Work Text:
It started off as a normal day in the Molloy household. Daniel woke up, a little after sunset, to the feeling of soft, gentle kisses being peppered all over his face. Not a bad way to spend an eternity.
“Good evening, beloved,” Armand said between kisses.
“Hey babe,” Daniel replied, still half asleep, but willing to wake if it meant a little early-evening nookie.
Armand then stared at him with his huge, lemur eyes, blinking expectantly.
Daniel furrowed his brow. “You okay?”
Something had flashed in Armand’s eyes, and he got out of bed. “Oh, I’m fine. It’s fine.”
Yeah, Daniel had heard that before.
***
Hours later, Daniel is trying to work on manuscript edits. Armand is sitting on the sofa, huffing and sighing in that insufferable way people do when they want to be asked what’s wrong.
Daniel eventually relents.
“Babe, I’m kinda getting the impression you’re mad at me,” he says, turning to look over at his silently seething lover. “And I know I’ve already destroyed two marriages by saying stuff like this, but like… I genuinely have no idea what I’ve done wrong.”
Armand folds his arms. “Oh, you don’t?” His tone is icy.
“I don’t,” Daniel confirms, “and because your head is the only head I can’t climb inside, you’re gonna have to help me out here.”
Armand tips his chin up, defiantly. “You, Daniel Molloy, have forgotten our anniversary.”
Daniel scoffs. “What?! No, I haven’t! Our anniversary isn’t for three months!”
Armand gives him a pointed look. “Our recent reconciliation and your turning is just one of our anniversaries, Daniel. We have several.”
Daniel frowns. “Wait? You don’t consider Divisadero to be our original anniversary, do you?”
“No—”
Thank fuck.
“I consider the night before—the night I first laid eyes on you in Polynesian Mary’s—to be that anniversary. Either way, that isn’t until September, and you know it.”
Jesus Christ.
“Oh-kaaay.”
“You’re a two-time Pulitzer Prize winning investigative journalist, Daniel,” Armand says, picking at a non-existent speck of lint on his sweater. “You figure it out.”
“Babe, I…”
Armand’s pointed look gets even pointier. Daniel checks his phone.
“Well,” Daniel says, “we got our original anniversary. September 2nd, 1973.”
“September 1st,” Armand growls.
Daniel sighs. He senses the delivery driver getting out of the van outside.
“We got our most recent anniversary, but that’s not until July. I suppose there’s the anniversary of you wiping my memory, but I kinda figured you wouldn’t want to celebrate that one.”
“I cannot believe this…” Armand looks like he’s about to set the apartment on fire.
Daniel hears footsteps in the hall. He wonders if he can push it just a little bit further. Lob one more bomb. He never has had a very good sense of self-preservation.
“Well, whose fault might it be that I’d have trouble remembering stuff about our past sometimes, huh?”
A bridge too far.
Armand snarls, slaps his hands against his thighs, and stands up.
A knock on the door.
Finally.
Daniel goes to answer it.
A delivery guy is standing there was an arm full of marigolds. They’re the color of Armand’s eyes.
“Uh, I got a delivery for Armand Molloy?” He says.
Armand freezes midstride and snaps his head around to look over.
Daniel takes the flowers, rests the delivery guy (he’ll be their candlelit dinner later), drags him inside and closes the door, dumping the guy on the floor.
Daniel turns back to Armand, who looks like a deer in headlights.
“September 1st, 1973,” Daniel says. “I see the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, with the freakiest eyes, at a gay bar in San Francisco.”
Armand’s expression softens a little. He fails to suppress a smile.
“September 21st, 1973. I see him again, he tells me to run, I start running,” Daniel continues. “June 23rd, 1976. We have dinner at the Copley. Well, I have dinner. You watch me. I hear you laugh for the first time, and I realize… fuck, I’m a goner.”
Armand drops his head. He’s smiling in full now, but still trying to look all coy about it.
“September 12th, 1977. Pompeii,” Daniel says, stepping closer. “We share the blood for the first time. You tell me that you love me. We wake up the next morning in Rome, and I know for sure that I’ve fallen in love with you too.”
Armand looks up. He looks like he might cry.
“July 17th, 1979. We move into this place together,” Daniel gestures around their apartment. “Well, the first time.”
Armand chuckles, closing the small distance between them.
“January 12th, 1983, we get the place in Florida. August 3rd the same year, you open the Night Island, and we move into the Villa. May 18th, 1984. You give me a vial of your blood because you are that insane.”
Armand laughs in full now, but he stills when Daniel reaches up and cups his face.
“June 14th, 2022. I turn up to a penthouse in Dubai, and there you are.” He runs his thumb across Armand’s cheek. “Of course, I don’t know it’s you, but… I was always gonna figure it out, wasn’t I?”
Armand answers by throwing his arms around Daniel and pulling him into a kiss.
“I spent decades forgetting you, babe,” Daniel says, lips brushing against Armand’s. “I’m never forgetting anything about us, ever again.”
“So, what is today’s anniversary, beloved?” Armand challenges, one eyebrow raised.
“April 12th, 1974. Prague. The first time you wake me up in the middle of the night to yell at me about something.”
Armand grins and kisses him again. “I just wanted to spend time with you, beloved.”
“Yeah, well I prefer it now, when you wake me up for sex rather than to discuss existential horrors.”
Armand gives Daniel a knowing look. “Speaking of… shall we?”
Daniel tries for nonchalant, but he’s already pulling Armand’s sweater off.
“Why not? It is our anniversary.”