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When Vil knocks twice at Silver’s door at 8am sharp, the silence that greets him is almost comforting. There’s something very relaxing about routine, albeit one that stems from senseless exhaustion currently left unexplained by science or magic.
He lets himself bask in the silence for a moment more before slipping the handle open (Silver isn’t the type to lock doors, bless him) and steps in near-silently. The room is dark and quiet, the peaceful atmosphere only seldom interrupted by slow, rhythmic breaths.
Gently, oh-so-gently, for once making a distinct effort not to be noticed, Vil approaches the boy spread prone over an all-too-sturdy bed.
Silver doesn’t respond, given his unconscious state. Vil smiles in spite of himself.
He’s never been predisposed to enjoying the company of slackers, yet Silver… cannot be described so simply. Something about him is so baffling- he’s beautiful without effort (which would normally infuriate him) and yet somehow totally unaware of how wonderfully stunning he is (which would normally tip him over from infuriated to downright acrimonious). There’s just something about him that’s so… endearing. The simplicity of his actions, the purity of his motivations-
Vil is used to schemers. People who push and prod to merely bask in his presence, affluent sycophants who care only about fleeting fame and petty passions. He’s had to guard his heart against those who seek nothing but the idea of him, of his beauty that he’s strived so hard to maintain- and what a simplistic idea of beauty they have, one that only glances at him and sees the facade. The diva. The villain.
Silver’s view of him is so innocent. His beauty begets no envy, his futile attempts to be first seem noble, the vanity somehow honorable... No, to Silver, Vil is simply Vil.
It’s frightening and comforting all at once.
…He’s dithering. And they’re going to be late if he keeps on being sappy like this.
Vil places a hand firmly on Silver’s shoulder. Shakes, ever so slightly. Not enough to be jarring.
“Ah.” Silver blinks the last drops of sleep wearily from his eyes. “Hello, Vil.”
Vil smiles back at him, uncharacteristically soft. “Good morning to you as well, sleepyhead.”
Silver sits up; grips his head, wincing at his hastiness. “I didn’t mean to oversleep. I’m sorry.”
Vil’s smile fades into something more resigned. “I know. There’s no need for apologies. Simply make it up to me by making the most of today, will you?”
Silver smiles back, and it’s near-blinding. “Anything for you.”
Vil can’t help but smile back. “Let me know when you’re ready to go, alright? I wouldn’t want to rush you.”
Silver simply blinks back, bewildered. “Am I… not ready now?”
…Right. Aforementioned effortlessness. “Of course.” A hand proffered. “Shall we?”
Silver laughs, and it’s like song and sun and river all in one. “We shall.”
With a bit of a hup!, Vil assists him from the bed, wrinkling his nose slightly as Silver carelessly throws the blankets back without even smoothing out the worst of the wrinkles. Decorum isn’t for everyone, after all. He’s learning, as Silver learns in turn to spend time for himself. And that’s quite alright, really.
It’s still a work in progress on both ends, made evident as Silver fidgets anxiously, footsteps hardly resonating behind the steady tattoo of Vil’s heels. “Are you sure it’s alright for me to take the day off? It’s not like I’ve done anything in particular to deserve it. You know, Sebek works just as hard as I do, and he hasn’t taken a day off in years.”
Vil resists the urge to roll his eyes. “You’re human, Silver. You deserve to take breaks as much as anyone else.”
Silver’s frown deepens. Vil’s too preoccupied in weaving through Diasomnia’s winding halls to catch it.
They carry on in silence, broken occasionally by a frustrated sigh from Vil as a door ends up leading to an identical hallway to the one they’d just left. “How do you manage living in a dorm so… disorganized?”
Silver shrugs. “You get used to it.”
“I’d hope so,” Vil sighs, trying another doorknob to no avail. “I understand each dorm comes with its own charms, yet I find the gothic inspiration that plagues Diasomnia to be… a bit grotesque.”
“Grotesque?”
