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Noé pushed Vanitas onto the bed. His head spun from the sweet smell of him and the sight of the human staring impatiently up at him, piercing blue eyes searching for something in his face. When he didn’t find whatever he was looking for he huffed and rolled his eyes.
“Are you just going to sit there? You've begged and pleaded for so long to taste my blood, and now that I permit it you don't want it all of a sudden?” Vanitas said.
“I- Of course I want it, it's just still hard to believe I am actually allowed to,” Noé breathed in the smell of blood, strong, despite none being exposed. He has longed for this for so long. Ever since they met. And now he was here, with Vanitas laying back on the bed beneath him, his body open, his neck peeking from below the collar of his shirt, impatience written across his features.
Noé leaned in and let himself simply breathe. His heart was racing, he could tell so was Vanitas’, they were both nervous. He shifted his weight and gently pushed the collar of Vanitas’ shirt to the side, exposing more skin. He could hear the way Vanitas took in a quick breath and couldn’t help a smile on his lips. Vanitas could be so vulnerable when he was like this. When he saw it with Jeanne, he was surprised, and made a mental footnote in his image of Vanitas that was slowly getting fuller. It was a cause for jealousy at the time. Now, he drank in the sight of his friend, blushing and eager for his fangs.
Unconsciously, Noé’s eyes trailed down to see the agitated skin and the bright crimson mark in the shape of a rose on the side of Vanitas’ neck. He wondered if this was somehow a betrayal of Jeanne, it was her, after all, who marked Vanitas first. And she was bound by a promise to only drink his blood. Was it cruel of him to share Vanitas like this?
“Noé,” Vanitas drawled. Right, this was something Vanitas wanted. Noé felt his cheeks flush.
“Sorry,” he replied quickly, closing the gap between his mouth and the crook of Vanitas’ neck, his lips kissing him, afraid to scare him off, giving Vanitas time to change his mind.
“Noé please just-” Vanitas started with an annoyed edge to his voice but it quickly turned into a surprised sound when Noé sank his fangs into his neck.
Warm blood filled his mouth, he had to tell himself to drink slowly, savoring every drop of it. It had an odd edge to it, a taste so clear and so strange at the same time. Maybe the traces of the Vampire of the Blue Moon have dissolved so thoroughly into Vanitas’ blood that they were now simply a natural part of his taste.
Noé was vaguely aware of Vanitas’ quick short breaths under him, the frantic heartbeat around his fangs, the way one of his hands gripped at his shirt, holding on to him like a lifeline.
And then it all fell away and he was drowning in a crimson sea.
His vision went white and he felt a sudden all-enveloping pain. He couldn’t even tell where exactly it came from, simply that his whole body was on fire and he couldn’t move. He couldn’t think he couldn’t-
A scream. He knew it must have come from him, but it sounded so shrill, so young, so pained. He tugged on the restraints tying him to the chair, though it was no use.
Seconds stretched into minutes into hours. Or maybe it was just a moment? It had to have been at least several minutes, right? The pain eventually subsided into a dull throb in his veins. He felt tears rolling down his cheeks, then, pragmatic hands bandaging him up. Dr. Moreau was ranting about some thing or another but his mind was too far away to care. The only thing that mattered was that it was over for now and that no mention of 71 was made.
He was pulled to his feet and the world lurched around him. The next step he took was into a cell. His cell. His and 71’s. The boy was sitting on his cot, staring at him with those wide eyes, a smile on his face despite the horror around them.
“You’re back! Oh how I’ve missed you! It gets boring in here without you, you know.”
He laid down on his own cot, facing away from the child. He closed his eyes.
When he opened them he was at a different house. Vanitas’ house. Misha was running around, the Vampire of the Blue Moon chasing him, both laughing. He curled in on himself.
A moment later there were gentle but awkward hands embracing him. The Vampire of the Blue Moon was hugging him, whispering reassurances into his ear.
He reached out to embrace them back, only to stumble into another scene, a knife in one hand, the Book of Vanitas in his other, Misha behind him.
