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Chapter Text

Despite the flickering glow of gas streetlamps, the winding thoroughfares of Paris are almost too dark for Gaspard to see.

It’s just past midnight as he trudges along the boulevard alone, accompanied only by the clicking sound of his footsteps. Shivering beneath a black, knee-length chesterfield coat, he adjusts his top hat with a gloved hand when he sees the familiar glint of buttons on a passing police uniform. The officer, leisurely in his pace, replies with a curt nod in Gaspard’s direction.

In response, Gaspard briefly wonders if he truly plays the part of a Parisian aristocrat convincingly.

For now, he decides to keep that thought between him and the moon above.

Eyeing the looming dome of the Halle aux blés, he resumes his urgent pace once he hears the officer’s footsteps fade behind a sharp corner. As a gust of wind barrels down the street, Gaspard manages to smell what he is searching for before he finds it. While the air it brings is rancid and noxious, Gaspard knows it would be a lot worse and carry a lot farther were it a hot summer’s day.

It’s outside the impressive glass and iron structures of Les Halles that Gaspard finally locates the source.

A relatively small octagonal structure, ornately decorated in a manner deceptive to its true purpose, stands proudly. Along its outer walls are an assortment of various posters advertising everything from local florists to cobblers. Bracing himself, Gaspard promptly enters the putrid smelling pissoir, unable to help the nervousness and anticipation that rises within him.

Inside he finds a number of equally spaced partitions; there to provide a measure of privacy for men looking to relieve themselves. Sighing, Gaspard reaches down to unbutton his trousers before he is suddenly interrupted by a male voice echoing from the entryway.

“So it’s true what they say…” He says with a remarkably pleasant tone.

Gaspard turns to look at the man as he stalks into the narrow, foul-smelling space. He quietly notes that the man is dressed similarly, signaling his elevated status.

Strange that such a refined pair would find themselves in this place near Les Halles.

In the dead of night, no less.

“...And what do they say?” Gaspard asks after a measured silence, on edge. His hand continues to hover near the waistband of his trousers.

Cold gusts of wind batter against the exterior of the structure, channeling the air into a strange whistling noise.

“That you can find men here, of course.” The man replies.

Gaspard chuckles under his breath.

“At a urinal? I’d think so.”

The man joins in, laughing politely. Darkness obscures his face, leaving only a silhouette behind to identify him by.

“Like-minded men.” He says with a curl of his lip. “...Something tells me you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Gaspard stares down at one of the errant puddles of urine, deliberately deciding not to reply. The man levels him with a heated look in response, stalking forward.

“Do you have a name? Or something you want to be called?” The man asks, voice smooth as silk. Gaspard can’t help the feeling it stirs in his stomach.

“Gaston.”

“Gaston.” The man repeats, smiling as he tests the sound of the name on his lips. “I’m sure a handsome guy like you has a lovely wife waiting at home, don’t you? Keeping the bed warm?”

Gaspard’s mind wanders to that very bed. Empty as it is right now.

“I do.” Gaspard smiles faintly to himself. “‘Lovely’ is the exact descriptor I’d use.”

The man seems to smile back in a strangely bittersweet manner.

“So then what are you doing out so late, Gaston? Besides leaving a girl lonely?” The man inquires, changing the subject.

“You ask a lot of questions for someone that’s just looking for a hookup.” Gaspard says gruffly, but not without humor. He shifts where he stands, the stench surrounding them overwhelming.

“I like knowing a little about the men I entangle with. I’m sensitive like that.”

Gaspard snorts, shaking his head.

“Entangling. Is that what we’re doing right now?” He asks, amused.

“The name’s Cecil, by the way.” The man interrupts, ignoring Gaspard’s question completely. “In case you wanted to know.”

“Cecil… Like Cécile?” An unusual name for a man to be sure, but Gaspard supposes stranger things have happened.

“No, like Cecil. It’s a British name… For men.” Cecil clarifies.

“Interesting. So does that make you a Brit?” Gaspard asks cheekily.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Cecil smirks, holding out his arms as if to present himself.

Gaspard looks at the man incredulously, maintaining his charmed expression.

“Well if you’re a Brit, your French is phenomenal. Better than mine, I’d say.”

“You know… With flattery like that, you sound like you’re asking to entangle, Gaston.” Cecil purrs, finally entering Gaspard’s personal space.

“I don’t remember saying that.” Gaspard replies, voice deep as he gazes down at the barely visible outline of the other man’s lips.

“You don’t have to say anything.” Cecil whispers as he leans in. “I just know.” His lips brush against Gaspard’s softly as he forms the words.

Their lips meet, heated in a way that such chance encounters so often are. Gaspard’s eyes close as he leans into the exhilarating sensation. The stench of the space is overpowering, but not enough to deter the two men from what they want. Cecil, in an effort to ground himself, grips the side of Gaspard’s face before sliding his hand down to-

“Gaston… Your neck… What happened?” Cecil suddenly pulls away to run a finger over twin scars on the side of Gaspard’s throat. The wound itself is surrounded by fresh bruises, readily apparent even in the low light of the small building. “Are they… Bitemarks?”

“Courtesy of my wife.” Gaspard deadpans.

Cecil smirks, eyes roaming Gaspard’s face.

“I don’t blame her.” He whispers back.

Without delay, Cecil’s hand flies forward to pull at Gaspard’s trousers; undoing them with startling efficiency. In response, Gaspard groans breathily as he begins to palm Cecil’s erection through fine fabric. There’s an apparent hesitation to the movement that Cecil immediately catches on to.

“Afraid of getting caught?” Cecil pants, smirking as his cool hand finally makes contact with Gaspard’s cock.

Gaspard doesn’t bother replying.

Hissing at the sensation, the sound rolls into a prolonged groan as Cecil runs a thumb over the sensitive head. Gaspard's hand shakes as he unbuttons the other man’s slacks, wrapping a hand around Cecil’s hardening length.

They stroke one other in tandem, each feeding off of the other’s desperate, panting breaths and hungry moans. Cecil leans in, licking in to Gaspard’s open mouth. Eyes shut tightly, Gaspard’s mind can’t help but wander as he surrenders to the sensation, moaning deeply as Cecil expertly pumps him to full hardness.

Xavier…

Just as the thought of the vampire crosses Gaspard’s mind, Cecil cruelly tightens his fist around Gaspard’s cock. The movement causes Gaspard to shakily whimper into the other man’s mouth, brows knitted with an aching desire that threatens to overwhelm him completely. A familiar sensation makes its home in his belly. He’s close, he feels so -

The crisp, piercing shriek of a whistle rings out.

