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It starts seven months after they reunite in the middle of a storm in New Orleans.
Since that night, Louis has made his way back to Dubai, but not without first ensuring that Lestat was staying somewhere safer than the rundown shack Louis had found him in. He had given Lestat the keys to his own flat in New Orleans, telling him to stay as long as he needed, and left before his heart overpowered his mind. It had not been an easy decision on Louis' part, but it was the best he could do for both of them.
Back in his penthouse, Louis’ priorities consisted of making sure Armand and his belongings were gone, first and foremost, and then making a plan to redecorate the flat, intent on erasing every reminder of their failed relationship.
It had kept him busy for weeks. The dull, lifeless cage he had lived in for years was a constant reminder of the relationship he and Armand had trapped themselves in until the illusion shattered around them without any hope of ever rekindling it. Louis is not sure if he so much as wants to see Armand in front of him again, but that is the least of his worries at present.
For now, there is a comfort he finds when looking around him. Colours breathe life into the apartment in the form of new furniture, new paintings, and flowers, all chosen by Louis and for Louis. The grey tones and minimalism that once surrounded him were slowly replaced with a spark of optimism.
Louis feels light. It is as if a significant weight has been lifted off his shoulders, all the grief and sorrow that accumulated and pushed down on him for years have eased off and given him space to breathe. They are still there, of course, these are feelings that Louis will always live with. Eternity is not long enough for him to forget. But remembering everything that happened, coming to terms with it, and no longer forcing himself to live a lie has opened doors that Louis never thought could be unlocked.
This new, quiet life is not as bad as Louis imagined it to be. It has given him time to reflect and properly grieve the two greatest losses of his life; his brother, and his daughter. He has no doubt that he will always miss them, will always wonder what could have been, but he has finally reached the stage of acceptance, and this means he can finally look forward to the future. After all, he has forever ahead of him.
That is—if the vampires who threaten him on a nightly basis don’t get to him first.
Since Daniel’s book was published, Louis listens nightly, obsessively, to their thoughts and projections. He has a target on his back, but rather than being scared, he is simply waiting, because gone are the days he lived in fear. Louis has fully embraced his nature—he is a vampire, a monster, and if he has to fight and kill a few of his kind then so be it. It will not be the first time.
Louis feels optimistic for the first time in a century.
And, seven months after the reunion Louis had so often longed for, he feels more than that.
His phone, placed alongside a copy of Daniel’s book, on the coffee table, starts vibrating. Louis is in a different room, but he hears it still, and walks with preternatural speed to reach the living room. It is an unknown number and Louis never gets calls from unknown numbers, so his curiosity piques. He wonders, briefly, whether any of the vampires who have been threatening him have gotten hold of it and decided to torment him another way.
Louis answers the phone.
He does not speak, waits for whoever is on the other end of the line to do it first. It is total silence that greets him and, for a second, he contemplates ending the call, thinking that nothing good could be expected from the other side.
But then he hears it—a sound so faint that, were it not for his heightened hearing, it would have gone unnoticed.
Louis knows immediately.
He waits patiently.
One, two, three—seconds, minutes.
Then—
“Louis.”
He smiles.
One word was all it took. Hearing that voice again, the reminder that he is still somewhere in the world, tangible, no matter how far.
“Hello Lestat,” Louis answers. Seven months. It might be a long time for some humans, the blink of an eye for a vampire, and yet it still feels like a lifetime since they last saw each other. Those two nights in Lestat’s rundown house, in the middle of a hurricane, went by too quickly.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Lestat says, a slight nervousness to his voice. “But, you see, I just bought one of these modern phones, and I thought I would test it out.”
Louis walks to his balcony, and sits down, looking up at the night sky. It is getting early. It will not be long until the colour of the sky starts to change and Louis has to retreat inside, behind the protective shield of his windows. He wonders what the colour of the sky in New Orleans is right now.
“Do I have the honour of being the first person you called?”
“I would not bestow that privilege upon anyone else.” Louis hears shuffling on the other end. He wonders where Lestat is and what he is doing. He wonders what Lestat has been doing in the last seven months. “I kept your card, where you wrote down your number when you were here. It was in this little box where I keep important things. Yesterday I was looking through it and—”
Louis holds a breath. “Tell me.”
“I was holding your card, and I kept thinking about how much I missed your voice,” Lestat finishes. “I knew what I had to do as soon as I woke up tonight.”
Louis has been waiting for this moment. There is a part of him that is constantly thinking about Lestat and what their dynamic will be like when they see each other again. He has spent all these months wondering when they would speak again, even considered paying Lestat a visit, until he remembered why they are not together yet.
He has also tried, and failed, to not think about Lestat. Everything always circles back to him.
“I’m glad you called,” Louis says. “Really kept me waiting here.”
“Oh, Louis,” Lestat starts, and then stops himself. Louis almost wants to urge him on, curious to hear everything that is on Lestat’s mind. “We both needed a little more time, didn’t we?”
Lestat sounds good. That fragile, small voice that greeted Louis in New Orleans is much stronger now, more him. And it makes Louis want to see him, because hearing Lestat’s voice makes him happy, but it is not enough. Selfishly, he feels frustrated that Lestat had not called him earlier. Lestat, who had always been anything but patient when it came to Louis.
And also—eighty years.
“We did,” Louis answers, crossing his legs and resting a hand on top of his thigh. “How are you, Lestat?”
A deep breath on the other side; contemplative. “Better,” is the response. “No longer the pathetic excuse of a vampire you saw last time.”
“Don’t say that,” Louis says. He once again feels guilty for leaving Lestat in New Orleans when he could tell Lestat needed someone, needed Louis. But Lestat would not ask him to stay, much less open the door for Louis to see him even more vulnerable. “Not after everything that happened.”
“Well,” Lestat says, almost dismissively, as if he is trying to deflect. “I am sorry you had to see me like that.”
“I’m not. I am sorry that things got to that point, but as long as you’re alive, and as long as I could see a spark in your eyes, then I would take you in any form.”
Lestat laughs; it is quiet but it is a laugh. Louis misses the sound of his loud and happy laughs.
“Even if I were emaciated?”
“Even if you were emaciated,” Louis answers through a smile. “It’s you. That’s the point.”
