Highlighters and Eternity

Six weeks later, the University Archives smelled precisely of degrading cellulose, dust mites, and expensive, artisanal espresso.

Elliott sat at his reading desk, wearing a comfortable, mustard-yellow cardigan. He was painstakingly translating a less-cursed 18th-century French manuscript.

Sitting on a stool next to him, looking entirely out of place in a perfectly tailored Tom Ford suit, was Cassian Black. The ancient vampire lord had his chin propped on his hand, his crimson eyes fixed entirely on Elliott's profile. He wasn't pacing. He wasn't intimidating anyone. He was simply, quietly, and completely captivated.

"You're staring again," Elliott noted, not looking up from his paper.

"You are mesmerizing," Cassian replied without missing a beat.

Elliott rolled his eyes, a fond smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The soul-bond thrummed warmly between them, a quiet, golden tether of absolute security and equal devotion. Cassian was still insanely overprotective, still bought him ridiculous gifts, and still glared at any undergrad who asked for directions to the restrooms, but he was trying.

"I need the yellow highlighter," Elliott said, holding his hand out expectantly.

Cassian, the lethal, terrifying ruler of the undead elite, instantly scrambled, picking up the yellow highlighter from a neat row of colored markers he had organized, and placed it reverently into Elliott's waiting hand.

"Thank you," Elliott said, highlighting a block of text.

"Shall we go to Paris for dinner tonight?" Cassian asked casually, running a cool hand over the back of Elliott’s neck. "I know a bistro near the Louvre that opens just for me."

Elliott sighed, capping the highlighter. He turned on his stool, pushing his glasses up his nose, and looked at the ridiculously handsome, utterly devoted playboy who had chosen to spend eternity in a dusty basement just to be near him.

"Cassian, I have work tomorrow."

"I will buy the university," Cassian offered immediately. "I will give everyone a paid holiday."

Elliott laughed, a bright, genuine sound that made Cassian’s crimson eyes flare with warmth. Elliott reached up, grabbing the lapels of Cassian’s expensive suit, and pulled the vampire down for a soft, lingering kiss.

"Or," Elliott murmured against his lips, "we could just order pizza and you can help me alphabetize the microfiche."

Cassian smiled, leaning in to steal another kiss. "Pizza and microfiche. There is literally nothing I would rather do."

And looking at the nerdy archivist who held his immortal soul, Cassian knew it was the absolute, honest truth.