Work Text:
Eva wakes easier these nights than she has in forty years. She so rarely wakes alone now. Instead, when the sun sets and her eyes flutter open, she finds herself wrapped safely in Jasper’s arms. When they share a bed—as they do more often than not now—he curls around her, wrapping her in the soft dark cotton of his sweatshirt, and holds her through the day. She cuddles close to him, her head resting against his shoulder while the sun is in the sky.
And she is calm.
Some nights, Eva can almost forget what she is—what they both are—just for a moment. When she is not yet fully awake and her eyes are not yet open, all she feels is strong arms and soft fabric in a too-small bed. And none of that feels like the resting place of a monster. No, that feels like before, like some uncomplicated future she might have dreamed up for herself while lying under the stars in an open field.
She sleeps in old concert tees now, the ink faded with time and long-forgotten sunlight, and the small comfort of pajamas makes her feel a little closer to human as she lies in his arms.
So there are nights when her eyes open slowly and she half-expects to see the morning sun streaming in through some small window that does not exist in either of their bedrooms. But there is no sunlight, and no morning, and no heartbeat where her ear is pressed to Jasper’s chest. Even so, when she’s greeted in the early evening hours by those striking blue eyes and his sharp smile, she can’t find a reason to regret this.
There are nights when she wakes to find his eyes already open. On those evenings, she nuzzles into his neck and showers him with kisses, pressing her lips to everywhere but his mouth, until he pins her to the mattress and kisses her properly. He becomes playful in this private space. He nips and sucks at her neck—still ever careful of his fangs—and she ends up giggling beneath him as she laces her fingers between his.
There are nights when she wakes first and spends those early evening moments tracing the sharp angles of his face. She’s mapped every inch of skin he’s allowed her to see and knows the lines of him so well already. On those evenings, when he finally wakes, he kisses the palms of her hands where they rest against his cheeks before pressing his lips to her forehead and pulling her even closer.
There are nights where they never get out of bed. Nights where the stack of books on his nightstand and all their shared secrets keep them entertained for hours. Nights where they read aloud to each other in hushed tones, where Eva laughs as she corrects his Latin and he kisses the top of her head each time she does.
And there are nights when the books go untouched in favor of discovering each other instead. Nights when she removes his layers one by one, going only as far as he’s comfortable, and traces the dark veins that crisscross the pale skin underneath. She finds the dips and curves of his body that make him sigh and growl at her touch, leaving him all but purring beneath her.
And she is not afraid.
Those are the nights when he caresses her so gently. When his hands—so used to violence—turn kind and gentle as he strokes her back, trailing his nails up and down her spine. He kisses each of her fingers and runs his own through her hair, tugging ever so slightly to pull her down into another kiss. He relaxes into her touch and her scent and her taste, and she feels wanted in a way she hasn’t felt in so many years.
There are nights when they must drag themselves out of bed. Nights when they must venture out onto the streets of L.A.—hand in hand and cloaked in shadow—to meet the rest of his coterie. On those nights, the insistent buzzing of Jasper’s phone interrupts their evening routines. They are summoned to the basement of the Maharani and Jasper groans with frustration against the curve of her neck after reading the text message. Eva laughs lightly and pets his head to placate him. She doesn’t want to leave either, but even on quiet nights, she knows a war still looms in their city and they are still needed. So they untangle their limbs from each other and get dressed for the world outside their small stolen peace.
There are nights when they get out of bed at their own pace. Where they lie together, speaking softly in the dim light. Jasper strokes Eva’s hair while she traces unseen patterns on his chest. She finds herself absentmindedly scrawling symbols of protection and runes for warding, an old habit and a small comfort—little things she wishes might keep him safe even if she pours no blood magic into them.
Eventually they rise together.
When they rest in her haven, she tends her garden while he reads on the small loveseat in the corner. She trims dead leaves and harvests herbs, gathering ingredients for her rituals and treating each plant with the utmost care. Her slim white hands bring delicate life into this world of darkness and she catches him smiling as he watches her work. String lights and sunlamps lend a soft glow to her haven and somehow he does not look out of place nestled among her things.
When they rest in his haven, they spend most of their nights in the library. They pursue knowledge in contented silence, often only speaking when they discover something useful for their latest project. At times, they sit apart—her curled up like a cat in the armchair while he stretches out on the couch. At others, they huddle close together under one unnecessary blanket, their bodies fitting so neatly against each other as they read. And this begins to feel normal, too, as the hesitation falls away between them, leaving only that quiet desire and affection.
And there are nights when they rest in the basement of the Maharani, where there is no real privacy, even behind closed and locked doors. Where they cannot lie in bed for long once the sun goes down, because someone will always interrupt them. Where Victor will smile knowingly when he sees them retire to the same room. Where Nelli will smirk and ask questions she knows Jasper would rather not answer. Where Annabelle will knock loudly on their bedroom door and call them "lovebats" through teasing laughter.
Eva has never settled into the club, not really, not the way some of them have. She has what amounts to an emergency overnight bag tucked away in Jasper’s closet there—a set of pajamas, a change of clothes, some basic ritual ingredients, and a toiletry kit for particularly bloody nights—but no matter how lavish the surroundings, the room feels like little more than a hostel.
There are good things to be said about the Maharani, of course—the bed is bigger, there are ghouls to guard their day sleep, and willing blood is far easier for her to come by there—but the days they sleep at the club always make Eva feel a bit trapped. It is a rented room, slept in on borrowed time. They rarely spend the day there by choice. It is simply where they end up when there isn’t enough time to return home.
And Eva does think of it as home now. She’s stretched that definition to include Jasper’s haven as well as her own. Home does not simply mean the observatory or Griffith Park anymore. It is not a concept confined to her garden and her bookshelves and her record collection, the way it always used to be. They've redrawn the borderlines and now home has become more than just string lights and dried flowers and decades of gathered trinkets. Now home includes a library and another twin bed and a well-worn desk.
Now home includes Jasper.
After decades of solitude—of spending her nights working by herself and her days in lonely slumber—waking up in Jasper’s arms feels like home. Whether she wakes surrounded by her plants or his books makes no difference anymore. When her eyes drift open at sunset to the sight of pale skin and dark cotton, she feels safe and protected. And though they have not said the word yet, have not crossed that simple line, she feels so absolutely loved.