“Oh.” A soft sound, barely noticeable, but one that speaks volumes regardless. There is a beat of silence and then, softly, “Louis?”
“Yes, Lestat?”
“Will you tell me where you are?” There is a nervousness in his voice that Louis finds especially endearing. “I know you’re not anywhere near me. I know it because I can’t feel you.”
Louis closes his eyes. He can’t feel Lestat either, not with the intensity he felt in Paris or in New Orleans. There is a faint pull still, and Louis sometimes wonders whether it is all in his head, a consequence of everything he feels for Lestat.
“Dubai,” he answers, looking at the distant lights illuminating the city. “Same place I’ve been since we last saw each other.”
“Your new home,” Lestat states, a small shift in his tone. Neutral.
Louis considers it. He has thought about it often—where, in all the years since he left New Orleans, he has felt more at home—and Dubai might be the place that is closest to that description. And yet, it is not home. There is only one place he can call home, and it is an ocean away.
The penthouse is his. Louis remains here not only to remember the damage, but also because it is his space. Still, he knows that when he feels ready, he will say goodbye to it. That time just has not arrived yet.
“Something like that,” Louis ends up saying. “I assume you’re still in New Orleans.” I am she, she is me, Lestat had said.
“Yes,” Lestat says, and Louis can hear his smile. It makes him smile, too. “I refurbished the townhouse. Our townhouse.”
Louis straightens up, leaning forward. “You’re in the townhouse? Does it not feel strange, after what happened there?”
“No,” Lestat answers simply. “It’s the only home I’ve ever had. This house, this city. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
Louis imagines it. Lestat, in the home that was once theirs, sitting in his favourite spot, in front of the fireplace, as he speaks to Louis, an ocean between them. His heart tightens with the need to reach across and join Lestat. To be with him.
“And those walking tours that stop in front of the house?” Louis asks, trying to keep the conversation light, to stop himself from asking when they can see each other again. “They bothering you?”
Lestat hums. “Not quite. I may have bribed the tour guides to skip this stop, and so far I must say I have no complaints.”
“Bribed?” Louis asks curiously. “Bribed or made them?”
“No tricks involved,” Lestat reassures, with a hint of amusement. “There’s very little that money can’t buy. You’re a businessman yourself, you know that.”
Louis has to give him that. If Louis and Armand could employ men to come to the penthouse so Louis could drink from them then a tour guide in New Orleans would have no trouble making a detour and still keep things interesting.
“Tell me more,” Louis says. “What else have you been doing these past few months?”
They talk.
And they talk.
And it becomes a routine.
Every other night at first, and suddenly it is every night. Louis goes from not caring where he leaves his phone to keeping it in his pocket at all times, eagerly grabbing it whenever the distinct ringtone he has chosen for Lestat sounds, and accepting the call before the second ring.
Four months after the first call, when they progress into video calls, Louis answers the first one breathlessly despite having no reason to be so worked up, other than the anticipation of seeing Lestat, even if just through the screen.
He waits for Lestat to adjust the angle of his phone, smiling to himself when he realises just how frustrated Lestat sometimes gets with technology, and, when Lestat comes into frame, Louis’ smile softens.
“You’re getting better at this,” Louis says one night. “Looks like you’ve decided which angle suits you best.”
Lestat raises an eyebrow. “Do you mean to say I have bad angles?”
“Are you fishing for compliments?”
“From you?" Lestat tilts his head slightly. "Always.”
“Well,” Louis begins, deciding that it does not hurt to humour Lestat every once in a while. “I did enjoy the photos you sent me earlier. You look good.”
Lestat had sent a few photos and videos to Louis, showing the renovated townhouse. It is modern with a touch of the style they had both so loved, making it as much a home as it used to be.
Along with those, there was a picture of Lestat holding a personalised leather-bound book with manuscript paper that Louis had sent him so he can write the music he has been composing. Not that Lestat needs to have it written somewhere, his mind does all the work, but Louis wanted to give him something to symbolise their rekindled friendship.
In the photo, Lestat had intended to hide the lower half of his face, but Louis can see the smile revealed when Lestat moves slightly; the perks of Lestat’s basic understanding of his phone, that Louis finds rather endearing.
“What do you mean I have the live photo option enabled?” Lestat asked when Louis mentioned it, after the first time he sent a photo, frowning at his phone as if it had betrayed him. “What does that mean?”
“It means I can see what you do just before and after taking a picture,” Louis explained, biting his bottom lip to stop himself from smiling at the utter confusion in Lestat’s face. “It’s like a three-second long video.”
Lestat tapped his phone, his image freezing for a second as he left the call, and then he came back. “How do I turn it off?”
“Don’t,” Louis said, quickly. “I like them like this.”
And that seemed to be enough for the frown lines in Lestat’s face to disappear.
Lestat smiles in the present. “Thank you for the book, it’s beautiful.”
“You could thank me by playing some of your music,” Louis says, already knowing what the answer is going to be.
“When it’s ready,” Lestat says, ever the perfectionist. “Only the best for you. And it won’t sound as good if you listen to it through the phone.”
Louis thinks this is as good an opportunity as any to bring up something he has been thinking about.
“What if I visit you?” he asks, nervousness spreading through his limbs. “Would you play for me then?”
Lestat’s smile is gone and Louis feels his heart drop. Perhaps they are not ready for it yet.
“You want to visit me?” Lestat asks, as if he can’t quite believe his ears.
“Yes,” Louis answers, his fingers digging into his own forearm. He does not remember the last time he felt this nervous. “If you would have me.”
“Louis,” Lestat says, in the way that only he can, as if it is his favourite word to say. “Of course I would. I want nothing more than to see you. In the flesh, not through a screen.”
Louis breathes a sigh of relief. “When?”
“Can you make it here in the next five minutes?” Lestat asks, not entirely sounding like he is joking.
Louis laughs. “Unlikely. But I can arrange to fly out tomorrow.”
“I’ll be waiting,” Lestat says softly, and, for a second, Louis thinks he sees Lestat lean forward and touch his screen, as if gently caressing it.
It feels just as good as it did nearly a year ago.
Stepping foot in New Orleans changes Louis’ mood immediately. It is hard not to smile, to feel lighter, happier when he is in his hometown, and when he knows who is waiting for him, hopefully just as eager as Louis is.