“You must kill me, child. My true name… It is far too corrupted. You can do great things with this book, and you will survive. I know you do not wish to join the Clan of the Blue Moon, but it is the only way,” Luna doubled over, their flowing white hair coiling into corrupted shadows.
His hands shook.
With swift movements, Misha slipped in front of him. It was too quick of an action to stop. The boy ran to his Father with tears in his eyes and desperate words on his tongue.
“Father! Come back, please! You can’t turn into a curse-bearer, you’re supposed to protect us and- and-” he embraced Luna and tightened his grip against them.
Noé couldn’t move.
He couldn’t move as Misha wept into their Father’s robes.
He couldn’t move as Luna’s body convulsed, and shuddered.
He couldn’t move as The Vampire of the Blood Moon lost to the malady within them and sunk their claws into the boy that held them so close.
And then, as if the scream the boy let out had cut his strings, he stumbled forward. He swung his knife clumsily at the monster, the knife lodged itself somewhere in the monster’s head, and pulled Misha away from it. The boy was a sobbing, bleeding mess. Worse, his arm had been mangled beyond recognition or saving. It would have been better had the beast simply ripped it clean off.
Noé bit the inside of his cheek and turned his attention to the beast, who had ripped the knife out of its body and was now staring at him, its breaths ragged.
He raised the Book of Vanitas on an outstretched hand. It was now or never.
He focused on the book, on the blue blood he knew was in his veins, and prayed to whoever would listen to grant him his one wish. He will never ask for anything again, just let him save Misha and do what his Father had asked of him.
The Book sparkled with blue energy, a foreign feeling of blood calling to blood filled his veins. It didn’t hurt as much as felt like someone else was in his body, that his control of the book was a borrowed, stolen authority.
Then, as the power built up, it did start to hurt. Energy pushed at his skin from the inside and he was uncertain for how long he’d be able to hold it.
He threw himself at what was once Luna and held on as tightly as he could. With an explosion of constellations, the book erupted in blue light. The next moment the monster was no more and his hands were embracing nothing but ashes. His palm hurt from the edge of the hourglass charm digging into it.
He stood there, stunned, for a moment. Misha lay by his side, barely lucid. His own arm throbbed with pain and when he looked to assess the damage, he saw spiderweb lines of blue energy wrapped around his forearm. He had stopped using the book by then, but its power still coursed within his veins.
He didn’t have time for this.
Misha cried out behind him. His eyes were not quite present yet but clearly there enough to register the pain. He flailed which only agitated the wound and made him scream. Noé winced but quickly kneeled down next to the child and pushed fabric away from the grotesque view of the injured arm. It was chewed through, pieces of flesh clung to each other as if carefully tied together with delicate string. He almost threw up. He couldn’t. He had to focus.
Misha kept screaming and it did not help. Chasseur training guided his hand and he picked up his knife, as he whispered a soft “sorry” to his younger brother, as he found the part where two bones connected in what used to be Misha’s elbow, as he pressed the knife down and cut the arm below the elbow off. It could not be saved and so it had to be removed.
Misha’s screams grew even more frantic, indecipherable sounds interlacing with the crying. He pushed the remains of the ruined arm away and winced. He wasn’t even shaking anymore. A strange stillness had set in his limbs.
He got up to his legs with some effort and picked up his sobbing younger brother. Misha fit on his back well enough. He started for the house.
Another step and he was in front of the bed at their house, laying Misha out on it gently. His brother was burning up with a fever. Noé’s clothes were soaked with his blood. He felt weak.
“Brother..?” Misha stirred.
Noé stiffened and leaned in to comfort him, “It’s okay, you’re safe. I’ll- I’ll find something to help with the pain.”
He turned to leave but felt a hang latch onto him. “Brother… Why did you kill Father? Why would you- Father helped us, I don’t understand.”
Noé’s blood turned cold.
“Why? Father was always so kind to us, I-” Misha broke off into a sob and passed out into a fever-induced nightmare.
Something inside him broke. It cracked never to be mended. A fundamental piece of himself damaged beyond repair.
He went to find medicinal herbs.
He was in front of Misha’s bed again, daylight shining through the window, the blood on his clothes caked into stains. Misha’s injury was healing poorly. Even with the medical help he could provide, the boy would not survive, his body too far beyond what humanity could sustain.
