Archive of Our Own ^beta

The vending machine makes a sound like an ancient ghost wheezing through the pipes of a haunted house. Guillermo watches as the KitKat he so desperately needs shudders, teases him with a fall, and then gets stuck in between its slot and the window. He stares at it for a solid minute and wonders why the universe fucking hates him. 

“God damn it,” he whispers. 

Above him, standing out against the twilight-blue sky, the neon sign of the motel flickers. He looks up at it, then back at the KitKat trapped like a bug in a cup. If he can take on hordes of vampires surely he can take on this thing. It might not be vulnerable to religious relics but most things are at least somewhat vulnerable to out-and-out violence. 

Guillermo takes a deep breath, steps back, then throws himself against the vending machine, shoulder first. The whole thing whines and shakes but when he checks on his KitKat it is still precariously perched in between metal and glass. He takes a step back again and repeats the process. His shoulder aches from the collision but the KitKat suffers no such consequences. It doesn’t budge. If Guillermo closed his eyes and listened, he thinks he would hear it laughing at him. 

A familiar voice comes from behind him. “Guillermo?” 

He whirls around sharply and finds Nandor standing in the distance by the front door of their ground floor motel room. 

“The sun will be up soon, Guillermo.” 

“I know, Master,” he says. “I won’t be long.” 

Instead of going back inside like Guillermo expected he would, Nandor passes the four doors between them. He comes to stand beside him and peers into the vending machine window. He says, “Why are you engaged in hand-to-hand combat with that box? Did it scare you?” 

Guillermo feels a little childish when he replies, “My KitKat got stuck.” 

Nandor jabs his finger against the glass, right where the KitKat sits. “This thing?” 

“Yeah.” 

Nandor waves both of his hands at the machine and growls, “Release the KitKat!” 

Nothing happens, because obviously. Nandor bares his teeth and waves his hands again for good measure. 

“That’s… I don’t think that’s going to do anything. Really, it’s fine. I’ll just get something else. I have more cash in the room so—”

Guillermo is interrupted by the sharp sound of shattering glass. He blinks in surprise. 

Nandor has punched a hole through the window and he is holding the KitKat in his fist. When he pulls his arm back, more glass falls to the ground and into the pits of the vending machine. He hands the KitKat to Guillermo, who takes it gently and shakes off shards of glass. 

“There. I have conquered this great machine for you!” Nandor strikes a victorious pose. “Now to bed.” 

“Thank you, Master,” Guillermo says softly and casts a nervous glance towards the beat-up looking security camera fixed to the porch roof. There’s nothing much he can do aside from asking Nandor to hypnotise the receptionist later. 

With a final look at the shattered window of the vending machine, Guillermo pockets his KitKat and follows Nandor. 

Their room is not much to write home about. There's a queen sized bed pushed up against the wall with a bleak landscape painting above the headboard, a rickety table barely big enough to sit two people, two equally rickety chairs, and a TV that definitely saw the twin towers come down. There's a damp spot on the ceiling. The wallpaper is peeling everywhere, its shade an ugly yellow that might have been white once. When they checked in a few hours ago, the receptionist had practically thrown the keys in his face with how enthused she was about having guests. 

Guillermo idly wonders if the motel is haunted while he places one of the pillows on the floor. There is only one proper cover but there is a shabby wool blanket folded on the foot of the bed so that will have to be enough for one night. 

"Guillermo," Nandor says from the other side of the room, dragging his name out the way he always does. "What are you doing?" 

"I'm making my bed," he replies, voice a little dry. He tosses the blanket on the floor, then walks over to triple-check that the curtains are properly shut so as to not let in any sunlight. 

"Why are you dropping things on the floor?" 

Guillermo turns to look at him. Nandor is perched on one of the chairs like an emperor surveying his kingdom, but also like an emperor who is feeling a little awkward about the whole situation. 

"Because... I'm sleeping on the floor." 

Nandor frowns in confusion. "You are?" 

A brief pause. Then Guillermo ventures, "Yes?" 

For a moment they just stare at each other while Guillermo tries to figure out if Nandor is suggesting that they share the bed or if he's expecting Guillermo to sleep in the bathtub. 

Finally, Nandor's face clears up like he has had an epiphany. Guillermo doesn't like Nandor's epiphany-face one bit because it usually precedes Nandor being completely and utterly wrong about something. 

"Guillermo, it is okay that you are still scared of me. I am very dangerous. I understand."

There it is. 

"That's not— No," he says. "I'm not scared of you. Do I need to start throwing stakes again?" 

Nandor ignores the last part because he doesn't like to talk about how he lost their little fight. It's still a sore subject. "So why are you sleeping on the floor, if not to keep your distance from a ferocious warrior?" 

"I didn't know you wanted to share the bed." 

"Please, Guillermo, I'm not that cruel." 

Guillermo stares at him, wishing there was a camera here he could look at instead. "I slept in a cot at the foot of your bed in Atlantic City." 

Nandor raises one finger, his ring glinting in the low light. He announces boldly, "Things have changed." 

"They have? How?" 

"Enough of this." He points at the blanket on the floor. "Pick up your things."

Getting a straight answer out of Nandor about anything is like pulling teeth. Guillermo thinks about Nandor pulling his fangs out, leaving bloodied gaps, and he grimaces. 

He checks the curtains again, just in case. Then he crosses the room to gather up the blanket and pillow as directed and arranges them on the bed. His mouth is strangely dry. He considers going back out to the vending machine to get a can of coke, but decides that it's not worth the risk of leaving Nandor alone when he could potentially wander out into the sunlight and die. 

It's been three days since they left New York. They made it to Pittsburgh earlier that night, at which point Guillermo organised them a car because he was sick of trains. A couple of hours ago Nandor had pointed to Minneapolis on a map because he thought it sounded funny, so that was where they were headed for now. 

Guillermo doesn't care. He is just happy to be on vacation. 

"Guillermo?" 

"Yes, Master?" 