He does not register the journey to the townhouse. Everything since leaving Dubai has felt like a blur because Louis’ mind can focus on only one thing.
Months ago, during the walking tour, he had not had time to properly take it all in. His attention had quickly been captured by Lestat’s newest fledgling, and everything else faded into the background.
Now that he stands in front of his old home, it all comes rushing back to him. Thirty years he had lived in this house with his family. The thought of stepping inside is as scary as it is exciting, but Louis does not have time to dwell on it too much because the door opens before he has the chance to knock or even approach it.
Lestat stands there, one hand gripping the door, looking at Louis with an unreadable expression. And Louis feels that pull again, reeling him in, as he approaches step by step. He notices the rise and fall of Lestat’s chest, the sharp intake of breath as Louis gets closer, his eyes unblinking.
They do not say anything to each other. They don’t need to.
They fall into each other’s arms like two pieces of a puzzle. Louis lets out a contented sigh when he feels Lestat’s arms circle his waist, pulling him close enough for their bodies to be flush together, that strong hold that makes Louis feel dizzy.
The crushing weight of their first reunion is not as present this time, with all the grief and regret, but it is no less emotional despite their nightly conversations on the phone. Louis breathes Lestat in, buries his nose in the crook of his neck, that spot he knows like that back of his hand, not unlike the rest of Lestat’s body.
“Louis,” Lestat sighs, holding Louis tighter. He trembles in Louis’ arms, his hands clutching Louis as if to make sure he really is there and is not going to disappear. “Louis.”
“Hi,” Louis says in response, resting his chin on Lestat’s shoulder, his eyes closed, savouring Lestat’s touch. It has been too long and all the feelings he has been trying to keep below surface suddenly burst through.
“Tell me you’re not leaving again in two days,” Lestat pleads, voice vulnerable and raw. “Not so soon, please.”
“I won’t.” Louis has not planned his return to Dubai, figuring that it would be better to do it after spending a few nights in New Orleans, after spending some time with Lestat and getting a feel of their dynamic when they are in the same space. He does not know what to expect but, if their conversations as of late are anything to go by, he feels positive about it. “I promise.”
Lestat relaxes, the slight tension on his shoulders dissipating, and Louis uses the opportunity to lean back and look at him. Blue eyes gaze back at him, a shy but radiant smile on his face. Louis brings up one hand to cradle Lestat’s jaw and leans in to kiss his cheek once, and then, just because he feels like it, twice.
There is a dreamy expression in Lestat's face for a moment. When he catches himself, he steps back and motions for Louis to follow him inside.
It feels—overwhelming. Yet, at the same time, Louis feels strangely at peace.
He takes in his surroundings, carefully looking over all the changes and comparing everything to the house he knew so well. Lestat did a good job with the renovation, Louis can tell how much work went into it, and, deep down, he feels a pang of sadness for not being part of it, like he had in the past.
“Is it as strange as you thought it would be?” Lestat asks, walking behind a maroon couch and letting his hand trail over the back before sitting on the arm of the couch. “Being here?”
“Hard to explain,” Louis says, fixing his eyes on the grand piano in the corner of the room. Behind it, stands an electric guitar that has him raising an eyebrow. Lestat had not told him much about it, resorting to secrecy whenever Louis brought up his music, though Louis has seen it in photos before. “But if anyone can understand it’s you.”
“I can,” Lestat confirms. He looks around him, his mind clearly wandering if the look in his eyes is anything to go by. “We had our difficult moments within these walls, but I think we were also happy for a short while, weren’t we? I try to focus on that when I’m not—thinking about what should not have happened.”
“Lestat.”
“I can’t, Louis.” Lestat shakes his head, averting his eyes to the floor. “There isn’t a night that goes by where I don’t think about how different our lives could have been if I had made different decisions back then.”
“I know,” Louis says because he, too, can relate to that feeling. “But I’ve learned the hard way that, sometimes, no matter what decisions you make, the outcome will always be the same.”
“It’s so easy to get stuck in the past.” Lestat takes a deep breath and looks up at Louis again, a sad smile on his face. “It’s the best you can do when you have nothing to look forward to. No hope for the future.”
Louis feels his chest tighten. “Do you still feel that way?”
“I felt it for a long time,” Lestat replies.
Louis takes a few steps closer, noticing how Lestat’s back straightens and his chest rises and falls quicker than before. He stands in front of Lestat, and brings his hands up to cup Lestat’s jaw.
“Do you feel it now?” Louis asks gently. “Have you felt hopeless since that stormy night, in your shack?”
Lestat looks at Louis with wet eyes, visibly trying and failing to hide his emotions. He had never been good at that.
“Quite the contrary,” Lestat admits quietly. “But then again, I have a tendency to feel a spark of hope when you show up in my life.”
“Yeah?” Louis traces Lestat’s cheekbones with his thumbs, feeling a pang of satisfaction when Lestat’s eyes flutter.
“Yes,” Lestat answers. "I still remember the first time I saw you. I had been so lost until then, but one look at you and I knew my life was about to change forever."
"Some might call that love at first sight." Louis glances at Lestat's lips. "I, on the other hand, couldn't stand your guts."
"Not at first." Lestat smiles. "But I could read your thoughts, Louis. That all changed very quickly."
"You were persistent." He was charming, had a way to draw Louis in and make him feel the centre of the universe. More than that, he listened to Louis, and cared for him in a way no one ever had before.
"I was in love," Lestat says softly. "We couldn't fight against what was meant to be."
"Would you do it all over again, knowing what we know now?"
"In a heartbeat," Lestat answers, without a second thought. And he looks at Louis with that lovesick expression, the one that screams he needs to be touched by Louis in order to survive. “Louis, you’re the—”
Louis does not hear the end of that sentence because he surges forward and captures Lestat’s lips with his own. The surprised sound Lestat makes nearly has Louis drawing back until he feels Lestat’s hands on his hips pulling him close. Louis relaxes, settling in the space between Lestat’s spread legs, and deepens the kiss.
