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Armand waits inside the Villa dei Misteri, standing in the triclinium. He imagines what it looked like before the volcano blew, how the rooms bustled with movement and the hallways bloomed with laughter. It reminds him of his childhood, the boys running around and the painting lessons he never took part in. It inspires a sad, warm feeling deep within his chest, one he pushes down as he sends a mental command.
The sunset is just cresting over the horizon, plunging the villa into a darkness, only disrupted by soft candle light against holders on the walls. Armand feels when the boy turns down the street. He’s only a minute or two away now, travelling quickly as he carries out Armand’s instructions. He doesn’t know why the boy trusts him so unwaveringly, why he follows the voice inside his head and lets it guide him to Armand every time.
Armand has never done this before. He hasn’t let himself feel so much for a human, not since before his turning. Part of him believes this is not a good idea, that he would be better off staying alone and ignoring the foreign emotions that those green eyes and fluffy brown hair inspire in him. He shouldn’t do this. He doesn’t know if he can open himself up so entirely, to convey what he wants to say, to make him stay.
Before him, covering three of the walls, is a large painting. The centre features Dionysus and his bride Ariadne. He stares at them, admiring the strokes the human eye isn’t refined enough to see, following the dancing motions of the brush, losing himself in the hypnotic dance. He only pulls himself away by the sound of footsteps approaching.
“Hello Daniel,” Armand greets as the boy slips through the doorway, his face unmoving as he holds his hands behind his back.
“Uh, hi, boss… you called for me?” Daniel asks, his tone holding a hint of worry. He comes to stand beside Armand, hands in his pockets, biting his lip as he carries out that wonderful nervous habit Armand adores. Daniel rocks nervously back and forth on his heals, jittery in the way he always is when he hasn’t had his fix in a while.
Armand looks to Daniel then, finally giving the boy his sole attention. His eyes widen a fraction when he realises Daniel is already looking at him, his green eyes like beacons in the low light.
“I’ve called you here today for a reason. I don’t know how to explain this adequately. I feel the need to bring something to light and I’m not sure how it will come across to you, but… I will try my best.”
Daniel looks to the side, his eyes quivering for a moment, his lips becoming puffy and red from his chewing. He takes his hands from his pockets and fiddles with the loose strings at the bottom of his shirt, displacing some of his nervous energy into something less distracting.
“It’s time, huh?” he says, almost sad, which causes Armand to raise a confused eyebrow, though he doesn’t ask the boy to elaborate on these feelings. It’s best for him to focus on himself until he gets over the majority of his own problems.
“Yes, Daniel, it’s time.”
Daniel sighs, a dejected thing, shoulders slumping. “Then, if it’s you, I think I’m weirdly I’m okay with dying. I don’t think I’d want to be killed by anyone else,” Daniel says, struggling sheepishly, looking up at Armand with soft eyes. The sight makes his heart flutter. Daniel looks at him with such emotion that it almost disarms his defences completely.
“I was…” Armand trails off in disbelief. His eyes crinkle at the corners and a smile rises to his face. He shakes his head, looking down at the ground as a puff of laughter leaves his lips. “No, no Daniel, that’s not what I was getting to.”
“Oh! You’re not gonna kill me?!” Daniel half asks, half exclaims, letting out a big sigh of relief as the tension falls from his shoulders. “You don’t know how worried I was ‘Mand, I really thought you were going to kill me!”
“I don’t think I could ever hurt you Daniel. Every day of my life, I have wished upon a shooting star to meet someone who made me feel like you do,” Armand admits. “You’ve brought forth a part of me that I have not felt in a long time. When you are with me, when I stand by your side, I feel…”
Daniel’s eyebrows upturn. His mouth falls into a slight gape, his tongue just visible behind his teeth. Armand stares at it for a moment, wondering how it would feel running over his skin, and then focuses back on the boy. He waits for his reply, his undead heart causing a storm within his chest. If Daniel were a vampire, Armand would be wholly embarrassed with how fast the borrowed blood is pumping through his veins.
“Complete?” Daniel finishes Armand’s sentence, questioning with an inquisitive tilt of his head. Armand often thinks Daniel looks like a puppy, so soft and sweet like he would melt if he got his hands on him. Armand wants to see what would happen if he did. If Daniel feels the same way Armand does, he might learn what that looks like tonight.
“Quite,” Armand replies with a nod, his pupils expanding as the sun begins to set finally, the room becoming that slight bit darker. “The only way I know how to describe what I feel around you is: home. I feel at home around you Daniel. I have not felt such a way in a long, long time.”
“Armand…” Daniel whispers, shocked, his mouth falling into a slight frown as he sniffles, his nose twitching almost unnoticeably. He reaches out, his hand gripping onto Armand’s dark trench coat as if to ground himself in the moment. He wants to delve into Daniel’s mind, to see what the boy thought of the confession, but another part of him detested that. He didn’t want to ruin this. A part of Armand almost wanted to confess like a human, to see the tells through his sight that rely on reading the boys thoughts.
Armand lifts his palm and lets his fingers fall over the ones gripping him, resting there softly, not committing enough to fully hold the Daniel’s hand. Beneath Armand, Daniel takes the initiative and loosens the hold. He curls one of his fingers around Armand’s own, his finger a shock against his cold skin. The warmth bleeds into him — just another way that Daniel makes him feel human again.
“I…” Daniel gulps, sucking in a deep breath. “I feel it… too. I feel that.” He shrugs sheepishly. “I mean, you know me, I’m like a sinking ship in a storm, ruining myself with drugs and other stuff. And then you came, and you pulled me out,” Daniel says, fingers curling tighter around Armand’s stiff ones. “Well, I know I still have problems with, you know, substances and stuff, but it feels easier with you. I don’t know if I’m the sort of… partner you deserve, with all my issues, but I want you.”
“Daniel,” he begins, taking a deep breath. “Heaven has nothing against the feeling of being wrapped up in your arms. You are not deserving of me? Beloved boy, I am not deserving of you. I am the devil who tortured you and stalked you for the better part of four years, you should not feel this way for me at all.”
Daniel laughs. “Boss, when have I ever wanted something that was good for me?”
“Never. And that has never stopped you before.”
“Exactly,” he says, finally linking his and Armand’s fingers together until they were connected together. Daniel’s hand feels perfect in his own, like two pieces of a puzzle fitting together. It blooms a warmth in his heart as his blood pumps maddeningly beneath his skin. “Ask me what I want,” Daniel tells him, running his thumb over the back of Armand’s hand.
“What do you want, Daniel?”
“All I want is to be loved by you,” he says, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. As if letting Armand into his heart is as easy as breathing, or as unintentional as the subconscious warmth he's currently projecting through his mind. He retreats from the boy's mind, unaware that Daniel had been pulling him in the entire time. Armand doesn't want Daniel to be influenced by the feelings of his own heart. He wants this to be real, this human love, even though he can’t remember how that feels anymore.
He doesn't need to read Daniel's mind to know how much the boy loves him. Daniel knows what a monster he is, how angry he can be and how kind he can be the next. Maybe that's what makes it easier. The confessions falls from his mouth like water falling off the edge of a cliff, rather than every other confession he's spoken, where he felt like scratching nails on a chalkboard. It feels natural, like pouring out these words is nothing when faced with Daniel's warm hand beneath his own.
“Beloved, my heart belongs to you.”