[ the same way bob found him here, as the shadow. there's despair in that admission, always. a tired kind of anguish, when he knows the sentry and void won't let him die any longer. any chance he had at peace was lost, when he signed his life and body and mind away to oxe.
and yet — there's more, too. warmth, suffusing his skin like sunlight. born of the idea that armand understands him a little more, a little better. that he likes bob, anyway. (he's never known the stronger word.) ]
[ Echoes between them like always, a mirror reflecting itself. It's easy to imagine it: Bob, pulled out of some dive bar. Curled in his arms like so many broken boys before him, a warm weight in his lap and against his chest, blood fizzing with chemical release. Death on his tongue, a sweetness in his mind.
Through their connection, he offers Bob that reassurance; he would have done it, if he'd asked. That he would have given him a gentle end, a peaceful end. ]
[ like their being here has greater meaning, like they were supposed to find each other in this world or another more like their own.
there’s a strange comfort in that. in the promise of release armand offers him in that other world, that other time and place. one he doubts many people here would understand, but it isn’t for them — it’s for bob and armand alone, in the privacy of their minds. bob holds onto that imagined memory, borrowing from real recollections to fill it in: his arms loose around armand’s shoulders. his broad palms gentle at armand’s throat, dark curls tickling the backs of his hands. a perfect place to kiss him. a perfect place to rest. ]
I’m glad I found you.
[ bob said that before, early in this. he reckons he’ll keep saying it. ]
[ The concept of fate falls apart when you're staring down eternity; far easier to believe in coincidence on a finite timeline, when you don't have all the time in the world to arrange things to your liking. Still, there are too many similarities, places where they fit together all too easily. It doesn't take much for Armand to let go of doubt for a little while, leaning into the somewhere that isn't anywhere. Hands on his neck, the warmth of blood under the skin, soft voice murmuring soothing nonsense, the old script.
-- like sinking into a bath, like honey on your tongue --
Hesitating only because he wants to draw the moment out, to pin it against a cardboard backing and enjoy it.
Over that, to the Bob that's real, somewhere in the house: ]
I think so. I feel as though I was meant to find you. If nothing else, this house has given me that. For all it's corrupted and changed us. Used us in some ineffable game. I'm grateful.
[ it’s all bob has ever wanted — to be something good, something more, just once. a person whose presence makes things easier, not harder. who doesn’t always need to be carried or stomached. not the glass in hand but the healing balm. ]
Me too. [ immediate agreement, even though he’s never believed in much of anything. it feels true. ] There are a lot of awful things and people here, but you aren’t one of them, okay?
[ armand cares too much for that, despite the centuries and horrors that should make him numb. ]
[ Positions reversed, he's the one who needs the soft words, the gentle words. Bob's hands on him, making it easy. He curves towards it like a child seeking comfort, unaccustomed to the feeling, afraid it will be gone too soon. Wanting -- like the boy in the apartment, the boy in the attic -- to believe it's true. That he's not broken, or bad. ]
[ Whatever you need to stay. Important words between them, every time they're spoken. Armand's presence warms with affection and sun-chased memories of waking up together early in the morning or deep into the evening, shrugging off the schedule of the house to spend more time in quiet laughter and kisses over the curve of a jaw, swapping travel stories about Egypt and Cambodia and New York while they drag torn up bits of napkin over the bed to watch Babou chase them.
Without hesitation, in the knowledge that he'll certainly overprepare but still arrive hesitant, with very little, not wanting to impose: ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cw: suicidal ideation all the way down
[ the same way bob found him here, as the shadow. there's despair in that admission, always. a tired kind of anguish, when he knows the sentry and void won't let him die any longer. any chance he had at peace was lost, when he signed his life and body and mind away to oxe.
and yet — there's more, too. warmth, suffusing his skin like sunlight. born of the idea that armand understands him a little more, a little better. that he likes bob, anyway. (he's never known the stronger word.) ]
no subject
[ Echoes between them like always, a mirror reflecting itself. It's easy to imagine it: Bob, pulled out of some dive bar. Curled in his arms like so many broken boys before him, a warm weight in his lap and against his chest, blood fizzing with chemical release. Death on his tongue, a sweetness in his mind.
Through their connection, he offers Bob that reassurance; he would have done it, if he'd asked. That he would have given him a gentle end, a peaceful end. ]
no subject
[ like their being here has greater meaning, like they were supposed to find each other in this world or another more like their own.
there’s a strange comfort in that. in the promise of release armand offers him in that other world, that other time and place. one he doubts many people here would understand, but it isn’t for them — it’s for bob and armand alone, in the privacy of their minds. bob holds onto that imagined memory, borrowing from real recollections to fill it in: his arms loose around armand’s shoulders. his broad palms gentle at armand’s throat, dark curls tickling the backs of his hands. a perfect place to kiss him. a perfect place to rest. ]
I’m glad I found you.
[ bob said that before, early in this. he reckons he’ll keep saying it. ]
no subject
-- like sinking into a bath, like honey on your tongue --
Hesitating only because he wants to draw the moment out, to pin it against a cardboard backing and enjoy it.
Over that, to the Bob that's real, somewhere in the house: ]
I think so. I feel as though I was meant to find you. If nothing else, this house has given me that. For all it's corrupted and changed us. Used us in some ineffable game. I'm grateful.
no subject
Me too. [ immediate agreement, even though he’s never believed in much of anything. it feels true. ] There are a lot of awful things and people here, but you aren’t one of them, okay?
[ armand cares too much for that, despite the centuries and horrors that should make him numb. ]
no subject
Thank you.
no subject
Come over tonight?
[ perhaps a slight deviation from the norm, in that he visits armand’s room more often. ]
I want to show you something. Give you something.
[ evidence of affection and trust. ]
no subject
Of course. Shall I bring anything?
no subject
Only whatever you need to stay.
no subject
Without hesitation, in the knowledge that he'll certainly overprepare but still arrive hesitant, with very little, not wanting to impose: ]
Tonight, then.