Archive of Our Own

Ven wonders a lot about his home. Not the home he has now, the Land of Departure with Aqua and Terra and any stragglers who stumble by. With all his friends who come to visit now and then.

No, the home he grew up in. There must’ve been one, right? Ven can’t recall his childhood that well. Correction, he can’t recall his childhood at all.

Everything from before is a blur, even his time with Xehanort. There are flashes of light and warmth, and of darkness and cold. None of those things are memories, and none feel like home.

Sometimes, even the Land of Departure doesn’t feel like home. It’s like something is missing, much like his memories.

Ven imagines it has something to do with spending his teen years chasing the other half of his heart, who was violently ripped out of him after they both spent the last ten years in purgatory, and fighting him across several worlds.

A part of Ven’s glad he can’t remember his childhood. There isn’t much home to miss.

World after world after world. It was a dream of Ven’s to see it all, but not like this. He’s not seeing anything. Every world was another prison cell for him to inspect to try to find his prisoner. A warden doesn’t suit Ven, but that’s what Vanitas treats him like.

As if Vanitas has anywhere to go. Ven’s disillusioned and no longer playing along with his lies. They’ve fought in twelve worlds now, some more than three times.

Vanitas tells Ven to stay away, that he doesn’t need him, and yet Vanitas doesn’t stay. He goes off to the next star.

You’re coming home, too. Ven meant it when he said that, even if Vanitas doesn’t remember. Even if the castle is another hell for Vanitas; Ven’s too tired to try to work out an ending that works for them both. To find a way to make this story happier. He’s tried and he’s tried and he’s tried. If Vanitas wants to treat him like a warden, then fine.

Ven will play his part.

Their thirteenth world is a place Ven could go the rest of his life without seeing. If good days existed in the Keyblade Graveyard, today isn’t one of them. The sun is blistering and oppressive in a way that makes Ven understand what the saying really means. All of his senses feel muted beneath a layer of sweat and exhaustion.

This is going to be the last time, he swears. He’s going to finally see this to the end, whatever that end is. Walking past endless rows of abandoned Keyblades, nothing more than metal and rust, Ven can feel his heart pump out that determination. This will be the end.

Every step leads him closer to Vanitas. It’s like a second heart inside of him. It’s taken Ven some time to follow that beat, like tuning a radio to the right frequency, but once he catches on, he doesn’t let go. Ven keeps pushing and pushing, walking until his feet burn and his knees quiver, walking until there Vanitas finally is.

At the top of a cliff, standing on its edge, clad in his normal dark attire and helmet, there Vanitas watches the world. Ven’s had a lot of time to think about Vanitas, and though Vanitas won’t tell him, Ven is certain this is where he lived all his life.

“Vanitas,” he calls out. Vanitas doesn’t have the courtesy to so much as turn his head to acknowledge Ven. He just stands there, still as the dead. “I’m done with you.”

“You’ve gotten less creative.” Vanitas’s voice reveals nothing. Perfectly even, unamused. Two halves of a shattered and tired heart. “You’re done with me? Good for you, Ventus. We’re on the same page for once.”

“I’m done chasing you around.” Ven doesn’t summon his Keyblade, clenching his fist to stop himself from doing so. He refuses to do it first. It used to take more for Vanitas to rile him up. Now, his mere presence is fire to Ven’s insides.

Vanitas finally turns, the visor reflecting none of the badland’s lights. He must’ve been here for a while. “No one ever told you to—”

“Don’t give me that! I’m my own person, and I’m going to bring you back.” The word ‘home’ has long been thrown away. Neither one of them knows what that’s supposed to be. Ven throws out his hand in an arc, glaring. “You’re your own person, too. Are you going to choose the easy way or the hard way?”

“Hah! There’s no way I’m going back with you.” Vanitas steps forward. This part, Ven can see with his eyes closed, can see in his dreams, can see in his nightmares: Vanitas raises his hand in front of him and summons his Keyblade. “But fine. If you insist—what’s fun about the easy way?”

A fuse blows in Ven. As soon as Vanitas finishes running his mouth, Ven summons his Keyblade and throws it forward. It arcs harmlessly away from Vanitas’s body, and when it returns like a boomerang, Vanitas is gone with only a blurry afterimage remaining.

Ven rolls forward as Vanitas swings his Keyblade. His Keyblade returns to Ven’s hand, and, crouching, he turns on his knees to clash with Vanitas’s downward strike. Light, energy, and anger sparks where their blades collide. Vanitas tries to push down for a moment, but when Ven doesn’t give in, he jumps backward into a cartwheel and readies himself from afar. “Too slow.”

Fighting is easy. Fighting is simple. Fighting doesn’t take convincing, pleading, or a connection other than rage (and sadness). Ven doesn’t know how else to talk to Vanitas. After all, their very first encounter with each other was a fight, wasn’t it? The tearing of their souls was as violent a fight as they come.

Vanitas is relentless, but there’s a weariness in his attacks. He swings and Ven dodges, he swings and Ven dodges again, and then Ven leaps forward and Vanitas jumps back. Over and over, getting hits in but no real damage done other than to their energy. Even Vanitas’s taunts are far and few in between.

“I’m over this!” Leaping into the air, Vanitas swings his Keyblade, and an array of lightning bolts fan out to the ground. Ven is just far enough away to handstand flip off to the side, out of touch, with a moment to spare. Readying into position, Ven holds his Keyblade behind him and bends his knees, charging up energy.

The moment Vanitas touches the ground, Ven releases the energy, spinning as he launches up, and columns of light shoot out to circle him. Salvation knocks Vanitas off his feet, rolling with his suit collecting dust and dirt, but he never stays down long. Snarling, Vanitas uses his arms to jump to his feet and ready his Keyblade once more.

Even with Ven’s health restored, he still feels drained. This fight is going nowhere; Vanitas is too stubborn, and Ven doesn’t want to kill him. Vanitas probably wants to die, and Ven won’t kill him.

One moment, Vanitas is there, and the next, he’s nothing more than a shadow in the ground. The dirt flies up around where Ven kicks off, avoiding Vanitas’s first upward spiral. Then he’s back into the ground, stalking after Ven.

The air is full of Vanitas’s impatience. He repeats the move twice more with no success. After so many fights, Ven has memorized what happens next, and he’s ready. Leaping into the air, Ven turns his Keyblade onto himself to self-cast Aeroga. The additional height is just far enough that when Vanitas jumps out, Ven’s safely away from the ground to avoid all the follow-ups.

Ven once asked Sora how he got Roxas and Xion to want to live after everything. After they had already given up their lives for a cause deemed greater than their lives.

“Oh,” Sora replied. “No, they both wanted that. All I had to do was give it to them.”

“Oh,” Ven replied. So I had to get the suicidal one.

After spending so long trying to reason with Vanitas, coming up with only strikes as sentences, punches as periods, and spells as questions, Ven has given up trying to speak a language Vanitas won’t understand.

So when Vanitas is at the peak of his jump, Ven reaches down and grabs his wrist. It all happens too fast for Vanitas to react: Ven uses the momentum from the leap to swing Vanitas, and right as his body starts to face earth, Ven slams Vanitas down.

The movement leaves Ven dizzy, but not deaf. It takes far too long for Vanitas to hit the ground, and when Ven looks down, he’s in freefall.

He just launched Vanitas off the side of the cliff.

Using a gust of wind to stop his legs from breaking, Ven lands onto the ground some feet away from Vanitas. Shards of glass lie around Vanitas’s body, lying stomach faced down—his helmet.

Grunting, Vanitas uses his arms to push himself up and the back onto his knees. Hands scramble to grab his helmet, yanking it off and throwing it across the desert’s grounds. Vanitas looks over his shoulder to snarl at Ven.

Maybe a long time ago, that would’ve scared Ven. Awakening the beast within the beast, but all Ven sees is a really tired boy. Bags under his eyes, cuts bleeding on his cheek, chapped lips.

Vanitas must be tired to have come here: the one place where he’s failed the most, and what Ven figures is the one place he’s been hurt the most. He’s never come to this world before, but now, he’s starting to run out of options.

There’s nowhere left to run to.

There never really was.

There—

“Are you pitying me?” Vanitas stumbles to his feet in an instant, pointing his Keyblade forward in accusation. “After all this time, I finally get Ventus’s sympathy! Oh, how lucky I feel right now. It’s a shame it’s too late now. I don’t need it.”

The Keyblade swing is clumsy and heavy, an overhead rush of aggression. When Ven blocks, Vanitas pushes down, and their faces are mere inches from each other. The snarl Vanitas wears is entirely personal, and Ven can’t do anything except shove him back.

They trade attacks like they’ll do if they don’t. Not a single strike lands on the other. Their Keyblades are there to absorb the brunt of their rage and sadness, their bodies the vessels for their hearts to scream.

A minute barely goes by before Vanitas’s grip gives in. Ven’s next swing disarms him, sending his Keyblade skidding across the desert’s ground, kicking up dust. Both of their eyes follow the Keyblade, panting, waiting until it dissolves into light. And then Ven pushes Vanitas.

It’s not just Vanitas’s grip that gave in. He falls without a fight to the ground, staring up at the sky. Fingers twitch when Ven drops his knees to either side of his hips and drags Wayward Wind over his throat. Enough pressure is added that there’s a clear indent over Vanitas’s throat.

Ven’s arms shake with the effort of holding that position without pushing. He pants, trying to will himself to just push. This is what they’ve been building towards all this time. From Vanitas’s birth, it was decided that one of them was going to die for the other to keep going. For the other to be whole.

There’s a screaming inside Ven, and he can try to shrug it off as his heart yearning to be whole. But it’s not empty. It’s not missing bits.

It’s just broken. His heart has always been broken, and fighting with Vanitas breaks it more.

Yellow eyes finally drag down to look at him. Vanitas is an angel of blood and bruises, his face in beautiful shades of red and purple. The colors are so bright against the dust beneath him. Too bright to go out, but too dull to fit in anywhere else.

Ven expects hands to shove at his Keyblade. But they never come.

“Come on,” Vanitas says. There’s a decade-long weariness in his words. “Just do it.”

Those limp hands move up to grab the ends of the Keyblade, enclosing Ven’s hands, and they pull down.

Ven stares for a second before, not even processing what he’s doing, rocking back to his feet. It takes some stumbling to not press further on Vanitas’s neck while getting up, but Ven manages it, a shaky thing standing and looking down at Vanitas. His Keyblade hangs at his side, thrumming with power and fear, and fear, and fear.

It doesn’t want this just as much as Ven doesn’t.

Vanitas stays there, blood trickling down his lips. It’s like he’s waiting for Ven to readjust his position, waiting for Ven to deliver the finishing blow. And when it doesn’t come, he uses his elbows to shove and stumble to his feet.

There’s no reality where Ven was ever going to kill Vanitas. How could he? And it’s not just because Vanitas doesn’t deserve it, because Vanitas hasn’t committed any crime worthy of the life he’s led. After all, Vanitas should have another chance; no, it’s because Ven doesn’t want to do that.

Stupidly, maybe, but Ven simply doesn’t want to hurt Vanitas like that.

But this is still going to end. Their game of captor and captive, cat and mouse, boy and monster. Standing in front of each other, Ven gripping his Keyblade tightly and Vanitas moving to grip an arm, they’re going to end all these games they’ve been playing with each other. Every role they’ve let restrain them, force them down a narrative they didn’t want to tell.

The grip on his Keyblade grows even tighter. But maybe, just maybe, one last time…Ven can play the captor.

You’re coming home—wherever that is, whatever it takes.

Because Ven is nothing if not fucking stubborn.

If Ven thinks about how admirably Vanitas stands still when he raises his Keyblade, it might make him do something reckless. So he doesn’t think about it. He just points his Keyblade right at Vanitas’s body and shoots off light.

Vanitas is expecting darkness. He’s expecting darkness reaching out to grab him in every direction. So it’s no wonder he’s surprised when the light starts to wrap around him. They yank his arms behind him and go around his wrists, before traveling the length of his midriff, encircling and encircling before solidifying with a resounding clank into white chains.

Eyebrows rising and mouth opening, Vanitas tests out his restraints. The chains offer very little give, no room to move, cast spells, or summon a Keyblade.

Ven has a thought before Vanitas can say anything: Vanitas’s upper body isn’t the only threat in a fight. As a belated thought, Ven shoots off another beam of light. It wraps and solidifies around his calves, sending Vanitas off balance and to the ground.

They stay like that for a moment, Ven with his Keyblade pointed forward and Vanitas once again on the ground, albeit restrained and on his side. And then, Vanitas is yelling, “What are you doing!”

Before Ven dismisses his Keyblade, he casts a Curaga over Vanitas. The green spell washes away his open wounds but leaves blood smeared over his angered face. It probably makes him even angrier to be healed, but all Ven does is send away his Keyblade and run a hand through his hair. “Is it not obvious?”

“No?” Vanitas’s voice is incredulous, full of indignant bewilderment.

“I’m not killing you.” Ven drops his hand and meets Vanitas’s narrowed eyes. “And you won’t come with me.”

