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Max has lost count of how many days, years, and decades have gone by. All of it has become a perpetual blur; mixtures of blood-stained hands, nails digging into his skin, pained crying, cold wind—it’s all the same. As young as he stays, life keeps moving. Max lays in his large bed at night, all alone and cold, pondering into the dark night, reflecting.
How can he live with himself for being such a monster?
At the times when he’s able to sleep, he thinks of Charles and how much he misses him, despite how many decades it had been. Charles, with his beauty and grace, kept Max somewhat human. When he thought of himself as a monster, an evil creature, Charles would come up behind him and reassure him that he was more than a curse. The sheer touch of his hands gracing his skin was enough to make any man weak. Charles would whisper sweet words into Max’s ears as Max sunk into his touch, leaning into him and letting his love comfort him.
Despite the blurred memories and thoughts, Charles still haunted Max’s mind. Whenever he’d go shopping and see chocolate, he’d think of Charles since it was his favorite treat. In any flower shop with any selection of lavender or gyspholias, he’d remember decorating them in Charles’s curls and how angelic he looked. In a store with any velvet, he’d think of seeing Charles for the first time in a blue velvet tunic. Red was his color, but Charles could wear anything and have his finger wrapped around Max.
Max would close his eyes at night and see a flash of Charles’s hazel eyes, still haunting him after all this time. All of the memories came rushing back, the good and the bad. Their first meeting, their elopement, Charles’s giving Max his virginity, the promises of the house on the hill and the children and garden, and Charles’s death. Charles cried at Max, in a puddle of his own blood, begging Max not to blame himself.
Max still does. He wasn’t fast enough to save him. All because of a damn hunter mistaking him for Max. It’s affected all of Max’s other relationships. He fucks people with hazel eyes and curly hair, but none of them are Charles, and he won’t be able to protect them like Charles. No one will ever be Charles.
He kept pieces of Charles surrounding his naked apartment; a painting from the Leclerc family, a few sketches from an artist from the Italian Renaissance, jewelry, and a few other meaningful trinkets. Max wears a necklace of both of their wedding bands; a simple golden band and a golden band with a solitaire diamond.
As Max sinks into his bed, his hand furthers to his chest and grabs the rings, holding them close to his eyes. He closes his eyes and tries to imagine the warmth of Charles’s soft and warm touch beside his cold, calloused body. What was the point of living if Max had nothing to live for?
—
Vampires, with all of the wealth gained over the years, had the grandest parties. With golden decor and glamor, everything was at the highest degree of quality. Max had seen some of the vampires recently, just as Daniel and his boy toy turned vampire toy Lando, but upon seeing some vampires, he hadn’t seen them since the Cold War or World War 2. Did some of these vampires know that Berlin was reunited, or that the soviet union had fallen to pieces?
Max didn’t even know the point of him being at the party. Daniel had dragged him along, saying it had been a grand celebration of two lives being conjoined or something along the lines of it. Max had been recovering from a blood hangover, so much went in one ear and the other. All he knew was to arrive at seven and be in black tie.
An older vampire, chubby with salt and pepper hair and drunk, had been celebrating his marriage (or as he announced in a thick accent a celebration of two lives conjoining). Max had seen the older gentlemen before, somewhere between the industrial revolution and the first world war. Mattia stood behind him, smiling as he whispered into the older man's ear. The older man laughed boisterously, slapping his knee as he shook my stand, preparing to make a toast.
Max had kept his eyes focused on the man, overhearing Lando shake Daniel in the arm, saying whatever old-drunk vampire’s name was about to make a speech. The smell of a flowery perfume had hit Max all the sudden. The smell reminded him of a long-lost lover, but he shook it off. Probably just a woman’s over-sprayed perfume.
The sound of the fork on glass grabbed everyone’s attention, even the vampires’ thousands of miles away. A few men in the crowd whooped, crying for a speech. The older man once again laughed, red in his round face, walking around the head table.
“I’m old, as you can tell. I was turned at the age of sixty, not like some of you lucky ones,” The man jokes, pointing to a young Lando. Lando lets out a high-pitched giggle, burying deep into Daniel’s arm. Daniel’s smile lights up the room, bringing a few chuckles from the crowd. Max heard rustling from outside the room as his heart rapidly beat in his chest. He held onto his glass of whiskey. What was this feeling?
