9
Snowmageddon
Vanitas' tale of woe began on a Monday, or at least, that was the version he would tell his grandchildren one day. In reality, it had started two days earlier, on their third record-breaking cold day of the year. There was much that could be said about the weather being inflicted on them lately, but Vanitas was no meteorologist, so he left those details up to the specialists and focused on the fact that it was 27 degrees in a state that normally didn't drop below 60. Truly, the gods must despise him at this rate, for there was no other logical explanation for the circumstances in which he found himself. Said circumstance being locked in an apartment that leaked heat like a hole punctured pot leaked water. In expectation of the storm, his school had preemptively closed, and Vanitas had been delighted by the prospect of sleeping in for once. In Vanitas' opinion, it seemed silly to close ahead of schedule, for the last time that his town had gotten snow, it had been a mere three inches of pathetic little flurries, but he was not one to reject an unexpected gift either. People were constantly freaking out over things they had no need to worry about, Vanitas thought haughtily. What a waste of energy. His good mood lasted until his professor emailed and said, "your essays are due at midnight." And, Vanitas, college junior double majoring in biology and human health, was nothing if not good at writing essays. That was why he had procrastinated until the last minute to start working on his Critical Theory classwork. Faced with no choice other than to buckle down or face the consequences, Vanitas sat himself down at his desk and got to work.
Later, he would not recall how many hours he spent bent over his laptop, only that he must have gotten up at some point to eat, for there was a bowl on the ground. A can of monster energy had found its way onto his desk, and another was rolling by his feet, which explained the disgusting churning sensation in his stomach. However, all of that meant little, for the clock read 2 am and his essay was finished. With fingers that trembled slightly, Vanitas copied it into the submittal box and pressed submit. Stayed on the page only long enough to see that it had been appropriately processed and then rose to his feet like an unmoored boat; he drifted through his apartment until, as if by chance his feet encountered his bedframe. From there, it was a slow fall into his pillows, and Vanitas knew no more of the outside world. He awoke to the desolate beeping of his phone and spent several seconds batting around pathetically for it before his fingers caught the edge of the case. Idly, he silenced the alarm, saw an email notification from his school, and clicked on it. Of its contents, only four words stood out to him, "school is closed today," so he closed his eyes and went back to sleep. There seemed to be little point in being awake when his mind told him he had gone to bed five hours earlier.
The next time he drifted into consciousness, the hour was far more reasonable and his head slightly less painful. Yawning, Vanitas stood up and took care of his morning — although it was, in reality, already afternoon — ablutions. There was a chill to the air that was not ordinarily present in his apartment, so he bifurcated from his intended direction and headed to the window instead. The blinds creaked a protest as he eased them open and saw, to his shock, that someone had covered the outside world in a thick layer of white paint. Snow extended in uneven layers for as far as his eye could discern; it covered the patio balcony and the cars in the parking lot and continued to fall from the sky in thick flakes. Vanitas scrubbed his eyes, first with one hand and then with both, but when they had been cleared of crust, the view remained unchanged. Somehow, in his state where winter was a figment of one's imagination, a snowstorm had come to grace his existence for the second time in two years. He pressed his hand to the glass, twitching in annoyance at the sensation emanating from it, for if there was one thing Vanitas despised above all else — it was the cold. The slow all-encompassing feeling of being chilled to his very bone marrow. Vanitas had been cold before, in a time so long ago that it felt more like a different life than his own past, where he had had no place to call home and had found himself wandering desolate streets with nothing more than the clothes on his back. Those dark days had been filled with the morbid knowledge that should he come to perdition, at least the cold would preserve his body until the spring thaw. Not that anyone would have gone looking for him or his carcass. Vanitas had had no one back then. Not even an imaginary friend, only the distant memories of a warm hand on his head and a blurry figure whose smile was its only distinguishing characteristic.
