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“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty,” Guillermo says lightly, knocking on the lid of Nandor’s coffin. He gets no response in spite of being sure Nandor hasn’t left his crypt yet tonight.
Guillermo swallows down a sigh, because things could be a lot worse.
Nandor’s been in a low mood this week, but he’s managing it with barely any unhinged stabs at “aloofness,” minimal hysterical crying, not a single cult, and zero marriage proposals.
(Guillermo may or may not find that last one a tiny bit disappointing.
Not that he would even say yes to a marriage proposal. Yet.)
Anyway, Guillermo’s honestly pretty impressed, even while mentally noting that, if this funk continues for long enough, he’ll probably attempt what Nandor calls a “feelings talk,” a phrase he says with a comical amount of dread for someone who’s initiated several explosive feelings talks of his own.
Right now, though, Guillermo’s going back to basics and just being there. He and Nandor are finally together, but some things don’t have to change—which does also include Guillermo’s refusal to let Nandor sulk in his coffin all night, which will almost certainly only make him feel worse. Maybe Nandor will be down to have a movie date tonight, Guillermo muses.
Guillermo knocks on the coffin again. “Nandor, I’m gonna open this,” he warns before heaving the lid upwards.
He’s greeted with a wide expanse of empty cushioning, but before he can even start to feel panic, his eyes alight on the reason for the extra space in Nandor’s resting place.
Guillermo’s lips twitch upwards of their own accord as he looks at Nandor, who blinks up at him with his big, liquid bat eyes. “Hey, cariño,” he says, the endearment slipping from his lips with an ease he’s never felt with anyone else. “What’s up?”
Nandor makes some kind of sound between a hiss and a squeak, but he pushes his fuzzy little head against Guillermo’s hand when Guillermo pets him.
“Ay, mi vida,” Guillermo murmurs, scooping Nandor up and allowing him to cling to his sweater. “What am I going to do with you?”
Nandor just buries his face against Guillermo’s neck, nosing at and nuzzling against his skin.
Guillermo’s heart aches, but he can’t help the warm, almost smug pride that washes over him at how safe Nandor feels with him.
“Want me to take care of things tonight?” Guillermo suggests. Nandor nods against his neck. Nandor’s more-than-occasional willingness to let Guillermo take control came as half a surprise, but it was wholly pleasant, and Guillermo finds himself filling the role easily when it’s offered to him. “Okay. Let’s get something to eat first. You haven’t been feeding much.”
Nandor makes a dispassionate sound in response, and Guillermo absentmindedly strokes his back as he walks out of the crypt, wandering over to the fancy room and setting Nandor on a table so he can get some blood for him, inviting a dismayed screech. Guillermo scratches behind his ears and says, “I’m just getting you some blood.”
Nandor devolves into unhappy, grumbly chittering, but allows Guillermo to leave the room with no further drama. It’s easier for Guillermo to go and get some blood from the cell without Nandor clinging to him, as much as he misses his presence. He can still trust that Nandor’s waiting for him to get back.
After feeding himself, Guillermo drains some blood into a soup bowl and goes to set it in front of Nandor, who blinks at the bowl and then dips the tip of a wing inside, licking off the blood after. He makes no move to continue eating.
Guillermo sighs. “Come on, cariño. You’ll feel better once you eat.”
Nandor makes a dubious sound, giving Guillermo an unimpressed look, but he again pushes his head against Guillermo’s fingers when Guillermo pets him absentmindedly, chasing the touch when Guillermo removes his hand, making a small, sad sound.
“For me?” Guillermo asks, a shadow of shyness tinting his voice, the verbal equivalent of a wince.
Why would I do anything for you? You do things for me, that’s how this works, don’t you see? he thinks in Nandor’s voice.
Then Nandor practically dives into the bowl of blood, lapping up the food with grim, singleminded determination, and Guillermo is shocked out of his thoughts by the clear rejection of them taking place in front of him.
“Nandor, take it slow,” he says half-heartedly, but he doesn’t protest too much, even though Nandor’s getting blood on what Guillermo now realizes is some of Laszlo’s sheet music. Guillermo probably should’ve noticed what he was putting the bowl of blood on top of. Whatever.
Once Nandor’s done with the blood, he retreats from the bowl, making an exhausted but triumphant chittering sound and looking up at Guillermo expectantly.
“Thanks,” Guillermo says, stroking Nandor’s back. He winces, pulling his hand away. “How do you get so messy so fast?” he asks with fond exasperation, absentmindedly licking a faint smear of blood from his palm.
Nandor chitters grumpily, rubbing at his face with a wing. His little tongue darts out to lick his lips. None of it does much to get rid of the sticky blood residue on his body.
