Venus (#1 Mixi fan)

Owen stared down at his hands for a long moment. “I don't want the cure.”

Legundo was quiet. “You could have your life back.”

“My life?” The words came out almost bitterly. Owen swallowed, his fingers curling against his palms. “Louis's blood is in my veins.” His voice dropped. “Tell me how I'm supposed to forget him when every part of me remembers?”

Legundo didn't answer.

“I wake up and he's still there.” Owen pressed a hand against his chest. “Not his voice. Not his face. Not even some memory I can convince myself is fading with time.” He laughed quietly, but there was nothing amused in it. “His blood.”

Owen looked at Legundo then, eyes shining. “He gave me this. The last thing he ever gave me.”

His voice broke slightly. “And you want me to drink a cure and let that disappear too?”

Legundo's expression softened. 

Owen looked away. “I've already lost him,” he whispered. “I'm not losing the last piece of him I have left.”

For a moment, there was only silence. Then Legundo moved closer. He didn't say anything at first. He simply sat beside Owen, close enough that their shoulders touched.

Owen stiffened. Legundo waited. When Owen didn't pull away, Legundo carefully reached for his hand.

“You don't have to forget him,” he said.

Owen's eyes lowered to their joined hands. “Everyone keeps telling me I should.”

“I know.”

“They say I'm clinging to a dead man.”

Legundo's thumb brushed slowly over his knuckles. “Maybe you are.” Owen looked at him sharply. Legundo gave him a small, sad smile. “But I don't think there's anything wrong with that.”

Owen's expression crumpled for just a second before he managed to hide it again.

Legundo squeezed his hand. “You loved him,” he said quietly. “Of course you still carry him with you.”

Owen swallowed hard. “He's all I have.”

“No.” Legundo's voice was gentle. “He's the part of your past you still have. That's different.”

Owen said nothing.

“You don't have to choose between remembering him and living,” Legundo continued. “And you certainly don't have to let anyone decide what remembering him is supposed to look like.”

Owen stared at him. “What if I never want to let him go?”

“Then don't.”

The answer came so easily that Owen almost laughed. “You make it sound simple.”

“It isn't.” Legundo's gaze dropped to their hands. “But I don't think letting someone go means erasing them.”

Owen's eyes burned.

“He turned me,” he whispered. “He gave me his blood. When everything else was taken from me, that was the one thing he left behind.”

“I know.”

“And if I take the cure…” Owen's voice trembled. “He'll be gone. Completely.”

Legundo shook his head. “No.” Owen looked at him. “Louis will still be Louis,” Legundo said. “He'll still have existed. He'll still have loved you. And you'll still remember him.”

“That isn't the same.”

“No,” Legundo admitted. “It isn't.” His fingers tightened around Owen's. “But I think he'd want you to know that you are more than what he gave you.”

Owen looked away, tears finally slipping free. Legundo didn't comment on them. He simply shifted closer, letting Owen lean against him when he finally gave in. For a while, neither of them spoke. 

Owen rested his forehead against Legundo's shoulder, breathing shakily.

“I miss him.”

“I know.”

“I hate that I miss him.”

“I know.”

“I don't want to forget him.”

“You won't.”

Owen closed his eyes. And for the first time that night, he let himself believe that perhaps remembering Louis didn't have to mean remaining trapped in the moment he lost him.

Legundo's hand settled gently against the back of his head. “You don't have to decide about the cure tonight,” he murmured. Owen nodded against his shoulder. “Or tomorrow.”

Maybe a friendship with Owen and Legundo was all that Louis deserved. Maybe, if he repeated it often enough, he would eventually learn to be content with that. Even if some selfish, foolish part of him wanted more.

Louis had never been particularly good at wanting things. It was easier not to. Wanting meant disappointment. Wanting meant vulnerability, and vulnerability was dangerous when one had spent centuries learning how to keep everyone at arm's length.

So he had become very good at being alone.

The people of Oakhurst knew him as their mayor, though "knew" was perhaps a generous word. Louis rarely appeared in public unless there was something important enough to demand his presence. He attended council meetings, signed documents, settled disputes, and occasionally appeared at town celebrations with the practiced smile of a man who belonged among them.

Then he disappeared again. No one questioned it too much. Louis was polite. Kind. Generous when he could afford to be. And, most importantly, he never gave them a reason to suspect what he really was.

A vampire.

He had learned long ago that people were remarkably accepting of monsters so long as the monsters were careful enough to look human.

