Chapter Text
Owen never found peace with tradition like the rest of the Oakhurst residents.
He moved to the small Scottish town in his late teens as an attempt to escape from crowded city life, hoping to start fresh and find a cure the illness that had been with him as long as he could remember. When he left his city in the early summer, he knew the journey would be rough. But when settlement after settlement turned him away, every doctor deeming him incurable, his hope began to diminish.
By the time summer had faded, his options were beginning to grow few and far between, the distance between towns growing further and further apart as he travelled north. So when he finally reached the outskirts of Oakhurst, the last stop on his map, he wasn't hopeful.
The town itself was sat between the sprawl of an ancient Oak forest, a collection of simple stone homes surrounded by sprawling farmland, nestled at the base of steep tree covered hills, and further beyond, an array of lochs and rivers. Something warm settled in his soul that day as he admired the landscape, breathless as he admired the brilliant orange of autumn painting the misty landscape.
While he never planned to settle in the small town, everything about the area drew him in and made him feel at home, the vast woodlands familiar despite the distance.
Not keen on venturing any further north to where he knew the winters would be harsh beyond his capabilities, neighbouring towns too few and far between, he began to settle down. It didn't take much effort to find work, quickly picking up work to assist the towns lumberjacks prepare for the upcoming winter.
He had only meant to stay in the town for that winter, but when spring came around and the men he had spent the past few months working alongside offered to take him on board full time, he agreed.
Long days were spent felling trees and processing lumber into firewood, and soon enough, he was able to save enough silver to purchase a cottage on the outskirts of town, close enough so that he could transport his goods to the small market square, while remaining within good distance of his lumberyard.
That was the first and only time he felt like he belonged somewhere.
-=-
As Owen settled into life in Oakhurst, he soon became aware of one of the towns most beloved traditions.
Once a year, the townsfolk of Oakhurst would gather in the town centre, to dance and feast, coming together as a community to those they had lost hundreds of years ago. The towns mayor, a man he had heard many good things about but had never seen, would give a speech of blessings and warm words to begin the celebrations.
Unfortunately for Owen, that was the same time of year that he found himself working overtime, spending long days preparing firewood for the winter. All his spare time shifted to resting and recovering as he took on more and more work from the older Oakhurst lumberjacks, muscles aching, chest and throat sore as his illness got worse.
Even so, there were days that his illness got the better of him, slowing down his swings or making it nearly impossible to get out of bed. His rashes started to get worse, blisters turning to scars, and spreading further down his arms, requiring more bandages to be worn.
When the townsfolk asked about his bandages, he made up an excuse of arm protection for his job as a lumberjack. And to his benefit, the townsfolk thought nothing of it, but he knew it was only a matter of time until they saw through the mask.
He was proven right when the rash started to reach his hands after a few more years, blisters and scars becoming visible as he ran out of bandages. The townsfolk began to gossip, staring whenever he went to market to barter or buy food. It only got worse when he began to cough regularly enough in public that he saw it fit to start visiting a doctor once more.
To test his luck one last time.
To his annoyance, regular visits to the towns only doctor settled into his weekly routine. He couldn’t decide if it was a blessing or a curse that the doctor quickly shunned him away after a few visits, unable to figure out what was wrong with him. Every bit of medicine, every cure and remedy the doctor tried came up useless. Often times, it would make his rash worse, skin crawling with an itch that had him bedridden for days on end.
When the news of his incurable illness made its way into the ears of the townsfolk, it only fuelled the gossip around town, rumours spreading like wildfire.
He's cursed, they'd whisper as he'd walk past, loud enough for him to hear.
He's contagious, they'd growl, as he went about his day trying to trade firewood for coin, and coin for food. Merchants began to refuse his coin from his hand directly, and buyers would throw his own payment into the dirt at his feet, forcing him to risk further infection just to retrieve a few coins, fewer than he charged.
Within weeks, he was shunned from town. Too dependent on the income from trade as a lumberjack and too close to winter to consider moving, he stayed in Oakhurst.
Just another week, he had told himself.
But a week turned into a month.
And months turned into years.
Every time he thought he had enough silver saved up to move out of town, his axe would break or his illness would flare up so bad he had to stay in bed for days, forcing him to fork out the majority of his savings to continue forward with medicine and new tools, food and clothes.
