(A/Ns: yep, im writing this fic now. Updates will be of the same-ish length, and every other Friday, so for the sake of my commission, i can promise the next update will be 27th July.
Content warnings: swearing, violence, smoking, drugs, addictions, graphic depictions of drug abuse, mentions/implications of rape, basically dont read if drugs are a trigger
Also be sure to drop a review! :D)
Chapter 2: Revelation
Noé still didn't regret his decision.
It was about 8pm after they'd made it home in the usual Friday evening rush hour, as well as factoring in the stop at the supermarket to get a few essentials – essentials, and, the cigarettes he'd promised Vanitas.
Speaking of Vanitas, he'd gone unusually silent once they'd gotten in the car, hugging his knees to his chest, his hands trembling lightly through the gloves which he refused to take off even when prompted to. Noé pretended not to see this, albeit that wasn't very easy.
His house was on the outer skirts of the city, in a quaint area. Granted, his house was small, but it still had a driveway, a small back garden, and enough to live, particularly since he lived alone.
Vanitas followed him inside in total silence, flinging his belongings over his back and sulking matter-of-factly. As they stepped into the house, and Noé switched the lights on, Vanitas flinched visibly, fighting back the reflex to shield himself from the light.
"Okay," Noé started, hooking his coat on the rack by the door and closing the door behind them, trying not to make this painfully awkward between them. "Do you want a bath, maybe?"
Wordlessly, Vanitas shrugged.
Not helpful. "Alright… I'll run you a bath-"
"I don't need that much help, jeez," Vanitas scoffed, dragging his fingers through his hair with an exhausted sigh. He just wanted – needed – to be alone right now. "Can I use your bathroom?"
"Of course! I will run a bath as well," Noé declared, refusing to cross glances with Vanitas as he kicked his shoes off, watched the other do the same, and guided him upstairs. "Is there anything in particular you want to eat?"
"I don't eat meat," Vanitas answered plainly, fiddling with a few loose strands of his hair. He needed it cut, rather than washed.
"Oh, you're vegetarian?"
"No. I just don't like it."
Noé nodded, pushing open the bathroom door and letting Vanitas in before him, before turning on the taps. "Please, take your time. I'll… wash your clothes." That offer was a spur-of-the-moment sort of thing; his clothes were much fancier than what you'd assume for someone who was supposedly homeless.
Vanitas stared at him blankly for a few moments, as if his focus had wandered off momentarily. Then, he blinked. "Alright. Leave, then."
It took Noé a couple of seconds to figure out why Vanitas got rid of him, but then it clicked that he probably didn't want to just strip with this random stranger watching him. Although, surely, he was used to that, but Noé obliged anyway.
Once Noé had left, Vanitas exhaled shakily, staring down at his gloved hands before slipping them off his slender wrists, placing them over the edge of the sink. After that, with delicate yet trembling fingers, he undid the buttons on his coat, emptying the pockets and placing the important contents in his bag, his important contents being a lighter, the new pack of cigarettes, a packet of pills marked with Xanax, his phone, and a considerably sized wad of cash. His earnings, you could say.
Eyes locking on the pills, he chose to keep them out, leaving them on the edge of the bath.
Once he'd removed all his clothes, he handed them to Noé through the door, though reluctantly, and slipped a towel over his slender body as the bathtub continued filling with water.
Vanitas sighed, laying eyes on the pills again. His gaze then darted to the bag, the syringe and bag of heroin sitting near the surface.
When was his last fix?
He didn't remember, but the cold flushes over-coming him and the uncontrollable shaking suggested too long – definitely more than four hours. He was used to using every three.
Ultimately, though, for reasons he couldn't fathom, Vanitas just couldn't bring himself to shoot up heroin when there was a risk of Noé barging in, unsuspectingly. In the end, he would have to do it when Noé was asleep, despite how badly he wanted it. The Xanax would have to suffice for now.
Turning the taps off, Vanitas tried so hard not to shiver as he dropped the towel, picking up the bag of pills and taking just one out. Carefully, he wiped the side of the bath dry, using a random shampoo bottle to crush the pill several times – as quietly as possible – until it was just powder. Using the same bottle, he tried to arrange the powder in as neat of a line as possible, before crouching down on one knee, lowering his head, and snorting the white powder.
Vanitas sighed again, wiping away any excess powder and waiting for the drug to begin coursing through his veins.
A couple of seconds later, it did, clouding his perception as he lowered himself into the bath. His senses were numbed, but the sensation of hot steam rising around him was mesmerising.
