Chapter Text
It didn't feel real.
Lying there, soft and warm, half-asleep against Louis's chest. Listening to the subtle rise and fall of breath beneath his head, to quiet humming of a song he didn't know. Delicate hands carding through his hair, gently undoing the matted tangles he had never bothered with on his own.
It wasn't real. How could it be?
Louis was gone. He still remembered it- clear as day- the night he burned. A roaring flame in the centre of Oakhurst, lighting up the streets and buildings in a horribly warm amber glow. The laughter and cheers, hardly heard through a deep ringing that had filled his ears. A scream that split the celebration. Watching a body crumbling to ash between the flames.
Screams and shouts, the feeling of claws tearing through flesh- the stench of burning flesh, of ash and smoke, of blood coating the cobblestones.
He shuddered.
Louis's hands stilled, tangled in his hair, a soft humming question coming from where he couldn't see. He wanted to see. To see Louis looking at him. See his perfect face again, those elegant curls of copper hair, those shining blue eyes, pure and clear as a winter sky.
He didn't dare. He couldn't. He wouldn't.
It wasn't him. Wasn't his love. He wanted it to be. Willed it desperately. Wanted to look up and see kind blue eyes looking back. He knew he wouldn't. And he couldn't stand the thought.
"Owen?" Louis's voice. Impossibly soft, softer than he ever deserved. "Is something wrong?"
Owen shifted, pressed his face closer to Louis's chest, tightened his arms around his darling's middle. "..nothin', jus' thinking.."
Louis hummed and went back to playing with his hair.
The touch was fleeting. Hazy in a way he couldn't understand. There was contact, the unmistakeable chill of a vampire's touch that brushed his scalp every so often as the knots and tangles were carefully undone. He could hear Louis breathing, feel it under his head where it rested on his chest. See, though his vision refused to focus, soft red curls tumbling down over Louis's shoulder.
The room was hazy. Bathed in warm, ebbing off of a fireplace somewhere across the floor. The faint light of it flickered at the corner of his eye, blurred and partially blocked by his fringe. There was a blanket laid over them. He was wearing Louis's shirt, that ruffled maroon one they used to joke looked better on him despite it being much too big for him. Louis had on a white blouse. The top button was undone, his neck bared, a rough bite mark clear across the throat.
He never learned how Louis was turned. They never had the chance to discuss it. The scar was paler than his skin, jagged around the edges, intentionally messy and painful. Owen had never seen his own scar. Louis had been careful with him. Asked a thousand times before placing his teeth anywhere near Owen's neck. Biting quickly, right into his artery to get it over with quickly, to avoid prolonging the hurt.
Owen had almost enjoyed the feeling.
Dying so suddenly. Feeling his heart stutter to a halt. The momentary darkness that encompassed his vision, the black spots that danced across his eyes as he regained consciousness. The lack of pain had been euphoric. The sudden absence of the agony and stiffness he was so used to. He almost thought he was just dead. A ghost, no longer bound to that useless, wretched body he was cursed with.
But Louis was still sitting beside him. Cradling him so carefully, as though he were made of porcelain. Tears glistening his eyes, now a shining ruby red, streams of white bleeding through his hair until his beautiful red was a perfect, shining silver, glowing like a halo in the firelight that filled the room.
"Dearest?" there was a soft voice again. So sweet, so utterly adoring in a way that made his heart hurt. Louis's hands had gone still again, resting one between his shoulder blades, the other at the base of his neck, scratching at his skin lightly. "You should rest, my love, it's late."
Something in him wanted to sleep. He was exhausted, that was apparent. His limbs were heavy, as though weighted down with stones. His vision refused to focus. The room was a haze- the barely-seen light of the fireplace and a heavy, suffocating warmth that pressed down and down, threatening to choke him if he breathed too deeply.
He could smell smoke. Ash and cinders and burning flesh and rotting and blood and-
"Owen, my love?" Louis ran a hand through his hair again, gently scratching at his scalp. "Oh, love, it's alright." Louis shushed him, carding fingers through his hair, soft and loving. Owen shifted.