“Stop what you’re doing immediately!” A shrill voice shouts authoritatively.

Gaspard pulls away, eyes wide. Annoyed, Cecil throws a lethal look in the direction of the entryway. Their bodies are still entwined as two men in dark blue uniforms loom threateningly, blocking their only exit.

I thought you said they only do their rounds before midnight, Gaspard.

That’s what I heard.

Then why are there two officers staring at us with our dicks in our hands?

Xavier.

Fine. I’ll take care of this.

“Both of you are under arrest for committing a public offense against decency!”

Xavier, shedding the role of a British tourist cruising at a Parisian urinal, turns toward the pair of policemen.

“Your names, now!” One of the men in uniform orders.

Casually placing himself back in his trousers, Xavier ignores the officer’s demands.

“Gentlemen, let’s be civil about this.” Xavier offers.

“There is nothing for us to talk about. We’re arresting you two peder-” The officer spits.

“That’s quite enough.” Xavier interrupts, his voice taking on that strange, ethereal quality Gaspard was all too familiar with. Almost instantly, the policemen stand ramrod straight as their eyes lose focus, spellbound. “You will leave us and return to your post, remembering none of what you’ve seen and heard here tonight.”

The officers, under Xavier’s complete control, nod before awkwardly hobbling out of the pissoir. They almost resemble toy soldiers, stiff and overly directed as the rhythm of their steps fall in tight unison.

“Here I thought you’d take the chance to drain them.” Gaspard says jokingly.

“Their blood had a foul stench. Fouler than even this repulsive place.” Xavier replies, crinkling his nose in disgust before turning to look back at Gaspard. “I will say… I was tempted to make them commit their own ‘public act against decency,’ though.”

“That certainly would’ve been something.” Gaspard smiles as Xavier returns, pulling him in so they stand chest to chest.

“Maybe next time…” Xavier whispers tantalizingly as he leans up to nip at Gaspard’s earlobe. “I could make them watch us instead.” An intrigued shiver runs down Gaspard’s spine.

Xavier has never needed any special tricks to convince Gaspard of anything.

“Besides,” Xavier starts, leaning back to look at his lover appraisingly. “I don’t know if I would want to suffer the blood of anyone else. Ever.”

Gaspard smiles back hesitantly, the expression not quite reaching his eyes.

“I wouldn't have it any other way.” Gaspard replies hoarsely.

Xavier heaves a dramatic sigh.

“Let’s just go home.” He suggests, returning to lean heavily on Gaspard’s broad chest.

“Was this a bad idea?” Gaspard asks gently, looking down at crisscrossing silver strands that just barely catch the moonlight.

“It was a great idea. But next time I’ll actually know what to do with it.” Xavier replies with a mischievous smile. “For tonight though, I want you to fuck me in our own bed… At our apartment that doesn’t smell like an open sewer.”

“Great plan.” Gaspard replies, eyes softening as he slowly runs his fingers through the vampire’s hair.

On the long, chilly walk back to their shared home, the pair link arms. While Xavier is unperturbed by the weather, it doesn’t take long before Gaspard begins to cough profusely. His chest rises and falls rapidly as the sound of sickness rips through him.

“Is this your normal cough or are you coming down with something?” Xavier asks with mild concern. “It sounds different.”

“Not sure.” Gaspard replies dismissively.

The concerned look doesn’t leave Xavier’s face. Gaspard resents the worried furrow of the vampire’s brow, the idea that he could make Xavier worry at all.

“You liked that I called myself Gaston, huh?” Gaspard clears his throat, abruptly changing the subject.

Xavier rolls his eyes, smirking.

“You could say you did that for me all you want, but I think it’s just because you’re not all that creative.”

“Right – Because I’d never go with a name like Cécile.” Gaspard teases.

“It’s Cecil!” Xavier insists, lightly slapping Gaspard’s arm.

“Whatever you say.” Gaspard smiles warmly, pulling his lover close as they weave between rows of gas streetlamps.

Chapter Text

A brief glance at the food chain confirms the immutable truth of their relationship.

Xavier is a predator. Gaspard is his prey.

Where some poetically receive nourishment at the mere sight of their lover, Gaspard instead serves as its literal source. His body is littered with the evidence of his devotion, each bitemark representing a meal, a time where he readily offered himself up to Xavier.

Every time Xavier feeds, the intensity of the act is all-consuming, culminating as a shared physical experience that could only be compared to something as vulnerable as sex.

Gaspard often imagines what it must have been like to be deprived of that feeling of satiety for so many years. Suddenly, the bites become more significant than a simple meal, instead serving as a victory over the concept of misery itself. The triumph of love over adversity, of fullness over starvation. So even in the light-headed haze of intense bloodloss, Gaspard continues to get that fluttering feeling in his stomach at the sight of Xavier’s smile – dark and bloody in its satisfaction.

Punctured skin and the bruises that surround it.

In the moments where Gaspard gazes at his reflection, he contemplates these marks. However, he never has the heart to call them what they are – Wounds. Evidence of damage. Places where the body has been breached. Exploited.

They ache when touched and itch as they make feeble attempts to heal. What else could they possibly be?

Gaspard knows full well that Xavier would never take from him that which was not already given freely. That was the spoken promise that continues to provide some structure to the strange nature of their fledgling courtship.

And a predator would never afford such a luxury to their target.

Therefore, the bitemarks couldn’t be injuries. At best, Gaspard’s acquiescence to Xavier represents a form of fidelity. At worst, it’s harm reduction.

To complicate things further, Xavier has the unprecedented, supernatural ability to reach into his mind. Sometimes, Gaspard wonders if Xavier can even help it; if there is an innocence to the way that Xavier has consumed him whole.

Gaspard’s body, Gaspard’s mind – Completely and utterly captured by the vampire as Gaspard lives in his home, eats his food, and warms his bed. How can one pursue equity in such a dynamic? After all, Xavier’s body is unblemished, his mind untouched by Gaspard.

Predator and prey. It was always bound to be unfair.

But Xavier is a strange sort of predator, with limits unlike those of any other creature.

He can’t move freely. He can’t age. He can’t eat food.

He can’t enjoy the sun’s warmth.

His very existence transcends prior notions of life and death. Even still, Xavier moves and speaks with a kind of confidence and ease that shouldn’t be afforded to a dead man.

He’s beautiful, too. Far too beautiful to be a corpse.

And when Xavier tosses his head back in the throes of pleasure, mouth agape and fangs bared as Gaspard shallowly thrusts into him, it’s easy to remember what it’s all for.

Gaspard is in love.