“I’ve outlived Hitler. I’ve survived the great war. I’ve even survived suffrage,” A few men in the crowd laughed. It was a pathetic joke. Max couldn’t even focus on the joke. The flowery fragrance was bewitching. Familiar .
“But all that time, I didn’t have someone to survive with. As the decades went on, I waited until the right moment came. And oh, I’m so glad I waited for him. Or should I say he waited for me.”
The man walked up to the long table, pulling up a chair. People in the crowd started to clap as a man came out, dressed in a white tux came out to sit. The fragrance grew stronger. As Max looked for the source, he felt his whole body rise. Hazel eyes, brown curls, a smile with a squint. Memories flashed through his head as he held onto the edge of his chair, refusing to take his gaze off the man in the white tux.
He had to be imagining. Blinking thousands of times (he never needed to blink) didn’t make the man go away. The man in the white tux sat down with a shy smile. Every moment, every smile, every smell Max took in made the truth sink into it; it was Charles Leclerc. His first and only love, his husband, Zijn kleine reekalf is right in front of him. Just as he finally realized, Charles’s new husband announced his name.
“Charles right here is certainly younger than me, but he’s glad to have met me, isn’t that right darling?” The older man demanded of Charles. Charles sunk into his chair and plastered on a toothless smile, nodding. Mattia stood beside Charles and with a hand on his shoulder tightly squeezed it. Mattia was a figure Max recognized and despised. It made his blood boil seeing him again.
“Yes, of course,” Charles cooed. The older man, red in the face, laughed as he bent down and kissed Charles on the lips. Max didn’t consider it a kiss, more like a sloppy sucking of Charles’s cheek. Charles squinted and looked beyond disgusted, but pulled away as he awkwardly smiled and chuckled at the occurrence.
Max finally remembered how long he had gone without Charles. 281 years and 103,295 days since Charles last said he loved him like no other and apologized for leaving him, begging him to explore the world without him and see the northern lights, the Taj Mahal, and all those places. Max remembers Charles cupping his hands around his face and using what little of his strength he had left to plant a kiss on his lips before his body went limp. Max’s fate was losing the love of his life, forever to live with the memory of lost love.
Max won’t lose Charles again; it’s a fate he won’t accept.
Max doesn’t realize he’s dug through the wooden handle of his chair until Max pats him on the back. Max nearly jumps, unable to scent or predict Daniel’s movements. He turns and sees Daniel’s side profile. He’s got a giddy smile on his face with Lando hanging on his side. Daniel winks at him before they walk to the bathroom, the sign going from “vacant” to “occupied” .
Max withholds an eye roll before getting up to get a drink.
Actually, Max is lying to himself. He does that a lot. He’s looking for Charles. Who wouldn’t be looking for their dead lover of nearly 300 years who happens to be alive and apparently married to another man? Certainly not Max.
Through the crowd of elegantly dressed people, Max makes his way to the bar. He wants to beeline to wherever Charles is, but he can’t since he can’t exactly find him. The flowery smell is subtle. He asks the waiter for a whiskey on rocks and leans against the counter in an attempt to look brooding and mysterious, and also to look for Charles.
The scent of flowers becomes strong. Max’s head turns. He sees a flash of white and puts down his drink on the counter. It’s the animalistic part that drives him towards Charles. He moves through the crowd vastly, which leads him to the balcony. Once away from the stuffy crowd and room full of smoke and whiskey, Max slowly steps and looks to the side. He’s able to scent Charles, but sees him walking down the stairs towards the illuminated garden. Max, keeping his stance, follows Charles; akin to a lion with a lamb.
Charles, after wandering the garden, takes a seat on the side of the illuminated fountain. Max is hiding behind a large stone horse, peaking to see Charles take off his blazer and throw it onto the ground. He sighs and looks back at the estate before picking at the lavender beside him, mindlessly picking at the petals. Max holds back a sigh, his fingers clutching into the stone. Charles is Max’s forbidden fruit, so close yet so far, leaving so much to be desired.
“I know you are behind me.”
Max froze in place. He would recognize that heavy Monegasque accent from anywhere. Like an old record playing, thousands of sayings and words went through Max’s brain.
Charles turned around, half of the light from the fountain illuminating his face. He had a devious smile, scoffing.
