a normal person. “I just want to go home,” he whined. “Where the fuck is he?”
“Give me a damn minute!” A voice yelled from behind the stage, followed by wood planks thunderously hitting the ground, followed by even more cursing. A few moments later, Dante emerged from the woodshop covered in sawdust and a growing red mark, smack dab in the center of his forehead. “Let's go, I'm done for the day.”
While Dante was digging in his pocket for his car keys, Vanitas descended down the stage stairs to retrieve his bag. Noé stayed where he stood with a dumbfounded expression. Did Vanitas know Dante? Or did Vanitas know Dante?
Or…Did that mean the same thing?
Dante rubbed his sore forehead as Vanitas returned, slinging the bag over his shoulder. “Alright, you ready?”
“Oh, you live with him?” Noé asked, fiddling with one of his costume’s white gloves. He had to know! The curiosity and the cat and all of that junk.
“No,” Dante dug into his pocket and pulled out a handful of suckers. He unwrapped one and popped it into his mouth, “more like he lives with me. Want one?”
Noé gasped and snatched all of the lollipops from Dante with a loud thanks, causing Vanitas to roll his eyes and Dante to gawk at the taller boy’s enthusiasm. Was he always like this? Loud, brash, and annoying?
“Hey, Vanitas! Do you want one too?”
Yeah, he is.
“No,” Vanitas wrinkled his nose with disgust, which he quickly regretted because Noé just had to frown and give a meek “okay,” which churned something rotten in his stomach.
Noé anxiously picked at the buttons of his costume, a gaudy top hat in his other hand and approximately three of Dante’s lollipops in his mouth. “I’ll shee you during rehearshals, ten?” Wait, no, four.
Vanitas looked Noé up and down, tantalizingly slow.
“Maybe.”
And, god, there was that fucking dimple again, along with-
“Close your fucking mouth!”
“Shorry!” Noé slurped up the saliva that was practically dripping from his lips. What a beautiful, white waistcoat, about to be absolutely ruined with colored stains by this idiot. “I’m just really glad you are helping us!”
Yeah, that was definitely Noé’s spit that just landed on Vanitas’ shirt. Nice. Wonderful. This was exactly what the doctor ordered.
♪♫♪
When Vanitas got home, he busted down his bedroom door, threw his backpack on the floor, and all but launched himself onto his bed and screamed into one of his pillows, ignoring Dante’s yelling about ‘keeping the peace’. What the fuck had he agreed to? Why the fuck did he fold so quickly? And how the hell did his ass hurt so much? He barely fell!
“Big brother?”
No. Please don’t say it.
“Can I have some macaroni?”
Oh my fucking god.