Louis remembers now. Louis has thought on it since, the things he knows that he hadn't for a long time. Daniel, on his couch that first night, tugging at the collar of his shirt to draw attention to the scar Louis left.
Here, now, Louis turns to look at him across the pillows. Finds the mark, still there on Daniel's throat and lets it reassure, underscore the joke.
"I'd be real gentle," Louis promises, grinning around a mouthful of smoke. "I've had some practice since then."
Damek, after all, has no scars at all. Louis has refined his technique. (Louis had guide rails, had a harness. What is that restraint now that he's cast those off?)
In 1973, Daniel would have just let him. To turn him, to just drink from him for the fuck of it— anything. He was there. Into it. Full send. He looks back and wants to die of embarrassment; he looks back and there's impossible fondness.
It's a fucked up thing, but it's their fucked up thing.
"Oh, I know." Dry, with a laugh as he adjust his positioning, half on his side. Not paying attention to the movie, but the movie's not the point. "You liked showing off."
They don't have to talk about Armand.
"And you did sort of freak me out with it." Sort of. Because Daniel was a little freaked out, and Daniel was a little turned on, and Daniel was very very curious and taking a million notes and running a dozen calculations, some of which Louis noticed. "But I believe you. Very gentle, if you ever chew on me again. Though, yeah, you didn't bring Damek, huh?"
Carefully chosen words. Let, invoking permission, implying a request.
Damek had been more than happy to enjoy a paid vacation in New York City. But Louis might have taken him in the wilds of Vermont, had things gone differently.
"I'm not expecting you to supplement my meals," feels like a thing to offer, assure. It's not Daniel's job to make sure Louis eats. He has a century under his belt. He has enough stock traveling with them.
Perhaps he will eat a tourist. Test the waters.
Regardless, none of it is Daniel's to worry about.
A minor fumble, and Daniel looks a smidge sheepish. Knowing, it seems, that he's offering something fairly intimate. But Louis is his friend, and he knows he's in a transitional phase.
"Just an option. And I trust you. Shit's weird, and whatever, so. You know." He shrugs. "It wouldn't make me uncomfortable. There. That sounded normal, right? Is there protocol about this sort of thing?"
Inside thoughts happening outside, but he trusts Louis with these, too.
Louis watches Daniel from behind little plumes of exhaled smoke. Lets himself feel the way the proposition appeals. To touch the edges of his affection for Daniel, map out something deep and enduring and tender that Louis has carried fr over fifty years.
"No protocol."
Though Louis admittedly has a skewed perspective. There is Lestat, and there is Armand, and Louis hasn't made a habit of indulging with anyone beyond the two of them.
Quiet stretching out between them. Louis studying Daniel, missing the sharp blue of his eyes. Finally, reaches out with his free hand to cup Daniel's cheek.
"Don't offer because you feel bad, or you pity me or something like that," Louis tells him, stipulating. "That's not what I want."
His eyes do a funny thing when Louis touches him. Wide with surprise, shifting paler despite maintaining that undead density, reminiscent of the watery blue-green he had while alive. He's pretty sure he hasn't just offered to suck Louis off (despite being intensely aware of what it can feel like, now, thanks to Armand), so this is just emotional significance.
Still. A feeling! He's grateful for the sliver of an edge being off, with the baby joint.
Daniel ends up laughing, though, when he recovers and hears that stipulation—
"You're mistaking me for somebody a lot more passive-aggressive if you think I'd offer anything out of pity. You're my friend, Louis."
Thumb running soft across Daniel's cheek, Louis smiling at little at him. Fond. Endlessly fond of Daniel. Daniel who makes this assertion and leaves Louis to ride out the complex wash of emotion it provokes.
They're friends. Louis was so careless with him.
"I know," at last, settling on the words. "We are."
Daniel is so important.
"I'm not starving," Louis promises. "I'm just figuring out how it's gonna be now."
What kind of hunter Louis will become. If he could ever take pleasure in the kill.
Easy, right? It can be. It can be casual, if they decide it is, and Louis deserves to have every option available to him while he figures it out. Daniel raises his hand to touch Louis' against his face, and gives him a reassuring squeeze.