His life became routine, and routine became tradition.
He hated it.
He hated that being shunned and forcefully distanced from his peers became tradition and expected. Hated how he was made an outcast despite the need for what his job as a lumberjack provided, a reluctant barter whenever he had to venture into town.
He hated the harsh looks, the forced distancing when he walked by, how he was underpaid for his goods and overcharged for that of which he needed.
It wasn’t until one truly devastating winter passed, sparing him more time than he would’ve wished for to sit and think.
His illness was getting worse.
His arms had begun to ache at the mere touch of his axe, his bandages old and beyond the time one would normally keep using them. He doubted anyone better off in town would wear the same set of bandages for more than a day, yet alone weeks or months.
It wasn’t like Owen had a choice though. He washed them as often as he could when he was able to make the trek to the stream, but in the middle of winter he didn’t even contemplate it. He’d sooner freeze to death in the snowfall or be picked off by the wolves before he’d even make it halfway.
His home is nothing more than two small rooms joined together, one for his bed and the other for everything else. A small fire burns in his fireplace, barely enough to keep him warm as he does not want to risk burning through more of his product on the chance that it could earn him an extra few coins for food.
With the harsh winter blowing outside, he spent long days trapped inside, wrapped in a frail woollen coat and a simple blanket. If anything, the time inside allowed him time to think and to consider the year ahead.
If there was one thing he was certain about, it was that the coming year would be his last. His illness was on the verge of claiming him and once the thought settled in his mind, he hated how at ease he became with it.
Each night he settled into an uncomfortable sleep, and every morning he awoke.
-=-
It wasn’t until the spring that things started to change.
Owen had spent the better half of the late winter going over various ideas, spending long days and nights curled up on his bed, knees tucked to his chest as he drew drawing up a vague plan for a mill. It was something he was surprised the town didn't have already, with the sheer amount of woodland that surrounded it.
More so, it was purely a dream, something he knew he would never live to see be built. The building would take more money and materials than he’d be able to supply, and even if he had enough of both, time wasn’t on his side.
But he had to be hopeful, even as he doubted that the mayor would even see him. The townsfolk spoke of him as a kind man, always busy in his office, managing the towns admin and upkeep. Whether that was true or not, Owen had his doubts.
If he were like the townsfolk he governed over, he'd see Owens dirty bandages and blistering skin and turn him away. Shut down his request before he could state his case. A request to build a mill on the outskirts of town and near his cabin, to make his work easier and better fuel the town for the next winter.
He had to try though, if he wanted to assist the town once he had gone.
Something to outlive him.
What did he have left to lose?
It took Owen a few days to gain the courage and energy to make the trip into the town as work started to pick up once again. The snow had begun to melt, blades of grass peeking through the blanket of white that had settled on the ground as the sun made it's first appearance of the new year.
The air in the valley was still cold, sending shivers down across his body as he walked.
Over the rooftops, the sun had begun to set, casting long shadows over the space.
Approaching the town hall, he kept his head down as he moved through the crowds of people, trying his best to block out the whispers as he focussed on not falling on the ice covered cobblestones. In his hands he gripped the paperwork he had prepared, all too aware of the scars of illness littering his skin, fighting against the wind cold wind that had begun to blow through the town centre.
When he arrived at the town hall, he knocked on the large wooden door, taking deep breaths as he waited, attempting to calm his racing heart. It barely helped though, as he quickly became all too aware of the people staring from all areas of the market.
Too aware of the blisters that his bandages were unable to cover did not reach and his lack of better clothing.
When the door to the town hall opened, he was not expecting a tall man with hair as white as the snow outside, braided over one shoulder and tied with a red ribbon, draped over a puffy shirt of the deepest red he'd ever seen.
"Good evening, how can I help you?"
The mans gentle voice was caught him off guard. "Hello, I'm here to speak with the mayor? I hope it's not too late."
The man smiled. "That would be me, and need not worry about the time, I'm always open for a chat. Please, come inside, you must be freezing out there."
As the man before him, the mayor, stepped aside to let him enter the building, he couldn't help but think back on the brief time's he'd seen the mayor from a distance. It must've been longer than he thought since he'd properly been in town because he could've sworn the mans hair used to be brown like his.
