(A/Ns: wow, i actually reached the last (full) chapter. next update is the epilogue which will be uploaded next Friday because it's shorter. oh, and trans!Astolfo gets a guest appearance.
Please drop a review, as usual!
content warnings: smoking, swearing, implications of suicide/self harm, vomiting, mentions of rape, a drug overdose, drug abuse + addiction, and the long awaited vannoe kiss :D
disclaimer: i do not own vanitas no carte)
Chapter 5: Revival
Dark…
No…
It's light…
Am I dead?
Is this what death feels like?
Is this…
… the end?
No…
It's… too good of an end…
… for someone like-
"Vanitas!"
Vanitas' eyes snapped open, the light from the sterile white room hijacking his vision and instantly stirring up a migraine. Everything was a blur – his hearing, his touch, his sight, even. He knew he had yet to awaken fully; right now, Vanitas was trapped, drifting between the state of deep sleep and the surface of consciousness.
After a few more seconds, he was just about able to make out the conversation going on beside him.
"His vitals are just about stable, but we need to keep him on bed rest for the time being."
I don't… recognise that voice…
"I think he's waking up now…"
That voice was definitely Noé.
"Hm, yes. It'll take a while for him to come-to. The overdose was nearly fatal. He's lucky you found him, really."
I wish you'd left me to die.
"Do you know anything about the history of his addiction? You described yourself as a 'friend' on the paperwork."
"Um, no… he hasn't told me much. It was, er… a recent discovery."
"Alright. We'll have to discuss the options going forward when he wakes up."
"Look… I know I shouldn't really be asking this, but… is he going to, um… be in trouble?"
There was a brief moment of silence.
"He shouldn't be. It'll be more likely that he will be offered help, rather than prison."
"Got it," Noé sounded relieved. "Thank you, doctor…"
Vanitas still couldn't see clearly, but once he was sure the doctor had left, he finally mustered up the strength to turn his head, and languidly glance up at Noé.
Noé, seemingly aware that Vanitas was staring at him, turned around. "You've been awake through all of that, haven't you?"
Wordlessly, Vanitas lifted both arms to behind his back, pushing himself into an upright position. He felt himself shake beneath his admittedly low weight, his stomach churning every time he moved, or breathed. Then, averting his gaze to the floor beside the bed, he nodded, leaning against the raised edge of the bed and gripping the metal.
His eyes trailed to the IV drip in his left arm, a sickening feeling washing over him like the layer of sweat still coating his body.
At least there was a bucket.
"Vanitas?"
"Wait… a moment…" he panted, his eyes falling shut as he drew in a deep, shaky breath. Forcefully, he swallowed down the nausea; he didn't want to be sick anymore.
Especially since this wasn't even the withdrawal.
"If you feel sick, it's just the naloxone."
Naloxone…
That's…
Vanitas couldn't mentally finish his sentence – his thoughts were lagging too much – before the bile rose in his throat once again, and his first instinct was to throw himself back over the edge of the bed with his head over the bucket. The acrid taste of vomit burned in his throat, a feeling he was annoyingly familiar at this point.
… overdose…
Meanwhile, Noé hadn't moved a muscle from where he stood at the door. He knew Vanitas got bitter when he offered help. Instead, he simply waited, trying to stir his focus away from watching the other throw up just as (possible more) violently as when the withdrawal first started. He didn't yet know if Vanitas had even remembered what happened only earlier that day.
As usual, it took over 5 minutes for Vanitas to stop voiding his stomach into the bucket, his breathing heavy.
When he slumped back against the bed, Noé finally worked up the courage to confront him. "Are you ready to talk now?"
"Tch, about what?" Vanitas feigned cluelessness.
"About the overdose, idiot," Noé said bluntly. A short pause ensued the conversation. When he spoke again, a few moments later, Noé's tone was significantly softer. "Why… did you relapse?"
The memories of Jeanne, crying, sobbing over him, and begging him not to leave all resurfaced. Vanitas frowned; he didn't want to remember that. The point of getting high was that he was supposed to forget.