"Maybe you're sick of me asking if you're doing okay, so I won't. But I give a fuck, is all. You're on my mind often. And I'm glad for that, because it means we're still here."
Louis and the long weeks where he does not, cannot eat. Louis worrying his companions. Louis, with a bowl of blood and no appetite for it.
Daniel should be spared it all.
Gently, Louis coaxes him across the mattress. He wants more than this bare slip of contact, though he doesn't yield it in the process.
"I think about you often," Louis tells him. Daniel's not the only one allowed to worry. But still, reassured: "I'm okay. I'm gonna keep on being okay."
And then, with a slanting smile, Louis reminds, "You can ask me anything. Would be a little late to start complaining."
Coaxed, Daniel goes, his expression curious. Eyebrows knitted just a little as he lets Louis direct where he ends up. Are they friends like this, more contact than just a touch to his face, the occasional hug? He wouldn't mind. Some traitorous little part of him tries to flicker to life, thinking about it, but he puts that away. A hundred reasons.
(Louis is worth getting his heart broken over, yes, but still, he'd prefer not to get his heart broken.)
"Hey," he huffs a laugh, "Interview's over. This is regular, consequence-of-knowing-me blunt busybody shit."
"And I'm telling you the blunt busybody bullshit is okay with me."
Even when it's annoying. Even when Daniel jabs at sensitive, tender parts of him. Even when Daniel pries past Louis' instincts to deflect and hide.
It's Daniel. Daniel has permission, always. Always.
Invited now to lean into Louis, to tangle chastely over the coverlet. They hadn't done this before, not in Dubai, not in San Francisco. (Not that Louis can remember, a thing that is always a question now.) But Louis invites him in now, head tipped back on the pillow to draw in a deep breath of smoke and hold it as Daniel settles.
"I'll remember you said that," is both fond and threatening.
Maybe it's not all the way new. Maybe Daniel really did lay next to him in that bed in Louis' shitty flop house of an apartment, but Louis would have been burned, and miserable, and they wouldn't have touched. Daniel would have looked at him and tried to say something helpful, and maybe they smiled at each other, mutual hostages; Louis shouldn't have picked him up, Daniel shouldn't have gone with him, but they each made a choice, and so, there they were, together.
Much more comfortable here. Stupid movie on, the last third of a rolled-up joint scored off some college kids. Lestat, somewhere on a business call, but still welcome to fling the door open and join them. Their mortal gang, asleep. (Armand, hopefully still in New York.)
"I didn't realize you were quite that hands-off with your staff."
Since Rachida through him under the bus, he might as well ask.
Louis dreams sometimes, vivid distortions that might be memory might be something else. Daniel lays beside him now and there is no pain. Louis' fingers skimmed his face, now toy with the curls at Daniel's nape. Comfortable. No one is burning, no one is bleeding.
Louis yields the joint.
Whatever question he'd been expecting, it hadn't been this. Daniel has had a long time to ask after his staff. Had thought the interest passed after Armand had been revealed, after Rashid had tipped his hand.
"They're my employees," is a little questioning, words wreathed in smoke. "We have a professional relationship."
Daniel takes a hit. Nearly done. They have a few more joints, and maybe they'll go through them, maybe they won't. In no hurry. They have eternity.
"Well,"
Well. The interview is over, but Daniel is still Daniel, and there's still so much about Louis to investigate. Daniel would like to be on Vampire Wikipedia and ask one million questions, forever. Did his previous canines fall out? Did his old fingernails fall out? Are you sure you can't turn into a bat?
(Are you sure you're okay? Will you be okay? Is it my fault?)
"Some of them seemed to live with you, and they know your most terrifying, compromising secrets. But you were not into karaoke with the help."
Enough so that there is no tension in Louis' body, still loose-limbed alongside Daniel, fingers steady in his hair. Amused, and letting Daniel see it.
"We don't socialize."
Obviously.
"Does that bother you?"
Confuse might be the better word. Or no, not that. Louis is trying to work it out, to decide if Daniel finds this incongruous or if he simply objects. Or both. Or if it is the difference in their lifestyles, their age. Louis with a handful of decades maintaining staff, choosing what was necessary to organize his life and maintain his businesses, what was a good use of his fortune and what was a foolish risk.
