Archive of Our Own

Dominique was a rather late addition to the party.

It wasn’t entirely surprising, being kept cooped up in Vieux Paris with little else to do, Vanitas imagines he’d go a bit stir crazy too. Her request to join them tonight in curing a cursebearer should have been fairly predictable.

They had been in the reception of the hotel- practically halfway out the door- when she had asked to come along with.

Vanitas supposed the more hands the better, and knew that Dominique was also a capable trained fighter, much like Noé. Noé himself was happy for her company too, though briefly stopped, face now concerned.

“Domi, are you sure this will be alright for you?” He looked at her tenderly, but not belittlingly. It was the sort of expression that was quite hard to look away from, earnest and true.

A tacit understanding seems to be had about what was being referred to, unless Vanitas was mistaken. Louis- who was a new revelation to him, but clearly an old wound for the other two.

She nods, humming. “I’m alright with cursebearers. I’d be grateful to lend my aid.” 

Even so, Noé reaches out for her hand, and gives it a small squeeze of reassurance. A light blush colours her cheeks.

“Alright.” Vanitas says abruptly. “Let’s go.”

—-

“So, what do we know about the cursebearer this time? Do you know any details of the malnomen?” Domi asks, walking alongside Noé, who is alongside Vanitas.

“Uhh..” Noé mumbles.

“Not much, I’ll admit it.” Vanitas says with a sigh. “This might even be a no-show, though there’s been a significant enough amount of testaments Dante came across. All we know is that they’ve heard strange noises from the area.”

“Strange? How so?”

“Shrieking, wailing- some people claimed that it didn’t sound human. All fairly typical of early stage cursebearers.” Vanitas explains.

“Poor thing.” Domi says softly, a pitying expression.

“There haven’t been any victims that have been come across yet though.” Vanitas says waving a hand. “Which is good, of course, but the malnomen could quite literally be anything. We need to keep our wits about us. They could be-“

An arm crosses a his chest, lightly bumping into his bow. Noé has a finger pressed to his lips.

Irritated, Vanitas readjusts his poor bow. It isn’t as though it’s been misshaped in any way, but it’s taken a blow to it’s pride at the very least. He tightens it indignantly.

Noé still looks deep in focus, eyes staring out into the night. His ears twitch slightly.

“Wait- I can hear that too.” Domi says suddenly, face serious.

Vanitas can’t hear a thing, and huffs.

“Well, which direction is it coming from?”

Noé pauses, before pointing. “Over there. She’s crying.”

Domi nods in confirmation.

Vanitas stares off into the far distance. It’s pitch black, and silent aside from the three of them, at least to his ears. As annoyed as he is to not have their level of perception, having two vampires as escorts was proving quite convenient.

—-

It’s a fair distance until Vanitas picks up on it too, an unpleasant sobbing noise, almost mistakable as a human, but with the raspy edge of a growl. A vampire trying to control their urges, at the end of their tether. 

Stood on the roof of a nearby building, he spots her now, too.

She’s stood up but hunched over, tresses of black hair spilling over her shoulders. Arms pulled around her chest in an attempt to self soothe, to placate her hunger. Eyes red as burning coals.

Vanitas looked for escape routes. There weren’t many. One end of the street went further into a dark alley, while the other, which she was much closer to, lead onto a street parallel to the Seine, a glimpse of the moonlight caught sparkling gently on the surface of the water. Perhaps that had drawn the ailing vampire there, a small comfort in her suffering.

“Block off the ends of the street.” Vanitas instructs. “Stay vigilant, we don’t know what her abilities could be.”

If she’s of the ability to jump great heights, it could prove to be quite inconvenient. But Vanitas has Noé, whose ridiculous jumps are higher than any other vampire he’s come across. And he’s seen Dominique use her ice to propel herself into the air before. As for Vanitas, he supposes he could cling onto either one. Preferably Noé.

Almost as if reading his mind, Noé’s hand snakes around his waist, causing his train of thought to stutter slightly. 

Noé makes a slight concerned expression at Vanitas’ brief freezing up. Right, this is what they normally do. Perhaps it’s just strange to have it in the company of Dominique, though she seems fairly unphased by Noé’s manhandling of him, likely desensitised after seeing said occurrence in the bal masqué.

Vanitas brings his focus back to the last at hand and with the signal of his nod, the three of them leap down from the roof where they were surveilling the area.

The cursebearer finally notices them, baring her fangs and backing into a wall.

Luckily, the street is quite wide, and Vanitas also keeps his distance for now.

Noé quickly blocks off the end towards the Seine, and Domi closes off the other end.

The cursebearer hisses, clearly recognising she was trapped. Her cognitive abilities still seem fairly intact, consistent with the earlier stages of the curse.

Her red eyes flicker back and forth, between the three of them, though she’s shown little further display of aggression. Yet, at least. Vanitas is stood, waiting to see what ability she’ll tap into.

And yet she does nothing, stands there, hissing still.

Perhaps she’s holding herself back?

Despite the unease growing in his stomach at the slightly atypical behaviour, neither moving to attack or run, nor showing any symptoms of any distinguishable malnomina so far, Vanitas steps forward. If she wouldn’t make the first move, than he’d have to.

She hisses with more intensity, backing away into the dark, eyes flickering to Dominique, sword drawn.

He takes another step forward.

All of a sudden, Vanitas watches her jaw unhinge grotesquely, mouth contorting uncannily, rows and rows of razor sharp teeth filling her mouth, no longer remotely resembling that of a human. Out of instinct his hands hover over the hilts of his knives.

And then she screams.

Scream is probably not quite enough to describe it. The noise is earsplittingly, brainsplittingly loud, and for a moment Vanitas fears his very mind has shattered. The world comes back in a blur, and he suddenly realises, to his horror, that he is soaring through the air, far above the rooftops.

Vanitas hears another shriek, and realises with a sinking sensation in his stomach that he very well may die from falling from this high.

He catches the sight of the moon in two places- hung in the sky, and glittering over the body of the Seine.

The Seine-

It is getting closer-

His trajectory is heading straight towards it.

There is only a split second to feel relief before he crashes through the surface of the water.

There are three truths- the first being that at such speed, colliding with the surface tension of the river was hardly less painful than slamming into a solid pane of glass. 

The second, that it is late autumn, and the even the difference between the temperature of the night air and of the freezing water is enough to send his body into shock and the third-

Falling from such a height, Vanitas finds himself immediately plunged several metres under the surface of the water. And while Vanitas is capable of many things, swimming is decidedly not one of them.

He gasps- at the initial temperature shock, at the physical sensation of being slammed deep into the freezing water, he isn’t sure, and immediately chokes in water.

He should have known better, kept his jaw set and shut. He curses himself.

He doesn’t know how to swim, not formally anyway, but conceptually kicking his way to the surface should be easy, and the human body is naturally buoyant, but-

But, the weight of his coat, knives and book, of his heavy leaden shoes, are inarguably dragging him down like ten ton anchor. And his lungs are filled up with icy water.

He can’t panic, can’t, and thrashes more as he tries to make his way back up to the surface, seeing the familiar light of the moon shattered into pieces like a taunting mosaic above his head. He kicks and he kicks, but that soft light is getting further away.

Manically, he realises that he’s going to die like this.

He refuses to die, not before he’s completed his revenge, not to the fucking Seine of all things, but his vision is getting darker and-

He hears a crash, muffled by the water. The blurred light scatters through the fog of bubbles.