Yes, forget. Forget all the stupid, worthless emotions which welled up in his chest and caused tears to brew in his eyelids.
It hadn't worked though, had it?
What was even the point?
"Vanitas?"
He sniffed, bringing a shaking hand up to his apparently wet cheeks. Vanitas hadn't realised he was crying until now.
"Why did you save me?" he sobbed, almost incoherently. His words were muffled, his head having been buried with his face in his hands. A shield, you could say. "I'm… I'm supposed to be dead right now."
At first, Noé didn't reply. A feeling of sympathy washed over him. Even when he was high, or rather – coming down, his body still didn't cooperate with him.
It was the first time he'd actually felt bad for an addict.
"Vanitas…" he said, drawing in a hesitant breath. "Do you… want to get clean?"
At that, Vanitas' last emotional wall crumbled.
Everything he'd repressed for the past 5 hours – the past 5 years – came pouring out. An incoherent sob was only the beginning, an endless stream of tears and sniffling following. The tightening in his chest made more tears well up, trailing down his cheeks and onto the pillow.
No matter how many times he sniffed, or wiped his eyes, Vanitas couldn't stop the seemingly ceaseless tears from welling up in his eyes and making their escape.
It felt pointless. All of it.
What was the point in being here? In going home? Sure, his fingers itched for the next hit. But what was it all for?
The woman who didn't love him anymore?
"Do you… want to keep doing this?"
Unable to choke out the words necessary to respond, Vanitas instead shook his head, sniffling again as his bangs fell over his tear-glazed eyes.
If he left right now, he'd simply go back, get high, have sex with some random person, and then get high again.
"High"
Good one.
It was all just one big lie.
Pointless.
"I don't… want to do this anymore…" Vanitas sobbed, inhaling a deep, shaky breath in a futile attempt to calm himself. "I want to get… to get clean."
"That's…" Noé stammered, unable to form a coherent response at first. Vanitas had not given him the answer he'd expected to receive. "That's okay… we'll… we can work through this together."
Vanitas sniffed again. He wasn't so sure of that.
No, they'd… they'd work through it.
"What… happened with Jeanne?"
"I…" Vanitas swallowed. "Everything I'd done was because of her. But… she moved on in life, so I guess… I-I have to as well."
"No, like…" Noé internally facepalmed; Vanitas wasn't stupid. Perhaps he was just avoiding the question. "In general, or before… what happened between you two?"
At that, a sly, almost unnoticeable grin began to tug at Vanitas' lips, despite the tears still staining his cheeks. "You're after a story time then, eh?"
Noé spoke firmly. "Yes. After everything, I think I deserve to know what led you down that path."
For a few moments, Vanitas simply stared up at the ceiling in contemplation, one arm resting over his eyes. Then, he inhaled deeply, and exhaled through thinly pursed lips, his eyes falling shut. "I guess you're right. You do deserve to know.
"Jeanne and I met when we were kids. I don't remember exactly when. I remember having a fake wedding with her when I was about 6, so… needless to say, it's… been a while." The memories he spoke up filled him with a sickening nostalgia, and were obviously painful to speak of, but he still carried on, nevertheless. "One thing led to another, and I ended up asking her to be my girlfriend when we were 12, I think.
"Everyone says that… when you're that age, relationships don't matter. They don't mean anything. Usually, I'd believe them. However… well, I don't think I'd be where I am right now if that were true.
"We were 15 when we first had sex, and I think… that was the real declaration of our relationship." Vanitas paused yet again, seemingly in a nostalgia-induced daze. "I really did love her, and I thought she loved me.
"There was one night in particular, about a year later, when we were both 16, which… changed things. Well, I didn't know it was significant. But apparently, that was her last night."
"What did you do on her last night?" Noé asked. "It seems… significant."
"Oh, my dear Noé, it was," he grinned. Sadly, at that. "Usually, she'd come to mine – my parents were often out – we'd light a few cigarettes, or whatever, and then we'd make love.
