Opinions on Art Therapy

Art therapy is stupid.

That's what Vanitas thinks anyway, stuck in a room with Naminé, Isa, and both variants of the Riku replica—Nasty and Nice, as he calls them. It's a painfully white room, most of its color coming from the illustrations taped to the wall and the view outside the window, which Vanitas is resisting the urge to jump out of. There's piles of paper on the low table they're all sitting around, some thick and rough, others delicate. Pencils and pastels and paints of all sorts are set up alongside little bowls of water and a thick stack of books of reference material.

Why I am here?

"Art is great if you give it a chance," Naminé says, running a hand over her sketchbook. "It can help you get in touch with your emotions or distract you when you're feeling overwhelmed. It can capture ideas and help you communicate with others, or discover new things about yourself. Sometimes it's just fun to make something!" She tilts her head, smiling softly. "It doesn't have to be 'good' or anything like that. Just draw what feels best for you and go from there."

Vanitas's eyes dart down to her sketchbook, open on a silly little scribble of Sora. He sneers. "Yeah, I can tell by your drawings that 'good' doesn't really cross your mind." 

Any further comment is cut off when someone kicks his shin under the table, hard. He hisses, shooting a glare at Nasty and Nice. He knows one of them did it, because the angle is wrong for Isa and he probably wouldn't stand up for a girl he barely knows anyway, and he knows which one of them did it too, because Nasty is a lot less fond of Naminé than Nice.

I'll end you, Vanitas mouths. 

You'd be too slow, Riku mouths back in a decidedly not nice fashion.

He nearly leaps over the table just to see if Riku can put his munny where his mouth is, but a hand on his shoulder stops him. "Don't do something foolish," Isa says. "You're here because you chose to be Vanitas, so behave appropriately."

Vanitas scowls, but there's nothing he can say because it's true. He can complain all he wants but this was his choice; no one coerced him into it, no one forced him to be here. I just want to know what having real friends is like. I just want to know what it's like to be able to control yourself, when you're hurt, when you're angry. I just want to know what it's like to feel something nice for once.

He knows he can't get that from Ven anymore. He knows he probably never did. All Ven's ever made him want to do is push him down, tear his heart out and shove it into his own chest.

None of that is good for what he wants to do though. None of that is good for who he wants to become. So, silly as it seems, Vanitas listened to everyone's suggestions and decided to try art therapy. Of all the options given it seemed the least likely to encourage his more violent urges.

Or so he thought anyway.

Art is hard, as it turns out, and Vanitas has no idea what he's doing. Despite making fun of Naminé he has to acknowledge her illustrations have a unique charm to them. They look amateurish, but even he can tell a lot of thought goes into them, a lot of heart. They're soft in color and line, sometimes a little loose, uninterested in the constraints of more refined art styles. It would be a mistake to call them childish, because children's drawings are far more grotesque than anything she could ever put to paper. They're delicate, bittersweet masquerading as innocent fantasy. 

Nowadays he supposes there's more actual sweetness, but a look at the walls shows too many friendships that aren't hers, too many places she's never been, too many memories that weren't real.

And none of that changes the fact Vanitas doesn't know what to draw, or how to. He can spend as much time as he wants thinking about Naminé, but the truth is his mindfulness is born more from irritation than any real desire to understand her. But hey, I'm doing it aren't I? Art therapy in action, yay.

He frowns, tries to draw a Flood. It turns out ugly. He tries to draw another Unversed, but for the life of him he can't remember what they're supposed to look like. He should, because they come from him, but somehow all its features look wrong, its shape unfamiliar. He feels so bad he wonders if he should just summon the Unversed as reference, but figures that would get him in trouble.

He taps his pencil, thinks, stills. Then he tries to draw Ven.

It's at this point he realizes faces aren't real and people don't exist—or if they do, they don't come to mind very easily.

Annoyed, he glances over toward Nasty and Nice. He watches, tilts his head. Okay... He doesn't get it, but at least they're doing something. 