Oakhurst did not know that their mayor had red eyes. They did not know that his long white hair fell over skin that had never known warmth. They did not know that the hands signing their permits were cold enough to make people shiver.

And Louis intended to keep it that way. Until Owen.

Owen had arrived in Oakhurst looking like someone who had already been chased out of every other place he'd ever called home. He was ill. That much was obvious. His hands shook sometimes. He tired easily. His skin was an unhealthy shade of pale beneath its natural tan, and there were days when he could barely get out of bed.

People stared. They whispered. Some offered pity. Others offered nothing at all.

Louis offered him tea. That had been the beginning.

"You don't have to keep doing that," Owen had muttered one afternoon.

Louis looked up from the paperwork on his desk. "Doing what?"

"Acting like I'm not sick."

Louis had frowned. "I've never said you weren't."

Owen's eyes narrowed. "Most people don't even want to touch me."

Louis glanced at the hand Owen had been staring at. Then, without thinking much of it, he reached across the desk and took it. Owen froze.

Louis's fingers were cold. Not pleasantly cool. Not the sort of chill one might expect from someone who had been sitting in an unheated room.

Cold.

Owen looked down at their hands. Then back at Louis. Louis simply continued speaking as though nothing unusual had happened.

"You have a condition. That doesn't make you unpleasant."

Owen stared at him for several seconds. Then he laughed. It was quiet and disbelieving.

"You're strange."

"I've been told."

And somehow, that was enough. They became friends. Then very quickly, they became something closer than that.

Owen began appearing at Louis's office without invitation. He would sit in one of the armchairs and complain about the town, the weather, the food, the people, and occasionally Louis himself.

Louis found that he didn't mind. He found that he liked it. He liked Owen's company in a way he hadn't allowed himself to like anyone's company in a very long time.

Eventually, Louis told him the truth. He expected fear. Owen only stared at him for a moment before saying,

"So that's why you're always cold."

Louis blinked. "That's your first question?"

"Well, I already know you're weird."

Louis laughed. He offered Owen immortality after that. Not because he wanted to trap him. Not because he wanted someone to belong to him. Because he couldn't stand the thought of losing the first person who had ever looked at him and seen something other than a monster.

Owen accepted. And for a while, Louis thought that perhaps he had finally found something permanent.

Then Legundo arrived. Legundo was irritating. Louis decided this within the first five minutes of meeting him.

He was a doctor, which explained the white surgical apron, the lenses with their golden frames perched over his right eye, and the general air of someone who had made it his life's mission to tell other people what they were doing wrong.

His buzz-cut brown hair was perpetually untidy. A short beard framed his face, and a scar ran from the top right of his forehead, cutting diagonally down until it disappeared just beneath his left eye.

His green eyes were sharp. Too sharp. And he asked too many questions.

"So you're Owen's friend?"

Louis smiled politely. "I am."

Legundo's gaze lingered on him for a moment before flicking toward Owen, then back again. "Huh."

Owen frowned. "What?"

"You're a strange pair."

"You've known him for thirty seconds."

"Thirty-two, actually." Owen stared at him. Legundo shrugged. "And I'm already right."

A quiet laugh escaped Louis before he could stop it.

Owen's head snapped toward him. "Don't encourage him."

"I didn't say anything."

"You laughed."

Louis pressed his lips together, though the smile was still there.

Legundo smiled smugly. That was the second thing Louis disliked about him. The first was how quickly he had made himself comfortable. Somehow, the doctor became a constant presence in their lives.

He treated Owen when he was sick. He argued with him when he refused to rest. He insulted him when he was being particularly difficult.  And Owen, despite insisting that Legundo was unbearable, kept coming back.

"You know," Louis said one evening, glancing between them, "you could simply stop visiting."

Legundo didn't look up from his book. "I could."

Owen, sprawled across the sofa with one arm thrown over his eyes, snorted. "You won't."

A pause. "I won't."

Louis smiled. "You've grown fond of him."

"I tolerate him."

"Mm."

Legundo finally lowered his book enough to look at him. "What?"

"Nothing."

Louis's smile only widened. "You brought him dinner yesterday."

Legundo's expression remained perfectly neutral. "He forgets to eat."

"And you remembered exactly what he likes."

"He complains when I don't."

Owen lifted his arm just enough to peer at them. "I do not."

"You complained for twenty minutes."

"It was a valid complaint."

"You called my cooking a crime against humanity."

