[ Vanitas listens, dutiful as any sort of student; tries to line up what Bruce is articulating against the feeling. Bruce hadn't been upset, when he said what he did, when Selina stuttered and immediately left the room. It would be a rejection in any other terms, and yet the little glow of light in Bruce's chest dictated differently.
Black and white, dark and light. Hatred and love should exist at opposite ends of the spectrum. And yet Quentin showed him pain, even talking about how warm love made him. Bruce tells him it doesn't always look the way the princes and the princesses do. In those rocks, Vanitas felt for the first time how it was to have that powerful sensation inside of him— but nothing in his lived experience can be compared to it.
Riku kissed him, but it didn't stop Vanitas from wanting to hurt him. Bruce offered him a home, and all he'd done was ache over the very idea. If love was supposed to feel good, then what is it that Vanitas feels?
He's quiet as he processes all of this— and then finally lets out a loud sigh, frustration weighing it's edges down and making it jagged and noisy when it hits the air. It doesn't make sense. Or rather, it's woven in a manner so complicated that his simplistic vision of the world strains in it's attempt at comprehension. ]
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Black and white, dark and light. Hatred and love should exist at opposite ends of the spectrum. And yet Quentin showed him pain, even talking about how warm love made him. Bruce tells him it doesn't always look the way the princes and the princesses do. In those rocks, Vanitas felt for the first time how it was to have that powerful sensation inside of him— but nothing in his lived experience can be compared to it.
Riku kissed him, but it didn't stop Vanitas from wanting to hurt him. Bruce offered him a home, and all he'd done was ache over the very idea. If love was supposed to feel good, then what is it that Vanitas feels?
He's quiet as he processes all of this— and then finally lets out a loud sigh, frustration weighing it's edges down and making it jagged and noisy when it hits the air. It doesn't make sense. Or rather, it's woven in a manner so complicated that his simplistic vision of the world strains in it's attempt at comprehension. ]