Chapter Text
On quiet nights in the flat, it was sometimes easy to forget that you lived with four vampires. It was not so easy to forget that you were dating one of them.
You’d already poked your head in his closet door, to no avail; the kitchen, too, was devoid of knitting, dishes-avoiding vampires.
You found him in the living room, the television set still playing in the background as Deacon slept. He was lying dramatically over the sofa, one forearm over his eyes and the fingers of the other hand trailing down onto the floor, to where the remote lay. His coat, the black one with the curve of fur across the shoulders, was haphazardly flung over the back of the sofa beside the (folded) multicolored blanket you strongly suspected Deacon had knitted himself. You fought back a smile at the sight of him as you switched off the television, and noted with some interest that there was just enough room beside him for you.
You attempted not to wake him as you cuddled into his side, but his arm fell from his face and green eyes blinked down at you, uncomprehending. You brushed his hair tenderly out of his face, and you watched with a smirk as the vampire slowly came to his senses.
“You’re heavy,” he groused, wiggling uncomfortably under you. You rolled your eyes, pressing the side of your cheek to his shoulder and closing your eyes. But the moment you closed them you opened them again, distracted by Deacon’s seemingly endless attempts to make himself comfortable. (He vaguely reminded you of a dog making itself a “nest” before it could lie down.)
It was sometimes jarring to notice that he didn’t breathe, and you weren’t sure if you’d ever get used to the lack of a heartbeat where you should be able to feel it, thumping beneath your flattened palm; but you ignored these things, wrapping a leg comfortably around his. With a mutter and a sigh, Deacon grabbed his coat off the back of the sofa and threw it around you, the furry ruff tickling at your cheek in a way that made you giggle softly into his chest.
“Really?” The amusement was plain in his voice, one green eye cracked open to peer down at you. “What?” you shot back, pulling his coat tighter around you and snuggling your face into the fur. Deacon just rolled his eyes, a smile tugging reluctantly on his lips as he wrapped an arm around your waist.
“Nothing. But I have not washed that in - ever, I think.” You yelped unceremoniously and shoved playfully at Deacon’s chest, sitting up, throwing the coat back at him and making to leap away. But he caught you in his arms, laughing in that cute way that made his cheeks puff out and his eyes crinkle.
“I am joking. Viago washed it last year.” It was your turn now to roll your eyes as you sank back down onto him, emphatically pulling his coat tightly around your body first.
“Heh. It looks good on you.” His hand on your back distracted you from your mock irritation, and so you only mumbled “idiot” into his shirt, glad he couldn’t see your concealed grin.