It could barely pass as a high, but it was better than nothing. Anything was better than nothing.
Just for a moment, as he sunk further into the water, Vanitas forgot about all the shit in his life.
He was in the bath for about 40 minutes before the high from the Xanax began to wear off, and sitting in now-cold water just felt dismal. And pointless. And boring.
Like his life, really.
The pain came back, as well. It was a shooting, stabbing, agonising pain travelling from his lower back to between his legs, and his thighs, and his entire back, really. Not to mention his bloodied, and bruise wrists. But those scars weren't new; they just needed to be hidden somehow.
Vanitas really tried to clean the blood off his back, and away from everywhere where it was, where it shouldn't have been. His movement was pained, though, and restricted. It didn't really matter.
With great pain still coursing through his bones, flashes of hot and cold overcoming him, Vanitas stood up, grabbing the towel and wrapping it around him. Carefully, he bent over, pulling the plug.
It only then hit him that Noé still had his clothes.
Shit.
"Noé?!" Vanitas tried, his voice cracking. Pathetically.
He was still heard, nevertheless, a knock on the bathroom door from the other sounding a few seconds later. "Vanitas? Do you need something?"
"Clothes, maybe?" Vanitas replied, screwing his face up at the door, unimpressed.
"Oh…" Noé muttered. Vanitas heard him audibly shift outside the door in the corridor. "They're… still washing. I can give you, um, another pair of pyjamas?"
"Alright," Vanitas sighed after a short pause. He was drained, and freezing.
Sure enough, less than twenty seconds later, Noé had returned, opening the door just a crack and handing Vanitas a handful of neatly folded clothes. They were far too big, but it was better than wandering around this stranger's house naked.
Once that was done, Vanitas grabbed his bag, placed it in the guest room he'd been shown as his, and shuffled downstairs.
The smell of food was nearly nauseating; the drugs did that. It probably smelled, and tasted, really nice – it looked nice – but Vanitas' ability to appreciate and even stomach food had been ruined a long, long time ago.
Nonetheless, he swallowed down a gag, and wandered into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table and lifting his legs up onto the chair with him, crossing them. Wordlessly, he picked up the fork, picking at the pasta before reluctantly taking a bite.
"Is it good?" Noé asked nervously, taking a seat at the table himself, anticipating the answer.
I can't tell. "I guess," Vanitas answered, suppressing the reflex to gag. Food settling in the pit of his stomach was one feeling he hadn't been familiar with for a long time.
The meal proceeded in total silence, Vanitas eating barely half of the meal place before him. With contemplating stares, Noé watched Vanitas the entire time. Maybe he was well fed, somehow.
"Is that all you're going to eat?" Noé glanced at him quizzically, resisting the urge to raise an eyebrow. He was incredibly underweight; surely he was hungry.
Nevertheless, Vanitas seemed… bitter, to be perfectly frank, a permanent expression of contempt glued to his features. Noé knew that pushing him would make it worse.
"Where can I smoke?"
"Pardon?"
"You heard me," Vanitas said blankly, standing up abruptly and heading towards the stairs. "You asked me not to smoke inside your house."
"Right!" Noé replied, glancing around. Sure, his best friend's girlfriend smoked, but his house was far from accustomed for it. Nor was his garden. "Um… my back garden?"
Wordlessly, Vanitas nodded, placing the knife and fork side by side at an exact 90-degree angle to the plate. Noé pretended not to notice his shaking hands, as he wandered upstairs. Less than 20 seconds later, he was back, the brand-new cigarette pack and lighter in his hand. For a moment, he stood staring at the door, expectantly, before Noé finally got the hint and unlocked it for him.
"Um, use the ashtray already out there. Sorry if it's… not been emptied for a while," Noé tried to laugh off the awkwardness, but only found his attempt at light humour to exacerbate it.
Vanitas stared at him blankly for a moment, tearing the cellophane wrapping off the cigarette pack and dropping it on the counter. "You don't need to apologise for everything."
"Right…" Noé bit down on his tongue before he could apologise for apologising. Vanitas seemed off, and it confused, and concerned Noé. All the sarcasm, and the causal attitude from earlier, when he'd found him, was totally gone. Instead, there was coldness. Bitterness. It made Noé wonder how broken he really was.
How much longer would he have even stayed alive on the streets?
Once Vanitas had gone outside, he paused for a moment, glanced at his surroundings in contemplation, and eventually decided to just get on with cleaning.