"It was."

Louis laughed softly.

Legundo pointedly returned his attention to his book. "You two are insufferable."

"And yet," Louis said, "you keep coming back."

"I have patients here."

"You finished your work hours ago."

Silence.

Owen slowly sat up, looking far too pleased with himself. "He's got you there."

Legundo gave him a flat look. "No one asked you."

"They didn't have to."

Louis watched the exchange with barely concealed amusement.

Legundo sighed and closed his book. "Fine. Perhaps I don't mind being here."

Owen grinned. "See? Fond."

"Don't push it."

Louis tilted his head. "Are you two talking about me?"

"No," Owen said immediately.

"Yes," Louis said at the same time.

Legundo stared at them. "I hate both of you."

Owen smiled. "No, you don't."

Legundo looked between the two of them, sighed, and opened his book again.

"Unfortunately."

And that was how it always was. The three of them. Owen and Legundo arguing over something completely insignificant while Louis sat between them, listening to their voices fill the room.

Sometimes Owen would lean against his shoulder.

Sometimes Legundo would fall asleep in the armchair.

Sometimes Louis would look around the room and realize that he was happy.

That was the dangerous part.

He was happy.

Because somewhere along the way, the three of them had become something like a family. And Louis wanted more. He hated himself for it.

He wanted Owen's hand in his. He wanted Legundo's head resting against his shoulder. He wanted to wake up and find both of them still there. He wanted to be allowed to love them without having to wonder whether he was crossing some invisible line.

But he couldn't say that. He wouldn't. Because friendship was safe. Friendship did not demand anything. Friendship did not risk destroying what they already had.

So Louis learned to swallow the words.

Maybe friendship was enough.

Maybe it had to be.

Outside, the moon hung over Oakhurst, silver light spilling across the rooftops. Inside, the three of them remained together. 

Owen eventually fell asleep on the sofa. Legundo arrived sometime after midnight, complained that Owen had stolen his blanket, and proceeded to sit beside him anyway. Louis watched them both.

His heart ached. But it wasn't an entirely unpleasant ache.

Maybe friendship was all he deserved.

Maybe someday he would believe that.

For now, though, Owen was asleep beside him, Legundo was quietly reading in the armchair, and the house was filled with the small, ordinary sounds of people who had chosen to stay.

Louis leaned back in his chair.

Perhaps that was enough.

Perhaps wanting more didn't mean he had to take it.

And perhaps, for tonight, he could simply be grateful. 

Louis had always believed that being mayor meant knowing when to keep his distance. It was a useful skill in Oakhurst.

Humans were complicated creatures. They could be kind, generous, and fiercely protective of one another, but they could also be cruel when they were frightened. Louis had seen both sides of them often enough to know better than to place his faith entirely in either.

Still, he cared for the people of Oakhurst. That was why he had accepted the position in the first place. He wanted the town to prosper. He wanted its people fed through the winter, its roads maintained, its disputes settled before they became blood feuds. He wanted children to grow up without knowing what it meant to be afraid of the dark.

It was a demanding job. Some days, Louis barely had time to look up from the paperwork on his desk.

Owen first came to him on one of those days. Louis remembered it because he had been halfway through reading a particularly tedious report about the eastern road when there was a knock at his door.

"Come in."

The door opened. A young man stepped inside. Owen. Louis knew the name, though he had never spoken to him before.

Most of Oakhurst knew him, too. That was perhaps the problem. Owen stood awkwardly near the doorway, hands clasped together in front of him. He looked uncomfortable simply being there. He was thin, visibly unwell, and carried himself with the careful stiffness of someone accustomed to being watched.

Louis had heard the whispers.

Sickly.

Contagious.

Best kept away from.

He had also heard that Owen rarely left his home unless he had to.

Louis set his pen down.

"How can I help you?"

Owen hesitated. "I want to build a mill."

Louis blinked. "A mill?"

"Near the northern edge of town." He produced a handful of papers and placed them on the desk. "I need your approval."

Louis looked over the proposal. It was surprisingly thorough. The location was sensible. The plans were practical. Owen had even accounted for the noise and traffic the mill would create.

Louis looked back at him. "You've thought this through."

"I don't like bothering people."

It was said so plainly that Louis almost smiled. "I can tell."

Owen looked as though he wasn't sure whether that was an insult.  Louis signed the first page.

"I'll have the council review the construction plans, but I see no reason to object."

Owen stared at the signature. "That's it?"

