Chapter Text
Paul tells him about the new assistant priest on their way to confessional one Tuesday morning in the fall. He speaks about the man the only way Paul knows how to speak of others that aren't Louis, Grace, or their Mama: with absolute disdain and the utmost distrust.
"He's strange, Louis!" and "He hardly ever speaks, Louis, isn't that rude? Mama says that's rude!" and "Father Mathias thinks he will be a great assetto the community, but I think—"
Louis only half listens as Paul rambles on about this new assistant priest and his rudeness. Wants to remind Paul that others think him strange, too, and that he talks too much. Nobody wants to hear his preachin' out in the middle of the street, or the birds in his head telling him what to say and do. But he just hums and nods when appropriate and keeps his mouth shut all the way to St. Augustine's.
"I think he might be a little slow, too," Paul continues, speaking in a conspiratorial whisper and leaning closer towards Louis as they arrive at the steps.
"Paul!" Louis chastises him with a swat to his upper arm and a glare. "Now be nice or I'll tell Mama you're out here terrorizin' folks again."
"But, Louis, he is! How else d'you explain the fact he hardly talks and when he does it's like he's slow about findin' the words?" Paul smooths over the sleeve of his coat where Louis whacked him, a frown on his face. Louis ignores him and walks up the steps of the church ahead of Paul. He opens the doors, stands aside to let his brother in first; gets a snooty upturn of his nose and an eye roll as he walks past, Bible clutched to his chest like a shield.
"Good morning, Paul," Father Mathias greets them, tipping his head to Louis as Paul marches past.
"Good day for you, maybe," Paul mutters. Louis sighs, shaking his head, and lets the doors shut behind him.
"Louis," Father Mathias chuckles. He claps Louis on the shoulder and jostles him lightly. "He seems alright today."
"Been an okay enough mornin'." Louis slips into the second pew, props his cane beside him on the edge of the bench. Father Mathias joins him a moment later. "Was up some of the night complaining about the birds again."
"Ah, those birds. Always up to no good," Father Mathias sighs, and Louis clears his throat, looking away. He hates the pitying looks they get sometimes, the way people in the community stare and whisper about that one du Lac boy and how he ain't right in the head. Most of them feel sorry for Paul, for Louis and Grace, too as his main caretakers. He despises them.
"I want Father Mathias!" Louis pinches the bridge of his nose and harshly blows out a breath. The assistant priest, Father Matthew, shrugs on his way past. They're all used to Paul's antics by now.
"Alright, Paul, I'm coming," Father Mathias laughs and pats Louis on the knee as he stands.
"He ain't got nothin' to confess to anyhow!" Louis shouts towards the booth, grinning when Paul sticks his head out and glares at him.
Paul disappears into the confessional and Father Mathias into his side of the box, and Louis is finally alone. Hands folded in his lap, he tips his head back, eyes closing, enjoying the stillness of the church for the time being. Paul's voice drones in the background as he confesses to whatever imaginary sins he's committed in the last twenty four hours. Louis tunes him out after a few seconds.
These visits usually vary in length. At the beginning of each week Paul is in and out in a few minutes, but as the week goes on he's in there longer, claiming his sins have had time to accumulate and pile up as the days go on. It's only a Tuesday so this visit should be fairly short, Louis thinks so anyway, and crosses one ankle over the opposite knee. He sighs, and a few minutes later as he's unfolding his hands and stretching his arms across the back of the pew he hears a door open, footsteps on the marble floors, a stuttered gasp of surprise.
Louis raises his head and sees someone peering at him from across the church. Blonde hair tied back neat and tidy, broad shoulders under his cassock, he looks to be only an inch or so taller than Louis himself. He straightens when he realizes Louis has seen him, and steps out of the shadows of the doorway he's standing in, the door shutting softly behind him.
"Hello," Louis says politely. He straightens where he sits as the man makes his way across the floor. "You must be the new assistant priest. Paul was tellin' me about you this morning."
He stops and his mouth twists into a scowl, his eyebrows meet in the middle. Louis laughs; he's seen that look many times when Paul is mentioned.
"I'm Louis," Louis stands and shuffles out of the pew, holds his hand out towards the new priest, "Louis de Pointe du Lac. My brother Paul is the citizen priest, I can tell by the look on your face you've met him."