The boy mumbled in his delirious sleep. He could distinguish “brother”, a few “no”s, a “why”.
He stayed by Misha’s side for the next few days. The boy’s light was fading by the hour, until, on the third day, he stopped breathing. The boy’s cold skin was clammy with sweat, his body tarnished by the infection.
He could not help him anymore.
He ran his hand through Misha’s hair for the last time, put on Father’s coat, and stepped out of the house.
Noé’s mind lurched back to the present. The taste of blood was overwhelming, wrapping his senses in a dizzying fog. Tears were running down his cheeks and he could see them staining Vanitas’ shirt. He felt a sudden spark of anxiety, a fear that he had overstepped, even when he was given permission. Vanitas made a small sound and Noé was about to apologize when Vanitas pushed his face back into the crook of his neck. He hesitated.
“Vanitas, are you sure? I don’t want to push you and it was quite a lot of blood and-”
“Noé, just shut up,” Vanitas pushed him down again and Noé bit down on his already agitated skin.
Next thing he knew he was once again in that sea of blood. This time felt more like diving back into familiar waters, he quickly found his footing and settled into another’s eyes.
He saw himself, he felt the thrill Vanitas must have felt at the time. He was on the roof, on the bed, to the side, watching himself. Longing filled his heart. He was on the floor of the laboratory, his limbs aching and laughter making his stomach cramp. He was staring into his own eyes on the bell tower, a knife in hand. He felt an overwhelming sense of beauty from the memory. He was in Gévaudan, holding himself up by an arm, the him in the memory looking up at him through teary eyes. He was falling to the ground, his other self telling him he will never set him free. He was studying his passed out form, a pain in his chest. He was on the roof, a breath away from a confession, unspoken words hung thick in the air.
Noé resurfaced again and it took him a moment to process the memories, so brief, so swift, as if ashamed of showing themselves. This was the way Vanitas saw him. It made a stupid smile spread across his face. Noé pressed a gentle kiss on the bruised skin of Vanitas’ neck and buried himself in it. His scent was overwhelming and emotions still mixed and intertwined within Noé’s heart, both Vanitas’ and his own, fighting to be heard. He was flattered, of course, but it was so much at once. So much to process.
For now, he just let himself feel the giddy happiness of his current situation and tightly hugged Vanitas, who quickly started complaining that he was going to break a rib.
Noé pulled himself up so he was face to face with Vanitas, who quickly shut up in favor of staring up at him with wide blue eyes.
“I love you too, Vanitas,” Noé said with utmost sincerity.
Vanitas bristled at first, a bright blush coloring his face, but soon he calmed back down and mumbled a “Yeah, I love you too obviously,” with his eyes averted and his posture stiff.
Noé grinned, “Can I please kiss you, Vanitas?”
“You look starved. Yeah, you can,” Vanitas said, waving a hand as well as he could under Noé, who took the opportunity and leaned down for a kiss. It was a gentle thing, soft lips probing carefully, scared of taking too much. In the end, it was Vanitas who snaked a gloved hand into his hair and pulled him closer.
When they broke off, Vanitas was out of breath and blushing bright red. He pushed a hand into Noé’s face to keep him from seeing him like this, though it didn’t work.
“You taste like blood.” Vanitas said.
Noé carefully moved the hand from his face and planted a kiss on Vanitas' cheek, beaming with joy.
“Thank you, Vanitas,” Noé said, another thank you for his own content more than that of Vanitas. The man under him grumbled something incoherent and turned away his face.
Noé smiled and plopped over to his back, getting off of Vanitas and laying down next to him instead. He still couldn’t believe how lucky he was. Vanitas was right there, within his reach, and for once, not so untouchable. Noé rolled over to his side and threw an arm and a leg over Vanitas who was pretending to not care.
For the first time, Noé could see a path forward, a gate thrown open for him. He closed his eyes and let his body drink in Vanitas’ warmth, his presence, the feel of his body against his own. It relaxed him, and soon enough he was drifting off to sleep. The last thing he heard was a barely whispered “Never set me free” before the warm dark ushered him to sleep.