Vanitas sighed heavily and closed the blinds. As it turned out, the people had been right to fret, for it was undoubtedly more than a few inches currently gracing his apartment. He turned the heat up in his apartment until it was a far more comfortable 80 degrees and then went about his afternoon tasks. Or that had been the plan, right up until he had reached for the suspiciously light container of coffee beans and seen that there were precious few left inside. Not even enough for a whole serving, much less the three cups he needed to get him through the day. Horror was not a strong enough word to express what Vanitas felt when he peered into its depths and saw his future reflected bleakly back at him. Slowly, dreading what he would find, Vanitas turned to face his fridge — which he used as a calendar — and saw a fluorescent green post-it stuck to it. His legs trembled as he took the three steps necessary to cross the kitchen. The post-it fluttered in the faint breeze produced by his fan, almost akin to an invitation, when he delicately clasped it between two fingers and pulled it. On it, he saw his own handwriting, and his heart sank.
"Dear future me.
When you wake up from your sleep comma, BUY COFFEE, YOU FUCKING DONKEY. And food, we ate the last of the rice already."
Vanitas sighed and slapped the post-it back on the door. He opened it, nose scrunching as he saw its bare-bone interior. "Right then, sour cream for breakfast it is then," he muttered and got out the container. There were still some chips left in the pantry, so he fixed himself up a bowl of that and wandered into the living room. Flicked on the TV and was immediately assaulted with a deluge of information about the latest snowstorm. He turned it off just as quickly and pulled out his phone. A swift scroll through the weather app informed him quite severely that he would not be making a trip to the local grocery store for coffee. Not until the temperature climbed back up into the 50s at the very least. "Well fuck me, I guess," Vanitas mumbled, finished his food, and returned to bed. That was his routine for the next two days. Wake up, piss, scroll through Twitter for a bit, watch a movie or three, and then return to the land of slumber. It was almost peaceful in a way, certainly relaxing, and for the first time in a very long time, he remembered feeling well-rested. And then they cut the power to the building. It happened overnight when he had gone to bed dressed loosely in a t-shirt and boxers, comfortable in his need for only one blanket, and awoken to find himself shivering so hard that his teeth ached from knocking against each other. Vanitas had spared a moment to curse his landlord and the electrical power grid that had stolen his heat. When he had run out of foul words to say, he gathered all of his blankets and retreated to his nest.
Awkwardly he tried to burrow himself even deeper into his burrito of thin blankets. For the first time, he regretted not accepting the gift of winter clothing that Luna had sought to pawn off on him when they'd moved to Europe last year. He'd blown them off, claiming that he'd moved to a warm state for a reason, and thus the concern was unwarranted. Now his hubris had come full circle and was currently gnawing on his tailbone like a particularly stubborn dog. Even with the addition of blankets, the cold still seemed to find a way of getting in and that fact soon became unbearable.
When it became clear that he would not be able to return to sleep, Vanitas swallowed his pride and sat up. His fingers were shaking so hard that it took him three tries to unlock his phone and even longer to input Luna's number. He held it up to his ear and bundled himself up again, rubbing his feet together to keep them somewhat warm. There was a faint click on the other end, followed by an inhale, but Vanitas did not wait for them to speak. "The power is out! It's snowing, and the power is fucking out! What the fuck do I do? I'm going to freeze and turn into a snowcicle and never graduate from this thrice-damned school, and who the fuck decided that snow was an acceptable creation," he blurted out, the words emerging from some deep part of his heart that still thought relating his problems to an adult would solve them. As if Luna could do anything for him when they were currently over 700 miles away. Still, getting the initial deluge off his chest made it feel a little lighter, and he exhaled slowly, slumping back against the wall.
"Well, that is certainly a pickle, isn't it, Vano?"
Vanitas' heart shot up to his throat before descending to his toes at a breakneck speed. "You're not Luna," he said shakily, "oh fuck. You're not —"
There was a gentle chuckle on the other end, amusement so evident that it felt like he was standing next to the man in question. Would need only to look over his shoulder to see him there, lips curled up into a Cheshire smirk and eyes crinkling at the corners. "No, no, I do not believe I am," Athanase said mildly. "Luna is out at the moment, you see, and I have been tasked with looking after the boy."
"Don't let him eat too much chocolate," Vanitas said automatically and then blinked. "What do you mean out?! This is their phone!"
"Oh? I hadn't noticed," Athanase replied because, of course, Vanitas had caught him when he was in a teasing mood. His luck could not get any worse than this, he hoped.
"Put Luna on," Vanitas grumbled. "I need advice."
