At some point, after starting to feel like he had vomited his organs out, Ventus had found the strength to brush his teeth, but that was about it, since right afterwards, he found himself lying flat on the bathroom carpet, crying again, even though it wasn't loud sobbing, but just tears silently running down his cheeks.

After some time – in the middle of the night, as the clock had told him – he'd heard the front door fall into the frame, but other than that, everything was and had been silent. Somehow, it didn't give him any more energy to get up and leave the bathroom, though. Who knew what he would find outside?

It was a bit cruel, how Vanitas just left him here after something like that, but then again, he had asked for it – and so much more than that, really. He should probably be grateful that he hadn't been forced to watch more than what he'd seen, if anything.

The sound of the front door closing again made him flinch, although he wasn't too worried. Who could it possibly be? He listened to the footsteps coming closer, the bathroom door being tossed open fully, and obeyed to a pair of arms forcing him to sit up.

"I don't want this," he mumbled without thinking. "I'm not ready to die yet, but this is so, so much worse…"

He didn't get a reply, but a lift to his bed, which was definitely a lot more comfortable than some thin fabric on a cold floor. Still, it didn't change anything about how horrible he felt. For the first time since all of this had begun, he seriously started to wonder if he should end his life to get out of this – and the thought was so real that it downright scared him. But wouldn't it really be better than potentially ending where that man had ended, one day?

Instead of saying anything, Vanitas just sat down next to him on the bed and stared. Ventus didn't care much about that, but he was desperate enough to sit up and shyly reach out. He knew he was pushing his limits again, but he needed this support, and he needed it right now. And he got lucky, this once, for he was being pulled into a hug without complaints – although it was more them leaning onto each other, but that was okay.

"I'm no good at this," Vanitas stated monotonously, and it was probably true, but for now, it was good enough.

"I'll find out, one day. The things that made you so cold towards the world, towards people. Why all the good things are so hard to you, while the bad ones are easy."

"There's a reason I know how to thoroughly torture a person – don't you dare ask."

Ventus wouldn't have, especially right now, since the thought alone was already scary enough.

"I still don't get why they suddenly start attacking us."

"That guy was hardly more than bait. They want to test if we're careful or not. And they have enough volunteers, considering they tend to promise them ridiculous rewards."

Personally, it still didn't make sense to him how someone could just play along in hurting others to get some rewards – it was disgusting and inhumane.

"I feel awful," he found himself mumbling quietly before trying to get up – getting an anything but happy look as an answer to that. "I just want to take a shower, okay?"

Vanitas didn't really look okay with him fighting to keep himself on his feet, but let it happen without another word. He could have offered his help, but Ventus was glad that he didn't. If he weren't even able to do that alone anymore…

Slowly, he made his way over to his wardrobe, and picked some fresh, comfortable clothes. At least not going out meant that he could wear whatever ugly comfy stuff he owned without anyone batting an eye.

He felt his legs dare to give in, but forced himself to stand still, take deep breaths and calm down. It was no good. He needed to wash all of this disgust off himself, before the pictures in his head could get even more detailed.

Blood. Breaking bones. Muffled screams.

No. Thinking about it didn't change a damn thing, and he wouldn't break down again right now.

"I'm starting to doubt you can do this on your own."

The look he gave Vanitas was toxic, although it didn't do much, as he only got a raised eyebrow as a reply – naturally, he figured. Just how frightening could the sight of him be, other than looking like a corpse?

It didn't matter if he could do this on his own – he simply needed to. Maybe to assure himself that he was not yet entirely useless. Or to try and make himself believe that there was a chance of him surviving all of this.

He made it up to the bathroom's door frame before everything went black for hardly more than a second. For once, he was glad he had been followed, as Vanitas's reflexes were fast enough to catch him before he could kiss the floor.

"Ventus. You're no good to me if you're dead."

"Oh?! That's funny!" he shot back, however not fighting against being helped over to the bathtub to sit down sloppily. "Because looking at this situation, it feels like that's exactly what you're aiming for!"

His words weren't fair, and he knew it. Vanitas wasn't the grand evil in all this – Ventus understood that now. But there was no one else to blame around and he was both mentally and physically wrecked. It wasn't an excuse for his outburst, although he wished it was.

The look Vanitas gave him was pained, and it made Ventus want to apologize for what he'd said. He wasn't in the position to mope about feeling bad, as he himself had summoned it.

