everglows.
anxiety climbs through cain’s throat with a ferver he’d chalk up to the severity of the storm, and not the notion that he’s approaching his heart quickly and without consequence. six months of separation and constant running from the threat of tragedy changes most men, changes most people, but it’s just another job for someone like him. and he isn’t afraid of himself or what that kind of stuff should be doing to fry his brain… so much as he’s afraid of the impact it’s had on his boyfriend. deep down, he wishes that it wasn’t his normal, he wishes that he could just do something mundane and boring so he doesn’t have to face extremes like this on a regular basis, but life will never be that kind. ah, but one can never forget that he doesn’t walk out on commitments. this one’s important to him, the sharing of his life, his blood, it’s important enough to keep coming back even when the thought crosses his mind that maybe he shouldn’t, though he reasons with himself constantly that he will never be cruel enough to do anything that dramatic. the same can’t be said for the other, however. the last time cain had a job that took him away for this long, vanitas punched him and almost cut him out right there on the spot. luckily for cain, he has quite a way with his mouth ( not necessarily the verbal kind of way ) and he’s hoping he will be able to twist his luck again to strike up in his favor.
the second he approaches the front of the house, he cuts off the engine and places his forehead against the steering wheel, his breath puffing out of his mouth in small clouds of chilled air while he contemplates the way the following moments are going to play out. he thinks he’s pushing his luck in assuming that vanitas is still awake at this hour, so he makes the “easy” choice by pulling out his set of keys when he opens the door and decides to finally step out. he can bring in his bags later he thinks, and he finds himself rushing to the door to avoid the rain and putting the key into the lock with a degree of calmness that he impresses himself in having.
the next series of events pass by in a blur, and cain’s got a gun pointed to his head faster than he can blink. he can very well make out the figure of vanitas standing by the couch with a muzzle in his direction and a whiskey bottle occupying his other hand once his eyes adjust to the light. cain isn’t quite sure what he is most grateful for in that instance: the fact that vanitas hasn’t shot him yet, or the fact that he’s actually awake and available so they can talk this out immediately, but the whiskey might prove to be a problem.
cain blinks, then slightly frowns once his thoughts catch up to the reality of the situation. ❛ the hell ❜ he raises his hands in mock surrender, ❛ put the fucking gun down. ❜
naturally the man he sees when his vision begins to focus isn’t expected, and his mind dips right back into the dramatics of ‘ you never give me any kind of sign that you’re leaving ‘ & ‘ you’re an asshole for always coming back so late. ‘ to be fair, he thinks, it is an incredibly inopportune time for his return, especially since his aim might’ve lead him to fire somewhere that wouldn’t have killed him instantly. vanitas always considered that bleeding out would be much more unpleasant than life ending in the blink of an eye. he squints, then squints again. it looks like him. sounds like him. in his head, he’s no longer a threat, but his arm doesn’t lower to drop his weapon until several seconds later when he can see the look of confusion on his partner’s face slowly shifting into something else. ❛ fuuuuuuuuuckk, ❜ —ever eloquent in his speech when he wants nothing to do with this constant cycle they replay over and over again. at least he didn’t fire. that’s a plus. the hazy memory of his fist connecting with cain’s face last time floats into the buzz of his mind and he’d be a liar if he said he didn’t consider doing it again.
his gun falls to the floor and clatters where it lands— luckily, in this case, he hadn’t even unlocked the safety. eyes roam from his forlorn gun back to cain who stands almost awestruck that he’d even been greeted in such a way to begin with. with their line of work considered, vanitas somehow found it hard to believe cain wouldn’t have found somewhere else to stay until morning to begin with— sometimes he just couldn’t help how paranoid he was, especially with his newfound status. that’s a story for another time, he thinks, and it’s something cain might be particularly proud of when he hears it. for now, his eyes meet cains, and something about his gaze locks him there, rendering him unable to shift or look away. . . so he’ll use this opportunity to lift the bottle he holds in his other hand and press the mouth of it to his lips. when he tips it back, he makes it a point never to break the solidity of the stare held between them, reveling in the smooth way it pours down his throat and burns like it begs to be felt. he’s positive that it’s not meant to be downed in such a way, but he feels as though it’s both earned and needed for what he’s about to deal with. a huge, exasperated sigh is exhaled as he settles cross legged on the floor, setting his bottle down beside him as if it were some great comfort, ❛ i didn’t know you still came around this part’a town anymore. i would’a let my boyfriend know we were havin’ guests, ‘sept i think he’s gone for good now. i dunno anymore. ❜
there’s a smile that settles perfectly on his lips as though he were happy, as if he hadn’t been worried half the year that he’d not heart a single word from him or even received a sign of some sort that cain was alive. he’s fine. cain had said as much the last time they had this discussion— ‘ i won’t die that easily, ‘ he’d said, but the longer he’s away, the harder it was to believe. the stubbornness in his mind won’t allow the shift in thinking that cain won’t leave him, no matter how many times he’s held his face with both hands and assured him with his solemn vows. vanitas had never wanted to believe someone so badly before.
he smiles, and he tips back the rest of his bottle’s contents. his grin is one that both delights and terrifies; one that cain would know is riddled with complexity and ambling toward dire straits. he smiles, and he reaches back to throw his empty bottle at the wall beside the door ( reasonably, he knows this isn’t okay, but he’s content with the way it shatters all across the floor like a million tiny gemstones. it would be beautiful if it weren’t so damn chaotic. ) vanitas laughs, and lets himself lean to his side until he’s laying fully on the ground, staring at cain as though he didn’t have a care in the world. ❛ sorry i almost shot’cha baby. y’know i got’a killer instinct ! ❜ & once more vanitas laughs, he simply can’t help it.
❛ maybe i should’a done it ‘n saved myself the heartache. shit hurts, y’know? ❜
