11

Polaroid Love

"Do you have everything?" Roland asks for what feels like the sixth time, and Astolfo very nearly screeches at him. He catches himself at the last possible moment and exhales deeply instead before he turns around with a smile firmly plastered on his face.

"Yes, Father, I am absolutely positive that we have everything that we could possibly need or even desire," he says as sweet as sugar, but Roland's frown lets him know that he might have laid it on a bit too thickly. However it's too late to backtrack now, so he swallows back his words and keeps the smile up. He watches warily as Roland steps off the porch and walks over to him, seemingly unbothered by setting his bare feet on the hot concrete. Astolfo would think his feet were utterly impervious if he hadn't seen Roland brought to tears numerous times due to Olivier attacking his feet. His father merely has a stupidly high tolerance to pain, and Astolfo would be lying if he said that he wasn't slightly jealous of this. Walking across the driveway had been hell for his own poor feet even in his converses. Roland continues past him, heading straight for Vanitas' Camry, his gaze sweeping over it as if checking it for flaws that might have appeared overnight.

"It's been cleared by the auto shop; you and Father even paid the old retired mechanic to take a look, remember?" Astolfo asks, trotting along beside him. "Nothing's going to happen, and if it does, it won't be because of the car." Roland ignores him, however, checking the tires with a merciless foot before he spins back around. Astolfo flinches at the glower on his face.

"Keep that attitude up, and you can stay here," Roland snaps, and Astolfo immediately straightens up. Although he's pretty positive the threat is an empty one because the whole reason that they're going is for Vanitas' birthday, Roland's eyes suggest that he'd better watch his step; unfortunately, Astolfo has never been one to heed warnings.

"If I stay here, whose going to make sure Vanitas doesn't crash?" He replies snidely, gaining some vicious pleasure from watching how Roland's temple vein starts to throb. He can see the irritation growing in his dad's eyes, and normally Astolfo wouldn't try so hard to push his buttons, but he's running on three hours of sleep, his stomach is cramping like a bitch, and Roland has been pestering him all week. He tilts his head, smirking broadly, but whatever Roland says in response is lost among the sudden yelling from inside the house.

"Daaaaaad! I can't find my charger!" Mikhail wails, his distraught face appearing in the window, eyes already welling up with the threat of tears. "I've looked everywhere!" Astolfo and Roland exchange glances, and Astolfo automatically checks his pockets to make sure that Mikhail hasn't shoved it into them, as is his tendency on occasion. The only thing he finds in his pockets is his phone, the cigarettes - Roland's, of course, he'll throw them away as soon as they're in the next state - and his wallet. He shakes his head in response to Roland's questioning gaze.

"You can borrow mine if you need to, kiddo," Roland calls back and retreats into the house. "Where did you last have it?" He disappears out of sight, and Astolfo sighs in relief, turning as well and planning to hide in the car until they can finally depart. They're already an hour behind schedule as it is. When he'd first come up with the plan of taking Vanitas to a convention for his 18th birthday, he had made the mistake of assuming it would be simple enough. After all, the last time they had gone, it had gone swimmingly; he, Vanitas, that giant bean pole Noé, the de Sade twins, and Uncle Sasha chaperoned them all. Mischa had sat out on the trip, not interested in managing the crowds that tended to infest conventions. Now though, the kid was 11 and ready to take his first steps out into the world, along with his very big and very fluffy pooch, who weighed over 100 pounds and caused the Camry to rock whenever he bounded into it. Figuring out how to take the dog was only the first of his problems; the second was keeping it a secret from the master of secrets himself. They'd passed it off as Mikhail's first convention, making a big deal about it, and it seemed to work up until Roland dropped the ball by telling Vanitas to his face that the con tickets were his birthday gift. Astolfo hadn't been the only one to screech in dismayed rage that day.

Luckily, Vanitas seemed to think that the tickets and the hotel - expensive enough on their own - would be his only gift, leaving Astolfo free to carefully package his true presents into the trunk of the car. He's confident that Vanitas won't check there because the boy had washed his hands-free of the packing tasks as soon as physically possible, declaring them "a waste of his talents." Normally, Astolfo would bitch at him about it, but he keeps his peace as it serves his purposes.