“The gravel gave away your footsteps. And so did your heavy breathing.”
Max slowly stepped from the horse, making eye contact with Charles. He stood there as Charles scoffed to himself, unable to respond. How the fuck was he supposed to respond to his dead husband, sitting there, picking at his favorite flower? Did Charles know it was Max? His Maxy? God, Max missed him so much. But he was paralyzed with both fear and thousands of questions.
Max choked at his words, mumbling before he managed to get coherent English out with red cheeks, “I’m….sorry. I’ll leave you,”
Just as Max spun to leave of embarrassment (and nearly tears), the voice spoke once again.
“ Non , don’t leave me here,” Charles playfully mewled. Max turned to see Charles contorting (unintentionally seductively with a smirk), his hand moving away to offer a spot next to me. His hands still picked at the lavender as he tilted his head, “Stay with me, please?”
A part of Max wanted to leave and forget, to drink away his sorrows and forget this pfründe ever happened. Another part of Max wanted to stay and passionately make out with his bride. Max closed his fist in an attempt at self-control. Just as he attempted to protest, Charles beat him to his argument.
“You have no friends there. So that means you could stay with me and make me not feel so lonely,” Charles insisted, now patting the seat next to him. His fingers danced along the gravel, graceful and soft. Max missed Charles’s touch, and how soft his hands were.
God, Max really missed Charles.
After all, he made a promise to himself. Might as well try.
Max smiled to himself and made his way over, sitting next to Charles. He held his hands together, nervously fidgeting with them. He attempted not to seem nervous when he was in fact freaking the fuck out. What did he say? What did he do? How did he bring up the whole “hey you might be my dead bride and do you possibly remember me?” conversation?
Max simply sat there, running circles with his fists, trying to make his staring not too obvious.
Charles occasionally looked over himself. He first played with lavender and then moved on to white little flowers, which Max immediately knew as Gypspholia’s; Charles' two favorite flowers. He envisioned Charles’s head in his seat, carefully decorated flowers in his wild and soft chocolate curls.
The two shared stolen stares, both sitting in awkward yet comfortable silence. Charles sat not too far from Max, his legs crossed. Max smelt the flowery perfume, which was making his leg jump up and down. Now was the time to keep it in his pants.
Max looked up, looked at Charles, rubbed his face, and let out a quick sigh before he finally made his move.
“Those are your favorite flowers, are they not?”
Charles looked over at Max, lips agape. He puckered them as he twirled the picked gypsophilas in his delicate hands.
“How could you tell?” Charles joked, “My husband didn’t want them at the wedding. According to him, they were graceless.”
The way the word husband rolled off Charles’s tongue in disgust was enough to make Max cringe. It was a sensitive subject for Charles. Charles let the flowers fade from his fingers, looking down to the ground at his flashy gold wedding band. Charles looked beautiful in it, but with the connotation, it made Charles look hurt and disgusted. Max saw Charles hazel eyes water in the light. He reached over and picked a few gypsohplias, inching closer to Charles.
“These flowers symbolize innocence and love. They are a celebration of love. So they are graceful,” Max put the flower in Charles’s hand. Charles gently reached for the flowers and put his hand over Max’s. Max held his breath, feeling the soft, warm skin against his own. Charles’s touch lasted longer than expected as he took the flowers. He put them behind his ear and looked at Max, also moving closer.
“I’m glad to find someone who agrees with me for once,” Charles complimented, “These men I’m with…” He scoffed, “If my husband or Mattia were here, they’d kill me. I never get to do what I want. I marry this old pig and move from place to place. I never wear what I want, get to do what I want, say what I want. And I’ve been doing it for so long that I don’t even remember who I am.”
“They won’t tell me anything besides who I was and where I am from. Mattia just takes me through time and uses me to get as he needs,” Charles ranted. He touched the lower part of his neck, right where Nikita had slit his throat.
Max had some answers and some more questions. Charles was just as frustrated as he was. Mattia had been using him for years as a pawn, and Charles couldn’t remember anything from the past, especially his life with Max. He was the same (and just as beautiful as Max remembers) just confused. It angered Max. He wanted to whisk Charles away and keep him away from the world, but it wasn’t that simple. It was never that simple.
“Do you remember Monaco?”
Charles didn’t initially respond. He just looked at Max with wide eyes, slowly nodding.