Owen didn't hesitate to step inside as he felt warmth drift from the open doorway, choosing to put the thought of another mans hair colour behind him.
Once inside, the mayor closed the door, blocking out the townsfolk that had stopped to stare and Owen was able to take in the room before him. It has oak flooring, dimly lit by several lanterns that decorated the walls, candle light flickering within glass walls.
"I still have the fireplace lit, so why don't you take a seat in the sitting room? I'll join you in a few moments."
When Owen nodded, the mayor smiled before walking down the hall, disappearing behind a set of wooden doors, leaving him time to look around the space and the sitting room beyond.
The room is simple, but to Owen it's one of the best things he’d seen in years.
Suddenly, he felt very out of place.
A pair of couches sit opposite one another on one side of the room, an old worn table between them. On the opposite side of the room is the fireplace the mayor had mentioned, its warmth easing the chill that had settled into his bones from the walk into town.
On the walls hung two paintings. The first was a landscape, somewhere Owen didn't recognise. It depicted stark cliff sides, framed by a calm sea and a waterfall, shrubs and grassland framing the picture. The skies were clear blue, a few clouds dotting the horizon but otherwise calm. A peaceful summer's day.
The other painting was a portrait of a young man, auburn hair tied neatly over one shoulder, green eyes kind and relaxed, a slight smile on his lips. His face depicted sharp angles, but everything else about him was soft. Gentle. Not yet tainted by the hardships of life, but such was the case for those rich enough to have portraits painted, with enough time to sit in one place without care.
Owen couldn't help the pang of jealousy that settled in his chest, imagining a life without hardships. A life without the stress of affording food or acquiring lumber for warmth. A life of simple comforts and time to spare.
“Feel free to sit anywhere.”
Owen almost jumped out of his skin when the mayor spoke, not realising he had zoned out admiring the room's likely simple decor, turning to find the man in question standing in the doorway.
Reminding himself that he was not alone, and that this was not his home.
A pot and two tea cups sat neatly atop a tray held to the mayor's chest, steam drifting into the air.
“Apologies sir, I- these are some lovely paintings.”
The mayor smiled, walking over to stand next to him. “Thank you, I painted them myself a few years back.”
Not only was the mayor showing him hospitality, inviting him inside, not shying away from his illness, but the man was talented.
Owen averted his eyes back to the portrait on the wall, stepping aside to give the mayor space, not wanting to risk infecting the man. Being the cause of the towns beloved mayor falling ill was not something he wished to add to the townsfolk's list of reasons to dislike him.
“You are very talented sir, an impressive eye for detail.”
“I don’t believe I caught your name.” The mayor questioned, setting the tray down on the table as Owen moved to sit on one of the couches, trying to position himself as close to the fireplace as possible.
Owen breathed for a moment, trying to get his mind over the unexpected hospitality as the mayor began pouring them both a cup of tea, hands gentle and precise in his movements. “Owen, sir.”
“Nice to meet you Owen, and please, call me Louis.”
The mayor, Louis, smiled, and Owen wondered how long that smile would last until it faded into a grimace like the rest of the people in town.
Owen forced his eyes away from Louis and to the steaming cup of tea in front of him, longing for a distraction to calm his nerves. His hands shook as he reached for the cup, the tension and ache in his hands and forearms all but vanishing as his body relaxed into the warmth.
“So, Owen, what brings you here today?”
When was the last time he felt such warmth?
-=-
By the end of the visit, tea cold and drunk, Owen had to force himself to leave. Louis had been the most welcoming person he had met and interacted with in years, never stopping him and asking all the right questions.
And while the permit wasn't granted immediately, Owen left his visit with the mayor hopeful, holding onto Louis' smile and promise that he would always be welcome to visit for further chats like a lifeline.
For the first time in years, he had felt welcomed, wanted.
They had gone to great lengths on Owens prospects of building a mill on the outskirts of town, talking for what felt like hours. From strategic locations and funding, to the surrounding woodlands and the promise of bringing more work to the townsfolk.
Not once did Louis stop him or shy away.
And for the first time since his illness had cast him out from the rest of town, setting the image of a population that hated him in his mind like stone, Owen began to doubt himself.
For the first time, he began to believe that the mayor was truly as kind as everyone made him out to be.
