"I'll kill you. I'll kill you. I'll kill you."

He chants like its the only words he knows, like an affirmation.

And right now, thinking back, it probably was.

And then there's a fight.

The rain begins as a drizzle in the closed theme park, lights dimming.

And as the fight continues, collateral damaging sending smoke up in strings of dread, the rain gets heavier.

Thunder crackles like screams, and lightning hits the higher points on the metal rides.

And despite how everything happens, he doesn't stop.

A self-induced hypnosis, Mikhail called it, and for anyone who tried to look at his past, they'd die.

"I'll kill you. I'll kill you."

He repeats again, desperately clinging to that idea.

Until you tell him something he dreaded so much.

You said you wouldn't set him free, that you wouldn't leave him and succumb to his formula, one he swore to stand by.

Freedom = being alone, but you swear Freedom ≠ being alone is correct.

If only it was as simple as an actual equation.

It broke through those mile thick walls around his heart, breaking him down as the smoke clears.

He's on top of you, bloody, panting, looking ready to pass out.

His eyes are stapled open wide, as he presses the knife to your throat.

Yet he can't do it.

As if there was a barrier there, he can't kill you.

His hand trembles, he's desperate, but his body and soul won't let him.

His mind wants to keep his promise to kill anyone who tried to look at his memories, and yet, he can't.

The rain is pounding down now, almost deafening, but neither or you find it in you to bother about laying in the puddles across the floor, clothes stuck to you, wet head to toe.

A sob leaves Vanitas' coarse throat, tears welling up in his eyes, some falling onto your bloodied shirt.

"What's wrong with me? Why can't I kill you? I just can't!"

He drops the knife and continues to cry, hiding his face against your chest, his right hand pounding what was beneath it, which was... also you.

"Damn it! Why? Why?!"