Despite the persona Vanitas projects to the world, there are things that he is scared to approach, things he won’t say, or things he doesn’t know how to—perhaps he doesn’t know it’s an option. One of those things has been eating at him for over a week now, ever since he and Ventus had accidentally run into Sora and Riku, parked on a windowsill and kissing like they might die if they separated.

Ventus had squeaked, while Riku lit up redder than seemed humanly possible and started apologizing. The last thing Vanitas heard before Ventus had hastily taken his hand and dragged them away was Sora’s raucous laughter.

It hadn’t been the first time he’d seen them kiss or caught them in the midst of a private moment. But there was something about the two of them—curled up together, bathed in light, smiling as they kissed—that made something warm and icky settle in Vanitas’ chest.

L o n g i n g.
Vanitas has never been kissed before and the mere thought of being kissed, as if starved for it, like it’s needed to survive, is overwhelming. Particularly if he thinks about Ventus kissing him like that.

Not that Vanitas knows how to bring that up. The possibility that it hadn’t affected Ventus at all gives him additional reason to hesitate.

It’s taken them so long just to get where they are now. Vanitas doesn’t want to risk it. He’s not sure he could survive the two of them falling apart again—his heart would surely shatter beyond repair.

Vanitas huffs, trying to shake the incessant thoughts away, scooting a bit closer to Ventus’ side. They lay side by side on Ventus’ bed, Ventus reading a comic and Vanitas scrolling through Kingstagram. He doesn’t like any of the stupid posts he sees from the other guardians, scoffing every so often at whatever nauseating captions one of them used.

He’s about to show Ventus one of Roxas’ recent posts, but Ventus shifts, breaking the silence first.

“…Hey,” Ventus says softly, setting his book down and swallowing. “Do you ever… think about kissing?”

Vanitas exhales slowly as he replies, stupidly, “What?”

“You know, like…” Ventus tips his head back, staring at the ceiling as he flounders for a moment. “The concept of kissing. Just, in general.”

Vanitas sets his phone on the mattress at his side, all thoughts about dumb Kingstagram posts forgotten. Ventus’ response isn’t really an elaboration to the original question posed—if anything, it’s just a rephrasing—but it still leaves Vanitas speechless, disoriented.

Of course he thinks about kissing—the concept of it, the feeling of it, the desire for it. Has it been that obvious that this is all he’s been able to think about for the past few days?

Even outside of seeing Sora and Riku, there are other couples they’re constantly subjected to. Lea and Isa, Roxas and Xion, Naminé and Strelitzia—

How can he think about anything except what it would be like to have what all of them have? To have it with Ventus?

But it’s not like he can say that; it’s not like he can ask for it. Vanitas doesn’t know how to be tender and romantic.

Besides, this is most likely an innocent question—real curiosity. Maybe because Ventus does want to kiss someone? Someone who isn’t Vanitas.

A bitter, nasty feeling settles heavily over him.

“You want to know if I… think about kissing?” Vanitas repeats. The response feels just as stupid as his first one. He sighs, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling as well. Honest, but without giving too much of himself away, he murmurs, “Yeah, I—I guess I do.”

“It seems nice,” Ventus muses, tilting his head until their temples meet. “Or, I mean, I assume it is since everyone keeps doing it so much.”

Vanitas snorts, humming his agreement. “Yeah, it must be. Sora and Riku can’t seem to stop sucking face every chance they get.”

But it isn’t just them. Roxas leaves sweet, lingering kisses on Xion’s lips whenever they part ways. Isa often shuts Lea up by tugging him in for a firm, silencing kiss. Naminé and Strelitzia exchange soft, brief ones when they sit in the gardens together. No matter who it is that Vanitas witnesses, it always looks the same—satisfying, comforting, adoring.

“Oh my light, I know,” Ventus whispers, a note of something almost like awe in his voice.

Vanitas thinks that must be the end of it when Ventus stays silent for a while after that, but it seems curiosity is still scratching at his brain because he shifts again.

“Have you ever kissed anyone?” Ventus asks carefully. Vanitas is silently grateful that they’re not making eye contact.

“No,” Vanitas replies. “Why do you want to know, anyway?”

“Oh! Um, I just—I’ve never done that, so I was… curious?” Ventus stammers.

Vanitas had assumed as much, but hearing Ventus confirm it aloud soothes that possessive feeling in him. It mutates to something more… pleased and triumphant.

It’s an odd sensation—to feel relieved that Ventus has never been with someone else, while also knowing that Vanitas will never be the one to have him. It’s not as if Ventus will stay this way forever. If he’s asking about kissing—the concept of it, what it’s like—then he must be interested in it.

Interested in someone.

“Ah, I see. So, there’s… a person you want to kiss, then?” Vanitas asks, trying his best to feign disinterest.

“Yeah,” Ventus breathes, “but I’m—not sure if he’s ready for that yet.”

Vanitas quickly buries his disappointment—he had been expecting a yes, but that didn’t make this hurt any less.

Ventus has been patient, trying to rehabilitate him, connect with him—be whole in the only way the two of them really can be now. Vanitas will never fit together with Ventus again, whose heart has healed despite the pieces of it that Vanitas still carries. They don’t need to join together and forge the χ-blade—they can be exactly as they are now, even if it will never be enough for him.

