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He proposed because of him.
It was as simple as that. And it wasn't like Daniel wasn't happy with Alice, but marriage was never something either of them had been interested in — they were both children of the sexual revolution after all, they both had more important things to worry about than meeting each other at the altar. Even when they found out Alice was pregnant, even when they decided to keep the baby, even when Liv was born, neither of them felt that it was necessary to confirm their relationship in that way (much to their respective parents' disapproval). However, Daniel couldn't say proposing wasn't in the back of his mind because they were going on a (romantic) vacation to Paris. That was what you did in Paris— after you'd gotten your shit together, after you no longer felt the anxious need to chase adrenaline and then finally bring it down with a little heroin here and some benzos there, after the itch was not so painfully obvious, when stability was finally a given and your daughter was old enough to be left with her grandparents for a couple weeks: you proposed to your girlfriend. City of love and all that. And marriage certainly made things easier legally.
And there he was in Paris with no real intention of popping the question, but three hours with Armand while Alice went to a lecture on re-contextualizing Freud or something (Daniel respectfully chose not to attend) and Daniel found himself stumbling headfirst into a jeweller's and, after trying to barter in his broken French, buying a ring he really couldn't afford. They both cried when he asked, Alice giggling when he actually got down on one knee; they both laughed when the ring didn't fit quite right; and they grinned helplessly as they ate their dessert, getting brain freeze from the ice cream. They made love back at the hotel and it was good, better even than it had been before, her mouth slack, breaths hot, the sweat on her neck salty and intoxicating, her nails digging into his ribs sharp— Armand's nails were always sharp and Daniel had to convince him to cut them before he'd let him fuck him, ignoring Armand's arguments that he would be careful, he would never hurt him, but Daniel had heard that all before. Armand's nails always grew back the next evening. He shouldn't have been thinking about him as Alice came apart in his hands, he shouldn't have been thinking about golden and blood-red eyes as his own climax hit, biting Alice's shoulder because he was too scared what words he might have unintentionally screamed out in blind pleasure. And he shouldn't have proposed to her because Armand had the audacity to hold him so maddeningly tender and tell him "I love you" into his chest, above Daniel's beating heart.
Daniel walks backwards through the memory, a slow zip-line reminding him of all the little mistakes he made that lead him to making one of the biggest decisions of his life. One he never thought he'd regret, one that despite how everything went to shit he couldn't regret. There were too many good memories, there was Alice walking down the aisle, there was Liv in her flower girl dress, there was his father crying and for once in his miserable life telling Daniel he was proud of him. All of these memories that he can hold on to when he can't return Liv's calls or when he can't get to the hospital to see his father on his deathbed. Perhaps forgetting the mistakes is a problem though. Look at what he sacrificed, there is no room to regret the life he's lived when he had immortality hovering teasingly over his lips. But it will always be there tempting him, just out of reach as the resentment within him grows and grows. And it's too late to turn back now.
When Daniel gets to the beginning, he can feel the chill in the late afternoon air, begins to notice scattered droplets of rain on his face. He can smell espresso and fresh bread and strong blue cheese. His mouth waters at the shock of familiarity, the realization that memory lives in all five senses.
Places! The scene is set, the lights come down, the curtain rises, the overture begins. Daniel is helpless to move now, caught by the action. He watches the memory play out in front of him in triple time like he's just pressed fast forward on a VCR. (Armand always loved VCRs, collecting VHS tapes he would watch over and over, and then he'd make his own films and he would watch those over and over — anecdotal recollections Daniel can feel slipping through his grasp as he recalls them.)
Daniel wasn't surprised when he looked up from his book (it was either The Scarlet Letter or A Kiss Before Dying, but he can't remember now and watching from the outskirts he can't make out the cover as the memory starts to become fuzzy), and saw Armand sitting across the table from him in the café. Armand lowered his eyes, smiled, and plucked the book from Daniel's hands. His nails were already cut, something he'd never done prior to them meeting up before. The anticipation thrummed between them, heat stirred in Daniel's belly and he grabbed his book back — Armand letting the softcover slip from his hands as he grinned up at Daniel — and slammed it shut.
"Let's get out of here," Daniel said, slamming back the rest of his coffee.
"No need to rush," Armand said. "I want to show you something."
The ground shifts and the sky darkens as the scene moves around him and now he's watching evening crowds on the Rue de Rivoli.
A 27-year-old Daniel and his demon lover walked down the street, sneaking glances at each other and trading knowing smiles as their hands bumped. Daniel found the momentary courage to grab at Armand's fingers, warm from the kill, soft in his hand. "The Louvre closed two hours ago, Armand," Daniel said, as it became clear that was exactly where they were headed, holding up their clasped hands to look at his watch.
"Beloved," Armand said, his amusement never well hidden with Daniel. The endearment made Daniel all too aware of their threaded fingers and Armand's voice echoing through his head asking to kiss his hand. Daniel pulled away and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. Armand only nodded, accepting Daniel's anxiety, and continued. "You should know by now locked doors are not an obstacle to us."
Daniel didn't know if he meant "us" as in vampires or "us" as in the two of them, but it didn't matter. Daniel was suddenly whisked through catacombs, specific passages that Armand said only vampires had any true knowledge of — but the secret corridor into the Louvre was his alone.
He and Alice had gone to The Louvre two days ago, so Daniel didn't pay much attention to the art as he wandered the dark halls with Armand. Instead, he listened to Armand's anecdotes about various sculptures and paintings and artists and locations, his attention zooming from one topic to another faster than Daniel could keep up with; but his excitement was always palpable, infectious. They stopped in front of Mantegna's St. Sebastian, Armand silent, contemplative.
