Archive of Our Own ^beta

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TVL: The Rise of the World’s Favourite “Vampire” Rockstars

Move over, Elton, because the world has a new flamboyant rock icon—and his name is Lestat de Lioncourt. Equal parts playboy and provocateur, Lestat has exploded onto the music scene with a fangs out approach, drawing millions into his glittering, theatrical world of vampiric seduction. His shows are equal parts concert and performance art, with Lestat seemingly always in character—though whether that character is real or not remains the subject of much debate. Alongside his supporting members, Tough Cookie, Larry and Alex, the great Monsieur de Lioncourt simply shines like a diamond.

Sporting 80s-inspired jackets, leather pants, and fangs that may or may not be prosthetic, Lestat’s entire persona is a nod to the gothic romance of vampire lore. And yet, despite the undeniable theatricality, his fans are obsessed. His charm is undeniable, his presence magnetic, and his music? Well, that’s where things really get interesting.

A Bite Out of the Charts

Olivia Rodrigo or Taylor Swift… well, this rockstar is neither and both at the same time. Lestat’s debut album "Blood Kiss" skyrocketed to the top of global charts within a week of its release. The blend of rock, electronica, and enchanting ballads, combined with his so-called vampiric mystique, has captured the imaginations of his legions of followers. Each song is steeped in the kind of romantic, dark drama one might expect from someone who claims to be centuries old (but let’s not get too carried away). His hit single, "Long Fans," currently has over 300 million views on YouTube, helped along by a flashy, fang-filled music video that could rival any big-budget Hollywood production.

But it’s not just his music that keeps fans coming back for more—Lestat’s live shows are where the magic really happens. His concerts feel more like a blend of theatre and rock spectacle, complete with elaborate sets, gothic architecture, and moments that feel just a little too real to be entirely comfortable. (Can someone please confirm if those audience members were actors or if they actually fainted when he locked eyes with them?)

Inspired by Molloy’s Book?

Of course, there’s no denying the legal intrigue surrounding Lestat’s persona. It seems more than a little coincidental that Daniel Molloy’s infamous tell-all memoir—Interview with the Vampire—features a charismatic and unhinged vampire named Lestat de Lioncourt. Fans and critics alike have questioned whether Lestat’s entire act is inspired (if not lifted wholesale) from Molloy’s book, which has raised a few eyebrows in the literary world. After all, can you copyright a vampire? 

Yet despite the legal ambiguity, Molloy himself has stayed notably silent on the matter, and neither he nor Lestat have acknowledged any public connection. Could Lestat’s persona simply be an over-the-top tribute to Molloy’s writing? Or is this some elaborate meta joke where Lestat is, in fact, the Lestat from the pages of vampire lore? Either way, it’s a delicious mystery, and Lestat is milking it for all it’s worth.

A Charmer—or a Playboy?

It’s hard to deny Lestat’s charisma. From his sultry French accent to his knowing smirk, he has a way of making fans feel like they’re the only ones in the room—whether he’s addressing an audience of 10,000 or one lucky fan in the front row. His rockstar confidence radiates, and he clearly knows how to work a crowd. But not everyone is charmed by the vampire act.

Some critics claim that Lestat’s cocky, sensual demeanour borders on arrogant. His endless innuendos and habit of inviting audience members on stage for a slow, vampiric "bite" have earned him as many detractors as fans. His critics—many of whom have voiced their opinions online—argue that Lestat’s over-sexualised performance style is grating, even predatory. A vocal minority goes so far as to suggest his act is a thinly veiled excuse to push boundaries in ways that make people uncomfortable. Whether these critiques are rooted in genuine distaste for his antics or thinly veiled homophobia (or a mix of both), the conversation around Lestat is as polarised as it is passionate.

Still, his devoted fanbase seems unfazed. With a large following within the LGBTQ+ community, Lestat’s concerts have become something of a safe space for fans to fully embrace their own "inner vampire." You’ll see everything from fangs to corsets in the crowd, with some fans going full-on gothic cosplay in a tribute to their idol. The more extravagant, the better.

Is There a Louis in the Picture?

For someone so seemingly open about his “eternal” life, Lestat’s personal life is an enigma. Despite endless speculation, the rockstar hasn’t been seen with a partner—at least not publicly. His only companions are the members of his band, and even they have their own lives. Fans have started to wonder: Does Lestat have a "Louis" of his own, like the brooding vampire protagonist from Molloy’s memoir? Or is he just the eternal bachelor, flitting from city to city without any ties?

The lack of a public romance hasn’t stopped the rumour mill, though. There’s already speculation about secret lovers, including whispers that Lestat has been linked to several high-profile celebrities. But when pressed about his love life in interviews, Lestat simply grins and gives his signature reply: “Ah, but that is a tale for another night.”

Sensual, Flamboyant, Unstoppable

Love him or hate him, there’s no denying Lestat de Lioncourt is on the rise. His fans—many of whom are fiercely loyal—see him as a trailblazer, a boundary-pusher who’s redefining rock music and bringing an otherworldly flair to the stage. His critics might call him over-the-top, cocky, or too wrapped up in his own persona, but even they can’t deny that he’s committed to the bit.

As for what’s next? Well, whether he’s a vampire or just a very convincing one, Lestat isn’t going anywhere. His latest world tour, Bite Me, is selling out stadiums across the globe, and his fans are already begging for more.

One thing’s for sure: Lestat de Lioncourt is a man—or perhaps a creature—who knows exactly how to captivate. And he’s here to stay.

There was no light way of putting it, Daniel's apartment was a warzone. Shattered glass crunched underfoot, mixing with the half-dried pools of blood that smeared the tiles. Paper was strewn everywhere—ripped notes, drafts of articles, illegible scribbles—each one a fragment of some lost purpose. Corpses, drained and rotting, were carelessly discarded where they’d fallen, the once-pristine furniture overturned or smashed to pieces. The air was heavy with the stench of death and defeat. Amongst it all, Daniel lay face down on the cold tiles, his body limp and lifeless, his skin pale and hollow, like a forgotten corpse himself. He had become a shadow, less than the man he once was.

There was a heavy presence in the air, smothering and unbreathable. Daniel made no move to dispel it. The old man hadn’t moved for… a while. He didn’t have the energy. He didn’t want to. What was the point? His eyes never closed but he wasn’t really seeing anything. Everything just was. He just was.

He didn’t even flinch when there was a sharp knock on the door. His body, unmoving, betrayed no reaction save for a slow blink of his bloodshot eyes. His gaze, half-lidded and unfocused, wandered across the floor to the pinboard hanging by one corner on the wall, now torn apart. The coloured yarn that once connected all his desperate threads in a frantic attempt to track Armand lay in tatters, a symbol of his failed obsession. He stared at it, but saw nothing. His life had crumbled the moment he realised what Armand had done—how jealousy had led to his destruction, how one cruel act had unravelled everything he had. And that just about summed up Armand, he thought, bitterness twisting in his hollow chest.

Footsteps echoed through the apartment, steady and deliberate. Daniel heard the sound but didn’t move. He didn’t need to. He knew who it was before Louis even came into view. The slight scuff of designer shoes stopped just behind Daniel’s head, and he rolled his neck with a sluggish groan, tilting his chin just enough to glance up at Louis. He barely registered the sight—Louis, standing there, composed as always, his expression cool but tinged with faint disgust as he surveyed the carnage around him. Louis looked different—younger, somehow. He had ditched the grandpa clothes he used to dress in, and there was something freer about him now. Must be nice, Daniel thought dryly, turning his head back to the floor.

Louis, ever the observer, rolled his eyes at Daniel’s pitiful state and turned his attention to a particularly rotting corpse by the desk. With a disdainful kick, he sent the lifeless limb jiggling, watching the body shift with a casual disinterest. "What happened, Daniel?" he asked, his voice smooth, calm.

Daniel didn’t respond. His throat felt thick, clogged with the weight of his failures. What was the point? His daughters hated him—Jennifer had stopped trying, and Hailey hadn’t even bothered reaching out. Though of course that was his fault. He'd ignored them both, avoided the real problems, let everything fester. But all of it, every ruined relationship, every decision that had led him here—it was all Armand’s fault. Armand had ruined everything. The thought pounded in his skull, but Daniel couldn’t even muster the energy to voice it. It’s all he could think.

With a frustrated sigh, Louis moved in a blur, his speed dizzying as he crouched beside Daniel, grabbing him roughly by the scruff of his neck and hauling him to his knees. Daniel let out a low, hoarse groan, more from surprise than pain, but made no attempt to fight back. Louis’s wrist was already at his mouth, the skin slashed open by his own fangs, dark blood pooling. Daniel recoiled at first, shaking his head weakly, refusing. He wanted to feel this way, to suffer, to punish himself for being stupid enough to fall for Armand’s lies, to let the vampire destroy him. But as soon as Louis’s blood touched his tongue, instinct took over. He sank his fangs in deeply, hunger roaring to life.

Louis yanked his wrist back, eyes narrowing with a warning glare. "Don’t forget yourself, Daniel," he snapped, the sharpness of his voice cutting through Daniel’s haze.

Daniel blinked, rolling his eyes in annoyance, but he didn’t argue. Already, he could feel the strength flooding back into his limbs, the hollowness in his chest filling with the vitality he had been denying himself for weeks. He sat back on his haunches, dragging a hand across his mouth, the fresh blood humming in his veins. Louis, catching Daniel’s thoughts as if they were spoken aloud, raised an eyebrow and made a small, mocking motion with his hand, as if to say well, duh. Daniel knew he was relieved to see the old Daniel back, though, beneath that harsh exterior was the same vampire who’d sentimentally called on an old victim just before he died. Daniel smiled coldly, rubbing the feeling back into his finger tips. Then, standing, he dusted off his clothes, turning to survey the wreckage with the same cold detachment.

As the blood began to fully work its magic, Daniel looked around the apartment, finally taking in the mess with some degree of clarity. It was worse than he remembered. The sight of it made him wince, embarrassment crawling beneath his skin. Louis, with no fanfare, began to clean up—grabbing corpses by their chins and dragging them across the room with disturbing nonchalance. Daniel watched him for a moment, unsure whether to feel gratitude or shame. The bodies piled up in the corner, and he found himself helping without thinking, tossing one onto the pile before Louis turned to him with a look of barely veiled judgment.

"If anyone had come up here—" Louis began, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his tone laced with accusation.

Daniel felt the familiar sting of being berated and snapped, "I’d just make them forget... or eat them." The words came out with more bite than he intended, but the defensive instinct was automatic.

Louis’s response was immediate, his voice firm. "Not in your state. You’re a mess, Daniel."

The weight of the truth in Louis’s words hit him harder than he expected. Daniel sighed, his shoulders slumping, and with a quieter voice, almost defeated, he muttered, "I know." He couldn’t argue that point anymore.

After the last body was hauled into the back room and the books restacked in some semblance of order, Louis finally sat down on the sofa, crossing his legs and folding his hands in his lap like he’d just completed a tedious chore. Daniel, still feeling the weight of his own exhaustion despite the fresh blood coursing through him, sank to the floor beside the couch. He rested his head in his hands, the faint buzz of clarity not enough to drown out the mess still swirling in his mind.

“So… Armand, huh?” Louis’s voice cut through the silence, as sharp and precise as the blade Daniel sometimes wished he had. It wasn’t an accusation, but it wasn’t a casual observation either. The weight of the name settled between them like smoke, thick and suffocating.

Daniel’s head jerked up from where he sat on the floor, caught red-handed in his own misery. He blinked, then followed Louis’s gaze, which had drifted to the far wall—the torn remnants of his detective board, crooked photos and tattered threads from when he'd been tracking Armand. From before Rome. Before everything.

Louis stood without his jacket, his movements fluid and without hurry as he walked toward the board. He bent slightly, tilting his head to examine one of the more crumpled photos, his face impassive as always, though Daniel knew him well enough to catch the faint glimmer of judgment behind his calm exterior.

“Biggest mistake of my afterlife,” Daniel muttered sarcastically, dragging himself to his feet and crossing the room to stand next to Louis. He said it like a joke, but there was a rawness to the words that he couldn’t quite smother.

Louis didn’t look away from the mess on the wall. “Do I want to know?” His voice was measured, deliberate. He cast a sideways glance at Daniel, the question more rhetorical than anything, but the curiosity was there, buried beneath layers of indifference.

“Probably not,” Daniel replied, rubbing his wrists unconsciously. He knew the habit all too well by now. It was one of the many small, invisible scars left behind by Armand. His wrists always itched when the memories surfaced, like phantom scars that refused to fade.

A heavy silence stretched between them, the kind that pressed in around Daniel’s ribs and made it hard to breathe. He could feel Louis’s gaze, patient but expectant, and for a moment, Daniel wished he could pretend this was all still his burden to carry alone. But Louis wanted to know—needed to know, really—so Daniel gave in, his voice quieter now. “It’s been… months since I found him. Longer than that, actually. And then it all started coming back, years and years of memories. He, uh…” He trailed off, his throat tight with something that wasn’t quite anger, but close enough, “I thought he cared.”

Louis’s jaw tightened imperceptibly, though his face remained neutral. His hands, however, had curled into subtle fists at his sides. He didn’t speak, didn’t ask the questions Daniel had been waiting for him to ask. He knew how Daniel felt, and Daniel knew that Louis wished he didn’t.

"Did you know?" Daniel prompted, his voice rough, like gravel beneath his tongue. "Back then?”

Louis exhaled slowly, his gaze hardening as he studied the photos again. "I always thought he was seeing someone," he admitted, his tone distant, reflective. "It just felt... unlikely. I never suspected you. Armand wanted you dead in Divisadero." His voice dropped, a hint of something like regret in the way he said it. "No offense, but humans are a one-night stand to vampires. I never anticipated—”

"Neither did I." Daniel bit his thumb, staring at the photos of Armand. His voice was barely a murmur, laced with a bitter edge. “Maybe I still am.”

Another silence settled, heavier this time. Daniel let out a weary sigh, running a hand through his hair as if trying to claw his way back to some semblance of control. The urge for something stronger—something to drown out everything inside him—was gnawing at his insides, leaving him restless.

Next to him, Louis blinked, and suddenly, without warning, the wall was engulfed in flames. The photos, the maps, the yarn—all of it caught fire in an instant, a sudden rush of heat that crackled through the apartment. The flames licked the edges of the paper, curling the photos into blackened ash.

Daniel didn’t flinch, but something twisted deep inside him as he watched. He wanted to stop it, wanted to reach out and pull at least one of the photos from the flames. One image of Armand, one moment preserved. His fingers twitched, but before he could act on the impulse, Louis’s accented voice broke the silence again.

“Don’t,” Louis said softly, shaking his head, already knowing what Daniel was thinking. His voice carried a finality that echoed in the burning room.

Daniel clenched his fists, his teeth grinding in frustration. There was an anger that stirred beneath his skin, a desperate need to release something, anything. He spun around, marching over to where his notes and files lay scattered on a desk, remnants of his months spent researching, tracking every shred of Armand’s existence. The hesitation was brief before he, too, set them on fire. The flames devoured the papers quickly, as though they were eager to consume the memories of Armand.

Louis hummed approvingly, his lips quirking slightly in something that almost resembled a smirk. “I was never that powerful at your age.” There was a hint of something petty in his voice, though it was playful in its way.

Daniel shrugged, eyes locked on the burning remnants. “Well, man, what can I say? Powerful emotions and whatnot.”

Louis gave a small shrug in return, the flames reflected in his eyes as he turned away from the destruction. Without another word, he moved to the balcony, stepping out into the cold night air as if the whole ordeal had been a minor inconvenience. Daniel, for once, found no humour in the ease with which Louis navigated their lives, but he followed nonetheless, the weight in his chest shifting with every smouldering page behind him.

The city stretched out before them like a living organism, a pulsating maze of streets, lights, and people—millions of people with their own lives, their own jobs, families, and stories. A dire contrast to the two dead beings staring out over it like immortal gods. Daniel blinked mechanically, feeling distant and detached from it all. Millions of people he'd never know, all with their own individual lives and jobs and family, going places he'd never see and sharing experiences he’d never have. And yet, paradoxically, the thought of that distance didn’t suffocate him as it once had. He was a vampire now—he could do anything, go anywhere. He had tasted freedom in its purest form when he chased Armand across Europe, with no regard for human concerns, no obligations to the mundane. It had been exhilarating in a way he hadn’t known he could feel. But now that freedom sat bitter in his mouth.

He leaned back against the iron railing, feeling its coldness seep into his spine. His gaze flicked to Louis, standing beside him in silent contemplation. He hadn’t really looked at Louis in years, not properly. The other vampire’s profile was sharp in the moonlight, his brow furrowed in deep thought. It was such a typical expression for Louis—the eternal brooder, the ‘reticent vampire,’ Daniel mentally mocked him. But now, there was something almost comforting about seeing him like this again, unchanged by time, while Daniel felt like everything inside him had been twisted beyond recognition.

Louis broke the silence with a curveball that hit harder than Daniel expected. “I know you haven’t spoken to your daughters,” he said, his tone gentle but firm. “What is it? Jennifer and…?”

“Hailey,” Daniel provided automatically, though he knew damn well Louis could’ve just plucked the name from his mind if he wanted.

“They’re worried about you.” Louis’s eyes didn’t leave the cityscape, but Daniel could feel the weight of his words settling like lead. “Don’t give me that look, I don’t have to have visited them to know two children would be worried about their elderly father.”

“Jennifer’s not a child, Louis,” Daniel muttered, already bristling.

“She will always be a child to me,” Louis corrected harshly, then with a small nod, relented, “But perhaps you’re right. For the purpose of this conversation, at least. The point is, Daniel, you need to talk to them.”

Daniel’s jaw clenched. The last thing he wanted was to have this conversation right now. He could feel the defensiveness rise in his chest like a shield. “Hey, now, man—look, I know I’ve done bad, but you’re hardly the pariah of good parenting.” His words were sharper than intended, but they masked the hollow ache inside him.

Louis’s expression shifted, his eyes narrowing as though Daniel was being petulant, but his tone remained calm. “Have you even told them that you’ve returned?” The disappointment was palpable, laced with an undercurrent of frustration, the kind that only came when someone cared enough to be truly angry. The kind that came with personal loss.

Daniel could feel the irritation prickling under his skin, not at Louis exactly, but at himself. Louis was laying out the truth, stripping Daniel bare of his excuses, and he hated it. He hated that Louis was right, that he was fucking it up all over again. He rubbed at his temples and sighed. “I know, okay? I get it. I’m screwing it up. Again.”

