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"You haven't been sleeping."
What an astute observation, you think to yourself snarkily, and you're sure he hears the thought.
It's true. Over the past 72 hours, you've maybe gotten a combined 4 hours of sleep. When you signed up for interviewing vampires, you knew it would be atypical hours. And honestly, you were pretty nocturnal yourself. But this was…different.
This was insomnia. Plain and simple. You couldn't fall asleep. Once you fell asleep, it wasn't an issue really. You'd toss and turn, but you'd get some rest. Better than none.
It was the falling asleep itself that was the problem. You were still exhausted, ready for sleep, begging for it, but it would not come.
"Give the man a prize. Observant as ever, Armand." Your eyes are lidded in both fatigue and annoyance. The living room is pretty dark, save for the small lamp on the table beside you and the glow of the TV. It's some nature documentary about deep ocean creatures; you'd thought the relaxing visuals and the ambient water noise would coax you towards sleep. Nope.
None of your usual tricks were working. Not tea, not a hot bath with lavender, not weed, not doubling up your anti-anxiety meds (don't try that at home, kids), nothing was working. And it was starting to affect your job. Louis had asked you were alright a few times now, even Daniel had checked in on you. It was awkward; the pity felt weird. Or maybe it wasn't pity and it was simply concern, you know, a thing that people can feel towards you. The fatigue was making you depressed, sad.
"It's hard to miss, I haven't been attacked during our sessions in three days."
"Consider yourself lucky, it's only a brief respite." Your head rests on a pillow, your body splayed out on the enormous couch.
"I'll be counting the seconds until you've recovered." The fondness in his voice still catches you off guard.
It's been a bit since your first solo session, and since then…progress has certainly been made. He's been more amiable towards you. An undercurrent of tension playing just beneath the surface. But it hasn't…worsened things, or made things awkward. It's almost as if you're both playing a game, and it's one you both enjoy immensely. You still want to win, of course, but that's the fun in it: the other person is trying to win just as hard.
Not to mention the night you stumbled home drunk just before sunrise…
He watches you momentarily, from the edge of the living room - he loves to perch, you've noticed - before walking over to the couch. With a touch of his hand to your calves, you shift them off so he can sit. What catches you completely off guard is his grip around your ankle. He sits, gets comfortable, and places your legs on his lap, hand resting on your lower calf in a way that can only be described as possessive. Perhaps protective, if you're looking at it kindly. Your skin prickles and your ears get hot. He's never been so casual with touch before. Your nerve endings are screaming in satisfaction and agony simultaneously; satisfaction because any touch is like heaven to you, and agony because it is not enough. Thank god you've gotten a little better at shielding your thoughts.
"I'm sure we could have the good doctor prescribe you some sleeping medicine?" He offers, gazing half-heartedly at the TV as images of an angler fish flash on the screen.
A noise of frustration escapes your throat, "They don't work on me, unless it's a full-blown sedative. Normal shit like Valium has no effect on me. My physiology is odd." Lots of things don't work on you: sleeping medicine, lots of allergy medicine, local anesthetics, caffeine. Who knows why? Maybe god decided to play a practical joke on you.
Armand seems surprised by that, "Really?"
"Really. Why do you think I reeked of weed last night? Usually, I can smoke a little and conk out. But this time…it's different." He tenseness underneath your legs, and a stab of regret runs through you.
"Not because of anything in particular, relax. Nothing about our recent sessions or anything that's happened here is causing it. Sometimes I just…can't sleep." You do your best to assuage his anxieties. It's funny. You know you're not his favorite person, but he seems to want to…protect you from certain things. Ugly truths or unsavory scenes, violence, cruelty, etc. He's an interesting creature.
"Yes, the scent was quite overpowering."
"Sorry."
"Don't be." His thumb has pressed into the meat of your calf absent-mindedly, pressing and rubbing in small little circles. It's…nice.
The screen goes red, as the image of Vampyroteuthis Infernalis, or 'The Vampire Squid From Hell', appears on screen.
"Why are you watching this? Will it not give you nightmares, seeing such fearsome creatures before bed?"
