Chapter Text
“Shut. Up.”
It was another way Vanitas liked to say ‘no.’
After the stunt Noé pulled the night before—asking to invade his final sanctuary, the key to ripping away the last of his sense of privacy and humanity after everything else had been pried open, examined, replaced—Vanitas could feel no interest in hearing his explanations.
He looked and felt like the true embodiment of a storm cloud as he thundered out of their shared hotel room with his black coat billowing around him, heeled shoes clicking sharply on the hall floor and the door slamming behind him. In the wake of this storm would be left a single vampire, adrift for the rest of the day.
Vanitas didn’t care. Of course he didn’t.
That was why his fists were clenched so tightly. That was why the crease between his brows pressed so deeply that he almost felt like that was the cause of his headache rather than the sleepless night he had spent on the roof or the hours he had spent double-guessing each and every one of his life choices.
Of course he didn’t care, because caring would put him in a position that looked suspiciously like this: losing things that were rightfully his (sleep, peace of mind), giving up things that he needed and deserved more than anyone else (autonomy, freedom).
That idiot vampire.
Too naive. Far, far too naive.
Was the naive one Noé, or Vanitas?
Noé, it had to be Noé.
It was better to think he was naive, ignorant, tactless, a bit of a dolt all around, than to blame him too harshly—
Although it would be better for Noé if he were finally taught that he needed to be more self-aware as a maturing young adult in order to avoid inconveniencing others in ways that would lead to bitterness and other kinds of hurt, but that was neither here nor there.
No, it was better for Vanitas to see him as naive because that meant Vanitas could be apathetic to the brewing discomfort—was it rage, was it fear?—in his core.
This was the way Vanitas thought, mind whirling in futile circles, as he pursued information about Gevaudan, information about The Beast, information about the Queen and Lord Ruthven, information about anything except Archivistes, anything except whatever would remind him of that idiot vampire.
Noé asked for Vanitas’ forgiveness on the walk to the train station.
He was so pitiful, and Vanitas had beaten himself up enough for his own harshness, that forgiveness leaked out.
They walked beside each other.
On the train, Noé seemed tired. Very tired.
Another sleepless night? Vanitas thought.
Sometimes, the vampire seemed to have nightmares. He would make noises, as if to talk in his sleep, but the sounds never clarified into words, remaining indistinct and desperate. Vanitas usually just pulled out a set of earplugs to block him out, since he didn’t care to meddle and let the vampire know how vulnerable he was being in the night.
Maybe if Noé were to tell him something about it… But it would be hypocritical to ask, since he had no intentions of revealing anything about himself in return.
Still, Vanitas wondered if the Noé’s sleepy sway and the drooping of his eyelids were the results of his nightmares, or if he had been wracked by guilt similarly to Vanitas. Vanitas had slept outside again, so he hadn’t been around to know one way or another.
He liked sleeping outside, after spending the worst days of his life as far from fresh air as he could possibly be, confined in the depths of Paris’ catacombs.
When Noé moved, scooting closer to the traincar window to watch the passing sights, the hair that usually covered his forehead shifted, and Vanitas thought the skin underneath looked darker than he remembered. It was difficult to recall, though, and even more difficult to be sure that it was different since Noé’s skin was already naturally dark.
Before Vanitas could even think to say anything about Noé’s exhaustion or what could have been—could it have been?—surely it wasn’t—bruising on his forehead, Noé himself spoke.
“S— Sleepy…!”
He could hardly keep his eyes open.
“Even though it’s a steam engine… And I’ve never ridden something so stylish before… I just can’t fight this… Drowsi-…”
Vanitas sighed.
“You didn’t sleep at all?”
“I thought you were bound to sneak out without waking me… so…”
Vanitas was even more put out.
This vampire was far too worried about Vanitas disappearing. What, did people often vanish from Noé’s life?
Not likely.
He seemed too innocent for that, and he was too quick to find springs of joy in simple things. Not at all like Vanitas, who had experienced true loss.
Noé went along with everything because his life had been easy. It was obvious to Vanitas, who went along with nothing because his life had been hard.
Vanitas said, “Our destination’s a long way off. If you don’t sleep while you’ve got the chance, you’ll never last.”
It took some time for the vampire to respond. The steady rumble and ka-chak, ka-chak of the train’s advancement hummed like a mechanical lullaby.
Eyes closing even as he spoke, Noé asked, “While I’m asleep… You won’t disappear, will you…?”
His expression—creased brows, childishly downturned eyes and lips, a mild embarrassed flush—did absolutely nothing to Vanitas’ conscience.
Vanitas rested his chin on his hand and looked away out the window to hide his discomfort.
Still, he relented.
“I’ll wake you when we get there. Hurry up and sleep.”