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Armand has pulled the tattered curtains tight, so the derelict motel room is submerged in darkness. He has folded Daniel’s clothes nearly at the end of the bed, dutiful and neat. He has smoothed the thin, dirty bedsheets over Daniel’s shivering frame, and mopped the sweat from his brow, and set a glass of water on the rotting beside table.
Now it is complete, this sweet, familiar ritual, but Armand is still not satisfied.
He never is, not anymore. At first it was enough just to watch. But now-
Armand sits on the end of Daniel’s bed, and sighs. Even this amount of interference leaves Armand hungry with the longing for more.
He startles when he feels Daniel writhe beneath the bedsheets, moaning something incomprehensible. Armand’s expression softens. Without turning his head behind him, he waves his fingers.
“Peace.” He murmurs.
Daniel grows still, and makes a more pleasant noise in his sleep. Better, Armand thinks. It does not please him when Daniel has bad dreams. Yes, yes, he’s a creature of the dark, but as he sits at the foot of Daniel’s bed, there is so much tenderness held within his heart. Sometimes, like tonight, it is too much to bear.
Armand curls up his knees to his chest, and listens to the slower, easier sound of Daniel’s breathing as he sleeps off his fix. He tunes in to the steady rhythm of Daniel’s heartbeat, a sound he has memorised like a song. Armand sees flashes of Daniel’s dreams, visions rising before his eyes, Daniel fishing with his Dad when he was very young, the sky blue and bright, the world wonderful, then. He was a small boy, not jaded yet, just awed by everything he saw.
A gentle image, Armand thinks. He smiles to himself. As he wraps his legs around his knees, he hums into the silence a song he heard recently, whilst standing like a shadow in the corner of Daniel’s favourite bar. Something British, with a guitar. Slow and gritty. Armand should feel lonely, humming in the dark with only a sleeping Daniel for company, but he does not.
Early morning will soon approach, but Armand is reluctant to leave. How is our boy? Louis will ask him slyly, when Armand returns home. He will smile like it is an inside joke, as if Daniel is his, too, and this warmth in Armand’s chest is a shared thing. But it could never be. Louis was not here when Daniel was sleeping in underpasses, or when he proposed to his first wife, or when he got his first book deal. He didn’t stand clapping at the back of Daniel’s first press conference and he did not see Daniel intertwined with a student in the back of his car and he certainly did not inject Daniel with adrenaline when he overdosed.
This, then, a simple truth - Daniel is Armand’s. His and his alone. Louis could never understand it.
Armand looks over his shoulder, and sees dark tufts of Daniel’s hair peeking over the blanket. Armand lets out a sigh, his eyes lingering on Daniel. Love is a funny thing. Painful and warm, sharp and consuming. It is everything but fickle.
It has been two decades already, since they met, and one decade since Armand erased the memories of their crooked love.
And there will be, Armand thinks, so many more years, in which he will watch Daniel age, and Daniel will not know him at all. How much sweeter it would be, if he could crawl up to the top of the bed and, lay his head beside Daniel’s! How much warmer life would be if he were not just a spectre, a guardian, if he were real, instead! Armand imagines it, himself curled into Daniel’s chest, his scent on Daniel’s skin. A part of Daniel’s life again, not outside of it.
Perhaps this line of thought is why Armand lays down at the foot of the bed. He curls up like a cat, and tucks his knees up to his chin. This motel is a derelict, ugly place, and yet Armand feels… at peace, like this. He could rest, he thinks, for just a moment.
Armand closes his eyes. He breathes in the silence, and reaches out to Daniel’s mind, just to feel the sweet hum of his dreaming. And in that quiet, with Daniel’s subconscious for company, he drifts off to sleep.
In dreams, Armand imagines the taste of coffee, or, the taste of coffee as it was in Daniel’s blood. Bitter, dark, lovely. He wakes with his fangs cutting into his bottom lip and a warm hand shaking his shoulder.
“Er.” Daniel says, eyes wide in the morning light. Armand retracts his fangs and quickly sits up, nerves suddenly prickling along his skin. “Hi?”
Armand blinks up at him, and licks the blood from his bottom lip. Daniel, embarrassed, rubs the back of his neck.
“Sorry, I don’t remember your name.” He says. “Did we… Er, well, nevermind. Breakfast?”
