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“You wear a ring.”
“Hm?” Anton turns to Viago. They’d been sitting next to each other on the couch in the vampire's flat for the last ten minutes, left alone as everyone else had migrated to the kitchen table. Deacon was loudly betting that he could arm wrestle any person in the room and win, and the werewolves were loudly telling him to fuck right off. Anton doesn’t feel like getting up to give the ‘swear wolves’ lecture, so he settles for rolling his eyes as Viago just smiles. And apparently Anton wasn’t paying attention well enough, because Viago then takes his left hand in his own and carefully points out the silver band. Anton just stares for a second before his brain catches up.
“Ah, yeah, it’s not . . silver.” He manages to get out. “White gold. So you can—” Oh, Viago’s already touching it. He runs his finger along the smooth metal, like there’s something to study.
“I have never heard you mention anyone before.”
“Guess because there’s no one to mention.” Anton shrugs. “It’s in the past.”
Viago’s face turns serious, he nods. “I have something like that. From someone you lost?”
“You could say that,” he says, hesitant. “There were a lot of people I fell out with after I was turned. Hard to keep up relationships, y’know?”
“I do.” He’s not surprised to hear that. Werewolves have their own struggles, sure, but he can’t imagine being almost four hundred years old. That’s not ‘messy breakup’ or ‘twenty year marriage ends in divorce’ that’s . . . everyone you’ve ever loved, just gone. Anton looks at Viago, still holding his hand with his thumb caressing the ring, and feels something like sympathy. Viago shifts on the couch a little.
“Some in your pack, though, they are successful?”
“Yeah— Yeah, some of the guys do okay. They get lucky, they find people who understand and accept them.” He tries not to let any bitterness seep into his tone.
“Do you still love her?”
“In a way,” Anton starts. Something crashes over in the kitchen, followed by a heavy accent (Vladis . . Vlad something? ) shouting obscenities. Viago doesn’t seem bothered, so neither is Anton. “Not the same way I did when we were together, but it’s not like I hold a grudge against her for leaving. Relationships can be complicated.” He looks over and Viago is just watching him with wide eyes, taking in every word. His hand isn’t as cold as Anton would’ve expected. “But no, I’m not . . in love. Currently.”
Where the fuck is he going with this.
“What about you? You said you had something similar.” He gestures with his free hand. “You wear a lot of rings, though.”
“Nice, aren’t they?” Viago grins, the tips of his fangs pointy over his lip, and shakes his head. “It’s not a ring. A silver locket, with her picture and everything. People used to be very romantic in that way.”
“Silver?”
“It wasn’t ideal, no. But it’s the thought that counts, I always say.”
Anton tries to smile. “Sounds like quite the woman.” It comes out a little dry, but Viago doesn’t seem to pick up on it.
“It’s in the past.” He echoes. “It’s very strange sometimes, not aging. The people around you do, obviously, but they change in other ways, too. You think you know someone until you leave them alone long enough.” He sounds almost mournful, and subconsciously Anton gives his hand a small squeeze. Viago’s own rings bite into his fingers slightly, but he doesn’t pull back. He waits, letting Viago study their hands together with a thoughtful expression before his attention turns to Anton.
He smiles, all teeth and sparkling eyes, and lifts a finger just enough to pull off one of his rings. It’s a smooth, plain band much like Anton’s, except it’s a shiny black color with some kind of intricate gold design laced along the middle. It’s probably a hundred years old. His heart nearly stops when Viago twists it onto the ring finger of his right hand.
“There,” he sits back, finally dropping Anton’s hand. “Something for the past, something for the future.”
“The future.” Anton repeats, his voice caught in his throat. His eyes never leave the black band around his finger. “Seems like it could be some fun.”
They get lucky, they find people who understand and accept them .
It's about fucking time he got his turn.