It is one of the many things he has thought of over the past few months. In the middle of the storm, they had shared a brief kiss, with Louis initiating that one too, unable to stop himself when he had Lestat in his arms after decades of believing he had lost him. He could not help himself then, just as he cannot help himself now. Lestat’s hands, his lips, the passion he pours into every touch they share are seared in Louis’ memory, but there is only so much Louis’ memories can give him.
This is something that Louis knows is inevitable. This force that continuously brings them together, keeping them in each other’s orbit, will never weaken. Louis has accepted it, has decided he will no longer fight it. He just hopes Lestat feels the same way. If not now, then at some point in the future.
“Couldn’t even last ten minutes without kissing you,” Louis whispers, his lips ghosting over Lestat’s. “I’m sorry. I had to.”
“Do it again,” Lestat answers, his eyes fixed on Louis’ lips as if entranced.
And Louis is not strong enough to deny them this. He smiles as he closes the distance between them once again.
“I missed you,” Lestat breathes when they break apart, punctuating his words with a kiss. He kisses the corner of Louis’ mouth, trailing soft pecks over Louis’ jaw as if he can’t quite bring himself to stop touching Louis. “I missed you so much.”
“Me too,” Louis admits, losing himself in Lestat’s needy touch. That touch that both grounds him and makes him weak all over. “I wanted to come see you sooner.”
That information seems to sober up Lestat who leans back and looks at Louis like he has just been kicked in the stomach.
“Why didn’t you?”
“You know why,” Louis says, placing his hands on Lestat’s broad shoulders. “It wasn’t our time yet.”
“Is it our time now?” The hopeful look Lestat gives Louis makes his chest flutter.
“Only one way to find out.”
“I want it to be,” Lestat says, circling his arms around Louis’ waist, pulling him closer. “I wanted to go to you, too. But I’m practising this thing called patience. For you.”
Louis smiles. “Look at you. So mature.”
“It takes tremendous effort, Louis. Staying here, knowing that you’re somewhere in the world, too far. Always too far. I’m not that strong. Not when it comes to you.”
“Took your sweet time calling me, though,” Louis says. “I was starting to think you’d keep me waiting forever.”
“Did you long for me too, mon cœur?” Lestat’s voice drops when he uses the term of endearment, and Louis nearly feels himself lose his balance. He misses hearing those words from Lestat’s mouth.
“Don’t act like you don’t know.” Louis runs his hands up and down Lestat’s arms.
“Would you have come if I had called you sooner?”
“I guess we’ll never know.” He would have. Of course he would have, even if it was just another short stay to make sure Lestat was doing well. There is only so much he could get out of their phone calls.
“Louis.” Lestat’s hands drop from Louis’ waist and his lips turn down into a slight frown. Louis has to bite the inside of his cheeks to stop himself from smiling.
“Lestat,” Louis repeats in the same tone. He leans forward to give Lestat a quick kiss before he can express just how unhappy the lack of details makes him. “Come on, give me a tour of the house, will you?”
Lestat accepts Louis’ hand, while loudly mumbling about lost time and missing you every night and day, knowing that Louis can hear every single word.
It takes Louis stopping on the way to the stairs, pulling Lestat flush against him, and kissing him hungrily for Lestat’s brain to forget how to form any sentences.
Lestat looks better.
He looks better, but Louis knows there is a lot going on under the surface. There are things that Lestat is not ready to share with Louis yet, things that Louis knows are weighing down on Lestat, and have been weighing down on him for a long time. Louis can see it in Lestat’s eyes, catches glimpses of his inner turmoil when Lestat drifts away, his mind elsewhere completely.
Louis knows that Lestat is battling a lot of demons, a lot of which are complete unknowns to Louis, but he also knows that Lestat’s mind always drifts to Claudia, and that is something Louis can relate to, in their shared grief.
It took Louis close to eighty years to come to terms with what happened, but Lestat is only just getting started. There is a long road ahead of them, though Louis is certain that neither of them will ever get over the loss of their daughter. No parent can.
Still, Louis sees the small steps towards progress and the effort from Lestat’s part. He seems to have found solace in music, spending long hours practising, carrying around the leather-bound book Louis gifted him, and writing down notes. It makes Louis' heart swell when he sees Lestat cosied up on the couch, with all his focus on the book, lost in his element, and it is exciting to see him slowly return to the piano.
The slab of wood he carried around months ago now lies forgotten in one of the rooms upstairs while Lestat eases back into the comfort of playing real instruments. Louis wondered, quite often, when he was still in Dubai replaying the events of their reunion, whether the choice to forgo his instruments carried a much deeper meaning. It did not take him long to realise that yes, it did. Another way that Lestat chose to punish himself. Louis doesn't have the heart to bring it up just yet.
One night, Lestat walks down the stairs and approaches Louis, coming to a standstill in front of the armchair Louis has chosen as his. He extends a hand, gaining an eyebrow raise from Louis who indulges him and lets himself be led to the piano.
Sitting side by side, Louis can hear Lestat take a deep breath, calming his heart and his mind, and Louis lets him have a few moments to ready himself. Then Lestat softly places his fingers on top of the piano keys and starts playing a gentle melody.
It starts out with a melancholic tone that gradually evolves into something peaceful and more hopeful. Louis listens, picking up on the cues and the meaning behind it, feeling his heart tighten with emotion. He watches Lestat’s graceful fingers fly over the piano keys, then turns his head to observe Lestat’s face, all the feelings evoked by his music apparent in his face.
This is his outlet, his way of communicating his most complex thoughts in his preferred language, losing himself in his art. It is catharsis.
When Lestat finishes playing his new piece, his eyes remain trained on the piano. Louis sits quietly, then angles his body to fully face Lestat, reaching out to brush his fingers over Lestat’s hand and then taking it between his own.
“That was beautiful,” Louis says, breaking the silence.
“I composed it for you,” Lestat says, finally looking back at Louis, his eyes full of affection. “Like everything I do.” It is said so casually, as if the intensity of Lestat’s feelings towards Louis are as simple as breathing to him.
Louis squeezes Lestat’s hand, a small smile gracing his features. “Do you find that writing and composing music is therapeutic?”
“It keeps my mind busy,” Lestat answers. “I find that it is an easier outlet for my complicated emotions, as opposed to expressing them through less graceful ways.”