"That night, well… she brought along a little bit of weed. It was my first time getting high, but of course, naïve-little-me saw no issue with smoking it.
"And then the next day… she left. Without a word or even a note." He sighed, turning over to face the opposite side of the wall to where Noé stood. "I should've seen it coming. Her bringing drugs was so… out of character.
"The next time I got high, I remembered being with her. Eventually, I moved up, and up, and up – you name it, I took it. Dante was already my dealer by this point. By the time I was 17, I'd already started using heroin weekly, and then daily, and then regularly."
"Hang on," Noé interjected. "Where… were your parents in all of this?"
"They found out about the heroin when I was 18, and I first went into withdrawal. I was offered rehab, but… I wasn't ready for that, so I ran away," he said, his words laced with regret. "From there, the only thing I did to get money was sell myself. And… the last 3 years have been no different at all."
"I see…"
Noé wasn't sure how to react to that. Everything he'd learnt about Vanitas over the past few days seemed to make sense. He was used to this chaos – this disequilibrium in his life.
Then, after a minute of silence, Vanitas lowered his head, and when tears began dripping onto the bedsheets with a strained sob, Noé knew he'd started crying uncontrollably again. Sure enough, he was nonplussed.
"I can't stay like this anymore…" he whispered, inhaling a ragged breath. "I don't care if it means withdrawal again. I'm just done with… with how things are going right now. I need change."
"Are you ready for rehab?"
"No- fuck, yes. I am."
"Are you ready to speak to her again?"
At that, Vanitas froze, and turned his tear-glazed focus up to the Archiviste. It took a few seconds for him to process what he meant.
Then he answered.
"Yes," Vanitas said, his tone a clear and blunt reflection of how fed up of this he was. "Is she here?"
"Um, yes…" Noé replied.
"Get her. I want to say 'fuck you' and goodbye."
"O-Ok… I'll… speak to a doctor about getting you into rehab."
Wordlessly, Vanitas nodded gratefully at him, as he turned on his heel and proceeded out the door.
No more than 30 seconds later, his presence had been replaced by a cold aura of hatred. The moment Vanitas laid eyes on Jeanne, that was.
A gaze that held a million words neither of them would even dare to say to each other.
Soon enough, however, their stare broke, Jeanne succumbing to guilt caused just by looking at Vanitas. Vanitas: hooked up to an IV, stinking of vomit, and shaking after a mere 4 hours cessation from drugs.
The drugs that she caused him to be dependent on.
Vanitas scowled at her; perhaps he'd changed his mind about wanting to see her.
"You have 5 minutes to say all you want to say," he declared firmly, sitting up. His arms shook under the strain of lifting even his minimal weight, and his fingers itched for a cigarette, but regardless, he would sit through this.
It may be the last time he hears from her, after all.
"… I'm listening."
"Um, okay…" she started hesitantly, fiddling with her fingers and staring down at the floor, and Vanitas could tell she itched for a smoke just as much as he did. "Is there any possible way we could, um… take this outside?"
For a few seconds, Vanitas simply scanned the IV machine up and down, figuring out whether or not it would be possible to drag that monstrosity outside. In the end, he gave up; if going out for a cigarette meant ripping the damn thing out of his hand, then so be it.
And thus, he did, dropping the tube onto the floor, the plastic cord between the drip and the needle suspending it just above the floor. His legs hurt the moment they touched the floor, but regardless, Vanitas still dragged himself off the bed, and over to the door where Jeanne stood. Fortunately, Noé didn't see him staggering out of the hospital room and to the fire exit, which led out onto a small, rectangular patch of land.
Most of it was shielded by overgrown plants, but in the corner of the area, just above visible, there was a bench: worn out, but still usable. Both of them laid eyes on it at exactly the same moment, Jeanne leading them over and Vanitas lagging behind.