When Xavier undresses him, he makes it a point to kiss the sites of the damage he causes, the pockmarks that form angry constellations across Gaspard’s body. When Xavier smiles or laughs, Gaspard finds that exact joy blooming in his own chest. When Xavier thinks silently, Gaspard wants desperately to know what goes on in the vampire’s inner world.

Within a relatively short amount of time, they’ve become indispensable to one another. Without each other, they would never have the very thing they each clawed toward their entire lives.

Comfort.

And they will each do anything to clutch onto that feeling.

“So… Gaspard.”

Back straight, Gaspard sits in a tense silence as he waits for the man to continue speaking.

“You were a miner before this?” He asks, brows raised as he peers at Gaspard through small, circular glasses. It’s clear he did not expect a former miner to be dressed in such modern finery.

“Yeah.” Gaspard responds hoarsely before clearing his throat and repeating himself more clearly. “Yes.”

“And these symptoms… They’re recent?”

“Not… Exactly. The coughing has been happening for years now. The other things are new.” Gaspard replies, shifting awkwardly in his chair.

“The other things are new.” The man echoes quietly, nodding thoughtfully as he scratches notes down into a leatherbound journal.

Gaspard sits in a well-lit office. The dark wood of the impressive interior is illuminated by patches of light that bleed through gaps between dead linden leaves. Despite the cold weather, the sun shines brilliantly against an azure sky just outside the massive window.

Accustomed to Xavier’s unique biological clock, Gaspard typically only finds himself outside to conduct business. He picks up groceries, he visits the bank… He makes secret doctor visits.

“Well, upon physical examination,” The doctor sighs. “It is abundantly clear to me that you are suffering from anemia.”

Gaspard, having no idea what that is, stays silent.

“Fatigue, heart palpitations, shortness of breath, pale skin, headaches… All characteristics of the condition. Show me your hands?”

Gaspard presents his hands to the doctor, who proceeds to turn them over to inspect his nails.

“...And chipped fingernails. I can say with some certainty that you are anemic.”

“Is that… Bad?”

“Well, as long as it’s treated, you’ll be fine.” The doctor replies as begins writing something down on a scrap of paper. “It’s funny, most of my patients with these symptoms are actually young women. We call it chlorosis… You know, clinically. However, the cause of your anemia is more difficult to pin down. After all, you don’t menstruate so it likely isn’t from losing a large volume of blood.” The doctor says with a joking lilt. “Then we’d have other problems.” Gaspard nods slowly, only half listening to the doctor’s explanation.

So it was the feeding that was affecting his health.

Finishing off the note with a flourish, the doctor hands the paper to Gaspard.

“Head to the pharmacy. Ask for some iron salts. Take that in combination with arsenic and you should be good as new.”

“Right. Good as new.” Gaspard responds dismissively, contemplating the inkmarks that shape themselves into intricate cursive letters.

Love is about an understanding of boundaries; the limits that separate lovers, self-imposed or otherwise. After all, another immutable truth of this existence is that Gaspard and Xavier will never become one entity, no matter how close they become. The boundaries between their physical forms are fully set and readily understood.

Their minds however, are a different story. And in the process of becoming lovers, Gaspard has thoroughly mapped the topography of his own mind. While he feels no small amount of shame for it, he inadvertently found the walls that protect his innermost thoughts from Xavier.

It seems that the depth of the dreams they had about one another in Rosville really were just a strange twist of fate.

Where he once assumed that Xavier’s fingers could massage the folds of his brain, revealing all of his deeply held secrets hidden in the gaps between tissue, he now understands that Xavier can only operate on the surface of his mind. Able to read those thoughts that only appear in the moment.

This both created a new form of communication for them and gave Gaspard the chance to keep certain things close to his chest.

Arms laden with a heavy basket, Gaspard arrives home to the sight of Xavier’s peacefully sleeping form. Inside the woven basket are a number of fresh ingredients he collected from the market, arranged to strategically cover two conspicuous glass bottles. He carefully closes the door behind him, not wanting to awaken the vampire before nightfall. Gaspard takes this time to adjust the thoughts in his mind, fine-tuning it to drown out the anxieties over his health.

Were Xavier to know, there’s no telling what would happen. He certainly wouldn’t feed off of Gaspard anymore, that’s for certain.

And Gaspard won’t have that.

Sighing, Gaspard places the basket down as he gazes at the man he loves, taking slow, deliberate steps toward their shared bed. Once there, he takes a knee, admiring the way that Xavier’s long lashes graze his cheekbones. Noticing a stray lock of hair, Gaspard quietly lifts it from its position over Xavier’s eye and reverently brushes it over his scalp.

The action causes Xavier to stir awake.

“Good morning.” Xavier whispers, eyes half-lidded as he greets Gaspard with a smile.

“Not quite – You have a few hours more.” Gaspard replies, running his fingers along the surface of Xavier’s hair. “Sorry for waking you.”

“You think too loudly, you know.” Xavier says sweetly.

The statement causes Gaspard’s heart to skip a beat.

“Glad to know that even asleep I still have an effect on you.” Xavier brings a hand up to Gaspard’s jaw, nestling his fingers in the younger man’s beard.

Gaspard releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“I mean, have you seen yourself?” Gaspard asks, his mouth taking the shape of a lopsided grin.

“I haven’t seen myself in decades and you know that.” Xavier playfully pulls on Gaspard’s earlobe. “That joke’s getting old.”

“Kind of like you.” Gaspard quips.

The pair laugh together as Xavier shoots up, pulling Gaspard down into a deep kiss. The comforter falls from Xavier’s body, revealing his nude form. Removing his hat, Gaspard uses his free hand to curl his hand around Xavier’s waist, rubbing his thumb against the cool skin there.

Pulling away, Xavier throws a look to the door.

“You went out and bought food?” He asks.

“Yeah.” Gaspard replies, unwilling to elaborate further.

“Have you eaten yet?” The question contains its own underlying implications.

“I’m uh, not hungry.” Gaspard replies. “I ate on the way here.”

Xavier looks at him, brows furrowed.

“Gaspard, you know you have to eat something.” Xavier commands.

“Are you hungry?” Gaspard asks, changing the subject.

“I mean… Sure, but-”

“Let’s take care of that first.” Gaspard interrupts, pressing a kiss to Xavier’s forehead. “Then you can get back to sleep.”

Xavier looks at Gaspard thoughtfully, searching the human’s face for something, anything amiss.

“Will you sleep with me after?” He asks, strangely timid.

“Of course.” Gaspard replies steadfastly. “Let me settle in first and I’ll be right back.”