“The Leclerc family, that was your family. They were about to marry you to some king in France, then you met me.”
Max now himself was picking with the flowers too. Charles was still looking at him, just now with furrowed eyebrows.
“I know you?” Charles questioned, “But how?”
Max put on a soft smile and dug his fingers through his collar, reaching for his necklace. He took it off and slid off both rings; a simple golden band and a golden band with a solitaire diamond.
“Charlie,” Max whispered as he moved closer, their thighs smushed together. He put the golden band with a solitaire diamond in Charles’s hands and closed them, putting his hands on top of his. “It’s me. Max.”
Charles didn’t pull from Max’s grasp. His fingers softly fidgeted as he looked down at Max’s larger, colder hands. He mumbled something to himself, thoughts racing in his head. Max saw this and squeezed his hands.
“I was your husband,” Max reassured, “Do you not know…?”
Charles looked embarrassed, and Max didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. He pulled his hands away, cursing at himself. Charles still held onto his ring, looking at its design.
“I…can’t remember,” Charles sincerely admitted. It wasn’t intentional, but he leaned into Max and looked at him with his doll-like green eyes, touching his arm. His fingers gently patted down his shirt, “But I would like you to tell me more. I can’t promise I’ll remember, but I can try.”
Charles gave a small smile, and with his hand on his elbow, it drove Max insane. Charles was right in front of him . He was probably confused, maybe scared, but curious. All Max wanted to do was take him away, but he couldn’t. Charles wanted knowledge about his supposed past, and Max just wanted Charles.
In return, Max smiled back and put his hand onto Charles’s hand, holding it as he began to talk about their past.
“We met at a gala, just like this. Your family had hired me after Arthur, he was your younger brother, was killed by a vampire. You had escaped some party and were on a balcony, leaning against it and playing with lavender. You saw me watching you and called out my footsteps. That’s how we met. My job was to keep you out of trouble, so my job was not easy. The rest I would say was history.”
“I was a troublemaker?” Charles innocently questioned, bashing his eyelashes. He was joking, which only made Max chuckle.
“A handful is a word I’d use,” Max jabbed back, which made Charles giggle.
“You terrorized everyone, especially me. I remember you exploded at me one time for dragging you out of a male brothel. A man came from behind and tried to hump you, so I ripped him off and beat him. You were so furious that you refused to talk to me. I led you back home, and you slammed the door on me. A few minutes had gone, and I waited outside your room before you pulled me in and smashed your lips against mine.”
Charles’s eyes widened as he went tomato red and buried his hands in his face, “What? How did you respond?”
“That’s a good question. You were too pretty to stay mad at, and…the rest was history,” Max responded, which earned a long groan from Max. Charles looked at Max and went red once again.
“Don’t scrutinize me like that, I don’t remember doing it!” Charles weakly defended. It made Max smile (and blush as well).
“It wasn’t the last time that occurred. We had a secret relationship occurring since you were to marry some old lord,” Max knew the exact words that were coming out of his mouth, and Charles followed each one, “I remember the night before your wedding, you sobbed that you couldn’t marry someone you didn’t love. You said you’d rather die.”
“I was that dramatic? Ugh,” Charles rolled his eyes.
Max nudged him as Charles again went tomato red, “Your words, not mine. So that’s when I proposed with the rings.”
Max slid the ring on his finger, showing it to Charles, “I used my father’s wedding. I couldn’t use my mother’s since she died before I turned, so I bought a diamond you had admired in a store and took it to a blacksmith. I wanted to make something special for you. Beautiful, just like you,” Max glanced at Charles, who glanced back. Both of them sat in silence, too close for comfort.
“We got married in a chapel the night before your wedding. Daniel, the man with curly hair and tan skin, witnessed it. After the ceremony, we headed back to your family’s estate, but you stopped me. You didn’t want to go back and lie to them to marry a man you didn’t love and be miserable for the rest of your life. You had nothing to go back to, I had nothing besides you and Daniel. So I took your hand, and we ran all over the countryside of France and Italy for two years. They were the best two years of my life. I wished it had lasted longer.”