He was shaking. Tremors wracking through his entire body, the familiar clamminess of a fever settling onto his skin, burning across his back. He shuddered again, whining and pressing his face into Louis's chest. Louis cooed at him, resting a hand on the back of his head, murmuring quietly.
"It's alright, darling sparrow, I'm not going anywhere."
Owen whined again, a truly pathetic display. He would have been ashamed if anyone else were to hear such a pitiful sound from him. Louis already pitied him, though. Louis had seen him at his worst, and somehow even lower. Louis had watched him starve for days, then vomit from overeating right after. Sat and held him for hours as he sobbed endless pleas, begged the world to rid itself of him. Stayed with him through the worst of his illness, when he was more blister than skin, feverish and delirious and miserable.
And Louis loved him.
For whatever incomprehensible reason, Louis loved him.
Louis hummed again, a soft, gentle sound, running his fingers through Owen's hair again. "It'll be okay, sparrow. We'll be alright, I promise.
Sparrow. that ridiculous name. That stupid little nickname that started as a playful jab. "As chatty as a sparrow" he once said. Owen had flustered and ducked his head, embarrassed to be called out for his rambling. He had so much to say, and never before had anyone to say it to. Louis had laughed and apologised, correcting himself, stating he found the endless chatter endearing.
Owen had felt utterly ridiculous, though, the fact that someone had bothered giving him a personal nickname- paid enough attention to his habits to pick one out- he couldn't help adoring it. And sparrow became a regular pet name in their conversations, added to the ever-growing list Louis liked to use.
He shifted his head again, turning to rest his cheek on Louis's chest instead. Louis lifted the blanket higher, up over Owen's shoulders. He caught a glimpse, for a moment as Louis leant forwards, of those familiar red locks again. Gleaming copper, glowing like fire itself in the flickering light of the hearth.
He glanced up as Louis sat back, peering through tangles of dark brown hair that he thought should have been white, staring up at a soft, round face, warmed lightly pink across the cheeks. Framed in delicate red curls, soft blue eyes glittering in the firelight.
Louis.
His Louis.
His perfect, precious, wonderful Louis.
Not looking at his face, his eyes fixed solely on the blanket he was still adjusting. His tongue was sticking out just slightly past his lips, his brows faintly furrowed in concentration, concentrating perhaps a little unnecessarily hard on making the bed more comfortable. He settled again once he was satisfied, once the blanket was tucked up over Owen's shoulders, wrapped slightly under Louis's back, stopping just under his own arms.
Then he looked to Owen. He expression went blank for a moment, a flicker of surprised, then an achingly warm smile spread over his lips, his eyes scrunching lightly at the corners as he ran a hand over Owen's head and settled back down against the pillows.
"Comfy?" there was a teasing lilt in his voice, a ghost of a laugh playing in the word. Adoration radiated off of him, glowing in his eyes as he looked at the wretched creature laid against him. Then, horrifyingly, his smile faltered. His browns creased, twisting in surprised upset. "Oh, no, dear, it's alright, it's alright."
Owen blinked, then choked. Tears were burning at his eyes, running slowly down his face. He turned his head away, barely stifling a hiccupping sob. Louis's hands were cradling him in an instant, pulling him impossibly closer, caressing his face and stroking his hair, all the while Louis tried to soothe him, gentle shushes and softly murmured assurances.
Owen clung to him. Buried his face into his chest and pressed his body closer and closer and closer until it hurt. Dug his hands between Louis's back and the mattress and twisted his fingers into his shirt until his hands were shaking and his joints burned from the strain.
Louis held onto him in return. Sat up and pulled him closer. Wrapped his arms around him, one hand on the back of his head, the other rubbing small, comforting circles between his shoulder blades. Whispering softly by his ear, promising that he was there, that he would stay, that it was okay. That Owen was safe.