"No can do," a pause and the rustling of something was heard, "I was being sincere. They are currently occupied and really ought not to be disturbed." Vanitas glared at his phone, but when repeating his request only earned him a fond chuckle, he gave up and huffed in annoyance. "Well, do you have any advice?"
"You said the power was out?"
"Mmh."
"Gather your blankets and pillows into your warmest room and build yourself a fort. You'll want to conserve as much warmth as possible. Limit the number of times you need to open the fridge and try not to drink from the tap. I'm assuming you've already been grocery shopping, but how much food do you have?"
"I have two spoonfuls of sour cream and a package of crackers left," Vanitas said in a rare moment of honesty. "I wasn't able to grocery shopping before the storm hit." There was silence for so long on the other end that he worried they'd somehow become disconnected. Checked his phone to make sure, but his service bars were at five. His battery, however, is dangerously low. "You there…?"
"My apologies, I was distracted wondering how it was that you've survived as long as you have," Athanase said, and Vanitas recognized that tone immediately. It suggested Athanase was about to do something Vanitas would not enjoy. Not one single little bit.
"Dad," he said sharply, "don't you dare. Flights are grounded anyway; you wouldn't be able to fly here." Inhaled deeply, more so to calm his nerves than out of a need for air, and said as confidently as he could. "I will be fine. I know where they sell food, don't worry." There was a discontented grumble from the other side, followed by more rustling and then a sigh. "No driving either," Vanitas added in a sudden rush of alarm.
"You ruin all of my fun," Athanase replied, but he continued before Vanitas could grow offended. "Do not buy anything that requires refrigeration. Non-perishable goods only; please tell me you have a gas stove."
"Electric," Vanitas chirped, for his greatest joys in life came from disappointing people. "I can't even boil water, and I can't drink from the tap because it's the color of chalk."
"On second thought, just go to your friends. Which one of them has power?"
Vanitas blinked, his mind slowing to an abrupt halt at the realization that he hadn't even thought to check in on his friends.
"You have asked them, yes?"
"I, um, y-yes?" Vanitas said, wincing a little when all he got in response was an annoyed sigh. "I've been busy!" He exclaimed pre-emptively, sensing that Athanase was gearing up to give him a lecture that he really did not have time for, not when his battery was already less than 30%. "I'll text you when I have power; bye!" Hung up swiftly and then pulled up his texting app, rapidly scrolling through his friend list to see who would be amenable. The Sade twins likely had power, what with their absurd allowance, but there was no way that he was suffering through who knew how many days watching them pine over their respective partners. Not for the first time, he found himself cursing his luck that the snowstorm would hit the one month Noé had chosen to go on a class trip. Of course, the bastard had decided to take the sun with him. That left him with precious little options; Roland was also out of the question, Vanitas wasn't sure when the golden retriever had managed to put in his contact information, but he certainly wasn't going to pull that cord just yet. In the end, there really was only one option to go with. Vanitas clicked on Dante's name, thought about it for a brief moment, and then texted —
"Power's out over here. You alive?"
He stared at his phone for what felt like an eternity, but there was no response. Feeling a little silly for expecting one so soon, when it was only 3 pm in the afternoon, he shoved his phone in his pocket and ate the last of the sour cream. With that filling meal in his stomach, he crawled back into his burrito of blankets. Athanase had been very funny, talking about building a fort, as if Vanitas had any idea how to do that. Playing childish games had always been more of Mikhail's specialty than his. The boy could make a game out of three dust bunnies and a zip tie; Vanitas would know; he'd been there to witness it. In all of its vaguely gory and disturbing detail. Vanitas shoved his phone underneath his pillow, curled up more, and closed his eyes again. Sleep was slow to come, but it did eventually arrive to take him away.
He awoke just as he had gone to sleep, freezing his balls off and cursing the lack of heat. For a time, he wasn't sure what it was that had woken him, his mind rendered almost sluggish from the amount of time he had spent unconscious. That was when he heard it, a heavy door rattling knocking. Half in shock and of fear that his adoptive father might have unlocked the ability to teleport out of sheer concern for him, he stumbled out of bed. He tripped on a discarded pair of pants and slammed right back into the ground, where he blinked blearily at the floor for several seconds before pushing himself back upright. By the time he made it to the door, the knocking had become an incessant pounding as if whoever was on the other side had decided to start a career as a drummer. Vanitas yanked it open without even thinking to check the peephole and then froze, his mouth hanging open in shock.