"Come and brush my hair." 

Guillermo stops fluffing Nandor's pillow and turns to him. "Alright." 

The faucet in the bathroom is leaking and it's driving Guillermo to the brink of violence. He lies in the dark and stares at the ceiling while it tap-tap-taps away, an incessant rhythm that sets his brain on fire. Next to him, Nandor hasn't moved in well over twenty minutes. 

He must be asleep, or maybe playing dead. 

It's not like Guillermo is fussy about where he sleeps — his room is a closet. But there isn't nearly enough space between them. It feels like purgatory, being this close to Nandor while the faucet drips in the bathroom, in the back of his head, endless. 

He lets out a long, shuddering breath and gets up. He has six hours of driving ahead of him come nightfall if they want to stick to the preliminary plan and make it to Indianapolis. He can't be driving to Indianapolis on nothing but coffee and a KitKat. 

In the bathroom, Guillermo fiddles with the faucet. He has no way of fixing it without any tools, but maybe a few threatening words will set it straight. When that fails, he takes a folded towel and places it underneath the drip. It muffles the noise, enough so that he might not hear it through the closed door. 

Feeling moderately better he switches off the bathroom light and goes back to bed. 

"Guillermo?" Nandor's voice is soft in the dark, barely above a whisper. 

"Did I wake you up?" Guillermo pulls the blanket up to his chin and resolutely doesn't look at Nandor. "Sorry." 

"No, you did not. You're very twitchy." 

"Sorry," Guillermo says again. 

"Your blood is too loud," Nandor tells him. 

"Excuse me?" 

"It's like... the sea." 

Guillermo bites back another apology. He doesn't often think about the fact that the heightened vampire senses mean that Nandor can hear things Guillermo doesn't want him to hear, like complaints muttered under his breath or worse yet, his heartbeat. 

"Not much I can do about that," he says, a little prickly. "But I fixed the faucet." 

"What faucet?" The word sounds strange in Nandor's accent, like no word in existence. 

"You can hear my blood but not the leaky faucet?" 

When Nandor doesn't say anything, Guillermo sinks a little deeper into his pillow. 

"I can't sleep," he admits to the darkness, still looking at the ceiling instead of Nandor. He's worried about what he might see if he turns around. 

"Are you housesick?" 

"Homesick?" 

"That's what I said." 

Guillermo laughs quietly. "No, I'm not homesick." 

Home isn't his shitty room in Staten Island. Home is with Nandor, wherever that may be. 

Isn't that just the saddest thing you've ever heard? 

"Good," says Nandor. "It's no use. We can never go back there." 

Guillermo blinks in surprise. "What? Why?" 

"Because Nadja and Laszlo are getting divorced and Colin Robinson is now a baby. I am not getting involved in that bullshit." 

"Nadja and Laszlo are not getting divorced," Guillermo protests. 

"No? Then why does she keep calling me through the ether to tell me that she is going to kill him?" 

"They just have some stuff to work through." 

"Well, I am not helping them through it." 

Privately, Guillermo thinks that Nandor getting involved would definitely not help anyone, since he has the emotional intelligence of a brick and tends to make everything about himself. But some things are better kept to himself. 

Guillermo finally turns his head to look at Nandor only to find him looking right back. He looks back up to the ceiling like he's been slapped. He clears his throat. 

"Master," he starts. Then, "Nandor. Are you really going to turn me into a vampire?" 

The silence that follows is deafening. When Guillermo ventures another look at Nandor, he isn't looking at him anymore. He’s on his back, his expression shuttered and his eyes fixed to some point in the darkness of the room. 

"Nandor?" 

When Nandor speaks, his voice is as flat as his expression. "Is that really all you care about?" 

Guillermo feels like he's been struck over the head. "What?" 

"Nothing," Nandor snaps. "Forget it." 

"No, come on, what? What do you mean?" 

Again with the teeth-pulling. For a moment, Nandor's mouth looks bloody in the dark. Like Guillermo has taken his fangs. 

"I said forget it." 

"Master," Guillermo says softly. 

"I'm sleeping." To prove his point, Nandor closes his eyes and crosses his arms across his chest like a vampire caricature. 

Guillermo looks at him, the strong line of his nose, his dark eyelashes, the sleek black of his hair. He always finds he looks at Nandor too much, and simultaneously not enough. Eleven years and he still can't get the balance right. 

"Master," he repeats, unwilling to let this go. "What do you think will happen if I turn into a vampire?" 

Because he's 'sleeping', Nandor says nothing. 

"I'm still going to be your bodyguard." 

Nandor opens his eyes and pins him with a stare. "Why?" 

"Because I like it," he says. 

Because I like you, he doesn't say. 

"You will get bored of it," Nandor tells him. "Eternity is a long time." 

"I wouldn't know," says Guillermo, a little bitter. 

Nandor sighs and holds out a hand to him. Guillermo doesn't know what to do with it, so he just eyes it suspiciously. "You will know eternity, my dear Guillermo." He wiggles his fingers. "My word is my bond." 

Hesitantly, Guillermo takes Nandor's hand. He is acutely aware of how sweaty his palms are, and how cool and dry Nandor's skin is in comparison. Nandor's rings are like sharp ice between his fingers. 

He thinks that he might start crying, so he closes his eyes. Touching Nandor always feels like he's doing something forbidden. Like he's breaking some law the universe has laid down for him. He's not sure if that's the Catholic guilt or eleven years of Nandor keeping his distance. 

It won't last long, it never does. Nandor will pull away from him and act like he touched him by accident, but Guillermo will know it's not true. He touches him on purpose. 

Without the endless drip-drip-drip of the faucet, it doesn't take Guillermo long to fall asleep. And sure enough, when he jerks awake in a cold sweat a few hours later, Nandor has pulled away from him and sleeps like he always does, like a corpse flat on his back. 

Guillermo pushes away the disappointment and turns his back to Nandor. 

"That'll be $12.48," the ancient cashier says, holding a plastic bag with Guillermo's gas station snack selection hostage. 

