Work Text:
Noé hadn’t seen his unnamed friend in years when he heard the knocking on his teacher’s front door, three nights before he was due to move out and into an apartment above the coffee shop he and Domi were taking over the management of. In hindsight, Noé had no idea who he thought the person knocking was—Domi had her own key, and besides, she was in the middle of picking fights with her sister over moving out. There was no way she’d be coming over tonight.
He still opened the door.
On the other side, drenched in blood and rain, was a boy Noé never thought he would see again. His blue-black hair hung long and loose and tangled over his shoulders, and one of his nostrils was bleeding, and his right eye, now the brilliant blue of Noé’s favorite moon, was blackened and swollen. He was dripping onto the welcome mat, and clutching his arm almost as though he was trying to give himself a hug. Upon closer glance, though, Noé realized that the arm being clutched was half out of its socket and hanging limp and swollen purple at the fingertips.
“Noé,” the boy gasped out.
“It’s you,” Noé said, standing dumbly in the doorway. “I…I didn’t think I’d see you again.”
“Believe me, the feeling is mutual,” the boy groused. “I just…didn’t know where else to go.”
At this cue, Noé moved aside to let his friend in. “You can always come to me,” he assured him, as the friend stumbled inside. “But I am moving soon.”
“Fuck that noise,” his friend groaned, heading straight down the hallway like he had a million times before before crashing face-first onto Noé’s bed. “What are they doing with you?”
“Domi and I are moving into our own apartment, Teacher’s given us a coffeeshop to manage,” Noé told him, rushing to get a first aid kit, though he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. “Or, not given, but we have the opportunity to buy it from him, and he says he won’t be looking over our shoulders at all. I got my GED, so…”
“Give me the address,” said his friend.
“I’ll give you a discount, too,” Noé told him. He got out some antiseptic wipes and a few band-aids and carefully daubed at a cut visible through his friend’s wet, matted hair. The friend yowled like a cat and pushed himself up, glaring at Noé.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” he hissed.
“Treating your wounds?” Noé replied. “You have an awful lot of them.”
“Ugh, well, you’re shit at it,” muttered his friend. “Here, give me the…no, actually, let’s get my shoulder back in my socket first.”
“How do we do that ?” asked Noé.
“Don’t worry,” his friend, “we’ve got this. I’m a doctor, after all!”
They had not, in fact, “got this”. After about twenty minutes of increasingly pained grunts, Noé’s friend groaned and said, “Right. Maybe we ought to call somebody for help?”
“Who?” Noé asked. “Domi?”
“I don’t…know her.” His friend gritted his teeth. “I’ll give you a number to call. Ask for Dante and tell him that I’m here and am willing to pay for assistance.”
Noé went and got a phone, getting ready to dial, before pausing and looking over at his friend. “I don’t…know your name,” he said slowly.
“You…oh, right, fuck. ” His friend grimaced. “...Vanitas. Call me Vanitas.”
“Nice to meet you officially, Vanitas!” Noé said brightly. “Alright, I’ll call Dante, then!” He paused. “...What’s his phone number?”
Dante, who was not bald despite Vanitas calling him ‘Baldy’ all the time, knew how to get an arm back in its socket, and happily showed Noé before they bought a sling from Walgreens and fitted Vanitas with it. He was surprisingly good-tempered about it—or maybe he just didn’t have the energy to complain.
Dante left after he was paid, though he patted Vanitas on the shoulder awkwardly before he went, and then Vanitas and Noé stared at each other for a few moments.
“...Do you know each other from med school?” Noé asked.
“What’s med school?” Vanitas shot back.
This seemed like an acceptable answer to Noé. “Do you want dinner?” he asked.
“Can you cook now?”
“No.”
“Order a pizza,” Vanitas said, “just cheese, nothing else.”
Noé, glad to have something to do other than stare at the friend he’d thought he’d never see again, hurried off and did it, and, once the delivery was confirmed, returned to Vanitas’s side, hovering over him like a particularly anxious dragonfly.
“How are Misha and Sev doing?” Noé asked, after they’d been quiet for a bit too long and Vanitas started looking as though he were somewhere else.
Vanitas flinched. “Misha is dead,” he said shortly. “Seventy is…I don’t even fucking know. Committing crimes somewhere, probably.”
“...Seventy?” Noé echoed.
“Right. Damn.” Vanitas leaned his head back against the wall and sighed. “Our guardian was a mad scientist named Dr. Moreau. The guy who was kicked out of the church for fucked up animal experiments. By the time he got to us, he’d moved on to fucked up human experiments. Misha, Seventy, and I were the only survivors by the time his lab was destroyed. Misha and I were…adopted, but Seventy’d had it with families so he struck out on his own. All the better for him, really. He’s probably still alive.”
“I’m sorry about Misha,” Noé offered.
Vanitas scoffed.
“I understand—”
“How could you ever understand?!” Vanitas shouted. “He was my fucking brother! How could someone like you ever understand—”
“I watched my best friend get murdered in front of me when I was twelve,” Noé said, trying to sound compassionate and understanding. “We’d lived together since I was four. Teacher cut his throat right in front of me and Domi. I…I’m not saying it’s the same, but I know how much it hurts to lose someone you love that much, and I’m here for you. Whatever you need.”
“God, you’re so fucking annoying,” sighed Vanitas.
“So are you,” Noé said fondly. This was much more familiar ground, and he went and sat next to his friend. He bumped his shoulder against Vanitas’s noninjured one, and after a moment or two Vanitas leaned against him.
“Does it ever feel better?” he asked hollowly.
“I don’t know,” Noé said. “Ask me again in a couple of years?” He paused. “But, I mean. It doesn’t hurt completely all of the time. I still…I still think about Louis every day. Every time I wake up I wish I could see him again, and I dream about him almost every night. Domi doesn’t really talk about it, but ever since she grew her hair out again she’s avoided mirrors unless she’s alone. …They were twins, you see, and once her hair was cut totally identical other than the fact that Louis had a mole on his cheek and Domi doesn’t have one.”
“That fucking blows,” Vanitas grumbled. “Misha…and Luna, too…” He sighed. “Hey, Noé.”
“Yeah?”
“If you’re ever planning on dying, make sure I’ve fucking kicked it first.”
“I’m not planning on dying,” said Noé.
“Good,” said Vanitas. “Good.”