He sees red eyes.

The cursebearer has come after him.

In a moment of madness, Vanitas decides he’d rather drown on his own terms than be bitten into in his last moments.

A pale claw flies towards him.

Running on pure instinctual fear, and whatever oxygen is left in his brain, Vanitas retaliates, swiping out his own clawed hand.

His wrist is seized- firm, gentle, familiar.

It’s Noé, he realises to his horror, as the bubbles dissipate.

It’s Noé and he’s jumped in after him.

There’s no way someone from the countryside like him will be able to swim. The two of them will drown together. Vanitas has dragged Noé to his doom.

His heart drops.

But strong arm fastens around waist and tugs, and he suddenly, with a powerful kick from the vampires’ legs, they breach the surface of the river together.

Vanitas gasps for air, clinging onto Noé like his life depends on it, which he believes is fairly justified, because frankly right now it very much does.

“I’ve got you.” Noé says firmly, staring into his eyes with a burning intensity, set in determination, flickering from red back to purple. “Just keep breathing, I’ll keep your head above the water.”

Vanitas can do no more than continue to gasp, arms tightened around Noé as the vampire treads water. He feels light headed. He feels Noé adjust his hold on him.

True to his word, Noé does keep Vanitas’ head above the water at all times, while keeping perfect form and using his free arm and strong legs to push through the water.

Of course Noé knows how to swim perfectly, even with another person in tow.

It would be so ridiculous otherwise, Vanitas might have laughed. But he was exhausted, his head was reeling, and the only emotion his head had space for currently was a visceral sense of relief, all his cold body could handle was to weakly be dragged through the water.

They reach the edge of the lower walkway, and Noé practically tosses Vanitas onto the paved path, before clambering up himself. 

Vanitas continues to gasp and tremble, still in shock over the very eventful past few seconds.

He hears Noé’s voice, even distant and warbled now that they were out of the water.

That probably wasn’t good. His head hurt.

Hands rearrange him to be on his knees, hunched over, gagging.

“There’s water in your lungs- I- I can hear it, that’s not good. Can you cough Vanitas? Cough it out?” 

Noé sounds frantic, which is unusual.

That couldn’t be good either.

Vanitas finds himself unable to cough, and is starting to feel slightly faint, the world before him dancing with growing shadows.

“I’m sorry Vanitas.” He hears a quick whisper, before a palm slams into the centre of his back- once, twice, with bruising force.

Vanitas coughs so hard he thinks he’ll throw up, but as a result of it a torrent of water spews out with a wet and horrid sound.

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry, I really am.” Vanitas hears, placating whispers as soft hands rub over his back in circles.

Still wheezing, Vanitas stares down at the puddle on the pavement, evidently expelled from his mouth. His vision is still littered with small black spots. But now, at least, he can actually breathe without obstructive lungfuls of water.

He closes his eyes, breathing raggedly, and shivers as Noé’s warm hands continue to rove over him, his touch continuous and slow. Grounding, as much as Vanitas hates to admit to himself.

“..Are you hurt?” Noé asks hesitantly.

Vanitas would normally snap back with something along the lines of ‘only from where you just beat me to a pulp’, but he’s genuinely too exhausted to even quip, to do anything but catch up on air.

Noé waits, still soothing his back.

“N-no.” Vanitas whispers hoarsely, cringing at the way his voice wavered. “Ears are ringing though.”

“I’m sure.” Noé says sympathetically. “Even with dulled senses that must have been horribly loud.” 

Vanitas is about to comment on the slight insult when he remembers the cursebearer and jolts.

“Dominique- merde-”

“She’s frozen the cursebearer to the wall.” Noé informs calmly.

Shit, shit. With an ability like that, the resonant frequency of ice could be broken easily. He needs to-

Pressing a shaking palm into the ground, he tries to lever himself up, but his useless body proves too weak.

“Vanitas, would you like me to carry you there?” Noé asks, ever attending.

“Quickly.” He rasps.

Vanitas only gets a prompt nod, before being bundled into the air and tucked under an arm. Noé rushes up the flight of stairs from the pavement at the river level to the street level.

Vanitas catches sight of the cursebearer- like a small insect in the centre of a colossal cobweb. The ice had sprawled far up the wall, encasing the entire cursebearer’s body sans the head, growling profusely. Dominique was stood a distance back, and notices the two of them. 

She calls out, says something, but Vanitas fails to catch exactly what.

Even in Noé’s hold, Vanitas’ trembling hand reaches for the Book in the holster, snagging the chain and tugging it out into his palm.

“Put me down.” He whispers hoarsely.

Noé nods and obliges, gently setting Vanitas on the ground, and steadying him when he stumbles at first, before finding his feet.

“Oh no- the Book..” Noé says nervously, watching as Vanitas gingerly holds up the soaked object. “Is it…?”

“It’s fine you idiot.” Vanitas says roughly, more harsh than usual. He shivers. “It’s obviously not made of regular parchment. Water can’t do any damage to it.”

To emphasise, he snaps the book open, the black pages fluttering out unharmed.

Constellations scatter across the inky expanse in an instant, and a bolt of blue shoots out towards the cursebearer, lighting up the alleyway. She shrieks one last time, the noise petering off and giving way to a gentler sounding voice.

Melodia, she who sings sweetly. Her name, untwisted now, suits her, as usual. Vanitas mutters the thought aloud as he always does.

He cannot afford to waste time though.

“Dominique!” He shouts hoarsely. “Drop the ice! Now!”

Looking slightly alarmed, she points her sword forward, and with a great cracking sound, the wall of ice is reduce to mist in a near instant, a textbook large scale formula revision in action.

Amid the crumbling, Dominique quickly resheathes her sword with a click.

The young woman slumps down, into her waiting arms.

Vanitas limps forward, eyes assessing the ex-cursebearer, his patient. She’s still conscious, and looking confused, and while she doesn’t seem to be injured, she’s probably a little cold. Vanitas can relate.

“I… I’m… me again?” She stutters, looking bewildered. “I didn’t ever think…”

Dominique gently cups the side of her face. “It’s alright. Everything’s alright now.”

The young woman burrows herself into Dominique, held gently, reassurances whispered into her forehead.

“I…I can’t believe it…” she whispers tearfully.

“I know, it must have been awfully frightening. You did so well holding out. You’ve been strong for a long time, but everything’s okay now.” 

Dominique’s voice seems to have even more of a profound effect on this young woman than Vanitas’ has to any of his patients. At least Vanitas is spared the role of comforting them this time around, as he genuinely wouldn’t have had the energy for it.

“I- I didn’t hurt him, did I?” The young lady asks suddenly, craning her head to look Vanitas.

So it had been an effort to avoid hurting him, Vanitas supposes, sending him crashing into the river. However helpful it had actually been in the end. He shivers.

“No, I’m alright.” He says tersely.

“Oh, good… I’m so sorry… I never meant… never meant to hurt anyone..”

The cursebearer collapses against Dominique, whose eyes widen in shock.

“Is this normal? What do I need to do?”

“Yes, it’s quite normal. She probably just overexerted herself, that’s common while they’re trying to evade capture.”

Dominique nods, circling her arms further around the girl, protectively almost. “Poor thing…” she whispers. “I can’t imagine how frightening it must have felt.”

“Not great, I’m sure. You should take her back to Orlok’s before she catches her death of hypothermia.” Vanitas says curtly.