"I…"

"No. Don't say a word."

He obeyed, not sure if he was in trouble now. The tone of the words wasn't evil or mad, which was a bit relieving, and at the same time burdening. Without a second thought, he leaned onto the hand now caressing his cheek like nothing was wrong, although the melancholy of their situation was even more present through that. None of this was right. And before he could even understand what was going on, Vanitas spoke again, violently crushing their silence with words that couldn't be more gentle.

"If I were to choose only one single person on this godforsaken planet that I do not want to see dead, it would be you."

With that, he got up, gave him another disapproving look, but left the room nonetheless, closing the door behind him. It was like someone had flicked a switch in his head, because suddenly, Ventus felt really cold. Just what on earth had this been?

In the last weeks, he had gladly accepted every opportunity to see himself as the victim – innocent, defenseless, treated unfairly – when really, he hadn't been good or nice at all, either. It was stupid, because he knew better; he knew it wasn't Vanitas's fault they were in this situation, and he also knew that all of this was hard on both of them. And still, he hadn't been looking for a solution in himself at all, for a way to act better at least a bit.

Maybe the cooperation he had been asking for was something that not Vanitas was lacking, but he himself was. He'd been kept safe from these people for who-even-knew how long, and it seemed like now was his time to do something to add to their relationship. But what?

Deciding to clear his mind first, he finally got up to take the shower he had come here for. It wasn't nearly as liberating as he thought it would be, and didn't help his growing headache in the slightest.

Thinking about it now, though, things actually made sense. Vanitas had said he didn't want him dead, and what other possible explanation could there actually be? It was not like Ventus was helping their situation – whatever it even was – in any kind of way.

He tried to shut his own thoughts up, wishing he could just stand here forever and let the boiling-hot water scar his body until he just dropped unconscious. Of course he shouldn't; it was time to turn it off and get out, but he had a hard time even just standing straight. What was going on?

Sure, he hadn't slept that well lately, and he still felt rather sick from the things he'd seen earlier. But suddenly, a numbing headache added to that. It took him a good while to realize he had hit his forehead on the wall, and even longer for him to step out of the shower before he could hurt himself even more.

"Will this hell ever end?" he asked himself before leaving the bathroom and heading for the next thing in sight – the sofa. He needed to sit somewhere and calm down.

"You're getting a fever."

Until now, he had almost forgotten Vanitas would probably be waiting for him to get out, and he didn't really listen to the words either, instead letting himself drop into the cushions and closing his eyes. It helped with the pain, but not with the sickness. Being stuck in here for so long was slowly eating him up, and there was nothing he could do.

He felt a blanket being put onto him, causing him to open his eyes and regret it immediately. It was a nice gesture, and one he absolutely hadn't expected. Was Vanitas actually trying to be more patient with him?

"Unless there's something funny on my face, I fail to understand that look."

Realizing that he had suspiciously raised his eyebrows, Ventus decided to instead rolled over to he side and tried to put on a more neutral face. He was thankful for this, truly, but not sure what to make of it. There was no doubt Vanitas was still unhappy with him, and how much all of it exhausted him both mentally and physically. So even though it hardly changed anything in the long run, he felt the need to say:

"I'm sorry for this."

And instead of doing anything he usually would – do nothing, hiss or raise an eyebrow – Vanitas actually replied.

"What are you sorry about?"

He really was alarmingly nice now, as if he had snapped – just in the exact opposite way from how others would, because going nuts and insane was his normal mood. Either way, he did raise an eyebrow now, almost looking like a petulant child the way he was sitting next to the sofa, both legs and arms crossed.

"All of this? I'm starting to understand this isn't your fault, yet I can't stop blaming you for what's happening to me, because I don't know who is responsible. I should know better, yet I can't control myself."

Noticing how his voice got thinner, Ventus sighed and shook his head. Now he was getting whiny again, too.

"You're so frustrating."

Confused by the answer, he tried to sit up a bit, only for Vanitas to push him back into the fabric with one hand and shake his head.

"Don't misunderstand me, Ven. It's fine you have this picture of me in your head – it's good, I created it on purpose."

That he did indeed remember. They'd talked about, what was it exactly? Preferring being feared over being loved, as people were more likely to cooperate out of fright than sympathy. But that didn't mean it made more sense to him now than before, because it didn't.