They're both working mostly in colors and shapes, although they have very different approaches. It's like they're trying to be the same and yet different, deliberately going for a compare and contrast so they can see where they differ from the 'real' Riku and each other. The Nice Riku's paper is almost empty save for a jagged line of paint down the middle. It looks like a wound, a chasm suddenly flooded, suddenly filled and overflowing in too many colors, shapes, shades. The Nasty Riku's is colored completely black, erratic blobs of bright neon paint scattered all over his canvas. It looks a little like a person coming apart, shredded into rainbow nothing.

Interesting?

He looks forward. Naminé is doodling, though he's pretty sure it's just going to be a picture of all of them. Boring, he thinks, and turns to his left where Isa sits, hard at work.

The first thing he notices is the open reference book. It's propped up, displaying various pictures of dogs. Isa doesn't appear to be drawing any dogs, though, so Vanitas can only assume he's trying to hide. A quick look down and, Ah, I see why.

Isa is drawing stick figures—actual, proper stick figures. They're clumsy and ridiculous, closer to the reality of children's art than the fantasy Naminé's illustrations present. Indeed where hers look right, beautiful in their way, Isa's look really, really stupid.

That makes the odd ache in his chest more baffling, irksome as he keeps watching. It's ridiculous, watching this enormous berserker, scarred and capable of great violence, doodle a group of stick figures hanging out. Vanitas can even identify them; Axel, Roxas, Xion, and the mysterious girl they rescued recently. He just calls her X, can't be bothered to recall her real name. Isa keeps adding more, new stick people joining the gathering on what might be the Twilight Town Clock Tower, all having a good time. 

He moves on to a detailed sketch of Pluto—detailed not implying it was actually any good— before finally looking up. Vanitas realizes he's using his reference material then, doodling picture after picture of...dogs.

Loyal, dopey dogs.

It's sort of fascinating, almost, watching Isa's fantasies come to life on the page. Easy friendships and loyal puppies take form— childish, ludicrous form.

Maybe, his mind prompts, it's because he lost a lot of time in the Organization. Maybe it's because he was turned young.

Vanitas's eyes go to the corner of the page, a half-finished sketch of Xemnas scribbled out and abandoned there. Despite Isa's lack of artistic talent something in that drawing is haunting. The eyes?  He shrugs. The drawing isn't even done, half-formed and stunted. 

Stunted. Now that's the word he wants. It's probably unkind, but Vanitas can't think of a truer word for all the people here. He's stunted, and so are both the Riku replicas. Isa is, Naminé is. Even beyond this room, Vanitas knows that Ven and all his friends are probably stunted too. Each and every one of them, stunted, malformed little creatures clinging desperately to what little warmth they can find. They're disgusting, all of them, and Vanitas is the worst.

Frustration bursts, burns in his heart—why, why, why?  The question clogs his throat, weighs his body, stuffs itself into his skull until he feels like it'll explode. His pencil skitters across the page, pauses punctuated by his teeth chewing at the end. Mostly he just draws though, all thought cast to the wind. The Floods from earlier finally take form, not in neat lines, but erratic swirls and scribbles. He rips through the paper but no one stops him or tells him to slow down. He draws and draws, everything coming to life in wild strokes and spirals, the buzz in his head tainting all he creates, all he touches. He draws and draws until finally, with a great rip, the paper tears clean in two, pencil marking the table underneath.

There's no comment, no scolding, and when the hairs on the back of his neck settle he realizes the weight in his chest is absent, the hands that usually grip his throat are gone and his breathing is normal. For a second he thinks something is wrong, but no, something is right and he's just not used to it. Inhale, exhale, sweet, sweet air.

