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The summer breeze was a contrast to the hellish heat of June, blowing in through the window of the bedchambers, only loosely filtered by the fluttering lace net hanging over the glass. The skies were royal blue, and the sun had only just set as ten chimes could be heard downstairs.
The room was large, cream walls tinted a dark blue from the summers before, where Luke had found the prettiest cornflowers, and, using techniques learnt from his trade, turned them into a form of paint. The bed itself had silk curtains draped around it, the hardwood frame holding them up engraved with flowers and butterflies. The fur blankets had been inherited from Michael’s mother, cream and dark brown, warm but light.
There was a chest of drawers in the corner, atop which held a beautiful lilac vase, filled with the blood red roses from the thorny bushes outside. There was also a pouch dedicated to the makeup Luke liked to wear, from vibrant blues to burnt browns, all equally gorgeous on him.
Michael awoke, the blankets delicately draped over his cold vessel, his clothes the same as the night he’d been reunited with his long lost husband. Time had clearly passed, and he tried to recollect the memories, failing as his mind was so foggy from such a long rest.
He slowly sat up, looking around for his lover as he held his aching head. Standing slowly, he walked to the door, each step sounding with a soft click as the heels of his leather shoes hit the wooden floors. He reached for the handle, twisting it then pulling open the door, taking in the familiar sight of the hallway to his right, and the top of the marble staircase to his left.
Luke was sat in their bay window, looking out over the garden they had taken care of once they’d moved in. The weeping willow in the far left, its branches hanging over the wildflowers that had made their home in the long, emerald grass.
“Hello, Lucas,” Michael murmured into his neck, draping his arms around his husband’s shoulders from behind.
Luke smiled softly, placing his hand over Michael’s.
“Hello, my love. How are you feeling?”
“Mmm… tired. I can’t recall the events of the past… month or so,” he mumbled, nuzzling into Luke’s neck, “Despite that, all I know is I’m glad to have you back with me.”
“Come, sit properly.”
Michael obliged, moving to sit next to Luke, cross legged and leaning into the other’s side.
“Are you okay? I’m unsure how long I was gone during my time, but you’ve been subconscious for a week, at the very least. I waited for your awakening by your side every day.”
“Mm.. m’okay… now try to picture how I felt for seven months, awaiting your return.” The red head sighed.
“Have you not awoken fully yet?”
Michael shook his head, wrapping his arms around his husband and moving to sit on his lap.
“Your hair… it is as dark as midnight… you changed it in your absence, didn’t you? I have vivid memory of it being blonde, golden like dawn…”
“You are correct, I’m unsure why, but after my death I awoke with it dark. Do you dislike it?”
The older cocked his head to the side in confusion, moving his hands to run his fingers through the dark curls.
“Death? Lucas, you’re breathing now, are you not?”
“I am not, but neither are you, for that matter.”
Michael moved a hand to under his nose, testing Luke’s statement, only to find the younger was correct. He looked up, meeting lifeless baby blue eyes, the same that once lit up the same way did the stars.
“Your eyes, Lu. Where did the life go?” He whispered leaning closer to look properly, “remind me of the events of our most recent night,”
Luke sighed, bringing two fingers to meet the punctures on Michael’s neck, pressing down gently and earning a whimper from the other.
“I returned to you, and we danced in the moonlight, to the song of our wedding. You learnt what happened to me in my departure, and let me take your life.”
Michael stayed frozen in shock, eyes desperately searching Luke’s face for any signs of a cruel joke.
The silence was deafening, the only sound the creak of the bedroom door as the breezes blew it closed. The sun had continued to set, the branches and leaves of distant trees black silhouettes against the canvas of deep blue skies.
Luke reached for Michael’s jaw, his thumbs over plush red lips as he pried them open, admiring two delicate, pointed fangs.
“If I am dead, my love, I believe you wouldn’t be able to be so close.”
Michael nodded, the best he could while having his mouth held open. Luke rested his hands to cradle the red head’s cheeks, letting him close his mouth again.
“You killed me, and made me like you, I recall.”
“Do you have regrets?”
“I feel alive, somehow. I fear it may have been a spur of the moment decision, yet I am only left with you, eternally, and an overwhelming thirst,” he closes his eyes, pressing his lips to the other’s for a moment.
Michael stands, leaving his position on his husband’s lap in favour of gazing out the window. The moon was full, the other half now visible compared to when he had last seen it.
“Fifteen days, I died for.”
