Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The book sold fast, and Louis de Pointe du Lac hated it. It wasn’t the sales themselves he disliked—no, those were a blessing. He appreciated the mass of customers, the way people came into his little shop and practically fought over the last copies, more than just often ordering more once the shelves were stripped bare.

His monthly earnings increased so drastically, he suddenly didn’t know what to do with all his money, which was a relief after years of barely scraping by. Suddenly, no matter what, people rushed in, and he found himself having regulars, and people praising him online. So no, what Louis loathed wasn’t the book itself or the people or any of it, it was more specifically, the person behind that waste of paper and ink.

What decent human being, with even a shred of literary taste, would willingly buy something so utterly vapid as The Vampire Lestat? A memoir, of all things, written by that self-proclaimed “vampire”.

The absurdity of it all was enough to make him want to throw the entire stock into the fireplace. And yet, here they were – his customers – devouring every word of it. Louis hasn’t thought about reading any of it yet, he’s stopped with the blurb, and he hasn’t even considered actually opening it.

Admittedly, the author had the looks. Printed on the front, on the last page, being all over the news since September last year. It was now late June, and still, the hype hasn’t died.

It was a fact, that Lestat de Lioncourt was actually stunning, in a way that felt almost otherworldly, with cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass and a smug, lazy smile that seemed permanently etched onto his face. But looks alone did not a writer make. And Louis couldn’t decide what was worse—the theatrical, self-indulgent prose that filled the pages of the memoir or the author’s insufferable presence, or the way he carried himself around as if the world belonged to him and everyone had to buy his bullshit.

Because yes, the man himself had come to his shop. Repeatedly.

It had started as a simple book signing. Harmless enough, or so Louis had thought. But then Lestat had arrived, flouncing into the store like he owned it, with his entourage of glamorous, chain-smoking rockstars trailing behind him. The store – Louis’ pride and joy, with its antique bookshelves, creaking floorboards, and the faint smell of aged paper – was instantly overtaken by their loud voices and cigarette smoke. And to make matters worse, Lestat hadn’t even bothered with a proper introduction. Instead, he had strolled up to the counter, leaned in far too close, and demanded coffee like he was ordering room service.

Louis hated him on sight.

The worst part? He couldn’t even explain why. It wasn’t just the smoking or the arrogant smirk or the way Lestat draped himself across the furniture like he was posing for a photoshoot. It wasn’t even the book itself, though that was bad enough. No, what really irked Louis was the fact that, for all his disdain, people adored Lestat. They adored The Vampire Lestat. And Louis – who had spent years pouring his heart into curating a bookstore that celebrated real literature, works with meaning and depth – was suddenly famous only because that man had decided to grace his shop with his presence.

He's spent years building this, and he’s failed no matter what he did, and there’ve been more than just a handful threats of having to shut it down forever, and suddenly, he’s the concurrence of other shops, and it’s not because of his brilliant marketing, but because that new-rich slut of a man has been invited in, has made Louis regret his action of doing so, and then declared this shop his new stage.

Of course, maybe Louis was being irrational. Maybe he was jealous. Again, he had spent years struggling to keep his business afloat, painstakingly choosing every book that lined the shelves, while Lestat seemed to waltz through life effortlessly, leaving chaos and dollar signs in his wake.

Still, Louis couldn’t shake the bitterness. Nor could he ignore the growing knot in his stomach every time Lestat returned, bringing his loud laughter and sharp, teasing remarks with him. Louis would glare from behind the counter, muttering curses under his breath, while customers swooned over their signed copies of the book. And Lestat, of course, would notice. He always noticed.

“You know,” Lestat had said during his last visit, leaning casually against the counter with a grin that could only be described as infuriating, “you’d be much more charming if you smiled once in a while, mon cher.”

Louis’ jaw had tightened so hard it hurt. “And you’d be much more tolerable if you left.”

But Lestat hadn’t left. He’s laughed.

***

Monday. The worst of them all. The worst, because he’d spent the entire weekend working through, his limbs aching as he unlocked the store and shuffled inside, the weight of the morning already dragging him down. It was also the worst because he could hear Grace's voice in his head again, chiding him about hiring some help. "You’re going to kill yourself trying to keep that place running," she'd say, a mixture of concern and the usual touch of condescension she wielded so well.

It wasn’t like he had no help—he had Claudia. Sweet, sharp Claudia, the closest he’d ever get to having a family, as it seemed. Or a child of his own, that was. Because, of course, Louis had none. No wife, no husband. Not much of anything, really. At the ripe age of 33, he hadn’t gotten very far. Barely scraped through school, spent his twenties working odd jobs to keep the family afloat, and then caring for his mother during her final, cruel years. College had been out of the question, and when she’d passed, he'd poured everything into his little bookstore, taking out a loan that still weighed heavy on his chest like a stone, even with everything going as well as it did lately.

And relationships? A string of fleeting ones. Weeks, maybe months, before they fizzled out. He’d ignored his own queerness for most of his life, swallowing it down like something bitter he couldn’t afford to taste. That was another tally mark on his list of things he’d never managed to properly address.

But Claudia—that was different. That, at least, was something he was proud of. She was a miracle in his otherwise ordinary, stunted life. She’d been a child, barely more than a girl, when he found her. Homeless and half-starved on the streets, betrayed and abused by people who were meant to care for her. Foster care had failed her in every conceivable way, just like everything else had. She hadn’t trusted him at first, wouldn’t even meet his eyes when he offered her something to eat. But somehow, bit by bit, she let him in. Until one day, she’s been standing in the rain, knocking at his door, asking if he would let her sleep somewhere in the back of the store, just so she wouldn’t get harassed by the boys down the street while trying to rest.

He’d fought like hell to adopt her. The system hadn’t made it easy—not for a single man with a struggling business and no university degree to his name. There had been endless meetings with social workers, questions, and sideways glances from people who didn’t think he could handle it. But when her fourteenth birthday came that spring, Claudia had hugged him and called him Dad for the first time, and it had felt like the most natural thing in the world.

She was his everything. For her, he’d die, and kill, and he’d give everything he had. At the end of the day, when he found her half-asleep laying on the couch in his office, or still awake at home, waiting for him, it suddenly felt like he was no complete failure. Like at least, something had worked out for him.

Still, sometimes he felt like he was no further than he was at age fifteen. He’s made it somewhere, at least. And now, with better prospects of not going bankrupt in the next few weeks, he could consider a proper future. One beyond making it through every day at all costs just for everything to continue.

Now, he’s opened the stoor, and already did he sense there was not going to be quiet for long. Louis didn’t bother making himself some coffee, or sitting down just a second to take a calm breath after the way he’s walked. Half an hour, just because he didn’t see a reason to buy himself a car. Why another financial burden? He didn’t need it. Everywhere he went he could reach by foot or bus, and Claudia too had her school just two blooks from their flat. So, everything worked out. On most days.

Later, Louis heard himself sighing for the fifth time in just a handful of minutes, wiping his hands on a rag as he balanced his phone between his ear and shoulder. The shop was quiet now, a brief lull between the morning rush and the afternoon crowd, and he'd foolishly stopped his task of dusting down a shelf he wanted to re-organize, just to answer Grace’s call, despite knowing better. Much better.

“How’s business?” she asked, her tone light but with the same sharp undertone that always made him feel like she was about to scold him. She was the older one, and now after all these years, she was remembering it. He didn’t resent her, they’ve all struggled as children, but he couldn’t help the sting of knowing she’s left him to fend for himself at some point in his life. All for a man, who’s left her nearly ten years ago. But she was remembering he was family, and Louis stopped trying to hate her for everything. “Still killing yourself for that shop of yours?”

“It’s fine, Grace,” Louis said, forcing the words out evenly. He could already feel the headache coming on. “We’re busy. People are still coming in for that book.”

“The vampire one?” Grace’s laugh crackled through the phone, bright and just irritating enough to make Louis consider hanging up. “Good lord, Louis, I wouldn’t read it if you paid me, but damn, he’s fine. Have you seen him in that video—what’s it called? The one with the black lacy dress? Gods, he looks like he hasn’t eaten in weeks, but somehow, it works. You know the type. Dangerous. Brooding. Starving, but in the best way.”

Louis sighed, closing his eyes as his fingers pinched the bridge of his nose. He leaned against the counter, silently begging the universe to give him strength. “I don’t know what video you’re talking about,” he muttered.

“Oh, please. Yes, you do.” Grace’s voice was practically dripping with amusement. “It’s all over social media. That man can’t sneeze without someone filming it. Admit it—you’ve at least seen it. I can only speak for me, but I have. Lots of times. You run the shop he haunts. I can’t believe you don’t tell me more.”

“There’s nothing to tell, Grace. He’s just... some stupid rock star with too much time on his hands.”

“And too much money,” she added, quick as ever. “Don’t forget that part. You’ve seen those clothes. Who wears stuff like that to a book signing? Do his pants even have pockets? They’re so tight, he might as well be naked. I bet you he’s got someone on payroll just to hold his phone.”

Louis rubbed his temple. “Do you call just to make my life harder, or is there an actual reason for this conversation?”

“Relax,” Grace said, her laugh softening a little. “You’re too uptight. I’m trying to get you to lighten up. All that time spent around him, and you’re still wound tighter than a drum. You’d think at least some of his ridiculousness would’ve rubbed off by now.”

“I don’t want it rubbing off,” Louis snapped before he could stop himself. This was ridiculous! What was his sister doing?

Was she delusional enough to think he’d feed into her teen-like fanatics, giving her the juicy news she wanted, maybe even setting up a date for her? That wouldn’t do. The thought of having that man as a brother-in-law. Besides, Louis wasn’t so sure he even swung that way. Although, who knew these days? Straight men could wear makeup, have their hair long and sing about their sexual escapes like that. Although… Louis shook his head. He couldn’t betray himself like that and admit he knew about that song.

“Oh-ho,” Grace said, dragging the sound out like she’d just struck gold. “Touched a nerve, have I? Don’t tell me you secretly like him. Is that what this is about? All this grumbling about him showing up at your shop—it’s because you’re secretly a little starstruck?”

Louis let out a sharp breath through his nose. “I am not starstruck.”

“You sure? Because if you are, I won’t judge. He’s a little much, sure, but even I can admit there’s something about him. You know, I wouldn’t mind if he-”

“Grace—”

“I mean, you can’t fake that kind of charisma,” she barrelled on, ignoring his warning tone. “The way he moves? Like he owns the room? And that smile—ugh, it’s maddening. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’ve got a little—what do the kids call it these days? A hate crush?”

“I don’t have a hate crush,” Louis ground out. “Or any kind of crush.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, clearly unconvinced. “All I’m saying is, you spend a lot of time hating someone who seems to like hanging around you. Maybe you should just... lighten up and enjoy the show.”

Louis clenched his jaw. He could practically feel her smirking on the other end of the line.

“He’s a stupid blonde,” he snapped finally, his voice harsh and final. “Nothing more.”

Grace burst into laughter, bright and carefree, but Louis didn’t hear the rest of it. Because in that instant, a voice—smooth, low, and unmistakably amused—cut through the quiet of the shop.

“Nothing more? Really, Mr du Lac. That’s almost hurtful. I’ve also got great hips and ass, don’t forget to mention that.”

Louis froze. He didn’t even need to turn around to know. The air shifted, charged with the presence of someone who didn’t just walk into a room but commanded it the second they entered.

Slowly, deliberately, Louis turned to see Lestat leaning against the nearest bookshelf, arms crossed, one perfectly arched brow raised. He was dressed down, at least by his standards—an open-collared shirt and fitted slacks that still somehow looked too expensive for the room. And his shoes, for once not high-heels, but simple loafer doc’s. Instantly, his lips curved into a knowing smirk as he tilted his head, feigning a wounded expression.

“I thought we were friends,” Lestat drawled in his rich French accent, his tone dripping with mock offense.

Louis closed his eyes briefly, silently cursing the timing of his words and the man who’d overheard them. He turned back to the counter, gripping it tightly as if to ground himself.

“Grace,” he said tightly, cutting off her laughter on the other end of the phone. “I’ll call you back.”

“Oh my god, is he there?” Grace asked, her voice rising with delight. “Put me on speaker! I want to—”

Louis hung up before she could finish, the call cutting off abruptly.

Behind him, Lestat chuckled, low and rich like a cat’s purr. “You know,” he said, taking a lazy step closer, “if you didn’t like me, you could’ve just said so. No need for... hurtful little labels.”

Louis didn’t look at him, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the counter. His fingers drummed against the wood, a nervous tic he hadn’t shaken since childhood. He needed to keep this professional. Calm. Detached. The last thing he needed was to end up as the subject of hate posts on Instagram, where people exaggerated every minor interaction for clout.

“You’re booked for Wednesday,” he said, his voice low and controlled. “Why are you here? I thought we agreed you’d call ahead. I don’t want your little horde of—”

He stopped mid-sentence, something about the quiet pricking at his senses. Slowly, his eyes flicked around the shop. It was empty. Completely empty.

Louis frowned. The door was still unlocked, the little bell above it silent, but where were his usual customers? The ones who came in to browse and sip overpriced coffee? Even the regulars had vanished. For a moment, he thought of Lestat’s ridiculous book and the vampire persona he so desperately cultivated. And while he didn’t believe a word of it, he couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that somehow, the man had emptied the store.

It was just them now. Just Lestat, his unbearable presence, and Louis’ simmering irritation—bordering on hatred, though even Louis couldn’t be sure if that’s what it really was.

“I was around,” Lestat said, breaking the silence with a casual shrug. His voice was smooth, almost lazy, yet somehow it filled the room. “I wanted to thank you, Mr. du Lac, for bearing with us. Truly. It was... an experience. Being so close to the fans.”

Louis snorted, unable to help himself. “I’m sure you’re close to them often enough,” he muttered, the words out before he could stop them.

Lestat’s lips curved into a wicked smile. “Ah, you think so little of me. How unfair. I’ll have you know I am very selective about who gets to be... close.”

Louis’ jaw tightened, his gaze darting briefly toward the man before snapping back to the counter. “Well, if that’s all, you’ve thanked me. You can go now.”

But Lestat didn’t move. Instead, he took a step closer, the faint scent of expensive cologne and cigarettes trailing after him. Louis had the sudden urge to tell him to stop smoking so much, or he might lose his voice and his looks rather sooner than later. “Actually, I wanted to extend my thanks further.”

Louis didn’t like the way he said it, the subtle emphasis that made it sound far more intimate than it should have. He folded his arms, finally turning to glare at him. “What do you mean?”

“I want to take you to dinner,” Lestat said simply, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. And maybe in his world it was. But in Louis’, that wasn’t a thing. A man inviting another man out for dinner, especially when there was neither friendship nor love, just for a polite act of thanking the other. “A proper thank-you, face-to-face. Somewhere nice. My treat, of course. Ce serait mon plaisir.”

Louis blinked at him, stunned for a moment. He opened his mouth to refuse—he should refuse. There were a dozen reasons to say no. He didn’t want to spend more time around Lestat than necessary. He didn’t need the rumours. He didn’t even like the man.

But the words didn’t come, because all he could think about was which choice would make him look more foolish. To deny, ensuring he’d go down in history as the biggest idiot alive—possibly dooming the future of his little store—or to accept, resigning himself to an evening of unwanted pleasantries. At least with the latter, he’d get a decent meal out of it. Maybe even an autograph he could sell to Grace for one of her kidneys.

Lestat watched him carefully, his smile widening, as if he knew Louis was struggling. As if he knew Louis wanted to say no but couldn’t quite get it out.

“I—” Louis started, faltering.

“Please,” Lestat interrupted smoothly, his voice dropping into something softer, more coaxing. “It’s just dinner. A simple thank-you. You’ve worked so hard to accommodate me, and I... appreciate it more than you know. Consider it a small repayment for your kindness.”

Kindness? Louis almost laughed at the absurdity of it. He was anything but kind to Lestat, and they both knew it.

“I don’t think—”

“It’s just one evening,” Lestat pressed, his tone as sweet as honey. “No strings attached; I promise.”

Louis hesitated. He hated how calm and confident Lestat sounded, how he made it seem like there was no reasonable excuse to decline. And maybe there wasn’t. If he said no now, it would come across as petty, or worse, cowardly.

“Fine,” Louis said finally, the word clipped and reluctant.

Lestat’s smile turned triumphant, though he quickly masked it with a softer expression. “Wonderful. I’ll text you the details. Or should I call? You’ve got my number, don’t you?”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way,” Louis muttered, already regretting his decision.

Lestat chuckled, low and pleased. “Oh, you understand me, Louis. I always find a way.”

Louis didn’t respond, turning back to the counter and pretending to busy himself with nothing in particular. Lestat lingered for a moment longer, his gaze heavy, before finally stepping away. The little bell above the door chimed softly as he left, leaving Louis alone once again.

He let out a long breath, his hands gripping the counter tighter than he’d realized. This was a mistake. He knew it.

And yet, for reasons he couldn’t quite name, he didn’t stop it.

***

Louis unlocked the door quietly, stepping into the small but warm apartment. All of his aches seemed gone in an instant, the comfort of his home being enough to reset him into a state in which he could function semi well again. His mind, full of worries and concerns that the day brought, returned to a state of near pleasant numbness, where all of these things where pushed back and he found himself thinking actively about nothing but dinner, and seeing his Claudia again.

Upon entering, the familiar scent of something delicious greeted him immediately, wafting from the kitchen. He set his keys down on the table by the door, shrugging off his jacket with a tired sigh. He was getting old.

“You’re late,” Claudia called from the kitchen. “I was about to eat without you.”

Louis stepped into the kitchen and found her at the stove, stirring something in a pot. She was still in the clothes she’d worn at school, though she’d replaced her nicer shirt with a soft hoodie, her sleeves pushed up. She looked younger than her fourteen years when she stood there like this, wearing clothes too big and having her dark coils braided loosely around her head. He was glad she hadn’t followed through with her wish to wear hers like his – weeks ago he’s cut it short, and she’s considered doing the same just to match him. But no, he liked how it framed her face, and how she looked like she’d be his little girl forever.

“I told you, you don’t have to do this,” Louis said, frowning as he leaned against the doorway.

Claudia turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “And I told you, I’m old enough to help. You think I don’t notice how tired you are when you come home? Sit down, it’s almost ready.”

Louis opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it. His daughter had a temper. So instead, he sighed and moved to the table, pulling out one of the well-worn, but deeply loved chairs and sitting down. “You’re too good to me daughter,” he murmured.

“Damn right I am,” she shot back with a small smile, carrying over two plates and setting one in front of him. It was some sort of stew, hearty and fragrant, with a slice of crusty bread on the side. “Now eat before it gets cold.”

They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the clinking of silverware and the hum of the fridge. Louis felt some of the tension of the day ease, the warmth of the food and the quiet presence of Claudia grounding him.

“So,” Claudia said, breaking the silence. “School was fine, if you’re going to ask. Nothing interesting happened. Just the usual.”

Louis glanced at her, amused. “I didn’t ask yet.”

“Yeah, but you always do,” she replied, taking a bite of bread. “How about you? How was your day?”

Louis hesitated, poking at his stew with his fork. He wasn’t sure how much to tell her. “It was... fine,” he said at first, but her expectant look made him sigh. Yes, of course he couldn’t shut it. He always told her everything. Not everything-everything, but the watered-down version of most things, fit for the ears of his teenage daughter. “All right. You know that rockstar, the one who’s been signing books at the store? Lestat?”

Claudia nodded; her expression unsurprisingly neutral. She didn’t care about that man, but she didn’t share Louis’ hate, or Grace’s fascination either. “What about him? Did he finally make a scene?”

“Not exactly.” Louis leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “He showed up unannounced today. The store was empty—like, really empty, almost eerie—and then he just invited me to dinner. To thank me, he said.”

Claudia paused mid-bite, looking at him. “You’re kidding. Did you say yes?”

Louis frowned, feeling the heat rise to his face. “I didn’t really have a choice. If I said no, I’d probably get dragged online for being rude, and if I said yes, well—” He gestured vaguely. “Here we are.”

Claudia studied him for a moment, then shrugged. “I mean, dinner doesn’t sound so bad. At least he’s paying, right? Maybe he’ll even pick somewhere fancy. You can get him to buy me something too?”

Louis snorted at her words. Still, he wasn’t as pragmatic as her. “I doubt it’s that simple. Everything with him feels... calculated. Like he’s always one step ahead, and you’re playing into his hand without realizing it.”

“Sounds exhausting,” Claudia said, taking another bite. “But hey, maybe he’ll surprise you. Worst case, you get through it and never have to do it again.”

“Or it turns into a spectacle, and I regret ever agreeing,” Louis muttered, running a hand over his face.

Claudia shrugged again; her tone casual. “Then don’t let it turn into a spectacle. Just treat it like what it is—dinner. You’re overthinking it.”

Louis looked at her, a little surprised by her steady pragmatism. She sounded older than he felt at times. “When did you get so wise?”

Claudia smirked. “I’ve always been wise. You’re just slow to notice.”

He shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

By the time they’d finished eating, Louis felt a little more at ease, the weight of the day’s events less oppressive. As he helped Claudia clear the table, he glanced at her and felt a flicker of pride. Whatever else was going on in his life, at least he had this—a small, imperfect family, but one that kept him grounded.

“Thanks for dinner,” he said quietly as they washed the dishes side by side.

“Don’t mention it,” Claudia replied, nudging him with her elbow. “Just don’t forget you owe me dessert next time.”

Louis chuckled, the sound soft and warm. “Deal.”

***

Louis cradled the steaming mug of coffee in his hands, the ceramic warm against his palms. Grace’s living room was neat as ever, the faint scent of lavender lingering in the air. A framed photo of her kids sat on the side table—  Evangeline, Ruby and Benjamin, all three of them smiling wide in their matching outfits.

After being gone for a few minutes, Grace returned from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel, and sat down across from him. She studied him with that sharp, knowing gaze she always wore.

“You’re quiet,” she said, breaking the silence. “More than usual.”

“I’m just tired,” Louis replied, taking a sip of coffee. It was strong, with just a hint of sweetness—exactly how he liked it. “Where are the kids?”

“With Levi this week,” she said, leaning back in her chair. Her tone was casual, but there was a tightness around her mouth that Louis didn’t miss. Still, he didn’t ask. “He picked them up yesterday. Ev packed her entire wardrobe, like they’re going on a six-month safari, and Benjamin keeps calling me to complain about the Wi-Fi at his dad’s place. Only Ruby’s happy, it seems. She’s packed her favourite books, meaning she’ll be entertained. So, you know. The usual.”

Louis smiled faintly. “At least they keep things interesting.”

Grace snorted. “That’s one way to put it. But enough about them. What about you? Are you fine?”

He hesitated, swirling the coffee in his mug. “I’m managing.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Her voice softened, and she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Louis, don’t do that thing where you act like everything’s fine when it’s not. Talk to me.”

He sighed, setting the mug down on the table. He’s not come to his sister to talk about his problems. He never liked doing that – burdening someone with something that belonged to him. And yet, sometimes he too had to share his thoughts. He gave in way too easily this time. “It’s Claudia. She’s... going through a rough patch. Again. Well, she’s gotten better last week, but I can tell it’s a lot for her.”

Grace tilted her head, her expression turning sympathetic. She loved Claudia, has greeted her in the family without hesitation. Every now and then she took her out for a girl’s trip, and they sometimes phoned to talk about things Claudia didn’t want to discuss with him.

“Has she found a new therapist yet? After the last one quit, I mean.”

“No,” Louis admitted. “I’ve been trying, but she’s picky. She says she doesn’t want someone who talks to her like she’s fragile, but also not someone who ‘thinks they know everything.’” He rubbed a hand over his face. “It’s like trying to thread a needle in the dark.”

Grace frowned, tapping her fingers against her knee. “I can ask around, see if anyone I know has recommendations. Maybe someone who’s used to working with teens like her—smart but guarded. She needs someone who’ll really listen to her.”

“That’s the problem,” Louis said. “She doesn’t want to be listened to. Not really. She just... shuts down. And I don’t know how to help her anymore, Grace.”

Grace reached out and placed a hand on his arm, squeezing gently. “You’re helping more than you think. Just by being there for her, by trying. That’s more than most kids get.”

Louis looked down at her hand, then up at her face, his chest tightening with a mix of gratitude and doubt. “I hope you’re right.”

“I am,” she said firmly. “She’s a good kid, Louis. She just needs time. And someone who won’t give up on her. She’s lucky to have you.”

He didn’t trust himself to respond, so he just nodded, picking up his coffee again to hide the lump forming in his throat.

They sat in silence for a moment before Grace gave him a small smile. “You know, you’re not bad at this whole parenting thing. For someone who swore he’d never have kids.”

Louis chuckled softly; the sound laced with weariness. His sister was wrong. He’d always wanted to be a father, just thought it could never happen, even while denying his own sexuality. Somehow he’d never been able to picture it, unsure how it would have worked out, and where he’d be in life then. “Life has a funny way of proving me wrong.”

Grace laughed, then stood, brushing imaginary lint off her pants. “All right, broody. I’ve got laundry to fold and no one else to do it, so you’re free to escape.”

Louis stood as well, finishing the last of his coffee and setting the mug down on the table. As he leaned in to kiss her cheek, he murmured, “Thanks, Grace.”

“Anytime,” she said, patting his shoulder. “And don’t wait too long to come by again. The kids miss their uncle Louis.”

He smiled faintly, heading for the door. “Tell them I miss them too.”

“I will,” she called after him. “Take care of yourself, Louis.”

He paused in the doorway, glancing back at her. “You too.”

And with that, he stepped out into the evening air, the warmth of her home lingering with him as he walked down the quiet street.

***

Louis’ phone buzzed on the counter as he brewed his evening tea. He glanced over at it, frowning when he saw the name flash on the screen. He picked it up, wiping his hands on a dishtowel.

‘Good evening, Mr. du Lac. I hope this message finds you well.’

The message was soon followed by another:

‘I’ve made a reservation at Le Figuier for tomorrow night at 7. I trust you’ll join me?’

Le Figuier. Of course, it had to be one of the most expensive restaurants in town. Of course, he’d expected him to brag, but gods – Louis didn’t think he even owned clothing fine enough to be allowed in. Groaning quietly, he settled the phone back down and turned his attention to the teapot, trying to push the message out of his mind. There were enough matter’s to think about. Claudia’s new year in school, for example. The teacher-parent meetings he had to attend. Paying for her field trips. Paying for many things, that was.

But it was impossible to ignore the texts. His gaze kept drifting back to the screen, the weight of the invitation pressing on him. What was he supposed to say? No? Lestat would undoubtedly show up at his store again, unannounced, flashing that insufferable grin. Yes? That felt like surrender. But then again, he’d already surrendered by agreeing in the first place. He couldn’t say no now, it was too late.

He sighed, sitting at the table with his tea. Picking up the phone again, he opened the text thread, staring at Lestat’s name. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard.

‘Thank you for the invitation, but—’

He frowned and deleted it.

‘I’m not sure if I’m free tomorrow—’

Too uncertain. Delete.

‘Why Le Figuier?’

No, too confrontational. Delete.

He set the phone down again and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his forehead. The minutes ticked by, his tea growing cold as he typed and retyped responses, deleting every one of them. Nothing felt right. Finally, he forced himself to write something and, before he could overthink it again, hit send.

‘That sounds fine. I’ll see you there.’

The moment the message went through, he regretted it. It was so stiff, so awkward. But before he could dwell on it, a reply came back almost instantly:

‘Wonderful. It would be my pleasure, Louis. I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t keep me waiting.’

Louis glared at the screen, his lips pressing into a thin line. Somehow, even in text, Lestat’s voice carried that same infuriating smugness. Louis wanted to hit him. Wanted to smack that pale face. He wanted to never see Lestat de Lioncourt and his blonde hair, and his skinny ass ever again. He tossed the phone onto the table and stood, heading back to the kitchen to reheat his tea.

He certainly didn’t think about what to wear tomorrow evening.

***

Louis stood on the cobbled street outside Le Figuier, the restaurant’s warm, golden lights spilling out onto the pavement, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. He had half a mind to turn around, walk away, and pretend this entire evening hadn’t been arranged. But the fact was, he’d agreed, and now he was here.

He found himself worrying, caught up in the thought that perhaps he wasn’t looking good enough. He’d dressed with more care than he ever had before—slipping into an ironed white shirt, dark dress pants, and a jacket that felt just a little too sharp for him. Even his father’s old watch and polished shoes had found their way onto his wrists and feet. His hair, usually left to fall in its natural way, was now slicked back with a careful touch. But he wasn’t fitting in. Not with these people.

Fighting every instinct he had, he took a deep breath, adjusted his coat, and pushed open the heavy door.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of fresh herbs and simmering sauces, weaving through the soft hum of conversation like an invisible thread. The space was bathed in dim, amber light, casting long shadows across the elegantly set tables—a place far too refined for him. Louis longed for something simpler, something warmer, a spot that felt like home, not a gilded zoo where the wealthy tossed their money around like confetti. In the corner, a violinist played a delicate, almost whispered tune, the soft notes barely rising above the clink of glassware and the low murmur of patrons savouring their extravagant meals.

Louis greeted the host, and offered his name, and the name of the person who’s made the reservation. If the other man noticed his discomfort, he didn’t show it.

“Mr. du Lac,” the host greeted him warmly, offering a smile that never quite reached his eyes. “Right this way.”

Louis followed the host through the restaurant, his eyes skimming over the tables, his chest tightening as his nerves slowly crept in. The opulence of the place pressed in around him, far beyond what he was accustomed to, making his suit feel almost embarrassingly plain in comparison. He had no doubt that Lestat had chosen this spot deliberately—something flashy, extravagant, designed to turn heads, to keep the focus squarely on him. The kind of place where Lestat would thrive, basking in the attention. But he hadn’t given a second thought to the fact that Louis wasn’t quite as comfortable with such a display. He didn’t crave the spotlight. In fact, it made him feel more like an outsider, out of place in a world he didn’t belong to.

At the back of the room, near the window with a view of the city lights, Lestat sat waiting. Louis’ stomach clenched. He wanted to go home, and have dinner with his daughter, instead of being here.

The blonde wore something undeniably extravagant—too extravagant, perhaps. The fabric was sleek, almost liquid in its sheen, and the cut of his jacket was more fitted than any man’s should be, the collar just a little too high, the sleeves just a little too short. It wasn’t so much revealing as it was suggestive, each detail more daring than the last, as though he were daring the world to look. And Louis did look, even when he tried to play it off.

His hair was perfectly styled, each lock falling into place with meticulous care, looking purposely messy, and his piercing blue eyes fixed on Louis with an unreadable expression as he approached. There was something about his presence that made the entire room seem to shift, and not in the way Louis was used to seeing, not like the other patrons dressed to the nines and blending in seamlessly.

Suddenly, Louis’ discomfort about his own attire seemed to melt away. At least he fit in with the others, his simple suit no less refined than the others around him. But Lestat—Lestat stood out like a neon sign in a sea of muted colours. The realization made him feel oddly relieved, as though he were suddenly part of the scenery, while Lestat was the one out of place, drawing every eye with his absurdly bold choice of clothing.

Lestat stood as Louis neared the table, offering him a smile that bordered on smug, but his voice was warm, almost charming in the way it always was.

“Louis,” he said, his French accent thick but clear. “You came. I wasn’t certain you would.”

Louis stiffened, giving a short nod. He couldn’t quite meet Lestat’s eyes. He hated how the man always made him feel so... on edge. Another reason to dislike him.

“I said I would,” Louis replied, his voice a little too tight for his liking.

Lestat chuckled, his gaze flickering over Louis’ attire—probably assessing how out of place Louis felt in his modest suit. And Louis, who usually didn’t care much for these things, felt more self-conscious than he logically should. This wasn’t his world, and they both knew it.

“True. But you’ve been... hesitant.” Lestat gestured to the chair across from him. “Please, sit. The food here is divine; I couldn’t tell you what to try first, there is plenty to choose from and all rather exquisite. But I did order wine already, if you don’t mind. I hope you like red.”

Louis sat down, his posture rigid, trying to ignore the way Lestat seemed to loom over him even while sitting.

“I’m not here for the food and I don’t like wine,” he muttered, his hands resting on the table, fingers tapping nervously.

Lestat leaned forward, amused by something Louis had said. “Non? Then what are you here for, Louis?”

Louis blinked, taken aback by the question, but he quickly recovered. “I suppose it’s to see what you have to offer,” he said flatly, his gaze darting around the room to avoid locking eyes with Lestat.

Lestat raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “What I have to offer? You’re a man of few words. Tonight even fewer than usual.” He reached for the wine glass in front of him, swirling the deep red liquid slowly. “I assure you; my company is the finest thing on the menu.”

Louis felt a pang of irritation but kept his voice calm. He wanted to tell that man to stop talking to him like he was trying to lure him in. It wasn’t working. And Louis, gods he didn’t want to be lured in. He only wanted to keep on living his normal life. Without rockstars, who pretended to be vampires, who pretended to be human.

“Is that so?” Then why, if Louis didn’t want that, did he hear his own voice and wondered why it sounded so… lured in? He sounded, like he wanted to do stupid things, with that stupid man. And he hadn’t even drunk yet. And so, Louis reached out for his own glass.

This was going to be the most expensive wine his lips ever touched, and so, if he had to suffer through this, he might as well enjoy the nice aspects.

Lestat’s smirk widened as he leaned back in his chair, his posture too relaxed for Louis’ liking. “It is.” He took another sip of the wine and placed the glass down with deliberate care.

Louis frowned, unsure whether to push back or to ignore the underlying implication in Lestat’s words. Because Lestat was wrong. So very wrong. Louis was here for a selfish reason, really, and he neither cared for the food, nor the wine, nor Lestat. He cared for none of it, and he wouldn’t mind if Lestat vanished from his life altogether.

The waiter arrived soon after, his polite demeanour still fresh, his presence somehow managing to make the space feel even more extravagant. He looked at both of them expectantly, not even a pen in hand, ready to take their orders. Louis wished he didn’t have to talk to him.

Lestat didn’t seem to even need the menu. He eyed it briefly before placing his order with complete ease. “Foie gras to start, and the lamb for my main, medium-rare,” he said, his tone smooth as ever, as if making decisions like these was second nature. Most likely it was. Meanwhile Louis struggled to even read the menu.

The waiter nodded, then turned to Louis.

Louis again glanced at the card with little interest and skill, the words on the page blurring together. He forced himself to pick something, hunger being bigger than his ego in the end. “The steak. Rare. And whatever the chef recommends.”

“Very well,” the waiter said with a brief smile before retreating. The air returned to a kind of strained silence, only broken by the faint hum of the noises that swirled together in the background.

Lestat leaned back in his chair, his eyes still trained on Louis, that mischievous smile never quite leaving his lips. “It seems you’re not exactly the type to savour every bite, Louis,” he said, his voice a mixture of teasing and something almost perceptive.

Louis felt an irritation rise up at the comment, but he fought it back. He had too much on his mind, and taking the bait didn’t seem wise. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, regarding Lestat with quiet amusement. “I don’t need to savour everything in life. Not when it's just more of the same."

Lestat raised an eyebrow, leaning in slightly, his gaze sharp. “And what’s wrong with the same, hm? Isn’t it what we all seek, in the end? A rhythm to…” It seemed like he was looking for a word. “ …settle into, a pattern that comforts?”

Louis wrinkled his nose. He wasn’t so sure about that. “Comfort like you think of isn’t something I care about, and rhythms only make you forget the world around you.”

There was an odd moment of silence between them. It wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t forced either. Lestat didn’t press further. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his relaxed posture at odds with Louis’ more rigid stance.

“Fair enough,” Lestat finally said, his voice softening as though the sharp edges of his earlier teasing had worn away. He regarded Louis quietly, a faint hint of something unspoken flickering across his expression. “Thank you for being here, you know.”

Louis frowned slightly, uncertain whether he should take the comment at face value. He instinctively braced himself for some grand, meandering observation that would only leave him more exhausted than intrigued. “I’m here because you asked me to be here. That’s all. Don’t read too much into it.”

Lestat tilted his head, an amused glimmer flashing in his eyes. Louis could tell he was on the verge of saying something clever—something cutting, no doubt—but instead, he just smiled. It wasn’t warm, exactly, but neither was it cruel. It hovered somewhere in the middle, like everything else about the man: enigmatic and intentionally impossible to pin down.

“You say that” Lestat said eventually, his tone light but with a lingering edge that made Louis shift in his seat, “but actions speak louder than words, don’t they?” He paused to take a measured sip of his wine, placing the glass back on the table with deliberate precision.

Louis kept his gaze fixed on Lestat, even as something uneasy coiled in his chest. He didn’t like the way the man spoke, as if peeling back layers of him without permission. It was disarming. Irritating. And yet...

For a moment, there was nothing but the quiet hum of the restaurant around them, punctuated by the occasional clatter of dishes from another table. Louis hesitated, unsure whether to push back or simply let the conversation drift into the silence.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to get at,” Louis said at last, his voice low but steady. “But you’re wasting your time. There’s nothing more to it than what I’ve already told you.”

Lestat raised his eyebrows, a flicker of surprise—feigned or genuine, Louis couldn’t tell—crossing his face. Then the corners of his mouth tugged upward, just barely. “If you say so.”

Louis’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to look away, focusing instead on his glass. He couldn’t tell whether he was annoyed or relieved that Lestat didn’t press further.

The silence between them stretched for a few beats longer before Lestat shifted, leaning back in his chair as though conceding some invisible battle. “You’re a difficult man to talk to, Louis,” he said, his tone almost light-hearted, though there was a trace of something weightier underneath. “But I think I can live with that.”

Louis exhaled, not entirely sure what to make of the remark, or the man sitting across from him. He glanced briefly at Lestat, taking in the casual confidence of his posture, the way he seemed utterly at ease in a setting Louis felt out of place in. It was maddening, really.

He didn’t respond, instead letting the silence take hold again.

Louis shifted in his seat, glancing toward the candle flickering on the table as though it might offer him an escape. He could feel Lestat’s eyes on him, waiting, always waiting, for something Louis wasn’t sure he had to give.

“So,” Lestat said at last, breaking the stillness. “Do you enjoy dining out often?”

It was such a bland question, such an ordinary thing to ask, and yet it felt absurd coming from him. Louis raised an eyebrow. “Not particularly.”

Lestat hummed, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “I see. A man of simpler tastes, then.”

Louis resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I don’t see the point in spending money on something I can make just as well at home.”

“Fair point,” Lestat replied smoothly, seemingly not against that statement.

Louis didn’t respond, choosing instead to take a sip of his wine. The silence returned, heavier this time, and for a moment, he wondered again why he’d agreed to this at all.

Lestat, undeterred, leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on one hand as he studied Louis. “Tell me, what does interest you, Mr. du Lac? Surely there’s something that stirs your soul, something you’d actually enjoy talking about.”

Louis’s jaw tightened. He hated the way Lestat spoke, like everything was a performance and he was the star. Still, he couldn’t deny the truth in the question. What did interest him? What could he say that wouldn’t invite more of Lestat’s insufferable commentary?

“I read,” Louis said finally, his tone clipped. “When I have time.”

Lestat perked up; his eyes gleaming with something that looked suspiciously like genuine interest. “Ah, literature. Now we’re getting somewhere. What do you read?”

Louis hesitated. It felt oddly personal, like revealing too much of himself. But then, it wasn’t as if Lestat would care. “Classic novels, mostly. Dostoevsky, Hugo. That sort of thing.”

“Dostoevsky,” Lestat repeated, rolling the name over his tongue as though savouring it. “Dark. Heavy. No wonder you’re so serious all the time.”

Louis bristled, but before he could respond, Lestat continued, “Still, I’ll give you credit. At least you’re not wasting your time on trashy thrillers or shallow memoirs.”

Louis’s lips quirked upward despite himself. “Not everyone has the luxury of shallow entertainment,” he muttered.

For the first time that evening, the tension between them seemed to ease. They talked, hesitantly at first, about books—Louis naming authors and Lestat offering his opinions, some insightful, some maddeningly flippant. But to Louis’s surprise, Lestat actually knew what he was talking about. He’d read Hugo and Balzac, even quoted Baudelaire with startling accuracy.

For a while, the conversation flowed easily, and Louis almost forgot where he was. He found himself leaning in, speaking more freely, even laughing once or twice. It was strange, but not unpleasant.

And then, inevitably, it fell apart, and Louis remembered where he was, and who with. That insufferable man, the one who’s been making working hell for him, and at the same time was the reason for him being able to properly afford rent for the first time in… forever.

“I suppose you think literature is the only thing that matters,” Lestat said, his tone light but his eyes sharp.

Louis stiffened, sensing a trap. “I think it’s one of the few things that does.”

Lestat chuckled, but there was no warmth in it. “Spoken like a man who’s never truly lived. Tell me, Louis, do you ever let yourself enjoy anything? Or is it all just... suffering for the sake of principle?”

The words struck Louis harder than he wanted to admit. He didn’t know how Lestat had managed to get it so precisely right—and he shouldn’t have. Louis’s grip tightened around his wine glass, his knuckles pale as he fixed Lestat with a sharp glare. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

“Don’t I?” Lestat leaned back in his chair, his tone soft but his words deliberate, like a blade sliding just beneath the surface. His lips curled into something resembling a smile, though it held no real warmth. “I think I know more than you care to admit. It’s written all over you.”

Louis stilled, his chest tightening as the words settled. He didn’t want to engage, didn’t want to give Lestat the satisfaction of seeing the impact. Instead, he forced a bitter laugh, shaking his head.

“What nonsense. You meet someone a handful of times, exchange a few words, and suddenly you think you’ve got them figured out? You must be insufferable at parties.”

“Perhaps,” Lestat said, unfazed, his piercing gaze steady on Louis. “But I notice things, Louis. Details. You carry so much weight, yet you’ve convinced yourself it’s invisible. It’s not.”

Louis’s jaw clenched as he sat up straighter, his fingers drumming against the edge of the table in a vain attempt to expel the tension building within him. “You notice what you want to notice,” he said sharply. “You craft stories in your head about people you barely know so you can feel clever. Because that’s all you are.” Louis gestured sharply, his lips curling into a cruel, mocking line. “A pretty thing with nothing underneath. A shallow, slutty blonde who thinks if you’re just smug enough and loud enough, people won’t notice there’s nothing of substance.”