"Toffee!" A bright voice reaches his ears, followed by the slap of feet, and he straightens up in time to receive an armful of Mikhail. The boy beams up at him with a twinkle in his eyes. "Did I do good? I distracted Dad for a whole twenty minutes!"

"You," Astolfo starts, politely not saying that he hadn't realized it was a rescue mission, "did amazing. Thank you for the save." He ruffles his hair, and Mikhail laughs, sunshine incarnate in a small, scrawny body. "Are you ready to go?" He asks.

"Mmh, yup!" Mikhail replies after a moment's thought and wriggles back, giving a little spin to show off his outfit. "Look what Vano made for me!"

"You look like a bunny," Astolfo tells him, and the kid truly does, with his knee-length overalls from which a bunny tail protrudes and the bunny ear headband in his hair. Its intention is obviously to keep some of Mikhail's wild hair in order, but it fails at step one, for the fluffy tuffs are already sticking out in every which direction. It suits him, though, so Astolfo makes no attempt to fix it. "Come on, let's go get the birthday boy and get out of here."

Mikhail darts ahead of him, a bundle of energy that would undoubtedly pass out the moment that they hit the highway, or at least Astolfo hopes so. He doesn't want to deal with an excited 11-year-old for the entire duration of the five-hour drive.

"Tell us when you stop for breaks and when you get there," Roland is saying when he walks into the house. Vanitas stands before him like a soldier on parade, and Astolfo admires his self-restraint. "Don't dally on the way; you don't want to wind up in rush hour traffic," he continues, fair face darkened by a concerned frown. "You have your uncle's number in case of an emergency, right? Don't hesitate to call him; he'll be able to get to you faster."

"Yes, Roland," Vanitas says patiently, and Astolfo hides a smile behind his hand, for Vanitas is employing his 'smile and nod' tone, just as impatient to get out of there as the rest of them. "We'll be safe, I swear. Tolfo will text you updates."

"Hey!" Tolfo starts to protest, but four pairs of eyes - one of which threatening murder - have him snapping his mouth shut. "Yes, I'll text you updates, don't worry, Dad."

"Good," Roland murmurs and heaves a sigh. "I won't keep you any longer than be off with you. May God guide your path and keep you safe."

Astolfo is reasonably sure that God has better things to do than babysit a car full of teenagers, but he's not stupid enough to say that aloud. "Thanks, Dad," he says instead. He hugs the both of them and hugs Mikhail to when the latter flings himself at him, ruffling his hair and reminding him that he's coming along, so he doesn't need a goodbye hug. Olivier walks them out to the car, doing his own much more subtle check of the vehicle while they get settled inside, and Astolfo is surprised by the worry he can see brewing in the depths of his eyes. "We'll be alright," he offers tentatively when Olivier comes around to his side of the car. "Really, I promise."

"I know you will be," Olivier replies quietly, leaning down to deposit a kiss on his forehead. "But it's your job to say that and my job to worry. Have fun, you three." He turns and heads back to the porch, where the two of them remain standing. Astolfo watches them through the rear-view mirror until he can't see them anymore, and then he sighs and slumps in his seat.

"For your birthday, Vani, I got you a weekend free of parents," he says tiredly. "You're welcome."

"I've spent half the weekends of my life free of parents; I reject your gift," Vanitas replies because he's a bastard like that.

"What?" Astolfo stares at him, struggling to figure out his math. "That - how'd you even?!"

"It's elemental, my dear Watson," Vanitas replies smugly. "There are 52 weekends in a year, and I have lived for almost 18 years. All one has to do is a little equation to figure out how many weekends I spent without parental supervision; the number I came up with was 337 out of a potential 599 weekends. A little over half, in other words."

"You have issues," Astolfo tells him without batting an eye. "A whole boatful of them."

"Don't be jealous just cause you don't know what 2+2 equals," Vanitas replies, and Astolfo regrets that he's driving, rendering the possibility of smacking him a moot one.

"I passed basic math, thank you very much," he hisses, "stop projecting, you walking oxymoron."