Louis didn’t ease up, his voice a low prompt. “What did you expect, Daniel? For them to wait for you while you chased destruction across Europe?”

The words landed harder than they should have. Daniel glanced down at his hands, feeling the weight of the truth behind Louis’s words. He had left Jennifer and Hailey behind—he hadn’t been there when they needed him. He regretted it more than he could articulate. Jennifer was likely done with him by now; there was no way she’d give him a sixth chance when five had already been too many. And Hailey—God, he had promised her that he’d do better, promised that he wouldn’t be like before. And then he hadn’t thought of her, not once, in nearly a year. He’d been so wrapped up in the mystery of Armand, so tangled in the web of lies and history, that he’d let everything else slip away. He was sounding repetitive. Armand, Armand, Armand. Is this how he had felt around Louis all those decades?

Louis let out a low hum, the sound vibrating between them, a reflection of agreement with Daniel’s unspoken thoughts. They both knew, in that moment, what was really at the heart of all this. Claudia. The girl Daniel would never meet, the daughter Armand had destroyed. Just another life, just another betrayal.

“What was she like, besides all the vampire bullshit?” Daniel asked quietly, sensing Louis’s rare openness and hoping to steer the conversation away from his own failures. He didn’t know why he asked—perhaps out of a morbid curiosity, or maybe because he just needed to understand Louis better, to see how someone else dealt with loss. H e was, after all, a journalist.

Louis smiled, though his eyes shimmered with blood that threatened to spill. “She was... fiery,” he said, his voice soft with a tenderness that felt foreign in the air. For a moment, Daniel saw her too—a vision of Claudia walking hand-in-hand with Madeline down a Parisian street, the warm glow of gas lamps illuminating their faces. Claudia’s smile was impossibly bright, the picture of happiness that made something twist in Daniel’s chest. It was a still image, not a vivid, living memory like the ones Daniel had been assaulted with.

Daniel placed a hand on Louis’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “She seemed real happy there, man. I swear, I could feel that in my bones.”

Louis inhaled deeply, his chest shaking with the weight of unspoken grief. “I just wish she’d lived longer,” he whispered, his voice a ghost in the wind. “Maybe I’d still be able to see her smile like that today. You don’t realise how good you’ve got it until they’re gone.”

Daniel nodded, the ache in Louis’s voice, the mention of Claudia, sending his thoughts spiralling back to Armand. How Armand had driven Lestat’s lover mad with jealousy, how he had Louis’ daughter killed, how he betrayed Louis and Claudia for his precious coven, how he’d poisoned those Daniel loved against him, how he’d taken Daniel’s memories. Daniel’s mind swirled with it all, the weight of Armand’s wrongdoings pressing down on him, until he felt himself shrink inward, curling in on the pain.

Louis noticed, his gaze sharp. With quiet force, he said, “You will go see your daughters, won’t you, Daniel?” It wasn’t a question. It was an order.

Daniel didn’t meet Louis’s eyes. “Maybe… when I’ve cleared up the place.” He gestured vaguely to the wreckage of his apartment, his voice dismissive. “Wouldn’t want them seeing the mess.”

Louis sighed, a deep, weary sound, knowing he hadn’t gotten through. Without another word, he turned and walked toward the shadows of the apartment. “You know how to find me,” he said softly, before disappearing into the night as dramatically as ever.

Daniel didn’t even notice.

Rolling Stone @RollingStone
TVL: The Rise of the World’s Favourite “Vampire” Rockstars [click here to read more]
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Brother Louis Louis Louis @chericherilady
it’s always taylor swift this, olivia rodrigo that. why is it never the vampire lestat
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Sapphic Vamp D*** @ieatforthegirls
nevermind TS and OR, what about my girl Chappell Roan?!?! My vampire queen <3

Pop Base @PopBase
Daniel Molloy spotted recently in New York
[4 images]
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Rory the Racing Car @amypondismygf
good lord what happened to this guy, he does not look well

Daniel Molloy  ✓ @thedaniel_molloy
Mr Molloy is taking a break from social media for the foreseeable future. Thank you, the Molloy Team
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very mindful very demure @klausismyspiritanimal
tfw twitter too hard life too sad

↻ Haiz | Commissions closed! reposted:
milfs @archivemilfs
Michelle Gomez at this week’s awards
[4 photos]

CNN  ✓ @CNN
“Ongoing speculation surrounding the health of famous author Daniel Molloy remains unanswered as he is spotted looking very ill on the streets of New York nearly a year since his last appearance in the US.”
from cnn.com
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ahhHH kinda feeling @28stabwounds
he genuinely looks like someone ran over him with a truck and then reversed just to make sure they finished the job

Haiz | Commisions closed! @haileydoesart
Latest project :) 
[4 images]
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The Herald @viktorwithak
Amazing work
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The Herald @viktorwithak
Blitz says you should put the ocean one on the fridge

Replying to @haileydoesart:
Mel @yourwettestdream
who is this icon and why is she serving country

Replying to @haileydoesart:
Jennifer Liddel ✓ @JenniferL_Herself
You’re gonna make it big, I just know it. Never stop.

Replying to @haileydoesart:
If you’re lost in the darkness… @firelights_ekko
Stunning as ever. Love it <3
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Mel @yourwettestdream
Preach!!!!

The Ender Man @endermcbuilds
Latest upload: Dumb Ways To Die | Top 10 Most Creative Ways of Dying in Minecraft
from youtube.com

Jennifer sat at her desk, eyes glued to her phone. Her hand was idly curling through her short locks, over and over like a needle skipping on a record. The case file she was supposed to be reading laid long forgotten next to her laptop, which had gone into standby from disuse. Her fingers mindlessly scrolled through Twitter, refreshing the feed over and over, not even bothering to read most of the posts. It was just background noise, a distraction from the work she should be doing. A post from Hailey here, a trailer there, too many bloody Daniel Molloy updates. She’d promised herself she’d dive into research on her client—something about breach of contract, or was it an unfair dismissal case? It didn’t matter. The motivation to care wasn’t there today. And even Twitter wasn’t going it for her.

Her phone pinged, pulling her from the endless scroll. A notification slid across the top of the screen: "Weekly Reminder: Call Dad." She groaned audibly, the sound sharp in the otherwise quiet office. She really needed to delete that damn thing. The hand in her hair tightened with pent up frustration.

"Everything okay?" came a voice from the other side of the room.

Jennifer spun her chair around to find her colleague, Olu, staring at her with mild concern from his spot by the filing cabinet. He was a good guy, a bit too curious sometimes, but well-meaning. Most of her colleagues were younger than her nower days so that wasn’t surprising. Oluwande wasn’t new on the job but he wasn’t exactly a veteran either. Jennifer knew him well enough to know he genuinely cared, and that he wasn’t about to blab everything she said to the Press. She bit back the immediate urge to say "fine" and instead gave a sigh, slumping back in her chair.

"Just my dad," she said, waving the phone in her hand before tossing it onto her desk. "The usual crap."

Olu’s eyebrows shot up. "Oh, that again, huh? What’s he done this time?" He leaned against the cabinet, crossing his arms as if settling in for a good story. At least he wasn’t a “Molloy apologiser”. Now that had gotten old fast.

She took a deep breath and as she stared at Olu’s sincere face, Jennifer felt the words rising in her throat, the frustration bubbling up before she could stop herself. "It’s not even—ugh, I don’t know. He just... he left. Again. After everything. And now I get these stupid reminders to call him like he’s expecting me to just pick up where we left off. He hasn’t made contact in days, and I know for a fact he’s home now. He’s just-” She stopped, looking at Olu’s face and immediately regretting opening up. His expression was sympathetic but also, infuriatingly, amused.

"Man, you really hate him," Olu said with a chuckle, shaking his head.

Jennifer blinked, the words catching her off guard. Hate him? Did she?

For a moment, she was quiet, turning the question over in her mind. Did she really hate Daniel? It wasn’t a simple answer, not really. There had been times—brief times—when it had felt like they were actually making progress. When he’d shown up, made an effort. She’d seen a glimpse of the father she’d always wanted. He’d even tried to make the first move, for once. They had started to talk, to laugh again. She had started to love him, to believe he’d changed. And then he was gone. Gone without a word, without warning. For a year.

“Yes yes, I hear you, yes I won’t leave again, yes I’ll make up for it, yes I’ll make an effort- hey here’s a gift now be a good girl and leave me be.”

That’s basically how their last conversation went.

The disappointment sat heavy in her chest like it always did when she thought about him. A year of silence. It was like clockwork—every time she let her guard down, every time she thought maybe this time it would be different, Daniel would vanish. It was almost a joke now. A bad one.

She shook her head, rubbing her temples. "He’s just... difficult," she finally muttered, turning back to her desk, unwilling to meet Olu’s gaze any longer. Her phone was still buzzing with a video in the background, but she ignored it, letting the weekly reminder disappear into the background like all the others. She opened the file without looking at it, flipping blindly through the papers.

Olu let out a sympathetic sigh, pushing himself off the filing cabinet with a creak. “If you say so. You know where I am if you want to talk.” He gave her a small smile before heading out of the office, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

Jennifer stared at her screen, the reminder still fresh in her mind. Call Dad. She closed her eyes, exhaling through her nose as if the simple act could dispel the weight sitting in her chest. It never did.

He’s just difficult, she repeated to herself.

Hailey was in the middle of her work, her focus zeroed in on the glowing screen in front of her, stylus in one hand, the other idly spinning an infinity cube between her fingers. The low hum of electronic beats filtered through her headphones, perfectly timed to each stroke of her stylus. She was content in the rhythm of it, the smooth glide of her art, the way the world shrunk down to just her and the canvas on her monitor.

The familiar shuffle of Ekko’s boots reached her before she saw him, and she glanced up just as he leaned against the doorframe, jacket slung over one shoulder, clearly ready to head out for the day. She paused, slipping her headphones off with a practiced ease, the faintest smile twitching at her lips.

"Hey," she greeted him, rolling the infinity cube in her palm, the rhythmic clicks grounding her in the moment.

Ekko gave her a tight smile, though there was something off about it—hesitant, almost. "Hey, Haiz.” He delayed the sentence by rubbing the corner of his mouth, “Uh... this might be out of line, but I thought I should suggest something."

Her brow furrowed slightly, and she set her pencil down, her stomach sinking in that instinctive way it always did when conversations started like that. The ticking of the clock on the far wall grew ever so slightly louder and she gripped the cube a little tighter. Ekko winced.

"You might want to check up on your dad."

The world seemed to stop for a moment. Hailey’s smile slipped instantly, and her hand stilled, the infinity cube’s repetitive clicks falling silent. Her gaze shifted away from Ekko as she felt the familiar flood of disappointment rising, swirling like an ugly weight in her chest.

Daniel. Of course.

He never kept in touch. Not really. Sure, he’d made an effort at one point—visited and bought her a few things, pretended to care—but he never followed through. He didn’t respond to her, didn’t ask about her life, didn’t try at all after that one gesture. Got her hopes up, made her think things were going to be different, and then... nothing. Just silence. She’d spent hours of her time deliberating over what pieces to share with him, what commissions he’d find the most appealing, which outcomes were her personal favourites. Only to be left on read. Perpetually.

She thought about Jennifer—how she’d called drunk a month ago. That had been a nasty surprise. A) because Jennifer had been sober for years and this marked a prominent disaster in her streak, and B) because Hailey always took on other people’s emotions like they were her own. It was impossible not to. That one conversation had sent Hailey spiralling into the same pit of depression that Jennifer had been drowning in, and her friends had watched her trudge through the months, detached from life. And finally, C) because Jennifer never understood why Hailey didn’t express her own anger. She never got that Hailey bottled up her emotions—not because she wasn’t angry or upset, but because that was just how she processed things. Slowly. Carefully. On her own terms. Jennifer didn’t speak to her for two weeks after that. Mel reasoned some of that might have been due to shame. Viktor said with all the wisdom of an old man, that everybody grieves different and she would apologise eventually. She did. Daniel didn’t.

Hailey clenched her jaw, forcing herself to nod at Ekko, attempting what could only be described as a pitiful smile. The kind that didn’t reach her eyes. Ekko hesitated, his expression uncertain, but then he pulled his phone from his pocket, extending it toward her. His nails were painted with chipped green varnish that shimmered slightly in the light from her monitor. She would have complimented them had she not been so on edge.

"Here," he said softly, handing it over.

Hailey took it, her breath catching when she saw what was on the screen. An article. One of those annoying gossip magazines with no sense of personal privacy. There were photos of Daniel. Recent photos of Daniel. She hadn’t even known he was back in America. Hell, she hadn’t even known where he was at all. But there he was—her father, looking... awful. Worse than awful. Sick. Thin. Hollow in a way that made her stomach twist. She swallowed hard, a wave of nausea rising up as she stared at his picture.

Her fingers tightened around the phone, knuckles white as she nodded again, too choked up to form any words. The thought of her father dying… it was quite frankly the worst feeling possible. Yes, she was mad with him. Yes, he’d hurt her so many times that he was probably past redemption. But he was her dad, and she loved him. Her chest felt tight.

The silence between them stretched awkwardly, Ekko shifting from foot to foot. After a moment, Hailey absently handed the phone back to Ekko, fingers brushing his appreciative. She didn’t have the words right now, it felt like she might cry if she spoke. Ekko didn’t seem to mind. He tapped the table lightly with his knuckles before offering a quiet goodbye, his voice tentative.

As soon as he left, Hailey set the cube down with shaky hands, the plastic surface left shiny from the sweat of her palm. She grabbed her headphones, pulling them back over her ears and cranking the volume to max. The heavy bass thumped through her skull, drowning out everything else, every thought, every sinking feeling in her gut. She knew it was probably loud enough that anyone nearby could hear it, but right now, she didn’t care. She just needed to drown the world out, to block everything and everyone.

She was sure the others would sympathise.

Louis had never been one to hover. It wasn’t in his nature to linger over those who didn’t want to be saved, but Daniel had always been an exception. He’d seen that familiar emptiness in many eyes before, including Daniel that fateful night in San Franciso, weeping into Armand’s shoulder. He watched as the fire that made Daniel the determined journalist he was dim to an unsettling flicker, barely holding on. And though every visit was met with silence, a heaviness in the air like Daniel’s presence alone could smother them both, Louis kept returning. He couldn’t explain it, they had a kinship. They were parallels in many ways. Daniel had made an effort for him, what better way to show his gratitude than to return the favour.

The first time he came back, he simply sat by Daniel on the couch, his memoir in hand, its pages turning steadily as the quiet stretched between them. He didn’t expect conversation. Louis had always been content with the silence, though a part of him had hoped to see the humour bubble in Daniel’s eyes, the notion of finally reading the fated book all these years later. But Daniel – well, Daniel was somewhere else entirely. His body was slumped, hollowed out, his mind lost to whatever dark thoughts had chained him down. So Louis read, the soft shuffle of paper filling the void. Every now and then, he’d glance up, the words blurring on the page as he searched Daniel’s face for some sign of life, some indication that the boy he’d once known was still in there, buried beneath the layers of pain Armand had left behind.

The irony wasn’t lost on him.

When he visited again a few nights later, Louis came prepared. He brought blood, a gift of sorts, though whether it was ethically sourced or not was a question he hadn’t bothered to ask himself. It didn’t matter. Daniel needed it. Daniel didn’t care. Louis poured the thick, crimson liquid into wine glasses that he’d found untouched in the storage cupboard. Gliding through the space like a spectre, he drifted into the other’s orbit, placing one glass on the table in front of Daniel and sitting down opposite him. With a nod to the moon, he closed his eyes, lifting his own glass in a quiet, wordless toast. Daniel hadn’t moved much since his last visit. His eyes flicked briefly to the glass, but he didn’t reach for it, didn’t acknowledge the offering. Louis sipped his drink in silence, the weight of the room pressing down on him, oppressive and unchanging. He wondered briefly if Daniel felt like a hostage to his own mind.

On another visit, Louis tried talking. He’d been learning about social media, something that amused him more than it probably should have, and he knew Daniel had been keen on the idea. He spoke to Daniel as if he were speaking to himself, letting the words fill the silence. “You know, I’ve been... catching up with the world,” Louis murmured, his voice almost too soft for the overly large, cushioned room. “It’s strange, how connected everything is now. Even I have a Twitter account, and yes, I saw your comment. Hilarious. Maybe I should try photography again.” He chuckled faintly at the thought. “I’ve learned a little more about your daughters, too. I’d like to meet them someday... if that’s alright with you?” There was no reply. He hadn’t expected one. Daniel barely shifted in his seat, the faint pulsing in his mind too dim to catch on the words Louis cast out into the empty air.

The next visit brought with it a sliver of hope. The apartment had changed—just slightly, but enough that Louis noticed the difference the moment he walked in. There was less clutter, fewer clothes crumpled on the floor, no untouched pools of blood. The stench of death was muted now, lingering but not overwhelming. The lights were on. Depression, both human and supernatural in nature alike, was often like this. Waves of emotion, constantly fluctuating, perpetually cycling. A drain teasing a leaf caught in its swirling water, a cog in a mechanism clicking forward but never quite turning, tears falling and replenishing and falling and replenishing.

Daniel was in the kitchen this time, his back to Louis as he busied himself with something at the counter. Louis watched from the doorway, his heart heavy but hopeful. There were two glasses on the table, filled with blood, and Daniel had poured them both without prompting. It was a small thing, but it spoke volumes. Louis sat down beside him, their silent routine unchanged, though this time there was a sense of quiet progress between them.

That progress was short-lived.

Louis returned days later, stepping into the apartment with a familiar dread curling in his gut. The scene had returned to its default state, the stage reset to the beginning of the show, back to before – before the progress, before the glimmers of hope. Daniel had regressed, the apartment once again a mess of scattered papers, broken furniture, and worse. Louis didn’t say anything. He simply moved through the space, cleaning it silently. He found himself dragging bodies across the floor, his movements precise, practiced. His patience was wearing thin, though he didn’t let it show. He wasn’t doing this for Daniel because he enjoyed it; he was doing it because, despite everything, Daniel was still that boy who had listened to his story all those years ago. And even more than that—Daniel was the reason Lestat had found his way back into Louis’ life. He owed him, at least that much.

He didn’t want to think about what would happen to the fledgling when his patience ran dry.

He didn’t want to think about a life lost too soon.

