Lexi | Plus Size Reader

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 anesthetic, 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 thumb nail 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 laying 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 strangly 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 Stokers 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 and 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 retract into yourself, fearful of possibility, fearful of change and of future, of rejection and fearful of what could go wrong. Your thoughts must be loud or you must have not been concentrating because Armand is rubbing you calf again, giving you a concerning look.

"Your sleep deprivation is worsening your mental state." It's not a judgement, 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 others 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 jn 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 thought 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 snd 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 is 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 cricket.

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 line 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 moving 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, 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 cats 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 watch. 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 on 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.

A more rested version of yourself might have briefly considered offering Louis and Armand their privacy, but you're drowsy enough to be willing to seek out immediate attention. So you halfheartedly untangle yourself from your sheets without a second thought.

The night's cool air immediately presses itself against your skin. You wrap your arms around yourself as you step out into the hall. From your vantage point, you can tell that the main living room light is on.

As quietly as possible, you continue to walk forward. You're not delusional enough to think that you're capable of evading their notice, but it's instinctual to do what you can to keep from startling them.

It doesn't take long for you to get caught. "Great," Louis sighs, "you woke her."

You part your lips, but you can't bring yourself to immediately respond. Louis and Armand are standing near the entryway, both of them still wearing coats which means they can't have been here for long. They're also standing close together, which isn't particularly strange. In fact, everything about them could pass for normal if it wasn't for the blood staining Armand's chin.

You recover from your surprise as you quickly as you can manage, stepping away from the hall and crossing the threshold to enter the living room. "It's okay," you say, your voice raspy with sleep, "I wasn't that asleep." A partial lie that you're sure they can completely see through.

"Clearly," Louis mumbles, his tone deeply unimpressed. He places a hand against Armand's arm in a way that feels a little too pointed to pass as casual affection. There's a sharpness there that almost makes the contact seem like a necessity.

You take a step towards them. "Armand, are you okay?"

He blinks, angling his head to one side as he looks at you. Armand's full focus always feels consuming, but there's something particularly heavy about the way that he's staring at you now. "You're here."

You're not sure what you're meant to do with the statement. His words also feel a little too slow, almost slurred. "Yeah," you finally answer, "I'm here."

Armand tries to take a step forward, but Louis doesn't let him get too far. Instead of trying to talk to Louis or shrug himself out his hold, Armand reaches an arm out towards you. "Come closer."

Once again, Armand's words feel noticeably dragged out. There's something familiar about the change in his speech pattern, but it takes you a moment to place it.

You glance between Armand and Louis, pressing your lips together to keep from laughing. "Is he drunk?"

Realizing that he's no longer the center of your attention, Armand lets his arm fall to his side. Louis adjusts his hold on Armand to keep him moving any further. "He decided to drink from someone stumbling around looking for a bar that was still open." Louis looks over at Armand, his expression slightly chastising. "With no warning."

Considering how annoyed Louis is, you really should be more concerned about Armand randomly deciding to pick up a late night meal from a bar, or at the very least more concerned about the unlucky person that Armand ran into, but all you can think about is Armand's drowsy expression.

"He's never drunk." The comment is meant to be an observation, but the joy in your voice is audible.

Louis sighs, "Do not find this funny."

"There's nothing amusing about this." Armand is trying to sound stern, but his attempt at warning you to leave him alone falls flat as he tries to pull his arm out of Louis's grasp.

"No," you mumble, voice heavy with sarcasm, "this is not amusing at all."

Armand tries pulling away from Louis again. This time, Louis lets him slip out of his grasp. Armand starts to walk towards you. He manages a few stable steps before nearly stumbling over his own footing. You instinctually close the gap between the two of you, your hand finding his arm to keep him steady.

"Don't make fun of me." Wow, that stranger's alcohol blood content level must have been lethally high.

You squeeze his shoulder. "I'd never," you promise, your voice saturated with as much sincerity as you can manage. "We should get you ready for bed before sunrise."

