A/N: So I originally wrote and published this on October 21, 2016 on Ao3 and realized that the VnC fic archive on ff is bare as bones compared to Ao3, at least the English written ones from what I can tell. Anyways, I decided to migrate those fics over here so people that don't use Ao3 can see them as well. I have a few more that I'll need to post before it's all caught up, but from now on, I'll try to remember to post my VnC fics on here as well.
Original A/N: In which vanitas doesn't know how to emotions properly and I stuff as many headcanons as I can in a oneshot because there are only 11 chapters out.
Vanitas wakes to the taste of blood between his teeth and the moon hanging overhead, a waning crescent that's the brightest thing in the sky. It takes a few seconds for him to think past the headache blooming inside his head and realize that he isn't walking but moving despite the fact, being carried and at a gentle pace that he can barely register.
How kind he thinks and even his own voice inside his head is softer, more tired than he would like from a weariness that reaches down to his bones. How naïve Vanitas thinks again and isn't surprised when he moves his head and his nose brushes against strands of hair that are white like the moon's own glow. It's an odd situation, unfamiliar in the fact that Noé isn't carrying him like a sack of flour and tossing him around like a plaything. This is a sudden vulnerability, not something that Vanitas is particularly fond of, but has accepted that it's happening. The sigh that he exhales is laced with something akin to defeat as he drops his forehead against Noé's broad shoulder.
"Oh, you're awake." Vanitas decides to ignore the relief he can here in the other's voice, blames it on the fact that he's tired and hearing things wrong.
"I am." Vanitas' voice comes out muffled from the fabric. "Though I do appreciate you carrying me like I'm an actual person, I'm sure I can walk now."
Noé shakes his head; a movement that Vanitas only knows it's happening because he can feel soft strands ghosting close to his face. "I'd rather you not. You took a hit to the leg earlier, it was bleeding badly, but it stopped. It'd be stupid if I let you reopen it."
Vanitas does remember that; it was a misstep on his part, but he didn't register how bad it was at the time, focus only on the job that needed to be done. Maybe that's what caused him to pass out, blood loss has always been a hassle to deal with. Or it could have been because he was thrown against a stone wall at some point, the chance of a concussion isn't completely out of the picture and his head does hurt.
"If you insist." He sighs again, more theatrics than anything. "I won't pass up the chance to be treated with some proper care. You can be a bit of a brute."
Noé hums, amused probably because he knows Vanitas is joking in that unique way of his. The kind of joking where no one can tell if he's serious about it or not, it's more infuriating than funny at times.
It's really a half lie on Vanitas' part anyway. Despite all his brute strength and quick temper, Noé is gentle and kindhearted, more so than a proper vampire ought to be, especially to a human. But if Noé is odd than Vanitas is odder still and that's why they work so well together.
"We're not too far from the hotel we're staying at. How are you feeling?"
"Well enough I suppose."
Besides the headache and stinging in his leg, Vanitas can't feel anything else hurting. Then again, Noé is walking slow enough that he doesn't even feel any jostling that might disturb other aches and scrapes, so it's hard to pinpoint if there are any other problems.
That seems like a good enough answer regardless, because Noé stays quiet after that, continues walking at his soft slow pace and Vanitas doesn't have the heart to tell him to hurry up and that he doesn't need Noé to treat him like something fragile as stained glass. He doesn't have the heart to be annoyed by Noé's kindness, though, not when it's the genuine sort that seems so rare these days.
The silence that follows them all the way to the hotel is companionable, easy enough for Vanitas to sink into and allow his guard to drop. There is a sort of appreciate he holds in the lull in conversation if only for the fact that it means he doesn't have to do much thinking about anything. But Vanitas' mind never really stops working, so he stays lost in his own head for a while, doesn't realize they've made it to where they need to be until Noé is unlocking the room door. It's an impressive feat to do with someone hanging from his back.
It's dark enough that Vanitas can't see anything properly, only vague outlines, but Noé picks his way across the room easily enough. His long strides get them to the bed in a matter of steps. Vanitas flops down gratefully on top of the sheets once he's able, feeling like he might melt right into the hotel brand mattress.
Vanitas rolls on his side, props his weight on his elbow and watches as Noé lights the room's lantern "Are you going to stick around?"
"Of course, you're hurt and tired." Noé says it like it's the simplest thing in the world and for him, that reasoning probably is. He doesn't need a lot of reasons to do much of anything Vanitas is coming to learn.
The statement is dismissed with a wave of a hand and a flashing of teeth. "I'm a doctor, Noé. I can handle myself."
Neither of them mention that Vanitas isn't a traditional doctor or that fact that he's only eighteen so that doesn't give him the certification to use that excuse. Not when he's probably never even worked in a real hospital a day in his life. Neither of them say any of those things, but Noé has that expressionless look on his face. It's the same look he gets whenever Vanitas states something he doesn't quite believe.
"You're tired." Noé repeats, stubborn about the oddest things. "And you probably shouldn't even be sleeping. You might have a concussion."
"I don't have a concussion." Vanitas protests, putting as much surety in his voice as possible. "I'll be fine."