Guillermo pulls $20 out of his wallet and hands it over. While the cashier counts the change, he looks over his shoulder to check Nandor hasn't disappeared or broken anything, and he finds him examining boxes of cereal at the back of the store. 

The cashier drops his change unceremoniously onto the counter. It jingles into stillness and Guillermo scoops it into his wallet. 

"Thanks," he says mildly, takes the bag and his disposable cup of shitty coffee, then turns to collect Nandor. 

Travelling the world sounded more glamorous in Nandor's crypt in Staten Island. Now, in this middle-of-fucking-nowhere gas station at three o'clock in the morning, Guillermo thinks he should have stayed home. He has visions of the golden banks of the river Tigris, of going down on one knee for Nandor and drinking his blood, all of which disappear into nothingness when the first sip of gas station coffee scalds his tongue. 

He really should have just asked Derek to turn him, but he hasn't dedicated a decade of his life to Nandor only to now miss out on getting to drink his blood. 

"You can't eat cereal," Guillermo tells Nandor when he joins him at the back of the store. 

Nandor holds up a box of Kellogg's Frosted Flakes and says, "The sexy tiger wants me to solve his puzzle. He is challenging me." 

Guillermo studies the children's quiz on the back of the box.  

"And how is that going?" 

"I'll need a little longer in this establishment." 

Guillermo takes another sip of his coffee, still too hot to drink but he has bigger things to worry about. He takes the box from Nandor, who protests "Hey!" but lets him do it, and he walks back to the counter. 

Some ten minutes later they're back on the road and Nandor is angrily staring down at the back of his Frosted Flakes box while Guillermo focuses on not totalling their car in the pouring rain. The fact that Nandor needs the light on in order to see his goddamn puzzle is not exactly helping the situation. Guillermo can't see more than a few feet ahead of the car. 

Hey, at least if he gets severely injured in a gruesome car accident, Nandor will have to turn him into a vampire sooner rather than later if he wants him to stick around. Unless he dies, that is. 

Focus, Guillermo. 

"Oh shit, I think that was our exit," he groans and checks the rearview mirror. There's no one behind them, so he pulls over to the side of the road. 

Next to him, Nandor drawls, "Guillermo. Would you like me to drive?" 

Guillermo drags a hand across his face in frustration. "You can't drive." 

"I can learn." 

"I'm not teaching you to drive right now!" 

"You don't have to. I can watch... ah, tutorials. On the website." 

Guillermo pulls out the map from the glove compartment and spreads it out across his lap. The rental car doesn't come with a sat-nav because that would've cost extra, stupid, stupid, and now here they are. No reception, just a map he bought in Pittsburgh a day and a half ago. 

He smoothes out the map and traces the I-70. They're still about three hours from Indianapolis and at this rate they might not make it there by sunrise. He checks his watch. Just past 4am. 

"Guillermo," Nandor starts. 

"Just shut up a second," Guillermo snaps. 

Nandor honest-to-god growls at him, but he does shut up. 

After a few minutes of tense silence, Guillermo folds the map again and places it back in the glove compartment. 

"Okay," he says. "We can stay on the I-70, but it might take us longer." 

He looks at Nandor, who stares back at him with the furious expression of a toddler in time-out. 

"Sorry. I'm just stressed. And I didn't sleep well. The rain isn't helping either, it's actually quite dangerous—" 

"I don't care what the fuck is up with the rain, I'm trying to win us a prize!"

Guillermo looks out into the murky darkness, then at the cereal box in Nandor's lap.

"What's the prize?" 

"An X Ball." 

"A what?" 

Nandor holds the box up to his face and squints at it. Then he declares triumphantly, "An X-Box! And a... T-Shirt that says 'I'm the Puzzle Master'." 

Guillermo considers just getting out of the car. Surely it can't take longer than a week to walk back to Staten Island, right? 

"Great," he says, voice bone-dry. "That's great." Then he shifts the car into gear and manoeuvres them back onto the interstate. 

"You are angry," says Nandor after a short moment of nothing but rain drumming on the windshield and the squeaking of the wipers. 

"I'm fine." And then, "I'm tired." 

"Did I disturb your slumber today?" 

"No. Well, maybe. I'm just not used to sleeping next to anyone." 

"That's a little sad." 

Guillermo laughs, a quick and ugly sound. "I guess it is. But you always sleep alone, too." 

"Yes, because there is only space for me in my coffin." 

"Oh, yeah? Who would you be sharing with otherwise?" It's petty, it's a little mean, but Guillermo is running on fumes and Nandor knows just how to irritate him. 

"Many people! I have a lot of lovers!" 

"Sure," he says. 

Nandor thumps him on the arm. "I do not appreciate this attitude." 

"Sorry," Guillermo says and doesn't mean it. 

"You're not." 

"Busted." 

Nandor harrumphs and Guillermo thinks, suddenly, of the way his voice shook when he asked is that really all you care about? He can't get it out of his head. A stuck record, sputtering. He wonders why Nandor so desperately wants to find a girlfriend when he never cared much before, in all the years Guillermo has worked for him. 

"Nan— Master?" 

"Yes?" 

"Are you still looking for a girlfriend?" 

Out of the corner of his eyes he sees the grimace Nandor pulls. 

"What is this? Why are you asking this?" 

Guillermo grips the steering wheel, his knuckles white and bloodless. "Just curious," he says. 

Nandor is silent for so long that he thinks he isn't getting an answer. Then finally, "I have always thought that I am important." 

"You are important," Guillermo interjects. 

"Yes, yes, well... Not as important as expected. And this is just a rock floating through space." He makes a grand, sweeping gesture to encompass the entire concept of planet Earth. 

"It's a little more complicated than that." 

"I know, Colin Robinson explained it to me," Nandor mutters. 

Guillermo grins. "I can't believe Colin Robinson is a baby now." 

“Can you stop interrupting me?”

“Sorry.” Guillermo ducks his head. 