Lestat’s smile widened just enough to add fuel to Louis’s irritation. “And yet, I seem to have struck a nerve.”

Louis’s patience frayed. “You’re terrible,” he muttered, his voice clipped. “You don’t see people, not really. You see reflections of yourself in others and assume it’s the truth.”

For a moment, the conversation stalled, Louis’s words hanging heavy in the charged air between them. Lestat tilted his head, the faintest smirk still playing on his lips, as though he were mulling over the insult like a vintage wine. The quiet arrogance in his eyes didn’t waver, that glimmer of unshaken amusement that made Louis’s blood simmer. He hated it—the grin that never faltered, the mask that nothing seemed to pierce.

Louis could hurl every insult he had, strip the man down to nothing with his words, and still, Lestat would smile, as if none of it mattered. As if it didn’t matter how little Louis respected him.

“And perhaps,” he said after a pause, “that’s why you’re here. Because despite all your denials, part of you recognizes that.”

That was the tipping point. Louis stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor, causing a few heads in the restaurant to turn in their direction. His hands planted firmly on the table as he loomed over Lestat. “You don’t know anything about me,” he said, his voice low and trembling with controlled fury. “And I don’t have to sit here and listen to this.”

“Louis—” Lestat began, his voice softer now, almost conciliatory, but Louis was already pulling back.

“No,” Louis cut him off, his tone final. He reached for his coat and threw it over his arm, his movements brisk and precise. “This was a mistake. Enjoy your dinner.”

Before Lestat could respond, Louis was striding toward the exit, the tension in his shoulders visible to anyone watching. The dim lighting of the restaurant cast shadows across his face, but the fire in his eyes was unmistakable as he pushed through the door and out into the cool night air.

He didn’t stop walking, didn’t even glance back to see if Lestat had followed. The sharp night breeze hit his face, stinging his skin, but it wasn’t enough to cool the anger simmering in his chest. He jammed his hands into his coat pockets, his mind racing with the words he hadn’t said, the arguments left unfinished, and the infuriating smirk that seemed burned into his memory.

By the time he turned the corner, the restaurant was out of sight, but the encounter lingered, like a shadow he couldn’t shake.

***

‘Goodnight, Louis. I hope the wine wasn’t too bitter—though I suspect it was the company that left a sour taste. Sweet dreams, mon cher.’

Louis stared at the message, his jaw tightening. He started to type a reply, his fingers hovering over the screen: Don’t call me that. But before he could finish, he erased it, locked his phone, and tossed it onto the couch before he could throw it against the wall and smash it with a hammer.

Chapter Text

The bell above the shop door jingled, and Louis barely glanced up from the counter. It was early, earlier than most customers bothered to come in, and he was still arranging the display of the newest books that have come in last evening. Claudia, who’s spending too much time on social media, has helped him pick out a collection, one that would – so she said – attract some younger costumers. He wasn’t so sure about that; the colourful covers, the titles of the books, threw him off a bit, but he trusted his daughter’s judgment enough to try it.

He began putting up a sign over the books reading ‘young adult’, when he heard the door close behind him.

“Good morning, dear brother!” Grace’s voice rang out, cheery and far too loud for the hour. How could she be this lively, when he barely managed to drag himself out the bed and into his shop?

His sister marched toward him with two cups of coffee in hand, one of which she deposited on the counter. “You looked like you needed this more than I did.” She said, while taking a sip of hers.

Louis’ eyes fell on the cup. He didn’t think he’s ever loved her more than at this moment. “You didn’t have to.”

“Didn’t have to,” she mimicked with a roll of her eyes. “You’re welcome. So, how’s everything going?”

“Fine.” Louis muttered, near greedily drinking that coffee, even when it burned his tongue. He’s not had breakfast yet, and he was dying for something in his stomach.

“Fine,” she said, leaning against the counter like she owned the place. “What’s got you in such a mood again? I’m spending the few minutes I have in the morning to bring you coffee and chat, and you’re such a miserable bitch.” Her wounds sounded more amused than he thought she actually was. He knew he had a way of hurting those who were close to him; the habit of poisoning everyone with his misery not unknown to himself.

Louis hesitated with his answer, fussing with the coffee cup instead of looking at her. Grace wasn’t stupid; she’d pick him apart if he gave her the chance. “It’s nothing. Just... a long night.”

He knew he wasn’t making this better with his answer.

“Uh-huh.” She raised an eyebrow. “This doesn’t have anything to do with your little dinner date with Blondie, does it?”

“It wasn’t a date,” Louis snapped immediately, a bit too sharply, his thoughts on being more friendly in the future forgotten.

To his surprise, Grace grinned, like she’d just hit the jackpot. She should be a bit angrier with his answer, shouldn’t she? She leaned a bit forward to look down on him as she talked. “Oh, so it was Blondie. What’d he do? Forget your name? Talk about himself the whole time? Try to get you to model for his new sex tape?”

Sex tape? Gods, he hoped she was being sarcastic. Groaning, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why are you like this?”

“Because you’re so easy to rile up.” She took another sip of her coffee, entirely unbothered by his glare. “Seriously, what happened? I can’t imagine anyone who wouldn’t have loved it. But of course, you have to make this awkward. So what, you didn’t like the restaurant? Or was it just... him?”

He hesitated again, running a hand down his face. “He was—” He paused, searching for the right word. “He was infuriating. Kept pressing me, like he could read me better than I could read myself. The man’s arrogant beyond belief.”

“Arrogant? That’s it?”

“And condescending. And pushy. And—” Louis stopped, shaking his head. “I don’t even know why I went.”

Grace tilted her head, studying him with a mix of curiosity and exasperation. “So let me get this straight,” she said, setting her coffee cup down with an unnecessary thud. “You went to dinner with a famous, ridiculously rich guy, and you’re sitting here complaining? Because what- because you realized he’s not some normal guy from down the street?”

Louis shot her a glare. “You didn’t see him, Grace. The man’s insufferable. He probably spends more time staring at himself in the mirror than actually engaging with the world around him.”

Grace raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Oh, come on, Louis. You can’t be serious. You get one night with someone like that, and you waste it being mad because he’s... what? Too much for you?”

“He’s everything too much,” Louis snapped again. “Too loud, too charming, too invasive, too—” He gestured vaguely, searching for the right word. “Too fake.”

Grace let out a huff of disbelief and crossed her arms. “Right, fake. Says the guy who went and ironed a shirt for the first time in... what, years? Yeah, Claudia told me about it. Called me, saying she hasn’t seen you so fancy in forever. Not even in court. And Papa’s watch, that you’ve dug out your closet. Fake or not, you clearly cared enough to dress up for him.”

Louis stiffened at that, his jaw tightening. “I dressed up because it was a fancy place. That’s it.”

Grace smirked. “Sure, whatever you say, Louis. But I’m just saying—if I got invited out by someone like that, I wouldn’t be sitting here griping about how he’s too pretty or too confident. That sounds like a you problem.”

Louis shook his head, incredulous. “You’re annoying, have I ever told you that?”

“Thanks. I remember why I’m not spending time with you before lunch. You know, you don’t have to marry him, Louis, but like… so, is there going to be a second date?”

Louis wanted to yell at her that no, there was not going to be a second date – and gods, it wasn’t even a date. Not with that man, and certainly not after he’s made a scene when he just ran away in the middle of it. He scoffed, but the thought lingered as he busied himself with the book display. “It doesn’t matter. I’m done with it. I have work to do.”

Grace straightened up, face by now getting sour. Ah, so Louis has fucked up not only last night, but also today already, after just a couple of hours since waking up. “Alright, I’ll leave you to it.”

She squeezed his arm lightly before turning to leave, the bell jingling as the door swung shut behind her.

Louis sighed, staring after her for a moment before shaking his head and diving into his tasks.

Still, the hours dragged, and though customers came and went, his mind kept circling back to the restaurant. The frustration churned in his chest, refusing to settle. Even when Claudia stopped by for lunch, chirping about her school project, he found himself distracted, nodding at all the right moments without really hearing her. Later, he would get angry at himself, because his daughter deserved all of his attention, and he’s now wasted not only his sister’s time but his daughter’s too.

By mid-afternoon, Louis was still simmering, and he felt like there was only one way to find some relief. He needed to get out of his own head, needed to move. He got the sign that said he’d be back in a second, which he hung at the door while he stepped out. The streets were bustling, a cold breeze cutting through the air as he walked, hoping the motion might quiet his thoughts. He needed just a quick, five-minute walk down the street. Keep himself from yelling at someone, anyone, just because he was not handling his mind. And, to not think too much about smoking that damn pack of cigarettes in his jacket.

Why did he even buy them, when he tried to stop that habit?

But even as he walked, he couldn’t properly forget everything. And it was no use anyways. Five minutes later, he was back inside his store, and assisting a group of four teenagers, who tried to order some books for school.

Once they were helped, Louis found himself assisting an older woman, her soft voice wavering as she asked if they carried a book by her favorite author. She described it lovingly, as though the book itself were a dear friend, and Louis listened patiently. It was a small thing, but he took satisfaction in knowing the shelves well enough to find exactly what she wanted without delay. As he rang up her purchase, she thanked him profusely, her gratitude so genuine it softened the rougher edges of his morning.

Afterwards, Louis returned to the counter, flipping through inventory notes to distract himself, when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it for a moment too long. Taking calls wasn’t his finest skill, and he disliked the idea of having to talk to someone he might not want to talk to. And of course- what kind of sin has he committed to be tortured all day long?

Lestat. The name that glared at him from the screen, unrelenting, the ringing not stopping even when over a minute has passed.

Louis stared at it, his thumb hovering over the screen. He debated letting it ring longer, ignoring it entirely, but then despite himself he answered. He pressed the phone to his ear, his voice flat. “What is it?”

“Good morning to you too, Mr du Lac,” Lestat’s smooth voice came through, tinged with amusement, as if he enjoyed being a thorn in Louis’s side. Ah, so it was Mr du Lac again? Not Louis, not whatever else he’s called him last evening. “I wanted to let you know I won’t be able to make it to the signing event today. Something has come up.”

Louis couldn’t muster the energy to care. He sighed, rubbing at his temple. “Fine. Cancel. Not my problem.” He was glad, even. He’s tried not to think about having to see him again in the evening anyways.

There was a brief pause, but Lestat’s tone remained unwavering. “I had hoped you’d show a little more concern. After all, I hate to disappoint.”

Louis snorted; the sound sharp. “You’ll live. Anything else, or can I get back to work?”

“Well,” Lestat started, his voice dipping into that playful lilt that Louis hated, “since I’m not burdening you with my presence today, I thought perhaps you’d join me for dinner tomorrow night instead.”

His first instinct was to ask Lestat if he was out of his mind. If he even had one. Or if he was so desperate to spend time with him, even after he’s been a bitch to him during their last failed dinner, or even on every other occasion before. Louis tightened his grip on the phone, his patience wearing thin. “No.”

“Non?” Lestat repeated, as though genuinely shocked by the refusal. Louis wanted to smack that French bastard.

“That’s what I said.” Louis didn’t wait for a response. He hung up the phone, tossing it onto the counter with more force than necessary.

He stood there for a moment, staring at the phone as though it might vibrate again. When it didn’t, he exhaled sharply and turned away, focusing on the stack of unsorted books by the register. Work. That’s what he needed—something to keep his mind off of the infuriating, persistent blonde who refused to be ignored. Again, it didn’t quite do it’s job. The working to get distracted, that was.

***

The glow of the television bathed the living room in a soft, flickering light. The faint hum of dialogue and rather dramatic film music filled the otherwise quiet space.

Louis leaned back into the worn cushions; one arm draped along the back of the couch. Claudia was curled up at the other end, legs tucked beneath her, a blanket pulled up to her chin. She’d chosen the movie—something loud and ridiculous with car chases and improbable explosions—and she laughed at all the right moments, her amusement contagious despite Louis’s usual indifference to such films. They didn’t do this as often as he liked. Just spending time together. Between her school and social life, and his lack of thanks to work, there really wasn’t much besides breakfast and dinner for them to be together. Aside from the rare, less busy weekends.

“You can admit it, Daddy Lou,” his daughter said through a grin, not looking away from the screen. “You’re enjoying this.”

Louis raised an eyebrow, taking a slow sip from the mug of tea resting in his lap. “I’ve seen worse.”

“That’s not a no,” Claudia teased, jabbing her elbow playfully toward him. “Come on, admit it. You like it. You’re secretly rooting for the guy with the motorcycle and the bad one-liners.”

He huffed, a quiet smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “If I’m rooting for anyone, it’s for this nonsense to be over so I can go to bed.”

Claudia rolled her eyes, but she was smiling too. “You’re no fun.”

“That’s what you think. I’m so much fun.” Louis countered teasingly; his voice dry but warm. He reached out to pull the edge of the blanket over her shoulder when it slipped.

The movie played on, explosions and high-speed pursuits filling the room. Louis’s gaze drifted for a moment—not to the screen, but to the window beyond, where the city lights stretched into the night. He thought about how quiet the world seemed inside this room, how the chaos of the day seemed to fade here. And then, unbidden, his thoughts wandered further.

If there was a master for overthinking, he’s surely hold the title.

He couldn’t forget last night. Or the call this afternoon. The familiar, hated voice that had stirred more anger in him that he thought he should even be able to feel.

Louis spend minutes, trying to shake the thought away, and glanced back at Claudia, who was still fully immersed in the movie, her expression rapt. Without a reason, Louis looked at his phone, noticing the time. They’ve sat there for hours, and it was getting late.

“You should be in bed,” he said softly, though he made no move to get up himself. The movie was still playing after all.

“Yeah, yeah. After this.” Claudia waved him off, then turned to give him a cheeky grin. “Don’t worry. I’ll survive the action-packed dangers of staying up late with you.”

Louis chuckled, the sound low and brief, and leaned back into the couch. “Fine. But if you’re half-asleep at school tomorrow, I’m not covering for you.”

She nudged his knee with her foot, opening her lips to say something, but he interrupted:“ Go back to watching your movie before I change my mind,” he said, but there was no bite in his words.

Later, as the credits finally rolled and the sound faded, Claudia stretched and yawned. She leaned over, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before hopping up from the couch. “Thanks for watching it with me. Night, Daddy Lou.”

“Goodnight, Claudia,” he said, watching her retreat to her room with a small, contented smile.

Louis lingered for a moment longer, the stillness settling around him. He stared at the empty screen, his mind wandering again, though this time he was determined not to let it go too far. With a quiet sigh, he gathered the empty mug and the blanket, tidying up before heading to bed himself.

***

The delivery arrived just before the shop closed for the day. Louis had been reorganizing the shelves behind the counter when the bell above the door jingled, signalling a courier standing awkwardly at the threshold, a large bouquet of white flowers in one hand and a brown-wrapped parcel in the other. Louis wanted to kill that man, and then himself. He felt trapped inside a very bad story, the worst of all books, and he hated how predictable this was, and that he hasn’t seen it coming.

“Delivery for Louis du Lac,” the courier said, reading the name from a small card attached to the bouquet.

Louis froze, his hand still gripping the spine of a book he had been sliding into place. His first thought, even when it was just a silent wish, was that it must be some mistake, but the courier’s raised eyebrow was patient, waiting for him to claim the items.

“Here,” Louis said reluctantly, taking both the bouquet and the package. The flowers were heavy in his hands, their scent already too overpowering. He glanced at the note tucked within the stems, recognizing the sharp handwriting instantly. Waiting, until the courier was gone, he carried everything over to the counter, where he then slowly opened the note hanging frow the wrapped item.

Louis,
It seems I’ve managed to upset you. If that’s the case, I owe you an apology. I hope these will serve as a step toward making amends. And don’t worry—I was careful to avoid roses. No need to panic.
Yours,
Lestat

Louis exhaled sharply through his nose, irritation bubbling under his skin. The bouquet, a vibrant burst of fragrance, was set down unceremoniously on the counter, its cheerful presence clashing with the storm brewing in his chest. With a jerk of his hand, he tore the wrapping off the parcel, muttering under his breath about the audacity of this entire gesture. Inside, nestled in pristine condition, was a hardcover book by one of his favourite authors, a first edition no less. His breath hitched for a second before he caught himself, his fingers brushing against the embossed lettering on the cover.

He stared at it for a long moment, his grip tightening slightly as he turned it over in his hands, the weight of it somehow heavier than it should be. Thoughtful. Too thoughtful. And that annoyed him even more. How could Lestat have possibly remembered? He hadn’t mentioned his love for this author more than once, in passing, a throwaway comment on a busy afternoon and repeated only shortly over that very short dinner. Yet here it was.

His jaw clenched as he glared at the book like it had personally betrayed him. He could practically see Lestat’s insufferable smirk as he read the note again, taunting him from across the distance. Did he think he could win Louis over with a book and some flowers? Did he think that every carefully chosen word and every calculated gesture would soften him? The sheer arrogance of it all was infuriating. No, Louis still hated him.

And he still didn’t want to be that blonde’s friend, or even something close to it.

…And yet, despite himself, Louis couldn’t stop the faintest twinge of guilt from creeping in. The flowers hadn’t done anything wrong. The book… the book was perfect, damn it. Too perfect. He shook his head, shoving the note back into the wrappings and setting the book aside, far away from the bouquet. Out of sight, out of mind. Or so he told himself.

But even as he moved to toss the flowers into the trash, their scent lingered in the air, clinging to him like an unwelcome reminder of Lestat’s audacity—and, somehow, his attentiveness.

Without another thought, Louis grabbed the bouquet and marched to the back door. He shoved it into the dumpster behind the store, the white petals scattering in the cool evening air.

He felt like he could breathe again.

That night, lying in bed, Louis stared at the book now resting on his bedside table. He hadn’t wanted to bring it home, but somehow it had ended up tucked into his bag anyway. He told himself it was because he couldn’t bear to leave something so valuable sitting around the shop, but the truth gnawed at him.

His thumb hovered over the edge of the pages, tracing the embossed lettering on the cover. Lestat’s note echoed in his mind: “It seems I’ve upset you.” As if Lestat didn’t know exactly how he was capable of upsetting anyone.

Louis sighed, running a hand over his face. Maybe he shouldn’t have thrown the flowers out so quickly. It had been petty, childish even. And yet the idea of reaching out to say that—to admit that—felt equally humiliating.

His phone sat on the bedside table, screen dark and unassuming. He picked it up and opened a blank message. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, the words forming and dissolving in his mind.

“I got the book. Thank you.”

Delete.

“You don’t have to send things.”

Delete.

“You don’t need to apologize. It’s fine.”

Delete.

He sighed, setting the phone down again. Then he picked it back up, staring at the blinking cursor. After a long pause, he began typing again, his thumbs moving slowly.

“I got the book.”

He stared at the words. It wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t cruel either. Louis hit save, leaving it in his drafts. He had no desire sending it. He had no desire in even thinking about it anymore, but there was no going back, and he caught himself looking at the thing laying on his nightstand more than just a couple of times.

Finally, he turned off the light and lay back, the weight of the day pressing against him. The thought of sending the reply churned in his mind, twisting into something he didn’t fully understand. But for now, at least, it could wait.

***

Even without properly thinking about it, Louis watched the video.

He hadn’t intended to. After all, the morning had started just as it always did—with Claudia sitting across the table, eating cereal far too quickly while scrolling through her phone. She occasionally tossed comments at him between bites, mentioning friends from school, a test she wasn’t worried about, and reminding him (again) that she’d need some money for a school trip by Friday.

Then sooner than he liked, she kissed his cheek on her way out the door, calling goodbye over her shoulder as she disappeared down the street.

After clearing the table, Louis started tidying the kitchen in the methodical way he always did, rinsing the dishes and wiping down the counters. But somehow, his mind just kept drifting—to the book sitting untouched on his nightstand, to the note still crumpled on the counter. And to the blonde-haired, maddening man who’d sent them, the audacity of the action!

It was only after Louis finished everything and sat down with his phone in hand that he realized how easily he’d typed the name into the search bar. “The Vampire Lestat”.

Distasteful name, he thought, not for the first time. Unlike many others, Louis wasn’t charmed, and he didn’t like the theatrics it all involved. The idea, of a rockstar, who wore the looks of an immortal, acting the role day and night, seemed macabre, and honestly, a little frightening. Even during the signings, Lestat hadn’t dropped the act, and that evening in the restaurant has been one of the rare times Louis hadn’t noticed the other putting on that façade.

Not by mannerism, that was. The clothes on the other hand…

A handful of seconds, and suddenly, Louis saw Lestat on his phone—staring at the thumbnail of a video. He looked just like he always did in the light of his bookstore, or how he had in the dimly lit restaurant – light eyes, framed with dark makeup, and blonde, tussled curls, falling onto broad shoulders that were sometimes more, sometimes less covered. For whatever reason Louis had expected him to look different, here on video. But no. He looked the same as in flesh.

The video looked like a live show—grainy footage, poorly shot, but still sharp enough to capture the sharp lines of his cheekbones and the flash of the fake fangs in the stage light. He was dressed in barely anything, and Louis didn’t think of a reason why he should let his eyes fall to that small waist, or why he should wonder how a man of, what, thirty-five, could get a figure like that. It seemed unfair, those genetics. He didn’t want to think about Lestat’s body any longer.

Louis clicked play.

Here, caught on camera, Lestat was performing a cover version of Madonna’s Erotica. The music filled the room, rich and haunting, a bit less moaning than in the original, for which Louis was thankful. The version, once sexy, now seemed somewhat mysterious, and frankly, even frightening. Frightening to Louis, because for a second he understood what this was about. The voice, that seemed to say: Come to me, Louis. Lestat’s voice was too low and too smooth, carrying the kind of confidence Louis always found infuriating. Yet, as much as he wanted to stop watching, he didn’t. One video turned into another—an interview this time, where Lestat spoke casually, his tone light but his words layered with something Louis couldn’t quite define. And then another video, and another. He felt drunk, with the sight of the blonde and his deep voice, always so rich, even when he was being interviewed by people who seemed to not respect him.

When Louis finally stopped, the clock on the wall reminded him he’d spent far longer than intended.

He snapped his phone shut, running a hand over his face. Louis couldn’t believe he’d wasted part of his morning on that man, of all people. A man he evidently couldn’t stand, who’s face he wanted to sometimes slap more than anything, and who deserved to be taught some manners above everything else.

***

The park was unusually quiet for a Saturday morning, the faint chill of earlier rain still lingering in the air.

Louis and Claudia walked side by side along the gravel path, their footsteps crunching softly against the loose stones. The occasional chirp of birds or distant bark of a dog punctuated the stillness, but for the most part, the world seemed content to let them be.

Claudia kicked a small pebble ahead of her, sending it skittering along the path before looking up at him. “I don’t get why you carry that umbrella everywhere,” she said, gesturing toward the black, well-worn thing Louis had tucked under his arm. “You never even use it.”

Louis glanced at the umbrella and raised a brow. “It’s not about using it. It’s about being prepared.”

Claudia let out a laugh. “Prepared? You? You’re, like, the least prepared person I know.”

“Coming from the person who conveniently ‘forgets’ her gym shoes three days in a row?” Louis countered, giving her a sidelong glance.

“Gym is stupid,” she groaned, rolling her eyes. “Why do I have to run laps just to prove I’m not athletic? Like, everyone knows already. It’s torture, Daddy Lou.”

Louis chuckled under his breath. “I’m not disagreeing, but you still have to go. A little effort wouldn’t kill you.”

Claudia grinned but didn’t argue, and they walked in easy silence for a while. Passing by a young family attempting to wrangle a screaming toddler, Louis slipped his free hand into his coat pocket. He watched the scene absently before finally speaking up. “I decided about Madeleine, you know, the girl who's been looking for a job.”

“Yeah?” Claudia asked, glancing up at him.

“She’s coming in next week. I’ll train her, see how she handles a few shifts,” he said, his tone careful, almost as if testing the idea on himself. He still wasn’t convinced. The thought of not having full control, not handling everything himself… it was scary. It felt like he was letting go, was letting himself go. What would he do, with even a few days just to himself? He’d go crazy.

Claudia nodded, adjusting the hood of her sweatshirt against the light breeze. Louis thought about how good it was, that the heat of summer took a pause. “Good. You need help. You’ve been working way too much.”

“It’s not so bad,” Louis muttered, though there was little conviction in his voice. “I like it.”

“You’re such a liar,” his daughter insisted. “You act all ‘work is life,’ but you hate dealing with customers.”

Louis smirked faintly. “You’d hate them too.”

“I already do,” Claudia shot back, her grin widening. “Imagine all the weird book people you could just ignore if you actually let Madeleine handle the counter.”

“I’m not sure that’s the best sales pitch,” he said dryly. “I can’t run a bookshop without that. It’s a package deal.”

“Whatever.” She laughed softly, skipping ahead a step and turning to walk backward so she could face him. “Maybe you’ll finally take a day off. Like, a real one.”

Louis arched a brow. “A day off to do what?”

“I don’t know, anything. Go outside. Touch some grass.”

“Touch some—” He cut himself off, shaking his head with an amused sigh. “You’re so… You talk like those people on your app. The one with the dancing and the strange trends.” He gestured. He sounded much older than he usually felt, and he had to briefly remind himself that he wasn’t yet turning into his sister.

“Ugh, yeah and?” Claudia quipped, spinning back around and falling into step beside him again. “But I still think it’s good. Hiring someone, I mean. I don’t think you’ll regret it.”

“Let’s hope not,” Louis said, his tone lighter than before. He paused for a moment, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. “Okay, weird transition but… I’ve been meaning to ask you about the therapist.”

Claudia stiffened slightly, her steps slowing, but she didn’t look at him. “What about it?”

“Do you still need help finding someone? I could—”

“I already called someone,” she interrupted, her tone rushed, as if she needed to get the words out quickly. “She’s got a waitlist, but I’ve got an appointment in, like, three weeks.”

Louis blinked, surprised. “That’s good. Really good.”

Claudia shrugged; her gaze fixed on the path ahead. “Yeah. I figured I should… try, at least.”

Louis hesitated before speaking again. “Do you want me to come with you? Just for the first one.”

Claudia chewed her lip, clearly torn. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“You don’t have to decide right now,” Louis said quickly. “Just think about it. I’m happy to come if you want me there.”

She nodded slightly, her voice softer. “Okay. Yeah. I think I’d feel better if you came.”

Louis gave a small, reassuring smile. “Then I’ll come.”

Claudia didn’t say anything for a moment, but her hand brushed his coat sleeve briefly, a quiet thank-you in her own way. By the time they looped back toward the park exit, the conversation had shifted back to lighter things—school gossip and movies she wanted to watch—and Louis listened, offering just enough responses to keep her talking. The weight of earlier words lingered in the back of his mind, but for now, he let them settle, content to walk in the quiet.

***

Louis lay in bed, looking at nothing in particular as he tried to do his breathing exercise to calm down from the day. The room was dim except for the glow of his phone on the nightstand. The book sat there too, taunting him with its perfection, just like the crumbled note beside it. The note, which he’s tossed into the trash under his counter in the store, saved for whatever reason. He didn’t want it here. He wanted it gone, just like the perfect white flowers. And by now, he’d thought about putting it away many times, maybe sliding it into a drawer where he wouldn’t have to look at it, but somehow that felt like giving Lestat too much power over him.

The phone buzzed, pulling his attention.

I assume you received it by now. I just wanted to check – it is one you like, isn’t it? I would hate to have misunderstood your taste.

Louis stared at the message, his teeth clenching. He thought about ignoring it altogether, but his thumb hovered over the screen.

A moment later, another text arrived.

I hope I didn’t overdo it. I only wanted you to understand I mean it.

Louis sat up, muttering under his breath. He hadn’t even opened the book. He wasn’t sure he could. The idea of reading it and knowing it had come from him felt like admitting something he wasn’t ready to admit.

Another buzz.

Say something, mon cher. I hate being ignored.

Louis glared at the phone, then tossed it onto the other side of the bed like it burned. He pinched the bridge of his nose, anger bubbling up in his chest. Who did Lestat think he was, casually sending these rare, thoughtful gifts as if they didn’t mean something? And the texts—was he trying to coax a response out of him just for the satisfaction of it?

He didn’t reply. Instead, he rolled over, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. He could almost imagine Lestat’s smug expression, the way he’d laugh if he knew Louis was lying awake, bothered by something as simple as a book and a few words on a screen.

***

Louis was cleaning up the mess that’s been building up in the front of his shop near the door when the unmistakable sound of Lestat's arrival cut through the stillness of the shop. He’s been dreading this moment – the time of the day, when afternoon turned to evening and evening nearly into night, and he was left with the task of waiting for what was to come. For a brief moment, Louis considered slipping into the back room before he was noticed.

But it was too late, and he was plainly in view.

Lestat swept in like he always has before, as if he owned the place, his leather boots clicking softly against the hardwood floor. This time he was alone, his gang of people not in sight, but that didn’t take from his ability to draw the attention of others – Louis, in this case – in. He was dressed to perfection, of course—tailored black slacks, a crisp shirt left casually unbuttoned at the collar, and a long coat that billowed slightly as he walked.

Wasn’t it too warm outside, even with the rain of the past days, to be wearing so many layer?

"Louis," the man said without looking in his direction, his voice smooth and unhurried.

Louis froze mid-motion, gripping the edge of the table as he watched Lestat stroll toward the back of the shop where the signing table had been set up. He didn't stop to chat, didn't even then glance Louis's way. It was as if he were just another employee, another piece of the background.

The casual dismissal stung more than Louis wanted to admit. It always stung. And he loathed the way Lestat treated him like he was lesser, whenever he waltzed into his store. His, store. The one he was paying for, and the one he invited Lestat in, to give these damn signings no one cared about. Well, that wasn’t true. It was Louis who didn’t care about it. Everyone else appeared to be all over the stupid, bloody rockstar, who’s manners were by far the worst about him.

Louis turned back to the books, his jaw tightening. He could feel Lestat’s presence in the room, the magnetic pull of him impossible to ignore. Like a blackhole or something. No light escaping him.

He busied himself with doing nothing, pretending to be busy, refusing to look up, but his ears betrayed him, catching every word of Lestat’s easy banter on the phone with someone. Then, after a couple of seconds, the call seemed to be over and–

Louis rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath.

It wasn’t until Lestat finally settled at the table, adjusting his coat with a practiced elegance, that Louis dared to glance in his direction again. For a fleeting moment, their eyes met across the room. A very light blue, meeting dark brown.

Louis braced himself for some kind of comment, some sly remark. Something rude, just to show him that Lestat, even when being briefly nice to him, wasn’t meaning any of it. The book has been the tip of the iceberg, sitting neatly on top of everything that’s been before, and everything that now followed.

But Lestat simply looked away, his attention already shifting to the growing line of fans that had begun to gather. When have they entered the shop, Louis wondered? Or have they been there before, and he’s not noticed, too busy with his loathing, and his mental images of his own hand wrapped around that man’s neck?

Louis caught himself frowning. It wasn’t like he wanted Lestat’s attention—he didn’t. But the calculated indifference? That was somehow worse.

As the first fan approached the table, clutching a copy of Lestat's latest memoir, Louis forced himself to return to his work, the sting of the encounter settling into a low, simmering anger.

By now, the shop was packed, a low hum of conversation and excitement filling the air.

Louis just stayed where he was, despite his pride, pretending he wasn’t part of the scenery. He felt like a shadow. Unimportant, small. He had to remind himself that he wasn’t; this was his place, he told himself again, and he could be proud of this. Of having an important person choose his store, and be here more often than in any other. But he didn’t last long, with reassuring himself of that.

Whenever he looked at Lestat he felt the wish to just kick him out swell.

He was insufferable, of course—smirking at everyone who approached, teasing his young fans in a way that left them giggling nervously. Louis has seen some of these faces more than once, by now. Most of them certainly didn’t come to get an autograph. Some – flirting, and taking pictures, and being delusional when they thought the blonde would call them, after they slipped him their number.  

Still, Louis couldn’t look away. He thought two things now. One, that he hated them all, not just Lestat. But Lestat, he hated above everything else. And then… briefly Louis smiled, because even he, in all his hatred, had the power to say Lestat texted him nearly every day, near begging for his attention. It was a strange sensation of power, one he didn’t want, but one he could claim as his.

At one point, Lestat glanced in his direction, his expression a little too empty. For a split second, Louis thought he might say something, but Lestat turned back to the fan in front of him without a word.

By the time the signing ended, the shop wasn’t even empty. Lestat had to make some comments about this not being the last time, and after flirting with one or the other person, eventually the room cleared. Louis couldn’t understand how anyone could be so obsessed with another person.

Suddenly, it was very quiet, and he thought to hear his own heartbeat.

“Still pretending I don’t exist?”

The voice startled him, low and just daring enough. Louis turned to find Lestat standing a few feet away, his hands tucked into the pockets of his tailored coat.

“I wasn’t pretending anything,” Louis replied coolly, acknowledging the ache in his limbs. He’s spent too long crouching, and lifting things into too high shelves.

Lestat tilted his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I see. So, ignoring me outright, then? Very mature.”

Louis glared at him, but Lestat seemed unfazed.

“I’m heading out for drinks,” Lestat said casually, as if the two of them hadn’t just spent the last few hours avoiding each other. “You should come with me.”

Louis blinked, caught off guard by the invitation. He shook his head firmly, turning back to his work. “No, thank you.” The thank you was too polite for Lestat.

“Oh, come now. It’s nighttime, the rain’s let up, and you’ve been cooped up in this shop all day. A little fresh air wouldn’t kill you.”

“I said no.”

Lestat leaned against the counter, his expression softening just slightly. “Why are you so determined to shut me out, mon cher? Haven’t I been on my best behaviour tonight?”

Louis laughed bitterly, setting down the book in his hands. “Your best behaviour? Lestat, you don’t even know what that is. You’ve ignored me all evening.”

Lestat raised an eyebrow. “Would you have preferred I showered you with attention in front of everyone? I thought you hated that sort of thing.”

“That’s not the point,” Louis said, his voice rising slightly. He took a step closer, glaring up at Lestat. “Do you think you can just waltz into my shop, send me gifts, ask me to drinks, and expect me to—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “Do you think you can buy my friendship with flowers and books and...whatever else you’re trying to do?”

Lestat’s smirk faltered, just for a moment. “I wasn’t trying to buy anything,” he said quietly. “I just thought...” He trailed off, his gaze dropping shortly to the floor before snapping back up to meet Louis’s.

“You thought what?” Louis demanded.

“I thought you might appreciate it,” Lestat said, his voice soft but steady. “I thought it might make you happy.”

Louis stared at him, his anger wavering. There was something in Lestat’s tone, something almost vulnerable, that threw him off balance.

“I don’t need you to make me happy,” Louis said finally. “I don’t need you to do anything.”

Lestat nodded slowly; his expression unreadable once again. “Of course not. But that doesn’t mean I’ll stop trying.”

Louis folded his arms tightly, his voice sharper than he intended. “You don’t know how to stop, do you? It’s always more with you—more gestures, more attention. I’m not one of your... groupies. Your little projects. I’m not here to give you the attention you so desperately need.“

Lestat tilted his head, a bemused expression softening his features. How could he always not care about Louis’ words, even when he was telling him exactly what he thought?

“Projects? Mon dieu, Louis, is that what you think this is? You flatter yourself.”

Louis scoffed, stepping back as if to put distance between them. “You waltz in here like you own the place. You send things I don’t need, leave notes I didn’t ask for, and expect—what? For me to thank you? To forget all the ways you’ve made my life hell?”

“Hell?” Lestat’s voice was almost playful, but his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “You wound me. I was under the impression your life was already a kind of purgatory, Louis. But please—enlighten me on how I’ve managed to make it worse.”

“You don’t listen!” Louis snapped, his voice a little louder now. “You don’t take no for an answer, you push and push, and then you stand there pretending you’re doing me some sort of favour by—by whatever this is!”

Lestat still seemed unfazed by the outburst. “Whatever this is,” he echoed, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “A thoughtful gesture. A bit of kindness. My way of... establishing goodwill, as they say.”

“Goodwill?” Louis’s laugh was bitter, disbelieving. “You’ve got a strange way of showing it—stomping into my life whenever it suits you, handing out compliments like they’re currency.”

“And you, Louis,” Lestat countered, his voice softening, “have a strange way of rejecting it. You could’ve ignored the book, the flowers, the invitation. Yet here you are—arguing with me instead of letting me leave.”

Louis opened his mouth to reply but faltered. He didn’t have a retort for that, not one he could say without admitting how much Lestat’s presence lingered, no matter how much he wanted to hate it.

Lestat straightened, his gaze locking onto Louis with unnerving intensity. “You don’t have to like me, Louis. But you could try tolerating me. Isn’t that what friends do?”

“Friends?” Louis’s voice was tight, nearly scoffing. “You think this is friendship? Have you lost your mind? Maybe you’re translating something wrong there, because that certainly isn’t the right word for it.”

Lestat smiled, almost to himself. “What else could it be?”

“It’s manipulation,” Louis bit out. “You’re trying to buy your way in—with gifts, and flowers, and that ridiculous charm of yours. Do you think that works on everyone?”

“Yes.” Lestat tilted his head again, his smile fading just slightly. “But it’s not about ‘working,’ Louis. I know that doesn’t work for you. I’m just doing it because I like to.”

Louis flinched, the words cutting deeper than they should have. He forced himself to look away, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“This is stupid,” he muttered, his voice low but brimming with frustration. “You’re stupid, and you’re used to being someone, and you can’t stand that I’m not giving you that.”

“Yes. And you’re stubborn, and you can’t handle someone not being driven away by your… very obvious act of attempting it,” Lestat shot back lightly, though there was an edge to his tone. “I’m not giving up so easily. You know that.”

Louis shook his head, grabbing a random stack of books from the counter and turning his back to Lestat. “The signing is over. If you’re done here, you should leave.”

But before Lestat could reply, Louis hesitated, his hands gripping the books tightly. He didn’t know why he felt the need to say anything more—to push, to fight, to keep Lestat there even as he wanted him gone.

And Lestat, for once, didn’t press. He lingered for a moment longer, as if considering whether to continue, then simply said, “Goodnight, Louis.”

Louis didn’t turn around as he heard the door chime, signalling Lestat’s departure. But the silence he left behind felt heavier than the noise.

Chapter Text

“And then I said—keep in mind, she was still standing there, holding the—”

“What did you say?”

“I said she can take it and shove it in—”

Louis sighed, already regretting letting Claudia get this far into the story. He’d only been half-listening as they walked up the stairs, but from what he could gather, it involved a missing poster, some glittery markers, and Claudia’s ongoing feud with some girl from school. A ridiculous thing, surely, but she had been talking about it for the past five minutes with the kind of fervor that suggested life-or-death stakes. He considered interrupting her, telling her to stop gossiping about her classmates, but he didn’t get the chance.

Claudia stopped mid-sentence, her steps faltering as she came to an abrupt halt.

Louis, following close behind with his keys in hand, nearly bumped into her. “Hey, careful, why did you—”

But then he saw it, too.

A small, neatly wrapped box sat on the stairs to their apartment, adorned with fresh flowers—delicate, deep purple ones, their petals still soft with the evening air. Louis frowned. His grip tightened around his keys. “Fuck me,” he muttered under his breath. Then, louder:” Pretend you didn’t hear that.”

“Ohhh,” Claudia drawled, stepping aside so he could get a better look. “Look at that.”

Louis let out a slow breath through his nose. He didn’t need to open it to know exactly who had left it here. Without another word, he stepped forward, picking up the box with one hand while unlocking the door with the other. Claudia trailed behind him, and though he didn’t turn to look, he could feel her barely contained grin at his back.

Inside, Louis placed the package on the kitchen table, eyeing it warily, as if it might bite. He remained standing, hands resting on the edge of the table, staring at it like the mere sight of it unsettled him—which, in truth, it did.

A lot of different things ran through his head at once.

Dread.

Guilt.

And something else. Something heavier, something impossible to place, a weight that settled low in his stomach like a stone. The flowers made it worse. Ridiculous, that touch. Soft and carefully placed, as if someone had known exactly what he would feel when he saw them.

He wanted to be angry about it.

He should be angry about it.

Anger would be easy. Anger was a thing he understood, a thing he could use. But strangely, this time, anger didn’t come. Instead, he only felt himself twitch nervously as he reached out for them.

Claudia, who had not moved from his side, watched with barely concealed delight as he picked the flowers off one by one, setting them carefully aside.

“No note?” she asked, leaning her chin on his shoulder, watching as he finally untied the ribbon.

Louis shook his head. “No. Don’t see one.”

The lid came off smoothly, revealing a book. Another one.

He knew it before even pulling it out.

Claudia leaned closer, scanning the cover. Her eyes flicked to the note tucked inside, just barely peeking from the pages.

“Let me see that,” she said, reaching for it. Louis swatted her hand away without looking, and she huffed in protest. “Come on. You’re gonna act all broody about it anyway. At least let me—”

“No,” he said simply, quieter this time, turning the book over in his hands.

Claudia sighed dramatically, but she didn’t push.

For a moment, the apartment was quiet, save for the sound of the night air drifting through the open window. Louis didn’t move to open the book just yet. He only stared at it, his fingers brushing over the edges of the pages.

And Claudia, still leaning over his shoulder, hummed knowingly. Louis didn’t answer.

He just breathed slowly, and finally, turned to the note.

I’m not giving up. So consider your rudeness forgiven, for now.

—Lestat

P. S.: I’ve been texting you. Is this a trick? Making me send you things because it’s the only way to get a rise out of you? Lucky you, I’m a generous man.

Louis exhaled sharply through his nose, somewhere between a scoff and a sigh. He didn’t want to think about how this—how all of this—was slowly getting under his skin. But it was. And maybe it was because he hadn’t seen Lestat in over a week, and in the absence of the man himself, Louis was starting to forget all the reasons he should be angry. It was always like this. With Lestat who had a way of ignoring him for two hours straight, only to turn around and ask him out with some flimsy excuse, as if the time in between had meant nothing. He was still so persistent, above all things. And Louis… Louis was starting to wonder if he should just agree, if only to get it over with.

Maybe that’s all Lestat needed—one last evening, proof that whatever this was, there was nothing to be gained from it. No friendship. No interest. No future.

