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It had been a long time since Guillermo had picked up a new fear.
Anxieties, sure. He'd picked up a host of those in recent years; ones he couldn't have even imagined a little over a decade ago. Hell knows no normal person thinks enough about their neighbors accidentally discovering soft spots in the yard, or whether their boss's roommates really do want to kill them, or even whether they'll start to gray before becoming immortal, to justify having stress dreams about it. Anxieties have been a staple of his life as long as he could remember.
But real, genuine phobias … well, when you work with vampires for thirteen years, you kind of have to throw any actual fears out the window. Any new ones are smothered by the overwhelming precariousness of your own mortality every day that your roommates wake up in a particularly bad mood. If they don't just fade away over time, you get pretty good at pushing them down.
And yet, as Guillermo settled down into his brand new coffin, he could feel a weight pushing down on his chest that he recognized all too well.
This was supposed to be his victory lap. He was finally a vampire! After months of working through hangups and trying other options, Guillermo had decided to ask Nandor to turn him for good this time. It took some serious convincing (which may or may not have included yet another physical fight between the two), but to Nandor’s credit, once he agreed, he pulled out all the stops to make the turning as perfect as possible– from more candles than usual being placed around the room, to the gentle way in which Nandor had led him through it, Hell, he'd even laid rose petals around the coffin– to the point where it felt almost romantic. Sensual, even. Even Guillermo's wildest fantasies couldn't comprehend the reality he'd found himself in.
Once he was recovered and fed his first sip of human blood to complete the ritual, Nandor had led him to one of the unused bedrooms just across the hall from his own and giddily revealed a new, expensive-looking coffin, just for him. It was beautiful: blood-red oak, glossed and immaculate, with intricate carvings along the side and a plush, pine green lining fit for a king. Perfectly his size. It was definitely nicer than he was expecting, especially from a vampire whose last gift to him was a flimsy foot locker which Guillermo had only gotten a few good weeks of use out of, with the lid staying cracked and unlocked of course. Guillermo had tried not to read too much into the bashful look on Nandor's face as he told him to sleep well and left the room.
He should have been grateful. The coffin wasn't just luxurious, it was downright comfortable. It was an amazing, thoughtful gift from his sire, his best friend, his… whatever they were becoming. He should have slept peacefully knowing that he had an entire eternity ahead of him to spend with the vampires he had grown to call his family. But as hard as he tried, he couldn't ignore the knot growing in his stomach, expanding as the heavy walls around him seemed to shrink, or the faint sound of waves crashing and metal creaking smothering his thoughts every time he tried to close his eyes.
The last time he felt like this, he unfortunately had more pressing matters to worry about. It's harder to have flashback-induced panic attacks when you're already panicking over the thousand-year-old vampire hunting you down. The only reason he managed to stay calm through the ordeal, as embarrassed as he would be to admit, was the fact that he was in Nandor’s coffin. It was familiar. The vampire's scent, impression, his very presence lingered on the fur lining around him, and enveloped him like a warm hug. As if he was there with him, telling him that it was okay, he was safe. As far a cry as he could get from screaming his name from a box he could barely move in, through air that thickened with every breath, to no possible hope of a response, as his dreams of spending an entire year alone with the man of his dreams were dragged away by force.
That's it, he told himself, the thoughts breaking through a wall of static and instinct, just think of Nandor. He went through all this effort for you. He's just across the hall, not an ocean away. He did this for you. He turned you. It's all over. None of what happened back then matters anymore. Each thought was a desperate plea, getting less and less convincing as he continued. It's just a coffin. It's your coffin. From him. Just go to sleep.
He hadn't always been like this, he reminded himself. He had plenty of happy memories of trying to fit his large frame into the few nooks and crannies around his mamá's apartment during childhood games of hide-and-seek with his primos, and even in his early years as a familiar while avoiding the wrath of some of Nadja's more violent outbursts. Once, in Guillermo's mid-twenties, Nandor had searched all over the house for him, only to find him curled up underneath one of the couches in the fancy room, like one would find a roly-poly after lifting a rock. It was almost a game to him, challenging himself to fit in the most unusual spots.