The look in Noé's eyes change, turns into sincerity mixed with something else Vanitas can't quite place. It catches him off guard really, leaves Vanitas speechless in a way that makes his tongue feel heavy in his mouth. He forgets too often how visceral Noé's emotions can be, how he wears his heart on his sleeve, the most dangerous place to have it. Catching a glimpse of it always makes Vanitas feel out of sorts, it's something he's not used to.
Later, Vanitas will blame his blood loss and weariness for this decision, but for now, he just says a nonchalant: "Do what you want." And ignores how pleased his odd companion seems at the answer.
"Good," Noé nods, expression serious in a way that reminds Vanitas of children when given a very important task to do. "you change out of those clothes and I will get stuff for your leg."
He's gone before Vanitas can protest, leaving him blinking wide-eyed at the now closed door. He should have pushed the matter of being able to take care of himself, Vanitas has dressed his own wounds for ages now, stitched gashes with thread and set broken bones himself. But really, Noé probably wouldn't care, him and his bleeding heart.
Vanitas rises from the bed and heads behind the divider to begin the process of removing his outfit. It's an easy sort of activity despite all the pieces to it, a mindless process that comes to him with ease due to years of practice.
People think he wears such a complicated thing for eccentricity sake, and in a way, that is one of the factors, eccentricity and aesthetic melded together because Vanitas won't deny the fact that he's vain. But he hides himself under the blues and blacks of the fabrics because it's a familiar sort of protection. From what, he isn't quite sure anymore, probably the entire world at this point. It started with gloves that reached all the way to his elbows and ended with him always wearing a coat a few sizes too large no matter the weather.
Once he's done, he slips into a night gown tucked in the bottom of his luggage, something that covers him from shoulders to ankles to wrists. It isn't the same type of coverage that he'd usually prefer, but it's close enough given the circumstances. Noé won't throw a fuss at seeing him in something so simple unlike some people. Vanitas always makes a habit of being the first dressed and ready to go in the morning, people start to wonder if he even sleeps.
(He does of course, he's just forced his body to run on less than the bare minimum throughout the years. It's easy to wake him up and harder for him to actually go to sleep.)
He sits back down on the bed, feeling a little dirty and still tasting blood between his teeth. Vanitas has a ritual and he would have bathed at some time in the middle of the night after waking up, would have dressed his own wounds, and apologized if he got blood on the sheets, but Noé's insistent kindness kept all that from happening. All he can manage at the moment is taking a drink from the glass of water that's been there since this morning, chasing the taste of blood down his throat until it no longer clings to his molars.
There's a knock at the door and Vanitas rises to answer it, toes digging into the plush carpet as he walks. Noé's there in the doorway, arms laden with more supplies than Vanitas would have thought to use. It's odd and amusing all at once.
He tilts his head to the side and raises an eyebrow at the sight, edging out of the way and opening the door wider. "Isn't that a bit much?"
"Of course not." Noé answers easily as he slips into the room, setting everything down once he's able, not even spilling a drop of water from the two bowls he found fit to bring.
"So you're going to take care of me?" Vanitas closes the door back and once more takes his place on the edge of the bed.
"I guess." Noé says smoothly and Vanitas almost doesn't catch the damp rag that's thrown at his face. "Your face is still a little dirty."
"Thank you for being so considerate." It's hard to tell if he's joking or not, but Noé doesn't react anyway.
Vanitas works at the task of wiping all the grime and sweat off his face, dunking thing cloth in the warm water and wringing it out with when it goes dry. By the time he feels clean enough, the water is murky and the rag dirty. Vanitas feels fresher now, still tired, but at least he doesn't feel so dead on his feet. Using the Book takes energy that he sometimes can barely spare and tonight he nearly reached a limit he hasn't hit in months.
"Did your wound reopen?" Noé's voice comes a direction lower than Vanitas' own self. Removing the rag from over his eyes, he sees that Noé has taken a seat on the floor right next to his legs.
"No." Vanitas says as evenly as he's able, resisting the urge to move his legs further away by busing himself with folding the rag and placing it out of the way.
Noé looks satisfied, drawing up the other basin of water next to him and a small medical kit Vanitas takes around but would rather not use. He reaches out, hands without gloves before he seems to remember something and suddenly gives all his attention back to Vanitas.
"I'm going to touch you, is that okay?"
His question is so simple, yet so unexpected that it leaves Vanitas wide-eyed for a moment, that is until he starts laughing. Noé, with his odd behavior, is good at startling laughs out of him like this.
"Noé," Vanitas exhales more than says the other's name, holding back another bout of laughter that threatens to spill forth. "do you ever ask when you pick me up and toss me around?"
"No, but I only do that when there's no better option."
"Really? I thought you only did it because you got a kick out of it."
Noé smiles, something small and amused that looks beautiful on his face. "That too. But you said you normally do this on your own. I can be here in case you need help while you do it, or I could do it for you."
Vanitas ignores the stuttering of his heart. He knows that Noé's kindness does not discriminate, but Vanitas almost always forgets that he's entitled to that same kindness like everyone else is. He doesn't deserve it, something he's sure that Noé knows. He's a fool if he doesn't, or maybe he's a bigger fool for knowing and ignoring it still.