The man hurries the last few steps separating them and takes Louis' outstretched hand, shakes it firmly; his hands are large and the skin soft under Louis' fingertips. On one hand he wears a ruby ring on the middle finger and an emerald on his pinky. His eyes are the brightest blue Louis thinks he's ever seen. His lips are pressed tightly together; Louis can see his jaw ticking, the way the muscles twitch as his mouth moves like he's trying to find the words. Like he's trying to piece everything together into the correct order of syllables so they come out the way they're meant to. Just as Paul said he does. Maybe he really is slow, Louis thinks.
Finally he opens his mouth to speak, but before anything comes out Father Mathias interrupts them. "Ah, Louis, you've met the new assistant priest!" he calls out, Paul grumbling as he exits the booth. He walks over to them smiling broadly, Paul frowning and muttering under his breath as he follows. "This is Lestat de Lioncourt. A transfer from the monastery in Paris. Comes highly recommended by all his tutors."
"We were just gettin' acquainted, Father," Louis says, corner of his mouth tilting in a smirk. Lestat nods once and Louis can tell he's trying not to smile, too.
"Hello, sir," Lestat finally says. His voice is deeper than Louis was expecting. Deep enough it sends a shiver up Louis' spine, and with a smooth accent that's unmistakeably French. He clears his throat and smiles at Lestat.
"None of that now," he laughs. Paul walks past them, bumping into Louis on his way by and urging him to come along so they can head home for lunch. "Sir was my father. Just Louis is fine." He picks up his cane where it rests against the bench, feeling Lestat's curious eyes on him.
"You'll get to know the du Lac's quite well," Father Mathias says, and Louis rubs at the back of his neck sheepishly. "Well, most of them anyway. Louis here hasn't been to church in weeks, much less confessional." The look Louis gets leveled at him would normally be enough to have anybody cowering.
Lestat's jaw ticks again, his lips purse, then he's opening his mouth to speak finally. There's a hesitation before the words come out, like his mouth is full of cotton as he says, "M-mmaybe this Sunday." A slight flush pinks his cheeks. Embarrassed, Louis realizes. Lestat grimaces and shakes his head the tiniest bit. Chastising himself, maybe.
"Yeah, yes, this Sunday." Louis taps his cane on the floor at his feet, a nervous habit he's picked up over time. Clears his throat and tips his head politely to both Lestat and Father Mathias. "This Sunday, for sure. I'll be here."
"See you then, Louis," Father Mathias smiles and shakes his hand with both of his, squeezing gently. "I'll be looking for you with the family." He lets go then walks off towards the booth, leaving Louis alone with Lestat.
They stare at each other a brief moment. Lestat's cheeks are still pink, but his blue eyes are bright and he's smiling. Almost shyly it seems. He inhales, lets it out slowly, then, "This Sunday. Louis." A simple statement but said clearly enough that Louis understands completely. He grins and gives Lestat a silly little salute as he backs towards the doors.
"This Sunday."
"So?" Paul pushes, walking beside Louis with his bible held loosely at his side instead of clutched to his chest. More at ease now that he's had his daily confessional. His steps are lighter, too. Most days he comes out of confessional just as moody as he was when he went in. Sometimes he's inconsolable; those are the days when his mind isn't right, the days where it takes hours of weeping and conversing with the birds before he's able to move on. Louis would take these rare, lighter days over anything.
"So what, Paul?"
Paul huffs, exasperated, and whacks Louis' arm with his bible. "What did you think of Father Lestat? I told you he's a little slow!"
"Paul," Louis chastises firmly. He takes the bible from him and shoves it under his arm. Paul frowns. "He's not slow, he has…he has an affliction."
"An affliction!" Paul scoffs and rolls his eyes. He reaches towards Louis' coat, trying to dig for his bible, and Louis slaps his hand away laughing. He's most like the little brother Louis remembers growing up on these days: direct, playful, a pain in the ass. "He's slow, Louis! How's he gonna lead any sermons or confessional if he can't even talk right?"