“Vanitas.” Noé hisses, irritated.

Dominique looks back at him. “I think you should be more concerned about yourself. You’re shivering too. I wouldn’t be surprised if you were in shock right now.”

The worst part is that Dominique doesn’t even seem angry at him. The worst worst part is that she’s possibly, probably right. He grits his teeth, to stop them chattering if anything.

“Taking her back to Count Orlok’s office, that’s the usual protocol then? Is there anything else I need to do?” Dominique asks, her voice sounding different than usual.

Vanitas remembers that she’s a royal guard. Her posture is drawn up straight, face calm while awaiting further instruction.

“No.” He mutters lowly. “Thank you for helping us.”

Dominique nods. “I’ll get her settled with something warm to drink. I hope to see you two back at the hotel later.”

She raises the young lady’s legs to her chest, supporting her back with her other arm.

“See you Domi, thank you so much for helping.” Noé says, a shine in his eyes.

Vanitas shivers.

And with that she was gone.

Noé is looking down at him with a slight frown. Probably because of Vanitas’ impoliteness towards Dominique. Vanitas doesn’t have the energy for an argument or a lecture, but thankfully he isn’t subjected to either, merely an uncomfortable silence where Noé just observes him, a crinkle in his brow.

So just to retaliate, Vanitas observes him too.

Noé is also drenched, and more disturbingly barefooted. 

Vanitas, disgruntled, looks around for the other’s shoes, spotting them messily tossed on the paved ground a small distance behind him, along with a pair of dark socks, and a white coat similarly strewn over the stones. 

“Please put your shoes back on. It’s obscene.” Vanitas states firmly.

“Oh! Sorry. I just didn’t want to be weighed down if they were waterlogged. It makes it a bit harder to swim.” Noé hops over, and begins to pull his dry woollen socks back on.

Vanitas had experienced that first hand, his feet feeling like lead. The image flashes back into his mind, of what he thought, even if only briefly, had been his end.

He shivers.

Noé looks up, fastening a silver buckle, the same expression from before on his face.

“You’re not taking off your coat..? Would you like me to help?” 

Noé straightens up into standing, his own coat now folded over a forearm, much like Vanitas has seen him do in the café with his waiter’s cloth.

“Vanitas?”

“I’m not taking it off.” He says gruffly.

“What? Don’t be absurd, you’ll catch a chill. That water was freezing.” Noé’s brows furrow.

“What about yourself?” Vanitas retorts.

“I’m a little damp, but otherwise feeling alright. You’re shivering- I.. Vanitas, come on, there’s literally no one else out here. I’m not sure what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not worried about anything.” Vanitas huffs indignantly, scrambling to undo his buttons. His hands feel cold and numb, and he fumbles around with a single button, failing to get a hold of it.

In his frustration he makes the mistake of looking back at Noé, who’s looking down at him with that horrible expression of concern.

“Here, let me help.” He says softly.

And Vanitas is tired. He can’t bring himself to do anything else.

He shivers.

Noé’s hands, his ministrations, as always, are gentle and efficient. He draws the drenched black coat from off Vanitas’ shoulders, which shiver in the absence of it.

Noé still looks worried. “…And your waistcoat? I really think-“

“Fine.” Vanitas roughly tugs his bow off his neck, giving Noé full access. “Whatever you want.” It comes off snide, and probably more provoking than intended, but Noé seems to pay him no mind, expression soft.

“Thank you. I’ll be quick.”

And he is. It’s a soft patten, Noé methodically does open every button like a harpist plucking on strings, the noise of each a soft pop in the quiet of the night.

Noé peels the wet and heavy article of clothing off his torso, leaving Vanitas feeling bare.

“Anything else you want off?” Vanitas snaps. “Or is that it?”

He can’t stop trembling. He hates this.

“I’d like for you to put my coat on, since it’s dry. If that’s alright with you.” Noé says, softly, apologetically. “I can help with that if you’ll let me.”

Vanitas wonders if that had been the plan all along- or at least if that had been the reasoning behind Noé shedding his overcoat before leaping into the water after him, knowing Vanitas’ sensitivity towards the cold.

He’s probably thinking too deeply about this. Noé just didn’t want anything to drag him down.

“..Vanitas?”

“Yeah, alright. Can you get on with it? I’m freezing here.”

Noé nods, and bundles up the wet clothing under an arm, before helping Vanitas into his coat.

It’s quite thick, and still somehow warm, though that might just be Vanitas being cold. Humiliatingly, Vanitas realises as Noé brings the sleeves over his arms, Vanitas is somewhat dwarfed by the coat, and the ends of his fingers barely poke out against the end of the sleeves- and where the coat skirts come just above Noé’s knees, they go down to Vanitas’ calves.

All the difference in their bodies are highlighted in this moment- Noé is evidently much broader than Vanitas, and the coat is baggy and loose on him. At least he’s warmer now, though it feels little more than a cold comfort.

He feels embarrassed, feeble and small, even if Noé is not intending for him to feel that way. He’s still trembling- his wretched body hasn’t seemed to get the memo yet.

Noé is also holding the white sash, the one that he always ties around his back in a nonsensical manner. Vanitas bristles.

“Don’t- don’t you dare truss me up in your bow too, Archiviste. I’m not some dress-up doll.” He utters harshly.

Noé shakes his head. “No, I wasn’t planning on it. I was wondering if I should button up the coat.”

“No way. There’s far too many buttons on this stupid thing.” Vanitas protests, tugging the coat tight. “See? It’s fine, I can just hold it closed.”

Noé looks at him again, again with that wretched expression.

Vanitas shivers.

“As I’ve said before, I’m freezing here. Let’s get back to the hotel.” Vanitas mumbles, beginning to walk.

It’s horrid. His numb feet squelch in his shoes, wet socks, wet spats, wet trousers clinging to his legs. He’s still shivering, after all this time, teeth still chattering, and despite the coat around him he feels cold, cold to his core.

He trips.

Putain.

“Vanitas!” Noé shouts, alarmed.

As usual, he is caught before ever reaching the ground, and purple eyes bear down on him, brimming with concern.

He’s too tired for this. He feels awful.

“It… it would be quicker if I carried you, I think.” Noé says quietly, as if lowering his tone would save what remained of Vanitas’ tattered shreds of dignity. How thoughtful of him.

Vanitas knocks his head against Noé’s wet chest with a soft thump.

“…Alright. I will be quick, I promise.” Noé says, before the world shifts, and Vanitas finds himself hoisted in the other man’s arms.

It’s not like how he normally carries Vanitas, flopped over an arm, tucked at Noé’s side. This time, Noé’s arm is looped under his knees, the other bracing his back. 

Vanitas realises to his great horror that this is how cursebearer girl had been carried by Dominique. He doesn’t like that information. He wants to fight and kick and not be pliant. It was also the way Roland had carried an overdosed Astolfo. The way the Shapeless One had carried- 

A noise comes out of his throat, a weak whine of discomfort.

“Vanitas?” Noé asks at once, purple eyes looking down at him. “Are you in pain?”

“No, I’m just cold. You said you were going to be quick.” Vanitas mumbles.

“I don’t want to aggravate any injuries you might have.” Noé states, voice quiet. “I will try and be as gentle as possible.”

With that, Noé starts to move.