Dante stood on the other side of the door, a gloved fist still raised and an almost murderous expression on his face. Vanitas stared at him, too surprised to even react to the snowflakes already landing on his shirt and hair. "D-dante?" He asked, wondering if his mind had finally departed his body and left him hallucinating. But the figure on the other side was dressed in a familiar tan jacket and yellow scarf, a knit yellow hat tugged down low over his ears. There was a little chick pattern on it. Vanitas would know because he was the one that had crafted the item in question as a gag gift for a birthday long past. "What are you doing here?" He managed, stumbling back a step when Dante made as if to bowl him over.
"You weren't answering your phone," Dante replied, slamming his boots on the ground until most of the snow had been removed. "Got scared, so I thought I'd come check on you." Vanitas shut the door and followed him into the living room, arms wrapped around himself to keep warm. "Damn bitch, you live like this?" Dante exclaimed as he saw the state of Vanitas' living room, which had not known the tender touches of a cleaning cloth ever since Vanitas had permanently relocated himself to his bedroom.
"Fuck off," Vanitas muttered, "I've been busy." He kicked halfheartedly at a dirty shirt lying on the ground. He thought it might have been the one he was wearing yesterday, but when looking down at himself, Vanitas saw that he was wearing that one. To his embarrassment, he realized that he couldn't remember when he'd last changed clothes. Or showered. Discreetly, he sniffed his armpit and immediately recoiled. "Really busy."
"Disgusting," Dante said and deposited himself on the couch, setting down a suspicious bag by his feet. "Pack your bag; you're coming back to my place with me."
"Your house?" Vanitas replied, confused. "Why on earth would I be going over to your place?" He drifted about emptily, gathering up pieces of clothes only to deposit them somewhere else, unsure what he ought to be doing at the moment. Glanced out of the corner of his eye at Dante and saw his friend looking back at him with a dead-pan expression as if he thought Vanitas was being particularly obtuse. Vanitas frowned and crossed his arms defiantly. "What."
"You. My house. Heat. Food," Dante said slowly, his words accompanied by hand gestures as if he were talking to a small child. Vanitas flipped him off promptly and then stuck out his tongue as well for good measure. Dante rolled his eyes, so Vanitas pulled down his eyelids and thumbed his nose at him. Dante shot him the bird, and Vanitas retaliated by twerking his ass in his face, the greatest insult he could think of at that moment. "Cute, but you're wearing so many clothes that even if you had an ass — which you don't, by the way — it wouldn't be visible," Dante said, looking utterly unbothered by the display Vanitas was submitting him to.
"I have an ass!" Vanitas snapped, stung.
"You have a washboard for a butt," Dante returned patiently, "even you cannot claim that your flat as a piece of paper butt could pass for being remotely well formed."
"I—I!" Vanitas slapped his hands over his butt defensively. "Like yours is so much better!" Regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, for Dante arched an eyebrow and rose to his feet. With slow, deliberate gestures, he popped open the first button of his jacket and then the second one. "You have a boyfriend," Vanitas reminded him, some sense of preservation beginning to claw its way back up to the front of his mind.
"My love would never stand for my ass to be slandered in such a manner," Dante replied and tossed the flaps of his jacket aside, a haughty hand planted on his hip. "Observe, Padawan, as the master shows you how it is done." So saying, he bent over, hands moving to his knees and butt now pointed outwards, as he curved his back and began to gyrate in a manner that made Vanitas want to find bleach with which to douse his eye sockets.
"Okay! Okay!" He yelled. "You've made your point; put that away! It's dangerous." Turned away in annoyance as Dante immediately looked smug, a proud gleam in his eyes, and as horrifying as the whole ordeal had been, Vanitas would be lying if he did not feel some sort of way about it. Mainly pride, for the Dante that he had known as a child would never have had the courage or the self-confidence to throw it back like that.
"In honor of my victory, submit to your forced removal without further complaints," Dante said.