Meanwhile, outside, Vanitas had already lit the cigarette, and was waiting for the nicotine coursing through his veins to do its job. He didn't get high from it, of course; you didn't get high from cigarettes – if only. Really, all it did was take the edge off, which, when all he could think about right now was shooting up, was good enough.
With a heavy sigh, and exhale of smoke, Vanitas picked up his phone, currently resting beside the lighter and cigarettes on the bench, placed on top of one another. He might as well call his dealer; he'd sneak out tomorrow morning.
It took less than three seconds for his dealer to pick up.
"Vani? Why're you calling me now? Did you not get the money or something?"
Vanitas almost laughed. Almost. "Trust me, Dante, I have the money."
"Huhn? Then why aren't you here? You said 8:30!"
"Yeah, yeah, I know what I said," Vanitas drawled out, inhaling on the cigarette again and holding the smoke for a few moments. He exhaled, flicked the ash off the tip, and then continued with his sentence. "Earlier this evening, some stranger scared off a client, and took me back to his. Pity, or something stupid like that. He's just too naïve to realise he's got a drug addict under his wing."
Dante – the person on the other end of the line, his dealer – paused. "When do you want the shit?"
"I'm running out of H," Vanitas said, nonchalantly. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. "And the Xanax isn't working at all. Does tomorrow morning work?"
"Sure…" the other groaned. "What do you want?"
Vanitas snorted derisively, staring down at the cigarette held between quivering fingers, ash crumbling off onto the gravel. "I honestly don't care, Dante. I just want to be high."
"… alright, I'll see what I can do. Bye." A second later, Dante hung up, Vanitas falling silent again.
Tilting his head back against the wall behind the bench, his eyes lulled shut. Smoothly, he exhaled a plume of smoke through partially parted lips, watching as the smoke rose up towards the pitch-black sky, and dissipated against it.
This would've been much better if he were high.
Eventually, the cigarette was burnt right down to its filter. Vanitas sucked the life out of it, before snuffing it out in the slightly overfilled ashtray and heading back inside. It wasn't even half past nine yet, but it'd been long enough. He just wanted his fix already.
Noé was too preoccupied with washing up to even notice him come back inside. That was good; there was now less chance of him barging in on him cooking heroin. Because, no matter how much Vanitas would not show it, he was starting to appreciate – you could say – the help, and the place to stay. All he'd seen for the best of 3 years was the scum of the world. Sure, he'd probably have to sleep with Noé before he left, as payment, but the idea of that didn't even faze Vanitas at this point. He was too far gone to bother with dignity.
As expected, the heroin was placed conveniently at the top of his bag from earlier, for easy access, you could say. Swiftly, Vanitas grabbed everything he needed: a lighter, a spoon, the syringe, cotton wool, and the sacred bag of dusty white powder.
Once in the bathroom, he melted comfortably into his usual routine, opting to sit on the floor. Placing the paraphernalia in his lap, Vanitas finally drew his gaze from the bag of heroin, kneeling across to the bath and pouring just a few drops of water from the tap into the spoon. Then, he tipped half of the drug into the solute, flicking the flame of the lighter and holding it just half an inch beneath the curve in the base of the spoon. The mixture was boiling within seconds, and soon enough, the gooey, slightly brown substance was ready.
With eagerly shaking fingers, Vanitas dropped the cotton wool into the spoon, letting it absorb the mixture before jabbing the needle of the syringe into the wool. Drawing the drug into the syringe, he was finally ready. Out of habit, Vanitas flicked the side of the plastic tube, before rolling up his sleeve.
He was so numb to this stage. Without a second of hesitation, Vanitas readied the syringe at exactly the right angle. And then it was in his skin, searching for a vein which hadn't collapsed. Eventually, he got it, pulling back the piston and allowing the solution to mix into his blood. And then, it was done.
Relief could be used to describe the feeling, but really, Vanitas just felt normal again. As normal as he'd ever be, at least. There was no high, no euphoric sensation flowing through his veins; nothing.
Nothing but guilt, and self-hate.
Vision only slightly blurred, he stood up, clearing away all the evidence of what he may have been doing. A craving for cocaine was next, but Vanitas could last without that until morning.
The most he could do now was sleep, but after he had just a little something to take the edge off. He was exhausted, sure, but he knew that he would not sleep if he wasn't high.
Rummaging through his bag, the best Vanitas found was enough marijuana to roll one joint. It was a ritualistic process – much like the heroin – and within a minute, he was done. Grabbing the lighter, he hastily slipped past Noé in his own bedroom, and headed for outside once again.
