ten years later

Damon spent christmas the same way he always did- watching others drown themselves in alcohol, and pretending he had the ability to do the same. Fake it till you make it, or something along those lines. It wasn't like he was miserable, though- he'd had a pretty good year! It was just tradition by now. Partying with people who didn't anything better to do on the twenty-fifth, and then… gay nostalgia on the twenty-sixth.

When walking home in the mix of darkness and glow of christmas lights, at midnight exactly, he took a route back that was slower than usual. Let the heavy, yet dreamy, state settle into his being with ease. His breath was visible in the cold air, and snow stuck to his boots. His chest ached already. He bought cheap snacks and bubbly, fruity soda at the convenience store when he passed it, little comforts and treasures in a plastic bag.

When the nightmare finally returned to his apartment, he collapsed on his bed. Grumbled, and managed to pull and shimmy out of his clothes eventually. He dozed for a while, then woke back up at four in the morning. Clearly, he had important things to do, like staring at the ceiling and shoving candy in his mouth. And the most important of them all, being fucking gay and feeling sorry for himself.

Thinking about doing or saying impulsive, stupid things that he'd hate himself for. If it isn't broken, don't fix it, Damon. Come on…

Was there a such thing as loving someone too much? If so, was this what that felt like?

He passed out again at around five am, with a very human anxiety in his heart.

Morning. Well, afternoon. Drank girly soda, thought about Mike again. Tenth anniversary of falling hopelessly in love with him. Fuck. They hadn't made any specific plans, and hell, Damon didn't even know if the other knew how relevant today was. Ten years. They'd be hanging out anyway, though. They always did. Always. Sometimes, he was afraid Mike wouldn't show up, busy with something else for once or just forgetting entirely, and… Damon wouldn't even be able to complain. Not out loud. Force a smile and nod, say 'it's fine'.

Damon didn't want to break anything. He just couldn't risk it. Not with this. A lot of things would just… stay unspoken. It's fine. Yeah.

The nightmare stumbled to his door, t-shirt and pajama pants clad, at Mike's knock. He was impressed at how relaxed he could keep his posture, since he was practically melting on the inside already at 'dream boy'. He was never living that down, was he? Fucking christ, Mikey, you have no idea how accurate that is. Embarrassing. If his tiny slip-ups were immortalized like this, how the bigger ones might be reacted to was mortifying to imagine.

'Hey Mike, I've been in love with you for ten years. No big deal!' God. No, no, please no. He'd die. Awful.

Damon opened the door with color already in his cheeks. First thing, he tugged Mike into a hug, and held onto him. "Hi," he mumbled, still not yet letting go. "Happy friendversery. Have a good christmas?"

Mike, pretty much the only person who would casually spin around the local boogeyman. Damon would be terribly amused if he wasn't pressed into his stupid crush and flustered as hell. Jesus. Ten years was nothing to his species, but everything to him.

Hm. Friendly friends. Best pals, buddies, platonic bros. Damon sighed into the kiss and resisted the urge to deepen it, teeth brushing against lips, the heat from his breath clear in the air again. No homo. He fidgeted.

"Nah, s'fine, I slept in. You know me, I was in clubs most of yesterday, all ends up a big blur, then I crash. Might've missed any calls, but it doesn't matter- you also know I always take today off." Damon offered a big grin of his own in return, for extra reassurance. The nightmare had this game he played, called 'how endlessly, unconditionally, affectionate and appreciative can I be with this man before it gets suspicious?'- and a very impressive winning streak.

Damon made a noise and just managed not to flail, suddenly off the ground. So this was how they were doing things? Okay, okay, he accepted this, and didn't pretend he wasn't delighted. Because he absolutely was. He playfully threatened to bite Mike if he doomed the both of them to falling down the stairs, while inwardly staying alert enough to make a rescue. There was no real tripping, but with all their obnoxious giggling, he was sure the other tenants wished there had been.

Damon laughed even more, though, at Mike's 'surprise'. Really, it was nothing of the sort. He would've been more shocked if Mike hadn't gotten the car by the end of the year. "Thanks to me, huh?" the nightmare hummed. That probably meant 'thanks to crime'. Damon clutched his chest, touched. He was always up to traumatizing and eating a few people alive for the greater good.

Damon appreciated cars in the way any decently masculine seeming person did- in that he was pretty clueless, but hey, he could bullshit a lot when it came to shiny and fast. He was shady enough to know when something was expensive and high quality, too.

He still liked motorcycles a lot more, but it was hardly a big enough difference to actually care about. Both things were still shiny and fast. Wasn't going to say that to car enthusiast Mikey, though- he'd just keep it to himself, and act dazzled. Which was easy, because he was dazzled, only… not over the car. Whoops.

