#Jack and Vincent do the walk of shame back together

[mnthpprt]

Chapter 26: Buongiorno Principessa

I wake up to Lumière scratching the window. I glance at Leonardo. He is still asleep. I carefully untangle my body from his and tip toe across the room to let the cat in. He meows at me and bumps his head against my arm from the table, asking for attention, so I pick him up and carry him to the bed.

The second I let go of him, he starts purring and curls up next to Leonardo’s face. I watch, amused, as Lumière begins to lick the man’s hair, which gets caught in his rough tongue, causing him to jolt back and try to push it away with his paws.

My laughter wakes up Leonardo, whose eyes flutter open, and he sleepily pulls me onto the bed and holds me tight against him. Displeased, the cat jumps down and lays on the pile of my clothes on the floor, earning another chuckle from me.

“Buongiorno, cara mia,” Leonardo purrs, kissing my neck. I turn my head for my lips to meet his.

“Good morning,” I smile. “I wish I could stay, but I’m late for work.”

“Nooo,” he frowns. “But you feel so good, principessa. Please don’t go.”

I softly pry his arms from my body and pull away before giving him a quick peck on the cheek.

“Sebastian won’t be happy. Besides, I’ll see you later. You never seem to have any trouble finding me.” I turn to my clothes on the floor, which Lumière has turned into his new bed. “Sorry, little guy, but I need to take that. Go find another bed.” The cat stares at me for a few seconds, as if assessing if I am being serious, but eventually gives in, leaping away with a annoyed meow. “Thank you.”

While the clothes on the top have dried overnight, the bottom of the pile is still damp. And now they are covered in cat hair, too. I remember it’s laundry day, so I better take these to Sebastian before he starts.

Leonardo gets up and pulls me into a kiss before I reach the door. He’s making it harder for me to leave, but my will pulls through. I step out onto the hallway wearing nothing but his large shirt and my shoes from last night, carrying the rest of my clothes in my arms.

“You’re late,” Sebastian states when I walk into the kitchen, not looking up from the coffee he’s pouring. “I went to wake you up, but you weren’t in your... Oh.”

He raises his eyebrows when he finally sees me. I casually throw the clothes into a basket and take the coffee from his hands, sniffing the steam that rises from the cup. Sweet caffeinated ambrosia.

“Is that... Is that Leonardo’s?” he stammers. My gaze falls to the tiled floor as I blush. “Oh my god! Tell me everything!” He scrambles to pull a small notebook from his back pocket, along with a ballpoint pen, getting ready to write.

“I’m not telling you shit about my sex life, you weirdo!” I scoff, mockingly offended, but then a smile creeps onto my lips. I take a cautious sip of the hot drink and twirl away from him, giggling. “It was great. That’s it, Seb. That’s all you’re getting.”

“How long have you two been a thing?” he asks. I climb onto the counter, innocently dangling my legs in the air.

“About a week. But we didn’t... you know... until last night.”

“I can’t believe I missed that,” Sebastian mutters. To be fair, I don’t know how he didn’t notice earlier, either. He knows everything that goes on here. He scribbles something in his notebook before putting it away and handing me a muffin. “Here, try this.”

I bite into it without question, and let out a little pleasured noise. It’s blueberry, my favorite.

“This is bomb,” I announce with my mouth full, pointing at the muffin. I wash it down with some coffee before I continue. “Sebastian, I fucking love you. This is officially the best thing I have ever eaten.”

“You’re welcome,” he chuckles smugly.

I keep eating as he returns to his task. After I finish, I jump down from the counter and set the empty cup by the sink.

“I need a bath. Gotta go,” I say, blowing him a kiss from the door.

Later that day, Dazai comes to find me in the garden. When I see him approach, I stop trimming the hedge and climb off the step ladder, leaving the large shears on top of it.

“Good afternoon, Akari-san!” he greets me cheerfully. As usual, he calls me by a completely random name. I have given up on trying to correct him.

“Dazai,” I smile. “Can I help you with anything?”

“I can’t seem to finish this poem, but that’s not why I came. Perhaps some other time.”

“Oh? Then what is it?”

“Le Comte is waiting for you in his study,” he says. Weird, I can’t think of what he might want to talk about. Maybe he found out about me and Leonardo.

I thank Dazai and head inside. Before I knock on the door, I hear le Comte humming a melody inside. I feel bad for interrupting. His voice is angelical.

“You wanted to see me?” I say when he invites me in, gesturing for me to sit. There is a tray with two empty cups and a tea pot on the small table by the hourglass. I get comfortable on one of the armchairs, crossing my legs.

“Tea?” he offers, and I accept. He pours some in a cup and hands it to me. “I realized we haven’t spent much time together during your stay. I would be a terrible host, were I not to spend some time with my guest, don’t you think, ma chérie?”

