Vanitas drops the blindfold once it comes loose, lets it fall to the ground without thinking twice about it; whether Riku needs it, if he has another. None of it occurs to him around the shape of his own intense need. Vanitas is a selfish creature, and despite the ways he's grown, thinking of others is still not something that comes naturally or easily.

The low light makes this almost like de ja vu— even though it's brighter, with the light from the tavern, the light from the moon, than it ever was in Beacon. Riku's eyes look brighter for it, even with his brow drawn tight under the intensity of emotion. He puts both hands in Riku's cloak, up near his throat, a gesture that would have been filled with ill intent half a year ago.

When Riku laughs, it's a startled thing that bursts out of him, and Vanitas thinks he might choke on it. I thought I was alone.

Pulling on Riku's cloak he takes that final step closer and puts his face against his chest, buries it in the coarse fabric, the linen underneath that smells faintly of smoke and horses— but it isn't the smell that he's looking for. It's that familiar twilight weight of his Light, his Darkness. He was so sure... that he'd lost everything from that place. The overwhelming relief chases everything else out of him for a moment, all of his questions and all of his fear, the yawning void of loneliness he was slowly being eaten alive by.