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Vanitas had never been a touchy person.
At least, that's what Noé had come to understand over the course of their time together. But sometime during the last couple of weeks, that seemed to have changed. Vanitas no longer avoided contact with Noé so strictly. They would walk beside each other, bumping together occasionally. They would sit back to back on the roof, Noé enjoying the feeling of Vanitas' solid back pressed against his own. They would pass each other things as usual - a cup of coffee, a book - but their hands would linger longer, their fingers would stretch closer.
Finally, Vanitas was injured. His hands were burned and cut in a particularly drawn out fight. When they arrived back at their room, exhausted and battered, Noé watched as Vanitas carefully bandaged them. The bleeding had stopped, but the scent was still strong. Noé was grateful when the wounds were covered, the tempting smell of Vanitas' particularly enticing blood finally fading.
Vanitas approached Noé, then, a dusting of pink across his cheeks. Noé stared up at him, afraid to move, afraid his hands would betray him. Vanitas' hair had come loose from its ribbon, the long section falling in front of his shoulder. How Noé longed to touch it, to brush his fingertips over it, to feel how soft it must be.
"Noé, tie my hair."
It was a demand, rather than a question. The words seemed a bit shaky, but perhaps that was simply Noé's own heartbeat pounding in his ears. Noé tilted his head, confused. Why? The doctor who was averse to touch, to Noé himself, asking for such an intimate thing? Noé's gaze drifted down to Vanitas' hands. Ah. That must be why, then. Practicality, and nothing more. Of course he would never invite Noé to touch him under any other circumstances. Perhaps he would ask the same of Jeanne in another context, but Noé would never see that side of him. This was simply a task that needed doing, one which Vanitas couldn't do himself.
Noé's heart did not slow, however, and his cheeks only grew warmer.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Vanitas said, breaking into Noé’s thoughts.
Noé shook himself. He had been staring for too long again, lost in thought, unable to tear his eyes away from the man in front of him.
Vanitas held out his ribbon for Noé to take. He didn't always wear it, but it seemed to keep his hair out of the way while fighting. It had become a habit for Vanitas recently, Noé had noticed, the blue silk making an appearance more days than not.
Vanitas sat next to Noé on his bed, Vanitas refusing to meet his gaze. He pulled his feet up onto the bed, turning his body sideways so that Noé could reach his hair. Noé's hands shook slightly as he took the other's hair into his hands, using all of his willpower not to run his fingers through it. Noé had just begun to loop the ribbon around Vanitas' hair when the sun struck it, the black strands practically glittering in the light of the sunset. How beautiful. How soft. Perhaps Vanitas wouldn't notice, perhaps he could stroke his hand through-
“What’s taking you so long, vampire?”
Noé blinked. Right. Tying his hair, nothing more. He worked quickly, frowning slightly in concentration. He looped the ribbon around his hair and tied it in a bow the way he knew Vanitas liked. The blue ribbon had found its rightful place again, and that was that.
—
Later that night, as they lay under the covers, the moon shining brightly overhead, Noé dared to ask the question that had been nagging him for the last few hours.
Vanitas had not asked for help with anything else. He had moved around as usual, using his hands to eat and drink, to clean his teeth and change his clothes. So then, why?
“Why did you want me to tie your hair up?”
Vanitas simply glared at Noé, waving his injured and bandaged hands in Noé's direction. The bandages had become dirty, bits of blood seeping through where the worst of the cuts had begun to reopen, Vanitas' more strenuous actions pulling on the healing skin. Noé took a slow breath, trying to focus on something aside from the delectable smell that wafted across the room. He waited for an explanation, but Vanitas didn't give one, seeming to think being reminded of the injury had assuaged Noé's curiosity.
"But Vanitas, you've done many things since then. You only asked me for help with your hair…."
Vanitas averted his gaze back to the ceiling, refusing to answer, refusing to admit there was anything else. If he stayed silent, it would simply be companionship. It didn't need any other name. No words were needed to convey the obvious - the thread between them was too fragile, and any acknowledgement would threaten to break it.
