Anyone else might not have favored him with a literal answer. Someone else might have skimped on the details, given him a much simpler explanation on the effects of liquor on the body. But most people probably don't have the patience for this kind of thing— the sorts of things that Vanitas, with this face at this age, should most certainly be aware of. He is ignorant of simple facts, things that he'd never had the opportunity to learn on his own, things that in another life he probably knew already— but couldn't remember, because when he'd been ripped out of Ventus it had shredded his memory in the process.

Vanitas watches him as he explains, even though Bruce doesn't watch him in turn. He focuses on other things, gathering plates and cooking breakfast. Vanitas weighs his two drinks, considering the new information, lifting it up against how he feels and how much he wants to push.

The thing is, he's seen what alcohol does to people, because it's happened here in this place— where he's had the time to sit and to watch. He's seen them act foolishly and pass out across counters, stagger up to their rooms clutching their lanterns. He'd never understood the allure, because from an outside perspective, the act of forgetting that he'd sneered at Bruce about just hours before looked grotesque and weak.

But it's different, experiencing it himself. He understands it a little, for the numbing agent it is.

"It'll heal," He says, but maybe a little less flippantly than he would before. After all, hadn't his Master beat him into an unmoving mess? Into unconsciousness, before Vanitas learned how to get away from it, how to weather the blows without letting them knock him out? Without any other experience to measure it against, learning to weather alcohol doesn't seem so different. Only he isn't sure you can really get used to it. All the people in the Invincible seem to hit this point sooner or later.

But he takes another tentative sip of water.

"It's not the worst thing to happen to me."