Even though Ventus feared dropping dead after every single piece of food Vanitas offered him, he found himself munching happily on the sofa again, watching some sort of new casting show. He didn't like those at all, but found it quite fascinating that people were actually dumb enough to take part in something like that. Was it really worth the little money they got for it? Because he couldn't imagine it was.

"Why are you watching this garbage?"

"Oh, you know, it takes my mind of the fact that I'm living with a psychopathic bastard!" he answered loudly, upset because he hadn't heard Vanitas sneak up on him.

Instead of responding, he just grinned sassily and sat down on the sofa as well, fishing a phone out of his pocket that Ventus had never seen before.

There was no use. He could ask what the new phones were about, but he wouldn't get an answer anyway, so why bother? He was curious and worried – mostly about himself, but still.

He decided to go back to the show, only to see the TV go black after a few seconds. Of course he wasn't allowed any kind of joy in his life. How naive of him.

"I know this was trash, okay? But I really wanted to know if they had something funny ins store."

Because, really, was it so hard to understand that he would give anything for some sort of fun these days? It wasn't like he got much of that lately.

"Just watch the rerun later. Now come on."

Oh, great, this kind of attitude. Ventus had divided Vanitas's acting in three rather rough tiers.

First tier meant he was actually nice, spending time with Ventus and effectively really doing nothing, other than watch TV or read a book. At the beginning, this had been what he had been like most of the time, and it was really welcomed.

Second tier was still alright, but not as chill anymore. He'd demand things of Ventus, entirely void of any good emotion or room of choice. It wasn't the nicest thing ever, but not too bad, considering it usually didn't stay for long.

Ventus really didn't feel like thinking about third tier. It was absolutely incomprehensible for him how someone could go from a relaxed sassy attitude to downright bloodlust. If he hadn't seen it first hand, he wouldn't believe it, but it was terrible true. Whenever Vanitas acted like that, Ventus was sure he would obliterate anyone and anything in his way without a qualm.

That was probably the main thing that made him curious. He hardly ever did what Vanitas wanted, let alone regularly. Yet, he was alive, and quite well, considering the circumstances. So that just left the question: Why?

He made his way over to his bedroom, still having not a single clue for what. This was weird again. The room still felt suffocating, mainly because the shutters were down and the light was rather yellow-ish. Oh, well, and because Vanitas was leaning against the wardrobe, looking rather bored and a bit annoyed.

"Had you forgotten the way?"

Ventus grimaced, not even taking the time to answer, and let himself drop onto the bed. All things considered, he still preferred this room over the others. It was scary right now, yes, but also comfortable. If only he could feel as safe in it again as he had before.

"Say, what's the way you'd want to die, if you had a choice?"

He immediately stopped in his tracks, having looked around the room before. Just what had he done wrong this time? The day had been rather nice until now, so he really didn't see where this was coming from.

Vanitas's mimic didn't give away anything new either.

"Quick and easy? What's this about?"

While he could keep his voice calm, he still felt a chill running down his spine. Maybe he just had to get used to going from dumb casting shows to death threats. Not really comforting, but he also didn't feel like he was close to any kind of attack, so he told himself to calm down.

"Isn't that interesting?" Vanitas just asked with a creepy smirk, obviously a rhetoric question, so Ventus just answered with a questioning look.

"About two days ago, you would've said something about not wanting to die, that you hate me and want me to leave you alone. Now, you sound rather...indifferent."

He swallowed. It was hard not to nod at that, because it felt so true. Of course he didn't really want to die, but at the same time, he was scared of the other possibilities.

"Maybe I...no...I'm really scared of the thought of how death might unfold for me, but I'm starting to feel like it might be the easiest thing to happen."

That didn't even make sense in his own head, so he wasn't sure if the explanation sounded weird.

"Why?"

He didn't understand that part much either. Of course fighting was the only thing he could do if he wanted to live, and he did want that. Maybe, he figured, it was the fact that even if he was living on, it didn't quite feel like life.

"I guess...I feel like being with you only prolongs the pain and my inevitable death. And I don't think I'm made for that, not only because of me. There's others, you know? My friends, my family. I'm scared for their sake, too."

None of them said anything for minutes. Was that the answer he was supposed to give, or the opposite? Ventus wrapped himself in the blanket, maybe for some sense of comfort, and slid back a bit when he finally saw Vanitas approaching him.

"So, you think…," he started, now less monotonous than before, in such a dark tone that it actually scared Ventus more than the fact that he was decreasing their distance from each other. There was something in Vanitas's voice that he couldn't quite put a finger on. Entirely different from any anger, sassiness or narcissism that he usually radiated.

"You think it's better to just die than suffer because of someone else and putting others in danger in the process?"

