logsinthenight | Don't Fuck with the Forest Spirits || OTA

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Don't Fuck with the Forest Spirits || OTA

characters: Vanitas (

evulsed) + OTA
location: mostly The Church, the Invincible + the Boathouse
date/time: July 19 and the days following
content: just waking-up-after-being-dismembered things
warnings: violence

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[It's been the same feeling for days- after that first night. It'd been at it's worst then, worse than anything he could have ever imagined, worse than anything he's ever felt. But the after was something else. A stretched out kind of hollow feeling that didn't stop. It was there when we woke up and it was there when he and Riku and Kairi sat down for breakfast together. It was there when he and Dawn went out along the shore and it was there when he went to sleep. It was there the day after that, and the day after that and Sora couldn't bring himself to head into town and be around the bonfire's warm glow, or to find his way to the Invicible and listen to the chatter of voices familiar or otherwise. When he leaves the boathouse at all it's to walk along the sand or to sit out on the pier, to listen to the small waves and to try to close his eyes. To pretend that they're louder.

Being alone was the hardest part- when his friends would head into town or go meet up with some of the others. When the graves had lingered and they'd all had plenty on their minds. He couldn't bring himself to ask because if he did then he'd need to know what the question would be. He'd need to know what words to use. And he didn't, still doesn't.

Only that big hollow space had remained.
Until suddenly, in one deep breath, it wasn't.

Sora's body stiffens from where he sits. The sensation is like- like being hit all at once, like his leg has gone from being asleep to being normal in one big go. He looks back over his shoulder on reflex, an instantaneous snap as if he expects to find the cause right there. But it isn't. He isn't. And Sora looks at both of his hands instead, head swimming. If he lets his vision get blurry around the edges he imagines they might be covered in gore- unrecognizable shapes barely stitched onto his own.

All there really is to do is wait. His lantern is a warm golden glow brought into his lap, obscured from anyone but the lake- and he waits. There's no way to describe that either; knowing that Vanitas will come. It's just there, the same way that there's air to breathe, the same way that his heart still beats. He doesn't know what the passage of time is, in the end, and that feels appropriate too after the timelessness of everything else. Small noises arrive behind him, two feet in the sand. And Sora turns to see him- spots the dark silhouette looking out at the boathouse. So he turns with his lantern too. A single bright point on a black horizon.]

[ He couldn't miss the warm shine of Sora's lantern even if he wanted to. Some part of him knows it intrinsically, the same way he's always known Ventus'. It's familiar and draws him in, like a moth to flame. Vanitas' eyes cut sidelong, away from the almost threatening silhouette of the boathouse to land first on that little star-glow, and then on the boy holding it aloft.

Vanitas has never been afraid of a person. Even Xehanort, his powerful Master, who had forged him into the sharp blade he was today, hadn't scared him. The fear he's always known has never been tied to an individual— but the rushing sensation that floods his ears the moment his eyes land on Sora's unassuming outline feels similar. It's stupid, because what has just happened is proof he has nothing to fear. Even if they fight, even if Sora put the x-Blade that he inherited right through Vanitas' heart, he thinks the magic of this world would only bring him back again.

But facing him, Vanitas remembers what he'd seen in that vision, and what he'd felt. He remembers how violently it had taken his perception of things and shaken it, like a dog with a rabbit. How in that singular moment he understood Sora not just as the darkness to his light— but something else entirely.

His heart thumps hard in his chest. He can feel it like it's straining against his ribcage, like it could leap the short distance between Vanitas and the dock. He pulls both hands into fists, but it's the only movement he manages— caught between a yearning to come closer, and the desperate desire to run away. ]

[Neither one of them move at first. It's like as soon as they see each other they get stuck in place, becoming two opposite points or a pair of bookends. But then, even if that is true of Vanitas- it isn't true of Sora. He isn't one half of a whole, and he doesn't need to hold this invisible line. They don't need to stay suspended like this so that the world knows what it's supposed to do around them.