He didn’t want to think about what it would take – who it would take to fix this mess.

He decided to stay.

Louis had been staying in Daniel’s spare room for two weeks now, keeping a quiet vigil. He didn’t trust the abject despair in Daniel’s heart, the blank nature of his thoughts. It was familiar, and it called a death toll. Lestat had grown restless again, his messages turning from soft, pleading requests to irritable demands. He couldn’t stand being away from Louis for so long, no matter how much Louis tried to explain the situation. If anything, the mention of Armand had only made the situation worse. Lestat had gone from being meek and desperate at their reunion to his typical jealous self. Louis was struggling to contend with it. He had Daniel to worry about. But now, after all this time, Louis was starting to believe Daniel was less of a risk to himself. The haze of depression still clung to him, but it was lighter now, less suffocating. Louis stood in the doorway of the spare room, watching Daniel sit hunched over in the dimly lit kitchen.

“I’m leaving soon,” Louis said quietly, almost to himself. Daniel didn’t look up. Louis didn’t expect him to. “But you know how to find me if... if it gets bad again.”

Daniel shifted in his chair, finally glancing up, and for the first time in weeks, Louis saw something—something small, but it was there. A flicker of recognition, of gratitude. There was a whisper of a thought in his mind, a raspy thanks Lou that he wasn’t sure had even been real. Louis smiled softly though he wasn’t sure if it would be enough to hold onto. Even if it wasn’t, he knew that he would keep watching, keep coming back, if Daniel ever fell too far again.

As he turned to leave, stepping into the night, Louis couldn’t help but think of Lestat. Of the vampire who had broken him, healed him, and broken him again. He couldn’t help but think of the mess they’d all become, and the strange, tangled ties that still bound them.

Daniel didn’t deserve to be dragged into this way of living. Yes, the Dark Gift was, as stated, a gift. But the endless pain that followed was no better then eternal punishment.

Interview with Lestat de Lioncourt, Rockstar Extraordinaire

Host: Emma Sullivan, The Late Show with Emma 

Transcript:

Emma Sullivan: 
So, ladies and gentlemen, it’s not every day I get to sit down with a living legend—well, in this case, more of a living dead legend. [chuckles] Tonight, I am beyond excited to introduce to you a man who needs no introduction, but I’ll give him one anyway. The enigma, the rockstar, the—dare I say—infamous... Monsieur Lestat de Lioncourt.

[audience applause, Lestat steps onto the stage with a charming smirk, dressed in a signature jacket and flamboyant accessories, his long blonde hair catching the light as he moves with casual grace. He offers a dramatic bow before taking his seat.]

Emma:
You do know how to make an entrance.

Lestat de Lioncourt: 

Ah, but of course. One must always make an impression, non? [leans back with a flirtatious grin] And for you, Miss Sullivan, I had to make it a special one.

Emma:
Oh, you flatter me! [laughs] Call me Emma. But seriously, Lestat, you’ve become quite the sensation. I mean, rockstar by night—well, technically by night—vampire by... well, always. So, tell me, where does all this inspiration come from?

Lestat:
[pause, looking thoughtful] Inspiration... well, chérie, I am many things, but first and foremost, I am a lover of life. The drama, the passion, the pain—it is all so... [gestures wildly] delicious. Humans— [he draws the word out, savouring it] —they fascinate me. Your fleeting existence, the intensity with which you feel everything, it... invigorates me. [leans in, voice dropping to a silky whisper] So, I take all that... and I turn it into music.

Emma:
That’s... quite an answer. [laughs] So, you’re saying all this pain and pleasure comes out in your songs?

Lestat: 
[smirks] Mais oui. Pain is the finest muse, no? And pleasure... well, they are two sides of the same coin, as they say. I like to think my music reflects that. The beauty of suffering, the ecstasy of desire. You feel me, Emma? [gives her a teasing glance]

Emma:
[laughs] I’m feeling something, that’s for sure! [audience laughter] Now, I have to ask, with the whole vampire thing, I’ve noticed you’ve got a massive following—especially in the queer community. I mean, your fans love you, and they dress up like vampires at your shows. It’s a whole vibe!

Lestat:
Oh, yes, the humans do love their theatrics, don’t they? [grins, clearly enjoying the idea] I once had a… ah comment dit-on? An associate, who was into that sort of thing. I suppose I liked the idea. But, my fans... I do quite like them. They understand me. Or at least, they think they do. There’s something liberating about embracing who you are, whether it’s your darkest desires or your truest self. And let’s be honest, the world could do with a little more freedom in that regard. [shrugs] If I can help them feel that, then I am happy.

Emma:
Well, you’ve definitely tapped into something special. There’s been a lot of buzz about your “persona”—some even saying you’ve taken inspiration from the Daniel Molloy book, you know, Interview with the Vampire. What do you say to that?

Lestat:
[his smile falters just slightly, eyes narrowing before he chuckles, a bit too sweetly] Ah, oui, the book. Let me clear something up, once and for all, Emma. [he sits up straighter, his gaze intense but still playful] I am no persona. I am Lestat de Lioncourt. The original. The one and only. [pauses for effect] That book... [he waves a hand dismissively] It’s a... how do you say... [clicks his tongue] an interpretation of my life, through the lens of a naïve man who couldn’t possibly understand the full picture. It’s amusing, really, how people think you can copyright a person.

Emma:
So, you’re saying it’s not fiction?

Lestat: 
[laughs, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes] Fiction, non. Exaggerated? Perhaps. But I assure you, every word in that book came from me... or my dear Louis.  [the mention of the name hangs in the air for a beat longer than comfortable, but Lestat quickly recovers] Daniel Molloy, bless him, was merely the scribe. But we all know how humans tend to embellish, n’est-ce pas? [smirks]

Emma:
[leans in, curious] Speaking of Louis... [pauses dramatically] I’ve noticed you’re a bit... how do I put this? Cagey when it comes to discussing your... love life.

Lestat:
[grins mischievously] Oh, Emma, you’re trying to get all the juicy details, aren’t you?

Emma:
Well, you can’t blame me for asking! The world is dying to know. You have this... this undeniable chemistry on stage, this sensuality that practically oozes from you. People want to know if there’s a “Louis” in your life, like in the book.

Lestat:
[tilts his head, voice turning soft, almost wistful] Ah, Louis... [he sighs dramatically] He is a complicated man, my Louis. But as for my love life... [his grin sharpens again] I prefer to leave a little mystery, don’t you? It keeps things exciting. Besides, [leans in conspiratorially] I’m not one to kiss and tell.

Emma:
[laughs] Of course you’re not! [playfully] You’re just going to leave us all hanging then?

Lestat:
For now, chérie. Let me keep you guessing. Where’s the fun if you already know everything about me?

Emma:
Well, fair enough. [laughs] Now, you’ve clearly built an empire for yourself, breaking all sorts of barriers—including some, uh, vampire laws? I mean, you’re not exactly hiding, are you? And the whole ‘vampiric’ world seems to be okay with it. How does that feel?

Lestat: 
[his grin turns sharper, more dangerous] I’ve always found the rules... tiresome. And what’s the point of being who I am if I can’t have a little fun? [laughs] Vampire laws were made for those who fear exposure. I fear nothing. The world loves me, Emma. They don’t care what I am, only that I entertain them. And I am more than happy to oblige. [he takes a pause, his eyes glittering with a knowing look] It’s ironic, isn’t it? That the humans think I’m just some... dedicated performer, and yet, I’m being more honest than anyone else out there. And my kind hate me for it.

Emma: 
It’s wild, honestly. [laughs] You’ve made a lot of enemies, too, though—people who say you’re cocky, that you’ve got this... playboy attitude. How do you respond to your haters?

Lestat:
[chuckles darkly] Ah, the haters. [he waves a hand dismissively] They’re just... [pauses, then smirks] jealous. Of my talent, my charm, my absolute beauty. [laughs lightly] As a famous lady once said, “Haters gonna hate, you just have to shake it off.” But really, Emma, I don’t concern myself with the opinions of those who don’t understand me. Not everyone can handle my... [searches for the word] brilliance. But those who do? They’re the only ones I care about.

Emma:
Well, your fans certainly adore you. That much is clear. Before we wrap up, anything you’d like to say to them?

Lestat:
[smiling softly] Just that... I see you. I see you all. You give me life, in more ways than you know. And, as long as you keep loving me, I will keep giving you... all of me. [pauses, his eyes glinting] Maybe not all, but close enough.

Emma:
[chuckling] Well, there you have it, folks—Lestat de Lioncourt, the original. And apparently, the very best of the great vampires. Thank you for joining us, Lestat. This has been... enlightening.

Lestat:
[bows dramatically] The pleasure was all mine, Emma. Truly.

Emma:
You heard it, everyone. The legend continues. [turns to the camera] We’ll be right back after the break!

[audience applauds as the camera fades out] 

A woman sat on a worn, wooden bench overlooking Central Park, her posture casual but her eyes sharp as they tracked the steady flow of people passing by. The day was winding down, and the golden light of the setting sun cast everything in a surreal glow. It was rare to see the city so beautiful, the golden hue filtering through the trees and bouncing off the lake, catching on the glimmering windows of nearby buildings. Steam curled lazily from the coffee she held, swirling up into the evening air, blending with the warm breeze that rustled the leaves. It was unusually pleasant for New York this time of year, the air sweltering yet somehow less oppressive under the fading glow.

Her skin, a rich copper, gleamed under the sunset like some kind of striking statue. The effect was almost too perfect, making her stand out even amongst the usual chaos of the city, where millions of lives intertwined yet passed one another unnoticed. She wore a sleeveless turtleneck, the soft fabric hugging her neck, paired with loose jeans that pooled around her boots. Her trench coat—unseasonably long for the heat—brushed the pavement beneath her feet. Stylish sunglasses rested atop her head, pushing back her cropped hair, and faint music hummed through her earbuds, almost imperceptible beneath the daily city noise.

Beside her on the bench sat a small box, the cardboard worn and its tape frayed from her restless fingers picking at it. The box wasn’t heavy, but the weight of what it represented sat with her like an anchor, pulling her thoughts down to places she didn’t want to visit. As her eyes wandered over the park, she found herself silently judging the passersby – their lives mundane, yet somehow fascinating. A woman with a stroller on her phone, barely paying attention to the child fidgeting in its seat. Two kids throwing a shoe back and forth in a chaotic game of catch, while a third chased after it, laughing and shrieking with every missed throw. An awkward young adult who had just faceplanted off a skateboard, looking around for witnesses with flushed cheeks. How absurd humanity is, she thought with mild amusement.

The idea of humans—how utterly strange and insignificant they were in the grand scheme of things—sat with her more often these days. We live in these small, artificial worlds, she mused. A sentient race that thinks it’s important because we invented jobs and money and countries. The thought felt distant, like she was watching the entire world as an outsider. The lives around her, the trivial problems, the endless to-do lists of everyone she saw—they all seemed pointless in the larger scope of existence. If humanity vanished tomorrow, what would be left? Landfills and crumbling infrastructure. Nuclear plants left to rot. Satellites floating in space like forgotten debris. There was no real legacy, no mark humanity could leave that wouldn’t decay into dust.

We’re one step away from the rest of life, eating grass, roaming the land aimlessly and making baby sheep or whatever it is animals do. Even if we were to fix society, if humanity were to become less greedy and more kind, if humanity were to see their naivety and make a turn to the future, there’s no way for us to progress. We are just a speck on an endless, infinite existence. We see less than a smidge of reality and we call it sophisticated and important. We treat life like it means the world when really it means absolutely nothing.

She glanced down at her watch, checking the time as if the philosophical spiral had barely affected her. But just as she was about to turn back to her coffee, a voice pierced through the park, raw and familiar.

“Jenni!”

Her head snapped up just in time to see someone barrelling down the path, their steps heavy and hurried, sending small clouds of dust up with every stride. The sight of the girl made Jennifer’s heart skip a beat, though her face remained calm. There was only one person who could match that chaotic energy. Hailey. Her younger sister. The girl who somehow always managed to stand out, even in a crowd of millions.

Hailey was unmistakable—tall and lean, though shorter than Jennifer, her clothes a wild mismatch of styles and too many accessories that clashed in a way that should have been ridiculous but somehow suited her. Baggy black trousers with countless straps and chains that jingled with every step, while a pinstripe waistcoat layered over a collared shirt added an odd touch of formality. The jacket she wore was ripped in several places, revealing snippets of new tattoos beneath the fabric, and Jennifer caught sight of a fresh one on Hailey’s neck as well. She hadn’t seen her sister in over a year, but Hailey still looked like the rebellious teenager she remembered.

Before Jennifer could properly react, Hailey reached her, colliding into her with a force that almost knocked the coffee from her grip. Jennifer barely managed to steady herself before wrapping her free arm around Hailey, pulling her into a tight hug. She buried her face in her sister’s soft hair, inhaling the familiar scent of whatever shampoo Hailey always used—some brand Jennifer had never bothered to learn the name of. For a brief moment, everything else melted away. The city, the people, the noise, even the box on the bench. It was just them. Family.

Hailey was still panting when she pulled back, grinning brightly with that infectious energy Jennifer had forgotten she missed so much. “Good to see you, Haiz,” Jennifer smiled, brushing a lock of blonde hair out of Hailey’s face. It was such a small, intimate gesture, something Jennifer rarely did with anyone else. But with Hailey, it came naturally, like muscle memory.

Hailey’s grin widened. “I only wish we could do this more often. It’s been... what, almost a year?” Her voice faltered slightly at the end, and the shadow of that time weighed heavily between them. Jennifer felt it too, that unspoken gap that they both knew was there, but neither wanted to address directly. Because they both knew why they hadn’t seen each other in so long.

Their father.

The silence thickened around them, the air suddenly heavy as if the golden light from the sunset was dimming. Jennifer took a sip of her coffee, trying to fill the void, but the heat burned her tongue, making her wince. Hailey shifted awkwardly on her feet, spinning around slightly, her chains clinking as she reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone.

“So...” Hailey mumbled, already pulling up the map on her phone, typing in an address Jennifer knew all too well.

Before she could finish, Jennifer reached over, gently catching her sister’s trembling hand in hers. She squeezed it, trying to calm the nerves she knew were eating at Hailey. “It’s okay,” Jennifer said quietly. “I know the way.”

Hailey looked relieved, tucking the phone back into her pocket as Jennifer grabbed the small box from the bench. They began walking side by side, their footsteps crunching against the gravel path, the sounds of the city slowly fading as they moved further from the crowds. The tension between them was palpable, despite the small talk they attempted to keep up.

“So, I keep seeing your art on Twitter,” Jennifer said, her voice light. “It’s stunning, by the way. Really incredible stuff.”

“Thanks,” Hailey replied, her voice soft, almost embarrassed. Her fingers were still twitching, squeezing at something in her palm—probably one of those stress balls she carried everywhere. Jennifer couldn’t see it, but she could hear a faint squelch each time Hailey squeezed. She fought not to giggle, recomposing her thoughts. 40-something child she was.

“Any progress with commissions? Or do you have a company in mind?” Jennifer pressed gently, keeping the conversation flowing. It was easier than acknowledging the real reason they were here.

Hailey shrugged, the chains at her waist clinking with the movement. “A few things... but nothing big. It’s just been hard to focus lately, you know?”

Jennifer nodded, though she wasn’t entirely sure she did know. Not in the way Hailey meant. They walked in silence for a few more minutes, the only sound the steady crunch of gravel beneath their feet and the occasional murmur of a passerby. The longer they walked, the heavier the weight in Jennifer’s chest grew, until it felt like it was pressing down on her ribs, making it hard to breathe.

Finally, they came to a stop near the gate, the city humming in around them as if waiting for something. Jennifer turned to Hailey, her throat tight as she spoke. “So, uh... do you still want to do this?”

Hailey shot her a look—sharp and unfiltered. The same look she’d given Jennifer when she’d called drunk, when she forgot to call her mum on her birthday, when she’d invited Daniel to Christmas dinner a decade ago. Jennifer couldn’t help but laugh softly. “I know, I know. But I still think it’s the right thing to do.”

Hailey’s face twisted into a frown, the stress ball warping dangerously in her grip. “We don’t have to do this,” she said, her voice rising with frustration. “We could just... go grab a coffee, catch up properly. It’s been so long, Jen. I hate going months without seeing you. And it’s not like—” She hesitated, biting her lip before continuing. “What I mean is... he’s not going to change. He just shows up when it suits him and vanishes when it doesn’t. Why do we keep caring?”

Jennifer’s heart clenched at the raw emotion in Hailey’s voice, the vulnerability that she always tried so hard to hide. She swallowed, shifting the box in her hands so she could gesture with her head. “Because he’s our father,” she said quietly. “Whether he acts like it or not. And if we stop caring... who’s going to be there when he finally falls apart?”

Hailey didn’t seem convinced, her eyes narrowing as she stared at the ground. The stress ball—or whatever it was—squeaked again, louder this time. Jennifer knew the frustration building in her sister, knew the anger she herself had struggled with for years.

With a sigh, Jennifer offered a compromise. “Look, how about we go get dinner after this? Catch a movie, maybe. Do something fun.”

Hailey glanced up at her, the frustration slowly ebbing away. After a moment, she sighed too, her shoulders slumping. “Fine. But you’re paying. I am a student, you know.”

Jennifer smiled, relief washing over her as they started walking again. The real conversation lay ahead, waiting for them with the weight of a year’s worth of silence and disappointment, but for now, it could wait. At least for a little longer. At least until they got inside.

Compared to their earlier walk of forced joviality, the trek through the building's lobby was painful in its silence. Hailey showed no emotion, no awe, as they passed through the lavish, elaborate entrance. Even when they stepped into the elevator—its mirrors reflecting their strained faces in all their detail, bouncing back their tension—Hailey remained unreadable. Her expression didn’t change as they reached the upper floor, the door they faced gleaming in a dazzling corridor. Jennifer wished she could be as stoic. She remembered her first visit here, gaping at the sheer opulence of the place, but Hailey? Hailey was a fortress.

Jennifer knocked loudly on the door, the sound echoing down the silent corridor. There was no bell, something that struck her as odd considering their father’s relentless paranoia. It unsettled her, how something so small could feel like a warning. She shifted uneasily, trying not to show her nerves, but the minutes dragged on with no answer. Hailey, beside her, sighed heavily, making as if to leave, her eyes dark with frustration.

Just as Hailey turned to go, Jennifer coughed, holding up a key card with a smug, victorious grin.

