(A/Ns: wow is this? really me? like it's been LESS THAN TWO WEEKS since i last updated? ANYWAY this chapter is where the real plot point begin. there's certain subjects which i will try my best to convey, and i will try to be 100% respectful. please please PLEASE pay attention to the content warnings! i literally cba to deal with drama so if you leave me hate then expect to be deleted :)
BUT im sure youre all lovely so i have nothing to worry about right? :))
content warnings: domestic abuse, brief suicidal thoughts, smoking, violence, child abuse, physical and verbal abuse, recreational drug use, mentions/some vague-ish descriptions of dysphoria, mentions of parental death.
enjoy! :3

disclaimer: i do not own Pandora Hearts or Vanitas no Carte)


Chapter 4

"How was your day, Ada?"

From across the dinner table, Ada smiled at her father, picking up the knife again and cutting through her food. "It was good! I stayed behind with my History teacher to go through my most recent assessment. She says it looks really promising!"

"Impressive," Xai – their father – commented, responding with a fleeting smile. A second later, his expression returned to its usual stern nature, as he redirected his gaze to Oz. "And you?"

Shifting the food around his plate with the fork, Oz kept his head locked downwards. "Good."

Oz didn't want to steal the attention from Ada.

Ada was evidently the favourite child. She was only two months older than Oz, the two having different mothers. Oz's mother died at birth, whilst Ada's mother had divorced Xai after finding out about the other women. What exactly had happened around the siblings' birth, Oz had never known. He just knew he was the unwanted child.

There were a lot of unanswered questions in that house, but of everything, the one thing Oz knew for certain was that Ada was the favourite child.

Despite being older, though, Ada had always looked up to Oz.

Idle chatter continued amongst the three for the rest of dinner, until they had all finished, and the conversation came to a natural end. The silence made Oz's heart sink, nausea stirring in his stomach; Friday evenings were always the worst, because he couldn't go anywhere once the usual was over.

"Would you like any help clearing up?" Ada offered, placing her knife and fork together in the centre of the plate.

"That's very kind of you, Ada," Xai smiled. "But I'm sure we will be okay. Haven't you got work to do?"

"Well… yeah, I guess." Ada shot a fleeting glance to Oz in her peripheral vision, which was promptly dismissed. "I was… going to head out later, i-if that's okay…"

"Of course," Xai said, "Be back before midnight, as usual."

"Okay, well… thank you!" she beamed, standing up and tucking her chair under the table. Once again, she shot a sidelong glance to Oz. "If I don't see you before I leave, uh, goodnight!"

"Goodnight, Ada," Oz said, his words quiet. He smiled, albeit faintly, before she spun on her heel, and his smile faded.

Silence lingered once it was only him and Xai, left in the room, alone.

The tension was thick. The air felt heavy. So heavy, Oz felt himself holding his breath. His hand lay across his stomach, clutching his other arm, forming something like a shield. And his eyes stayed fixed to the floor.

Yet still, it was silent.

"Oz." Xai's tone was cold, bitter, and blunt. "Take these plates to the sink."

Oz immediately stood up, gathered the plates, and shuffled to the sink, not daring to make a single sound.

"We need to talk about your grades."

His blood ran cold.

This discussion was inevitable. Their mock results had been sent home, no exceptions. There was no chance his father hadn't seen them.

"What about them?" Oz asked, feigning cluelessness, but the tremor in his voice was far too prominent. As he placed the plates in the sink, he tried desperately not to make a sound, before pinning his hands at his sides so they stopped shaking.

"They're not good enough." Xai spoke with venom and distaste thick in his words. "You chose to take four subjects. I don't expect you to be getting adequate grades."

Oz swallowed, his breath catching in his throat. "Sorry, I-"

"Be quiet," Xai snapped, as he rose to his feet and lifted a hand to halt him. "If you don't attain the grades you need for university, I will not pay for your accommodation. I will not allow you to live under my roof, either. You will be alone in the world."

"I-I'm sorry," was all Oz could stammer, subconsciously tugging on the sleeves of his jumper.

"You're lucky I am even letting you stay here." The sound of Xai's footsteps, stomping across the floor, made Oz's heart thump even harder. "You are 18 now. I have no reason to keep you here, unless you make a difference in this world. And without satisfactory grades, you will do nothing."

"Y-Yes f-"

"Look at me when I am speaking to you!"