Vanitas doesn’t deserve Noé’s gentleness, his compassion, his consideration. Vanitas would much rather he slung him over his arm like usual, and carrying him like a sack of vegetables to which he has no attachment.

He wants to move, shift, make his discomfort known, that he’s not happy to be held in such a way, that he’s some difficult, frustrating thing that shouldn’t be held with care, doesn’t deserve to. Isn’t fragile, isn’t compliant, isn’t obedient. 

He’s tired though, tired and cold and shaking, and his ears ring, another lovely addition.

Noé moves quickly. 

The cold air bites as it whips past, though Noé is radiating warmth in spite of his soaked clothes, and holds him as steadily and reliably as usual. Vanitas isn’t being the obedient one here, it’s Noé, Noé always does what he tells him to. Except for when he doesn’t. That’s good though. Noé should do what he wants. Vanitas should do what he wants. The two should have never met. Noé should be free of Vanitas.

Vanitas’ head hurts, his throat is sore. His ears ring.

He’s pathetic and limp in the other man’s arms, and doesn’t have the energy to be anything otherwise. It’s just like back in the laboratory, where he told himself he wasn’t fighting back to just play along with them, deceive them, when really he was just out of energy to defy them. Pathetic.

“Gonna jump now, okay?” Noé says, gruffly, focused. 

The world blurs as they soar and land. Vanitas’ head spins. He squeezes his eyes shut, and turns his head into Noé’s chest, against his wet waistcoat, white and purple, white lapels, dark damp bow bouncing with a wet tap tap tap in time with Noé’s feet striking the ground below him. The rooftops.

It’s brighter now, through his eyelids. Vanitas cracks an eye open.

The full moon bears down on him, large in the sky, a taunting face. He can never escape it.

He chuckles bitterly, voice hoarse.

Vanitas feel the tilt of Noé head, looking down at him, though Vanitas can’t see his expression. He’s glad.

There’s a rhythm, a tap tap tap tap and then a leap. He learns to anticipate the slightest crouch Noé makes before jumping from one rooftop to another.

Amidst the tap tap tap he hears Noé speak.

“Is it open?”

Vanitas’ ears are ringing and he can’t hear well. He doubts whether he heard him correctly.

“What?” He whispers, voice scratchy. He sounds pathetic. Noé pauses before speaking again, likely taken aback by how pathetic Vanitas sounds.

“Is the window in the hotel room unlocked?” He asks gently.

Vanitas head swims as he tries to think. He normally leaves it open when they go away on  cursebearer missions, most of the time, at night when they’re sleeping and he needs to go to the roof. He only locked it when they went away to Gévaudan, and on a few other occasions. It’s unlocked now, he thinks.

“Vanitas?” Noé’s voice is softer, more pitying.

“Yes.” Vanitas says.

“Alright then. Could you hold onto me, I need one arm to open it.” Noé explains, still running.

Vanitas nods weakly, wraps his arms around Noé. Just like how he did in the Seine.

Noé jumps.

Vanitas closes his eyes.

They land with a thump on the windowsill. Vanitas hopes it holds their weight. He hopes Noé is manipulating gravity.

With a click, the windows open, and Noé jumps down into the room, feet hitting the wooden flooring, the sound familiar even with Vanitas’ eyes shut.

There is a pause, as Noé changes his hold on Vanitas once more, an arm returning to wrap around his back, the other that had been looped under his knees still present, pinning the bunched up fabric of Vanitas’ wet clothes beneath them.

“What would you like me to do now?” Noé asks.

Vanitas says nothing.

“You’re cold.” Noé points out helpfully.

Then close the window, Vanitas thinks.

Without speaking, Noé caries him into the bathroom. Hesitates a little. Lays him down, propped up against the edge of the bathtub. Places his wet coat next to him.

Noé flicks on a light, and leaves the room, carefully shutting the door behind him.

Vanitas blinks in the new light. He feels sluggish and cold, head sore, ears still ringing.

The ceiling light in the bathroom is dull and warm coloured, buzzing slightly with astermite. It harmonises with the buzzing in his head, winding together.

He sits, slumped, limp, in Noé’s coat, too large and spooling fabric spilling off his body, sticking the the wetness of his shirt, and the wetness of his hair.

Noé comes in a few seconds later, with a chair under one arm and the medical kit the two of them keep in the room in the hand of his other.

“Not injured.” Vanitas mumbles.

Noé looks a little sceptical still, and sets it down in the corner of the room after placing the wooden chair on the floor.

 “Are you certain? You still look a bit out of sorts.” Noé says.

“‘Cos I’m cold.” Vanitas grumbles.

“Alright, okay then. I’ll draw a bath. That’ll warm up the room at least. Would you like to sit in this? I thought it’d be nicer than being on the floor.”

Vanitas blinks. 

“Get this thing off me first.” He mutters.

Noé nods, crouching down and helping Vanitas out of his coat.

His arms feel cold under Noé’s touch, and once the fabric is shed, Vanitas looks very small all of a sudden, very tired. His long hair wetly peels off the coat before slapping on his back with an unpleasant ‘thwap’. He shudders. Continues to shiver.

“Let me help you up.” Noé mutters, perturbed as he watches the reactiveness seeming to seep out of Vanitas’ body. He looks exhausted and unwell. And cold.

He hooks his arms under Vanitas once more and lifts him into the chair. Vanitas hardly reacts to being manhandled, eyes looking empty and dark. Unfocused.

Noé doesn’t like it one bit.

Instead he busies himself with drawing the bath. He turns the handle of the warm tap, and with a shudder and a groan, a jet of warm water streams out, steam rising. Perfect, he thinks.

It’s strange to have a bathroom inside of a room- an ‘en suite’, as Vanitas had told him. Apparently they were rare in human hotels but more frequent in vampire ones. He had grinned at the time, remarking how vampires’ terribly sensitive noses couldn’t take the smell.

The mirth and light that Vanitas’ eyes usually had, even if performed or put on, was nowhere to be found now, and that unsettled Noé.

“Is there anything else you’d like me to do?” Noé asks. Would you like me to leave, goes the unsaid question.

Vanitas says nothing. Noé suspects it might go on like this for some time.

Vanitas looks small, and unusual. Normally he has his big black coat, like a cat puffing up its fur to make itself look larger. Now, he’s only in a shirt with his bow limp and damp, the wet white fabric of the blouse clinging to his chest translucently. Noé can see his thin frame, the outline of his ribs. The darker few of his scars. Bare, is the word that comes to mind, exposed. Noé turns away.

He checks the temperature of the water, a performative action. It’s still warm.

He turns to leave the room, without explanation. Perhaps he should have explained, though he doubts Vanitas would have cared, might have found it condescending.

Noé comes back from the airing cupboard with a thick, fluffy towel, and approaches Vanitas tentatively. His dark eyes track up, eyebags heavy.

“What?” He drawls.

“I got you a towel. If you’d like to dry off.” Noé explains meekly.

“Don’t waste a fresh towel on that. I’m filthy. Do you even know what they dump in the Seine?” Vanitas mutters.

“I can’t say that I do.” Noé responds, and gets a chuckle out of Vanitas for that, even if it sounds a little hollow.

“Put it on the wash stand.” Vanitas instructs.

Noé nods, and does so, dutifully, folding up the towel as he knows Vanitas likes.

He turns back, to look at Vanitas.

He’s staring at him, dark eyed once more. Noé feels a sense of unease, distrust suddenly radiating from the young man below him.

