During Ventus’ recovery in Castle Oblivion, he would dream. His long slumber back then was uneventful, calm as he waited to wake again. Amusing even, thanks to the dream spirits that bounced between the dreams. After waking, those dreams ceased to be, becoming memories behind him. The adorable dream eaters no longer visited. In their place, Ventus dreamed a new station. One he grew to dread.

This night was the same of many since they defeated Master Xehanort. Around him, Ventus heard cracking. The cracking of thin glass; a soft fragile tinkling. The cracking of ice rivers; a roaring sound resembling whale calls and whipping metal wires when they broke under strain.

He rubbed his palm over his heart. Each time he came here, it gave him discomfort. He opened his eyes, expecting what he’ll see.

Along the circular floor was a colorful mural of stained glass, the shards held together with metal came bars to form a scenery of the starry sky, backdropping pale mosaic buildings and brick roads. A place long gone. Smaller displays ringed around it, resembling people, objects of
sentimentality, himself.

Beyond it was nothingness; dark, absent space.

Ventus shuffled along the platform, plagued with an uneasy feeling. Beneath the stained-glass mural, a shadowed shape caught his eye. A dark casket laid centerpiece under the detailed town square and its fountain. Ventus moved closer. Inside it, a familiar sleeping face sent him reeling back. His breath caught in his chest, unable to leave.

His other half.

This isn’t possible, he thought. Vanitas wasn’t a presence in this place. Only the fractures to the platform were his companions in
his visits.

His head grew woozy, and he allowed himself to breathe. Ventus kneeled forward to look closer, settling on his hands. One of them slipped through the glass with no resistance. He brought it up, flexing his fingers. He tested the glass again. It phased his hands through. He slowly reached further in, resting one hand on Vanitas’ shoulder and the other hovering over his mouth. Warm air hit his palm.

Another crack sounded beside them. Ventus turned his head toward the source.

Vanitas’ eyes opened and his hands grabbed Ventus’ neck. Ventus gasped, pulling back. His arms caught in the glass, refusing
to leave.

Ventus tugged. The trap held firm.

Vanitas’ fingers pressed together and pulled him closer. Ventus pawed at the other’s arms and twisted his head to break loose. Vanitas watched him with a determined stare.

Ventus coughed, “S-stop…” The dizziness settled in, and his veins pulsed under Vanitas’ grip. “Sto…” Then he went limp.

Vanitas released his grip, letting Ventus collapse on him. He embraced him and rolled onto their side, bringing more of him under the glass. He kissed the redness forming on Ventus’ neck. Ventus’ breathing shuddered.

“Weak,” Vanitas whispered, “… as usual.”

Vanitas sat up, laying Ventus over his place. In the contrasting darkness, the scarring on Ventus’ chest stood out, appearing as cracks held together with gold leaf, marking Sora’s influence. Vanitas’ own stood out in the light outside of the glass, nearly blended with his black and red armor.

Vanitas raked the tips of his nails along the scarring, to him resembling a smashed mirror from their separation. He barely noticed, or rather adapted to, the pain that chronically radiated from his. Then there were the lines, on their wrists, their torsos, their necks. The residual markings of strings that cut into them under the movement and command of their former master.

Vanitas moved to stand. Ventus grabbed hold of his arm.

“Van…” he wheezed. Vanitas pried his grip off and covered his eyes.

“Don’t bother getting up.”

When Ventus regained consciousness, Vanitas sat by, his back to him. Feathers covered the whole of his shoulders and back, like wings stitched into the dark fabric of his new attire. The arms were touched with slim, stitched rings of red.

Ventus lifted his hand and his fingers hit the glass. Vanitas looked to him, and Ventus noticed the matching, albeit pale, outfit on his person. The red rings on him stood out conspicuously.

Vanitas reached through and scooped Ventus up. Ventus’ chest scar burned as the glass strained to keep its duty, to keep one inside. Cracks formed over Ventus before the glass shattered into pieces. The pain in his chest lingered, forcing his eyes to tear up.

If Vanitas felt it too, he did well to bury it.

Vanitas brought him to his feet and touched Ventus’ scars. Ventus batted him away before the sting returned to his skin.

The two watched each other for a while, Ventus eying the mural as the calls of whales and broken wire continued below them. It was in a miserable state, the mural. Like all the times before, jagged breaks distorted the images, the spaces within a heavy drop to nothing.

“Miss me?” Vanitas asked.

“A little,” he admitted. “Why are you here?”

Vanitas raised his arm. Ventus found himself following it… and another move… and another. The both of them gave a refined bow. It felt oddly comforting. A synchronization of movement, of reflections, between them. They stepped closer to one another. Ventus’ breaths deepened to match the stir brewing in his chest. A smile took form on his face.