He couldn’t tell if Charles remembered. If he had, he would have admitted it. Charles still looked conflicted, spinning the ring around his fingers. He sat close to Charles, taking in his flowery and vanilla scent. Max knew his instinct made him move closer. As he did, Charles stopped fidgeting with the ring. His head moved up, and Max’s moved down. Max’s hands slowly began to move towards Charles’s thighs as he slowly leaned down. Charles moved forward too, hesitant but interested. Deciding to make a move, Max put his hands on Charles' hips. Charles let out a small gasp as his cheeks went pink, but he didn’t protest.
Just as Max slowly leaned down, his lips about to brush against Charles’s, Charles bolted up.
He put his wedding ring in Max’s hands and began to pace, sniffling. It broke Max to see this occur. He got up, following after a sniffling Charles.
“Charles,” Max said, “I-“
“Non, it’s not you,” Charles admitted as he wiped his eyes. He buried his hands in his palms as he wiped his race, “I just…can’t remember you. I…don’t know who you are Max. I cannot remember you. I can’t say I love you because I don’t know or remember you. I’m sorry,” Charles spat out like word vomit. He was crying. He felt awful.
Everyone, ever can’t, ripped Max’s heart. All hopes of reuniting with Charles were nonexistent. Max should have just accepted his fate and moved on, letting Charles live his life. Even if it’s a life he didn’t want. A husband he didn’t love. Men controlling his every move. Charles didn’t want it, but it was better. Not for him, but for Charles.
Max slowly paced around Charles, waiting patiently for him to finish crying. Once he stopped choking on sobs, Max sighed and ran a hand through his hair, which was starting to mess up from the gel.
“You don’t need to apologize. I can’t…force you to remember. Or to love me,” Max admitted. He heard Charles sniffle as he wiped his face.
The two sat in silence for the next couple of minutes. Max paced around the garden, admiring the vast range of flowers. He knew Charles was watching his every move, fidgeting with his wedding ring. Max was right; he couldn’t make Charles love him. Charles loved him. Current Charles, sweet Charles, beautiful Charles, was not the Charles he knew. Sure, he was the same, but without his memory. Maybe that was the way it was supposed to be. Max was to accept his fate of solitude and loneliness, clinging onto Charles through sleepless nights and distant dreams.
Max picked a few gyspholia’s from the bush and walked to where Charles was. Charles, who looked defeated, couldn’t even look at Max. Max stood and looked at Charles, the sadness in his eyes.
“I’m so confused,” Charles broke the silence, “I don’t want to hurt you; I’m sorry.”
Max didn’t respond vocally. He didn’t know if he could without crying or regretting the words. Instead, Max put his ring and the picked gyspholia’s in Charles' hand and closed them with his hands resting on top of Charles.
“Keep these rings and flowers as a memory of me. Even if it’s your only one of me,” Max choked as he let go of his Charles’s hands, ready to leave, “I don’t want to hurt you more than I have already done.”
“No, don’t say that. Please,” Charles begged as he looked up at Max and grabbed his hands to pull him back, his eyes illuminated by the moon, “I don’t think I’m the man you are looking for. I hope wherever he is, you can find him and reunite. You deserve to love and be loved in return.”
Charles put the rings and flowers in his breast pocket as he went up to Max and pressed a gentle kiss on his cheek. Max closed his eyes and smiled to himself. It was an instinct for Max to grab Charles’s hands, to bring him close to his body slowly.
Charles was confused, but he enjoyed the comfort. He leaned into Max and was about to fall into him. He leaned into his shoulder and whispered to his ear.
“I hope you find him,” Charles cooed, “Thank you.”
Max squeezed his hands, wanting to beg Charles to stay. But he didn’t. Max let Charles go because he loved him.
Charles pulled away, and Max felt the warmth slide from his hands. He kept his head down and clenched his fists, hearing Charles’s footsteps against the gravel. Max just stood. Unable to move, unable to talk, unable to respond. All he thought about was Charles and how he let him leave. He couldn’t force him to stay with him. He could have had his way, but he didn’t. It wasn’t right.
Pulling himself together, Max put on a brave face and headed up the stairs back to the estate party. He hoped not to see Charles again, fearing he’d do something he’d regret. Max missed Charles more than ever, but he’d had to move on. It was not destiny or any of that bullshit.
Upon arriving back at his table, Max encountered Daniel and Lando. Lando sat in his lap, gently sleeping against Daniel. Daniel’s collar had been undone, and his hair had been messed up; Max already knew the full story. Max didn’t want to speak. As Max grabbed his jacket, Daniel stopped him.