Vanitas is quick on the uptake, only needing a few moments before he’s laughing mirthlessly. “I’ve never given you enough credit, Ventus, but you are certifiable.”

Tying up Vanitas is only a good stopgap to come up with a plan if Ven stays cool. But it’s impossible to stay cool around him, spitting out, “And you’re deranged and suicidal, so guess we really were two halves of the same person.”

“You don’t believe that.” Vanitas does his best to hold his upper body up so he can stare directly into Ven’s eyes. “You never believed we needed to be whole. You just don’t know how to let go. Not only are you certifiable, but you’re obsessive.”

The boy who trained for four years to kill Ven is calling him obsessive. All Ven can do is return that mirthless laugh, irritation lighting every nerve on fire.

“I had a goal. What’s yours?” It’s impossible to avoid the lighthouse’s beacon that is Vanitas’s eyes, dragging Ven right back down. “Some fairytale where I become one of your Guardians? Both of us singing together in your prison about how much we love the light? You’re such a child.”

The world is quiet around them. There’s nothing but their heightening voices, echoing through the miles and miles of nothingness. How can Vanitas choose this? “Is it childish to want better for you?”

“How honorable. You’ve been doing all this because you care so much.” Chains clink as Vanitas gathers enough upper body strength to sit up. His muscles flex beneath his restraints, ebbing and flowing like an angry river. “Deep down, you’re just doing this for your sake. I can see right through you, Ventus, I always have. You don’t have it in you to kill me for good. Now you’ve made it my problem. You’d rather—”

“Shut up.” Ven’s hands go to tug at his hair, covering his eyes. It blocks Vanitas’s growing anger. He needs to think, he needs to figure this out, he doesn’t need Vanitas’s antagonism, he doesn’t need any of this.

“—tie me up in the middle of the desert, then face the truth. We don’t get to walk out of this. We don’t both get to live. That’s how it’s always been and how it’s always going to go. One of us always dies—”

“Shut up!” He never needed another half. He never needed to be torn in two. He never asked for this.

“—and if it’s not going to be me six feet under,” Vanitas continues, and Ven drops his hands to face that glare head-on with a glare of his own, “then I’m going to get out of these and I’m going to rip you to shreds.”

“I said, shut up!” But he’s fucking had it, and Ven’s going to lose his mind.

“Or what—”

Ven tackles Vanitas onto his back before he can finish. His head collides with the ground hard enough to concuss anyone else, but all Vanitas does is snarl and try to gather enough leverage to knock off Ven. But Ven’s got a good position, sitting on Vanitas’s chest, encasing him with knees on either side.

“I said.” Ven leans back to grab the bottom of his vest. He tears off a long strip of the patterned fabric, about a finger’s length wide, and hooks his fingers into Vanitas’s mouth. Predictably, Vanitas bites down hard, drawing blood, but Ven doesn’t withdraw. His fingers grab Vanitas’s teeth, yank down, and wedge the fabric in. “To shut up.”

Ven withdraws his fingers to ball the fabric and push it further down. It’s hard because Vanitas won’t stay still, but there’s not much flailing can do when it’s shoved deep enough that it can’t just be spit out. When it’s done, there’s red over the fabric.

Groaning, Ven clambers off Vanitas and holds his finger. Vanitas is glaring and yelling through the gag while Ven casts a heal on himself, mending the broken skin. The blood that remains is thick and fills the air with its sickly iron smell.

“I tried asking you nicely,” Ven says to Vanitas’s shouting. It feels strangely nice to be the one taunting, sending a rush when Vanitas can only glare back.

But it still feels wrong. Vanitas called it childish, but in his heart of hearts, that’s what Ven wants. A future with Vanitas by his side, somehow, somewhere. Maybe this won’t help, but Ven’s mind and body are running on fumes.

It’s this or nothing, and Ven’s not giving up on Vanitas yet.

Ven pushes himself back until his back hits a small rock formation. The sun hits his eye, and he tilts his head up to consider it. It leaves him a squinting thing, blinking like he’s never been outside before. Those thoughts rush around his head: how this sun stretches out on an endless sky, connecting so many outsides.

That’s the nature of worlds. No matter how hard the Keyblade’s predecessors tried to separate the worlds, they instinctively reached out for one another. They blur and connect without even meaning to. That means if Ven got up and walked far enough…

Tearing his gaze away from the sun, Ven blinks away at the afterimage until all that’s left is an angry Vanitas trying to obviously make a point to not look. “If I untie your legs,” Ven says, kicking at a rock, “will you cooperate with me?”

It’s a good thing Ven wasn’t expecting anything, because all he gets is Vanitas redirecting a glare at him. “Fine.” Pushing himself back up, sore muscles, achy, but good enough to keep going. “Be like that.”

Keep going, Ven tries. Vanitas predictably struggles when Ven yanks him up. When Ven tries to pull Vanitas over his shoulder, he gets a knee to his stomach and shoves Vanitas to the floor while he recovers. Vanitas howls with laughter behind his gag, sending shivers down Ven’s spine—mostly of anger.

If Vanitas won’t cooperate, then he won’t get to be treated nicely. Bending and grabbing his ankles, Ven starts to drag. There’s a shout of alarm, but Ven doesn’t care. He just digs his fingers into the fabric (that he is trying very hard not to fixate on.) He’s probably going to have to use a spell to get them back to the top of the cliff, and then they’ll avoid this large ravine.

It takes a minute of struggle, a minute of kicking, and a minute of his head getting hit by rocks before Vanitas is shouting around his gag, “Fine!” His muffled voice can’t cover up the embarrassment.

The satisfaction of winning is addictive as Ven drops Vanitas’s legs.

It would be stupid to release Vanitas. Even if he can’t get off the rest of the chains, Vanitas would sprint off and all but tear his body apart until he got out. Then he’d decide to rot away in some world where he licks his wounds until he bled to nothingness. Ven can’t have that.

Instead, he puts some slack in the chains around his ankles so Vanitas can move his legs far enough to walk. Stubbornly refusing Ven’s help, Vanitas rocks himself forward to his feet. Anger ripples off him with nowhere to go.

“Go on,” Ven says. He’s not about to let Vanitas out of his sight for one second. “Walk.”

The satisfaction is truly addicting when not only Vanitas begins to walk, but Ven remembers he needs to get them to the top of the cliff. Ven hopes he and Vanitas will one day be on good enough terms that he won’t feel any joy out of hurting Vanitas.

But right now? Ven casts Aergo, and a smile drags across his face when he hears Vanitas shout and fall face-first into the dirt. Ven doesn’t try to fight it, not even when Vanitas clambers to his knees and glares over his shoulder. Today is not the day Ven lets go of his grudges.

Today is a long enough day without it anyway. Sunshine starts to pull away from the land, lowering the heat and making it far more tolerable, yet making darkness reach across every edge of the horizon. Ven can only see around them because of the light that glows off the chains.

All the worlds are connected. They’re not locked away, and Ven is sure that means there’ll be some sign of civilization. Even on a world as desolate as this one. Ven repeats that to himself like a mantra, the same way he swore he could save Vanitas.

This might not count as saving, but it sure isn’t hurting Vanitas. Surely that counts as a win.

They walk and walk and walk through the darkness in total silence save for their panting. Ven’s legs start to wobble with effort. How long has it been? Hours, at least, given how dark everything is. There could be a monster following them, and Ven wouldn’t know.

It’s doubtful that Ven would even be able to fight. The wobble in his knees grows and grows, trying to drag him under. Ven tries not to succumb to that pain because Vanitas is doing fine. Then again, Vanitas was trained directly by Master Xehanort.

Is asking for help something Vanitas would even be capable of? Ven doesn’t think so.

It’s easy to find a lot of similarities between Ventus and Vanitas. But Ven’s going to take pride in their differences.

“Stop,” he tells Ven, only slightly masking the rasp in his voice, because Ven still has stubborn pride. Using the chain’s light as a guide, he feels for a boulder and slides down against it. “Sit down.”

Vanitas’s eyes seem to glow under the starless night when he turns, but they don’t go down. He looks better than fine; he looks exasperated by Ven’s antics, by Ven’s need to be human.

Maybe that would’ve bothered Ven in any other situation. But he’s so tired that he just flops down and yanks Vanitas down with him.

Anger ebbs off Vanitas, and Ven does his best to ignore it. Catching his breath, he focuses on massaging the stiff muscles in his thighs. It doesn’t take long for Vanitas to at last get sick of his silence.

Whatever he says is muffled by his gag. Ven ignores that too for a good few minutes, but Vanitas doesn’t stop. He’s as stubborn as Ven, maybe even more so, and doesn’t know how to quit. One of them has to back down eventually, and evidently, it’s Ven who sighs and yanks out the cloth. “What?”

There isn’t an immediate response. Vanitas turns his head towards Ven, who only barely shifts his body to avoid all the built-up saliva that gets spit out. Ven narrows his eyes, but Vanitas speaks without care. “What are you doing?”

“Really? That’s it?” Maybe Ven gives Vanitas more credit than he ought to. “I’ve already explained it to you.”

It’s not just Vanitas’s eyes that glow now. Maybe it’s a trick of some wayward star’s light, maybe it’s Ven’s heart itself, or maybe it’s just the chain’s glow strengthening, but all of Vanitas is so easy to see. But his displeasure would be clear as day, no matter how steep the dark. “You have a Keyblade, you idiot. Why have you been dragging us through the middle of nowhere?”

The answer isn’t simple enough to explain to Vanitas. And maybe it’s not simple enough to explain to himself either. Ven turns his lips. “I…”

“Did you lose some of your head to Sora while you were in there?”

“I will shut you right back up,” Ven hisses. Hands move to either side of Ven, head leans back against the boulder, and looks up. “Where do you want me to go?”

“You’re asking me?”

“Say I use the Keyblade. Where do I take you?” Ven can’t find any world where the inhabitants or Vanitas would go along. It would be easier if Vanitas weren’t Vanitas, then he could get the residents to warm up to him. But Vanitas is Vanitas, and he’s Ven’s responsibility. There’s no going anywhere and no giving up. “To the Land of Departure?”

“Where else?” The chains make no sound other than a quiet sizzling of light energy when Vanitas turns. “Did our fight burn out your brain? If you’re not going to kill me but you know I won’t stay, well, I figure Master Aqua will be smarter about it.”

Ven doesn’t respond. How could he? Vanitas is right, but he’s too rude to be told that. He’ll hold it over Ven’s head even when they both forget what this spat’s about.

Few approve of Ven going after Vanitas like this. Sora, for starters, who had even offered to come with. Though his offer was turned down, his determination served as a bridge for others to support Ven.

That list of people never includes Aqua. Terra’s kept neutral, and Ven knows he can be persuaded. He knows firsthand what a cruel master Xehanort could be.

But Aqua only knows of the hurt Vanitas caused. Of Ven’s comatose body. Of the Realm of Darkness’s horrors. Even if Xehanort was the cause of all their pain, Vanitas was right by his side. It’s hard to see when someone can’t escape when all you can see is that they want to kill you.

Vanitas wasn’t a perfect victim. They could at least dress up Ven as a martyr, even when he knows it’s not true. Aqua loves Ven but not enough to spare Vanitas.

Ven can’t have that. Not until he figures this all out. And he will figure this out, just…it’ll take some time.

The silence is all the answer Vanitas needs. Groaning, he looks straight ahead and drops his head against the rock. “Sure,” he says. “Tie me up, drag me across hell, and have a friendship crisis in the middle of the night.”

That’s how Vanitas gets his gag shoved back in.

“Come on,” Ven says, shoving himself to his feet. His legs don’t wobble that much this time, still sore but feeling ready to tackle the night. It doesn’t take much effort to pull Vanitas up, a single ounce of cooperation rearing its head through him. “It’ll suck to have to sleep out here.”

Behind the gag, Vanitas says something with pure exhaustion that Ven’s pretty sure means, “I’ve done it before.”

Not wanting to unpack that, Ven positions Vanitas forward, and they start walking again.

The walk feels a lot more bearable this time around. Maybe that’s just exhaustion rearing its head. Maybe at the end of this, Ven will be left with no other option than using his Keyblade. His fingers itch with the urge to summon, wanting the thrum of power that comes with it. It’s exhilarating and frightening, and Ven has no idea what he’ll do with it other than something rash.

Trying to distract himself, Ven looks up. There isn’t a single star in the Badlands. It’s impossible to tell if it’s because there are a lot of clouds or if stars just don’t reach this place. He would ask Vanitas, but Vanitas would probably just laugh at his naivety.

“You really think the stars care enough not to shine?” or “You really think stars shine in a place like this?” would be his sneering answer, and Ven’s conserving too much energy to want to be agitated. But the question stays at the edge of this place.

Do the stars know? Do the stars know of the misery that’s occurred to this place? Do the stars pass judgment by holding back on shining?

Could Vanitas see the other worlds, or was his only promise of them Xehanort’s world? Did he not even have stars to wish upon? Stars to hang hope onto and watch streak across the brilliant sky?