With silence taking priority over conversation, the two sat down beside each other. Jeanne slid the cigarettes out of her pocket, and a moment later, Vanitas held a hand out expectantly. Wordlessly, she placed a single cigarette in the palm of his hand; at this point, it was the least she could do. Before she even lit her own, she held the lighter out to Vanitas, watching the stress somewhat dissipate from his shoulders from the first drag. Then, she lit up herself.
For 5 minutes, neither of them dared to speak. The silence was enough of a reflection of their speechlessness. Every glance they occasionally shot at each other said all they needed to say.
"I'm waiting," Vanitas said, sucking on the cigarette. "I've already given you more time than you deserve."
"I… I know…" Jeanne stammered, staring at the smoke rising from her cigarette. She drew in a deep breath, and then continued speaking. "I know… there's nothing I can do to make this up to you. I was stupid. I… should've told you why I was leaving. No… I shouldn't have left at all. And I… I just want to say that I'm so, so sorry. For everything."
"Apology not accepted," Vanitas said bluntly, throwing aside the nearly finished cigarette and standing up, brushing the dirt off himself which he'd only just noticed was there. "I know you're sorry. But that doesn't mean I can forgive you." He paused. "I think you should leave. I don't want you in my life anymore."
Jeanne was speechless, once again.
He was right, though. She didn't deserve to be forgiven.
"I thought you'd be out here."
Both heads turned towards the source of the voice the moment they heard it, spotting Noé at the fire door with his arms folded over. He didn't seem annoyed, though. His eyes darted between them, trying to read into the situation.
"We can go now," Vanitas declared, as he turned his back on Jeanne and strode away to where Noé was. "I'm done with her."
"Uh, okay," Noé said, unsure of what to say. He seemed pissed, and Noé didn't particularly want to push him. "Oh, you… left these at mine." He stuck a hand into his pocket, producing a pack of cigarettes and extending them out to Vanitas.
"That's alright." A devious smirk tugged at Vanitas' lips. In one swift move, he grabbed the cigarettes off Noé, spun on his heel, and chucked the pack at Jeanne. "Keep them. I'm getting clean from both drugs, and you."
"Wh-"
Jeanne was unable to complete her sentence before Vanitas once again turned his back on her, facing Noé instead. Subtly, he dragged his tongue across his lower lip, the grin widening.
Noé didn't get the hints Vanitas was dropping of his objective until he closed the gap between then. One hand snaking around to the back of Noé's neck, he promptly placed his lips onto the other's.
A few seconds later, sure enough, Noé sunk into the kiss. Smoothly, Vanitas slid his tongue into Noé's mouth, the taste of cigarettes and cold metal colliding with his taste buds, and Noé couldn't believe he had only just noticed that Vanitas had his tongue pierced. His eyes fell shut in sync with the other's, both of them further melting into each other's embrace.
Neither of them noticed when Jeanne stood up, snuffed out the cigarette on the ground, and walked straight over to the door, with one last glance at Vanitas which said all she had left to say.
Absolutely nothing.
Meanwhile, it took over two minutes for Vanitas and Noé to part, gasping for air the second their lips separated. Briefly, they made eye contact, but neither of them spoke.
Noé felt a flutter in his chest, and so did Vanitas.
"Um…" he started, his tongue tripping over his words. "There's… a rehab about half an hour away from here… who're ready to take you tomorrow morning. The hospital want to keep you overnight, though."
Vanitas went silent, seemingly thinking.
"… I'll pay for the rehab."
"You don't need to do that."
"I don't need to. I want to," Noé said. "We discussed this. Your suffering is my payment."
Vanitas snickered, shaking his head tragically at Noé's antics. And the fact that he tried to say that seriously, but cracked, and chuckled only a couple of seconds later.
Leaning up to him and pressing a hand to his waist, Vanitas placed his lips back onto Noé's, his next words muffled by their kiss.
"You really are… a pain in the ass."
The next morning came around too soon. For the both of them.