"That is not how that word should be used," Vanitas replies primly, somehow managing to sass and drive at the same time. Astolfo is reluctantly impressed when he merges seamlessly onto the freeway, that is until an eighteen-wheeler goes blaring past on their left. The cry of its horn ringing in their ears long after it has moved on. Astolfo detangles his hand from his shirt, pretending that he hadn't just grabbed his chest out of fear his heart would try to escape. To his left, Vanitas is no better, his expression one of comical terror.

"Are we going to die?" Mikhail asks quietly. When Astolfo looks back at him, it is to see two very wide eyes staring back at him. "If we are, then I'm happy I could be with you and Vano until the very last moment," he adds solemnly. It's not as comforting as he seems to think it is. "I just wish Robot wasn't here; I don't want him to die."

"No one is going to die," Astolfo says firmly. "Your Vano is going to do a better job of checking his mirrors, and we will be just fine. Right?" He glares at Vanitas out of the corner of his eye.

"Take a nap, Meesh," Vani says distractedly, "that way, it'll be less painful when death comes for you."

Astolfo inhales deeply, prepared to scold him within an inch of his life, but Mikhail beats him to it, chirping a trusting "Okay!" and immediately closing his eyes. Astolfo stares at him and then looks at Vanitas, whose smugness returns in a flash.

"You still have a lot to learn, young grasshopper," Vanitas says and cackles when all Astolfo can do is glower at him in impotent fury.

By some miracle that Astolfo refuses to credit to God, they do not die. Not even after Vanitas slams his third monster energy drink and starts driving like the hounds of hell are on his heels. Astolfo does not scream. He very maturely clings to the ceiling handle of the car and thinks of happier things, like the fanfic he's never going to be able to finish if he turns into a smear on the road. They make it in the end, parking in the garage with 1o minutes to spare on Roland's appointed deadline. Astolfo doesn't want to think about what would happen if they hadn't made it in time; he simply texts "made it to the hotel, everyone is accounted for" to the chat and puts his phone away. The rest of the day goes by relatively smoothly; they check in - nearly lose Mikhail when he gets into the wrong elevator - and make it to their rooms before the rest of the convention crowd can swamp the building. Astolfo eyes one of the beds with longing, his lack of sleep beginning to catch up to him, but Mikhail is a ball of energy bouncing off walls, and he knows that sleep is but a distant dream. At least Vanitas is in the same boat, he thinks; they can be mutually sleep-deprived.

"I'm going to take a nap," Vanitas says and flops onto a bed. Mikhail stops bouncing around and flings himself onto the bed next to him with a wail of dismay.

"But Vano, we're at the con! You can't sleep now!" He exclaims with all the conviction of a boy used to getting his way. Pettily, Astolfo wants him to win, if only because he refuses to go to the convention without backup.

"It's Thursday," Vanitas grumbles, "nothing happens at conventions on Thursdays. That's why we came early, remember?" He rolls over, star-fishing out on the bed with a long sigh. "If you really want to go, take your other brother."

"But -" Mikhail starts again, only to be silenced by the very pointed snore that Vanitas lets out. He turns his sad puppy dog eyes onto Astolfo instead. Robot adds his desolate whines to the mixture, although he may have been born out of a necessity to go outside.

"We can go for a little while," Astolfo agrees, caving in embarrassingly quickly. "Come on, let the grandpa sleep." It speaks to his genuine exhaustion that Vanitas' doesn't flip him off for his insolence.

A little while soon turns into hours, as Mikhail's enthusiasm is contagious. They spend the rest of the day wandering the halls of the empty building, marking booths of interest on their map and plotting what they'll do over the weekend. There are only a few that Astolfo finds of interest, a dnd panel, the AMV contest, and the cosplay show. The latter is only because one of his favorite cosplayers will be in attendance. On the other hand, Mikhail is interested in absolutely everything under the sun, from the Pokémon showing to the Voltron Legendary Defenders panel, that Astolfo absolutely refuses to let him step foot in. He has to remind him multiple times that there will be future conventions to attend before Mikhail settles down and forms a far more reasonable list. They fill their stomach with Auntie Anne's delicious pretzels, Mikhail picking the pepperoni off of his and eating it slice by slice. It's one of the many endearing things that Astolfo loves about him, even if he catches him trying to sneak the dog pieces. Soon after, they retire to the room, finding Vanitas still passed out on the bed. Astolfo wakes him up by virtue of whacking him repeatedly with a pillow and then bullies him into taking a shower while Mikhail is distracted with feeding his dog more appropriate foods.