Were nights always this cold?

Maybe one day Ven can ask Vanitas. Maybe one day, this will be so far in the past that he won’t need to ask. This will be a distant nightmare that they work through, and everything will be okay.

But that’s a small maybe.

The urge to summon his Keyblade returns with full force, but Ven has something new to distract himself with. He jogs up to walk by Vanitas’s side, squinting. They’ve been walking for at least half the night, and Ven thinks he sees—

“A town,” Ven whispers. With a hand grabbing the front of Vanitas’s chains, Ven drags him forward to get to their newfound destination faster. Every step reveals more about what Ven is fairly certain isn’t a mirage: homes wrapping around a town center, cobblestone pathways, streetlights like angel halos. “I knew it. All the worlds are connected and…”

Ven trails off, seeing Vanitas’s expression. It’s completely unguarded, but Ven doesn’t know how to read it. All he knows how to do is reach over and pull out his gag. The spit is cold in Ven’s hand, but he doesn’t mind it.

It takes Vanitas a minute before he even processes that he can speak, licking his lips. “I’ve walked this world so many times and for so long. I would train for hours and hours until my fingers were bleeding and bruised. And then I would walk. I’ve walked around this entire world. I know it like the back of my hand, so how… How have I never seen this?”

He sounds small and lost. There’s no guidance Ven can offer to take away that feeling, but maybe that’s what Vanitas needs to feel to ask for help at long last?

Hah. Ven’s mind still makes him laugh sometimes.

“Maybe it’s different now, because of what we’ve done,” Ven says. “The worlds are more connected than they’ve ever been. And so many people in them know about other worlds, too. Maybe that belief makes it easier to cross over.”

The explanation sobers Vanitas right away. He stands up straight—or as straight as he can considering his chains—and scoffs. “Whatever.”

It clearly bothers him, but there’s nothing Ven can do about it. Nothing except leave the gag out. It’s a small gesture, and maybe it doesn’t mean much because one’s natural state is being ungagged, but Ven does it anywhere. He pushes the cloth into his pocket and doesn’t bother to wipe off the saliva on his fingers. It’s a grounding reminder of who the boy next to him is: a caged animal finally out.

They enter the town. It’s small and quaint, with most homes being a single story and the occasional two-story home looming over the rest. Walls are made of wood, wattle and daub, and stone, with a few chimneys shooting out steam into the night. Streetlamps light the way towards the town center, which is crowned with a small fountain that isn’t working. Between the pathway, dying grass peeks out, and a few weeds or two.

It’s like right out of those movies Ven’s watched in Twilight Town, the world people without magic like to make up and fill with magic. Ven’s certain this town doesn’t have any Keyblade Wielders in it—there’s a different kind of energy, an electric pull in the air. So it’s just a town without magic.

Ven has no idea how it survived out here, how far they are from the Keyblade Graveyard, and he doesn’t care either. His only concern is that it’s perfect to spend the night.

Walking a bit more reveals a lane full of shops: a butchery, a bakery, a doctor, a bookstore, a boutique, so on and so forth. His gaze is immediately drawn to the building with a light on.

“An inn,” Ven sighs with relief. His muscles start to flare up again, as if permitted to begin to crumble. So close to rest, even if Ven knows he won’t get a shred of sleep. Vanitas has not been making things easy, and Ven knows he has no intention of doing so. “Finally.”

Vanitas has no response. Case in point.

Pushing Vanitas along the town bound in chains is enough to arouse anyone’s suspicion, but there was no one to see. But now, pushing open the door with his back and pulling Vanitas in, Ven has an audience. The innkeeper, an older pale man with a grey mustache, round glasses, and a collared button-down, looks up at them with wide eyes.

Before he can say anything, Ven yanks Vanitas to the counter and rings the bell for the show of it. “Good evening,” Ven says, using the voice that always gets Terra to give in. “Can we get a room for the night?”

“Ah…” The innkeeper looks between them. Ven holds eye contact, so he has no idea what expression Vanitas is wearing, but it doesn’t matter. The thick darkness around Vanitas’s body and the sharp light the chains radiate are all that matters. It’s all the convincing really needed for anyone, so he just meekly nods. “Y-Yes. One room…coming r-right away.”

“Take your time!” Ven calls when the innkeeper turns around. He has very good manners, thank you very much, even if he’s currently holding his other half hostage. And even if his other half is scowling.

The innkeeper does not take his time. He grabs one key off a full rack and quickly returns, trembling when he holds it out. “R-Room 143… It’s at the end of the hall upstairs.”

“Right.” Ven is about to grab the key before remembering Vanitas’s excess saliva. Rubbing it off on his pants, Ven reaches again and plucks the key. “How much?”

“Free! Don’t worry about it, j-just have a good night!” the innkeeper squawks, and Vanitas chuckles.

For that, Ven yanks him extra hard to shove him towards the stairs. The chuckle rolls off his tongue into something that feels a lot stronger. Agitation works into Vanitas’s muscles, anger reaching a boiling point, but Ven doesn’t care.

Following directions and directing Vanitas to the end of the hall, Ven wonders if this inn has ever been at full occupancy before. How many people pass through here? Could Ven and Vanitas be the first?

The room is as quaint as the rest of the town when it’s opened, and the overhead light fixture is flicked on. There’s a large bed pressed into one corner and a dresser to the next. There’s a door at the base of the bed that must be the bathroom, and a window right in the middle. Dust rolls out of the room like petals in the wind, though much less delightful.

Vanitas doesn’t need instructions to enter this time. Ven closes the door, directs Vanitas to the bed, before taking a perch on the window’s ledge. There’s a nice view of the town—or at least there’s a nice view of the roofs of the town. The streetlights strangely sear into Ven’s retina.

He buries his head in his hands.

What the hell is he doing?

Really, what the hell is he doing? This is a new one even for Ven. Not how far he would go to try and help Vanitas, but how far he would walk blindly in the dark to try and find some salvation for them both. What are they going to find in this town? Sleep and peace certainly won’t be here.

“Are you finally done with this little rendezvous?” As if he can read Ven’s thoughts, Vanitas tears right through him. “Are you going to come to your senses?”

Ven tries to ignore him like he’s just a bad thought that needs to be boxed and put away. That’s how Aqua dealt with the Realm of Darkness. Ven is going to just box away what Vanitas is saying and try to focus.

“Do you see how foolish you’re being? Wasting time and energy? There’s nothing for you out here.” This isn’t a waste of time. Boxed and put away. There has to be some town out there that has enough of a fresh start. Not yet tainted by the millennia-old conflict of light and darkness. There has to be somewhere where they can just be themselves, drop their Keyblades, and not need them.

“And there’s never been anything for me out here. Just because you found a town in the most desolate place in all the worlds doesn’t mean you’ll suddenly find something redeemable in me.” There’s something redeemable in everyone. That means Vanitas, too. Boxed and put away. But their Keyblades are a part of them—how can they ever leave them behind?

“You’re just going to be sorely disappointed, brother,” and Ven fucking hates it when Vanitas calls him brother. It’s gross and wrong and not them. It twists the knives they’ve shoved into each other’s stomachs into something even more twisted. Boxed and put away, boxed and put away, but the lid’s overflowing. Is there anywhere where they can even try to run from themselves?

“Because there’s nothing. And there never will be. We can stay in all the inns in the world, but I’m going to find a way out of these chains eventually, and we can finally stop pretending that this game has an ending you’ll like.” There’s always a chance to change fate. There’s always a chance. Otherwise, they’d both be dead. And they’re not fucking dead. And Ven can’t box it and put it away, but he’s not going to run either.

“You never stood a chance against fate, Ventus. You’ve never stood a chance against me—”

Vanitas is always so cynical and in such adamant refusal. As if he knows anything. He dared to call Ven’s world small when Vanitas’s world is minuscule. Nothing but Xehanort and death and vengeance and hatred and Ventus. Very few things could snake their way into that world, and Ven’s sick of it.

Ven’s not a martyr and he’s not a savior, but he’s Vanitas’s as much as Vanitas is his.

“God damn it!”

The box breaks; so does Ven’s patience.

Shoving himself to his feet, so aggressively that he almost topples over, Ven shoves Vanitas onto his back. Climbing on top of him, Ven covers Vanitas’s mouth with his hand, glaring.

That earns him a glare right back. The last time they had this much palatable tension was right before Vanitas died in that useless graveyard. Staring across at each other, Vanitas all but dared Ven to fight for a different ending. Ven didn’t fight then, and he’s not going to make that same mistake.

Not when the dead have come back to haunt him. Because the dead don’t stay dead, and the living don’t know how to live. Some days, Ven doesn’t know which one he and Vanitas are. If they’re the dead alive again or if they’re the living dying, and god damn it, Ven doesn’t care!

He just wants Vanitas. Is that a lot to ask for?

Ven’s expression softens ever so slightly. “Please, I just… I just need you to shut the fuck up while I think.”

Vanitas’s eyes widen in surprise at the curse, but he doesn’t make a move to say anything. His hair, pressed against the bed, wrapped around his head. A different kind of angel halo, dark and pretty. Tired golden eyes staring right into his.

Finally, he makes a quiet protest. The hand is removed after Ven internally decides to let Vanitas break the silence. His mind can’t think clearly with Vanitas around.

Vanitas doesn’t say anything at first. He just licks his chapped lips, studying Ven’s face. As if he’s searching for something. Maybe he finds what he’s looking for, maybe he doesn’t. But in the end, he just throws his head back, baring his throat, and breaks into cackling laughter.

Ven sits back on Vanitas’s stomach in surprise, hands turning to fists over his knees. The sudden weight doesn’t bother Vanitas, not with the chains. And the chains don’t bother Ven, not with the cruel, antagonizing laughter.

“What could there possibly be to think about?” Vanitas asks when he swallows in his laughter. There’s a manic smile and look in his eye, one that burns and sees right through Ven. “You know better than to be stupid and still try to find your perfect happily ever after.”

Ven doesn’t respond other than frowning slightly. Because it’s all he wants.

Everyone’s managed to be happy. And Ven’s tried.

But he can’t do it unless Vanitas is happy, too.

“Oh, Venty Wenty,” Vanitas coos. “You’re still pretending it can happen? Oh, you are that stupid—”

“You really wanna be talking like that in your position?” Ven snarls. He shifts his hands down to hold himself over Vanitas’s body again. He continues before Vanitas can spout out more bullshit. “You’ve killed me before. I’ve killed you before, too. And we’re still here. So killing isn’t working, huh?”

“You’re giving up?”

“On killing you, yeah,” Ven scoffs. How did he get stuck with the suicidal and homicidal other half? “You make it sound like a bad thing.”

“For you, sure.” Vanitas’s grin doesn’t leave for one second, but the color in his eyes seems to change. They’re not amused. “I won’t give up on you, brother.”

It’s like he knows how much that word angers Ven. It’s like he chooses it just so it can make Ven act irrationally. It’s like he knows Ven so well, but all he wants to do with it is twist the knife deeper.

Vanitas tries to use his core strength to sit back up, but Ven shoves him right down by the shoulders. He doesn’t want to start a fight with Vanitas, not in the middle of an inn when they’re supposed to be resting, not when Ven’s muscles are aching, not when Ven’s heart is screaming, but Vanitas’s favorite hobby is not giving Ven many options.

“I won’t give up on you,” Vanitas continues, eyes narrowing, “because we don’t have any other choice. We’re two imperfect halves, and we either stay broken or merge into one. We don’t coexist. Light and darkness have always been at odds, and so will we. And you’re a fool for not seeing that.”

And Vanitas probably says more. He probably has this whole brilliant monologue that’s going to convince Ven to sign some murder-suicide pact. Oh, it’s probably going to change Ven’s entire worldview and make him hate all his friends, hate the whole world.

But Ven is too busy reaching into his pocket and yanking out the strip of fabric. If Vanitas is going to insist on talking bullshit, Ven is going to insist on the gag.

This time, Vanitas is prepared for it. He clamps his teeth down, and Ven uses his other hand to try to wedge them open. He slides his fingers between them, wincing at how sharp Vanitas’s teeth are, before Vanitas opens his hand all the way, before clamping right down. Ven can feel the skin around his skin break and blood pool into Vanitas’s mouth. But Vanitas doesn’t let up. Ven tries to pull his hand back, but Vanitas’s teeth have a death grip on him, digging deeper and deeper.

Mouth sucking the blood, eyes holding contact with Ven, Vanitas looks like he’s trying hard to be a monster. He doesn’t do a good job. All he does is prove Ven’s point—there’s no happiness for one of them. There’s only pain. There’s happiness for both, or blood for both.

Do they bleed the same? Does it taste good?

Ven wonders and wonders and wonders and winces because fuck. Dropping the gag, Ven twists his hands, and the chains listen to him, tightening the restraints.

Vanitas’s mouth rounds in a strained gasp, letting Ven yank his hand back. The bite marks are deep, blood pooling around his finger like it’s barely holding on to the rest of his hand. He’s about to cast Cure when his attention is dragged away.