Oz's mouth dropped open to answer, but before he could make a single sound or even crack a whimper, his father grabbed his wrist. His fingers, curling inwards, dug deeply into his wrist, at which he flinched, and hissed internally.

Silence ensued once again. It was deafeningly loud, however; Oz could hear every breath, every beat of his heart. Besides that, though, he'd completely frozen, his eyes locked on his father. His father, whose cold glare was solidly fixed on Oz.

After a minute of no response, he raised a hand.

Oz was too used to this by now.

It was only one hit, but it hurt. Physically, the skin on his face was burning; pulsating. Emotionally, the pain was on an entirely different level.

Inhale. Exhale.

It'd be over soon, right?

The next thing which pulled Oz from his trance was the smash of glass.

"Clean this up." Xai promptly gestured to the shards of glass, spread over the linoleum floor. "And finish the washing up. Then, go up to your room immediately. If you disturb me-" he looked him dead in the eyes, "- I think you know what to expect."

Swallowing down the rising nausea and tightness in his throat, Oz nodded. Tears spilled over his eyelids, in both fear and pain.

"Don't be pathetic," his father spat, before turning towards the door and slamming it shut behind him. The sound reverberated around the room, but the beating in the blonde's ears was too loud for him to register anything else.

Without another sound, tears streaming down his face, Oz did exactly as he was told, cleaning up the glass from the floor whilst trying to settle the nauseating rolling in his stomach.

He shouldn't have felt like this.

This was a regular Friday evening, after all.


To some people, Friday nights simply weren't for staying in.

And to Lottie and Domi, Friday nights were created for the sole purpose of going out, partying, and getting drunk.

As per usual, Domi was at Lottie's, the two having been getting ready for over an hour. So far, they'd each fully done their make-up, and had successfully gossiped about almost every single person in their college.

Right now, Lottie was sat at her dressing table, precisely and carefully painting her nails as Domi stood behind her, curling her hair.

"Do you know if Ada's coming?" Domi questioned, fiddling with section of Lottie's hair. "If I'm guessing, unlikely."

"You'd be right," Lottie sighed, "She told us she had to work, but let's be honest here, we all know this is the night she sneaks out to see Vincent."

"Shame. I have to say, Ada is fun to be around."

"Particularly for Vincent, I'd say," Lottie snickered, placing the nail varnish bottle aside and flexing her fingers. "He'll be all over her, and she won't say no."

"Hm…" Domi narrowed her eyes, as she turned off the hair curler. "Lacie's right, though. I don't like Vincent."

"He's a psychopath, I'll admit," Lottie shrugged, before standing up and shrugging off the dressing gown. "He's useful in some ways."

Domi, stepping to the side, also ridded herself of her (Lottie's, actually) dressing gown, leaving the two both in their lingerie. "You only say that because you've slept with him."

"Not whilst he was dating Ada," Lottie said, cocking an eyebrow. "What do you take me for?"

"A whore," Domi shrugged, and then giggled, wrapping an arm around the other's shoulders. "I'm joking, of course. I love you really."

Lottie grinned. "I know you do. Now, what are wearing?"

"You'll no doubt let me borrow your clothes." Detaching herself from the other, Domi proceeded to the wardrobe, flinging the doors open. "Let's see what we've got."

The process of choosing what to wear was a lengthy one at best. They each wore the same size, so always shared clothes with no fuss. Besides, Lottie seemed to have an endless supply to all the best brands, and Domi could hardly not take advantage of that.

It took twenty minutes and a pile of rejects for the two to come to a decision. Domi went with a black, body-con, halter neck mini dress with silver heels, and Lottie ended up with a tight, provocatively short black mini skirt, along with a pink crop top and matching pink stiletto heels.

"You look gorgeous, as always~" Domi winked, as she unplugged her phone and placed it into her bag. A devious grin tugging at her lips, she froze. Slyly, she unzipped the secret compartment of the clutch page, her fingers wrapping around a small transparent bag of white powder. "Fancy a hit? You know, to really start the evening."

"Was spending an hour and a half getting ready not a good enough start for you?" Lottie titled her head at the other, snickering, as she stepped into her shoes and added three inches to her height.

"Is it really the same as drugs, my dear friend?" Domi took another step closer to Lottie, and flung an arm around her shoulders.