Daniel holds up a coffee cup and a bagel. Armand’s lips twitch. He should not allow this, he cannot allow this…
“Good morning.” Armand says, warmly. He takes the coffee, and Daniel sees this as an opening - he sits gingerly beside Armand on the end of the bed. “Thank you.”
“Sure.” Daniel says. “Whatever.”
Silence falls, then, companionable. Armand breathes in the scent of the coffee, and smiles to himself. His gaze flickers over Daniel’s frame. He has showered, at least, clean and shaven. But he is trembling still, just slightly, and his pupils are still a little wide.
Daniel meets his gaze. Smiles, slightly, bashful in an uncharacteristic way. Armand hesitates. Then he rests a palm on Daniel’s arm.
Daniel is always so warm. So human. Armand can feel his pulse under his fingertips.
“I am sorry,” Armand says, gently, “But you will not remember this.”
“Huh?” Daniel says. His eyes have flickered to Armand’s hand on his arm and he’s not listening, not really.
Armand tilts his head, and shifts closer.
“Peace, my beloved.” He murmurs. His other hand rises to Daniel’s cheek. Daniel, pliant and wanting, shivers at the twitch of Armand’s cold fingers against his skin.
Love is a funny thing. A foolish thing. Daniel’s eyes go glassy with the forgetting, and Armand sighs. He leans forward and presses a kiss to his hairline.
And then he is gone, a mere shadow in Daniel’s memory. He is a ghost, now, nothing worth remembering.
That first night in Dubai, Armand spends too long making up Daniel’s bedroom. He carefully lays the bedsheets, and plumps the pillows. He waters the vase of flowers on the little coffee table, and hangs Daniel’s clothes in the wardrobe, and closes all of the curtains until the room is drenched in darkness. The only illumination comes from two small bedside lamps.
Daniel finds him like this, fussing with the bed. Armand senses him in the doorway, and feels the weight of his sharp, direct stare.
“You,” Daniel says, “Rashid. Are you ironing my bedsheets? What is this?”
“I am performing my duties.” Armand says. His lips twitch, but he smothers it quickly. “Is it not to your liking?”
Daniel strides inside. Armand feels a stir in his chest when Daniel brushes past him to get to the side of the bed.
“Yeah, sorry, not good enough, I think I need a bit more of…“ Daniel picks up a bottle from the bedside table. “Whatever this is. A diffuser? Incense? Jesus. Isn’t this all a bit much?”
“We would like you to have a comfortable stay.” Armand says.
“Sure you would. Fatten me up, iron my sheets. Plump for the killing, eh, Rashid?” Daniel pauses, offers Armand a smile. “You know, I bet Louis doesn’t pay you enough for this.”
Armand raises an eyebrow, and doesn’t take the bait.
“Sorry, sorry, can’t complain about the boss, I get it.” Daniel grins. He sits himself on the edge of the bed. “Well, gee, thanks. It’s a long way from shitty motel bedrooms, I’ll give you that.”
A pause, while Armand remembers those nights with equal affection and sorrow. He fights the urge to sit beside Daniel on the bed, and crosses his hands in front of him instead.
“I am glad.” Armand says, sincerely.
Daniel meets his gaze. Silence falls, and within it there’s a prickle of warmth between them, a dangerous flicker of desire. Even though Daniel does not remember him, Armand senses a hint of longing in his mind. A scar from all of those years ago, he thinks. It pleases Armand that it lingers, even now.
His boy, Armand thinks warmly, his fascinating boy. Here Daniel is, sitting in front of him after so long. It is a blessing to have Daniel close, Armand thinks, it is a privilege. Decades on the sidelines, all leading to this.
“I should get back to Louis.” Armand says, quietly, though he is struck with the desire to stay.
“Yeah.” Daniel agrees. “You should.”
Armand taps his fingers on his arm as he looks down at Daniel. He lingers, still. Another moment, another breath.
“I will leave you now. ” Armand says, at last.
“Is your name really Rashid?” Daniel cuts in.
“Goodnight.” Armand says, his lips twitching into a smile.
“How long have you worked here?”
“Goodnight.” Armand says, with warmth. Daniel’s eyes crease with his smile as he watches Armand turn away.
“Have you joined a trade union?” Daniel calls after him.
Armand looks over his shoulder, and smiles.
“I hope you rest well, Mr. Molloy.” He says, and closes the door behind him.
