Chapter Text
After another sleepless night, filled with thoughts of inky-black hair tied into a firm knot, pale skin cold to the rare touch he was allowed, and a wild grin enhanced by sharp polished fangs, Guillermo thinks, “Okay. Maybe I’m not as over Nandor as I thought.”
He ponders the idea in his head as he walks around his and Nadja’s flat, tidying up. It’s not hard to keep a clean space with her. As it turns out, she was the cleanest of the three vampires, which surprised no part of Guillermo when he found out.
Anyway, he’s not over Nandor.
It’s not a new thought. Ever since Colin Robinson’s birthday, he’s been in various stages of “over Nandor,” “into Nandor,” and “In love with Nandor,” in no linear order. The last is the most worrying.
His feelings for Nandor have always been there, Guillermo knows now. He felt the shift as soon as he ripped the calligraphed “seeking familiar” flyer off of the Panera Bread bulletin board, waiting until he got into his shitty car to pump his fists against the steering wheel, accidentally sending a honk at his manager.
Whatever, he thought, my new boss’ll be better. He’ll be a vampire. And if he vaguely resembled Antonio Banderas in Interview With A Vampire, Guillermo certainly wouldn’t be one to complain.
His new boss was better. And infinitely, heart-achingly worse. He totally looked like Armand, and Guillermo was totally head over heels for him.
For the first five or so years, it was like he was back in highschool. Except instead of all the bullying-Well. It was exactly like high school. He was some lovesick boy, doing his crushes homework, or in this case, burying his discarded corpses, getting pushed into lockers(coffins), and waiting to graduate.
He isn’t sure what graduating is in this analogy. Getting turned into a vampire? At least graduation was guaranteed. There was a light at the end of the tunnel.
If he were to more accurately use a highschool as an analogy for his situation, the principal would be some erratic, clinically insane monster who kept changing the credits Guillermo needed to earn his diploma, and his bullies would be centuries old nymphomaniacs who fuck in the hallways, and also he would be the janitor.
It almost wasn’t worth the trouble. Almost.
The shared looks of exhaustion with Nadja when Laszlo was up to his usual bullshit made it worth the trouble. The massive hand clamped onto his shoulder anytime he was in vampiric danger. The strange, but ultimately, highly complimentary sexual comments from Laszlo helped his outlook too, though Guillermo would take that detail to his grave.
So he stayed. Twelve fucking years.
He stayed, kept his head down, and took the bullshit he was given. After a while, he started to think he deserved it.
Until, finally, he was sick of it. He embraced the Van-Helsing blood coursing through his veins, because what else was he going to do? Live only for validation he was never going to be given?
Guillermo finally felt in control of himself. So what if he’s not getting turned, he thought. He’ll build his own light at the end of the tunnel, and anyone who gets in between him and the end of it can take a stake to the heart.
And it worked! Nandor was going to turn him! Everything was looking up. He was acquaintances with Colin, semi-friends with Nadja, and maybe, just maybe, more than friends with Nandor.
Now, a year later, steeping the coffee into his and Nadja’s mugs, he rolls his eyes at the thought. That he could ever be happy and be close with Nandor at the same time. The phrase is an oxymoron.
Him and Nandor were never going to happen. Are never going to happen.
And besides, he has a boyfriend now.
.
“So, Gizmo, what’s new with you?”
“Not much. At least nothing new since the last time we spoke. Eight hours ago.”
Nadja nods to herself from her side of the tiny kitchen island. Guillermo doesn’t want to jinx anything, but he’s fairly certain she’s grown fond of him in the year they’ve lived together. They’re basically in the same situation, she was abandoned by her husband, and he was abandoned by, well.
Misery loves company, and Guillermo quite likes the life they’ve built, stuck together.
“Well, I had a VERY eventful night,” She peers over to check he’s finished his coffee, and switches out her full mug for his empty one. It’s unspoken things like this, Nadja asking him to make her a cup of coffee she physically can’t drink, just to eventually give it to him every night, that solidify his hunch about her fondness.
“I don’t really need to hear about all the sex you had-”
“I had a LOT of sex, Gizmo! Very enjoyable. I would tell you all about it, but I’m late for council.”
Guillermo stands up to check himself out in the mirror, smoothing out his cardigan, straightening his glasses. He used to pride himself on his lack of vanity, but he also used to pride himself on his vampire slaughtering skills. Things change.
He hasn’t killed anyone since he woke up inside that awful, Laszlo-indented coffin. Every time he touches a wooden stake, he feels the sleek wood-glazed walls closing in on him from all sides, promising the same fate for whoever his next victim may be.
Nadja moves in front of him, smoothing his hair to the side.
“You are in desperate need of a haircut, Gizmo.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“I’m not being rude! Well, I am, but I’m a vampire, and I know what I’m talking about, so. Shut up.”
