A/N: Hello, hello! I have somehow managed to break through my three month's of hellish writer's block to give you guys this! It's short, but it was just a quick idea bouncing around my head. I still feel like my writing is shaky...and not how it used to be, so if even one person kudos' this I will be extremely happy. Hah. I should also be updating more regularly now that my 'groove' is creeping back into existence. Anyway, enjoy!
Closure.
It was early morning, that much he was sure of, and yet, Vanitas still didn't quite understand why he was suddenly lying there wide awake – until of course, his obnoxiously loud doorbell chimed again, more insistent than ever.
Groaning, Vanitas rolled over and shoved one of his pillows over his head, determined to ignore whoever was at his front door and just go back to sleep. However, this plan lasted all of five seconds when the stifling heat of his bedroom finally seeped into his senses. The lumpy pillow clamped over his face was now more in favour of suffocating him, rather than shutting out any noise. The muffled sound of the doorbell chiming for a third time just managed to reach him and Vanitas abruptly threw himself into an upright position, viciously pelting the pillow across the room while he was at it. He watched it flump down into his open wardrobe, the crowning glory on top of a pile of mostly dirty clothing that had been growing for months on end now – ever since his washing machine had deliberately burnt itself out just to spite him, and only a month out on the warranty, too. He looked away from it in disgust, the very sight of the pile agitating him beyond words. He knew he needed to go to a laundromat at some point this week, but today was definitely not that day.
Today was the first day in weeks he'd been granted an entire 48 hours to himself, and he'd be bloody well damned if he was spending it washing clothes. No, today's plan had been to sleep till at least noon or longer, then he would drag himself out of bed to order something worth eating like pizza or Chinese, nothing like the pretentious meals comprising of three beans and a sliver of tofu that they sold for exorbitant prices down at the snobby, upper-class restaurant he worked in, and he didn't plan on leaving the house to go get it either. He was done with people – so fucking done, and whoever was outside of his front door right now was in for one helluva wake-up call themselves. The only friends he had would know not to call around without messaging him first, and he'd been sure to plaster his entire door with as many 'no junk mail, no God botherers' stickers as he could get his hands on, so who, for the love of all that was holy was gracing his doorstep with their shitty existence?
Grabbing the nearest pair of jeans off his bedroom floor, Vanitas pulled them on commando and buttoned them up, forgoing a shirt altogether. Wearing clothes in general was hellish right now, especially in this soul-destroying heat. Summer was another thing that could fuck right off as well.
Pushing his mess of hair from out of his face, Vanitas stomped a path down the hallway, passed the kitchen and living room, and directly on towards the front door. From what he could make out through the frosted glass of the decorative panels on the door, the person still patiently waiting on the other side was either ridiculously short, or quite possibly a kid, neither of which mattered in the grand scheme of things. Good, Vanitas thought, a humourless smile pulling at the corner of his lips. Someone to tower over and intimidate was always easier to get rid of. He'd be back in bed in less than two minutes. Maybe, he'd even spoil himself and turn the aircon on for once. What was one more overly-excessive bill when he was already drowning in debt?
Flicking the key round in the deadbolt, Vanitas clenched the doorknob tightly and twisted, wrenching the door wide open.
As soon as their eyes met, it was like a proverbial punch to the stomach; Vanitas' angry words stalled and nearly choked him, his hand going slack around the doorknob. Somewhere, hidden at the back of his mind, he'd always caught himself wondering if this day would ever come. Ventus Green wasn't someone he was likely to forget anytime soon, no matter how many years of silence now lay heavy between them.
Quick to regain his composure, Vanitas drew in a sharp breath and stood up straighter, his hand reaffirming its grip around the doorknob. He fought himself violently in that moment, self-preservation dictating that he yank the door closed again – to slam it shut, right in Ventus' stupidly, perfect face.
"Hey, it's…been a while, huh?" Ventus murmured, his eyes leaving Vanitas' and already skittering off to the side. He raised a hand and rubbed at the back of his head, his strained smile clearly uncomfortable. Vanitas' eyes narrowed, his nostrils flaring.
"That's one way of putting it," he bit out, completely on the defensive now that his initial shock had worn off. The hostility in Vanitas' tone was not lost on Ventus, who visibly flinched and hunched in on himself. He swallowed hard, his lips pursing. He wasn't smiling anymore.
"Can I…uh, could I come in? Please?"
Ventus' eyes lifted to meet his, and Vanitas' mood soured further as he saw the quiet determination there he was already so aggravatingly familiar with. It seemed some things never changed. The very last thing he wanted to do right now was let Ventus just casually wheel himself back into his life, but he already knew there was no point in refusing him. Ventus was stubborn, and he wouldn't be leaving without a fight, not before Vanitas had heard what he'd obviously come all this way to say.
