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It began – as things in their house often did – with Blade Runner.
‘Daniel. Daniel, wake up.’
Daniel groaned. Third time this goddamn week.
‘Daniel!’
Man, if someone had told him sacrificing his humanity to the big bad vampire Armand also meant sacrificing a full night’s sleep, Daniel might have reconsidered.
‘This had better be good, Armand.’
‘Get dressed. We’re going out.’
‘We are?’ said Daniel, absentmindedly searching the bedside table for his glasses. Oh. Still not used the whole perfect eyesight thing. ‘Where? You hungry?’
Armand scoffed, throwing a t-shirt at Daniel’s head. He was fully dressed already, perfectly coiffed curls framing his face just right. He’s beautiful, thought Daniel, as he made a mental note to drag a comb through his own greying mop.
‘I ate last week, beloved, as you well know. Now hurry up, get dressed.’
‘Well, I’m hungry. Do I get to eat?’
Armand shoved his iPad – his frigging pacifier, Daniel sometimes joked, usually when Armand was ignoring him in favour of watching some rando putting objects into an industrial crusher – into Daniel’s face.
‘That depends, darling.’
‘On what?’
‘On whether anyone speaks during my movie,’ said Armand simply, leaving their bedroom as though that explained everything.
Daniel followed. (He always did.)
‘They’re showing Blade Runner in the theatre!’ Armand continued, wide-eyed. ‘I never did get to enjoy it on the big screen. It begins in thirty minutes. Hurry up!’
Daniel rolled his eyes affectionately, sneaking up behind and looping his arms through Armands. He clasped his hands together on Armand’s chest; despite the ever so slight height difference, they always seemed to slot together just right.
‘Calm down, man,’ said Daniel, pressing the gentlest of kisses to Armand’s neck. ‘We’ve got some time, right?’
‘Fine, five minutes,’ Armand sighed, shifting slightly so that they were face to face. He leaned in and caught Daniel’s lips firmly with his own. ‘But only because you’re so pretty, darling.’
Daniel laughed and buried his head in the crook of Armand’s neck, breathing in that familiar scent, thinking about how hard he would’ve laughed if someone told him, not two years ago, he would be clutching onto the love of his life who not only looked like he had stepped out of a renaissance painting, but was a five hundred year old blood sucker to boot.
Daniel would’ve laughed even harder if someone told him he would be so desperately in love with said renaissance man that simply wrapping his arms around Armand never felt like enough – Daniel wanted to envelop himself entirely around him, burrow deep into his skin and live in his blood, make a house out of his bones.
But first – they had a movie to watch.
‘Let’s go,’ said Armand, after a while.
‘Babe, you’ve seen it a thousand times.’
’You exaggerate.’
‘You know, there are other movies. Ones with Harrison Ford, even.’
Armand shuffled out of Daniel’s arms and grabbed one of their emergency blood bags from the fridge, filling a mug. ‘Drink this. Your hanger will not ruin this for me.’
Daniel blinked. ‘Hanger?’
‘Yes, it’s an amalgamation of hungry and angry. I think it’s a perfect description of a young fledgling’s moods.’
‘And how the hell do you know that?’
‘Twitter,’ said Armand, lifting the mug to Daniel’s lips. ‘Now drink, beloved. I want to see the trailers.’
----------
There wasn’t much Daniel missed from his human life. Sunbathing? Eh, he could take it or leave it. Writing in a coffee shop was nice but whatever, not the end of the world if he couldn’t do that again.
Food, though? Proper human food?
Daniel missed that. Crispy fries with too much salt, a good cheeseburger lathered in ketchup, hot apple pie with ice-cream. He sometimes found himself dreaming about thick slices of pizza from Sal’s, his mom’s pot roast, hell, one time he dreamed about frigging broccoli. It wasn’t like his body craved the salt and fat and sugar, it was more like muscle memory – like how he would sometimes buy snacks from the bodega, preparing for a writing session. More than once, Daniel had shoved a Twinkie in his mouth, not realising what he was doing until he tasted ash on his tongue.
That was how Daniel Molloy found himself in a movie theatre with a box of inedible popcorn on his lap.
Muscle memory.