“Fucking guy,” Nandor mutters. “Life is much smaller than I thought. And sharing it with someone... It would be bigger." 

"That's very sweet." 

"Yes, I suppose. I am very sweet for such a feared emperor and great warrior." 

The rain is starting to let up, but it's still coming down hard enough to make driving feel like a risk. Guillermo checks his watch again — 4:26am. 

"You know," he starts. "I don't think it's very healthy, being so obsessed with finding someone. You have to learn to live with yourself first."

"I lived with myself for 750 years. I’ve had enough of it!" 

Guillermo would like to reach out and touch his hand, or his arm, maybe his shoulder. But he can't stomach Nandor pulling away from him right now. 

Nandor continues, "I would like someone who is loyal to me. Someone who will stay with me no matter what. Someone who will... love me. Nadja and Laszlo have each other, and I have no one. It is a cursed existence to spend eternity alone. If only I was still with John..." He sighs wistfully. 

Maybe it would be for the best if Nandor goes back to his cereal puzzle now, before Guillermo says every stupid thing burning on the tip of his tongue. 

He chokes out, "Why am I not enough for you?" Then he entertains the idea of jerking the wheel around and crashing the car into the trees lining the road. 

"What?" 

"Nothing," Guillermo snaps. 

Silence stretches between them, heavy as lead. 

"Guillermo," Nandor begins. 

"Nope!" Guillermo jams the button of the built-in radio. It bursts to life, playing a guitar-heavy song on a random radio station. It drowns out the sound of the rain and of Guillermo’s heart. 

Nandor practically punches the same button and the music stops abruptly. 

"You are my familiar," Nandor says slowly. 

"Bodyguard," Guillermo corrects on autopilot. 

"My bodyguard. Yes. It's not the same." 

"Right. Yeah! No worries." Guillermo hopes that the ground will open up and swallow them both. 

“You do not want more than that,” Nandor says. 

Don’t I? 

“Uh-huh.” 

With unearned confidence Nandor declares, “If you did, I would know." 

Guillermo can't help but laugh. He keeps his eyes fixed on the road and his hands firmly on the wheel, imagines that he's strangling Nandor and hopes that it will be enough. To have him that close. To be the one to end him. 

He knows in his heart of hearts that he doesn't have it in him to kill Nandor, no matter the cost. It might be Stockholm syndrome or something much worse — like love. Guillermo often thinks he loves Nandor, like admitting it to himself will make it go away. The first step to recovery and all that. 

Finally he says, "Am I not loyal to you?" 

He can feel Nandor's eyes on him. The rain has thinned into a light drizzle, the windshield wipers squeak on the glass, and he can feel Nandor's eyes on him. 

"Did I not stay with you for ten years — for ten fucking years," he continues valiantly. "Despite being treated like shit?" 

"Guillermo." Nandor's voice is uncertain when he says his name. "You—" 

"No! Listen to me!" Guillermo feels hot all over. His palms are sweaty against the faux-leather of the wheel, his heart like a jackhammer in his chest. He tries to choke down the feeling, but it spills out of him anyways, against his will, the only way this was ever going to go. "Why do you think I'm here?" 

"Stop with this bullshit," Nandor snarls. 

Startled, Guillermo finally looks over. He finds Nandor turned to him with his whole body, his brows furrowed in agitation, his hands clasped in his lap. 

"What?" 

"You want me to turn you into a vampire," says Nandor. "That's why you are here. That's all." 

"That's not... Oh my God." 

Nandor hisses at the word. "Don't do that." 

"Sorry." Guillermo's face is pinched. "Of course I want you to turn me into a vampire." 

Nandor nods and sits back in his seat. He says, "See?" 

"But I could just ask Derek to turn me." 

A moment of puzzled silence. Then, "Who in the hell is Derek ?" 

"He's the... from the... The dude with the dog. At the trial." 

"The hellhound?" 

"It's just a dog." 

"It's really not." 

"Never mind the dog—" 

"Hellhound—" 

"Dog. The point is, I could ask Derek to turn me. He owes me."

Nandor asks, "Then why haven't you?" 

Guillermo checks his watch: 4:38 AM. Indianapolis is not even on the horizon. He keeps his mouth shut, hoping that if he just freezes Nandor out this conversation will never have happened. 

That is, as always, easier said than done. 

"Why haven't you, Guillermo?" 

It was barely a fight. 

He says, "I told you, I asked you: Why do you think I'm still here?" 

"You are my familiar," Nandor says once more, as though that changes anything. 

"Sure," Guillermo nods. "And that's all I'll ever be. So why don't you just dump me at a gas station in Delaware, hm? Make me drive you there. Maybe try hypnosis again to be safe." 

Nandor protests, "We're nowhere near Delaware." 

"Oh, please, as if you could point it out on a map." 

Guillermo turns the radio back on with the jab of a finger. Enough of this conversation, enough of this feeling. 

This time Nandor leaves the music on.

Some twenty minutes before sunrise, Guillermo stands in the cramped, white-tiled bathroom of their inner city motel and combs argan oil into Nandor's dark hair. The room is quiet save for the hum of the exhaust fan and the soft rustle of Guillermo's sleeves as he pulls the comb through again and again, a soothing rhythm. His knuckles are shiny from the oil. Nandor sits on a chair that Guillermo dragged in from the bedroom and he stares ahead into nothing with unfocused eyes. 

He's hungry, Guillermo knows. He hasn't eaten since a few days before they left New York. He looks a little pale around the nose and everything about him is a little off, some frantic energy buzzing under his skin. Vampires can go weeks without blood, centuries if they're in super slumber, but it becomes uncomfortable quickly. 

There's a knock on the front door. 

Guillermo is a good familiar. A good bodyguard. He wouldn't let his Master be uncomfortable for too long. 

"One second," he says and goes to fetch dinner. 

The pizza delivery guy can't be older than nineteen and he has more spots on his forehead than hair on his chin, which is promising. The pizza smells good, too. 