Xavier, eyes expressing his underlying concern, nods slowly. Gaspard rises from where he is seated on the bed, turning to take the basket from where he left it by the door. Heading into their narrow kitchen, Gaspard sets the basket down and huffs a sigh before rifling through its contents.

Pulling out the two delicate glass bottles, he looks at them silently before taking one supplement from each and hiding them in the interior pocket of his coat. Gaspard then carefully hangs the garment at the back of his wardrobe. He’ll figure out a more permanent place for the bottles later.

Dressed down, Gaspard returns to their room wearing his white button-up, tugging off his cravat. On hands and knees, a naked Xavier crawls along the surface of the mattress to the foot of the bed where Gaspard stands.

“Who’s hungry?” He teases.

The fire behind Xavier’s gaze is all the reply he needs.

It’s bright and beautiful. 

The scent of herbs and freshly planted flowers waft through the air, a far cry from the litany of horrid smells that typically carry across the city. Gaspard has no idea where he is, but he can tell it's rural. Maybe a quaint French village somewhere. He closes his eyes, enjoying the simple bliss of the moment.

“I love you.” He hears Xavier’s voice say, thick with emotion.

Chapter Text

It’s loud. Too loud.

The cacophony of sound leaves a residual ringing in Gaspard's ears, resonating inside his skull.

He sits with this frustration, knowing it's likely been amplified by his unspoken condition. 

Xavier insists upon attending these lavish social gatherings; held in magnificently decorated locations where there are endless opportunities to mingle with the haute bourgeoisie of Paris. He says that this is all a part of business, ensuring the legacy of his company all the way down in Aveyron. Gaspard, intentionally uninvolved with his lover's business affairs, doesn't try to rationalize it further.

In accordance with the fashion of the day, Xavier has even grown out his beard and cut his hair.

As a result, Gaspard can hardly take his eyes off the vampire, feeling as though he’s fallen in love anew.

Unlike Gaspard, he fits in here; effortlessly charismatic as he glides from room to room charming everyone he meets. In turn, Gaspard clumsily follows behind, attempting to shed the appearance of an interloper, a parasitic insect that flew in when the door was held open for just a moment too long.

Following decades of silence and isolation, Gaspard supposes this is good for the vampire. So he suffers through the constant stream of vapid interactions, dressed in exquisitely tailored formal wear as a stiffly starched collar digs into his jaw. Gaspard silently gazes at Xavier as he attempts to loosen his tightly wound cravat, feeling overstimulated.

I want to go home.

I know, my love.

It feels like everyone is staring at me.

Gaspard, everyone is staring at everyone. It’s just one of those places.

And you’re alright with that?

When you’re able to read people’s thoughts you get used to it, unfortunately.

God, you must be having an even worse time than me… All the more reason to get the fuck out of here.

Suffer through enough parties with me and you’ll never have to work a day in your life. Half an hour more and we’ll go.

Having made his point, Xavier continues to meander through the crowd with Gaspard begrudgingly following behind. Approaching a small couch, Gaspard notices that they haven’t yet spoken to the two men perched on its cushions.

The gentlemen are noticeably old, their countenances nearly indistinguishable from one another as expertly trimmed white beards line their lips and jawlines. Their eyes are weighed down with decades of experience as they each lean on their respective canes with frail, gnarled hands.

“Good evening, Messieurs.” Xavier greets politely.

“Good evening.” One of the men replies, looking at Xavier with a strange incredulity.

“And your name is…?” The other asks.

“Cecil de Rosnay. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Xavier smoothly introduces himself, bowing his head in greeting.

“Cecil de Rosnay…” One says, sounding particularly thoughtful. “Well, you can call me Monsieur Faucher.”

“Durand.” The other chimes in, speaking for himself.

Eyes narrowed, Faucher stares silently at Xavier, as if trying to decipher something.

“I recognize that family name… de Rosnay…” He says under his breath. “Oh yes! I knew an Xavier de Rosnay once. Don’t you recall an Xavier de Rosnay, René?”

“I do, actually. Now that I think about it, this gentleman actually resembles him quite a bit.” Monsieur Durand replies, nodding in agreement.

“My father.” Xavier lies smoothly. “I believe his reputation precedes him.”

“Does it ever!” He chuckles heartily. “How is your old man? Long gone, I’m sure.”

“Yes, he passed away some time ago.” Xavier replies, imparting just the right amount of sorrow in his courteous smile.

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that. Death is part of life, I suppose.” Monsieur Faucher says apologetically.

Gaspard eyes Xavier’s profile for a moment before speaking.

“Do you have any interesting stories to share?” He asks.

The question cuts through the air like a knife as all three men turn to look at Gaspard.

“About Cecil’s father, I mean.” Gaspard clarifies, gesturing toward Xavier who levels him with a positively murderous look.

Gaspard. Really? I was going to change the subject.

What? I want to know what they have to say.

I thought we were laying low.

How is this not laying low?

Tight-lipped, Xavier grimaces as he turns back to Messieurs Faucher and Durand.

“And you are…?” Faucher asks, watching Gaspard curiously.

Gaspard opens his mouth to respond.

“My business associate. An apprentice of sorts.” Xavier interrupts, hoping to explain away their closeness in addition to their obvious difference in age.

“Well, son…” Monsieur Faucher says as he turns his attention back to Gaspard. “If Cecil is anything like his father you’re in good hands. He was interesting, that one.”

“God, where do we even start?” Monsieur Durand laughs, clutching onto the handle of his cane for balance.

“Always the life of the party, he was.” Faucher joins in.

“Apparently, he continued to be even after he moved down to le Midi. Founded a town and a nice mansion down there, from what I heard.” Durand gossips, leaning into Faucher as he says it. “I’m sure that’s where you grew up.” He says, gesturing toward Xavier.

“You never visited, Monsieur Durand?” Gaspard inquires, noticing Xavier’s tight jaw.

“Unfortunately no, although I was invited.”

“I visited.” Faucher says, stroking his chin contemplatively.

“Really! Do tell.” Durand replies enthusiastically, eyes wide.

“Yes, do tell.” Gaspard remarks with vim.

Watch it, Gaspard.

“It was tough to get to, I’ll say that. His home was this stunning chateau on a hill. During his parties there was always a constant stream of people, including some of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. It makes sense that he was a bachelor… Before Cecil’s mother, I’m sure.”

The pair of old men chuckle knowingly.

Smirking, Gaspard turns to look at Xavier. If his cool cheeks could redden, Gaspard is sure they would.

“He had an associate of his own didn’t he?” Durand asks. “Although that word doesn’t seem to do justice to their closeness.”

