â heâll never love you. â
     itâs dark, always dark. his dreams are nothing more than shadows that chase him until heâs too exhausted to continue, leaving him breathless and aching, never quite able to wake up ( did he truly ever try? ). their voices sometimes permeate these dreams, constant reminders that he can never truly be rid of his past, be rid of the people who had taken bits of his soul until he could never get them back. itâs their voices that caress his cheek, brush against his neck as if lips to touch, wrap possessively around his hip as if to claim.Â
                  â how can anyone love something so tainted? â
     the words echo around him, like bouncing off walls, and he stands still, chin tucked to his chest as he surrenders to the perverse thoughts that never seem to leave â who could love someone such as himself?  it slithers through his mind, even in waking hours, even when when the scorching sun lays warmly upon him, intent to chase away the cold that seeps into his bones and settles deep as if to root him there, frozen. they caress him as if familiar, taunting him with the knowledge that he once he cared little for himself. that he had once given his everything for nothing. he hadnât cared. he hadnât cared. and now he was dirty, broken, tainted. he was used and beaten, and everything had been his own fault. he had accepted it, had given in to it, had offered it. regret is a bitter taste that coats the back of his tongue and burns his throat. he wants to pull away from those hands, those that crawl over his skin; his throat, his chest, his thigh. familiar, repulsive ââ
     he wakes suddenly, eyes wide as breath lodges in his throat. the warmth of a palm sits upon his cheek, startling in its tenderness, resembling nothing like that of the hand that so coldly touched him in his dreams. gaze is momentarily frantic until he finds purchase in that of warm sunlight. vanitas. new breath fills his lungs. vanitas is different. vanitas, though cold and hard on the exterior, is warmer than any fire he might press his cold hands too. softer than the goose down that filled his favorite pillow. gentler than any mother to itâs child. but there is something hidden between them, unspoken words that create a chasm he canât cross. words that tear the breath from him in a single movement.    â heâll never love you. â
     â donât. â  it passes his lips in a hush, barely there but still to be heard, without intention. he had not meant to speak, to break the beautiful smile that adorns his face, but he cannot help the tightening in his chest at the subtle shift of his eyes, sunlight shifting dangerously. cannot help the catch in his breath at the hand that cradles his face so gently. he doesnât know why the word slips, or what he asks of him with it. he only knows that his heart is held in a glass cage, and any moment it might break, with even the slightest bump. heâs rigid in their bed, unable to move toward him, to close the distance that feels as if it will continue to stretch no matter how much pleading he might give. what was this feeling, this ache in his chest that resembled abandonment? he reaches out hesitantly, fingers outstretched as if to curl across his naked hip, lips parted in expectant question, but producing only one word.
                â vanitas⌠â
he speaks as though he were an angelâs sighâ gentility at the forefront of his intentions with caution left in its wake. riku knows him far better than he thinks; perhaps even too well. well enough to know that such a delicate touch does not come without repercussion and nor without the promise of devastation. his usual touch is far too unpracticed, unsteady and demanding when he takes rikuâs hand into his own or burrows under his arm wherever he may be. â donât, â he says, because warning bells are ringing within the quiet space between them in the dim light of the morning where he swears that they are the only two to wake this early.  â donât, â he says because he is well aware of the doubts that circle his mind adorned solely by the insecurities weaved into it. the steely blue that looks back at him swear there is nothing but genuine adoration that he could ever possibly giveâ he swears it. itâs the ever - ingrained insecurity embedded into the forefront of his skull that drive him to question this unwavering truth, even when riku shakes his entire world, an earthquake to decimate the temples where his self - loathing had amassed. riku, since the day theyâd met, had been the most destructive natural disaster to ravage the foundations of everything he once thought heâd known. heâs someone that vanitas will never regret meeting, even should he use his own blade to pierce his heart withâ a betrayal most foul in its intentâ he would never regret the time theyâd spent together. now, his heart tears easily ( little by little ) with the way that he seeks proximity when his name is the one muttered through lips that have offered nothing but the promise of a love he would not shed should he die tryingâ oh, his smile is far too fond.
the gentility of his thumb stroking across the soft, unmarred skin is something he never imagined he would find himself getting used to. in a moment, vanitas stillsâ often does he wonder just how it is that riku knows his thoughts before he can think them himself. perhaps heâs become too predictable? too routine? staring back at the one person who shifted his self - made tomb to allow himself room to resurrect the man within, he can only surmise itâs because this person loves him more than he can ever hope to imagine. itâs with this in mind that his leg wraps around rikuâs waist, arm pushing him upward until heâs sitting comfortably atop rikuâs waist. from here, he can see the vulnerability painted across his face within the dim light of whatever small light shown in their shared bedroomâ something too frail to truly voice without the help afforded by waking from a terrible dream.  â riku... â he speaks as if his voice will break any barricade heâd established with his doubts well - founded. his hands cup his cheeks once more, smile ever palpable and unobstructed in rikuâs view of it, and yet there lies a sense of overwhelming fear that his happiness will be torn away as easily as heâd found it here between the two of them.  â i love you, riku. â  & tender is the touch of their foreheads, lain together when he lays all his emotions bear while hardly saying anything at all. itâs nothing, and everything all at once.  â how nice it would be if i could keep loving you forever, â and  â how terrible a loss it should be when i lose you one day â spun together in three words.