"Would you mind coming in? I've got change in here somewhere for the tip." Guillermo takes the pizza box from him and opens the door all the way. 

"Uh," says the guy. "I can just wait here." 

Guillermo narrows his eyes. "Please just come in." 

The kid looks over his shoulder, then at Guillermo. Showing little to no self-preservation instinct he says, "Okay," and steps inside. 

With an apologetic smile, Guillermo shuts the door behind him and locks it. He sets the pizza box down on the side table. 

The kid chuckles nervously. "Yo, dude, what?" 

"Don't worry." Guillermo takes him by the arm. "You won't feel it. It's actually kind of nice. I’ve heard." And he drags him to the bathroom. 

"Keep it in the tub," he reminds Nandor, who takes the whimpering delivery guy from him. "And take off your coat. I don't have time to get it dry-cleaned before we leave." 

"Fine," Nandor says waspishly and slides his coat off his shoulders. He hands it to Guillermo, who folds it and carries it out into the bedroom. 

By the time he comes back, Nandor is already sitting in the bathtub with the kid between his legs, fangs buried deep in his neck. Guillermo stands in the doorway, one hand grasping the doorframe, his knuckles white. 

He used to look away in horror. Eventually horror turned into habit and averting his eyes became a courtesy — to the victim or to Nandor, he couldn't possibly say. But every now and then Guillermo finds that he can't shake the urge to watch. You can't be squeamish about these things in his line of work. It's good to be desensitised. 

The kid gurgles and groans, his body twitching like some part of him is still present enough to want to get away. Nandor pins him with one arm around his chest and holds his head still with his free hand, and Guillermo can't look away. It's less messy than usual, almost as though Nandor wants to make Guillermo's job easier for him. He feels overwrought. Nandor's hair shimmers in the flickering overhead light. It could be Guillermo's blood spilling down the white porcelain, down Nandor's chin. It should be. Sometimes the desire to become a vampire isn't about being reborn, it's about the simple pleasure of dying. 

Moments before the kid stops moving entirely, Nandor looks up at him with dark, feverish eyes. Like hot metal his gaze pierces Guillermo, who has to grip the doorframe so hard his fingernails leave crescent marks in the white paint. 

Without looking away, Nandor tears a chunk of flesh out of the guy's neck and spits it into the bathtub. He growls, low and guttural. There's blood dripping from his fangs and smudged around his mouth, through his beard. Guillermo wants to lick him clean. 

"Thank you, Guillermo," Nandor says, his voice raspy. 

"De nada." 

There's something here. Something in the air. It tastes like bonfire smoke, heavy, too much. Guillermo breathes in and Nandor watches him. There's a dead man in his lap, slumped over with his forehead on the wall tiles. Guillermo wishes it were him. 

"Guillermo, come here," Nandor says. It's not an order — it's hopeful. He's asking. 

The answer will never be no. Guillermo crosses the room in three strides and stands at the edge of the bathtub, looking down at Nandor. There is blood all over his shirt, seeping into his collar. Guillermo may have to burn it. 

Nandor reaches out to grasp the front of his waistcoat. When he tugs, Guillermo sinks down until he is kneeling on the cold tiles. The smell of blood is nearly overwhelming. Nandor pushes himself up with his elbows and the body slides down further into the bathtub, still half on top of him. 

When Nandor reaches out, Guillermo feels his heartbeat in the back of his throat. Nandor pushes his fingers into Guillermo's hair, his fingertips a firm pressure against his scalp, and Guillermo has to steady himself on the edge of the bathtub so he doesn't just fall over. It's inevitable, the way this will go. For months and months, this has been the only possible outcome.

Nandor kisses him like he is answering a question Guillermo forgot to ask. 

He always thought it would feel in some way monstrous to kiss a dead man. But it's just human. If it wasn't for the taste of blood on his tongue, Guillermo might believe Nandor is the same as him. 

His beard is softer than it looks, Guillermo notes. His fangs, on the other hand, are more in the way than he expected. He's conscious of them mostly because as badly as he wants to cut his tongue on them, he might not be ready for what comes after. 

Nandor pulls back first, and Guillermo is embarrassed to say that he chases after him with an unhappy whine. Nandor relents and kisses him again, quick and almost chaste, then he lets go of him. 

Nandor gestures to the corpse still draped over his midriff. "This is not very nice, is it?" 

"It's fine," says Guillermo, trying not to look too closely at the fact that he is a little into it. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and it comes away bloody. 

He doesn't really know what to do with himself now. With his hands. With his heart. Nandor looks like a mess and so does the tub, so that might be a good place to start. 

"Alright, will you help me get this guy out of here?" 

Guillermo eats his pizza while perched on an uncomfortable chair in the corner of the room. He scrolls through his Instagram feed and tries not to think, or to look at Nandor asleep on the bed. It's been half an hour since Nandor carried the dead body of the delivery driver to the door for him. Twenty-five minutes since Guillermo disposed of it in the alleyway, fifteen minutes since he broke into the manager's office to overwrite the CCTV footage, a little over half an hour since Nandor kissed him. 

The pizza has long since gone cold. The cheese has coagulated into the texture of a shoe sole. Guillermo has eaten much worse. He can taste blood at the back of his throat. 

A little over half an hour since Nandor kissed him. 

The thought bounces around his head like a pinball incessantly, no matter how much he tries to drown it out. He should go to sleep. Maybe take a shower. He has to clean the bathtub first. He has given it a cursory rinse but there are still blood splatters seeping into the grout of the wall tiles. 

Guillermo leaves half of his pizza and closes the lid of the box. He can finish it when he wakes up; another six hours of sitting there won't make it taste any worse. Out of some misplaced sense of modesty, he goes into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him to change into his pyjamas. He folds his clothes neatly, then gets to work scrubbing the tub and tiles with bleach. 