While he was too busy thinking, Claudia plucked the note from his fingers.

She read it aloud, dragging out each word with exaggerated flair. “‘I’m not giving up.’ Wow. Dramatic much?” She flipped the card over, as if expecting more. “No hearts? No poetry? He’s holding back. I would have added more hearts.”

Louis ignored her, flipping open the book instead. His frown deepened. Italian. He didn’t speak Italian. Did Lestat know that? Of course he did. So why send something he couldn’t even understand? Was this just more theatrics, more of that infuriating flair? Something he wanted to tell him, but didn’t manage to put into words? Or arrogance… yes, surely, Louis thought, and he clung to the thought like his life depended on it.

“Hm.” Claudia leaned in, peering at the book. “What’s this?”

Louis snapped it shut. Claudia didn’t flinch, a good sign because he instantly regretted the harshness of his movements. She only stared at him expectantly, waiting, like she always did. And when he said nothing, she nudged his arm. “Okay, so what’s your deal?”

Louis sighed. “What?”

“With him. I know it’s none of my business, but I have to know if he’s going to be daddy number two.” She gestured vaguely. “But you act like he personally ran over your cat, and I know for a fact we’ve never had a cat, so what’s your whole attitude about?”

Louis set the book down a little too carefully. “There is no attitude.”

Claudia gave him an unimpressed look. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

He rubbed his temples, already regretting this conversation. He should know by now to keep his personal business to himself, especially with no chatty teenagers in sight. Still, for some reason, he found himself speaking. “He’s… insistent. That’s all.”

“So? Is that really the worst thing in the world? I don’t see the problem.”

Louis shot her a look, but she only grinned.

She didn’t understand, not really. And she shouldn’t. She was a child, his child, and she had no business worrying about his problems. But still, he her himself telling her some of it. He told her about the first day Lestat had come into his shop, about his arrogance, his intrusive comments. And then, about the dinner—that night where Louis had felt Lestat was reading him, trying too hard to act like he understood something about him.

Louis hated that more than anything.

Hated when people assumed they knew him. Hated when they spoke to him like they had even the faintest idea of what went on inside his head. But he didn’t say that part. Instead, he stuck to the facts—how he left that night, how later, Lestat sent flowers, how things had been since then. When he finished, Claudia gave him a long, thoughtful look.

“Well,” she said finally, tilting her head. “Maybe you’re not telling me something here, but I think you’re not just being rude. You’re cruel, Daddy Lou.”

Louis’ stomach twisted.

“Yes, he was—sorry—a bitch,” she continued, “but you’re just being unnecessarily mean. Seems like he’s apologized enough. And – sorry – you idiot have wasted the opportunity of expensive food. I wouldn’t have done that.”

Louis rolled his eyes. He knew where she was going with this. And seriously, he had to shut the conversation down, because he didn’t want to keep talking to his daughter about this. He didn’t like hearing Claudia say something like that. Not when he was so determined to believe he was in the right.

It sat uncomfortably in his chest, that sentence of hers. Because reckless and naïve as she sometimes was, Claudia was wise. And Louis hated to admit that she might have a point.

“Don’t call me that,” he muttered, voice low. “It’s not fair.” Cruel, she’d called him. Cruel like he’d described Lestat, and cruel like he’d describe his father, and his mother, and sometimes yes, sometimes himself. Louis sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

The book sat on the table between them, mocking him from the distance.

He thought about many things. About how he didn’t want these little gifts, because they were getting into his head. About how he couldn’t outrun this anymore, not after Claudia’s words. He couldn’t stand the thought of being a fool in her eyes. Couldn’t stand the idea that she might be right. God, she was growing up too fast. And he had been there for so little of it.

“Are you keeping it Daddy Lou?” Claudia asked.

He hesitated.

Then, without a word, he picked up the book and carried it to his room, setting it carefully on top of the others. Louis thought, as he walked away, that he’d have to tell Claudia one day how smart she was. That she deserved the world. That she was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

But tonight, he let himself sit with the weight of her words.

And for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with them.

I suppose ignoring you isn’t working. You’ve made that clear. Fine—have it your way. But I’m choosing the place. This happens on my terms, or not at all.
—Louis

By the way, my Italian’s shit.

—Louis

***

Three days later, Louis sat with his back to the door, fingers curled loosely around the handle of his cup. The café was warm, filled with soft conversation, the clinking of plates, the occasional burst of laughter from a nearby table. He had been here for twenty minutes already, waiting. The other wasn’t late; Louis had simply arrived too early, even when he had no real desire to be here in the first place. Every day since he had finally given in and responded to one of Lestat’s relentless attempts, he had considered taking it back. But every day, Claudia’s words echoed in his head, pushing him forward despite himself.

So, he found himself staring into his coffee, pretending he wasn’t listening for the sound of the door.

He heard it anyway.

A gust of air swept in, and there he was. Lestat. Towering, effortlessly luminous in the golden afternoon light streaming through the big windows. He was dressed in white today, absurdly angelic, an insult to the ruin he had left in his wake. Even now, even when Louis told himself he loathed him, he could admit—to himself and no one else—that the bastard was beautiful.

Louis forced himself to stand. He had agreed to this. He had done this to himself. He fought against the thought that still nagged at him, the one that whispered: he could still end this. He could still turn his back and leave.

Instead, he said, "Lestat."

A slow smile spread across Lestat’s lips. "Louis."

It was infuriating, how easily he occupied space, how he slipped into the seat across from him like they had done this a hundred times before. As if this was comfortable. As if this was normal. It wasn’t. There was nothing between them now, but resentment, regret, and the weight of too many things unsaid. Yet Lestat was looking at him like he expected—what? Forgiveness? Curiosity? Interest? Louis didn’t know. Didn’t want to know.

He exhaled slowly. "You found the place alright, then."

Lestat hummed, fingers drumming idly against the table. "I’m not all fancy places, you know. This is nice. I don’t mind."

Louis ignored that. "I assume you have something to say, so say it. I’m here. That’s what you wanted."

Lestat shook his head, a soft, knowing smile tugging at his lips. "You’re determined to make this painful, aren’t you?"

"You invited yourself into my life," Louis said, voice clipped. "I’m merely setting the terms."

Lestat watched him for a moment before leaning back, tilting his head. "Fine. If all of this isn’t working—if the books, the gifts, my deeply charming personality—aren’t working, then why did you ask me here? I don’t understand you. I’m trying, you see? I’ve apologized, and you’ve not accepted, which is fine, but then you keep looking at me like you expect something more. What is it, Louis? Have I insulted you that badly?"

Louis pressed his lips together. There was no answer he could give that wouldn’t hand Lestat something to latch onto. He couldn’t say that he hated the way Lestat always spoke like he knew more than him, that he hated how it made him feel unequal. He couldn’t say that it made him insecure in ways he didn’t even want to name. Or that he had spent his entire life twisting the truth just so he didn’t have to feel. Because feeling meant something else, something entirely different, and he had told himself long ago that wasn’t allowed.

Lestat sighed, almost theatrically. "Look, if you don’t want to talk about what I want to talk about, then you suggest something. Or stop complaining. Or stop… "

He cut himself off.

Louis frowned. "Or stop what?"

Lestat tilted his head. Then, instead of finishing his thought, he said, "The girl in the shop. The one with the braids. That your daughter?"

Louis blinked, caught off guard.

"Yes," he said eventually, guarded but less stiff than before.

Lestat nodded, as if confirming something to himself. "She looks like you."

Louis let out a short breath. He was fond of hearing it – people kept mentioning it every now and then, never knowing that it simply couldn’t be. "She’d hate to hear that."

"Oh?" Lestat smirked. "Not fond of the comparison?"

"She prefers to be her own person." He sounded harsh. A pause. Louis hesitated, then added, "She’s the reason I agreed to this."

Lestat’s smirk widened. "Smart girl."

"Don’t let it go to your head. I’m only here so she’d stop pressing me about it."

Lestat placed a hand over his heart, mock-offended. But beneath the performance, his gaze softened. Louis hated that. Hated that it was suddenly easy to talk to him. Because easy was dangerous. Easy led to things Louis had long decided he wouldn’t allow himself. And Louis—Louis found himself looking too long, wondering if this was what his face looked like when he wasn’t playing something for a crowd. When there was no stage, no flashing cameras, no need to be dazzling. Just… him.

Louis shook the thought off. He had to think about something, anything, to force this farce of a friendly conversation to go on, before it turned to ash in his mouth:" And what about you?"

Lestat raised a brow. "What about me?"

Louis studied him. "Do you have children?"

Something flickered in Lestat’s eyes, brief but telling that he had not expected the question. And yet, he didn’t answer it. Instead, he smiled, easy and practiced. “Now, Louis,” he drawled, “what would be the fun in me telling you everything about me so soon?”

Louis exhaled sharply, irritated. He didn’t know why he tried. “I know absolutely nothing about you.”

The blonde’s grin was a wicked little thing. All white, perfect teeth. “Then perhaps you should’ve read the book.”

Louis scoffed, sitting back. "I didn’t. And I won’t."

"Oh, I know." Lestat waved a hand. "If you had, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I like that about you, you know? You don’t care. You stick to what you think, and you don’t care the slightest about me. It’s refreshing, really. Makes me feel like a person."

His voice dipped on that last part, something faintly bitter creeping in before he smoothed it over.

Louis watched him. "Is that what you’re looking for?"

Lestat smiled, slow and secretive. "You tell me."

Louis didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure there was an answer.

Instead, he picked up his cup, bringing it to his lips, only to realize the coffee had long gone cold. He set it back down with more force than necessary, glancing toward the counter.

Lestat followed his gaze. "Do you want another one?"

"I’ll get it myself."

"Let me."

Louis sighed. "It’s coffee, Lestat."

Lestat’s lips twitched. "Yes. That’s exactly what it is." But he was already standing, slipping through the tables with his usual unearned grace.

Louis let out a breath, watching him go.

When Lestat returned, he placed the fresh cup down in front of Louis with an exaggerated flourish. "For you, mon cher."

Louis stared at his hands. "It’s not that serious."

"Stop saying that." Lestat insisted before settling back into his chair. He tapped his fingers idly against the table, watching Louis. Then, almost lazily:“ You said you don’t know anything about me,” he mused. “And yet you seem quite content to keep it that way.”

Louis didn’t reply.

Lestat tilted his head. “If you’re so uninterested, what are we doing here?”

Louis set his cup down, fingers resting idly against the rim. “We’re here because you don’t seem to understand the meaning of ‘no.’”

“But you’re still here.” Lestat shrugged. “And you keep being there.”

What could he say to that? That he didn’t know? That even when he wanted to end whatever this was, he couldn’t quite bring himself to? Louis wanted to ask why, even. Why keep meeting, when he’d made it clear he had no interest in it?

Dryly, he heard himself say, “Why bother, Lestat? Surely there are others who’d be thrilled.”

Lestat just smiled. “You called me a bitch, you know. First dinner, and you basically told me to fuck off because I accidentally dug too deep. I didn’t do that on purpose, you know? Though I realize I’ve… I’ve hit something there, apparently. I was just trying to make you understand I was actually interested.” His eyes gleamed. “I thought it was charming. And then you called me stupid, and I knew you understood, even when you didn’t.”

Louis wasn’t sure what to do with that. He exhaled through his nose, taking a slow, measured sip of his coffee instead of engaging. He had chosen this meeting, but that didn’t mean he had to make it easy. Not when Lestat’s eyes tore through him, not blinking, not looking away. And Louis thought, that his left iris was slightly darker than the right, and his right pupil slightly bigger than the left…

From over the rim of his cup, Louis met his gaze. “If you don’t want me calling you names, stop that.” He gestured at him. “I prefer you speaking plainly instead of begging for my attention with… whatever this is.”

Lestat grimaced—an exaggerated, performative thing. “Ouch.”

“Good.”

Lestat laughed softly, studying Louis again. Louis wondered what he saw when he looked at him like that. Or what it was he hoped to find.

A beat of silence. Then Lestat sighed, swirling his coffee absently. Finally, he said, “My time here’s coming to an end, you know? Just one concert left before we move on to Europe.” He leaned back, watching Louis carefully. “I’m glad you changed your mind about me. I’d hate for you to hate me just because you’re so quick to mistrust.”

Louis frowned, but Lestat only shrugged, glancing out the window. Louis followed his gaze, but saw nothing there.

For a second, it seemed like Lestat might say something else. Then he settled on something entirely different.

“Would you prefer I never text you again after this?”

Louis parted his lips. He should say yes. His life would go back to normal if that’s how it went. It should be easy.

Instead, what came out was: “Why were you ignoring me?”

Childish. Petty. Unkind, to still be lingering on it.

Lestat shook his head, amused. “How sweet, mon cher. You have absolutely no clue.”

Chuckling, he tucked a stray curl behind his ear and rose from his chair. Louis watched as he walked to the counter, and really, he wanted to get up and chase after him; Lestat was quick to hand over money and simply pay for their drinks and—before stepping out—winked at him.

Through the café window, Louis saw him light a cigarette. Then, just like that, he vanished into the crowd.

Louis exhaled, shaking his head. Annoying, he thought, with far less sharpness than before.

That night, Louis lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. The room was dark except for the faint sliver of streetlight spilling in through the curtains that he’d not bothered to close properly, too tired from working late, after meeting Lestat. Somehow, he’d felt the need to make up for closing for a couple of hours that afternoon. By now, he should have been asleep—should have closed his eyes and let exhaustion do its work. But his mind wouldn’t quiet.

The scent of dark roast still lingered faintly in his senses, clinging to his thoughts like something he couldn’t quite shake. And Lestat—God, Lestat. That man. And Louis hated him, still, or he thought he did, and he couldn’t understand when between a week ago and today, he’s decided, that all his anger wasn’t worth the energy. It wasn’t worth the energy to fight someone, who’d not get hurt in the slightest.

And was that what he’d hoped to achieve? Yes, it seemed so. But there was no sense in Louis hits, when the other enjoyed them more than he should.

Louis exhaled sharply, shifting against the pillows as if turning over might dislodge the weight in his chest. He didn’t want to think about it. About the way Lestat had watched him, so direct, so knowing. About the way his own voice had softened despite himself. He didn’t want to think about the way something had cracked—not enough to break, just enough to let something seep in.

He turned onto his side, arm tucked beneath his head, eyes fixed on the dim outline of the bookshelf across the room. On top sat the books—his books now, whether he liked it or not. A few weeks ago, he would have thrown them away without hesitation, like the flowers he’d impulsively thrown away. But now, he kept them. Let them sit there, let them exist in his space.

He closed his eyes.

Why am I thinking about this? He’s rude. Rude beyond- everything. Rude, and mean, and he treats me like- like I’ve begun treating him? But he is. And he’s brilliant, and he’s prettier than a man shoulder ever be, and he’s- famous and arrogant. Arrogant, yes. Arrogant but- He’s not letting go.

Irritating.

I don’t like him. Not him. Not someone as impossibly egocentric and persistent and-

He’s sent me flowers. As an apology.

It didn’t mean anything.

And yet, he knew himself well enough to recognize a lie when he told one. And Louis, he didn’t know what was going on with him, pulled out his phone and opened YouTube. Again, he didn’t know why he watched that video. He didn’t know, why in frustration, he then threw the phone to the other end of the bed, and made a low noise, when he turned over onto his stomach, and breathed in deeply, ignoring whatever aches in him begged for something he wouldn’t give, and he fell asleep just as restless as he’s been when he closed his eyes.

***

“This is what you call organizing?” Madeleine asked, eyeing the stack of books on the counter with mild confusion. Her voice was light, but cautious, as if testing how far she could push in just her first week.

From her perch by the window, Claudia glanced up from her sketchpad and snorted. “I’ve been asking him the same thing for months. He says it’s a ‘system.’”

Louis didn’t look up from the receipt he was stapling to the ledger. The day’s been long – what day wasn’t, really – and he wasn’t in the mood for the teenager’s chatting, even when he liked that Claudia seemed to have found someone she appreciated spending time with. Madeleine, newest and only real employee of the shop, was only two years older than her, and rather easy to talk to, if she kept her tongue in check. She was witty and sarcastic, and he would have liked her, if she weren’t criticising everything after her second shift.

“It is a system,” he said, his tone curt but not unkind. He didn’t mind much, and he thought, it didn’t matter as long as she did her job well. And she did.

Madeleine tilted her head, her red curls bouncing slightly as she crossed her arms. “Is it a system, though? Or is it just a really complicated way of making sure no one else can figure out where anything goes?”

Claudia chuckled outright, her pencil pausing mid-sketch. “Exactly. He organizes like he’s protecting state secrets or something.”

Louis sighed, rubbing his temple. He’d hired Madeleine because she’d seemed sharp, eager, and competent in her interview. So far, that part was holding up. But apparently, he’d also invited in another person to poke holes in his methods. And Claudia, of course, was egging her on.

“I thought you were supposed to be shelving, not critiquing,” he said finally, glancing at Madeleine. “Or did that somehow get lost in translation?” He smiled.

Madeleine held up her hands, a small smile in return at seeing his tugging at her lips. “No critique, boss. Just... observations.” She gestured to the counter again. “But if you want these to end up somewhere other than here, you’re going to have to let me in on the ‘system.’”

“You don’t need to know the whole thing,” Louis sighed, standing and gesturing for her to follow. “Just stick to the basics for now—alphabetical by author, genres grouped by section. The rest comes later.”

Madeleine grabbed a nearby cart and began loading the books onto it with quick, efficient movements. “Got it. Alphabetical, genres, no secret codes. Easy enough.”

Claudia smirked from her spot on the floor. “Give it a week. He’ll have you color-coding bookmarks.”

Louis shot her a look. “Don’t you have homework?”

“I finished it already,” Claudia said breezily, twirling her pencil.

“You sure? Or is this one of those times I find out you forgot to turn it in later?”

She raised her hand as if swearing an oath. “Cross my heart, no missing assignments. You can even check the portal if you don’t believe me.”

Louis ignored her, focusing on Madeleine. “For now, just focus on the shelves. If you run into anything weird—”

“Like this?” Madeleine held up a dusty anthology that looked out of place.

Louis exhaled. “Exactly. Set those aside, and I’ll deal with them later.”

She nodded and wheeled the cart toward the fiction section, humming softly as she worked. Louis found himself watching her for a moment, noting how quickly she moved. At least she was efficient. That much, he could appreciate.

Claudia’s voice broke his train of thought. “I like her.”

“And I don’t know her well enough to like or dislike her.” Louis turned back to his work; pen poised. “But she needs the money, and I need the help.”

His daughter huffed, slumping into her corner.

“Talking about help,” he continued, “take the keys and go home. No point in you sitting here, bored out of your mind.” She took them with exaggerated reluctance:“ I don’t want to be alone at home. It’s boring.”

“Then watch TV like a normal teenager. Or go visit your aunt, if you really don’t know what to do. I’ll be home later, okay?”

Claudia groaned, shoving her things into her bag. “Aye-aye, Captain.”

Louis watched her go, fondly, as she trotted out of the store—where he’d remain for the rest of the afternoon. There wasn’t much left to do, just a few papers to sort, nothing that required much thought. By six, he told Madeleine she could go home, not seeing why the girl should waste her evening standing around, when there was nothing left to do.

When he too finally made his way home, the walk was quiet, the sky bruised with the first traces of evening. The heat of the day was slowly melting into a humid breeze, and the streets were clearing, if not for the few people like him who still had somewhere to go.

Louis’ hands were in his pockets, head down, lost in thought—until, almost without realizing it, he pulled out his phone and called his sister, knowing it’s been days, and he should feel guilty for it.

The phone barely rang twice before Grace picked up.

“Well, well. If it isn’t my elusive big brother. Do you even know how late it is?”

“Don’t tell me you were sleeping,” Louis murmured, half amused. He adjusted the phone against his ear as he crossed the empty street. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s been… a couple of days.”

“And now you’re calling me again? Oh, I must be blessed.” Grace’s voice was warm, teasing. “Alright, hit me. What’s going on?”

He hesitated. He wasn’t even sure why he’d made the call—only that he had. Maybe he subconsciously needed to say it, to his sister, if no one else. Because there was no one, for a fact. He had her, and his daughter, and that was it.

“Had coffee with him. Tuesday, I think.”

He said it lightly, as if it didn’t matter. As if he hadn’t been keeping track of the exact day, the exact hour, the exact way Lestat had looked at him across that tiny café table. And yes, Louis was still brushing his thoughts under the rug, because for a while longer he had to cling to the aversion, before he could make room for something less bitter. Not friendship, no, but maybe a state where he could live with Lestat’s flaws and keep himself from being cruel.

There was a beat of silence. Then, predictably, Grace let out a delighted gasp. Louis sighed, glancing around the empty street, as though it would save him. “A date?” she exclaimed. “Louis de Pointe du Lac, did you just—No, I must be imagining things. It can’t be you, calling me to say you went on a date? With—oh, this is hilarious—Blondie? The one you called names just days ago? We are talking about the same one, right? Broad shoulders, eye-liner, likes to go out in dresses-“

“It wasn’t a date.” He nearly yelled.

“Sure, and I don’t have three kids to feed. Come on, tell me everything.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “It was just a meeting. That’s all.”

“Right, because meetings usually involve coffee for two over a candlelit café table.”

“It wasn’t candlelit—”

“Oh, my God.” Grace sounded like she enjoyed his misery. “I thought you hated him. Didn’t you say that?”

Louis scowled, even though she couldn’t see it. “I don’t hate him.” His words, faster than his mind. What was he even doing there? He exhaled through his nose, pausing outside his door. “Nothing happened. I just—” He hesitated briefly, searching for the right words before he made this any worse. “Maybe I was a little… harsh.”

Grace made a sound of pure smug satisfaction. “Look at you. Self-reflecting.”

“Don’t start.”

“Oh, I absolutely will.” A pause, then, softer: “Is it because…”

His grip on the phone tightened. “No. Don’t say it. I don’t want to hear it.”

Silence stretched between them. Grace didn’t push. Instead, she sighed. “Alright. If you say so.” He didn’t. But she let it go. “I’ll let you get back to whatever you had planned for the night,” she seemed to sigh directly into the speaker. “Call me again before another two days pass, alright?”

“I’ll try.”

She snorted. “I’ll take it. Night, Louis.”

“Goodnight.”

The call ended. Louis lingered for a moment, phone still in his hand, before slipping it back into his pocket and unlocking the door.

It struck him how quickly the walk home had passed—he’d been on the phone the entire time, which must have made both seem faster than they were. Usually, the walk felt longer. A slow return to something quieter, something contained. But tonight, he hadn’t had the time to think about the distance. Or the silence.

Inside, he toed off his shoes and went straight to wash his hands. The house smelled faintly of cinnamon, and he could hear the soft hum of the television before he stepped into the living room.

Claudia was curled up on the couch, a blanket thrown haphazardly over her legs, balancing a half-empty bowl of cereal in one hand. The light from the TV flickered over her face as she scooped up another bite.

His daughter spotted him and perked up immediately. “Hey! You want some? I took the rest.” She lifted the bowl in his direction, an unspoken invitation.

Louis gave the soggy mess of cornflakes and milk a glance and grimaced. “No, thank you.”

Claudia snorted. “Your loss.” She slurped up another spoonful and turned back to the screen.

Louis shook his head, moving into the kitchen. The first thing he did was check for bread, or anything, really. He hadn’t thought to go grocery shopping today, and it showed—bare shelves, an empty fruit bowl, not much in the fridge aside from half-used condiments and a sad-looking head of lettuce.

In the end, he settled on some cold leftovers from last night—a simple pan dish, nothing fancy, but it would do. He grabbed a fork and headed back into the living room, lowering himself onto the couch beside Claudia.

Before taking a bite, he leaned over and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“Ew, stop that!” She wrinkled her nose and swatted at him, though she was laughing. “I’m eating!”

“And?” Louis took a bite of his food, unbothered.

Claudia huffed, but she was still smiling as she focused back on her show.

They sat there like that for a while—comfortable, familiar. Louis eating his cold dinner, Claudia finishing off her cereal, the TV filling the space between them. He suffered through some days just for this. And past him, he really wouldn’t believe he’d be there in the future. Not entirely satisfied with what he’s achieved, but happier than he’s ever been before. Life could continue like this, and he wouldn’t be too sad about anything he could have missed.

His phone vibrated against his thigh.

Louis glanced down, expecting something from Grace, maybe a reminder to call her again before the week ended. But it wasn’t Grace.

Lestat.

Since that coffee, he hasn’t heard from him. A rare thing, really. Ever since they met, he’s been getting texts near daily, and he’s seen him at least once a week in his store. And now? Louis couldn’t say he missed it. But also, he felt like something was missing. Even if that something was usually angering him beyond what seemed necessary. And he couldn’t really decide, could he? Torn now, between what he’s been calling hatred, and between what was some building interest.

He hesitated briefly before unlocking the screen.

Now that I’ve managed to get your attention… And since I assume it would be useless to ask you to come to my show… I might as well ask you to come to the afterparty? It’s the last chance, you know. I know you would have liked it, but I don’t have the time to lure you again with books, you know, so my simple begging has to do. I look pretty when I beg.

- Yours, the charming blonde with the great ass. There can’t be too many in your life.

Louis exhaled sharply through his nose, already typing his response.

No chance, Lestat.

- Louis, who’s not amused.

P. S.: Are you admitting you’ve been trying to buy me?

He set the phone down beside him, not expecting anything else. But barely a minute passed before another message popped up.

I didn’t admit anything. And you didn’t even consider it. What does a man have to do to make it right? Seriously. I don’t understand you, American Men. Too complicated. Too stubborn.

Louis frowned. He typed in his reply.  That’s because I already know my answer. I don’t care, you know? I don’t want to be near that noise you call music.

A pause. Then—

I find that hard to believe. Not the music bit, non, you’re free to think that. But I cannot believe you’re freely wasting the last chance to spend some time with me. Admit it. It’s working on you.

Louis rolled his eyes. This man did not give up. You assume too much. I told you I hate that.

I assume just enough. You haven’t blocked my number yet, have you? See. Told you I’d make up for it.

Louis had nothing to say to that.

The next message came before he could think of something cutting.

Come, Louis. You’ll hate it, but at least you’ll hate it with me. And if you still want to call me names afterwards, do it, but do it in that angered tone of yours. It’s a nice sound.

He frowned at the screen, lingering on the words longer than he should. There was something infuriating about the way Lestat phrased things. Something equally as infuriating about how Louis never knew how to respond to him. And the things he said, they made him angry again. And maybe, just maybe, angry wasn’t entirely the right word for it. Far off.

I have nothing to do there, Lestat.

Lestat’s reply was fast. Like he waited all day, just for this conversation. Then do nothing. Sit in a corner, scowl at me, drink whatever overpriced nonsense I buy you—

Louis exhaled again – he was breathing loudly through his nose the whole time, wasn’t he –, rubbing his temple. Claudia glanced over. “Who’s texting you?”

“No one important.”

“Ohhh ‘no one important’”, Claudia mimicked. He could tell by the way she was moving her head; she was trying to look on his screen. With a grin Louis moved a bit further away, leaving her to mutter something under her breath at him, using her left foot to nudge his legs, just to irritate him as he looked back at his phone. The cursor blinked, waiting for his reply. He could say no again. Could ignore it entirely. Still a chance.

We’ll see. He pressed send before he could think too much about it.

Lestat’s response came almost immediately.

Mon dieu. Is that a yes?

Don’t get ahead of yourself, Lestat. I might change my mind.

He imagined, how Lestat sat in his hotel, or wherever he stayed, and grinned down at the words. Too smug, too satisfied. It was too easy to picture. Too late. See you soon, mon cher.

Louis set his phone down, exhaling through his nose.

Claudia again kicked his leg lightly. “You good?”

“I’m fine.”

She accepted his answer, and finally scooted closer, after placing her bowl on the floor. Louis pulled his daughter closer to him, and wrapped his arms around her.

Chapter Text

Louis ran a hand over his head, scowling at the stubborn section of hair just above his ear that refused to lie flat. He’d used nearly an entire tube of gel, yet still, a few unruly curls fought against him. It was ridiculous. He knew it was ridiculous. And yet, he kept smoothing his palms over his scalp, trying to force his hair into something neat, something controlled.

It wasn’t just the hair. It was the feeling. The feeling of not having done enough, of not looking as unshakable as he wanted to feel. So, his hair took the brunt of his frustration.

A sharp knock against the doorframe broke his focus. “Knock, knock.”

Louis caught Claudia’s reflection in the mirror as she poked her head into the bathroom, her expression already bordering on amusement. The light above the mirror glinted in her eyes, making them look even sharper than usual. “You still in here?” she asked, stepping in fully now. “I gotta pee.”

“Just a minute,” Louis muttered, dabbing at the side of his head with wet fingers. It didn’t help much.

Claudia crossed her arms, watching him. “What are you even doing?”

Louis made a displeased sound, then sighed, gesturing vaguely at his head. “Trying to get this to stay down.” His daughter leaned in, squinting, then reached out and patted his hair with a sceptical face. Immediately, she recoiled, wrinkling her nose. “Ugh. Oh my God, why’s it so stiff?” She smacked his head lightly. “You put the whole bottle in?”

Louis glared at her in the mirror. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.” She snorted, trying to keep her laughter in check. “You look like a damn mannequin. Or—oh no—like one of those guys from those old movies you always make me watch.”

“I do not—”

“Like, if you tilt your head just right, I swear you’re giving–”

Louis groaned, touching his hair with both hands. It couldn’t be as bad as she said. “You done?”

Claudia grinned. “Not even close. Come here.” And before he could protest, she snatched the comb from the sink, but it under water and ran it through the gelled section, breaking up the stiffness, loosening the overworked strands. She reached for a towel, dabbing away the excess product.

“You don’t have to glue it down,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s fine if it curls a little. You have curls, Daddy Lou.”

Louis exhaled sharply. “I just wanted it to look—”

“What? Like you’re about to give a speech?”

“No,” he grumbled. “Just… put-together.”

Claudia gave him a look and smacked his head again. Then, she smoothed the last section down with her fingers, gentler now. “There. Better.” She stepped back, admiring her work. “Now you look like you, not some weird, wax-figure version of you.”

Louis frowned at his reflection. It did look better. Less forced. Less… desperate.

Claudia smirked, arms crossing again. “Also, if you keep messing with it, you’re gonna be late.”

“It’s an afterparty,” Louis muttered. “His show’s still on. It won’t even start till midnight.”

“Uh-huh,” Claudia said, nodding slowly. “And yet you’re in here hours early, fighting for your life against your own hair.”

Louis shot her a look. Claudia only laughed:“ You worry too much, Mr. Put-Together. Can’t believe why. You’ve been telling me all day about how little you wanna go.”

“Whatever. Here– I’m done. I’ll make us dinner, yes?” Louis grumbled, glancing at himself one last time before shaking his head and turning off the light. He was ready. Or he had to be.

Even from the outside, the location was nothing remarkable—a simple, boxy building with light spilling through its windows, cutting into the thick darkness of the night. The deep thrum of bass hammered through the air, a steady, almost bodily vibration. Louis tucked his hands into the pockets of his jacket as he approached, feeling the distant pull of something he couldn’t quite name. Probably the promise of alcohol, he thought, the only promising prospect in this hopeless situation.

The address Lestat had given him wasn’t far from the concert hall, and it wasn’t hard to find. The crowd outside made sure of that. The sidewalk and street were thick with people, mostly young women, their faces still flushed from excitement, their voices overlapping in an excited buzz. A few men lingered too, all of them draped in dark fabric, barely anything at all, and so many with their necks left bare, heads tilted just so—offering. Louis had seen it online, in the videos he pretended he didn’t watch, the way they leaned into Lestat’s touch, mouths open as if waiting to be fed some sacred thing.

A shiver crawled down his spine.

He pulled his jacket tighter around himself, feeling vaguely grateful that he had opted for something safe—dark green sweatshirt, dress pants. After his failed hair experiment he hasn’t been in the mood for more experiments, and he decided on not trying to be more lavish than he was. It felt wrong anyways.

Ahead, the entrance was marked by a line, despite the event supposedly being invite-only. Lestat had told him as much over the phone, but had been frustratingly vague about the details. Louis had feared the worst—some over-indulgent, spectacle-laden nightmare—but the music filtering through the door was nothing extravagant. Just pop music, slightly muffled. Still, as he approached the front of the line, his unease remained.

When it was his turn, the man at the door barely spared him a glance.

“Invitation?”

Louis faltered. Heat crawled up his neck. Of course, Lestat hadn’t given him one. What had he thought? And Louis, he felt like a fool already, and he feared everyone looking at him, thinking about why he stood there, uninvited. Rationally, he knew no one cared. But he disliked the exposure Lestat was making him suffer. Had he not thought about this?

“I—” Louis started with a crack of his voice, then caught himself. “I was invited. Just don’t have something… My name’s Louis. I should be on the list.”

The man’s eyes flicked over him, unimpressed. He probably heard that more than once a night. “Yeah? So was half of New Orleans, apparently. Invitation.”

Louis clenched his jaw. He shouldn’t be here. He didn’t even want to be here. He could turn around now, forget this whole thing— He kept repeating himself, thinking that too often. Something deeply, deeply begrudging forced its way up his throat.

“I’m a… friend of Lestat’s.” The words tasted foreign. Bitter. “If you can just get him… he’ll explain. I’m sure.”

The man arched a brow. “Sure you are. Now move.”

Louis shut his eyes briefly. This is humiliating. He was about to snap something back—wasn’t even sure what—when the door behind the man swung open. A small group spilled out onto the sidewalk, their laughter bright and easy, blending into the night. Louis knew them immediately—Lestat’s backing vocalists, the ones he’d seen in videos, in photos. He suddenly thanked whoever it was looking over him, or not, as the past has proven, for saving him from another round of shame.

The three figures were laughing loudly, not looking at anyone who stood outside. Louis had to think hard to remember their names. There was Alex and Larry, the two other men of the group. And the woman, who called herself Tough-Cookie and wouldn’t reveal her name.

And, of course, walking close behind them, golden-haired and grinning, Lestat himself.

Dressed in some transparent shirt and glittery shorts, he looked unbothered as ever, in that careless, effortless way Louis had come to expect. Now he thought, that the blonde must be cold, standing dressed in so little outside in the cold. But that man didn’t shiver, most likely still warmed from his earlier performance… Louis hadn’t cared before, but now he wanted to know, if this was the state of his clothes at a party, what was he in on stage? Of course Louis knew, he’s seen it in the videos, but with his own eyes? Why do I even care? He’s an adult. If he wants to freeze his ass off that’s his thing.

“–for the second time, I don’t care if you think you’re the president’s best friend, you now move out of the line or I –“ Louis didn’t listen.

Lestat was speaking to Tough-Cookie about something, gesturing with a half-smoked cigarette between his fingers, when his gaze lifted and landed directly on Louis.

And then he beamed.

“Mon dieu,” Lestat practically purred, already striding over in long steps, his bundle of people behind him. “Je ne pensais pas que tu viendrais.”

Louis’ face twitched nearly into a not so unfriendly expression. “Yeah, unfortunately I’m here.”

Lestat only laughed, still utterly delighted, before turning to the bouncer with a wave of his hand, the cigarette a small glowing light in the darkness. “He’s with me. Let him do as he pleases.”

The man at the door looked between them, still doubtful, but ultimately sighed and stepped aside. Louis could feel the way the singers were watching him, quiet but not exactly subtle, like they were trying to place him. He ignored them, and took a step away from the door guy, closer to Lestat and his flock. As little as he felt comfortable here, he would feel even more if he didn’t stick close to the blonde, because after all he was the only one he actually knew.

“Enfin,” Lestat drawled, still grinning. “I was beginning to think you stood me up.”

Louis scoffed. “It’s not a date, so how would that work?”

“Pity.”

For a second the other swayed dangerously on his feet. Louis watched him, and he wanted to ask how much he’s had to drink already. Louis glared, but Lestat was already reaching into his pants, pulling out a silver cigarette case. Where he’d stored that – no idea. Probably best not to ask. And was he already done smoking the first? Louis looked at his hands. Yes, apparently. Lestat flipped the case open and held it out between them, wordless.

Louis stared at it. Tempted. “I don’t smoke,” he said automatically, which was only half true. He’d been smoking since he turned seventeen, and he’s never really stopped.

Lestat gave him a knowing look. “Non?”

Louis hesitated.

Then, spitefully, he reached out, plucked one from the case, and set it between his lips. Delightful. If he was going to do this tonight – drinks with someone he disliked, staying at a party where he knew no one – he could just as well commit to the sin of smoking as well. He’d told Claudia he’d be back later, and they’d most likely see each other over breakfast, should he manage to make it out of bed, and so there was no risk of her smelling it on him, or even seeing him in a state where he didn’t want his daughter to see him. It was enough that he felt again like a teenager, and that he made a fool out of himself by attending this.

Lestat’s smile grew wider, more satisfied. He took one for himself and then, with a flick of his wrist, produced a lighter. Louis expected him to offer it to him, but instead, Lestat merely lifted his chin, watching, expectant. Louis scowled, snatching it from his hand. He sparked it, let the flame flicker, and lit his own cigarette before—without thinking—he turned the lighter outward, offering the same courtesy to Lestat.

The blonde leaned in, and he wasn’t turning his eyes from Louis as he did. For a moment, the light caught between them, painting his features in warm gold. His lips parted just slightly around the cigarette, breath slow and steady, before the ember caught.

Louis dropped the lighter into Lestat’s palm and turned away, inhaling sharply.

He told himself it was just the smoke that burned at his lungs.

The smoke curled between them, thin and wavering in the night air. Louis exhaled, rolling the cigarette between his fingers, feeling its weight, the burn of it. He suddenly wasn’t sure why he’d taken it in the first place. Spite, probably.

Lestat stood beside him, pleased as a cat that had dragged something half-dead onto the doorstep. He tapped his cigarette against the edge of a metal ashtray attached to the wall, flicking away crumbs before turning back toward the group still lingering nearby.

“Louis, you remember my dear companions, don’t you?” He gestured grandly, a sweeping motion toward the trio who had stepped aside to give them space but hadn’t stopped watching.

Alex, tall and broad, his dark hair slicked back like he was born to wear leather jackets. Larry, always more relaxed, his white-dyed hair making him look older than he probably was, because he couldn’t be older than twenty-six, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. And then there was Tough-Cookie, standing with her arms crossed, watching Louis with a sharp-eyed curiosity, though she didn't look particularly surprised to see him.

They’d met before, back at the bookshop. Louis had sometimes hated them more than he hated Lestat. To them, he’s never really spoken a word, but now, Lestat gestured between them all as if this were something more official. “Alex, Larry, Cookie—this is Louis.” He glanced at Louis, and there was something sly in the way he said it. “A good friend of mine.”

Louis twitched.

Alex lifted an eyebrow but nodded. “Right. Good to see you again, man. Properly, this time.”

Larry gave a lazy salute. “Didn’t think we’d see you here.”

Tough-Cookie smirked, tilting her head. “Guess you were curious after all.”

Louis gave her a flat look. “Don’t start. I remember you burned a hole into my carpet. Smoking in a book shop, really not the best idea.”

Cookie grimaced. “Ah shit- I don’t remember that.”

“Yeah”, Louis said dryly, “You three left an impression.”

The woman scratched the back of her head. Her ashamed expression made Louis feel a bit better, about the whole matter. “Still. Sorry.”

“…okay”, Louis said, and then added very, very slowly:” ’s fine.”

Lestat, ever enjoying himself with apparently zero mind to the conversation, took a step closer to Louis and moved to sling an arm around his shoulder. Louis stopped him with a firm hand to the chest. There was too far, and then there was too far.

Lestat let himself be pushed back but was clearly still euphoric. “You’re getting quicker at that.”

“Practice,” Louis muttered, and took away his hand.

Truthfully, though, he wasn’t that mad about it. Annoyed, sure. Irritated at the sheer predictability of it. But not mad. Not really. He thought he’s given up being mad, because it was tearing at his energy. His gaze flicked over Lestat then, noting the slight flush to his cheeks, the loose way he was standing, a little too comfortable in his own skin. Louis frowned. “How much have you had to drink?”

Lestat grinned, slow and shameless. “Not enough.” In the background, the group members cheered to that. In general, the noise around them has gotten louder. People must have noticed Lestat moving outside. But those people, Louis didn’t spend a second on. They were part of the background, and they were nothing but a loud mass, all trying to be close to Lestat’s light.

Louis smiled into the darkness. “Of course not.”

Lestat tilted his head, the curtain of blonde curls falling into his face. “Why? Are you worried about me?” And what a devilish pretty face it was, here in the dark. Sweaty, and smeared, the make-up all over him.

Louis rolled his eyes. “So. The show. How was it?”

Lestat turned to him fully now, eyes narrowing. “Oh? Now you’re interested?”

Louis frowned, regretting asking. Lestat took one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it aside, crushing it beneath his boot. Then, with that ever-present glint of mischief in his eyes, he leaned in just slightly, voice warm and teasing. “Why don’t you come inside and drink something?”

Against all better judgment, Louis nodded, and he stiffened as Lestat’s hand briefly brushed over his back, silently telling him to walk ahead. As Louis did, he turned around, and he watched Larry slap Lestat’s ass and tell him to drink for him too, because he’d stay outside for a while. Swallowing, Louis turned around, and entered the smoke-blurred building.

The music was deafening.

The heat inside was almost unbearable, thick with the scent of sweat, smoke, and expensive cologne. Before he could make a move, a hand curled around his wrist, and Lestat was there again, pulling him toward the bar with an easy smile. “Come on,” Lestat said, voice raised just enough to be heard over the music. “You didn’t come all this way just to stand around looking like you’d rather be dead.”

Louis shot him a look but let himself be led. Behind the counter, the bartender barely glanced at them before setting down two glasses and filling them with something amber-coloured. Lestat took his without hesitation, like some who stopped caring about what he drank hours ago, and raised it toward Louis expectantly.

Louis raised his brows. “What’s that?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

Lestat laughed, already knocking back a sip. “Brandy. You’ll survive.” Louis eyed him warily, but his fingers curled around the glass anyway. He wasn’t sure why he even humoured this. Maybe it was because he’d already given in by coming here, or maybe because the heat of the room, the press of bodies, and the way Lestat looked at him like he was just waiting for him to loosen up made him want to take the edge off. And he’d be better company if he just drank. Expectantly, the first sip burned, but he swallowed it down without complaint.