Owen didn't hesitate to follow up on Louis' promise of another visit, if only to test how long the hospitality would last. To see how far the disguise of a truly caring mayor would carry for someone such as himself. So Owen showed up at the same time the next day, and like the first day, Louis welcomed him in.
And every time Louis welcomes him in, there's a pot of tea and the same two teacups waiting for him.
-=-
It didn't take long for their meetings to settle into Owens daily routine.
Every morning, he would wake up and wrap his arms in the cleanest set of bandages he had access to that day before heading out to fell a tree or process the logs from a previous day. Afterwards, he'd make an effort to make himself presentable before making his way back to the town hall, and later on, Louis' personal abode.
When Louis suggested the idea after their first month of meetings, Owen had imagined a grand manor, full of staff and large rooms. Yet, it was nothing like that. The house was bigger than most in town, and much bigger than Owen's, but it was modest, built of red brick and sandstone, surrounded by trees as if built into the forest itself, a well-maintained garden surrounding the building.
Even if reaching the home meant an extra bit of effort to get to, Owen was glad for the shade the forest walk provided, allowing him more time in the woods after work and less time in the eyes of the townsfolk.
It's where Owen finds himself as the end of another month approached, marking nine weeks since his visits began. Louis insisted they move their visits there when he noticed how the townsfolk stared, and how Owen sunk in on himself to make him smaller than he already was to avoid the watchful looks.
The sitting room in Louis' home is similar to that of the town hall, couches lining the walls, a fireplace burning at one end, paintings and portraits hung on the walls. Yet the space has a personal touch the town hall doesn't.
A bookshelf lines one wall, half of the shelves filled with trinkets rather than books. Bits of antler, a few rocks, and a collection half melted candles that Owen's certain are stuck to the woodwork. It pains his heart to think about, but his job is to fell trees and nothing more. He swings the axe and chops down what is needed, leaving others to do the delicate work of creating.
There's a glass vase on one of the shelves, and Owen can't help but smile faintly at the small bouquet of flowers that decorate it, the blues and purples of the bluebells and heathers respectfully that act as a nice contrast against the maroon walls of the room.
Owen had gathered them one afternoon when walking the fields and had been unable to stop the way his heart fluttered as he contemplated giving them to Louis.
It hadn't been obvious at first, pin pointing when and where their relationship had begun to shift. From professional as two men met to discuss the town business, to a budding friendship of after work conversation over tea whenever there was time to spare.
But as Owen continued to look forward to his visits with Louis, beyond the prospects of erecting a mill on the outskirts of town, his heart began to ache. He began looking forward to being near the mayor, to hearing his voice and feeling that gentle gaze upon his own.
Louis is kind, gentle, and he never pushes Owen to share something he was uncomfortable with. For that Owen was thankful, but knew that if he were to reveal the details of his illness or the way his heart ached at the thought of another man, he'd truly be shunned out of town for good.
"Can I ask you a question Owen?"
Louis' voice brings Owen out of his trance, the thoughts and possibilities of a life he will not be able to live. Across the table, Louis is cupping his teacup as steam drifts up, a curious look in his eye that causes his heart to skip a beat. Around him, his hair is untied, hanging lose over his shoulders.
"Of course."
"Your bandages, how often do you change them?"
The question sobers him up immediately, bringing him fully into the present. Owen hesitates, knowing Louis would discourage his choice of actions. He already discouraged the amount of time he spent working, even if he too spent similar lengths of time maintaining the towns admin and upkeep. Anyone with the money would change their bandages at least once a day, but then again, someone with money wouldn't spend almost two decades of their life sick.
"Once or twice a week."
Once the words are out of his mouth, Owen watches as Louis' face twists into disgust and pity, and his own heart aches for the conversation that will follow. It's the reaction he had anticipated, but it still hurts none-the less.
"Is that all?"
"I'm not able to wash them as often as I'd like."
"Can I take a look?"
"I don't want to infect you."
"Owen, we've spent every day for the past two months in each other's company, for hours at a time. Even if your illness is truly contagious, I want to take care of you."
In the moment, he's not sure why he agrees. Maybe it's the look on Louis' face, disgust mixed with pity. Maybe it's his voice, calm but concerned. Or maybe it's the part of him that he buried long ago, still aching for a sense of belonging, for someone to care despite it all.
