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    Summary

    Vanitas was certain that his desires would lose meaning as soon as he attempted to articulate them, a series of misfires and unbuilt almosts. One day, he would find the right words but for the time being, he was stuck in a monosyllabic limbo. “No,” he said.

    “No?”

    “No,” Vanitas affirmed, or denied, he wasn’t sure at this point. He was full of negations, way too many to be constructively sensible.

    “I don’t understand.” Noé’s frown cut deeper into his forehead, brows furrowing.

    “That makes two of us.”

    Finally, Noé’s features smoothened. He smiled, looking ever so lovely. He should always smile. “I would like to make a suggestion. Perhaps you and I could figure it out together.“

     

    In which: Vanitas wants Noé and Noé wants Vanitas, and that should be simple, but it isn't.

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