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When Louis first told him he’d been thinking about “recollection and memory” lately and wanted to revisit the 1973 interview, Armand knew he couldn’t say no.
He wasn’t afraid to state his disdain for the idea; his disinterest in opening their home to yet another human, especially one that hadn’t been personally vetted to be here by himself. He wasn’t afraid to tell Louis that he wouldn’t leave him alone in the room with some inane scribbler and that while he wouldn’t reveal himself per Louis’ request, he would still be watching closely the entire time. He wasn’t afraid of Louis’ ire at his disagreement, he made sure to make his feelings known.
He didn’t tell Louis the real reason he was so against it.
His companion of 77 years was many things. Lovely in both face and personality, while also having a hint of madness buried under the surface that had always intrigued him. Damaged in a way that had drawn him in decades ago and had once been his favorite part of the man. Perhaps over the years his bursts of melancholy had grown tedious. His desire for connection with humans and inability to accept his own nature had grown exhausting, but Armand did love him. Just possibly not in the way that Louis believed them to be in love.
Armand never felt too guilty about it, considering Louis didn’t believe they were in love the way he claimed either.
But Louis didn’t know about Armand’s history with the boy. He didn’t know about the months of stalking him after the failed interview, the months of watching and chasing and wondering what made this stupid child so interesting. So fascinating . And when he did realize it, when he finally saw what had drawn Louis in so strongly, it was already too late. Armand had also lost himself in the pull.
He’d kissed the boy under the cover of darkness in Pompeii and that had been the beginning of the end. Louis had never noticed, but Armand no longer claimed the other as the love of his life. That title– beloved– no longer belonged to him.
It belonged to a silly, twisted human that Armand had fallen desperately in love with. Their relationship had been passionate, violent, and torturous for them both. It had ended in tears of blood and words of brutality that Armand knew neither of them had meant. It had ended with Armand looking into the eyes of the man he’d loved for 12 years, and putting him to rest. Taking himself out of his story. Erasing everything that had shaped them both since the middle of the 70s and then returning to his home with Louis. A home Louis hadn’t even noticed he’d strayed from.
So no, Louis didn’t know the real reason Armand resisted bringing Daniel Malloy into their home. And for this fact alone, Armand knew he couldn’t fight it too strongly. He’d spent too many years hiding things from his companion, he couldn’t become obvious now.
So the tapes were sent. The message was delivered and a beautiful, flawed boy came across the world during a pandemic to see someone he only barely remembered anymore.
Armand deeply regretted not erasing the 1973 encounter in its entirety. Perhaps then Daniel would have tossed everything away as the ravings of a deranged fan and not come.
(He knew this isn’t what would have happened. He knew his Danny would have been too intrigued by the voices on the tapes. Even without memory, he would have wondered why he so easily believed a man telling him they were a vampire. Danny always would have come.)
(It was one of the many things Armand loved about him.)
Now, he sat in a corner, looking at his iPad and attempting not to stare at the man seated across from Louis, focused entirely on the other man as he began to describe his life in New Orleans, his life before him .
There had been a time that those eyes would have immediately fixed on Armand and not looked away for anything. Armand knew that he had crafted this persona specifically so he would be invisible, so that he would be uninteresting to the journalist. That didn’t stop the pressure in his chest at seeing those eyes slide over him as if he didn’t matter.
(He already knew he was going to ruin this for himself. He was going to drag Daniel’s attention back to him somehow. He could feel the same madness that had come over him 50 years ago taking hold once more.)
He only half listened to Louis’ story, the flaws and hidden truths of it. He was more focused on the soft breathing of the only human in the room, the gentle tremor in his hand that Armand wanted to reach out and steady. Daniel’s eyes may no longer fix on him, but he was forever Armand’s true north.
He had been wrong all those years ago, when he’d thought that by erasing himself, he was erasing the entanglement.
He would never be free of this man. He would never stop wanting him, never stop loving him.
He could never let him go.