Delicately, Lottie wrapped a hand around Domi's wrist, embracing the hug. She sighed, her head lulling downwards slightly. "If you insist… I'll have to politely decline."

Domi, her face a picture of shock, retracted from Lottie instantly, continuing to gape at her like the world had ended. "Do my eyes deceive me?"

Without a word, Lottie shrugged.

"… Are you seriously declining coke?"

"If you must know, I felt a little rough last night. And this morning." Lottie's emotionless expression was soon converted to a devilish smirk, matching Domi's perfectly. "Believe me, though: next time."

"I'll be counting on it." Reluctantly, Domi slipped the bag back into its place in her purse. "Ahhh, maybe I can pressure Jeanne into it?"

Laughing, Lottie knew to just shake it off. "You do you, Domi."

"Perfume, lastly." Domi strode back over to the dressing table, fingers brushing over the countless bottles of expensive perfumes, all different shapes and sizes and colours. The grin fixed to her lips widened, as she picked up a small pink bottle, turning to Lottie. "Do you think Jeanne will like the playboy one?"

"Considering she's a lesbian, probably not," Lottie snickered, heading over to where Domi stood and selecting the first bottle she laid eyes on. "You really want her to notice you, don't you?"

"Ah, Lottie, you must have wanted to get in her pants before."

"I don't exactly swing that way. But I can see why you do."

"Exactly."

"She's already fallen for you, Domi," Lottie insisted. She rolled her eyes, and doused her arms and neck in perfume. "What more do you want?"

Once Domi finally settled for one of Lottie's Chanel perfumes, she answered. "I want her to pine for me."

"Needy," Lottie snorted. "Already, are you ready to go?"

"Of course. When wouldn't I be?"

It may have only been 8pm, but when you were rich and spoilt, getting pre-drinks at a bar was really no big deal.

For them, Friday night would only now begin.


It wasn't a very big secret that Flo's home life wasn't the best.

All her friends (read: Roland, and Noé, and some person called Vanitas who she definitely wouldn't consider a friend) knew that she'd been in foster home since she was 8. They all knew she had an older brother whom she hated. They all knew she was constantly weighed down by running errands for her siblings and her mother.

They also knew she'd had a – to put it bluntly – shitty past, her parents having died when she was young, leaving her stuck with relatives until they finally let her go somewhere else. Her foster mother was one of the nicest people in existence, but the situation with her brother always cancelled that out. And despite knowing about his existence, her friends didn't actually know it was Leo.

That was probably for the best. Flo knew she'd told some pretty awful stores about him.

It was currently half eight, the family only now eating dinner. At one end of the table, their younger siblings bickered and laughed and threw food around – nothing too unusual – which their foster mother tried to settle them.

At the other end of the table sat Flo and Leo, opposite each other, in total silence. Leo's attention was split between aimlessly picking at his food and texting underneath the table, whist Flo was multitasking with actually eating and glaring at Leo across the table.

Sure enough, Flo wasn't the only one to notice he wasn't eating.

"Leo?" their foster mother asked, tilting her head slightly. "Are you not going to eat anything?"

For a few seconds, Leo didn't respond, and the table fell silent. Then, with an obnoxious roll of the eyes, he dropped the knife and fork on the plate, shoved it backwards, and stood up from the table abruptly. "I'm not hungry."

She sighed. "Leo, can we please-"

"No," he cut her off before she could finish, kicking the chair under the table and storming off to upstairs.

The kids were stunned into silence.

"Flo, would you mind checking on him?" she asked, concern evident in her words.

"What?! No!" Flo tried to refuse, but the soft sadness behind her mother's gaze was enough to convince her otherwise. "Fine. But if he gets annoyed at me, I'm leaving."

"Yes, okay. Come back down when you're done."

Rolling her eyes behind her fringe, Flo reluctantly stood up and followed Leo up the stairs.

They'd never been close. Neither of them ever felt like they could reach out to each other. Whenever Flo tried to reach out to Leo, she was met with a wall. And there was no reason for now to be any different.

Unsurprisingly, when she arrived, Leo's bedroom door was locked. Knocking would've been pointless, so without making any sound beforehand, Flo let herself in his room.

"Did mum send you here?" Leo muttered, his head turned down to his desk as he picked up the pack of cigarettes and pocketed them.

"No," Flo lied, quite obviously. "Alright, yes. She did."