Vanitas needs to support Ventus now. He owes him that much, after everything they’ve been through—that Vanitas has put him through. He should try to offer even a fraction of the help, the kindness, that Ventus has extended to him so easily, so willingly.

“Have you tried asking him?” Vanitas suggests, working excessively to keep his voice level, neutral.

Vanitas feels the weight of Ventus’ gaze on him, but keeps his eyes stubbornly focused up. Ventus sounds almost amused when he states, “I have not. He’s… well, he’s working on himself.”

Vanitas considers that for a minute, subconsciously sliding his hand out across the covers, settling between them. He’s aware, even without seeing, just how close Ventus’ fingertips are to his own.

“Working on himself doesn’t mean he wouldn’t have space for you, too, right?” Vanitas tries, not entirely convinced that it’s as reassuring as he means for it to be.

Finally, he inclines his head towards Ventus, focusing on his jawline so as to not meet his eyes. Vanitas huffs, leaning into his usual banter to try to ease the strange tension that has settled over them. “Aren’t you a guardian? You’re supposed to be brave. If you want him, do something about it.”

Hah. Maybe he should take his own advice.

Ventus loops his pinky over Vanitas’, tugging a little in a clear request for Vanitas to look at him. So, he does, because he’s helpless to do anything else, really.

When their eyes meet, Ventus rolls over to face him, his free hand finding a place at Vanitas’ jaw. Vanitas swallows, everything else falling out of his focus as he hones in completely on Ventus—the warmth of his hand, the gentleness of his touch, the green of his eyes, the light catching in the gold of his hair like a halo. Ventus is so effortlessly beautiful it steals the breath from him.

Then Ventus’ lips part and he whispers, shy, but so terribly brave in a way that Vanitas isn’t, “Can I kiss you, then?”

“Oh.” Vanitas exhales, sounding so horribly small when he asks, “Me? Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Ventus nods, sliding his fingers to caress Vanitas’ cheek. Ventus’ eyes widen a little, fumbling as he adds, “I mean—if you want to. It’s okay if you don’t, I just—”

“I do—” Vanitas insists, in a rush, almost afraid that Ventus might take it back. He reaches with his own free hand now and curls his fingers into Ventus’s shirt, over his heart.

“Please,” Vanitas whispers, rolling onto his side, eyes darting to Ventus’ lips as he anxiously runs his tongue over his own.

“Okay,” Ventus says, scooting himself closer, “just… don’t laugh.”

Before Vanitas can reply, Ventus untangles his pinky from Vanitas’ so he can close the remaining distance between them. He brings that hand up to cup Vanitas’ cheek, dropping his right hand to settle on Vanitas’ hip. There’s a breath, then hesitantly Ventus presses his lips to Vanitas’.

The angle is a little awkward—with their noses bumping uncomfortably and Ventus’ lips shy where they’re pressed to his—but Vanitas is already certain it’s the best kiss ever. How can he possibly laugh when it feels like this? His entire body is filled with warmth and light and the center point of it all is Ventus.

Vanitas pulls back, only long enough to tilt his head and correct the alignment, bringing his right hand to carefully cradle the side of Ventus’ neck, before he’s closing back in, whispering, “Like this.”

If Vanitas thought the image of Sora and Riku kissing, on repeat, inside his brain had been bad, it’s nothing compared to this. He’s already positive he’ll be useless for the next week, thinking of nothing but Ventus kissing him and making pleased little sounds—ones he’s making because of Vanitas.

Vanitas finally understands why others kiss so often, so desperately. Now that he knows what kissing Ventus is like, he’s starved for it—they have so many years of this to make up for that he’s not sure he’ll ever be satisfied.

“Ventus,” Vanitas breathes, between warm kisses and the sweet coaxing of Ventus’ tongue.

Ventus hums, lips brushing Vanitas’ still when he pauses to ask, “Yeah? You okay?”

Vanitas clings tighter to Ventus, mourning the loss of his mouth already. He blinks his eyes open slowly, meeting
Ventus’ without hesitation.

“I’m fine. I just—” Vanitas starts, heaving in air, realizing he hasn’t been focused enough on breathing.

He’s still half expecting to wake up, cold and utterly alone, surrounded by the Unversed, with only the phantom of Ventus’ joy in his heart.

Vanitas exhales, dragging his thumb anxiously along Ventus’ throat. He doesn’t know how to put it into words, how to express the extent of what he feels for Ventus.

Ventus drops a kiss to the corner of Vanitas’ mouth, then trails them out towards Vanitas’ cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Vanitas takes a shaky breath. Even without vocalizing it, Ventus knows Vanitas’ fears and exactly how to soothe them. He doesn’t know when he’ll stop being afraid that Ventus will shut him out again. Luckily, Ventus has enough patience and persistence to get through it with him. Together.

Vanitas feels a swell of something in his chest, more of that feeling he doesn’t have a name for.

“Thank you,” Vanitas whispers, leaning his forehead heavily against Ventus’.

Ventus smiles, nuzzling their noses together. It feels good like this, being close. As whole and correct as they are ever going to get.

“Kiss me again?” Ventus asks, quietly. “Show me what you like.”

Vanitas grins. How can he deny a request like that?