The pair laugh surreptitiously, covering their mouths.

“I think you’re referring to his mentor.” Faucher corrects. “The long-haired fellow?”

“Yes! From London, no? I recall that he visited Paris quite frequently. I believe he owned a train company-”

“Enough.” Xavier demands sternly, imbuing his voice with mesmerizing power.

The hypnosis instantly causes both men to sit up straight, eyes glassy and unmoving.

“You will continue to enjoy the party as normal. This conversation did not happen.” He growls under his breath before storming off.

“Xav- Cecil!” Gaspard calls out after him as the geriatric pair snap out of Xavier’s hypnotic trance.

Gaspard swiftly dodges bustles and outstretched arms as he attempts to catch up to the vampire. He then spies Xavier suddenly turning the corner into a dark, empty hallway. Having caught up, anything Gaspard tries to say is immediately overridden by an infuriated Xavier.

“I told you not to push it, Gaspard. I fucking told you!” Xavier snarls.

“Xavier, I didn’t mean-”

“Just because you don’t want to be here doesn’t mean you have free rein to screw it up for me. If you care about us having money, you’ll know better than to interfere.” Xavier hisses, attempting to keep their conversation at a dull roar.

“How did I interfere? I just wanted to know more about you. Basically everyone that knew you before you turned is dead.”

“And yet, there they are. I don’t need people remembering who I was. I don’t need people bringing up the past!”

It feels like an overreaction. One Gaspard can't quite place the source of. 

“And what about me? Am I ‘people’? Do I not deserve to know who you were?”

“It’s not about that, Gaspard.”

“Then what is it about, Xavier? When you can just wave a hand and make them forget?”

Brows furrowed, Xavier clenches his teeth as he holds back a special kind of fury that threatens to rise to the surface.

“I’m leaving.” Xavier replies with finality. “I’ll see you at home.”

Fists balled up at his sides, Xavier begins to walk away with an aggressive gait before he is abruptly halted by Gaspard.

“C’mon, let’s at least walk back together.” Gaspard begs, a desperate hand clutching onto the vampire’s shoulder.

Xavier turns to meet Gaspard’s gaze, unmoved by the younger man’s pleas.

“No.” He responds assertively, jaw set as he calmly releases himself from Gaspard’s hold.

Gaspard feels his heart constrict as Xavier disappears back into the crowd. Now with no one to follow behind, Gaspard aimlessly shambles through the tangled mess of bodies. Despite being surrounded by hordes of partygoers, he feels entirely isolated. Time seems to slow down in moments like these, stretching mere minutes into hours as he attempts to find a corner to hide in. Sighing, Gaspard leans against a wall and allows the sounds of the crowded hall to wash over him. He figures he’ll give it another ten minutes before he follows Xavier home.

Suddenly, the opening notes of a song ring out.

Gaspard’s attention is immediately drawn to a grand piano nestled in the corner. The party continues to move and oscillate around the instrument as people make conversation over the music. Entranced, Gaspard slowly moves toward it.

Behind the keys sits a man around Gaspard’s age. While his hair is curly, it’s cut shorter than Gaspard’s, hanging loosely around his ears. He maintains an intense focus on his work, unwilling to look up from the keys as he serenades partygoers. During certain moments, the power of the composition even causes him to shut his eyes in ecstasy, as though the sound is working its way through him. Gaspard finds the melody has a similar effect on him as he gently sways along to its rhythmic cadence.

Something about the music makes him feel less lonely, making it easier to forget the fact that no matter what he wears, he will never quite feel like he fits in.

Once the song finishes, Gaspard carefully approaches the man.

“That was… Really great.” Gaspard starts awkwardly. “I just wanted to come up and tell you that you’re really very talented.”

The man smirks in response, immediately picking up on Gaspard’s clumsy, out of place demeanor as he rifles through loose pages of sheet music.

“Thanks. You don’t come to these very often, do you?” He asks with a grin.

“I uh- No. Not really.” Gaspard replies bashfully.

“That’s okay.” The musician reassures. “Me neither.”

Gaspard inadvertently feels his shoulders slacken as he relaxes.

“I just got lucky, really. I don’t usually get the chance to play at venues like this.” He explains before gesturing to himself. “These clothes aren’t even mine. They’re letting me borrow them for the event.”

Gaspard chuckles as they commiserate over their shared feeling of otherness.

“You planning on returning the outfit after the party?” Gaspard asks.

The musician takes a quick look around the room.

“Will you tell on me if I don’t?” He whispers conspiratorially.

“Trust me when I say they won’t even notice it missing from their wardrobe.” Gaspard whispers back.

The musician beams, shaking his head in good humor.

“So what’s your name, intruder?” He asks jokingly.

“When I’m in places like this, I call myself Gaston. But my real name is Gaspard.”

The musician nods, seemingly understanding this separation of identities.

“Gaspard, huh? I get that.”

“And you?” Gaspard asks. “What do you call yourself?”

Peering up at Gaspard with clear blue eyes, he smiles warmly as he outstretches a hand.

“You can call me Paul.”

Strangely giddy, Gaspard bounces up the spiral staircase back to the apartment. Despite his earlier argument with Xavier, he has butterflies in his stomach. He made a friend.

Well… If becoming acquainted with someone for the first time counts as making a friend.

Either way, the city that once felt overwhelming enough to consume him whole now feels that much smaller. The euphoria of this development is almost enough to eclipse the latent knowledge of what Gaspard is coming home to.

Upon opening the door, he is greeted by Xavier lounging on the chaise longue, expression stony under the dim light of their fireplace.

“Xavier, I-”

“Strip.” Xavier demands.

“What?” Gaspard asks, eyes wide.

“Force me to repeat myself one more time and see what happens.” Xavier threatens.

Gaspard can’t help the way his body instantly reacts to the warning with interest, heat building in his stomach. It’s obvious enough to where he knows Xavier feels it too.

“Shouldn’t we talk first-”

“Silence.”

Xavier’s hypnotic power swiftly robs Gaspard of his voice. Mouth agape, Gaspard’s vocal chords are rendered useless as his attempts to speak transform into the sound of hollow breathing.

“You’ll get your voice back when you know your place.”

I love you. Gaspard communicates through his thoughts.

“Well? Do I have to tell you how to take your clothes off too? Is it really that impossible for you to follow simple instructions?” Xavier derides.

Gaspard shakes his head gingerly as he removes his hat, gloves, and coat. He feels the unfair weight of the pill bottles that line the coat’s interior pockets, attempting to keep his mind off their contents as he carefully places the garment on the floor. Next, Gaspard unbuttons his waistcoat as Xavier lights a pipe.