Louis nods, well aware of the many ways Lestat’s emotions can control him. “It’s been good for you, I think. You seem lighter ever since you picked up your instruments again.”
“Having my muse with me also helps.” Lestat brings Louis’ hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “Not just with the music.”
“You say that, but you were working on music when I was still in Dubai. What else have you got for me?”
“Patience, Louis. You will know all about it in good time.”
“Not even a hint?” Louis slides his hand over Lestat’s upper thigh. “You lock yourself in that soundproof room while your piano sits here. You can’t blame me for being curious.”
Letstat hums, eyes following the movements of Louis’ hand. “I’ve been having fun experimenting with different instruments. And music genres.”
“The guitar,” Louis says, holding Lestat’s thigh more firmly. Louis swallows at the thought of seeing Lestat playing the guitar, diverging from the classical style he favoured in the past to something more electrifying.
“And more,” Lestat teases, leaning over to kiss the corner of Louis’ mouth, while Louis’ mind is inundated with images of Lestat performing on stage. He did mention a tour, after all. "You'll find out soon enough."
"I am not very patient," Louis argues. "You're enjoying this. Keeping me waiting, wondering what's coming next. It's a little cruel." Louis tilts his head to the side, gives Lestat a look that highlights his big, brown eyes, hoping that Lestat will give him something. He is the one who said he can't deny Louis anything, after all. It was years ago, sure, but there are things that simply do not change.
Lestat looks at him for a moment and then he laughs. He throws his head back and he laughs, full of life. It is a beautiful sound that shakes something in Louis, sends a wave of warmth that spreads across his chest, like the heat of a fireplace in the coldest night of the year.
Lestat says something in response—something about them being too similar at times and Louis knowing exactly which buttons to push. Louis hears the words but does not register them because he is too focused on the fact that Lestat laughed. Focused on the wide smile on Lestat's face. His contented and relaxed expression.
And when Lestat notices how Louis' intense gaze lingers, offering him no response to his words, he swallows, a little nervous. "Louis?"
Louis shakes his head, the corner of his mouth tilting up in a fond smile, then reaches up, brushing Lestat's hair from his face, and cups his cheek.
"There you are," Louis says quietly, more to himself than Lestat. There is a relief in knowing that this carefree, joyful version of Lestat had not been lost along the way. Louis missed him; his Lestat. "I like you like this."
"Like what?" Lestat asks.
"Happy."
Adoration radiates from Lestat. The way he looks at Louis makes him feel flayed open, exposed for Lestat to reach out and take everything he wants. And Louis would let him, until there was nothing else to take.
"It's because of you," Lestat admits. He circles his fingers around Louis' wrist, turns his head, and kisses his palm, never breaking eye contact. "You know that, don't you?"
He does. He thinks he does. Louis spent many years believing he was incapable of making anyone happy—he saw first hand how many of his loved ones were unhappy because of his choices, chose to make Lestat miserable at times to mirror his own feelings. And yet Lestat makes him believe that Louis can be the cause of his joy. For his part, Louis almost forgot what happiness tasted like in their time apart.
Louis responds with a gentle kiss, a simple yet meaningful touch that he hopes will convey much more than any words could express right now. Lestat's eyes confirm as much when he draws back.
Louis nods to the piano after a moment. “Will you play it again?”
Lestat does.
Louis stops by his family’s house. The one he called home before he met Lestat.
It’s an unplanned stop, but muscle memory takes him there during a stroll, and, before he knows it, he is standing outside, staring at it. Pieces of his former self, from three lifetimes ago, come back to him. Paul, Grace, their parents.
In a strange, yet comforting way, Louis feels far removed from it. As if he can think back to those years as a third party. If he thinks too much, though, if he allows himself to fall into those memories—his childhood, the death of their father, the responsibility of caring for their family, Paul, the pain from being dead to his mother even before he was given the dark gift, the disappointment in Grace's face the last time they spoke—he knows he will struggle to climb his way back up.
This is where Louis separates himself from his first life. He will carry his siblings with him, just like he carries his daughter, but it is a door that needs to be closed for Louis to feel free. Acceptance, the final stage, at last.
As he turns around to head back to Rue Royale, he is certain that each step takes him closer to where he truly belongs. Where he needs to be for his life to restart.
In the darkness of the night, after hours spent hunting and a trip to the theatre at Lestat’s request, Louis climbs into bed.
There is still over an hour left until the sun starts teasing the horizon, plenty of time until his eyelids start growing heavy, leaving enough room to enjoy the quietness of the hour and the comfort of Lestat’s body heat.
Louis presses himself against Lestat’s back, sliding his arm over Lestat’s waist and holding him close. There is a satisfied sigh from Lestat as he rests his hand over Louis’ and relaxes under his touch. This, right here, is a feeling, akin to bliss, that Louis wishes he could carry with him everywhere.
But something doesn't feel entirely right.
“You feel far away tonight,” Louis says quietly, after a few minutes. “What’s troubling you?”
Lestat had been in a good mood the whole night, but there was an unmistakable shift when they made their way back home from the theatre. He tried to downplay it, but Louis could still sense that something was not quite right. It did not take a lot of guessing to know the cause behind it, but Louis wants to give Lestat the choice to either talk about it or save it for another time.
Eventually, he goes for it.
“Claudia.” Lestat’s voice is so faint that Louis almost misses it, as if he is scared to utter her name. “The stage. It took me back to that night.”
Louis swallows, burrows his face in the crook of Lestat’s neck. The last memory they both have of her, on that stage, at different stages of the play, is seared in their bones.
“I shouldn’t have suggested the theatre,” Lestat continues. His voice is distant and heavy, the weight of daunting memories pressing on him. “Forgive me.”
“Hey,” Louis says softly, intertwining his fingers with Lestat’s and giving his hand a small squeeze. “It’s okay. It made you happy once, it’s only natural to want to experience that feeling again.”
“I don’t think I can.” Lestat pauses, and Louis knows that he is thinking, lost in his thoughts once more as he contemplates whether to share them with Louis or not. Louis wants him to, he wants to know Lestat inside out. “Louis, I see her. Sometimes I see her right next to me.”
“What do you mean?” It hits too close to home, but Louis does not want to jump into conclusions.