"That would be asking too much," Vanitas retorted immediately. "There is no way in hell I am setting foot outside in that weather. Just because you should be admitted to a clinic for doing that doesn't mean that I'll be joining you." He crossed his arms, his head held up proudly, and knew himself to be absolutely confident in his rejection until Dante said three words.
"I have coffee."
Without a single word, Vanitas went to wash his face and pack an overnight bag. A task that would have been rendered easier if his clean clothes had not become intertangled with his pile of dirt clothing, to the point that even the smell test could not distinguish them. Vanitas settled for grabbing what he hoped would pass as clean, mainly because he didn't recall wearing them recently — not that he remembered much of the past few days — and rejoined his guest in the living room. Dante was still there when he emerged, feeling slightly more awake, if colder than he would have liked to be. Dante gave a satisfied nod when he saw him and stuffed his phone back into his pocket. "I brought an extra jacket, so you wouldn't freeze your ass off on the way over," he said bluntly.
"What are you my mother," Vanitas retorted, but even he knew his counter was weak, for with each word that he exhaled, there was a cold mist gathering in front of his face. Dante looked at him, got his phone out again, did something with his thumb, and then held the device out to him. Vanitas stared at the temperature page, with its single-digit interior temperature and negative seven exterior temperature. "I'm not going walking," he said, "I'll die."
"You might actually freeze if you stay here," Dante retorted, pressing onwards before Vanitas could interrupt him, "I'll make you soup. Tomato soup with cream and rosemary."
"Let's fucking go then," Vanitas said and accepted the silver jacket handed to him. Outside, it was just as cold as Vanitas had feared. The wind viciously attacked him as he struggled to lock his doors, its gusts like claws that dug into his hands and rendered him far more clumsy than he would typically be. Cursing the wind and his frozen fingers, he eventually succeeded and began the difficult first step of the journey. Navigating the iced-over steps down to the ground floor.
From there, it is a mere half-mile walk to the house that Dante lived in. It was a route that would normally take him ten minutes to complete, but in the inclement weather, it took them the better part of an hour. By the time they stumbled up the slippery steps of the house, Vanitas had sweated through his shirt and given up on the concept of ever being warm again. His breath rattled in his chest, sounding akin to a maraca being shaken by a particularly violent child. Dante looked no better, his nose the same color as Rudolph's and his expression one of pure exhaustion. After a moment of careful shuffling to avoid the pile-up of snow next to the porch, Dante managed to get the door open and ushered him inside. Once upon a time, Vanitas had declared the quaint little house to be disgustingly niche and domestic, claiming that he would set foot in it only under pain of death. Now, however, he has never been more grateful to see its familiar painted walls. The wash of blessed warmth that reached out to greet him brought tears to his eyes, along with a painful tingling in his fingers.
"Where's your boyfriend?" As he snuck through the house on his tip-toes, Vanitas asked, wary of awakening the hellspawn asleep on the couch. The last thing he wanted was Riche asking him all sorts of prying questions, such as "why are you wearing Johann's jacket?" or worse, "Are you alright? You look like a drowned rat." As if following his line of thought, Dante didn't respond to his question until they were safely ensconced in his room.
"At his moms, he was making a trip back when the storm hit." Dante cast himself down on the bed, star-fishing out with an exhausted groan. "If you want to shower, don't take too long; our hot water isn't infinite."
"I'll be quick," Vanitas replied and hastened to dig some clothing out of his duffel bag before he went to shower for the second time that day. The hot water was just as amazing as he hoped it would be. Miniature bullets of liquid rained down against his skin, and soothing muscles he hadn't even realized were stiff. He stayed there for far longer than he had planned, relaxing in the comforting heat until his fingers and toes began to prune. Even then, he found himself reluctant to emerge but forced himself to do so anyway, out of sympathy for Dante's wallet. When he emerged from the bathroom, he saw that Dante had changed clothes into a hoodie and sweatpants and was in the process of carefully two thermoses on the desk. Vanitas padded over, rubbing at his arms distractedly, for even his thickest long-sleeved shirt did not appear to be enough to soothe his chills. "That's my thermos," he said in surprise, recognizing the bottle on the left, for it was graced with a distinctive bisexual flag.