"You can look. Just don't be surprised when it's not what you expect."
Louis smiles and it takes all his strength to not look away. "I'll be gentle."
And true to his word, Louis is gentle.
He takes Owens hand in his own, his shoulders tensing and breath catching in his throat as the bandages begin to peel away, heart racing as he feels the warmth of another person's skin against his for the first time in years.
And the more that are removed, the more Owen wishes to disappear.
Within no time, all the bandages are removed, abandoned in a messy pile on the table as Louis runs a careful finger along the now exposed sores and scabs that cover his forearm. With his luck, the mayor will be sick within the week.
"How long has your skin been like this?"
Owen recoils internally at the kindness that remains in Louis' voice. "Since before I moved to Oakhurst."
"Have you tried seeing the doctor, I'm sure-"
"You think I haven't?" Owen cut him off as the tension in his heart got too much to handle. "I've tried every doctor, in every village and town from here to the capital in the south. You act surprised, but I know you've heard the rumours, the gossip of the townsfolk."
Louis flinches, not expecting such a decree. "I don't want to see you hurt."
"Well, it's too late for that Louis. I'm incurable, and at this rate, I'll be dead within the year."
The confession settles over the room, and in that moment, the shock on Louis' face hurts more than the rash on his arms.
He didn't want to burden Louis with a companion that won't last. A friend that would soon fade into memory. Owen pushed down the heartbreak of words left unspoken, his heart sinking and settling into an uneven beat as his mind prepared him for the worst.
Even if Louis felt the same, what point would there be if he isn't going to last?
Still, Louis' hand remained, holding his despite the scars and uneven skin, the mayors hand pale in contrast to his. "Would you allow me to make you comfortable? Even if I can't aid you with medicine, would it be a sin to wish you comfort?"
Owen frowned. "You shouldn't have to."
"And yet I want to." Louis took his other hand in his. "Owen, I care about you. Our talks and meetings have been the best parts of my days in the past few years and I'm sorry I didn't notice the turmoil and pain you were in sooner. I want to be there for you."
"The townsfolk, they'll-"
"I personally don't care what the townsfolk think. I haven't for a while. All I want is you by my side, if you'll have me."
His mind began to race, his wants battling the stark reality they both lived in. "But you're the mayor, we're both-"
He couldn't bring himself to continue the rest of the sentence, knowing that if he spoke it aloud, there would be no turning back.
"And yet I still want you." Louis moved from his chair across the table to sit in the one beside him. To sit closer. "Yes, we are both men, and yes, I am the mayor, but that doesn't change the fact that I care about you Owen. You are so much more than your scars, and much more than an illness you did not choose to bare the troubles of."
"I want you too. I just don't want to burden you with me when I cannot give the same you."
"You have never been a burden to me Owen and your feelings won't make me think of you any less. I know today has been a lot so I want to leave you some time to think, but is there anything you want me to do?"
"It's silly."
"Whatever it is, I'll listen."
Owen hesitates, heart catching in his throat as his attention catches back to Louis' lips. But then, with everything out in the open, what was the worst that could happen?
"I want to kiss you." His voice is no more than a whisper, but Louis heard it regardless.
His heart skips a beat when Louis smiles, placing one hand to his cheek. "I would love to."
When Louis' lips met his, his shoulders immediately relaxed. All the tension that had been there throughout the conversation as Louis unravelled and pulled carefully pulled apart his shell, faded away into the back of his mind.
All the doubts and worries that had plagued his lonely nights in his cabin becoming redundant.
Owen melted into the touch as he kissed back, not really sure he was doing but certain that he was meant to be here in this moment, just the two of them sharing these feelings.
When they pull away from each other, his chest rises and falls with steady anticipation, breath caught in his throat as he feels his face reflect Louis' as a smile creeps its way onto his lips. Owen doesn't fight it.
When was the last time he smiled?
-=-
The days and weeks that follow the kiss are pure bliss in contrast to the rest of his mundane life.
Somewhere in the months that follow, tea after work turns into late-night talks in Louis' bedroom. Late-night talks turn into gentle touches, soft lips and the care of old scars. Louis starts offering to change Owen's bandages whenever he visits, and slowly, Owen begins to open up.