It is a mere hour before Armand sneaks back in through Daniel’s bedroom door. He is a shadow, at first, in the corner of the room. In the dark of the bedroom, watching on from afar, Armand’s heart swells. Daniel may be old, but he is still the same boy, murmuring to himself and shifting around in his sleep. The grey of his hair, the creases in his skin, they are inconsequential. It is his soul that matters, and Daniel’s soul is wonderfully unchanged.
Armand realises, as he watches Daniel sleep, that he, too, is the same fool who sat on the foot of Daniel’s bed in derelict motel rooms. He would do it all over again, if he were asked to.
It was no burden, no chore.
It was… love.
It was always love.
The night grows darker. Like a shy cat, Armand emerges from the shadows, and steps forward toward the bed. Daniel does not stir, and so Armand approaches the bed, and perches himself on the end of it. He can pass the night right here, he decides. A familiar distance.
But then he sees the flicker of Daniel’s eyelids as he dreams, and Armand has missed him, even after all of this time, and so he crawls further up the bed. He settles on the other side of the bed, lying on his side so he is across from Daniel. His eyes flicker over Daniel’s face.
There you are, Armand thinks. Love is a fire in his chest, burning up his ribs, searing his skin. Love is his curse and his wound and his treasure. Love is his hand rising, and his fingertips as they gently brush strands of hair out of Daniel’s eyes. Love is the way Armand’s hand lingers, the way he swallows, the way the world seems to collapse into this single moment.
Love is the way Daniel leans his face into Armand’s hand in sleep, and the slight smile that crosses his face as he dreams. Armand’s eyes soften, and he runs his thumb over Daniel’s cheek.
They used to do this, in the night, gaze at each other in the shadows. just for the joy of looking. In every city, in every new hotel room, they would lay upon the bed, their eyes meeting in the dark. Mortal and vampire. In love, once, while Armand allowed it. Daniel cannot remember it, but there was a time.
Forgotten now, Armand thinks.
As the night passes, and Armand dwells on the past, his eyes grow heavy. Just for a moment, he decides, he will rest. He shifts closer to Daniel on the bed, so they are almost touching. There is no harm, he tells himself, as his eyes flutter shut.
Sleep is a welcome embrace. Armand falls into it, and wakes with the rising sun, his palm against Daniel’s chest. Daniel, mercifully, is still sleeping, oblivious to Armand’s presence. In the low light, still half-asleep, it is easier for Armand to let the full weight of his feelings encompass him. His heart aches, and he says it in the dark, just once, while Daniel can’t hear it.
“I love you.” Armand whispers. Ah, he feels lighter - a burden, lifted.
He shifts, and presses his forehead against Daniel’s. I am sorry, he thinks, and this one is for Daniel to hear, I am so very sorry.
And then, an ending. Armand rises from the bed, and smooths over the wrinkles he has left behind. I love you, Daniel, he thinks, again, for he has been waiting so long to say it, and he must wait longer still.
So it goes, resentful fledgling Daniel should not be surprised when he wakes to find Armand sitting cross-legged at the foot of the coffin he snuck into his hotel room.
Armand is leaning his cheek against the cool wood, his eyes closed. Daniel stares at him. He should not feel a jolt in his chest. He should not kneel in his coffin, and crawl forward to the edge of it. He should not dare to reach across the distance between himself and Armand, and curl a strand of Armand’s hair around his finger. He is too old and too smart to fall for Armand’s tricks, but here he is, rubbing the soft strand of Armand’s hair between his thumb and forefinger curiously.
How many nights has Armand watched over him as he slept?
Armand does not wake, and so Daniel gazes at him. Their conversation in the park is still a tender wound, but Daniel cannot remember why when they are so close. The last time he was able to touch Armand in any sort of way, they were intertwined on an airplane, and there was the taste of Armand’s blood in his mouth. Now, even the lightest touch seems to soften Daniel. The whole world falls away, into this single moment…
And then Armand stirs. His eyelashes flutter as he wakes. Daniel freezes, wide-eyed and furious that he has been caught in an act of tenderness. Armand blinks at him, so surprised that he does not speak, and Daniel stays where he is.
“Daniel.” Armand murmurs. His voice, a gentle thing, snaps Daniel out of his daze. He pulls his hand away from Armand quickly, but Armand captures it, and holds it still.
A silence falls, in which they stare at each other.
And then-
Armand brings Daniel’s palm to his chest, so that their hands rest where his heart would be. Daniel stares at him, unravelling.