He lets Mikhail take one next, already very aware that they are hours past the kid's bedtime, and falls asleep waiting for him to get out. He awakens in the early hours of the morning, feeling sweaty and disgusting, his mouth tasting like paste. It's instinctive to reach for his phone and call Roland, the last ripples of the nightmare still fading from his vision. Roland picks up on the second ring, voice rough with sleep but concern so evident that Astolfo almost feels bad for telling him that it's only a bad dream. They talk for a while, Astolfo hiding in the bathroom so as not to awaken the other two curled up in bed together like peas in a pod. He stifles the faint twinge of jealousy that still emerges when he thinks about how Vanitas welcomes Mikhail's presence in his bed and yet refuses Astolfo's hugs every time. He tries not to let it offend him, but some of it most come through in his voice anyway, for Roland starts rambling about the ice sculptures he'd seen on TV. Astolfo lets the comforting waves of his voice wash the negativity out of his heart until he feels a little more stable. He hangs up an hour or so later and gets up to shower, scrubbing off the day's grime. Refreshed, he returns to bed and descends into the realm of the unconscious before his head has even touched the pillows.

The next time he awakens, the room is awash with sunlight, and his cocoon of sheets is almost unbearably warm. The bed across from his is a mess of sheets, although both of its inhabitants have disappeared. He sits up reluctantly, yawning into his hand, as he looks around. The other two are nowhere to be seen, and for a heartbeat, fear fills his chest until his eyes land on his phone. It flickers morosely at him, a little green light letting him know that someone has texted him. He checks it, the screen lighting up with a notification that soothes his fears. "I want coffee and a bagel," he texts back, "don't forget the extra cream cheese."

Mikhail sends him back a photo of Robot splashing about in the fountain outside, with the caption "wet cream cheese," and Astolfo sighs, considering going back to sleep. However, it's Friday, and as much as he'd rather sleep until noon, he's not so selfish as to make Vanitas babysit on his birthday. It's a miracle that he's been allowed to sleep as long as he has, Vanitas apparently having taken pity on him. He heads into the shower again, this time taking the time to shampoo and style his hair into some semblance of order, and if it makes him look like Karma from Assassination Classroom, well, no one has to know. By the time he emerges, the other two have returned, and all it takes is one look at Mikhail's guilty face to know that the cat is out of the hat. Astolfo stares at him, eyebrow arched, and Mikhail responds by holding a take-out bag towards him, puppy dog eyes at full strength. "We got you breakfast?" He tries.

"You," Astolfo replies, wagging a finger at him, "you cannot keep a secret to save your life." He takes the food anyway and sits down on one of the beds. "But since it's out, you want your presents now, Vani?"

"I thought this was my present," Vanitas replies, looking far more suspicious than he has any right to be. Just because Astolfo had got him a whoopee cushion for Christmas was no reason to distrust his ability to pick presents.

"Yes, no, that's one half of it," he says and bounces up to retrieve the two wrapped gifts from his bag. He gives them to Mikhail, who carries them over to Vanitas like they're the most important things in the world, or at least the most fragile. "The smaller one is from the 'rents and me, I guess."

"The other one is mine!" Mikhail chirps and then adds, "open it second." Astolfo is surprised by his restraint but decides not to question it. The workings of Mikhail's brain stopped being comprehensible to him years ago if it ever was.

"Alright," Vanitas says slowly and sets the larger of the two aside. He inspects the present from all angles, and Astolfo has never been so happy that they decided to stash it in a box. The likelihood of Vanitas guessing it is very low. He gives up soon enough, ripping through the wrapping with subtle glee and then looking unimpressed when he finds a Naruto Uzumaki box inside. "Really? Naruto vans?" He drawls, shooting Astolfo a dead-pan look. Astolfo flutters his eyelashes back at him. Vanitas rolls his own and then finally opens the box. He does nothing but stare at it for several moments, his expression frozen in a look of surprise that would be comical if it didn't make Astolfo's heart hurt. After a bit, he rallies himself and removes a blue polaroid camera from the box, cradling it close to his chest. "How did you know?"