Lestat turns in Louis’ arms, lies on his back for a moment, his eyes on the ceiling, and then turns once more to face Louis.
“It’s as if she has come back to haunt me, just as she promised,” Lestat answers. “I know it’s not her, but she feels so real sometimes.”
Louis does not answer. He has not seen Claudia in the way Lestat has described, but he remembers well enough when a version of Lestat accompanied him in Europe. He does not think he can bear it if he sees Claudia, too.
“Do I sound insane?”
“No,” Louis answers earnestly. It is not the right time to share his own experience with hauntings of loved ones, but this gives Louis the reassurance that he can share everything with Lestat and be understood. “I believe you.”
Lestat swallows. “I tried to ignore her at first. It’s not easy, with the things she says to me, but there are times, rare as they are, when she softens, like in those first few years we had with her." His lips twitch. "And then she breaks me again.”
It is cruel the way grief manifests itself. Louis wishes he could shield Lestat from even a fraction of this pain. “What does she say to you?”
“She blames me for her death,” Lestat answers, casting his eyes down to where Louis is still holding his hand with a firm and reassuring grip. “And I understand, because I led her to them.”
“Lestat—”
“I did, Louis. I take responsibility for the part I played in her demise. I try to tell her that. I would do anything to go back and save her if I could. I'd put myself in her place. But she doesn’t believe me. She thinks I never cared for her.” Lestat’s voice breaks then. He lets out a shaky breath, closing his eyes. “But I did. I loved her.”
“I know,” Louis reassures. He was there for everything. Louis saw how quickly Lestat grew to love Claudia and how excited he was to teach her everything he could. “And, deep down, she knew it, too. She would not have looked to you for help in her final moments if she didn’t trust you still. In spite of everything.”
“I didn’t have the strength,” Lestat says. “Louis, I didn’t. I tried, but I couldn’t save her. I never wanted that for her.”
Louis was not there. They took Claudia’s final moments from him, too, an unplanned mercy, while they forced him inside the coffin he was to be stuck in for months. But despite not being present and only having the events retold by others, Louis has no doubt that Lestat would have done anything to save Claudia had he been in the right state of mind.
“Listen to me.” He cups Lestat’s face with one hand, thumb caressing his cheekbone. “It’s not on you. You didn’t put her on that stage, you didn’t direct the sunlight at her. They were vicious. They are the ones deserving of burning in hell for all eternity.”
The tears welling up in Lestat’s eyes fall, and Louis follows them with his thumb, tracing the red stains.
“When she stood in front of everyone and promised she would come back to kill us all, I saw that fire again. Our Claudia, as defiant as ever.”
Louis’ lips twitch into a sad smile. “Even when facing death she was never going to back down.”
“Never. She fought until the very end, and refused to show them any weakness, but when she looked at me, Louis—she was so scared. She was our child again. And I could feel her pain,” Lestat says, his voice strained. “She died without knowing how proud I am of her.”
Louis’ heart drops. It is another tragedy in itself, the way Lestat and Claudia’s relationship evolved into hatred and resentment, when Louis always knew, deep down, that there was still love between both of them. Claudia never admitted it, but there were moments, fleeting as they were, when he caught a glimpse of her thoughts and feelings towards Lestat.
Once, she questioned whether they should have listened to Lestat and avoided Europe altogether. By then, her resentment towards the coven, and Armand most of all, was growing rapidly. It left her doubting what the future held for her. There was the smallest hint of Claudia missing Lestat and then, just as quickly, she pushed it down.
“I felt you during the trial, your love for us, despite how overpowering everything else was. I’m sure she did, too,” Louis says. In another life, they could have been a happy family. It was just not written in their destiny this time. “If only just for a second.”
“She tells me otherwise.” Lestat looks behind Louis, his eyes focused on a specific spot, unblinking. “She says I’m undeserving of your forgiveness.”
“She does not speak for me.” Louis hooks his finger under Lestat’s chin, prompts Lestat to look at him again. “When it comes to us, I need you to listen to me, not Claudia, not anyone else. You hear me?”
Lestat is doubtful for a moment, but eventually nods.
“Claudia, this version of Claudia, will tell you a lot of things,” Louis continues. “But you have to remember that this is not our Claudia, and her words are not a true reflection of what she thought or felt.”
“It’s hard not to believe it when the words have been hammered into my head for decades.” Lestat circles his fingers around Louis’ wrist. “I want her to stop, Louis, but at the same time I want to keep her close. And, whatever happens, it’s going to ruin me.”
“I know. You have no idea how well I understand you.” Louis sees the curious expression in Lestat’s eyes. His own Lestat, in Europe, had messed with his mind. “One day, you’ll need to let her go. It will be harder than you think, but I’ll be right here, with you.”
“You will?” The pain and hope in Lestat’s eyes blend together in a look that tugs at Louis’ heartstrings.
“I will.” There is nowhere else for him to be.
Louis shifts until he can wrap his arms around Lestat, holding him close and tight, in a desperate need for Lestat to know how much Louis cares for him. He presses a kiss to the top of Lestat’s head and feels Lestat relax.
“Rest, my love” Louis whispers. He runs his fingers through Lestat’s hair, focusing only on their breathing, clearing his mind of every other thought. “We’re doing this together.”
Just before he falls asleep, Louis hears Lestat’s faint voice utter a few words, but he does not register them.
Louis promised Lestat he would stay for longer than two days. And he does. He stays for two weeks which turn into six months and he eventually stops counting how long he has been in New Orleans.
His mind busies itself with the present, something that, for a long time, he found difficult to do. But somehow it is easy to get lost in the nightly activities he finds himself in. More often than not, those activities include Lestat—long walks in the city, movie nights, visiting museums and art galleries, learning basic piano skills with Lestat, teaching Lestat the wonders of modern day technology, and talking.
There is a lot of talking now, and Louis craves more of their conversations, loves listening to Lestat talk about his past, little snippets that sometimes come out without him realising and Louis soaks in those moments. He reciprocates, too, slowly opens up to Lestat as they get reacquainted and build up the trust between them.
Louis finds it difficult to give a name to what they have now. They tiptoe around the subject, falling into rhythm with each other in every way imaginable, falling into each other’s arms and stumbling into bed together, passionate words whispered between both lazy and hungry kisses, and yet they do not speak about it.