He talks more about his life before Oakhurst, the villages and towns he'd visited in search of a cure. In turn, Louis shares his own scars, of his deliberate choice and freedom of a life he used to live.
Even so, there are times where he slips back into his mind the self-doubt of their shared confession. Where his illness flares up to the point where the warmth of tea is all he can handle, even as he longs for the gentle touch of the other man that he knows will be too much.
Through it all, Louis remains patient.
Together, they begin to heal.
-=-
It's late at night, both mayor and lumberjack laying atop layers of furs and blankets as a warm summer breeze drifts in through the formers bedroom window as has become their nightly routine.
Owen is curled up at Louis' side, resting his head on the older mans bare chest, the both of them deeming it too warm for unnecessary layers. The curtains are pulled back, allowing the moonlight to shine in, illuminating the room in a soft glow.
Louis is drawing circles on his back, soothing the ache that had settled in his shoulders after another long day at work. Owen has long since lost count of the number of times he'd fallen asleep to the gentle touches from the other man.
Stifling a yawn, Owen opens his eyes to peer up at Louis, finding the man is still wide-awake reading one of his many books. "What are you reading?" Owen asks as he tries to suppress another yawn, only to fail and earn a chuckle from Louis.
"I thought you'd be asleep by now my love." Louis teases, leaning over to place a kiss to his forehead. "I'm reading a book on vampyrs."
"What are those?"
"Apparently, they are creatures that look just like us, human in appearance but completely undead." Louis hums, reading from the book. "Says here that they drink blood, but that they also live forever. How bizarre is that?"
Owen scrunches up his face at the thought of a human— or non-human— drinking another being's blood. "That sounds horrible."
"Suppose it does, but could you imagine living forever? I think that would out-weigh the whole blood thing."
"That would be pretty amazing, but I couldn't imagine an eternity suffering through this illness." Another yawn. "If you could live forever, would you?"
"I think so, sounds pretty lonely though." Louis replies, frowning at the thought. "Would you? Imagine all the time you'd have to work through your illness."
Owen struggles to imagine a life without pain, without the constant fatigue. A life without the town's hatred and social out-casting. But there's a part of him that wants to imagine sharing it with Louis. A life of late-night chats under the stars and walks through the forest, watching the seasons go by side by side.
He smiles at the thought. "If I were able to spend that time by your side, I would take that offer in an instant."
Soon enough, they fall back into gentle silence, Owen trying to keep his eyes open while attempting to read the words on the pages as Louis continues to read, adjusting the book so Owen can see. They let the sound of paper turning and the occasional call of an owl outside fill the air.
"Do you think they're real?" Owen asks, closing his eyes, letting his body slip into the calls of sleep.
Louis places another kiss to the top of his head. "I hope so."
Owen can't help but hope the same.
-=-
Within no time, the towns annual celebrations are upon them.
The chill of autumn had settled over the valley that housed Oakhurst, the leaves already changing to brilliant shades of yellow and orange. They had spent the afternoon walking through the forest that surrounded Oakhurst, Louis insisting Owen take the afternoon off. While Owen knew he should be working, he was grateful for the company.
His illness had started to flare up once more, something that had gotten more and more common as the year progressed.
Today was just another one of those days, arms and legs weak with fatigue to the point where the short trek up the hill just behind Louis' house had been an effort, forcing Owen to stop every few minutes to catch his breath.
It was humiliating but not once did Louis complain, offering him as much time as he needed to recover. By the time the sun had begun to set, they had stopped under the shade of a young oak tree. It's nowhere near the top of the hill, but the view was still stunning.
Owen wished he could stay here forever.
It's Louis that breaks the silence. "I'd love to see you at the celebration in town tomorrow Owen, if you're able."
Owen frowns.
As much as he would love to be there for Louis, even if from a distance, he can already see the townsfolk scowling and glaring at him. If him being in town wasn't enough, the townsfolk seeing him next to Louis would start a riot. "I'm not sure it would be a good idea for me to go."
"And I think the townsfolk should leave you alone."
They sat in silence for a little while, watching as the sun began its decent over the forest and distant hills. Owen moved to lean his head against Louis' shoulder, closing his eyes as he breathed in the autumn air, feeling the sun warm against his eyelids.
He wishes they could stay there forever, but he knows fate won't allow it.
