"Healing? Are you unwell?" His hand goes to Alfred's forehead, but finds it just as cool as his own hand. No, of course not. He can't get sick, not like this. Or at least, Herbert is fairly certain he can't.
"No, no, I'm not - I'm not sick," he murmurs, soft and patient. He reaches up to grab Herbert's hands, holding them and tracing little circles on his palms with his own short, blunt little claws.
"Healing from...what living like I was did to me. The way people treated me, the things they told me, over and over. It hurt me, and it's...taking me time to figure that out. Being here, with you, it's...helping me. That's what I mean."
Biting his lip for a moment, he realizes - "...If you... want, I can show you, I think. What I mean, how it feels, just for a second, so that you can really understand. It just might not be...very pleasant."
Oh, oh no. His heart aches for his poor Alfred. Having to hide himself away for so long. But he rests his forehead against Alfred's, stroking his tenderly.
"Show me, then. I want to see. And if I can help relieve any of that hurt, I will."
"Okay," he whispers, looking deeply into Herbert's eyes before shutting his own to focus. He's still clumsy at this, but... it's easier with Herbert than anyone else.
It takes a moment before the connection is set - and then...he thinks back, letting the memories flutter past.
'Alfred. Stop crying.'
'What were you THINKING, boy? Must I spell it all out for you?'
'Stand up straight. Stop flinching.'
'What are you STARING at, Schreiber? Creep.'
'You are really nice...so you'll forgive me....'
'Son, you need to be a man.'
'Oh, it's...you.'
'You are useless in the field, boy. No spine.'
And alongside all the echoes...a deep gash in the chest, the threat of hot tears and the vice grip of shame, so tight in the throat it feels like drowning.
His hands tighten around Herbert's as he lets his lover in to a part of himself he has never shared.
Herbert clutches desperately at Alfred's hands, afraid of how furious he feels. How much hate he has for these people who tore Alfred down constantly, mocked him, told him he was less than the wonderful, perfect boy Herbert knows he is.
He blinks away tears and cups his hands over Alfred's cheeks, kissing him fiercely. Protectively. "I'll kill them. I'll tear them all apart."
"Engel, it's okay," Alfred murmurs, sniffling a little on his own tears as Herbert fusses over him. He reaches out to connect again, pushing past the memories of his father, the Professor, his classmates, Sarah.
He refocuses, and the aching wound in the heart, the shame, the fear is slowly painted over. The scent of roses, the giddiness of a dance, a warm glow of hope, of joy.
Healing, like he said.
Wanting his partner to understand his pain, yes...but also to understand what he feels when he looks at Herbert. To see where the spaces terror and shame had been, love is slowly filling them instead.
"I'm okay," he mumbles, his hands moving to Herbert's shoulders. "I'm more okay every day."
"I'm... elated you're starting to heal. As you said." But it's clear he's doing his best to keep his tone even. To try and keep his emotions in check.
"Even moreso that I seem to have helped." He'd know the scent of his own perfume anywhere, and the memory of their first dance is something he'll treasure always. Brief though it was. "That your being here has helped."
Herbert is not precisely subtle when he's angry... it's for good reason that he is, anyway. He's feeling all the anger, all the resentment that Alfred never let himself feel. They fit together, that way.
Tenderly, he slides his hands up to cup the back of the vampire's head, making sure his gaze is locked right with Alfred's.
"You haven't just helped, Herbert. I love you. More deeply than I've ever loved anyone or anything at all. You make me feel...like I was missing a piece before, and now I found it."
He loved someone like this, once. Many centuries ago. The boy had died before Herbert could bring himself to turn him, and so he'd lost him. But god, Alfred is so much like him in so many ways, as much as it pains him to think on it.
He rests one of his hands over Alfred's and sighs at the touch. "You make me feel whole again," he agrees, meeting Alfred's gaze.
Something is weighing on Herbert that isn't just his own damage, Alfred knows. He can see the edges of something jagged in the way the older vampire reacts to him sometimes, pick up bits and pieces of something layered over instead of healed.
But he doesn't pry. It isn't his place, it isn't his story, and if his lover wants to discuss it...well, he will, in time.
So he just settles on a little smile, the hand Herbert isn't covering moving to tilt his chin gently into a soft, tender kiss. "If what happened to me never happened, I might not be here right now. I wouldn't trade the world for this. For you. Please don't forget that, okay?"
Quiet, but earnest - he opens his mouth to say something else, but falters, instead choosing to relay it from mind to mind so Koukol wouldn't hear how cheesy it is.
'I can think of no greater gift than looking into your eyes.'
"You're -- impossibly sweet. You'll rot my fangs with how sweet you are. No, I'll never forget that, not for a moment."
His smile widens at the mental comment and he presses his cheek into Alfred's palm. "Your eyes were one of the first things I noticed about you. And your lovely long lashes. How pink your cheeks looked in the cold. You looked like an angel from a Botticelli painting."
"Well, at least it won't be the candy canes," he chuckles - but his gaze is soft, affectionate. He runs his thumb up and down Herbert's cheek, stroking it gently. The comments make him redden a little, brows knitting despite his smile.
He's still not...the best at taking compliments, even if they are nice to hear.
"...Now who is being sweet?" he retorts, booping Herbert on the nose playfully.
"Speaking of sweet...we should probably actually start these garlands. We...got distracted again."