"Knew it," he grunted, slipping his jacket on and stepping into the torn-up pair of trainers underneath the bed. "What do you want?"

"Where are you going?" Flo interrogated. When Leo didn't respond, she took the hint, closing the door behind her and folding her arms over her chest. "Well?"

"Just to the park. To smoke, cool down for a bit," Leo said quietly, pulling out his phone and typing something out. "You're always the one telling me I shouldn't smoke in front of our siblings."

Flo scoffed. "You weren't going to anyway. Our mother would shred you alive."

"She doesn't need to know, either." Leo rolled his eyes. "So keep your mouth shut and stop poking into my business."

A brief moment of silence dominated.

"There's something not right about you," she said, her words softening at her next comment. "Tch, you do know you can talk to me about it, right?"

"No, I can't. And I could say the same thing back at you."

Flo couldn't bring herself to retort. There was nothing she could say – nothing that wouldn't be hypocritical, at least.

Neither of them spoke for a few moments, Flo kicked up against the door whilst Leo stood, without a word, in the centre of his room, tapping his phone against the palm of his hand.

Biting his lower lip, he eventually asked, "Can I borrow ten quid?"

"No fucking way," Flo instantly refused. It wasn't a decision which needed too much deliberation considering the last time Leo had paid her back for anything was never.

"Please?"

"No! You never pay me back!"

"Five, then. And I swear this time I will."

"There is literally no reason for me to trust any of what you're saying," Flo deadpanned.

"Look, if you lend me the money, I'll take the kids to their Saturday school tomorrow."

Once again, there was no reason for Flo to believe him, but the look of almost desperation in his eyes was enough to convince her. Reluctantly, she shoved a hand into her pocket, sifting through the cash folded inside her phone case.

The moment she extended the five-pound note to Leo, he took it, grinning at her (albeit teasingly). "Thanks, sis."

Her mouth dropped open to protest, and interrogate, but Leo was already gone, clambering out of the window without a second to look back. She cringed, internally – hearing "sis" always bugged her.

When she returned to the dining room, Flo found herself lying through her teeth to cover for him. "He's okay. He's just… doing work."

"Alright." Their mother smiled weakly.

The rest of dinner proceeded in silence. After her confrontation with Leo, Flo couldn't bring herself to find her appetite again, finishing half of the plate before excusing herself to upstairs.

Once she was alone, in her room, she exhaled a sigh of relief. For some reason, she always felt like she was holding her breath around… well, her entire family. She locked her door, pulled out her phone, and dropped down onto her bed, stretching out on her front.

Having Tumblr wasn't something Flo had ever or would ever admit to her friends. Everyone knew that there was a "certain type" of person who had Tumblr, and Flo didn't want to be that person.

Nonetheless, in a way, inside her head in this other world online, she was.

The first things she'd always scroll through was memes. It was a small thing, but chuckling internally at stupid things and mindlessly hitting the reblog button always proved relaxing, for whatever reason.

It only took a minute, however, for Flo to reach the posts from the blogs which she always regretted following.

The post was titled "You don't need crippling self-hate to be trans!", and it was long. Flo couldn't bring herself to read it all; partly because she was lazy, but mostly because it was… uncomfortable. Something always bugged her when reading stuff like that. Something weirdly foreign yet annoyingly familiar.

Familiar…

That thought was only given two seconds to cross her mind, before she instantly closed the tab and threw her phone across the bed.

Something didn't leave her alone, though.

Something just didn't feel right.

It was incessant, and repetitive, but every time any kind of suspicion or inkling that there was a slight, miniscule thought that this was somehow linked to dysphoria, Flo shut down her train of thoughts, and dumped her head in her arms.

Her breaths were steady, but deep. A tightness rose in her chest, as she wriggled slightly; moving her front against the mattress was an irrefutably wrong sensation. It was a sense of disassociation, like her thoughts and body didn't quite match, and this body she was stuck in wasn't meant to be hers.

Discomfort might have described it best, but no words could truly convey it.

She didn't want it to be true – dysphoria was a real thing, and she was probably just being dramatic. Something about it, however, felt almost too true.

But instead of pondering over those feelings, Flo repressed them, and thought about something boring like school work until finally, they left her alone, and the tears prickling at her eyes ceased.

Now simply wasn't the right time to confront it.

Having said that, for the rest of that evening, right until she passed out on her desk, the thought never really left.