Rolling his eyes skyward, Vanitas sighed explosively and stepped out of Ventus' way, holding the door open for him. Ventus had barely passed the threshold before Vanitas was flinging the door closed again, his temper getting the better of him. It wasn't fair, and that's what pissed him off the most about this. If he left Ventus out on his doorstep, then that made him the bad guy. Who would believe it was the other way around when Ventus looked like a goddamned saint compared to him?
He ignored Ventus' quiet 'thank-you' and turned his back on him, already heading back along the hallway towards the kitchen. He could hear Ventus hurrying to follow him. Entering the kitchen, he didn't bother turning on the light, choosing instead to busy himself with opening the blinds on the windows. From behind him he heard Ventus enter the kitchen too, the scrape of a chair following as he moved it to take a seat around the kitchen table. Dim, morning light now flooding the tiny, blue room, Vanitas turned back around to face Ventus, but stayed standing over by the kitchen sink. He made no move to sit down. Ventus gave him a small smile, his hands twisting in his lap.
"Somehow, I just knew," Ventus began softly. "…Even if everyone else treated me differently, you would always be that one person who never would."
Vanitas glared.
"I'm out of coffee," he muttered in lieu of answering, avoiding Ventus' eyes and already striding for the pantry. "But I have tea."
"Um, water is fine," Ventus supplied, but Vanitas ignored him, already retrieving the tea-bags and sugar from the pantry and plonking them down onto the kitchen bench beside the kettle. He already knew Ventus hated tea, but he needed to keep his hands moving, anything to stop himself from sitting down at that table and facing this – whatever this happened to be…
"So, how have you been?" Ventus began innocently enough, failing in all aspects to defuse the growing tension between them. Vanitas thought he could hear the very walls groaning under the sheer weight of it, from just having to contain such mounting pressure in such a small space, but in hindsight, it was more likely to be the old, copper piping that this house was still riddled with, like a vast, hidden mess of tangled, metallic vines. They always protested like mourning ghosts whenever he shut the water-taps off too fast, as was the case here when the kettle filled just a little too quickly for his liking.
"Fine." Vanitas said, returning the kettle to its element and clicking it on. He made a show of dumping teaspoons of sugar in two non-descript, white mugs, studiously ignoring the faint tremor now working its way through his hands throughout the entire process. He was running out of things to distract himself with… and his temper was slowly rising. He didn't want to turn around. One look at his unexpected, unwanted house-guest and he was more than certain he'd lose it.
"…That's good," Ventus answered, his tone of voice still torturously awkward. "I'm glad you're doing okay. I wasn't really sure you'd still be here."
Vanitas clenched his fists against the bench, trying his best to focus on the gentle bubbling of the kettle. Calm down, his mind whispered, there has to be a good reason…
"It's funny how time flies, huh? I didn't even realise how long it'd been…"
There has to be… Vanitas urged himself, but Ventus was still talking, his words roaring in Vanitas' ears.
"It still seems like yesterday –"
…A good reason he…
"– that I was moving in here with –"
"TWO. Years."
Behind him, Ventus immediately fell silent, Vanitas' sudden outburst completely drowning him out.
No one moved as the kettle whistled and clicked off, the boiling water still bubbling now the only sound. Vanitas squeezed his eyes shut and hung his head, bracing himself with both hands flat on the kitchen bench. He wasn't strong enough. He couldn't do this. There were too many thoughts – too many emotions all bubbling and boiling over, all screaming at him to react, to do something – something to show Ventus just how much he'd caused him to suffer.
"Two. Years," he said again, his voice shaking, but still just under control and loud enough for Ventus to hear. "You said you'd be travelling around Europe for six months – so what the FUCK do you call this?"
Ventus laughed nervously, his words barely above a whisper.
"I guess… I got a little sidetracked."
Vanitas whirled around to face him, his expression wild and furious.
"Sidetracked? That's it!? That's all you've got to say!? After two years of giving me nothing? You gotta be fucking kidding me!"
"I – I couldn't face you!" Ventus shouted back, desperate for Vanitas to understand. "How could I? When I'm – I'm…!" He struggled with himself then, his eyes full of his own torment. He took a deep breath and looked up at Vanitas again, his lips faintly trembling.
"You think it was easy for me to stay away? I…I thought about you every day. What…What you might be doing, or who you were with…"
The emotion in Ventus' voice managed to quell Vanitas' anger somewhat, but it still did nothing to curb his snowballing doubts. Everything he'd thought he'd known… he'd believed it for too long now. This sudden turn of events changed nothing.
"Bullshit," he snapped. "Why try and save face after all this time?"
Ventus just looked confused. He slowly shook his head.
"What do you mean save face? Why would I lie? What would I get out of that?"
Vanitas scowled and turned back to the kitchen sink. He locked his hands around the metal edge like grasping for a life-line.
"You met someone else – don't deny it. Someone… better."
Silence reigned between them.
"Do you really believe that…?"
Vanitas didn't answer. He didn't need to. He stared straight ahead, out into the overgrown garden outside, his eyes blank and unseeing.
"Vanitas, look at me."
Vanitas didn't move.