It isn't graceful, with his lantern tucked in the cradle of one elbow. Sora's leg comes in and bends out, he puts one palm against the wood of the dock and climbs to his feet. The whole process is boyish in it's lack of self-consciousness and it leaves him standing for just a moment at the edge of the pier, like all the other moorings waiting for a boat to dock. And then he starts to walk forward. The planks are old but they're still standing against the heat and the storms, against who knows how many years; they count each stride with a creak or groan or thud until he he steps off into sand instead.

Vanitas hasn't moved. His hands are small fists at his sides. It doesn't occur to Sora that he might draw a weapon or that like every time before- they could end up circling one another. Waiting for the next fight to tear through them both. When he finally does stop they're left in arm's reach of each other. They have the same face, but they aren't really reflections. That was always someone else's job.] You're back.

[The small words seem to punch out of him, a precursor that needed to be said.

Sora's lantern remains loose in one arm, but his eyes rove carefully over Vanitas's face- as if he's trying to be sure of what he's seeing. To know with more than just his heart. If the feeling bubbling up inside him has a name, it isn't one he's ever heard before. Instead it's just the thud of his pulse in his ears.]

I was waiting.

[ There is ample opportunity to make his retreat, because nothing about Sora's approach is abrupt or fast. Vanitas watches his lantern bob, watches the shape of him change underneath the round moon hanging heavy up above as he gets to his feet. Everything is quiet, except for the sound of the creaking pier under Sora's feet and the hush of the tide rising up against the shore, over and over. He comes closer and closer, making his way up the sand, and still Vanitas can't find it in himself to run. That tether in his chest winds tighter and tighter, and maybe Sora comes to him because it's impossible for them not to collide— even when Vanitas refuses to move.

I was waiting, he says, like it explains everything. As if anyone has ever waited for Vanitas before. As if they hadn't faced one another over the clattering of keyblades. As if Vanitas hadn't just the weeks before dug his fist into Sora's open wounds and tried to pry them vindictively open.

Vanitas stares at him, his expression indecipherable. They're close enough that Sora's lantern casts a warm, golden glow all over the front of his armor. Close enough that Vanitas could put his hand out, right into the middle of Sora's chest, and close his fingers around his pulse. He digs his fingers into his palms and stays as still as he can. ]

For what?

[If he's waiting for that moment of collision, the impact- then he'll be waiting for awhile. It was always Vanitas that had been bent on changing course, on forcing those around him to share the same track. Sora doesn't resent it and he wouldn't say he pities it either- but there's a different kind of feeling in it's place. Understanding. Vanitas has been running the same direction for who knows how long, furious with Ventus and Sora and all of these other people for not breaking themselves down over the same race. And he's doing it because he's only ever seen this one path.

His brows don't come together but that's because the question doesn't feel entirely like a question. There's an accusation in it.

The problem is that it leaves all of this space for the truth to end up. And Sora hasn't always found the truth to be kind, or even helpful. It certainly wouldn't soften the blow for him and his heart knows already that Vanitas would try to pull away. A reaction that would end up hurting them both not because they have a close and fond friendship- but because they're two corners of a rubberband. They can only get so far apart.

How did he go this long without noticing?
How did he go so long without noticing any of them?

The boathouse remains a dark, haunted shape behind him- more silhouette than substance. He's had a hard time being inside if he's alone in the same way that he's had a hard time finding the words for Riku and Kairi. The graves had appeared in town and lingered for days and Sora had seemed well enough the next morning- and he understood why they'd head off. If they were going to be stuck in Beacon forever at least they wouldn't have to be stuck inside the same four walls.

But.

Sora doesn't flinch beneath his stare, but he doesn't press forward either. It's just this, this stillness.]

We're connected, remember?

[ He can't argue the point, even if a sullen part of him wants to, just to have something to fight against. After all, Vanitas had been the one to point it out, to explain all the ways that Sora became the fulcrum to he and Ventus. The reality is that Vanitas has known for much longer that they were tied together, long before he had ever taken up residence in the dark side of Sora's heart.

