As the crown prince, communication is an important skill, and so Ventus has always considered friendliness to be one of his better traits. He can befriend anyone—a shy girl who’s too terrified of his status to speak, a cat that finds its way into the courtyard, and even the mysterious new servant who cleans his bedroom.
He never imagined that it would be his downfall.
In a matter of a few embarrassingly short months, Ventus had found himself head over heels for that same servant, silently yearning for him. They spent so much time together that his most loyal guards recognized the boy and would turn their backs when they knew he had no business being there. Ventus trusted him, and so they trusted him in turn… which ended up being a mistake. Kidnapping is far easier when the target doesn’t realize he needs to fight until it’s too late.
Now that friend—that conniving pirate, Vanitas—stands before him, hands on his hips triumphantly as they stand on the deck of his ship. “What an idiot,” he says, gloating over his captive. “Poor little prince Ventus, whisked away like a damsel in distress. Too bad nobody’s coming to save you.”
His hands bound behind him, Ventus spits at Vanitas’s feet. “Traitor,” he snaps. “What do you want with me?”
Vanitas stares at the spot where Ventus’s saliva hit, and then he throws his head back and laughs. “Oh, looks like the damsel can bite back. Not that it’s going to be much use.” He waves a hand in the direction of his crewmates, nonchalantly turning away as if this was just another menial task on his to-do list. “We have a long journey ahead of us. Take him down to the brig so we can get going.”
Ventus yelps when he’s grabbed and manhandled. “You’re going to regret this, you dirty, rotten rat!” he shouts at Vanitas as he’s dragged down below. Vanitas doesn’t react at all.
At first, everything hurts. Betrayal stings like no other. It’s hard to get used to a life of filth and deprivation, and Ventus wants nothing more than to go home. Home is a prison, but so is this ship; however, it doesn’t take long for those feelings to change and fade away.
By all means, Ventus should still hate the situation more than anything. He should be homesick, constantly thinking of his family and the cushy life that awaits him if or when he’s rescued—but Ventus has never been a conventional prince, so before he knows it, he finds that freedom is enticing.
When he’s finally allowed to roam the ship and sees that they’re surrounded by water in every direction, instead of panicking like a trapped animal, he feels… free. Free and weightless, no longer held down by the burdens of royal life.
On the ship, no one yells at him if he burps at the table—in fact, the crew even gets into burping competitions. He doesn’t have his clothing picked out for him and every minute of every day isn’t scheduled. The work is difficult, but when he collapses after a long, hard day, joints aching and skin sunburnt, he feels satisfied in all areas except one.
The one thing that’s both bad and good about the situation is that Vanitas is unavoidable. Initially, Ventus is determined to hate him, but he soon discovers that it’s too easy to forget about pretenses and much too difficult to forget about what the heart truly desires. Seeing Vanitas in his element, no longer bound by the rules of a servant, awakens something inside of Ventus. His heart flutters when Vanitas stands at the wheel, tall and proud, and his stomach does somersaults when they make eye contact and that familiar smirk spreads across Vanitas’s face.
Ventus is in far, far too deep—so much so that it’s no wonder how effortlessly he was lured away from his home.
Usually the ship keeps sailing at all hours, but on this night the anchor was dropped, and so everyone is asleep or working down below, leaving the deck empty for once. Ventus is allowed to walk freely, yet he still sneaks his way up like he’s afraid he’s going to get in trouble as he so often did back at the palace.
He goes and sits up on the railing beside the ship’s bow, keeping himself balanced as his legs dangle over the side. Below him the clear water gently buoys them up and down and above him the moon shines, illuminating the night just enough for him to see down to the bottom of the ocean.
It’s beautiful.
This is all beautiful.
A lot of it is disgusting. Everything is always dirty and sticky. There’s so much work and it feels like it never ends—yet that doesn’t take away from the beauty. He never imagined the world could be this alluring. While he was still living in the palace, it was like there was a layer of film over his vision, making everything dull and boring. Now it’s as if he’s learned to see colors he never knew existed. Life feels like something special.
Somehow, Ventus knows who it is when he hears footsteps approaching from behind, so he doesn’t look back. “You’re tempting fate by sitting like that,” comes Vanitas’s voice, as haughty as always. “The sharks would get you as soon as you hit the surface.”
Ventus sniffs. “Their company would be preferable. At least they’re honest about their intentions.”
Vanitas laughs, and Ventus can tell he’s throwing his head back in the way he’s seen dozens of times before. It makes something within him ache, and he can’t tell whether that’s good or bad anymore.
“I’m not a liar, Ventus,” Vanitas says as he sits next to him on the railing, facing the deck instead of the sea. “You never asked me about my intentions.”
“I didn’t think I needed to!” Ventus huffs and folds his arms. “Either way, that still counts as a lie.”
Vanitas’s gaze is piercing even as he shrugs like he doesn’t care. “Well, whatever. It still worked perfectly,” he says, the picture of indifference. “You fell for the charade, hook, line, and sinker.”
The charade—Ventus despises that word. He’s heard it so many times on this journey. Vanitas always says the same thing: that Ventus was tricked so easily.