"It surprised me a little," he corrects. "Not that I think everybody needs to be as overlapped as writers with editors and assistants. This whole writing gig, it's stupid, it's a lot of disemboweling yourself creatively in public, so." Daniel shrugs. Gets a little personal. Work from home on hell.
But—
"A funny incident, somebody drunk at a Christmas party, I dunno. I figured you'd have had something. You, at least. You like people. You're not just this scary vampire. I didn't know they hadn't seen... you."
Louis lets them stay there, quiet. Daniel will wait for him. Louis knows that. Daniel will pry relentlessly after answers, yes, but he's given Louis room to breathe. Maybe led him, kited Louis towards answers Daniel sensed before Louis could parse them out.
The amusement goes. Turns pensive. Feels their breath, rising and falling in time.
"I didn't want them to see me," Louis says at last. Corrects himself: "I don't want them to see me."
A thing Louis hasn't looked directly at in twenty years, at least.
He gives Louis proverbial space. No carrot this time. He just wants to know, because Louis is his friend; that Daniel is bad at not driving all of his friends away because he's annoying and over-curious and pushy is just a part of knowing Daniel. He thinks this is lowkey.
That answer gives him pause. It makes sense, but it also makes something in Daniel ache. Bittersweet. Louis deserves to be seen, but Louis' relationship with his own identity has been profoundly fucked over.
Daniel lays a hand on his chest. Returning the affectionate touch to his own face.
Daniel, giving him a pass. Louis tips a small smile up at the ceiling.
"You see me."
And it's enough. Enough that Daniel sees him, Louis as he is now.
It's a fear Louis has sometimes, when it is him and Lestat in a room together. They are both vastly different people than they'd been, and they are still very much the same. Easy to worry that Lestat looks at Louis and wishes for the person Louis had been once. That he finds the man he is now wanting.
Hey, man, it's not a pass, it's real acceptance. He can't bulldoze Louis into being completely healed with full self-esteem overnight. He'd have done it by now otherwise.
"I'd like to think I do," he says, of seeing Louis. "I hope so. I like that you let me."
Daniel cares about him so much.
And importantly:
"I see you. I like you. The person you are. The person I saw a little bit here and there, and get to see all the time now."
A careless oops, but a well-meaning one. (You know, sort of. Jeannie getting away blameless. Daniel is still curious.) Daniel loves Louis, he thinks he's great. Why wouldn't his employees think that? They basically live with him.
But of course. Louis hasn't been himself. And maybe not everyone sees as sharply as Daniel does. Which sucks, honestly. Louis deserves to be free from all of this— but he knows it'll take time.
Daniel will always seen him. Louis will always let him.
He's been twirling the gray curls at Daniel's nape between his fingers. Lifts his free hand to lay over Daniel's on his chest. Promising eternity. A clearer, less guilt-soaked assurance. Louis will be here. He isn't going anywhere.
Right now, he does not want to die.
"You gonna let me see you too?"
Louis could touch his mind. But he doesn't want to hunt for anything. He wants whatever Daniel is giving.
The promise washes over Daniel, warm. He's been disillusioned, about relationships. Platonic, romantic, familial. They don't last. In some fucked up way, it gives him hope seeing Louis reconnect with Lestat. Daniel screws everything up, but he might not ever screw up that bad. He can hope, anyway.
(This is positive about Lestat!! Shhh!!)
He wants Louis to stick around. He wants to be his friend, for that whole eternity.
"Don't you?" Maybe it sucks trying to figure people out, after Armand. (Armand. Who Daniel promised to spend time with.) "I dunno how mysterious I am. My employees all know way too much about me. Almost as much as you do."
"Fifty years is a long time," is a funny thing for a vampire to say.
Louis, alive for over a century, still young enough to weigh the passing years. Still young enough to look at nearly eighty years and feel the full weight of it rather than shrug it off easy.
"I was far away while you grew up."
So much of Daniel's life is on pages and television screens, yes. But Louis cannot believe that there were not things left out. That Daniel kept things for himself as Louis tried to keep things for himself.
And maybe Louis is entitled to none of it. Maybe he should simply be grateful. (He is. He is grateful for Daniel, always.)
Maybe it is only some quiet, anxious fear that Daniel is holding something obscured and away to avoid burdening Louis with it.