Vanitas’s ragged breathing is starting to slow, like the chains are too tight. Ven remembers what it felt like to be trapped in there, how suffocating. But there’s no other way, is there?

But Ven’s heart twists seeing Vanitas in pain because of him when he knows he can stop it. With his right hand, Ven reaches for Vanitas’s face, leaning down slightly. “If you pro—”

Vanitas lurches up, catching Ven so off guard that he can’t clamp his mouth shut. It gives Vanitas the chance to turn his head and bite, suck some of the blood, and—

Ven shoves Vanitas down and stumbles back, spitting out red. Blood gushes, coating Ven’s mouth in the taste, his tongue split open. It burns along with his hand, throbbing in tune with his increasing heartbeat. Even when Ven finally casts Cure, healing his finger and tongue, he can still feel it.

And of course, the blood is still there, staining him.

When he looks up to try and figure out what the fuck Vanitas has to say for himself, Vanitas is staring back, licking around his mouth. “This is what we’re meant to do, Ventus. We’re going to hurt each other over and over, and denying it will just—”

Ven has a limit. Ven has so many limits to his kindness and his light. The others like to think he’s pure light. He’s not. He hasn’t been that boy for a very, very long time.

He’s not Ventus, and he’s not the Ven Xehanort made. He’s just Vanitas’s Ven, and he’s done.

Like it’s second nature to him, Ven storms over to Vanitas, grabs the gag, and shoves it in Vanitas’s mouth mid-rant. Like it’s second nature, Ven is pushing Vanitas back down. Like it’s second nature, one hand digs into Vanitas’s waist and the other presses into Vanitas’s neck.

Like it’s second nature, the words come to Ven, and he yells them out. “I want to help you! And you can’t even behave for a single fucking minute? You’re like a child throwing a tantrum!”

Vanitas looks affronted and winces as Ven squeezes harder, but for once, Ven doesn’t let up. He doesn’t back up. Vanitas wants a fight? Then that’s exactly what he’s going to get. Ven presses harder, making Vanitas sputter out a choke.

“I’m not going to kill you,” Ven spits, the words at odds with his tone. “I don’t have to kill you. Xehanort lied to you, and you’ve been eating it up. He lied to us all, and I’m not going to give up until you get that. I’m sick of your attitude, of you always acting like you know so much when you don’t know shit.”

Ven leans in. “And if you don’t get it by now, then you’re the idiot, Vanitas. All you know how to do is fight like some untrained dog. You can try to hurt me all you want, but I’m not going to put up with your shit anymore—”

Though Vanitas’s legs don’t have lots of slack, there’s still enough to bring them up and together. He shoots them out and knees Ven, pushing his arm off Vanitas’s neck. They both end up coughing, Vanitas on his back through the gag, and Ven resting his head on Vanitas’s chest.

There’s silence afterwards, both of them trying to catch their breath. One hand stays on Vanitas’s chest, though, thumbing meaningless patterns, and Ven closes his eyes.

He’s just…tired. He’s just exhausted. He wants to be happy, and he wants Vanitas to come with him.

And Ven knows that’s not going to happen anytime soon.

So Ven thinks it’s okay to just go with whatever his heart is pushing for now.

Vanitas squirms, but he doesn’t try to move away. He doesn’t knee or spit or scream. When Ven lifts himself to study Vanitas’s expression, all he sees is someone trapped in a daze of some kind. Like he can’t quite understand where this is going either.

The last thing Ven wants to do is falter, though. Vanitas senses weakness like a shark looking for blood. Instead, Ven squeezes. “What’s going to happen,” he says low and careful, “is we’re going to figure this all out. Right here. Right now.”

Vanitas tilts his jaw up, like he wants the gag to come off. When Ven laughs, it’s mean because he thinks he’s earned that. Unlike Vanitas. “Come on, you really think you’ve earned that? No, I don’t trust you. You’re just going to nod or shake your head. Okay?”

The ‘okay’ isn’t to make sure that Vanitas understands, but to make sure that Vanitas is agreeing to this. Whenever they fight, it’s mutual—even if one of their hands, usually Ven’s, is forced, they both pull out their Keyblades. Their chases, they’re mutual, with both of them leaving the link between them strong and screaming.

Vanitas doesn’t respond. Not a ‘yes’ and not a ‘no,’ just a glare, and that won’t do. That won’t do at all, so Ven embraces whatever it is he’s doing and squeezes Vanitas’s waist.

Like they’ve discovered something new about the two of them, Vanitas goes quiet, whining softly. He’s still feral, angry, and fucking wild, but he can be tamed a little. The flame in his eyes cools down before burning into something different altogether.

“Okay?” Ven repeats, much softer. Damn their games and damn Vanitas, his voice is so much softer than he means to, and he doesn’t care.

All he cares about is that Vanitas nods tentatively after a moment.

All he cares about is Vanitas, Vanitas, Vanitas at this moment. Vanitas is taking up his entire mind, clogging his ability to think clearly, and maybe this has been a long time coming. They’ve been slowly consuming each other’s lives more and more, and now it’s resulted in this: Ven’s other hand going to hold the opposite side of Vanitas’s waist.

“Do you want me to kill you?” is what Ven accents with his hands. Vanitas nods in a way that makes him seem not fully there, entering some kind of dazed headspace. But maybe Ven has no right to speak, his own mind evading his grasp.

It’s not his fault that Vanitas’s body is so muscular and well-built in so many places, and in equally as many places, soft and delicate. When they’re fighting, there’s no chance to really take in the other’s body. Ven’s too busy not to eat a mouthful of Keyblade metal. Now, he has the perfect opportunity and perfect front row seats to admire Vanitas’s waist. It’s so easy to break, to squeeze, and that’s exactly what he does.

The noise Vanitas makes this time makes Ven burn inside and out. If he wasn’t so fixated on Vanitas’s body and, ergo, his own hands, he could’ve sworn his hands were on fire. That imaginative fire burns all the way up to his mind. It’s the only way to explain how all his rationalizations have disappeared.

If he were thinking rationally, he probably wouldn’t be here in the first place.

Maybe rationality is overrated.

Sitting back, regretfully pulling his hands away from Vanitas’s waist, Ven takes in every inch of him. Those golden eyes of Vanitas’s stare at him, flickering between that headspace and pure rage. The rest of his body lies quietly in wait, nice and unthreatening in his chains.

They’re a bit of an eyesore, though. Returning his hands to Vanitas’s waist (where they belong), Ven drags them up slowly. Every bump, every line, every tendril of Vanitas’s suit is felt. As they travel higher, the chains evaporate from Vanitas’s torso and upper body. They’re only left behind his back to bind his hands together.

Because much like talk, movement isn’t something Vanitas has earned. No one would put it past Ven to kill Vanitas for all he’s done—no one except Ven himself. Since killing is off the table, this is the punishment Vanitas has to live with.

That sounds irrational, doesn’t it? Rationality is not just overrated, Ven decides while studying the way Vanitas’s chest rises and falls with his breathing, but a complete waste of time altogether.

“If I took you back to the Land of Departure,” Ven asks without thinking, “would you fight me?”

Vanitas nods without needing to think about it.

Hands continuing their travel, Ven leans over and feels the skin on Vanitas’s cheeks. They look unmarked and perfect, but underneath, there are bumps like a thousand tiny cuts. Is his entire body like this? Seemingly flawless but hosting countless scars. Ven wants to learn. Ven will learn.

“If you had the chance to kill Aqua and Terra again,” Ven asks without thinking, “would you try?”

Either Vanitas knows the answer will upset Ven, or Ven’s hands on him are that distracting. Narrowing his eyes, Ven moves a hand to Vanitas’s hair and yanks his head back. “Would you take it, Vanitas?”

Because rationality is out the window, but Ven still needs a plan. Ven still needs hope to keep going. Ven still needs Vanitas.

And there Vanitas is, eyes glowing and glaring. Already looking ruined by just a few caresses and a tug. He nods, and it upsets Ven, but not as much as he imagined it would.

Maybe because this is so Vanitas. This anger, this homicidalness. It’s all so Vanitas, and that’s who Ven’s been chasing down for what feels like lifetimes.

They hold each other’s stare for what feels just as long.

Finally, Ven releases him, and Vanitas drops his head, but never his stare. They force Ven’s eyes to stay put even as his hands return to their journey to map out every inch of Vanitas. Slipping down and down, until they sneak under the suit and hook around the thick, stretchy fabric.

“What’s this suit made of?” Ven asks. He half-expects, half-hopes the answer is genuine darkness. But Vanitas has no answer to him. All he has is slightly widening eyes and a huff of air, as if indulging Ven is the hardest thing he’s done in his life. As if he’d rather be dead than answer Ven.

What that means for Ven is he’ll just have to find the answers himself. Sitting back onto Vanitas’s thighs, admiring for a moment their fullness, he holds his hand in front of him. Elemental magic is easy, but pure light? Summoning that glow to his finger feels like second nature.

Using one hand to balance himself as he leans forward again, Ven’s finger hooks around the suit again, but this time, it starts to drag down. The light sears through darkness, leaving a gap to reveal pretty white skin beneath.

Vanitas sucks a breath in to try to avoid the hand, but the light has no intention of backing down. The light chases the darkness away, more and more, and Vanitas hisses and curses behind his gag. Eyes flickering up, Ven asks, “Can you feel all this?”

Vanitas chooses to answer with a frantic nod. The light in Ven glows even brighter at that prospect. It fuels this instinct in the back of Ven’s mind, the one that’s screaming and angry, and Ven lets it travel down his arm. The light burns harder and sears through the darkness faster.

Ven dislodges his hand once he reaches the bottom of Vanitas’s abdomen, only to return with both hands. Grabbing either side of the tear, Ven rips, and the entire top dissolves into wisps of darkness.

The body beneath Ven twists to avoid the intense gaze, but Ven eats up every eyeful of skin he sees. Unlike his face, Vanitas’s body doesn’t hide his scars. Long disfigurements of pink split up the pale skin, scissoring over the flesh, and it just looks so…

“Pretty,” Ven murmurs. Louder, he asks without thinking once again, “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

As if everything else is okay, but the limit is enjoyment, Vanitas yells behind his gag. The words could be made out if Ven tries, but he doesn’t. Instead, he revels in that angry breathing and shoves Vanitas’s head down and to the side.

The skin all around his neck and face is just begging to be marked like the rest of his body, and who is Ven to deny him? He licks a long stripe from Vanitas’s neck to his ear, taking his sweet time. Vanitas’s body rolls beneath him, unsure if it should go away or closer to the hot muscle on him. Ven breathes into his ear, “How about we try being honest for once, Vanitas?”

Ven can feel how badly Vanitas wants to bite him again.

Ven fucking dares him to try again.

If he were in his right mind, he might wonder if he’s digging into some kind of Xehanort-related wound. Xehanort was not a kind master, and Vanitas doesn’t like to talk about himself. Ven has no idea what these feelings of helplessness might be doing to Vanitas.

But he’s not of sound mind. He’s high off Vanitas. And besides, Vanitas isn’t really helpless.

“You’re enjoying this,” Ven repeats with certainty. “Because I know if you really wanted, you could break all the chains. We’re two parts of a whole; my magic is yours. You could figure it out. You could figure anything out. You could leave, but I’ve given you the perfect excuse to stay.”

There’s a pause.

Then, Vanitas turns his head, making Ven pull his head back a little. A muffled “Fuck you” is spat out with every ounce of venom Vanitas can manage. All Ven does is dip his head right back down, shifting to the other side, and presses a kiss to Vanitas’s neck.

That makes them both pause for a moment. Ven pulls back, his mind catching up to his body’s actions, and Vanitas is doing the same. In fierce concentration, they study each other and themselves.

It only takes a few moments for them to decide. Vanitas turns his head to give Ven a better angle, and Ven digs down to press a few more kisses before biting down. The hiss Vanitas gives out is felt more than heard, echoing through Ven’s bones.

“Do you want to kill me?” Ven asks against Vanitas’s skin. Vanitas nods.

“Do you want me to kill you?” Ven asks, kissing down to Vanitas’s collarbone. There, he nips at the skin to feel its elasticity. His teeth release Vanitas just for his lips to latch on and suck at the skin. When Ven glances up, he finds Vanitas’s eyes on him but struggling to stay open. Vanitas nods.

“We can’t have both, though. Isn’t that what you were saying before? One of us always dies, so the other lives?” Ven kisses downwards. Vanitas looks a little lost, and Ven’s lips are an explorer, mapping the parts his hands didn’t. They stop over Vanitas’s chest and lift a little, so they just ghost over the perked-up skin. “But that doesn’t matter, now. We’re not talking about that. We’re trying to be honest. Are you enjoying this?”

Ven bites down on Vanitas’s nipple without foreplay or warning. Vanitas’s body responds beneath him like an instrument, bending and bowing, arching towards him. The gasped out “Yes!” would’ve been completely muffled by the gag if Ven wasn’t paying hyper attention.