"And what d'you think people say about you, huh?" Louis elbows Paul in the side, digging the sharp point of it into his ribs until he's squealing and jumping away. "He just can't talk right, that don't mean he's slow. And you'd do well to remember that next time someone says something about you."
Paul huffs again as he straightens his clothes and smooths out wrinkles that aren't there. "Can I have my bible back, please?" he asks, deflecting any further comments about his own afflictions. Louis hands it over with a grin. "Thank you, Louis."
Louis' smile softens, "I love you, baby brother. You know that right?" He sees Paul's fingers clutch tight around the edges of his bible. So hard both sides bend towards the middle. Then he's relaxing and tucking it under his arm to carry, shoulders relaxing.
"Love you, too, Louis," he says quietly. "I'm sorry. The birds…" He motions to his head with a grimace.
"It's alright." Louis nudges Paul again, gentler this time, and throws his arm around Paul's shoulders. He tucks Paul into his side and scrubs his palm across his head, leaving Paul spluttering with the kind of indignation only a little brother can have.
"Louis!" Paul shoves Louis off as he starts cackling. "I'm telling Mama!"
Louis takes off running before Paul can so much as try and follow.
Wednesday and Thursday Louis joins Paul at the church for their daily walk and confessional time. And both mornings he sits in the same pew and waits, cane propped against the bench, legs crossed and uncrossed and crossed again with impatience. Hoping to see Lestat again. Why he isn't sure, but he knows he wants to see him again. To spend a few minutes of his time while waiting on Paul speaking to Lestat and only him. But each day passes and he doesn't see Lestat, only Father Mathias and Father Matthew.
It's not until Friday that he gets to see Lestat again. Paul is in one of his worse moods; steely silence, shoulders practically hunched up to his ears, Bible held protectively to his chest in a grip so tight his knuckles are white. Louis follows him into the church but Paul says nothing as he walks, head down, to the confessional booth and closes himself inside.
"Bad morning?" Father Mathias asks quietly. And there's that pitying look Louis hates so much. He presses his lips together for a moment to stave off the aggravated huff, then blows out a breath and nods.
"Crawled into my bed and wept most of the night," Louis explains. He's exhausted himself and knows he looks it with the bags under his eyes and the slump to his shoulders. "He's not takin' to the wedding news. Convinced Levi ain't good for Grace, bein' a Baptist and all."
"I'm sorry, Louis," Father Mathias sighs.
"S'alright, these visits help." Louis squeezes the handle of his cane tightly. Releases his hold after a moment and plasters a smile on his face. "As long as he's happy."
With a nod and another of his pitying looks, Father Mathias walks off to join Paul. Louis sits at the end of the nearest pew heavily and with a heavy, exhausted groan. He props his cane to the side and settles in to wait.
After a few minutes of no sign of Lestat, Louis grows agitated. He shuffles in his seat and taps his fingers where he grips the edge of the bench. He's about to give in and go outside for a smoke when one of the doors to the back of the church opens and shuts. Lestat walks through hastily adjusting his cassock, fingers fiddling with the stiff white collar around his neck. Louis can hear him mumbling something under his breath; a verse, or something like it.
Quickly Louis rises from the bench and steps out to greet Lestat. The smile that breaks out on his face as he comes to a stop in front of Louis is blinding, and Louis would be lying to himself if he didn't feel a twist in his gut at the sight. "Louis," he murmurs, arms dropping down to his sides. "It's…it's n-n-nice…nice to see you."
"And same to you, Father," Louis clears his throat and looks away from the blush on Lestat's cheeks, "You weren't here a coupla days. Something wrong?"
"House calls," Lestat replies quickly. "I wanted…" Here he pauses, corners of his mouth going tight. Louis can tell he's somewhat frustrated, and so he waits patiently for Lestat to finish. "I wanted to introduce myself to the community."
"Ah, a priest that goes the extra mile," Louis teases. He leans his hip against the arm of the pew and crosses his arms over his chest. "How thoughtful of you, Father Lestat." A flush brightens Lestat's cheeks and he looks away, eyes flickering everywhere but Louis' smirking face. Louis lets him be flustered for a few seconds, feeling a small thrill at the red coloring the tips of his ears. "I'm just teasin' you. That really is very kind of you."