“I guess,” I shrug, still unsure of where this is going. He definitely knows. “Is there anything in particular you’d like to talk about?”

“Well, I am aware of your and Leonardo’s relationship.” There it goes, straight to the point. “I am happy for you two. My dear friend certainly seems brighter.”

Oh, thank God.

“I am glad to hear that, Comte,” I smile. “I must admit I was nervous about you finding out. It’s a bit of a... complicated situation, and I don’t really know how to go about it, to be honest.”

He thoughtfully sips his tea before speaking again.

“Anaïs, do you wish to stay here?” I don’t answer. Instead, I bite my lip, pondering my options. “I would like you to know that you are welcome to stay at the mansion for as long as you like. However, once you go through that door, it will disappear from your time, and you will never be able to access it again.”

“I don’t know,” I finally sigh. “That means I don’t necessarily have to go back in a week, right? It will open again?” He nods. “I do want to stay longer, but... Forever is a big commitment. There are people that I care about in 2020, but I have come to care about you all, too. I know I would miss you if I left.”

Le Comte sighs, a sad smile on his lips.

“I dread the day that you do,” he says softly, “but the choice is yours and yours only.”

There is something in his voice that I can’t quite place. It sounds like regret, but there is more to it, somehow. Damn these pureblood vampires, always so hard to read.

“I guess... I’ll have to wait and see,” I conclude.

“There is no rush for you to decide, ma chérie. How was the exhibition yesterday?” he changes the topic, his charming smile returning to his face. “It is a shame that I could not attend.”

“It was great. Theo has so much talent for these things, all the pieces displayed were amazing. And Vincent’s paintings were beautiful, as always,” I recall, thinking of the portrait he made of me. “Oh, and I met Émile Zola! He was there too, and he loved it. We even talked for a bit, but I feel a little bad. The poor man doesn’t know what’s coming.”

Le Comte tilts his head, a curious expression on his face.

“What do you man, ma chérie?”

“J’Accuse,” I simply answer. He nods, understanding exactly what I am referring to. Four years from now, Zola will publish an open letter in a newspaper, denouncing the antisemitism and injustice of those involved in the Dreyfus affair. He will be brought to trial and sentenced for libel after a long and messy judicial process.

We discuss that for a while, during which I finish my tea. He serves me more, and I thank him, before he asks me about my life in the 21st century.

“I would like to know more about you,” he says. “I saw you roller skate. Competitively?”

“I used to, but I quit when I began working.”

“You are a chemist specialized in antiques conservation, correct?” I nod. He chuckles. “Ah, I was wondering what you spend so much time researching in the library. Leonardo told me.”

“Yeah, he’s been helping me with it,” I smile. “I like to borrow his genius every once in a while.”

“What about your family?” he asks, and immediately apologizes when he sees my face change. “Forgive me, I do not mean to pry.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” I reassure him. “My family is complicated, at best. My sister is the only one I keep in contact with, but we don’t talk much. She just started university this year, in Milan. She would swoon if she saw the dresses you’ve given me,” I chuckle. “She studies fashion design.”

Though our relationship is strained, I am as proud of her as an older sister can be. Despite the fallout with our parents taking its toll, I will always care deeply about her, and I must admit that seeing Vincent and Theo be so close makes me a bit jealous. 

“My friends are a different story, though,” I continue, unprompted. “I guess you could call them my chosen family.” Le Comte listens attentively, clearly wanting to know more. “There’s Jack and Carlos back in London. I shared a flat with them as a student, and we are still very close. Then there’s Mila.” I look up at le Comte, suddenly remembering something. “I’ve been meaning to ask, if I go through the door would I return to the same time that I left? Or will it be a month later?”

“It’s hard to tell,” he answers thoughtfully. “When I use it, time passes on the other side, too. But as a pureblood vampire, I can come and go as I please, within the door’s rules, of course. A human going through it is something unprecedented, so I truly do not know what would happen.”

“Damnit,” I mutter. When he gives me a questioning look, I explain. “You know, when I came here? I was supposed to pick up Mila at the airport the day after. She’s going to be furious when I get back.”

“Pick her up?” he asks. “I was under the impression that you were just visiting Paris.”

“Well, yeah, but I come so often I practically live here,” I laugh before sipping my tea. Le Comte mimics me, waiting for me to keep talking. “Mila is my oldest friend. She’s French, but I met her in my hometown when her father worked there for a few years. She lives in Montparnasse now. She had to travel somewhere right before I got here, so she left me her car and the keys to her apartment, which I was going to stay in anyway. Hence, well, me picking her up when she came back from... New Zealand, I think it was? I have no clue,” I conclude with a chuckle.

“She sounds like an interesting person,” le Comte chimes in. I laugh.

“She is. I think you would like her.” 

