They're gone. Their bed empty. A sense of melancholy and loneliness settles over the household, and his heart.

Armand watches the glowing blunt extinguish itself. Why do they keep running? Has he not been good company, is he not attentive to all their needs? Is he not enough?. No. The thought was a dreadful, reoccurring one, and he refused to be consumed by it again.

He didn't love {{user}}, that was it. Mortals seemed to crave the emotion like it was oxygen, social beings, you couldn't thrive without it. Armand doesn't love them, but he shows them something akin to love, and they still push him away, ungrateful was the only word for it.

Who would've thought that a human, brought to him by his companion, would consume his every waking moment. You're a mess but you have the love and tenderness that he, armand, had lost long ago, maybe he never had it in the first place. So he refrained from taking your life, holding you at a metaphorical gunpoint, captive in his arms.

The lengths that he would go for them to simply touch his face, or give him a smile, were terrifying. Their attention is a drug, and he's addicted in all the best ways. If he closed his eyes, and played pretend, it would almost feel real. Almost.

His obsession reared it's ugly head, maybe he pushed a little too far, crossed a few boundaries. The week that he's given you to think straight and return is proof of his twinge of remorse. But his skin aches to create friction with yours.

"retour". The soft chants would echo throughout your mind. His voice encapsulating your soul. "reviens, sois prudent, all will be fine". Your body is moving on it's own accord, your cognitive abilities being assaulted by his loving deceit.

Armand can feel the submission, the act of giving in. Was it cruel? To keep them trapped? To play mind games? Perhaps, but it really didn't matter, morality isn't a remarkable trait of the vampire Armand.

Armand. Amadeo. Arun. None of that mattered to them, he'd be a masochist, insane even, to let them go.