“Is it bathtime, Nandor?” Guillermo asks affectionately, laughing again when Nandor screeches dramatically in response, as if he doesn’t love baths. He just also loves complaining. Some things never change.
He doesn’t fight when Guillermo scoops him up again, taking him up to the bathroom and filling the sink basin with soapy water, though he clings to Guillermo, only hesitantly allowing himself to be set down on the sink counter but seeming to relax when he sees Guillermo grab a washcloth and dip it into the warm water. A gentle purr emanates from Nandor’s small body as Guillermo carefully cleans the stickiness from his fur, and Guillermo’s heart hurts with how much he loves him.
Once Guillermo’s finally decided that Nandor’s clean enough, he towel dries his squirmy form and then holds Nandor close, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. Nandor melts against him.
“What now?” Guillermo asks. Nandor nuzzles against him. Guillermo imagines that he’d shrug were he in his human form. “Wanna watch some TV? It’s kind of gross and rainy outside. It’s a good night to stay in.” Like they weren’t already planning to stay in by virtue of Nandor deciding to be a bat all night.
Nandor nods, cuddling closer, and Guillermo goes back to the fancy room, setting up the actual modern TV he finally convinced the others to get. (Well. It’s more like he got it himself and then set it up, the others be damned.) “What do you want to watch?” he asks, setting Nandor down on the table again.
Nandor looks thoughtfully at the television, and then skitters over to the remote control, nudging it with his long nose.
“Just TV?” Guillermo translates. “Sure, we can do that. Maybe we can find some Frasier reruns or something.”
Nandor purrs hopefully in response, alighting upon Guillermo’s lap and making himself comfortable facing the television. Guillermo himself reclines against the couch, turning the TV on and flipping through the channels.
Nandor screeches when Guillermo flips past a Big Bang Theory rerun, and Guillermo swallows down a sigh, going back. He’s not a fan of the show, but Nandor actually sounded kind of excited, and it’s not like Nandor hasn’t sat through a surprising amount of movies and shows he seems to have no actual interest in or understanding of for Guillermo at this point.
(“It’s about the giving and taking, Guillermo!” he will say grandly when Guillermo suggests that maybe they should just watch Twilight again, and Guillermo really doesn’t have the heart to tell him that his constant questions aren’t exactly what he expected out of cozy movie nights. He kind of loves it anyway.)
Nandor settles on Guillermo’s lap, watching the show with muted interest as Guillermo pets him. He hopes that this is helping Nandor right now. He thinks it’s helping that Guillermo’s here, that Nandor isn’t alone.
They finally aren’t alone.
The night rolls by in fits and starts, naps and periods of suspended-animation wakefulness, clicks of the remote button, reruns of different shows and snatches of random movies, Nandor’s squeaks and Guillermo’s chuckles, and it’s getting close to morning when Guillermo feels a sudden weight on his legs, yelping in surprise as Nandor turns back to his human form, still in his lap.
“You’re crushing me, cariño,” Guillermo says, and Nandor slithers off of him so that he’s lying half on the couch with his head in Guillermo’s lap instead, adjusting himself so he’s looking up. In spite of the distance in his gaze, there’s easily recognizable affection. Guillermo smiles. Nandor manages a small smile back.
“Feeling any better?” Guillermo asks. Nandor shifts himself so that his cheek is pressed against Guillermo’s thigh and he’s staring out at the room, leaving Guillermo to observe him in profile.
“Yes,” Nandor says truthfully, a hint of sadness in his voice.
Yes. Not as much as I would like.
“Do you wanna talk about it?”
“No,” Nandor mumbles. Guillermo hums, running a hand through Nandor’s hair.
“Okay.” He doesn’t really want to talk about it either. Not right now. There’ll be all the time in the world to talk about it later. For now, they can just be with each other.
They lapse into silence again after that, now watching the last half of a movie Guillermo doesn’t actually recognize. He runs his fingers through Nandor’s hair. The motion is meditative, so thoughtless that he must stop at some point, because Nandor asks, voice muffled against Guillermo’s thigh, “Guillermo, are you asleep?”
“Obviously not,” Guillermo assures him.
“Then why are you not petting me anymore?” Nandor asks, sounding put out.
Guillermo chuckles, and resumes stroking Nandor’s hair, relishing the way Nandor relaxes against him. Nandor loves getting attention from him, and Guillermo can’t help but bask in that. Some things never change.
“I love you,” Nandor mumbles so quietly that Guillermo can barely hear him, but he can feel the words against his body, and they make him smile, because some things never change, but some things do.
Sometimes, they even change for the better.