"Was there supposed to be a dramatic confrontation?"

"I expected more questions."

"I have a great many questions," Louis admitted. "But most of them concern whether the mill will collapse on someone."

Owen's mouth twitched. Almost a smile. "That would be bad."

"Quite."

And that was how it began. Not with friendship. Not even with much conversation. Just paperwork.

Owen returned a few days later with revisions to the plans. Then again with another document. Then again because the council had requested clarification on something Louis had already approved. 

Their meetings became regular almost by accident. Louis began to recognize the sound of Owen's knock. Three quiet taps. Never more. 

Owen never came without a reason. He would sit across from Louis's desk, answer whatever questions needed answering, and leave.

He didn't make small talk. He didn't ask about Louis's life. He certainly didn't seem interested in the mayor's attempts to make conversation. And Louis found, somewhat surprisingly, that he didn't mind.

There was something peaceful about Owen's company. Unlike most people, he didn't expect anything from Louis. No favors. No gossip. No complaints about their neighbors. No endless requests for the mayor to solve problems they could have solved themselves.

Owen simply sat there. Sometimes they discussed the mill. Eventually, they began discussing other things. The weather. The town. The absurdity of council meetings.

It took months before Louis realized he had begun looking forward to those three quiet knocks. It took longer to realize that Owen had become one of the few people he trusted. 

Louis knew why Owen kept to himself. He'd eventually heard the whole story. The illness, the rumors, the townsfolk refusing to sit beside him at the tavern. People crossing the street when they saw him coming. Parents pulling their children away.

They were afraid of catching whatever sickness had made Owen so thin and pale. Owen had responded by deciding that he hated them all.

Louis couldn't blame him. Not entirely. He didn't agree with Owen's bitterness toward humanity, but he understood it. And perhaps that was why Louis never told him he was wrong.

Instead, he simply kept showing up. So did Owen.

Until one evening, after an especially miserable council meeting, Louis found himself staring at another mountain of paperwork. He was exhausted. His patience was gone. His head ached. And he had three more reports to finish before sunrise.

There was a knock. Three quiet taps.

Louis sighed. "Come in."

Owen stepped inside. He looked tired himself. 

"You look terrible," Louis said.

Owen raised an eyebrow. "So do you."

Louis stared at him. Then, despite himself, smiled. "Fair enough."

Owen sat in the chair opposite him. For a while, neither spoke. Louis returned to his paperwork. Owen picked up the book he'd left behind during his previous visit. It was comfortable. Familiar. The sort of silence Louis had never imagined enjoying.

After several minutes, Owen looked up from his book.

"You know, I think you're terrible at being a mayor."

Louis's pen stopped. "I'm sorry?"

"You heard me."

"I believe I did."

"You work too much."

"I have responsibilities."

"You have an unhealthy relationship with paperwork."

Louis narrowed his eyes. "Are you lecturing me?"

"Maybe."

"Bold."

"I've been watching you do the same thing for months."

Louis leaned back in his chair. "And what exactly would you have me do?"

"Go home."

"I am home."

Owen stared at him. Then he laughed. It wasn't the small, restrained smile Louis had grown accustomed to. It wasn't the polite little chuckle Owen sometimes gave when Louis made a joke. It was real.

Warm. Unrestrained. It caught him completely off guard. Louis simply stared.

Owen noticed. "What?"

Louis couldn't answer. He had heard laughter thousands of times. He had heard it in crowded taverns and at weddings. He had heard children laughing in the streets and old friends laughing over stories they'd told a hundred times before.

But he had never heard Owen laugh like that.

Owen, who spoke quietly.

Owen, who avoided crowds.

Owen, who looked as though the world had taught him to make himself smaller.

Owen was laughing.

And something inside Louis went painfully still. He looked at him. Really looked. At the way his eyes crinkled. At the flush spreading across his cheeks. At the way he covered his mouth when he realized just how loudly he'd laughed. And suddenly, with a clarity that frightened him, Louis understood.

Oh.

Oh, no.

He was in love.

The realization was almost laughable in its simplicity. It explained everything.

Why Louis noticed when Owen skipped meals.

Why he knew the sound of Owen's footsteps.

Why he kept an extra blanket in his office.

Why he had started arranging his work around those three quiet knocks.

Why every cough made something cold and ugly twist in his chest.

Why he had begun worrying about the future in a way he hadn't allowed himself to do in centuries.