#ikemen vampire #ikevam #ikevamp #ikemen #ikemen fanfiction #ikemen vampire fanfiction #ikevam fanfic #ikevamp fanfiction #ikemen vampire leonardo #ikevamp leonardo #ikemen vampire comte #ikevamp comte #ikemen vampire sebastian #ikevamp sebastian #ikemen vampire dazai #ikevamp dazai

[crapyouknowme]

Noir

Drabble: srodulv is now following you. Or the story where Lucas realizes whose IG page he had just come across.

Notes: I mean, come on! Lucas posts on IG stories like he doesn’t know what it means to be away from neither his phone nor the app, so of course we needed this scene. 

Lucas stares at the screen, eyes dully focused on nothing in particular. In one scene, a thin paper is strung on the wall, his curiosity piquing as he notices the casting of an easel, far-off in the distance, not whatsoever relevant to what was being shown.

It’s a re-run episode of the Bureau and from what he remembers, this was the scene where Malotru, the dude with the penchant for watching paint dry, somewhat trying, failing miserably, to convince his lieutenant on a co-op he wants to join in on.

It’s just a set-piece yet it does nothing but unnerve him. Because somehow, despite the canvas being shoved behind a dresser, he’s able to take notice of it, as if the white was not a splotch but consumed the entirety of the screen.

He doesn’t dwell on it for long because his phone buzzes, which happens to be plugged into the charger that is plugged into an outlet, which is on the opposite side of where he has found himself tucked under. Lucas kicks his feet in an attempt to extend one of his leg to thumb the corner of his cell.

He knows it’s counterproductive because there was no way in hell he could even get the sole of his foot to kick it towards him, rather far, way farther away.

When it ends up dropping onto the floor, a resounding thump drowning the not-so-silent room, he pushes off of the sofa and goes to retrieve it.

Lucas’ bends stealthily, only to tilt his head. Mika grits bitterly under his breath as he appears from the bathroom, makes his way past Lucas before halting.

“Lucas, tell me. Do I look like what Vincent Cassel would if he was thirty-two years younger and drank less?”

He fists his phone into his palm, blinks as he processes what exactly he was being asked and more particularly on what to expect from how he answered.

“Not in this lifetime.” He settles for, as he pulls the blanket over his head in an attempt to avoid whatever point Mika thinks he was going to make.

It’s a little after ten. The couch has become a tenth less uncomfortable since the last time he had inhabited it. He’s had a sandwich, wheat bread, ham and butter-the only three things needed to make anything delicious, really.

He’s pried the window open, let’s the cool, heavy air settle, the kind that holds the promise of a rainstorm.

Lucas manages to avoid Mika’s thigh shoving unwittingly into his hip, scooches back hastily as Mika presses, instead, up against his shoulder, tugging his cover down. “Lucas, this is a case of mistaken identity.”

“M-what?” He flips through the channels, pressing on the button until there’s not an inkling of white to be seen. He’s gone through at least twenty before he switches the T.V off, in vain.

Lucas has a feeling, though, that white would be a color he’d grow to dislike.

Just because.

“Maybe he just has the dexterity of a toad.”

From what he’s gathered, there’s a guy. A guy who DMs Mika after following him on snapchat, asks him whether he looks like someone, behaves surprised when told no and does just enough to have Mika going on a spirited tirade on the merits of making social media accounts private.

Mika gets to his feet, a wayward look appearing on his face. He jabs a pointed finger at Lucas, mutters with indignation: “Do you plan on having the borough to the hamlet following you on Instagram?”

Lucas chortles at what’s being insinuated.

“What’s wrong with that?” He’s aware of the fact that some-how he’s accumulated a significant audience in the past couple of months, but what can he say. It’s endearing. They’re following him for a reason, a reason unbeknownst to him, but present nevertheless. “It’s the eyes.” He jokes, because Mika’s irked and pupils are supposedly Mika’s characteristic trait. He knows he’s pressing a nerve when he’s met with a glare.

Lucas raises his hands over his chest, apologetic. “I’m kidding.” He grins, kicking his feet on top of the table.

Mika resumes to snapping bitterly under his breath, brisk as he makes his way back to his room. A room, with four walls, and a door. A door that could be closed and opened whenever he wants it to be.

He misses having a room. He misses having the choice to sprawl his clothes on the floor, kicking his shoes into a corner and fixating on books that seem haphazard but, in his mind, they were placed in schematic.

Lucas rubs at his temple as he slips his hand back under the duvet. He curls inward. There’s warmth that emanates from his fetal position. It’s comforting and reminiscent of a bed he’s no longer sleeping on.

He lowers his gaze when a green bar appears on his screen.

Arthur: I think if we’re getting free food, I’m in.

Lucas swipes his thumb. He opens their group chat, reads with promptness, to get a gist of the messages he’s somehow missed and have accumulated to the point that there’s a plan in unison for them all to meet at the foyer, tomorrow, and work on that fucking mural.