"I'm currently living with two fearsome creatures who I see before bed every night, so no." You smile gently, and even though you don't turn to look at him, you can feel the smirk settle on his face. His thumbnail digs into your skin playfully, a warning far too teasing to be sincere.
"Funny."
Silence lapses momentarily as you stare at the undulating form of the squid.
"Is it odd to hear about creatures named after you? Or…be confronted with vampires in pop culture?" It's a question you've been meaning to ask. He pauses for a moment to collect his thoughts - he always does this when you ask him these kinds of questions. Like he's taking the time to actually give you a meaningful answer. You shift, no longer lying on your side but on your back, leaning against the pillow you've stuffed against the arm of the couch. You can see his face now, painted in the colorful glow of the TV.
"I can see why humans named it such, the Vampire Squid From Hell. It is quite fearsome." His hand has shifted to your shin, letting the tips of his nails drag back and forth over your skin, featherlight. It's strangely comforting.
"As for pop culture…it's interesting, more than anything, to see what humans come up with in terms of story. The lore isn't always accurate, but it's…nice to see us represented in different lights than just 'monsters'."
"Mm. Have a favorite?"
"I'm partial to A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night, despite how new it is. The original Nosferatu is interesting enough, though I'm not a fan of German expressionism-"
"No, you like the romantic era of art. Classical." You interrupt him, not unkindly.
"I do. Though I seem to remember you do as well." He's picked up on your avoidance of talking about yourself sometimes and seems to have made it a part of his life's mission to turn your own questions back on you as often as he can.
A sigh escapes your lips, "Yes, you remember correctly. Bram Stoker's Dracula was a formative film for me. Still tear up a little bit."
"That explains quite a lot. I believe you would say 'that tracks'." The smile is audible in his voice. You sit up slightly and narrow your eyes at him, mouth agape. He turns to you, eyebrows raised and smiling, the picture of amusement.
"I can't believe you just used modern slang. Who are you and what have you done with the Vampire Armand?" You playfully admonish.
"One can only hear something for so long until it bleeds into their own vernacular." He counters.
"I could kick you right now."
"You won't." And he's right. This is too nice. You slump back down, arms crossed indignantly, glancing back at the TV briefly. It strikes you how so many people might call these creatures monsters, and how beautiful you think they are. That seems to be a running theme for you. Finding beauty in the monstrous.
"A lot of humans often use vampirism as a metaphor. Queerness, otherness, love, consumption, sexuality. Not for nothing, I think vampiric media is some of our best. It certainly resonates with a lot of people. I don't know if that's comforting or not, but there are swathes of people who are more than sympathetic to you." Your eyes droop a little, but you're no less tired.
A deep breath has his chest rise and fall, though he does not require it.
"It's not comforting, but it's not…discomforting. It baffles me that humans could sympathize with things meant to kill them."
"Humans will sympathize with anything. We pack bond. We stare at monsters and ask if we can pet them, stare at wild animals and ask for cuddles. Why should that instinct stop at vampires?" You should be writing this down. You should be recording this. It's good stuff, but you wouldn't dare move. Wouldn't dare break this moment of peace with him.
He eyes you again. "Speaking from experience, are you?"
"Of course." It's your lack of hesitation that has him thrown. Your complete unabashed confirmation.
He's not looking at you now, eyebrows furrowed and staring ahead at nothing.
"It's a part of who we are, as predators. Everything about us is disarming to our prey. It is how we are made. Any sympathy might just be the result of evolutionary manipulation on our part." His tone is melancholy. It doesn't suit him, though you know from the interviews that he seems to be melancholy quite often.
"You underestimate humans' ability to connect. Maybe it's because you've been so far removed from them." It's not a judgement. Just an observation. He knows it too, turning to you. Just looking at you, maybe looking for something.
"Not all of them are as kind in their assessment as you." His hand has stilled, just holding your ankle softly. It's a welcome feeling.
"Then seek out the kind ones." You know it's advice that you should be taking yourself. Your loneliness, your anxiety, they are so massive within you that they threaten to swallow you whole. You should be seeking out the kindness. Instead, you retreat into yourself, fearful of possibility, fearful of change, and of the future, of rejection, and fearful of what could go wrong. Your thoughts must be loud, or you must not have been concentrating because Armand is rubbing your calf again, giving you a concerning look.