“Well, how else do you expect to warm me up?” Vanitas mutters.

“I’ve ran the bath.” Noé looks back at it, and realises it’s quite full now. He hurries over to turn the tap off, squeezing it shut. Steam is rising from the water nicely. “The warmth from the water should be helping.”

“I’m still cold.” Vanitas says, harshly. But even behind the complaint, Noé still feels that unsteadiness, that apprehension.

He needs to tread carefully.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Noé says softly. “Is there anything else I can do to help?”

“Surely I’d be better in the bathtub.” Vanitas mutters. “Surely you’d like to strip me.”

Noé blinks, confused. There’s an anger in Vanitas’ voice, a thready and simmering thing, just below the surface. And beneath that, something else. Noé can’t tell if it’s directed towards him, if he’s done something wrong, something to upset the human.

“I could help you out of your clothes if you’d like me to?” Noé says cautiously.

Vanitas shivers. “Go on then.”

Noé hesitates, before walking over.

He crouched at the side of the chair, and begins to unbutton Vanitas’ spats, peels each one off. Unties his shoelaces, takes off his shoes. Peels the wet socks off too.

Vanitas stares down at him, eyes blank.

It’s all very intense for some reason, and Noé isn’t particularly fond of the atmosphere. After taking care of Vanitas’ shoes, he rises to wash his hands.

He rinses the suds, dries them off with a hand towel and turns back, and Vanitas’ expression has been tempered into a milder one.

He’s still shivering.

Noé crouches down once more. He doesn’t want Vanitas unnerved having someone towering over him.

Still, Noé is nervous if he’s misstepping here.

“Would you-“

“Just do it.” Vanitas mutters harshly, and Noé nods.

Trying to seem as non-threatening as possible, Noé gently takes a hold of Vanitas’ pale blue bow, around his neck. He pulls the two ends apart, slow enough for it to not be a yanking action, but not drawing the process along too much. He then folds the fabric almost reverently, making a show of respect of Vanitas’ belongings.

He moves onto the bow at the side of his waist, and repeats the same action, before placing the two on top of the wet black coat on the floor.

Vanitas looks more bare, somehow, without his bows. Noé remembered his restlessness in the catacombs, before tearing off the rosary and fashioning the sash around his cassock into a bow, in what looked to be affirming a sense of self.

Noé likes his bows too, the one at his neck, the one at his back, though perhaps not to the same degree as Vanitas. The image of someone taking it off feels intimate if he imagines it, even unnerving, so he does the same to Vanitas with care.

Without the bow around his neck, the loosened shirt collar parts to reveal a familiar pink-red splodge, branching. In the centre of it, what appeared to be a blood-red thorned rose. Jeanne’s mark.

Vanitas notices Noé’s eyes flick to it, and grins sardonically. Grimaces, almost.

Noé doesn’t want to draw this out longer than necessary.

He begins to unbutton the shirt at a steady pace, in what he hopes seems in an entirely practical manner. He untucks the last of the shirt fabric from Vanitas’ trousers and helps take it off his shoulders.

He doesn’t want to, doesn’t want to make Vanitas conscious of it, but he can’t help cataloguing the various scars littered across his skin as they’re revealed. 

Some seem more recent, and to his guilt Noé realises that although Vanitas has a fast healing factor compared to most humans, he’s still retained a lot more of the damage of the last few months than Noé has, who only still has the scarring from where Astolfo sliced his arm off. Every other injury had faded away, and yet Vanitas still bore the mark of many of his.

Some were older, and Noé knows when from. They’re the deep gashes, careless, clearly not treated properly at the time, deep and puffy and dark and pale. 

Noé remembers Misha’s memories, remembers the agony that came with having their healing abilities be tested. Delightened by how quickly small scrapes would heal, Moreau progressed to more deep, more painful, more thoughtless methods of hurting them, gleefully testing the limits of their bodies. It had hurt so much, Noé remembers the swilling conflicting relief and guilt Misha had felt when Vanitas had transferred both of their programs to himself.

One of the worst ones is poking out the end of one of Vanitas’ gloves, an angry hashed purple, raised and brittle. Noé knows what’s under the other glove too. He opts to remove neither of them.

Noé folds the blouse and places it down with the other clothes. He looks down at Vanitas trousers, confused. They’re very strange, and have a sort of folded flap around the top of them, and below that, revealed after the bow concealing them had been removed, a harness that stretches all the way around, with his knives and book attached, along with some other leather pouches. He isn’t sure how to take it off.

Vanitas grumbles, clearly noticing Noé’s confusion. “Just.. help me stand up alright.” He mutters, and Noé nods, thankful the task is looking to be delegated.

Vanitas leans on Noé as he clumsily unclips the harness, which drops to the ground with a heavy thump somewhat unceremoniously. He unbuttons his trousers with some difficulty and drops those too, leaving only an undergarment below them, britches which he unfastens with shaking hands.

Vanitas is now completely bare, minus the gloves.

He’s leant up against Noé, and he can hear his heart thumping rapidly, can still feel his cold body shivering.

It’s an uncharacteristic display of vulnerability, one that Noé knows is only borne of him being unwell, so he tries not to draw it out too long, or draw much attention to it. He knows under any other circumstance Vanitas would never let himself be seen like this.

He walks the human towards the bathtub, and holds an arm under his own, letting Vanitas put weight onto it as he steps over into the tub.

He isn’t sure whether it’s a slip or a stumble, but Vanitas suddenly jolts, and Noé catches him before he can fall, braces him, and waits a couple of seconds before slowly helping him down into the water.

All at once Vanitas’ face goes from vaguely embarrassed to relieved. The warm water did seem the correct choice after all, and Noé feels the prickling sense of concern over whether he’d been doing the right thing slip away as he watches the tension drain out of Vanitas’ body, relaxing as he slumped. 

“Is that better?” He asks softly, and receives no answer, which is hopefully a good thing.

“…Please tell me if you are injured, or sore anywhere.” He requests cautiously, knowing that would likely fall on deaf ears too.

“I’m fine.” Vanitas mutters quietly, to Noé’s surprise. “Only my ears hurt. Ringing and can’t hear so well.”

Noé freezes. He’d assumed that Vanitas had just been ignoring him at certain points, though he now remembers the earsplitting shriek that had sent Vanitas into the air, into the Seine. How he hadn’t managed to piece the two together he didn’t know, and suddenly feels incredibly guilty. Humans already had poor hearing compared to vampires, and Vanitas’ had just been damaged further, and Noé had mistaken it for defiance.

“Don’t look so cut up.” Vanitas mumbles. “There’s nothing that can be done. Only rest can help.”

Noé nods, hoping Vanitas’ inhuman healing can apply to his ears too.

Vanitas sighs, sinking deeper into the warm water.

Noé’s brow furrows. “If I leave, you’re not going to fall asleep in the tub and drown are you?”

Vanitas cracks open an eye. “You can stay.”

Noé is entirely taken aback. ‘You can stay’ is practically the closest thing he’d get from Vanitas saying ‘please stay’. He doesn’t know how Vanitas went from his previous mood to this, but Noé is grateful that he must have done at least something right at some point to precipitate such a change.

“Alright then.” He nods, taking up a seat on the chair. 

It’s a little damp, but so is he. He faces away from Vanitas, opting to stare at the wall instead. If Vanitas wanted him here, then he’d be sure to remain by his side.