Damon looked at Mike. He looked down at himself. Old crime show t-shirt, classic blue striped pajama pants, plush shark slippers… eh. Whatever, he didn't want to go back up the stairs again, not after being so cutely brought down. Maybe this wasn't exactly his, uh, sexiest look (was he really winking worthy right now?), or exactly matching with the whole hotshot convertible and Mike's… Mike's everything, really, but hey. Hey. He didn't really give a fuck, he was Damon Vesper. He didn't have a normal concept of cold or shame. This was normal.

The (obviously very mature) nightmare slid into the new car. Ah, that was a damn nice smell. He definitely understood the mindset rich people had, at times like this.

"Multiple presents and surprises?" Damon said, flushing further. "Aw, man, c'mon, you didn't have to do all that for me." He'd prepared one gift, and otherwise, it was the usual- new shows to marathon, and a lot of sex to look forward to. Which would be, uh, especially indulgent, but that was besides the point. The point was that Damon was going to start feeling guilty, a very weird and foreign thing to feel. He didn't want to be showered with gifts without doing the same in return, but… he could put that aside for now, and just be happy. He could do that.

Damon turned on one of their mixtape playlists on his phone (nice, modernized), and reached back to grab for presents.

This car was comfy as hell, Damon had to give it that. If he wasn't with Mike, heartbeat tellingly erratic, he could've fallen asleep again. He lazily opened his gifts, and thanks to that distraction, didn't pay too much attention to the scenery. He felt soft and good all over, in a very wholesome way. God, everything always felt so right with Mike. It didn't matter if it was something darker or just, completely vanilla and fluffy like this. He was getting excited over nerd presents while in his pajamas, like a kid.

It probably felt easy to Mike, getting him stuff like this, but it was… different, for the nightmare. A lot people couldn't separate him from his image long enough to really process how much of a fucking dork he was, and that it didn't cancel out anything else. Having more than just one part of him acknowledged validated his entire existence, which was usually shaky at best. It sounded stupid, didn't it? He was an idiot, making such a big deal out of these things. He couldn't help how he felt, though, even if he tried (and he'd really tried).

Just as he was opening his mouth to spill 'thank you's out, Mike spoke first. Damon's face heated, and his eyes got very large. Oh. So he did know. The nightmare kept staring at Mike for a moment, then looked down at his own lap. "Thank you," he said, tone quiet, but very heavy with gratitude (among other things). He would say more, but he was afraid he'd trip over his own words, get all choked up.

Fuck. He was probably one of the gayest people in the world. Had to be breaking records here, right?

It started to dawn on him, very lately, that they weren't going to any of their usual haunts. In fact, it was way far out from anything near that. Damon squinted at the trees, like they could tell him their secrets if he did this with enough stubbornness. No such luck, the nightmare remained clueless.

"Yeah I… figured, but what…" This was definitely a surprise of surprises. Damon did detective work for a living, was good enough with it that he got away with being a known fucking menace, and he was still at a major loss. He was even baffled enough that he didn't roll his eyes while Mike was being ridiculous about his car.

Up a hill, take a turn, and…

Damon had an instant spark of recognition. Then the disbelief kicked in, because that was so… No, no, of course not, right? Couldn't be. Right?

He half stumbled out of the car, a bit dumbfounded and moving on autopilot. He stood in front of the surprise and just listened to Mike talk again, trying to focus and get a bit of clarity for the situation. His first assumptions were only further confirmed.

Damon was silent at first. He went over to the dumpster he'd rescued Mike from, pulling himself up to sit next to the other. He just looked at the man for a moment again, then, pretty much all at once, gross tears were happening. He sobbed, hiccuped, and began to purr, a loud vibrating in his chest, and he started to cling very tightly. He said a lot of muffled, indecipherable affectionate things into Mike's chest, and 'I love you' in his native tongue a lot.

He was being icky and embarrassing, but he kissed Mike too, his neck and along his jaw, all over his face, not yet on the lips again because he could just barely grasp that he'd probably get out of control. In a worse way, that is. He was already an emotional trainwreck that really wanted to get fucked in Mike's car, but like, was mostly screaming a lot on the inside over how in love he was. How had he been handling this for so long?

It was fitting that they were at a cliff, because he absolutely felt like he was just at the edge of one, ready to fall face first to his ruin with one little push. Oh god. Oh god. He was so fucked, and he barely even cared anymore.

That was a terribly dangerous thing. He almost wanted Mike to take advantage of it.

Damon had a lap full of Mike, a heart full of worship and devotion, and the striking knowledge that he couldn't get away with ever just calling this a stupid crush. This man was the love of his life, his one and only, jesus christ he was fucked. He looked at the other like he was the sun, and kissed him like it was their last day alive. He'd found him by chance, and hadn't left his side since. He never wanted to be apart from this person, never.

He was a fucking mess. His face was red and streaked with tears, coming completely undone, his own heavy purring now messing up his attempts at words. Still being kissed. He sucked in a breath at Mike's words, trying and failing to hold back more shocked and elated sobbing.