“I love you.” Armand whispers, “I don’t want to sleep alone anymore.”
Daniel blinks at him. It takes him a while to catch up.
“You shared a bed with Louis.” He says at last, his voice wavering.
“Facing away from each other.” Armand murmurs. “In different worlds. I felt more at home at the foot of your bed.”
“Like a fucking lapdog, huh.” Daniel says. Armand smiles at him, amused. It always disarms Daniel, that tiny smile, that flicker of pleasure in Armand’s face.
“You used to have nightmares, do you remember?” Armand murmurs. “Terrible dreams. I would cast them away for you, for I could not bear to hear your cries.”
Daniel has the fleeting thought that he much prefers their day-walking lessons to whatever this is. It’s just another one of Armand’s unsettling confessions, Daniel tells himself, nothing to take seriously. Still, he cannot move, his eyes fixed on Armand’s face.
“Now.” Armand says. “I cannot reach your mind, but I hear you talk in your sleep, calling out for me. Armand, Armand. Are you having nightmares again, Daniel?”
Daniel has no refute.
“Let me lie with you, then.” Armand murmurs. “I can chase away your bad dreams.”
If Daniel did not feel so weak in the face of Armand, he would fight. But he is weary. His words come out cracked and wavering.
“Fucking hell, Armand.” He says. Cannot think of anything else to say.
“Beloved.” Armand says, in response.
Daniel blinks at him. For once, he is silent. He is reeling. An ache blooms in his chest, and spreads. He has heard that once before, though he cannot remember where. Beloved.
“My beloved.” Armand says.
Daniel fears he has been hypnotised, or he must have finally lost his mind, because he does not move as Armand lifts his hand and brings his wrist to his lips. Armand presses a kiss there, above his pulse.
And then there is the sting of a fang. It is the gentlest of bites, the smallest of tastes, but Daniel shivers anyway. He makes a noise in his throat.
Armand smiles, and lets go.
“Ah.” He says. “I am hasty. Softened by sleep. Forgive me.”
Forgive you! Daniel wants to laugh, but he cannot. Armand blinks at him, unsettled by his silence. Daniel can understand the feeling, for he is never so quiet. But as he looks down at his wrist, and blood trickles down the skin of his arm, he cannot find his words. His sharp tongue lies still.
He glances at Armand, who is watching him carefully. There is a hint of blood on his bottom lip, and Daniel stares it. He reaches out. The pad of his thumb presses down on Armand’s bottom lip- And there is Armand’s fang, glinting under the low light.
Daniel feels a thrill. He is the same boy he once was, curious to a fault. His fingertips brush Armand’s jaw, and he tilts Armand’s head, as if examining him. Armand makes no protest.
It is as if- as if Daniel has done this before.
“There is more, isn’t there?” Daniel asks. Armand’s neck is open to him now, with this angle. Daniel’s gaze traces the slope of it. “There’s more that you aren’t telling me. You didn’t just- sit at the foot of the bed. What else is there?”
“A dangerous line of questioning.” Armand murmurs.
“What else, Armand?”
Armand sighs. Daniel is distracted by the skin of Armand’s neck. The scent of him. The way his eyes flicker gold in the light. His thumb runs absentmindedly over Armand’s chin.
“I am weary.” Armand says. “Ask me later. No more this morning, fledgling.”
“Oh, so you make the rules now, huh?”
Armand’s lips twitch.
“Ah.” He says. “Would you rather I submit to you, instead?”
A surge of warmth makes Daniel melt. He leans forward, just slightly. Armand’s eyes flicker over his face. And Daniel wants him, unbearably, and hates him for it.
“Hm.” Armand says, pleased. “I see. So when you do not have nightmares- Do you dream?”
“Do you?” Daniel says. He is genuinely curious. He can feel his fangs against his bottom lip, aching as he tries to keep his eyes on Armand’s face, away from his neck.
“Often.” Armand says. “Relentlessly.”
Daniel’s hand ghosts along Armand’s cheek, smooths through Armand’s hair. Armand leans into him. That neck, open and willing- That blood that is so much more delightful than any other blood he has drank, in the last three years-
“And you?” Armand asks. He is pathetic, Daniel thinks, as Armand looks up from under his eyelashes. He is pathetic, but fuck, does it work.
“Ha.” Daniel says. “Yeah, no. I’m not telling you that. What, you wanna hear that I dream about you?”