—-

It was quiet, and Noé’s quiet presence remained. He asked no further questions, simply sat there in silence, back turned to Vanitas.

Vanitas sinks into the water, every part of him warming up, down to his toes. 

His hair feels grim from the river water, and so he sinks down deeper, lying down in the water, craning his head back until the waterline laps at his scalp, letting the grime of the Seine wash away.

When he sits back up again, the room is pleasantly warm, and he feels himself drifting.

He’s so exhausted from this whole ordeal that the simple act of bathing has got him slipping into an almost sleep. His eyes fall closed as he just allows himself to soak and absorb warmth.

Sleep only promises horrid nightmares, but rest, rest he hasn’t had in a while. It’s quite pleasant.

He doesn’t think, the thoughts seep out of his head too, as the next however many minutes pass. He loses track of time, feels unhurried in spite of Noé’s presence. 

Despite the lovely haze of the water, it can only go on for so long, and he feels the pads of his fingers begin to prune up, even under his gloves. Looks down at his toes too and spots it. He sighs.

“Noé.”

Noé jolts suddenly, Vanitas watches from behind him as he sits abruptly upright in his chair. Maybe he’d been falling asleep in the steamy room too.

“Wuh- yeah?”

“Could I have the towel please?” Vanitas says quietly.

Noé nods, quickly grabbing the towel and handing it back, facing away from him still as if to afford him some dignity. As if Vanitas hadn’t undresssed in front of him, no, forced him to undress Vanitas.

A flush rises to his face. What’s wrong with him?

He snatches the towel from Noé’s hand.

He stands upright, or rather attempts to, and is horrified to realise he’s still shaky and weak. Why! What on earth could possibly justify him still being this weak?

He trembles as he leans against the wall for support, grateful for the small mercy of Noé still facing away.

Trying to dry himself off with shaky hands is humbling. He does his best not to slip as to avoid the humiliating experience of Noé catching him for a third time. A third, how truly pathetic he is.

“Noé.”

“Would you like me to get you some fresh clothes?” Noé asks, gently. Vanitas despises how the man can practically read his mind.

“Under my pillow.” He mumbles, and Vanitas is grateful once Noé leaves the room.

How pathetic he is, to force Noé to undress him, and stay in the bathroom as he bathes. To shackle Noé to him, to make him follow his every impulsive whim. To drag him along and get him caught up in all this. 

Vanitas steps out of the bathtub, slipping minutely and cursing himself. He scrubs himself with the towel some more, fluffy and soft, trying to scrape it across his skin somehow, hoping it’ll scratch him, knowing that he’s unworthy of gentle touch. He remembers being held by Noé earlier, like something precious, something fragile. He hates it. 

He trembles.

Maybe, just maybe, he can get away with excusing his weakness on account of his ears being affected, and that in turn affecting his balance. Even then it’s a weak excuse.

He wraps the towel around himself, shaking.

Noé opens the door.

He hands Vanitas the folded pyjamas. 

“Here.” He says gently.

Vanitas doesn’t deserve gentle, surely Noé can see that from the scars all over his body, even poking out as Vanitas wears the towel around himself, from the chest down, covering himself like a woman. How pathetic.

He sharply takes the pyjamas with a shaking hand. Gives Noé no thanks. He hasn’t quite gotten it into his head how unpleasant of a person Vanitas is to be around yet.

Noé notices his tremble, eyebrows slightly pinched. “Would you.. like my help in redressing?”

“No.” Vanitas says harshly. “I’ve had quite enough.”

He watches the way Noé’s expression wilts slightly. He nods, eyes looking guilty. 

“Alright, I’ll leave you be.”

He shuts the door behind him, gently.

Vanitas puts on his clothing with trembling hands and an aching body and ears and throat and head, just to prove that he can. 

He can, and he does, but it takes several minutes of shaking arms missing the opening of the sleeves of his shirt, and clumsy fingers missing the buttons, and then the buttonholes. At least the trousers gave him little grief. He’s taking too long. Maybe Noé thinks he’s tripped over in the bathroom and split his head open and died. Noé shouldn’t care if such a thing happened.

Vanitas limps over and tugs the bath plug out, letting the filthy water drain down, before limping to the door.

“Bathroom’s free.” He announces, in a monotone voice.

Noé looks at him curiously, guiltily. Good, he should feel guilty for having agreed to that, what a pervert.

Noé walks over.

“You don’t look well.” He remarks, softly.

Vanitas trembles. “Thanks. Keep your judgements in your head why don’t you.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, I just..” Noé stretches out a hand.

Vanitas tries to bat it out the way, but is too weak. He is reminded of how much stronger Noé is than him, how if Noé really wanted to, he could do anything, he-

Noé’s palm touches his forehead. “Warm..” he remarks, looking alarmed.

Vanitas remembers the same thing with Jeanne, her pale hand on his sickly forehead, slicked with a sheen of sweat from his poison fever. She’d been gentle at first too.

“Perhaps it’s.. because you went from being so cold to so warm, I should have let you acclimatise first. I’m sorry.” Noé says, eyes empathetic.

Vanitas stares up at him.

“Sit down here,” Noé instructs, patting on Vanitas’ bed. “I’ll be right back.”

Vanitas sits.

He watches as Noé walks over and grabs a pitcher of what he had expected, water.

Noé fills up the glass of water. The sound makes Vanitas’ head fill with static.

‘Vanitas, at least drink some water. You’ll get dehydrated if you don’t.’

He knew that, obviously. And he goaded her, had been difficult, defied her, knows what defiance costs and yet-

Noé comes over, with the same soft expression of concern that she had had.

Vanitas wants to throw up.

“Some water might help.” Noé says, considerately. “Would you like to have some?”

Vanitas’ mouth feels dry.

“…No.” He whispers.

Jeanne was getting annoyed with him, he’d been testing her patience in various ways over and over again, pushing her away, away the help she wanted to give him.

Frustrated now, her temper had reached a boiling point. Vanitas knew and yet-

‘Naïve..’ he had muttered. ‘You really are naïve. Because you’re all like that… you.. and Noé-‘

He knew what he was doing, what goading people leads to and yet-

She’d grabbed him by the hair. 

Pulled him forward, up off the ground, stronger than him, his weak limp body, his arms  uselessly slack, hanging at his sides under the blanket she’d put over him minutes before, with affection in her eyes. He remembers the expression in her eyes as she grabbed him by the hair, off his feet.

“No?” Noé asks, confused. “Are you not feeling up to it? If you’re nauseous then I won’t but-“

“I just don’t want to.” Vanitas says, voice wavering.

He’d just watched Noé carefully pour out the glass on his behalf. He could have told him not to then, but now he’s just wasted his time.

Jeanne grabs him by the hair, pulls him forward, and presses her mouth into his.

The water, mixed with her saliva, breaches his throat.

Shut up.

He’d pulled away the second he was able, the water dripping thickly from his mouth. Gasped. Called out her name- begging? Pleading?

She grabbed him and pulled him right back.

Noé is looking at him, the glass of water in his hand. 

Vanitas’ heart thrums like a caged rabbit. He thinks he’s going to die. He’s too feeble to run, once again debilitated and unable to leave, scarcely able to move. His blood burns.

Noé sighs. “Alright then, if you don’t want to, that’s alright.”

He walks back and places the glass back down on the table.

—-

When Noé turns back around, Vanitas is staring at him blankly, lips parted.