"Your sleep deprivation is worsening your mental state." It's not a judgment, just an observation.
"I know, I'm aware, but that doesn't make it go away." Your response is sad, full of understanding, and hopeless in a way. It's moments like these where you feel as if there is nothing you can do but soldier through, as unhealthy as that is. But it's how you've lived your life.
You're both silent for a few minutes, just existing in each other's space. It's nice. The fish swim by on the screen: a nautilus, bioluminescent sea cucumber, copypods that shoot glowing goo out into the open dark water.
"I might be able to help you sleep, if you're amenable to that." Armand breaks the silence. His voice is tentative, small, a drop in a bucket.
What? Your eyes shift to his in question, "Help me sleep?"
"Yes. It wouldn't be hard. Or uncomfortable for you." He seems to be genuine, though he hasn't looked at you since he's said it.
You're not quite sure how you feel about having a vampire in your head. It's happened before, and you can't make up your mind on how to feel. On one hand, it's miraculous. Being able to hear his thoughts that he shares with you, the sheer power he has, it's awesome in the literal sense of the word. On the other, it's terrifying. The being perceived of it all, the fact that he's in there and could do anything. Dangerous.
And yet.
"You want to help me sleep. Why?"
He sighs, "For one, your depressing thoughts are loud. Don't, say you're sorry. You have no reason to be." He silences you before you can apologize, your mouth snapping shut.
"Additionally, it doesn't feel right to spar with you when you're like this. Feels unfair. Like you better at full health." He's smiling again, and it's a pretty thing.
"Only if you're comfortable, of course." Ever the gentleman. Turning it over in your head, you sit up, eyeing him. He eyes you back.
At this point, you'll try anything.
"Alright. But not out here. I'll wake up with the worst crick in my neck if I sleep on this couch." Slowly, and with great effort, you swing your legs up off of him and off the couch, loving to a sitting position. Absentmindedly, you click off the TV and just sit there for a moment.
"Am I standing yet?"
A laugh, "I'm afraid not"
"Goddamnit." And you're standing. Your whole body aches, protesting leaving the warmth of the blanket and the couch, protesting the movement.
"Ok." You sigh and turn to walk to your room. Armand follows behind you, not too close, not hovering.
Your room is an extension of you. A bit messy, a little unorganized, but so very you. It reminds you of your college dorm in a very fond way. It feels familiar, even though you've only been here for a little while. Walking in, you sit on the edge of your bed, fish out a pill from the little orange bottle on your nightstand, and swallow it with a swig of your water bottle.
Armand is stuck in the doorway, watching you, looking at the room.
"Sorry, it's a little messy."
"Don't be sorry, it's very you."
Warmth spreads through your chest. To be known, and all that…
He stays there a little longer, and your brows furrow. Armand hasn't been in your room before.
"Don't tell me you need an invitation." There's a lilt to your voice, and he's rolling his eyes at it.
"I don't need one, no. But I wanted to give you the chance to. This is your space. You haven't entered my bedroom." He shrugs to seem nonchalant, but you can tell he's incredibly chalant, old-fashioned thing that he is. 500 years old..god, you forget sometimes, how different of a time he's from.
"Thank you. You're welcome to come in, Armand." You say as you pull back the covers, sliding yourself under them, rubbing your legs together like a grasshopper.
He enters the room, and you suddenly understand why he was giving you the benefit of inviting him in. Armand, in your room is…well, it sure is something. You pray to god you haven't left out anything embarrassing for him to pick up on, but that's the least of your worries.
A vampire. In your space. That you allowed in. There is something that started buzzing in the atmosphere somewhere as soon as he stepped in. Jesus, how will you sleep now? His fingers catch on the edges of the balled-up bedsheet you threw onto your dresser.
"No sheet?"
"No, it makes me too hot and gets tangled up in my legs." He nods, like it makes perfect sense. You sleep on the left side of the bed - it's at least a queen - farther from the door. He walks over to the opposite side and sits on the edge.
"It would be better if you got comfortable first."
