[ He didn't get this man's name when they met the first time, over the canned peaches that Vanitas had walked away from. So convinced of his own understanding of things, of the reality of his own situation, shrugging off the help he'd been offered. If he'd known, he might not have stopped at this grave at all. The embarrassment of figuratively throwing it in his face, when the doctor had proven to him that the solution had been as simple as food and drink was more than Vanitas was willing to deal with.
He can still feel the bite of the rope and the pounding of pain, the distended ache of loneliness. It feeds into him, pools in his darkness, adding fuel to the fire Vanitas has been tending with each memorial he visits, a high he can't stop chasing. When he turns his eyes on the man, luminous and too-bright, he doesn't look troubled or scared, the way someone else his age probably should.
Instead, his gaze carves the man like he's seeing him for the first time. ]
no subject
He can still feel the bite of the rope and the pounding of pain, the distended ache of loneliness. It feeds into him, pools in his darkness, adding fuel to the fire Vanitas has been tending with each memorial he visits, a high he can't stop chasing. When he turns his eyes on the man, luminous and too-bright, he doesn't look troubled or scared, the way someone else his age probably should.
Instead, his gaze carves the man like he's seeing him for the first time. ]
What are you?