“Well, it’s simply a subjective opinion, but the overbearing nature of it all feels… garish. A bit of darkness can do wonders for a holistic aesthetic, yet without light it becomes a muddled nightmare. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Mm.” Silver nods, despite hardly understanding half of whatever point Vil’s attempting to make. “Completely.”
Vil laughs, and the sound hits Silver’s ears like bells, or the special tone when swords clash against each other just right. Something nice that makes his heart ache for home. “I’ve always found- Oh!”
The door Vil’s tried opens to reveal Diasomnia’s cool sunlight. It streaks gently across his face, illuminating his cheekbones, and the pale purple of his eyes, and the little bits of glittery stuff he’s put around them, and the thin black lines that dance right over his eyelid, and the way his long, long, lashes glisten and sit so prettily against his cheeks, and wow Silver is far gone. He’s always known this- or at least figured it out since the seemingly ordinary day Vil sat by his table and asked him without any of the usual refinement on a date. Silver’s not as experienced with these things as Vil is, he doesn’t know the right words or phrases or even how to hold someone’s hand without ending up incredibly sweaty, but these dates that’ve become a tradition don’t make him feel like he has to learn any of that. They’re just… comfortable.
Vil is a lot more comfortable than other people assume him to be. It’s a good word for him, Silver thinks, because while Vil has always been pretty and polished and more words like that, Silver almost never hears anyone call Vil nice, or helpful, or any other words that describe him in any other way.
Which is so odd, because Vil’s one of the first people to really see Silver. And that makes him distinctly nice and good, beyond Normal-Person good.
Vil’s an angel, almost.
(It makes Silver wonder what he even sees in someone like him.)
He blinks back into his body to feel Vil’s hand on his shoulder and his concerned eyes right before Silver’s own. “-feeling alright? Did you fall asleep standing up? Does that normally happen?”
“What? No, I’m fine, thank you.”
Vil’s lips purse delicately, and Silver notices briefly the color on them is a lot darker than his regular shade. “If you say so.”
“Um,” Silver takes a few steps outside the open doorframe, sighs with relief as Vil follows. Okay. Time to steer the conversation back towards regular Vil Talk. “Did you have any plans for today?
Vil’s eyes light up again, and Silver breathes a silent sigh of relief. “Oh, I figured we could stroll through the Pomefiore gardens a while. Have you seen the roses lately? They’re nothing special in the face of Heartslabyul’s, I’m sure, but they’ve got a distinct beauty when unaffected by all that color-changing magic.”
“That sounds great.” Silver smiles. “I’d love to see them. I’m sure they’re just as pretty as you.”
Vil flushes (although Silver can’t understand why, all he did was state the obvious) and slips his hand into Silver’s own. “Oh stop it, you flirt.”
“Oh.”
“No, don’t actually stop. I like it when you do that.”
“Oh.”
Vil smiles softly. Silver’s sweet, if not a bit dense.
He is so, so lucky.
Silver’s focused on finding their way to the Dark Mirror (and subsequently, to Pomefiore) now, which gives Vil ample time to drink in his appearance. It really is unfair that someone who washes their face with bar soap has such excellent browbones.
Mm, Vil will accept a bit of unfair beauty here. And hopefully convince Silver to one day pick up a hairbrush.
He steps into the mirror with the same the gut-dropping vertigo as always (made quite a bit more tolerable by the virtue of Silver’s hand tight and protective around his) and steps out into a warmer bit of sun, characteristic of Pomefiore’s milder climate.
“It’s nice in here,” Silver comments, voice even softer than usual. “Diasomnia is so cold.”
“You spend quite a bit of time in Scarabia, don’t you?” Vil instinctively runs a hand through his hair just thinking of the humidity. “I imagine it’s even warmer there.”
Silver nods. “I do. It usually puts me right to sleep, though, so I can’t appreciate it as much.”
“I see,” Vil muses, free hand untangling from his hair and making its way down to press at his collar. “Well. I’ll try my best to keep you entertained and awake today.”
