Slavic Towns

“Stop thinking. Makes you frown, love.”

“Can’t help it.”

The pair made their way down the semi-familiar streets of some god-awful Slavic town, shoulders bumping more often than not in an attempt to keep close for what little body heat the undead could garner.

The other man’s friendly hand gripped the elder vampire’s shoulder in a much needed comforting motion. It’d been only a few months since he’d set out on his trek in attempt to solve whatever conflicts he had with himself, and only a handful of weeks since he’d met Victor at a run down pub in the absolute, honest to god, middle of nowhere. Victor Gryson, as he had promised since the first night they’d met, had been little less than a perfect gentleman.

Vic, who’d talked him through possibly the longest days he’d ever have to live through- was undeniably German, not that he’d admit the fact in public. Anti-Germanic sentiments, still, ran heavily throughout the larger part of Asia; apparently countries never forgot the people who started the Second World War. The same Vic who’d sworn he’d find the person responsible for putting him in such low spirits- the only one who’d cared enough to listen to partially-insane ramblings on the days where he had to have his cell forcibly torn from his hands, to stop him from pleading with Sebastion to have him back.

There were those days, of course, Darrian couldn’t but remember with a bit of unease, leaning into the touch mare than gratefully; when Vic would flirt unabashedly, harmlessly- with him, no less. It wasn’t as if he’d explicitly told the man to cease his affections- Gryson knew full well that his heart was Sebastion’s and Sebastion’s only…and yet, still, he seemed unfazed in his amorous advances. The attention, some days, was the only thing that allowed the Sesierre to remain sane.

Silly as the thoughts were, to be thought of as desirable- despite the fact that he knew he was never to return his friends affections in such a way- was a sentiment that’d been much lacking for the past few years, even before he retreated from the world. He knew, surely, if only for his immortality, that looks weren’t something for him to fret over- and of course, the grandchildren had come along and the last thing anyone was thinking about was how the grandparents appeared. Though..

Somedays, he sighed, managing a reassuring smile to his companion, who’d deftly slipped an arm about his waist to no rebuke, actually most days…it would have made his world spin if Sebastion would have spared a compliment, as obligatory as it may have had to been. It was certainly a…terrible feeling, to know the person you loved most in the world thought you unattractive. Not that the problems with his and Sebastion’s relationship started, nor ended, there- merely a sore point.

A feather-light touch of lips to his cheek made the Sesierre turn his head with woeful eyes.

“Cheer up, love. That look just breaks my heart.”

The sentiments were whispered with such sincerity, he could hardly keep dry eyes- and wondered why, of all the men in the world; Vic had to fall for him. Or why, he couldn’t help think, albeit more traitorously, he had to fall for Sebastion. Days such as these he wished he could give the Gryson all he wanted, and knew better than to try. It would be solely out of spite for the eldest Lyoncoure, and he never wanted to start a relationship on such a hateful emotion.

“There, shush, sunshine, we’re almost there.”

Darrian felt the arm settled on his waist tighten protectively, and resolved to let himself be comforted by the man he wished were just a bit shorter, whose hair should be just a few shades lighter- so that he could pretend that he was in love, and loved in return.