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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[ 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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