"A while back, you said that your greatest regret was that you didn't have any photos of you and your dad," Astolfo replies quietly. "That you wanted something to help you keep track because memories fade over time." He ducks his head, unable to take the intense weight of Vanitas' eyes. "Dad and I found one in a vintage thrift store, so here you go, now you'll always remember." He doesn't add that they'd driven to three separate shops and then ended up going to a polaroid store when they couldn't find one that suited their very exact specifications. Vanitas doesn't need to know about any of that, he decides. "If you don't like it, you can sell it or whatever," he adds hastily, not wanting Vanitas to misunderstand.

"I'm not selling it," Vanitas says with such ferocity in his voice that Astolfo recoils despite himself. "Thank you, Tolfo, this is wonderful." And he smiles then, a small helpless little thing that all the same makes Astolfo want to smile back in return. Vanitas smirks with the ease of one who has known no other response for years, but his smiles are a rare sight. A treasure bestowed only upon those who have been deemed worthy, and Astolfo can count on one hand how many times he's received a genuine one.

"You're welcome," he replies with all the solemnity that is due for such an occasion, and then because to not give credit where credit is due would be rude, he adds, "Dad was the one to actually find it; I just put the idea out there."

"Me next! Me next!" Mikhail cries out, sounding almost nervous, but Astolfo can't imagine why he would be. The present that he had crafted is beautiful.

"Alright, alright, cease your bouncing brat," Vanitas grumbles, but he carefully returns the polaroid to its box and then picks up the second present. The wrapping on this one is much more half-hazardous, done with Mikhail's clumsy fingers, as the boy had insisted on doing it himself. For all his willingness, his little brother still struggles with his prosthetic at times, but his stubbornness is secondary to none. Sometimes, Astolfo wishes that his attention span would follow the same route, but that was deemed a lost cause a long time ago. There are very few activities capable of holding his brother's attention for hours at a time. Chief among them is the piano, "his first love," as Mikhail is fond of calling it, followed by the cello. The latter is a new addition and the instrument that Mikhail had chosen when he joined the school orchestra upon entering sixth grade. The first time Astolfo had gone to see his brother play, he'd barely been able to discern him behind the monstrous instrument in front of him. Although the cello itself was only a half-sized one - standing at 23 inches tall - Mikhail was 53 inches on a good day and only looked tinier when he was standing next to the other students in the orchestra. Being of below-average height himself, Astolfo could sympathize with his plight, but Mikhail never seemed to let it bother him. Vanitas finishes undoing the wrapping of the present, revealing to all the frame of what appears to be a photograph.

Astolfo is fully aware that it is not a photo. Had been the victim of many art sessions as Mikhail struggled to draw his portrait for his art class, first in pencil, then in graphite, and finally with paint. What Vanitas holds in his hands is a framed painting, the first that Mikhail had deemed worthy of being preserved, which made sense as it was a present for his beloved older brother. Vanitas remains silent, holding the item in his hands with an indescribable face.

"How did you get this?" He asks after a long period of silence, turning the painting towards the two of them. Despite having seen the finished result earlier, Astolfo still gives a dutiful whistle of awe. Made with acrylics, the painting is of a night sky and a figure. Long white hair floats in an invisible breeze, seeming almost to be reaching out to play with the constellation of stars above their head. Astolfo has only seen the infamous Luna in a photograph, but it is unmistakably them that is represented in the artwork. Their eye is crinkled in the corner, lips open as they smile widely; it brightens their whole demeanor. He directs his attention to the stars, which have been laid out in a deliberate pattern, a constellation that he doesn't know.

"I - I," Mikhail speaks nervously, his voice beginning to waver in the face of perceived rejection. Astolfo shifts closer to him and wraps an arm around his shoulders. It seems to help because Mikhail's trembles lessen, and he inhales deeply. "During our last phone call, I asked Father if he would take a selfie, preferably with that constellation in the background," he says slowly, fingers nervously fiddling with Robot's tail.

"Why that constellation?" Vanitas asks, his gaze returning to the painting held delicately in his hands. Astolfo bristles instinctively at the coldness in his tone, part of him wanting to scold Vanitas for being ungrateful, but his instincts are telling him that it's not his place.

