In these moments, Louis can see everything that drew him to the vampire Armand all those years ago in Paris. Mysterious, handsome, alluring, kind. Or maybe it was merciful, back then, but all the same the feeling of the other's palms against his skin does something to unwind the tension in his shoulders. His hands reach instinctively for the slender line of his waist, fingers curling into the fabric of his love's shirt.

Louis' eyes flutter shut, the soft brush of thumbs across his cheekbones somehow finding the heaviness that feels like it's been settling behind his eyes for a century.

"I know we aren't always perfect, you and me," he murmurs, eyes opening slowly as he gently tugs Armand a little closer. "But I'm glad you're here. That I found you."

That I'm not alone in this place, goes unsaid, especially considering all the skeletons that have come from the closets.