“Mate, you good?” Daniel asked, patting Lando’s curls down. Lando moved closer to Daniel’s body, forming into his mold.
Max looked up briefly and nodded, wanting to dash out of there.
“Yeah, no you’re not. What fucking happened?” He whispered. Max sighed and walked over, once again pushing his hair back.
“I got some closure. Maybe some things weren't meant to be,” Max explained. He walked over to get his belongings. Daniel watched his eyes move, thick eyebrows furrowing.
“Fantasies aren’t real. People don’t come back. They change. Forget. Move on. It’s the way it is.”
“Max, he’s-“
“I know. Charles’s fucking dead. I saw him tonight. Talked to him,” Max hissed. He felt bad, but he was in a sour mood since his former husband had no recollection of him. He knew Charles was not to blame, but Mattia and his goons. “No memory. Nothing. It’s better if I say nothing. I can’t ruin his life again. I couldn’t protect him, Daniel. He’s-“
“Max, Max, Mate, ” Daniel assured him, “Have you been drinking?”
Max looked at him and blinked. He wasn’t wrong. He had drunk a beer before the wedding, and some of the free fruity cocktails were hard to pass up. He nodded.
Daniel sighed and looked up, “Maybe you should…put the cat in the bag and call it a night.”
“I’m fine. I’m a fucking vampire. I don’t get-“
“Max, please,” Daniel cut in, “Just go home. Please.”
Daniel looked at Max, seeing the struggle in his eyes. Max saw Daniel’s pleasing eyes, begging him to rest. He was tired. It was better to leave and bury this night deep down, never to think about it besides those sleepless nights.
Max nodded his head and looked down, grabbed his jacket, and phone, and left before leaving. Daniel sent him a text after he had left, letting him know he would always be there for Max. As Max walked through the empty hallways of the estate and put his jacket on, he was about to respond to Daniel with a call when he heard his name.
Not Max. But Maxy .
No one had ever called him that. Except for Charles.
He broke, sounding desperate as he turned around, trying to figure out where Charles’s voice was coming from.
“ Charlie ?” Max called Charles by his nickname.
Charles ran behind him. His eyes were watery, but he was smiling like a giddy child. He ran into Max’s Charles, grabbing his arms. Max nearly fell over from the impact, settling his hands on his waist. He furrowed his eyebrows.
Max was about to ask him what he was doing, but Charles beat him to it. He shook his arms, begging for his attention.
“The Gondola. The Gondola . You proposed to me on a gondola, right in front of San Giorgio Maggiore,” Charles spoke rapidly. A small smile began to grow on Max’s face; he was right. He stood there and held Charles close, letting the memories rush back into his head.
“You fell in the water. I was laughing and crying like a little girl. I remember you hung onto the boat and asked for a hand. I gave my hand, and my whole life to you at that moment. You pulled me in-”
“You screamed like a baby-” Max added.
Charles giggled and leaned his head into Max’s shoulder, “ Shush . Let me think.”
“I kept saying yes and yes over again because I was scared. Scared that I’d live my life not having you; someone I actually loved,” Charles continued, “You held me close in the water, promising to protect and love me like no other.”
Max grabbed the back of Charles’ head and pulled him in closer, not wanting to let go of him again. He could hear Charles’s rapid heartbeat. Max had a heart; it just didn’t beat. His body ran on human blood.
That’s what he loved about Charles; he made Max feel human .
Max rested his head on the side of Charles’s head, his soft and warm curls tickling his cold cheek.
“But I couldn’t protect you.”
Charles lifted his head from Max’s shoulder and grabbed his hands, holding them close to his chest. He smiled reassuringly.
“It wasn’t your fault. I don’t remember it all, but please. Don’t blame yourself for that,” Charles pleaded, “You have me back. If you wish to have me,”
Charles put a hand on Max’s cheek, and Max leaned into it. Max held the warmth of Charles’s hand, leaning into his touch. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh.
“I would love to have you back. That’s not even a question for me,” Max admitted. He re-opened his eyes and looked at Charles with a serious face.