—
Every morning since, Vanitas handed Noé the blue hair ribbon and sat on Noé's bed. Every morning since, Noé obediently took the hair ribbon from him, sat down, and took a little too long tying up Vanitas' hair. He would never get tired of admiring its beauty, the soft and smooth black strands shining in the morning sun.
Each time he tied the ribbon around Vanitas' hair, Noé wanted to ask why. He knew he shouldn't, that it could shatter something fragile. Eventually, he truly couldn't resist any longer, his body practically vibrating from his curiousity. As his hands carded through Vanitas' hair, the question came tumbling out of Noé's mouth before he could stop it.
"Vanitas, your hands are healed. Why do you want me to keep tying your hair in this ribbon?"
Vanitas tensed, ready to jump up at any moment.
“Because,” Vanitas paused, trying to find a good excuse, an answer that didn't force anything into the open, didn't require him to bare his heart to Noé. "You're good at it."
Noé blinked. Vanitas had never told him he was good at anything. Complimenting him over a simple action Vanitas could easily perform himself, an action Vanitas was far faster and far less clumsy with…. Perhaps Vanitas was more flustered by his question than Noé had thought he would be.
“Would you turn around, Vanitas?” Noé asked, the request more of a challenge. Noé hoped to see the warmth in his own cheeks reflected on Vanitas' skin, some evidence that Vanitas felt this too.
He turned, eyes flicking to and from Noé's own. Vanitas seemed almost shy, his dramatic demeanor shifted into a sort of bashfulness. Noé's own heart beat even faster in his chest, this reaction confirming the thing he had known for so long. He felt that invisible thread pull tighter. This moment was decisive, he knew. Either the thread would grow stronger, or it would snap. Noé felt nauseous with nerves.
"May I kiss you, Vanitas?" Noé asked, his voice and hands both shaking.
Vanitas tensed again, his face growing redder, and for a moment Noé thought he would simply leave. Maybe Vanitas would run away, and Noé would never be able to track him down, no matter how hard he might try. Maybe Noé had misread this. Maybe Vanitas didn't feel the same thing as Noé. Maybe he even hated Noé, couldn't stand to be near him, would spit in his face and leave-
Finally, Vanitas nodded, his eyes fixed firmly on the floor, his fingers gripping his knees just a little too hard to be anything but the same nervous excitement Noé felt.
Noé tried to find Vanitas' eyes, to make sure he was truly sure, that this out of character embarrassment was not trepidation.
"Are you certain?" Noé asked, his voice lowering, his body leaning closer to Vanitas against his will.
Vanitas' head shot up, all trace of shyness gone except for the damning redness of his cheeks. “Just do it already, vampire!” Vanitas snapped, his eyes finally meeting Noé's.
Before he even knew what he was doing, Noé was leaning in toward Vanitas, his hand lifting to hold the other's chin. Vanitas' soft lips met his own, and they moved together. A new feeling washed over him - one of excitement, but also safety. He felt content. He knew this was what he was meant to be doing, kissing Vanitas, warm lips against his own. Stroking his thumb over Vanitas' cheek as the other tilted his head, the hair framing his face falling into his eyes.
When they parted, Noé smiled. Vanitas was truly beautiful, as stunning as the blue moon.
"Thank you," Vanitas whispered. He looked so vulnerable, so lost, yet also as though he had come to a new understanding of himself. Something had shifted, both within Vanitas and between them, and Noé knew it was good.
The moment passed as Noé put on his best fake innocent face. "Am I good at kissing too?" He asked, hoping it would rile Vanitas up.
"Listen here, you -" Noé didn't hear the rest of what Vanitas said, because he was suddenly underneath him. Vanitas wrestled him down onto the bed, grinning trimphantly at Noé's surprised expression. Noé smiled. This was the man he knew, the one he was coming to believe he loved.
From then on, a kiss was added to their morning routine after Vanitas' hair was tied. Noé wasn't sure what it meant, but it was still too new to ask. Perhaps someday he would question Vanitas, ask how to define their relationship. But for now, he was content to feel the press of Vanitas' lips against his own, Vanitas' hair through his fingers, and Vanitas' casual touches throughout each day. Whatever this meant, he liked it, and he knew Vanitas did too. In the end, that was what mattered most.