"Because it's you," Mikhail answers, voice brimming with certitude. "And, I don't mean your name. Well, not just your name, more like your personality? You're super loyal, Vano, protective and smart and kind, and your hair is soft like Robot's fur, and -"

"So you're calling me a dog?" Vanitas interrupts, an odd tone in his voice. If Astolfo didn't know better, he'd almost mistake it for the threat of tears, but if there is one thing that Vanitas does not do is cry. In the four years that Astolfo has known him, not once has he seen the older boy shed a tear, not even when he fell out of a tree last year and broke his arm. While Astolfo tears up whenever his emotions are running particularly high, Vanitas' tear ducts have always been busted. To hear his ironclad control start to break now twists his heart in ways he doesn't understand.

"No!" Mikhail yells, distress returning like the tide crashing onto a beach. Astolfo goes back to wanting to smack Vanitas for being a terrible brother. "No," Mikhail repeats quieter, "I'm calling you Sirius."

Vanitas' head snaps up, mouth falling open in shock, and something a lot like vulnerability is written in the lines of his face. He remains like that for a few seconds while Astolfo struggles to play catch up, for the name is unfamiliar. He wonders if that's what the S in Vanitas' signature stands for. He opens his mouth to ask, but Vanitas suddenly tips forwards, burying his face in his arms as his shoulders start to shake. The tremors are so fine that Astolfo doesn't notice them at first, so distracted is he by Vanitas' unexpected reaction. It takes him several minutes to realize that Vanitas is crying. He looks to Mikhail in confusion, but the younger boy looks just as lost on what to do.

"Sirius?" He whispers to him, and Mikhail's face scrunches up, looking torn about answering. "It's alright," Astolfo hastily adds, "if it's a secret, you don't need to tell me." He'll just pester the answer out of Vanitas or, if that fails, Olivier.

"It's not that," Mikhail says, releasing Robot when the dog starts to whine. Immediately, he bounds over to Vanitas, nuzzling him and licking at his hands. "It's his middle name. Back when Vano and I first met, he went by it instead of Vanitas." He slips off the bed and pads over to Vanitas, rocking back ad forth for a minute in front of him. "You've always said that memories are very important to you, and Father thinks so as well, so I wanted you to know that you haven't been forgotten," he says shyly. "I did the painting, but Father helped too, like with finding where the constellation would be visible and stuff, and -"

"Mikhail," Vanitas cuts off his rambles sharply, and the boy flinches. Astolfo prepares to get up, but Vanitas reaches out, pulling Mikhail into a hug while still hiding his face in his other arm. They remain like that, two broken souls meeting, finding common memory in a past that Astolfo knows little about. When it becomes clear that they aren't planning to move anytime soon, he gets out his phone and rolls over, mindlessly scrolling through Twitter. Eventually, the sound of sniffles die down, and Vanitas makes a croaky sound that might pass for his name in a pinch. Astolfo rolls over, arching a questioning eyebrow. One that is replaced by a surge of pure joy when Vanitas holds an arm out to him as well. He launches himself off the bed, slamming into his side and returning the hug with all of his strength. Mikhail shuffles in again, and he wraps an arm around his shoulders as well, grinning stupidly at the ground.

"Thank you, you two," Vanitas mutters, the warmth of his breath ruffling Astolfo's hair. "I." He inhales audibly, hands tightening around their shoulders. "I love you."

"Love you, Vano!" Mikhail says promptly while Astolfo is still trying to pick his jaw up off the floor. "And you, Tolfo!"

"L-love, er, love you too," he mumbles and tries not to let his eyes tear up too noticeably.

The rest of the convention passes by in a blur of laughter and good cheer. They wander the artist alley and dealer's room more times than is strictly necessary given their limited budgets, but Mikhail delights in showing off his cosplay, and that makes it all worth it. Each compliment that he receives appears to bolster his self-confidence, and by the time two days have passed, it is as if he's walking on a cloud. Astolfo thinks the hours that he and Vanitas had spent slaving over the outfit are well worth it when his little brother laughs so proudly. On Saturday, they head to the AMV contest. Despite Astolfo's insistence that they don't need to accompany him, Vanitas is adamant that their moral support should be accepted. Astolfo tells him where he can shove that moral support, but his efforts are nullified when Mikhail pulls out his ultimate weapon. Large eyes already glistening with the build-up of tears, a lower lip that wobbles so precariously and if Astolfo was doomed before, the "p-please" that emerges sends him to his grave.