‘Your fault,’ whispered Daniel, flicking a kernel at his maker. ‘Shoulda let me hunt before we got here.’
Armand was practically vibrating with excitement, eyes fixed intensely on the screen. How he could muster such enthusiasm for a movie his viewing count was well into the hundreds for, Daniel would never know.
Weirdo.
(My weirdo, thought Daniel, and thank God nobody in the room could read his mind. He was getting sappy in his old – young? – age.)
‘Quiet.’ said Armand. ‘It’s starting.’
The all too familiar score began to wash over the room, and okay, it was nice to see Armand be unashamed in his interests after years spent bouncing between whatever identity suited him most, whether it was forced on him or a costume of his own design. Daniel was hungry and tired and down ten dollars on wasted popcorn, but the expression on Armand’s face as he relaxed into his chair, hand resting in Daniel’s, safe and at peace – Daniel would take a decade of broken sleep to keep that expression there forever. There was an addict lying dormant in Daniel Molloy that wanted to bottle Armand’s peace and inject it directly into his veins.
Having said that, fuck if he wasn’t bored of Blade Runner.
Flicking popcorn at strangers would probably get them kicked out, which wouldn’t go down well with Armand – one time, Daniel made the mistake of criticising the screenplay of some obscure French movie, and Armand didn’t have sex with him for three days. Taking a nap probably wouldn’t have him in the good books either, not when Daniel could practically guarantee a post-movie debriefing (read: Armand talking for an hour about cinematography until Daniel found a good time to quiet him with a kiss) was in his future.
There was one thing he could do while he had to be cooped up in a room with humans he couldn’t eat, something that wouldn’t piss Armand off. He was always bugging Daniel to practice his gifts, to embrace vampirism fully. In fact, it might impress him enough for him to do that, uh, thing with his tongue Armand saved for special occasions… huh. Maybe tonight wasn’t a write off, after all.
Daniel had gotten pretty good at blocking out human thoughts. The first few weeks of hearing everyone’s goddamn shopping lists and daydreams put paid to that. Not to mention the thought of excruciating dinners with Katie and Lenora, should they agree to ever speak to him again. Turns out if you are already a shitty father, disappearing to another country during a pandemic doesn’t exactly help build bridges with your kids. Who knew?
And Christ, the amount of people walking around thinking straight up dirty thoughts was… it was an experience, that’s for sure. No, blocking out wasn’t the issue – it was picking out that Daniel hadn’t quite mastered. Armand had begun pointing out randos wherever they were for Daniel to practice on.
Out of nowhere, in a fancy restaurant where they pretended to eat fancy food, Armand would say, ‘Blonde hair, ugly shirt’ and expect Daniel to drop everything and hone in.
‘Could be a few people, Armand. Narrow it down.’
‘Ugly purple shirt. I mean, really. It’s obscene.’
‘Aw, shit baby, I just bought you that exact one for Christmas.’
‘Focus, Daniel. Tell me what he’s thinking.’
It was a strange sensation, trying to burrow into a person’s mind. Daniel knew it would come to him in time, as natural as breathing, but practicing felt odd. It felt intrusive, unnatural, and - despite often wishing for the ability to read minds as a young naïve journalist - it made him feel kind of dirty.
Armand assured him that mind-reading was a necessity for survival; a way to feel out a guilt-free meal when it came to hunting, or to sense a danger before it arrived, and he was right, of course. Knowing he was draining a man having sick thoughts about his neighbour’s teenage daughter was better than choosing wrong and draining a single mom working two jobs to make ends meet.
‘He’s wondering if the necklace in his pocket is enough to make his wife forget about the missed anniversary,’ said Daniel. ‘Oof. Been there, buddy.’
Armand rolled his eyes and pointed out a woman in the corner of the restaurant. And then the waiter, and then the child on the table across from them, and the old man drinking at the bar. It was tiring as hell, and more often than not, Armand’s vigorous tutelage clashed with Daniel’s blasé attitude to learning and led to a fight, the last of which did give Daniel new perspective on why Armand was being such an asshole about it. It also made Daniel feel like an asshole, and he hated that.
(‘You are not taking this seriously.’
‘Armand, I have all the time in the world, literally. What’s the rush?’