Ventus thought about the question for a long while. Was there a right answer to it, or was anything he could say equally bad? Why did he even care so much about it? In the end, he found himself nodding, because that was the closest to the truth that he could imagine.

"...I see."

And right in that second, it hit him like a truck, making it hard for him to breathe or think. Right there it was, the feeling Vanitas had been flooded with.

Bitterness.

Without an idea why, Ventus was disgusted by himself. There was no real reason to, he thought, because why was it so bad to give away his life for the people he loved, hoping that they would not have to go through the same thing? He watched Vanitas sit down on the bed again, cross-legged like before, staring at his own palms, obviously thinking hard. Then, he reached under the bed, searching for something apparently – and whatever it was, he must have been the one putting it there, because Ventus was disgusted by just the thought of there being spiders.

What Vanitas did bring up was tape, although he seemed to lack something to cut it with. Was this the moment to panic, finally? Because Ventus did.

"What are you up to?"

"Relax."

He did, because there was no malice in the word, but that didn't mean he necessarily felt safe.

"Screw it."

Vanitas reached for the empty glass on the night stand, smashing it onto the very same and effectively breaking it in pieces. If he weren't so shocked, Ventus would actually be mad. It was one of his favorite glasses, thin, light-weighted, small. And now, gone. It was especially infuriating because all Vanitas seemed to need was a small piece of it to cut the tape with.

Was this the end? After all, Ventus had just said that he would want to die a quick and easy death, even though he hadn't meant it that literally. The tape itched on his lips, but he didn't complain. This is easier, he reminded himself. I just told myself that, didn't I?

"Your arms."

He didn't even question the words, instead held them both out without hesitation.

No, he remembered. I wanted answers, didn't I? The curiosity kept me from running, giving up. Why is it gone?

His wrists were taped together as well, although he figured he would still be able to get out of those, unlike he would have with the rope. It was also a lot less painful than that.

He remembered begging not to be killed not long ago. That he was too young, that he wanted to live so much longer. And somewhere inside, he still felt that wish, but at the same time, just thinking about fighting back hurt.

The terrible sensation of pain in his arm let him look up. Vanitas had pinched him, not too heavily, but it was enough to get him out of his trance. He tried to complain, then remembered he couldn't and gave up. No sound came from his lips, and he figured that had been exactly what Vanitas had wanted to test. So that he couldn't alert anyone with screaming, huh?

Ventus felt the glass against his cheek. Just for a moment, then – nothing. It was so incredibly thin that it had barely cut his skin open, and it really didn't hurt at all. The blood mixing with the tears he hadn't noticed before, dripping into his lap silently, was obvious enough though.

Pathetic, he thought. Hadn't he pretended to be all strong and decided? Done with life, prepared to give it so that others could vicariously live in peace? He wanted the mental power to stay true to that, but if he were really honest with himself, it wasn't him. Yes, he would give his way for his family, no doubt. But all this nonsensical talk to himself, about how he was okay with it, how it would be easier...it was just dumb.

Instead of the shard, he felt a hand on his cheek, briefly, but didn't look back up. It was warm, comforting, and reminded him of all the good times he had had. He figured that it would be easier to accept the end with good thoughts in his head, instead of the fear that tried to eat him up whole, so he tried his best to smile under the tape. He'd be surprised if it didn't look dumb.

The hand wandered down his face and too his neck, way more caressingly than he would ever expect Vanitas to be, especially to him. It was literally painful how solacing it felt, and he decided to close his eyes and accept it as a last nice act before giving in.

Then, without a word, the feeling vanished. This time, it lacked the sensation of warm blood, or anything new dripping into his shirt. There was simply...nothing. After thinking for a second, he did look up again, confused about what he saw. Instead of hurting him, Vanitas had cut his own arm, however not really looking very hurt about it. Just what was this about now? Blood soaked the sheets, and it was a lot more than could be healthy to lose at once.

Ventus wanted to ask what all of this was about, but what really made him move were the words he heard next.

"I can't yet."

The words clearly weren't directed at anyone and they didn't make much sense to Ventus, but he found himself cry more now. He didn't feel like he was sad, rather shocked and maybe a little worried. Just a little.

He decided that this was enough insanity for a while and tried to tear on the tape around his wrists. It wasn't easy, but his thumbs were free enough to eventually let him grab onto the edge of it and tear it off. Freeing his lips was a bad idea, but he did it either way and just accepted the fact that it hurt again.

"Just what are you doing?" he asked, unable to hide the fact that he might be caring a little bit. Vanitas seemed to notice it too, because he snapped out of the trance he had been in and looked up from his hand, obviously confused about something.

Right here, for the very first time, Ventus felt, knew, that there was so much more to all of this than he had been able to see, and that whatever it was, it had to be connected to himself in ways reaching far beyond getting unlucky.