What Vanitas doesn't understand is the full extent of it. He knows, of course, that he's been able to feel Ventus in the past— even if he hasn't known what was causing the feeling. That sensation like a hook was buried in his heart, and a long way off someone yanked hard on the line. That it could be anything other than a new kind of suffering is beyond his comprehension. It wasn't as though Xehanort ever explained things to him in a way that was straight forward, that wasn't directly tied to furthering his own agenda.

He doesn't know that Sora woke up screaming in the middle of the night when Vanitas was pulled apart vicious and fast; that he had experienced, even in an echo, how it felt to have his joints pop and his muscles split and his veins snap.

What he does know, is that his feet brought him here even when he hadn't decided to do it. What he knows is the excruciating sense of relief Sora had felt after that final task, the gentle peace of all despair and suffering released like a breath. His eyes cut from Sora's face and go to his lantern, glowing strong. They're close enough that Vanitas can feel the warmth off of it. Or maybe it isn't warm at all, and what Vanitas is feeling is the Light that turns him into Sora's long shadow.

It doesn't really matter.
Either way, he wants to immolate himself inside of it. ]

How could I forget?

[It looks almost self-conscious- the way Sora reaches across his own chest to touch, faintly, the joint of one shoulder. That's where he'd felt it first. The first pull that has been too much. That had been further than his body was meant to go. But he doesn't make the decision to do it either, it just happens. In the few days that have passed it's something he catches himself in the process of- as if he's looking for a reminder that he's still in one piece. As if he's trying to be sure he's all there, when that huge emptiness had lingered- a crater with no end in sight. His fingertips brush the fabric there and with it, the recognition lands. He freezes, fingers curling into his palm before his hand falls to his side altogether.]

I feel what you feel.

[What he doesn't know is what will happen next. It feels like Vanitas is here for a reason- not that he has a motive, but that it's where he belongs. After everything. Sora hasn't felt unsafe here in Beacon- but he hasn't been sleeping since that night either. He hasn't felt...

He hasn't felt the way he does now.
Like he's sure the closet door is closed. Like he's sure there's nothing under the bed.]

[ His gaze cuts back from the lantern to Sora's eyes, meeting them with an almost audible click in the wake of those five words. It isn't a foreign idea, but hearing it said, seeing the subtle curl of Sora's fingers as they come away from his joints— is very different. The full weight of it settles on Vanitas like a physical presence, jarring enough to make him go perfectly still.

He isn't sympathetic or apologetic, but it's the memory. All those hands on his body, the inhuman strength it took to rend him limb from limb— like having his heart shattered, but everywhere. The sick tearing sound of muscle, the gash of teeth sinking into flesh and separating it from his own body. An echo of terror crawls up Vanitas' spine, making his hands curl into fists, and sheer willpower prevents him from looking over his shoulder— but it doesn't stop his pupils from going small, or stop him from swallowing against the dryness in his throat. ]

Do you?

Yes. [The syllables break and just like that it's too close.

Sora hasn't tiptoed around it because he hasn't really had to. Riku and Kairi haven't brought it up and any time he paid too much attention to the way something felt in his palm, or to a cramp in his leg, or to an ache in his back he could just brush it to one side. He could push himself around it and not look back- keep his face forward. It isn't the first time he's taken a feeling like that and made it quiet. He'd only really come close with that doctore, when he'd tried to explain what happened in the hope that there was something he could do to stop the hole feeling. And Dawn- who had asked like he'd known.

His throat feels tight, like there's a fist wrapped around it that doesn't choke off the air, only the words underneath it. Vanitas remembers. Vanitas remembers it right now, and sensory memory wells up in him like a wave, suffocating him from the inside. Sora's mouth parts, an attempt to suck in more air, like if he could just breathe a little faster he might not drown. It just isn't enough. His eyes burn, red-rimmed even in the absence of light and they sting for the tears that start welling up in them: not even sadness or grief, but the huge open maw of fear and pain and powerlessness. How close it feels.

