"...Wow," Riku's tone might be taken as dry instead of sincerely surprised, albeit in a muted way. Too exhausted to bristle, Riku turns his head away, extracts first one leg from his jeans and then the other, eventually heaping his soiled clothing on the floor.
"That's almost sappy coming from you."
And this isn't lost on Riku, either - he knows that his drive to protect those who are important to him is a double-edged sword, that his own grief and hurts have in turn harmed and worried the very people he wants to protect - he's aware of how little choice they had in what they experienced, that their only earlier escape might have been in death.
Finding the other washcloth still sitting in the sink where he'd soaked it in water, he takes the second bar of soap, beginning to lather up the washcloth.
"..." Riku doesn't know how to be anyone else than who he is, he's tried, all that did was push away his friends. "I know I haven't made it easy. For you or Bruce. That the stakes are gonna continue to get higher here." They escaped, with Bruce's help, and they might not be so lucky the next time the spirits attack them, or some new disaster strikes.
Vanitas sits down on the stool, maybe a little harder than intended. His whole body aches, there are cuts on his body that have begun seeping from all the movement again. He knows they're going to sting, when he tries to wash them, but he knows better now the necessity of doing it. Things like why Quentin had covered his hands in vodka before putting them into his leg to set the bone.
He leans over his knees to pick up the cloth from the bucket, ringing it out and starting at his ankles and his shins.
"Save it," He says, without looking up. His legs aren't that bad. They seemed to like to cut into the meatier parts of him— his torso, the muscle of his thighs, the muscle of his arms. Blood and grime come off of him, leaving strips of pale skin behind. "I know what you're like, Master Riku." There's a hint of derision in his voice, though maybe that's as much habit as anything else. Riku would throw himself on a fire to stop others from burning. Vanitas knows this well, even without Riku saying it so plainly.
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cw: suicidal ideation
"That's almost sappy coming from you."
And this isn't lost on Riku, either - he knows that his drive to protect those who are important to him is a double-edged sword, that his own grief and hurts have in turn harmed and worried the very people he wants to protect - he's aware of how little choice they had in what they experienced, that their only earlier escape might have been in death.
Finding the other washcloth still sitting in the sink where he'd soaked it in water, he takes the second bar of soap, beginning to lather up the washcloth.
"..." Riku doesn't know how to be anyone else than who he is, he's tried, all that did was push away his friends. "I know I haven't made it easy. For you or Bruce. That the stakes are gonna continue to get higher here." They escaped, with Bruce's help, and they might not be so lucky the next time the spirits attack them, or some new disaster strikes.
no subject
He leans over his knees to pick up the cloth from the bucket, ringing it out and starting at his ankles and his shins.
"Save it," He says, without looking up. His legs aren't that bad. They seemed to like to cut into the meatier parts of him— his torso, the muscle of his thighs, the muscle of his arms. Blood and grime come off of him, leaving strips of pale skin behind. "I know what you're like, Master Riku." There's a hint of derision in his voice, though maybe that's as much habit as anything else. Riku would throw himself on a fire to stop others from burning. Vanitas knows this well, even without Riku saying it so plainly.