“Are you certain of that?”
“Yes. Could you have not waited until I was over the shock of having my lover back?”
Luke stood, next to Michael, wrapping an arm around his waist, “You assume I wasn’t in shock too?
Michael melted into his touch, pivoting slightly to lean into the other again, his hands resting on the brunette’s chest. He could recall the days he would lay like this, listening to the other’s heartbeat until he fell asleep. Undead beings have un-beating hearts, yet the memories of their life made it somewhat comforting still.
“Your reassurance doesn’t fulfil my thirst, Lu,” he mumbled, a gentle smile on his face as he felt his lover laugh.
“Usually, from my knowledge, feeding from your own mind is a last resort, but unfortunately we are far from the nearby town. I grant you permission to bite me, Michael.”
The older froze for a moment, before lifting his head to Luke’s pale neck and licking a stripe over the side of it. The brunette giggled softly at the unfamiliar feeling, said laugh being replaced by a gasp of surprise soon after as he felt Michael’s fangs in his neck.
It was a strange feeling, the soft and bright red hair against his chin and the rest of his neck, contrasted by the garnet red blood running down to his collarbone, as the newly-turned vampire tried to desperately lap up all the blood spilling from his husband’s neck.
Michael whined, desperately trying to lick up everything he spilt while still sucking on the exposed vein. Luke pulled him off after a few moments, dazed and lightheaded, propping himself up against the window as he gazed into dull grey-green eyes, devoid of any emotion except bloodlust.
Luke’s neck was still bleeding, and Michael’s lips were still covered in it, as he gazed up at the other longingly, before pulling him down into a deep kiss, Michael’s hand moving to hold the wound on his lover’s neck. Luke licked into Michael’s mouth, licking around his fangs and shivering at the taste of his own blood, before pulling away and staring at the other.
“You’re incredibly messy, Michael,” he laughed softly.
Michael smiled, tugging Luke’s hand to guide him back from the window to climb out of the bay.
Hand in hand, they ascend the stairs, back into the bedchamber.
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“Sit, by the chest, Lu, I want to do your eyes to be bright again.”
Luke nodded, sitting on the chair positioned by the chest, as Michael grabbed the tin of colourful pressed powders, opening them and gazing down at his options.
The specific palette he had chosen had chalky white all the way to cobalt blue, all other colours variations of blues and greys.
Positioning himself on Luke’s lap, he rubbed his finger in the white, before pressing it into the tear duct of the other’s eye and swiping it gently out, continuing this until he had a perfect gradient of white to blue. After repeating it on the other eye, he sat back, smiling down at his work.
“May I open my eyes now, Michael?”
“You may,” he giggled, grabbing a small mirror that was by the makeup pouch. He paused for a second, frowning slightly.
“What’s the issue?”
“We don’t have reflections, since we are both… undead.”
“Oh…” Luke looked off to the side, clearly put down by this.
“You still look beautiful, lovely, you’re always so gorgeous.” Michael reassured, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to his cheek.
“Not as beautiful as you, love,”
“Quiet. You’re incorrect, you’re the most beautiful person to have ever breathed.”
“Past tense,”
“Breath is irrelevant to us now, I suppose. Yet you still take mine away every time I see you,”
Luke laughed at that, shaking his head. He reached over to the vase atop the chest, plucking a rose from it and delicately placing it in Michael’s hair.
“For one, you are much more gorgeous than me, and second, your hair matches the roses. Did you continue to pick them in my absence?”
“Of course,” the older nodded, “The house was always beautiful. I was unsure when you’d return so it was always ready for you.”
—————————
They fell asleep atop the covers of their bed and between slow, loving kisses that day, legs tangled and Luke’s fingers also tangled in red hair. Michael’s eyes were shut with a small, contented smile on his face, his arms wrapped around Luke and holding him close. Luke lay, staring at the ceiling for a while, recounting the words he had read at some point during his life.
They didn’t matter now, however, since he had an eternity to spend with his lover. Maybe time had stopped, or maybe it will continue forever, their endless days and timeless love.
—————————
They romanticise death, the undead and all else, they tell us it’s better and that everyone feels the same.
They tell whoever will listen, spread their manufactured opinions, plastic lies and formulated truths.
The child who sits alone in her bedroom, contemplating the end, has the best view.
She sees the passers by, she sees the adults cry,
And becomes of the word that maybe we all want peace, without the looming fear of the end.
Maybe when we reach it, it won’t be so daunting.