He'd been pushing down as hard as he could on the pedal. Right off the ledge, if necessary. He was going to stick the landing even if it snapped his ankles like a teenage gymnast being abused by a Russian trainer at the Olympics. Distantly, making a mental note to make a real note eventually, he was curious about why they seemed so hype on dinner. But it was nothing. Everything was taking Armand off the proverbial ledge with him.
And now,
He thinks of memories, mismatched, revealed. He looks at Armand crumpled against the floor, sitting sullen and disheveled beneath his Armand-shaped dent in the plaster, and he thinks of his own Daniel-shaped hole in the plaster of Louis' boytoy apartment in San Fransisco. He had sat there a mirror of this, also disheveled. Not as sullen. More terrified.
Clickclack, tick, far-away sounds of Louis extracting himself from the unit, the building, and maybe their lives. His words of protection feel laughable. Daniel is going to die anyway, what's the big deal? He can't call out, can't message his clandestine lifeline, not with his burning laptop— Ah, shit. A sigh, and he turn from the vampire. Grabs a cushion, heads for the fire. What a way to go it'd be. Not Parkinson's, not the creature he's now exposing his back to, but fumes from burning plastic. C'mon.
"You okay back there?"
He doesn't know why it comes out of his mouth. It just does. Thwap, he taps at the tiny fire, smothering it.
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He'd been pushing down as hard as he could on the pedal. Right off the ledge, if necessary. He was going to stick the landing even if it snapped his ankles like a teenage gymnast being abused by a Russian trainer at the Olympics. Distantly, making a mental note to make a real note eventually, he was curious about why they seemed so hype on dinner. But it was nothing. Everything was taking Armand off the proverbial ledge with him.
And now,
He thinks of memories, mismatched, revealed. He looks at Armand crumpled against the floor, sitting sullen and disheveled beneath his Armand-shaped dent in the plaster, and he thinks of his own Daniel-shaped hole in the plaster of Louis' boytoy apartment in San Fransisco. He had sat there a mirror of this, also disheveled. Not as sullen. More terrified.
Clickclack, tick, far-away sounds of Louis extracting himself from the unit, the building, and maybe their lives. His words of protection feel laughable. Daniel is going to die anyway, what's the big deal? He can't call out, can't message his clandestine lifeline, not with his burning laptop— Ah, shit. A sigh, and he turn from the vampire. Grabs a cushion, heads for the fire. What a way to go it'd be. Not Parkinson's, not the creature he's now exposing his back to, but fumes from burning plastic. C'mon.
"You okay back there?"
He doesn't know why it comes out of his mouth. It just does. Thwap, he taps at the tiny fire, smothering it.