"Right." You crawl down further under the covers, arrange your pillows how you like them, and move to lay on your right side, so you're facing him. He's brought himself fully onto the bed, leaning against the headboard casually, one leg stretched out and one bent, his elbow resting on it.
"Ok…you're not just gonna…snap and I'm out right? That would be…jarring." You blurt out, suddenly nervous.
He chuckles, low and warm. "No. Close your eyes." You oblige.
You feel the bed shift as he leans over to shut off the light, plunging the room into darkness. A fan whirs somewhere, the white noise a necessity for you to fall asleep, vampire compulsion aside.
There's a vampire in your bed, and you're lying with him in the dark. Terror should be seizing you. You should be running, screaming. But it does not, and you don't. In fact, you feel safer than you've ever felt before. And in this moment, you don't care about how that might make you ducked up or insane. Right now, you're just excited to sleep.
Featherlight at first, his fingers brush over your forehead, your brow, smoothing away any tension. They eventually find your hair, skimming over it gently.
"I've been waiting for you for a long time." He starts, voice syrupy and dreamy and like a velvet robe. You knew what compulsion sounded like, knew what it felt like, but instead of fighting it like you had before, you slowly, very slowly, welcomed it as he continued.
"You have been searching for me, all your life, especially recently." His hand moves lazily over and through your hair, playing with it. The repetitive motions lull you further into relaxation along with his voice.
"With every sunrise seen by tired eyes, every cup of coffee that fails to rouse you from your fatigue, and every aid that has failed you, I have been waiting." His words weave a web around you, the beginning of one, but you don't feel fear. You're still aware of things, still present in your own mind, but things have…filled. Rough edges have been smoothed out as his words wash over you.
"I know you seek me. The warmth of a blanket, the softness of hands on your skin, the gentle drift from conscious to unconscious. I am here now, and you can cease your search." Tension in your body is melting away, limb by limb, everywhere. Your breathing begins to even, and your eyelids are so heavy you could not have opened them even if you wanted to.
"And who can blame you? You have been unfairly kept from me. But it isn't your fault. Not at all, not even close. Sometimes these things happen. But it's been long enough, hasn't it?" It has, you think to yourself, and a part of you aches. To be spoken to kindly, sweetly, gently…it's beyond words, how nice it feels. Nice isn't even the correct word, but you don't think there's a word out there that properly describes what you're feeling.
"Yes, it has. But you don't have to worry anymore. I'm here now. Nothing will harm you; there is only you and me in this space. Nothing waiting to swallow you up; in fact, your worry, it doesn't exist here. You are free of it. Let it go." And you do. You have so much worry. Bundled up in your chest, knotted up in your blood vessels and arteries like a cat's cradle. You're protective of it, strangely; it's been with you all your life. But you let him pick apart the tangles and loops, let him comb through them with deft hands.
"You don't have to fight. You don't have to be strong now. Let it take you, let yourself be. Let yourself rest. You deserve it. It is as easy as breathing for you." And it is. It's all falling away with every exhale, every pass of his fingers through your hair, on your scalp.
"Like coming home after a long drive, like sitting down after hours standing, like coming home to the person you love…" his voice has both quieted and intensified. Like it's a gentle whisper coming from inside your head.
"Let go. You are holding on so tightly. Let go, and slip into dreams. Into oblivion. I'm here now. Rest." And with no hurrah, no warning or sign, you gently slip into unconsciousness, the last thing you feel being his hand in your hair.
He stays for far longer than you'll realize, long after your breathing has evened and your mind has slowed to that of sleep. Staring at you, as if you were some mysterious work of art.
Sympathetic to vampires…finding beauty in monstrosity. You perplexed him.
With the grace and agility that could only be attributed to his vampiric nature, he rises. Barely making a sound. He stares at you a moment longer, and before he can stop himself, he reaches out and smooths the hair away from your face one last time, hand lingering on your delicate cheek.
"Rest well." He whispers your name like a prayer, guilty and reverential, before slipping away, further into the penthouse. But not before feeling the waves of peace, and safety, and affection rolling off of you.
He feels it, bottles it, and stores it deep in his chest cavity, and it's almost enough to warm his whole body.