Fic

[burnadette_dpdl]

To: @we-called-it-our-conversation

From: @headfrst4halos

Comments: Happy holidays, I hope you enjoy your gift. 

 

In the first few nights after Daniel decided to stop running, he felt reborn. His new life was endless; the future was now a real, tangible thing. He would not be abandoned to live his old life, prisoner to the knowledge he had gained on Divisadero Street many years ago. No one will believe you, Armand had said. In truth, Daniel barely believed himself. Yet at dawn he crawled into the plush hotel bed, the blackout curtains blocking the early morning light. As he drifted off, he wondered if he would develop a vitamin D deficiency doing this, hiding from the sun…

At sundown Armand was at the foot of his bed, an apparition holding a cup of coffee and a bag of pastries. The sight was almost comical after all those years on the run. What had it been, four? And this was what he had feared? Oh, but the fangs would come out. They always did.

 

Wordlessly, Daniel shifted and Armand moved to take up the available space. Since they met, Armand had always taken space. He seeped into every aspect of Daniel’s life until he was all that remained, but it still wasn’t enough.

 

When their hands brushed, it was warmer than Daniel had anticipated. A recent kill. He shuddered, opened the bag of pastries. “I got one of everything they had, ” Armand said, “will you tell me what they are like?” His tone was casual, but Daniel could feel the tension radiating from him. It was static, nervous, perhaps he felt just as lost in this rare moment of peace. He knew that soon Armand would be dragging him out of bed, into the shower, out onto the streets of London.

 

Daniel reached into the bag, selecting a cherry Danish. He took a bite, then set it down on the bed. He could describe the flavor, but he knew that wasn’t the question Armand was asking.  “My grandma used to get these for me when I was a kid. They sold them at the gas station by her house, wrapped in plastic.” Armand was watching him in his bizarrely still way. Always attentive, rarely patient. “I never liked them much. Even in the good ones, the filling tastes like medicine.” He paused, sighing, “But you’ve never tasted that. To me, it tastes like being ill. For other people it’s just fake, overly sweet fruit.”

 

Armand nodded, tossing the offending danish into the trash before Daniel finished his sentence. He was always so restless, a sense of urgency that didn’t quite line up with the length of his life. Daniel thought it was the disconnect with modern life that caused it, that Armand was driving himself insane trying to catch up for the years that he missed. He sometimes wondered if Armand would forever be searching for whatever understanding still managed to elude him. “I was ill when I was alive. It was unpleasant.” He remained on the bed. So far, so good. Perhaps Armand would even let him finish his coffee. Daniel took a sip then set the mug back on the nightstand. He could feel the sugar coating his throat. He swallowed again, grabbed a glazed donut.

 

“These ones are the best. My dad used to dip them in his coffee. Hell, he might still do it.” Daniel set the donut beside the coffee without taking a bite. He knew he had a father, probably still had a father, but that life seemed so far behind him he wasn’t sure if he had lived it at all. Armand put a hand on his arm. No, he could never go back to his old life. He had opened Pandora’s box, but had yet to find the curse. “They’re good because they’re simple.” Armand nodded, seemingly satisfied with his answer.

 

Daniel reached into the bag again, pulling out a croissant. “This one reminds me of you. I didn’t eat them until I was in Paris.” He handed the croissant to Armand. “Do you remember? It was one of the only times you spoke to me. You were always quiet in Paris. I thought I must have angered you, the silence was deafening after your usual endless barrage of questions. Anyway, you found me outside the Louvre, smoking at a cafe. You sat down across from me with a croissant and asked-”

 

“I asked you if you could imagine the boulevards filled with waste and rotting corpses,” Armand finished, the corners of his mouth turning up. “And you asked me, weren’t they still?”

 

Daniel moved to grab another pastry, but Armand set the bag on the floor, climbing onto Daniel’s lap. “I loved you then, Daniel,” he said solemnly, “I love you now, perhaps too much.”

 

“Then show me.” Daniel never managed to finish his coffee.

 

——————————————————————————————————

 

One night, years later, Daniel woke up to Armand fidgeting restlessly in the bed beside him, a small box in his lap. Over the years they had both learned to slow down, but Armand was still impatient. Daniel remembered their first nights together, sitting in hotel rooms and discussing the emotional significance of pastries. Armand had put the image into his head, but still, Daniel smiled. He knew Armand could find whatever information he wanted, but he had always wanted to learn how Daniel understood the world. And so he had always asked but never forced him to tell his story. “What’s up, boss? In the mood for a new story?” Armand shook his head.

 

“I have a story for you this time, beloved.” Daniel sat up and reached for his glasses. They were on his face before he got to them. This time, Armand didn’t hand him the box. Once he was sure he had Daniel’s attention, he spoke of a small snowy village, a boy artist who created works not made by human hands, and of how the boy had those gifts taken from him by the cruelty of others. How no other gifts had ever been regarded so highly, that none of the things he had given of himself had the same significance of the things that had been given by God. A God he no longer heard, one that he would likely never hear again.

 

Armand answered questions that Daniel had only guessed the answers to, a painful vulnerability that had only worsened over the past five hundred years. Confirmation that the endless gifts were just a way of giving him reasons to reconsider leaving, a physical manifestation of the understanding Armand knew he lacked but wanted so desperately. The companionship he had longed for all his immortal life that Daniel desperately, selfishly, wanted to give him.

 

Once he finished, Daniel took the box from Armand, setting it on the floor. He climbed onto Armand’s lap, placing his hands against the side of his face. “I love you, Armand, perhaps too much.” Their mouths met, and Daniel tasted blood.

 

“Then show me.”