Yet at the same time, the word feels like a lie in itself, especially when he thinks about all the time he and Vanitas spent together. Sure, Ventus has to admit that he may be a little naive at times, but he’s not stupid. The look in Vanitas’s eye when they lock gazes is real—that isn’t a lie.
“The charade,” he echoes, letting his heels thump back against the side of the boat. A silence falls between them for several moments, and then he speaks again. “Was it truly all fake the entire time?”
Vanitas shrugs. “I needed to get close to you to kidnap you without a fuss.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” Ventus points out. “Were your feelings fake?”
“You’re always so full of questions. You’d think you would’ve learned by now that poking your nose in places it doesn’t belong ends in disaster.”
When Vanitas stands up and tries to walk away, Ventus twists around and grabs his hand before he can even think the action through. Vanitas looks back at him with surprise written all over his expression, which then flattens back into its usual neutral state. “Let go, Ventus.”
“Tell me it wasn’t real,” Ventus says, almost pleading. “Tell me you never felt anything for me at all.”
Vanitas’s jaw twitches. Every part was real for Ventus, so he knows that means Vanitas is struggling. Struggling means there’s something, otherwise he would’ve denied it already.
“Remember that time I snuck you into my room after dark?” Ventus starts. “I don’t know how no one saw you. We spent the whole night talking, and then I got in trouble the next day for falling asleep during my lessons. But I didn’t regret it.”
“Do you regret it now?” Vanitas asks, his lips twisted.
“No,” Ventus says. “Do you? And don’t say that you don’t regret it because it was necessary to get close to me. We both know you didn’t need to go as far as you did.”
Vanitas snaps his jaw shut, confirming that that was exactly the excuse he was going to give. He stays quiet, so Ventus turns all the way around so that he’s sitting with his feet on the deck, and then he pulls him closer. “Tell me you don’t love me.”
Vanitas freezes, his eyes wide. “Where did you get love from?” he finally says after a long pause, his tone sounding out of place coming from his mouth.
“Because I know you feel the same way as me.”
Because I love you.
Vanitas falls silent for just a moment. “You’re wrong.”
“Then look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me, Vanitas.”
Again, Vanitas turns on his heel and tries to pull away and leave, but then Ventus grabs his forearm with both hands, keeping his grip firm. He refuses to let him escape when they’re so close to a revelation. “Please,” he whispers. “If I really am wrong, tell me you’re not in love with me like I am with you.”
“What’s the use in saying that? You’re just going to end up back home anyway.”
Ventus knows he should be ecstatic that Vanitas has changed his mind on wherever he intended to deliver him, but all he feels is disappointment and longing. He doesn’t want to leave everything that’s happened between them behind like it never mattered.
“I want to stay with you,” he says. “I never get to make my own choices back home—let me have one here.”
Vanitas hisses through his teeth and shakes his head. “You’re a stupid, stupid man, Ventus,” he says. “What kind of prince falls in love with a pirate?”
“What kind of pirate falls in love with a prince?” Ventus asks in return.
“A stupid one.”
Ventus’s grin hurts his cheeks. “Looks like we suit each other, then,” he says. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
“I suppose we do,” Vanitas answers, finally turning to fully face Ventus. The look in his eyes fills in the unsaid implication of that admission, one that makes Ventus feel like his heart has found a new home.
“Vanitas,” he says, soft. “Come to me. Please.”
At last Vanitas steps up right in front of him, Ventus’s knees touching his thighs, and stares down at him as Ventus sits on the railing. Ventus doesn’t break his gaze, always defiant, staying true to what he feels.
Vanitas leans over until their faces are level and Ventus gets a feeling in his stomach like he’s falling backwards over the edge of the ship. He shuts his eyes just in time for Vanitas to cup his cheeks and press their lips together. There’s a hunger in the kiss that says more than words ever could.
“You would really give it up?” Vanitas whispers. “You would trade a life of luxury for one like this?”
“I would trade a life of restriction for one of freedom. I would trade a life locked up in a tower for one with you.”
“Idiot.” The word is unimaginably fond, as much as an I love you. “You truly are the stupidest prince the world has ever seen.”
Before Ventus can even think about retorting, Vanitas’s lips are on his again and everything else is trivial. Like this, Ventus isn’t a prince and Vanitas isn’t a pirate. Who they are, the difference in their worlds—it doesn’t matter anymore, as long as they’re together.
Ventus doesn’t know how long they kiss, but by the time they pull themselves away from each other, he feels lightheaded and giddy. The expression on Vanitas’s face is all new, and Ventus wants to bottle it up and keep it in his pocket forever, only for him. He wants everything to be only for him and Vanitas together.
“When we next land, take me somewhere,” he says impulsively, his hands resting on Vanitas’s waist.
Vanitas laughs, strangely tender, and swipes his thumb beneath Ventus’s eye. “We already go everywhere, Ventus. What more could you want?”
“To be with you,” Ventus says. “For it to be the two of us alone.” He tilts his head and presses a kiss to Vanitas’s calloused, scarred palm like it’s something sacred. “Give me this?”
The first rays of sunlight slant over the ship and make Vanitas’s eyes shine. Hunger flashes through them again, and he kisses Ventus once more.
“Fine,” he says, “but only because it’s you.”
Collaborative artwork
created by
Story by Waywardriot