But then, when Laszlo nailed the coffin lid shut on top of him, sealing his fate and trapping him in impenetrable darkness, something shifted. Not all at once, but enough that he began to feel nervous around the iconic phone booths that littered the London streets.
He'd mentioned this discomfort to Freddie once, only for him to try to psychoanalyze him based on an article he'd read about the link between claustrophobia and social anxiety. As much as it annoyed Guillermo at the time, he supposed there was at least a small amount of validity to it. As he started to avoid small spaces, he slowly stopped trying to make himself smaller as well. A part of him looked back on his past affinity for fitting into tiny spaces through that lens and almost felt ashamed of it. He guessed that the armchair pop-psychiatrists over on TikTok would see his almost poetic heel-turn as an incredible sign of growth. That is, until another forced trip across the Atlantic reminded him that this fear very much wasn't just a metaphorical one. He'd dropped that line of thinking pretty quickly after that.
Still, it wasn't just the memory of being stuck in the coffin. He was well aware that small spaces were more a trigger of a larger unresolved issue than the issue themselves. But, fuck, they proved to be a terrifying one.
Before he even realized, he was once again having trouble controlling his breathing. His mind had started to drift off only for his body to decide that it was still in danger, which meant that while his head was a thick soup, his newly-dead heart felt like it was galloping like a racehorse. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t figure out if it was because of the tight space closing in around him or his own exhaustion. He couldn’t figure out which explanation would be worse. Fuck, where was he? Was the coffin a trap? Was he being shipped off again? Where the fuck was-
In an instant, imperceptibly fast, Guillermo felt cool air on his face. Space to breathe, even if he didn't need to anymore. And, when he finally opened his own tightly-locked eyes, they were met with Nandor’s, stricken harshly with worry.
“Why were you screaming, Guillermo?”
The fledgling swallowed. “I was screaming?”
“Yes! I was worried something had gone wrong with your turning and you were dying horribly.”
Guillermo looked up at his sire, searching for a telltale sign of his usual sarcasm. When he found no such tell, shame crept up his spine. “No, Master, I'm fine. Just a nightmare.”
Nandor sighed, and the relief on his face soon twisted into a wry smile. “I am no longer your master, you know. Now, get some rest, Guillermo. If you have any more nightmares, I am just down the hall.”
“WAIT!” Guillermo winced at how loud he shouted as Nandor started to close the lid. Shit, now he had to think of an excuse that didn't make him sound too terrified. If Nandor knew he couldn't handle sleeping in a coffin, of course he would regret turning him. They went through all of that effort to find a workaround to killing– Guillermo only drinks leftover blood that Nandor offered to prepare for him, at least until he can get used to killing or find some other way– only for him to get cold feet over something as basic as sleeping? What kind of pathetic excuse for a vampire would that make him? Fuck, now Nandor was staring. “I just… I don't think…”
Nandor surveyed Guillermo's dour expression and the way he looked down at the coffin, and slowly removed his hand from the handle. “You don't like it, do you?”
“No, no, it's perfect! I just don't, uh, want to…” Fuck. Lying wasn't going to cut it. “...to sleep in it.” The last part came out in a mumble, almost too quiet for even a vampire to pick up.
Nandor simply stared back, unblinking. It felt like an agonizing eternity before he responded.
“Guillermo, if you wanted to share my coffin, you could have just asked.”
…What?
“Come,” Nandor winked as he held out a hand, and Guillermo swore in that moment that he was the first vampire to ever blush. “It is still made up special from your turning. Don't worry, there is plenty of room.”
This was certainly an interesting turn of events. Guillermo considered the offer, pictured himself being carried into Nandor’s chamber, the room still sweet with the scent of roses and soft light from the candles not yet put out. Nandor’s cold skin against his own, made warm from the proximity, their faces forced close in the small space…
…A small space that he absolutely would have another panic attack in.
