"I don't think anyone has told me anything like that before. That I am -- that I could be better than what I am." He takes the hand on his shoulder and kisses his palm lightly. "You're a good boy, Alfred. You've been a ray of sunshine in my life when it was very badly needed."
That's just it, Herbert. There isn't anything wrong with what you are. It's just... there's always space for all of us to learn. I suppose that goes on forever."
He's a little sheepish as the hand is kissed - but then he slides forward in the grip, running his fingers on impulse through Herbert's hair.
"...I try to be. But... I'm not perfect either. I think we need each other. Sunshine doesn't really mean anything without moonlight."
Oh.
Corny. And a lot.
He reddens a little at the sentiment, trying not to cringe away.
"Oh, you magnificent boy. Are you calling me your moon?" He can't quite -- no, he can believe that Alfred would say something like that about him. Because that's the sort of person Alfred is. And there's an earnestness in everything he says and does that makes Herbert want to believe him.
"Then you be my sun and I'll be your moon." He takes Alfred's hand and kisses his fingertips. One at a time. And then his palm. "That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me, I think. Certainly the sweetest and most poetic."
Alfred reddens a little, but...he manages not to flinch, not to pull away. His smile is sweet and a little sad - not because of this, no, but because...he understands.
What it is not to be told you are worth it.
"It's a deal, then. I...I definitely have needed your guidance to get through the nights."
A pause.
"I...I like poetry. I'm glad you like it, too, so I don't have to...to hide it."
"My darling, I do love poetry. But even if I hated poetry, I would never, ever, want you to hide that you love it. Or sewing. Or painting. Or any of the things you enjoy doing. Think of this castle as your freedom. You are completely free to be just as you are, no questions asked, no judgements made."
Oh. That...that thought strikes him harder than he would have expected. Freedom. Being himself. Doing what he loves, without the threat of disapproval.
It's slowly and thoughtfully that he speaks again, returning his hands and his eyes to his mending as he processes his own words.
"... It's sort of weird for me, you know. Being told to...to be as I am. Because I...don't really know who that person is? People have told me that I am sweet, or good, or...or nice, but...I don't think anyone in my life before could really...tell you one thing about me. One detail about what I like. Everything I have ever done, I have done for other people."
His turn for a tear to hit the fabric he's working with. He scrubs at his eyes with the back of his hand, glancing to the older vampire.
"Well. If you'd like to make a list of all the people who have forced you to be who don't want to be, or who you aren't. And we can find then and eat them." It's a casual enough suggestion, and he bites his lip in concentration, one fang catching the edge of his lip as he tries to improve his stitching.
At that, Alfred stops short, glancing up in surprise, mouth hanging a little open. And then...he makes a new sound.
He laughs.
It starts small, a little giggle...and then erupts into something deeper, truer, screwing his eyes shut and sending him leaning helplessly against Herbert's shoulder as he struggles to find composure. The sound isnt a cruel one... it's fond, if the way he instinctively rests a hand on the vampire's chest is any indication.
Oh! How wonderful. Herbert laughs with him, setting his sewing aside and wrapping both arms around Alfred to hold him close and rub his back lightly. It's delightful, to hear Alfred really let go any laugh like this. To hear him be truly joyful.
"I'm -- " He giggles. "I'm serious. I'll eat anyone who has hurt you in any way."
"Oh I know, I'm adorable," he agrees, nuzzling into Alfred's hair and giving him a squeeze. But he would happily drain dry any bastard who'd ever made Alfred feel less than. Who made him feel like he couldn't wholly be himself. There's a reason why Herbert doesn't leave the castle overmuch; it's hard for him to hide the way he is, to try and be less like he is, and people can be cruel.
Maybe it's that he's getting used to the cuddling, the affections, but...he doesn't pull away from it, gladly accepting the comfort and smiling fondly up at Herbert.
It's amazing, really. Both of them are cold, now, but the hugs still seem so warm to him.
"...Thank you, Herbert. I know you were serious, and I - I can't really...say I want anyone...to die? But it means a lot, that you would stand up for me."
"I hate the idea of anyone saying what you are, what you enjoy is somehow bad or wrong." He strokes his hand through Alfred's hair, though the gesture is almost protective. As though a simple gesture could keep him from all the ills of the world.
"No, not here. Here, you can love poetry and sewing and any activities that please. You can love whomever you want. Father would hardly judge, he's taken more than one male lover over the years, among his female companions." It's said quite casually, as though Herbert finds nothing odd about it. Which, truly, he doesn't.
This...makes Alfred blink at Herbert in surprise, just a little. The topic is... complicated, for him. He's been learning that his worldview before the castle was narrow...and learning what that means for him, exactly.
Nodding a little bit, he finally takes the shirt back up, tying off the seam and grabbing a wooden hoop from his basket.
"...The first night...after I was turned...you told me you had. You had always preferred men. How...did you know?"
Herbert reluctantly pulls away and lets Alfred get back to his mending. "It's something I've always felt. When I was younger, perhaps thirteen or fourteen, girls started to notice me. And they were nice, I suppose. I liked talking to them. I even stole a few kisses here and there, but it never... ignited anything in me.
Nothing like what I felt when a boy looked at me. I'd feel a fluttering in my stomach, my cheeks would get hot. I'd find excuses to touch them. Play wrestling, that sort of thing. Just to be close to them. Because it made me feel good, like all the romantic books told me a girl should make me feel."