The blonde leaned in, eyes glittering. “So? Bad?”

Louis licked his lips and shook his head. “No.”

Lestat smirked, satisfied, and drowned his drink in one. He placed the glass on the counter, and it refilled as if by magic.

They lingered by the bar for some time, Louis thought, but the alcohol was quick to rise to his head. He didn’t properly listen to what Lestat said – and after a while he noted that Lestat wasn’t even speaking to him anymore. Apparently, people expected Lestat to share his attention with them too. But then, the blonde turned again, and Louis briefly grabbed the hem of his shirt as he swayed forward a bit.  “So tell me,” Louis said, tipping his now second glass toward the crowd. “Do you know every person in this room?”

Lestat laughed, bright and unabashed. His hand now brushing away Louis’. “Wouldn’t that be something?” He swallowed some liquor, then shrugged. “No one’s really here for the party, if that’s what you’re asking. Most of them are here for me, and because a party like this is a good opportunity to meet people.” He laughed, and for a second he seemed to forget the conversation and sang along to Britney Spears. Then:“ And you? What are you here for?”

Louis’ eyes followed the line of Lestat’s collarbone. “Not for you.”

Another laughter, the blonde turning again, shouting something to someone who replied with a raised glass and the yelling of something that sounded very close to ‘you go bitch!’. “Of course not.” With his reply, Lestat barely turned back to him.

Louis didn’t like how his stomach twisted at that.

But even with him having to sit there partially on his own, not talking to anyone but Lestat, who had to turn back to him every couple of minutes, they drank. And drank. And drank. It was easier than Louis expected. The music, the warmth, the low glow of the lights—it all made it easy to forget how out of place he felt. Or maybe it was just the alcohol. He wasn’t sure. And yes, it most likely was. Otherwise he’d be thinking about other things. Like how annoying it was, when Lestat ignored him, after wanting him there, or how irritating it was, that his hand conveniently brushed along his back whenever he turned back to him. Whenever he turned back to grant him, in all his generosity, a brief word about really nothing important.

At least, until, “Dance with me.”

Immediately, Louis barked a short laugh. “Are you crazy? No chance.”

To his surprise, Lestat didn’t argue. With a controlled expression he stood up, holding on to the chair as he did. “Suit yourself,” he said, then, with a flourish, spun into the crowd. Louis told himself he didn’t care, and that he was fine with Lestat not asking again. He really was. He would have said no, no matter how often the other asked. He’d keep saying no to things like that.

But when he saw Lestat find a woman—a tall, dark-haired beauty in something tight and sparkling—and pull her close, something in his chest coiled uncomfortably. He turned his eyes away, staring down at his drink, tracing the rim of the glass with his finger. He took another sip, forcing himself to ignore the press of bodies on the dance floor, the way Lestat’s hands lingered, the way he leaned in to say something into the woman’s ear and she laughed. It was nothing. He was glad Lestat talked to someone else, danced with someone who wasn’t him. Louis would have hated for him to touch him like he touched that woman.

And yet.

After a while, Lestat came back, flushed from the dancing, grinning. He slid into the space beside Louis and took another sip of his drink, his movements slow. The way his blonde hair stuck to his forehead made him want to smooth it down.

Louis, against his better judgment, blurted out, “Was she your girlfriend?” Lestat paused mid-sip, then burst into laughter. “You’re funny,” he said, all of the drinks only intensifying his accent, shaking his head. “Very funny.”

Louis scowled, but before he could say anything else, Lestat downed the rest of his drink and reached for another. Louis followed the stretch of his arm, and he held himself back to slap the blonde’s hands away from the next drink he received. Was no one making sure this mess of a rockstar didn’t drink himself into a very soon death? Surely, Louis noted drily, he would make a pretty corpse, but there was no need to risk a quick visit to the hospital, was there? And apparently, no one bothered to worry about him. People were just keeping on making him drink. And Louis, who wasn’t sober anymore himself, finally asked:” How many did you have?”

The night was beginning to get  blurring around the edges. Louis realized Lestat was swaying slightly, a little too loose in his movements as he knocked back the glass, half of it going in his shirt. “Hmmm a few”, the blonde replied too loudly, “I think… hey, Larry? Oh, he’s not here anymore. Hm. I think… five. Or six.”

“Sure thing. Maybe in the last twenty minutes.” Louis sighed. “Come on,” he said, nudging him. “Let’s get some air. Besides, I need a cigarette, and I hate smoking inside. Don’t know why you’re all doing that.”

Lestat groaned but let himself be pulled toward the exit, somehow still managing to produce two cigarettes.

The cold night hit them like a slap, shocking after the heat inside.

Lestat stumbled forward never even lighting his, then braced himself against the railing, bending over slightly as he took in a slow, deep breath.

Louis stood beside him, watching. “Don’t throw up.”

The blonde made a noise of protest, voice muffled. “I’m not going to. I’m good with subst- subst- merde, subst-ances.”

Louis raised a brow. “You sure you’re good?”

Another slow inhale. Then, finally, Lestat straightened, shaking his head. His hair was even more of a mess by now, strands falling into his face. He blinked at Louis, eyes glassy.

Louis sighed again, rubbing a hand down his face. “You’re a mess.”

“Not enough of one.” Lestat grinned with his head tilted. He swayed again. “Hm. I think, I think I should sit.” And he did just sat, sitting down in his shorts on the cold floor. Louis sighed, watching the scene unfold for a moment, and started taking off his jacket to put it around his shoulders. His wide shoulders. Nearly too wide for the jacket, even when the rest of him wasn’t. “Hey, Lestat, stay where you are, I’ll be back in a second.”

Louis pushed his way back inside, bracing himself for the heat and noise once more. The crowd hadn’t thinned at all; if anything, it had only grown wilder, the music pulsing through the floor, the air thick with sweat and perfume.

He scanned the room, looking for a familiar face—Larry, Alex, the woman with the strange name, anyone from Lestat’s band. But they were nowhere to be seen. Just perfect. He didn’t know anyone else here, and the idea of leaving Lestat outside alone, in his current sorry state, didn’t sit right with him.

With a frown, Louis turned back toward the exit.

Lestat hadn’t moved from where he’d sat; hunched against some railing, his arms loosely draped over his bent knees. The cold didn’t seem to register with him. He blinked up as Louis approached, his expression hazy.

Louis crouched in front of him. “Give me your phone, you blonde moron.” He demanded.

Lestat blinked again, then patted his pockets like he wasn’t entirely sure where it was. After a moment, he fished it out and handed it over, his fingers brushing against Louis’ in the process. Louis ignored the warmth of his touch and unlocked the screen. The brightness of it nearly blinded him. He squinted, scrolling through contacts until he found one that looked vaguely useful—Tough-Cookie.

He pressed call.

It rang twice before a drunken voice answered, “The hell do you want, Lestat? Drunk sex is hard enough without you interrupting it!”

“It’s not him,” Louis coughed. “It’s me. Louis.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, “Louis, Louis?”

Louis pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes. What, are there more?”

A snort. “What, you finally gave in? That’s cute. Are you guys out of condoms or something? Can’t help you with that.”

Louis sighed, exasperated. He didn’t have the time, nor the energy for this. He felt himself sobering up quickly, and the carelessness that has come with it slowly melting away. This was wrong, in so many ways, and he didn’t remember ever signing up for this. One evening, he’s promised, a party with drinks and- and what? Lestat’s company? And now, he was caring for him, like he was some sixteen-year-old who crashed out at a secret party.

“He’s drunk.” Louis said briskly into the speaker.

“Of course he is.” A woman giggling in the back of her call.

"You’re not planning to take advantage of his drunken state, are you? Doubt he’d appreciate that." A pause, then the sound of movement in the background. Louis, a second too late, opened his mouth to reply to that, when she added:" Whatever. Hold on."

Louis waited, glancing over at Lestat, who had now started lazily swinging one of his legs, seemingly amused with himself. He hummed something that sounded suspiciously like one of his own songs.

Eventually, Tough Cookie rattled off an address, and Louis memorized it quickly before hanging up. He didn’t shove the phone back into Lestat’s hand, even when he wanted. He pictured it smashed on the floor, had he done that. “Come on. I’m calling you a taxi.”

Lestat hummed in response, not quite making a move to stand.

Louis rolled his eyes, already dialling the number. It wouldn’t take longer than a couple of minutes.

The taxi smelled faintly of cheap air freshener and stale cigarettes. Similar to them, then. Louis could smell the alcohol in their breath, the smoke and the sweat of them and others in their clothes. Next to him, Lestat slumped against the seat, his head tilted back, his breath slow and even. He wasn’t unconscious, but he wasn’t all there, either. That’s happened fast, then. Half an hour ago, he’s been dancing like crazy, and now he looked like he was one drink away from needing serious help. His fingers tapped against his thigh in a lazy rhythm, maybe still some melody stuck in his head from earlier.

Louis kept his eyes on the passing streetlights, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He was still warm from the drinks, the alcohol humming faintly in his bloodstream, but it wasn’t enough to make him feel out of control. By now it was just enough to make his mind linger, his movements and thoughts slower.

No one had stopped Lestat, he thought. No one had made sure he didn’t go too far. No one would have noticed, at least not until it was too late, if something had happened there. What worth were so many people, if they didn’t care in the slightest? He thought, that Lestat should be less naïve when choosing the people around him. He tended to pick those who didn’t care.

Louis exhaled through his nose. He wasn’t even angry at Lestat—at least, not in the way he usually was. The frustration sat heavier than that, twisted with something that felt an awful lot like guilt.

“I should’ve noticed sooner,” he muttered, almost to himself.

“Hm?” Lestat stirred, turning his head slightly toward Louis, but he only shook his head in reply:“ Nothing.”

Lestat hummed again and let his eyes flutter shut. His breathing evened out once more. Suddenly, Louis wanted nothing more than his own bed, and the dreamless sleep he always welcomed after having a drink or two (or three, or four, or more).  The drive felt longer than it should have, and when they pulled up in front of the hotel, Louis paid the fare before Lestat could fumble for his wallet. He wasn’t even sure the man had one on him.

“Alright,” Louis muttered, pushing the door open. “Come on. Here, take my hand.”

Lestat let himself be pulled out of the car, though he was steadier on his feet than Louis expected. Still, his steps were slow, deliberate, as if his body was only just remembering how to function. At least, for a few metres. Then, Louis had to nearly roughly grab him by his shoulders and make him continue walking, before he sat down again and fell asleep somewhere on the street of all places.

The hotel lobby was dimly lit, quiet except for the hum of soft jazz playing over the speakers. The receptionist glanced up as they entered, her eyes flicking over them with mild curiosity before returning to whatever she was doing.

Louis half expected her to say something—Lestat wasn’t exactly subtle in his state—but she didn’t. Maybe she’d seen worse.

“This way,” Lestat murmured, his voice lower now, slurred. He led them toward the elevator, managing it somehow. Louis walked beside him, not touching him anymore, but close enough that he could if Lestat suddenly lost his balance.

The ride up was silent.

Standing outside the hotel room, Louis exhaled deeply. “Alright. I’ll go.”

Lestat suddenly leaned against the wall. If whatever he was doing was supposed to look like something, then it didn’t work. He was looking tired, and worn, and like he’s spent a half a  day singing and dancing and then the rest of it drinking as much as he could manage. Tilting his head, Lestat smiled. He apparently tried to look coyly. “You don’t want to come inside?”

Louis gave him a flat look. “Go, Lestat.”

Lestat chuckled but pushed the door open, not stepping inside. Louis had to breathe deep to not lose it:“ Move.” Lestat blinked at him, then grinned like he’d won something. He stepped aside, letting Louis in. Louis, who had no intention of staying beyond what was necessary to make sure Lestat didn’t end up chocking on his own vomit or something.

The room was sleek, expensive—no surprise. The city lights outside cast a glow through the window, the only source of illumination.

Louis ignored all of it and focused on getting Lestat to bed. “Shoes off,” he said in the tone of a man who wanted to get this over with. The blonde groaned but kicked them off, letting them thud against the floor.

“Jacket.”

Lestat fumbled with the buttons but got it off, tossing it somewhere. Louis would retrieve it before he left. Satisfied, he guided him onto the bed. Lestat flopped down without grace; eyes already heavy-lidded. Louis shook his head, walking over to the bedside table. He grabbed a glass, filled it with water from the bottle there, and set it down next to him.

Lestat cracked an eye open, watching him.

“You really don’t want to say? I can be very useful. Believe me I…  You can do what you want.” Slurred, nasty words. “I could be so useful to you, Louis... Whatever you want. Anything. Just say it.“

Louis ignored it.

“Drink that when you wake up,” he muttered, stepping back toward the door.

Lestat’s gaze was somewhere far off, but he didn’t argue.

Louis watched him for a second longer. His breathing was already slowing, his body finally giving in to exhaustion.

He turned and slipped out, closing the door behind him.

***

The morning light was brutal. Too bright, too early, and cutting through Louis’ eyelids like a blade. Until he’s registered that, he’s been sleeping well, despite the spinning and the dryness of his throat. Drunk sleep was good sleep, when there was no waking up every few hours, and no need to worry about bad dreams. The morning after though… He groaned, barely registering the sound of footsteps before his covers were abruptly yanked away, the warmth taken from him so brutally.

"Rise and shine, old man!" Claudia’s voice was far too cheerful for whatever ungodly hour it was. Louis blindly groped for the blanket, but she dodged easily. Didn’t he raise her better than to wake someone who’s been away half a night?

"Go away," he muttered, voice rough with sleep. “Or I’ll ground you. Or… something.”

"Nope," she said, popping the ‘p.’ "You have work. And I made breakfast, so you better appreciate it. Besides, I want to hear everything. Not everything, everything. But… everything!"

Louis cracked one eye open, staring at her with as much displeasure as he could muster. "You made breakfast?"

"Okay, rude. You do remember it’s me who cooks you dinner, like, three times a week?” Claudia paused. “But yeah. I poured cereal. But still. Get up."

With a heavy sigh, Louis dragged himself out of bed. His head ached, a dull, persistent throb at his temples, and his limbs felt like lead as he shuffled to the kitchen. Claudia already sat at the table, happily munching on cereal, while Louis poured himself a coffee, wincing at the sound of the spoon clinking against the cup. He sat down, resting his elbow on the table, rubbing his forehead.

"You look like hell," Claudia observed, entirely too amused. “That why you never go out?”

"Thanks," Louis muttered, taking a sip of coffee. “No. But that’s a point. Please, do us the favour and never talk about this again. It’s humiliating.”

As they ate, Louis reached for his phone without thinking, his thumb idly swiping across the screen. No messages. He stared at the empty notification bar, as if waiting for something to change, then locked the screen and set the phone face down. He hadn't been looking for anything in particular. Definitely not for a message from Lestat, who’d hopefully survived the rest of the night.

Claudia smirked, catching the action. "Expecting something?"

"No."

"Mm-hmm," she hummed and went back to her cereal.

Louis left for work soon after, throwing himself into the usual motions—shower, dressing, a brief conversation with Claudia about what she’d do that day. At the shop, he focused on the steady rhythm of work, pretending not to think about last night. Pretending not to wonder if Lestat had woken up, if he was hungover (of course he was), if he even remembered how he got to his hotel. He kept his hands busy, rearranging shelves, helping customers, anything to keep his mind from wandering.

But that night, back on the couch, his resolve wavered.

Phone in hand, he scrolled through his texts. Still nothing. He stared at Lestat’s contact for a long moment, thumb hovering over the screen, before he scoffed at himself and exited the app. His pride was a stubborn thing. He wasn’t going to text first.

Instead, he opened his browser, typed in that hated little name ‘The Vampire Lestat’.

The first few results were all the same—social media pages, old interviews, ticket sales. Then, buried between them, an article about last night’s show. He clicked it, but it was only a brief review. The usual praise, a mention of the energy, the crowd, the way Lestat commanded the stage. Nothing he didn’t already know. But no mention of the after-party. No sign of what came after.

Louis locked his phone and leaned back, exhaling through his nose.

He wasn’t thinking about it. Not at all.

But then a week passed, and he still hadn’t heard from Lestat.

Not that Louis was expecting anything. Or waiting. He certainly wasn’t checking his phone a little more often than usual, or noticing how every day that passed without a message left an odd, unsettled feeling in his chest. It didn’t matter. He still wasn’t going to be the one to text first.

So, he pretended.

At the shop, business went on as usual. Claudia sat at the counter, her notebook open, tapping the end of her pencil against her chin as she stared at her homework. “If a train leaves Chicago at 60 miles per hour and another leaves New York at 45, when do I start crying?” she asked dramatically, mimicking a tone very similar to Louis’, when he complained about one thing or the other.

Madeleine, stocking shelves nearby, snorted. “Depends—are you solving for speed or emotional breakdown?”

“Both,” Claudia deadpanned, flipping a page. “Math is evil.”

Madeleine shook her head. “Come on, it’s not that bad. You just need to break it down. Here, let me see.” She walked over, abandoning her work, leaning over Claudia’s shoulder to look at the problem.

Louis, arranging a display table nearby, glanced over, noting the way Claudia didn’t immediately push Madeleine away. If anything, she leaned in, letting the older girl guide her through the problem without complaint. He hid a small, satisfied smile. The two of them were getting along. It was subtle, but undeniable. He couldn’t be happier; his daughter talking to someone around her age, not drawing back to be on her own. Whenever the two of them met in his shop, he could watch them fall into an easy rhythm of jokes and gossip, and while he didn’t care for any of it, he had to hide his smile at the innocence of it.

The afternoon passed in quiet routine—customers coming and going, books shifting in and out of place. And then, just as Louis was returning to the counter, the bell above the door chimed and shifted his focus back to the room.

He looked up.

Lestat.

It was the first time he’d seen him since that unfortunate night.

The blonde stepped inside, casual as ever, his gaze sweeping the store before landing on Louis. If he was at all affected by the fact that they hadn’t spoken in a week, he didn’t show it. His expression bordered indifference; his cold blue eyes firm, and his body a thin, steady line that walked closer with the energy of a man who knew he attracted the world, and filled every room no matter how big.

Louis tensed, but kept his expression carefully neutral, matching the blonde’s. “Lestat.”

Lestat smiled now. “Bonjour, Louis.” His low voice, dragging the letters of his name into a beautiful length. This wasn’t arrogant anymore; no, but Louis had no other word for it. And maybe he’s never had a word for it, and so he’s chosen one that matched what he hoped it was. And while he was too busy pondering upon the nature of his hatred, Lestat took a last slow step forward, then held something up. “You left this.”

Louis blinked. His jacket. The one he’d put around Lestat’s shoulders outside the club.

So that was why he was here. To bring it back. And still, no other word.

Lestat placed the neatly folded jacket on the counter between them, his movements too smooth, too casual, like this was nothing more than a simple errand. Like he hadn’t been absent for an entire week, after invading his life so stubbornly, insisting even when he was mocked for it, when he was cursed for it. He’s been there, pushing, even when Louis did all he had in him to make him change his mind, change his mind about wasting his energy on him, who wasn’t interested – and now suddenly, Lestat seemed to not care at all. Again.

Louis crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes slightly. “You came all this way just for that? You could have kept it.”

Lestat tilted his head, feigning thought. “Well, yeah, it’s a nice jacket. So I didn’t want you thinking I’d stolen it.”

Louis exhaled slowly, gaze steady. Lestat was playing it cool, pretending like their last interaction hadn’t happened, like Louis hadn’t dragged him half-conscious into his hotel room. Fine. If that’s how he wanted to act, Louis wouldn’t be the one to break the silence first.

“Thanks,” he said flatly, taking the jacket but not looking away. He was vaguely aware of his daughter and Madeleine in the back, whispering to another.

Lestat’s smile widened, the black of his pupils making the blue of his eyes look even lighter:“ Of course. Wouldn’t want you to freeze, mon ami.”

Louis scoffed. Mon ami. Lestat was pushing it.

Claudia, ever the spectator, watched now with barely concealed interest from her stool, while Madeleine, sensing the shift in atmosphere, subtly busied herself with the display near the register, all while keeping her head turned just so slightly towards them.

Lestat glanced around the shop. “Business seems good.” How long was he going to stand there, small talking?

“Always.”

“Happy to hear it.” A pause. Then, Lestat drummed his fingers against the counter. “Well. I won’t keep you.”

Louis resisted the urge to frown. That was it? He was just going to leave? After a whole week of nothing? Lestat turned, making a show of walking toward the door at an easy pace. Slow enough for Louis to say something, just to have him stop and turn around again. Louis exhaled through his nose, forcing himself to turn away, to busy himself with something else. He wasn’t watching. He wasn’t waiting for anything.

And yet, just before the bell above the door rang, Lestat glanced back.

His eyes met Louis’.

Louis’ hand twitched, trying to wave goodbye, but instead, he just turned back again.

Louis just stood there, staring at the counter.

Claudia, who had switched to idly scrolling through her phone, shot him a look. She lifted her head, her voice light but laced with that knowing curiosity only a teenager could manage. “Okay, what was that about?” Louis didn’t answer immediately. He didn’t even look up.

Madeleine, who was still trying to seem busy, raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t say anything,” she said confused. “I thought you were gonna, I don’t know… stop him or, like, say something else? Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do in that moment?”

Louis’ gaze snapped to them. He shrugged, trying to seem indifferent, but there was a tightness in his jaw. “You two- mind our business. Remember I’m your dad- and boss. So, back to whatever you have to do. Both of you.”

Claudia sat her phone down. Oh, it was getting serious. “Come on. You really didn’t feel like saying more than that? Daddy Lou, that was bad. He looked like he was waiting for you to do something.”

Louis stared at the countertop, not answering right away. Of course, he’d felt it—Lestat had looked at him like he wanted him to say something, anything, to keep him from walking out. But Louis wasn’t sure what to say. A confusing situation, really.

Madeleine leaned back, folding her arms over her chest. “Well, if you’re not gonna do anything, then what? You just let him leave, like that?”

Louis felt the heat rise in his chest, but he didn’t show it. “It’s complicated. And I don’t know why I’m telling you this”

“Because you have no friends”, Claudia bickered, really testing his patience. “Complicated? What does that even mean? Papa you’re just making excuses, and…” She trailed off, glancing at Madeleine as if she was choosing her words carefully.

Madeleine looked at him expectantly. “You’re not even gonna try? You’ve got a phone, don’t you?”

Louis blinked at her, clearly caught off guard. “What?”

“You know,” she said with a small shrug, “call him. You won’t know unless you try. He’s not gonna come back in here, not after that.”

Claudia grinned. “Yeah, it’s not like he’s just gonna magically walk through the door again. You gotta, like, make the effort Daddy Lou.”

Louis opened his mouth to respond, but the words got stuck. It wasn’t like he was afraid to call Lestat—he was just… hesitant. And really, he didn’t need these teenagers telling him how to operate. “Back to work”, he said, and he heard their giggle as he turned away, and after a few moments of quiet, pulled out his phone. He unlocked it slowly, staring at the screen like it was the hardest thing in the world to do. He wasn’t good at this—at any of it—and he still had no clue why he tried.

Louis pressed Lestat’s contact, the ringing filling the brief silence that hung in the room. It felt like everything had gone still around him. One, two rings... Three. The voicemail picked up.

Louis hesitated, swallowing down the nerves that were suddenly crawling up his throat. He stared at the screen. What the hell was he supposed to say?

“Hey, it’s… it’s me,” he started, his voice unsteady. He could hear how awkward he sounded even to himself. “I, uh… I don’t know why I didn’t say more before. But I guess I should’ve. So… yeah, just, call me back.”

There was a long pause, and he quickly ended the call before he could second-guess himself too much. He didn’t even look at Claudia or Madeleine, but he knew they were watching him.

Claudia raised her eyebrows. “Well, that was... something.”

Louis pointed a finger at Claudia, a look of silent warning in his eyes. Claudia, knowing the unspoken rules of not pushing him too far, raised her hands in surrender. "Fine, fine," she muttered, going back to the homework she’d been half-heartedly attempting to finish. Her smirk remained, but she wisely kept her comments to herself.

A minute passed in the uneasy quiet, and Louis finally let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His phone buzzed on the counter. He glanced down at the screen. The name Lestat blinked up at him, as if it had been waiting there, just out of reach, for too long.

Louis picked it up immediately, a strange sense of relief flooding through him—something in his chest uncoiling at the simple fact that Lestat had actually called back. He swiped to answer, clearing his throat before speaking, as if this was any other normal conversation. “Lestat, listen—" his voice cracked slightly, but he forced the words out, the truth finally spilling out like it was waiting for its moment. "I just didn’t know what to say. I mean, you haven’t really said a word to me in… quite some time, and I guess I just… I didn’t want to make it worse. But I was worried, I think.”

The pause on the other end felt heavy, almost too long, but then Lestat’s voice broke through the silence, as smooth as always. "I'm still close," he said, voice warm but faint, like he was standing just out of view. “Would you like to talk?"

The question hung there in the air, and Louis felt his heart thumping in his chest again, but this time it was different. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t confusion. It was... a release. Like someone had given him permission to breathe again.

“Yes,” he said, his voice stronger this time. “Yes, I think I’d like that very much.”

Chapter Text

“So,” Lestat had said.

They sat on a bench not far from the bookstore, just in sight of the big windows. Inside, Claudia helped an older man bag his books, and Louis watched her for a moment, a not unexpected warmth spreading through him. He might not have raised her, but he was proud of the young woman she was becoming. Kind, sharp, resilient. A soft heart beneath all the armour she had been forced to built because life has never been kind to her, and has never given her a reason to think trust should come easy.

“So,” Louis echoed a few minutes too late, his voice quieter, eyes still on the road. He didn’t know how long they sat there already, but he knew he needed to get back, because Claudia and Madeleine couldn’t run his store for long without him. The silence remained, though.

Lestat didn’t fidget next to Louis, even when he would have thought so. He just sat there, close – much closer than Louis liked, his knee almost brushing against his. The space between them felt smaller than it actually was.

Clearing his throat, Louis looked away even more. “I don’t have much time. I need to get back.” His tone came out indifferent, colder than he intended. It wasn’t that he didn’t care. The problem was that he did—too much, maybe. More than he should, after all. His feelings tangled like knots he didn’t know how to undo. What was it, exactly? Worry? Curiosity? No, something messier. A tension coiled inside him, where anger used to be. The anger had burned bright, loud, easy to name. But now that it was dimming, it left behind something quieter, something unfamiliar.

Maybe he just wanted to understand. To see if there was a reason behind Lestat’s relentless pursuit. To figure out if it was worth letting go of everything he thought he knew.

“Of course,” the blonde hummed in reply. He too wasn’t looking at Louis, his gaze fixed somewhere across the street in the same manner. From the corner of his eye, Louis took notice of him moving his shoulders, like trying to undo tension in them, or settle in a more comfortable position. Exhaling, he pressing his palms against his thighs, grounding himself.

“I need to know,” Louis said calmly, the words spilling out before he could second-guess them. “Why do you keep insisting we be friends? Even when I hated you. Even when I was…” He paused, the word catching in his throat. There was simply nothing better for it. “Cruel.”

Claudia’s words. Too true to deny them.

Lestat turned his face towards him, the afternoon light catching in his blonde hair. Instead of answering right away, he shrugged, casual, like the question was simple. Like it didn’t matter much, and no matter what he said, the outcome would remain the same. But Louis saw the tension in his jaw, the faint crease between his brows. It wasn’t that he didn’t care. He just didn’t know how to make it small enough to fit into words.

“That’s just it,” Lestat offered, after a beat. “You were cruel. And still, I didn’t want to give up.”

Louis felt the words land somewhere deep in his chest, sharp and unexpected. He didn’t know what to say to that. “That’s stupid, you know.”

The other smiled then, not his usual smug grin, but something gentler. Sadder, maybe. “I don’t think people are as simple as what they’ve done to me. Or what I’ve done to them.” He looked away again, voice dropping to something more thoughtful. “Not always, that is. And maybe I just like complicated things.”

Louis swallowed around the sudden tightness in his throat. “I’m not a thing.”

Lestat’s gaze snapped back to him. “No. You’re not.” His tone serious.

“You’re not explaining.” Louis looked back to his store. Claudia looked out of the window, but she either didn’t spot them or pretended not to. Then she moved away again, and suddenly she was laughing, and Louis realized that Madeleine had said something funny to her – the two girls were by the door together, now stacking a couple of books. “You said it yourself. I wasn’t, and I’m still not sure, if we can be that. Friends. And you, you just won’t give up. And complicated… that’s not enough to describe it, I think. I just… why can’t you stop? This could have ended after the first time I decided I didn’t like you. Why put up with it?”

There was it again, this chuckle, like Louis was too dull to understand. “I like a challenge, mon cher. It’s better than the same, repetitive obsession most people around me share. Why would I wish for someone like that, when I could have a real, proper fight for it?”

“So that’s it? I’m not only a thing, but a challenge?” Louis couldn’t help it. “I don’t want to be fought over like I’m some damsel in distress.”

“But I’m the damsel”, the blonde rockstar insisted suddenly, his lips that mocking line Louis disliked. Then it turned, and the other frowned, his hand twitching slightly, like he was fighting the urge to reach out. “But non, Louis, you misunderstand me. You keep doing that. Why can’t I say anything to you without you twisting my words, making them uglier than they are? I try to be honest. I am honest—with the people I’d like to hold close.”

Expectantly, that was when Louis stood abruptly, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. “I should get back.”

Running. That’s what this was. This repetitive running from a conversation he didn’t want to have.  “Look, Lestat,” Louis said, turning back before he could stop himself, the words sharper than he intended. “I don’t want to be a challenge. I don’t want to be… entertainment for you. Someone you talk to when there’s no one else around to pay attention to you.” His chest tightened as he forced the rest out. “Because it feels like that sometimes. And I’m not saying that’s what it is—maybe it’s not. Maybe I just don’t understand you enough to get it.” A shaky breath. “And maybe I do. Want to understand, I mean.”

Lestat’s expression shifted, his gaze softening. He raised his chin slightly, looking up at Louis with his impossibly blue eyes. “I’ll be leaving soon. You know that.”

The sudden shift in conversation gave Louis just enough space to pull himself together. He exhaled slowly. “Yes,” he replied, his tone evening out, softening. “You said that. So…”

“So.” Lestat smiled, faint but lingering. “Meet me again, Louis. Before I’ll be gone for months.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a decision Lestat had already made, tucked neatly between the words, like he knew the answer before Louis could form it. So that was it.

Louis hesitated, the word caught somewhere between defiance and surrender. But in the end, it was easy. Too easy.

“Okay.” A sharp nod. Then again, quieter, “But I really need to get back before the kids do something stupid.”

“Yes, do that.” Lestat’s smile grew. He was truly pretty when he looked this triumphant. “What are you doing tonight, Louis?”

The question caught him off guard. Without thinking, he shook his head. “Nothing. Why?”

“Allow me to pick you up from work,” Lestat replied smoothly, like it was the most natural thing in the world, something they did often and without a sense of strangeness to it. “I’ll be here at…”

“Eight,” Louis cut in, surprising himself with the certainty in his voice. “I’ll make sure I’m done.”

“Very well.” Lestat’s grin deepened, like he’d won something Louis wasn’t even aware he’d been offering.

Louis nodded again, sharp and short, before turning and crossing the street, his steps quicker than necessary. He’d be ready later. Whatever that meant.

And then he was.

If not for the fact that Claudia had decided to linger, ignoring every not-so-subtle attempt Louis made to get her to go home. She sat perched on the counter, flipping through a dog-eared paperback, her legs swinging lazily beneath her. The cover was some garish design, loud colours and over-the-top fonts, the kind of ‘book’ Louis couldn’t even pretend to approve of. He shot her a look, one eyebrow raised, but she only smirked and kept reading.

Not that he expected his daughter to share his love for the classics, but—really?—a little more taste wouldn’t have hurt.

Then after what felt like hours, he finally was back.

Lestat walked in normally, to Louis surprise, without the strutting and the excessive sway of hips. Well, maybe a bit of the swaying. He stuck his head in, like unsure if he was allowed to enter the room, and then silently closed the door behind him as he stepped in. He still wore the same dress pants and oversized shirt as that afternoon, against Louis expectation. It looked nearly casual. Louis, who’s been in jeans and a tee all day, felt for once not underdressed next to him.

Still, his presence was a strange thing—too big for the small space, the edges of his energy spilling over like it couldn’t be contained.

“Louis,” Lestat greeted, flashing a quick smile. His gaze shifted to Claudia, and the smile turned slightly sharper, tinged with amusement. “And your daughter, I see.”

Claudia didn’t even glance up from her book. “The one and only,” she muttered flatly, then looked up:” Hello famous man.”

Louis fought the urge to sigh. Lestat waved with his left hand, and mouthed something, that apparently only Claudia understood, because suddenly she was grinning and gathering her things, tossing Louis a look that hovered somewhere between smug and curious—as if she didn’t know exactly what she was leaving him to deal with. She left with a casual, “Don’t stay out too late, old man, I’m going home now” and the door clicked shut behind her.

Silence settled in the store, a very different kind than before.

Lestat turned to him fully now, hands in the pockets of his trousers. “Where would you like to go, Louis?”

Louis crossed his arms. “No bar or anything, you’re not gonna drink today.”

These blonde brows lifted slightly, playfully. “Oh, come on. That was one time. Do I really need to apologize?”

“No. But that doesn’t change it could’ve ended badly for you if I hadn’t been there,” Louis said, sharper than he intended. “God knows where you could have ended up.” The words slipped out too fast, like his mouth had outrun his thoughts.

The air shifted, just slightly.

Lestat’s expression didn’t falter immediately, but there was a short moment – barely there – of a small fracture in the effortless charm he wore like shield. Not hurt, exactly. Something quieter. A brief tightening around his eyes, a twitch of his mouth like he’d almost say something but thought better of it. Louis felt the regret settle in his chest, heavy and immediate. Not because it wasn’t true—it was—but because he’d said it out loud, and Lestat looked like he wanted to hear anything but that.

He cleared his throat, forcing the tension out of his voice. “Uh—what about a walk? In the park. We can grab dinner on the way. I’m fucking hungry.”

Lestat didn’t answer right away. He just looked at Louis for a beat longer than was comfortable, like he was deciding whether to let the words slide or pin them down. Then, he smiled—bright, easy, as if nothing had been said at all. “A walk sounds perfect,” he replied, his tone light enough to almost believe.

Almost.

They stopped at a small street-side food stand on the way, the kind of place with flickering neon lights and the smell of fried everything hanging thick in the warm night air. The metal counter was sticky under the dim glow, and the guy behind it barely looked up from his phone as Louis ordered something big and greasy. He was starving after work, the kind of hunger that settled deep in his bones, sharp and impatient, and waiting until he was at home wouldn’t do. Lucky him, rescue was on the way, the promise of food just too good.

And insufferable as Lestat was, before Louis could pull out his wallet, he stepped forward, slipping a bill onto the counter with the kind of smooth, casual confidence that made it clear this wasn’t a debate. Louis wanted to slap his hand away, but he had to settle with shooting him a look, and grabbing his food as they started walking, Lestat seemingly uninterested in the options.

What, his mouth only touching five-star delicacies? “You’ve got to stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” Lestat’s smile was infuriatingly innocent.

“Acting like my sugar daddy.” Louis took a big bite, chewing aggressively, like that would punctuate his point. “I don’t need that. It’s not charming, it’s rude. I might not make millions, but I can buy my own dinner. Don’t need you to do it for me.”

“Why, but of course.” Lestat chuckled, tucking his hands into his pockets, the fading sunlight casting a golden glow across his face. He always looked so radiant, but in the light of the early evening? Louis wanted to take a picture, but he didn’t want to make this weirder than it already was. “It’s not about need, Louis. I just like making people happy—in every way I can.” His grin was quick, sharp, a charm that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Louis rolled his eyes, but there was no real heat behind it. “Yeah, well, buy someone else’s burger next time.”

“Impossible,” Lestat said smoothly, voice dipped in something softer. “ when I’d rather buy yours.”

Louis didn’t have a response to that, so he just focused on his food for a moment.

They kept walking, the city buzzing faintly around them. As they walked, they left behind the noise that was the city, its houses wielding for a small patch of green in the middle of its endless grey walls. It was the same park Louis walked through with his daughter, whenever they found the time, or the need to get out together. Here, he’s bought her the first ice-cream she properly remembered in her life, and he’d helped her climb a tree after assuring her he’d catch her should she stumble, and he’s listened to her rant about school for what felt like hours. A nice place, really.

It took him a second to remember Lestat walked quietly next to him. Like a ghost, that’s how silent he was. And it didn’t seem to be much like him.

“You’re not hungry?” Louis asked, glancing sideways, keeping his tone casual.

Lestat shrugged, his posture loose, almost too loose, like he was trying to look effortless. “I have to keep my figure in check, you know. Many people rely on me being devastatingly attractive. People simply prefer skinny rockstars.” He flashed a grin, bright and polished. “Occupational hazard.”

Louis huffed. Normally, he’d toss back something sharp, but instead, he just watched Lestat for a second longer than usual. Lestat’s matter wasn’t just vanity, it seemed. Not entirely. And so he didn’t really know how to comment his words.

“Must be exhausting,” Louis said finally, voice softer than he’d meant.

“It is,” came the reply, and for once, it sounded like no joke. Like this was a piece of the unfiltered truth, rare as it was.

They reached the middle of the park, the humid buzz of summer softening into a quieter warmth, the faint scent of cut grass and distant car exhaust lingering in the air. The trees stood full and green against the darkening sky, their leaves rustling overhead.

Louis shoved one hand into his pocket, his other holding the last of his burger, chewing slower now that he wasn’t feeling like he’d die soon. “So. The tour. Where’s next?”

Lestat glanced ahead, his expression shifting. He looked thoughtful, distant. “Berlin next week. Then Vienna. Prague after that—beautiful city, you’d love it. I take it you haven’t been there? Warsaw, Budapest, Bucharest. A couple more scattered dates, then Paris if the schedule holds and the venue doesn’t get cancelled again.” His voice dipped slightly, softer, like he wasn’t just listing places but memories waiting to happen—or maybe ones he was trying to outrun. “And then—well, we’ll see.”

Louis nodded, swallowing the last of his food. His chest felt oddly tight, like the heat was pressing in closer now. “And after that?” he asked.

Lestat didn’t answer right away. He kicked at a loose stone on the path, watching it skitter ahead before he finally spoke. “After that… who knows?” His smile was faint, crooked, nothing like the practiced ones from before.

They walked in silence for a while. Lestat lit himself at first one cigarette, than another once that one was finished. He offered Louis one as well every time, but he refused, saying he was only doing that when he felt like he could overthrow his own moral compass. Then after a while Louis found himself glancing over again, the need to break the silence nearly painful.

“You ever get tired of it?” He actually wanted to know. His own life, as stressful and worrisome as it could be, sounded much, much simpler compared to that man’s. All Louis had to manage was his shop, and he did it fairly well. Of course, there was Claudia, but Claudia was handling herself well, and when she needed his help, it was anything but a burden. But Lestat sounded like he lived a rich, but quite lonely life.

Arching a brow, Lestat asked:“ Tired of what?”

“All of it,” Louis said. “The touring. Performing. Being whoever it is people expect you to be. Sounds like a nightmare, if you have to act all the time.”

Lestat exhaled softly, like he’d been holding that breath longer than he should have. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “But it’s not what you think. I know a lot of artists get tired of the role, and the show, but I don’t. I like it. I enjoy it.”

Louis frowned. “You like pretending to be a vampire?”

The blonde let out a laugh, not the flashy kind he used on stage, but something smaller, almost fond. “Oui, mon cher. It’s entertaining.”

“But… why? It sounds-” Louis shook his head slightly. “Sorry, before I’m saying something rude again, because I’m not really into your whole ‘lore’ thing. Explain it to me.”

Lestat shrugged, his mouth quirking into a faint smile. “I don’t think you’d care for the story. It’s not as funny as it sounds. I don’t think I’ve ever explained it to anyone.”

Louis caught the shift in his tone and moved as to lean in a little. “No, I want to hear. You can’t say that and then not tell me.”

For a moment, they just walked, silent except for the soft rhythm of their footsteps on the pavement. Louis figured he wasn’t going to get an answer after all, and he was feeling disappointed about it. But then Lestat’s voice broke the quiet, with a scoff.

“My first love. Nicki.” He sounded like the story was both held dear, and rather forgotten. “We had this little spot back home. A grove—secluded, I think is the word for it. We’d stay there for hours, talking nonsense, telling each other stories about witches, vampires, whatever local superstition was floating around. It was stupid, but it felt like ours. Our little ritual. And before you think we were stupid, non, we were just drunk all of the time.”

Louis chuckled, more curious than he wanted to admit.

“Later… well, that’s not really the part that matters. But those stories followed me. Even after he was gone.” Lestat’s smile thinned, almost reflexive. “When I properly started out in music, the label wanted a name. Something bold. Something that would sell. And I thought, why not? It felt like Nicki’s voice was still in my ear, laughing about it. So, I took the joke and turned it into something real. Built the image around it.”

Louis blinked, processing. “So, it wasn’t really for the fame? Or to be all… mysterious and dark?”

Lestat’s laugh was softer this time, quieter, like the memory dulled its edges. “Oh, it was never about fame. Not at first. Don’t get me wrong – I enjoy that too. But it was about holding onto something. A piece of him, maybe. And the rest of the world? They just bought into the myth. And I can’t complain now. It’s good.”

Louis didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t.

After a stretch, Louis cleared his throat. “So… Nicki. Your first love. That’s… quite a story.” He hesitated, words tumbling out before he could stop them. “I didn’t know you were—uh—into men. You never mentioned it. I mean—not that it matters. I just—” He stopped, sighing. “God, that sounds dumb.”

Lestat chuckled under his breath, glancing sideways. “You’re quick to assume, aren’t you? You think I’m the type to be into just one thing? Mon cher, really. You know me so little, and still that’s the box you’d put me in?”