“You’re doing wonderfully already. Thank you.”
Vil scoffs. “We haven’t even seen the flowers yet. Do try and have higher standards for yourself.”
“Okay.”
Vil smiles at nothing in particular, and Silver’s heart jumps in a strange, happy way. “We’re nearly there, though. Do you have a type of flower you prefer?”
“Blue ones,” Silver answers. “Or pink. I’ve always liked both.”
“Our roses only come in white and red. I do hope that will suffice.”
Silver simply nods, having run out of things to say about flowers.
Vil lets the silence settle over them, even as they approach the flowers and he releases Silver’s hand to trace the shape of the ivory petals with a crimson nail. He frowns, suddenly, squinting at the flower while moving his grip along to the stem.
Silver tilts his head slightly, watching.
Vil plucks the flower, suddenly. Silver winces. Vil smiles.
“It’s for you. It’s already beginning to wilt at the corners, don’t fret. I wouldn’t pick a perfectly beautiful blossom. If it’s going to fade, I want it to spend the last of its time with you.”
Silver blinks. Opens his mouth, closes it.
“Wouldn’t you rather have it, then? It’s not going to be around for long. You should enjoy it while you can.”
“I want you to enjoy it,” Vil replies, petulant. “You deserve it just as much as I do. And it’s a gift. I demand you take it.”
“Oh.” Silver takes the flower in his hand. A thorn prickles against his fingers, not quite breaking skin. “Thank you.”
Vil’s expression grows pensive. “Silver…”
“I’m sorry,” Silver says, before he can even figure out what he’s done wrong. “I’m sorry. It’s really beautiful. I should be more grateful.”
“No, that’s- Please don’t be sorry. I’m not upset with you. I’m simply thinking.”
Silver hesitantly curls a pinky around Vil’s index finger. “About what?”
Vil purses his lips. “It’s alright to relax with me.”
“I,” Silver hesitates. “I don’t know. I just… I don’t think it’s wise to slack off. Hard work… that’s something you especially believe in, isn’t it?”
“Oh, of course. Incremental progress is essential, particularly when it comes to beauty.” Vil runs a finger through a strand of hair that's curled its way around his ear. “But… well, to put it in terms we both understand… If you pull a muscle, you don’t continue to work it in hopes that it’ll simply fix itself through your continued efforts. Am I correct?”
“Yes, but I’m always careful not to overwork any particular muscle,” Silver says, confused. The flower’s beginning to wilt in his grip. “My training can’t allow for breaks like that. I already take enough on accident by falling asleep.”
“Silver.” Vil’s eyes are firm in a way Silver usually only sees with his dorm mates. “This mindset of yours frightens me. Quite a bit more than I care to admit. It’s…” He hesitates, continues. “I see you care so little about yourself, and it makes me worry about… whether you’ve ever considered yourself living long enough to have a future with me. With anyone, for that matter. And please, don’t tell me your future is already given to Malleus. That’s… not what I mean in the slightest.”
“I owe them my life at the minimum,” Silver replies, utterly confused. “Malleus and Lilia saved me.”
“I know, I-” Vil breathes in steadily. “I understand. Well, no. I don’t. I don’t understand in the slightest how you can be so lovely and care so little about yourself. You’re going to die if you keep this up, Silver.”
His face is drawn tight. Tense. Worried.
“I-”
Silver’s always known he was going to die. It’s just a fact. He’d accepted it ages ago.
Why did it suddenly hurt? Why did his ribs hurt, his lungs constricting uncontrollably-
Vil seems to sense something in his face, because suddenly he’s grabbing Silver’s hands in his own (they’re so soft, they can’t match his, calloused and scarred as they are). “We’ll fret about all this later, Silver. I didn’t mean to make you upset. This is our day off, remember? You have time. We have time. Do you understand me?”
Silver nods. The flower is trembling in his hand.
Ever-so-slowly, Vil plucks it from his hands and weaves it behind his ear.
Silver breathes.