He hears Riku come closer, the sound of his steps on the stone, but he only realizes he's sat down when he speaks again and his voice is closer than it had been before. Even with Riku sitting down toward his feet, they aren't touching. Vanitas is an island on the bench, tethered only by his own awareness and his fingertips on the lip of his cup.

"Soda pop," Because it is that, chiefly. That and the generous amount of liqueur he'd poured into it. "Chocolate." Because that's the only thing he can think to describe it as. It might taste awful, but Vanitas only really tastes the sugar.

"You're what happened to Bruce's face," He adds, and that almost giggle finds its way into his tone. A sort of amusement that isn't laced with his usual cruelty. "Made you look pretty stupid." Tied up like that in the room. It's why Riku is limping, why his hands are wrapped. Vanitas doesn't know what caused the fight, because he and Bruce didn't talk about it. He just knows the outcome because he saw it.

He rolls onto his side, then, and the world tips dramatically around him. He's dizzy and can't really see straight but it's good— like this he doesn't really feel anything but that manufactured pleasantness. He can't focus, exactly, but it also means everything else he feels is numb, too. Half stretched on his side he raises his glass to his mouth, watching first what he's doing so as not to spill, and then watching Riku when he lowers the drink again.