Hailey stopped mid-step, blinking at her sister. “How the fuck did you get that?” she asked, a mix of shock and amusement on her face.

Jennifer smirked, but the words that came next caught in her throat, awkwardly stumbling out. “I am my father’s daughter.” As soon as she said it, she regretted it—hated how much she sounded like him in that moment. She’d spent her whole life trying to be anything but him, and yet here she was, winking conspiratorially like they were on some shared inside joke.

The door buzzed quietly as it unlocked, and they both entered cautiously, the tension thickening as they crossed the threshold into the apartment. The dim lighting did little to ease their unease as Jennifer set the box down on a nearby table and flipped the switch, flooding the space with light. What met them wasn’t a wreck of an apartment like they’d half expected—it was, at first glance, meticulously organised. But the stillness, the quiet of the place, felt wrong, like it had been abandoned for days or even weeks.

The kitchen counter caught Hailey’s attention first. It was covered in small trinkets and souvenirs, each one carefully placed in neat piles, separated by sticky notes with scrawled names: “For Hails,” “For Jenn,” and further down the line, “Con” and “Rea.” Both sisters stood frozen for a moment, exchanging a wordless glance before Hailey cautiously picked up a small trinket from the “Hails” pile—a delicate wooden carving of some animal she didn’t recognise.

Jennifer, meanwhile, wandered to the fridge, opening it with a creak that echoed in the silence. It was completely empty. She closed it again with a soft thud, the sound underscoring her growing confusion. There was something off about the stillness, something in the air that stifled even the smallest movement. She brushed past Hailey, her steps tentative as she made her way toward the lounge, Hailey trailing silently behind her, both of them suddenly too afraid to speak.

Was he even here?

The room was unnaturally dark despite the golden hue of the setting sun outside. Hailey squinted in the dimness, searching for the light switch, her fingers fumbling awkwardly along the wall. When she finally flicked it on, they both nearly jumped out of their skins.

Daniel leapt from the sofa with inhuman speed, his movements far too fast to register until he was suddenly on his feet, wild-eyed and disoriented. Jennifer gasped, clutching her chest as Hailey swore loudly, her face paling as her heart hammered in her chest. For a moment, just a fleeting second, both sisters could’ve sworn their father’s eyes glowed red in the half-light, something feral and wrong flickering in their depths.

But then Daniel blinked, and whatever it was disappeared, replaced by a tired, familiar softness. He blinked again, this time with more clarity, his face slackening as he let out a breathless, hoarse greeting. “Oh hey, girls…”

Jennifer’s jaw tightened as she swallowed down her instinct to yell. She wasn’t ready to explode just yet. “Daniel,” she replied, the name feeling foreign on her tongue, like a word she hadn’t spoken in years. Hailey, still standing slightly behind her older sister, said nothing, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, fabric pulling taught like a physical manifestation of her feelings.

Daniel’s brow furrowed as he glanced between them, clearly trying to piece together what was happening. “I didn’t… I didn’t know you were coming,” he muttered, his voice cracking in a way that made him seem impossibly frail.

Hailey shifted uncomfortably as his eyes settled on her, but it was Jennifer who noticed the change in his face. He crumpled as he looked at them—really looked at them—his expression raw and pained. And as Jennifer took him in, she began to understand what all the fuss had been about. Daniel looked… wrong. He was thinner than she remembered, his once sharp features now sunken, his hair lacking its usual sheen. Dark bags hung under his eyes, giving him the appearance of someone on the edge of collapse. He looked like a man on his deathbed.

"Are you dying?" Jennifer asked, her tone far too harsh, but she couldn’t help herself.

Daniel blinked at her, a disbelieving laugh escaping his lips. "Honey, everybody’s dying," he quipped, a weak attempt at levity, though the words grated on her nerves, making her eyes narrow.

He must’ve sensed his mistake because his posture straightened slightly, and he shuffled awkwardly around the couch, still in his slippers. Hailey’s posture softened a little at his pitiful display, and part of Jennifer wanted to scream at her for letting her guard down so quickly. He doesn’t deserve that, she thought bitterly.

“So?” Jennifer prompted, her voice hardening again, eyes fixed on her father as if daring him to continue evading the truth.

Daniel winced as he reached the wall, dimming the lights with the press of a switch. He leaned against it, his body folding in on itself as if he was already preparing for another confrontation. “Well, yeah, I’m dying. But you’ve known that for years now—Parkinson’s and all that.” He paused, his voice dropping to something barely above a whisper. “Now though, it’s a little more complicated.”

Jennifer’s fists clenched at her sides. “Don’t make me go to your doctor, Daniel.”

“Fuck, good luck with that, kid.”

The nonchalance in his response set her blood boiling. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, huh? Did I, or did I not, specifically ask you to seek medical help before running off like some immature teenager? You have no one to blame but yourself for feeling like shit.” She wanted him to feel it—the disappointment, the frustration. She had tried. She had tried so hard, and now here they were again. "Stop pretending to care if you’re just going to disappear like this. Again."

“Fuck off,” Daniel snapped, his voice raw with something too close to anger. “You don’t even know the half of it, Jennifer.”

Hailey, who had been silent until now, suddenly burst out, “Don’t you speak to her like that! She’s been trying to help you, Dad. And you treat her like shit every time. She’s family.” Her voice cracked as she finished, and Daniel turned his head, staring at the floor like a child caught in the act.

“I’m sorry, girls,” he mumbled, deflating as the fight drained out of him. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Jennifer wasn’t ready to let him off the hook. “Sorry for what, exactly? Because there’s a lot to account for, Dad. Are we doing this alphabetically, or are we ranking your fuck-ups by magnitude?” Her words were like knives, and she had no intention of pulling them out gently. She wanted to bury them and twist.

Daniel let out a sad, pitiful laugh, and for a moment, Jennifer’s glare softened into something more like hurt. She hated seeing him like this—weak. It only made her angrier that she still cared. It made her feel worse for the violent imaginings brewing beneath the surface.

“What happened?” Jennifer asked, quieter this time. “Without the riddles, without the cryptic bullshit. Just tell us.”

Daniel’s expression hardened as if he was shrugging off an invisible weight. “I… I bumped into an old friend. Turns out there’s a lot I don’t remember about my past. About the kind of person I was.”

Jennifer didn’t know what to make of that. She caught Hailey’s eyes, a brief exchange of confusion as they followed Daniel into the kitchen, tension crackling between the three of them like static.

“I didn’t really… anticipate getting caught up in all that shit again,” Daniel continued, his voice distant. “I don’t know what I expected. I wasn’t thinking.”

“This isn’t answering any of our questions,” Jennifer said, frustration creeping back into her voice. They both sat down at the kitchen bar, Hailey fiddling anxiously with her bracelets, while Jennifer stared down their father, daring him to keep skirting the truth.

Daniel didn’t sit. He stood behind the kitchen counter, his hands gripping the edge as if the solid surface could anchor him. “I know,” he admitted. “I’m sorry.”

Hailey’s fingers tapped against the counter, her teeth grinding audibly as she bit down the anger. “You don’t get to waltz back into our lives every time you’re broken and need someone to put you back together. It’s not fair.”

Jennifer rested her chin on her hand, her voice quiet but firm as she gave the order, “Speak.”

Daniel felt the weight of her command like a blow to the chest, and for a brief moment, he thought of Armand—how often he had been in this very position, facing down an impossible force. But this was different. This was his daughters, and they deserved more than excuses. They deserved the truth… or at least, as much of it as he could give.

“It had to do with the book,” Daniel began, his voice too quick, already anticipating the backlash. Both of his daughters groaned almost in unison, their disbelief sharp and heavy. Jennifer’s eyes rolled so hard he could feel it, while Hailey shook her head, her fingers drumming a restless beat on the countertop. Daniel raised his hands, as if that alone could hold back the judgment barrelling toward him. “Hey, now. Let me speak. It’s not as ridiculous as it sounds.”

“Isn’t it, though?” Jennifer shot back, leaning forward on her elbows, clearly unimpressed. “You’ve been using that same excuse for years now. You’re not hiding behind a book again.”

Daniel exhaled sharply. “It’s not like that this time. I wasn’t just writing—this is more about… my interview subject. Or his ex, actually. He left me with… unanswered questions. I wanted answers.” The lie was half-formed in his mind, something close enough to the truth that he wouldn’t trip over it, but far enough to avoid dragging them into his actual mess. “I let him spin a game, pull me along for a bit. It’s hardly my most dangerous venture.”

He offered a hollow chuckle, searching for a memory to distract them, something from his wilder days. “Do you remember the Russian guy? That one was strange, right?”

But neither Jennifer nor Hailey were buying it, their faces set in disbelief. Hailey, especially, looked like she was barely containing her frustration.

“Yes, but Dad,” Hailey finally spoke, her voice sharper than usual, more clipped, “you aren’t well. You’re old. You’re dying.”

The word cut deeper than Daniel expected, sinking into him and pulling everything inside him down with it. Dying. He had spent so many years grappling with death, circling around it with curiosity and fear, fighting it off with every ounce of his humanity. Mortality had terrified him more than he let on, more than he ever told Louis, more than he ever admitted to himself when he begged Armand to take him. Now, that fear seemed distant, muted by the unending stretch of time ahead. But it didn’t make life feel more meaningful; if anything, it stripped it of meaning. As a vampire, everything seemed trivial. Endless. Unimportant.

“Dad?” Hailey’s voice cut through his escalating thoughts, grounding him with the concern lacing her tone.

Daniel blinked, realising he had zoned out, judging by the looks of concern etched onto both of their faces. “Ah, sorry. Just considering life, you know?” He chuckled awkwardly, though neither of them laughed. Hailey’s eyes had softened, but they were also glassy, like she was holding something back. Seeing her like that made Daniel’s stomach twist.

“Look,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “What am I doing? I don’t want to waste another second of my time fucking up the relationship I have with my two favourite people on this planet.”

Jennifer didn’t look moved. In fact, her stare hardened, but Daniel could see her jaw twitch as if she was trying to hold back from saying something scathing. The silence pressed in around them, growing heavier by the second.

Daniel, his nerves betraying him, began rambling again. His hands fidgeted in his lap, restless and uncertain. He hadn’t even noticed when his nails began cutting into his palms, the subtle sting of blood drawing a sharp inhale from Jennifer, her eyes widening.

“Dad—your hands!” she exclaimed.

Daniel blinked down at them, as if noticing the blood for the first time. “Oh. Stupid things,” he muttered, trying to downplay it. “Always doing that.”

Hailey was quicker to react, pulling a tissue from her pocket and handing it over, though her frown deepened as Daniel wiped the blood away. “Are you wearing acrylics?”

He froze, caught off guard by the question. “Uh… is that what the kids are calling them nowadays?” he deflected, wincing at his own awkwardness before quickly steering the conversation in another direction. “Anyway! Gifts. I promised gifts, didn’t I?”

Jennifer raised an eyebrow, still unconvinced, but she didn’t press further. “I guess the surprise has already been spoiled, considering you two snuck in without warning,” Daniel teased, attempting a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He gestured toward the piles of souvenirs on the kitchen island. “Here are your hauls.”

Hailey and Jennifer both eyed the piles sceptically, though there was a flicker of curiosity in Hailey’s gaze. Jennifer, however, wasn’t letting go so easily. “What I want to know is how the hell you brought this much shit back to New York,” she poked, her tone still incredulous.

Hailey nodded in agreement, her fingers brushing over a small trinket. “Yeah, did you actually carry all this from place to place? Or did you just pack it all into an interdimensional pocket like the Doctor?”

Daniel waved a hand dismissively. “Nah, I had Armand ship it back here every time. I was going to ask Connie to help but—oh crap, Connie.”

“Who’s Armand?” Jennifer asked, just as Hailey added, “Who’s Connie?”

Daniel ignored them both as he rushed to locate his phone, fingers flying over the cluttered countertop until he found it, raising it triumphantly… only to see a dead screen. Jennifer crossed her arms, watching him with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. And mild concern. How hadn’t he noticed?

Daniel plugged it in, his energy visibly deflating as he turned back to them. “Connie is my assistant,” he explained with a sigh. “An absolute angel, really. You sort of met her. She called me whilst we were having Chinese. The Connor ringtone? She cared so much, too much for any old employee. Just another person I let down. She had to get a new job because I left without warning. I… forgot. As usual.”

His tone was heavy, and for a moment, it felt like guilt would suffocate him. But Jennifer’s sharp, cutting voice broke through the fog. “Who’s Armand?”

Daniel’s eyes flickered to the shadows at the mention of the name, a reflex he couldn’t suppress. His avoidance was obvious, and Jennifer, perceptive as ever, didn’t miss it.

“My old friend,” Daniel said after a beat, the words slow and cautious. “The one I wanted answers from.”

“I thought you said he wasn’t a friend,” Jennifer shot back, her suspicion clear.

“It’s… complicated.”

Hailey suddenly laughed—a loud, sharp sound that filled the room and immediately felt out of place. She clamped her hand over her mouth, her eyes widening in surprise at herself. “Sorry,” she mumbled through her fingers when both Daniel and Jennifer turned to look at her.

“What’s so funny?” Daniel asked, though there was a nervous edge to his voice, as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.

Hailey waved it off, regaining her composure. “It’s nothing,” she said quickly, though the glint in her eyes suggested otherwise. But she didn’t press, and neither did Daniel. He could only hope it meant Hailey would forget because her thoughts were teetering dangerously close to the truth.

Jennifer watched as the tension seemed to settle between them like dust in the air. It was the kind of silence that made her skin crawl, too thick and too full of all the unsaid things they both held back for years. Sensing the lull, she decided to seize control, to wrap this whole shit show up before it derailed any further.

Stepping closer to Daniel, her heels clicking sharply against the tiled floor, she bore down on him with the same authority she used in courtrooms. He needed to listen for once. Needed to treat her as an equal rather than an interview subject to be played. “Daniel,” she said, her voice cutting through the stillness. “Dad. I would appreciate it if you let me speak. No interruptions, no tuning out the parts you don’t want to hear. Can you do that?”

Daniel nodded slowly, his gaze briefly dropping to his sleeve, where his claws – no, nails, Jennifer corrected herself – were tugging nervously at the fabric. It was strange to see him so quiet, without the endless fight. But she didn’t let it soften her. Not now.

She took a deep breath, steadying herself before diving in. “I tried, over and over again, to get a hold of you. Do you know how many times I called, or texted, or physically tried to reach you? I don’t think you do. Because if you did, you’d realise how much time I spent worrying about you. How many hours I wasted trying to track you down, get you help, even when I knew you’d probably just ignore it all.” Her voice wavered, but she pressed on, her fingers trembling at her sides. “You made me vulnerable, Daniel. You let me put my guard down. And every time, every fucking time, you’ve just shit all over my efforts. Ran off like I meant nothing to you. Like Hailey and I – like we’re just side characters in your life. And I’m tired, Dad. I’m so fucking tired.”

Her words hit like stones, each one laden with years of frustration. She didn’t want to cry, but the weight of it all, the years of disappointment, left her chest aching. “But,” she swallowed, her voice shakier now, “I can see something’s happened. You’re not well. Not physically, and sure as hell not mentally. And I don’t want to regret anything when you’re gone.” She blinked hard, refusing to let the tears spill over. “I want you to get better. I want you to be happy. Before you die.”

Daniel shifted on his feet, but said nothing, his eyes focused intently on her, absorbing every word. She wasn’t letting him off that easily, though. “I’m willing to give you a chance—if you prove you deserve it. But this is the last time, Dad. The. Last. Fucking. Time. I won’t chase you anymore. I won’t waste any more of my life trying to fix you. So, if you run again… if you hurt us again, I’m done. That’s it. We’re done.”

She folded her arms across her chest, the finality of her words settling between them like a tombstone. Daniel nodded, his breath shaky but measured. “Okay,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Okay, that’s… that’s reasonable.”

Jennifer was about to respond when she heard a broken sound from beside her. She turned, her brow furrowing as she saw Hailey standing there, her face twisted in frustration, her lips pressing together like she was trying to force back whatever was rising inside her.

Hailey fiddled with a small figurine on the table, her fingers brushing over its delicate surface as she struggled to find her words. “What you did… it hurt me,” she started, her voice quiet but raw. “I don’t want to forgive you. I don’t even know if I can forgive you. I don’t want you back in my life—wait, no.” She stopped herself, frustrated, shaking her head. “That’s not it. It’s just…” Hailey clenched her fists, staring hard at the floor, her breath catching in her throat. “I can’t keep doing this, Dad. It’s so fucking frustrating. I want to scream at you, every time I think about it.”

Her chest heaved as she fought to get the words out. “I want you to know, after all these years, all your fuck-ups… you’ve hurt me. Permanently. You made me feel like I wasn’t enough. Like there’s something broken inside of me.” Her voice cracked, but she kept going, anger bubbling up. “You’re always chasing something, whether it was drugs or the next big thrill or whatever this new obsession is. And I’m done chasing after you.”

She finally looked up, her eyes red but hard. “I’m not coming after you when you leave this time. And I’m not waiting for you to come back.”

It was exactly like Louis had said. Had he really expected that of them? Her words hit Daniel harder than anything Jennifer had said, and he felt tears threatening to spill over. He blinked them back furiously, knowing the tell-tale red tears in his eyes would expose too much, would overshadow the real meaning of what his daughters were telling him. They were giving him one last chance—one final thread of connection. And if he failed them again, he’d lose them forever.

He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing felt right. His breath came out in a deep, ragged sigh, his voice thick with emotion. “I… I’m sorry. I know I’ve failed you both. I don’t deserve another chance. But I want to make things right. I do.”

For a moment, no one moved. The air between them was heavy with the weight of everything unspoken, the years of hurt, the hope that this time, things could be different.

Suddenly, Hailey yawned, the sound loud and entirely out of place. Jennifer blinked, surprised, and then a small, wet giggle escaped her lips. She quickly covered her mouth, but the absurdity of the situation seemed to catch her off guard, and she let out another, louder laugh.

Daniel couldn’t help but smile faintly, despite everything. “Oh, right,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “You two must be exhausted. Can I put you up for the night? I had a friend help clean the place recently. I think you guys would get along… he’d definitely love to meet you.”

Hailey hopped off the stool, stretching her arms above her head with a groan. “Yeah, that sounds great. Where’s the nearest bed before I crash?”