Louis looked down at the pavement, heat rising to his face. “I don’t know. It’s easier to label things, I guess.” He shrugged. “But then you’re always surrounded by women at parties. It just… seemed like your thing. You looked quite comfortable with them.”

Lestat’s smile grew wider, but there was a softness to it. “Comfortable, huh? I like people, Louis. The rest is just noise. A dance here, a drink there—it doesn’t mean much. Gender’s never been the interesting part.”

Louis frowned slightly, thinking it over. “So… no type? Just whoever, whenever?”

Lestat was quiet for a moment, his gaze drifting up to the sky like the clouds might have an answer. Then he shrugged. “I like people who make me feel something. That’s all. It’s not complicated unless you try to make it complicated.”

Louis wasn’t sure if he bought that. It sounded too easy. But then again, maybe it was easy for Lestat. Lestat who wore confidence like a second skin, and who appeared to be unshakable. Louis couldn’t imagine Lestat ever struggling with something like this in the same manner her did.

“Sorry,” Louis muttered after a beat, because would he have liked someone asking him that? “I don’t know why I asked.”

His words got waved off. “I don’t mind. I’ve told people worse. I’ve sung about worse. There’s not much I haven’t said out loud. The whole world knows everything about my sex life.” He smirked. “I’m not exactly shy, you know.”

Louis laughed. “Yeah. Figured.” He didn’t think about Lestat singing on his knees up on that stage, mock-prayer to the sky as he held the microphone to his lips. “So,” Louis said after a moment, “You’ll be gone, next week.”

Lestat’s shrug was a slow thing. “Yes. I don’t mind much; I enjoy Berlin. What I dislike is the constant change of hotels and people around. It’s exhausting, and I can’t stand that much change in such a short time.” He glanced over with a small, crooked smile. “You should come to one. Show, I mean.”

Louis snorted. “Yeah. I’ll just drop everything and follow you around Europe.”

“Could be worse,” Lestat said lightly. “You’d get to hear me sing every night.”

Louis shook his head, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, one he didn’t bother hiding. “You’re an idiot. I don’t like you enough to bear that.” Lestat raised a brow, but he chuckled at his tone. There was barely, if even, any venom in it. “Besides”, Louis followed, “I have a bookstore to manage, and a daughter who’s going to school, and…”

Lestat opened his mouth, but the words never came because his phone rang the second Louis let his sentence trail into nothing. A rather nice moment was broken. And nice, because Louis found barely any reason to complain about Lestat’s company. But the sharp buzz broke the quiet, and Lestat pulled his phone from his trousers pocket, glancing at the screen. His expression shifted slightly—just enough for Louis to notice. Not the charming smirk or the bored indifference he wore like armour, but some real softness that hasn’t been on his lips before.

“Sorry,” Lestat muttered, already stepping a little to the side as he answered. “Oui?” A couple of people walked past them, as they slowed. Louis looked around – the light was fading, and suddenly, the place felt more crowded, with all of these people who’ve come to relax here. He wondered how long Lestat could walk unnoticed outside, without someone trying to get his picture.

At first, Louis pretended not to listen to the call. But curiosity had its own gravity, and after a few steps, he turned around.

“Non, I didn’t forget… I told you; I’ll handle it when I get back. Did you—quoi? Slow down. Je ne comprends pas ce que tu dis.” A pause, then a sigh, the kind that sounded less like frustration and more like a tired reflex. “Non, not like that. I meant—listen, just send me the details. I’ll sort it out.”

Louis glanced back. Lestat’s posture was different—less performative, more grounded.

Another pause. Lestat rubbed the back of his neck, his voice lowering. “Mon cœur, it’s fine. Don’t stress about it. I’ve got it. Okay?” A small smile ghosted across his face, fleeting. “I’ll be there later, okay? Stop spamming my phone now. I understand. Yeah. I love you too.”

The words hung there for a beat after he ended the call.

Lestat slid his phone back into his pocket like nothing had happened, stepping back in stride with Louis as if the conversation never occurred. But Louis’s curiosity was a living thing now, buzzing under his skin.

“Who was that?” Louis asked, keeping his tone light, casual—like he didn’t care. Just filling the space between them.

Lestat shrugged; eyes fixed ahead. “Just someone.”

Louis snorted. “Helpful.”

The other’s lips quirked into a grin. “I’m always helpful.”

But the question settled like a stone in Louis’s chest, heavy and stubborn. He tried to shake it off, but it stuck. “You’ve got a kid, don’t you?” The words slipped out before he could decide if he actually wanted to know.

Lestat glanced sideways, amused in that way that made Louis want to shake him. “What makes you think that?”

Louis shrugged, trying to act indifferent even though his pulse had kicked up, stupidly loud in his own ears. “I don’t know. Just a feeling.”

There was a beat where Lestat could’ve denied it—brushed it off with some clever remark, changed the conversation like he always did. But he didn’t. Instead, he said, almost offhand, “His name’s Viktor.”

And that was it. No explanation. No elaboration. Just a name dropped like it didn’t matter and wasn’t worth the breath to talk about. Louis didn’t understand that. He’d take every chance to tell everyone about his daughter, just because she deserved to be highlighted as important to him as she was. And so Louis swallowed; his mouth suddenly dry. Viktor, so that was the name of Lestat’s child, the one that wasn’t mentioned anywhere, not even by his own father. He found himself trying to picture it—trying to imagine Lestat with a son. What that would even look like. Lestat, the man who spends nearly every day, stripping on stage, blasting his songs, going home at night to stay with his child? But Louis knew that wasn’t the case. He wanted to know how it all worked, and how and why.

He didn’t ask. The questions crowded his throat, but he kept them there. Louis wasn’t sure what to do with it—wasn’t sure if he should break it or let it sit. The city hummed again around them, streetlights casting long shadows, the faint buzz of traffic in the distance, and Louis realized they’ve rounded the park far enough to be back where they started.

He cleared his throat, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. “You know,” he started, voice a little rough from disuse, “you’re not as annoying as I thought you’d be.”

Lestat laughed, the sound warm and easy, like it belonged there between them. “High praise. I’ll take it.”

Louis frowned, glancing sideways. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Oh, too late for that.” Lestat’s grin was confident, but not sharp like it was on stage. Softer somehow. For a second they ended up just standing there. Then, Lestat sighed:” I’m sorry, I think I need to go now.” Louis merely nodded. “I’ll call you,” Lestat added, casual but not careless.

Louis nodded, lifting one hand in a half-wave. “Yeah. Sure.”

He stood there for a second, watching Lestat walk away, his figure slipping into the city’s rhythm like he belonged to it. Louis didn’t move until he was out of sight, the faint trace of a smile lingering at the corner of his mouth before he shook his head and turned the other way.

***

Grace’s apartment smelled like something warm and faintly sweet—maybe the remnants of the kids’ dinner or the candle flickering lazily on the kitchen counter. The windows were cracked just enough to let in the evening breeze. Louis sat at the small dining table, nursing a cup of lukewarm tea. He hadn’t even realized he was drinking it until he looked down and noticed it was nearly gone. Across from him, his sister leaned back in her chair, feet tucked up beneath her, the soft glow from the overhead light catching in the lines of her face—lines he hadn’t noticed before, or maybe had just been too busy to see.

“So,” she said, pulling her sweater sleeves over her hands, “how’s work been? Asking the usual.”

Louis snorted a quiet laugh, resting his elbow on the table, fingers rubbing at his temple. “Yeah, about the same. Long days, bad coffee. You know, I’m complaining about the same old things.”

She gave him a look—the kind only siblings can manage—half amused, half unimpressed. “That’s not an answer.”

He shrugged, glancing toward the hallway where the faintest sound of the kids breathing in sleep drifted through the cracked door. “It’s fine. Just… busy.”

“Busy with what? You don’t exactly light up when you talk about it.” She tilted her head slightly, her voice softer now. “You okay?”

Louis paused, his thumb tracing the rim of his mug. He thought about the past few days and found, there was a lot he’s not yet told anyone. And Grace, she was the only person he could really talk to about these things. “Yeah,” he said after a beat. “I’m okay. Just tired, I guess.”

“I get that.” She nodded like she understood more than she let on. After he said nothing to that, she changed the subject like she knew he needed a moment:” Ruby lost her first tooth yesterday,” she said with a small smile, like the memory warmed her from the inside out. “She was so proud. Thought she was officially a grown-up now.”

Louis chuckled softly, picturing his niece’s gap-toothed grin. “Did the tooth fairy come through?”

“Oh yeah. A whole dollar. Inflation’s a killer,” she joked, rolling her eyes. “Put it under her pillow just before you came over.”

Louis leaned back, letting the warmth of her words settle over him like a blanket. It was easy here—simpler. Just the steady pulse of family, the kind that didn’t need explanations. They traded stories back and forth—nothing big, just the small things that filled the spaces of their lives. Work annoyances, the kids’ latest obsessions, neighbours being too loud again. Ordinary things, but grounding. Louis always thought about how much he missed this when he sat with her, and later he’d forget it again, like always once he left her kitchen.

But he hesitated, fingers absently tracing the rim of his mug.

She caught it, of course. “What?”

He let out a breath, shaking his head like it wasn’t worth mentioning. But then he said, “I’ve been meeting with Lestat, if that’s what you want to call it.”

Her eyebrows shot up, amused and curious all at once. “Ohhh. So?”

Louis groaned, leaning back in his chair, running a hand down his face. “Yeah, well… I might’ve been a little harsh.”

She laughed, leaning forward now, her chin resting on her hand. “Oh, this is good. Go on.”

Louis hesitated again, then sighed. “There’s… more to him than I thought. He’s not just some over-the-top performer with too much eyeliner and a god complex. He’s—” He stopped, searching for the right words. “He’s complicated. And I think if he doesn’t suddenly start annoying me again, I might have to admit we could be, not friends no, but acquaintance, maybe.”

Her grin softened into something gentler, less teasing. “Then how is it complicated?”

Louis glanced though the room as if there were someone listening, then back at her. “Promise you won’t say anything?”

She raised her hand like she was taking an oath. “Scout’s honour.”

So he told her—about the party, how they hadn’t spoken for a week after that, and how he’d thought maybe that was it. But then there was the walk, the conversation that lingered longer than it should’ve in his head. The pieces of Lestat he hadn’t expected to see—the softer edges hidden beneath all the sharp, performative bravado.

When he finished, his sister was quiet for a beat, then she asked, “So… ?”

Louis opened his mouth to deflect, to throw up some casual remark, but nothing came out. Instead, he rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the grain of the wooden table. “I don’t know. It’s not that simple.”

She didn’t push. Just smiled in that knowing, older-sister way. “It never is. But you’re making it more complicated than it needs to be.”

Louis shook his head. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you know something I don’t.”

She grinned, leaning back into her chair, tucking her legs beneath her. “I do. I’ve been watching you talk about him for the last ten minutes. You’re practically giving me a case study.”

Louis rolled his eyes, but there was no real bite to it. “It’s not that deep.”

“Mm-hm,” she hummed, clearly unconvinced. “You’ve mentioned him more tonight than you’ve mentioned anyone in, like, forever. And you even remembered details. That’s new.” Louis didn’t have a good comeback for that, so he just let out a soft sigh, staring at the half-empty mug on the table:“ I don’t know what’s going on. And I don’t think I want to care about it.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Then what’s different? Why do we keep talking about it?”

He thought about it for a second. “I don’t know. He’s exhausting, honestly. But he’s also—” He trailed off, searching for the right words. “—not what I thought he’d be. He’s more than the… loud, slutty blonde I assumed. I mean. He’s that too. But he’s also actually a person, if that makes sense.”

She snorted, covering her laugh with her hand. “You sound like you just discovered empathy.”

Louis chuckled too, shaking his head. “Shut up.”

“Nah. But I get what you mean so don’t worry.”

Louis nodded and looked away:“ Don’t tell anyone about this, okay? But… at that party, the one I mentioned—he got really drunk. Like, not just tipsy. Proper blackout drunk. And that’s when I began worrying. Because the people around him are shit. They might not curse him as much as I did, but they don’t give a fuck either way.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Seriously? What happened?”

“Nothing bad.” Louis hesitated, his fingers tapping lightly against the mug. “But like, I called one of his band members, asking where he lives, because I was the only one watching his drunk ass. And she just told me where I have to take him and yeah, she made like a comment about stuff I could do to him or something, but not like she actually made sure he was safe. I could have been anyone really.” Louis shrugged. “Of course, he’s a grown man and so, but just… it was weird seeing him like that. Vulnerable, I guess. After that, we didn’t talk for a week. And then we had that walk, and… it felt different. Like the whole vibe shifted.”

She didn’t say anything right away, just watched him with that same gentle, knowing look. Then she smiled softly. “You like him.”

Louis opened his mouth to argue, but nothing came out. So he just shook his head, not really denying it, but not confirming it either. She didn’t push further. Just let it sit there, like it didn’t need to be solved tonight. Louis finally stood after a while, grabbing his jacket. She walked him to the door, flicking off lights as they passed. At the threshold, she squeezed his arm gently. “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

“I won’t,” he promised and kissed her goodbye.

The night air hit him cool and sharp as he stepped outside, but it felt good—like breathing after holding it in for too long. As he walked to his car, he thought about how easy it had been to tell her, and how complicated it still felt inside his chest.

***

Louis’s phone buzzed, a new message lighting up the screen. He put the book he held down, resting it on his lap to reach over to his nightstand.

‘I’ve been invited to a party tomorrow night. Something about a record label—no idea. My assistant says I have to go. Pretentious people pretending not to be pretentious, bad wine disguised as good, that sort of thing. I can bring someone. I’m considering asking you.
Consider this me asking you. — your favourite blonde.’

Louis stared at it for a moment, his lips twitching into the faintest smile. He typed back:’ That depends.’

Lestat’s reply came almost immediately. Seriously, that man was glued to his phone.

‘On what? The quality of the bad wine or the quality of my company?
Because I can promise the wine will be disappointing, but I’ve heard my company is… getting tolerable. I’m on my best behaviour.’

Louis shook his head, his smile lingering despite himself. Instead of replying, he hit call. He didn’t like how long this conversation would take if they spoke over text, and he wanted to get this done with. The phone rang twice before the answer came through. “Couldn’t resist hearing my voice?” Lestat greeted; smugness woven into every word.

Louis rolled his eyes, settling back into his bed. “Depends what kind of party it is.”

“The kind where I’ll pretend to be charming for the sake of appearances,” Lestat replied without missing a beat. “Where people name-drop artists they’ve never actually listened to and call things ‘iconic’ that absolutely aren’t. The kind where I’ll probably be bored after an hour unless you’re there to roll your eyes at me.”

“So… a nightmare,” Louis muttered. “All of your events are.”

“Yes, but they are aesthetically pleasing nightmares.”

Louis huffed out a quiet laugh, rubbing his thumb over the edge of his phone.

“Come with me,” Lestat said, his voice dropping just slightly, smooth and coaxing. “I’ll owe you.”

“You already owe me.”

“True. Consider this an opportunity to collect.” A pause, then: “Free drinks. Decent music. And I’ll even attempt small talk with strangers to make it look like I’m well-adjusted.”

“You don’t strike me as someone who does small talk.”

“I do when I’m trying to impress someone.”

Louis didn’t respond right away, his mind snagging on that last part. He stared out the window, watching the streetlights blur past the glass, pretending the pause wasn’t deliberate. “So,” he said eventually, voice low, “who are you trying to impress?”

Lestat laughed, warm and effortless, like the question had been a joke even if it wasn’t. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Another pause. Louis could hear faint sounds in the background on Lestat’s end—music, maybe, or just the low hum of city life bleeding through. Where was he, at this time? And what was it that he did?

“I’ll behave,” Lestat seemed to promise. “I’ll keep the dramatic flair to a minimum. I’ll even—God forbid—blend in, if that makes you happier. Makes you tolerate being there with me.”

“You couldn’t blend in if you tried.” And should he, even? As annoying as Louis found it, it now seemed senseless trying to change someone who couldn’t be changed anyway. If he annoyed him, he might as well do it being who he actually is. Besides, Louis was starting to get used to it.

“Is that a challenge? Because now I’m tempted to show up in beige just to prove a point.”

Louis didn’t say anything for a moment, fighting back the grin tugging at his mouth. “I’m still deciding,” he said finally.

“You’re stalling because you know you’ll say yes.”

“I’m considering the pros and cons.”

Saying that seemed to have been a bad idea. Lestat was fast, nearly yelling his reply into the speaker:“ Pros: free drinks, excellent company—me, obviously—and the unparalleled joy of watching me suffer through small talk. Cons: none. There is no downside to seeing me in nice clothes and watching me suffer. I’m pretty when I do that.”

“That’s… a biased list.” Louis sighed. Not thinking further, than how much he disliked when the other man spoke like that to him.

“Of course it is. I’m the one making it. What time should I pick you up?”

Louis let the silence stretch a little longer this time, just to be difficult. Finally, he sighed, resigned. “I hate you,” he muttered. “You’re-“

The blonde’s laughter rang through the speaker, bright and smug. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Louis hung up without another word and immediately picked up the book again. It was the first that Lestat has sent him, now finally opened to be read.

Chapter Text

“I don’t know what the fuck to wear to that.”

Louis stood in front of his closet, his reflection staring back at him from the floor-length mirror with an expression that matched exactly how he felt—annoyed, mildly panicked, and painfully indecisive. His bedroom floor was by now a battlefield of rejected clothes: shirts crumpled in a pile by the window, pants discarded on his bed like they’d personally offended him, and socks that had somehow become collateral damage in between it all.

Rationally, it shouldn’t have been so hard to get dressed, but he’d been at it for what felt like hours, cycling through outfits like he was being punished for something. Maybe he was. Maybe agreeing to this party was his first mistake. Or maybe his second, because his first was texting Lestat about the dress code for tonight – a question he’s asked five times in total, each time ignored with that annoying charm only Lestat could radiate.

Lestat’s only instruction had been to be ready by six, and to not glue his hair down again.

Helpful.

Louis groaned, tugging at the collar of a button-up he’d tried on for the third time. It didn’t feel right. None of it did. He’d thought about wearing his suit, but the only one he owned was cheap, ill-fitted, and older than some of Lestat’s career milestones. He’d worn it to their first dinner, but back then he hadn’t cared. He’d been, evidently, too angry. Now, he wasn’t, and the mild resentment or whatever the name for his feelings was, didn’t give him a reason to not care.

And he did. A great deal, apparently.

On his bed, Claudia sat cross-legged, her expression beyond bored of his theatrics, flipping through a magazine she wasn’t even pretending to read. She’s been like that all day, as far as Louis could tell, but he hadn’t asked yet what all of it was about. “You look like a funeral director,” she said, glancing up as he tried on yet another black button-up.

“It’s just a shirt.” He frowned at his reflection. “And it’s too small.”

“Yeah, and it’s depressing.”

Louis sighed, pulling it off with an aggressive tug. “Helpful.”

“I am helping,” she answered smiling just a little too innocently. “You’re the one rejecting all my excellent advice. I told you; I liked the white shirt.”

“Your advice was, and I quote, ‘Just wear a sign that says Please Don’t Talk to Me.’”

“And I stand by it. Would make your evening less painful, if a bit humiliating.” She shrugged. “But if you insist on clothes, maybe not that shirt. You’re going to a party, not auditioning to be the face of existential dread. Why not one of the others?”

Louis ignored her, sifting through the remaining options: another button-up (less funeral, more I’ve given up), a pair of dress pants that didn’t fit quite right, and the eternal fallback—jeans, which he already knew were out of the question. He groaned and stopped to study his own reflection. He’d look good, he thought, if not for the mess that was his outfit. But it was getting late, and he’d have to decide sooner or later. And rather sooner, that was.

“Maybe I should just cancel,” he muttered for what felt like the sixth time, clear that he wasn’t actually considering it. He wasn’t that rude.

“Oh my God,” Claudia groaned dramatically, falling back onto the bed. “It’s a party, not a marriage proposal, Daddy Lou. Put on some pants and get over it.”

Louis shot her a look but couldn’t argue with that logic. Not because it was sound, but because he was out of excuses.

Another minute passed before Claudia sat up again. “Did you eat? You know there’s probably not gonna be real food there. Just, like… olives on toothpicks or sad little crackers.” Louis exhaled, tugging on the least-wrinkled shirt he could find. Claudia said she liked the white one, then he’d wear that. It was his best option anyways. Fondly, he said:“ I’ve been so nervous I had dinner twice. And like a bag of chips.”

Claudia chuckled. “Emotional eating is always an option.”

“Yeah. My body tricked me into thinking I was starving both times.” He buttoned the shirt, frowning at how it sat on his shoulders. Not perfect, but not terrible. He could live with not terrible.

“Well, I’ll make some pizza for myself, then. Since you’ve apparently eaten all the food in the house already.”

“Careful, young one”, Louis laughed, “I know you’re up at 3, making yourself all kinds of things in the kitchen-“

“Teenage appetite, Daddy Lou”, Claudia insisted, “You really can’t hold me responsible for that!”

Before Louis could reply, the doorbell rang. Was it that late already?

Claudia arched a brow. “Blondie’s here.”

“Sush,” Louis made, running a quick hand through his hair again just to be sure. The doorbell rang again, sharper this time, like it had been pressed with more purpose. Louis glanced at the clock—5:59. Of course. Lestat would be precisely on time, probably just to be smug about it. Louis took a quick breath, ran his hands down his shirt to smooth the creases (pointless), and opened the door.

There, Lestat stood, all usual infuriating charm and effortless elegance, dressed in a dark tailored suit that certainly cost more than Louis’s rent. His shirt was unbuttoned just enough to look intentional, a thin silver chain catching the last of the evening light at his collarbone. He wasn’t even trying, and yet he looked like he’d stepped straight out of a magazine spread titled Unbearably Attractive and Knows It.

“Bonsoir,” Lestat greeted, like they were in some Parisian street instead of the cramped hallway of Louis’s apartment building. Then, without missing a beat, he held up a sleek garment bag, his smile turning smug. “I brought you something.”

Louis blinked. “What?”

“A suit.” The blonde brushed past him without waiting for an invitation, the faint scent of warm cologne trailing behind. “I figured you’d be—” he paused, glancing over his shoulder with a wicked little smile, “—struggling.”

Claudia, who’s followed to the door, snorted loudly behind Louis. “Understatement of the year.”

Louis shot her a glare before shutting the door and turning back to Lestat. “You brought me a suit?”

“Yes.” Lestat held the garment bag high, unzipped it with a flourish like he was unveiling a masterpiece. Inside was a perfect, dark charcoal suit—simple, sharp, with subtle detailing along the lapels. The kind of thing that would never be described as trying too hard because it was just that good. And Louis would lie if he didn’t consider taking it on.

He stared. “I can’t wear that.” He didn’t even try to argue that the other was doing too much again.

“Why not?” Lestat’s brow arched, genuinely puzzled. He looked at the suit, as if to see why Louis couldn’t just take it on. “Is there something wrong with it? Is it too boring?”

“No, because… it’s—” Louis gestured vaguely. “Too much.”

“It’s not.” Lestat argued. “Trust me. You’ll look great. I made sure it matches your style.”

Louis hesitated, glancing from the suit to Lestat, then to Claudia, who gave him a just-do-it look from where she stood. He had no reason left to say no – even when he wanted to make a sharp comment about Lestat bringing him clothes, because he seemed to not trust in him to own a, something good, and b, not dress properly for the occasion. Then again, those reasons were in fact true, and so Louis didn’t speak his mind.

“Fine,” he muttered, and disappeared into the bathroom, briefly listening to Lestat and Claudia small-talk in the back.

The clothes fit perfectly. Of course they did.

When he finally stepped out, adjusting the cuffs awkwardly, Lestat’s smile went from smug to something that could be only described as happiness. Pure, innocent happiness. Lestat, utterly pleased, with what he’s done – and Louis tried to find anything vile in that expression, but there was nothing beyond Lestat’s eyes that seemed to say he’s genuinely done this because he was trying to be nice.

“See?” Lestat said, his gaze lingering a second too long on Louis’ chest. “Told you.”

Claudia gave an exaggerated whistle. “Wow. You almost look like you’ve got your life together.”

Louis rolled his eyes, but couldn’t fight the faint, reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Even, when done because of reasons Louis disliked, this was one of the kindest things anyone has ever done. Like a lot of things coming from Lestat so far, even, when Louis feared most of them were done for some selfish reason. Still, Lestat was trying to be helpful, and while not certain about the genuinely of it, Louis found it harder to pretend he wasn’t somewhat appreciating it.

Without wasting more time, the blonde rockstar offered Louis his arm in an overly dramatic gesture. “Shall we?”

Louis didn’t take it, of course. But he followed him through the door. Just before fully stepping out, he glanced back at Claudia. “You’ll be alright? Call me if something’s wrong. I won’t be too late.”

Claudia waved him off like he was being ridiculous. “Yeah, yeah! Have fun, Daddy Lou! You too, famous guy!”

Louis opened his mouth to fire back something sarcastic, but before he could, Lestat nudged his side with a smirk, steering him out the door.

The car Lestat had arrived in was still parked right out front—a sleek, black, definitely-too-expensive thing that looked like it should’ve had a red carpet rolled out beside it. Louis blinked at it for a second, feeling just a little out of his depth, then reminded himself to move. They had somewhere to be, after all.

Lestat slipped into the passenger seat without a word, leaving Louis to open the back door. He got in—only to freeze halfway when he realized he wasn’t alone.

Seated next to him was a teenager, more a man than a child by the looks of him, probably about seventeen or eighteen, with messy blonde hair that was just a shade too familiar. The kid had his earbuds in and was hunched over his phone, thumbs flying across the screen like the world didn’t exist beyond whatever conversation he was having.

Louis stared for a second, caught off guard.

As if sensing his confusion, Lestat spoke up, dry and casual from the front seat. “Louis, that’s my son. He’s here because we can’t trust him to behave at home.”

Louis blinked, his brain tripping over the word son.

Without looking up from his phone, the kid mumbled, “Viktor. Hey.” His tone was flat, like even that much effort was a chore. The absent of the same accent his father displayed was the first thing Louis noted, the fact that they sounded so much alike the second.

Louis cleared his throat, trying to process this sudden development. “Uh… hey.”

Lestat chuckled softly at Louis’s obvious discomfort, taking out and putting on a pair of sunglasses like they were suddenly necessary, even though the sun was practically gone. “Relax, mon cher. He’s not as terrifying as he looks. Even when he tries to be.” There was a certain tone in his words as he said that; Louis figured Lestat was acting to cover up a certain displeasure in his voice.

Viktor snorted quietly, still not looking up. “Speak for yourself.”

Louis didn’t know whether he should say something else or just keep his mouth shut. He settled for staring out the window.

As the car pulled away from the curb, the silence in the backseat wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it wasn’t tense either. Just… strange. Like Louis had stepped into a part of Lestat’s life he hadn’t realized he’d step into so soon.

And somehow, that was even more unsettling than the party they were heading to.

The car pulled up to a sleek, modern building downtown, all glass and steel gleaming under the city lights. The kind of place Louis had only ever passed by, never imagining he’d actually step inside. The entrance was already buzzing with people—industry types dressed in effortless cool, the kind of cool that took more effort than Louis could ever muster.

Lestat slid out of the car first, after saying something to the driver. Viktor followed, finally tucking his phone into his pocket, though his expression was pure boredom. Louis climbed out last, adjusting the sleeves of the suit Lestat had given him, still feeling like an imposter in borrowed clothes.

They barely made it through the doors before they were greeted by a sharp, efficient-looking woman with a tablet in hand and a Bluetooth headset tucked behind one ear.

“Lestat,” she called, her voice smooth but businesslike. Lestat’s assistant, then. She was tall, blonde, and radiated the kind of energy that made Louis stand up straighter just being near her. She reminded him of a particularly mean teacher. “You’re late,” she added, though there was a teasing edge to her tone.

The blonde rockstar waved a dismissive hand. “Fashionably, ma chérie. You know me.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, she turned her sharp gaze on Louis and Viktor. “Ah. And the junior. And…”

Lestat threw an arm lazily around Louis’s shoulders. “This is Louis, a dear friend.” His voice lingered just a bit too long on dear, but Louis didn’t have the energy to dissect it. He was too busy shrugging him off. “And I’ve introduced you to my son before,” he gestured toward Viktor, who was pulling himself together for a second, displaying a similar professional charm that usually graced his father’s face, “Viktor.”

The woman’s eyebrow lifted ever so slightly, but she recovered quickly, offering a polite nod. “Well, come on then. There are people you need to meet.”

Louis lingered for a beat on the fact, that apparently no one really knew Lestat’s son. She’s not acted as if Lestat brought the boy anywhere often.

The woman led them through the crowd with a confidence that Louis envied, stopping at various clusters of people to introduce Lestat—and by extension, Louis and Viktor. The names blurred together in Louis’s mind: producers, label executives, and other artists he vaguely recognized from passing glances at music charts or gossip headlines. And so, he just nodded along, smiled when appropriate, but the whole thing felt surreal. He wasn’t part of this world, and it showed. He was just the friend, as bitter as the word tasted on his tongue.

Viktor, on the other hand, barely pretended to care at some point. He hung back, arms crossed, his disinterest practically a force field around him. Lestat didn’t seem to care much about it.

After what felt like an eternity of polite small talk, Lestat leaned toward Louis with a grin. “Let’s get a drink, shall we?” he said, like they were conspiring against the whole room. Before Louis could decline, the other was already steering him toward the bar, grabbing Viktor by the sleeve as he went. “Come on, mon fils. You can at least pretend to enjoy yourself. You brought it all on yourself, after all.”

Viktor groaned but didn’t resist, trailing after them with the reluctant shuffle of someone being dragged to their own execution.

At the bar, Lestat ordered some expensive-sounding wine without even looking at the menu. Louis opted for a simple whiskey, while Viktor slumped against the counter, scrolling through his phone again. Lestat turned to ask him what he’d like, and the boy set on to order some wine as well, when Lestat reminded him in French that this was America, and he’d have to settle for something else.

Once the drinks arrived, Lestat handed Louis his glass, then turned to Viktor. “Go find something to do that doesn’t involve sulking. Maybe there’s someone here as miserable as you.”

Viktor shot him a glare but pushed off from the bar, disappearing into the crowd with the kind of huff that said this isn’t over.

Louis watched him go, then glanced back at Lestat.

“So,” he said, taking a sip of his drink, “what’s the deal with him?”

Lestat sighed, swirling his own glass thoughtfully. “He’s a troublemaker,” he admitted. “Got himself into some things he shouldn’t have. I couldn’t trust him to stay out of it while I was gone, so… here he is.”

Louis raised an eyebrow. “Things?”

Lestat’s smile was tight, not quite reaching his eyes. “Let’s just say he’s got a knack for finding the worst possible influences. And an even better knack for ignoring every piece of advice I give him.”

Louis let that sink in, glancing out at the crowd where Viktor had vanished. He hummed.

Lestat chuckled at that, finally relaxing a little. “Yes, well. The apple doesn’t fall far, mon cher. Even when I’d hoped he could learn from my mistakes.”

Louis wanted to ask a million things. Where had Viktor been staying all this time? How old was he? Why the hell had Lestat been so secretive about all of it? He took another slow sip of his whiskey, debating how much prying was too much. But curiosity won out.

“So… how old is he?” Louis finally asked, keeping his tone casual, like it wasn’t a question that had been burning at the back of his mind since the kid has been vaguely mentioned the first time.

Lestat’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile, like he’d been expecting the interrogation. “He turned eighteen last month.”

Louis raised an eyebrow. “Eighteen? Christ. I thought you’d say fifteen with the way he was sulking.” How old again was Lestat? Louis looked at him, as if he could read the answer form his face. He must have been young, when he’s had the child.

Lestat chuckled softly, swirling his drink. “He’s perfected the teenage scowl, hasn’t he?” He let out a sigh, the edge of it tinged with something warmer—fond, maybe, though Lestat would never admit it outright. “But he’s just a kid, really. Still figuring himself out.”

Louis nodded slowly, processing that. The kid was technically an adult, but he still felt like a mystery. “Where’s he been staying? I mean, you’re always on the move. Can’t be easy dragging him around.”

Lestat’s smile dimmed slightly, his gaze flicking out over the crowd before settling back on Louis. “With me in the hotels, mostly. But I bought a place recently, here in the city. After… that unfortunate party. You dragging me to the hotel was the last straw, I admit.”

Louis blinked. “Bought a house?” His tone was sharper than he meant it to be. The question hung in the air, heavier than it should have been. “What, settling down now? Or is that because of me?”

Lestat barked out a laugh, loud enough to turn a few heads nearby. He didn’t seem to care. “Mon cher, as flattering as that would be, no.” His grin softened as he leaned in just a little, his voice dropping enough to feel like a secret. “It’s for Viktor. He’s continuing school here for now, and I wanted him to have some stability. Somewhere to come back to when the tour’s over.”

Louis felt the tension in his shoulders ease a bit, but something still buzzed under his skin. Lestat being domestic, even in the smallest way, was… strange. Not bad, just unexpected.

Before Louis could dig deeper, the assistant reappeared, her sharp eyes scanning them both like she was sizing them up for another round of introductions.

“Lestat, they’re asking for you,” she said, tapping at her tablet. “Some of the execs want to meet your friend too.” Her gaze flicked to Louis; her smile polite but professional.

Lestat groaned dramatically, tossing back the rest of his drink before setting the glass down with a soft clink. “Duty calls,” he muttered, then turned to Louis with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Come on. Let’s go charm the suits.”

Louis rolled his eyes but followed, feeling the familiar pull of Lestat’s chaotic orbit. As they weaved through the crowd, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries, Louis found himself watching Lestat more than the people they were supposed to be meeting. The way he slipped into conversation, effortless and magnetic, like he was born for this. But every so often, his gaze would flick to Louis, his smile softening just enough to remind him that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t here for the crowd.

And Louis couldn’t decide if that made him feel better or worse.

After the next couple minutes of polite smiles, nods, and half-hearted conversations with people Louis didn’t care to remember, another man approached. He was older, probably in his late fifties or early sixties, but carried himself with the kind of confidence that didn’t waver with age. His hair was streaked with silver, not in a way that suggested he was trying to hide it, but like he’d earned every line, every grey strand. There was a sharpness in his eyes—a quiet, observant intelligence that immediately put Louis on edge.

Lestat noticed him at the same time, his posture shifting ever so slightly, like he could sense the difference between casual networking and something more intentional.

“Lestat de Lioncourt,” the man greeted, his voice smooth but with an edge, like he was always halfway between a statement and a challenge. “I’m Daniel Molloy. Journalist.”

Lestat’s lips curved into that practiced, charming smile he wore like armour. “Ah, the infamous Daniel Molloy,” he drawled, extending a hand. “I’ve read your work.”

Daniel shook his hand, his grip firm but not overbearing. “I’d hope so. I’ve written about enough people in your circle.” His gaze flicked to Louis, then back to Lestat, like he was filing away information even before anyone spoke. “And you are?”

“Louis,” Louis answered simply, feeling the weight of Molloy’s gaze settle on him. It wasn’t intrusive, just… assessing.

“Well, Louis,” Daniel said, his tone light but with an undercurrent of curiosity, “how does it feel being friends with a man who sells out stadiums pretending to be a vampire?”

Louis almost laughed, but Lestat beat him to it, letting out a low chuckle. “Mon dieu, Daniel, you make it sound so cheap.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow, a small, amused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’m a journalist. It’s my job to make things sound cheap—or at least, to strip them down to what they really are.”

“And what is it you think I really am?” The blonde’s voice was still playful, but there was a sharper edge beneath it now, a hint of challenge.

Daniel didn’t flinch. “That’s what I’d like to find out. Which brings me to why I’m here.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card, handing it to Lestat. “I’d like to interview you. Sometime soon.”

Lestat took the card, glancing at it before slipping it into his jacket pocket without missing a beat. “I’m not usually fond of interviews. They tend to ask the same boring questions.”

Daniel shrugged, unfazed. “Then I won’t ask boring questions.”

For a brief moment, their gazes locked, something unspoken passing between them. Louis felt like an outsider watching two predators circle each other, neither ready to strike but both aware of the possibility.

“I’ll think about it,” Lestat finally said, his tone smooth, noncommittal.

Daniel nodded like he expected that. “Do that. But don’t think too long.” He shot one last glance at Louis, a flicker of something—curiosity? amusement?—passing through his eyes. “Nice meeting you both.”

And just like that, he was gone, disappearing into the crowd as quickly as he’d appeared.

Louis exhaled, not realizing he’d been holding his breath. “Who was that?”

Lestat’s smile lingered, but his eyes were distant, thoughtful. “Trouble,” he murmured, then glanced at Louis with a wink. “But the interesting kind.”

“Aha,” Louis muttered, his eyes still following the spot where Daniel Molloy had vanished.

Lestat chuckled under his breath, the sound smooth and careless. “Let’s find my misbehaving son again.”

They made their way through the throng of people, slipping past over-dressed executives and the usual industry types who laughed too loud at jokes that weren’t funny. The air inside had grown stuffy, thick with the scent of overpriced cologne and cheap ambition. Outside, the air was cooler, sharp against Louis’s skin. They found Viktor leaning against the low stone wall bordering the patio, a cigarette dangling from his fingers, its tip glowing faintly in the dim light. He didn’t look up immediately, his attention fixed somewhere in the distance, but there was a tension in his posture—like he’d known they’d find him eventually.

Lestat raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking. “Ah, mon fils. Hiding already?”

Viktor finally glanced their way, unfazed. “Boring inside,” he muttered, taking a slow drag.

Louis crossed his arms, his gaze flicking between them. “So, underage drinking’s off-limits,” he said dryly, “but smoking’s fine?”

Lestat laughed, low and amused. “Oh, mon cher, this America hypocrisy. Guns are perfectly acceptable, but God forbid an eighteen-year-old has a glass of wine or a cigarette.” He rolled his eyes theatrically, the irony thick in his voice. “I can’t keep him from all of it.”

Viktor snorted, pulling the pack from his pocket and offering it to his father. “Want one?”

Lestat sighed like it was the greatest inconvenience in the world but plucked a cigarette from the pack anyway. “Merci, but you know this is a disgusting habit,” he said, even as he lit it, inhaling with the ease of someone far too familiar with the vice.

Viktor just smirked, like he’d won a small victory.

The pack lingered between Viktor’s fingers, and he extended it towards Louis, a silent offer. Louis hesitated, eyeing the cigarette like it was a loaded question. But after a moment, he shrugged, taking one for himself.

They stood there for a beat, the silence between them filled with the faint crackle of burning tobacco and the muffled sounds of the party drifting from inside.

Eventually, Lestat flicked his cigarette into the ashtray, crushing it with a practiced twist of his wrist. “Come on,” he said, clapping Louis lightly on the shoulder. “Let’s go pretend to be sociable again.”

Viktor rolled his eyes at them but followed, trailing just behind as they slipped back into the noise and warmth of the venue. Inside, Lestat was almost immediately swept up by his manager—Thomas or Tobias or something, Louis couldn’t remember—and they drifted off toward a group of people that Louis had zero interest in engaging with. That left him standing there, Viktor by his side, both of them slightly apart from the crowd.

For a moment, they just stood in silence, watching the swirl of people around them. Then Viktor turned to him, his gaze sharp and unapologetic.

“So,” he said bluntly, “are you and my dad fucking or what?”

Louis nearly choked on nothing, his head snapping towards Viktor with wide eyes. “What?”

Viktor shrugged, utterly unfazed. “I just don’t get why you’re here if you’re not.” His tone was casual, like he was asking about the weather. “He doesn’t usually bring people to these things unless there’s a reason.”

Louis blinked, trying to find words, any words, but his brain felt like it had short-circuited. “We’re… friends,” he finally managed, though it sounded weak even to his own ears. He was still busy convincing himself that he could stand the idea of being friends, rather than just two people who vaguely liking each other enough to hang out.

“Right. Friends.” Viktor raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.

Louis sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. It’s complicated, I guess.”

Viktor let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah,” he muttered. “It always is with him.”

Louis glanced at him, feeling the weight of Viktor's words settle in his chest.

“Be careful. My father likes to play with people. Would hate for you to get hurt like the last.” Viktor’s smirk twisted into something like sympathy at the sudden look on Louis’ face, but before he could reply, Lestat’s voice cut through the space between them.

“What’s going on here?” Lestat’s tone was light, but there was an edge to it, his eyes flicking between them with a raised brow.

“Nothing,” Viktor said briskly, the shift in his demeanour almost immediate. He straightened up. “I’m gonna find something less depressing to do.” Without another glance, he slipped away, leaving Louis standing there with the sudden awkwardness settling between him and Lestat.

Lestat watched Viktor’s retreating figure for a beat, then turned back to Louis, his expression blank. “What was that about?”

Louis shrugged, forcing a casual tone even though his mind was still replaying Viktor’s words. “Teenagers. You know how they are.”

Lestat hummed, clearly not convinced but choosing not to press. Instead, he stepped closer, the familiar glint returning to his eyes. “You look like you need another drink.”

Louis huffed a quiet laugh. “Or three.”

They spent the next hour weaving through more of the same repetitive polite conversations. Lestat went effortlessly into charm mode, turning on that magnetic charisma that had people hanging onto his every word. Louis found himself drifting at the edges, observing more than participating, but Lestat had a habit of pulling him back in with a glance, a smirk, or a whispered comment that made Louis feel like the only person in the room, no matter what he thought on even wanting that.

By the time the evening started to wind down, Louis’s head was buzzing—not just from the alcohol, but from the strange energy of the night. He wasn’t sure if it was the crowd, Lestat’s presence, or the lingering echo of Viktor’s pointed words.

Outside, the cool night air hit him like a splash of cold water as they made their way to the car. The streets were quieter now, the buzz of the party fading behind them. Viktor had disappeared somewhere—probably catching a ride with someone else, Lestat mentioned casually, as if it wasn’t a big deal. Louis wondered how life could be so carefree between these two, even with the tension between father and son. Was it really like that, their life? All actions between them like a transaction, not going beyond the fact that they were family, and that was all there was?

Sliding into the car, this time on the backseat, Lestat told the driver to take them to Louis’ place. He looked through the open door at Louis, waiting.