The joint was so small, it was hardly worth sitting down. Instead, Vanitas just kicked his foot back against the wall, and stuck the joint between his teeth. Lighting up, the first drag only gave the same numbing sensation as the heroin. In wasn't until a few more drags that the toxic fumes made him feel hazy at best.
Once he'd finished smoking what little of the drug there was left, Vanitas saw no point in staying awake for any longer. Slowly, he staggered up the stairs, collapsed onto the bed, and passed out into a drug-induced slumber less than two minutes later.
The next morning, Vanitas didn't wake up until after 9 am. It was later than he'd anticipated – sneaking out past Noé would be harder now – but, regardless, he needed to leave. It had been too long, and Vanitas could swear he could already feel himself shaking.
Granted, he had gotten up during the night, at around 3:30am, for no other reason than to shoot up. Going back to sleep that time was harder than he'd have liked, but eventually he got there, passing out into a drug haze once again.
When he did wake up, albeit groggily, the first thing which came to his mind was getting more heroin. And having a cigarette, and possibly some cocaine. But that could all wait.
With one hand buried in his dishevelled hair, Vanitas picked up his phone to track down his dealer.
Clearly, Dante was thinking of the same thing as him.
[Dante, 08:05]
where are you?
[Dante, 08:33]
Come on, I got up early for you!
[Dante, 08:57]
Vani, did smthn happen?
How convenient.
As he was getting dress into the clothes placed by Noé on his bedside table, Vanitas typed out a quick reply.
[Vanitas, 09:03]
meet me at the normal place in 20
He knew he'd have to get the train into the city, but fortunately it was only two stops, and if he remembered correctly, Noé's house had only been a couple of streets away from the station. He should be gone no longer than an hour. Hopefully, Noé wouldn't come searching for him before then.
Vanitas saw no other option than to climb out of the window, because as said previously, there was absolutely no chance that Noé would just let him wander off. Fortunately, he'd climbed out of enough windows to know how to not break an ankle – mainly to get away from the very worst of clients.
As expected, once he'd left Noé's house, it only took him 15 minutes or so to make it to the usual spot, Dante waiting with a cigarette hanging from his mouth, as always.
"Took you long enough," he said, hearing the other's footsteps approaching him from the entrance of the alley. When he caught the first glimpse of him, however, he almost gasped. "Wow, you actually don't look like a drug addict for once."
Vanitas smirked, and stuck a hand on his hip. "Is that a compliment?"
"An insult against your usual self. You look high 24/7."
"Oh, Dante, how I wish I was."
"How sad," Dante replied sarcastically. "What can I get for you?"
Vanitas, pulling the wad of cash from his coat pocket as well, smoothly slipped a new cigarette out, along with the lighter. Before he spoke, he made sure to light it, and take the first drag, exhaling in relief. "The usual H, a gram of coke, and… what else do you have?"
"Hm… more Xanax?"
"No," Vanitas shook his head, unimpressed. With a sigh, he pulled the cigarette away from his lips, tapping the ash off onto the ground. "I still have some of that. It's useless."
"Vani, when're you gonna settle?" Dante question, pulling out the substances he'd asked for before. "Is there anything that gets you high?"
"Oh, I'm counting on it," Vanitas grinned, deviously. "How about LSD?"
"I don't have any on me, but I can get it for tonight, I suppose…"
"Good. The towns are swarming with sluts on Saturday nights, and I'll be gone from that other guy's long before then." Another drag. "Crack? Ecstasy?"
Wordlessly, Dante nodded, pulling both items from his pockets. "Is that all?"
"Hm, it'll work until tonight," Vanitas said, somewhat disappointedly. Puffing on the cigarette again, he handed Dante the cash, in exchange for the handful of drugs and paraphernalia. "Keep the change."
"Give me a shout when you need me tonight." Dante watched as Vanitas wandered over to the dumpster at the side of the street, placing everything into his pocket. Except the cocaine, that is, which was subsequently arranged into two lines with such precision so that they were each exactly the same length. Rolling up a 20, Vanitas pointedly leaned over the dumpster, and snorted both of the lines of drugs in one breath.
For a moment, he paused, his pupils visibly dilating as he threw the cigarette onto the floor and took two steps back. He waited for the high, but virtually nothing came.
Nothing but numbness, and slight relief that he'd sorted out that fix as well.
"So, uh, in case you didn't hear me, I said-"
"Give you a shout," Vanitas interrupted, cutting him off with a dismissive wave of the hand. "Yes, yes. I heard you."