Having only just passed midnight, Noé was only now beginning to appreciate how quiet this house was when Domi was out.

Usually, Domi took the house for herself. Their grandfather allowed either of them to have whoever they wanted over, and that didn't stop at house parties. So, most of the time, Noé was confined to his room.

Not that he minded, or anything.

Tonight, however, Domi was out. And if she wasn't, she would've never let Vanitas into their house.

Currently, the two were in the lounge, the lights dimmed and the TV playing, but neither of them were watching it. Instead, Vanitas' head was laid on Noé's legs, which were kicked up onto the sofa.

It was peaceful, but the unspoken words seemed to linger.

Noé wanted so desperately to ask if he was okay.

He couldn't, though. Vanitas never took personal discussions well. He was closed off, and in their three-year relationship, Noé had learnt that best.

It hadn't always been like this. The pair had first met when they were only 11, and had been what most people considered "best friends" since they were 12. Sure, Vanitas had always been one to keep things to himself, but at the very least, he trusted Noé. That, unfortunately, didn't seem to be the case anything, and the façade of "a good, admirable couple" grew harder and harder to uphold.

Gently, Noé's fingers slipped through Vanitas' hair, softly sifting through the uneven layers in an attempt to ignore the feeling that something wasn't right. Vanitas didn't even flinch, his attention remaining fixed on his phone.

Noé couldn't even see what he was doing. He respected every part of Vanitas' privacy, obviously, but things always felt so cut off. Particularly as of late, when they continued growing more and more distant, until Noé didn't actually know what they were anymore.

But to maintain their functioning relationship, he kept his mouth shut. It wasn't worth arguing; Vanitas saw no value in apologies, so it was a dead end each time.

The silence proceeded for another half an hour.

And Noé couldn't bite his tongue forever.

"Vanitas," he said, his words forgiving, but woven with concern. Right before he spoke, he switched to French – maybe it'd re-establish the connection they once had. "Vanitas, je veux que tu saches que si quelque chose ne va pas, tu peux m'en parler."

When Noé earned nothing in response, he assumed Vanitas didn't understand him.

"Vanitas?"

With a heavy, exhausted, worn-out and fed-up sigh, Vanitas pocketed his phone. "Sweet-talking to me in French won't work, Noé."

The lack of proper response was disappointing. What was even more disappointing was when Vanitas pulled out the tobacco and rolling paper from his pocket, and began rolling a cigarette.

"Come on, Vanitas. Let's not do this again." Noé tried to softly push him. He felt himself trying to push a brick wall, however, he persevered. "We need to talk. For real this time."

"I don't want to talk about this now," Vanitas said, bluntly, as he raised the cigarette to his lips to seal it.

Noé exhaled, knowing full-well he'd dug himself a hole already. "You know Domi is out, right? She won't be able to hear you."

Sulkily, Vanitas fiddled with the cigarette between his fingers. His words were barely audible. "It's not that."

"Est-ce que c'est parce que mon grand-père est à la maison?"

Vanitas frowned. It evidently took him a few seconds to decipher what Noé had even said. Then, he muttered, "Non. Je veux pas en parler."

Noé's heart sank. Of course he'd say he just didn't want to talk.

Just as Vanitas pulled out his light and sat up, blatantly showing he was done here, his phone vibrated, seemingly grabbing his attention.

"Who's that?" Noé, admittedly, let the question slip before he evaluated why he shouldn't have asked it.

"Doesn't matter," Vanitas murmured, sticking the cigarette between his lips as he headed for the backdoor.

Once again, a bitter silence filled the room.

Noé soon found himself unable to tear his eyes from the door, which promptly slammed shut, almost reinforcing the wall between them, just to rub it in.

There was something wrong, beyond his control. It was pulling them apart, bit by bit, until they could not longer be in the same room without something kicking off.

And yet, for whatever reason, Noé could not for the life of him place a finger on what it was.


TRANSLATIONS (thanks to nualie once again!)
"Vanitas, je veux que tu saches que si quelque chose ne va pas, tu peux m'en parler." = "Vanitas, I want you to know that if there's anything wrong, you can talk to me about it."
"Est-ce que c'est parce que mon grand-père est à la maison?" = "Is this because my grandfather is home?"
"No. I just don't want to talk about it." = "Non. Je veux pas en parler."