Louis who still stood next to the car started shaking his head. “I can call a cab. You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” Lestat interrupted smoothly. “Besides, it’s late. And I’d rather make sure you get home safe. So get in.”

Louis opened his mouth to argue again but stopped himself. The warmth in Lestat’s voice, the easy confidence—it was disarming in a way Louis wasn’t prepared for. So instead, he just sighed and did as he asked.

The drive was quiet, the city lights flickering past the windows as they moved through the streets. Louis found himself stealing glances at Lestat, taking in the way his jawline caught the soft glow of passing headlights.

When they finally pulled up in front of Louis’s building, the car came to a halt but neither of them moved. The silence stretched between them for a beat too long.

“Thanks,” Louis said quietly, reaching for the door handle.

But Lestat’s voice stopped him. “Louis.”

He paused, looking back. Lestat’s eyes met his in the dim light, something nearly sad swimming in them. “I’m not playing with you,” Lestat said softly, like he’d read Louis’s thoughts from earlier. “If I were using you, you’d know it. Trust me.”

Louis felt his breath hitch, his heart skipping a beat. But before he could find the words to respond, Lestat’s lips curved into that familiar, infuriating smile. “Goodnight, mon cher.”

Louis shook his head as he stepped out of the car. “Goodnight, Lestat.”

As he closed the door behind him and watched the car pull away, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this—whatever this was—was far from simple, and he’s gotten himself into something he’d not get out again without having himself hurt in the process.

***

The sun barely peeked through the curtains when Louis shuffled into his small kitchen, the familiar hum of the coffee machine filling the quiet apartment. The comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee wrapped around him, but it did little to settle the strange restlessness that clung to him after the night before.

Claudia was already at school, the apartment unusually silent without her sharp commentary or the sound of her rummaging through the fridge. Louis leaned against the counter, taking his first sip, when his phone buzzed violently against the tabletop. Lestat’s name flashed on the screen.

Louis frowned. It was early, even for Lestat. He answered, bringing the phone to his ear. “Lestat?”

“Putain de merde!” Lestat’s voice exploded through the receiver, loud and sharp enough to make Louis pull the phone away from his ear slightly. "Ils ont osé! Après tout l'argent que je dépense!"

Louis blinked, his brain still waking up, trying to catch up with the rapid French. "Lestat—"

"Je le prends quelque part une fois—UNE FOIS!" Lestat’s voice was venomous, thick with fury. "Et voilà! C'est exactement pour ça que je ne le fais pas!"

“Lestat, slow down!” Louis cut in, setting his coffee down before it could spill from the sudden tension in his grip. “My French is decent, but not that good.”

Lestat finally switched to English, though his tone remained razor-sharp. “These fucking journalist—someone—snapped a picture of Viktor last night. It’s online now. After all the goddamn money I pay to keep his name and face out of the media, this happens. I take him somewhere once, and they can’t fucking help themselves.”

Louis rubbed his temple, trying to keep up with Lestat’s anger, which was practically vibrating through the phone. “What did the article say?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Lestat bit out, his voice tight. “It’s the principle of it. He’s a kid. They have no right.”

Louis exhaled slowly, trying to push past Lestat’s hurricane of emotions. “Listen,” he said. “Why don’t you come by the bookstore? We can talk it out there. It’ll be quieter. You’ll think clearer.”

There was a pause on the other end, Lestat’s breathing heavy through the line. For a moment, Louis wasn’t sure if he’d even consider it. Then, finally, Lestat’s voice came back, lower but still burning at the edges.

“Fine. I’ll be there soon.”

The call ended abruptly, leaving Louis staring at his phone, the air around him still crackling from Lestat’s outburst. He picked up his coffee again, but the warmth didn’t feel as comforting anymore.

Later, when the door to the bookstore swung open with more force than necessary, the little bell above it jangling violently, Louis knew Lestat has arrived. He barely had time to look up from the counter before Lestat stormed in, his face a mix of fury and frustration. He didn’t bother with a greeting, just marched straight up to Louis and slammed his phone down on the counter.

“Look.”

Louis raised an eyebrow, but Lestat’s expression brooked no argument. With a sigh, he picked up the phone, expecting the worst.

It was the worst.

The article was brutal, the headline alone enough to make Louis understand every bit of the other’s anger. “Rockstar Lestat de Lioncourt’s Secret Teenage Fatherhood: Who’s the Mystery Mother?” The words were bold and sensational, and the content wasn’t any better. It dissected Lestat’s past with invasive speculation, tossing around some unreliable details about Viktor, implying Lestat had been irresponsible, reckless. It even hinted at possible scandals, dragging Viktor’s unnamed mother into the mess with wild, baseless theories.

Louis read in silence for a moment before setting the phone down carefully, glancing up at Lestat who looked like a mess.

“Jesus,” Louis muttered. “How the fuck did they even get all this?”

“I don’t know,” the blonde snapped, pacing now, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I pay people—good people—to keep this shit out of the media. No one’s supposed to know anything really about Viktor, and now—” He gestured wildly at the phone. “Now this. It’s exactly what happens when you allow media into these events. I just wanted- merde I wanted to do it right by not leaving him at home, and now this. Why can’t they be happy with just naming him? Why all this nonsense? And not like any of it is true, really. It’s all…-”

Louis leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. “And you have no idea who could’ve leaked it?”

“If I did, they’d be dead,” Lestat hissed, eyes flashing. “I trusted no one with this. It’s just… them. Always digging, always fucking pushing.”

Louis let out a slow breath, trying to stay calm, grounded, because Lestat sure as hell wasn’t. “Why do you care so much?” he asked, watching Lestat stop mid-pace. “You usually don’t seem to give a shit about what they say.”

Lestat froze, then turned, his expression dark. “This isn’t about me, Louis. They can say whatever the fuck they want about me. Leak my whole fucked-up past, call me names, leak my fucking nudes, do whatever. But Viktor—he’s a kid. My kid. He didn’t ask for this. He didn’t choose to have a father like me. And now he’s going to have to live with this crap being out there, following him around like a goddamn shadow.”

Louis watched him carefully, saw the way Lestat’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, the way his jaw tightened like he was holding something in.

“Hey,” Louis said softly, stepping closer. “It’s gonna be alright.”

The other man let out a bitter laugh. “You think so? ‘Cause last I checked, the internet doesn’t forget.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Louis admitted. “But Viktor’s tougher than you give him credit for. He can handle this. It’s the curse of parents to worry more than necessary and think our kids can’t handle things on their own.”

Lestat scoffed, shaking his head. “He shouldn’t have to handle it.”

Louis placed a hand on the counter, steady. “But he will. And you’ll be there for him when he does. Besides” He didn’t know if this would make it better. “-there’s not much they say about him anyways. Just a picture. Most of it is calling you names anyways.”

Lestat’s eyes flicked up to meet Louis’, and for a moment, the anger simmered down, replaced by something quieter, more vulnerable. He didn’t say anything right away, just exhaled, like some of the tension was finally leaving his body. “I just wanted to give him a normal life,” Lestat muttered after a long silence.

Louis smiled faintly. “You? Normal? Stupid thought.”

That pulled a reluctant laugh out of Lestat, and Louis took it as a small victory.

“Come on,” Louis said, nodding toward the back of the store. “Let’s get you something to drink.”

Lestat sighed but followed, the weight of the morning still heavy, but maybe just a little lighter now. Louis led Lestat through the maze of shelves to the small back room where he kept a battered old coffee maker and a couple of mismatched mugs. The space was cozy, cluttered with books that didn’t fit out front and papers Louis hadn’t bothered organizing.

Lestat slumped into the lone chair with a dramatic sigh, like the weight of the whole morning was pressing him down. Louis didn’t say anything right away, just started the coffee, letting the machine’s soft hum fill the silence for a bit.

“You’re acting like I just made you run a marathon,” Louis finally said, glancing over his shoulder.

Lestat shot him a withering look. “Emotionally, it was a marathon.” But his voice had softened, some of the edge dulled from their earlier conversation.

Louis chuckled quietly, pouring the coffee into two chipped mugs. He handed one to Lestat and sat down opposite him, their knees almost touching in the cramped space.

They drank in silence for a moment before Louis broke it, his tone lighter. He wanted to say anything, just to distract. “My sister’s coming over tonight. She and Claudia are demanding a proper dinner, apparently.”

Lestat raised an eyebrow, swirling his coffee lazily. “Ah, family dinner. Sounds cozy. We’re never doing that.”

Louis snorted. “It’s usually more chaos than cozy, but yeah.”

Lestat smiled faintly, then set his mug down. “I’ve got a practice day with the band later. Trying to get them to stop butchering my songs. We failed spectacularly last time in the third act with ‘The Dark Gift’, although I think none of the fans have noticed. It was out of key though, and it hurt my ears.”

Louis smiled. “Well then, good luck with that.”

Lestat huffed, but there was no real annoyance behind it. “They’re talented. Just… undisciplined. I swear, it’s like babysitting sometimes.”

Louis sipped his coffee, watching him over the rim of his mug. “You’d know a thing or two about that.”

Lestat shot him a glare that didn’t quite stick, and Louis just chuckled, shaking his head. The earlier storm fading into something more familiar, more manageable. Eventually, Lestat stood, dusting imaginary lint off his shirt. “Alright, I’ll let you get back to pretending to work.”

Louis rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. “Call me later if you don’t get swallowed by the chaos.” He told himself he just wanted to know if Lestat managed this. The blonde gave him a mock salute as he headed out the door, and Louis watched him go, the bookstore feeling just a little quieter in his absence.

***

Louis was lounging on the couch, a book half-open on his lap when his phone buzzed. He didn’t have to check the screen to know who it was. He answered with a dry, “Didn’t think you’d survive practice.”

The blonde’s voice came through, warm with amusement. “Barely. But I’m more interested in hearing how your night of domestic bliss went.”

Louis chuckled, leaning back against the cushions. “It was fine. Grace brought over way too much food, as usual. Claudia stole all the garlic bread, and the two of them ganged up on me about my ‘lack of social life.’”

Lestat laughed, the sound crackling slightly through the speaker. “They’re not wrong, you know.”

Louis groaned. “Not you, too.”

“Someone’s gotta keep you in check.”

Louis smiled despite himself, tracing the edge of the book with his finger. There was a brief pause before he spoke again. “You free tomorrow evening?”

Lestat didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. Want to meet up?”

“Yeah,” Louis said softly. “I think I do.”

“Alright,” Lestat replied, his voice just as soft now. “I’ll see you then. Text you again for the details?”

“Yes, do that.”

They hung up, and Louis sat there for a while, staring at the phone, the faint trace of a smile still on his lips.

***

The afternoon sun slanted through the blinds, casting long shadows across the living room floor. Louis sat on the edge of the couch, his elbow resting on his knee, phone in hand. He glanced at the time—6:15 PM. Lestat was supposed to be here at six. He wasn’t the type to usually be punctual beyond if it was to make a point, Louis knew that much. But still, Lestat always showed up eventually. Usually with some excuse dripping in sarcasm or flair. But now? Nothing. No text. No call. Louis tried not to overthink it. Maybe traffic. Maybe he lost track of time. Maybe he’s just being Lestat.

But the minutes stretched, slow and heavy.

By 6:30 PM, Louis found himself pacing. His thumb hovered over Lestat’s name in his contacts. Should I call? He hesitated. If he were Lestat, he’d hate being fussed over. But something—it was subtle, like a faint hum under his skin—felt off. He finally hit call.

The phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times.

Just as he was about to hang up, the line clicked. But no voice greeted him. No snarky comment. No dramatic sigh. Just… silence.

Louis frowned. "Lestat?" he said simply.

A shaky breath filtered through the line. And then, very faintly, he heard it. The unmistakable sound of someone trying—and failing—to hold back tears. Louis froze. "Lestat." he repeated, firmer this time, his heartbeat quickening. There was a long pause. Then, Lestat’s voice, raw and unsteady, came through. "Gods, I’m sorry, Louis. I forgot the time. I’ll be there, don’t worry. Just… give me twenty minutes."

That wasn’t like him. Not like this, at least. "Where are you?" Louis asked, his voice soft but urgent. He had no time to think about anything beyond how strange this was, and how utterly alone Lestat sounded. Louis wanted to not care, but he cared too much already.

"I… I didn’t want to bother you," Lestat said, slurring just slightly. "I’m fine. Really. I’m just—" He cut off with a sharp breath, like he was trying to pull himself together and failing miserably.

"Lestat," Louis said, his worry spiking now. "Tell me where you are."

Another pause. Then a quiet, defeated: "I’m at home."

Louis didn’t wait for more. "I’m coming over." It wasn’t a decision he had to make; it was the only right thing to do, and besides, apparently there was no one but him to care enough.

"No—" Lestat started to protest, but Louis had already grabbed his jacket, shoving his phone into his pocket.

"Too bad," Louis muttered to himself as he slammed the door behind him.

Louis had to force himself to slow down long enough to make the call. He didn’t have Lestat’s address—of course he didn’t. If it hadn’t been for Lestat telling him he’d bought a house he’d driven to the hotel, but now he needed another plan. He scrolled through his contacts until he found Tough-Cookie – he’s stolen her contact after the last time he’d been forced to call her, now glad that he’s done it despite feeling awful in that moment.

The cab ride felt like it took forever, even though it couldn’t have been more than ten minutes. Louis stared out the window, jaw tight, leg bouncing uncontrollably. His mind ran wild with possibilities. He pictured Lestat drunk off his ass, or worse—something darker, something more permanent, because Lestat struck him as the kind of person to go all kind of extremes, just because from what he could tell there was nothing beyond high ups and downs with him. No, he forced himself to think. Not him. He’s too stubborn for that.

Still, the weight in his chest didn’t ease.

When the cab finally pulled up in front of Lestat’s building, Louis barely waited for it to stop before throwing a few bills at the driver and stepping out. The place was exactly what he expected, but now really didn’t feel like the time to think about it. Louis didn’t stop to admire the architecture, even when he usually would have, and he didn’t spent too much time lingering on the thought of how easy life must be like, when you can just spontaneously decide to buy a house like that.

By the time he reached the door, his heart was pounding. He knocked once, hard. No answer. "Lestat!" Louis called, his voice echoing down the empty hallway. Still nothing. Louis didn’t think twice. He tried the handle, expecting it to be locked. It wasn’t.

The door creaked open, and Louis stepped inside. The place was a mess.

Not the kind of mess that comes from living—a stray jacket here, a forgotten glass there. No, this was chaotic. All kind of things on the floor. The curtains were drawn tight, suffocating the room in darkness, but even in the dim light, Louis could see the disarray.

And then he saw the blonde rockstar.

The blonde was slumped on the couch, his usually pristine appearance in complete ruin. His hair was a mess, his shirt half-buttoned and wrinkled like he’d slept in it. His eyes were red, unfocused, staring at something only he could see.

Louis’s heart clenched. "Lestat," he said quietly, stepping closer. Lestat barely flinched, but his eyes shifted—slow, heavy—until they landed on Louis.

"Told you not to come," Lestat mumbled, his voice hoarse, brittle. Louis ignored him. He crossed the room, kicking aside an empty bottle with a soft clink. "Yeah, well," he muttered, "you’re not great at giving advice."

He sank onto the couch beside Lestat, not too close, but close enough. They sat in silence for a beat, the air thick between them.

"Want to tell me what’s going on?" Louis asked, his voice low but steady.

Lestat let out a bitter laugh, one that cracked at the edges. "Nothing new. Just the usual existential crisis. Fame. Family. The delightful reminder that I’m a fuck-up."

Louis exhaled slowly, letting the weight of those words settle. "You’re not a fuck-up," he said a bit too harshly.

Lestat scoffed, but there wasn’t much fight left in him. "Yeah? Tell that to Viktor. Or…" He didn’t finish that. Louis didn’t push. Not yet. "Come on," he said, nudging Lestat’s shoulder gently. "Let’s clean this up. You’ll feel better."

Lestat didn’t move at first. But then, with a resigned sigh, he nodded, letting Louis help him to his feet.

It wasn’t much. But it was a start.

Louis led Lestat toward the bathroom, their steps slow and uneven. Lestat wasn’t drunk enough to stumble, but there was a heaviness to him, like even standing upright was a chore. Louis flicked on the light, wincing at the stark contrast it cast over Lestat’s face—pale, tired, and far too raw.

"In what world did you think you could show up at my place in twenty minutes like this?" Louis muttered, grabbing a washcloth from the sink and wetting it under the tap.

The other gave a weak, humourless chuckle. "The optimistic one," he said, slumping against the counter. "Or delusional, depending on how you look at it."

Louis shot him a look but didn’t respond. Instead, he wrung out the cloth and pressed it into Lestat’s cheek. "Here," he said, nodding toward the mirror. "At least try to look like you’re not halfway to the grave."

Lestat snorted, but he did as told, wiping his face slowly. The cold water seemed to bring a flicker of life back into his eyes, but it wasn’t much. Louis watched him quietly for a moment before asking, "You eat anything today?"

The blonde paused, then shook his head. Louis sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Right," he mumbled. "Well, that’s about to change. Come on."

They left the apartment twenty minutes later, once Lestat has been forced to have some water and get himself ready. Louis didn’t know if he was doing all of this right, but something told him he wouldn’t do the other a favour if they stayed in his mess of a home. Louis had made sure Lestat ran a comb through his hair and threw on a fresh shirt. He even asked him if he’d like him to help apply his beloved eyeliner, for which he’d earned a French scowl. Now, the situation wasn’t perfect, but it was better than nothing.

They walked in silence down the street, the cool evening air doing more for Lestat than any awkward and uncertain pep talk Louis could’ve given.

They found a little fast-food joint a couple blocks over. Nothing fancy, but it was open and right there, and the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead felt oddly comforting. Louis ordered for both of them, while Lestat leaned against the counter, looking like he was regretting every life choice that led him here.

They sat down in a corner booth, the plastic seat sticking slightly to Louis’ skin as he slid in. Lestat just stared at the tray of food in front of him.

"Eat," Louis said, pushing his portion toward him.

Lestat picked it up reluctantly, taking a small bite like it offended him. But after the first, he took another, and then another. Louis watched him for a second before digging into his own food.

"Does this happen often?" Louis asked, keeping his tone light, like he was just making conversation.

Lestat didn’t answer right away. He chewed slowly, swallowed, then wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Sometimes," he admitted quietly. "Not… all the time. But yeah. Once in a while."

Louis nodded, not surprised but still unsettled. "And you just deal with it like this?" he asked, gesturing vaguely at the mess of the night.

Lestat let out a soft, bitter laugh. "What can I say? I’m very good at self-destruction."

Louis leaned back, eyeing him carefully. "You don’t have to be," he said after a moment. It all sounded just a bit too familiar.

Lestat didn’t respond. He just stared down at his half-eaten burger like it held all the answers he didn’t want to face. They ate in silence after that. Just two people sharing a shitty meal in a shitty moment, trying to hold things together. When they finally left, Lestat looked a little more grounded. The colour had returned to his face, and his eyes weren’t as glassy. They walked back toward his home, the quiet between them less heavy now.

At Lestat’s door, Louis paused. "You gonna be alright?" he asked.

Lestat nodded, though it wasn’t the most convincing gesture. "Yeah," he said softly. "I have to thank you, Louis."

Louis gave him a small, tired smile. "Call me next time," he said. "Before it gets this bad.” If they were going to be friends after all, and if he was going to stop acting like he wasn’t beginning to get interested, then he might as well offer his help. Louis was good at that – fixing others because he didn’t think he could fix himself.

Lestat didn’t promise, but he didn’t argue either. Louis watched him slip back inside before turning to head home, the weight of the night still pressing on his shoulders. Back home, the apartment was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the TV flickering across the living room. Claudia was curled up on the couch, a blanket tossed over her legs, her eyes half-focused on some show she probably wasn’t even paying attention to.

She didn’t look up when he stepped inside, but he could tell she knew he was there. That unspoken awareness they shared—it was always there, humming under the surface.

Louis walked over, sinking onto the edge of the couch beside her. For a moment, he just sat there, letting the familiar warmth of home seep back into his skin, grounding him after the whirlwind of the past two hours.

Then, gently, he leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to the top of Claudia’s head.

“I love you,” he murmured quietly, his voice barely louder than the hum of the TV.

Claudia finally glanced up at him, one eyebrow raised in that way she always did when she knew something was off but wasn’t going to press—yet. “You good?”

Louis offered her a small, tired smile. “Yeah. Just tired.”

She didn’t believe him. He could see it in her eyes. But she didn’t push. Just nodded, turning her attention back to the screen.

Louis leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling for a long moment. His life was getting messy—messier than he’d planned for, messier than he’d wanted. And somehow, Lestat was at the centre of it, pulling him into the chaos like gravity. And maybe if Louis handled it well, he could manage that annoying, crazy, destructive blonde of a rockstar, who for absolutely no logical reason enjoyed spending time with him.

But for now, he let it be. He let the mess sit, unspoken, in the space between them. Because this—this quiet, this warmth—was the only thing that still felt simple.

Chapter Text

Louis was behind the counter, flipping through the ledger, while Madeleine stood a couple of metres from him and unpacked one of the boxes that had just arrived. The faint smell of cardboard and fresh ink mixed with the familiar scent of old paper, grounding the quiet routine of the day. Louis flipped rather mindlessly through the newspaper in front of him, listening to the quiet hustle around him. His young co-worker was the only busy person in the whole room for now, after the two customers he’s had so far that morning.

Another box thudded loudly onto the counter, tearing him from his unimportant business, and Madeleine gave Louis a long look. “You ordering the whole library of Congress now, or…?” She wiped imaginary sweat from her forehead.

Really, she wasn’t one to complain. Louis had watched her pretend being busy to avoid all the other duties of the morning. And so, he returned her look unimpressed. “Just trying to keep up with newest literature. People like these.” He gestured, and as if to proof his point she pulled out one of the books, eying its front page.

Madeleine rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of a smile as she went to open the next box. Louis leaned over to glance inside, pointing to a stack of hardcovers. “Those can go on the new release shelf. And the paperbacks—fiction section. You can do your homework if you want, when you’re done.”

Madeleine gave a mock salute. “Yes, boss.” He knew she was glad about it – she’s asked him to come in twice a week in the morning, because school seemed to start later these days, and not only once had he heard her talk to Claudia about having to prepare her things just before lessons. As long as she got the work done, he didn’t mind if she did something productive instead of just standing around when she wasn’t doing anything else.

Louis waited a moment, looking at the clock, then grabbed his coat from the back of the chair. “I’m heading to the bakery across the street. You want anything?”

“Hot chocolate,” she said without hesitation. “And one of those almond croissants, if they’re selling them today.”

Louis nodded, stepping out into the crisp morning air. The street was just starting to wake up, the faint buzz of traffic in the distance, the soft clinking of shop owners setting up for the day. And there he was already – Lestat, leaning casually against the lamppost just outside the shop, cigarette balanced between his fingers. The smoke curled lazily into the air, catching the morning light. He looked like he belonged in some black-and-white photograph, and Louis thought again about taking his picture.

 “You’re early. Didn’t you say you’d be too tired to get up?”

“Ah. Louis.” Lestat’s eyes flicked to him, a slow grin spreading across his face. “I live to impress.”

Louis snorted. “You live to be a pain in the ass.”

Lestat let out a soft chuckle, flicking ash from his cigarette before taking another drag. “Same thing.”

Without another word, Lestat fell into step beside him, matching his steps.

They walked in comfortable silence for a moment, the quiet buzz of the city filling in the gaps. Louis glanced at Lestat from the corner of his eye, noting the relaxed set of his shoulders, the familiar arrogance in the curve of his smile. He looked better—lighter. After that night, Louis hadn’t been sure what to expect. He wasn’t unfamiliar with this, but Lestat’s matter seemed to be rooted in something entirely different than he was used to, and so he hadn’t been sure what to look out for. But the blonde appeared to have bounced back into his usual manner, and so Louis pretended not to worry, about pretend to not worry, about not doing any of it. Or another way around? Well, Louis wasn’t sure.

“You doing better?” he still asked casually, hands shoved into his pockets as they neared the bakery. They’ve called twice in the last days, and every time Lestat has made the first move, always to ramble about one thing or the other and ask Louis out for various, differing reasons. They’ve all been excuses, really, and Louis hasn’t agreed to any of them.

Lestat shot him a sideways glance, smoke curling from his lips. “I didn’t start my day crying in the bathroom, if that’s what you mean. I’m perfectly, absolutely fine. If you want to know, my morning was super. I’ve even been blessed with having a short, senseless conversation with my son today, so I really can’t complain about anything.”

Louis gave a soft snort, pushing open the door to the bakery. The warm, yeasty air hit them immediately, mingling with the rich scent of fresh pastries and coffee. He stepped up to the counter, and Lestat stubbed out his cigarette just outside before following inside. Louis ordered Madeleine’s croissant and coffee, then turned to Lestat.

“What about you?”

Lestat studied the display case like he was considering something profound. “Surprise me.”

Louis arched an eyebrow. “Dangerous choice.”

“I like living on the edge.”

Louis rolled his eyes but added an extra croissant and another coffee to the order. Once they had their bags in hand, they made their way back to the store, and Louis listened with half a frown as Lestat shouted something in reply as the barista called after him, recognizing him. Was it ethical of him, to answer the flirting everywhere he went? Surely, there must be something speaking against charming his fans like that, outside the stadium. Louis bit back all the comments he had on it.

Back inside his store, Madeleine was still sorting books, but she perked up at the sight of her hot chocolate.

“Saved my morning,” she said, taking the cup from Louis with a grateful smile. Her eyes flicked to Lestat, and Louis re-introduced them quickly (“Madeleine, you know Lestat.” “Lestat, Madeleine.” “Right, the famous date.”) before they all sat down somewhere around the shop, lingering near the counter as they did. It was a great sight, really, the mess of boxes, the handful costumers, the three of them in between. For just a second Louis was reminded of his own, near ancient wish – to sell cakes aside from the books, and make something entirely else out of the concept of his store. But for the same reasons as always he forgot that idea as fast as he considered it, reminding himself it wouldn’t work out anyways.

The breakfast was quick, and as Madeleine returned to work afterwards, Lestat lingered, swirling the last of his coffee in the cup. Then he glanced up at Louis, almost like he was testing the waters. He always had that same look in his blue eyes before he’d ask something.

“There’s this small gig tonight,” he said, voice casual. “Thought you might want to come. Nothing big. No stadium, just a small hall. I promise, it’s nothing special.”

Louis shook his head without hesitation. “No.” He tensed at the look on Lestat’s face. Gods, these big blue eyes, forcing him to offer anything, even if only to have him stop doing that. “Erm- but if you’re free after, I could cook us something.” He wasn’t thinking, really. It sounded so much more like something he wasn’t making it out to be. Louis was only thinking about what he’d like, after a long day. Besides, he had enough of Lestat’s idea of ‘hanging out’, and there were only so many walks he wanted to take with him through the city.

Lestat hesitated, eyes searching Louis’ face. Then, with a small, almost reluctant smile, he nodded. “You know what? I’d rather do that than pretend to enjoy drinks afterward.”

Louis chuckled. “Why don’t I believe you?”

“Well, that’s on you.” Lestat stood, stretching his arms over his head with an exaggerated sigh, his spine popping in protest. “Alright then, mon cher, I’ll see you tonight. Duty calls.”

Louis arched a brow, lips tugging into a faint smirk. “Duty, Mr. Lioncourt?”

Lestat’s grin widened, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he wriggled his manicured fingers in the air. “Nails,” he said, as if it were the most important meeting of his life.

Louis sighed softly, shaking his head as the blonde rockstar sauntered off without another word other than his goodbyes directed towards Madeleine.

***

Claudia’s pencil scratched loudly against paper in the quiet of the kitchen. She sat at the table, hunched over her homework, her brows furrowed in concentration. Louis hovered nearby, pretending to help but mostly scrolling through his phone with half-interest.

A notification popped up, and his thumb paused mid-scroll. Lestat de Lioncourt LIVE—someone was streaming snippets of the show. Against his better judgment, Louis tapped on it. He certainly hasn’t re-downloaded Instagram, just to see this. The screen flickered to life, showing a shaky view of the stage, the sound distorted but unmistakably him. Lestat, hair wild under the lights, voice carrying against the screaming of people. The comments were rolling in fast:

“He’s on fire tonight.”
“God, his voice.”
“Wish I was there.”

Louis couldn’t help but keep on reading. He didn’t actually care, or at least that’s what he told himself, but he too was quick to fall under the spell that the entire matter of it was. The worst was, that slowly, some of the songs were getting into his head. He didn’t like the majority of them, but there were few, the quiet sad ones and the covers of a couple of more known hits, that left him listening and singing them in his head.

“Are you even paying attention?” Claudia’s voice cut through, dragging him back to reality. She shot him a look from across the table, her pencil poised in the air. “This math isn’t gonna solve itself.”

Louis chuckled, locking his phone and sliding it into his pocket. “Alright, let’s see.” He leaned over, pointing at the problem she was stuck on. “You forgot to carry the one here.” He’d never been good at maths, but he wouldn’t tell her, otherwise she’d insist on not having to study it either. His daughter was smart, but she could be terribly lazy when it came to her schoolwork.

She sighed dramatically, erasing the mistake. “You’re lucky I like you.”

Louis snorted. “I better hope so. Adoption papers don’t undo themselves that easily.”

“Careful”, Claudia bit back, then began chewing on her pencil.

They worked through a few more problems, the minutes slipping by faster than he realized. Claudia finally stretched, tossing her things away with a satisfied grunt. “Done. And you, monsieur, are late.”

Louis blinked, glancing at the clock. Shit. She was right.

He stood, moving toward the fridge out of habit, peering inside. It was almost empty except for a sad-looking carton of eggs, a lone bottle of ketchup and what he’s prepared earlier for Claudia’s dinner. The rest was definitely not the makings of a decent meal. He frowned, closing the door with a soft sigh.

“I thought you were cooking for him,” Claudia said, watching him from the table. “Romantic.”

“I am,” Louis pointedly ignored the rest of her words, already grabbing a notepad and pen from the counter. “But apparently, I need groceries first.”

She grinned. “Don’t poison him.”

“I’ll try.”

As he scribbled down a list—pasta, vegetables, maybe some wine if he felt like splurging—he pulled out his phone again to check Lestat’s last message.

‘Don’t forget, I put down the address in case you forgot. I’m expecting something good. No pressure, mon cher.’

Louis shook his head, lips twitching despite himself.

“Alright,” he said, grabbing his keys and slipping on his jacket. “I’ll be back later.”

Claudia waved him off, already on her phone. “Tell the rockstar-boyfriend I said hi.”

“He’s not—” Louis started, but she just laughed, cutting him off. With a resigned shake of his head and a quiet frown, Louis headed out the door.

Later, Louis stood somewhere backstage, grocery bag in hand, the cool evening air mixing with the faint sounds of activity from inside. Initially, he’s wanted to meet Lestat at his house, but he hadn’t been sure when the other would be finished with his show, and so he’s opted for the least time-consuming option. Besides, it didn’t matter much where he’d have to drag all of the things he’s bought, and so here he stood now, in some dimly-lit room, waiting for what now was half an hour.

The backstage corridor buzzed with leftover energy from the show—voices echoing, equipment being packed away, laughter spilling from tired but exhilarated musicians. He’d been let in without much fuss, someone mentioning that Lestat said you’d be coming. That alone had made his stomach twist in ways he wasn’t ready to unpack.

He was still mid-thought when he saw Lestat emerge down the hall, surrounded by his bandmates who talked loudly, with broad gestures.

Lestat looked like he’d been dragged through his own set—his blond hair damp and messy, clinging to his forehead, his shirt loose and sticking in places. What he wore now couldn’t have been what he’s had on during the performance, but Louis noticed the leftover glitter on his skin, and the high-heeled shoes he wore under the long wide-legged trousers. And Lestat was smiling, that wide, easy grin like the night hadn’t drained him at all.

Larry was now laughing at something Lestat had said, shaking his head as he slung a guitar case over his shoulder. Alex clapped Lestat on the back before giving Louis a brief nod of acknowledgment as he passed. Tough-Cookie followed with a lazy wave, calling over his shoulder, “Don’t let him talk you into any more late-night nonsense.”

Then Lestat just chuckled, watching them go before turning his attention to Louis. His eyes flicked down to the grocery bag, then back up, a brow quirking. “Prepared for a feast, are we?”

Louis offered a small smile. “I’ve been told my cocking is tolerable, don’t worry. Don’t expect too much though, it’s obviously not as good as my daughter’s frozen pizza.”

Lestat grinned, and as he stepped closer, Louis caught a whiff of lingering cigarette smoke and sweat from the stage. It wasn’t overwhelming, but enough to make him glance sideways, lips twitching. “You planning on showering tonight, or just letting the scent of artistic suffering marinate?” Louis asked, his tone light, teasing.

“You’re awfully rude, and it’s not always that attractive. I like a bit of degrading, but keep it reasonable.” Lestat laughed, running a hand through his damp hair, which only made it stick up more. “I was thinking of bottling it. Call it Eau de Rock Star.” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “But if it offends your delicate sensibilities, I’ll shower when we get home.”

Louis shook his head, chuckling under his breath as Lestat led to the car waiting outside, just after telling his people that he went home now.

The ride back was quiet, and Lestat sprawled in the seat, head tilted back, eyes half-closed, while Louis stared out the window, the weight of the grocery bag pressing into his leg. The city lights flickered past, blurring into soft patterns against the glass.

When they arrived at Lestat’s place, the blonde pulled out his keys from somewhere in the pockets of his pants and let them in. The house was dark before them, quiet and nearly frightening clean. Not much indicated anyone living there, aside from the pairs of shoes by the door.

“Make yourself useful, mon cœur. I’ll be quick,” Lestat said, already peeling off his shirt as he disappeared down the hall.

He left Louis standing there, looking around. It was weird, at first, and he felt like an intruder in a space he wasn’t allowed to move freely in. Yet, since he’s already crossed that line, he decided to just get it over with and search for the kitchen, where he then set the groceries on the counter. The place was nice—modern, but luckily not sterile. Personal touches were scattered around: records stacked near the turntable, a pair of what had to be Viktor’s school books on the counter near the microwave, and a half-empty coffee cup left on the windowsill.

The sound of the shower starting up echoed faintly from somewhere near. Louis unpacked the groceries slowly, letting the simple rhythm of the task settle him. He was chopping vegetables by the time Lestat’s voice floated in from the bathroom, slightly muffled but still clear.

“You sure you’re alright with this?” Lestat called. “Spending your evening here? Shouldn’t you be with Claudia?”

Louis paused, glancing toward the hallway. “She’s fine,” he called back, probably louder than necessary. The walls seemed to be thin. “She’s having a movie night. I think she prefers being alone anyways.” He turned back to the cutting board, slicing through a tomato. “Where’s Viktor?” He called.

There was a brief pause, the shower still running. “With friends tonight,” Lestat answered eventually. “Some party. He won’t be back until late. Why?”

Louis hummed softly, not answering, focusing back on the knife in his hands.

Lestat reappeared just as Louis was plating the last of the food. He’s taken longer than Louis would ever have to get ready. His hair was damp, curling wildly, and he’d thrown on a pair of loose pants that sat low on his hips, paired with a white crop top that barely clung to his frame. The contrast between the effortless casualness of his outfit and the sharpness of what usually were his clothes made Louis glance up longer than he meant to, but he quickly busied himself with adjusting the plates.

Lestat padded barefoot into the kitchen, peering over Louis’ shoulder with a wide grin. “Mon Dieu, that smells good.” He leaned against the counter, watching Louis with unabashed interest. “Need a hand?”

“You can grab the wine, I assume you have some,” Louis said. “And glasses. I didn’t find them.”

Lestat pushed off the counter with a dramatic sigh, as if the task was some grand effort, but he moved easily to retrieve the asked wine. He pulled down two glasses, setting them next to the plates before uncorking the bottle with a practiced flick of his wrist. As he poured, he glanced sideways at Louis, his expression softening slightly.

“How was your day?” he asked, handing over a glass.

Louis accepted it with a quiet thanks, taking a slow sip before answering. “Busy enough.” He paused, tilting his head. “And you? The show?”

Lestat leaned against the kitchen island. “It was good. Crowd was a bit wild tonight, but that’s half the fun. A few strings broke mid-set, and the mic stopped working once, but we pulled through.” He swirled his wine lazily in the glass, eyes flicking to Louis. “You should come to one sometime.”

Louis chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m fine.”

When Louis finally decided he liked how he’s plated their dinner, Lestat grabbed the plates without waiting for Louis to protest, leading the way through a set of glass doors that opened into the garden. The evening air was still warm, the fading summer light casting a soft glow over everything. The garden wasn’t huge, but it was well-kept—lush greenery lining the edges, a small patio with a table and chairs, and string lights lazily draped along the fence, already flickering to life as dusk properly settled in. It all must have cost a fortune to made have looked like this.

Lestat set the plates down on a small table, gesturing around with a flourish. “Welcome to my little slice of paradise. I’ve never owned a garden before, you know, and I decided it was time.”

They settled at the table, Lestat leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out under the table so they brushed lightly against Louis’, who pulled back just a little. He took another sip of his wine. “You’re quiet tonight,” he said, his voice low and easy. “You usually talk more, since you stopped pretending you don’t want to talk to me.”

Louis shrugged, setting his fork down. That was exactly what he disliked about that man.  “Just thinking. And eating. Can’t do that when I talk.”

“Oh, thinking?” Lestat’s lips curved into a sly smile. “Dangerous pastime.”

Louis huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head. He glanced around the garden, taking in the small touches that felt oddly personal—the overgrown roses by the fence, the mismatched chairs, the half-dead potted plant by the door. “You said you’ve never had a garden before,” he said, directing the conversation. “Where’ve you lived before this?”

Lestat leaned back further in his chair, his gaze drifting upward as if counting memories in the stars. “Everywhere and nowhere,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “I moved around a lot. Mostly places to be until I didn’t want to be there anymore.”

Louis raised an eyebrow. Lestat had this habit of avoiding questions, answering but not answering. It’s been clear he wanted something with more substance, rather than this ‘I did this and then I did that’ which Lestat had prepared for all kind of questions he got faced with. “And this feels like home? You’ve ‘lived’ here for what, a week?”

Lestat was quiet for a moment, his eyes lowering to meet Louis’. “It’s starting to,” he answered. “Maybe because I’m staying still for once, even if shortly.”

Louis felt his chest tighten slightly, but he brushed it off, focusing instead on his glass. “You always this sentimental after a show?”

Lestat chuckled, the tension breaking just a little. “Only when the company’s good.”

Louis rolled his eyes, but the smile betrayed him. “Stop. I don’t like it when you say that.”

“Then make me stop,” Lestat said, tilting his head. “But you don’t. Cooking for me, no less.”

“Someone has to make sure you eat something that isn’t liquid and questionable,” Louis shot back, gesturing to Lestat’s glass of wine.

Lestat laughed, the sound rich and unguarded. “Touché.”

They fell into a comfortable silence after that, the kind that didn’t need to be filled. The kind that felt easy, even to Louis who caught himself thinking about everything and nothing, his mind somewhere between worry, and the satisfaction of how easy this was, when he wasn’t fighting it. He tolerated the idea of this awkward, strange friendship, even when he disliked the implication of it all. It was a fight, going from his loathing to the state of opening just a door into the sanctum of what was his stone walls, and the unspoken reality inside. But fighting Lestat, no that wouldn’t do anymore.

After a few minutes, Lestat pushed his plate away, barely touched, and launched into some story about a mishap during soundcheck. Louis tried to be annoyed that he wasn’t finishing his food, but Lestat’s animated gestures and the way his eyes lit up as he talked made it impossible not to laugh. At one point, Lestat stood, mimicking a dramatic fall from the stage, arms flailing as he reenacted the whole scene in the middle of the garden.

Louis shook his head, laughing despite himself. “Oh my god! How did you not break something doing that?”

Lestat grinned, completely unbothered. “Oh, I don’t know—sheer talent, impeccable balance, maybe the universe just loves me.”

Louis snorted. “Or you’ve got dumb luck.”

Lestat leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Probably a mix of both,” he said, his voice dropping just a little, like he was letting Louis in on some kind of secret. “But I like to think it’s mostly charm.”

Before Louis could come up with a response that wasn’t a sarcastic remark, there was a knock at the back door. Both of them turned toward it just as Viktor stepped into the garden, his blond hair slightly dishevelled, the faintest hint of frustration on his face.

Lestat’s posture shifted immediately, and he stood, his tone switching to sharp French. “Qu’est-ce que tu fais ici? T’étais pas censé être à cette fête?”

Viktor shrugged, replying in a quick, dismissive tone. “C’était nul. J’suis rentré.”

Lestat sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “T’aurais pu prévenir.”

Viktor just rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath before heading back inside without another word. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving a brief, tense silence in his wake. Louis arched a brow. “Everything alright?”

Lestat dropped back into his chair, waving a hand as if to brush it off. “My son has decided the party wasn’t to his liking. So, he’s home early.” His tone was light, but there was an edge to it that Louis didn’t miss.

Louis didn’t press further. Instead, he stood, gathering the plates. “We should take these inside.”

Lestat followed him in, grabbing the glasses. “You know,” he said as they stepped into the kitchen, “we could do something else. Watch a movie, maybe? Or we could go back outside, have another glass of wine?”

Louis set the plates in the sink, shaking his head. “It’s getting late. I should get back home.”

The blonde’s face fell just a fraction, but he recovered quickly, leaning against the counter. The soft overhead lights cast a faint glow across the kitchen, shadows pooling in the corners. The window over the sink was cracked open, letting in the faint hum of summer night sounds—crickets, the distant rush of a car passing somewhere down the street.

“I can drive you,” Lestat offered, his voice lighter than the way his eyes clung to Louis.

Louis hesitated, fingers brushing over the strap of his bag he’s picked up, eyes darting to the floor like the scuffed tile might offer an easier answer. “I can manage,” he finally said, his voice softer than he meant it to be.

“But you’ve cooked for me, and I want to return the kindness somehow.”

“I said I can manage, Lestat.” Louis didn’t like the way his own lips moved, unkind, even when all he wanted to say was, that this all felt too rushed. He wasn’t Lestat. He wasn’t that kind of man.