‘The rush? You have no idea, do you? No idea the things I have done to keep you safe.’
‘So tell me! Drop the goddamn Men in Black shit. We said no more secrets so fucking tell me, what’s your problem? Why are you so obsessed with training me, making me some sort of super vamp, huh? Big bad Vampire Armand’s first fledgling not living up to expectation?’
‘I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.’
‘Don’t walk away from me. Not again.’
‘Fine. Fine! I’m hard on you because I need you to survive. You are a target, Daniel, not just through the book but by your association with me. I need you to survive because I love you, and I will not tolerate losing you a third time.’)
So Daniel practiced.
A movie theatre full of sci-fi nerds did not promise the most exciting pickings but whatever, desperate times. Daniel started with a young woman in the front row, jumper cuffs pulled over her wrists, head resting comfortably on the person beside her.
He’s hot he’s just so hot if I had a time machine oh man it’s not fair
Daniel chuckled, glancing up at the screen to see a brooding Harrison Ford doing whatever he was doing. He could’ve been slaughtering a puppy – this audience would be drooling. And Daniel couldn’t even blame them; Indiana Jones had featured in more than a few of Daniel’s youthful fantasies.
After a little while, the audience’s thoughts began to quiet as they shifted from distracted and a little horny to completely immersed in the world. Armand hadn’t so much as twitched in a half hour, not even when Daniel laughed a bit too loudly at the man behind them having an intense debate with himself about who was hotter – Ford or Sean Young.
So Daniel decided to take that nap after all. Armand was so mesmerised he would never notice, and hell, Daniel had seen this goddamn movie so many times he could discuss it in his sleep. He was just about drifting off, head on Armand’s shoulder, when he heard it.
Gross… old pervert
Huh?
The voice continued. Daniel opened his eyes.
Poor guy… having to touch that wrinkly old dick, hope the money’s worth it
Now what the fuck? Daniel was well aware of how his and Armand’s relationship looked to the public – him the perverted old sugar daddy lusting after a man old enough to be his grandson, of course people thought it was odd, but Daniel didn’t usually care. Let people think whatever the fuck they wanted, he was too old in his mortality and too confident in his immortality to give a shit.
But his cock was not wrinkly, thank you very fucking much.
Daniel peered around subtly, trying to find the source. He quickly ruled out the preteen girl stuffing her mouth with candy, burrowed a little deeper into the thirtysomething a couple rows ahead, but it wasn’t them either.
Huh.
Okay. Let’s raise the stakes in this little telekinesis game.
Someone in this room had dinner stamped on their forehead, and Daniel Molloy was starving.
----------
Fresh human blood tasted like iron and life and death. It was not just a taste but a feeling, something Daniel would never be able to replicate with language. Words were nothing to a hit like this. It was something that transcended satisfaction, something that almost made you believe in a higher power, some higher power with fangs and bloodlust.
It was all that – and it was also as mundane as stalking a rude sci-fi fan until you could drag him into an alley and tear his asshole throat out.
‘You were especially ferocious tonight, my love,’ said Armand with a grin.
Daniel said nothing as Armand pushed him against the wall and slotted his leg in between Daniel’s thigh. Exposed brick dug sharply into Daniel’s back as Armand licked the last remnants of blood from Daniel’s cheeks, his lips, until there was nothing left of his meal but a drained body under the moonlight. Daniel could feel Armand hardening against his leg as Armand’s lips moved excruciatingly slowly toward Daniel’s neck.
‘I will never tire of watching you hunt,’ said Armand. ‘My wonderful boy. My perfect fledgling.’
‘Ah. Ahhh, babe. Babe, stop,’ said Daniel with an extreme amount of reluctance. ‘We’re in public.’
Armand stilled immediately. (Common decency, of course, nobody got a medal for respecting their partners consent – but it always led to Daniel adding another cruel and painful torture to the list of cruel and painful tortures he had devised for when he finally came face to face with Marius de fucking Romanus.)
‘We’ve fucked in public many times, beloved, what’s wrong?’
‘Baby, there’s nothing I’d rather do right now than get on my knees and blow you, but there is a freaking corpse right there and I don’t feel like getting arrested tonight.’