"You left it here after Twister," Dante answered, then pointed at the thermos'. "That's coffee, and that's hot chocolate." Vanitas made a noise in response, something high-pitched and undoubtedly embarrassing. Without hesitation, he snatched it up and took a sip. Not caring as the heat burned the insides of his mouth in ways that were less than pleasant. By the time he remembered that oxygen was necessary, he'd already drunk a third of it, and Dante was watching him with a faintly impressed face. "You know what we call people like you?" He asked, continuing before Vanitas could tell him to fuck off. "Coffee beans, cause you're short or vertically challenged, my bad, and when pressed, you spit out acerbic words."
Vanitas glared at him, slowly lowering the thermos as he took a step closer and then another one until his nose was merely an inch or so from Dante's. "You and I are the exact same fucking height, Baldy," he growled, but Dante simply laughed and then, to Vanitas' incredulous horror, he straightened his shoulders and stood up tall.
"I do believe that you will find me 3 centimeters taller than you," he said smugly. What the fuck? Vanitas breathed and then repeated it again louder to ensure that his emotions were getting across appropriately. Dante merely looked delighted and flexed his biceps, seeming to find no shame in showing off his nicely developing musculature. Vanitas rolled his eyes at his theatrics, though there was a part of him that was proud of how far Dante had come; once upon a time, his friend had been so disgusted by his appearance that he could hardly bear to look in a mirror, but now he was at ease within his own skin. Ignoring Dante, he went to the closet instead and dug around in it until he found a sweater that matched his color scheme and mood, a deep navy blue whose only embellishments were a series of black hearts neatly stitched into the hem. "Hey," Dante said halfheartedly, but Vanitas was already bundling himself up in it. He flopped down on the bed and made himself comfortable while Dante puttered about gathering his laptop and various chargers.
There was something nostalgic about curling up in bed with Dante and watching movies on his laptop. They hadn't done so in a long time, however, not since Dante had moved out of the college dorms and in with Johann. Vanitas would never admit it out loud, but he had missed those days when finding a friend was as easy as walking across the hallway. Although Dante was not just any friend, he was far more than that. Someone who Vanitas could rely on come thick or thin and who he knew deep down would always have a place in his life. The thoughts continued churning through his head as they finished watching their current action drama before deciding by unspoken agreement to call it a night there. While Dante put his stuff away, Vanitas stole a pillow and settled in even deeper under the blankets, patiently biding his time. When he felt the bed dip, he knew that his victim had approached and spoke swiftly.
"I'm proud of you, you know," Vanitas said quietly. He peeked over the edge of the pillow, observing Dante for his reaction, but his best friend appeared to be completely frozen, a single chip held halfway to his mouth. Vanitas snorted at the sight, amused despite himself and buried his face back in his pillow. "It's true. You're my best friend, and I'm," he paused, the words choking up his throat in such a manner that he could not have continued even if he had wanted to. He rubbed his throat, trying to dissolve the ball that seemed to have gathered there. "I'm grateful," he tried again, but his voice disintegrated into nothingness. It was embarrassing how pathetic he was at expressing his emotions in such a manner, and he hated himself a little bit for struggling with something so basic.
Into the silence left by his words came the distinctive crunching sound of a pringles chip and then Dante's deep and reassuring drawl. "I love you," he said as if it were the easiest thing in the world to say. "You are the butter to my bread, and I am richer for having known you in this life." Something thumped against the bed, and Vanitas looked up again to see a water bottle nearby. "Drink up."
Wordlessly Vanitas reached out for it, forcing himself into a semblance of a seated posture. He took a long sip, and it helped somewhat before he set it aside. "Me too." There was nothing else to say after that; everything that was needed had already been spoken. He scooted over on the bed, dragging his blanket with him and slowly leaned over until his head made contact with Dante's shoulder. The warmth emanating from it was almost enough to chase the chills away, but when Dante wrapped his arm around him and tucked him in closer, he felt like the wave of heat that washed through him was the best sensation in the world.
"Sleep." He heard Dante murmur. "I'll be here to guard your rest."
And with those words, Vanitas drifted off to sleep, feeling safer and more content than he had been in weeks.