He was so overwhelmed, all he could do was nod frantically and slur more unintelligible, smitten half-sentences. He was the same. Yes, he liked this, though liked was an understatement. They'd definitely been through a lot. He wanted to get through even more, make it to fifteen, twenty years, and further.

That was a lot. How was he supposed to tell Mike all that, when he was already barely able to speak? Unfair.

Damon tried to put it the way he touched him, not afraid to linger, to be soft or intense or switch between the two, to look Mike in the eye and make it clear how much he wanted to be here with him, not just for the physical things or surface appeal, but because of him. The human to his monster, his best friend in the whole world, the guy who made him laugh with every shitty joke, the one he wanted passion as well as domestic afternoons with, who he would do any dirty work imaginable for, his love, his person.

"I love you," Damon choked out, after repeatedly saying the same words in nightmare tongue. He didn't realize he'd switched over to english, at first, either, and kept going. He said it while peppering Mike with kisses, and while burying his face in the crook of the man's neck, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. His heart pounded in his chest. He couldn't take this. I love you, I love you, I love you… He mixed his weak, rambling growls in with the tongue Mike understood, barely coherent with his own speech any longer, the whole concept of languages beginning to fail him.

His rationality eventually caught up with him. He thought, for a moment, he'd just hallucinated it, maybe even was imagining this whole this- hey, maybe he was finally dreaming, and it was a painfully good one ready to turn into stress hell! Wouldn't that just be incredible.

Damon pinched his own cheek after a moment of freezing up. Apparently that was what you were supposed to do, in this situation. Nothing happened. The winter air bit at his skin, because he was still in pajamas. The sun was setting. He was sitting on a dumpster, rather trapped due to the bigger man being settled on him (who he didn't want to shove and hurt), and he'd just confessed.

Ten years. Ten years without a word, and Mike being oblivious enough (and probably wanting to avoid this truth) not to notice the other signs. It took five minutes to break everything.

"…Oh," Damon said, in the tiniest voice possible, one he hadn't known he could even use. "Oh, fuck." It was getting closer to a whimper. He pressed his hands to his face. Damn. If he was human, he would've said he had a fever. Dread sank in, and his heartbeat was still off the charts. "I fucked up. I fucked up. Shit. Fuck. I'm sorry." Automatic apology. "I'm so sorry, god, I'm- don't look at me. I didn't mean to say that out loud. I screwed up bad this time."

Someone please kill him. Fuck the immortality, nothing's impossible. Where was Crow when you needed her? She'd take the opportunity if he just gave himself up, right? Please. He'd fucked up and now he didn't want to deal with the consequences. Even if Mike didn't freak out, he would treat him differently, not want to sleep together since he knew it was never casual for Damon, and they'd drift away. He'd spend the twenty-sixth more alone than ever. He didn't want to face this.

The boogeyman was terrified, for once.

Damon's chest heaved, and he just barely managed to steady himself after the dumpster tipped. He held onto the edge tightly, since he needed to have a grip on something right then. Since Mike was still okay after falling, he pushed down that wave of concern, and it was replaced by guilt that weighed him down to no end. He tried to duck his head, but couldn't stop himself from sneaking glances in his friend's direction. Would they still be friends, with this? Did he have any right to call the other that?

Did he have to fuck up now, of all times?

The nightmare wanted to apologize again as soon as the question was asked. He just kept staring, instead, sharp fear in his expression. So this was what it was like? No wonder people hated him and his powers. No fucking wonder.

Damon took in a shuddering breath. Tried not to wince at Mike's tone, though he knew he deserved it. Explain. He could do that, he had to, he owed the man that much. And with his terrible secret in the open, what could being completely honest hurt? It was already too late, so he might as well.

"I do. I love you, I'm in love with you." He swallowed. "It's not… recent. Uh." He made some kind of sound, near a laugh, more a nervous thing than actual humor. Bitter amusement, if anything, mixed in with shame. "I've always loved you, Mike. I don't know if it was from the first real meeting, or when you started making snarky comments in my kitchen, or when I held you properly, o-or when you came back… I know I definitely realized it when you came back, though. Shit." He scrubbed at his eyes with a hand.

He tried to continue. "I do tell you everything. Except this. Anything but this." He bit back another sob. "You would've left me, and I'm selfish, I didn't want that. You don't do romance, Mike! You date for a little while, but then you get bored, or uncomfortable, and that's fine! I don't mind, I never expected anything to be reciprocated, so I didn't say anything. What's the point? The only thing it would've done is harm, and we've always been perfect. It hurt a little, yeah, but this hurts more, and I knew it'd be like this."

"I can't help it. I tried. Oh, god, I tried." Damon pulled his knees up to his chest. "If I could've just kept my stupid mouth shut… I'd offer to pretend this didn't happen, but it won't be the same. I fucked up the best thing to ever happen to me. I love you so much, you're wonderful. I'm so sorry. "