For a beat, neither of them moved. The quiet stretched between them, filled only by the faint ticking of a clock on the wall. Lestat’s gaze didn’t waver, though, and after a moment, he pushed off the counter just slightly, his tone dipping lower, more hesitant.

“Okay then, let me walk you to the door.” Then, added:“ Will I see you again soon? I’ll leave in three days. Schedule change and all.”

The question hung in the air, heavier than it should’ve been. Louis looked at him, really looked at him—barefoot, hair dry by now, wearing that stupid crop top like he didn’t care about the way it showed off too much of his stomach. Like he wasn’t afraid of being too much.

Louis swallowed; his throat tight. “Surely,” he answered, the words tasting like a lie even as they left his mouth.

***

Sitting on the couch, one leg tucked under him, Louis starred at the wall of his living room. His phone buzzed beside him, and Grace’s name lit up the screen. He sighed, letting it ring for a second before finally picking up.

“Hey,” he said, leaning his head back against the cushion.

“Well, look who finally answers his phone,” Grace said, her voice warm but pointed. “You’ve been busy or just avoiding me?”

“A little of both,” Louis admitted with a soft chuckle. “How’re the kids?”

“They’re loud. But good. Can’t you hear them in the back?” She paused, then added, “Claudia said you’ve been… out a lot.”

Louis rubbed at his temple. “Yeah. Just… usual. And some other things.”

Grace was quiet for a beat. “That ‘other things’ sound a lot like a certain someone you’ve been avoiding talking about. Which is a shame, because I’m dying for some Blondie gossip. Big fan and all, and I’m still mad you didn’t organize me some signed autographs, or a song purely dedicated to me.”

Louis huffed a laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s not like that.”

“Uh-huh. So, you’re not spending your evenings cooking for him and dodging his very obvious advances?” Grace’s tone was light, but Louis could hear the edge of something more serious beneath it. He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What the fuck did my daughter tell you this time?”

He could practically hear Grace smirking through the phone. But before she could answer, Lestat’s soft question echoed in his mind—Will I see you again soon? Louis clenched his jaw, pushing the memory aside. “It’s complicated,” he muttered finally.

Grace let out a long sigh, the kind that said she’d been holding this in for a while. “Look, I just don’t want you getting caught up in something that’s gonna leave you—”

“I know,” Louis cut in, softer this time. “I’m being careful.”

She let it go, sensing the walls Louis was putting up. “Alright. I’m not saying anything.”

“You are,” Louis said, letting out a sharp breath. “Everyone’s saying something. You don’t understand, I think. Or it doesn’t feel like it. And I have no one else to talk about this, so if you don’t, then…” He trailed off, the weight of his own words hanging heavy. On the other end, Grace took a deep breath before replying, her voice steady but laced with frustration. “You’re being unfair. Of course I understand. I think it’s you who doesn’t.”

Louis felt the sting of that, but before he could react, Grace pressed on, her tone shifting to something more pointed. “And look, if all that internalized homophobia isn’t out of your system yet, that’s your business. But don’t yell at me because you can’t cope with it.”

Louis stared out the window, his jaw tight. “Yeah, well.”

But then Grace’s voice softened, the sharpness fading. “Yeah, well… I just don’t want you hurting yourself, Louis. That’s all.”

Louis didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. Grace knew he heard her.

***

Louis didn’t hear anything from Lestat for the next two days. Maybe because he’s not answered to his last message. Somehow, he couldn’t get himself to, because whenever he looked at the words a clump seemed to form in his throat. Eventually, the two days passed into the third night, and he knew, he really had no other choice. With a deep breath, he hit the dreaded call. He wanted to say so many things, but there were no words for what was on his mind.

The phone rang a while until Lestat picked up, his voice smooth and familiar, but with an edge of something that’s never really been in his tone before. “Louis.”

Louis swallowed, staring at the scuffed floorboards. “Hey.”

There was a pause, just long enough to feel the weight of everything unsaid. Then Lestat’s voice softened, and thank god that easy charm was still there, wrapped in something quiet, but present, nonetheless. “You’ve been thinking about it, haven’t you?”

Louis didn’t need to ask what it was. He already knew. “I’m still not going, Lestat.” His voice was steady, but his fingers tightened around the phone. “I can’t do that.”

Lestat let out a breathy chuckle, the kind that didn’t really sound amused. “You know, I could pay you whatever you need to close that little store for a bit. You wouldn’t have to worry about anything. I’ll even find someone to tutor Claudia when she comes with us.”

Louis closed his eyes, shaking his head even though Lestat couldn’t see it. “It’s not about the money.”

“Then what is it about, Louis?” Lestat asked, and for once, there wasn’t that usual playful lilt in his tone. It was something rawer, more genuine. “We could make this work. You could have a little fun for once. And I’d like you there. I promise you, no strings, no nothing. I just enjoy your company. You can continue being my friend there.”

Louis felt that clump in his throat again, the one that had kept him from answering in the first place. He forced a light laugh, trying to brush it off like it didn’t matter. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of fun without me. Enjoy Europe, Lestat.”

There was silence on the other end for a moment, and when Lestat spoke again, his voice was quieter. “So… that’s it then?” Ah, Lestat understood him too well. Why false promises, when this seemed to be so final?

Louis hesitated. His heart was doing that stupid thing where it felt too big for his chest, but he pushed it down. “Yeah. That’s it.” But it hurt saying that, for some, illogical reason it just hurt.

Another pause. Then Lestat sighed, but didn’t argue. “Alright, mon cher. Take care of yourself.”

“You too.”

Louis hung up before he could second-guess himself. He sat there for a while, the quiet of his apartment pressing in, and he realized that it wasn’t the idea of Europe that scared him. It was everything else that came with it. And he told himself, that when Lestat was back, they could meet again, and nothing would have been different. Or, they wouldn’t, and then it didn’t matter either way because he hasn’t wanted this in the first place, and now finally, he was out of it.

***

Claudia was perched behind the counter, when Grace entered the store. Her eyes lifted when she saw her aunt, and a small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“Hey,” Grace greeted, setting her bag on the counter. “You doing alright?”

Claudia shrugged; her usual sharpness dulled just a bit. “Yeah. You know. School’s school.”

Grace chuckled softly, leaning over the counter. “Where’s your dad?”

Claudia nodded toward the back of the store, where Louis was helping a customer near the shelves. He moved with a smile, his voice low and polite, but there was something in his posture—something a little too stiff, a little too distant. Grace watched him for a moment, her smile fading. “He’s been like that all week?”

Claudia nodded; her face serious now. “Since Lestat left. He’s… I don’t know. Weird.”

Grace sighed, crossing her arms as she leaned against the counter. “Yeah. He’s good at that.”

Louis glanced up then, catching sight of them. He gave a small wave, forcing a brighter smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, before turning back to the customer. Grace watched him for another beat, her heart tightening in that way it always did when she saw her brother like this—caught somewhere between trying to hold it together and not knowing how.

Claudia let out a sigh, mirroring Grace’s stance. “You think he’s gonna call him?”

Grace shook her head, her eyes still on Louis. “I don’t know. But I think if he doesn’t, he’s gonna regret it.”

Claudia didn’t say anything to that. She didn’t have to. They both knew it was true. Grace waited until the last customer left before making her move. The bell above the door jingled again as it closed behind them, leaving the store in a comfortable hush. Louis was already tidying up, stacking receipts and straightening a few stray bookmarks, clearly avoiding looking in their direction.

Grace wandered over, leaning casually against some shelf like she had all the time in the world. Claudia slipped away, muttering something about finishing homework in the back, leaving them alone.

“So,” Grace started, her tone light and nonchalant. “Business good?”

Louis shot her a sidelong glance, his lips twitching into a faint smile despite himself. “It’s steady. Can’t complain.”

Grace nodded. “Claudia seems good too. She’s been bragging about some science project for the past ten minutes.”

That got a real smile out of Louis, even if it was brief. “Yeah, she’s been all over that. Might be smarter than me already.”

“Might be?” Grace teased, nudging him lightly with her elbow.

Louis chuckled, shaking his head. But as quickly as the warmth came, it faded again, leaving that distant look in his eyes Grace had seen before. She didn’t push, though. She just let it sit, knowing he’d speak when he was ready—or maybe not at all. They stood there in the quiet for a while, the only sound the faint creak of the wooden shelves settling and the occasional rustle of Claudia flipping pages in the back.

Finally, Louis sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He hesitated. Then:“ I think it’s over.”

Grace didn’t ask what. She didn’t have to. She just gave him a slow nod, her expression unreadable. “You sure?” she asked quietly.

Louis didn’t answer right away. His fingers drummed against the counter, his eyes fixed on some distant point beyond the window, as if he could see past the street and into some other version of his life. One where things weren’t so complicated.

“Yeah,” he said finally, his voice low but firm. “I’m sure.”

Grace reached out, giving his hand a quick squeeze before letting go. “Alright then.”

And that was it. No lectures, no judgment. Just her, standing there, letting him know she was there when he was ready to stop pretending it was that simple.

***

[Translated excerpt from The Berlin Review]
Lestat de Lioncourt’s Berlin performance was nothing short of electric. The French rocker, known for his magnetic stage presence and haunting lyrics, captivated the sold-out crowd at the Verti Music Hall last night. His voice, raw and unfiltered, carried a weight that went beyond mere performance—it was as if he was bleeding emotion into every note.

But it wasn’t just the music that caught the audience’s attention. Fans and critics alike noticed a shift in the singer’s energy, a certain edge beneath the usual charm. “There’s always been a mystery to Lestat,” one concertgoer noted, “but tonight felt different. There was a certain rage to it, one that felt entirely real.”

Whatever the reason behind the added intensity, one thing is clear: Lestat de Lioncourt knows how to hold a room, whether it’s with a whisper or a roar. And as his European tour rolls on, we can only expect more of the same intoxicating unpredictability.

Louis stared at the article, the words blurring together the longer he looked. His thumb hovered over the creased edge of the newspaper, tracing the grain of the cheap paper as if it might reveal something the print couldn’t. Some words echoed louder in his mind than the rest of the review. With a sharp breath, he folded the paper once, then again, until it was a tight square in his hand. He stood from the small table in the back of the bookstore, the morning light casting long shadows against the floorboards, and made his way to the trash bin by the door.

The newspaper landed with a soft thud on top of yesterday’s receipts and coffee-stained napkins.

Louis stared at it for a moment longer, his jaw tight, before shaking his head and turning back to the front of the store. The bell above the door chimed as a new customer walked in, and just like that, the world outside pressed on, indifferent.

He could almost convince himself he was too.

Chapter Text

“Five minutes!” someone called over, their voice cutting through the backstage chaos, accompanied by frantic hand gestures and the clatter of last-minute preparations.

Lestat, seated at his dressing room desk, didn’t respond. He’s been unaware of the woman powdering his face, and adjusting his hair. He’s been unaware from the moment he’s stepped out of that plane a week ago, and ever since.

The days have begun to blur into another, a constant stream of day and night and rehearsal and soundchecks and then, the evening he’s been suddenly dreading. Now, he stared at his reflection in the mirror, the harsh bulbs casting unforgiving light across his face. He looked older than he was, and the makeup wasn’t doing him any favour so close up.

Still, his eyeliner was perfect, his hair deliberately tousled just enough to look like he’d stepped right out of bed, and his dark clothes hung perfectly from his shoulders. To anyone else, he looked every bit the star, the untouchable performer about to command the stage, and there was nothing less that he’d want.

Lestat was a vain person; he knew that he’d rather die than feel like anyone thought something else. To him, there was a certain power to it, and sometimes, it really was the only power he had left.

Knowing, that his locks, they’d really buy him anything, and it was enough, because no one dared to think he had enough brains to be his own person anyway. At the end of the day, it was charisma who saved him, that, and the fact that he knew how to play those around him.

The few, scarce people, who were just in reach enough to have any meaning to his life. A life, so lonely sometimes, there was no cure for it.

And now, even New Orleans felt like another lifetime. Louis felt like another lifetime. This stubborn man, who walked blind through life, blind to anything that tried to be worth just enough to be allowed in. And Lestat – he’s tried. Tried being worth just enough, being useful just enough. He’s done anything, and with anyone, it might have worked. Someone else might have just taken, but then that would have meant Lestat was worth at least enough to be use for that. But not Louis, who was so lost apparently, that he couldn’t even admit the obvious.

They hadn’t spoken since he left. No texts, no calls. Just silence filling the space where Louis’ voice used to be and for once Lestat didn’t want to be the one reaching out his hand. He’s done his fair share of it, and generous as he was he didn’t mind, but he too was a stubborn man, and in his near manic devotion didn’t see any more reason in not wishing to be only once the one someone else fought for.

Lestat was a romantic in that sense, still, after all this time, hoping for the fairytale to come true, even when he knew it would never, because he wasn’t that kind of man.

The knock at his door snapped him out of it. "Two minutes, Lestat," came a muffled voice from the hallway.

With his thoughts a million miles away he exhaled slowly, forcing his gaze to stay on his reflection.

He stood, smoothing down his jacket, the familiar weight of the microphone now resting in his hand like an old friend. The buzz of anticipation seeped through the walls, the crowd’s energy pulsing beneath his skin. This was his world now. The spotlight. The applause. The endless nights in cities that didn’t mean anything.

And the crowd – it was a living, breathing thing, keeping him alive, or at least, forcing to stay aware of his own beating heart, the constant hammering in his chest.

Berlin’s pulse thrummed through the venue, vibrating in Lestat’s bones as he stood under the blinding lights. The audience roared, a wall of sound crashing over him, their hands reaching out like they could touch him, own him. And for ninety minutes, they did. He gave them everything—his voice, his sweat, the sharp fake fangs of his smile under neon lights.  The bass vibrated through the floor, syncing with the beat of his heart, and for a while, it was enough to have him enjoying himself.

The set was flawless, the crowd insatiable, but as Lestat sang the final notes, his gaze flicked out over the sea of faces, and no matter how many painted, smiling idiots stared right back at him, they weren’t right, and they weren’t who he’d longed for seeing. They were nothing but a useless substitute, a meaningless weight that pressed on his shoulders.

Lestat wasn’t appreciating them anymore. He wasn’t feeling anything, but a distant urge to lay down, and do nothing.

You left, he reminded himself as the applause thundered in his ears. You made this choice.

He bowed low, the weight of the moment pressing on his spine, then rose with that signature smirk plastered across his face. The crowd screamed louder. Cameras flashed like fireflies. But none of it mattered.

Then the lights dimmed. The music died. And so did the illusion. More than half an hour must have passed between the end of the concert, and him standing backstage. And here, there was chaos, the kind that usually would have felt like home. With the crew bustling around, wrapping cables, shouting over each other, the air thick and warm. Suddenly Alex tossed Lestat a towel, grinning like they’d just conquered the world, and Lestat was suddenly saying something to Larry, who’d wrapped his arms around his middle and dragged him somewhere to follow.

Hours later, the thrum of music hadn’t stopped—it had just moved.

The afterparty was in full swing at some exclusive club they'd rented out for the night. Bright lights pulsed in rhythm with the heavy bass that vibrated through the floor, wrapping around Lestat like a second skin. The place reeked of that kind of reckless energy that made everything feel like it didn’t matter, didn’t happen, until the morning proved otherwise.

Bodies pressed close on the dance floor, the lights strobing across faces that blurred together in Lestat’s mind.

Alex dragged him toward the bar, already shouting for more drinks. “Man, Berlin’s never gonna forget us!”

Larry flopped onto a chair, waving over a server with a bottle of vodka. “No fucking excuses, Lestat. Come here!”

The night blurred as shots were poured, drinks downed, and at some point someone from the crowd—a tall guy with a sly smile—slid into the booth beside Lestat, leaning in too close, the smell of cologne clinging to him. “You’re not leaving without some fun, right?” the guy murmured, fingers brushing Lestat’s knee. Lestat didn’t recall what he’d said, but he remembered wanting to turn away, and having Alex lean down to say something to him.

Alex chuckled, nudging Lestat with his elbow. “Come on, man, don’t be like that. He’s into you. And you’ve been weird since that guy who wouldn’t fuck you.”

Larry snorted, raising his glass. “Loosen up, it’s just a bit of fun.”

Lestat’s stomach turned, the room tilting slightly as the vodka swam through his veins. The guy’s hand pressed firmer against his leg, and something inside Lestat snapped.

“I said I don’t want to!” Lestat’s voice cut through the pounding music, sharp and furious. The table went dead silent, Alex’s grin faltering, Larry blinking in surprise, and the guy beside him pulling back like he’d been burned.

Before anyone could say a word, Lestat shoved himself up from the booth, the room spinning just enough to make him stumble. He didn’t care. He pushed through the crowd, ignoring their calls, and made it outside, the cold air hitting his face like a slap.

The world still spun in lazy circles, the neon lights from the sign above blurring into streaks of blue and red against the night sky.

Lestat leaned against the rough brick wall, trying to steady his breathing, but his chest felt tight, like something was clawing at the inside. His hands trembled as he pulled out a cigarette, the lighter slipping twice before he managed to spark it. The first drag burned his throat, but it was something to focus on—something real amidst the haze clouding his mind.

He fumbled for his phone, his vision swimming as he found Louis’ name. For a second, his thumb hovered over the screen, but the weight in his chest pressed harder, and before he could think better of it, he hit record.

"My patience is wearing fucking thin with you, Louis," he slurred, voice hoarse and low. "I tried. I wanted to be your friend. And you—fuck, I don’t even know why I’m trying anymore. I don’t know why I’m telling you this. You made this so fucking complicated, when it could have been easy." His words trailed off into a bitter laugh before he sent the message, shoving the phone back into his pocket like it burned.

The door creaked open behind him, and Tough-Cookie’s voice cut through the cold. “Lestat?” She stepped out, squinting at him through the smoke. “What the fuck was that in there?”

Lestat took another shaky drag, exhaling slow. “I hate it when everyone wants me to do shit I don’t want to,” he said, his words slurring together.

She crossed her arms, eyeing him carefully. “You’re drunk as hell.”

That made him laugh, a rough, humourless sound. “Oh, now you’re concerned? After shoving drinks down my throat all night? And the fucking drugs?” He shook his head, nearly tipping over from the motion. “Fucking hilarious. Why does everyone only start caring when I’m near losing it?”

Cookie sighed, rubbing her temples like she was already over it. “You’re a mess, man.”

“No shit.” Lestat flicked the cigarette into the gutter and pulled his phone back out, thumbing through the screen until he ordered a cab. “I’m going to the hotel.”

She didn’t stop him this time, just watched as he staggered to the curb, waiting until the headlights of the cab cut through the dark. The ride was a blur, the city lights streaking past the window like smudged paint. His head leaned against the cool glass, and for a moment, he wished he could melt into it, disappear entirely.

When he finally stumbled into the hotel, the quiet felt too loud, the sterile air pressing down on him. He made his way down some hall, his steps uneven, until he stopped outside Viktor’s room. Somehow, he’s managed to produce the key card. He cracked the door open just enough to see his son curled up in bed, breathing slow and even. A flicker of warmth flared in his chest before it was swallowed by the haze.

Lestat closed the door softly, shuffling to his own room. He collapsed onto the bed without bothering to undress, the ceiling spinning above him in slow, lazy circles. For a long time, he just lay there, the weight of the night pressing down until the dark finally pulled him under.

***

The café was too bright.

Lestat slouched in his chair, dark sunglasses shielding his eyes from the relentless morning sun pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows. He felt like shit, and he pretended to promise himself to never have a drink again. The clink of cutlery and the low hum of chatter scraped against his skull like sandpaper, and the faint aroma of espresso mingled with something too sweet from the next table over, making his stomach churn. He stirred his black coffee lazily, the spoon clinking against the porcelain a little too loud for his liking.

Across from him, Viktor sat with a deep frown, barely touching the croissant on his plate. His phone was face down on the table, fingers tapping absently against the edge, like he was counting down the seconds until this was over. Lestat didn’t understand what he’s done wrong again. He’s tried, and apparently, he could have just as well not bothered at all in the first place.

“You’re quiet,” Lestat finally muttered, his voice hoarse and low, hoping to mask the pounding in his head. He winced slightly at the sound of his own words.

Viktor didn’t look up. “I’m always quiet.”

Lestat let out a dry laugh, rubbing his temple. “Right. Forgot you’re the strong, silent type.”

The tension hung between them like thick smoke. Lestat tried to find something else to say, but his mind felt sluggish, stuck between the remnants of last night’s haze and the dull throb of regret. He hated this—the stiff, uncomfortable space that had wedged itself between his son and himself lately. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

“I don’t want to go to the next show, father.” Viktor said suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice was flat, but there was an edge to it, sharp enough to cut through Lestat’s fog.

Lestat blinked at him from behind the sunglasses. “What?”

“The show. You didn’t have to drag me there. I could’ve stayed with my friends. Oh right- what friends?”

Lestat leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. He knew what his son was trying. He didn’t play into it – Viktor, despite all that he said, had friends. In fact, his two best friends travelled with him, and Viktor knew that Lestat did everything he could to make it possible. Lestat was always doing his best, to ensure that Viktor lived a comfortable life, and was never lonely, even when Lestat didn’t have the time to be there. But he’s always tried.

Life being less hard, being easier with too much money to spend, hadn’t changed that. Still, in all his resentment, sometimes his son forgot what Lestat has done to make this work. And while Lestat knew, that Viktor didn’t owe him anything, he wished his son would at least bother every now and then to remember what Lestat has done to make it all be as good as it was now.

“I thought you liked the shows.”

“I used to.” Viktor finally looked up, his eyes cool and steady, a mirror of Lestat’s own. “Before you started acting like this.”

Lestat flinched, the words hitting harder than he expected. “Like what?”

Viktor didn’t answer right away. He just shrugged, picking at the corner of his napkin. “Like you’re trying too hard to prove something. Or maybe like you don’t even want to be there.”

Lestat took a slow sip of his coffee, letting the bitterness settle on his tongue. He didn’t have an answer to that—not one that wouldn’t sound like an excuse. The truth was, he didn’t know what he was trying to prove anymore. Maybe to himself. Maybe to his son. Maybe to Louis, who was so far away now, not caring about his attempts. And maybe it was to no one at all.

“I’m doing my best,” he muttered finally, the words tasting sour in his mouth.

Viktor’s jaw tightened, but he nodded slightly, like he’d expected that answer. “Yeah. Me too.”

They sat in silence after that, the unspoken words filling the space between them louder than any argument could. The clatter of dishes and the murmur of other people faded into the background, leaving only the weight of what neither of them knew how to fix.

Lestat glanced at Viktor’s untouched plate, then back at his son’s tired face. He wanted to say something, anything, to bridge the gap, but all that came out was a weak, “Eat your food, Vik. It’ll make you feel better.”

Viktor gave him a look, one Lestat couldn’t quite decipher, before finally picking up the croissant.

Lestat’s phone buzzed against the table, its vibration rattling the coffee cup beside it. Before he could even reach for it, Viktor’s voice cut through the tense quiet.

“Seriously?” His tone was sharp, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Can’t even have lunch without someone needing you?”

Lestat froze, his hand hovering over the phone for a second longer before he let it go. The buzzing stopped, leaving a hollow silence in its place. He exhaled, slow and deliberate, leaning back in his chair.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” His voice was softer than he intended. He gestured vaguely between them, lifting his sunglasses to his head so he could meet Viktor’s gaze. “But you don’t talk. What more do you want from me?”

Viktor’s eyes flicked away, settling back on the croissant he was still half-heartedly dissecting. For a moment, it seemed like he wasn’t going to answer, the words hanging in the air like a challenge neither of them wanted to accept. But then Viktor sighed, his shoulders sagging just a bit. “I just…” He paused, searching for the right words, his fingers tracing idle patterns on the table. “I miss when things were simpler.”

He sounded like a young boy again, when he said that. Like the little, blonde child, with the gap between his front teeth and the many freckles on his nose.

Lestat’s heart gave a small, painful twist, but he masked it with a half-smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Simpler how? When I wasn’t dragging you across Europe, forcing you to watch your old man pretend he’s still twenty?”

Viktor snorted, but it wasn’t amused. “No. I mean before all this. Before the band, before the tours. When we were just… normal. When you were home.”

Home. The word settled like a stone in Lestat’s chest. He opened his mouth to say something, but the lump in his throat made it hard to form anything coherent. Instead, he reached for his coffee, using it as a shield while he tried to swallow down the guilt.

Viktor’s next words were quieter, but they cut deeper.

“Mom wouldn’t have done this.”

Lestat stilled, the mug halfway to his lips. He didn’t flinch, didn’t let the hurt show on his face, but his hand tightened around the cup just a little too hard. The ceramic felt fragile in his grip, much like the conversation balancing on a knife’s edge.

He set the cup down gently, his gaze fixed on the table, as if the wood grain could offer him some kind of answer. His mind raced with things he could say—defences, excuses, sharp words to deflect the sting—but none of them felt right. None of them would change the fact that Viktor wasn’t right, but wouldn’t see that.

“Well,” Lestat said quietly, voice rough, “I’m not your mother.”

Viktor didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah,” he shot back, eyes flashing with frustration. “That’s the fucking problem.”

The words hit harder than Lestat expected, a sharp sting right beneath his ribcage. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he wanted to snap back, to tell Viktor exactly what kind of woman his mother had always been. To strip away the pedestal Viktor had built in his mind, to remind him that she had left. Left him, left them both. Left Viktor with a man just so holding it together. A man, who’s been barely any older than Viktor himself, and who’s not asked for any of it. But the words burned on his tongue and didn’t come out.

Instead, he swallowed hard, his voice low and bitter. “Yeah, well, your mother isn’t here, and so you have to deal with me.”

The tension between them crackled like static, thick enough to choke on. Viktor’s gaze dropped to the table, his fingers drumming against the wood with restless energy. Lestat stared at him, waiting for the next blow, the next cutting remark that would dig the knife in deeper. But it didn’t come.

Instead, Viktor exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, his anger softening just a fraction. “Look… I didn’t mean it like that,” he muttered, not quite meeting Lestat’s eyes. “I just… I don’t know. I miss when things didn’t feel so… fucking complicated all the time. Je suis désolé, papa.”

Lestat let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, the tightness in his chest easing just a little. “Yeah,” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. “Me too.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their words lingering between them like smoke after a fire. The anger wasn’t gone, but it wasn’t burning as hot now, simmering beneath the surface instead of boiling over.

“I’m sorry,” Viktor said again quietly, finally glancing up. “I didn’t mean to be an asshole.”

Lestat managed a small, tired smile. “Yeah, well. I’ve been an asshole for longer. So I guess we’re even.”

That pulled a reluctant smirk from Viktor, and for the first time all morning, the air between them felt a little lighter. Not fixed, not by a long shot—but maybe, just maybe, a step in the right direction.

Lestat toyed with the edge of his coffee cup, the ceramic warm against his fingertips. He glanced over at Viktor, who’s just finished his food, clearly still brooding.

“So,” Lestat started, breaking the uneasy quiet, “you like that tutor I set up for you?”

Viktor shrugged, not looking up from his plate. “Yeah, he’s alright. Better than the last one, at least. But I’m just looking forward to finishing all this. I hate moving around all the time. I just want to study somewhere normal for once.”

Lestat felt the familiar pang of guilt. Viktor didn’t say it outright, but the words hung there, unsaid: I want stability. I want something you can’t give me. He nodded, trying to keep his tone light. “Well, that house in New Orleans isn’t going anywhere. Maybe once things settle down, you’ll have that.”

Viktor snorted softly, finally glancing up. “Yeah, if you ever let things settle down.”

Lestat chuckled under his breath, accepting the jab. “Fair enough.” They lapsed into silence again, the hum of the café filling the gaps in their conversation. Viktor took a sip of his coffee, then set it down with a soft thud, his eyes flicking toward his father.

“Tu as encore entendu parler de ton Louis?”

Lestat blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. He opened his mouth to deflect, maybe make a joke, but then he remembered—the voice message. The one he’d sent, half-drunk and all heart, the words slurring together in frustration and longing. His stomach twisted as he fished his phone out of his pocket, the screen lighting up in his hand.

The chat with Louis sat there, exactly where he’d left it. The audio message was marked as seen, the little check marks mocking him, but there was no reply. No text. Nothing. Just silence.

He stared at the screen for a moment longer, then locked his phone and slid it back into his pocket, trying to mask the disappointment tightening in his chest. He looked back at his son, who was waiting for an answer.

“Non,” he muttered finally, forcing a casual tone he didn’t feel. “We haven’t spoken since we left.”

Viktor watched him for a moment. “Merde. Vous l’aimiez, n’est-ce pas?“

„Oui“, Lestat said, „Je l’aimais beaucoup.”

***

The airport was eerily quiet at 3AM, the kind of silence that settled deep in your bones, broken only by the occasional crackle of the intercom or the soft hum of floor polishers in the distance. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, too bright for the hour, casting a pale glow over the rows of empty seats and half-asleep travellers.

Lestat sat slouched in a corner of the terminal, one leg stretched out, his sunglasses pushed up into his hair. Viktor was curled beside him, head resting heavily against Lestat’s shoulder, his breath slow and even in sleep. The boy’s hoodie was pulled up, the strings drawn tight, only some of his curls poking out.

Across the room, their bodyguard sat with arms crossed, keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings. He wasn’t needed here, not really. The airport was practically deserted.

The intercom crackled to life, announcing a flight to Amsterdam. Viktor stirred at the sound, his brow creasing as he blinked awake, momentarily disoriented.

“That ours?” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep.

Lestat shook his head, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “No, not yet. Go back to sleep if you want.”

Viktor groaned but stayed upright, rubbing at his eyes. “I’m fine,” he muttered, though he looked anything but.

Their bandmates—Alex, Larry, and Tough-Cookie—had opted to stay behind in Berlin for a couple more days, something about wanting to soak up the city’s nightlife. Lestat hadn’t argued. The fewer people around, the quieter his mind felt, and Vienna was waiting.

After a beat, Lestat nudged Viktor gently. “You want something to drink? I’m going to grab a coffee.”

Viktor shook his head, still half-asleep. “I’m good.”

Lestat stood, stretching his arms over his head, feeling the stiffness settle in his back from hours of sitting. He made his way toward the little coffee kiosk tucked near the corner of the terminal. The woman behind the counter was already busy with another customer, but when it was his turn, Lestat flashed her a tired smile.

“Ein Kaffee, bitte,” he said, the words rough on his tongue. His accent was terrible, but it got the point across. The woman nodded, not even blinking at his attempt.

While waiting, Lestat’s gaze drifted toward a small bookstore across from the kiosk. The shelves were lined with paperbacks in a mix of languages, their colourful spines a quiet invitation. He paid for his coffee, murmuring a soft “Danke,” before stepping into the shop.

The air smelled like fresh paper and ink, the kind of scent that always reminded him of Louis now. But Louis would’ve hated this place, he thought, running his fingers along the spines of books he couldn’t even read. It’s too clean-looking. Who likes a sterile, white-fluorescent bookshop? For a second, he considered picking one out anyway—something to pass the time on the flight—but the idea felt hollow.

He shook it off, grabbing a thin English-language novel from a display near the front instead, something light, forgettable. At the counter, he fumbled through another clumsy attempt at German, enough to get him by, before heading back toward the terminal seats.

Viktor was still awake when he returned, slouched in the same position but watching Lestat with tired eyes. Lestat handed him the bottle of water he’d picked up without asking, then sank back into the seat, the coffee warm in his hands.

They sat in silence for a while, the distant sound of boarding calls blending with the quiet thoughts Lestat couldn’t quite shake.

When it was finally their turn, Lestat nudged Viktor gently with his elbow, and the boy groaned, pulling his hoodie tighter around his head. Their bodyguard was already standing, following, while Lestat and Viktor moved at a slower, reluctant pace.

They shuffled toward the gate, Viktor dragging his feet just enough to make Lestat smirk. “You’re walking like an old man,” Lestat teased under his breath.

Viktor shot him a glare, though it lacked any real heat. “Says you.”

The line of what had to be less than twenty people moved quickly, and soon they were handing over their boarding passes, the beep of the scanner sharp in the early morning quiet. Lestat flashed the flight attendant a tired, toothy smile as they stepped onto the jet bridge, the sterile chill of the tunnel brushing against their skin.

The plane was half-empty, and Viktor collapsed into his seat by the window, pulling his hood over his face again, while Lestat slumped next to him, sunglasses back in place, head tilted toward the ceiling.

As the plane taxied down the runway, Lestat closed his eyes, feeling the familiar weight of exhaustion settle in. But no matter how hard he tried, sleep eluded him. The hum of the engines, the faint shuffle of passengers, and somewhere in the back of his mind, the echo of Louis’ silence—it all gnawed at him.

Later, Vienna greeted them with a pale, overcast sky, the early morning light casting long shadows across the sleek, glassy surface of the airport. They moved through customs with the ease of seasoned travellers, their passports stamped without fanfare. The bodyguard trailed behind them, a silent, looming presence, while Viktor and Lestat exchanged groggy, half-coherent remarks about how airports all looked the same after a while.

The car ride to the hotel was quiet. Viktor leaned against the window, watching the city blur past—grand, old buildings with ornate facades, cobblestone streets just beginning to stir with the first signs of life. Lestat sat back, staring at nothing, his mind elsewhere, the weight of his unsent thoughts pressing heavy in his chest.

The hotel was a sleek, modern contrast to the city’s historic charm. Their suite was spacious, all sharp lines and minimalist décor, but even the plush bedding and blackout curtains couldn’t lull them into sleep. They both tried, though—Viktor disappearing into his room, Lestat kicking off his shoes and collapsing on the bed, staring at the ceiling. But after an hour of restless tossing, the quiet became unbearable.

Lestat finally pushed himself up, running a hand through his hair. He stepped into the hallway, finding Viktor already there, slouched against the wall, scrolling through his phone.

“Can’t sleep?” Lestat asked, voice rough.

Viktor shook his head without looking up. “Nope.”

Lestat sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, no point wasting the day, then. You hungry?”

Viktor pocketed his phone and shrugged. “Could eat.”

They left the hotel, the morning air again biting at their skin, but neither of them complained. The streets of Vienna were just waking up—cafés opening their doors, the smell of fresh bread and coffee drifting through the air. They wandered in no particular direction, the city’s quiet elegance a temporary balm to the restless energy between them.

***

Lestat was backstage, the low hum of the crowd filtering through the walls, vibrating in his chest. The venue in Vienna was beautiful, old-world charm meeting modern acoustics, but none of that mattered right now. He stood by the mirror, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt, sunglasses perched on his nose to hide the exhaustion still clinging to him. The pre-show adrenaline wasn’t hitting the way it used to.

Alex was somewhere off to the side, tuning his guitar, while Larry joked with Tough-Cookie over a shared cigarette, their laughter sharp and grating in the confined space.

Lestat’s phone buzzed on the dressing table; the vibration sharp enough to cut through the haze in his head. He glanced down, expecting some reminder or a useless notification—but the name on the screen froze him.

Louis .

For a second, he just stared at it, the noise around him dulling to a distant hum. It had to be around lunchtime back in New Orleans, he thought.

Lestat’s mind scrambled to make sense of it. Why now? After days of silence, after that damn audio had gone unanswered… and now, just before the show? But Louis most likely didn’t know, didn’t do it on purpose. Louis, who cared so little for his music, who had apparently no idea where he was right now. And so his fingers hesitated before he swiped to answer, pressing the phone to his ear as he stepped further into the shadows of the room, trying to shield himself from prying eyes.

“Louis?” His voice came out rougher than he intended. He’d been barely holding it together, and now, it all dared to spill.

There was a pause on the other end, the kind that felt like it stretched forever. Then Louis’ voice, low and steady, but Lestat could hear the tension tucked beneath it. “Hey,” Louis said simply. “You busy?”

Lestat laughed quietly, a bitter edge to it. “I’m about to walk on stage in like seven minutes, mon cher.”

Another pause. Lestat could picture Louis on the other end, maybe pacing that sweet little bookstore of his, or sitting at the kitchen table with that same furrowed brow he always wore when he was thinking too hard. Right now, Louis could be anywhere, and Lestat liked imagining him in all of these settings.

“I got your message,” Louis finally said, his words careful, deliberate. It’s been what felt like ages since Lestat had sent it. He wanted to ask, what’s changed? Why now?

Lestat swallowed, suddenly aware of the way his heart was pounding, not from the impending show but from this—this voice in his ear after all the silence. “Yeah? Took you long enough.” He tried to sound confident, but must have failed at it. He wasn’t. He hadn’t expected an answer.

“I didn’t know what to say.”

That admission sat between them, heavier than anything. Lestat leaned against the wall, one arm crossed over his chest, gripping his elbow. He could hear the muffled sounds of the crowd growing louder, the minutes slipping away, but he didn’t care. Not right now.

“You didn’t have to say anything,” Lestat muttered, softer now. “I just… I don’t know. I didn’t mean to—” He trailed off, unsure of what he had meant. To guilt him? To make him miss him? Maybe both. Maybe neither.

Louis exhaled, and Lestat could almost feel the weight of it through the phone. “I shouldn’t have ignored it,” Louis said. “But I did. And then I’ve kept listening to it for days, and suddenly my daughter caught me, and she said some things, and I couldn’t stop thinking about what my sister said and I-“

That caught Lestat off guard. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it wasn’t that. His throat felt tight, and for a moment, he couldn’t find the right words.

From across the room, Alex called out, “Five minutes, man! Hurry!”

Lestat waved him off without turning around, his focus pinned entirely to the voice in his ear. “Why are you calling now?” he asked, voice low.

Louis hesitated, and Lestat could almost hear him thinking, the gears turning in that stubborn head of his. “I don’t know,” Louis finally admitted. “I just… I kept thinking about it. About you. I don’t know why I brushed you off.”

Lestat closed his eyes, pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead. It was both everything he wanted to hear and not nearly enough.

“I miss you, Louis.” The words slipped out before he could stop them, raw and unfiltered.

On the other end, Louis was silent again, and Lestat felt his stomach twist, waiting for something—anything. “Yeah,” Louis said, so quietly Lestat almost thought he imagined getting an answer.

Before Lestat could respond, there was another reminder, sharper this time. “Lestat! Time to go!”

He pulled the phone away slightly, cursing under his breath, before bringing it back to his ear. “I have to go.”

“I know.”

“But—” Lestat stopped himself. But what? But don’t disappear again? But call me tomorrow? But come here, be here, now?

“Good luck,” Louis said softly, as if sensing the words Lestat couldn’t quite form.

Lestat swallowed hard. “I’ll call you after.”

Louis didn’t promise anything, but he didn’t say no, either.

To Lestat, the following show in Vienna was a blur. The crowd roared, their energy bouncing off the gilded walls of the old concert hall, but it all felt distant, like he was performing through a pane of glass. The lights were too bright, the cheers too loud, and none of it touched the hollow spot that had cracked open in his chest after Louis' call.

Backstage, the usual chaos ensued—Alex and Larry were hyped, already cracking open drinks, high on adrenaline. Tough-Cookie was half-drunk already, her laugh sharp and unapologetic as she recounted some wild moment from the show to a group of crew members. Someone shoved a beer into Lestat’s hand before he even made it to his dressing room.

But he didn’t want it.

Not tonight.

"I'm out," he announced, his voice cutting through the noise.

Alex looked up; brows furrowed. "What? Come on, man, we're celebrating! Vienna loves us."

Lestat forced a tight smile, shaking his head. "You guys celebrate. I’m heading out."

Larry gave him a weird look but didn’t push. Tough-Cookie just rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath about him being "a moody bastard." But Lestat didn’t care. The only thing he cared about was sitting like dead weight in his pocket—the phone call he’d promised to make.

It was past midnight when Lestat found himself sitting outside near the hotel, the quiet hum of the city settling around him like a blanket. The summer air was cool, tinged with the faint scent of rain on old cobblestones. His suit jacket was draped over the back of the bench he sat on, sleeves rolled up, and his sunglasses long discarded in the darkness. He didn’t have the greatest sight always, no reason to make it worse.

He lit a cigarette with shaky fingers, inhaling deeply, but the nicotine did nothing to steady the knot tightening in his chest. The half-empty pack sat beside him; the edges crumpled from how many he'd already gone through.

His phone sat untouched for a while, screen dark, as if it was mocking him. The longer he stared at it, the heavier it felt, like making that call was some Herculean task he wasn’t ready for.

But he’d promised.

And Louis had picked up once.

Flicking ash away, Lestat grabbed his phone and stared at Louis’ name glowing softly on the screen. His thumb hovered over the call button, hesitation gnawing at him. He hated this feeling—this vulnerable, shaky uncertainty. It wasn’t him. But Louis had a way of dragging those parts out of him, whether he wanted it or not.

Finally, he pressed the button.

The phone rang, each buzz in his ear dragging out the tension coiled in his chest. He tapped his foot against the stone pavement, the rhythmic sound barely keeping pace with his racing heart. He must have lit another cigarette, the tip glowing bright in the dark as he exhaled slow, trying to convince himself this wasn’t a big deal.

But it was.

It always fucking is with him, he thought bitterly.

The line clicked, and for a split second, Lestat thought it might go to voicemail. But then—

“Hello?”

Louis’ voice, low and familiar, sent a jolt straight through him.

Lestat swallowed, the words suddenly sticking to the back of his throat. For a heartbeat, all he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears.

“Hey,” he finally managed, his voice rough. He cleared his throat. “I, uh… told you I’d call.”

There was a pause on the other end, the kind that stretched just long enough to make Lestat wonder if Louis regretted picking up. But then Louis sighed, soft and tired. “Yeah. You did.”

Lestat stared at the glowing tip of his cigarette, watching it burn down like the distance between them could somehow be measured in ash. “You’re not busy, are you?”

“No.” Louis’ voice was quiet, but not cold. Just… guarded. “I’m not.”

Lestat let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, his fingers drumming anxiously against the table. Lestat could almost picture Louis on the other end—sitting in that dim store, maybe by the window, the light from the street casting soft shadows on his face. He wondered if Louis had the same tight feeling in his chest that he did.

“Vienna was good,” Lestat offered after a beat, his voice low. “Crowd was insane. But… I don’t know.” He flicked the ash off his cigarette, watching it scatter like dust in the breeze. “Didn’t feel like much.”