“I like my hair. It’s classic.”
Nadja frowns, “I have been alive for several centuries, and this monstrosity has never been classic. Have you tried a middle part?” She runs her hands through his hair, her goal unclear. Nadja makes a disgusted noise, scrunching up her nose.
“Ugh, no. That’s somehow worse. What will Freddie think?”
“How do you know about Freddie?”
She raises her eyebrows, “You think I don’t notice you writing in your diary, blushing like a little schoolboy? Reminds me of how I felt when Jeff-no, Jack. Jesk? Yeah, it’s Jesk. Reminds me of when Jesk and I were together!”
Guillermo pointedly does not bring up Lazslo. He also pointedly doesn’t mention that his diary is reserved only for his thoughts about Nandor.
“Yeah. Head over heels for the guy,” Guillermo reaches up to run his hands through his hair when Nadja slaps it down.
“Do not fucking touch. I worked hard on that. And, as much as it pains me to say,” she steels herself with a deep breath, “I’m happy for you. Freddie seems like a good fit. Good build, too. I bet the witches would love his sperm.”
“Oh, good.”
She pushes his glasses up his nose, ruffles his hair, and floats backwards out of the window gracefully.
As soon as the window telekinetically slams shut, the door opens.
Freddie.
“Gigi, are you ready to go?
Alright, so the thing about Freddie is that he’s very distracting, physically and mentally.
Physically, well. He’s hot. Really hot. Guillermo was raised extremely catholic, but he’s not blind. Freddie towers over him with his weird, celebrity posture. He’s not even famous, but something about the way he carries himself makes people ask him for autographs daily, handing the camera to Guillermo while they ask for a picture.
His dark skin somehow never clashes with his never-ending array of bright outfits much too cool to be seen with Guillermo. When they walk around town, Freddie looks like he’s babysitting. Or, like he’s on Vogue 73 questions, and Guillermo’s the awkward camera guy hired to follow him around for a day.
Mentally, he’s distracting in that he’s so up-front about his emotions. It’s weird. Maybe Guillermo's the weird one, who let himself get used to cryptic, withdrawn shoulder touches as a release of romantic feelings.
Even now, Guillermo mentioned his love of impressionist paintings on facetime an hour ago, and now they’re going to some impressionist art gallery Freddie found.
Freddie heard Guillermo express interest in something, and his first instinct was to lean into it, and do something special for him. Guillermo didn’t even have to run away to get him to do it.
Freddie’s holding a box of pestiños, beaming at Guillermo.
“I thought about you all day, so. Grabbed the last box.”
Maybe he is over Nandor.
Guillermo crosses the room to Freddie and tugs him down into a searing kiss. Freddie looks dazed when he pulls back. Guillermo grins, proud of his work.
“What was that for?”
“You’re cute. I feel like Bella.”
“Who?”
“From twilight,” Guillermo tries not to let his deep judgment creep into his voice.
“Oh, yeah. I think I hooked up with a girl in the theatre when I saw that. Don’t remember much.”
Well, they can’t all be perfect. Ignoring the itch at the back of his brain, reminding him of all the times he watched/quoted the film with Nandor, Guillermo leans in for another kiss.
“Horndogs! Let me in.”
Jumping, he sees Nadja’s gleeful grin through the glass.
“We’re on the second level, how-”
“She’s a rock climber,” Guillermo lies to his boyfriend easily as he scrambles to open the window.
.
The gallery is less fun than Guillermo thought it would be.
First off, it’s not even an ‘impressionist gallery.’ It’s some kind of artist gathering, filled to the brim with loud people wearing bright clothes, like they all have a vendetta to overstimulate Guillermo.
When Freddie wears bright clothes it works, because that’s who he is. None of these people seem like they know who they are. He forgot how rare it was for someone to be comfortable in their own skin, hanging out with people who’ve had centuries to get used to themselves.
Secondly, he feels like a trophy wife. Which he could be into under the right circumstances, but this fluorescent lighting is flickering, and it’s washing him out, and he doesn’t feel like introducing himself as “Freddie’s Boyfriend” to another person who looks like Effie Trinket.
Lastly, and this is less important, but it’s still bugging him. Freddie brought his Pestiños as a party favor, and now the box is standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by people talking and breathing onto HIS pastries.
His boyfriend is across the room, talking to six people who appear to be hanging on his every word. He looks Guillermo’s way, about to wave him over, when someone else catches his attention and he runs to them, forgetting all about the boy in the corner hunched over his non-alcoholic drink.
Guillermo’s not Bella, he’s fucking Mike.
After finally making it to the snack table and finding a box containing only crumbs, he steals someone’s drink and runs away to where he’s definitely not supposed to be.