"Oh no, a distraction. How devastating." He rolls his eyes good naturedly but sits back with his hands in his lap. Prim and proper. "What comes next, then, with the garlands."
"More threading, of course." He fakes an annoyed look, but he works at threading his needle. It only takes him three or four tries, this time. "Tell me what the pattern is, then. Since you are the master of this little plan."
It delights Alfred, to see how fast Herbert has gotten at threading needles. It means he's been practicing, and that means a lot. Just more little things that show his love.
"Well, I thought you could decide for yours! You have a good eye, and just about any pattern will look good when repeated." He starts his own - a couple pieces of popcorn, a dried berry, a piece of holly, another berry. It's an easy, steady little task.
The hardest part is remembering that he can't munch on the popcorn.
Herbert settles on two pieces of popcorn, two berries with a holy leaf between them and then repeat the pattern. Short, easy to remember. Easy to settle into without having to think about it too much.
After a few minutes of trying the pattern, he holds it out for Alfred's professional inspection. "Do you like it? Do you think it looks good?"
Alfred leans over to press a little kiss on Herbert's cheek, just to illustrate how happy and pleased he is about all this. To show that he's okay, that those wounds he let his lover in on just a few minutes ago aren't aching right now.
"Just keep going with it until either it feels very long, or you get bored."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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"Healing from what, my darling?"
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"Healing from...what living like I was did to me. The way people treated me, the things they told me, over and over. It hurt me, and it's...taking me time to figure that out. Being here, with you, it's...helping me. That's what I mean."
Biting his lip for a moment, he realizes - "...If you... want, I can show you, I think. What I mean, how it feels, just for a second, so that you can really understand. It just might not be...very pleasant."
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"Show me, then. I want to see. And if I can help relieve any of that hurt, I will."
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It takes a moment before the connection is set - and then...he thinks back, letting the memories flutter past.
'Alfred. Stop crying.'
'What were you THINKING, boy? Must I spell it all out for you?'
'Stand up straight. Stop flinching.'
'What are you STARING at, Schreiber? Creep.'
'You are really nice...so you'll forgive me....'
'Son, you need to be a man.'
'Oh, it's...you.'
'You are useless in the field, boy. No spine.'
And alongside all the echoes...a deep gash in the chest, the threat of hot tears and the vice grip of shame, so tight in the throat it feels like drowning.
His hands tighten around Herbert's as he lets his lover in to a part of himself he has never shared.
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He blinks away tears and cups his hands over Alfred's cheeks, kissing him fiercely. Protectively. "I'll kill them. I'll tear them all apart."
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He refocuses, and the aching wound in the heart, the shame, the fear is slowly painted over. The scent of roses, the giddiness of a dance, a warm glow of hope, of joy.
Healing, like he said.
Wanting his partner to understand his pain, yes...but also to understand what he feels when he looks at Herbert. To see where the spaces terror and shame had been, love is slowly filling them instead.
"I'm okay," he mumbles, his hands moving to Herbert's shoulders. "I'm more okay every day."
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"Even moreso that I seem to have helped." He'd know the scent of his own perfume anywhere, and the memory of their first dance is something he'll treasure always. Brief though it was. "That your being here has helped."
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Tenderly, he slides his hands up to cup the back of the vampire's head, making sure his gaze is locked right with Alfred's.
"You haven't just helped, Herbert. I love you. More deeply than I've ever loved anyone or anything at all. You make me feel...like I was missing a piece before, and now I found it."
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He rests one of his hands over Alfred's and sighs at the touch. "You make me feel whole again," he agrees, meeting Alfred's gaze.
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But he doesn't pry. It isn't his place, it isn't his story, and if his lover wants to discuss it...well, he will, in time.
So he just settles on a little smile, the hand Herbert isn't covering moving to tilt his chin gently into a soft, tender kiss. "If what happened to me never happened, I might not be here right now. I wouldn't trade the world for this. For you. Please don't forget that, okay?"
Quiet, but earnest - he opens his mouth to say something else, but falters, instead choosing to relay it from mind to mind so Koukol wouldn't hear how cheesy it is.
'I can think of no greater gift than looking into your eyes.'
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His smile widens at the mental comment and he presses his cheek into Alfred's palm. "Your eyes were one of the first things I noticed about you. And your lovely long lashes. How pink your cheeks looked in the cold. You looked like an angel from a Botticelli painting."
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He's still not...the best at taking compliments, even if they are nice to hear.
"...Now who is being sweet?" he retorts, booping Herbert on the nose playfully.
"Speaking of sweet...we should probably actually start these garlands. We...got distracted again."
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"We're just going to string popcorn and these dried fruits together so that they look pretty - easy. It just takes a while."
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"Well, I thought you could decide for yours! You have a good eye, and just about any pattern will look good when repeated." He starts his own - a couple pieces of popcorn, a dried berry, a piece of holly, another berry. It's an easy, steady little task.
The hardest part is remembering that he can't munch on the popcorn.
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After a few minutes of trying the pattern, he holds it out for Alfred's professional inspection. "Do you like it? Do you think it looks good?"
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Alfred leans over to press a little kiss on Herbert's cheek, just to illustrate how happy and pleased he is about all this. To show that he's okay, that those wounds he let his lover in on just a few minutes ago aren't aching right now.
"Just keep going with it until either it feels very long, or you get bored."