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Vanitas wakes up to gentle fingers in his hair.
How he knows what exactly is going on, he doesn’t know. It’s not like he’s ever experienced the sensation for himself before.
But all Vanitas knows is that when his mind clears and his eyelids flutter open, there’s the soft, slow motion of fingers carding through his hair.
His heart seizes, because who else would do this? Who else would be in his room, by his bedside? And yet-
He does not want to let himself hope-
“Noé?”
His voice is ragged round the edges with sleep, but otherwise passably not-vulnerable. There’s a beat of silence where the fingers in his hair pause, then-
“Bonjour, Vani.”
He does not want to get up. Getting up would mean the fingers leave his hair. Getting up would mean facing the new longing for touch that he knows will ambush him as soon as the fingers leave his hair.
Why does he not want the fingers to leave his hair?
Merde, why does he care if they are there or not? He shouldn’t care. He should just get up.
Vanitas does not get up as he speaks next.
“Is today some sort of celebration that I’ve somehow forgotten about?”
There is a light threading of amusement in his partner’s response. “There’s nothing particularly special about today, unless you count the visit to Orlok’s as celebratory.”
“Gods, certainly not.” Vanitas huffs a laugh, trying to keep his movement as small as possible. “I’m hardly delighted to give him the report, considering-”
“Are you under the impression that I require a special event as an excuse to touch your hair?”
Oh, merde. Noé really is too perceptive. Vanitas should’ve never let him spend so much time with Amelia and Dominique- actually, he probably would’ve turned out like this without them anyway.
It’s a struggle to keep his voice casual, but he is nothing if not practiced. “I’m simply curious as to why you decided to do so today of all days.”
“So you wanted me to do it sooner?”
Vanitas opens his mouth, then closes it.
And against all odds, he feels his cheeks heat up.
“Vani, dear, I’m not hearing a no.” He can hear Noé’s shit-eating grin. Goddamned vampire with his goddamned cheerfulness. Who the fuck did he learn to be this flirtatious from?
The fingers in his hair drag across his scalp until they’re next to his face, and before Vanitas can react in time, a finger decidedly taps his cheek.
His shoulders jump along with his breath. He’s praying Noé can’t see his face right now. Oh, god, but Noé probably already felt how warm-
“Are you still blushing, Vani?”
That fucking teasing tone. That does it. Mask of calmness be damned (he wasn’t doing a good job of it anyway), Vanitas desperately yanks the blanket up to cover his face.
He does not care if the sharp movement jostles Noé’s fingers away from his hair. So be it. They were getting annoying anyway.
(He is such a liar.)
Noé laughs, and despite the snow falling in soft drifts outside their window, it feels like spring.