"Never tried getting wasted," Riku clarifies without chasing the glass when Vanitas draws it closer to his chest. He could take it by force - Vanitas is probably too drunk to put up much resistance - but the fact is he isn't interested in tearing anything out of his grip. Riku thinks it's not exactly about lacking the energy for it. It just seems unkind.

The closest he got was this time, once, when he felt tipsy, like the room was doing a very slow pirouette in his head. He was younger, pinching from his father's cabinet, just being a stupid kid.

Something about the feeling spooked him. Maybe it was feeling like he'd lost control of himself when he couldn't afford to. Kids could be cruel. Crueler if you were different.

"You should've tried it," he muses aloud, making a motion like he means to cross his arms, but thinks the better of the movement. He's still sore and stiff, "The salt was supposed to contrast the sweet and tart."

Exhaling, he leans back his head. It's dark. The ceiling is drenched in shadows, some of them stir, he thinks, or maybe his eyes are playing tricks on him, too long in the dark. You should've tried it, he'd said to Vanitas, and he can't help but be reminded of when he had voiced a different regret.

I really should have tried that paopu thing.

"If you stick to sweets and booze all the time, you're gonna get sick of it. Try mixing it up sometimes. You could try something different."

The moment feels oddly normal. Surreal, even, in how completely mundane it is. Everything feels a little dreamlike and unreal these days. Heavy and drained of color. He's probably just tired, even though he's been sleeping more than he ever remembers sleeping.

"Maybe you'd even hurt less."