Jennifer watched them both leave the kitchen, Daniel leading Hailey toward the spare room. The tension in her chest lessened slightly, but only just. As they disappeared down the hallway, her eyes caught on the box she had brought—the one still perched on the kitchen counter, unopened. With a quiet hum, she picked it up, clearing a space on the lounge table before gently peeling away the old tape.

Inside, nestled in the worn cardboard, were old media tapes. Photos, too, scattered underneath. She stared at them for a long time, wondering what Daniel would make of all this. Wondering if, after all these years, these pieces of the past would mean anything to him.

Daniel stood in the hallway for a moment, hand resting on the frame of Hailey’s door. It had been a while since he’d felt anything remotely close to peace, but somehow, seeing her nestled under the covers, her breathing even and calm, brought a flicker of it back. He smiled, the corners of his mouth pulling upward in a way that felt foreign—fragile, like it could shatter at any second. Gently, he shut the door, the click barely audible, and ran his fingers over the wood as if the act of closing it required reverence. His mind wandered, drifting as it had for weeks, weighed down by the ever-present fog of self-loathing and regret.

How had it come to this? How had he let himself sink so low that even his children were forced to play caretaker? Their words—sharp and raw—still rang in his ears, echoing in the hollow spaces of his mind. Jennifer’s brutal honesty had stripped him bare, exposing every failure, every broken promise he’d ever made. Hailey’s quiet pain, buried beneath layers of resigned acceptance, had hurt more than he’d let on. He had let them down, over and over, running from them just as he had from everything that mattered. And now, they had come to him, tired of chasing, demanding answers he wasn’t sure he could give.

He felt like shit. He had felt like shit for weeks now. The weight of it was suffocating, a constant pressure in his chest that never let up. But… something had shifted. Something in the way they had looked at him, spoken to him—not with pity, but with expectation. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to stir something inside him, a flicker of that long-dead desire to be better, to do better. He had failed them, yes. But maybe—just maybe—there was still time to make it right.

He found himself back in the lounge, where Jennifer was sat cross-legged on the floor, flipping through something reflective. The box she’d brought sat open beside her, its contents spilling across the table. She didn’t look up when he entered, too absorbed in whatever it was she was unearthing. Perhaps it was for a case?

Daniel hesitated by the doorway, feeling a strange sense of awareness—the fog lifting, just slightly, with every step he took toward her. He hadn’t felt this clear-headed in… he couldn’t even remember how long.

“What you got there?” Daniel’s voice cracked, rougher than he’d intended, as he cautiously sank into the sofa. His legs trembled slightly, a sudden surge of hunger gnawing at him, something he hadn’t felt in weeks. Still, he forced himself to settle, his body heavy, but his mind striving to engage with the present.

Jennifer leaned back, eyes distant as she rotated the photo in her hand. “Do you remember,” she began slowly, like she was wading through some hazy memory, “back when you were still in Paris, and I phoned you?” Her voice floated between them, soft but disjointed, like it wasn’t fully connected to the moment.

Daniel squinted, his mind scrambling for the thread of memory she was tugging on. “Yeah,” he replied, though it came out uncertain, the recollection blurry at best. His past felt like one long, fogged-out tape, worn down from overuse, barely audible.

“And I said I remembered you had a box of Polaroids. Under your bed, at Mum’s place.” She spoke as though the memory was clearer to her than it ever had been to him. Her fingers flipped the photo absently, not quite looking at him.

His heart skipped a beat. Polaroids. Daniel felt something stir, uncoiling like a snake, tightly wound around the things he didn’t want to remember. “You brought it?” His voice was strained, already knowing the answer but needing the confirmation.

Without a word, Jennifer handed him a small stack of photographs. Daniel took them gingerly, like they might disintegrate in his hands. The weight of them, insignificant in any normal sense, was unbearable now. His fingers trembled as he flipped the first photo over, and there it was—a scene from his youth, staring back at him like a ghost. There he was, younger, happier, laughing beside a fountain in some European square, unmistakably the ’70s with his wild hair and ridiculous clothes. But the figure beside him, half-obscured by shadow—Armand.

“How did I never—” His voice fractured, memories clawing at his mind, disjointed but insistent. How had he never stumbled upon this? He had forgotten so much. Too much. His eyes darted between the faces in the photos, between him and Armand. How had he buried it so deeply? How had he let it slip through his fingers, leaving nothing but fleeting impressions and holes where memories should be?

Jennifer hummed, unfazed, still flipping through her stack. “I don’t think Mum kept them from you on purpose. After you left, she moved everything to the garage. I found the box there a while back, recognised it right away. Top shelf even.” Her tone was casual, indifferent to the emotional minefield she had just unearthed.

Daniel flicked through the photos, his throat tightening with each one. Him and Armand in Istanbul, sharing a cigarette, the smoke obscuring the vampires face. A night in Prague, taken from above with their arms slung over each other’s shoulders like carefree tourists. A shadowy bar in Berlin, drinks half-forgotten on the table, Daniel locked in conversation with the holder. These were the fragments of a life he had lived and lost, but no matter how hard he stared, the memories refused to sharpen. Instead, they hovered just out of reach, tantalising but empty.

“Who was he, Dad?” Jennifer’s voice pierced through the fog of his thoughts, steady and curious. She was still sorting through the box, her eyes on the past as much as his.

Daniel hesitated, fumbling for a way to explain the inexplicable. How could he even begin to describe Armand? The creature who had torn him apart and put him back together in ways that didn’t always feel like an improvement. The monster who had taken from him so much more than memories. His lover, his maker, his secret, his sworn enemy, his destroyer, his keeper, his guard dog.

“He was... special.”

The words felt inadequate. How did you explain the kind of relationship that was both toxic and intoxicating? His fingers rubbed absently at his canines—a habit he’d never quite shed. To think about it’s origins was to confront quite literally sticking your hand into the mouth of the beast, and he’d acknowledged that side of himself one too many times with Armand.

Jennifer tilted her head, giving him her full attention now, her expression expectant, almost vulnerable. “How special?”

Daniel felt the floor tilt beneath him, an unease creeping up his spine. “We were… lovers, I think.” His voice came out softer than he intended, like he was confessing to something half-forgotten. He bent the corner of a photo, smoothed it out again. Repeated the motion as if it could keep his thoughts in check.

Jennifer raised an eyebrow but didn’t press, her response sharp with unspoken understanding. “Complicated, huh?” she said, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. Strike number two. Three strikes and you’re out.

“Yeah. Complicated.” Daniel echoed, his lips pulling into a humourless smile. The understatement of the century.

She shifted through the box, pulling out a small cassette tape. “There are tapes, too,” she mused, turning it over in her hand.

A pang of panic shot through him. “Best not watch those,” he said, a little too quickly, reaching for the tape before she could pop it open.

Jennifer’s eyes widened with mock scandal. “My my, father dearest…. Are these sex tapes?”

“Trust me,” Daniel muttered, yanking the tape from her hands, “you don’t want to know.”

Jennifer let out a breathy laugh, though she didn’t argue. She returned to her conveyor belt of old memories, handing over photos as she found them. But the lightness didn’t last. After a while, she stopped, her voice dropping. “Where did he go? Why didn’t I ever meet him?”

Daniel’s hand froze mid-flip. Where did he go? How many times had he asked himself that question? “He... He left,” Daniel said finally, his voice hollow. “He came and went whenever he felt like it. I wasn’t enough for him. Not in the end.”

Jennifer’s expression softened, her brows knitting together in sympathy. “I didn’t know.”

Daniel let out a bitter laugh, one that hurt his throat. “Nobody did.” Not even me.

She inched closer to him, her hand resting on his arm, warm and solid. “I’m sorry.”

For the first time in a long time, Daniel felt something crack in him. Something raw. “No,” he said quietly, meeting her eyes. “I’m sorry. I was supposed to be the adult, supposed to protect you from all this. You were just a kid. I wasn’t there when you needed me. And even if I had been... I wasn’t the kind of person you could count on. Younger me, he was, uh… not the most self-accepting. After him, I don’t think I ever dabbled in the same sex again.”

Jennifer didn’t say anything for a long moment. She looked away, her fingers running along the edge of the polaroids absentmindedly. She didn’t have to say anything. Daniel could feel it—the weight of her unspoken thoughts, her buried disappointments. He stood slowly, pulling her to her feet with him.

When she’d finally made it to his room and lay down, Daniel knelt beside her gently. “I love you, Jenn,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I know I wasn’t there when you needed me, and I know you’re not a child anymore… but I still care. I’m sorry I failed you.”

She turned to him, eyes reflecting the low light in the room, the weight of years hanging between them. “Thanks, Dad,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Daniel lingered for a moment, his hand still resting on her shoulder, before retreating into the dim light of the lounge. His body felt heavier than ever, but his mind? It was clear. At least for tonight. And that was more than he could ask for. The same gnawing emptiness lingered beneath it all, but it was muted now, less suffocating. That strange, almost foreign clarity settled into his mind like a cat curling up and making itself at home, pushing everything else to the side. Maybe it was the conversations with his daughters, the way they’d forced him to see how much he’d hurt them, how distant he’d been. He felt like shit, but there was a faint flicker inside him—the desire to do better.

Standing, he surged into the kitchen to grab a long-overdue drink, feeling a small rush of life return as he took a sip of the well-hidden blood. His movements felt purposeful, deliberate for the first time in months. Louis had tried to coax him back from the edge, but it had always felt like a losing battle—Daniel had been too far gone, too wrapped up in his own misery to see the point. But now? Maybe this could be his purpose. Sorting through his mess, picking apart his life piece by piece, finally making sense of it all. Being a better person. For his girls.

He blinked and rapidly returned to where Jennifer had been sitting earlier, dropping to the floor with little grace and staring at the piles of media scattered around. Photos, tapes, that box filled with forgotten moments. He picked up a handful of Polaroids, his fingers brushing against the glossy surfaces as if the touch alone could unlock memories. They’d always said that photographs held memories. And he needed an extra hand in getting a hold of his.

Jesus, Louis would be pissed. All those nights of coaxing him out of bed, forcing blood down his throat, dragging him into conversations when all Daniel wanted to do was curl up in the dark and forget everything. And here he was, feeling better simply because he had a task. Something that didn’t involve Louis’ concerned frowns or Armand’s ghostly shadow in every corner of his mind. All he had to do was categorise his mess of a life.

It didn’t take long before the task of sorting through the chaos blurred the hours away. Daniel found himself slipping into a quiet focus, a mental rhythm. His mind was sharp, clear, like the fog that had hung over him was finally lifting. He was a journalist again, piecing together the fragments of his own story, mapping out his history with a cold, logical precision. Every time he discovered a new tape or photo, his brain clicked into gear, adapting its strategy, putting together the puzzle of who he had been before everything went to hell.

He started by separating the photos from the tapes—obvious enough. Then, he considered doing it by location, but with the various places he’d been with Armand, it got tricky. So he turned to the dates. Most of the Polaroids had handwritten scribbles on the back, timestamps, locations, even some notes written in his own illegible scrawl. Why the hell had he written ‘terrifying rooftop’ on this one?

Somehow, in the randomness of it all, there was an odd sense of continuity. There were patterns—subtle ones—but there all the same. Certain locations had full stacks of photos while others had a single shot, worn down by weather or folded as if kept in a pocket for too long. Some photos had the same film grain, the same camera, others looked entirely different, taken on different equipment. It made everything feel more real, less curated—these moments hadn’t been planned out; they’d just happened.

Daniel’s fingers hovered over a particular stack of photos, catching on the ones that showed him. Younger. Happier. Alive. He stared at an image of himself and Armand, half of Armand’s face obscured by shadows, taken clearly without the other’s consent. A small, crooked smile played at his lips as he thumbed over the picture. How many times had Armand caught him doing that?

He sighed, feeling the weight of the past settling over him. His hand came to rest on an old VHS tape labelled in neat handwriting: “Rooftops – 06/1977.”

Innocent enough, he thought, knowing full well the kinds of things they used to get up to. But rooftops? Seemed tame.  Evidently this would be paired with the “terrifying rooftops” polaroid he had picked out earlier from the same date which had depicted a silhouette standing in the setting sun on what Daniel can only guess was a roof. The location wasn’t obvious and the photo gave no hints though Daniel supposed it could have been Paris again.

He stared at the label for a moment, rolling it between his fingers. A soft chuckle escaped his lips. Well, at least it wasn’t a sex tape. That would be awkward, with his daughters sleeping nearby. He wasn’t a monster.

A swift motion had him off the floor and zipping around the room, retrieving the player and hooking it up to his laptop. He made sure to slip in an earplug before settling back down onto the sofa. The tape whirred to life with a click.

The lighting wasn’t great. The sun had long started its descent, casting the sky in a hazy orange that didn’t do the camera’s grainy recording any favours. The lens wobbled, tilted down to reveal blurred form of worn terracotta roof tiles beneath it, and every few seconds, it jolted, the frame dipping as though the person behind the camera was running.

Breathing could be heard, winded and uneven, and through the low-quality microphone came a string of low muttering and disbelieving laughter.

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” His voice, rougher back then, more energetic, though still filled with the same dry sarcasm.

The camera bounced violently as he stumbled forward, the tiling shifting briefly, revealing the gap between rooftops. Then, with an exaggerated effort, he made the jump, grunting as he landed ungracefully on the other side. It was followed by a brief flicker of the sky as Daniel adjusted the camera, his panting louder now.

Up ahead, a figure came into view—Armand. He looked effortlessly composed, standing on the roof’s edge. And yet, there was something unusual about him. Arms bare, wearing shorts as if this were a leisurely stroll. He appeared boyish, a bizarre display of behaviour for the aged vampire. Poised on the edge as he was, he looked like a youth taunting danger, teetering towards imminent death. He shot a glance back at Daniel, smirking in that way that only he could—a mix of amusement and mild condescension.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Daniel’s voice crackled through the audio, playful but slightly breathless.

Armand didn’t reply. Instead, he turned with a smooth grace, letting his body drop to the side and slid down the roof’s slope, effortlessly pulling off a complicated manoeuvre that made Daniel mutter, “Show-off.”  Ahead, wind swept Armand’s hair out of his face revealing a small smile. It was mere pixels on the screen.

The camera wobbled again as Daniel attempted to follow. His breath hitched and the camera jolted wildly, the mic capturing a thud as Daniel hit the side of the roof followed by a sharp grunt and a deep wheeze. Air knocked out of him, the camera shakily captured nothing more than the roof tiles. For a moment, all Daniel could see through the shaky footage was the darkening, cloudy sky.

And then he missed.

A clattering noise rang through the speakers as the camera dropped, clunking against the metal of a fire escape before it landed haphazardly on the edge, slightly askew but still recording. Miraculously, it captured a surreal, skewed shot of Armand, form completely ablur as he shot out, appearing with preternatural speed, and easily pulling Daniel away from a painful death. It was a bizarre thing to watch such a skinny thing simply catch Daniel – an unwieldly, gangly fool – without so much as a strain.

There was a moment, long and suspended, where Daniel couldn’t hear anything, but then the quiet whisper of his winded laugh trickled through the earbud as his younger self buried his face in Armand’s hair, unbidden tears rolling down his cheeks. The vampire held him close, his expression a mix of concern and fondness that made Daniel’s chest tighten, even all these years later. Armand's face, captured for only a second, was soft in a way that the Daniel of now had nearly forgotten. The camera lens framed them both in an almost painterly composition and nothing disturbed it. Nothing moved. For a long moment, neither of them moved, Daniel’s laboured breath the only sound cutting through the recording.

Then, a soft, winded laugh escaped Daniel, the quiet noise only just registering on the mic as he tilted his head even further into Armand’s hair, eyes closed in relief. Armand, meanwhile, was gazing down at him, his usually cold face softened by something almost… tender.

Daniel pulled back, coughing slightly, his bravado creeping back in, wiping the tears away. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he said, a crooked smile on his lips.

Armand shook his head in disbelief, eyebrow rising, but he didn’t release his hold on Daniel for a good few seconds more. Then, with a flourish, he hopped down and retrieved the camera, handing it back to Daniel in mere moments with a playful smirk. The footage was tilted and a little blurred as he handed the device back to Daniel, and when he spoke, his voice was low but clear. “I believe you dropped this.”

“Oh, what do you know, I didn’t break this one on its first day. See? The lens hasn’t even scratched.” Daniel’s hand could be seen briefly as he took the camera, bringing it up close to his eye to inspect it, ever the master of deflection. The frame zoomed awkwardly into his own blurry, dark eye before he turned it around, aiming it squarely at Armand’s face.

Armand, looking thoroughly unimpressed, sighing dramatically as he brushed the camera away. “Beloved, I’ve told you many times… You can have as many recorders as you like. You need only ask.”

Daniel’s voice, slightly breathless but filled with that old bravado, responded, “Yeah, but this one will always carry memories. Now I’ll remember it as the recorder I dropped when I almost fell to my death, and you rescued me like a knight in shining armour.”

Without another word, the video captured Armand turning away, his amused smirk barely visible as his form shrunk in the distance. The footage cut off just as the camera wobbled in pursuit.

Staring at the screen, Daniel felt a strange, nostalgic warmth wash over him. It was this pleasant glow akin to the feeling you get when you’re watching the classics at Christmas, a mug of hot chocolate in your hands. He could almost smell the musty scent of those old camcorders, remember the oddly long shape, the weight of them in your hand, and the way the tape would whirr as it spun inside. The grainy footage, the shaky frame, it was all so… familiar. The thought gave him a sense of calm he hadn’t felt in ages. It was strange to think that something as simple as a few minutes of footage could ground him so thoroughly.

The video didn’t fill him with dread, as he might have expected. Even though thinking about Armand now was more like a sharp, cold blade twisting in his chest, this? This was different. Seeing that version of them – so carefree, so effortlessly themselves – gave him a flicker of hope. Maybe Armand hadn’t been lying through all of it. Maybe that sick memory from Istanbul, the way Armand had spoken to him, what he’d implied he’d done, was just one of those twisted moments where they said awful things just to hurt each other. They'd done that enough times, after all. But what was the use in dwelling over it now? Keep on moving as the song says.

Daniel exhaled slowly, leaning back against the cushions. Man, they were toxic sometimes. Almost as bad as Louis and Lestat, honest to God. But even through all the venom, all the lies and the manipulations, there had been something real there. He could see it, feel it. Armand hadn’t always been the cold, manipulative bastard Daniel had painted him as – not  always. They had moments. Glimpses of something that felt genuine, even if it was buried under years of bitterness.