"Didn't feel like it. Felt like it went by pretty fast."
A blink. One minute he's signing divorce papers, handing them over to Alice, the next minute he's arguing with his youngest daughter about the car she wrecked. When did his knees start hurting? He didn't get enough time with knees that didn't hurt.
Until now.
"You'd have just watched me make stupid mistakes, over and over. You got the highlights. Everything about me that's worthwhile comes out best in writing, even if it's about other people. Probably especially thing."
Louis doesn't like it, the way Daniel says this about himself. Doesn't like the way he devalues his story, himself alongside it.
"Saying that like you ain't listened to me making the same mistakes over and over," Louis points out.
Daniel knows everything. Saw everything, even when Louis hadn't. But Louis can't exactly boast that kind of insight. Can't pretend he'd offer anything other than his own desires, the wish to know Daniel as Daniel knows him.
Nothing else, for a beat after that. Louis' eyes trace the crack in the ceiling, the shadows cast by the light.
"I don't want you to forget it all," he whispers. "I know you gonna be your own vampire, but don't lose the rest."
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Louis remembers now. Louis has thought on it since, the things he knows that he hadn't for a long time. Daniel, on his couch that first night, tugging at the collar of his shirt to draw attention to the scar Louis left.
Here, now, Louis turns to look at him across the pillows. Finds the mark, still there on Daniel's throat and lets it reassure, underscore the joke.
"I'd be real gentle," Louis promises, grinning around a mouthful of smoke. "I've had some practice since then."
Damek, after all, has no scars at all. Louis has refined his technique. (Louis had guide rails, had a harness. What is that restraint now that he's cast those off?)
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It's a fucked up thing, but it's their fucked up thing.
"Oh, I know." Dry, with a laugh as he adjust his positioning, half on his side. Not paying attention to the movie, but the movie's not the point. "You liked showing off."
They don't have to talk about Armand.
"And you did sort of freak me out with it." Sort of. Because Daniel was a little freaked out, and Daniel was a little turned on, and Daniel was very very curious and taking a million notes and running a dozen calculations, some of which Louis noticed. "But I believe you. Very gentle, if you ever chew on me again. Though, yeah, you didn't bring Damek, huh?"
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Carefully chosen words. Let, invoking permission, implying a request.
Damek had been more than happy to enjoy a paid vacation in New York City. But Louis might have taken him in the wilds of Vermont, had things gone differently.
"I'm not expecting you to supplement my meals," feels like a thing to offer, assure. It's not Daniel's job to make sure Louis eats. He has a century under his belt. He has enough stock traveling with them.
Perhaps he will eat a tourist. Test the waters.
Regardless, none of it is Daniel's to worry about.
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A minor fumble, and Daniel looks a smidge sheepish. Knowing, it seems, that he's offering something fairly intimate. But Louis is his friend, and he knows he's in a transitional phase.
"Just an option. And I trust you. Shit's weird, and whatever, so. You know." He shrugs. "It wouldn't make me uncomfortable. There. That sounded normal, right? Is there protocol about this sort of thing?"
Inside thoughts happening outside, but he trusts Louis with these, too.
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Louis watches Daniel from behind little plumes of exhaled smoke. Lets himself feel the way the proposition appeals. To touch the edges of his affection for Daniel, map out something deep and enduring and tender that Louis has carried fr over fifty years.
"No protocol."
Though Louis admittedly has a skewed perspective. There is Lestat, and there is Armand, and Louis hasn't made a habit of indulging with anyone beyond the two of them.
Quiet stretching out between them. Louis studying Daniel, missing the sharp blue of his eyes. Finally, reaches out with his free hand to cup Daniel's cheek.
"Don't offer because you feel bad, or you pity me or something like that," Louis tells him, stipulating. "That's not what I want."
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Still. A feeling! He's grateful for the sliver of an edge being off, with the baby joint.
Daniel ends up laughing, though, when he recovers and hears that stipulation—
"You're mistaking me for somebody a lot more passive-aggressive if you think I'd offer anything out of pity. You're my friend, Louis."
(Daniel is the regular kind of aggressive.)
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They're friends. Louis was so careless with him.
"I know," at last, settling on the words. "We are."
