[ Like the doctor, like Bruce, Riku doesn't pull away when Vanitas doesn't give him anything back. Given their history, given how many times the only thing Vanitas has handed over is vitriol and violence, it really doesn't make much sense. They aren't these people— Vanitas isn't Sora, and Riku isn't his friend, because Vanitas never had that luxury. Who would even want something like him?
But he has tangible proof, right in front of him, that somebody does. He doesn't care if maybe Riku is just doing and saying these things because he's a lightbearer, because that's what they do— with the sledgehammer that's been taken to the walls of his fortress, he doesn't have it in him to turn Riku away.
He doesn't really want to, and he isn't sure he's ready to face what that means. ]
No. [ He sniffs, wiping his face again. When he turns around to lead them out of the room, he only pulls away from Riku because the movement puts space between them.
When they make it back downstairs, Vanitas is still watery-eyed. He hesitates once more, on the threshold of the kitchen— because Bruce is exactly where he would have expected him to be. His sleeves pushed up his pale arms, baring the constant mottled bruising of his training, his wrists parallel to the cutting board. Even from here, Vanitas can see that thing he created, wending between Bruce's legs, rubbing it's body against his shins. He isn't sure why, but the whole picture makes him feel warm and prickly all over. ]
no subject
But he has tangible proof, right in front of him, that somebody does. He doesn't care if maybe Riku is just doing and saying these things because he's a lightbearer, because that's what they do— with the sledgehammer that's been taken to the walls of his fortress, he doesn't have it in him to turn Riku away.
He doesn't really want to, and he isn't sure he's ready to face what that means. ]
No. [ He sniffs, wiping his face again. When he turns around to lead them out of the room, he only pulls away from Riku because the movement puts space between them.
When they make it back downstairs, Vanitas is still watery-eyed. He hesitates once more, on the threshold of the kitchen— because Bruce is exactly where he would have expected him to be. His sleeves pushed up his pale arms, baring the constant mottled bruising of his training, his wrists parallel to the cutting board. Even from here, Vanitas can see that thing he created, wending between Bruce's legs, rubbing it's body against his shins. He isn't sure why, but the whole picture makes him feel warm and prickly all over. ]