“Do you want this? If you leave Mattia and your husband to come with me, you understand the consequences. I just want to make sure your sa-”
“Of course, I understand what could happen!” Charles admitted, “But I can’t live my life lying to myself. If I’m with you, I’ll be safe. It’s all coming back to me, slowly. I don’t care how long it takes. I want to be with you since I know you love me, more than Mattia, more than my husband, more than anyone. You’re the only thing I know.. I think you’re the only man I loved, Max Verstappen.”
Charles put both hands on Max’s cheeks, begging with his eyes to whisk him away.
Max let out a sigh. Hearing his last name and the confession was an automatic yes. It was always a yes to snatching Charles away. How could he say no to him?
“If this is what you want-”
“You want this too,” Charles acknowledged.
“We both want this,” Max responded as he raised his eyebrows and pulled Charles closer. Charles giggled as he looked down, red with embarrassment. God, it’s almost as if he had gotten more beautiful. Charles hadn’t aged. Whether he was a human or a vampire was up to debate, but the messy details were to be figured out later. Max wanted to take Charles back to Dublin and just hold him, never letting him leave again.
“Well, what are we waiting for?”
“Nothing, Mijn liefje. ”
Max held out his hand, and Charles took it, squeezing it.
“Absolutely nothing.”
-
The events for the rest of the night were a blur.
From the car ride back to Dublin which dragged on for eternity to watching Charles feel the shirts in his closet, Max felt like he was in one of his dreams. He no longer needed the memories of paintings and blue velvet to fulfill his fantasies, which had now become his reality.
The two showered together. Once undressed, Charles used water to remove the concealer on his neck to show his neck scar. It was small but noticeable; the cut was as big as the blade. Max remembered it, just without all of the blood. He still blamed himself, but Charles reassured him with kisses and hugs, telling him it was never his fault. It was okay and they’d figure all of this down the line.
Max was adamant about giving Charles time, offering to sleep on the couch and give Charles privacy. Upon hearing this, Charles grabbed Max’s hand, pleading with him to stay. He wanted someone next to him, fearing Mattia or his husband coming back to take him.
Of course, Max couldn’t turn down the offer. Three hundred years of sleeping alone and sleeping with people who looked like Charles didn’t make up for Charles himself . He reassured Charles and climbed into bed with him, holding him close. Max had turned on RTÉ news and flipped through the channels as he held Charles close. The two sat in comfortable silence. Charles rested his head on Max’s chest as Max wrapped his arms around him and held him close, carelessly caressing Charles’s curls.
Max’s free hand rested on his stomach. Charles’ hand drew circles onto Max’s stomach, shyly lingering around Max’s free hand. Max saw this and grabbed Charles’s hand, his thumb caressing Charles’s knuckles. Charles reacted with a blush, leaning further into Max’s touch as he closed his eyes. Max just held Charles close, refusing to let him leave him so soon. Oh how much Max had missed his bride.
Once Charles had fallen asleep and Max’s eyes began to feel heavy, he switched off the television. He was careful not to wake Charles in his sleep as he adjusted to his side with Charles’s back to his chest. His hands traced the veins on Charles’s inner arm as he looked out at his loose hand. Charles was on his hold right now. It was surreal, but the past no longer seemed like a repressed memory or perpetual blur.
It was going to be a long recovery with Charles. Two hundred and eighty-one years is a lot of time to be apart. Max can’t recall every little detail, but he can recall the broader parts and core memories. Charles on the other hand can’t remember everything. His lack of memory has something to do with Mattia, Max feels it, and he hates it. The minute he met him, how he objectified Charles from how he acted toward him made Max’s blood boil. Mattia had separated them for god knows how long, deeply hurting Charles in the process.
It made Max’s blood boil. He huffed as his grasp tightened on Charles. Max didn’t care; if he were ever to see Mattia again, he would lose control of himself. Flashes of red and his younger days as a vampire popped into his memory; the bloodthirsty nature, the screaming, the crying, all of it came back. It only made Max more livid than he already was.
Charles interrupted Max’s thoughts. He must have been awake to see Max’s nature go from calm to a wave of growing anger. He grabbed Max’s hand and held it close, giving it a reassuring squeeze before heading back to sleep. Max blinked and caught his breath. Upon looking at Charles, sleeping peacefully below him, he breathed a sigh of relief and planted a gentle peck into Charles’s curls.
All was quiet on the western quiet.