"Which is what makes it frustrating that you're trying to get rid of it. That was never the idea, but seeing you wither like this…"

"Say it!"

Ventus knew that if he didn't keep this up now, he'd never get the answer. And even if he could have come up with one by himself, Vanitas never truly acted or felt like one expected him to. He needed to put it in words, and apparently he understood that, too, because he said:

"It hurts."

Never before had Ventus felt the desperate need to hug him, but right now it was all he could think of. The pained expression, the almost sheepish honesty in those glowing eyes…

Instead of giving him a chance to reply, Vanitas got up and brushed off the hand reaching for his, apparently certain he'd said enough for now. But Ventus felt like they weren't even close.

"Don't go away now."

"I'm not. Stop pushing it."

He wouldn't have, but the fact that Vanitas sounded more tired than mad made him rethink. They had lots of room for improvement, but maybe it really was better to approach it slowly, no matter how impatient of a person Ventus was.

He brought a hand to his head and massaged his temples, thinking about what to do now. First of all, he needed to get back up. Lying down had helped at least a bit, and he would probably stay like this until Vanitas returned from the kitchen – which he hopefully would soon, Ventus just chose to believe in that.

Of course he could just stay put, let life pass him by and accept the fact that he was trapped in the place that he should call home, that should be safe to him. But it hadn't worked so far, and considering that Vanitas left him alone more frequently lately, it was also more frightening.

He almost jumped when he was addressed again all out of sudden, and finally sat up to get out of this trance he had fallen into.

"I made you tea. Don't even start complaining."

He was handed a mug, and almost answered that he liked tea, when the smell of camomile made him wrinkle his nose. Disgusting.

"This is like the one kind of tea I hate."

"I don't care. It has a lot of health benefits over other varieties and I'm not arguing about this. You need to get better."

Rolling his eyes, he took a sip to imply that he was obeying, however still shook his head.

"For what, though? I'm literally useless. All I do is sit here and hate everything."

Instead of replying, Vanitas stroked his hair a bit, almost vacantly, as if that were answer enough to it. Maybe it was, too.

It hurts.

Of course. It was mentally wearing him out, as well. Making Ventus hate him, for whatever reason, had been his goal. But seeing him turn into this emotional and physical mess…not so much.

Subconsciously, he leaned in. The touch was soothing, and he felt like he might have just fallen asleep, but he already heard the complaints about not even finishing the tea in his head. It made him smile a bit.

"You know, these times, when you're nice to me…Somehow I really like you a lot."

The motion died immediately, and he regretted his words a bit, but not enough to apologize or take them back. Wasn't it somehow obvious that he felt this way, though?

"You shouldn't."

"Why not?"

Vanitas sighed loudly, turned to face him and narrowed his eyes. He looked as if he were trying to lecture a child about something painfully obvious, and to him, it seemed to feel that way, actually.

"You really don't understand this."

Of course I don't, Ventus wanted to scream. Hadn't he made that clear yet? Even now that he was thrown small bits and pieces, they still didn't create a bigger picture. Again, he was left with nothing but frames.

"Took you long enough to figure out."

"Fine, if I have to."

He watched Vanitas shift slightly, a small motion, but it meant a lot for him. This made him uncomfortable. Maybe even insecure. He wasn't sure what kind of impact the words he said next would have.

And really, if he'd been given an idea of what he was going to hear, Ventus wouldn't have asked for it so desperately. But he hadn't, leaving him entirely unprepared for the words he had silently feared he'd have to endure one day.

"Don't get attached to me, Ventus. Don't. It will only make it worse to bear if you lose me eventually."

"Just don't leave again, then."

He couldn't stop himself from sounding hurt. Now, that they were finally starting to get along with each other at least somehow, he was going to lose that, too? Wasn't being locked in here enough already? All he asked for was some mental support, a reason to go on – yes, maybe just an emotional bond, like Vanitas had called it, that assured him it wasn't over yet.

But things weren't going to be that easy, and that was only more obvious when a single tear he had failed to even notice was wiped off his cheek. It almost felt cherishing. It almost felt good.

It almost made him feel able to ignore the words he didn't want to hear or accept, even though they did nothing but hurt.

"Ven. Nothing is certain for us but this one thing: If I'm ever left with no other choice, I will not hesitate for even a second to give my life for yours."