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Riku hears the door open behind him, and he buries his face in his hands. It’s all too much—too many thoughts, doubts, too many memories, tearing at his heart. He needs the quiet and the dark, and he needs to be alone.
“Thought I’d find you here.”
Vanitas’ dry voice echoes through the room and draws him out of the inky torrent threatening to pull him under. Riku aches to have him near, yearns for his touch, and yet he feels compelled to push him away.
“Leave me be,” he mutters into the darkness. “I need…”
He can’t finish, and Vanitas’ jacket creaks as he shrugs. “Suit yourself.”
Riku wants to call out, wants to beg him to stay, but his throat is tight. “You don’t understand,” he finally whispers. “You don’t know what it’s like.”
Vantitas chuckles, but there’s an edge to his voice as he speaks. “You’d be surprised.”
“How can you? You’re always above it all.”
There’s a shuffling sound, and Vanitas sits down on the floor next to Riku, close but not touching. He raps his helmet with his knuckles. “This is not the only mask I wear,” he says quietly. “You worry about the darkness taking you. I was created from darkness—how can you think I don’t understand?”
Riku sits up and finally looks at Vanitas, at what little he can see in the darkened room. Vanitas is one of the most self-assured people he knows. That he might be plagued with similar doubts, with similar fears, is not something he has previously considered.
“Then would you sit with me, for a little while?” he asks.
“I will stay as long as you like,” Vanitas replies.
And as they sit, side by side, the storm slowly abates, and all is quiet once more.