Armand groaned into Daniel’s hair, and Daniel could tell he was making a strong effort to control his breathing. ‘You’re right, of course, though you do seem to be forgetting I can stop time.’
Daniel had not forgotten. In fact, he was questioning why he wasn’t begging Armand to take him right here in this alley himself. A good meal usually had him like an animal in heat, so desperate to get his hands on Armand it was almost embarrassing. Fuck passers-by, fuck cops, consequences be damned. But something felt different tonight. Maybe he was maturing in his vampirism, growing out of the horny teenager stage. Yeah, that was it.
It definitely was not the asshole voice in his head talking about his wrinkly old cock.
Nah. Nah, it wasn’t that.
That would be dumb.
----------
Days passed as the same way they always did for Daniel and Armand.
They busied themselves with hunting and feeding and fucking, watching movies and cuddling on the sofa like lovesick teenagers. Daniel had started writing the tentative Interview sequel, something that had yet to take shape fully, but would no doubt heavily feature Lestat de Lioncourt and his newfound fame. He definitely didn’t need the money, and Armand had tried very hard to persuade Daniel to drop it altogether. (Armand would say ‘it’s reckless and puts even more of a target on your back’, but Daniel heard ‘I’d rather you didn’t spend months following my ex and my other ex with a camera crew.’) But Daniel had been a writer his whole life, and he couldn’t go cold turkey just because Interview had him set for life. If this sequel did come together, it would likely be the last book Daniel Molloy published before he ‘died’, and that had to mean something.
Daniel did have another idea floating around in his head, something he would keep for a rainy day, a rainy decade. He wanted to tell Armand’s story. Or, at least, write it. He wouldn’t publish something like that, something so personal, but the journalist in him needed the story. Take his maker back to the beginning, coax details from him, gently, expertly. All the way back to the Dubai penthouse, before his memories were restored, the layers to Armand intrigued the nosy ass researcher in him. Maybe he could even flex his connections, while he still had them, and find some sort of record of a little boy named Arun, sold like cattle. It would be a needle in a haystack, likely impossible, but Daniel had to try. He would not do it without Armand’s co-operation though, and that was a decade of complex therapy away. So, he tucked the idea away in the back of his mind and focused on the sequel.
Focused a little too much, if Armand was to be believed, and yeah, Daniel had probably been kinda intense about it for the last week or so. He didn’t want to admit it, but the book had shifted to a chilled project that would come together when it came together into a full-blown fixation, ever since that trip to the movie theatre. He had needed a distraction from that other thing he had been fixated on, that stupid stupid thing that had been keeping him up at night.
It was like his brain had transformed into a teenager, confused about their first crush – he loves me, he loves me not.
No, that wasn’t fair. Daniel knew Armand loved him. More than that, Daniel could feel Armand’s love; ever since the restoration of his memories, of their memories, he felt it. It was a bone, absent from his skeleton, lost for decades, slotted right back in. An answer to the shadows that had haunted him for decades. It was right, him and Armand, this thing they had going. It was so right, and the last thing Daniel wanted to do was ruin it with this bout of insecurity.
It would pass.
----------
Daniel had been working for hours, scraping together details of Lestat’s life from his Interview notes, ready to be compared to the real thing when he finally secured a face to face with Lioncourt, when Armand appeared behind him, squeezing Daniel’s shoulders.
‘Come sit with me darling,’ said Armand softly. ‘I miss you.’
Daniel chuckled, twisting his chair and pulling Armand onto his lap haphazardly.
‘Now you miss me, huh? Done planting your melons or whatever?’
‘Pumpkins, actually. Melons are no longer in season. And I know you’re mocking me, but my farm is quite spectacular now, Daniel. I’m sure I would be an excellent farmer if I put my mind to it.’
‘I think it’s a little harder in real life than on your game, babe,’ joked Daniel, carding a hand through Armand’s hair. ‘But you know I’ll support you. I ain’t shovelling any shit, though.’
Armand smiled, reaching for Daniel’s hand, kissing his fingertips. ‘I would never ask it of you, Daniel. These hands were not made for hard labour.’
‘I’m not sure if I should be insulted.’
‘You know I only insult you in the bedroom, darling,’ said Armand with a smirk. ‘And only with a safeword in place.’