With a laugh, Ven sits back. He can’t keep his hands off Vanitas, though. Admiring the red he’s leaving along with the pink on Vanitas’s skin, one of his hands goes to pinch and tweak at the other nipple. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

And what can Ven do besides laugh? He’s spent so long chasing after Vanitas, endless chasing, endless repetition, and now looks where he is. Sitting on top of Vanitas and leaving kisses and bitemarks over him like he’s a lover, when they haven’t even gone past the enemies part.

Maybe this is the real Vanitas, too. An absolute mess in hiding, just waiting for Ven to uncover him. Maybe that’s the only thing Ven can do aside from laughing: draw out every bit of Vanitas he can.

Eyes roll back when Ven leans in again to abuse the nipple more. The gag does a horrible job of keeping Vanitas’s noises back, and Ven’s quietly grateful for it. Sucking, biting, doing everything to the nub and the skin around it until it’s a bright red.

It takes a good few minutes before Ven is satisfied. Then, he moves to the other nipple, and Vanitas lets out a noise, some mix of appreciation and overstimulation. As if Ven’s going to stop here. No, they’ve barely started, and the skin could still be redder.

Beneath Ven’s body, he can feel Vanitas’s legs squirming. Bending and kicking out, trying to spread, but being restrained by the chain. Why did they fight for so long when they could’ve been doing this?

“Now you’re being honest,” Ven hums against Vanitas’s skin. He blows air onto that sensitive nipple, making Vanitas keen and his back arch. “Finally. Do you realize I’m never going to kill you?”

Vanitas nods, frantic. But Vanitas has been nodding to everything Ven asks. It’s strange, and yet, it feels more right than anything they’ve done. Because who else to listen to if not Ven?

“Will you ever let us be friends?” Ven says, biting down on Vanitas’s nipple again.

Vanitas groans out a “Ventus” but shakes his head, voice turning into a growl. The shake moves his entire body, and maybe Vanitas isn’t nodding to everything. It’s frustrating, and yet, it feels even righter than anything they’ve done. Because who else to hate if not Ven? Who else not to listen to? Who else to fight?

And Ven’s tired of fighting. He pushes himself up by his palms to make eye contact. Vanitas is panting, and a minute to catch his breath would be appreciated. After all, whatever they’re doing is more of a marathon than a sprint.

Then again, the darkness has been getting to Ven lately.

One of Ven’s hands slides up the length of Vanitas’s body. They stop once at Vanitas’s neck, fingers splaying over his throat. Beneath them, light flashes before a thin strand of gold appears. It’s far more golden than the pure light energy wrapped around Vanitas’s wrist and ankles, because this is not pure.

This is a promise.

Vanitas lets out a noise of protest once he realizes there’s a collar digging into his skin. There’s still light energy in it, leaving a humming burn behind. But Ven would never let it hurt Vanitas. Oh no, that’s reserved for Ven’s hand and Ven’s hand alone. No one is ever hurting Vanitas on his watch again.

“The way I see it,” Ven hums, running his fingers across the gold, “you’re either a friend or a pet.”

The word hangs between them with purpose. Vanitas’s breathing nearly stops. They hold eye contact as the words are processed and reprocessed by Vanitas. He makes no indication of approval or disapproval, so Ven ventures forth, his hand sliding down all the way to the bottom of Vanitas’s suit.

Finally, Vanitas nods.

Hah.

Ven pulls, and the rest of the suit fades away, skirt and all. The darkness lingers around him like a dark cloud for a few moments, as if some attempt at modesty. There’s no space for modesty between them, not with the electricity taking up all the space.

The dark cloud fades away to nothingness, and Vanitas is squeezing his legs, tilting his body to the side. Ven wonders if Vanitas knows what everything down there is called, if anyone ever taught him, or if Vanitas figured it out himself. If Vanitas spent frustrating days out in the badlands grinding against whatever he could find, the ground, a rock, his own desperate hand.

If no one taught him, Ven would. Ven would teach him everything, Ven will teach him everything, because that’s the only way this ends. With Vantias as—

(There’s a brief hesitation here. As if Ven knows, once he starts down this road, it’ll be hard to go back. But fuck turning back.)

With Vanitas as his and his alone.

“But it’ll feel good either way.” Ven squeezes the side of Vanitas’s thigh, tugging a whine from Vanitas’s throat. “How about that? You wanna feel good, Vanitas?”

The whine is Ven’s only response, which is disappointing. “You’re always so loud. You have such a mouth on you that you never know how to shut up.”

Ven leans into Vanitas’s ear, taking in the way his eyes flutter between squeezed shut and staring at nothing. The hand drags up from his thigh to his waist, teasing. “I think you can do better than that. Do you want to feel good, Vanitas?”

And Vanitas, who wanted nothing more than to kill Ven, nods and nods and nods. Ven grins against his ear. He makes sure Vanitas can feel it before pulling back and observing his hard work.

Vanitas is absolutely debauched. The strip of fabric serving as a gag is absolutely soaked with saliva, trailing down his chin. His neck has that bright collar, a sign of ownership, a sign of willingness, a sign of Ven has no fucking idea, but it makes him dizzy. As do all the red bite marks littered across his body.

Ven did that. Ven did all that, and all he can do is pant with glee. Because he can’t convince Vanitas to come home with him the normal way, but maybe Ven can just fuck the want into him.

Running his hands over Vanitas’s body, over what’s his, leaves Vanitas turning this way and that, unsure of which way to go. The electricity between them just screams that neither one of them can leave now. Even if they don’t know how to handle the tension, the pleasure, and that much is obvious.

Vanitas doesn’t know what to do with Ven’s hands all over him. Maybe Ven’s wrong—maybe Vanitas has never felt anything like this ever. Maybe this is a thousand of Vanitas’s first that all belong to Ven now.

As he leans down yet again to press a wet kiss to Vanitas’s neck, rapidly alternating between that and biting, he grabs Vanitas’s dicks. For all his ministrations, Ven is rewarded with it being solid and hard between his fingers and with a startled noise from Vanitas.

Vanitas is clearly startled, his hips stuttering into Ven’s hand. But he doesn’t shake his head, so Ven just squeezes. His groan is heard through Ven’s bones, and Ven bites harder, his mind becoming hazy. “You gonna let me make you feel good?”

The phrasing must throw off Vanitas for a second. (In the back of Ven’s head, there is still a voice of reason, a reminder of what he’s really here to do. But the part that wants to destroy Vanitas in a puddle of pleasure is far stronger. That’s the voice Ven listens to.) So Ven squeezes again, much harder this time.

Vanitas cries out and nods, his voice deep and lust-ridden. That noise makes Ven feel right at home in the crook of his neck, breathing him in heavily. He smells like sweat and desert and warmth. He smells like he’s making Ven’s head go blank, and what a smell, because that’s exactly what he’s doing.

With no more questions to be asked, Ven’s hand starts to move. Up and down, and up and down, and up and down, jerking off the squirming Vanitas. He presses one last bite to Vanitas’s neck, hard enough to draw blood. Ven licks the wound, a karma for the stunt Vanitas pulled earlier. And maybe because Ven wants some of Vanitas’s blood inside of him.

He pulls back but doesn’t stop his hand’s dry jerking. Vanitas is closed-eyed and moaning, his hips jerking forward every time Ven’s hand goes up, like chasing the touch. Like he’s just as addicted to the electricity between them as Ven is.

“You look so hot,” Ven says, readjusting his weight to the Vanitas’s side and angling his wrists. He circles his fingers tighter to wrap around Vanitas. Vanitas’s thighs flex, but they don’t squeeze shut. He knows better. “You know that? How hot you look? C’mon, Vanitas, nod for me.”

The power trip has been a long time coming, a decade in the making. So when Vanitas doesn’t nod, Ven suddenly lets go, to remind Vanitas of who has the power here. Of who Vanitas gave the power here, of who Vanitas is laying down, all pretty and trembling. Eyes shoot open, and Vanitas starts frantically nodding at Ven.

“That’s a good boy.” Ven’s hand returns, albeit much slower, leaving Vanitas letting out a confused moan and a disgruntled noise. It’s all being committed to memory, straight to Ven’s permanent memories. He refuses to forget this, too. “That’s exactly how this is going to go. You’re going to listen to me. You’re going to fucking listen to me for once.”

Vanitas glares at him for that one. But his entire body betrays his eyes, whining and hips bucking up to the rhythm of Ven’s fist. And Ven doesn’t let up for one second, starting to jerk him off harder and harder. It’s a punishing, all-consuming pace that leaves no room for rebellious thoughts or otherwise unhelpful thoughts.

It makes it all the more painful when Ven pulls his hand back again, standing the moment Vanitas’s eyes start to roll back. Groaning and rubbing his thighs together to chase after the sensation, Vanitas looks so deliciously desperate. Desperate with nothing he can do about it except rub and curse from under his gag.

“You want more?” Ven can’t help but ask.

The ‘fuck you’ can be heard from under Vanitas’s gag. It follows a long line of hatred, muffled by Ven’s clothing. It’s almost as good as Ven’s hand itself covering Vanitas’s mouth. Ven hopes it tastes like him, that every curse makes Vanitas taste him, him, and nothing but him.

The desperation settles back in when Vanitas realizes Ven isn’t going to do anything. Reluctantly, Vanitas nods. The movements make his painfully hard cock bob against his stomach.

And oh, does that do something to Ven. To get obedience from Vanitas without having to do anything except nothing? The way Vanitas now stares at him, hungry and angry and wanting so fucking much, needing Ven’s hand back on him, not fighting him away but begging him to stay?

Ven can’t think of anything except climbing on top of Vanitas once again, this time haphazardly unbuckling his pants and yanking them down, clambering out of the pant holes. When Ven’s hands shove Vanitas further up the bed, all Vanitas does is let out a confused whine, but he fucking cooperates again. Oh, he looks so pretty, sweating and writhing and listening.

Hands connect to ankles, and Ven pushes up Vanitas’s bound legs to his shoulders—and he doesn’t let out a noise of pain. He’s so flexible.

A drop of Ven’s sweat falls onto Vanitas’s face. Neither one of them notices. They’re too focused on the way Vanitas’s thighs flex, on the way Ven runs his hands up and down those strong legs, on the way they’re both transfixed by their position.

“Do you like it when I drag you around?” Ven’s voice is reverent. And all that tone must feel like new chains around Vanitas’s body. He understands what kind of concession that would be, but what’s worse? Losing face or losing Ven’s hands?

Vanitas decides, and he nods.

Fuck. Fuck!

To reward him for his obedience or maybe just so Ven doesn’t lose his mind, Ven pulls apart Vanitas’s thighs with his thumbs and shoves his dick between them.

There is no hesitation. Ven gets to work moving his hips, wrapping his arm around Vanitas’s shins, and holding them to the side to not miss a single second of Vanitas’s face. He’s the definition of lust, beautiful and horny, and Ven wants to see those golden eyes fall even further into lust.

Vanitas unconsciously flexes his thighs, adding to the sensation and leaving Ven moaning, too. Is he wearing the same expression as Vanitas? Is he just as doomed as Vanitas? The tip of Ven’s dick keeps dragging over Vanitas’s, kissing ghosts of sensations through Vanitas’s body.

He keeps squirming. It’s not like he’s been shrunk and fallen into a mousetrap. No, the best part is that Vanitas is squirming against his chains, collar shining on his neck, trying to have more when he can rip out of his chains. He could rip that collar off. He could have more, but he wants this.

And that’s hotter than the wetness between Vanitas’s thighs as Ven thrusts. He pulls Vanitas’s legs closer, kissing and biting on the skin there. Vanitas’s entire legs tremble, and Ven doesn’t let up. Slamming his hips harder into the flesh, leaving Vanitas’s entire body helpless to the movements.

“You look so good like this,” Ven pants into Vanitas’s skin. He nips on the flesh to accent his words. And this time, Vanitas stares right back at him with wide eyes, listening. “Yeah, you know that. You know how good you look. Is that all you’ve really wanted? To be told how good you are?”

That makes Vanitas go limp in Ven’s hold, all his muscles tensing before giving in completely. Ven realizes he’s adding fuel to whatever this dumpster fire of a fuck is, but Vanitas looks up with half-lidded eyes, teeth clenched around the gag, drool all over his face, and Ven just wants to ruin him more.

After chasing Vanitas for so long, he deserves this. “Yeah, my good boy. You just wanna be a good boy.”

Hissing as if he resents the idea of being good for Ven, Vanitas shakes his head. But Ven doesn’t care. Because all the resentment in the world doesn’t change that Vanitas is being good in the bed that Ven paid for.

“And you look so good on your back. You always do, after a fight or here. So good.”

Ven wants to ruin him more and add even more fuel to this fire, and that’s what happens. Vanitas’s eyes open wide, like the mere mention of a fight reminds him of who he is. Like he has to do something in retaliation. Like he can’t let Ven win yet another battle.

(But they’ve been told who to be for so long. If the people they want to be now are freaks in a town in the middle of nowhere? If the people they want to be have sex with each other? If the people they want to be seek each other out again and again? Then that’s who they’re going to be.)

