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Jeanne grits her teeth, eyes burning with tears she refuses to shed. Face downturned, she quakes– a combination of fear and embarrassment rattling her body. She doesn't need to look up to know Vanitas is looking at her with a wide eyed, bewildered expression.
“... what?” Vanitas asks, and finally Jeanne gathers the courage to meet his eyes.
“Y-you heard what I said!” She retorts. If Jeanne hadn't known for a fact that he had, she'd have thought him clueless. Confusion tugs at Vanitas’ features, alongside something like dread .
He doesn't say a word, face closing up as he takes the time to look her over with a critical eye. For whatever reason, that pisses Jeanne off– here she is, having confessed something so important and personal , and he’s looking at her with such a stupid expression!
“You… love me?” Vanitas repeats, words slow and deliberate, sounding terribly unsure of himself. Hesitation doesn’t suit him.
With a deep, steadying breath, Jeanne marches forward and grabs the other by his bow. Yanking him forward, she presses their lips together. It isn’t the first time she and Vanitas have kissed– it was the first thing he did when they met, after all– but it still makes her want to melt. Here bones are jelly and she is simply at the whims of gravity, sloshing about.
Loving him isn’t new.