‘Funny.’
They sat in the comfortable quiet for a little while, enjoying each other as they hadn’t in a few days. Making out like freaking teenagers, thought Daniel. He loved it. He never wanted to stop, and they didn’t need to stop, not if they didn’t want to. It was all consuming. It was Armand, his maker, his partner. His love.
Of course, all good things come to an end; Armand pulled away first, Daniel chasing his lips with his own.
‘Daniel,’ said Armand. ‘Can I say something?
‘Sure.’
Armand bit his lip, shifting slightly on Daniel’s lap. ‘I’m worried about you.’
‘What? Why?’
‘You’ve been quiet, pensive, for weeks. Is something wrong?’
Daniel weighed it up in his head.
They had said no secrets, after all, made each other promise one night after their fraught reunion, covered in each other’s blood and cum, that they would always talk. And it wasn’t a secret, not really, just a silly insecurity, but Daniel knew all too well the way insecurities can turn into something more, something dangerous. He had two failed marriages to attest to that. There would not be a third.
‘Nothing’s wrong, babe. Just got in my head about something, s’all.’
‘What is it?’ said Armand, fixing his intense gaze on Daniel. ‘Tell me.’
‘Ah, it’s stupid. Doesn’t matter.’
‘Of course it matters, darling. Please, tell me?’
Daniel rubbed a hand across his face and sighed. ‘I just... I keep thinking about us. You know, back in the day. First time round.’
‘Go on.’
‘I was hot.’
‘Okay?’
‘I was hot, and like, that’s not arrogance. That’s just a fact.’
‘Are you expecting me to disagree, beloved?’
‘You were hot, too. Still are.’
‘Daniel, where is this going?’
‘Nowhere, I guess,’ said Daniel. ‘I was just thinking about it.’
‘Does this have anything to do with that reprobate who called your cock wrinkly?’
Suddenly, Daniel’s phone vibrated on the desk, making him jump; Armand wobbled, righting himself by grabbing the chair arm. Daniel ignored his phone, and said, ‘Shit, can we, uh, move this conversation elsewhere? My thighs are numb.’
Ten minutes and a detour for wine glasses and a blood bag later, they were sprawled on their bed. It was early, and the sun was slowly rising, but thanks to Armand’s endless funds and Daniel’s Interview payout, they had had their entire apartment decked out in those fancy blackout blinds and sunlight filters and everything a pair of vampires needed to live a comfortable, non-burning-to-death life.
Armand took a sip of blood, looking at Daniel pointedly.
‘So, uh. How’d you know about that guy?’
‘I heard him. I did wonder if it had affected you when the kill was so vicious. I hope you know I’m quite satisfied with your cock, darling. I’m sorry if I’ve made you doubt that.’
‘Armand. You’re insane.’
‘I am?’
‘Don’t apologise for not showing appreciation for my dick, jeeeez,’ said Daniel, laughing. ’And anyway, I know you like it. Trust me.’
‘Well, if it wasn’t that, then what exactly prompted this trip down memory lane?’
‘Ah. It was that little fucker, I guess. Just got me thinking. I look so different now. And I know you love me. I know that. I guess I just… I wondered, maybe. Maybe you miss how I looked then.’
Armand put down his wine glass, fixing Daniel with a look that he couldn’t quite decipher. He looked hurt, a little confused. There was no anger in it, not yet, but whatever it was, it made Daniel regret ever opening his goddamn mouth.
‘Told you it was stupid,’ said Daniel, reaching for Armand’s arm. ‘Just forget I said anything.’
Armand jumped out of bed without a word.
‘Where you going? Come on, babe, come back to bed?’
Armand grabbed his robe and left the room. Daniel felt his heart drop. There was no point going after him – he would come back when he was ready. Sighing, Daniel downed his blood, slammed the glass onto the bedside table and closed his eyes.
They flew open again not ten minutes later when he heard Armand come back. Huh, that was fast. Daniel propped himself up on his elbows, ready to fight or grovel or whatever was on the menu that night, when he clocked what Armand had brought back with him.
‘What the hell?’
Propped up against the wall was the full-length mirror Armand kept in the dressing room. Their dressing room, technically, but there was barely any room for Daniel’s jeans once Armand had stuffed all his fancy clothes in there.