Firstly, it had just passed 5:30am; the rehab had asked for him to be dropped off before 6am, and Noé also had a job to attend to. That, however, meant it'd been well over 12 hours since Vanitas' last shot of heroin. And, sure enough, he'd been thrown straight into withdrawal again.
It was nowhere near as severe as last time, since he had only used once, but that didn't stop the terrible shaking and cold flashes from returning. Fortunately, it'd been the first time in the past few days he had gone more than 8 hours without puking his guts up.
Strangely, that felt like progress.
Every bone and every muscle in his body ached and itched for the drugs, however, Vanitas chose to suppress that urge, instead averting his attention to attempting to still his hands even remotely.
Right now, he was curled up in the front seat of Noé's car, a blanket wrapped around his knees which were pinned to his chest and shielding his arms from the morning breeze. The sun had barely risen, and the roads were practically empty, adding to the heavy silence which hung over both of them.
"How are you feeling?" Noé asked in an attempt to start idle conversation.
"Like absolute shit. Is it not obvious?"
Noé chewed on his lower lip hesitantly. "Are you sure you're ready for this?"
"Yes," Vanitas hissed at him, bitterly. "I may feel like absolute shit, and I'm fairly certain I'll have to go through the withdrawal again. But… I feel ready this time." There was a short pause. "Like... I'm doing it on my own free will."
Wordlessly, Noé nodded, and reverted his focus to the road ahead.
"So…" He started up the conversation again after less than a minute of silence. "What do you want to do when you get out of there?"
"Oh please," Vanitas scoffed, lulling his head back against the seat with an audible 'huff'. "That'll be at least… 6 months. We can cross that bridge… when we come to it."
Once again, Noé nodded.
It was becoming increasingly difficult to uphold the conversation when there was only one thought at the forefront of Noé's mind: why he'd kissed him. The memory: it was just as fresh as the taste of Vanitas seemingly left on his lips, and Noé just wanted to ask why.
The gut response he'd experienced was undeniable. He'd never felt that about someone before. Sure, he'd had one-night stands; several, at that, but his naivety when it came to the enigma of 'true love' still remained. Was that weird flutter he'd felt affection, or just sympathy?
Or was it love, even?
Noé hadn't a clue.
"Why… did you kiss me yesterday?"
The question slipped out before he could stop it.
"Isn't it obvious?" Vanitas turned his unimpressed, slightly distant glare to Noé. "I like you, dumbass."
"Oh…"
The flutter in Noé's chest returned. It was obvious now.
How could he not like him, after everything – all the utter shit they'd been through together? Sure, it may have only been five days, but most people didn't fight, go through withdrawal, nearly die, and have their life saved in that time.
"I…" Noé felt himself choke on his words momentarily. "I think I like you too."
Vanitas blinked at him a few times, wide-eyed. Then, he sank back into the seat, turned his eyes back on the blurred view out of the window, and said, "Good. I hoped you'd say that."
As expected, the rest of the journey progressed in silence. Fortunately, it only took 15 minutes or so before they were off the main road, and travelling down a small, single-lane road to an isolated country-style building in – to put it bluntly – the middle of nowhere.
Nearly throwing up in his mouth a little, Vanitas swallowed thickly, and glanced up. This building looked far too much like the cliché rehabs he'd heard about. And he hadn't heard good things about rehab.
It was too late to turn back now.
Vanitas itched for smoke, just to lessen his nerves for the time being, but ultimately knew that there was no point in picking and choosing his addictions. It was all or nothing, and stupidly, it seemed as though he'd gone with nothing.
Besides, Jeanne still had his cigarettes from yesterday. Another one of his stupid decisions, he noted.
A shudder ran through him; what if he wasn't ready for this, after all?
"Vanitas?"
He hadn't even noticed he'd stopped moving.
"It's nothing," Vanitas dismissed, despite the fact he could physically feel Noé's concerned-as-always gaze locking on him. Shivering, he took another hesitant step forward, gritting his teeth at the bitter breeze ripping through the air. At least the snow had cleared up.