With a steady heart and a calmer mind than he'd had in weeks, Daniel shut the laptop and set the tape aside. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to let him sleep without the usual swarm of thoughts devouring him from the inside out. He padded softly back to his bedroom, moving with that eerie speed he still wasn’t entirely used to, and slid into bed. The room felt cooler now, the quietness almost welcoming. He didn’t lie awake picking apart his past or spiralling into old regrets. He didn’t listen to his demons.

The moment his head hit the pillow, Daniel’s eyes drifted closed, and for once, his sleep was immediate, almost peaceful.

“Daaad!” Daniel groaned. Of course, right as he was drifting in that perfect, half-conscious state that made everything feel like floating. “Dad!” The raspy voice was relentless, demanding attention like some curse he'd picked up. He barely opened an eye, clinging to sleep like a lifeline. It had barely been two hours, surely, since he’d crawled into bed.

The door creaked as Jennifer poked her head inside his room, her voice too chipper for the hour. “Morning, sleepyhead.” She trotted in like some kind of entitled hostess, all fake smile and vengeful eyes.

Daniel suppressed a sigh. There was nothing ‘morning’ about this. He was a vampire for God’s sake, it was not in his nature to wake during daylight hours. He briefly considered telling her to leave a sleepy vampire alone, but that wouldn’t have such a great outcome. He said nothing, merely offering a half-hearted grunt of acknowledgment. Maybe if I stay still enough, she’ll just go away.

“There’s someone at the door, Dad.” Jennifer’s voice cut through his futile attempt at playing dead. He dragged himself from under the covers, moving cautiously, like someone who had spent far too many nights lying awake. Jennifer watched him shuffle toward the door, her arms folded, eyebrows raised. “Wait, you can’t seriously be planning to answer it? We’re all in pyjamas! I meant tell them to go away or something.”

Daniel gave her a nonchalant shrug. “It’s probably just Louis,” he replied, as if that explained everything. With that, he turned toward the door, not really caring if his friend saw him in sleepwear. He’d definitely seen him at his worst, what was a little casual clothing at this time of day? Besides, his brain was stuffed with cotton right now, and he had meant to talk to Louis from the moment he realised things were starting to look up.

Jennifer blinked, then disappeared around the corner with a resigned huff, far too modest to meet a stranger in her current state of undress. As Daniel unlocked the door, he felt Hailey’s presence arrive as she joined her sister, both peeking around the wall like kids trying to get away with sneaking downstairs late at night. He fought back a smile at the sight of them acting like they hadn’t been forced to share a bloodline so late in life. Cute, in an annoying kind of way.

With a casual swing of the door, Daniel’s suspicions were confirmed. Louis stood on the other side, arms folded, inspecting his nails with that permanent air of mild indifference. His eyes flicked up at the sound of the door opening, and a small smile played at the corner of his lips.

“Daniel,” he greeted, his voice soft but tinged with amusement.

“Louis,” Daniel responded in kind, some part of him relieved that Louis was seeing him in this state—a little better than the last time. Less of a mess. And it would appear Louis was happy rather than pissed. All’s well that ends well.

“I noticed you had company, so I thought it best to knock. I see you’re feeling better?” Louis made no move to step inside, but Daniel knew it was more out of respect than hesitation.

“Yeah, well,” Daniel smirked slightly, “you did keep bugging me about talking to them. Problem solved.”

Louis raised an eyebrow. “Except they dropped in on you, not the other way around. So technically, you didn’t solve anything. It was solved for you.” He pushed past Daniel with an air of exasperated affection. His chiding was gentle, but the underlying message was clear: Daniel had been an irresponsible ass, again.

Behind them, a tiny squeak escaped as Jennifer accidentally stepped back onto Hailey’s foot. They froze, wide-eyed, watching Louis as though they’d just been caught sneaking out after curfew. God no, he needed to stop using teenager analogies, they were grown adults.

Louis didn’t seem to notice their mischief, or perhaps didn’t care. Instead, he turned and held out his hand toward Jennifer, his smile softening his sharp features, wrinkles forming at his eyes. “Hello there. Louis, I’m… a friend of your dad’s. You must be Jennifer.” The woman in question rather hesitantly took his hand, somewhat surprised by the firm grip, shaking it with a detached resistance. “And you must be Hailey,” he said, turning toward the other woman. Hailey nodded, offering an awkward smile but keeping her hands hidden behind her back, her gaze flitting to the floor.

Louis smiled at them both once more before continuing into the kitchen indifferently, rubbing his hands together. Daniel smiled at them both as he passed, also in pyjamas although his were, god forbid she actually looked, made of a dark, red silk. They were absolutely not the kind of clothing she would pin her dad down as owning and she was bewildered that she’d only just now noticed. He was more of the very old, ragged grey work clothes with more holes than fabric kinda guy. At least, that’s the man she remembered growing up with.

Jennifer exchanged a wide-eyed look with Hailey, the two of them clearly perplexed by the smooth elegance of this man standing in their father’s kitchen. Louis had a disarming way about him, his presence both imposing and graceful. The way he walked into their father’s apartment as though it were his own unsettled her. Who was this guy? The pristine nails, the polished shoes… way too put together for a straight guy. He couldn’t be much older than Hailey, at least by appearances, yet he carried himself with the calm wisdom of someone far beyond his years.

And then there was the way he and Daniel interacted, the ease of it, like they were in on some secret Jennifer wasn’t privy to, a close history untold. She didn’t like the strange twinge of jealousy that twisted in her gut, so she quickly decided she needed to leave and get dressed. She felt too vulnerable, too open. Jennifer watched her sister hesitantly follow the others into the kitchen, pulling her hood down as she sat down beside her father with an unsure air about her. Fortunately, she wasn’t dressed anywhere near as horrendously as Hailey who had for some reason packed a onesie and was now parading around dressed as a much fluffier and a lot more faded Blue Lion from Voltron. With a huff, she turned on her heel and made a beeline for the bathroom.

As Jennifer left, Hailey found herself sitting awkwardly in the kitchen, her arms crossed over the worn fabric of her front, fingers tracing the seems. Really should have packed something less… ridiculous. It would’ve been fine if they hadn’t had received an uninvited guest at god knows what hour. She rubbed the soft material absentmindedly, watching her dad and Louis as they talked. There was something oddly comforting about seeing Daniel like this, unguarded with a friend. There was something oddly comforting knowing that her father wasn’t alone when he was at his most vulnerable, even when he had been an annoying dick. Especially because of that, maybe.

So, this was Louis. She’d heard the name before, scattered in conversations or in relation to Daniel’s all famous book. There was something about the way Louis interacted and smiled that immediately made her feel seen, like she wasn’t just an afterthought in the room. But that didn’t stop the nagging curiosity at the back of her mind. What was so special about Louis? Why did her dad seem so different around him?

Louis leaned against the counter, crossing his arms as Daniel poured them both a drink. She couldn’t bring herself to comment on daytime drinking at this point, so instead she stared at the glass cabinet. She noticed the way they fell into an easy rhythm, like old friends who had long since stopped needing words to communicate. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a deeper connection here, something unspoken.

Her mind drifted to Jennifer. Hailey watched the door close softly behind her sister and wondered if she should have done the same. Maybe they both felt a little out of place here. But at least for Hailey, there was an undeniable curiosity pulling her toward the kitchen table. Louis had been a name—just that, a name. Now, stood there in the flesh, he seemed more like a puzzle she wanted to solve.

Louis had taken a seat opposite Hailey, his movements seamless, fluid in a way that made her feel like she was watching something choreographed. She jolted when Daniel’s knee tapped hers under the table, a silent reminder that she'd missed a social cue. “Oh, um, sorry. What did you ask?” The automatic response spilled out before she could think, slipping back into old habits of responding to her dad’s prompts, even when her mind was miles away.

“Remind me what it is you do? Something artistic, yes?” Louis’ voice was soft, but it carried an elegance that commanded attention. His slender fingers drummed lightly on the tabletop, their immaculate nails catching the dim light. Even sitting casually, he seemed regal, untouchable, like some kind of statue. Hailey’s gaze caught on his eyes—an intense, bright green that seemed almost otherworldly. They pulled her in, not in a romantic way, but like studying a masterpiece in a gallery, an object of fascination.

Hailey felt her cheeks heat as she wrung her hands together under the table. “Yes, I’m doing a degree and then, hopefully—hopefully—I’ll get a job in animation. Competitive industry and all that, y’know?” She felt trapped in his gaze, an uncomfortably lengthy connection which extended well past her usual boundaries. But she couldn’t look away, she felt compelled to star deep into his soul, like a vacuum absorbing life from  everything around it. He was a beautiful vacuum none the less. The moment Louis blinked, the invisible spell broke, and she looked away quickly, focusing on the faint scratches on the countertop instead.

Louis nodded thoughtfully, the corners of his lips lifting in a subtle smile. “Me, I’ve always been more of a photographer. Painting was more Armand’s thing. You remember, Daniel.” At the mention of Armand, Daniel’s face tensed for a moment before he forced a casual expression, masking whatever memory had flared up. Hailey watched him carefully, unsure what that look meant.

“But I have always been interested in ‘moving pictures’ as they used to call it. It’s a truly impressive art. I wish we had more of such a trade in today’s society. Everything feels so dreadfully uninspired now,” Louis continued, his voice tinged with an old-world melancholy.

“Spoken like a true boomer,” Daniel joked, and Hailey couldn’t help but let out a small, slightly awkward giggle, though she felt a tiny pang of irritation. Leave it to Dad to make things weird.

“Who are you calling a boomer? Don’t you know you’re actually in that age range? He’s a millennial at most,” Hailey said, shooting a quick glance at Louis’ confused expression. His eyes lit up with understanding, and he nodded, as if some puzzle had just clicked into place.

“Ah, internet terms. Of course.” Hailey’s brows shot up. A strange, swirling unease began to bloom in her chest. A millennial… with no knowledge of internet. Louis’ serene smile was charming but oddly unsettling, like he could see right through her carefully constructed defences. She shifted uncomfortably when his attention returned to her.

“What is it that your… hoodie thing represents, Hailey?” His gaze was polite, but there was a sharpness behind it, an intrigue that made her want to squirm.

“It’s just an old onesie I threw in my bag in case I got cold,” she stammered, feeling the flush climb back up her neck. She was a grown fucking woman. Get a grip, Hailey.

Daniel, ever the doting father when he wanted to be, chirped in with a smile. “Ah, sorry, Hai. If I knew you were cold, I’d have turned the heating on. Don’t really feel it much myself.” He squeezed her knee reassuringly under the table, and she leaned back slightly, finding sudden comfort in the familiar touch. Her fingers found a scab on her arm, and she started to pick at it, desperate to channel her restless energy into something that wouldn’t betray her anxiety.

Louis waited, silent and poised, his attention unwavering. It was almost unbearable, the patience in his eyes. Hailey felt like he was giving her space to unravel if she needed it, which only made her nerves worse. He’d make a good therapist, she thought absently. After a beat, she forced herself to square her shoulders, make the first step to creating an amicable, open conversation. “It’s from a kid’s show. Voltron: Legendary Defender. It was pretty popular when I was a teenager.”

Louis nodded again, a gesture that seemed to belong to him as naturally as breathing. “I see. I had a daughter. She used to enjoy watching movies, though not ones meant for her age. I’d like to think she would’ve appreciated such shows. But knowing her… horror films in the theatre would have been her choice.”

Hailey’s breath caught, her jaw loosening just a bit. Had a daughter? The past tense hung in the air, heavier than the room could bear. This enigmatic man, who looked like he belonged more to catwalks or art exhibits, had a story she couldn’t fathom. She blinked, trying to process the strange contradiction, but the words wouldn’t come. Way to kill a conversation, they guessed. The man had not an ounce of social etiquette in his body, but that was fine because neither did Hailey.

Before Hailey could piece together a coherent response, Daniel offered Louis a sympathetic smile, preparing to speak, but the sharp jangle of his phone cut through the air. Connie’s name glowed brightly on the screen, paired with her high energy sound track, and Daniel sighed, “Ah, shit. I forgot to call Connie yesterday.”

The click as he picked up and placed the device on speaker was the only warning they got: “OH MY GOD, DANIEL, WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?” Connie’s voice blared so loudly through the speaker that even Louis flinched.

Daniel chuckled, eyes crinkling in apology as he waved off the others and moved toward the hallway, leaving Hailey alone with Louis. She swallowed hard, the room suddenly feeling too open, too vulnerable.

Louis’ eyes softened, and he shifted in his seat, almost as if adjusting an invisible weight. “I can see you’re uncomfortable. For that, I am sorry. Perhaps there’s something you’d like to ask me?”

Hailey opened her mouth to protest, but the question slipped out before she could stop it, “Who are you? Like, really?”

An amused smile tugged at Louis’ lips, but it wasn’t condescending. He rubbed at his lower lip thoughtfully, swirling his drink before speaking. “My name is Louis du Lac. I’m from New Orleans. I’m 33 years old, and I like to invest in property. I’m a gay man and have been married twice. Your father is an old friend of mine who’s helped me through some… personal matters. Recently, I’ve been investing time into helping him, given his less-than-stellar survival instincts after his impromptu world tour. Hardly a Sir Francis Drake, I should think. Daniel is… more like a sinking ship.” He glanced up at her, eyes glinting with dry humour. “I must thank you for coming to see him. He wouldn’t have done it himself.”

Hailey’s head spun. 33? She almost laughed at the absurdity. “No way you’re older than me.” The words fell out, a delayed reaction that made Louis’ smile deepen, a genuine amusement in his glimmering eyes.

“It’s true,” he replied smoothly. “The skin is amazing, isn’t it?” Hailey nodded, more bewildered than anything, tracing her thumb along the seam of her onesie.

She tilted her head, curiosity flaring again. “You’re not… romantically involved, are you?”

“With Daniel?” Louis let out a rare, rich laugh. “Me, no. Maybe in the past—”

Hailey made a strangled sound, and Louis amended quickly, “No, no. Not like that. Just that something about him appealed to me. But I have bigger fish to fry these days, and a devoted ex who I’m considering returning to.”

Hailey’s mouth opened and shut, the weight of her emotions stifling her. “Thank you. For looking after him. I was mad at him, and I’m not sorry for that. But I do regret not checking in when he came back.”

Louis nodded, his eyes kind but knowing. “It’s all right, Hailey. I don’t blame you, and you shouldn’t blame yourself either. But he’s not better yet. Don’t give up. He’ll struggle when you go back to university.”

Hailey’s chest tightened. “I can’t stay.”

“I know,” Louis said softly. “But neither can I.”

An idea sprung to mind as Hailey listened to the bright, metallic sound of the woman’s voice over the phone. Louis looked up, anticipating her words. “Do you know Connie too?” Hailey queried, hopefully. She was searching for some kind of alternative to being a permanent babysitter.

Unfortunately for her little plan, Louis shook his head, leaning forward conspiratorially, “No, but I’d  say it’s safe to bet she cares enough to keep an eye out if we suggest it to her.” Hailey nodded, glad to share the same sentiments with another. She smiled at the sound of her dad talking animatedly, his voice bringing her back to a safe, comforting place.

“He really does care about you two, I swear it, Hailey.” Louis said, sincerely, voice breaking into their silence gently. He reached out with a cool hand to wrap her own limp one in a comforting embrace. She wasn’t used to physical contact with stranger’s and yet she did not feel compelled to run away. She turned from where she’d been looking in the direction of her father to gaze at his soothing face, a warmth filling her inside.

“He does.” She repeated, an air of awe to her tone. Louis squeezed her hand encouragingly before sitting back, arms crossed on the work surface. She tilted her head, mind still whirling.

As the conversation ebbed, Hailey leaned over and offered her phone, tapping the screen with a grin as Louis looked from her to the outstretched device. “Want my number?” she asked, voice wry.

Louis hummed, pulling out an outdated flip phone from his jacket. Hailey tried not to choke as he offered her the ancient device with a straight face, though his eyes sparkled with humour. Hailey’s eyebrows lifted as she accepted it, fingers cautiously navigating the barely-responsive buttons. Is he… serious? How does he even message on this thing? This is the kind of thing you see in a time capsule, she thought, momentarily stifling the ridiculous urge to look for dust. Louis cleared his throat, suppressing a chuckle covered hastily by a cough, as though he had an itch in his throat.

Hailey narrowed her eyes, fully aware he had been suppressing a laugh yet her fingers worked through the archaic system with half-hidden fascination as she entered her contact info, half expecting the phone to explode with any touch. She hesitated, curiosity getting the best of her as held out the phone, meeting his eyes with a deadpan, “So… 33, huh?”

“What can I say? It’s vintage,” he replied smoothly, although the flicker of amusement in his eyes belied the nonchalance in his tone.

“Oh yeah, super practical,” Hailey deadpanned once more, handing it back with exaggerated care. “But hey, I’ll stick to texting. If the thing doesn’t combust first.”

Louis smiled, his expression as close to bashful as someone with his poise could manage. “They keep telling me I should upgrade,” he murmurs. “I’m attached, I suppose.”

Hailey snorted and shrugged. That was a sentiment she could get behind, she too had many items back home that held nothing but sentimental value. Like her first digital pen with the exposed tip and dent in the side from when she’d accidentally rolled over it with a chair.

Louis inclined his head in mock reverence, chuckling as he stowed the relic in his jacket, “Right, this assistant of his, Connie you said?” Hailey nodded encouragingly. “Do you want to contact her or should I?”

Hailey snorted, imagining this odd man attempting to find a person in the 21^st century without using the internet, “No, I’ll just steal the number off dad’s phone later. See what strings I can pull. He’ll be as good as new in no time.”

Louis laughed, cheeks warm in the clinical kitchen light. The exchange had a natural rhythm, and as Jennifer re-entered the room, her gaze zeroed in on Louis, assessing the easy way he interacted with Hailey. She was now in more formal attire, her makeup tidier and hair brushed back. Pausing upon seeing Louis seated across from Hailey, Jennifer appeared to school her features, eyes narrowing slightly with scepticism. “So,” she began, her tone edging on interrogative, “you’re an old friend of Dad’s? And what does ‘helping him with personal matters’ entail exactly?”

Before Louis could respond, Hailey broke in, grinning, “Jenn, he’s good. I mean, he actually gets Dad, so no need to go all lawyer on him.”