He looks up to see Naminé. She's smiling at him, fingers locked under her chin and eyes crinkled at the corners. She doesn't seem bothered by his frenzy or the pencil marks on her table. His eyes flick down to her drawing, complete. He can see her there, golden head bowed as she works, a warm splash of light in a pale room. He can see both Riku replicas, identical appearances made contrasting in their postures, their personalities, as much as in the glimpse of their art Naminé depicts. He can see Isa, half-hidden behind his book, brows furrowed, face serious as he draws the sort of thing his Nobody self would slap him for. Except the dogs, maybe. He might forgive that. 

All thoughts of Isa and dogs and forgiveness cease when he sees himself, however. His little doodle self is hard at work, tongue out, eyes intense, hand a fist around his pencil as he tears into the paper. It looks silly, but he finds he doesn't mind. He thought he would have looked violent, ugly, frightening like a beast. Instead he just looks like a boy, a little ragged around the edges but otherwise harmless.

"Interesting."

Vanitas jerks back, sees Isa peering over his shoulder at his art. "What's interesting?"

"Your art," Isa says. "I like what it conveys."

"Conveys?"

"Your pain. You need to get it out and get it out quick. All the emotions that form the Unversed become drawings on a page instead. You pour all your sadness and hatred out, filling the pictures with your sorrows. The figures drown, but you don't." Isa's hand, large but graceful, comes to rest next to one of the many tortured creatures Vanitas has drawn. He smiles softly. "I think they're very good."

It sounds almost poetic when he puts it like that. Vanitas turns pink, scratching the back of his head. "Yeah, ah, okay. Thanks." He peeks back at Isa's drawings and manages a, "Yours are cute too."

Isa chuckles, and Vanitas looks away again. It feels good to be praised. Naminé also has nice things to say, and both Nasty Riku and Nice Riku have thoughtful things to add to the discussion. He can tell the Nasty Riku is probably being snarky too, but still it's nicer than anything he's said before.

Maybe he got a lot of his pain onto paper too, Vanitas thinks, before picking up another sheet and starting again.

 

---

 

Art therapy is fun.

Vanitas has been so many times now. At first he just scribbled his frustrations away, occasionally sniping with Nasty. Later though he finds he doesn't want to snipe with him, or anyone else really, and his artistic interests branch out. He starts to draw from life, learning the shape of the people around him. He draws Naminé when she's sketching, when she's fetching water and snacks, when she's opening the gauzy curtains to let in the light or stopping by the door to talk to a visitor—Sora, Riku, Mickey, Ventus, so many more.

He draws both the Nasty Riku and the Nice one, tries to capture the different ways they hold themselves. It's hard at first, because their faces and fashions are eerily similar, but it's there—a curve to the eyebrows, a sorrow in the eyes, gestures that set them apart. When he shows his sketches to them they can pick themselves apart easily, and Vanitas feels like he's learning. How to draw, yes, but also how to see others—their flaws, their strengths, their unique mannerisms, their verbal tics.

Their personhood.

More than that, he's realizing that others see him too. He gets kind comments about his artwork from visitors, and even Ven seems eager to come take a look. He's always nice too, and Vanitas feels like a wall that was set between them is finally coming down—the boundaries made to keep them safe no longer necessary. We can be friends again. The thought makes him smile.

When he wanders around the room he sees the little descriptions Naminé writes next to his pictures, taped up on the wall alongside everyone else's. They're always sweet, always thoughtful, and he wonders how long she spends figuring out what to write. He's sure she thinks more about his art than he does at this point.

Then there's the Riku replicas. The first time they ask to draw him he thinks it's just an experiment, but no, it's soon a habit. They both take turns, arguing over who they think draws him better. Naminé's worried at first, but she quickly understands. As it turns out, every Riku is just a playful idiot with a competitive streak that can't resist a race until something goes wrong. "Even the original would probably still be able to have fun with this," Naminé tells Vanitas one day, and it feels odd to be confided in, but he likes it. He likes it a lot.

Finally, there's Isa.