Armand's eyes briefly narrow, his head tilting to one side again in a way that almost feels confused. You're not sure what he might be uncertain about, but you're not given the chance to dwell on your curiosity. Armand moves with no warning, pulling you into a too sudden hug.

You don't mind his proximity, but you're not prepared to support the bulk of his weight. You shift back slightly as you try your best to support him.

"Leave her alone." Louis still sounds irritated, but at least his cautioning feels gentle. "You're still covered in blood."

"He's fine, Louis." You place a hand against Armand's back, smoothing circles into the material of his coat. "I already knew about the vampire thing, remember?"

"I didn't realize you were so tough considering that last time we watched a horror movie together, you refused to go to sleep by yourself for three days."

An uncomfortable warmth begins to crawl its way up your neck. Louis must really be over this if he's taking that tone with you. "Please, like you wouldn't have been in my room anyway." You continue to drag your hand against Armand's back. "Besides, that movie was about an axe murderer, not a vampire."

Armand lifts his head slightly at that, resting his chin against your shoulder. "And you're not scared of vampires?"

The question feels like a challenge. Before you can remind Armand that the vampires you do know stumble home drunk just to act like overgrown house cats, he turns his head, pressing an open mouthed kiss against the side of your neck. You can feel his teeth brush against your pulse point.

"Armand," Louis mumbles, his reprimand once again more annoyed than actually concerned.

"He's fine," you defend weakly, "I'm a way worse drunk."

Armand hums once in agreement. You roll your eyes before adjusting your hold on him. "Okay." You place a hand on each of his shoulders, trying your best to encourage him to straighten. "Come on, let's get ready for bed."

His hold on you tightens. "I'm comfortable here."

"I know," you say, "but you'll be a lot more comfortable in your pajamas."

He lets you create a little more distance, following your lead as extend your arms to push him back slightly. "Okay, let's go."

Louis walks towards both of you. He places a hand against your shoulder, turning you slightly so that he can take a better look at your neck. He frowns. "It's all over you."

Louis's eyebrows pinch together in a way that conveys such anguish, you can't bring yourself to care about the sticky feel of damp blood against your skin or the fact that its definitely going to stain your favorite pajama shirt.

"It's fine," your voice feels weak, fragile. When Louis continues to just stare at the stains on your collar bone, you bring a hand to the side of his face. He lets you turn his head so that he has to look you in the eye. "Louis, I'm fine. Promise."

He holds your gaze for a long moment before finally nodding. "Just--" Louis sighs, glancing between you and Armand. "Just stay with him, I'll get you both something to clean yourselves up with him."

He still feels incredibly deflated, but you can't think of anything else to say to him right now, so you agree, "Okay."

Louis carefully pulls your hand off of his cheek before pressing a kiss against your knuckles. With that, he turns away from you and his companion.

Armand lets you pull him towards the couch. He sits down without being asked to, but doesn't let go of your hand until you're right next to him.

"You okay?" The question is more of an excuse to fill the silence than anything else. "I don't really know what to do with a drunk person that isn't worried about a hangover."

"I'm fine." There's nothing assuring about the way he slurs out the words.

Without further comment, Armand begins to tug on the sleeves of his coat. You don't realize that he's trying to take it off until he reaches for its collar.

"Are you--" He continues to struggle with material. "Do you need help?"

"I'm capable of taking off my coat." For someone that sounds so sure of themselves, Armand is definitely struggling to get the fabric off of him.

You sigh, pulling your knees beneath you on the couch so that you can lean over him. "Relax, it's not a big deal," you mumble, placing a hand on the collar of his coat, "The number of times Louis has had to help me into pajamas after drinking..."

Armand stills, letting you shift even closer to him as you start pulling the coat off of his shoulders. "Your lack of self preservation will never not surprise me."

You let out a heavy, lifting Armand's arm so that he can bend it out of his sleeve. "All Louis does is unzip dresses and make sure I don't trip over anything." Armand leans forward, making it possible for you to push the jacket further off of his shoulders. "Don't make it into something weird."

He hums once, the sound incredibly dismissive. You choose to ignore it, guiding his other arm out of the coat. "There," you say, holding up the bundled up fabric like a trophy, "All done."

You ease back into place, only this time, you settle so close to Armand that your knees touch. Without a clear goal in mind, you're not sure what to do with yourself, so you focus on folding his coat. You set the fabric down on the other side of the couch.

When you look again, Armand is already starting you with wide, unflinching eyes. "You seem comfortable with the..." He lifts a hand, halfheartedly gesturing towards his own neck to remind you of the blood staining yours.

You lift a shoulder in a vague shrug. Sure, it feels a little odd and slightly unsanitary to have some stranger's blood on your skin, but Armand hadn't meant anything by it. He was just trying to be affectionate.

You don't have a good way to go about explaining that to him, so you offer him something a little easier, "It's not like it's mine."

He's still staring. "You're not repulsed?"

The words feels too coherent, too sober. You let yourself sit with his question for a minute. Once you're ready to answer, you reach for his hand. He lets you intertwine your fingers together. "Nothing that comes from you repulses me."

Armand squeezes your hand. The longer he's quiet, the easier you find it to look at him. His expression isn't exactly blank, but there's something incredibly distant behind his gaze. "I don't know what to do with you," he says it so quietly you're almost not sure if you were meant to here it.

You blink. Maybe this is the start of some kind of drunk rambling. "I don't think you need to do anything with me."

His eyebrows pinch together briefly. You wonder what he could possibly be so pensive about in his current state. "I don't want you to leave."

The words feel heavier than they should, the weight of them immediately pressing into your chest. You can feel the blood in your own veins betrays you, an uncomfortable warmth crawling up your neck that he's definitely capable of noticing.

You part your lips, but the sound of Louis's footsteps saves you from having to respond.

Louis sits down next to you, sighing as he hands you a damp paper towel. "Here," he tells you, "see if you can get him to sit still long enough to help him."

You gently pull your hand out of Armand's grasp before adjusting your hold on the paper towel. You shift your weight onto your knees again, placing a hand on his shoulder to steady yourself as you bring the paper towel to the side of his face. "Does that mean he was a handful?"

"More than a handful," he starts, "You try dragging him through the streets without being noticed while he's covered in blood and stumbling over himself."

You force yourself to fully focus on dabbing the paper towel against Armand's chin to keep from laughing. "I so should have been there."

"So that I'd have to drag you around too?"

You turn your head enough to glare at Louis. "I'm a perfectly self sufficient drunk."

"I have to carry you if the walk home is more than two blocks and you're wearing heels that are higher than three inches."

You let out a heavy sigh, dragging the damp paper towel down Armand's skin. He seems so calm now it's hard to imagine him being as difficult as Louis is describing. "Because you always offer."

"And I'm always happy to." Louis places a hand against your back, the contact almost annoyingly assuring. "But I don't need to deal with two of you at the same time."

You scoff before refocusing on Armand. "He doesn't appreciate us."

Armand places a hand against your forearm, his thumb dragging against your skin. He's staring at you with such wide eyes, you nearly forget that you're supposed to be helping clean him up. "Not at all."

"Okay." Before you can register what's happening, Louis pulls you back. The action isn't aggressive, but it's enough to get you to loose your balance. You don't exactly fall, but you do somehow end up sitting on Louis's lap.

"Louis," you gasp, tone scolding enough to mask the laugh trying to crawl its way up your throat.

"What?" He says, playing into his nonexistent confusion as he leans towards you. Louis begins to press a flurry of kisses against the side of your face and neck. "You said I don't appreciate you enough. I'm appreciating you right now."

His affection is so over the top and lighthearted, you can't help giggling as you halfheartedly try to untangle yourself from his grasp.

You get to enjoy this for about a minute before Armand lets out a flat sigh, "I don't have it in me to keep you from crushing your darling's delicate bones."

It's a relatively passive remark, but it's enough to make Louis stop. You frown at Armand. Sometimes Louis can play off those kinds of comments, but there are also nights in which reminders of how easy it would be to accidentally hurt you weigh on him a little more than usual.

"Don't be mean," you mumble, pulling Louis's hand onto your lap.

Armand is quiet for a minute, glancing between you and Louis in a way you don't really understand. Then, wordlessly, he reaches over, carefully straightening your bent legs so that they can rest over his lap. He settles a hand over one of your ankles, his thumb dragging itself against your skin. "Next time I'll wait until I hear something snap."

You bend your foot out of an instinctual desire to contradict him. This doesn't deter Armand at all. If anything, it just makes him tighten his hold on you. "Just make sure it's actually a bone and not just my patience."

"And how close are you to losing your patience now?"

You try to pull your foot away, but Armand doesn't let go of you. "Extremely."

Even though you have nothing left to say, you can't bring yourself to look away from Armand. You hold his stare, letting yourself openly study the exact hue of his irises. His eyes feel much closer to an amber-brown than a true orange tonight. He drops his gaze before you can decide if his eye color really looks that different or if its just the lighting.

"Okay," Louis says, his hand coming to rest on your shoulder, "no bickering."

When no further arguments break out, Louis brushes your hair away from the side of your neck. He takes the damp paper towel, now more pink than white, out of your hand. Louis wipes the paper towel against your skin.

"There." Louis pulls the paper towel away from your skin. "You're all done." He then looks over at Armand. "We need to get you out of those clothes and into something you can sleep in."

You take that as your sign to move. Carefully, you untangle yourself away from them so that you can stand. Armand watches you as you take a few steps forward.

You've been enjoying tonight's turn of events, but you're not sure what you're supposed to do now. Offering to help Louis with Armand feels like the right thing to do, but there's a chance that now that they're winding down they'll want their privacy.

Louis stands before offering Armand his hand. With Louis's help, Armand makes it back onto his feet. Louis tries to guide Armand away from the couch, but Armand remains still, "Aren't you coming?"

Louis answers before you can, "Of course she is."

The response, though assuring, is a little too presumptuous for you to be okay with it. "Excuse me?"

"Don't make him work for it tonight." Louis brings an arm around Armand's shoulder to make him look extra vulnerable. "He was asking for you the entire way back."

You feel your face grow warmer than it was a second ago. "You were asking for me?" Armand won't look at you. "That's adorable."

Armand lets out a heavy sigh, his posture slumping slightly as he tries to bury his face into Louis's shoulder. "You said you wouldn't tell her."

Louis places a hand against Armand's back, smoothing comforting circles against the fabric of his shirt. "No, you said I wouldn't tell her." After another minute, Louis gently pushes Armand off of him. "Come on. Bed."

Armand frowns, but eventually nods. Louis glances in your direction, a silent request for your assistance. You walk forward, doing your best to keep yourself from grinning as you take Armand's hand.

"I don't need your help." Armand's tone is sharp but he doesn't try to make you let go of his hand.

"I know," you say, your smile apparent in your voice, "I'm just doing this because you missed me."

Armand lets out an exhausted sigh. "I'm having my first headache in over 500 years."

----

Four months ago, you’d agreed to a blind date that turned out to be the best thing you’ve ever done.

You hadn’t dated in years. This was by choice, needing time to figure yourself out and focus on your career.

You hadn’t agreed out of loneliness, exactly. You’d made a life that fit you well, and didn’t need a partner. You had a comfortable home and a good job.

But your friend had asked you to just go on one date with this guy she knows, because you were her only single friend.

“He’s nice,” she’d told you. “Like, such a sweetheart. He’s a schoolteacher, and you can tell he enjoys his job. He’s kind of awkward at first but he’s really funny once he warms up to you. I think you’ll like him.”

You did, in fact, like him.

Ryland Grace is unlike most men you’ve dated in the past. He’s awkward in a way that feels unpracticed rather than off-putting, like he never learned the same script that everyone else seems to follow. Your friend wasn’t wrong about him. He’s kind. He’s funny in a slightly rambling, very self-aware way. He’s genuine in a way that makes you feel at ease.

He’s never been anything but polite since the very first time you met. Careful, almost, with your space. With you.