"Vanitas, listen to me," Noé said firmly, and before the other could stop him, he grabbed Vanitas' hand, his fingers gently digging into his veins. He flinched, but didn't protest or try to break free. "You'll be fine."
"Sure," Vanitas said wryly, blatantly unconvinced.
"Are you ready?"
"Possibly," he said. Another shiver ran through him. "This place just… looks too much like the rumours."
"You need help, Vanitas," Noé declared. "You need to be here for that."
"I was doing just fine at yours," Vanitas sulked.
"You relapsed," Noé said bluntly. "And then almost died."
Vanitas froze, and then shrugged. "Fine, then. I was hoping to die."
Noé fell silent. Those words resounded inside him for too long. Part of him felt bad for even saving him.
No, he was being irrational. This was the withdrawal, Noé reminded himself, over and over.
"Let's go," Vanitas said, breaking the silence. "It's pointless to keep waiting."
Following Vanitas inside, Noé bit his tongue, refusing to say anymore. For him, it was pointless trying to beleaguer Vanitas' self-doubt. Right now, at least.
They could work on that one when he was clean.
Inside the rehab was minimal, a reception desk and a couple of sofas being the only things in the room they first entered from the porch. There were two doors, one labelled "staff only", and the other a large, transparent sliding door, another sign bearing "Rooms 1-13." It looked somewhat like a hotel, with a lingering scent of bleach that made it feel too much like that godforsaken hospital.
"Um… you can wait here…" Noé gestured to the sofa closest to the sliding door, handing Vanitas his bag (albeit this was mostly empty) before proceeding to the front desk.
Meanwhile, with the bag's weight dragging him down with every weak step he took, Vanitas finally reached the seat, dropping down onto the cushions and trying not to pass out right there. His muscles were in agony, as expected, and the unbearable shaking from before had returned just as prominently.
When he glanced up again, able to see clearly once again, Noé had disappeared, probably to fill out his paperwork. Not that there would be much to fill out; he didn't exactly have much a medical record as of late.
"Oi. Are you new here?"
Vanitas cranked his neck up, surprised to see someone wandering around at such a stupid time in the morning.
Appearing no older than 18, the person had dyed pastel pink hair – slightly faded – of which the brown roots had grown into a considerable amount. Most likely because of this, their hair was tied up messily in a loose ponytail at the back, several strands falling over their face. Their clothes were casual and scruffy, an oversized T-shirt bearing the words "Sleeping With Sirens" along with a pair of black, ripped skinny jeans that were still too big.
The track marks trailed all up their wrists were enough of a giveaway why they were here.
"Yeah," Vanitas snarled, scanning them up and down. "I only just got here."
Wordlessly, they dropped down onto the sofa beside Vanitas, and pulled out a pack of loose tobacco and rolling paper. Vanitas instantly averted his line of vision to the wall when they began rolling a cigarette.
"Name?"
"Vanitas," he answered, his face still screwed up a little. "And you are?"
"Astolfo," they answered. When the look of bemusement from Vanitas' face didn't fade at all, they sighed, and added with a role of the eyes: "Male. Well, trans. But still a guy."
"Ah," was all Vanitas said.
"Why're you here?" he asked, sliding the adhesive edge of the cigarette along his tongue and smoothing it over with a steady finger.
"I, uh… overdosed."
"Same," Astolfo confided. "Heroin?"
Vanitas nodded.
"Likewise," he said idly, and pulled out a lighter. But he didn't get up. "Who was that? The guy you came in with, I mean."
"Oh, um…" Vanitas shifted, a little awkwardly. "Weird story, but he took me in off the streets, and I… completed 72 hours of detox with him, before giving up, hence… well, the overdose. I still don't get why he did it."
"Doesn't matter," Astolfo said dismissively. "Appreciate him while he lasts." There was a pause in his speech; a pause Vanitas knew better than anyone. A pause that meant the story was about to take a turn for the worst. And he was right. "I lost my boyfriend to an overdose, right before my eyes. Selfishly, I kept taking drugs, until I overdosed. And since then, I came here. It's been… 3 months now, and it fucking sucks, but… you make progress. I'm… doing it for him."