While his hands begin to itch under the rubber of the gloves, Guillermo thinks about what he wants. First and foremost, he wants to become a vampire. He wants to know he hasn't given away his twenties for nothing. And beyond that, well, that is the question. He wasn't lying when he said he would continue to be Nandor's bodyguard, if he would have him. 

The awful truth is this: He wants whatever Nandor will give him. 

They leave around 10pm, once the sun is safely down and Nandor has solved the cereal puzzle. Before they head out, he hands the box to Guillermo with his answers scrawled on it in ballpoint pen and says, "Here is your X-Box." 

Guillermo doesn't have the heart to tell him that solving the puzzle doesn't guarantee you a prize. 

For the first twenty minutes of the drive, Nandor is uncharacteristically silent while Guillermo works himself into a full-blown panic over the mere idea of talking about his feelings, or trying to get Nandor to talk about his. It's dry today, but much colder than last night so before they left, Guillermo had to scrape ice off the windshield and heat up the car. 

When they finally leave the city behind, Guillermo bites down on his lip, hard, then clears his throat. 

"Yes?" Nandor asks when it becomes apparent that Guillermo isn't going to say anything without being nudged.  

Guillermo clears his throat again. Then he says, in one quick rush, "I just need to know what you were thinking when you kissed me because if you weren't thinking anything then that's fine, that's whatever, but you have to tell me." 

A long pause.

"It's really fine," he tacks on. "If you just weren't thinking." 

"Of course I was thinking, do I look like an idiot? Do you think I am an idiot?" Nandor sounds put out. "Well, I'm not an idiot." 

"I didn't say you were." 

"Everything I do is very carefully planned and thought about," says Nandor. "I have a strategic mind." 

Guillermo can name at least twenty-eight examples of Nandor doing things without dedicating a single coherent thought to them beforehand. He keeps that to himself. 

"So it wasn't a spur of the moment decision?" 

"No," Nandor lies. 

"Okay, then tell me what you were thinking." 

"I was thinking I will now kiss Guillermo." 

Guillermo's heart leaps into his throat. He says, "Solid strategising." 

He feels rather than sees Nandor bare his teeth at him in annoyance. He soldiers on: "So what's the next step in your strategy?" 

"Ugh," Nandor groans. "Enough. You're mocking me. I don't appreciate," he jabs his finger into Guillermo's side, who yelps in response, "being mocked. Where's the respect, you little guy?" 

"I'm not mocking you!" Guillermo protests, throwing one hand up. "I don't know what I'm doing either!" 

"Well, I do know what I'm doing, so note that down." A brief pause. "But I suppose... Not entirely. This is all very difficult. You are my familiar, after all." 

"Will you stop fucking saying that? I'm your bodyguard! You promoted me." 

Nandor sighs. Out of the corner of his eyes, Guillermo sees him rest his head against the window like an indie movie protagonist. 

"Yes," Nandor says. "But a familiar is easier." 

"Easier doesn't mean better." 

“Eugh.” 

Guillermo takes the deepest breath he has taken all day, all week. Maybe his whole life. He stares ahead at the dark asphalt illuminated by their headlights and says, "I love you. Do with that what you will." 

Nandor makes a sound like someone dying and Guillermo looks over to find him with his hands hovering awkwardly in the space between them. 

"You love me... like a father?" 

Guillermo grimaces in disgust. "No! Why would I— what the hell?" 

"Ah." 

"I love you like I'm in love with you! Why would I kiss you if— You know what, never mind. I can’t do this.” 

"My dear Guillermo..." 

He looks stoically ahead, both hands on the wheel, like if he just pretends that Nandor doesn't exist then he can make it so. 

“Of course you love me. I’m a very cool vampire. And you love cool vampires.” 

Guillermo clutches the wheel so tightly he swears it might crumble. He should have just kept his mouth shut. 

To his great misfortune, Nandor doesn’t stop there. “You are confused,” he says. “Maybe I’m confused, too. But this is why we are on this journey! To find ourselves.” 

“Sure,” Guillermo bites out, a lump in his throat. This is harrowing. He is thoroughly harrowed. This is the worst possible way this conversation could have gone. 

“Eat, prey, love, my little friend.” 

“Oh my God.” Guillermo relishes the way Nandor flinches at his words. “Please stop talking.” 

“Fine. I thought we were having a good conversation, but fine.” 

Guillermo says, “Well, you were wrong.” 

“Okay,” Nandor snaps. 

“This sucks.” 

“You can play your little music, if you want.”

Guillermo exhales sharply and nods, already fumbling for the radio. 

Here’s the situation: Guillermo is drunk. That doesn’t happen very often, mostly because he doesn’t drink very often, ergo, he is a lightweight. Ergo, he is drunk. Normally he wouldn’t let himself get to this point, but after the day he’s had, he thinks that he deserves it. Fortunately or unfortunately depending on how you look at the situation, Nandor is also drunk, having viciously mauled some poor, inebriated soul in the back alley of a dive bar in Logan Square, Chicago. In the eleven years they’ve known each other, Guillermo has never once been drunk at the same time as his vampire and the fact that the first time this happens should be in an unfamiliar city surrounded by dozens of strangers is starting to look like a mistake. Because, because. Well. 

Here’s the situation: Guillermo is drunk, and he can’t find Nandor. That’s saying something, because Nandor is a hard man to lose, tall and weird-looking as he is. But when Guillermo came back from the bathroom something like four minutes ago and surveyed the room, he couldn’t fucking see him. Anywhere. 

This is a nightmare. The bar is dimly-lit and crowded, he has taken three elbows to the ribs in the last minute, and he realised while staring at his reflection in the bathroom that he was more drunk than he intended to be. So to say that he is panicking would be an understatement. He cycles through the worst case scenarios as he pushes past people to get to the far corner of the bar where the booths are. The Vampiric Council might have figured out Nandor is still alive and decided to kill him if Nadja won’t do it. Maybe Nandor has decided to ditch Guillermo and find Minneapolis on his own. Worse yet, maybe Nandor is still looking for love in Chicago and has gone off with some random human, or werewolf, or vampire, or werewolf-vampire hybrid to pour his heart into. 