“Guillermo?”
The fledgling snapped back to reality. “Right, no, that's not the issue, as much as I appreciate the offer.” He hoped Nandor didn't notice the nervous crack in his voice on the last bit. “I just don't do well with coffins. Like, in general. Or any small spaces, for that matter.”
The gears in Nandor’s head visibly turned once more, and Guillermo could feel the pit in his gut growing again, until it was a chasm as wide as the ocean he was shipped across all those years ago. Yet another moment with Nandor ruined by a fucking coffin. If he could have just forgotten it, pushed it down, sucked it up and slept in the damn box, he wouldn't be responsible for whatever catastrophic guilt-trip was probably going on in Nandor’s head. Nandor had enough going on up there, he didn't need Guillermo's own anxiety crowding in too. Knowing Nandor, he probably would have offered to do something drastic to once again turn him human, and the thought of that alone made Guillermo's stomach turn.
Before Guillermo could backtrack and resign himself to spending the rest of the day in the same anxious cycle as he spent the first half, Nandor's expression changed. His eyes flashed with a chivalrous determination as he strode over to the edge of the coffin, lifted Guillermo out as if he weighed nothing, and rushed him out of the room without a word. Guillermo had only seen him like this a handful of times, and only in the most serious of circumstances. He refused to believe he could ever be the focus of this intensity, but here he was, gripping his shoulders as he ran upstairs, dodging beams of unsealed sunlight, looking for fuck knows what.
Eventually, they landed outside the other unused bedroom in the house, the only one with an actual bed. Guillermo had always hated cleaning it, as it was mainly only used for Nadja and Laszlo's more passionate sexual adventures. As exciting as the idea was, something told him that wasn't what Nandor had in mind. Not right now, at least. He hoped.
Nandor kicked the door open with a splintering crash and rushed to set Guillermo gingerly on the bed, as if he were wounded. “There. You will sleep here until we can figure out another alternative. It is bigger and nicer than your old pathetic excuse for a room, so you should not feel too cramped. The windows are sealed well, so that should also not be an issue.” The vampire looked around, lost, as if looking for something else to say. As if he did not want to leave just yet. Guillermo chucked softly; he had always been so easy to read, to a trained eye.
Guillermo attempted to do the same, to stick around a while longer, but the exhaustion was finally catching up to him. All he could mutter as he burrowed into the blessedly clean sheets was a bleary “thank you.”
“You are very welcome, Guillermo.” Nandor’s eyes crinkled oh so softly. Anyone else would take the opportunity to say goodnight and go to bed. But, as if ignoring a cue out of stagefright, he didn't move to leave. He just stared down at his friend, waiting for an invitation.
Oh.
“Would you like to stay the night?” Guillermo grumbled fondly. When Nandor was obvious, he was nothing if not endearingly so. At times he reminded Guillermo of his abuela's labrador, just staring at him with big, dark, adoring eyes until he got what he wanted. Apparently, for some reason, what he so desperately wanted right now was to cuddle with him. Guillermo couldn't even attempt to hide the smile creeping across his face when Nandor nearly leapt into the bed beside him. Well, for Nandor that meant pacing over to the other side of the bed, throwing the covers open in a fluid motion, and twirling stiffly into a position that almost looks comfortable, but the sentiment was there.
Yet, despite the eagerness, Nandor still kept a distance. When Guillermo rolled to face him, he nudged away.
“I am not too close, am I?”
“What?”
“You said you do not like small spaces. I do not want to make you uncomfortable by making your space smaller.”
Guillermo couldn't help but laugh. But when he saw the genuine concern still knotting Nandor’s brows, he settled down and shifted closer, until he was the one invading Nandor’s personal space. He felt Nandor’s muscles start to lose tension, and snuggled further into his shoulder.
“You could never be too close, Nandor.”
Nandor's arms closed around him, and instead of feeling suffocating, it felt grounding. The Atlantic didn't feel so wide anymore.