‘I am not angry, Daniel,’ said Armand quietly.
‘Then why’d you leave?’
He glanced at the floor as though deep in thought, and then sat on the edge of the bed, so close that their thighs were touching. Daniel rested a hand on Armand’s back, rubbing a slow circle, waiting for him to speak.
‘I wish you could see yourself as I do,’ Armand said, finally looking up. ‘Would you let me show you?’
----------
Gentle birdsong began outside their window as Armand settled them both in front of the mirror, positioning Daniel in between his legs so that his back was against Armand’s chest. He could sense the tension in his boy’s shoulders, and Armand grabbed Daniel’s head firmly before he could look away from the reflection.
‘Keep looking,’ said Armand.
He had told the truth before, when he said he was not angry. Anger was not the right word. No, it was more… irritation. Not with Daniel, of course, but with that inconsequential human idiot who dared to plant seeds of insecurity into Daniel’s mind. It helped somewhat to know the man was now a rotting carcass, but still Armand wished Daniel had taken more time with the kill, played with his food some. Alas, the man was dead, and they were here, living, surviving, together.
He simply could not fathom the idea of Daniel doubting his own beauty. To Armand, it was a fact of life. As sure as the sun would set in the evening, Daniel Molloy was beautiful. Young and naïve, stumbling through life as a master of self-destruction, Daniel Molloy was beautiful.
Older and wiser, with deep lines on his forehead and a confidence that came with living a full life, Daniel Molloy was beautiful.
That Daniel could ever believe otherwise made Armand want to commit an act of violence. But self-doubt was not a corporeal enemy, and Armand had promised Daniel he would work on his anger, so no violence was to be had this night.
‘Uhhh, are we having a staring contest?’ said Daniel, breaking Armand from his reverie.
‘I’m sorry I left, Daniel.’
He felt Daniel reach up and relieve Armand’s grip on his face, settling his hands loosely around his waist. It was comfortable – Armand never wanted to let him go. If he ever lost this again, the warmth, the easy weight of his boy, he would quite simply go mad.
‘Sometimes I have so much to say, but I can’t find the words and I make things worse,’ said Armand. ‘I left the room to gather my thoughts, so I want you to hear me now.’
He took a deep breath and caught Daniel’s eye in the mirror, tracing his finger over one of the wrinkles on Daniel’s forehead. Daniel shifted, uncomfortable, but still Armand continued.
‘You are as beautiful to me now as the first day I laid eyes on you.’
‘You don’t mean that.’
‘Do not tell me how I feel,’ said Armand, tracing a little firmer. ‘I mean what I say, and I’m trying to tell you why. I’m asking you to be quiet and listen.’
‘Okay, jeez. I’m listening.’
‘Good boy. Now, do you remember the first day you arrived in Dubai?’
Daniel shrugged, saying nothing, but there was a twinkle in his eye. Armand rolled his eyes, stilling his fingers.
‘Sorry, you asking me a question? Thought I was supposed to be quiet?’ said Daniel, smirking.
‘You know what I mean, beloved.’
Daniel shuffled a little so that his head was resting on Armand’s chest, just under his chin. ‘Yeah, I remember. Felt like I was walking to my friggin’ death.’
‘Louis had not wanted me there, not at first. He did not know the true extent of our relationship, but he had his suspicions. In truth, I did not want to be there myself.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I’m a coward,’ said Armand simply. ‘I could not bear to see disgust on your face when Louis told you about the trial, and my part in it. Even without the whole truth.’
Daniel squeezed Armand’s thigh, an act of comfort, and oh, did Armand love this boy. This boy who had looked right through him, cracked open his chest and laid bare his evil; this boy who had seen the worst of Armand and stayed.
‘What changed?’
‘I saw you, dragging your suitcase out of the elevator. You were exhausted, and yet you shrugged off any help from the staff,’ Armand said, a low chuckle in his throat. ‘Still my stubborn boy.’
Daniel titled his head back from his resting place under Armand’s chin. ‘Okay, cute, but why do we need to have this conversation in front of a mirror?’
‘Sit up,’ said Armand.
