Page 24 of Devil Wears Nada
We moved through the rest of the evening in a daze, accepting congratulations, discussing future projects we knew might never happen, smiling through the pain of imminent loss.
When the last guest had departed and Julian had locked the boutique behind us with effusive praise and promises of future success, we found ourselves alone on the quiet street, the Los Angeles night spread out before us.
“Let’s go home,” Van said softly, taking my hand.
Chapter 14
The drive back to the apartment was silent, both of us lost in thought, our hands entwined across the console as if we could physically prevent the coming separation.
When we entered our apartment—and it was truly ours now, every corner reflecting our shared aesthetic, our combined lives—the reality of what morning would bring crashed over me with fresh force.
“I can’t lose you,” I said, my voice breaking as I turned to him in the dim light of our living room. “Not like this. Not when we’ve only just found each other.”
Van pulled me into his arms, holding me as if he could protect me from the inevitable. “You won’t lose me, not really,” he murmured against my hair. “I’ll still be here. I just… won’t remember how I got here.”
“But you won’t be you,” I argued, clinging to him. “Not completely.”
He pulled back just enough to look into my eyes. “What makes you think that? Lucas, what you’ve awakened in me—the capacity for love, for true creation, for selflessness—that isn’t tied to my memories. It’s transformation at the soul level.”
“How can you be sure?” I asked, desperate to believe him.
“Because I feel it changing me, rewriting what I am at the most fundamental level.” He smiled, though his eyes were damp. “Whatever story my mind constructs tomorrow, whatever past itinvents to explain my present, the core of who I’ve become will remain.”
I wanted to believe him. I needed to believe him.
“We have until dawn,” he reminded me gently. “Let’s not waste it with fear.”
He was right. These precious hours were too valuable to spend in dread of what was to come. I took a deep breath, steadying myself.
“What do you want to do?” I asked. “For our last night with… with all our memories intact?”
Van smiled, that genuine smile I’d grown to love. “Everything. Nothing. Just be with you. Maybe create something together, one last time.”
“Create what?” I asked.
“A memory powerful enough to survive even Hell’s bargain,” he said, leading me toward the bedroom. “Something so profound that it might echo in my soul even after my mind forgets.”
We undressed each other slowly, reverently, memorizing with touch what words couldn’t express. Each button undone, each zipper lowered felt like a ritual, a prayer against forgetting.
When we were both naked, Van pulled me onto the bed, arranging us so we faced each other, close enough to share breath.
“Tell me everything you want me to remember,” he whispered. “Even if my mind forgets, speak it into my soul.”
And so I did. I told him how he’d transformed my life, my work, my understanding of beauty. I spoke of how his arrogance had made me laugh, how his vulnerability had touched me, how his collaboration had elevated my creativity beyond what I’d thought possible.
“I love the way you see the world,” I said, tracing the perfect line of his jaw. “How you find beauty in unexpected places. Howyou’ve learned to value substance over surface, even though beauty is literally your domain.”
He smiled at that, turning to kiss my palm. “And I love how you saw past my surface from the very beginning. How you challenged me, frustrated me, inspired me to be more than just Vanity incarnate.”
We spoke for hours, our bodies entwined, occasionally pausing to kiss, to touch, to simply hold each other. We revisited every significant moment of our three months together, creating a verbal tapestry of our shared history.
As the night deepened, words gave way to touch. We made love with exquisite slowness, memorizing each other’s bodies with hands and lips and whispered endearments. There was no frantic urgency, no supernatural shattering of glass—just two souls trying to imprint themselves upon each other so deeply that no supernatural bargain could fully erase the connection.
When we finally came together, moving as one in the soft darkness of our bedroom, I felt something shift between us—something profound and unbreakable. In that moment of perfect union, I knew with certainty that what we shared transcended memory, transcended even supernatural decree.
Afterward, as we lay tangled together, Van’s head on my chest and my fingers threading through his hair, the first hint of dawn began to lighten the sky beyond our window.
“It’s time,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