If only.
A few more moments of peace settle over them as the sun vanishes behind the hills, shining the last of its golden rays over the town as Owen contemplates the day ahead.
"I'll come to the celebration." Owen turns his head to smile at his lover as he makes his declaration, watching as joy appears on the other mans face. "Townsfolk be damned, I can deal with them for one day if it means being at your side."
What harm can one day do?
-=-
For the first time since living in Oakhurst, Owen had gone to bed looking forward to an early morning.
He had intended on waking up early to see the sunrise, to stand in the crowd amongst the rest of the Oakhurst townsfolk and watch Louis welcome the town into a full day of celebrations.
He had seen how much effort and time Louis had been putting into the preparations, the late nights at his desk writing his speech. The day was special to Louis, and Owen wanted nothing more than to be there for him.
His body however, had other plans.
He had woken up early, but it wasn't the sun shining through his window that stirred him. His entire body was in pure agony, the worst spurt of pain that he'd felt in years. Attempting to ease himself upright only made it worse, his arms shaking with the effort, muscles aching as each small movement made him cry out in pain.
Each breath in sent him into coughing fits as he fought to regain the air in his lungs, losing vision as he feared he may pass out, and each breath out crackled in his chest.
His throat was dry and sore after the first hour.
At one point he was able to get out of bed, but quickly fell to the ground as another round of coughing fits racked his body.
He began coughing up blood long after the sun had risen, splatters of red forming on the ground where he knelt, shoulders shaking.
That was the moment he knew he was dying.
He had run out of time.
He began to lose track of time as he slipped in and out of consciousness, each time feeling like his last. Yet every time he would wake up, only to fall into another coughing fit until he was curled in on himself from the burning pain in his lungs.
Breath growing weaker, Owen feels his shoulders collapse to his sides. All he can think about is how he's about to die alone. About his broken promise to Louis and how the mayor is going to search the crowd for him only to be disappointed.
Louis.
Oh gods, Louis.
His throat hurts beyond any reasonable degree now, each weak breath in bringing tears to his eyes. He doesn't stop the tears as he imagines Louis, smiling at him across from the table in the sitting room, the care in his eyes as the mayor cared for the wounds the townsfolk ignored.
He thinks of the late-night chats in his bedroom and the walks through the forest.
For the first time, Owen had someone to listen. Someone he looked forward to seeing day after day.
Someone who cared.
"I'm sorry Louis."
And for the first time, Owen is scared of dying alone.
-=-
The next time Owen opens his eyes, he finds himself upon a bed of soft furs and familiar blankets, and is certain that he is dead. Immediately he recognises it as Louis' bedroom, a place Owen had felt the most comfort over the past year. A place of late-night chats and soft touches, of reassuring words and gentle care to the various wounds and scars that littered his skin.
He's dead and Louis' bedroom is his personal heaven.
What he hadn't expected, was to see Louis sat at his bedside, hand in his, head to the floor eyes closed as he murmured something Owen couldn't hear. Louis is running a thumb over the back of his hand, soft as ever.
"Louis?" His voice comes out weak, barely more than a whisper as he tries to fight against the ache that remained in his throat.
Louis immediately lifts his head to face Owen, eyes going wide as they locked with his. "Oh gods, Owen."
"What happened? Why am I here?"
Why are you here? If he's dead, then Louis being here as well..
"I noticed you hadn't come to the celebration, so I went to see you. I found you collapsed on the floor of your cabin barely breathing. I thought I lost you."
"I'm alive?" Owen asked.
"Yes my love, you are."
He's not dead.
Not yet.
They both knew he wouldn't be alive much longer, but neither anticipated it ending this soon.
"Louis," Owen spoke, attempting to sit up, Louis moving to assist him as his arms began to shake with the effort. "I think it's time."
Immediately, Louis understood what he meant. Over the last few months, as the summer reached its peak and their relationship grew despite all their hardships, Owen had stated his final wishes.
Louis had protested when Owen first brought up such a topic, but Owen had insisted. He'd never seen Louis so distraught, yet Louis had listened intently.
His wishes were few and simple, but so was he.
Louis placed a kiss to his lips, lingering for a few moments before parting. "I'll get you some tea."
Owen watched from the bed as the white haired man left the room, lingering at the doorway for a moment before disappearing into the hallway.