Vanitas held his hand to him. When Ventus went to take it, Vanitas pulled away, a mischievous smirk stretching across his lips. He moved a few steps back, bringing the long crevice in the floor between them. Vanitas gestured to Ventus to approach.

Ventus hesitated. If he fell through, the darkness waited for him. The kind that came of nightmares that sat on your shoulders beyond the realm of sleep, that made the light burn you instead. He has fallen through the safety of the Station platform many times in his sleep, drowning, simply to awaken with a lingering reminder of a wrong that he couldn’t recall.

Impatient, Vanitas treaded on top of the crevice, back and forth, with little worry. He gestured to Ventus again. Ventus cautiously reached forward; his eyes trained to the floor. The moment his foot touched the crevice, Ventus heard the tiny breaks. He stepped back. Vanitas firmly gripped his wrist and brought him back over. Ventus instinctively held on, gripping Vanitas’ back, the ends of the black feathers smudging his fingers with a dark sap.

Vanitas kneed his leg, showing him where to place it. Ventus held it, his knuckles turning white as he braced for the inevitable. They held it there. Silence surrounded them. No ruptures the sound of whales. No clinking of thin glass between the came framework of the mural.

They stood lightly on the ground.

Like feathers on cracks.

Ventus let out a sharp breath. Was it always this easy?

Vanitas undid Ventus’ vice grip and spread their arms out, his hands holding Ventus’ wrists. Then they took more calculated steps along the crevice, their eyes locked on each other. They crossed against the starry sky, the pale buildings, the brick roads, the stylized designs of themselves in the layered rings.

Every step landed on the unresponsive breaks in the mural, washing away Ventus’ trepidation.

Then a shimmer of memory peeked in on them, standing at the edge of their sight. Ventus broke eye contact to follow the apparition. It vanished. As they spun together in their dance, Ventus’ head grew dizzy. The careful steps he danced stumbled under him, and he fainted, like a ragdoll in Vanitas’ arms. The pain of his scar returned with a vengeance, restricting his breathing. The loud cracks returned to them.

Vanitas lowered them to the ground and pressed their chests flush against each other, their scars overlapping. It wouldn’t make them whole again, however the memory of the one time they did felt closer this way.

“You’re so weak. Brittle, without me. All this noise you’re making is deafening.” Vanitas rested his hand over Ventus’ neck; the red line there remained. “Let me show you how to be light.”

Ventus managed a chuckle. “What happened to hating my guts?”

“I know what you refuse to feel, but they are still ours.” Ventus was quiet. Vanitas sat him up. “Watch me.”

Weighed by the pressure over his chest, Ventus struggled to stand. Vanitas helped him up and led them along the outer ring of the platform, to the fissures and missing pieces. A break covered the center fountain, the casket from before gone. Between the gap, he saw bodies in a shadowed room, barely lit by the light from the only door. Ventus averted his eyes from the scene.

“Ventus…” Vanitas muttered.

“No,” Ventus said. Glass splintered under him.

Vanitas grabbed him by the chin. “Stop shying away.”

“No!” Ventus struggled, forcing his head away from Vanitas’ guidance. “I don’t want to look!”

The details resurfaced as the red strings tightened on him, taking the will of his limbs from his control. The first master phased into a new form as she passed the corpses and entered the light. He followed behind, book in hand, a very… very long time ago.

Ventus turned his back on the scene, colliding into Vanitas in his sprint for the void beyond the platform. Past them Ventus saw figures of light, calling his name. He considered receiving their welcoming hands and reached out; the light then burning his eyes. He fell back and met with nothing, except a pair of arms catching him. Jagged glass circled the dark pit he floated in. Tears spilled when he opened his eyes.

“I didn’t hate her,” he said.

“I know,” Vanitas replied.

Ventus held his arms out, the red lines in view. “It still hurts.”

“It does.”

A couple Unversed chittered at them. Vanitas watched them, holding Ventus up and making circles on the latter’s arm with his thumb. Ventus sobbed.

But she is gone. And the strings still pull on their skin like the years were nothing.

In silence, Vanitas relaxed his body, letting them both slip into the pit. The Unversed vanished. Ventus turned and squeezed Vanitas, bracing himself for what came.

The cracked space surrounded them, memories and grief hugging close, weighing them further down. Tears continued to stain his cheeks. Ventus rubbed his hands over the dark feathers, spreading the smudge on his fingers to his palms, and he rested his cheek on Vanitas’ shoulder, letting the weight ease off him. After a few moments, he took a deep breath.

“Vanitas?” his voice cracked.

Vanitas was quiet, his eyes closed as he floated. “Hm?”

“Thank you for coming here.”