Daniel is so important.
"I'm not starving," Louis promises. "I'm just figuring out how it's gonna be now."
What kind of hunter Louis will become. If he could ever take pleasure in the kill.
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Easy, right? It can be. It can be casual, if they decide it is, and Louis deserves to have every option available to him while he figures it out. Daniel raises his hand to touch Louis' against his face, and gives him a reassuring squeeze.
"Maybe you're sick of me asking if you're doing okay, so I won't. But I give a fuck, is all. You're on my mind often. And I'm glad for that, because it means we're still here."
Not a bad or inconvenient preoccupation at all.
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Louis and the long weeks where he does not, cannot eat. Louis worrying his companions. Louis, with a bowl of blood and no appetite for it.
Daniel should be spared it all.
Gently, Louis coaxes him across the mattress. He wants more than this bare slip of contact, though he doesn't yield it in the process.
"I think about you often," Louis tells him. Daniel's not the only one allowed to worry. But still, reassured: "I'm okay. I'm gonna keep on being okay."
And then, with a slanting smile, Louis reminds, "You can ask me anything. Would be a little late to start complaining."
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(Louis is worth getting his heart broken over, yes, but still, he'd prefer not to get his heart broken.)
"Hey," he huffs a laugh, "Interview's over. This is regular, consequence-of-knowing-me blunt busybody shit."
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Even when it's annoying. Even when Daniel jabs at sensitive, tender parts of him. Even when Daniel pries past Louis' instincts to deflect and hide.
It's Daniel. Daniel has permission, always. Always.
Invited now to lean into Louis, to tangle chastely over the coverlet. They hadn't done this before, not in Dubai, not in San Francisco. (Not that Louis can remember, a thing that is always a question now.) But Louis invites him in now, head tipped back on the pillow to draw in a deep breath of smoke and hold it as Daniel settles.
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Maybe it's not all the way new. Maybe Daniel really did lay next to him in that bed in Louis' shitty flop house of an apartment, but Louis would have been burned, and miserable, and they wouldn't have touched. Daniel would have looked at him and tried to say something helpful, and maybe they smiled at each other, mutual hostages; Louis shouldn't have picked him up, Daniel shouldn't have gone with him, but they each made a choice, and so, there they were, together.
Much more comfortable here. Stupid movie on, the last third of a rolled-up joint scored off some college kids. Lestat, somewhere on a business call, but still welcome to fling the door open and join them. Their mortal gang, asleep. (Armand, hopefully still in New York.)
"I didn't realize you were quite that hands-off with your staff."
Since Rachida through him under the bus, he might as well ask.
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Louis dreams sometimes, vivid distortions that might be memory might be something else. Daniel lays beside him now and there is no pain. Louis' fingers skimmed his face, now toy with the curls at Daniel's nape. Comfortable. No one is burning, no one is bleeding.
Louis yields the joint.
Whatever question he'd been expecting, it hadn't been this. Daniel has had a long time to ask after his staff. Had thought the interest passed after Armand had been revealed, after Rashid had tipped his hand.
"They're my employees," is a little questioning, words wreathed in smoke. "We have a professional relationship."
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"Well,"
Well. The interview is over, but Daniel is still Daniel, and there's still so much about Louis to investigate. Daniel would like to be on Vampire Wikipedia and ask one million questions, forever. Did his previous canines fall out? Did his old fingernails fall out? Are you sure you can't turn into a bat?
(Are you sure you're okay? Will you be okay? Is it my fault?)
"Some of them seemed to live with you, and they know your most terrifying, compromising secrets. But you were not into karaoke with the help."
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Enough so that there is no tension in Louis' body, still loose-limbed alongside Daniel, fingers steady in his hair. Amused, and letting Daniel see it.
"We don't socialize."
Obviously.
"Does that bother you?"
Confuse might be the better word. Or no, not that. Louis is trying to work it out, to decide if Daniel finds this incongruous or if he simply objects. Or both. Or if it is the difference in their lifestyles, their age. Louis with a handful of decades maintaining staff, choosing what was necessary to organize his life and maintain his businesses, what was a good use of his fortune and what was a foolish risk.