When Louis returned, he accepted the cup with shaking hands, letting the warmth seep in once more. It felt poetic, Owen thought, that his last meal and interaction with Louis would be from the same tea cup that had started their relationship all those months ago.
It had become tradition after all.
Owen drank with slow sips, cherishing the tea as it temporarily soothed the ache in his throat. When the cup was empty, Louis took it and placed it on the bedside before moving to sit next to Owen on the bed, bringing him into an embrace. The older man pressed kisses to his forehead and combed gentle fingers through his curls. Owen merely melted into the touch, not daring to close his eyes just yet.
Just a few more moments.
Just a bit longer.
"I'm scared Louis. I don't want to die." Owen whispered into soft white hair. His throat burned as he cried, trying to hide the tears that had begun to fall. It only made the pain worse, his body shaking with the effort. "I don't want to lose you."
"What if you didn't have to?" He could hear the pain in Louis' voice, the silent desperation.
"I'm dying Louis, I don't have a choice."
Louis moved so Owen was looking into his eyes, eyes that he had fallen in love with. "Do you remember those books I shared with you all those months ago? The tales of vampyrs?"
Owen barely had the energy to nod as Louis' fingers brushed through his curls. He remembered everything Louis had shared with him, even the fairytales of mythical creatures. How could he not, when his other half had spoken so fondly?
"Those tales aren't far from the truth, my love."
Louis' hand moved from his hair to caress his face, eyes filled with nothing short of care and gentle love. "I'm a vampire, Owen." Yet there was a pain in his eyes, there so briefly that Owen almost missed it. "You could be a vampire as well. You wouldn't be sick anymore. We'd be able to live a life together, just like we wanted to. No illness, no pain. Just us."
Louis smiled, briefly showing what were undeniably fangs. How had Owen not noticed them prior?
Owen slowly put all the pieces together, all the clues and hints Louis had gone over when sharing the tales when reading. Of all the downsides, the inability to eat, or well drink, anything other than blood, the sunlight that would burn his skin, but Owen couldn't bring himself to care.
Despite Louis' best efforts, he was already starving, his body frail beyond what anyone should have to endure. His skin already ached from the countless bruises and boils, scars and cuts.
Anything had to be better than the pain he was in.
If he had to die to continue living, then he'd die.
"Do it."
Louis' eyes, ever kind and gentle, went wide at the immediate response. At Owen's lack of hesitation. "Are you certain my love?"
"Louis, I'm certain. When I passed out earlier—" Another cough "—I don't want to lose you. If I have to die to continue having you at my side, then I'm fine with that. I'm already dying anyway, I'd rather it be you than this.. illness."
Soft lips press to his just as gentle as their first. Owen returns it, slow and deliberate, trying to commit the touch to memory. When tears continue to slip from his eyes as the reality of everything started to catch up, Louis moves to kiss those as well, running a thumb over his cheek to catch those that escape.
"I'll try to be gentle." Louis promised, pressing another kiss to his lips. "I'll be at your side the entire time."
"I'm already in so much pain Louis, and you are the softest thing in my life," Owen chuckled to himself, kissing Louis again. "I trust you."
The kisses moved from his mouth, trailing down to his jaw and neck, and he could feel careful fingers shifting the layers of old worn bandages before the kisses continued at the base of his neck, just above his shoulder.
When sharp fangs pierced his skin, it took all his effort to not cry out in pain as the pain surged through him. To keep his eyes open, fixed on Louis. Just a few moments more. His fingers tangled in the vampire’s hair when he began to feel his blood move beneath his skin as Louis began to drink.
In return, Louis moved his hand to stroke through Owens curls.
Louis, who has shown him more kindness in the past year than he'd ever received in the rest of his life.
Louis, who saw him as a human despite his illness and hadn't shied away, offering him food and drink, caring for the wounds his illness had brought upon his skin despite his countless protests, worried that he'd infect his companion.
Even as he lost his mortality, he can't help but smile weakly through misty eyes at Louis as he came back into view, eyes a stark red against the darkness, his fangs stained with his blood.
"I love you, Louis." Owen whispered as his vision began to fade.
"I love you too, Owen." Louis whispered back, placing one final kiss to his lips.
For Owen, that was enough.