Lestat sighs in relief and rolls his eyes, shaking his head; a few tendrils of delicate curls slip out from the black ribbon tying his hair back. Louis finds himself wanting to reach out and tuck the strands behind his ears. "You are quite th-the…the tease, Mr. du Lac," he laughs, shyly doing so himself and tucking the loose hair behind his ears.
"Mm, you have no idea," Louis murmurs. He watches the blush deepen across Lestat's cheeks, over his ears, a couple of splotches disappearing into his collar. "Paul's having a bad morning. Usually I go out for a smoke, or a walk, because it takes awhile. Would you, uh, have time to join me?"
Lestat looks startled for a brief moment, eyes widening and mouth parting slightly in surprise. Then he's swallowing and tucking more hair behind his left ear and schooling his features into nonchalance so easily Louis almost misses it. "I could spare a few minutes," he says, and Louis feels that little thrill again as Lestat clears his throat twice and gestures for Louis to go ahead of him.
Together they walk out of the church, Lestat coming to Louis' side once they're out on the pavement. As easy as breathing they fall into step at each other's sides and head for the fountain in the center of Jackson Square. Lestat walks with his hands clasped at his back and Louis digs for his tin of cigarettes in the inner pocket of his overcoat. He plucks one from the tin and pops it between his lips.
"Want one?" he asks, voice muffled as he holds the tin out for Lestat. Lestat stares at it for a moment like he's considering it, but then waves the tin away and declines. Louis shrugs, tucks it into his pocket, and pulls out his lighter. "Bad habit, I know. Grace and Paul tell me every chance they get."
"Everybody has their vices," Lestat says, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes.
Louis hums around the cigarette, inhales slowly and takes it from between his lips. "And what're yours, Father Lestat?" he asks as he blows the smoke from the corner of his mouth away from Lestat. He sees Lestat staring, his gaze flickering from Louis' mouth to his eyes and back a couple of times. Then he looks away and shrugs.
"I-I used to—" He gestures to Louis and huffs a laugh. "To smoke as well. But the monastery…" He trails off, shrugging.
"Bunch of ol' stiffs?" Louis asks, raising an eyebrow at Lestat. It earns him a loud, surprised laugh; he's really quite handsome when he laughs, Louis notices. His eyes wrinkle around the corners, prominent crows feet creasing the delicate skin, and his entire face brightens. His laugh is as deep as his voice, resonating somewhere in Louis' chest and settling under his ribs uncomfortably so.
"You could say that." They reach the fountain and Louis sits, patting the spot next to him. Lestat hesitates, takes a halting step forward, stops. Louis watches him curiously. "I should—"
"It's only been a couple of minutes," Louis points out, then takes another drag. Blows the smoke out above his eyes and doesn't take his eyes off Lestat. "You can spare a few more than that can't you?"
Lestat's mouth open, but before he can say anything they're interrupted. The church doors bang open and Paul comes storming out; his Bible is tucked under his arm and Louis' cane is gripped in his hand, held in the middle by his side like he's ready to swing at the first person he comes across. "Louis! Take me home, please," he shouts, and then starts walking in the direction of home without waiting.
Louis sighs, "Something musta happened, he usually don't finish this fast. I'm sorry, I-" He stubs the remainder of the cigarette out under the toe of his shoe and stands. "I gotta go after him. Florence would kill me if I didn't walk back with him in this state."
"It's alright," Lestat murmurs, shooing Louis off with both hands.
Louis starts in the direction Paul went, calling over his shoulder like an afterthought, "I'll see you Sunday?"
"Yes, Louis," Lestat smiles and waves as he heads in the opposite direction towards the church. "Sunday. I'll look for you."
Louis nods once, mostly to himself, and runs after Paul. When he looks back to check, Lestat has already disappeared inside the church.
On Sunday Louis sits with his mother and siblings in the second row on the right side of the church. He feels out of place and awkward as he slides into his seat at the end by the aisle. There are some whispers around them; whispers of surprise, of shock and awe that the eldest du Lac boy has actually graced them with his presence for the first time in so long. After their father died he stopped attending most services, and then not at all for a time. Father Mathias said a few weeks, but really it had been months since he'd sat in their usual pew with Paul to his right, Levi, Grace and their Mama on the other side of Paul.
