Pity, pity boiled at the surface of the chemistâs chest, but why did he pity this boy so, when they were both attached to nothing and succumbing to nothing when they both knew that without any one little thing with even the tiniest grain of purpose or meaning, they would be nothing as well? He knew the boy saw him, saw right into him, without anticipating that he would get lost, stuck, engulfed by a reflection of himself that he couldnât bare? The raven-haired man with his toxic, sharp, golden optics, breathed in the black smog from his cigarette and took a long drag. He kept his gaze upon the young boy, and was perplexed by how alike they were and yet so miserably different. While the chemist has come to terms with the fact that he is nothing but darkness personified, oblivion made flesh, the boy is still trying to fight his abstracts, the fact that he cannot exist in a reality or a fantasy. If so where then does he belong, in fact? The answer is clear for the both of them; they just exist, there is nowhere to belong.
      Acknowledging that it probably is a lot later than the skies seem to reflect Vanitas turned his wrist over, and glanced at his golden wrist watch. Because he traveled from one location to the next, time seemed to allude him as well, but the weight of time rolling over their bodies never seemed to effect him. He could note that time was moving fast or slow by looking at a clock, but otherwiseâ he was always changing too fast, darkness shrouded him, marinated his body, and it was consist the way his existence made him feel. Thus, he was always building a still. The last city he was in was much different than this, much busier, and much more crowded. Everyone was a busy body, and fooled themselves into thinking they had higher purposes, reasons for which people needed them, excuses as to why their presence was important. Here, in Twilight Town, the sun was a phantom, the clouds were apparitions, and the buildings and cobblestone streets are the palpable lines between what isnât real and what is manipulatively fabricated to fool oneâs mind into believing something can be solid, can be held. Following the young, sun-chaffed blond along their jagged path, Vanitas said little to few words even after hearing that the boy attended the university as well. The chemist wasnât surprised to know that he was institution worthy, but he was surprised the teen would be the type to let himself be institutionalized. Unless he knew the difference, a piece of knowledge about the beach-bum that Vanitas had yet to decipher.
     The enigma continued to tail the boy, his steps extremely out of synch with the blondâs, and yet there was a unison in their steps as they walked. Every step they took carried a weight, a mutual weight that was familiar to them both and as they strolled, Vanitas readjusted the black duffel bag over his shoulders, his gray cotton, crew-neck T-shirt crinkling uncomfortably underneath the weight of his bomber jacket and bag. His shoes, a pair of black leather, Yves Saint Laurent high-tops, scuffed lightly beneath the sole after his every, casual step, and every so often the ashes from the tip of his cigarette would cling to his black, fitted denim jeans before he could dust it off. âIâm a scientific researcher from The I.N.C.S, The International Nuclear Chemistry Society, of Italy, a protĂŠgĂŠ of an old man who havenât the strength to travel as I doâŚâ He began in response to the teenagerâs inquiry, taking another swig of his cigarette before continuing, âI decided to continue my research in different atmospheres, traveling from one place to anotherâŚâ
     âThe easiest place to conduct my research as I travel is at universities; it is standard that any accredited university has laboratories that are up to date on regulations and technological par. Typically, they have everything I need to test my research before I return to Italy to actually present it.â Dragging his eyes from building to building, cloud to cloud, and then to the soft, shuffling spikes of the back of the blondâs head, he added, â⌠It was just a lot more quiet here than the last city I was in; I thought it would be a decent changeâ the sun is out more, here. Iâm still not quite sure how I feel about that yet, but I suppose Iâll find out soon enough.â The chemist paused for a short moment, and then finally found the genuine interest in him to inquire.
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