They shuffled together for a moment until they were both sat up straight, Daniel’s back to Armand’s chest. Armand buried his head in Daniel’s greying curls, breathing him in, gathering himself – he wanted to get this right.
Armand continued to trace the wrinkles on Daniel’s forehead. ‘These lines.. the greys in your hair.. they are everything to me, beloved.’
‘They are your story, Daniel. Your marriages, your children,’ Armand continued, dragging his finger across Daniel’s forehead. ‘Your books, your journalism… your talent.’
‘Sure, I guess. I also just didn’t know shit about moisturising.’
‘I’m serious, Daniel. You asked if I miss how you looked, but I don’t. Of course, if tomorrow you walked through the door young again, I would tie you to our bed and worship your twentysomething body until you begged me to stop.’
‘Oh, of course,’ said Daniel. His tone was sarcastic but fond, and Armand felt his chest tighten.
‘But seeing you now, Daniel, as you are,’ Armand continued. He would not cry. ‘You are everything, my love. You are a life lived.’
Armand could tell Daniel was thinking about what to say next. It surely was not the conversation he had expected tonight. They were so alike in the sense that they both struggled with these conversations, open and honest and emotional. They both tended to fall back into bad habits – Daniel with his sarcasm and sharp tongue, Armand who had spent centuries building walls around himself, whose fight or flight response was so corrupted it may never function normally. They had been working on it, the two of them, but unsurprisingly, it was not a quick fix.
It did not shock him, then, when Daniel decided to change course completely. No acknowledgement of what Armand had been trying to say, what it had taken strength for him to say, just a grin and a joke that said let’s stop with the emotional shit for tonight.
‘Do you think I’d have less wrinkles if I had been a good father?’
Armand sighed, moving Daniel away from his chest so he could pull himself up to standing, throwing himself onto the bed and turning away like a disgruntled toddler.
‘You are not listening to me.’
Within seconds, he felt a familiar weight on the bed. Daniel had thrown his arm around Armand’s waist; Armand could feel his warm breath tickling his ear when he spoke.
‘I’m sorry, baby,’ said Daniel. ‘I’m an asshole.’
‘No you’re not,’ Armand murmured.
‘You were being so sweet, and I ruined it.’
Armand turned to face him. His Daniel, his love. He still didn’t understand, did he? He still didn’t understand what he was, what he meant, and Armand realised he had been framing this all wrong. It was not about beauty.
‘I am not a good man, Daniel.’
Daniel opened his mouth, no doubt to disagree, to defend Armand from his own insecurities, but Armand put a finger to his lips to quiet him.
‘I have done terrible things, and I must live with knowing I cannot change them. That is my burden to bear.’
‘But there is one thing I did right, and that was letting you go. I broke my own heart when I erased your memories of our life together, Daniel, and I lived with that pain for five decades.’
Armand felt the burn of sorrow in his throat, felt the tears rising – still he continued.
‘Daniel, you have to understand, your beauty goes beyond the physical for me. I treasure you not only because of your looks, but because you – you with your legacy, your children, with your wrinkles and your grey hair – you lived your life, and that is all I ever wanted for you.’
Armand was not the only one trying not to cry – he could see Daniel biting his lip, tears pooling in his lovely eyes.
‘You are my one act of selflessness, Daniel Molloy. Your very existence allows me to believe there may be some good left in me yet.’
Daniel surprised him, then, pushing himself up on his knees and turning them both smoothly, so that he was straddling Armand’s lithe body. He grabbed Armand’s face roughly and pulled him in for a kiss, their tears mingling together as they fought for closeness. Daniel pulled away after what felt like hours, eyes red-rimmed and swollen. He touched their foreheads together, unwilling to lose their closeness.
‘I love you,’ said Daniel.
‘And I you,’ said Armand.
‘You are good, Armand. You are.’
The sun was up by the time they relinquished their grip on each other. Daniel rolled back to his side of the bed with a tired smile on his face; Armand wanted to paint it, frame it.
Armand watched as Daniel tried and failed to supress a yawn. ‘Sleep, beloved.’
Daniel took Armand’s hand. ‘Stay?’
‘Of course, beloved boy,’ said Armand, mirroring their earlier positions, throwing an arm around Daniel’s waist. ‘I will always stay.’