There’s nothing he can do in retaliation. Nothing, just take Ven rutting against him, feeling closer and closer to the edge. So good and hardly enough, making Ven pull back with one last drag across Vanitas’s dick.

The sudden loss leaves Vanitas whining and trying to kick at Ven’s head. Chuckling out of surprise, Ven just squeezes the softness and muscles on Vanitas’s thighs. “You have too much pride that I can’t remind you that I kicked your ass, but not enough to stop me from ripping your clothes off? You really are a slut, Vanitas.”

The word stops both Ven and Vanitas in their tracks. The two stare at each other in that silence, dragging out alongside the lightning. The word feels dirty on Ven’s tongue, yet he finds that he doesn’t mind. The words wrap him in a new headspace completely.

Instead, he grins down at Vanitas, who recovers a moment too late. By the time he puts up half-hearted protests against Ven, Ven’s mind is already locking on to his next task: to make sure he really means that word.

Nipping one last time at Vanitas’s ankle, Ven shoves the leg down. The protesting turns confused as Ven feels for his pants and slips back into them, zipping his dick back into them. The confusion on Vanitas’s face means everything, sending pleased tingles down Ven’s body that feel a lot like power.

The brief panic on Vanitas’s face when Ven steps away is even better. But nothing, absolutely nothing, beats the yell when Ven walks out of the room, closing the door behind. The door doesn’t stop Vanitas from yelling, and it feels like a glow surrounds Ven’s body. It feels divine.

No wonder Vanitas loved fighting so much back then, when Ven could barely hold up. It’s intoxicating this feeling, to finally have some resemblance of power when he’s been robbed of it for so long. To finally be in control of a life that’s been lacking so much of it.

To leave Vanitas with his embarrassment and a hard, aching dick. To know that Vanitas will still be there when he goes back. To have Vanitas here.

Ven didn’t even dare to dream of this before.

Mind covered in a pleasantly buzzing haze, Ven stumbles down the hall and back down the stairs. The entire inn feels so cold compared to the all-encompassing heat between the two of them. The two of them. They’re a pair now, aren’t they? Haven’t they always been?

The owner is still standing at the front door, like standing guard from the outside world to this one. It’s obvious that he flinches at the sound of the steps, but he strangely doesn’t turn to face Ven, as if he’s actively trying to avoid it.

“Hey.” Ven waves, slightly self-conscious and pulling down the front of his shirt. “There wouldn’t happen to be a shop inside this inn? There’s something I need to grab, and all the stores are closed.”

The innkeeper points behind him, eyes averted from Ven. Thanking him, Ven follows that finger into an adjacent room with some goods in store. It’s only a few seconds of thought before he grabs some olive oil and returns outside.

Much, much later, Ven will realize the walls are not soundproof.

But right now, Ven just slides over enough munny to pay for double the oil, even as the innkeeper refuses to accept any payment. He relents when Ven politely insists, because Ven was taught manners. The innkeeper asks no questions, either smart or scared, and Ven will unpack all of this later.

Because right now, all Ven can think of is taking the stairs up two at a time and returning to Vanitas. He all but sprints down the hall back to their room, just to hesitate outside of it. His thoughts take a moment to drag across the floor before returning to his head, and Ven takes count of them.

The electricity between them might as well be a drug, given how high off it Ven is. But the movement outside and away from Ven reminds him of his actual goal: he doesn’t want to keep a collar around Vanitas’s neck. He wants friendship necklaces, he wants jewelry, he wants whatever Vanitas will let Ven dress him up in.

Whatever they’re doing now is messing things up, Ven knows. It’s hard to make a friend out of what he’s doing right now, so maybe he’ll just have to change his goal. Maybe he’s not really looking for a friend, and he’s certainly not looking for a pet.

When Ven closes his eyes, the images of Vanitas squirming beneath him, floating back in, Ven very quickly amends his goal. Maybe he and Vanitas can never be friends, but Ven doesn’t need that.

Ven can figure something else out. He can help Vanitas in other ways. On their own terms—he’s not going to be like Aqua or Terra or even Sora and decide for Vanitas who they need to be.

He’s going to be like himself, whoever that is, and keep chasing down what they want. And if Ven opens this door and Vanitas is still there, all tied up and waiting, then that’s what they want. That’s who they’ll be this evening, hot and heavy and horny.

Ven opens the door.

Lo and behold, Vanitas is still there. Tied up and waiting.

The electricity drags Ven into the room, has him close the door, and go straight for Vanitas without any second thoughts. How could there be when Vanitas is still there, waiting? Sure, he’s facing the other wall, and he turns over his shoulder and glares at Ven.

But Ven is sure as hell he doesn’t imagine the relief in them.

All rationality is thrown into a cage, locked, and the key is tossed. Ven doesn’t even know where that cage is. All he knows is that he grabs Vanitas’s arms, yanks him to his feet, and slams him against the wall. Presses himself against Vanitas, feeling the way Vanitas’s muscles flex beneath him, feeling the way he grunts and—Ven waits for a moment.

Vanitas nods.

So Ven bites on Vanitas’s shoulder and squeezes his hip, shoving him further into the wall. The smell of iron from the blood and from the collar floods Ven and has him seeing double. From the way Vanitas grunts but doesn’t push, save to arch his back for Ven, it’s obvious he’s feeling the same.

Releasing his teeth and pulling his hand away, Ven twists the cap off the olive oil bottle. Flicking it who knows where, he pours enough on his finger that it makes it shine under the line. There’s barely a moment of hesitation before he rubs his fingers against Vanitas’s hole. “You ever done this before?”

Still pushed against the wall, Vanitas shakes his head. The fingers press ever so slightly into that promised tightness, drawing out a quiet hiss from Vanitas. “But you’re so good at this. So good at just taking it…”

Those fingers aren’t inside Vanitas, though. He’s not taking anything right now, and with how pretty he is, his hands chained behind his back, that’s a damn shame. The fingers press in, warmth coiling around them, the oil making a smoother entrance.

Pouring some more olive oil before setting the bottle onto the ground, Ven grips Vanitas’s hips again. The skin is going to bruise at some point with how much he’s been abusing it. He hopes it bruises. “Why do you keep fighting me? When we could have been doing this all this time? When I could’ve been fucking you against the wall? Would you want that?”

The curses are foreign to his tongue, but they get Vanitas worked up. He can feel it in the way the walls flutter around Ven’s two fingers. That must’ve been too many questions because Vanitas doesn’t respond, not until Ven starts to pull his fingers back and thrust in.

The hand on his waist travels up, tracing the collar before situating itself in his hair. Ven yanks Vanitas’s head back, still pushing him against the wall, pulling a grunt. “Would you want that, or are you still stuck on wanting us to kill each other?”

It’s a small victory that Vanitas doesn’t nod immediately. Tugging Vanitas’s head further back and pushing his fingers further in, Ven wonders if this is how he’s supposed to do it. He’s been thrusting those two fingers, turning them, and trying to scissor them in that deep tightness. A third finger enters the fray, earning him yet another grunt from Vanitas.

Ven has no idea if he’s doing something right, but Vanitas’s breathing is getting heavy, and he hasn’t shaken his head. That must mean, Ven thinks, he’s doing a lot of things right. Because it tastes like sin and feels like heaven, and the electricity is turning into an all-out storm.

And when Ven pushes a third finger in, Vanitas lets out this long whine that the gag barely covers up. Who knows if he’s doing something right, because Vanitas sounds so good, and they’re so close to uniting.

No wonder Vanitas wanted this so badly. Maybe Ven should’ve been using his head earlier and fucked Vanitas right on their heart station.

“I need you to accept that we’re not going to fight anymore like we want to kill each other.” Every one of Ven’s words is punctuated with another thrust, turning Vanitas’s insides outside. His legs shake with effort, and the only support Vanitas is going to get is the hand in his hair, the weight pushing him against the wall. “Nod, Vanitas.”

The grip in his hair slackens to give Vanitas the chance to nod. He does so deliriously. Oh, Ven wishes he could see Vanitas’s face right now. What kind of expression is he wearing? Is he already out of his mind, finally getting what Ven promised, or is he drowning in his shame?

Either way, Ven’s going to keep giving. They should’ve done this a decade ago. They have to make up for it now.

“Good.” Ven looks down at where his hand connects with Vanitas and presses even further. How far can he reach inside Vanitas with them being different people? “Even if you fight me. I’m never going to kill you. I’m never going to try again. This isn’t because I couldn’t kill you. We both know I could. This is because we’re going to be more than enemies. Do you understand?”

The fact that Vanitas growls at that could use some unpacking. Over how Vanitas is willing to accept sexual pleasure as long as he’ll die by the end of this. Ven doesn’t know why he’s like this, and Ven doesn’t care.

All he cares about is how Vanitas relents when Ven twists the hand in his hair, nodding quickly. The leash is fitting, because he’s acting like an animal that’s all Ven’s.

They belong to each other, but Vanitas especially belongs to Ven. And Ven reminds him of this by releasing his hand to sneak it between the wall and Vanitas’s chest. Wrapping it around Vanitas lets him press their bodies even closer together, the wooden wall and the chains drawing indentations in Ven’s skin.

The proximity feels like home. Hot, heavy, and home.

“I don’t care what you think you are or what your darkness is,” Ven whispers into his ear. Because he can’t help it, Ven pinches one of Vanitas’s nipples, making him jump into Ven’s arms. “I don’t care what happens. I’m never going to hurt you like that. Nod.”

And Vanitas nods, like he knows he’s right at home, too.

“You think you’re ready? I think you’re ready.” Ven tugs Vanitas from the wall, all but drags him back to the bed. It squeaks beneath their weights, and Ven finally pulls his fingers out, pushing Vanitas down. He lands on his side, and he doesn’t even struggle against the chains anymore. All he does is look up with half-lidded eyes.

Home. Home, home, home, and Ven needs to be inside Vanitas right now.

As Ven pulls off his shirt, Vanitas’s legs flex. Shimmying once again out of his pants, leaving himself bare save for his shoes and boxers, Ven climbs on top of Vanitas and presses his legs up again.

Vanitas whines.

“Oh? You don’t want it like this?” Ven practically taunts. Vanitas shakes his head, flexing his legs again, trying to pull his legs apart to pull apart the chains. (And he could break it if he wanted. Like a good boy, he’s waiting for permission from Ven.) “You think you deserve it?”

Vanitas nods as Ven pulls down his boxers, rubbing his hard dick against the soft flesh of Vanitas’s skin. Wrapping his arms around Vanitas’s shin, Ven does a few test thrusts, just to get his hip into the motion. Maybe to make Vanitas want this more, if that’s possible. How did they live their lives without this?

“I don’t think you do. You haven’t earned my trust, now have you? So we’re going to do this.” Ven leans in, pressing Vanitas’s legs down. It’s a test of obedience and flexibility, and Vanitas looks up with bright golden eyes, and Vanitas lets himself be folded in half. “I’m going to tell you to fucking behave. And you’re not going to kick me or try to start a fight. You’re never going to start another fucking fight with me again. Nod, Vanitas.”

Vanitas breathes heavily. His chest rises and falls with every one of those moments, long breaths.

And without even needing Ven to prompt him for an answer, Vanitas nods.

The second Ven releases the ankle chains, Vanitas’s legs move—and a thousand thoughts go through Ven’s head. The kind that was training him to be a Keyblade Master. The kind that’s telling him that he shouldn’t have trusted Vanitas, that he needs to move, that he needs to fight back—

But all Vanitas does is wrap his legs around Ven’s legs and pull him closer and closer and closer, until Vanitas’s naked crotch is pressed against Ven’s clothed one. They’re pulled so tightly that Ven falls forward, catching his weight on either side of Vanitas on the bed.

Oh.

Oh, that makes Ven’s dick twitch.

He wants this so bad, and Ven’s grin must be feral.

What’s even better is that Ven can see Vanitas, and there isn’t the slightest bit of embarrassment. Crossing his ankles behind Ven’s back is a screaming demand if Ven has ever seen one.

Ven laughs, low and a little hysterical. He doesn’t know what to say, no smart comeback or command in his mind. There’s nothing in his mind except the way Vanitas stares at him, glowing with want, and how Ven wants to give him everything he’s asking for right now.

“I need you to let go a little,” Ven whispers hoarsely, and Vanitas shakes his head. A healthy bit of rebellion, one that Ven punishes by pinching the side of Vanitas’s hip. He keeps pinching until Vanitas whines and lets up a little. Just enough that Ven can pull back and yank down his boxers, his dick hitting his stomach with a line of pre already slipping from the tip.

Ven doesn’t want to go and grab the bottle of olive oil. He whispers a gravity spell, and the bottle pulls into the orbit of his hand. The orbit of the two colliding stars, called Ventus and Vanitas.

“I like you like this.” Because Ven wants this as much as Vanitas, he rolls his hips down as he pours the oil onto his fingers. Vanitas’s eyes fight to follow Ven’s hand, trying not to roll back so he can see Ven jerk himself off. “You look so pretty when you want something and you finally get it.”