From the other side of the room came the sound of creaking plastic and the faint clinking of metal as Ventus moved away from the table.
"Look at me, Vanitas. Please…"
Vanitas looked.
He stood motionless, his arms hanging lax at his sides as Ventus came closer to him.
"I fucked up," Ventus choked out, his hands slowly but firmly turning the wheels of his chair, bringing himself to a dead stop barely a few metres away from where Vanitas stood. Vanitas looked down at him, his eyes wandering over what was left of Ventus' legs. They were thin, but not overly so. He didn't need Ventus to tell him they didn't work anymore. It was more than obvious.
"I ruined everything," Ventus continued, bravely trying to meet Vanitas' eyes, even as his own swam with unshed tears. "And...even if I've come to terms with it now, I'm still damaged goods. I – I didn't expect you to still want to be with me, and I...didn't want you to feel obligated just because we were together...before..."
"Shut up," was all Vanitas could get out, his temper flaring again as he angrily broke their eye-contact. He wanted to throw something – he wanted to flip the fucking table.
Ventus wheeled closer.
"I – I'm sorry! I didn't want to be a burden to–!"
"You really think I wouldn't want to be with you anymore because your fricken legs don't work!? Didn't you trust me at all!?" Vanitas exploded, shouting into Ventus' face.
Ventus, for his part, shrunk down in his chair, his expression withdrawn and so very lost. Vanitas felt sick just seeing him so miserable. Wasn't this what he'd been wanting? To have Ventus suffer just as much as he had? There was no satisfaction in this. None at all.
"My…My legs aren't the only things that don't work anymore, Vanitas… You get what I'm saying, right?" Ventus looked back up at him, but only briefly, his eyes full of his pain. "How could I...be with you, when I can't even– " He choked and broke off, his hands gesturing uselessly. Vanitas watched a single tear streak down his cheek.
"...You're a goddamn idiot," Vanitas breathed, covering his eyes with his hand. "You think that's all you were to me? Just a good fuck?" He leaned back heavily against the kitchen bench, shaking his head slightly.
Ventus reached for him, his fingers shaking.
"Van…"
Vanitas moved away from him out of instinct, his emotions getting the better of him.
"I – I waited for you...to come back. And you never did," he began, his voice breaking on the last word. "Your parents wouldn't speak to me! You wouldn't answer my calls!" He was gaining momentum now, two years' worth of pent-up rage and frustration swiftly rising to the surface. "And then your stupid friends came round while I was out and took away all your stuff!"
Ventus just stared up at him, his shame and guilt splashed across his face. Vanitas gestured wildly, his chest heaving with every breath.
"No one would tell me what happened to you! I never even knew about this! Do you have any idea of how shit that makes me feel!?"
"I told them not to tell you!" Ventus burst out, his hands gripping hard around the armrests of his chair.
"So why now then?" Vanitas demanded, his expression hard. "Why now, after all this time?"
"I couldn't take it anymore!" Ventus cried, meeting Vanitas' eyes before looking down at his hands dejectedly. "I thought...staying away from you was for the best, but I just...wanted to see you. So much."
Vanitas said nothing, his anger rushing out of him like a shredded balloon. All he could do was stare over at the man who used to be his entire world and fight back every single impulse that swept through him, that screamed at him to get over there and bundle Ventus up in his arms.
"But I know...I messed this up. And it'll never be how it was," Ventus continued quietly, finally managing to meet Vanitas' eyes again. "And I...didn't come here expecting you to...to still –"
"Love you?" Vanitas couldn't help but scoff, even as Ventus looked on, stricken by his reaction.
Vanitas actually laughed, but it wasn't a pleasant sound. He had finally reached his limit. He choked down a sob as he turned his back to Ventus, covering his face with both hands.
"How could I not, Ventus? There isn't a day that goes by where I don't –"
Warm hands were pulling him closer then, Ventus closing the distance between them, only so he could embrace Vanitas from behind. He wrapped his arms tight around Vanitas' waist, pressing his face into the small of his back.
"Please don't cry..." Ventus whispered, his lips moving against Vanitas' bare skin. "If you do… I'll start, too."
Steadying himself, Vanitas slowly turned in Ventus' arms.
"I'm not."
Stooping down, Vanitas finally did what he'd honestly been wanting to do the moment he'd found Ventus on his doorstep. He gathered him up in his arms, squeezing him as hard as he could. Ventus hurried to reposition himself, returning Vanitas' embrace with just as much strength. He made a low, needy sound of contentment, his fingers trembling as one of his hands carded through Vanitas' hair, and Vanitas in turn fought back the tears he'd done such a good job at keeping at bay.
Reluctantly releasing him, Vanitas gave Ventus a watery smile and slowly reached forwards, his thumbs wiping away any moisture still clinging to Ventus' eyelashes.
"Do you...wanna get some pizza?"
Ventus smiled too, even as he reached up and brushed away a single, lingering tear of Vanitas' as well.
"Yeah. That'd be great."