The question is in their eyes. Louis sees it when he catches Lestat looking at him with a curious expression, and Louis wants to ask what this is and what it is leading towards, but there is a voice in his head that tells him it could shatter the spell they seem to be under, and he wants to make whatever they have last just a little longer.
Moments like this, when he and Lestat are holding hands while walking down the street, and Lestat hums a tune to himself with a soft smile on his face. Louis feels Lestat tug him closer until his arm wraps around Louis’ shoulders, their hands still entwined and resting over Louis’ chest.
It is almost easy for once. Not always perfect, but good. Yet there is an unease that Louis cannot brush off.
“I can feel you thinking,” Lestat says, leaning in and pressing a kiss to Louis’ cheek. “Care to share what’s going through that pretty head of yours?”
“I would if it weren't so complicated,” Louis answers, feeling Lestat’s gaze on him. “I’m probably overthinking.”
“What a pair we make, you and I,” Lestat says with a hum. “I fear what would happen to our minds if we could communicate with our thoughts.”
Louis smiles, but his mind focuses on one thing only. “Are we a pair?”
“Well, that’s usually what we call two things, or beings in our case, that are similar. A pair of vampires, if you will.”
“You know exactly what I meant,” Louis says, ignoring the way Lestat tries to divert the conversation, as if trying to give either of them an out. Louis is having none of it. “What are we doing, Lestat?”
Lestat does not answer immediately. He swallows and looks ahead, his smile slipping away. This time, it is Louis who looks at him, trying not to push for a response but unable to look away.
“We are enjoying each other’s company,” Lestat offers in an even tone. Distant.
Louis' stomach drops. It is not the answer he wanted to hear. “Is that all?”
“We’re learning how to be around each other again.”
“I know that,” Louis says with a huff. “I don’t need you to state the obvious. I just need to know where we’re going with this.”
They arrive at the townhouse and Lestat unlocks the door, guiding Louis inside with their hands still intertwined.
He turns on his heel to face Louis.
“Louis,” Lestat says softly. “I promised myself I would be patient and not pressure you into anything.”
“You’re not pressuring me,” Louis replies. “And I don’t want to do that to you either. Maybe I’m just not good at this whole patience thing.”
“Potentially a consequence of having my blood in you,” Lestat says. “Although, when you were still human—”
“Lestat.”
Lestat swallows and looks at Louis earnestly. ”I know what I want for us, Louis,” he says in a more serious tone. “But you’re the one who calls the shots.”
”Don’t.” Louis shakes his head. He does not want the responsibility of making the choice. He wants to do this together. “Don’t hold back because you’re scared I’ll reject you. You know I won’t do that. I need us to be on the same page this time.”
Lestat looks down at their joined hands
“I will give you anything,” he says, looking up at Louis again. “You just need to name it. And I’ll take whatever you give me, no matter how small, for as long as you deem me worthy of your affections.”
“Anything,” Louis repeats, feeling like everything he has been waiting for is inches away from his grasp. This is where it gets scary. When one gets so close to something that the likelihood of losing it seems greater than before. “You’ll give me anything?”
Lestat nods. “You just have to ask.”
“I want you.”
Lestat’s breath hitches. Louis can hear the thump of his heart this close, the surprise in his eyes upon hearing Louis’ words. Words that Lestat so often had longed for.
“All of you,” Louis continues. Because an inch is not enough. Half of Lestat is not enough. Louis wants this to consume them both entirely. “Can you give me that?”
“I’m not sure I can give you what you already have,” Lestat replies. “I never stopped being yours.”
“You were never fully mine.” The lingering trust issues, the doubts he had from their past relationship still plague him. When he felt Lestat slip away while wanting him close and vice-versa. Never quite getting it right except for those first few blissful months in their honeymoon period. Louis wants more this time. He is willing to give everything.
“I was. I am. I have been nothing but yours since the first moment I saw you, Louis.” Lestat brings one hand up to touch Louis’ cheek. “If you still want me, you have me. You always will.”
“Yeah,” Louis says quietly as he steps closer to Lestat. “I still do.”
It is Lestat who grabs Louis by the waist and pulls him in, so quickly that Louis does not register what is happening until Lestat’s mouth is on his. He lets out a surprised gasp as he circles his arms around Lestat’s shoulders, tilting his head and licking into Lestat’s mouth.
The following moments are a blur. Lestat’s hands grip the back of Louis’ thighs and he is suddenly being lifted. Clothes are discarded, some shredded into pieces, and carelessly thrown around. Then Louis is on his back, in Lestat’s bed, head resting on the green silk covered pillows, with Lestat’s face between his legs.
Louis feels Lestat work him open with his fingers, his mouth on Louis’ cock, and it is too much for Louis to attempt to keep his eyes open when Lestat is making him feel so good. Louis can hear and feel Lestat’s moans as if pleasuring Louis is enough for him to feel it too.
Louis grabs Lestat’s hair, tugs just hard enough for Lestat to hum around him. “Come up here.”
It takes a moment for Lestat to get his mouth off Louis but then he is kissing Louis’ navel, his stomach, his chest, his neck. Louis is whimpering by the time Lestat’s lips are on his again, grabbing onto Lestat, nails digging hard into his shoulders. He smells the blood and that is all it takes for him to start begging. He knows Lestat hears him, knows that Lestat can feel how desperate Louis is, knows that Lestat loves it when he is like this, but Lestat is so focused on touching Louis that he keeps him waiting.
“Lestat,” Louis says, his voice something akin to a whine. His hands are on Lestat’s neck, thumbs over his jawline, guiding him so they can look at each other. “Please.”
Lestat looks at Louis with half-lidded eyes, his mouth slightly agape, lips red from all the kissing. Louis wants him so much it makes him feel faint.
“My Louis.” Lestat trails his hand down Louis’ body, and Louis spreads his legs wider. “Anything you want.”
A blissful sigh escapes Louis’ lips when finally, finally, he feels Lestat where he needs him most. He wraps his legs around Lestat, bringing him closer, and holds his face, their eyes locked. It feels different this time, as if making love after the confirmation that they both want the same thing seals an unwritten promise. There is no rush, only their bodies slowly moving in sync, the exchange of passionate kisses, and words of affection.