Dante sighed, scanned him up and down, and then threw away the cigarette. "So I'll see you tonight. Unless you decide to stay with that other guy and get clean, or some shit.
"Oh please," Vanitas snorted in derision. "I'm too far gone for that. I'm… more addicted to the lifestyle, anyway. That, is something I couldn't stop."
As predicted, Vanitas was back within an hour, clambering back into the window, his perception of things still partially twisted. He was sure he'd left the door locked, but the very cross-looking Noé standing with arms folded over suggested maybe he hadn't.
Oh well. He was too out-of-it to care.
"Where did you go?" he interrogated, staring at him quizzically. In his eyes, Vanitas had no reason to leave. Well, that's what he wanted to think; there was a few suspicions but Noé tried to mentally dismiss them.
"I needed to get something," Vanitas said, throwing his coat onto the bed and glancing around briefly. "So… when do you want me gone?"
"Oh, please! S-Stay as long as you need!" Noé said in panic, erratically waving his hands at the other. "Do you need more food?"
"No thanks…" Vanitas seemed a little put-off. Briskly, his gaze landed on his coat. "But, can I use your shower?"
"Of course!" Noé tried to shut himself up. "I'll… make tea."
Wordlessly, Vanitas nodded, grabbing his things before proceeding to the bathroom.
Once he was in there, almost immediately, he commenced the ritualistic routine of getting that oh-so-needed fix. His fingers shook eagerly as he reached for the newly-bought heroin, shaking precisely enough of the drug into the spoon. The water was next, half-dissolving the powder. With the end of the syringe, he stirred the mixture for a bit, and then picked up the lighter.
The moment he flicked on the flame, the door clicked.
Shit.
Like a deer caught in the headlights, Vanitas shamefacedly turned his gaze up towards the intruder.
"You…" Noé tried to speak, but the words just got caught in his throat. "Vanitas, this… you… what?"
Unfortunately for him, it took Vanitas more time to register the situation than Noé. He was totally frozen, muscles unwilling to move despite the voice of the demon in his head screaming at him to just take the damn drug.
Noé, now fully conscious of what he'd walked in on, acted abruptly, and on impulse, leaning down and swiping the drugs from Vanitas' hand in one brisk movement.
Only then did Vanitas respond, and he did so with burning anger in his eyes. "What the hell do you think you're doing?! G-Give that back!"
"Change of plan, you're not going anywhere today!" Noé said firmly in response. With enough force to break the plastic (and so it did) he threw the syringe into the metal bin, the other's gaze following it like his life depended on it.
Well, in a way, it did.
"You have no right to take that!" Vanitas snarled, and Noé swore he had never seen such a bitter expression on this man's face. Not that he'd known him for longer than 24 hours or anything. "If you're gonna prance around here doing whatever the hell you want, I'm leaving! You might've given me pity, but I have absolutely no reason to be here right now!"
Noé dutifully captured his wrist. "If you set foot out of this house, I will call the police and tell them you had drugs in my house! And they will take no pity on you! They'll just… ship you off to rehab! If you don't want sympathy – or whatever you want to call it – then leave! The police will happily take you!"
Vanitas, aggressively yanking his wrist from Noé's grip, snarled. However, he didn't leave. Noé was persistent; that was obvious. Right now, he had little choice for what to do. There was no point in leaving. Vanitas wasn't cut out for rehab, nor was he ready for that.
"Show me your bag," Noé demanded, folded his arms over.
"Fine," Vanitas spat. Sulkily, he led the other out of the bathroom, returning to the guest room. He felt like a scolded child, really. Yes, a child going through drug withdrawal. His hands were already shaking, between his crossed arms and shielded façade.
Without uttering a word, not wanting to exacerbate what was already a painfully difficult situation, Vanitas began emptying his bag. Sure enough, there was the heroin from this morning, as well as the cocaine, crack, and whatever else Dante felt like him supplying him with. All Vanitas saw was a load of sorry attempts to get high, but he was sure Noé perceived it quite differently.
"Tell me, Vanitas…" Noé said, breaking the silence. "Do you… really want to be doing this?"
Vanitas thought about it for a few seconds, before sighing, and slowly beginning to replace the contents back to their original places. "No… but, I'm not really to detox."
"Tough shit," Noé countered. "You're detoxing. Right here and now."