Louis looked down at his desk. He was the mayor of Oakhurst. He had spent decades learning how to protect people without becoming attached to them. And somehow, the one person he had never expected to care about had slipped past every wall he'd built.

"Owen?"

"Hm?"

Louis looked back at him. Owen was still smiling. Louis smiled too.

"I never knew that love had a sound."

Owen's expression faltered. "What?"

Louis felt almost embarrassed by the confession. Almost.

"Until I heard you laugh."

Silence. Owen stared at him. Then his face turned pink. Louis had seen him embarrassed before. He had never thought it could be so endearing.

"You..." Owen began. Louis waited. "You mean that?"

Louis glanced toward the window. Outside, Oakhurst was quiet beneath the moonlight. The town he had sworn to protect. The people he had spent so long caring for. And beside him sat the one human being he had somehow come to love more than he knew how to explain.

Louis looked back at Owen. "Yes." His voice was softer now. "I do."

Being mayor of Oakhurst had sounded rather different when Louis had first taken the position. He'd imagined council meetings. Town celebrations. The occasional argument between shopkeepers. Perhaps a few difficult decisions.

He hadn't accounted for the paperwork. There was always paperwork. There was paperwork waiting on his desk when he woke up. There was paperwork waiting when he returned from council meetings. There was paperwork waiting when he came home. And somehow, every time he finished one stack, another appeared.

Louis stared at the mountain in front of him. His eyes burned. He rubbed at them with the heel of his hand. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept properly. It didn't matter. There was still work to do.

He picked up his quill again. The ink had begun to blur. Louis blinked. Once. Twice. He forced his eyes to focus.

Road repairs for the eastern district.

He signed.

Budget allocation for the winter.

He signed that too.

Complaint regarding noise from the tavern.

Louis stared at it. "You're joking." He dropped it onto the growing pile. 

There was a knock at the door. Louis didn't look up.

"Come in."

The door opened. Owen stepped inside. He didn't say anything. Louis could feel him staring. After a few seconds, Louis sighed. 

"Whatever you're going to say, make it quick."

Owen shut the door. "Hello to you too."

"Sorry."

Owen walked toward the desk. "You've been here all day."

"I'm aware."

"You didn't come to bed last night."

"I had work."

"You said you'd join me later."

"I intended to."

"You didn't."

Louis's quill scratched across the page. "I know."

Owen stopped beside the desk. "Louis."

"I'm nearly finished."

"You said that yesterday."

"I was nearly finished yesterday."

"And the day before?"

Louis stopped writing. His fingers tightened around the quill. "Can we not do this right now?"

Owen's expression softened. "I'm not trying to fight with you."

"It feels like it."

"Because you're tired."

"I'm not tired." Owen gave him a look. Louis looked back. "I know what I look like."

"Do you?"

Louis's jaw tightened. "I said I'm fine."

Owen was quiet for a moment. Then he reached across the desk and gently took the quill from Louis's hand. Louis immediately looked at him.

"Owen."

"No."

"Give it back. I need to finish this."

"You need to sleep."

"I'll sleep when I'm done."

"You said that yesterday."

"I know."

"And the day before."

"I know." Louis's voice came out sharper than he'd intended.

Silence filled the room. Louis looked away. His shoulders sagged.

"...Sorry."

Owen set the quill down. He moved around the desk and crouched beside Louis's chair.

"You don't have to apologize to me."

Louis swallowed. "I just have a lot to do. Everyone keeps coming to me, there's always something."

"I know."

Louis looked down at him. His voice dropped. "If I don't do it, who will?"

Owen reached up and took his hand. "I don't know." Louis looked at their hands. "But it doesn't have to be you every time."

Louis didn't answer. Owen squeezed his fingers. "Come here."

Louis hesitated. Then he stood. Owen pulled him into his arms. Louis immediately melted into him. Owen was freezing. Louis was freezing too. Normally, the cold would have been unpleasant. Tonight, it was comforting. Familiar. Safe.

Louis closed his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I've been ignoring you."

Owen shook his head. "You've been overwhelmed."

"Still."

Owen kissed his temple. "I missed you."

"I missed you too."

"That's all I wanted you to say."

Louis smiled weakly. "You're very demanding."

"I learned from you."

Louis laughed softly. It was the first genuine laugh he'd managed all day.

Owen brushed his thumb beneath Louis's eye, gentle despite the coldness of his touch, and took his hand.

"Come on."

"Where?"

"Out of here."