Louis is torn between wanting to touch all of Lestat, to feel the softness of his skin as his hands roam over his body, and wanting to hold him in a grip so tight that anything other than Lestat ceases to exist. But there will be time. For that and much more.
Later, much later, Lestat lies flush against Louis' side, one of his arms around Louis' waist. Louis holds Lestat's hand, lazily playing with his fingers.
“Eighty years without you,” Lestat mutters. “I have felt emptiness and misery often in my lifetime. But losing you felt like another death in itself.”
Louis turns his head, so he can look at Lestat. He does not want to imagine having to spend another lifetime without Lestat, even if that means fighting against their nature and everything else.
“Never again,” Louis says. There isn't a day that goes by where he does not regret the choice he made in Paris, denying himself and Lestat another shot when they both most needed each other. “Promise me.”
“It would take a powerful, ancient force to drag me away from you, beautiful one." Lestat cups Louis' cheek, his eyes brimming with affection. "And even then I would fight against it with all I have.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” Louis would call out Lestat’s flair for the dramatic but, knowing what he knows now, he can’t discard the idea of ancient forces disrupting their lives.
Lestat kisses Louis’ bare shoulder in acknowledgement.
“You really want this?” Lestat asks. Louis recognises the hesitance in his voice stemming from the lack of reassurance in the past. It might take a while for Lestat to finally believe it, but Louis will gladly remind him as often as he needs. “You and I together?”
“I do, and I’m tired of fighting against it,” Louis confesses. He turns on his side to face him, sliding his leg between Lestat’s. "I don't think we can escape each other no matter what we do."
"It won't be easy," Lestat says. Neither of them have ever liked easy, anyway. "We'll fuck this up again, but I'm willing to risk it. For you."
"Me too. But we have eternity ahead of us, and infinite chances to make it right." Louis gives Lestat a reassuring smile. “Trust me.”
Lestat’s gaze is intense, but Louis can see how much his words mean to him. Then Lestat’s expression softens and he leans to give Louis a lingering kiss.
“I trust you.”
For now, that is enough.
Louis pockets his phone and goes back inside the house, closing the sliding doors that give access to the courtyard. He observes Lestat from this spot, smiling to himself as Lestat lounges in the living room, lost in his element.
It is nice to see him finally at ease. No longer a shell of the mesmerising creature Louis fell for.
“Les.” Louis steps closer and leans against the wall. “I have to go to Dubai soon.”
Lestat looks up from his iPad. His eyebrows furrow slightly, and then his expression turns into a neutral one. His eyes tell a different story.
“I see.”
Louis tilts his head, waiting for something more. There is nothing. “You’re not going to ask why?”
“Going back home, I assume. You must miss it.” Lestat tries and fails to remain indifferent. Louis can see the cogs turning in his head. Wondering what went wrong, possibly. Wondering if Louis has potentially grown tired of this. Of him. And Louis can't have that. Can't let Lestat fall back into that mindset when they both have worked so hard on what they have now.
“Interesting.” Louis closes the distance between them and sits on Lestat’s lap sideways, crossing his legs, and placing an arm around Lestat’s shoulders. He takes the iPad from Lestat's hand and places it on the coffee table, wanting no distractions. “I was under the impression that I am home.”
Lestat looks up at him, eyes wide and hopeful.
“I’ve been here for months, we’re back together, we both want to keep doing this, and we’re in love,” Louis says, lifting a finger for each point he makes. He could go on for hours, explaining why Lestat's assumption is incorrect. “What makes you—”
“Louis.”
“—think that I’d want to—”
“Louis.”
“—be anywhere else?”
“Louis.”
“Yes?”
“Say that again.” Lestat wraps his arms around Louis’ waist, keeping him in place.
“Are you going to interrupt?”
“No,” Lestat says with urgency, shaking his head. “Just the first sentence. I want to hear it again.”
“I’ve been here for months, we’re back together, we both want to keep doing this, and we’re in love.”
Oh.
Louis watches as the smile spreads across Lestat’s face, and he can’t help but smile back. There's that look again—lovesick. Maybe Louis looks like that, too. But Lestat is beautiful like this. Louis threads his fingers through Lestat’s hair and leans for a soft kiss.
“Yes, I love you,” he whispers against Lestat’s lips. He says it again, to triple check.
“Mon amour.” Lestat kisses Louis again, and again, tightening his hold on Louis’ waist. Louis smiles into the kisses. “I love you, too.”
Ah. Louis missed hearing those three words, too. He knows, of course. Sees it in everything Lestat does, and the way he looks at Louis. But hearing it makes his heart feel full.
“I didn't mean to scare you. I’m going to sell my penthouse,” Louis clarifies. “That’s why I’m going to Dubai. There are things in that place that I want to keep, and I want to be there to handle everything.”
Louis watches as Lestat visibly relaxes his shoulders. The apprehension is gone from his face.
“And then you’ll come back to me?” It's so sweet, the way Lestat looks at Louis when he asks it.
“Yes,” Louis answers. Always. “I’m starting to think you don’t want me here.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lestat is quick to say. “This is our home. I always want you here. I want to be where you are.”
“You could come to Dubai with me, if you want.”
“And walk into the home you shared with him for years?” Lestat grimaces at the thought as if it makes him sick. “I would rather not.”
Louis understands, so he does not try to convince Lestat to travel with him. “It will only be a few nights.”
“I’ll do my best to survive without you.” Lestat lets out a big, exaggerated sigh, and Louis fails to suppress a laugh.
”You can call me,” Louis suggests. “Before sunrise. I am not looking forward to sleeping without you.” Louis is not sure he can go back to lonely nights now that he has Lestat back. He does not remember the last time he slept as well as he has since returning home.
“We’ll just have to make up for it when you’re back.” Lestat smiles, pleased to know Louis is going to miss him.
"I'm going next week, so a date night before that is in order."
Lestat hums in agreement. "And what do we do tonight?"
Louis muses, pretending to be deep in thought. He has it all planned out already.
"Tonight, we're going hunting together." Louis leans in, and lowers his voice, his lips brushing Lestat's ear. "And you can watch me feed."
Lestat's eyes are dark when he pulls Louis into a kiss.