Chapter Text
It was the eve of Phil’s 34th birthday.
It was a day of negligible importance.
The couple celebrated that evening by sitting on their small concrete balcony watching the sun descend and hide away beneath the cover of the horizon, and the moon rise, taking it’s place in the darkened sky full and bright and casting it’s magnificent beam over the pair’s embrace.
He sipped a cup of red which kept his spirit up
While she sipped a chalice of crimson which kept her spirit alive.
It was a warm and comfortable silence, her skin felt cool against his warm flesh. Not that he had ever minded, in fact he welcomed the brisk touch. A perfect end to a day of celebration.
Which is why it surprised Phil so much when he caught Kristen crying on that very same balcony that night.
“Dear? Are you alright?” He calls in a soft tone. Her sobs stop and she lifts her head slightly to peer at him through her crow-black locks.
He wasn’t as young and spry as he once was when they had first met all those years ago. Slight wrinkles creased at the corners of his eyes whereas her skin was still glowing with unchanging youth.
As she would always look until the end of time itself.
“Oh, I’m fine, don’t worry about it,” she responds, wiping away her stray tears with the edge of her toga.
A small smile curls the end of Phil’s lip as he sits down next to her, “come on, we both know that's a load of bullshit,” he says, gently rubbing her shoulder, “now tell me, what’s wrong my love?”
Kristen locks her gaze with her husband’s icy blue eyes. Those same eyes that she fell in love with long ago. That same loving gaze that did not waiver when he found out what she truly was. That same soothing voice that told her that nothing could ever change the way he loved her.
It was forbidden for vampires to love each other, let alone a mortal human.
Yet here she was, watching him grow old as she stayed young.
“I…” Tears welled up in her eyes once more as she looks away, “I don’t want to see you die, Phil. People don’t live long here in Rome and I-”
“Shhhhhhh, hush my love,” Phil interrupts her, gently wiping away her tears with his thumb, “you don’t have to worry about that.”
“What are you even saying? Of course I have to worry!” She sobs, shutting her eyes and turning her head away, “People are dying of disease and war, and I have to watch you age while I stay young!”
An almost deafening silence follows afterwards, cut only by the sound of Phil shifting slightly.
“Kristen, open your eyes,” he says softly. She hesitates for a second or two, but soon she opens her eyes to the sight of her husband exposing his neck under the moonlight, looking at her with that same loving gaze, “turn me.”
Her eyes widen in disbelief, “No, Phil, I could never!”
“I want you to.”
“Phil, when someone is turned, it is excruciatingly painful! It’s like torture, and afterwards you can never indulge in food or alcohol lest you get violently ill. I could never put you through that.”
Without skipping a beat, Phil pulls her into an embrace, placing her head on his shoulder as he weaves his fingers through his wife’s long flowing hair, “I want you to listen to me very carefully.”
He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, “I don’t care how painful getting turned could be. I don’t care if it feels like I’m being thrown into the pits of Vesuvius over and over again. I don’t care about the relentless hunger that ensues. I’d rather never taste the sweetness of wine again for millennia to come, than knowing my passing would bring you such heartbreak.”
A hush befalls the pair as he continues to stroke through her hair, rocking her gently as she cries into his linen shirt.
“It’s a full moon tonight,” she says finally.
“Do what you will, My love,” he settles.