Exhaling deeply, smoke swirls around their living room as Gaspard pulls off his white cravat, allowing the smooth fabric to slip from his fingers. He then reaches the buttons of his dress shirt.

“Slow.” Xavier commands.

Gaspard nods.

Holding steady eye contact with the older man, he deliberately takes his time on each button. Xavier stares back, seemingly unaffected by what he sees as Gaspard gradually reveals more of his torso, exposing bitemarks in varying stages of healing as they litter his chest and stomach.

Do you like the way I wear you on me?

Xavier’s jaw tightens as he lifts the pipe back up to his lips. Gaspard allows the shirt to fall from his shoulders, slow and sensual as it joins the growing pile of fabric on the carpet.

He then proceeds to push his trousers down the length of his legs. Wearing nothing underneath, Gaspard stands singularly in his socks, held up by garters that wrap tightly around his shins.

Xavier’s eyes rove the length of the younger man’s exposed body as he pulls from his pipe. He then smoothly rises from his position on the couch, stuffing his free hand into his pocket. Gaspard begins to step forward in response. He wants to touch, to taste, to -

“Stay where you are.”

The command causes Gaspard’s muscles to instantly stiffen, freezing him in place as Xavier approaches, movements unhurried.

You don’t have to use your power on me, you know. I’ll listen to you. I always listen to you.

Standing close enough to siphon the warmth from Gaspard’s body, Xavier looks up at the human, his expression impossible to decipher.

“You didn’t listen to me tonight.” Xavier replies sternly as he places a hand on Gaspard’s chest, his beard brushing against the sensitive skin there as he places an open-mouthed kiss on the younger man’s clavicle. In response, Gaspard inadvertently shivers, knowing what Xavier’s mouth can promise. “So what am I to do with you?”

Xavier runs his nose along the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply. Gaspard can do nothing but allow it to happen.

“You know – I wasn’t hungry before, but looking at you has changed that.” Xavier admits.

Has it now?

“Maybe I should keep you like this… Only allowing you to move and speak at my leisure… Feeding from you when it’s convenient for me.”

Where’s the fun in that?

Suddenly, Xavier roughly grips Gaspard’s jaw before leaning in close.

“I think you need to be reminded of what you are.” Xavier purrs. “You’re my bloodbag, useful for nothing else.”

Suddenly, the roleplay teeters along the edge of something real, giving voice to the gnawing anxiety that has continued to fester within Gaspard. Baseless as it is, even Gaspard wonders how much he has left to give before Xavier will need someone else. He feels his stomach turn at the thought.

Gaspard desperately gazes at Xavier’s face, eyes flitting across the older man’s features in search of a more tender truth. Instead of replying verbally, Xavier kisses him, pressing himself against Gaspard’s frozen, unmoving lips. In response, Gaspard does what is he is allowed — Closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

Pulling away, Xavier begins to reverently run his hands along Gaspard’s body. Light as a feather, his fingers barely make contact with the skin, fleeting and gentle.

“This body… Gave me my life back.” Xavier says, his voice taking on a different tone. “You… Gave me my life back.”

I would do it again, given the chance.

Their apartment is silent save for their breathing and the crackling of the fireplace. Xavier’s fingers catch on pitted skin, those places where he bit Gaspard in the past. He shakes his head, his brow creasing in a combination of sorrow and frustration.

“You don't hear the things people say about me.” Xavier admits. “In their minds.”

Gaspard’s breath hitches.

“Nasty, awful things. Things they would never say about you.” Xavier says somberly. “Every dinner party I find myself tying myself into knots about it. How can I prove them wrong? Is it even worth it to try? After all, I know what I’m capable of. Who cares what they think?”

Xavier…

“And when those men mentioned… Him.” Xavier reaches down to grip Gaspard’s limp hand, his gaze distant. “I don’t know, I just… Couldn’t handle it. It felt like a shitty way to end a shitty night. Just another reminder that I don’t have as much control as I thought.”

Can I…?

“Yeah.” Xavier replies, releasing Gaspard from his invisible binds.

As Xavier’s control on his body fades, Gaspard wraps his arms tightly around the vampire’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry.” Gaspard croaks out, voice hoarse from a lack of use.

“It’s nothing you can solve.” Xavier responds, leaning heavily into Gaspard’s touch.

“You know, I watch the way you move through those rooms and it just looks so effortless. I guess part of me thought it was all so easy for you.” Gaspard confesses sheepishly.

“God no.” Xavier chuckles. “It never gets easier, it only changes.”

Pulling away, Gaspard takes both of Xavier’s hands and lifts them to his mouth, kissing the older man’s palms.

“I love you.” Xavier whispers.

“I love you too.” Gaspard replies.

"So... What next?" Xavier asks shyly. 

Gaspard pauses for a moment before slowly leading Xavier to their shared bed. Laying back on their plush, luxurious sheets, he guides Xavier’s face to his neck.

“Take what you need.” Gaspard exhales, holding back a combination of hesitation and arousal as Xavier hovers over him. As they maintain steady eye contact, one thing becomes abundantly clear. 

They only have each other. 

The last thing Gaspard feels before he loses finally consciousness is a pair of fangs raking across the sensitive expanse of his neck.

There’s no mistaking that swaying sensation.

While it’s far from the first time Gaspard has ridden a train, it is the first time he has ever boarded one that is so lavishly decorated. The countryside swims by in a swirl of color, light pouring into the train car. Inside, everything that surrounds him seems chosen deliberately, placed where it is to deliver on a promise of luxury. Thinking he is alone, Gaspard takes stock of his appearance and notices that he is wearing a light-colored suit. His hands appear slightly more weathered too, as though a handful of years have passed. One of his fingers carries a shining golden ring, an interesting new development. 

“I see what’s growing in your chest.” A voice threatens ominously. The sound seems to bounce off every surface in the train cabin, disorienting him. 

Terrified, Gaspard looks around to search for the source, recognizing the tone and timbre of its owner.

Suddenly, the long-haired man appears before Gaspard, dressed in casual, yet sleek attire. Gaspard recognizes him from his dreams in Rosville, recalling the kiss they shared.

“You don’t have much longer, Gaspard… So you’d better enjoy it.” He grins, maintaining a strange charm despite his intimidating stature. “Because when you’re gone…”

The man leans down, stopping mere inches away from Gaspard’s face.

“Xavier will have no choice but to come back to me.”

Chapter Text

“Gaspard?” Xavier’s concerned voice echoes. “Gaspard!”