They usually sit together, the two of them, because the replicas sort of need to be side by side. Outside this room those two meet and part as often as anyone else, but here is where they come to look in the mirror and see what's changed. Vanitas is surprised he can understand that now, but he does. With Vanitas on the Nasty Riku's other side, and Naminé between the Nice one and Isa, their circle is complete.

Yet it's also true that Naminé sits a little apart. As their teacher and guide she needs to available to all of them, which means she can't afford to be caught up with any one person. Vanitas gives the replicas a wide berth, and Isa respects Naminé's position, which leaves the two of them squeezed pretty close most of the time.

In the beginning they keep to themselves, but as time goes by Isa comments more, sharing good references for the things Vanitas likes to draw. He picks out interesting monsters and animals, finds uncanny landscapes and sad-looking faces. Vanitas draws them and more; big tornadoes and jagged-edged keys and even pictures of their friends. He also draws Cerberus, because he is an excellent beast, and Isa draws him too, because he's a very big dog.

They talk about this and that, sharing their sketches. Isa still likes to doodle his stick figures, although he's gotten better at drawing actual people. Mostly he likes patterns; repetitive, easy, everyday. He doesn't seem to care if they're all that memorable, so long as they make him happy. He draws moons and stars and ice creams and dogs, and silly little faces of all his friends.

He's not exactly the best at jokes, but his humor is dry and his words are thoughtful. He can even be nice, though now and then he seems uncertain if he should be. Vanitas wonders if he thinks he's not allowed to be nice after all he's done. He gets it, in a way. When you're used to being mean, any attempts at kindness feel like they can be turned against you. You become a liar, and all your vulnerabilities acceptable to mock. It doesn't really matter if you're trying to be better, so in the end you don't want to bother. You don't want to get hurt.

Vanitas gets it, and it brings them closer.

Too close, maybe.

Yet Vanitas can't help but like it when Isa leans over, looks at his art. His hair is pretty and he smells nice, his voice always a pleasant rumble in his ear. The warm weight of his hand when it rests on his is pleasant, and he's surprisingly easy to work with. Organized, without being overwhelming. He wants to spend more time with him, but he's still awkward when he approaches anyone outside group meetings and therapy. They still hang out regularly of course, he just can't stand the thought of embarrassing himself in front of him, and yet somehow hopes that if he did Isa would still like him anyway.

He wonders what this feeling is. He knows what friendship is, although the shape of each one is different from the last. Some gentle, others joking, others fiery, and in Isa's case, 'unusual'.

When he tells Ven about it one day, Ven just smiles. It's not just any smile either, but the big goofy one he gets when he's having a great time or learns something really good. It's painfully real, and something Vanitas never thought he'd see shared with him so honestly.

"What is it?" He asks.

"You'll find out," is all Ven says, and Vanitas can't even be mad, especially not when he follows with, "but I think it'll be good, trust me."

Vanitas does.

With time he comes to realize what he's feeling, and as he does he takes notice. The way Isa looks at him, the way he touches and talks to him all become things he sees and, Oh. 

His heart thunders all through art therapy after that.

The last drawing he does before Ven's proven right is a simple one. There's him and Isa, along with both replicas of Riku and Naminé. Their other friends are there too, alongside a bunch of very happy Unversed and dogs, and various other creatures because he truly does love creatures. What he loves even more though is drawing him and Isa hand in hand, leaning against each other. He puts color in their cheeks and sparkles in their eyes.

When he shows the others, Naminé and the replicas share a look.

Isa though, only smiles and says, "Van, would you like to go get ice cream after this?

"With our friends?" Van asks.

"Just us," Isa replies, cheeks a little pink.

And Van blushes but he goes, ignores Riku One and Riku Two as they giggle madly and Naminé's knowing smile as she takes his art and tapes it on the wall. He goes and Isa buys him ice cream and holds his hand and kisses him on the cheek and, oh, his heart soars.

It all affirms his final opinion—

Art therapy is great after all.