Ven wonders what Vanitas looked like when he took over his body. Did he look as pleased as he does now, tied up and gagged and about to get fucked in a town neither one of them knows the name of?

No, definitely not.

If it reminded Vanitas of anything uncomfortable, he didn’t show it. Both of them only focus on how Ven pulls his hips back to ease himself into Vanitas. “Faster, faster, faster,” are Vanitas’s muffled pleas as Ven arranges his dick over Vanitas’s hole. He teases for a moment, pushing with little force, leaving Vanitas hissing out his pleas and kicking at his back.

“Behave,” Ven chides with no bite. He lines himself up fully with Vanitas. “I know you want to.”

It’s dizzying to know anything about Vanitas, but he does. He knows so much, and it feels so right, just as right as Ven finally pushing inside Vanitas. They both groan, their voices echoing through the room.

Being inside Vanitas is like— It’s like—

Home, home, home—

Ven can’t think straight. He doesn’t want to think straight; all he wants to focus on is how he’s finally where he should’ve been a decade ago.

Moving both of his hands to either side of Vanitas’s hips, Ven lets his head hang. Droplets of sweat fall onto Vanitas’s quivering chest, every inhale and exhale a war against the pleasure racking through him. Vanitas looks so pretty. He looks like this isn’t their first round, and Ven laughs, voice shaky.

His younger self wouldn’t think they would find home by sticking his dick inside their other half, but that’s where Ven is. His younger self wouldn’t think this at all because Ven right now can barely think. All he sees, all he feels, all he hears is Vanitas, Vanitas, Vanitas.

And then Ven moves, because Vanitas looks so good with his eyes crossing a little, with his cheeks red, with Ven all over him.

The tightness makes it impossible to bottom out right away, no matter how badly Ven wants to. And Ven wants to, wants to push in all the way and see what kind of expression Vanitas will make. But he’s not interested in putting Vanitas through any kind of pain, not right now.

Ven settles with at least half his dick in, hard and pulsating with walls squeezing, squeezing all around him. It’s a perfect fit. Maybe they were made for each other in every single way because their bodies were made to always come home to one another. If Vanitas fucked him, would it be the same?

It’s impossible to think about that right now, though, not with the way Vanitas is on his back. Hand reaching on an instinct Ven doesn’t even know he has, he grabs the base of Vanitas’s dick. Vanitas lets out a pained whine, legs pulling Ven closer to him and, in turn, pushing Ven’s dick further into him. It makes the hand squeezing an orgasm further and further away worse, but Ven doesn’t budge.

“Come on now,” Ven coos. The denial makes him dizzy with power once again. “You’re not getting off that easily.”

All Vanitas has had to do is lie down and be good. Ven has been doing all the hard work, finding lube and getting Vanitas ready. The least Vanitas can do is wait.

If looks could kill, Ven would be just fine, because the glare Vanittas gives him is too delirious to have any bite. Moaning weakly behind his gag without a single care for how absolutely pathetic he’s coming off makes Ven’s dick twitch inside of Vanitas. Everything about him is so erotic. How have they held back from this for so long?

Never again, Ven swears.

Pulling his hips as far back as Vanitas’s legs allow and pushing in slowly, Ven both teases Vanitas and gets him used to the sensations. They both need it to get used to this all-encompassing pleasure. With his shallow thrusts, Ven learns a couple of things: first, that Vanitas is sensitive. The smallest drag makes Vanitas twitch and his eyelashes flutter. He’s barely even managing words in his gag, just loud, pleading noises.

Two, that Vanitas is demanding. But that’s nothing new. Whether he’s on his feet demanding Ven to fight him or on his back pulling Ven closer to fuck him, Vanitas is ready on every battlefield to be pushy. To get what he wants. And Ven knows he can’t deny Vanitas forever.

And three, that Ven likes this a lot more than he probably should. More than anyone could possibly approve. Luckily, Ven’s too out of it to care about approval. There’s nothing that matters more in this moment than where his dick disappears inside Vanitas’s inside, not needing to rearrange anything because they’re already a perfect fit.

Once Vanitas’s breathing evens out a little, Ven pushes in deep, deep, deeper until Vanitas’s breathing hitches once again, and now he’s letting out this new, high-pitched whimper. Who knew Vanitas’s voice could be anything but rough and deep? Ven keeps pushing until his crotch is finally flush against Vanitas’s ass, their sweat sticking and their stomachs quivering, eyes rolling into their heads.

Finally, finally, finally!

And then Ven pulls his hips back and slams forward with as much power as he can manage. It’s easy to give Vanitas his all, being on top of him like this, but he doesn’t expect Vanitas’s legs to give out. Yet they do, shooting out straight, accented by his back arching. The gag does nothing to suppress his shout.

Ven’s grabbing his waist again before he even knows it, thrusting at a demanding pace. In, out, in, out, in, out, the bed squeaking beneath them with the effort they’re putting in. “Does this feel good, Vanitas?”

It feels better than good, and Vanitas lets Ven know this with a series of frantic nods. How can Ven respond to that lovely answer aside from thrusting even harder? Their skin is turning red, their sweat is intermingling, their bodies are one, moving as one: Ven down and Vanitas up, harder, harder, harder.

Ven’s body is moving faster than it usually does, even in fights. The muscles in his abdomen flex more than he’s trained them for, but the cross in Vanitas’s face makes any pain worth it.

Leaning down, Ven bites at Vanitas’s neck, balancing himself despite his thrusts. He alternates between that and kissing Vanitas’s pretty red nipples, worshipping him, this thing of one pure darkness now pure pleasure. It’s a good look, it’s a fucking good look, and it’s more than a great fuck.

“Is this the best you’ve ever felt?” Vanitas nods in rhythm with Ven’s thrusts. Biting down hard on his gag, Vanitas’s legs can’t decide between fully giving up or pulling Ven closer. It’s Ven’s job to make sure he doesn’t think, so Ven bites down harder. “Have you—”

A new noise makes Vanitas look up, thrusts staying as consistent as it can with effort. Vanitas’s eyes are screwed up, eyebrows knitted, expression hurt. Lying here, Ven has a perfect view. He’s about to stop (which would probably leave Vanitas so angry with him), until he sees water build up in front of those gorgeous golden eyes.

“Vanitas…” Ven presses a kiss to the bottom of his jaw before pushing up. It’s like two different scenes are going on: there’s this gentleness up here, one that could never exist before. One that’s been a long time coming, born out of how their hearts yearn for one another.

And there’s the brutality below them, Ven’s balls slamming against Vanitas’s lower half; his legs have decided to give up and lie flat on the bed. It helps him arch up his back, closer and closer and closer to Ven.

Finally, Ven pulls off Vanitas’s gag, throwing the soaked thing off to the side.

Vanitas turns his head to cough and take deep, greedy gulps of air, and Ven kisses the bottom of his jaw. The breathing doesn’t stop the build-up of water, and it doesn’t stop Ven from whispering, “Have you ever cried before, Vanitas?”

Even without the gag, all Vanitas can manage is shaking his head. Like, he doesn’t remember how to speak. Like he’s too fucked out of it. Head spinning, Ven licks at Vanitas’s bottom lip when he turns his head, so close to all those delicious, pained noises. “Vani, cry for me.”

Because Ven is greedy. He wants all of Vanitas’s firsts; he wants to take all that he can from Vanitas. No, he doesn’t just want it, he needs it. He’ll die without Vanitas.

Because Vanitas is lying. Of course he’s cried. He’s too broken not to have. They both are. They’re both so broken and so whole right now, in the cracks of each other. They’ll break without each other again, and Ven will never let it happen again.

This is home, this is home, this is home where Ven is fucking Vanitas and Vanitas is trying not to sob.

“No,” Vanitas whispers, voice broken. What broke him? The nickname? The request? The intensity of it all? The proximity? The intimacy? Ven sucks on Vanitas’s lip with renewed fervor, knowing Vanitas can talk and he’s not screaming, not telling him to go away. Just a quiet, weak ‘no’ born out of fragments of his pride.

“Do it for me, Vani,” Ven says, moving his hands back down to his favorite spot at Vanitas’s waist. They snake underneath between his back and bed, pulling Vanitas closer. Vanitas’s eyes are unfocused, and Ven keeps pressing kisses. “Cry for me. I know you can.”

Vanitas is trying to fight it, and they can’t have that. Hands lift him, Ven angling his hips so he can slam deeper. Like he’s trying to fuck away every reservation Vanitas has. And he does. He does, he does, he does, Ven doesn’t even need to ask before a tear slips down Vanitas’s face.

Then another, then another, and then another and another and another. He doesn’t start sobbing, but his shoulders heave with effort. Ven leaves trails of kisses, sucking and worshipping the skin there.

And finally, he waves away the collar, leaving Vanitas sucking in more desperate gulps of air.

“You’re gonna accept this,” Ven says against his cheek, leaving a soft bite.

“You’re gonna accept how good this feels.” The bed squeaks loudly in protest, but it feels like there’s nothing else in this room but Ven and Vanitas’s twisted expression.

“How good I make you feel.” And maybe the rest of the world really has gone away.

“And I’m gonna keep making you feel good.” As the collar disappeared, maybe the rest of the world that told them they had to fight and hate each other has finally gone away. They’re not warden and prisoner, they’re just this, all of this.

“No more fighting. Okay?” They’re just this, a supernova in this bedroom, and nothing less.

Vanitas lets out another cry, a new set of tears falling with it. Overwhelmed, denial, hazy, Ven doesn’t know what exactly is going through Vanitas’s head, but he repeats the words over and over. Until Vanitas is nodding just to get him to stop saying it. But Ven doesn’t. Ven won’t ever.

“You’ll feel like this all the time,” Ven swears, trailing his kisses back up to Vanitas’s lips. “I’m gonna make you so happy,” Ven promises, and when Vanitas kisses Ven back, he keeps repeating it. “I’m gonna make you feel so good,” Ven whispers, their tongues wrapping around one another, teeth clacking, saliva mixing.

“Shut up,” Vanitas tries to say, but it gets drowned out by the bed and moans. Ven angles his hips the right way, thrusts, and sheathes himself all the way in. He slams against Vanitas’s prostate. Vanitas lets out these absolutely depraved noises, his arms straining behind his back like he wants to pull Ven down.

It doesn’t even occur to Ven that he can let Vanitas go now. That Vanitas won’t go anywhere; they both know it. He’s too lost in the moment, and Vanitas doesn’t complain. He just lies there and takes it, just lets Ven give it to him. And Ven still has so much to give to Vanitas.

“You’re beautiful like this.” Ven kisses Vanitas with his eyes open, not wanting to miss a single thing. The way Vanitas’s eyebrows push down, the way tears make his skin glow along with the sweat, the way his tongue quivers any given time he pulls back to catch his breath. “You’re beautiful when you’re not hurting. You like it, you like this so much.

“I’m gonna make you feel like this all the time. I’ll fuck whenever you want, and if you ever slip up and try to start a fight,” Ven pants, breathless and dizzy, “I’ll just tie you up like this again and fuck the fight out of you.”

Vanitas clenches hard over Ven, and Ven laughs deliriously on his lips. This is Ven’s new favorite spot, he decides, where Vanitas’s breath leaves his mouth. “And you’re gonna love every second of it, Vanitas. I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good.”

“It’s good,” Vanitas groans against Ven’s lips, like it pains him to say. “It’s good, it’s good, it’s good, fuck!”

They kiss like how they fuck, trying to devour each other. They want to drown in this feeling. They’re plagued by the human condition, unable to be whole, and Ven wouldn’t want it any other way. If they were one again, Ven couldn’t kiss and fuck Vanitas like this, and what a horrible shame that would be.

Ven pulls Vanitas’s hips closer and pistons down without rhythm. He just wants to pull Vanitas closer and closer to the edge again. From the way Vanitas is getting louder, holding less of his shame, Ven feels like they’re right there again.

He keeps whispering to Vanitas those promises, of their future, of love, of complete filth. Vanitas’s eyes can’t decide if they want to be screwed shut or open to roll back. Ven doesn’t give him a lot of time to decide, freeing one of his arms to wrap his hand around Vanitas’s dick.

Anything, everything to pull him closer. It only takes a few jerks before Vanitas lets out the most ragged moan Ven’s ever heard.

His legs straighten, his back arches, and his eyes open wide, tears falling without permission, and Vanitas’s dick spurts out lines of cum over his and Ven’s stomach. Ven fucks him through his orgasm, keeps jerking him off, too. Vanitas’s voice cracks into this high-pitched whine, and Ven doesn’t tear his eyes away. One eyeful could never be enough.

When Vanitas finishes coming and his limbs become jerky with overstimulation, Ven is right behind him. Burying himself into the hilt of Vanitas and coming in spasms, Ven goes through the most intense orgasm he’s ever had in his life. He comes into Vanitas, filling him up, the only physical proof of their union here, and that makes Ven spurt out more cum.