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But—
"A funny incident, somebody drunk at a Christmas party, I dunno. I figured you'd have had something. You, at least. You like people. You're not just this scary vampire. I didn't know they hadn't seen... you."
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Nothing, right away.
Louis lets them stay there, quiet. Daniel will wait for him. Louis knows that. Daniel will pry relentlessly after answers, yes, but he's given Louis room to breathe. Maybe led him, kited Louis towards answers Daniel sensed before Louis could parse them out.
The amusement goes. Turns pensive. Feels their breath, rising and falling in time.
"I didn't want them to see me," Louis says at last. Corrects himself: "I don't want them to see me."
A thing Louis hasn't looked directly at in twenty years, at least.
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That answer gives him pause. It makes sense, but it also makes something in Daniel ache. Bittersweet. Louis deserves to be seen, but Louis' relationship with his own identity has been profoundly fucked over.
Daniel lays a hand on his chest. Returning the affectionate touch to his own face.
"Alright," he says softly. Accepting.
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"You see me."
And it's enough. Enough that Daniel sees him, Louis as he is now.
It's a fear Louis has sometimes, when it is him and Lestat in a room together. They are both vastly different people than they'd been, and they are still very much the same. Easy to worry that Lestat looks at Louis and wishes for the person Louis had been once. That he finds the man he is now wanting.
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"I'd like to think I do," he says, of seeing Louis. "I hope so. I like that you let me."
Daniel cares about him so much.
And importantly:
"I see you. I like you. The person you are. The person I saw a little bit here and there, and get to see all the time now."
A careless oops, but a well-meaning one. (You know, sort of. Jeannie getting away blameless. Daniel is still curious.) Daniel loves Louis, he thinks he's great. Why wouldn't his employees think that? They basically live with him.
But of course. Louis hasn't been himself. And maybe not everyone sees as sharply as Daniel does. Which sucks, honestly. Louis deserves to be free from all of this— but he knows it'll take time.
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Daniel will always seen him. Louis will always let him.
He's been twirling the gray curls at Daniel's nape between his fingers. Lifts his free hand to lay over Daniel's on his chest. Promising eternity. A clearer, less guilt-soaked assurance. Louis will be here. He isn't going anywhere.
Right now, he does not want to die.
"You gonna let me see you too?"
Louis could touch his mind. But he doesn't want to hunt for anything. He wants whatever Daniel is giving.
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(This is positive about Lestat!! Shhh!!)
He wants Louis to stick around. He wants to be his friend, for that whole eternity.
"Don't you?" Maybe it sucks trying to figure people out, after Armand. (Armand. Who Daniel promised to spend time with.) "I dunno how mysterious I am. My employees all know way too much about me. Almost as much as you do."
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Louis, alive for over a century, still young enough to weigh the passing years. Still young enough to look at nearly eighty years and feel the full weight of it rather than shrug it off easy.
"I was far away while you grew up."
So much of Daniel's life is on pages and television screens, yes. But Louis cannot believe that there were not things left out. That Daniel kept things for himself as Louis tried to keep things for himself.
And maybe Louis is entitled to none of it. Maybe he should simply be grateful. (He is. He is grateful for Daniel, always.)
Maybe it is only some quiet, anxious fear that Daniel is holding something obscured and away to avoid burdening Louis with it.
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A blink. One minute he's signing divorce papers, handing them over to Alice, the next minute he's arguing with his youngest daughter about the car she wrecked. When did his knees start hurting? He didn't get enough time with knees that didn't hurt.
Until now.
"You'd have just watched me make stupid mistakes, over and over. You got the highlights. Everything about me that's worthwhile comes out best in writing, even if it's about other people. Probably especially thing."
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Louis doesn't like it, the way Daniel says this about himself. Doesn't like the way he devalues his story, himself alongside it.
"Saying that like you ain't listened to me making the same mistakes over and over," Louis points out.
Daniel knows everything. Saw everything, even when Louis hadn't. But Louis can't exactly boast that kind of insight. Can't pretend he'd offer anything other than his own desires, the wish to know Daniel as Daniel knows him.
Nothing else, for a beat after that. Louis' eyes trace the crack in the ceiling, the shadows cast by the light.
"I don't want you to forget it all," he whispers. "I know you gonna be your own vampire, but don't lose the rest."
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