“You don’t?” Armand asks. Frowns, a little, as if it hurts.
I do, Daniel thinks. He leans closer to Armand, and Armand welcomes him, bares his throat, a silent invitation. Daniel- Daniel, damn him, he cannot help but accept it. He is hungry, and he is tired, and he presses his mouth to Armand’s throat.
He hesitates. Armand makes a sound of protest.
“Come, Daniel.” He murmurs. “Peace. You can dream, here.”
Yes, Daniel thinks. His teeth piece Armand’s skin, a tender wound. Armand’s breath catches, and the sound of it is intoxicating, and the first gush of blood into Daniel’s mouth is warm and glorious. With one taste, he is drunk on it.
Armand’s hands are tangled in Daniel’s hair, guiding him just slightly, and- Yes, Daniel thinks, this is a better angle, and the moan that catches in Armand’s throat proves it. Even now, Armand is his guide, his teacher. He tilts his neck a little to allow Daniel space, and Daniel hums, pleased.
He cannot hear Armand’s thoughts, but he can feel him everywhere, and that is enough. More than enough. Armand is a mystery to him still, this unsettling creature, this shadow at the foot of his bed, and yet-
And yet he is close, and he is warm, and he tastes like home, or Daniel’s favourite whiskey, and it is hard not to get lost in him.
When Daniel pulls away, mouth stained with Armand’s blood, Armand keeps them close. He presses their foreheads together, breathes against Daniel’s mouth.
“Do you dream?” He asks, again. Daniel, blood-drunk, cannot deny him this.
“Sure.” Daniel says. “Of fucking- honey and pineapple.”
This is enough to surprise a laugh out of Armand. How delightful it is, that sound, how sweet. Nothing else seems to matter, for now. Nothing else seems to even exist.
The rapture, then, falls over them, just the two of them by Daniel’s coffin. A blessing, a curse. A connection, closeness. At last, at last.
So Daniel tolerates Armand’s presence after that, and allows him to curl up at the foot of his coffin while he sleeps. In the daylight, Daniel lays in the dark of the coffin, and can hear Armand breathing on the other side of it. Sometimes he wakes and Armand is still there, his palm pressed up against the wood.
One morning, it is still early. There is time left yet to sleep. Daniel cracks the coffin open, and calls out into the low light.
“Fuck.” He says. “Just- Jesus, Armand. Fine. You can come in.”
And there is Armand, stirring from sleep, blinking at him owlishly. Hope lights his face up, and makes him look like a boy. It softens Daniel, despite everything.
“Forgive me.” Armand says. “I fear I am in the midst of a dream. I will awaken now.”
Daniel runs a hand over his face.
“Just hurry up, before I change my mind, yeah?”
Armand nods, eager. And then he is stepping inside the coffin, and sliding into the space beside Daniel. Daniel’s heart stutters at the feel of Armand brushing against him. His hand trembles as pulls the coffin lid shut.
It is easier, in the dark. Armand turns to face him, and curls up in the small space so that their noses almost brush. Jesus, Daniel thinks, Armand is so small. He turns too, and rests his arm on Armand’s waist.
It is an enclosed space. Armand’s breath brushes his face. Daniel is caught in the moment, lost in it.
“A dream.” Armand says again. “From which I will awaken at the foot of the bed.”
Daniel closes his eyes.
“Go to sleep.” He grumbles. Armand huffs out a laugh, and rests a palm on Daniel’s chest.
“As you wish.” He murmurs. “Goodnight, Daniel.”
A warm silence. Daniel closes his eyes. He imagines Armand as a spectre at the end of his bed, watching over him as he slept off a fix. He imagines Armand curled up in the dark, sleepy eyes fixed on his face, until they eventually fluttered shut. He thinks of Armand in Dubai, ironing his bedsheets, lingering by his bed. And finally, Armand by his coffin with his face pressed up to the cool wood.
A wave of fondness surprises Daniel with its strength. Perhaps that is why he tilts his head, and presses a gentle kiss to Armand’s mouth.
Once more, it is just the two of them in the entire universe.
Armand, surprised, smiles against his lips.
“Night.” Daniel mutters.
Armand nuzzles his cheek with his nose, his hair tickling Daniel’s face, and it is so sweet and silly that Daniel cannot help it - he smiles too.
This, then, is how they were meant to be all along: two shadows, intertwined in the dark. Somehow, even then, Daniel knows he will never sleep alone again.