Vanitas stares at him for a long moment, then smirks and shakes his head. He's not sure if Quentin is purposefully obtuse or if he just doesn't get it, but there's something about it that Vanitas would interpret is naively endearing if he had the capacity to know what that feeling is like. It's like a duckling swimming around on a pond, oblivious to the monster circling underneath it.

Of course Quentin probably already knows what Vanitas would tell him. It doesn't need to be new information for it to hurt. In fact, those are the wounds that often go the deepest.

Really, he might be more curious about it if he wasn't sitting on a kind of messy turmoil that was taking up most of his attention right now. If he had it in him to wan to pursue curiousity, and his tendency to exact suffering in the people around him. Right now, he's just tired and wants to be alone.

"Goodbye, Quentin."

Maybe later, he thinks without conviction as he resumes his walk away.