A/N: Well, that went over better than I thought. Thank you.
Jean-Claude stood in the doorway, startled to find his old lover sprawled across the sofa, staring intently at a bottle of whiskey on the table in front of him. He had seen this before, when they had still been lovers, Julianna still alive and Asher’s face still perfect.
Once after Arturo, one of Belle Morte’s vampires had hurt Julianna. Once after he and Jean-Claude had had an entirely useless screaming match and ended up at each others’ throats. Literally. Once only days before Julianna’s death, when Jean-Claude had foolishly insisted on leaving them in dangerous times.
Asher was staring at the bottle, wishing he could get dead drunk and forget the world around him. He was remembering being human and drowning any grief in the dark green oblivion found at the bottom of a bottle. It was the one thing he really missed about being human, he’d once told the other vampire. The ability to get intoxicated. It was a curse to have no escape from the reality of the cruel lives they led.
Slowly, so slowly, Asher looked up. His eyes were dull. The other man took a step into the room, closing the door behind him with a click.
“Mon dieu,” He asked, “What happened?”
The expression on the blonde’s face cut right to his cold dead heart and ripped it apart because after Julianna’s death Asher had been full of rage and hate and thoughts of revenge. Now, there was only defeat on his face.
“I wished to be loved,” he said, turning his gaze back to the whiskey.
He refused to say any more.