Finally spent with nothing left to give, Ven pushes himself up with the elbows of his arms, still buried deep inside Vanitas. Vanitas is wearing the most far-out look Ven has ever seen him with, like he needs time to process what they just did.

Ven can’t blame him.

When Vanitas’s eyes regain focus, the two make eye contact, panting and shaking. Ven’s releases Vanitas’s dick and caresses his hip bone. Pulling out would mean losing this warm feeling. Vanitas is still clenching around him.

But he can’t stay forever. Vanitas is home, but his insides still have a preferred status. Ven indulges himself for a minute or two until their sweat becomes cold and he sighs. Ven pulls out, a dribble of cum following.

The loss of contact makes both of them hiss, but Ven makes up for it by collapsing next to Vanitas, gently pulling him to his side and forward for a lazy kiss. This time, Ven’s not scared of missing a second. He kisses with his eyes closed and just lets the sensation of them being next to each other take over. Their tongues brush with no heat, just familiarity. Like oh. Hello. You’re still here.

Belatedly, Ven remembers that Vanitas’s arms are still tied behind him with the chains of light. Vanitas had been so good about keeping still that Ven forgot what all this was even about. Rubbing Vanitas’s arms, Ven releases the spell and—

Vanitas jerks away with an alarmed expression, pulling his arms forward. The light that seared through him is already healing from this shade of angry red, making Ven both want to tie him up more and kiss it better. But Vanitas shares neither of those sentiments, eyes narrowing into a glare.

Vanitas sits up quickly, and for a moment, Ven thinks that maybe he was naive. That all the promise he made went over Vanitas’s head, that he wasn’t listening, that he just wanted a good fuck, and now was going to fight Ven and leave.

But if Vanitas was going to leave, he wouldn’t be doubling over and hissing, “You idiot, you fucking idiot.”

Ven tenses, ready for Vanitas to pull out his Keyblade, but the confrontation never arrives. Instead, Vanitas grabs the edge of the bed and leans over it, coughing and hacking something up.

“Vanitas? Vanitas, hey!” Ven finally sits up and nearly tumbles forward as he rushes next to Vanitas. But Vanitas just swats at his back, keeping Ven at bay. The noises that come out of him are absolutely miserable, throaty, wet, and all around disgusting. From his poor position, Ven can see something black crawling from Vanitas’s mouth.

Oh, a part of Ven realizes. Vanitas cried instead of releasing Unversed because of the chains… And…this is how the Unversed come out.

Oh, indeed. It’s a horrible sight. Is this how he’s been making Unversed the whole time?

No wonder he’s been so angry with Ven for so long. Ven would be too.

He just wishes Vanitas had told him.

He just wishes Vanitas would let him help now. Even if he doesn’t know what to do, Vanitas refuses to let Ven near, swatting blindly. The noises are horrible as the shadows fall, but Ven’s pushed so many of Vanitas’s boundaries for one day.

Ven lets Vanitas have this. (For the last time, his mind silently promises.) While the Unversed crawls out of Vanitas’s throat, Ven sits by Vanitas’s side and wraps an arm around his waist. Ven makes a point of not watching for Vanitas’s sake, not watching the purge of all the emotions that built up over the last several hours.

Instead, Ven presses kisses to Vanitas’s waist. The first one makes Vanitas tense up, to which Ven replies by running a soothing hand over Vanitas’s skin, until he settles down and leans against Ven’s head.

There are no noises except for Ven’s kisses and Vanitas’s vomiting. It’s such a far cry from what they were up to, but again, not really—Ven just wants Vanitas here. He traces kisses all over Vanitas’s back. All the scars Ven wasn’t able to see earlier, he traces them with his lips and memorizes them.

His back shakes under the force of Vanitas’s purge and maybe under the force of Ven’s kiss. But Ven keeps going diligently, trying to keep all the promises he made.

Ven doesn’t know how long it takes before Vanitas finishes, pushing himself up. Those worshipping lips press one last, lingering kiss to the side of Vanitas’s hip before Ven sits back. He watches Vanitas rub the back of his hand across his mouth, gripping the side of the bed on his knees.

Finally allowing himself to look, Ven finds nine or ten Unversed crawling around. They turn into shadows before returning to their physical form, darting here and there. Vanitas looks repulsed by them. At one point, Ven used to have the same expression. He didn’t know he and Vanitas were on the same page, locked in mutual animosity.

Ven’s really tired of fighting and anger, though. He’s tired of seeing all these monsters as— as monsters. And he’s tired of Vanitas seeing himself as one.

So Ven decides to reach for one.

Vanitas tries half-heartedly to pull away Ven’s arm, but Ven’s fucking stubborn, especially about Vanitas. He bends over the bed’s edge and scoops up the first one his skin touches.

Unversed aren’t new to Ven. He’s fought hundreds of them, if not thousands. But he’s never purposely grabbed one. The last thing he expected was for it to feel so…sad.

These are Vanitas’s emotions, aren’t they? Ven looks over at Vanitas. He never knew Vanitas was so sad.

Ven sits up on the bed and holds the fidgeting creature in his lap, unwilling to destroy it. Floods of negative emotions flow through him: hatred, anger, loneliness, fear, fear, desire, fear—all Vanitas’s. When Ven looks up at Vanitas, he finds his face screwed up. “You leaving was an asshole thing to do.”

“Compared to all the non-asshole things you do,” Ven retorts almost instinctively. It’s not a fight he wants, but it seems he’s pretty good at looking for them. He wants to grab his shoes and shove them in his mouth.

He continues to pet the Unversed. Fear and anger rush through Ven, almost like that’s what Vanitas was feeling then. Ven had left to get lube, though he didn’t tell Vanitas—he didn’t know he hurt Vanitas so easily.

How often has Ven done that? Hurt Vanitas without thinking twice about it?

How often has everyone done that?

Vanitas doesn’t seem to care much about the new feelings, naked and tired. So he just flops back onto the bed, watching Ven pet his negative emotions.

“I won’t do it again,” Ven promises.

“I don’t care.”

The Unversed in Ven’s lap disagrees. “Yeah. Sure. I’m serious, though. I meant it. That I want to make you feel good.”

The Unversed teeters in Ven’s lap, unused to such kind words spoken about it. Ven pets its head, and the way it responds is cute and cat-like, its long antenna flicking, red eyes closing slowly.

Vanitas doesn’t respond as warmly, closing his eyes and scoffing. “I’m not going to be one of your pathetic friends.”

But the Unversed betrays Vanitas. All his sadness rushes through Ven, the sadness of the last ten years, the fear of change, the bone-deep exhaustion, hatred, so much hatred. And at the very bottom of it, clawing its way through Ven’s stomach is this feeling of broken want. The result of too many broken promises.

Ven remembers how Vanitas reacted to being called Ven’s pet earlier. Like it was better than being human. Like if it meant he didn’t have to deal with his broken heart anymore… Ven, without meaning to, sighs. “Vanitas,” he says, “it’s not pathetic to be treated human.”

“Get off your high horse.” The Unversed now hisses at Ven before it scurries off. Sensitive to the emotions of its master. Vanitas opens his eyes to glare at Ven. Still, if Vanitas wanted Ven gone, Ven would be gone. If Vanitas wanted to be alone, Vanitas would be long gone. He’s still here, which means he’s listening. “You should’ve been there a long time ago. It’s too late. We’ll never be whole. We’ll never be human, Ventus.”

It doesn’t sound angry as much as it sounds resigned. Like he’s accepted this truth a long time ago. The Unversed teeter in agreement, and what can Ven say to that? He can’t prove Vanitas wrong.

Not when he’s not human either. He’s not Ventus, and he’s barely Ven. So he just flops down next to Vanitas, listening to the footfall of the Unversed scurrying around.

Ven tries to find some way that doesn’t sound patronizing to tell Vanitas that it doesn’t matter if they’re human or not, that Ven is going to love him like a friend. Not like some pet. And most certainly, not like how Xehanort did. That he’s going to care for Vanitas like he should’ve a long time ago.

“Maybe,” is all Ven can manage. “I don’t care. I think we should decide what we are. And who cares if we’re not human? I think… I think I’m going to find some way to make your Unversed feel good.”

Ven reaches for Vanitas’s hand. Like a cliché, Vanitas pulls away. Ven turns his head to face him, but Vanitas is adamantly not looking, glaring at the ceiling.

“Why would you?”

“Because…” Because you’re alive, and it sucks that no one’s ever let you be alive. You’re the part that completes you, and I miss you. I’ve always missed you. I’m tired of missing you. I think you’re really beautiful, and it hurts to see you in pain. “We’re friends now.”

“I just said I don’t want to be one of your pathetic friends,” Vanitas scoffs.

“Well… I know people have always demanded things of you, so this is my one final demand. To be my friend.” Despite them doing so many things that Ven wouldn’t do to a friend. Ven doesn’t care. Ven can blur the lines with Vanitas. “That’s where we start, okay?”

Vanitas doesn’t respond. Ven pushes himself up and studies Vanitas. Studies him the way he’s been doing the entire time while they were making angry love, studies the scars, the breathing, the curves, the muscles, the entirety of him in a way no one has.

For the last time, Ven asks, “Nod for me?”

It’s a question, so Vanitas has the chance to leave if that’s what he really wants. If Ven’s final plea didn’t work, and Vanitas really wants nothing to do with him ever again. Then Ven would let him go. Tiredly, brokenly, he would let Vanitas go.

Vanitas’s eyes close like he’s really questioning it. Like he’s questioning what he really wants. And Ven doesn’t like it, but he lets Vanitas do that—lets Vanitas make a choice, which he’s had so few of in his life.

In the end, Vanitas finally nods. There’s still a rift between them that Ven only knows how to bridge through force and arguments, but—it’s something.

It’s a friendship, a tentative, confusing friendship between Ven and Vanitas. Two colliding stars finally going home to their shared galaxy.

Vanitas sighs. Not out of exasperation, disbelief, or anger, just with exhaustion. Like this is the first time he’s been allowed to relax. (Ven’s already thinking of things he can do for him: baths and cakes and dreams for them to chase.) “Now what, then?”

Oh.

Right.

There’s a ‘now what’ for them.

Ven knows Vanitas is asking about what he’ll do with him now. About what Aqua and Terra will do. About what all the Guardians of Light will do now that Ven brings home pure darkness.

But Vanitas isn’t pure darkness. Never has been, never will be. Ven’s too focused on the friend part to care about anything else. He chased Vanitas for so long—he should relish in this for a moment.

Because all that matters is that Vanitas is Ven’s friend and Ven is going to take care of him.

So Ven just shrugs and plasters this stupid shit-eating grin on his face. “What, you’re not tired? You want another round?”

Vanitas turns to him and looks at him for the first time as a friend. He’s not amused. “It sounds like you do, Pervert.”

It only takes a few more words to rile each other up. For Ven to sit up and for Vanitas to tackle him back to the bed. It’s strange how friendly it is, no claws and all gropes, pushing each other the way cats fight. It’s even stranger how much Ven enjoys it. (It helps that Vanitas is naked. It really, really helps.)

It evolves—or, well, devolves—a couple of times into a make-out session. Exploring each other’s mouths in the moonlight, and maybe they take advantage of their current shamelessness to get each other off a couple more times. Vanitas discovers what it’s like to have Ven’s body and not be one, while Ven discovers how he can take care of Vanitas in the aftermath.

It’s not strange at all how good Vanitas looks on his back, how good he looks sitting on Ven’s lap, how good he looks being in front of Ven. It’s not strange at all how good Vanitas looks when he’s feeling good, though it’s strange and sad how out of place he looks. He vomits Unversed a couple more times, and Ven doesn’t try to coax more tears out of him—they can work on healthier emotional outputs another day.

Ven’s too focused on making Vanitas writhe and moan.

Friends. The thought makes Ven’s heart race.

Friends with Vanitas. The thought makes Ven kiss Vanitas.

Friends with Vanitas, with a tomorrow. The thought makes Ven look at Vanitas differently.

When they’re finally spent, late into the night and maybe well into morning, Ven is curled up around Vanitas, spooning him. The position took a lot of arguing to get into. It took even longer for Vanitas to finally relax his body around Ven, to let Ven wrap his arms around his waist.

Ven doesn’t know if his whispering promises of all good things he’ll show Vanitas helped or not: foods, deserts, amusement parks, dancing, board games, spars, everything Ven cherishes. He doesn’t know, but he said it all anyway, and those words are Vanitas’s now to do what he likes.

Vanitas falls asleep first. Maybe he knows that Ven wouldn’t let him up unless he slept first. The Unversed quiet in his sleep (making Ven wonder if he ever let himself sleep all those years ago, or if he would force himself conscious all the time. Ven can ask now. Ven can ask and make it better.) Vanitas’s breathing is a little shaky, but he’s really just beautiful in Ven’s arms.

Now what, Vanitas asked.

“We’ll go home,” Ven whispers. Wherever that may be.

And in this strange peace, Ven falls asleep too. Next to his new friend; his star; his soulmate. Next to his forever problem that he’ll keep solving, as many times as it takes.