It’s almost imperceptible, but he hears a near silent ‘huh?’ leave Vanitas’ mouth.

Suddenly alarmed, Noé recognises this expression from before, from in the catacombs, or if not that one a similar one. Vanitas must be feeling very out of sorts then. 

His heart clenches. 

He’s not been handling this very well- Vanitas is clearly not alright in some way or another, and Noé isn’t exactly sure how to make it right. He’s tried several things to help Vanitas feel better- to raise his temperature, to be present, to be absent, to help, to back off, but he still doesn’t feel like he’s done this correctly. 

He fidgets with his hands. He wants to be of use, though he feels like he’s exhausted everything he could come up with.

Vanitas stares blankly at him.

Suddenly, Vanitas’ eyes gloss up, and round tears begin to roll down his face.

Shit! Shit, shit, shit!

“Oh! Um-! I’m very sorry Vanitas, I hadn’t meant to-“

He hurries over, hoping not to crowd him, cautious of whether to touch him or not, flitting around like a buzzing fly.

Vanitas sobs, eyebrows pinched, looking bewildered.

“I thought- I thought that- you were both alike-“

His lips tremble, black eyelashes beaded with new tears, the others still dripping down his face.

Noé pauses. Me? Me and who?

He frankly feels very out of his depth. Vanitas does not cry, not ever. The only time he’s ever seen it was the amusement park, but that had been an exception and an entirely understandable one. At least Noé had also been crying then. At least then he’d understood.

—-

Vanitas was pathetic- no, it hadn’t been stripping in front of him, it hadn’t been shaking in his arms like a sickly child, it hadn’t been any of that-

It had been Noé listening when he’d said no.

That’s what had caused all this.

He pressed his face into the palms of his hands. He sobbed.

He doesn’t understand, he just doesn’t. Noé never behaves how he expects him to, how he’s supposed to, how everyone else behaves. He had thought Jeanne and Noé were the same, he really had, territorial vampires with a penchant for his blood but-

“Vanitas.” Noé says softly, voice competing with the ringing in his ears to be heard. “I’m really sorry I’ve upset you, could you tell me what’s the matter?”

Vanitas can hear him crouched down at Vanitas’ bed, level with- no- lower than Vanitas, a couple of paces away, clearly trying not to frighten him. 

Noé is always like this, considerate to a fault. 

Noé doesn’t push, doesn’t have his way with people, doesn’t take or act against another’s will.

Vanitas cries harder, truly sobbing this time, crying into his hands like a child. He has no idea how he’s managed to land himself with a person like Noé. This will truly be his undoing.

And yet Noé doesn’t touch, doesn’t speak again, just waits, waiting for a response, for something.

Vanitas cries. He doesn’t know how long this can go on for, covering his eyes and pretending Noé isn’t in front of him. 

He sniffles and wipes his eyes, before blinking them open, bleary and blurred.

In spite of his gentle and comforting sounding voice, reliable and certain, Noé’s expression is that of someone completely bewildered and fully out of his depth, hands fidgeting. The contrast is so ridiculous that Vanitas can only stare in disbelief for a couple of seconds before breaking into laughter.

Honestly, what is even going on?

His response seems to make Noé even more worried. His eyebrows look earnest and concerned, his bottom lip wobbling.

Vanitas, against his best wishes, snorts loudly. 

“Oh my god- I’m so sorry but- you really just have no idea what you’re doing, do you?” Vanitas blurts out

Noé suddenly goes from worried to defensive, blushing at the tips of his ears.

“No! I don’t! But I’m trying my best here, I-“

“Oh shush. Come here.” Vanitas mutters fondly.

Noé blinks in confusion as Vanitas gently cups his cheek with one hand. 

“Listen to me. You’ve already done so much for me, thank you. I also should apologise for how I’ve treated you, it’s not been fair.” Vanitas speaks quietly, wiping the tears from his own eyes with other arm.

Noé blinks once more. “I.. ok…”

“But you need a shower yourself. Even if you’re not that cold, that river is filthy.” Vanitas instructs.

“But you-“

“I’ll be fine.” Vanitas tries to say reassuringly, but Noé’s hands fiddle with the hem of his waistcoat, clearly unconvinced. 

Vanitas sighs. “Look, I’ll even get into bed.” He shuffles backwards and wrangles the covers over him. “I’m resting now, you can set your concerns aside.”

Noé still watches him, clearly debating in his head what to do. Vanitas waits, watching him come to a conclusion.

“Alright… I’ll have a shower. But please, if you need anything in the meantime-“

“Yes, I’ll scream blue murder for you.” Vanitas says with a sigh. “But I promise I’m alright.”

Noé’s eyes flick around the room one last time, and Vanitas spots them glance upon the water glass for just a fraction of a second, before he nods and walks to grab his pyjamas, and subsequently heads into the bathroom.

Vanitas sighs.

What a mess he’s made.

He wipes away a last stray tear from his eyelashes, and goes limp on the bed.

It’s nice, the bed is comfortable and the duvet is thick, the pillow is soft. Much like the bath, Vanitas is not sure how much resistance he can put up before he gives in entirely.

The cool linen is balm to the warm shower, though not unduly cold, and Vanitas’ dried hair feels light and soft against the pillow. He doesn’t normally sleep like this- in fact he can’t remember the last time he did- but he’s making a show of resting properly so that Noé will leave him alone. That and the fact that it’s actually quite pleasant.

The shaking seems to have stopped, luckily, but his limbs feel leaden, and even if he wanted to move to fully cover himself in the sheets, like he normally does, he isn’t sure he’d be able to.

He stares up at the ceiling, a gentle cream colour, lit by the soft light of a lamp, and further then, the gentle light of the moon through the window. Oh good, Noé did shut it in the end.

Struggle as he might, although he doesn’t have much of a mind to, Vanitas finds himself slipping away.

At some point, he hears the sound of a door slowly opening, and tapping feet.

A hand comes down to gently brush back his bangs, a palm carefully presses up against his forehead. 

He whines in protest. He’d just been nodding off.

“I know, I’m sorry.” Noé whispers. “You’re still feeling a bit warm. Should I give you some medicine?”

“Jus’ wanna sleep.” Vanitas mumbles. “Please.”

Noé seems to pause for a few seconds. Vanitas would take note of his expression, but his eyelids are drooping and he can hardly keep awake. If he had to guess, Noé would be looking worried again.

“Alright.” Noé acquiesces. “Let’s see how you are in the morning then.”

Relief washes over Vanitas. He couldn’t put up with any more of a carry on this evening, and is glad he won’t have any spoons shoved in his mouth. At least not tonight.

With that he finds himself at last falling asleep, in spite of Noé’s shuffling and moving abouts, which would normally drive him up the wall. Now it scarcely registers to his ringing ears, before he feels darkness overtake his mind.

—-

When Noé wakes up, it is to the sound of Vanitas being up and about. It doesn’t strike him as unusual, not at first, before he remembers the events of last night.

He jolts. 

In his chair- that’s right, the chair he had resigned himself to watch vigil over Vanitas in. Clearly that hadn’t worked particularly well.

Noé blinked awake, rubbing his eyes and feeling his back sore from being sat up all night.

“You alright there?” Vanitas asks with a teasing lilt, though there is a small concern in his eyes. He’s just brushing his hair, running a comb through his long locks. With relative ease it seems though- 

“I-! I should be asking you that!” Noé blurts. 