He slips under some velvet rope and finds himself in a poorly lit, deserted hallway. Maybe this is where they store the good art, he thinks, snorting to himself. He then gets a little sad at how funny he thinks he is.
He wishes Nadja were here. Or even Laszlo. He wouldn’t be surprised if Colin Robinson were here, seeing as the main room feels like it’s full of energy vampires.
He wishes Nandor were here. Maybe they could find a chess board somewhere, and he could pretend to lose, for old times sake. Seven hundred years old, and Nandor still can’t figure out basic playing strategy.
Well, Nandor’s not here. He’s off in fuck knows where, probably happy. And Guillermo is here, in London, at best neutral.
Guillermo turns the corner and enters a room, just trying to find a fucking bench. Anywhere to sit, because he’s sure as hell not sitting on this dirty floor, and-
He comes face to face with Nandor the Relentless.
Or, a painting of Nandor. In an Impressionist style. Of course it is. And they captured his energy perfectly. Fuck.
Guillermo looks into the eyes of the painting for a longer time than he will ever admit. He can almost imagine it blinking at him, huffing at his mistakes.
He crosses his arms over his chest, half as a way to ground himself, half because it scarily resembles how it felt to be enveloped by Nandor’s arms when he flew him around Staten Island.
“Babe?”
Oh yeah, Freddie. Guillermo launches his drink at the wall in surprise. Freddie ducks down, and is still taller than him.
“What is it?” Guillermo asks, then as an afterthought, “ Um, babe.”
“I’m about to head out, if you want to come with. Not home, obviously. Afterparty. There’s this muse I’m supposed to have drinks with-”
“I’m good. Tired, I mean. Can you drop me off?”
Freddie slings an arm around Guillermo’s shoulders, leading him to an exit he never would have been able to find without his boyfriend’s assistance.
“Of course. Did you have a good time? You weren’t too bored, were you?”
“No, I was fine. I hung out with a guy I used to know.”
.
Guillermo steps into the apartment just as dawn breaks. He drops his keys in the bowl, shrugs his jacket off, and flops onto the living room couch face first. He sleeps for six seconds, or six hours, when he’s awakened by a creaking of a coffin. He looks out the window and sees only darkness.
“Hey, Nads.”
“No, we’re not doing ‘Nads’. That sounds like something Laz-I mean, a random guy. That sounds like something a random guy would call his testicles.”
Nadja steps out of her coffin and walks to the kitchen, getting out a paper filter. It’s her turn to make the coffee today. Guillermo steels himself. They’re having this conversation, if she wants to or not.
“Nadja. Do you ever, um, miss Lazslo?”
He closes his eyes, waiting to be pushed or eaten or yelled at, but nothing comes. Only Nadja’s soft pronunciation from across the room. She sounds melancholic.
“Every day, Guillermo.”
He opens his eyes to see Nadja staring at her lap. She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, careful not to smear the mascara. Guillermo takes a deep breath.
“Turn the TV on.”
Nadja sniffles, “What?”
“Just turn the TV on.”
She hits the remote, playing the last movie Guillermo watched at full volume.
On-screen Edward tells on-screen Bella to “Grab on, spidermonkey,” and real-life Nadja sends a knowing, open mouthed smile to Guillermo. He rolls his eyes, takes their coffee mugs to the couch, and leans his head on her shoulder. She breaks the comfortable silence.
“It’s okay if you miss him, you know. He was your master, but.”
“But, what?”
“I’m just saying, I-”
She pauses.
“I never liked any of my familiars. If anything, they were disgusting to me. Gross, off-putting, nauseating-”
“Nadja, I’m gonna turn the volume up now-”
“Gizmo, stop! I’m telling you something important. Familiars are gross. I certainly think so, Laszlo thought so, and so did Colin. What I’m saying is that I would never plan a cross-nation road trip with any of my familiars. That’s weird.”
Guillermo smiles softly. Nadja puts her head on top of his.
“Then again, I was never in love with any of them.”
Oh. Oh shit.
Guillermo’s frantically sorting through his many questions, trying to decide which ones are worth saying out loud when the doorbell rings. He gets up, dazed, to answer it. He opens the door and sees nothing but the chipped hallway paint.
Guillermo notices an envelope at his feet. Then, he hears something he’s heard several times in the past twelve years, but not nearly enough in the last one. Two pairs of century old leather shoes running across carpet. His eyes whip around and just barely see a tan blur before it slips behind the corner.
Laszlo’s lucky hat.
He finally picks up the envelope and his breath catches. Addressed to him, from Nandor.
He barely reads the calligraphed outside packaging before he’s reading the inside, eyes devouring the page so fast his head hurts. He steps back into the apartment, somehow more dazed than when he left. He sits down next to Nadja, rigid body posture making her sit up in her seat. He answers her before she can ask what’s wrong.
“Nandor’s in town, and he wants to see me.”