Louis laughed lightly, giving Hailey a nod of thanks before addressing Jennifer directly, his easy expression never faltering. “No offense taken. I understand the scrutiny, Jennifer,” he said kindly. “Your father and I have had our own… shared experiences over the years, if you will. Nothing dubious, just a friendship that’s managed to weather time.”

Jennifer held his gaze a moment. A beat of silence passed between the three where the resident lawyer studied the visitor closely before nodding, seeming to settle into a tentative trust, though her expression remained reserved. She kept her arms firmly crossed as she settled at the table. There was something genuinely composed in Louis, something that felt stable and reassuring—a quality she found herself drawn to, if only tentatively.

At this, Louis turned his attention back to Hailey, smoothly continuing the conversation. “So, animation,” he prompted, resting his chin on steepled fingers. “What drew you to it?”

Hailey’s face lit up, her fingers fiddling with the edge of her onesie sleeve. “Honestly? I think it’s because I loved cartoons growing up. Like, to see whole worlds created out of nothing, just lines and colours that come to life. Plus, being part of something people binge-watch—that’s a dream, right?”

Louis’s eyes brightened in response, his smile widening. “Creating something people love… there’s a certain magic to it. You’re giving people an escape, a story.” His gaze was thoughtful, distant for a second. “It’s an art form. The ability to make things breathe and move. I fear I’ve never been able to escape the entertainment industry my entire life. It’s always something.”

“That’s hardly a bad thing, I mean, why would you bog yourself down in science when you could dance or sing or draw?”

“I can see that, I suppose. You certainly sound enamoured.”

“I can’t think of anything I’d like to do more than to animate.”

Jennifer, unable to resist, finally joined in, her tone gentler than before. “It’s a competitive field, Hailey. It’ll be tough. A lot of crazy hours and unreliable paychecks. You sure you’re ready for that?”

Hailey shrugged, determinedly. “Nothing’s perfect, Jenn. I’d rather be broke doing something I care about than wealthy and miserable.” She glanced back at Louis, sensing he might understand the allure of a challenging path.

Louis’s nod was immediate, as if she’d proven herself to him somehow. “Both of you have chosen admirable pursuits,” he said, glancing at Jennifer with a genuine warmth. “It’s a brave thing to follow your own road, no matter the cost. The world needs more of that, I think.” He glanced at them both, then added, almost as an afterthought, “Speaking of risks… If either of you would like to visit sometime, my apartment in Dubai is always open. A small place – well I say small, but… I think you’d find it comfortable.”

Jennifer arched an eyebrow, a smile tugging at her lips even as the words awoke a hazy memory in her brain. “Dubai? I mean… wow. Aren’t you fancy?” Dubai… what was relevant about Dubai?

Louis chuckled, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “I try. And I understand if you’re wary about such a trip, but you’d be safe. With me, at least.”

Hailey murmured thoughtfully, “Might take you up on that,” while Jennifer, though amused, only said, “We’ll see,” but she held his gaze, feeling something new—a tentative trust and a niggling sense of deja vu. What is the link between Dubai and the recent issues she’d had with Daniel?

Her questioning thoughts were lost to time as they drifted back into lighter conversation, Hailey explaining her inspirations while Louis encouraged Jennifer to talk about her work. She surprised herself with how easily she opened up, almost forgetting her earlier hesitation. “Law… sometimes I feel like I’m helping protect people who can’t protect themselves,” she confessed, her tone vulnerable. “Like I’m actually making a difference.”

Louis’s expression softened, his gaze direct and sincere. “To protect those who need it most—there’s no nobler cause. In some ways, you’re quite like your father.”

Hailey choked on a laugh. “Dad? Noble? Really?”

Louis’s smirk turned wry, his eyes flicking toward the hallway where Daniel had disappeared. “Well, let’s say his methods are… unconventional. But he’s loyal, deeply so, to those he loves. Surely, you’ve seen that?”

Jennifer rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed a hint of warmth. “Loyal, maybe. But showing up unannounced every time he feels like it? Using people as personal scratching posts? Digging his claws into everyone’s insecurities so he doesn’t have to face his own? Yeah, that’s ‘noble.’”

Louis only chuckled. “And his penchant for hiding odd trinkets—there’s a very specific brand of eccentricity there. I know a hoarder when I see one.”

Hailey snorted, “Oh, don’t even. I found old postcards stuffed in a winter jacket he left after the divorce. Unsent.”

Their laughter filled the room, easy and shared, the warmth of it lingering. That was when Daniel finally wandered back in, looking bewildered as he took in their grins. “Am I… interrupting?”

Louis raised an eyebrow, smiling. “Did we disturb your chat, Daniel?”

The sisters burst into laughter, catching their breath as Daniel’s confusion grew into something between amusement and exasperation. “This… was about me, wasn’t it?”

Jennifer gave him a wry look, still grinning. “Not everything, Daniel. But yeah, mostly.”

As the laughter settled, Jennifer found herself watching Louis with an unexpected fondness, her earlier suspicion gone. “Glad you’re around, Louis. Really. Glad he has you.”

Hailey gave him a gentle nudge. “You know, you’re not half bad.”

Louis’s gaze softened as he looked from Jennifer to Hailey, his voice warm. “Thank you, both of you. It’s been a privilege. And Daniel…” he met his old friend’s eyes, a hint of reassurance there, “good to see you on your feet.”

With a parting smile, he stood, the glint in his eye reserved for Hailey as he added, “Stay in touch.”

Daniel’s brow furrowed at the subtle exchange and he felt an eyebrow raise in suspicion, “What was that?” He demanded with a pointed look, palms out in exasperation. If his friend was fucking with him now… well let’s say Louis had another thing coming.

Louis just chuckled, giving him a dismissive wave, “Nothing for you to worry about, cher ami.” He glanced at the sisters, adding sincerely, “Take care of him, will you? He’s, uh… fragile.” And then he was gone, slipping through the door like an elegant ghost. Like he had never been there at all.

Music. One of Daniel’s favourite things. Rock, pop, indie. The whole lot. Right now, Daniel was beginning to question his authenticity as an ‘eclectic listener’. The thudding bass of whatever track had been playing on loop for the last ten minutes had begun to reverberate throughout his skeleton. It had no variation, no structure, just a boring and unimaginative beat. Modern clubbing music was failing its people. How could the artists have gone so wrong? Perhaps Daniel would be enjoying himself more if they played decent music in the club these days.

Saying this, the stench of sweaty youths was overpowering the aroma of alcohol and smoke making it difficult to find a positive to being here. “Here” was hunched over a glass of some overwhelmingly artificial drink at the bar of some overpopulated night club. He swilled the glowing liquid, watching the blue light up with the glass’ movement. Even if he weren’t a vampire, he would not put that in his mouth. How can a glowing liquid be safe for consumption? It literally looked like battery acid. He heaved a sigh and looked around, utterly bored.

The club wasn’t bad, and the space was quite large if you ignored the overcrowding of individuals everywhere. There were quite a few more strobe lights than there had been back in his day and a younger, less hardened part of him mourned the loss of such an experience when he was young enough to have enjoyed it. The colours varied though it appears some thought had at least been put into keeping a colour scheme per song, or per time frame. He’d been here a while. Long enough to watch his company slowly sobriety.

Connie was off her head. This was a funny spectacle to watch and Daniel’s eyes kept seeking her out by nature. If not to keep her safe then to see her so carefree. Her grin was wide and unabashed, and her eyes crinkled with smile lines. Surrounding her were ‘the gang’ as she chose to put it. The last week had seen Daniel accompanying a group of young adults across NYC on their nightly activity. He was under no illusion that he wasn’t part of her plan; that this was something his daughters and or Louis had orchestrated. Conniving little shits, the lot of them.

Connie was wearing a pretty little dress and her once pinned up hair had evidently come loose from its hold. Across from her, under a blinding light, was Reagan. Now Reagan hadn’t been very pleased to see Daniel and she made this very clear every time they spoke. Deserved but unappreciated. He felt very much like he should be telling her to piss off, but then he didn’t want to upset Connie, and he also didn’t feel like trying to argue with a millennial. Hailey was a battle on her own.

The group were on the other side of what Daniel supposed you would call the main dance floor though that felt a little redundant considering everyone seemed to be dancing everywhere. It would appear his little hiding spot in the corner of the bar was a common spot for fornicating couples and he was well into the phase of regretting his choices. God, why was he here. He pushed the drink away and rubbed his temples, spinning on the stool to face the thunder.

He had to get out of here. You put a thirsty vampire amongst a crowd of hot-blooded, rampant youths and you will not get a serene outcome. He needed to break something… or eat someone. May he repeat for the sake of longevity, being here was not his goddamn idea. Louis was so unhelpful sometimes. The guy literally has a complex about harming humans and then puts him in this situation? Some kind of stupid test, Daniel’s sure. Well fuck him.

Sliding to his feet, Daniel ignored the thudding pulses and enticing smells as he brushed through the crowd. Connie and Reagan were likely to busy (slash off their heads) to notice he’d left already. He’d made it about halfway before someone caught his arm and he felt his fangs bear in a snarl as he reared around.

“Hey, are you Daniel Molloy?”

Oh, for fu- really? The vampire heaved a great sigh as he stared down the young man staring up at him with stars in his eyes. He only had himself to blame for this. “No, but I get that a lot.”

Somehow, this translated as yes to the boy and he squealed, “You so are, oh my god. CAIT! COME QUICK IT’S DANIEL MOLLOY!” Ok, he will not be held accountable for his actions. This kid was annoying as shit.

“Fuck off, kid. I’m not interested.” His fangs were still out, he felt them pierce his lip as he spat and thanked the lords that a drop of his own blood was enough to quell the hunger. Also that the club was mostly shrouded in darkness and any glimpses could be blamed on weird lighting.

With a flirty smile and that obtrusive grip on his arm, his little fan would not bloody let go. “Can I get a selfie?” Daniel wanted to crush his skull. Daniel kind of missed being a little bit famous. It was under the pretence of getting the kid to leave him alone that he gave a begrudging nod. That was going to be on the news tomorrow for sure: ‘Author Daniel Molloy spotted for the first time in months… in a club?’

As the boy stopped to try and see the photo, Daniel slipped away into the crowd. He’d just reached the door, moments from freedom when his phone rang. Fate was fucking with him for sure. Like what was this? A sign? An intervention? Fuck it. He answered with another heavy sigh.

“Yes?” He was aware whoever it was would be able to hear the unmistakable sound of the club in the background. Fortunately for him, so could he.

“-aniel? -here ar – ou?”

So Connie had somehow noticed his absence. Slippery. Smart. There was a reason Daniel had hired her other than her good heart. She was genuinely agile in mind. “Toilet,” he lied through his teeth.

“Oh really? Expla – Reagan said – saw – by the exit?” Well this was an absolutely riveting conversation. Why did anyone bother with phones when audio quality goes to shit in loud environments?

“Fuck off. Let an old man piss.” Thankfully that one landed and he could hear Connie’s laughter through the receiver even over the thundering music. “I’ll be back in a moment, stop worrying.” He had hoped to sneak out. Maybe if he had a drink,..

The hunger returned and Daniel turned on his heel, heading for the bathroom. The lights in here were too bright for his heightened senses and Daniel squinted at his tired-looking reflection in the mirror. A door creaked open behind him and the vampire jumped out of his skin, mere seconds away from laying out the intruder flat on their back. It was just another young man, and he gave Daniel a hard side-eye as he left the bathroom.

Fuck, he was jumpy.

For a few seconds, he just ran his hands under the cold water, attempting to shake this insatiable feeling. He wished he could still get drunk. Wished he could get high. Wished he could try all the dangerous shit he used to be mildly afraid of now that he was immortal. His wish manifested itself in the form of a young man with curly brown hair.

He stumbled in much like Daniel had, except he did not remain on his feet, falling down the step and hitting his head on the sink, landing unceremoniously on the floor with a groan. Cautiously, Daniel squatted down and poked the guy’s cheek, as though it were a science experiment and he were anticipating a reaction. Again, he made a sort of mindless noise, rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling. His pupils were wide and unfocused and the blood running down his cheek was heady with the scent of drugs. If vampires could get a hit, this would be what it looked like. And boy, was Daniel tempted.

Was it ethical? No. Was it a good idea? Fuck no. But what’s a vampire gonna do? He was real fucking hungry and some good looking, great smelling prey just stumbled essentially into his arms.

Daniel unceremoniously got a hold of the guy’s armpits and dragged his limp body across the floor. Little protest was made, and this trend continued even as he hauled the poor victim into the far stall. His fangs were beginning to ache now with the need to drink and he was failing to form coherent thoughts. The smell of sweat, weed, stale smoke, and the suffocating metallic tang of blood filled the tight space, the crumbling tile walls compressing everything around him. Daniel had the young man pinned to the sticky floor of the bathroom stall, barely noticing the way the guy’s limbs trembled under his grip. His eyes were still wide and unfocused, pupils blown to pools of inky black, lost in whatever was coursing through his veins. It made the kid pliant, limp. He looked and smelt delicious.

So it was with next to no regret that Daniel leaned in, his canines breaking the skin at the curve of the young man's neck, a desperate, feverish urgency taking over. Blood hit his tongue, and it was like fire and gasoline all at once, that familiar sharp chemical burn of synthetic euphoria kicking in almost immediately. His grip tightened as he drew deeper, the taste somehow even sweeter with that edge of corruption; each swallow loosened something desperate inside him, eased the hunger coiling in his stomach.

He burrowed his free hand into the kid’s thick, dark curls, a strange haze whispering across his vision. His own hands buried in the another’s hair just like this, then someone pulling his head to the side, guiding him into the pain and euphoria of that first bite. He’d felt the world drop away then, his mind blurring at the edges, vision hazy in a way only intensified by the burn of pleasure and loss mingling in his veins.

The memory twisted into something darker, something hungrier, and he clutched at the boy harder, fingers curling into the soft roots of his hair. Desire flooded him again, twisting in with the blood high, setting his nerves alight. He bit down harder, his body grinding against the boy's as he sank further, mind slipping under with each gulp. Each taste brought him closer to that edge, that borderless euphoria that was pulling them both down. The guy’s heartbeat was weakening, slow, pulsing against his mouth.

He was so close to the brink he didn’t even realise he was sinking down with him, his own heartbeat stuttering to match. They were in freefall together now, and he could almost see it—the kid’s final heartbeat syncing with his own in some shared last dance. And yet, a raw clarity cut through, sharp as glass in the back of his mind: the memory of kissing Armand, feeling both alive and ruined all at once.

He felt the world around him narrow to this single moment, this last sip, but then the sharp clang of a door swinging open snapped him back to himself. A muffled laugh and the buzz of music drifted from the outside, shattering the trance. Daniel jerked back, his mind dragging itself to the present, feeling a dizzying, disorienting wave of euphoria as he rubbed his mouth, crimson staining his fingertips. His chest heaved as the kid slumped beneath him, breaths shallow, barely conscious.

It was with very little clarity that he propped the boy up against the toilet seat, bite angled down into the toilet bowl. He sat back against the door and stared up at the light. The high began to sink in, the room tilting, a distorted sense of calm settling over him. He could still taste the kid’s blood on his tongue, that burnt chemical edge sticking to the back of his throat, but somewhere in the haze, he felt something else—a nagging guilt, a twisted thread of regret that even the high couldn't wash away.

Fuck it, he needed to get back to Connie anyway.

On unsteady legs, he pushed his way up the wall and drifted out of the cubicle door, pulling it shut behind him. He methodically, if not awkwardly scrubbed his hands and face, staring into his dazed reflection  Well, now he looked arguably worse than when he’d come in here. At least he was less likely to kill anyone. Well, anyone else…

Time was skipping. One minute, he was tripping on a step, the next he was laughing with some fans who’d spotted him under the main lights, then he was sat with Reagan watching her watch her girlfriend, and then he was sat at the bar as yet another young thing tried to make advances on him.

“Daniel.”

His reactions could do with being a lot faster. He turned around to address his summoner… but nobody was there. Lord, those must’ve been some good drugs. With a shrug to himself more than anything else, he turned back around, trying to tune into the really scintillating discussion about the confectionary market recently. He felt, feels, has been feeling numb. He was numb to the guy he just killed. He was numb to the disappointment in hid behaviour. He was numb to the thought of Armand. He was numb to the notion of his daughters. Maybe the drugs weren’t such a good idea. He can’t even remember the last time he’d gotten high when he was still mortal.

“So, like, I was really into tiramasu for a year but then I found the God’s Gift known as crème brul-ay, as the French call it-“

This woman was boring. Everything was boring. He sighed, shifted in his seat and tilted his head. She didn’t stop talking. After a couple minutes more, Daniel got up (definitely not almost falling over as he dismounted the chair) and left her, still talking away animatedly to thin air. Sucks to suck, kid. Heh- suck.

“Daniel.”

Ok, he had to be hallucinating now. That was the second time someone had called his name tonight, and he could clearly see Connie and her girlfriend snogging in a booth so it wasn’t them. These drugs, man…  Maybe this was what all the fuss was about when Louis got high off his neck. Maybe highs were even more exaggerated for vampires than humans.

“Daniel.”

Maybe vampires can actually die from drugs. Like, how would the ancient vampires even know? It’s not like they go around testing all the different ways to die.

“Daniel.”

With an exaggerated groan, he spun around and threw his hands up in the world’s most dramatic gesture of ‘what the fuck do you want from me?!’. Daniel was blind to the odd looks he received from the poor people in front of him. No, he couldn’t give a flying fuck what they thought. Two blazing orange eyes had him pinned. They were on fire, beacons in the dark, consistency amongst the strobing lights all around. And when one of the aforementioned lights struck those cheekbones and pristine skin, Daniel felt al the air get knocked from his lungs. Yes, he did not need to breathe and yet he felt it all the same.

Armand.

A-fukcing-gain.

Why did it always start like this?

Why did it always fucking work?

Their was a keening noise building in his throat and a desperate horror in his chest as those eyes recede into the dark. Like a fish on a hook, he was reeled in, body wrenched across the floor by an invisible tether and suddenly he was carelessly pushing through the crowd. Armand was not getting away like this again. They weren’t doing this again. And yet that disgusting part of himself was singing. He was enraptured, he was trapped. He had vision only for his path, blind to the concerned looks his friends shot him as he rushed past.

They say some people are doomed to a spiral of destructive behaviours. Daniel is one of the some people. He wished he wasn’t. But Armand.