Louis glanced toward the desk. "I still have—"

"No."

"Owen."

"No."

"I have things that—"

"Louis." There was no irritation in Owen's voice this time. Just quiet firmness. "Please."

That stopped him. Louis looked at him for a moment before sighing. "...Fine."

Owen smiled. "Good."

He kept hold of Louis's hand as he guided him toward the door.  Louis made it three steps before looking back.

"My paperwork."

"It's staying exactly where it is."

"What if someone needs me?"

"They'll survive."

"What if—"

"Oakhurst will survive one evening without you."

Louis gave him a skeptical look. "You don't know that."

"I've been watching you run this town for long enough to know that you're not the only competent person in it."

"That's debatable."

"You're exhausting."

"I've been told."

Owen opened the door. Louis stepped into the hallway. He immediately noticed something. The house was quieter than usual. Not empty. Just... quiet.

There were no footsteps. No voices. And, more importantly, there was no Legundo wandering around looking for him.

Louis looked at Owen. "Where's Legundo?"

Owen's mouth twitched. "Busy."

"Doing what?"

"You'll see."

Louis narrowed his eyes. "You're being suspicious."

 They walked down the hall. Louis's steps were slower than usual, the exhaustion finally catching up with him now that he wasn't forcing himself to sit behind a desk.

Owen noticed. He didn't say anything. He simply slipped an arm around Louis's waist, letting him lean against him as they walked.

When they reached the sitting room, Owen opened the door. Louis stopped.

"Oh."

Legundo was already there. And he had apparently been busy.

The curtains had been drawn, leaving the room dim and comfortable. Several blankets had been piled onto the sofa, along with a few pillows that looked suspiciously like they had been stolen from their bedroom. And, most noticeably, the fireplace was lit. A warm orange glow filled the room.

Louis stared. Then he looked at Legundo. Then at Owen. Then back at Legundo.

"...You planned this."

Legundo looked entirely innocent. "Planned what?"

Louis gestured vaguely at the room. "This."

Legundo glanced around. "Oh, this?"

"Yes, this."

"Well." Legundo picked up the mug he'd prepared. "I may have anticipated that you would need somewhere comfortable to sit."

Louis looked at Owen. "You knew."

Owen shrugged. "Obviously."

"You two planned this."

"Yes."

"When?"

"Earlier."

"How much earlier?"

Legundo smiled. "Long enough."

Louis stared at them, then the fireplace, then the blankets. Something warm settled in his chest. Not the kind of warmth Legundo carried in his hands. Something else. Something softer.

"You really thought all of this through."

Legundo's expression softened. "We know you."

Owen stepped closer behind him. "And we know you well enough to know that if we simply told you to rest, you'd find another reason not to."

Louis looked at him. "...I might have."

"You would have."

"I would have."

Legundo smiled. "So we made it difficult for you."

Louis laughed. "That's cruel."

"Effective, though."

"Unfortunately."

Owen gently guided him toward the sofa. Louis sat down. The cushions practically swallowed him. He sighed.

"Oh."

Legundo smiled. "Comfortable?"

"Very."

"Good."

Owen sat beside him. Louis immediately leaned against him. Legundo settled on his other side, pulling one of the blankets over all three of them.

Louis looked down at it. "You brought the good one."

"Of course."

"The blue one?"

"The blue one."

"You hate that blanket."

"I hate that blanket when you're not under it." Louis looked at him.  Legundo smiled. "Different circumstances."

Louis laughed again. "You two are ridiculous."

Owen rested his head against Louis's shoulder. "So you've said."

Louis looked around the room again. The fire. The blankets. The two people sitting on either side of him. His boyfriends.

They had noticed.

They had seen how tired he'd become before he'd even admitted it to himself. And instead of asking him to do anything else, they'd simply made somewhere for him to stop.

Louis swallowed. "You really do love me, don't you?"

The question came out quieter than he'd intended. Neither of them joked.

Owen lifted his head. "Of course we do."

Legundo reached for his hand. "Very much."

Louis looked down at their joined hands. Owen's fingers were cold. Legundo's were warm. He squeezed both.

"I love you too."

The fire crackled softly.

Owen was cold against his side. Legundo was warm against the other. For the first time in days, Louis didn't feel like he needed to be anywhere else.

He looked toward the door. His study was down the hall. The paperwork was waiting. The town was waiting. Tomorrow would bring another pile of problems. But tonight? Tonight, Oakhurst could wait.