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Louis loved Owen. Every bit of him.
His messy, curled hair that so often got tangled, leaving Louis excuses to be nearer to his beloved partner. Brushing Owen’s hair always calmed him down, whether it was needed or not, Owen’s side of the bond, which was ever tense, always sharing every detail, would relax. Any excuse, any reason to loosen Owen’s ever taut wire, to soothe the constant undercurrent of anxiety, was one Louis would gladly take.
Owen’s end of the bond was never still. It was a constant stream of emotions that Louis had learned, with no small deal of effort, to tune into the background. Louis had expected the overwhelming, constantly sloshing sea of emotions to smooth out as Owen grew out of fledglinghood, but it seemed that Owen either didn’t realise how much he shared or didn’t know how to stop it. Likely both, and if Louis could, he would gladly teach him how, if not only for his own peace of mind, but Owen’s too.
For as much as he overshared internally, Owen was externally calm, almost. Unless he was extraordinarily anxious or excited, he rarely showed much expression. Just a slight pout or smile along with a subtle but constant fidgeting. His voice was fairly flat, too; quiet and meek. If it weren’t for the amount of his emotions that Louis could feel through the bond, Owen would seem almost apathetic. He was anything but, really, but he never seemed to learn quite how to show it.
Louis loved when he did, though. When he grinned seeing anything painted the colour orange. When he giddily clapped, eyes lighting up whenever they snuck out to look at the stars. When his smile grew just a little bit, looking away shyly at the slightest praises. When his nose scrunched up just slightly as he worked to chop trees, listening to Louis’ petty tales. He looked gorgeous like that, truly happy; in his element. Louis wished to see it more, did his best to bring that side of his Owen out whenever he could.
He even liked Owen’s more negative expressions, although they were bittersweet. They made him sad, yes, because Louis never wanted to see Owen upset again, but they were also endearing. The slight sheen to his eyes, the way he pouted, the way he crossed his arms and picked at his sleeves as if they would unravel. Louis didn’t like that Owen had to make those expressions, but they didn’t make him any less beautiful.
Unravelling. Owen did a lot of that. Crying, sobbing, clinging to Louis like his life depended on it. Louis loved the fact that he, out of all the people in this town, was the lucky one who got all of Owen and who gave back in kind.
He was the lucky one who Owen came to as a human, asking to build a mill at the edge of town. He was the lucky one, the first that Owen had ever fully unraveled his dirty bandages for. He was the lucky one, the first one in years, according to Owen, to be allowed to rewrap and treat his wounds. He was the one who still saw his scarred over, vampirically healed blisters and boils every day.
Owen thought of them as disgusting, sickly. Maybe it was partially because of Louis’ vampirism, the knowledge he could never get ill, but Louis only saw them as beautiful. Marks of pain, of hardship, of the struggles of the man treated like dirt for simply having an unknown condition. The marks that showed he’d survived. That Owen had continued to stand, even after the doctors bled him dry. They were gorgeous, marking nearly every inch of his skinny body, only pointing to one thing: Owen was strong, whether he believed it or not.
And only Louis got to see that.
He just wished Owen had more people seeing his strengths, not his weaknesses. A whole community.
Slowly, they were working, both together and apart, to make Owen friends in the town, to get him the kind of group that he deserved, whether he believed it or not. It was hard, the cards that life had dealt leaving Owen in a lower-than-low standing in the town. Popular only by technicality, a walking rumour. But they were doing it.
Owen had made friends with a kind lady named Eloise and her best friend Bek. They all got along, something which Louis was infinitely grateful for. He wouldn’t want to keep Owen on a string—that was one of his greatest fears. Louis didn’t want Owen to be entirely dependent on him. He knew that could only end badly.
He’d told Owen such, making sure to say it wasn’t his fault, that Louis wasn’t burdened by him, that he just wanted Owen to be free. There had been lots of crying (and biting, but that was Owen-typical for every emotion), but eventually, they both came to an agreement. They both started trying. Owen got out more and Louis supported him, using his standing as mayor to make it clear that anyone seen harming Owen intentionally would be spoken to.
And it was all going well. Surprisingly, after the initial uproar of confusion, interrogation, and even some disgust and anger, it mostly settled down. Many still didn’t want much to do with Owen, not quite trusting he was healed. But the vendors sold to him in daylight, unafraid to take his coin, and those who wanted to came up to talk to him.
Owen was still a recluse. Louis doubted that would change.
But Louis could see it now. Nearly eleven years into his vampirism, and Owen was beginning to unfurl like a butterfly. Not just around Louis—that had started only two or three years in—but around everyone. And it was truly glorious.
Louis had thought Owen was pretty, smart, funny, caring, and sweet before, and now he could truly see it.
To the kids who weren’t afraid of the tales they’d heard of him, Owen was gentle, even a little playful. Despite how cold he seemed, he would tell little jokes or sneak a small gift into their pockets and bags. Many of the younger kids didn’t like him as much, but the boys that were of school age took interest in him. Some were meaner than others, but none outright cruel—they all knew of his relations to the mayor. The ones who were kinder got gifts, the ones who were less so got ignored or growled at.
The girls and women who worked the bakery stalls and textile shops tended to like Owen. While they were a gossipy bunch, they weren’t mean. They did interrogate him for any gossip he knew of, both about his own life and others’, but it was all in good faith. Eloise and Bek—the ones who did custom weavings and yarn work—were clearly his favourite. They made him an orange blanket once, and that pretty much won them for life.
Owen steered far clear from doctors and prominent members of the church, unafraid to show his dislike of them. That was where most of peoples’ problems with him stemmed from—his dislike of the church.
In any case, Owen was getting better every day. Unfurling a bit more, growing closer to his true self, budding like a gorgeous rose. Louis still felt every bit of anxiety that coursed through him as he spoke, every little bit of fear that he’d somehow misstepped, every spike of tamped down anger that Owen forced himself not to let out. But that was just part of him, and the mayor knew that. Owen was always going to be anxious, irritable, and even downright volatile some days.
But no one was perfect, and Louis loved Owen. Every bit of him.