Vanitas smiles coyly. “Honestly..” he mutters. “Did you really spend all night in that chair watching over me? How lucky I am to have a guardian angel.”

Avoiding the question! Noé knows of these tricks Vanitas likes to play, and doesn’t get distracted by them anymore.

“Should you really be up?” Noé asks once again, insistent.

Vanitas smirks. “It’s alright. It was just a dip in the Seine.”

Noé feels a headache coming along. “Don’t be ridiculous-!”

“That’s my modus operandi.” Vanitas says with a wink.

Noé sighs. “Seriously, are you alright? I thought you’d ruptured your eardrums.”

Vanitas tuts. “Ruptured eardrums result in an immediate and near total loss of hearing.” He says confidently, though Noé isn’t certain he’s right. 

“And fluid discharge.” He adds, seeing as Noé’s unconvinced, and despite that still not convincing him Noé has little medical knowledge to counteract it.

“And” he says with a sweet smile. “I can still hear your nagging voice quite well.”

Noé sighs again. “And the ringing?”

“Has stopped.”

“Good. And you don’t feel anything else wrong?”

Vanitas sighs this time. “No. I know you think me terribly fragile, but I’m quite alright.”

Noé frowns. That’s not true at all. “I don’t think you’re fragile. Not at all.”

Vanitas smiles

“In fact, you must be the most resilient person I’ve ever met.”

Vanitas’ smile grows brittle, as if pained. Resilience is only ever borne of suffering. That much Noé knows- that much his teacher had taught him.

“…You haven’t met many people.” Vanitas says at last, quietly.

“That’s true.” Noé admits with a worn smile, slumping a little. He’s terribly tired, and a little sore. “I’m just glad you’re alright.” He admits.

“…Are you?” Vanitas questions, walking over.

“Yep. Just tired. Didn’t sleep that well last night.”

Vanitas gently flicks his forehead. “That’s hardly a surprise is it, falling asleep like this.  Still, you, not sleeping well? That’s unheard of. Deeply concerning.” Vanitas tuts.

“Don’t try a role reversal now.” Noé grumbles. He knows exactly what Vanitas is doing to try and take the focus off himself.

“I’m not.” Vanitas says firmly. “You just look like you could use some rest.”

“…I probably could.” Noé admits. He stretches and steps out of the chair, wincing as his legs unfold and he realises several muscles are aching. He clambers his way over to his bed and flops down.

“Very good. I’ll leave you to that then.” Vanitas says. Noé hears a rustle of fabric, the sound of a coat being pulled off a coatpeg.

“Vanitas…”

He hears the human pause. “Hm? Is something the matter?”

“May I… make a selfish request?”

Noé hears a small bemused huff. “Alright. I’ll afford you the chance to just this once.”

“May you sleep with me?”

The room goes quiet, and Noé wriggles himself around to find out why Vanitas has gone silent.

His face is flushed a bright pink. He splutters.

“Noé. That’s not. The correct phrasing.” Vanitas gets out through gritted teeth. He rubs a hand over his face.

Noé’s made a mistake here, that much is certain, but he’s not entirely sure what. He hopes he hadn’t accidentally said something euphemistic, though Vanitas’ face seems to indicate so. He sighs. Social interaction is terribly complicated.

“It’s too early for semantics.” Noé grumbles.

“It’s midday.” Vanitas deadpans. “Dominique came in to check if we were both alive earlier.”

“Domi came? And you didn’t wake me!?” Noé exclaims.

“She didn’t want to wake you. If I recall correctly the exact phrasing was ‘he looks very worn out, poor thing’.” Vanitas murmurs.

“Oh..” Noé murmurs. “I hope I didn’t give her cause for concern. Was the cursebearer alright?”

Vanitas nods. “It sounds like Dominique escorted her back home last night. She’s already gone into town today so I’m afraid she’s not in the hotel at the moment.”

Noé sighs, before flopping down again.

“And in answer to your question, I shall accept your offer.” Vanitas says teasingly.

“You will?!” Noé exclaims in delight, whipping around, before wobbling. 

“Careful.” Vanitas chides. “You’ll fall out of bed you daft thing.”

He strides his way over, and sits down on the bed elegantly, making a show of it.

“It seems a simple thing to make you happy.” Vanitas remarks. “Is my presence that dear to you?” He speaks with a tease and a glimmer in his eyes.

“Of course. Although you’re as intolerable as always.” Noé states.

Vanitas chuckles. “Is that so?”

He makes a movement to come closer, slow and deliberate. Noé isn’t sure why, but he feels his face heat up a little as Vanitas approaches.

“You are a curious creature. You don’t like me, and yet, you want me close?”

“I recall you saying a similar few things yourself.” Noé mutters. Vanitas looks a bit taken aback, musing on it for a second, before pulling back the duvet.

“Did those things upset you?” Vanitas asks.

It’s too early for this kind of conversation, Noé thinks and so he says it aloud. “I’m tired. It’s too early for this.” He mumbles.

Vanitas only looks more perplexed, before his face morphs into one of a satisfied grin. Like a fisherman sensing a tug on the line. Noé isn’t sure he likes it. 

Vanitas hums softly. “Well, I suppose it is early. And you deserve a lie-in after your heroics yesterday.”

“I didn’t do anything. That was all Domi.” Noé says, confused.

“I’m talking about fishing me out the Seine.” Vanitas corrects. “I’ve yet to thank you for that.”

Noé blinks. “Oh right. I mean, I wouldn’t just leave you there to drown?”

“And that I am grateful for.” Vanitas says with a smile.

“How evil do you think I am??” Noé splutters.

Vanitas pinches his nose. “Honestly. Can’t you take a compliment. I’m just saying that it was kind of you to jump in after me- even though the water was cold. Even though it was dirty. You still saved me.”

“Of course.” Noé said sincerely, expression serious. “I paid those things no mind.”

Vanitas chucked. “Oh Noé, ever so earnest.”

He brushed a small lock of white hair back behind Noé’s ear, murmuring softly. “The circles under your eyes are rather darker than usual. I do think you need some rest.”

Noé sighed, leaning into the touch, closing his eyes. “That’s true…” 

“Come on then you lump. Get under the covers.” Vanitas huffed.

“So mean…” Noé murmured, rubbing at his eyes.

“And yet, I’m here offering to be a grown man’s teddy bear.” Vanitas rolled his eyes.

Noé’s eyes widen. “Does that mean I get to hug you?”

“You’re not allowed to crush me to death, if that’s what you’re asking.” Vanitas deadpans.

Taking that as an invitation, Noé latches onto Vanitas, who sighs long-sufferingly.

“You’re warm..” Noé mumbles. “But not too warm. That’s good. I got scared last night. You felt like ice.”

“Not all of us can be a human furnace.” Vanitas grumbles. “Vampire furnace.” He corrects.

“Mmm.” Noé mumbles. 

“I’m sorry I scared you.” Vanitas says softly. “I’m sure you know it wasn’t my intention to be flung into the Seine.”

“‘S’okay.” Noé slurs. “Glad you’re alright.” 

Vanitas takes a hand to Noé’s head, and gently brushes over white hair. The vampire purrs in response. 

For now, Vanitas can accept being the prisoner of this vampire, entrapped in his embrace. After all, the other had vowed to never set him free.

Vanitas huffs, a fond noise.

When said, it’s little more than a whisper said into white hair:

“Rest well, Noé.”