"I think… I'm doing it for Noé as well." Another pause. "What was his name?"
"Roland," Astolfo replied, brusquely, before sticking the cigarette between his lips and standing up. "I'm heading out for a smoke. You're… welcome to join me."
"No thanks," Vanitas rejected the offer before the temptation to accept it got too much. "I… I stopped that too."
"Suit yourself."
Just as Astolfo reached the doors to the front porch, Vanitas stopped him.
"Astolfo," he said, and then drew in a deep breath. "Is rehab… really as bad as everyone says?"
Astolfo stared at him blankly, deep in thought. Then, he gave an answer. "I'm still standing."
That was all he said, before he disappeared outside. Conveniently, at that moment, Noé returned.
"We can… go to your room now. And then I have to leave," he explained, taking Vanitas' bag and effortlessly flinging it over his shoulder.
"Do I not get a room card or something?"
"It's not a hotel, Vanitas," Noé chuckled, but then his expression turned serious. "You're here to get help."
Vanitas sniffed, and followed Noé down the annoyingly sterile corridor. His hands, shaking once again, just itched for a cigarette, and he desperately wanted either a couple of lines of coke, or simply his usual heroin shot.
Noé was right, though. He was here to get help.
The room itself was small. Furniture wise, it was minimal, as well, a single bed wedged in the corner beside the window, along with a bedside table and a chest of drawers opposite that. In the corner by the door, there was a desk, and chair, with an empty note pad beside a pencil pot. Finally, on the wall perpendicular to the door, there was the bathroom, half-covered by a sliding door; a sliding door with no lock, at that.
"This place seems nice," Noé commented idly, scanning the room.
"Sure," Vanitas muttered, took his bag out of Noé's hold with ease, and tossed it at the bed. "I guess this is… goodbye then. For now, at least."
"You make it sound like you're going to die," Noé couldn't help but look a little shocked. Hopefully – hopefully – Vanitas wasn't being serious.
"Who says I won't?"
"I do. You're not dying on me."
Vanitas scowled for a second. Then, his expression morphed into a smirk, almost, as he took two steps closer to Noé, closing the gap between them. Subtly, he dragged one finger down Noé's chest, making eye contact briefly before dropping his gaze to where his finger had ended up: at the other's crotch. "I never… properly thanked you for this. So… thank you, Noé. I'll make it up to you when I'm clean."
The moment it clicked with Noé that Vanitas was implying sex, Noé pulled his hands away, frantically waving them. "No! Y-You don't have to do that!"
"Really?" Vanitas cocked an eyebrow at him, and gestured to the bulge at his crotch which made his pants considerably tighter. "I think your little friend would disagree."
Instead of being embarrassed, Noé felt a smile tug at his lips, as he leant down, placed a hand on the side of Vanitas' face, and captured the other's lips in a passionate, meaningful kiss. The metal of his tongue piercing felt cold, just like yesterday, but with the taste of cigarettes and vomit no longer there, it simply felt… better.
Perfect, even.
Their lips parting slightly, Noé inhaled when Vanitas exhaled, and spoke four very brief words again his lips. "When you're clean, Vanitas."
That was the last thing he said, before pulling away entirely, spinning on his heel, and proceeding straight to the door.
"When you're clean, Vanitas."
Vanitas held onto thought, as he collapsed back onto the bed, his hair splaying out behind him against the pillow. His headache from this morning was on the verge of becoming a full-blown migraine again, and the shaking was damn-near unbearable, again.
But this time, it felt… just about ok.
There was no doubt about it: doing all of this again would be the hardest thing he'd ever done. And this time, when he was alone… well, it could be even worse.
However, in the end, Vanitas ultimately knew he had to do it. For himself, and his future.
And if not for himself, he would do it for Noé.