"You'd probably fuss the entire time, you do it."
Noé looks relieved at that answer, grabs the rag and gentle grabs hold of Vanitas' pale ankle. Vanitas stamps down the urge to snatch his leg back and insist that he can do it himself. Skin on skin contact is not something he often enjoys and Noé's touch burns like a brand and warms him from the inside out. Ignoring his rebellious feelings, Vanitas pulls the night gown up enough so that the cut below his knee is visible.
The room is quiet save for the gentle sloshing of water whenever Noé puts the rag back in. His work is gentle, delicate as he wipes away the dried blood, tinging the cloth and water a diluted pink. Vanitas wants to ask where his gentleness stemmed from, for what reason is he so kind to a human affiliated with the Blue Moon. He'd like to ask all that and more but he can't, because Vanitas' heart is thundering between his ribs and he's worried if he asks any questions it will come spilling out.
"Do you think you'll need stitches?" Noé asks once the cleaning is done, eyeing the cut like someone who isn't privy to giving medical treatment.
Vanitas peers down at the gash, it's not deep enough to see the bone and probably bleed so much because of its place on his leg. He's had worse "No, save them if something more life threatening comes up."
"It might scar."
"Well, it wouldn't be the first." Vanitas states it so flippantly that he wishes he could catch the words and swallow them back down not even a second later.
Everyone knows of the mark that cracks his arm into something terrible, it's a blight on his person, a remnant of ownership. But that's all they know really. No one knows Vanitas is a patchwork of scars both inside and out, some silver with age and other's pink in their freshness. He consoles his rising panic by reminding himself that Noé won't put things together that quickly. Maybe one day he will, but country boy's one-track mind probably won't let him think about much else outside of making sure Vanitas goes to bed with a properly bandaged leg.
"Still." Noé exhales a sigh but leaves it at that, grabbing a jar of salve and a roll of bandages.
The ointment permeates the air with its heady scent, something earthy and pungent, Vanitas having forgotten what makes it up. He's had it for so long that it's nice to know that it still works. The salve is cool enough to sting when it covers the wound, strong enough that everything might heal properly within a week or so, maybe it won't even scar.
"Are you cold?" Noé looks up once he's finished, head tilted to the side in a show of genuine curiosity.
"No, why do you ask?"
"Oh," he fiddles with the bandages, half distracted, unrolls them just enough, gently grabbing hold of Vanitas' leg once more to begin wrapping it. "Your skin is cold, that's why."
"Some people just run cooler than others. I'm used to it, why do you think I wear so many clothes?"
He doesn't bring up the fact that Noé runs hot, hotter than any vampire Vanitas has been close to, and any human really. He should get used to it though, Noé and all his oddities and quirks. He's easy enough to figure out, it's his simplicity that always catches Vanitas off guard in the end. The simplicity of his reasoning. The sincerity of his actions. His unadulterated truths.
Noé is Vanitas' polar opposite and that in and of itself is exciting enough, keeps him on his toes without even realizing it.
"There." The satisfaction in Noé's tone is endearing. He looks proud of himself for doing a job well done, for helping someone in need.
Vanitas makes a show of examining his now bandaged leg, extending it and turning it this way and that before nodding. "You didn't do such a bad job. I'm impressed."
Noé huffs out a small laugh, something nearly too soft to catch. "I am useful outside of just being the muscle."
He stands and stretches from his crouched position then. Noé is beauty in motion, this is something Vanitas cannot ignore no matter how hard he tries. There's something graceful about him that can't quite be captured or reimaged. Something so innate and natural that it's hard to image that Noé isn't a part of the Queen's own court. His beauty would not go to waste there, or maybe it will. Noé is not made for courtly life and that much is obvious to anyone who speaks to him for longer than ten minutes.
"If that's all, I'll be heading to bed." His voice easily breaks the silence and Noé's got everything cleaned up already.
Vanitas flicks his pale fingers in a shooing motion, he can't think properly with Noé in the room when he's this tired. "Go on, I can take care of myself for the rest of the night."
Noé shoots him an amused look but doesn't say anything besides a simple goodnight, exiting the room and closing the door softly behind him.
Vanitas catches himself staring at the closed door for minutes after the fact. He feels a clench around his heart that he can't quite place, but can guess the implications of. He sighs loudly and stretches himself out properly on the bed, head buried in a pillow. This might one day be a hassle he's rather not deal with.
He will not act on these feelings, whatever they may be or whatever they might become. There is no time to construct a relationship outside of what he already has, it's troublesome enough that he sees Noé as a friend, a companion closer than what Vanitas has ever had before. It's a vulnerability and a soft spot in his carefully crafted armor.
Relationships are dangerous and will destroy him from the inside out and Vanitas does not have time to deal with them, the goal he's aiming for is something much more important. There's no time for distractions of any kind.
Besides, he is eighteen already knows how his story will end. Vengeance is not kind and death will be his final stage, that he is certain of.
Original A/N: Quote the title is based on is actually "But I was too young to know how to love her" from Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince
Thank you for reading!