hues stay as they are, blanketed in their own pitch black, & only dare to peek back open with a small intake of breath when a hand is placed on their cheek, then their chin. all but forced, a suggestion, but that doesn’t stop them from feeling like something had still coaxed eyelids to shift upwards.
❛ then i won’t stop you. ❜
it’s said of it’s own volition, a thought too loud & too fast it demanded to be heard, yet there’s no regret to flash across their features once it does register. what reason do they have to conceal any truth? their despair & agony is so close to being palpable, it’s suffocating. ( &, to him, perhaps it is; something to be used akin to a weapon. ) it clings around their ribs no matter what’s done in attempts to dispel, &, at this point, it may as well be accepted as part of them.
a hollow sort of laugh ensues at the show of concern, ❛ i could say the same thing about you. ❜ don’t you know by now? nothing can truly bother roxas like it does you, vanitas.
yet still, they can’t hide. it takes a moment before continuing, gaze unfocused, albeit horribly aware of the texture of a bodysuit in between their fingertips. it doesn’t give the same comfort as skin, but it gets the job done. ❛ it’s…tiring. half-existence. that’s all. ❜ they don’t have the exact words; they hope the point comes across well enough.
is it strange, then, that darkness feels more like home than anything bathed in light?
he is dissatisfied by their answer. how can half existence compare to the complete damnation and robbery of any sort of life at all? how dare t̵h̸e̶y̴ ̶ speak of existenc̷e̶ ̸a̷t̴ ̷a̸l̶l while being the very s̸p̶i̴t̵t̶i̴n̶g̶ ̵i̵m̷a̴g̴e̶ ̶o̷f̷ ̶h̷i̷m̷, sporting the identical pathetic, lifeless, broken expres̉͢sion̢̝̽͗ ̝̃t͙̑h͚͉̏̉a̺̒t̨̘͒̋ ̱͈̆̔c̥̓a̺̒ṷ͔̈́͠se͋͜d̟͙̻̍̽́ ̛͙̜̮͒̔h̤̩́͘í̱̙̫͑̕̕͢Ŝ͢ ͙̅O̪͖͌͑W̲̌̍͜N̝̉͛ͅ ̤͈͛͝Ǎ̪Ň͙G͎͙͈̲̋̒̒͒Ư̬̗̒Ĩ̛͚̰̳͍̺̾͐͘S͕̠̳̹̑͐̓̍̽͜H̛͈̺̝̲̉̏͝ ̖̣͖̋̒̽I̬̼̮̦̎̊̓̉N̨̟̖̠̳̑͊͊͛̕ ̡͖̩̉͂͐T͖͍̓̄H̨͉͔̝̮̝̐̄̊͘̚͡E͇̻̜͓͙̭̒̊͐̍̾͗ F̲̥̖̞͑̀̚͡I̼̾R̨͍̖̿́̓S̡̪̥̲̬̊́̽̎̓Ţ̳̲̬̬̖̲̿̽̅̀̒͂͋͟͡ ̨̢̡̣̥̗͈̫͒̿̓̀̈̕͞͡P̨̨̥̪̘͓̀̑̌͊̈͋̐̃͢͜L̢̧͉͙̝̥̥̦̐͒́̒͑͗̕͠Ā̘̯͕̼͈̱̲̟̽͒̈̓͒͋̏C̢̧̥̝̹̖̻̫͑̓̈́̌̂̊̇̋E̪̖͖̙͇̫̳͇̽̀̽̓̃̍̂̆ ̢̡̨͇͇͔̯͑̃̉̌̿͞͞͞ͅ-̖̭̗̼͖̻̻̱̀̔̃͆̈̀̚͝-̨͈̩̥͓͕͒́̃́̅̾̔͝ͅͅ ̦̱̦̺̖̮͚̔̀́͋̐̏̾̒͢?̧̧̟͓͉̘̳̼́̈́̊̽͆͛͐͠ ͔̙̻̻͎̲͔̝̉͂͛̌̎͊͞͝-̨̢̹͖̪̗͉̬͌̅̀̀́͗̏̚-̛̯̝̳̯͕̭̤̳̊̿̏̎̆̃͞ ̢̪̯̼͔̮͔͋̀̃̍͌̂͊͢͡?͇̦̼̣̤͉̌̊͐͗̓̽͛͛͜͟ ̨̗̲̬̫̬͙͎͐͐̔́͒̊͌͞
vanitas then breaks free of their clasped hands to step away, to curl his fingers into a fist while he waved away the desire to manifest their distress. though the exercise may have been beaten into him, but he would not waste the only gift xehanort had bestowed. neither the realm of darkness or roxas would weaken his resolve. there was no hurry to return to loneliness, either.
❝ misery loves company, ❞ he simply responds, without missing a beat, and bends to settle into the cold sand. vanitas is just as tired. they're in agreement, whether they realize it or not. gazing into the infinite dark brought about a distant look to his features for a few moments. ❝ but you, half there or not, is enough. ❞
at that, he looks at the other once more, silently asking for their companionship under the moonlight. ❝ i’ve been half my whole life, too, ❞ vanitas murmurs, head turning away from them, ❝ maybe together ... would be enough. ❞