An apology made its way into his cries at some point. A pitiful little "I'm sorry" made only worse by his lisp, then worse still by the ones that followed. Repeating and repeating between choked sobs and pathetic blubbering- I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry-
Until the words meant nothing and then again and again and again-
Louis shushed them, rebutted them, accepted them. Cradled him as though he were something precious and reassured him that it was okay, he was safe, no one was upset- Louis wasn't upset.
He should have been. He should have been- he was- he was lying- he was angry, he hated him, hated him- only stayed out of pity. Some obligation to the monster who dared to love him. A last night before disappearing again- leaving again- going away and living his life free of this wretched beast that clung so desperately to him.
It was what he deserved. He deserved to be free. To forget this awful place- this awful thing attached to him. To move on. He deserved to be happy.
The wretched sobbing stopped only for exhaustion. For the dry mouth and raw throat, and the pain coursing through his body as freely as blood through his veins, dropping him limp in Louis's arms. Trembling, choking on air, unable to take a deep enough breath to steady himself.
Louis's shirt was soaked through, Owen's face much the same, drenched in salty tears that had only barely begun drying up.
And still Louis held him. His arms had gone limp, his fingers slipping from Louis's shirt. Louis, miraculously, didn't seem to mind. Kept whatever anger or disgust he was certainly feeling to himself, simply running his hand through Owen's hair, holding him carefully, and soothing the occasional hiccup or whine that slipped out.
Owen twisted his head to rest it sideways on Louis's shoulder, still snivelling miserably. What a mess he must be. How awful he must look. Louis looked at him with only love. With pity, but soft, attentive. Worried.
He lifted a hand and grazed the backs of his fingers over Owen's cheek, brushing back the strands of hair that stuck to his tears. Owen stared at him through blurry vision. His hand lingered, cupping his face softly, trembling faintly. His face was tilted down, Louis leaning up and planting a soft kiss against his hairline.
"Sleep, dearest, please." he sounded stressed, his voice breaking just barely enough to be noticed. Owen whined wordlessly in response, nuzzling closer. Louis placed another gentle kiss on his head. "We can talk when you wake up, but for now, you must rest."
He whined again. He was trying to speak. I'm sorry, I love you, don't leave me- anything but this choked silence.
Louis clicked his tongue and sighed, tired. "Everything will be okay, my dearest." he tilted Owen's face up again, drawing his eyes up. There was a small smile on his lips, though his eyes were only tired. "I love you, little sparrow, I'm not going to leave. Never again."
I love you too. Owen tried to speak, but his mouth wouldn't move to form the words. Louis kissed him again, right on the forehead, then shifted them both down against the pillows and mattress properly. He took several moments- several moments too long- to fix the blanket again, then wrapped his arms around Owen and placed another kiss to his forehead.
"Sleep, my love, I promise I will be here when you wake up."
"..love you." he managed at last, mumbling into Louis's chest, hardly audible even to himself.
Louis hummed, then chuckled. "I love you, too, my darling. Now go to sleep, you'll be alright."
He kissed his forehead again, brushing his hair with one hand. The other remained firmly- gently, softly, but still firmly in place- on his back, a quiet reassurance that Louis was still there. Owen pressed himself impossibly closer, twisting his claws into Louis's shirt Louis held him tighter in response, chuckling softly.
A quiet whine escaped him. Louis kissed the top of his head again, a soft purr rumbling in his chest. It was soothing, friendly. Calm, kind, safe. Owen whined again as his eyes closed, unwilling to sleep. Sleeping meant morning would come, and morning meant having to move and leave, having to let go, having to let Louis go.
But he was exhausted. A feverish warmth had settled over his skin, comforted somewhat by the cold touch of his darling love. The room was quiet, peaceful, the faint sounds of a crackling fireplace somewhere out of sight, and Louis's gentle purrs filling his ears. The sound faded out gradually, sleep pulling his head underwater, dragging him down into blissful nothing.
Pulling away from the suffocating warmth, the comforting cold touch, the bleary mind and into the silent void of sleep.