Fading back into consciousness, Gaspard feels the familiar stickiness of blood rapidly drying on his skin. Eyes fluttering open, he is immediately greeted by Xavier’s wide-eyed, distressed stare.

“You passed out.” Xavier remarks, sounding deeply disturbed.

Gaspard, barely able to process what’s happening, responds with a groan.

“I must’ve gotten carried away.” Xavier concludes, recalling the first time he desperately fed from Gaspard, nearly killing him. “We should take a break for a few days-”

“No, no.” Gaspard insists, gripping Xavier’s hand. “Trust me, I’m alright.” Grimacing, he forces himself to sit up straight as a way to prove his health.

“Gaspard!” Xavier places a heavy hand on the younger man’s chest. “Stay down.”

Under Xavier’s control again, his body instantly slams back down onto the mattress.

“I’ll get you some water. Don’t move.” Xavier storms out of the room, the sound of his urgent footsteps echoing down the hall.

Having a brief moment to himself, he contemplates his strange dream.

That man. The one that left Xavier behind. To have a dream about him so suddenly, so vividly…

Gaspard grips the side of his head, wincing as he feels the onset of a lethal migraine.

Xavier returns, attentively propping Gaspard up with pillows.

“Drink.” Xavier orders, gently bringing the cup to Gaspard’s lips.

Complying enthusiastically, Gaspard takes heaving gulps of the liquid. Xavier watches him closely, worry painting his features.

“Have you been feeling alright?” Xavier asks directly, placing the empty glass on a dresser nearby.

“Xavier, please. I’m fine.” Gaspard reiterates.

“Clearly, you’re not.” Xavier interrupts sharply. Gaspard looks at him meekly, unsure of how to respond. “I mean, I didn’t want to mention it, but lately your blood… It’s started tasting…”

This gives Gaspard pause.

“It started tasting like… What?” He asks, worried about the answer.

“Nothing. Nevermind.” Xavier sighs deeply, expression softening. “Gaspard… I can’t be the person that hurts you. I just can’t. I couldn’t live with myself.”

“You could never hurt me.” Gaspard replies, struggling to keep the exhaustion from seeping into his voice. He attempts to suppress an ill-timed cough that suddenly rips from his throat. Xavier’s eyes widen in response, the display only adding to his growing unease.

“Never.” Gaspard reiterates upon seeing the vampire’s fearful expression.

Xavier silently nods, clearly lost in thought. His underlying concern is clear – He has blood soaked hands. The last thing he would want is for Gaspard to become another victim of his decades-long trail of carnage.

“I, uh… I had a strange dream.” Gaspard remarks, changing the subject. “While I was passed out.”

Xavier, still stewing in his confusion, says nothing as he fidgets with his handkerchief.

“It felt… Similar to the ones I had in Rosville.” Gaspard admits.

Xavier’s fingers cease their erratic movements.

“In what way? You were in my body again?” He asks, brows furrowed.

“No, no. I’m almost certain it was my body. I think I can just… Tell when something is a dream or a memory. It feels different. More real, somehow.”

“So… You relived a past memory of yours?”

“That’s the thing. It wasn’t the past.” Gaspard replies, breathing unsteadily. “I think it was the future.”

“The future?” Xavier says incredulously.

“I don’t know. Maybe not.” Gaspard responds dismissively, realizing how implausible it sounds. “It could’ve been a dream. Nothing more.”

“Well… What happened?”

“I saw the long haired man. The one you used to know.” Gaspard replies, bracing himself for Xavier’s inevitable response.

Xavier’s eyes widen, his expression a confused mix of anger and shock.

“What?”

“I don’t remember if I ever told you, but… I saw him in those dreams I had back in Rosville. The dreams where I was you? Your memories-?”

“What? You… What did you see back then?” Xavier asks, dumbfounded to the point where he is barely able to form coherent sentences.

“Not much. But I remember his name… Erol, I think.” Gaspard admits.

The mere mention of the man’s name causes Xavier to lower his head into his trembling hands.

“My god.” Xavier whispers to himself in disbelief.

“I’m sorry.” Gaspard apologizes, sorrow tinging his voice.

“After so many years, I thought that I would be rid of him. But… There he is. Again and again.” Xavier huffs in frustration.

Still in the haze of bloodloss, Gaspard silently watches Xavier deal with this realization.

“What happened? In your dream just now?” Xavier inquires. “What made you think it was the future? Why was he there?”

From here, Gaspard knows he has to tread carefully. Clearing his throat, he hopes his underlying nervousness is not readily apparent.

“Well, I was on a train and… My hands looked different. Older, I guess. But not by much. At first, I was in the train car alone and he just… Appeared suddenly.”

A brief silence falls over the room, inviting Gaspard to continue the story.

“Oh… Well, did he say anything to you?” Xavier asks cautiously.

“You don’t have much longer, Gaspard… So you’d better enjoy it.”

Gaspard clears his throat before replying.

“No. He said nothing.”

Montmartre.

Once a village on the outskirts of town, it has quickly become one of Paris’ most eclectic and fascinating neighborhoods. Here, the moniker “City of Lights” is proven especially true as the boulevard is lined with warmly lit cafes and clubs. Tourists shamble through the streets, searching for pleasures they can’t find anywhere else in Europe. Locals sit and mingle with one another, reveling in the feeling of pure freedom.

Seated just inside the bar “L’Oeuf” is an eccentrically dressed woman, effortlessly commanding the space as she quietly watches passers by and sips on a glass of absinthe. Perched on her lap is a French bulldog, pampered and cared for as though it were a human child. Each person that enters makes it a point to stop and greet her, an obvious display of respect and deference.

“Well, look who’s back!” She remarks gleefully as she watches a pair of men set foot in the establishment.

Gaspard and Xavier smile warmly in response, each leaning down to kiss her cheeks in greeting.

“It’s good to see you again, Anna.” Xavier replies charmingly.

“‘The Party’ herself.” Gaspard remarks with a smirk.

“I haven’t seen you two lovebirds in forever.” She teases before gesturing to the two open chairs in front of her table. “Come, sit with me.”

Herself an entrepreneur, Anna is the proprietor of some of the most prominent gay and lesbian bars in Montmartre. As its newest addition and crowning jewel, L’Oeuf is the mixed space she originated in response to the unfortunate closure of a nearby club.

Her unconventional clientele are most often described by locals as men who wear their hair long and women who cut their hair short.

Full of charisma and having garnered the respect of her neighbors, she became fast friends with Gaspard and Xavier as the pair searched for a decent nighttime haunt.

“You know, as far as men go, you two are the most consistent couple I’ve seen come through these doors.” She remarks as she pets her dog.