"Isn't that Louis?" to "Look what the cat dragged in!" and varying degrees of, "God bless that family, with a son like him!" all whispered around him. He sees Paul's jaw clench out of the corner of his eye and lays a hand on his arm to stop him from turning around and speaking his mind. This isn't the time or the place.
He ignores all the whispers—"And those disgusting clubs he calls businesses? Florence should disown him. That woman is a saint, I tell you!"—in favor of seeking out Lestat. Father Mathias is walking around greeting people; he seems surprised when he sees Louis sitting there. Louis nods at him but doesn't linger. Sweeps his gaze around the front of the church and to his left, over his shoulder, is about to turn fully around to check near the back of the church when he hears Lestat's voice.
"We are glad to see you this morning, madame," he's saying, holding onto old Ms. Mayfair's hand and looking her in the eye with the most dazzling smile. Louis watches the exchange with a small smile of his own. He talks to her briefly, nodding as she tells him of something her cat did that morning, his smile and his gaze never wavering. As if he genuinely wants to hear about her cat and nothing else.
After another minute or so of Lestat entertaining her, Louis clears his throat across the aisle to get his attention. Lestat pauses and glances to where he's sitting, and the smile that spreads across his face makes Louis' breath hitch a little in his chest. He pardons himself with a squeeze to old Ms. Mayfair's hand then walks off, heading straight for Louis and his family. Louis instantly straightens in his seat, smooths out the front of his nice suit, and plasters on a smile.
"Louis," Lestat says softly. He smiles broadly at Louis and holds out a hand. Louis swallows, takes the offered hand and shakes it; Paul scoffs next to him. "Y-you came."
Louis shrugs nonchalantly as he drops his hand into his lap. "I said I would, so here I am," he replies with another shrug, fingers picking at nonexistent threads in his pants. He can feel Grace and Florence's eyes on him and has to fight the urge to tug at his stiff collar, too; like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't. Sometimes he thinks they know about his tendencies without him even doing anything. One look and they can just—
"And…" Lestat pauses, mouth pursing and throat working around the words. "And here you are." Louis smiles at him, endeared by the hints of pink high on his cheekbones. One look and they'd be able to see right through him: they'd see the slight flush to his cheeks, the barely there smirk, the way he keeps fidgeting with the seams on his pants. Almost nervous to be perceived as anyone other than what he wants them to see. Louis itches to tug at his collar, maybe unbutton the top button, but his mother interrupts and draws his attention away.
"Louis," Florence clears her throat down the pew, "aren't you going to introduce us? Paul is bein' a bit rude."
Paul lets out an indignant huff, and Louis rolls his eyes. "Father Lestat, this is my family," he starts, elbowing Paul in the ribs when he mutters something under his breath. "You know Paul, of course. That's our sister Grace next to him and her new fiance Levi, and our Mama, Florence." He points to all three of them as he says their names, the women smiling politely at Lestat and Levi quick to lean over and shake his hand.
Lestat tips his head at them and gives them a warm smile as he clasps Levi's hand in a brief shake. Florence hums under her breath and presses her lips together but Grace returns the warm smile and stands partway to shake Lestat's hand, too. "Nice to meet you, Father Lestat," she says, and Lestat returns the sentiment.
"I must be getting on to my seat, Father Mathias is starting soon." Lestat smooths a palm over his hair that's once again tied into a ribbon at the nape of his neck; it's frizzy and unkempt looking, and Louis makes a mental note to take Lestat to all the best shops in town.
As Lestat turns to leave, Louis reaches out and grasps the sleeve of his cassock without thinking. Lestat stops, eyes widening slightly when he notices. "Wanna go for a walk after service?" he asks, swallowing several times in a row out of nerves. "Since yesterady's got cut so short?" Paul scoffs beside him indignantly and Louis elbows him again to shut him up.
"I would like that, Louis," Lestat responds softly. Louis lets him go and sits back in the pew, eyes on Lestat joining Father Mathias and Father Matthew at the front of the church. His eyes find Louis', and then he's flashing Louis a small smile before schooling his features. Louis feels that thrill in his gut again.
What it is, he doesn't know. But he'd like to find out.