Guillermo takes quick, panicked breaths. His palms are sweaty, his heart racing. This is bad. Nandor is going to die alone or get seduced by an evil witch and Guillermo won’t be there to protect him. Or worse, he’s going to sleep with someone other than Guillermo. 

“Guillermo de la Cruz, ” a distant, warbled voice whispers in the back of his mind. “I am calling you through the ether.” 

Guillermo stops in the middle of the dance floor. He asks, “Nandor?” at the exact same time as the voice repeats, “ Guillermo de la Cruz… I am c—” 

A brief pause. 

“Uh, yes. Guillermo? Is that you?” 

Guillermo frowns. “Who else would it be? Where are you?” 

A middle aged woman near him shoots Guillermo a strange look so he moves towards the door. He needs some air. 

"No, Guillermo, where are you?" 

"I'm in the bar! Exactly where I was before!" 

"You left me!" 

"I told you I had to go to the bathroom." 

"No, you didn't." 

"Just tell me where you are so I can come find you," Guillermo says and opens the door to a wall of cold air and a whirlwind of snowflakes. He wipes his glasses with his sleeves but the snow stays in wet smudges on the lenses. 

"I am at the park," Nandor's echoing ether voice tells him. 

Guillermo zips up his coat and pulls the hood over his already damp curls. "Can I get any more information than that?" 

Nandor elaborates, "On a bench."

Very helpful. 

"Alright, stay where you are. Please," says Guillermo and fishes his phone out of his pocket to check Google maps for the nearest park. 

He finds Nandor fifteen minutes later, sitting on a park bench just as he said. Guillermo stomps the thin layer of snow settling on the grass, his nose numb from the cold and his vision blurry through his glasses. He should really get contact lenses. 

Nandor sounds genuinely excited when he says, "Guillermo!" and stands abruptly. He sways  like a strong gust of wind might knock him over. His hair is damp and he looks a little pathetic, brushes of white snow in the fur of his coat. 

"Hi," Guillermo says, feeling giddy. He was annoyed on his walk over here, annoyed with Nandor for wandering off, annoyed with himself for caring, annoyed with the city of Chicago for being cold and unfamiliar, but all that dissipated when he saw Nandor waiting for him, his hands clasped in his lap like a polite child. 

As soon as Guillermo is close enough, Nandor reaches out to take hold of his shoulder. 

"Guillermo," he says again, his eyes unfocused. 

"Sorry I took so long," says Guillermo. “Why’d you run away?” 

Nandor caresses his shoulder through the thick material of his coat. Suddenly the cold doesn't matter quite as much. 

"My Guillermo, we have to talk." 

Oh. He takes a shaky breath in and Nandor inches closer. 

"Right now?" Guillermo asks. "Can't we just go home?" He would rather not rehash the bitter rejection from earlier. 

Nandor insists, "Yes, now." 

The snow has slowed to a gentle flurry and the park is dark around them. There is no one else here but them. It's quiet. Guillermo wonders what Nandor can hear. Distant sounds of the city, maybe Guillermo’s blood. Hesitantly, he lifts his hand up to grasp Nandor's arm that is bridging the gap between them. He curls his fingers into Nandor's sleeve for something to hold on to. 

"I’m sorry for what I said in the car," Nandor starts, slurring his words just enough to remind Guillermo that they are both drunk. "I know I have not always treated you well. And that you think I am a very cool vampire with great strength. A powerful warrior." 

"Of course," Guillermo agrees, inadvertently casting his eyes towards the non-existent camera. 

"But the truth is, Guillermo..." Nandor trails off and slides his hand up to Guillermo's cheek. His palm is as cold as the night air. "That I am scared of you. This is why I left." 

Guillermo blinks in surprise. "What? Ma— Nandor. I know we fought back home but I would never hurt you. Not really. You don't have to hypnotise me, I couldn't kill you if I tried." 

Nandor grunts and shakes his head. "I don't mean that," he snaps. "Of course you will not kill me. I am much too strong for that." 

"Uh-huh." 

"What I mean is that I don't know how to—" He stops to take a breath and he looks at some point above Guillermo's head like he can't stand to look at him. "How to be without you." 

"You don't have to—" 

"Shh! Let me say these things!" 

"Okay." 

"You are a strange little creature, but I’m very fond of you,” Nandor admits and rubs his thumb across Guillermo's cheekbone. “You see, my familiars never leave me.” 

Not a familiar, Guillermo thinks but doesn't interrupt him again because he is desperately trying to focus on what Nandor is saying and not on the fact he is stroking his face. 

"I leave them. Or they die, which is okay. Sometimes it makes me sad but vampires do not care about their familiars, so I stop being sad." 

Guillermo can't help but comment, "That sounds healthy." 

"But you, Guillermo, you could leave me. You have left me. And whenever you do I am like a sad little loser. It's pathetic!" 

Nandor finally looks at him properly and the intensity of it is shocking. Guillermo feels hot all over, and he has to tighten his grip on Nandor's sleeve so he doesn't do anything stupid, like kiss him, or burst into tears. 

"So I am scared of you," Nandor says. "Of what will happen when you leave for realsies." 

Guillermo looks up at him, his jaw set. He waits, but Nandor says nothing more. "Are you done?" 

"Yes, I suppose I am." Nandor's voice is stilted, awkward. His thumb has stilled on Guillermo's cheek. Like he doesn't know what to do now. 

"Nandor, I'm not going to leave you." 

"But when I turn you into a—" 

"I'm talking now." Guillermo reaches up to curl his fingers around Nandor's hand on his cheek. He rubs his knuckles with the pad of his thumb, emboldened by drink. "I want to be with you. That's why I haven't asked Derek to turn me. It has to be you. I just want you to see me as an equal, but you keep pushing me away." 

"Well, you're not really my equal," Nandor starts and Guillermo kicks him in the shin. 

"Shut up! Yes, I am!" 

"Ow! That really hurt!" 

"And I'll do it again if you don't stop ruining this!" Guillermo bridges the small gap between them and pushes his glasses up where they have slid down the bridge of his nose. "I want to be with you! I want to stay! You just have to let me." 

Their height difference is exacerbated by how close they are so when Nandor looks down at him, Guillermo has to tilt his head back a little to look back defiantly. Nandor's lips are parted, his fangs glinting in the light of the streetlamp behind them. There is nothing threatening about him at this moment. He looks vulnerable and lost, his hair covering his ears like he thinks he can hide. Guillermo could hold his heart in the palm of his hand. 

“What if you meet a vampire who is more interesting than me?” 

Guillermo shakes his head. “More interesting than the leader of Al Quolanudar? Impossible.” 

"You’re right," Nandor says quietly. 

Again, Guillermo says, “I want to stay.” 

There is a moment of breathless silence. Finally Nandor says, “I will.” His brows are furrowed, as if he’s angry about it. “I will let you.” 

Guillermo's stomach is in knots but he wraps his arm around Nandor's waist and braves the short distance between them to kiss him. And Nandor really does let him. 

This time there is no blood, no dead body. Just the two of them, holding each other and kissing in this dark and quiet park. It's not a great kiss, not that Guillermo has much to compare it to, because they're both too drunk to be precise, but it's gentle and sweet and Nandor's hand is in his hair, his arm around his shoulder. Guillermo feels like his world is upside down. 

When he pulls back, it's Nandor who chases him. Guillermo kisses him again indulgently and brushes his hands through Nandor's long, damp hair. He doesn't let go of him even when they separate again. 

Nandor looks at him like he hung the fucking moon, which, holy shit, Guillermo does not know how to handle. 

"I don't know what to do now," Nandor says after a long moment of stupid silence. "Do I... I can ask for your hand in marriage?" 

Guillermo flushes bright red and looks away. "Let's just go home. I'll order us an Uber."

"I'm surprised not more of them have died." Guillermo washes blood out of Nandor's beard with a damp towel. "There was that one soundie that the Baron ate. And of course that time with the Mos— Ah. Uh, I mean, never mind. Not that one." 

Nandor is sitting in the bathtub with the water up to his chest and his hair tied back in a ponytail. He bats at the pink bubbles on the surface mindlessly but his eyes are closed and he barely seems to be listening, so Guillermo gets away with almost mentioning the whole Mosquito Club escapade. 

"Laszlo told me they left a camera person behind with the chicken," Nandor says, voice muffled by the towel as Guillermo runs it across his jaw again.  

"The chicken?" 

Guillermo is sitting on the edge of the tub in sweats and a t-shirt, far more casual than he would usually allow himself to look. But the rest of his clothes are in the wash and tonight he isn't a bodyguard, he's a lover, and Nandor his most prized possession. 

"The chicken woman," Nandor elaborates. 

"Oh, the Siren." 

Guillermo drops the towel onto the floor and reaches over to untie Nandor's hair. He shifts for a better position and takes the bowl he set down on the side of the sink. He pulls at Nandor's hair to get him to tilt his head back, not too hard but enough to earn a soft growl, then he uses the bowl to scoop up water and pour it over Nandor's head, careful to only drench his hair, not his face. 

"They could have made it off the island somehow," he points out. 

"They didn't." Nandor sinks a little deeper into the tub, his eyes still closed. "Camera 2 said to me." 

"Oh," Guillermo says. He takes a dollop of shea butter conditioner from the tub and begins to gently work it into Nandor's hair. 

After three days in Chicago they had continued onwards to Minneapolis, making the trek in one night. Sick of shitty motels, Guillermo emptied his checking account to splurge on a nice hotel in the city so their bathroom now has high-ceilings and a tub big enough for Nandor to stretch his legs. Their bed is king sized and there is a pool downstairs that neither of them will use but it's nice to have the option. There's a minibar, for Christ's sake. It's incredible. 

"Sometimes I don't like all the talking," says Nandor and turns his head to kiss the inside of Guillermo's arm. 

Guillermo's hands still for a moment but he keeps going when Nandor makes an unhappy noise. "What talking?" 

"To the camera." 

He relaxes a fraction. "Oh, okay. You mean the talking heads?" 

"Yes, what I said." Nandor opens his eyes for the first time in a good five minutes and he looks up at Guillermo, his expression thoughtful. That's usually worrying, but he looks otherwise relaxed and happy under Guillermo's hands. 

He pushes, "Why not?" 

"Because it's like lying. I say things that aren't right." 

Guillermo hums. He keeps running his hands through Nandor's hair even though the conditioner is all rubbed in. It's more for his benefit than Nandor’s. 

"Yeah, they ask very pointed questions," he agrees. "It's not always easy to actually say what you think when you're mic'd up and there are cameras in your face." 

Nandor seems to falter and his face does something complicated. 

"Guillermo," he starts, but then says nothing more. 

“Yes?” 

“I— I wanted to thank you.” 

“Whatever for, Master?” 

Nandor gives him a sharp look at the tongue-in-cheek title. He says, “You are not taking me seriously.” 

“I am!” Guillermo laughs and runs his slippery fingers down the side of Nandor’s face. “Sorry. Please go on. Master.”  

“Eurgh.” Nandor crosses his sudsy arms across his equally sudsy but lovely chest. “No. Enough with this.” 

Guillermo slides off the side of the bathtub and kneels on the floor. He rests his arms on the edge and rests his cheek on them, batting his eyelids at Nandor prettily. “Please,” he draws out the vowels, begging. “Tell me.” 

Nandor glares at him but there is no real anger there. Guillermo knows these things. Nandor is an open fucking book. 

Finally, Nandor says, “For coming with me.” 

There it is. Guillermo smiles at his vampire, at the shine of shea butter on his forehead, the sight of his fangs poking out below his lip. 

He says, “Anywhere,” and means it.