The young vampire doesn't stray too far from Herbert, even as he returns to work - he scoots a little closer, instinctively, so that the side of his thigh is pressed against the older man's. He sets the embroidery hoop under the first bloodstain, a thoughtful look on his face as he listens.
There's a guilty little twist in his stomach, in spite of himself. He knows he likes women, but...he also thinks back to private moments with erotic scenes in romance novels, of well-worn pages describing what the men in the scene are doing, feeling.
His cheeks burn. He takes up some rich, thicker crimson thread and affixes it to his needle.
"...Oh," is all he can manage, but it's spoken with realization.
"Oooh?" Herbert smiles slowly, picking out his stitches and re-threading his needle to start again. He knows that expression. That tone of sudden realization. He'd seen it on himself, ever so many years ago.
For a long moment, Alfred doesn't say anything - he tries to figure out what TO say, how to say it out loud. His eyes remain on the embroidery hoop as he begins to stitch a cluster of little rosettes over the bloodstains.
"...It has," he finally admits, almost more a whimper. "I like women, I do, but...but also...men are...I-I mean, I...think I might...I mean...."
He's very, very red now.
"I think I...react more...to men. You know...ah...physically."
"And that's perfectly fine, my love," he says softly. Reassuringly. "Father leans more towards women, but he still likes men as well. I only like men. Everyone likes something a little different, and that's what makes things more fun."
He isn't sure what he was expecting. Maybe to be told that wasn't how it worked, or corrected - but no.
He's...fine.
A little smile crosses his lips, and he nods to himself a little. Maybe he can...cast off just a little of that weight he carries, then.
"You threaded the needle much quicker the second time," he suddenly chirps, eager to move the focus off of himself again. "And near the end of the seam, your stitches were starting to get straighter. You're a quick study."
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That's just it, Herbert. There isn't anything wrong with what you are. It's just... there's always space for all of us to learn. I suppose that goes on forever."
He's a little sheepish as the hand is kissed - but then he slides forward in the grip, running his fingers on impulse through Herbert's hair.
"...I try to be. But... I'm not perfect either. I think we need each other. Sunshine doesn't really mean anything without moonlight."
Oh.
Corny. And a lot.
He reddens a little at the sentiment, trying not to cringe away.
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"Yes, I am." Very softly. "You...remind me of the moon, the way you sort of...rise and glow at night."
He smiles, sheepishly, but honestly.
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What it is not to be told you are worth it.
"It's a deal, then. I...I definitely have needed your guidance to get through the nights."
A pause.
"I...I like poetry. I'm glad you like it, too, so I don't have to...to hide it."
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"My darling, I do love poetry. But even if I hated poetry, I would never, ever, want you to hide that you love it. Or sewing. Or painting. Or any of the things you enjoy doing. Think of this castle as your freedom. You are completely free to be just as you are, no questions asked, no judgements made."
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It's slowly and thoughtfully that he speaks again, returning his hands and his eyes to his mending as he processes his own words.
"... It's sort of weird for me, you know. Being told to...to be as I am. Because I...don't really know who that person is? People have told me that I am sweet, or good, or...or nice, but...I don't think anyone in my life before could really...tell you one thing about me. One detail about what I like. Everything I have ever done, I have done for other people."
His turn for a tear to hit the fabric he's working with. He scrubs at his eyes with the back of his hand, glancing to the older vampire.
"...Until now, I mean."
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He laughs.
It starts small, a little giggle...and then erupts into something deeper, truer, screwing his eyes shut and sending him leaning helplessly against Herbert's shoulder as he struggles to find composure. The sound isnt a cruel one... it's fond, if the way he instinctively rests a hand on the vampire's chest is any indication.
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"I'm -- " He giggles. "I'm serious. I'll eat anyone who has hurt you in any way."
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"I know, I know you're serious - haha - it's just - hee - you're so cute...."
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It's amazing, really. Both of them are cold, now, but the hugs still seem so warm to him.
"...Thank you, Herbert. I know you were serious, and I - I can't really...say I want anyone...to die? But it means a lot, that you would stand up for me."
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(So he only squirms a little.)
"...I-I know. But...now I'm here. And I don't have to worry about that in here."
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Nodding a little bit, he finally takes the shirt back up, tying off the seam and grabbing a wooden hoop from his basket.
"...The first night...after I was turned...you told me you had. You had always preferred men. How...did you know?"
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Nothing like what I felt when a boy looked at me. I'd feel a fluttering in my stomach, my cheeks would get hot. I'd find excuses to touch them. Play wrestling, that sort of thing. Just to be close to them. Because it made me feel good, like all the romantic books told me a girl should make me feel."
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There's a guilty little twist in his stomach, in spite of himself. He knows he likes women, but...he also thinks back to private moments with erotic scenes in romance novels, of well-worn pages describing what the men in the scene are doing, feeling.
His cheeks burn. He takes up some rich, thicker crimson thread and affixes it to his needle.
"...Oh," is all he can manage, but it's spoken with realization.
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"It sounds like something's clicked into place."
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"...It has," he finally admits, almost more a whimper. "I like women, I do, but...but also...men are...I-I mean, I...think I might...I mean...."
He's very, very red now.
"I think I...react more...to men. You know...ah...physically."
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He's...fine.
A little smile crosses his lips, and he nods to himself a little. Maybe he can...cast off just a little of that weight he carries, then.
"You threaded the needle much quicker the second time," he suddenly chirps, eager to move the focus off of himself again. "And near the end of the seam, your stitches were starting to get straighter. You're a quick study."
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