"T-That's-! No, no! You do not get to make that decision for me!" He slammed the bag down onto the floor, and then began to approach Noé confrontationally. "I don't even need to be here right now! If you hold me hostage here, I swear to god Noé, you will regret it!" He wasn't done, arms flailing around erratically as if that would somehow reinstate his point. "What do you even get for this?!"
"How old are you?"
"Huh?"
"I said, how old are you?" Noé reiterated. "It's a simple question. Or… are you too high to comprehend it?"
Vanitas snarled at him, folding his arms over to hold still his trembling hands and turning his back to Noé. "21."
The reluctance to admit his age told Noé exactly what he needed to know. "I am not letting you back onto the streets for you to whore yourself away. Even you know you're better than that-"
"Don't pretend you understand me!" Vanitas yelled back, clenching his fists as his anger boiled up even further. Just who the hell is this guy?! "Fuck, yes, ok, I do want to get clean. If I could! And you're not ready to see the crap I'll go through just by stopping… everything! What the hell do you even get for this?"
That pissed Noé off. Fists unclenching, he closed the admittedly small gap between them, his fingers curling around the collar of Vanitas' shirt. "Don't assume I want something from you! My payment is your suffering, and that is it!"
After throwing Noé off of him, Vanitas changed. It was subtle, but the blatant hate and contempt for the other seemed to dissipate. Then, the blunt look of disgust across his features morphed into a smug, almost patronising grin.
Then, in an equally mocking tone but with a sharp edge of bitterness still present, he spoke. "You really are a strange one, Noé." He paused, glancing down at his bag before a twisted grin tugged at his lips. "Alright, I'll play your little game then. I'll stay. And I'll show you everything you fucking did wrong with inviting a drug addict into your home and making them detox."
Noé met the threat with an equally patronising smirk. "Go ahead. I'm not scared of you, Vanitas."
"You should be, my dear Noé," Vanitas said, decorating his next comment with inherently obvious sarcasm. "My first goal will be to ruin each one of these gorgeous carpets of yours."
When presented with the awkward silence following that heated ordeal, neither of them knew what to do, or how to react.
"So…" Noé started, discreetly scratching his nose. "What… happens now?"
"I need a fucking cigarette, that's what happens." Back to Noé, Vanitas proceeded to his bag, the contents already emptied all over the floor.
As expected, neither of them spoke to each other for the next few minutes, as Vanitas stormed off the Noé's garden without a second glance, and Noé carefully and precisely made sure to remove and destroy every last trace of narcotic from his house.
Once that was done, he met Vanitas and his aura of condemnation in his garden, slumped across the bench with a cigarette burning away between two fingers, dangling off the bench. He wasn't quite there, his gaze seemingly stolen by the clouds floating across the sky. Noé didn't know he was mid-way through a cocaine high.
"High"
Sure.
"What have you taken in the past week?" he asked.
Vanitas, dazed beyond belief, slowly rolled his eyes across the sky, downwards, and eventually landed them on Noé. "Ah, my dear Noé. Wouldn't you like to know?"
"I would, actually," Noé replied promptly.
"Alright then," Vanitas halted their conversation to take an excessively long drag on the cigarette. "Heroin and cocaine, as usual. And then… weed, Xanax, ecstasy, GHB, some crack, a little bit of speed, and then… probably Valium, at some point. Just to help me sleep."
Noé couldn't stop the expression of pure cluelessness from settling on his face.
"See? You have no idea what you're in for," Vanitas taunted, flicking the cigarette into the bushes somewhere. Then, as if to swap roles, as revenge for earlier, he shoved Noé back against the wall, his head hitting bricks with an audible smack. "But anyway, I'm going back up to where you've got me hostage, and I'll let you in on something, Noé." His voice was reduced to a whisper. A threatening whisper, at that. "I'm high as fuck right now, for once, and… don't appal me when I'm high."
The other fell silent immediately, staying pinned against the wall.
Meanwhile, with a proud smirk donning his lips, Vanitas did as he said he would, staggering up the stairs. As he did that, he simultaneously slipped his phone out of his back pocket. Dante might as well know why he'll be out of town.
[To Dante, 10:17]
hold off the next order
[To Dante, 10:17]
im getting clean
It took less than a minute for him to get a response.
[From Dante, 10:18]
No way?! How high are you right now Vani?
[To Dante, 10:18]
not nearly high enough, my friend
[From Dante, 10:18]
You're fucked
Words of a true, honest blessing, Vanitas noted, typing out his reply.
[To Dante, 10:18]
not as fucked as the guy who took me in
[To Dante, 10:19]
he's got no clue what he's in for