"You always need something for yourself," Armand said, his eyes studying the painted saint he'd surely seen countless times before. "Of course, I've brought others here, but the directions are mine alone."
Daniel didn't understand it.
"Who else have you brought here?" Daniel asked. Bold as fuck for Armand to tell him he'd brought other people —lovers presumably— to the most famous art gallery in the world, in front of a painting of the world's most visually homoerotic saint no less.
"Louis," Armand answered quietly. Daniel wondered if the silence of the empty museum encouraged the softness in his voice, or if it was shame at having to mention his ex-lover. Something in Armand's eyes, wide and full of what Daniel could only call ennui, had him assuming it was both. "The night he agreed to be my companion."
Daniel felt sick at the implication, scoffed to mask his fear at what he might do if Armand actually asked.
"It doesn't imply anything," Armand said. "I loved him. I love you. I love art. I don't see the problem in sharing it."
"Just because you don't see it, doesn't mean it isn't there, Armand," Daniel said, his raised voice echoing through the corridors. "So what is this? I'm in Paris with my girlfriend, for Christ's sake. Do you expect me to just drop everything and run off with you so I can be your little houseboy just waiting to be turned? Fuck you."
"Please, I don't want to fight—"
"And I don't want to keep being strung along."
"You come to me of your own accord."
"You found me."
"We found each other," Armand said earnestly, pushing right into Daniel's space and bringing his hands up to reach for his face. Daniel swatted him away, catching Armand's right wrist in his hand, pressing his fingers into Armand's pulse beating with the thrum of human blood. "I need you, Daniel."
"You know what I want."
"And you know you won't leave her," Armand said. "Them. Why this if you won't?"
"Thought your ability to seduce was beyond your control," Daniel huffed.
"You think I'm manipulating you into being here with me?"
"I don't know what to think anymore," Daniel confessed, letting Armand's arm go, letting Armand finally place a hand on his jaw.
"Then don't think," Armand whispered, head close and lips brushing the side of Daniel's mouth. "We're in Paris."
"And I bet that means nothing to you," Daniel said, but he was already being kissed, swept up in Armand's irresistibility, hating him for it, hating himself for being too weak to stop it.
Armand's arms were around him in the past, in the present Armand presses his fingers to his temples, his forehead to his forehead and breathes with air he doesn't need to live but lets it come out shuddered to let Daniel know that taking the painful memories hurts just as much as the beautiful ones. More often than not they're one in the same. If Daniel opens his eyes he'll see blood on Armand's cheeks, Daniel's memories pouring out of him in tears. But he doesn't dare. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter, he forgets the— where had they just been? Versailles? No, they hadn't gone to Versailles then. They'd never gone to Versailles. Or had they? He can't remember now.
Armand pushes the scene forwards, it keeps playing out. Armand's rooms by Église Saint-Sulpice. Armand's bed with the canopy like a forest, the sheets red like blood, the duvet kicked to the floor, and Daniel spread out and open while Armand fucked him slowly with two fingers and grazed his fangs up his thighs, refusing to touch his erection, letting Daniel keen and whine and beg for him.
It had to have been Armand's favourite sound. Daniel begging.
"Come on," Daniel said, his voice low, strung out, breathless. "I don't have all night."
"I'm aware," Armand replied, not looking him in the eyes. He kissed around Daniel's navel, chin unintentionally (actually it was probably intentional, the tease) touching his dick on his way there. "When you do," he licked up his sternum, "you won't need to talk so much," he curled his fingers, brushing Daniel's prostate, "when I'm inside you." He bit into his neck.
Daniel kissed his own blood off Armand's mouth as Armand finally wrapped a hand around his dick and stroked him hard and quick, his fingers slipping from Daniel's ass to hold himself up as his determination shifted. "Jesus Christ, just fuck me, Armand," Daniel growled into Armand's mouth, reaching for Armand's dick, his right leg coming up further along Armand's torso, his heel pushing into Armand's back.
"You don't have all night," Armand echoed, too much humour in his eyes for the circumstances.
"Fuck you."
"You're so beautiful like this, Daniel," Armand said, and slowly he lined himself up and pushed in. "When you need me as much as I need you."
"I don't need you," Daniel argued, but his mind gasped for blood reciprocated.
Unmoving, Armand looked down at Daniel, looked past the lie, and grinned. He made a show of biting into his tongue and lowering down to let the blood drip onto Daniel's lips, into his mouth. They kissed, tooth and fang, Armand's tongue already healing, and they fucked and fucked and fucked until Armand, dripping with blood sweat bit out an earnest "I love you" against Daniel's beating heart, and Daniel came.
He couldn't say it back. Couldn't allow himself to say it back. He flipped Armand over and blew him, hoping that was enough. Knowing nothing was ever enough for either of them.
Daniel is thankful when the memory is gone.
Daniel can't remember what he's thankful for.
The story goes like this:
Daniel saw the ring in a shop window when he'd run out in the morning to grab them breakfast from the café down the block from the hotel. Sure, he had thought about proposing, especially since they were in Paris, but it wasn't until he saw that ring that he knew he was going to do it. He could see that ring on Alice's finger. He took note of it, and went back when the jeweller's had opened for the day and bought it with the money he said he had been saving up always with the intention of spending it on a ring. It was the spontaneity that was truly romantic for Alice though, and he loved that about her. How much more exciting was it that he chose to play it by ear? How much more exciting was it that the moment he felt that he wanted to, he committed, and he did it.
The memory goes like this:
He proposed because he wanted to.