Lucas: Yeah, no.

Basille: Daphne’s going to really have a good impression of me. Okay, fresco, 8 hands, an hour, free lunch.

Yann: What part of I’m paying for my own meal did you interpret as free-of-charge?

Basille: Yeah, complimentary food. Can’t get any better.

Arthur: I have no ideas. So, I wanted to make that clear. None, whatsoever.

Basille: I’ll be on her good side, right? Every time she looks at that wall, she’ll know that I had a part in it.

Basille: Luc, we’ll be walking together from 4th anyway so it’s okay. I’ll carry you there. You won’t have to use much of your stamina.

Lucas is aware of what they are doing. He’s thankful that there were them, who are trying to soften the blow of a moment that has him feeling wretched, shameful, angry—all at once. He appreciates their endeavors, albeit ridiculous, more than anyone.

A bar appears from the top of the screen, interrupting his thoughts.

srodulv is now following you.

It’s instinct, or an inherent roundabout way of Lucas, having been somewhat preoccupied, in extant, by the conversation he just had with Mika, to click on the notification. He’s re-routed to the app, an unfamiliar profile pops up.

He doesn’t scroll much, doesn’t have to, because he finds himself, breath abated, fingers halting, frozen in their spot, vision bleary—staring at a familiar sketchpad, at the caricature he’s seen a countless number of times, notices the date—it’s stamped 26.02.19.

Shit.

Lucas takes a deep, shaky breath. He lowers his gaze, curls his toes into the carpet, wants—no, needs to feel the ground because it ceases to exist as his head starts to spin. Lucas grits down on his jaw as he forces himself to be levelheaded.

He’s deliberate, conscious, alert and painstakingly awake, as he goes from one picture, to the next, to the next. There’s a glimpse of the racoon’s ears behind a brick wall. There’s Mike Walters and a scene from My Own Private Idaho. There are pelts of fucking raindrops, right after. There’s an idyllic excerpt from a book.

All of it seems too intentional, distinct, clear-cut.

Lucas stomachs his way through an obfuscated racoon, a video of that face of his, a clandestine painting (mostly rattled by how permeated the canvas was by something so noir), a wonky sketch of a keyboard—he doesn’t have to look at the date to know when it’s posted. It sears into his mind, that all of this, every. Single. Fucking. Post. Is. too. Deliberate. To. Be. a Goddamn. Coincidence.

It’s when he notices the cat. The cat and the racoon, affectionate, huddled, together—does he glance at the time-stamp: 03.01.19.

Weeks, it’s weeks before they’ve met.

He knows what he’s insinuating, what he’s convincing himself of.

Blithely, Lucas exits out. He grips at his phone, a little too tightly, the flesh of his palm becoming a ghostly white. He lets out a harsh, rugged, rough exhale, blinking in despondence to clear his mind of that fuckingcat.

He knows who that cat is. He also knows that it’s way before—

Lucas clamps down on his jaw, biting his tongue until a cascade of blood pools out from his gum.

What the actual fuck is this.

Lucas can’t help the way he goes tense. It’s not that he’s envious or angry or anything like that. He doesn’t, precisely, feel shitty. He just...

Okay, no, he feels kind of shitty. And weird. The whole situation is both shitty and weird, and Lucas doesn’t know how to make himself feel better about any of it. He hasn’t seen Eliott since that morning, although he’s mostly grateful for that, because it’s a glimpse. It’s all he needs, even though it’s all he’s getting.

But this-

This is all too telling without disclosing jack shit.

Lucas huffs, fingers arranged in a cursory manner over his screen as he types out: Drag me out of class. I’ll be a willing participant. He shoves the phone under the sofa, slams his face into the pillow as he nestles his neck in a position that isn’t too awkward.

Closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, he decides on taking a nap. Sleep, he had foregone. But a nap, yeah that would help him become somewhat sane. Maybe even eliminate the moping, the fairly unreasonable amount of moping, he’s been displaying.

He jabs his forehead into the padding of the cushion, whispering to himself the lyrics to smells like teen spirit—over and over again—With the lights out, it’s less dangerous. Here we are now, entertain us—just to erase the clout of susceptibility, the wistful hope rising from the solitude corners of his psyche—I feel stupid and contagious.Because there was no way in hell he was going to be stirred by this. Here we are now, entertain us. Screw, cats. Screw, Racoons. I’m worse at what I do best, and for this gift I feel blessed. Fuck that fresco. Fuck that white easel. Go to hell, Vincent Cassel.

#skam france #ELU fic #elu #lucas lallemant #elliott demaury #lucas x eliott #Lucas' POV #drabble #added scene fic #Mika #season 3 skam fr #angst #one-shot #Drabble fic #mid-canon