Gaspard and Xavier share a hesitant, private smile.

“I mean it!” Anna insists. “You two are cute. Take it as a compliment.” She says as she takes another small sip of absinthe.

“How’s business been?” Xavier asks, changing the subject.

“You know, I can’t complain. I’ve been trying to get some regular performers in this space, but it hasn’t been easy. I’ve been leveraging my connections – Dancers, crossdressers, comedians, musicians, you name it. I actually have a pianist coming in tonight, but he’s more a placeholder than anything.” Anna explains.

“Have the police been giving you any trouble?” Xavier asks, voice grave.

“We should be in the clear for now.” She snorts. “I’ve been having to pay them off so they don’t send any shit my way, though.”

“Sorry to hear that.” Gaspard replies, chiming in.

“It’s whatever.” Anna waves off the apology. “Think of it this way, men and women from all around the world come to this city to feel free. As long as that continues to be the case, I’ll be in business. No matter how many times the police try to raid this place.”

“Amen to that.” Xavier nods.

“Well then… Drinks?” She asks with a curl of her lip.

The trio laugh in unison at the sudden change in mood.

“My dear, you know I don’t drink.” Xavier points out.

“Something to eat, then. You’re far too skinny, Cecil.” Anna teases.

“Not hungry.” Xavier shrugs, arms crossed.

“Gaston then.” Anna responds, pivoting toward Gaspard. “C’mon son, don’t make me drink alone.”

Smiling, Gaspard turns toward Xavier; as if to silently ask him for permission.

Did you want to feed tonight?

Gaspard, don’t let me stop you from having a good time. We should be taking a break anyway.

If you want to feed, I don’t want to drink.

You’re really going to be stubborn about this?

You’re really not going to give me a clear answer about this?

As the pair stare at one another, Anna watches with brows furrowed. They’ve been completely silent for an unusual amount of time.

Fine. No, Gaspard. I will not be feeding from you tonight. Happy?

Are you serious? It's been like four days, Xavier!

I know what I need, don’t tell me what I–

“So should I order you something to drink, or…?” Anna chimes in.

“No.” Gaspard responds abruptly, slightly louder than he intended.

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” Xavier cuts in. “I’m buying the table two bottles of wine.”

Gaspard whips his head around to stare wide-eyed at the vampire.

“Look at you, rich man! Let me see what we have.” Anna exclaims, giggling uncontrollably. Placing her prized bulldog on the table, she skips to the bar. Along the way, she is stopped and greeted by friends and strangers alike.

I can’t believe you.

What’s not to believe, Gaspard? I know what I need.

If you feed from me tonight, you’ll be drunk for days.

So I won’t feed from you. What’s the big deal?

Gaspard grimaces. Xavier sighs.

Just have fun, Gaspard. For me?

“I’m back!” Anna sings, arms laden with three bottles. “Brought back some absinthe too in case you wanna slum it with the rest of us.” She jokes.

The bartender hobbles after her with some wine glasses.

“Thank you.” Xavier replies graciously as the glassware is placed on the table, gazing at Gaspard with a knowing smirk.

While the wine is being poured, he looks back at Xavier and wears a small smile of his own.

You know I love you, right?

I know you do.

Drink up, then.

“Oh! I should’ve asked. Did you want anything to eat, Gaston?” Anna asks as she swirls the wine in her glass. “I’ve given up attempting to feed your boyfriend here.”

“Actually… Yeah, I’m starving.” Gaspard replies.

Xavier beams at the younger man, feeling a strange sense of warmth at the sight.

While Gaspard insists upon frequently bleeding himself for Xavier’s sake, Xavier feels no small amount of guilt for the act. For the amount he loves Gaspard, he quietly shares the nagging fear of pushing the other man away.

Xavier often wonders what he has done to deserve someone who is so insistent on his comfort, his satiety. At times Gaspard’s perfect loyalty eludes him, leaving him to contemplate all the different ways it can be broken. After all, Xavier has an intimate understanding of the rare and precious thing he has, having lost love before.

Feeling shaken by his recent suspicion of Gaspard’s worsening health, he hopes to keep the younger man happier and more comfortable than ever.

A stray droplet of red wine escapes the edge of Gaspard’s mouth, rolling down his chin and speeding down the length of his neck, staining the skin there. Despite his insistence earlier, Xavier feels a hunger build inside him at the enticing sight.

He exhales shakily, which catches Gaspard’s attention.

Is everything alright?

Xavier’s attempts to turn his desperate gaze anywhere else.

I’m fine, pay me no mind.

Sitting silently, Xavier endeavors to keep his urges under control as Anna and Gaspard trade a number of off-color jokes. As the hours tick by, her raucous laughter fills the already bustling bar, catching the attention of patrons who shake their heads fondly at her antics.

“Hey Anna.” A voice suddenly pipes up, having just approached the table. “Sorry I’m late. Is everything set up already?”

Xavier looks up to see a man with loose, brown curls. He holds a stack of sheet music close to his chest, dressed plainly in a sack coat that hangs a bit too far off the shoulders.

“Paul!” She shouts in recognition, shooting up from her seat to throw her arms around his shoulders. “Bless you for coming in on such short notice, you’re a lifesaver!”

Suddenly, Xavier senses a strange, undefinable shift in Gaspard’s mind.

Pulling away from Anna’s embrace, the man tilts his head as he points at Gaspard.

“I remember you…” Paul says, smirking as he pauses to think. “Gaspard, right?”

Stunned at the usage of Gaspard’s true name, Xavier’s eyes widen.

Who is this? How does he know–?

“Gaspard?” Anna asks, confused. “Don’t you mean Gaston?”

Brows raised, Paul realizes his mistake.

“Ah, yes. Right. That’s exactly what I mean.” He hastily corrects himself. “Gaston. Good to see you.”

“Yeah, we met at that party a few days ago.” Gaspard replies with a polite smile. “Its good to see you as well.”

Xavier can hardly believe what he is hearing.

The air surrounding the table is awkward – Punctuated by Xavier’s unwillingness to acknowledge the newcomer.

“Well, I uh– I’m going to go set up and start playing now.” Paul says in a clumsy attempt to escape the interaction. “Enjoy your evening, everyone.”

“You do that, Paul. Make me proud!” Anna shouts after him enthusiastically.

Staring at Gaspard’s profile, Xavier’s mouth is a tight, angry line.

Despite days in each other’s embrace, he never once heard of this man. The man Gaspard entrusted with his true name.

More alarmingly, he never once sensed the memory of their recent meeting in Gaspard’s mind.