He doesn't win. His Violet Evergarden AMV comes in second in the Drama section, behind a Run with the wind AMV that has no right to be as tear-jerking as it was. Surprisingly, he finds that he's not disappointed. It's enough that a room full of hundreds of people have seen the fruits of his labor and liked it enough to vote for him. He leaves the room with his head held high and a promise to do better next time. Mikhail's excited questions about how he had edited certain shots only had fuel to the flames of his ambition. Before he knows it, he's agreed to help the kid learn how to make AMVs, something that he'll surely regret later because Mikhail has the attention span of a golden retriever puppy. That is to say, it is non-existent.

The afternoon is spent attending various events, and then in the early hours of the evening, Astolfo drags his siblings to the guest hall. Mikhail is a bundle of confused excitement, looking around with wide eyes, though he grows worried when he spots the long line of people still in the queue. Astolfo had hoped that getting tickets later in the day would mean less of a wait and thus less stress for his little brother, but if there is a difference in the 7 am queue versus the 5 pm queue, it's impossible to tell. Robot presses close to his side for comfort and then moves in front, his fluffy bulk keeping the smallest member of their trio safe. Vanitas, however, is a walking bundle of suspicion. Astolfo can practically see the gears turning in his head as he looks around, catching sight of various celebrity names hanging above booths. He looks at Astolfo through narrowed eyes, and the latter smiles back innocently, relishing in how that makes Vanitas glare at him. Vanitas keeps his peace for several more minutes, up until they step into the line for the iconic MCU Spiderman, the one and only Tom Holland. Vanitas freezes in place, his eyes flickering up to the sign as if to make sure that his eyes are working properly, and then back to Astolfo.

"I thought you said tickets were sold out," He says slowly, enunciating each word like he can't believe he's actually saying them.

"I was using the elaborate technique known as lying," Astolfo replies primly. He has to fight down the urge to smirk with pride when Vanitas continues to look shocked. "Keep up with the line, will you? No need to stand here longer than necessary," he says teasingly, gesturing at the space growing in front of them.

"Fuck you," Vanitas snaps and spins around in a flurry of dramatic coat swishing.

"Language," Mikhail says cheerfully, smiling unabashedly when Vanitas attempts to glare at him. He holds out his hand expectantly, fingers wriggling. "Pay up."

"This is extortion," Vanitas grumbles, but he deposits a warhead in Mikhail's hand anyway. "Pure thievery."

"Appreciate doing business with you," Mikhail chirps and flounces past him, the bounce of his tiny ponytail somehow only adding to the cuteness factor. Astolfo laughs at Vanitas' disgruntled face and follows him.

The celebrity photoshoot is a resounding success. Vanitas' self-control not so much as he stutters his way through a greeting, his cheeks tinged pink throughout the entire encounter. Astolfo is glad that they got this on camera because he never intends to let him down. Vanitas' voice had cracked mid-sentence, and his delightful squeak of embarrassment will live rent-free in Astolfo's brain for the rest of the day. Sunday morning comes all too quickly, and with it, the early morning check-out scramble. Mikhail abuses his privilege as the youngest by getting up at 6 am only to face plant on the couch and fall back asleep. Astolfo wishes he could pull the same stunt, but one look at Vanitas' death glare warns him not to try. Instead, he gathers up their duffels by the front door, makes sure that they have Robot's supplies, double checks that Mischa didn't forget his prosthetic in the bathroom and that Vanitas' array of wall chargers have all made it safely into the tech bag. Mikhail refuses to rejoin the realm of the conscious when it's time to depart, so Astolfo does what is only natural and hoists him up onto his back. It's a little awkward with a duffel on one shoulder, Mikhail on his back, and Robot's leash tied around his waist, but he manages. Vanitas waddles in front of him with the other two duffels, the communal merch backpack, and Robot's goodie bag.