Daniel hurtled after him, barely aware of the bodies that crowded him as he pushed through, fingers grazing sticky tables and smudged walls as he tracked that dark silhouette darting ahead. Armand was just out of reach, moving with infuriating ease, the familiar figure twisting in and out of the shadows, slipping past the drunks and late-night lovers with the kind of grace Daniel could only dream of. And yet he couldn’t stop, his heart racing, pulse pounding as he stumbled forward into the cool air of the alleyway beyond.

The chill hit his lungs, sharp and bracing, snapping him to a rare moment of clarity—a fleeting recognition of how damned foolish this all was. But even the hint of self-awareness faded quickly, swallowed up in that clawing hunger, that inescapable gravity that Armand always seemed to bring.

The city was quiet, everything stood disturbingly still, a stark contrast to the pounding bass still thudding from within. Around them, the city was alive in its sprawling indifference, car horns and drunkards, neon lights flickering against the faintest drizzle that made the dank pavement gleam underfoot. Armand stood in the shadowy darkness, poised like some creature meant to be part of the night. The starkness of his silhouette, the casual arrogance in his posture—it made Daniel’s skin prickle with a familiar mix of desire and fury.

Some part of him knew he should walk away. Some part of him knew that every second spent in Armand’s presence was just another step back toward that same endless spiral, that descent he’d fought so hard to crawl out of. Yet here he was, teetering right on the edge. Part of him hated Armand for it, despised him for the way he could do this with a single look, for the way he’d wound Daniel so tightly into his own twisted desires. But another part—one that made his jaw tighten with shame—thrilled at it.

Armand shifted, barely a movement, just enough for his gaze to meet Daniel’s from beneath his eyelashes with an almost maddening softness. Dressed in something close-fitting, his hair tousled with just the right amount of carelessness, he looked younger, achingly familiar. The sight was a punch to Daniel’s gut, memory and present colliding in one surreal, agonising instant. The high still buzzed in his veins, amplifying everything—the colours too bright, the sounds too sharp, the pounding of his heart too loud.

“Don’t play innocent with me,” Daniel scoffed, hoping his voice sounded stronger than it felt. “We both know this game, Armand. I’m not here to fall for that innocent act of yours.”

Armand tilted his head, expression unreadable, hands clasped behind his back, waiting. The unbothered calm of it was infuriating.

“You won’t leave,” he said, calm and absolute, as though it were a fact so obvious it required no proof. There was a glint of certainty in his eyes, the same look he’d had a hundred times before. Daniel had seen it the night he’d left San Francisco, the night he’d tried so hard to break free. But Armand always looked at him like this, as though he knew Daniel better than he knew himself.

Something raw ignited in Daniel’s chest, that smouldering anger that had festered for so long bursting to life. “Watch,” he bit out, setting his jaw, turning back towards the door. He didn’t know if he meant it, if he’d actually leave, but the resolve felt real enough in that moment. He was fed up. Yes, it felt like he was cutting his nose off to spite his face. Yes, he wanted nothing more than to dive back into that life of thrill and lust. But he couldn’t.

Jennifer’s voice of reason was crying out in his head. Armand would just play him again, he’d lose al the progress he’d made again. There was a pattern. Break the cycle. Leave. Turn around Walk away.

“Daniel.” Armand’s voice came from behind, wobbling a bit as he slipped to something desperate, words a low hiss. Daniel could even say there had been an edge of real fear behind it. “Don’t.”

Daniel’s hand froze on the door handle, fury and longing colliding as he fought to keep himself steady, to hold his ground. He was ready to leave, to actually end it, if just for the satisfaction of breaking whatever invisible chain Armand had on him.

But Armand was suddenly there, his finger pointed at Daniel’s chest, eyes bright with a challenge and something more desperate, something less composed than usual. His jaw was visibly clenched, teeth bared. And those fucking terrifying eyes, shaking with fury. “Don’t leave me,” he said, voice low and hard, the kind of demand that makes mortals shit themselves in fear, disguised as some kind of plea.

His pulse stuttered, everything inside him recoiling and yearning at once. The high blurred the lines, made the sharp edges dull and twisted. He should have just pushed through, should have walked away, but he could feel his resolve crumbling under that stare.

From that minute tell, Armand’s eyes flashed savagely in victory, doubling down on his intensity. Daniel cursed himself for showing any weakness, he’d been doing so well. He’d had the upper hand. Using the opening to his advantage, Armand continued hands held up placatingly, “I swear I’ll tell you, whatever you want to know I’ll give it to you, say you aren’t bored of me, I know you’re not bored of me.”

There’s so many voices in his head, and the voice of reason that sounds distinctly like Jennifer tells him he should say no, he should confront Armand about the truth on his own terms. But then there’s the ghost of Armand, his pleas. Him. Everything was going too fast for his drug addled brain.

Time ticked by and Daniel remained contemplatively silent. At his lack of response, his maker began to retreat, deflating with a horrid realisation dawning on his face. Daniel couldn’t move. Something was twisting in his chest, gnarly and sharp like a branch impaling him from the inside out

He felt his shoulders sag, resignation settling over him like a weight he couldn’t shake.  “I could never be bored,” he whispered, the admission slipping out before he could stop it. He felt stripped bare, words escaping him without permission, as if Armand’s mere presence could draw them out.

The moment the words left his mouth, Armand was on him, mouth pressing hard against his, and Daniel stumbled back, feeling the rough brick wall bite into his spine. He knew this was a mistake—knew it in every part of him. And yet, the desperation in Armand’s touch, the tight grip on his biceps, the insistent press of his body, they all drowned out the warnings.

Daniel’s hands found their way into Armand’s hair, gripping tightly as he pulled him closer, needing to feel that impossible connection that only Armand could give him. Their lips moved with an intensity that was almost violent, was violent. Armand was biting at his lips and tongue, tiny droplets feeding them both. It was overwhelming and Daniel felt a burn at the corner of his eyes, only realising he was crying when Armand pulled back, thumb brushing away the crimson tears before he licked it off, slow and deliberate.

“Can we stop running now?” Daniel’s voice was a broken whisper, the ache of missing Armand flooding through him, raw and unbearable. “Please?”

Armand’s face was close, too close, mouth hovering over the vulnerable stretch of his neck, whispering, “You’re high.”

Daniel’s laugh was harsh, bitter. “Yeah?” His voice was rough, the high making everything distant, numbing the fear but sharpening the desire. “What’s it matter?”

Armand hummed, lips grazing his skin, a shiver shooting down Daniel’s spine as he spoke. “Was it good? Did it feel like liquid sunlight on your tongue? Dancing along your veins. That burn, that rush, that pure, exquisite euphoria?”

Daniel’s head fell back against the wall, every nerve alight, every thought collapsing into that one point of contact. He felt the scrape of fangs, the anticipation drowning out reason, and when Armand finally sank them in, he nearly blacked out from the ecstasy of it.

He barely registered his legs giving out, barely felt himself sagging until Armand’s iron grip held him steady, pressing him harder into the wall, anchoring him. The hunger surged, raw and immediate, and he grabbed Armand’s wrist, bringing it to his mouth, sinking his own fangs in with a kind of savage satisfaction. Armand’s gasp, muffled and low, sent a thrill through him, a hollow victory that only fanned the fire.

When Armand finally pulled back, they were both wrecked, Armand’s hair a mess, his pupils blown wide. The brief, predatory flash in his eyes felt like a mirror of his own expression, wild and untamed. For a split second, Daniel felt something cold wash over him, a dark clarity that cut through the high and brought him back to himself. He held Armand’s wrists against the wall, anils digging into soft flesh as the reality of what they were doing, what this looked like, crashed in.

Armand thrived on this, on Daniel’s desperation, on the cruel push and pull, of being desirable and objectified. He wanted Daniel to need him, to ache for him, to be bound to him as if it were inevitable. It wasn’t just a game; it was the very thing that kept him alive. Fucking Marius.

Daniel felt sick.

He let go, stepping back just as the door beside him swung open. He turned instinctively, half-dazed, as Connie stepped out, her eyes wide with concern.

“Oh my God, there you are!” Her voice was high, frantic, and she looked like she’d been pacing, the worry evident in the tension of her shoulders. “What the hell happened, Dan? You went out for air, but I thought—God, I was so worried.” She reached out, gripping his arm, pulling him back into the warmth of the club, her voice blending into the background noise.

Daniel’s eyes flicked back toward the wall where Armand had stood just moments ago, but the alley was empty, the shadows closing in like he’d never been there at all. Taking a seat next to Reagan, he contemplated it all. He’d forgotten how good it felt. That had been a good thing, surely? He can’t desire it if he can’t remember it. But now he could. And he wanted more.

He might be drooling but who can blame a guy? God, Armand.

Daniel had his head rested on a hand, propped up against the table on his side of the booth. On his left, Reagan’s friends Sean and Jim, the gay couple who he’d been tagging along with for almost a week now, were eagerly yelling above the music and across from them, sat Connie, Reagan, and another friend that went by Mariner but he’d been informed her real name was Beckett Mariner and she just didn’t want to be dubbed Becky. By reliably informed, he means that upon introduction, he had heard the same joke made in the heads of five people simultaneously. Cute.

Except it was like this constantly, and he couldn’t even laugh. God, being a vampire amongst clueless mortals was so boring. He didn’t know how the ancient vampires ever managed, cowering in their little holes. He could never live off the grid, he thrived on the grid. It was what made life fun.

“I completely agree.”

A hand clamped down on Daniel’s shoulder, firm and steady, breaking through the noise of the club and startling the group around him. His little group of youngsters fell silent, their conversation dissolving as each of them turned to see the intruder who’d slid so boldly into their booth. But Daniel didn’t budge, didn’t even look up, though he could feel the curious weight of his friends’ stares, the prickle of intrigue rolling off each of them.

“I don’t believe we’ve met, Danny Boy.” The voice was low, smoothly accented, the French vowels dragging in a way that was both tantalising and challenging.

Finally, Daniel twisted in his seat, craning his neck as his gaze met the pale, unblinking blue of the stranger’s eyes. Blonde hair framed a striking, almost painfully beautiful face, skin so starkly pale that it looked otherworldly under the club lights. The man’s outfit, dark and sleek, and exposing far too much skin to be decent, clung to his frame, his presence at once sexual, tantalising and entirely controlled. God, what a prick.

Lestat.

“Lestat,” Daniel greeted flatly, eyes narrowing just enough to make his sarcasm painfully clear. “A pleasure.”

Around them, the table had fallen into an odd, awkward silence. All five faces held a blend of fascination and surprise, which Lestat seemed to drink in with nothing short of delight. He flashed a smile that was both sharp and knowing, the kind that made it painfully clear he was reading Daniel’s every reluctant thought. For fuck’s sake. Daniel forced his face blank, biting back the curses swirling in his mind.

Move over, Lestat’s voice slithered into Daniel’s head with a mental nudge, paired with a grin that would’ve charmed most mortals senseless. Daniel, unfortunately, knew better.

Without hesitation, Lestat slid into the booth, moving with the ease of someone who’d done it a thousand times before, taking up far more space than he had any right to. With one arm draped along the back of the seat, he made himself at home, forcing Daniel to shove himself closer to the wall to avoid brushing up against him. Lestat was all confidence, sprawling out in his seat and commanding attention with the same effortless ease as a monarch gracing his court.

“Evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Lestat greeted, that syrupy French lilt evident as he flashed a smile at everyone around the table. “Lovely to make your acquaintance. I am Lestat, a… friend of a friend of Daniel’s.” He threw a light jab at Daniel’s ribs with his elbow, as if sharing some private joke, though it only made Daniel’s skin prickle.

Daniel rolled his eyes, stifling a bitter laugh, but before he could think of some cutting reply, Jim piped up from the end of the table, tentative and curious. “Forgive me if I’m wrong,” he began, voice careful, “but aren’t you… the vampire Lestat?”

Lestat’s grin widened, catching Daniel’s sidelong glare with a glint of amusement. “Tis I,” he confirmed, tossing his head back with mock grandeur. “And, lucky for you, drinks are on me tonight. What can I get everyone?”

The moment the words left his mouth, Daniel felt five sets of eyes fix on him, excitement mingling with their disbelief as though they were all waiting for some sort of explanation, maybe even an apology for not bringing this VIP in sooner. With a defeated sigh, he slumped into his seat, looking pointedly away from Lestat’s annoyingly triumphant smirk.

It was going to be an even longer fucking night.

Time had slipped through Daniel’s fingers like sand, and now, in the early hours of the morning, he found himself far deeper into this night than he’d ever intended. The booth had long since been traded for a high-top table nearer the bar, where the few remaining patrons still clung to their last dregs of revelry. Connie was draped over Reagan’s lap, giggling helplessly while Reagan, usually so stoic, was blowing raspberries into her neck, barely managing to keep them both upright on the wobbly bar stool. Marina was across from them, tracing the intricate tattoos on the arm of one of Lestat’s plus-ones—a petite, leather-clad woman who’d introduced herself simply as Tough Cookie. Sean and Jim, meanwhile, were buried in an intense scientific discussion, oblivious to the world around them.

Daniel, though? Daniel had been held captive by Lestat—quite literally, given that the man’s arms were wrapped around him from behind, locked around his torso with an annoyingly possessive tightness that made him feel like an animal on display. His mind, previously clouded by whatever adrenaline and substances had blurred the hours before, was clearing, and the raw clarity of the moment felt both nauseating and infuriating. How did I end up like this? he thought bitterly, his patience fraying with each passing second.

Around them, the club echoed with a deep, pulsing bass, the rhythm infecting the remaining crowd, who sang along with Lestat’s band’s newest ballad. Lestat himself was half-singing, half-shouting the lyrics into Daniel’s ear, the syllables rolling off his tongue in that exaggerated French accent, each note ringing loud and clear. And just as Daniel began entertaining the idea of biting down on Lestat’s arm, of throwing the bastard off him, he felt the vampire’s breath at his neck, dangerously close to the fresh bite mark left by Armand earlier.

A low, satisfied hum escaped Lestat as he pressed his nose to the spot, inhaling deeply. I can smell him on you, Lestat’s voice threaded into his mind, laced with a touch of dark amusement, as though Daniel were some fine wine, and Lestat were evaluating its bouquet. Knowing Lestat’s history with Armand, he’s sure it was probably some kind of insult. The annoying twat continued to nose his skin, an awful parallel to earlier making him concern the security of his memories.

Daniel stiffened, but Lestat only tightened his grip, his voice dropping to a whisper that curled against Daniel’s ear like a poisoned lullaby. “You are an interesting one, Mr Molloy. I have heard much about you… I see why Louis liked you.”

Daniel ground his teeth. “Fuck. Off.”

But Lestat merely chuckled, the sound rich with mockery. “So defiant,” he murmured, voice like silk, wrapping around Daniel’s resolve, “And yet, so obedient. The Gremlin certainly has his mark on you… and oh, would you look at that,” he added, tugging back Daniel’s collar. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he took in the faint trace of Louis’s old, mangled bite just above Daniel’s collarbone. “My Louis has too.”

Every muscle in Daniel’s body screamed with the urge to shove him off, but beneath that rage was a sliver of caution. Lestat was older, more powerful, and made it painfully clear that he knew it. He was no easy opponent, and for the first time in a long time, Daniel felt genuinely… threatened. He could take Armand’s cruelty because he knew where it came from, could rail against it, fight it, and leave if he chose. But Lestat? Lestat’s presence was like a vice, and his unyielding grip reminded Daniel that the vampire could break him without a second thought.

So when Lestat’s hand dropped to his wrist and dragged him from the barstool, Daniel didn’t resist. Not until Lestat dipped him back, all theatrics, and claimed his mouth in a forceful, mocking kiss. The tables erupted in drunken cheers, laughter spilling over them, as if they were some show to cap off the night, something to toast to and tease. But Daniel was seething, every nerve on fire with loathing.

When Lestat finally released him, Daniel broke away, shoving Lestat back with all the pent-up rage and frustration boiling over. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, glaring with all the venom he could muster. “Real mature, Lioncourt.”

Lestat’s lips twisted into a smirk, utterly unfazed by the rebuke, “It’s pronounced Lioncourt, Molloy. Besides, you know you want to…”

“Yeah?” Daniel sneered, backing away, blood pounding in his ears. “Keep telling yourself that, pal.” His eyes darted around the room, searching, then turned inward, calling out with every ounce of will he could muster. Louis, come get your fucking dog before he starts humping my leg.

Lestat’s smirk only widened as he watched Daniel’s retreat, eyes glinting with dark amusement. He moved forward with that deliberate, predatory grace, as though he were savouring Daniel’s discomfort. “Hope to see you again soon, Daniel.”

↻ Lestat reposted:
lestat simp @allergictokitty
When we say Lestat got game, we mean game
|
fuck it Feel Good Inc @secretlydamonalbarn
ha daniel molloy old man game
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marvel drop symbrock in v3, and my life is yours @venomsschlong
old maniel

Lestat  ✓ @TheVampireLestat
A pleasure meeting you, @pullitzerootwo
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Daniel Molloy ✓ @thedaniel_molloy
Thanks, asshole.

Replying to @TheVampireLestat:
sweet transvestite from transylvania @antici-pation
ayo is that the molloy priv :skull:

Replying to @TheVampireLestat:
your mum’s smelly socks @afreak2021
Is this a butterfly a ship now? [photo of Lestat and Daniel from the club pasted on the meme]

Daniel Molloy ✓ @thedaniel_molloy
No, I am not dating Lestat. No, I am not stealing your ‘idol’. Please stop sending me death threats.
|
Lestat  ✓ @TheVampireLestat
They’re jealous of the thing we have.
|
Daniel Molloy ✓ @thedaniel_molloy
Please stop.

Og iwtv fan (inactive) @claudiamybbg
[*surprised Pikachu face meme* captioned: Daniel Molloy is gay?!]

Come appraise me @longfangs
Us: What have you got?
Lestat: A knife an old man!
Us: No!

Jennifer Liddel ✓ @JenniferL_Herself
Please stop asking me if my father is in a gay relationship with a rockstar. How should I know? Might I also remind you that this is a work account and I am in fact a lawyer.
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bigger than squidward nose @reesespuffs
yeah but is he
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Jennifer Liddel ✓ @JenniferL_Herself
I will block you.

Daniel Molloy ✓ @thedaniel_molloy
Please stop harassing people about my relationship. That little fucker is like that with everyone. He’d fuck a dog if he could, it’s nothing personal.

Percy  @vaxahliaswife
Claim your “I just watched Daniel Molloy call Lestat a furry online” badge here: