#mxchu.fic

Vincent loved Lovely’s smile. Who wouldn’t? The way they’d pucker their lips, fighting off the grin until they couldn’t anymore. Smile so wide with a fit of giggles. Was it weird to like someone’s teeth? Some are more crooked than others, not to mention the fangs that have finally fully grown. They still aren’t used to them, sometimes getting caught on their lower lip. 

Vincent hated being the reason that smile would disappear.

So he tried his hardest to keep the fun, energ–exciting beam on their face. Sometimes he has to skid past some details, like the time he and Will fought about what will Lovely do after their turning (he’s a little more worried about them reattending the school than Lovely knows)–but it’s not a complete lie! Sure, Vincent gets a little queazy, and his chest tightens a little bit. . . and the room feels a little warmer–but it’s never technically a lie. He wouldn’t even be able to say it if it was.

“What’s that, Lovely?”

“Vincent Solaire. I want the truth.”

If only the couch could swallow him whole–it was comfy enough, he wouldn’t mind living in it for the rest of his eternity. Sam apparently didn’t think so, leaning up to look over at the older vamp.

“They don’know, Vincent?” 

“‘Don’t know’ what?” Lovely crossed their arms, their phone still in hand. Just a minute ago, they were outside on the porch of their shared house. Just a minute ago, they texted the phone number they’d remember their brother having just about three years ago (God, it’s been three years since they last reached out.)

Just a minute ago, they answered the call from their brother and heard his sobs. “How? This can’t be real? They told us you were–you were gone, Lovely.”

“Why does my brother think I’m dead, Vincent?”

That’s not really a question with an escapable answer. “. . Because that’s what D.U.M.P. told your family. .?”

“Are you unsure or is that the truth?”

“It’s the truth.”

Sam huffed out a deep breath, zipping into the kitchen where Tank had disappeared to minutes ago. 

“Why does Sam know but I don’t?” Lovely stood before him, brows furrowed to the top of their nose. “Actually, I don’t care that Sam knows, but why wasn’t I told? It’s my family–no–it’s my death that’s been shared with everyone but me! Why the hell were they even told that anyways?”

“It’s protocol after your turning.”

“Okay? So they have to be told that a died?” Despite being phrased as a question, the tone and way Lovely stomped a little closer to the couch made it sound otherwise.

“Not necessarily. .  It was that or serenity demons alter your family’s memories so they don’t remember you; you’ve mentioned they were family-oriented, so I thought–”

“Oh, you thought! That makes it all okay! We can go back to our peaceful lives now knowing everyone thinks I’m fucking dead!” Lovely scoffed as they walked away, too upset to even look at their partn–maker.

“I don’t even care that they think that,” Lovely persisted, “but you couldn’t have told me?”

It’s getting hot in here. “I wanted to–”

“Well, why didn’t you?”

My stomach. . . “I didn’t want to make you upset!”

“‘Upset?’” They were genuinely surprised, turning about to look him in his silvery eyes. “‘Upset!’, that’s what you were concerned about?”

I can barely breathe. “With the aftermath of inversion, bloodlust, our duties–Quinn?; There was never a good time!”

“So you’d rather wait til I was, what, happy, or something? What til we finally can settle down to knock me right back off my feet,” they laughed. Not one that made Vincent join, either.

Can vampires throw up? “That’s not what I meant, you know that.”

“Do I? It’s beginning to seem like I’m not told a lot of things,” Lovely cocked their head, “Anything else to share?”

Too many. Vincent shook his head. He can’t say lies to them.

. . . But that doesn’t feel right either.

He nodded his head.

“So what is it? Have you been lying to me or what?” they questioned. They inched over again, Vincent looking up at them from his increasingly uncomfortable spot.

“. . not technically.”

They let out what sounded like a growl, turning away once again as they gripped their scalp. “Vincent” is all they could say, along with other guttural sounds.

After a moment, they untensed their hands, letting them fall to their sides. “Is your side of the deal even real? Can you actually not lie to me?” Is it bad I like being angry?

“I really can’t, Love–”

“Then what is all this bullshit? Huh? All this crap you haven’t told me ‘cause ‘technically, it’s not a lie?’” I can feel the energy again.

“I-I–”

“Tell me, if you really want to! What’s a better time now that the can is open?” I feel alive again.

“Lovely, it’s more than–”

“Is it more than I think–more than I can handle? Cause let me tell you something, Vincent. I’ve handled–handling a lot of shit. I deal with this, don’t I?” They gestured to themself, hands scanning down their body starting at their head.

“Deal? With–”

Damn, this feels good. “Mhmm! With the new fucking body I got from turning!”

“You make that sound–”

“Bad?”

They’ve never seen Vincent’s eyes so wide, silver be so black. If he was alive, he’d flush from embarrassment, Lovely thought. The two other auras were long gone, they both finally noticed during the sudden silence. Lovely hoped theirs would disappear too.

It was on long nights that they’d think about inversion, lying in fresh mud, body so sore from using every ounce of magic they possibly could. They could barely breathe when Vincent landed next to them, shaking the living (ouch) hell outta them. Every gasp for breath ached, where their skin met dirt burned. Vincent’s blood down their throat felt like magma, and don’t get them started on the grueling pain of his teeth in their wrist.

Pain was the only thing they remember from that moment.

“Sometimes,” they started, but quickly hesitated hearing their voice. It was gravely, cracking with tears they didn’t even realize were sliding down their cheeks.

“Sometimes I regret saying yes.”

They never wanted to cause Vincent pain, emotional or physical. He was always so gentle with them, saying not to apologize when they accidentally zapped him or scratched him too hard while clutching him during a breakdown. They never met to hurt him.

But, God, seeing the look on his face sparked a fire inside of them.

Was this the worse way to tell him? Yeah, and they knew that. Not that it made it better, but they knew he had taken notice of it. Makers can feel their progeny’s pain, right? Could Vincent feel their heart ache? Feel the migraine they sported when they’d refuse blood? The hunger pains that followed?

I’m sorry.

Why wouldn’t it come out of their mouth? I’m sorry, Vincent. They’d open their mouth to say it, but nothing would spill out. 

Right.

“It’s not all the time,” they continued, “but damn, is it often.”

I’m sorry you found out this way.

Vincent said nothing, did nothing. He was barely breathing. They’d help him with the panic attack if they didn’t feel their own on the rise. Soon William would come in response. Lovely couldn’t face him–not now.

They crouched down, face level with their maker. His eyes were wide, but no tears like their own. “I. . I have to go. I’ll be back, but I can’t be here right now.”

With that, they zipped off, seeking out the two auras once laughing and beaming in their house. They collided with Tank, head on their upper chest and the shifter quickly held onto them. 

Sam placed a hand on their back, rubbing small circles between their shaking shoulders. “Don’worry, Lovely. Le’it go.”

And they did. Everything from the past three years came out, all onto Tank’s thick flannel. Much to Lovely’s delight, Tank didn’t say anything about the tears and snot the vamp cried into their clothes. In fact, all the shifter did was slowly lower both of them to the ground, Lovely finally realizing they were in the forest behind Wonderworld.

“It’s alright, Lovely. We can stay here as long as you need.”

“Tell us if ya need anything, hmm?”

“Yeah,” they nodded, “I will.”

They’d be back home by morning, they assumed. Vincent would be in bed, William possibly sitting on the couch, waiting there as if Lovely sneaked out like some rogue teenager. And they’d talk, for hours on end, most likely. But for now, Darlin’ felt warm. Sam’s hands felt comfortable. The older vampire hummed a song to fill the silence, softly muttering the lyrics. 

“Thank you. . and for having to hear that. . I’m sorry.”

“Don’ apologize. Just keep takin’ deep breaths, yeah?”