It's a slow procession, rendered even slower by the fact that they are not the only group of con-goers seeking to escape into the early morning sunlight. He catches the glance of many a sympathetic parent on his way through and even an encouraging nod or three. Pride flutters around his chest in confused circles, and he hoists Mikhail up further on his back. Eventually, they make it to Vanitas' Camry, and Astolfo is more than grateful to deposit Mikhail into the backseat. The little brat awakens long enough to strap himself in and then passes right back out, an arm resting around Robot's shoulders. The dog stares up at him with liquid eyes as if asking Astolfo to have patience. Astolfo has never been able to resist his soulful eyes, so he helps back the car and then collapses into the front seat with a heartfelt groan. Vanitas rolls his eyes at his theatrics, and Astolfo would have fought him, but his back is hurting, and he can feel exhaustion seeping back into his bones now that the morning rush has faded. They stop at the nearest coffee shop, and when Vanitas buys him a Caramel Ribbon Crunch, Astolfo finds it within himself to forgive him.

It took him a long time to recognize Vanitas as his older brother, accept his flaws and attributes, and see past the thorny vines that the boy had wrapped around his heart. It had taken long conversations in the darkest hours of the night, fights that had lasted for weeks, and reconciliations that felt more like cease-fires than true understanding. And yet, when they had finally forged that bond, each building a bridge to meet the other, Astolfo had found an ally like no other in him. When he'd come out of the closest, Vanitas had stayed up all night reading about all the things that Astolfo hadn't yet been able to explain to him. When they'd finally had that conversation, spoken in words tinged with embarrassment, Vanitas had shown him an acceptance that had nearly brought him to tears. Even his dads hadn't been so cavalier about his choices. Vanitas had, and Astolfo would never stop loving him for it. With Mikhail growing in bounds behind them, they had found themselves united in siblinghood the likes of which Astolfo hadn't felt in a decade. Vanitas was an umbrella under which he could take shelter when the rains became too strong, but now that umbrella was leaving, and Astolfo was facing the threat of storms alone. The house would feel emptier without his brother, the room across from his devoid of sound. No more would he awaken to the scent of Vanitas making breakfast or fall asleep on the couch listening to him play the flute. It hardly mattered that Vanitas wasn't technically leaving for several months; the fact was that by this time next year, his brother would be in a school on the other side of the country.

"So," he starts an hour or so into the drive, and Vanitas turns down the radio accordingly. Astolfo hesitates, the words he'd been turning over in his head for the last hour dissipating like dust in the wind now that he tries to speak them. He opens his mouth only to close it helplessly, hands twisting his shirt nervously.

"I had fun," Vanitas says quietly as if he'd read the thoughts directly from Astolfo's mind. "I had a lot of fun."

"You won't forget us, right?" Astolfo asks even quieter, the root of his worries rearing its ugly head and stampeding out into the air. He regrets the question the moment that he asks it, for emotional talks are not something that he and Vanitas do. The fact that Vanitas had bawled his eyes out two days ago was an outlier incident, something to be never spoken of again, and yet he can't help the fear.

"I'm just going off to college," Vanitas grumbles, "It's not like I'm never coming home again."

"Still," Astolfo says and tells himself that his throat is reacting to the lack of fluids, not because his heart is clenching painfully. "You're leaving. You're leaving us and -"

"Astolfo," Vanitas interrupts, his eyes briefly leaving the word to look at him, something like understanding in them. "Tolfo, little brother, no matter how far away I am going, we're always going to be a family. I'm not abandoning you; I could never do that."

"Oh," Astolfo says and then repeats it again for good measure. He subtly wipes his eyes. "I didn't think you were."

"You could always come visit you know," Vanitas grumbles after a few minutes of embarrassed silence, and Astolfo's heart soars all the way up to his throat.

"I can?!" There's a disgruntled mumble from the backseat, and he swiftly slaps a hand over his mouth, but it doesn't diminish the hope in his eyes as he stares at Vanitas.

"I would be happy if you did," the latter replies simply, and Astolfo feels his heart shatter and reform within the span of that sentence. His cheeks hurt from the smile trying to embed itself permanently in his face.

"We'll visit," Astolfo says equally simply, hearing the words that Vanitas would never speak out loud, and his brother smiles at him.