After a few months of quiet dinners, long walks and good conversation that never felt forced, he’d asked if you’d like to make it official. You’d said yes without hesitation.

The topic of sex hasn’t really come up.

You noticed that quickly. He hasn’t even asked if you’d like to, hasn’t made a single advance. You’re grateful for that in ways you don’t know how to express.

You’re asexual. Always have been, you just didn’t figure it out for a very long time. The idea of sex doesn’t repulse you, you just don’t want to. Past partners haven’t always understood that.

It’s not like you haven’t cuddled with Ryland, been physically intimate in ways that aren’t sexual. You do enjoy kissing him.

But you’re unsure if he wants anything more.

Delaying the conversation even longer just feels stupid when it’s inevitable anyway, so you have a plan.

This evening, you’re going to his place for dinner. You’ll talk to him about it then and hope for the best.

The evening rolls around, cool air and darkness rolling over San Francisco like gentle waves over sand.

You arrive at Ryland’s apartment with a bottle of wine and the words you’ve already carefully chosen flitting around your mind like frantic butterflies with no place to go.

Dinner is nice. He jokes about not getting to cook very often, he usually just opts for frozen meals because he is- he was a single man living alone.

The words slip out halfway through the meal.

“How do you feel about sex?”

You blanch at your own words. That isn’t how you meant to say it.

He chokes on his wine, staring at you with wide eyes.

“Wh-what?!” He coughs, setting his glass down with a slightly unsteady hand.

“That came out wrong, I’m so sorry,” you reply hastily. “I mean to ask, well… is sex important to you in a relationship?”

He blinks at you, processing the words.

“Um- not really. I mean, it’s… okay, I guess? I’ve only…” he trails off, looking embarrassed.

“You’ve only what?”

“I’ve only had it a few times. I enjoyed it, but uh…” he pauses, trying to find the words. “I’m not really- I’m not interested in it, exactly. I could definitely live without it.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Good. That makes this so much easier.”

“What? Why?” He tilts his head.

“Ryland, I’m asexual,” you study his face for a reaction.

“Asexual. That’s the thing where you don’t feel sexual attraction, right?” he asks, thrumming his fingers against the table.

“Yes, that’s the definition,” you nod. “But lots of ace people experience it differently, it’s a spectrum.”

“How do you experience it?” He looks genuinely curious.

“Well, I’ve experienced sexual attraction in the past. Sometimes I still do, but it’s very rare. I’ve had sex in the past and enjoyed it, but like you, I’m just not really interested.” You explain, shrugging.

“Oh,” he stares down at his hands then looks back at you. “I didn’t know anyone else felt like that. I thought I was just weird, broken.”

“You’re not broken, Ryland.”

“Do you think I might… be asexual?”

“If that’s what you feel comfortable with, then yes. But you don’t have to label yourself.”

“Okay… I- thank you for- uh- for telling me. For trusting me with that,” he reaches across to you and takes your hand, squeezing it gently.

“You don’t need to thank me,” you squeeze his hand back. “I really like you, and I can see this relationship going somewhere. I just needed to make sure you understood that sex isn’t really… a thing we’ll be doing.”

“That’s fine- that’s completely fine. We can just… cuddle and watch movies. Do I still get to kiss you?”

You laugh. “Yes, Ry. You still get to kiss me.”

“Alright, that’s good.”

There’s a pause where you maintain comfortable eye contact before he breaks it.

“I have ice cream for dessert. Wanna eat that on the couch and watch The Hobbit?”

“Absolutely,” you grin. “We should binge the whole LOTR series.”

His face lights up at that.

“Really? You’d do that? I have the extended editions on DVD, it will take us a while to get through them but we can definitely do it!”

“I’ve never watched the extended editions,” you admit. “How much longer are they?”

“They add about two hours to the runtime, but it’s so worth it! They add so many amazing scenes that you don’t get in the normal movies- oh, wow, sorry. I’m being a bit intense.” He smiles sheepishly.

“No, keep going. I want to hear more,” you lean forward, genuinely interested.

“Okay, so…”