The lantern remains tucked against his arm and Sora draws in a wet breath before his jaw clicks- a resolute attempt to keep it down. To keep it from getting too high too fast.]

Will you come inside?

[ It echoes between them, maybe no stronger than it had been before, but Vanitas is dialed into it now— this specific frequency. The one that mirrors his terror back at him in the shape of Sora's jaw going slack to breathe quicker, that makes his eyes red in the light of his lantern. Now that he notices it, now that he's looking at it, the simplicity with which it could turn into a endless feedback loop is visceral.

Sora inhales.
Vanitas inhales in tandem.

Yes is on his tongue, but he sews it up tight with a clack of his teeth. Vanitas' eyes go over Sora's shoulder, to the monolith of the boathouse. He thinks of Gene, saying he was worthy of kindness despite what he is. He thinks of Wanda, and the soft press of her fingers in his hair. He thinks of how vulnerable he had felt, still feels, and immediately the same recoil of so many eyes on him at once.

It's strange, to feel brand new like this. Like when he'd first been born in that desert, when nothing made sense.

He looks back at Sora, and his light fills Vanitas' vision. ]

I'm not going to stay with all of you.

[ The fear in him says. Vanitas doesn't know yet that it will turn into a lie for almost a week. ]

[It's strange- to know the answer before he hears it. Because Sora's sure that he knows, because it feels like the words have alredy hit the air or like it's a conversation that's happened years ago. He knows Vanitas will say yes the way he knows his own name or the way he knows what his old alarm clock sounded like, or the way he always knew where to find the cookies on the top shelf in the cupboard.

But more important than the reply is the way it feels before it happens. The moment doesn't just ease and it doesn't snap like an over-stretched string either. Sora feels it welling up inside him, a glass that's been filled to the point of overflowing- held together by suface tension and not much else. He feels it stop right before the point of no return. And then, barely a change at all, there's a little bit less. Vanitas mirrors his inhale and it's a little bit less again.

Their lanterns face one another, the bend of one arm and the slope of another. Sora becomes distantly aware of his feet in the sand and the gentle sloshing of water against the docks.]

Just stay with me.

[He doesn't know why he says it. There isn't a precursor, there's no overarching thought to connect point a to point b, to turn this into a solution. Staying with Sora isn't really any different than staying with everyone else and that's inevitable because of their living situation. He's not going to apologize for that- for wanting to be near his friends after everything. It's the nuance that matters. There's no denying that Sora and his friends are a package deal, but what with me really means is for me. Because it's something he needs.

Something about it- the prospect of the two of them going their separate ways right now and what happened last time, the way he plays it on repeat every time he lays down for too long-

His gaze snaps up and Sora realizes exactly what he's said only in the seconds after he's said it. And he could take it back. He could try.

He doesn't.]

[ Sora says it, and a beat so heavy follows that when he suddenly meets Vanitas' eyes, it feels as though he's physically reached across the distance and touched him. It should make him stiffen, make him recoil— but instead, Vanitas feels something unspool from his spine.

The message has been the same from all sides: be better, be good, be more. He knows that's what these people want from him too, but in this moment— that isn't what Sora is asking of him. It isn't the way the strangers here seem to shoulder their way into his space, thinking he should have company, thinking that's what he should want and need. It isn't inviting Vanitas in to be part of a group he has no business intermingling with. He says just stay with me and the broken pieces of his heart understand what Sora is really asking without his having to say it.

With me. For me.
A wanting that only Vanitas can fill.

Vanitas thinks of how desperately he chased after Ventus, and how that boy turned him down time and again, a light too dazzling to be once more marred by darkness. How badly he needed that salvation. He thinks of that long expanse of peace, of how it felt to finally put everything down at it's inevitable conclusion and rest.

He doesn't look away from Sora's eyes when he takes that first step forward, and then another, until they're nearly toe to toe. Finally, when he looks away, it's to turn his eyes down on the glow of Sora's lantern, warm and steady as a heartbeat. With his chin bowed, he nods. ]

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