Sickness of the Dark

He was used to pain. Master Xehanort’s training was brutal, relentless. It’s part of why Vanitas was as powerful as he was. No one was going easy on him, and he’d destroy them if they tried.

But this? This was hell. The fever had him coated in sickly sweat that clung to him, every muscle aching at the slightest motion. And Vanitas wasn’t making a secret of it.

“Quit whining,” Repliku teased, his footsteps echoing in the barren room over to Vanitas’ bed. A heap of warm blankets fell on him, and Vanitas pulled them around him instantly.

Glaring out of the blanket cave with watchful gold eyes, he bit back, “This is worse than death. Go to hell.”

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“You have the flu,” his training partner corrected, a smug smirk coming to his stupid face. He dropped a box of tissues and a steaming bowl on the upturned box by the bed.

Turning back and dragging a chair over to the bed, Repliku offered up a bottle with a tiny cup over the lid. “Take this, and you can stop being such a baby.”

“Bite me.” Vanitas still reached past the overlapping blankets to grab the bottle and pull it into his lair.

“Not a chance. You’re infected.” Repliku chuckled at his own joke, and Vanitas heard him take a seat in the battered chair as it creaked. He threw the tiny plastic cup out at the silver-haired loser; what did he need it for anyway?

“The hell are you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Watching over you.”

He didn’t have an answer to that, not yet. Did he think he was weak? What was this supposed to mean? Vanitas scowled and wrenched the bottle’s lid off, almost breaking it more than removing it, and had a drink.

…Immediately coughing. He couldn’t shove the bottle out fast enough to Repliku. “This is nasty. You trying to kill me?”

His ally’s callused fingers brushed against Vanitas’ hand as he took the disgusting medicine back. “So sorry, princess,” he taunted with a laugh. “They only had cherry, not grape.”

“Gross,” he snapped back, like that wasn’t obvious enough already. What an idiot, remembering the flavor he liked just to not get it.

He wriggled his way to an opening in the blanket, frowning at Repliku. “That bowl better have something good to make up for it.”

“Already so demanding.” He still passed the bowl to Vanitas, who took it and nudged at the onions in it with a spoon. Why’d he keep bringing gross stuff? “You must be feeling better.”

“Whatever,” he muttered. “What do you want, anyway?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Vanitas rolled his eyes at that answer, not that Repliku bothered looking at him instead of the wall. No, loser, that’s why I asked. “I want my partner back.”

He felt the power of the Unversed pulling at him, eager to be called out. Vanitas learned to control them, so he held it back… The uncertainty. Or something like it, whatever. It’d been a while for that one, tch. What was he thinking, saying lame stuff like that?

“It’s boring, making fun of the others on my own. And no one spars like you. They cheat or don’t even try,” Repliku spat, his face contorting to a cutting scowl. “So.” His expression softened, a familiar grin taking over as he looked at Vanitas. “Now do you get it?”

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Vanitas pulled back into the blankets, eating the soup in the dark there as his face warmed up. Maybe it was the soup or his breath heating up the blanket cave, there was no way he was blushing. He wasn’t weak, overcome by feelings all the time like Ventus.

“Yeah, yeah,” he shot back. “I’ll be fine in a couple hours. Then I’ll kick your ass.”

“Ha!” One sharp laugh, that was better than any stupid medicine. Finally, Vanitas had someone he could count on, not like any of those pathetic wimps.

He didn’t need Repliku, not like Ventus and his friends, and he wouldn’t turn on him for some dumb fake power play. They were both strong enough already. “I’ll hold you to it.”

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