Louis didn’t respond right away, and Lestat could hear faint sounds in the background—maybe the creak of the old floorboards, or Claudia moving around. Then, finally: “I just didn’t know what to say.”

Lestat let that sit for a moment, his thumb tracing the chipped edge of the table. Louis had said that before. “You don’t have to say anything, Louis. I just…” He trailed off, searching for the right words. “I guess I just wanted you to know.”

Another pause. Lestat could hear the faint hum of traffic, the distant murmur of voices from inside the café, but it all felt muted compared to the weight of this conversation.

Lestat took a shaky drag from his cigarette, the bitter taste grounding him just enough to keep his voice steady. He was smoking too much, when he was feeling like this. Which was most of the time, really, even when he got good at hiding it. “Louis,” he started, quieter now, but no less intense. “Listen… I meant what I said. About Europe. About the tour.”

There was a pause on the other end, making Lestat’s stomach twist. Then Louis sighed, the sound crackling softly through the receiver. “Lestat…”

But Lestat didn’t let him finish. “No, let me—just let me say this.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to gather the mess of words threatening to spill out. “I’ll cover everything. The flights, the store—hell, I’ll find someone to tutor Claudia if she comes. You don’t have to worry about any of it. I just…” He exhaled, the smoke curling around his words. “I just want you here.”

“You can’t just—” Louis started, but his voice faltered.

“I know,” Lestat cut in softly. “I know it’s a lot. And I know we’ve been…” He trailed off, searching for the right word, but they both knew it. Messy. Complicated. Painful. “But I’ve been begging, Louis. This whole time. I’ve been putting myself out there like an idiot, and I’m not going to keep doing it after this. I can’t.”

He paused, his throat tightening. “But if you come—if you just say yes—I swear, you won’t regret it. I’ll make sure of that.” His voice dropped to almost a whisper, raw and vulnerable in a way he rarely allowed. “Please, Louis. Just… come to me.”

The line went quiet. Lestat could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, the distant city sounds blurring into background noise. He wanted to fill the silence, to say something more, but he knew he’d said enough. Now, it was up to Louis.

When Louis finally spoke, his voice was low, almost hesitant. “I want to say no.”

Lestat’s heart sank, but before he could respond, Louis continued.

“I want to say no,” he repeated, slower this time, “but… I’ve been regretting every time I did before.” There was a pause, and Lestat held his breath. “And I think if I say no now, I’ll regret it again.”

Lestat’s chest tightened, hope flickering like a fragile flame. “Louis…”

Another breath, and then Louis finally said it, soft but sure. “Okay.”

For a moment, Lestat couldn’t speak. The relief hit him so hard it felt like the air had been knocked out of his lungs. He closed his eyes, letting the word settle into his chest like it belonged there. “Thank you,” he whispered, the words barely audible over the phone. “You won’t regret it.”

“We’ll see,” Louis murmured, but there was no bite in his voice. Just something softer, something that felt dangerously close to hope.

When they finally hung up, Lestat stared at his phone, a slow, disbelieving smile spreading across his face. The night air felt a little warmer, the city lights a little brighter.

For the first time in weeks, it must have been true happiness.

Chapter Text

Louis tucked Lestat’s biography under his arm as he stepped out of the airport, the weight of it unfamiliar but steady against his side. He hadn’t read it—not yet. He’s been insisting to everyone that he never would, and suddenly, he was considering it. He was still, even after all, looking for those moment that made Lestat feel closer, more human. But the first two pages had held him captive for longer than he wanted to admit. For the boy who tried to conquer the world, and for the man still trying. Lestat had written in the dedication. Simple. Deceptively so.

Louis had closed the book after that, pressing his fingers into the cover picturing Lestat’s face like he could feel the truth of it through the paper.

The airport in Vienna smelled like coffee and hand sanitizer, bright with fluorescent lighting that did nothing to mask the exhaustion weighing on Louis. Claudia, at least, seemed more alert, standing beside him with her backpack slung over one shoulder and her phone in hand, taking in their surroundings with quiet interest.

“How can you be so… awake?” he mused with a yawn, adjusting his grip on their luggage cart.

She shrugged. “I slept on the plane. You didn’t.”

Louis exhaled through his nose. No, he hadn’t.

A familiar laugh cut through the noise of the arrivals hall, and Louis’ head snapped toward it instinctively. Lestat stood a short distance away, Viktor beside him, both looking around.

Lestat looked… good. Better than he had any right to after the last few weeks. His sunglasses were pushed up into his hair, his white shirt loose, one hand shoved into his pocket as he grinned at something Viktor had said. But there was something in the way he held himself—too much energy, a little restless.

Viktor noticed them first. He nudged Lestat, who turned sharply, and when he saw them, his expression shifted, that restless energy still there, but softer now.

They crossed the space between them, and for a second, Louis wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen. A handshake? A hug? Lestat, of course, had no such doubts. He stepped in close, his hand warm as it curled around Louis’ arm for just a second longer than necessary.

“You actually came,” Lestat murmured, blue eyes glowing lighter than all of the artificial light of the airport. “I worried you might change your mind.”

Louis, who had spent days convincing himself not to, only nodded. “Yeah.”

Claudia looked Viktor over, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “So, you’re the famous, not so famous son?”

Viktor huffed a small laugh, glancing at Lestat. They truly looked so much alike. Viktor, he was a bit taller than his father, even when the older blonde wore heels, but their hair was just the same, and the eyes, they could have been a perfect mirror of another. The only difference seemed to be the scar at the corner of Lestat’s mouth, and the freckles on Viktor’s skin.

“Guess so.” Viktor held out a hand, offering it to Claudia. “Viktor.”

Claudia shook it, her expression measured but not unfriendly. “Claudia.”

There was a moment of quiet, one where Louis felt something settle. Viktor was warmer than he had been the last time Louis saw him—maybe not open, not exactly eager, but not the cold, clipped presence he had been before. Maybe it was because he was around Claudia, someone closer to his own age, someone who hadn’t yet been tangled in the mess of things.

Lestat’s voice cut through the moment, smooth as ever. “Alright. Let’s get you both home.”

The ride to the hotel was quiet, the city stretching out around them, golden in the early morning light. Lestat leaned back in his seat, tapping his fingers lightly against his knee. Every now and then, Louis caught him glancing sideways, as if trying to make sure they were still there.

When they arrived at the hotel, the lobby was bright and expansive, the kind of quiet luxury that didn’t have to flaunt itself. Check-in was quick, Lestat handling most of it while Viktor stood beside him, hands in his pockets, and Claudia wandered just a bit, eyes scanning the pristine space.

Keycards in hand, Lestat turned back to them. “You both have your own rooms in the suite,” he said, handing Claudia hers first. “I figured you might want some space to breathe.”

Claudia nodded, looking pleased, and Louis took his own without a word.

Lestat smoothed a hand over the back of his neck. “Unpack, rest. We’ll meet for lunch later, alright?”

Louis nodded, and Claudia gave a little mock salute before heading toward the elevators.

As Louis turned to follow her, he felt the weight of Lestat’s gaze linger for just a second longer than necessary. Then, as quickly as it was there, it was gone, and Lestat and his son were already turning away.

It all happened fast, and suddenly Louis sat on his bed, breathing in deeply. All of this was just so very Lestat. A bit too much, a bit just right. Overwhelming, but nice, and Louis thought again about how uncomfortable it was, feeling like he relied on the blonde. He’s been insisting to pay for all of this himself, but Lestat had not heard any of it. It was right in the grand scheme of things, Louis knew, because Lestat really had more than enough money and after all, he was the reason they’ve been dragged there in the first place.

Louis has had many reasons to decline, mainly for his daughter, but his daughter, she’d been quick to tell him she’d be fine, and besides, she’d continue her school on their way, thanks to Lestat’s generosity. Louis was worried it wouldn’t work out, but his daughter, his sister, Lestat, they’ve all been telling him it would be fine for these few weeks, and since his daughter wasn’t in her last year, she’d be alright. There’s been a short talk about Claudia might missing out on her social life, but she’s insisted there was barely any of it anyways, and she’d be texting her handful of friends constantly.

So, Louis tried telling himself it was all settled, and he could stop wasting another thought on the logistics of it all. Still, suddenly he laughed. Because all of this felt like a fever dream, and he wasn’t sure yet what kind it was. Good, bad, who knew? It was all so spontaneous, and incredibly hallucinatory.

For a while, he just laid there. Then he got to unpack, and afterwards, he considered a nap, but he wasn’t tired in the slightest, and so he texted Lestat. What are you doing right now?

It took longer than usual until he received his reply, but longer was subjective here, because it still took only five minutes. Said reply was a picture of a coffee cup, and a cigarette in some ashtray next to it. Louis smiled, as he typed. European diet? Bet. Where are you?

Louis sent a quick text to Claudia—Going downstairs for a bit. If you need anything, let me know. She didn’t reply immediately, but he figured she’d see it eventually. From what he guessed, she was either sleeping now, or watching tv in her room. Both was fine, he didn’t want her to get overwhelmed by it all.

The elevator ride was quiet, just the soft hum of classical music playing overhead. When he stepped out into the lobby, he followed the path leading outside, toward the hotel’s garden, where he could find Lestat from what he’s told him. It was small but well-kept, with ivy creeping up the stone walls and wrought-iron tables set beneath the growing warmth of the morning sun.

Lestat sat alone at one of them, legs crossed, one hand wrapped around his coffee cup while the other rested lazily on the table. He looked comfortable, like he belonged there, like this was just another morning for him. And it had to be, because by now he was used to this kind of live, and living it in hotels such as this.

Louis paused for a moment, just watching. The soft light, the relaxed slouch of Lestat’s broad shoulders. Then, as if sensing him, Lestat turned his head, spotting Louis lingering by the entrance. His lips curved, slow and easy. “Look who’s embracing the morning.”

Louis huffed a quiet laugh and made his way over, sliding into the seat across from him. “You’re one to talk.” He gestured at the table. “Coffee and a cigarette? That’s all you’re having?”

Lestat grinned. “It’s a balanced meal.” He tapped the cigarette against the tray. “I didn’t think you’d be awake. Thought you’d be sleeping after the flight.”

“Didn’t work,” Louis admitted. He glanced around, noting how empty the garden was. Just the two of them. “Figured I’d come find you.”

Lestat tilted his head slightly, as if trying to read something in his face. Then, softer, he said, “Well. I’m glad you did.”

Louis exhaled, glancing down at the table before meeting Lestat’s gaze again. “We might wanna talk,” he said, voice measured. “So we don’t have to do it over lunch. Don’t need the kids interrupting and all.”

Lestat raised an eyebrow, amused. “The kids?”

Louis smirked. “Maybe not kid, Viktor, and Claudia thinks she’s grown, but still, they’ll both find a way to derail a conversation if they want to.”

Lestat hummed in agreement, taking a slow sip of his coffee. “And what is it,” he asked, setting the cup down, “that we’re so eager to discuss?”

Louis leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping idly against the table. “We’ll get to it.” He nodded toward Lestat’s cigarette. “Finish your balanced meal first.”

Lestat’s grin widened, warmth behind his eyes. “Fair enough.”

The blonde took another drag from his cigarette as he studied Louis. He was inhaling the damn thing so deeply, as if the threat of cancer was something that didn’t apply to him, just because it was him. Still, Louis took a drag from it, when Lestat offered. His mind, it skipped over the menace of a thought that was how the thing has been between the blonde’s lips just seconds ago.

“So,” Lestat said, “you going to tell me what’s on your mind, or do I have to guess?”

Louis sighed, shifting in his seat. “This.” He gestured vaguely between them. “You invite me to follow you around the world, and I say yes, even though we weren’t even speaking before that. And now we’re here.”

Lestat tilted his head, tapping his fingers against his coffee cup. “You regret it already?”

Louis shook his head. “No. But I don’t get it.”

Lestat smirked, but there was something cautious in the way he looked at him. “Don’t get what? That I want you here?”

“That you’d even want this,” Louis said, frowning. “We barely know each other. And when we do talk, we don’t—” He exhaled sharply, frustrated, because how in the world was he to put all the things he was considering right now? “I just don’t see how this is supposed to work. What exactly are we doing?”

Lestat was quiet for a moment, watching him. Then, he leaned back, stretching his arms over the chair. “We’re trying,” he said simply.

Louis gave him a look, unimpressed. “Trying what?”

Lestat rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “To exist in each other’s lives without making a mess of it.”

Louis huffed a short laugh. “Think that’s possible?”

Lestat smiled, slow and knowing. “No. But I’d rather make a mess of it than not have you in my life at all.”

Louis looked away; jaw tight. “You keep saying things like that.”

“Because I mean them.” Lestat’s voice was quieter now, more serious. “You don’t have to believe it yet, but I do.”

Louis exhaled through his nose, crossing his arms. “And what are we? Friends?”

Lestat’s lips quirked, like he was trying not to laugh. “Is that what you want us to be?”

Louis’ stomach twisted. He didn’t have an answer for that. Or maybe he did, but he wasn’t ready to say it out loud. The other watched him, waiting, then nodded slightly when no answer came. “Then we’ll call it that. For now.”

Louis let out a slow breath, feeling something settle in his chest, though he wasn’t sure if it was relief or something else entirely. “Alright,” he murmured. “Fine with me.”

Then, Louis leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “About Claudia.” He said. “And her keeping up with school.”

Lestat took another sip of his coffee. “I found a tutor for her before you left. He’s young, sharp. Knows how to deal with kids who have… strong personalities.” His lips quirked slightly. Louis huffed. “Meaning?”

“Meaning, he won’t let her steamroll him the way she does everyone else.”

Louis smirked despite himself, then frowned. “And where exactly is he?”

“He’ll meet us in Budapest,” Lestat said. “Until then, she can keep up with her own studies or do them around Viktor’s teacher. She’s got the material, doesn’t she?”

Louis nodded. “Yeah. She’s diligent.”

“See. It’ll be fine. Viktor managed too.” Lestat leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “You’re worried about her.”

Louis shot him a look. What did Lestat expect? She was his daughter. “Of course I am.”

“She’s going to be fine,” Lestat assured him again. “This kind of life—traveling, seeing the world—it’s going to be good for her. Especially as short as it’ll be. I know my son likes to talk bad about it, but it really is just to spite me. He likes it. And not to talk shit about your American education, but really, having a personal tutor can’t make things worse.”

Louis sighed, glancing down at the table before shifting the topic. “And how’s this supposed to work? Are we just moving from hotel to hotel?”

“More or less,” Lestat said. “Some places, we stay longer, but yeah, we’ll mostly be moving with the shows. We’ll be here for this week, and then we’ll stay for two in Prague. After that, it’ll be more hectic, but we will never move within a couple of days. There’s enough time for you to get used to it. Besides, should it not work, you can always fly home.”

Louis hesitated, glancing at the few empty tables around them before lowering his voice. “And what about… everything else? Publicity, cameras, whatever? What should I be doing or not doing?”

Lestat smiled, amused. “Are you worried about your reputation, mon cher?”

“I’m worried about yours,” Louis shot back.

Lestat laughed. “Well, don’t be. I don’t care what the press says about me. They talk regardless. As for you and Claudia, just don’t do anything too scandalous, and you’ll be fine.”

Louis gave him a dry look. “That’s not reassuring.”

“Just live your life,” Lestat said with a shrug. “You’re here as my—” He paused for a fraction of a second, then continued, “—guest. That’s all anyone needs to know. I’ll handle the rest.”

Louis studied him, then nodded. “Alright.” He picked up his phone. “I’ll let Claudia know.”

“She’s going to love the idea of being in the spotlight.” Lestat said, while Louis typed. He exhaled deeply. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

The rest of day passed quick, and unspectacular. After lunch, their ways separated again. Louis took Claudia for a walk outside of the hotel, so they could get to know their surroundings. Afterwards, he made her do her homework and read for a while, just to soothe his conscience gnawing at him. For the afternoon, he finally managed to take a nap, and when he woke again, he had Claudia sitting next to him on the bed, watching something on her phone. A little later, she went to her room again, and he figured he had to get ready for dinner.

The hotel restaurant was quiet, the crowd thinning out at the agreed time they were supposed to meet. Louis sat across from Lestat, who was stirring the drink before him lazily, the metal straw clinking against the glass.

“The kids ditched us,” Lestat remarked once Louis sat down, smirking.

Louis looked at him. “Where’d they go?”

“Viktor wanted to take Claudia somewhere ‘less suffocatingly fancy.’” Lestat gestured vaguely. “So, I assume they’re off eating street food or whatever else teenagers consider freedom.”

Louis frowned. “Is that a good idea?” He didn’t like the idea of his daughter wandering off right on their first evening there. He didn’t know Viktor. He didn’t know this city. If anything happened… he had no idea what to do.

Lestat leaned back in his chair, noting his worry. “He’s good, Louis. He’s old enough to know that he’s not supposed to do shit when watching someone younger.”

Louis glanced toward the door, clearly uneasy. “She doesn’t always need help getting into trouble.”

Lestat exhaled, shaking his head. “True. But she’s smart. And Vik’s careful. He’s not going to drag her into anything.” He took another sip of his drink. “Relax. Let them have some fun.”

Louis wasn’t convinced. “I’ll relax when I see them walk through that door in one piece.”

 “You’re such a father.” Lestat laughed, shaking his head.

Louis rolled his eyes, but didn’t deny it. He was, but especially given Claudia’s history, he had his reasons to. There were so many things that could happen, and even just the least terrifying one of them, he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. But Lestat, he trusted his son, and so Louis tried doing that too.

They ordered their food soon after, and they had it mostly silent.

A bit later, Louis ran his fork through the remnants of his meal, not really eating anymore but not quite finished either. Across from him, Lestat sipped lazily at his wine, gaze drifting over the other diners like he was half-bored, half-amused.

“I tried reading your biography, you know,” Louis said, setting down his glass. “Did you actually write it yourself?”

Lestat lifted a brow. Oh, that expression. Smug, amused, a little dare in the way his eyes narrowed. “I did.”

“Hm.” Louis dragged a finger along the rim of his own wine glass. “I stopped after a page.”

The blonde laughed under his breath. “And here I was, thinking you were my biggest fan.”

“I don’t think I’ll change my mind about it, you know? I don’t like the thought of reading it.” Louis glanced at him, searching for a reaction. “What did you even put in it?”

Lestat shrugged. “Ah, just some things.”

“So… nothing, really?” Louis tilted his head. “What, your life that interesting you can’t even sum it up?”

Something in Lestat’s expression flickered—unease, maybe, just for a second, before he leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. “If you have questions, you can ask them,” he said, voice smoother now, more deliberate. “You don’t need to read it.” Then, with a smirk, “But don’t call me a ‘slutty blonde’—” he laughed, a low, warm thing, “—and then refuse to ask me something of substance.”

Louis huffed a quiet breath, shaking his head. “Alright then. Where did you come from?”

“Ah, big question.” Lestat lifted his glass, eyes catching in the candlelight. “I grew up in some tiny French village. Really, nowhere worth mentioning.”

Louis considered him for a moment, then, “And your family?”

Lestat hesitated, just for a fraction of a second, but that was enough. He took a sip of his wine, set the glass down carefully. “Complicated.”

Louis raised a brow. “That all you’re gonna give me?”

Lestat’s lips quirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “My father was… absent, even when he was there. He was-“ Whatever Lestat had to say that he was, he didn’t. Louis’ eyes narrowed. “And my other parent was—” He glanced away for half a beat, then back. “They were sharp. Unforgiving. Clever.” He let out a short laugh. “I never figured out if they saw me as a burden or an amusement.”

Louis studied him, noting how Lestat’s usual bravado had quieted, his voice losing some of its usual theatricality. “And your brothers?”

For just a second, something flickered across Lestat’s face—annoyance, maybe, or something heavier. But then he smiled, quick and easy, as if the moment hadn’t happened. “You’ve done your homework,” he said, voice light. “Or did you actually get that far in the book before giving up?”

“I read the table of contents,” Louis deadpanned. “And the first page.”

Lestat chuckled. “Well, to save you the trouble—my brothers and I never quite saw eye to eye. They had their own opinions about me. None of them good.”

Louis tilted his head slightly. “And what do you think?” Lestat’s eyes scanned over him, searching, weighing something. Then, quieter, “I think they weren’t entirely wrong.”

Louis held his gaze, let the silence stretch between them. Then, finally, softer, “What made you leave?”

Lestat exhaled slowly, fingers tracing over the stem of his glass. “Circumstance,” he said, then with a dry smile, “Fate, if you believe in that sort of thing.”

“You don’t?”

A half-shrug. “I believe in survival.” He took another sip of wine. “Everything else is just decoration.”

Louis studied him for a moment, the flickering candlelight casting shadows across his face. “That why you left?” Something in Lestat’s expression tightened before he smiled again, quick and easy. “That, mon cher, is a different story.”

Louis didn’t push. Not yet. But he was starting to recognize the patterns—the way Lestat dodged, the way he filled silence with charm and smirks and empty words. Louis wondered if he’d ever get an answer that wasn’t wrapped in performance.

Lestat tilted his head slightly, swirling the wine in his glass. “And what about you, Louis? Your family—aside from your sister.” Louis’ fingers tensed around his own glass, his gaze flickering toward the table for a moment before settling back on Lestat. “My mother died when I was younger. She was sick for a long time.”

There was a shift in Lestat’s expression, something almost imperceptible, but he didn’t interrupt. “My sister… she left for a while. Married young, moved away. Only came back into the picture later. I used to hate her for it, but now I understand. Or I try to. She has her own worries.” Louis exhaled, pushing a stray thread from the edge of his napkin. “That’s about it.”

Lestat studied him, then leaned forward just slightly. “And your father?”

Louis let out a short breath, somewhere between a scoff and a sigh. “Religious,” he said simply. “Strict.” A beat. “An asshole.”

Lestat arched a brow, but there was understanding in his gaze. “And your other siblings? You have some, don’t you?” Louis stilled for half a second. He didn’t look at Lestat this time, just reached for his glass and took a slow sip, letting the silence stretch. “I had a brother.”

Had.

Lestat caught onto the past tense immediately, but he didn’t press, didn’t push. Louis appreciated that. “He was…” Louis’ jaw tensed, his fingers drumming once against the table before he stopped himself. “Devout. Thought he had a calling. Thought I didn’t.” His lips pressed together. “It didn’t end well.”

Lestat didn’t speak right away. The candlelight between them; the air weighted. “I’m sorry,” Lestat finally murmured, softer now. Not prying. Just an offering, quiet and apparently real.

Louis met his gaze then, sharp and searching, like he was trying to find something in Lestat’s face, something he wasn’t sure he wanted to see. Then, eventually, he exhaled and leaned back in his chair. “It was a long time ago.”

Lestat nodded slowly. “Some things don’t fade so easy.”

Louis didn’t reply to that. Didn’t need to. They just sat there, wine glasses between them, silence stretching—not awkward, not uncomfortable. Just there. Louis let it settle between them for a moment, tracing the rim of his glass with his thumb. Then, finally:

“And your family? Did you ever see them again? After you left?”

Lestat’s lips parted slightly, as if the question had caught him off guard. He leaned back, exhaling slowly through his nose, his fingers tapping once against the stem of his glass before going still. “No,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “Not really.”

Louis arched a brow at that. “Not really?”

Lestat let out a short, humourless laugh. “Well, I tried once. Wrote a letter, even.” He shook his head, gaze moving toward the candlelight between them. “Didn’t go over well.”

Louis frowned slightly. “They didn’t answer?”

“Oh, they answered.” Lestat’s mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Not kindly.”

The way he said it—lightly, like he was trying to make it a joke, trying to make it nothing—only made it sit heavier in Louis’ chest. Lestat reached for his glass again, again swirling the wine absentmindedly. “They were never particularly fond of me to begin with. I suppose leaving like I did didn’t help my case.”

Louis watched him carefully. “So that was it?”

Lestat shrugged. “That was it.” He took a slow sip, setting the glass down with deliberate ease. “I made my own way. Didn’t have much of a choice.”

Louis didn’t reply immediately. He wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t know what to say or because there was something about Lestat’s tone—something detached, practiced—that made him hesitate.

“And after?” he asked instead. “After you moved away?”

Lestat tilted his head slightly, considering. “I learned to survive. Got into trouble, got out of trouble. Made friends, lost friends.” His lips quirked, but there was something unreadable in his eyes. “Fell into music. It paid the bills, at first. Then it became something else.”

Louis nodded, watching him carefully. “And now you’re here.”

“And now I’m here,” Lestat echoed, a touch dry, before adding, “With you, no less.”

Louis huffed, shaking his head. “That part’s still a bit of a mystery to me.”

Lestat smirked, raising his glass in a loose, almost mocking toast. “To mysteries, then.” Louis didn’t toast back, but he didn’t look away either. Instead, he just sat there, watching the rockstar across the table, trying to piece him together like something half-familiar, half-unreadable.

At the same time, at an entirely different place, Viktor and Claudia stood next to another, waiting for their share of street food. It arrived fast, two portions of something heavy and dripping in sauce, and Claudia was poking at hers with her plastic fork, head tilted slightly. Viktor had already taken a bite, chewing thoughtfully before reaching for his paper cup. The silence between them wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it wasn’t easy, either. They were two strangers, and it showed.

“So,” Claudia finally said, dragging the word out as she set her fork down. “This is weird, huh?”

Viktor huffed a small laugh, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Yeah. A little.”

“I mean, my dad and your dad.” She gestured vaguely, as if that explained everything.

Viktor leaned back, considering her. “Yeah, I guess I didn’t really expect them to—” He paused, searching for the right word.

“—pull us into their mess?” Claudia offered.

That made him laugh. “I was gonna say ‘travel together,’ but sure, let’s go with that.”

Claudia grinned, finally taking a bite of her food. “So, what’s he like? Lestat.”

Viktor shrugged, swirling his drink absently. “He’s… a lot.”

“That’s vague.”

“That’s accurate.”

Claudia laughed, shaking her head. “Fine. Then what’s he like as a father?”

Viktor’s lips quirked as he thought about it. “I mean, it’s not like a normal father-son thing. We didn’t exactly have bedtime stories and PTA meetings.”

“Shocking,” Claudia said dryly.

“He tries, though,” Viktor admitted after a beat, surprising himself a little. “In his own way.”

Claudia tilted her head. “Do you like him?”

Viktor smirked, resting his elbow on the table. “Do you like Louis?”

Claudia considered that, then smirked back. “Fair enough.”

For a moment, they just ate, the initial awkwardness easing into something a little more comfortable.

“So,” Viktor said, nudging a piece of bread toward her. “What about you? I don’t know much about you except that you got dragged into all this.”

Claudia took the bread and ripped a piece off. “That makes two of us.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You and Louis just… decided to travel with us?”

She shrugged. “Not really. I think Louis felt like he didn’t have a choice. And I—” she hesitated for half a second before brushing it off, “—I figured, why not?”

Viktor watched her, then nodded slowly. “Well. Guess we’re in this together, then.”

Claudia raised her cup of soda, grinning. “To our messed-up parental figures.”

Viktor ‘clinked’ his paper cup against hers. “To that.”

***

Louis sat on the edge of the hotel bed, the phone pressed to his ear, his free hand tapping absently against his knee. The curtains were cracked open just enough for the soft glow of Vienna’s evening skyline to seep into the room. The city hummed faintly beyond the glass—distant voices, the occasional honk of a car horn—but inside, it was quiet except for the ringing in his ear.

“Hello?” Grace’s voice came through, slightly tinny from the speaker.

“Hey,” Louis said, shifting slightly. “It’s me.”

“Louis!” she said, her tone brightening. “You’re finally calling. I was starting to think you got lost somewhere in Europe.”

He smiled faintly. “Yeah, no. Just… got settled.”

“You sound tired.”

He exhaled, leaning back against the headboard. “Jet lag. And Claudia’s been running circles around me.”

“That sounds about right,” Grace said with a chuckle. “How’s she liking it so far?”

“She’s… interested. I mean, she’s curious about everything. The buildings, the food, the way everyone talks. She keeps comparing it to home.”

“And you?”

Louis hesitated, rubbing his thumb along the phone’s edge. “It’s… different here. The city’s beautiful. Old. Like everything’s been here forever. And people aren’t in a rush the way they are back home. We went to this café earlier, and no one was trying to leave in like five minutes. It was just… nice.”

There was a pause before Grace spoke again, softer this time. “That sounds good for you.”

Louis huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“And the… situation?”

“You mean Lestat.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s…” He trailed off, searching for the right words. “It’s strange. Being here with him. He’s… trying, I think. He’s better with Viktor than I expected.”

“You didn’t think he’d be a good dad?”

“I didn’t know what to expect.” Louis shifted again, glancing toward the window. “I still don’t.”

Grace didn’t respond right away, and Louis could almost picture her sitting at her kitchen table, brow furrowed in thought. “You sound like you’re waiting for something to go wrong.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Grace sighed. “Well, I hope you’re wrong this time.”

“Yeah,” Louis murmured. “Me too.”

They sat in silence for a moment before Grace spoke again, her voice lighter. “Okay, enough of the heavy stuff. What’s the food like?”

Louis smiled, the tension easing from his shoulders. “You know me too well.”

“Oh, I know you live off caffeine, but you’re in Vienna, Louis. Coffee there is like an art form, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. And the pastries? Ridiculous. Claudia already declared she’s moving here for the desserts alone. I can’t blame her.”

Grace laughed. “Sounds like something she’d say.”

“Yeah.” He let the warmth of the moment settle. “I’ll send you some pictures tomorrow. Claudia took like a hundred of the opera house.”

“Good. And tell her to text me back.”

“I will.”

There was another small pause before Grace said, more gently, “Love you. Be careful. Don’t worry too much.”

Louis swallowed and gave a quiet nod, even though she couldn’t see it. “Yeah. You too.”

After they hung up, he sat there a while longer, the phone cool against his palm. Outside, the city glimmered, steady and unfamiliar. He stood, stretched, and walked to the window. For a brief moment, he imagined New Orleans on the other end of that night sky—distant and unchanged, waiting for them to come back.

The knock came just as Louis was slipping his phone into his pocket. It was sharp but unhurried—just enough authority to make him glance toward the door with a mix of curiosity and resignation. He crossed the room, cracked it open, and found Lestat standing there, leaning casually against the doorframe.

Lestat wore sunglasses despite the dim hotel hallway, his hair slightly damp as though he’d just stepped out of the shower. He was dressed down for once: a dark sweater, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and no trace of the usual stage-ready polish. In his hand, he twirled some car keys, metal glinting in the soft light.

“Going somewhere?” Louis asked, leaning against the door.

“You are.” Lestat tilted his head toward the elevators. “Come with me to the hall. Rehearsal. You’ll finally get a chance to listen to ‘the noise I call music’.”

Louis hesitated. “And Claudia?”

“She’s covered.” Lestat turned slightly and called over his shoulder. “Claudia!” From somewhere down the hall, her voice answered, “What?”

“Viktor will pick you up soon. He’s taking you to the cinema.”

A pause. Then Claudia poked her head out of her own room across the hall. “The cinema? In German? I won’t understand shit.”

“There’s an English screening,” Lestat said, barely holding back a grin. “You'll manage.”

Claudia narrowed her eyes but didn’t argue. Louis gave her a small nod of reassurance, and she retreated with a sigh. “You didn’t tell me about this,” Louis said, grabbing his things.

“It was a last-minute idea.” Lestat stepped back to let Louis close the door. “And I didn’t think you’d say yes if I gave you too much time to think.”

Louis shook his head but followed Lestat to the elevator. The hotel hallway was hushed except for the soft click of their footsteps on the carpet. The air between them was easier than usual, the tension that usually bristled beneath the surface temporarily absent.

When they stepped into the elevator, Lestat slipped off his sunglasses and turned them over in his hand. Louis caught the hint of nervous energy, or maybe just the usual anticipation.

“You drive yourself?” Louis asked as they exited the elevator.

Lestat smiled. “What, you don’t trust me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Outside, the air was crisp with the promise of evening. Lestat’s car, sleek and dark, waited by the curb. He unlocked it with a click, slid into the driver’s seat, and waited until Louis was settled beside him before pulling into the street.

The city blurred past in shades of gold and stone. Lestat tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, humming along with the low murmur of the radio. The car came to a smooth halt outside the concert hall, a grand, imposing structure of pale stone and gilded details. Lestat killed the engine and slipped his sunglasses back on before stepping out. Louis followed, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets as the cool air bit at his skin.

Inside, the hall buzzed with low-level activity. Technicians adjusted cables, soundchecks echoed faintly from the stage, and the faint scent of sawdust and old velvet lingered in the air. The band was already there, clustered near the stage: Alex perched on a bass amp, Larry sprawled across a folding chair, and Tough-Cookie standing with her back to the room, adjusting her clothes.

“Look who decided to grace us with his presence,” Alex called as Lestat approached. He raised an eyebrow when he noticed Louis trailing behind. “And he brought company.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lestat said, waving a hand. “Don’t scare him off.” He turned to Louis with a crooked smile. “Come on. Meet the reprobates. Sober, for once. Or so I think.”

Louis followed him across the polished floor. He didn’t miss the way the others gave him a once-over: curious but not unfriendly. “You know Louis,” Lestat said as they reached the group. “Louis, I assume you remember their names.”

Cookie turned around then, pushing her hair out of her face with a grin. “Thought Lestat was lying when he said you’d come.”

Louis raised an eyebrow. “That so?”

“Oh, yes.” Her eyes flicked toward Lestat, amusement glinting there. “Said you were a pain in the ass.”

“Sounds about right,” Louis muttered.

“Don’t believe a word she says,” Lestat said, sliding his arm briefly across Louis’s shoulders before stepping away again. “Okay, children, let’s run through the set.”

The band broke into movement. Lestat sauntered toward the microphone stand at centre stage while the others positioned themselves. Louis lingered awkwardly for a moment until Cookie pointed toward a row of chairs just off to the side. “Sit there if you want. Best view.”

Louis gave her a nod of thanks and settled into one of the chairs. The room shifted into work mode: murmured conversations cut off, instruments hummed to life, and Lestat adjusted the microphone with a practiced flick of his wrist.

Then he started singing.

Louis had seen him perform before, of course. Those damned, shaky, grainy videos. But this—this was different. There was no crowd, no showy lights or roaring applause to distract from the raw, magnetic pull of Lestat’s voice. It filled the cavernous hall effortlessly, rich and sharp as glass, curling around the lyrics like smoke.

And Lestat was watching him.

It wasn’t even subtle. Midway through the first song, Lestat’s gaze fixed on Louis. His lips quirked into the faintest smirk as he stepped closer to the edge of the stage, voice dipping into a growl as he sang the next lines directly at him.

Louis shifted in his chair, crossing one leg over the other, and gave an exaggerated sigh. Lestat’s smirk deepened.

On the next chorus, he leaned forward, gripping the mic stand, voice sliding into something low and intimate: a deliberate performance, seemingly just for Louis. Mocking, really. An act just to anger him. The words—something about being haunted, unable to stay away—rang uncomfortably close to home. Louis shook his head and looked away. His ears burned with embarrassment, but he couldn’t quite suppress the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Lestat, of course, saw it. His laughter blended into the melody like a tease.

Louis sat back, trying not to give him the satisfaction. But the warmth in his chest said he was failing miserably.

The last notes of the rehearsal faded, leaving the concert hall in a heavy, expectant silence. Lestat set the mic back in its stand with a satisfied hum, stepping down from the stage. He peeled off his in-ear monitors and approached Louis, who still sat with his arms crossed and that guarded expression he wore like armour.

“Well?” The blonde asked. “Did you enjoy my little show?”

Louis arched an eyebrow. “I endured it.”

Lestat’s laugh was bright and sharp, echoing off the polished walls. “Liar.” He leaned in slightly. “I saw you smiling.”

“You imagined it.”

“Did I?” Lestat tilted his head, watching him for a beat longer than necessary before straightening. “Don’t go anywhere. I need to talk to the sound team.”

Louis gave a wordless nod, and Lestat strolled off toward the back of the hall, gesturing to a cluster of engineers hunched over a mixing console.

The moment he left, Louis felt the shift.

Alex and Larry sauntered over first, with Cookie trailing behind. Louis remained seated, his knee bouncing slightly beneath the chair. “He's insufferable when he thinks he’s nailed it,” Larry said, dropping into the seat beside Louis. His accent slurred his words slightly, but Louis couldn’t tell where exactly he was from. “And he knows he nailed it today.”

“That good, huh?” Louis kept his tone light, though his shoulders tensed.

Alex smirked. “You were here. You saw it.” He leaned against the back of a chair and ran a hand through his hair. “Though honestly? That whole bit in the second set? Thought he was about to crawl off the stage and into your lap.”

Louis snorted softly. “He’s dramatic.”

“Tell me about it,” Cookie said. She perched on the edge of the stage, lighting a cigarette. Her gaze flicked toward where Lestat stood, gesturing animatedly at the sound crew. “But hey, that’s what they love him for.”

Louis followed her gaze. Lestat’s hands moved in fluid motions; his expression focused as he explained something about the reverb levels. The team around him nodded along, adjusting knobs with the careful attention of people used to indulging a perfectionist.

Larry stretched his legs out and sighed. “Anyway, we’re going out later. The usual. Drinks, dancing.” He glanced toward Louis. “You coming?”

Louis shifted uncomfortably. “We’ll see.”

Cookie exhaled a stream of smoke. “He'll be there, don't worry. Our fearless leader never turns down a night out.”

Louis wasn’t so sure. The others seemed convinced they knew Lestat better than anyone. He kept his expression neutral, though something about their confidence rubbed him the wrong way. Lestat’s band members, they were children, really. They had to be at least ten years younger than him, and they didn’t really seem to live with any kind of responsibilities. Life had to be truly all ‘rock and roll’ for them, something that bothered Louis. He didn’t believe their way of living was the reason Lestat chose them.

Lestat returned a few minutes later, clapping his hands together as he approached. “All set,” he announced. “Apparently, I was right. The reverb was off.” He grinned like a cat. “Shocking, I know. There was something about the tone, it wasn’t right.”

“Shocking,” Louis repeated dryly. He wanted to ask how in the world Lestat had been able to hear that. He’s not noticed anything sounding wrong. Was that absolute pitch, or something?

“Sound check’s good, though,” Lestat continued. “So? What’s the plan for tonight?”

“Apparently,” Louis said, glancing toward the others, “you’re supposed to get drunk.”

“Mm.” Lestat rubbed his jaw. “Tempting.”

Louis stood, brushing invisible lint from his pants. “You can drink later,” he said. “After we’ve eaten.”

Lestat’s eyebrows shot up above the edge of his sunglasses. “Are you giving me rules now, mon cher?”

“Just one.” Louis met his gaze, voice flat but amused. “Food first. Then the nonsense.”

The others exchanged looks, but Lestat’s grin grew slow and sharp. “Dinner first, then,” he agreed, stepping aside and gesturing toward the door. “Lead the way, mon cher.” Louis shook his head as he walked past him, but the faint smile on his lips lingered.

The restaurant Lestat picked was tucked away on a quiet side street, far from the noise of the tourist-packed avenues. Inside, the lighting was low, the walls lined with dark wood and old photographs of Vienna through the decades. A violin hummed softly from hidden speakers. It was the kind of place Louis would’ve chosen himself, understated and timeless.

Lestat sat across from him, twisting the stem of his wine glass between his fingers. The deep red liquid barely moved; he hadn't taken a sip since they’d arrived. His sunglasses were folded on the table, and without them, his eyes seemed paler than usual, the shadows beneath them more pronounced.

The waiter returned with their meals—a steaming plate of schnitzel for Louis, some elaborate vegetarian dish for Lestat. The aroma of fried butter and lemon filled the space between them.

Louis picked up his fork. He couldn’t help it. “I thought you didn’t eat much.”

“I don’t.” Lestat poked at his plate, turning a roasted mushroom over with disinterest. “But I figured you'd appreciate the company.”

Louis gave a soft huff of laughter. “That considerate, huh?”

Lestat’s smile was faint but genuine. “I can be.”

They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes—well, Louis did. Lestat pushed his food around, occasionally taking a small bite and immediately chasing it with a sip of wine. His jaw tensed as he chewed, and Louis noticed how carefully he concealed the effort. He let it go. For now. Sooner or later, he’d snap, because he knew himself enough to see that coming. For now, he wiped his mouth with his napkin and said, “So… your bandmates.”

Lestat’s brow arched. “What about them?”

“You picked them. Why them?”

“Mm.” Lestat leaned back in his chair, tilting his glass so the candlelight caught the deep red swirl of the wine. “Larry, he used to play with some indie band that thought smoking on stage was personality enough to compensate for their sound.” His lips twitched. “He was better than them. I stole him.”

“And Alex?”

“He played in some club.” Lestat's gaze grew more distant. “When he wasn’t bartending, he was playing guitar at an open mic.” His smile softened. “But when I asked if he wanted to join a band, he said yes before I finished the sentence.”

“And Cookie?”

“That one was an accident.” Lestat finally took a real sip of his wine. “She crashed an afterparty. Told me my drummer sucked. I agreed.” He shrugged. “So I hired her.”

Louis chuckled softly. “Seems like you collect strays.”

Lestat tilted his head, eyes glittering. “Takes one to know one.”

Louis set his fork down, pretending that didn’t hit quite as close as it did. He gestured to Lestat’s plate. “You done with that already?”

“I’ve been done since it arrived.” Lestat pushed the plate aside and downed the rest of his wine with a grimace.

“Eat”, Louis insisted, his tone suddenly an order. The surprise on Lestat’s face made his face heat up. Lestat, with a controlled blank look on his face, picked up his fork again. Louis had to restrain himself as to not utter some unwanted, idiotic praise.

When the check came, Lestat swiped it before Louis could reach for his wallet. “Band leader privilege,” he said as he signed the bill.

Outside, the cool night air smelled faintly of rain and cobblestone. Lestat lit a cigarette with a flick of his silver lighter, inhaling deeply before speaking. “The others are already at the bar,” he said, voice softer now, less performative.

“Let’s go then.”

“One second.” Lestat pulled his phone from his jacket and dialled. “Let’s call the children.”

Louis stuffed his hands in his coat pockets, watching as Lestat stepped a few paces away.

“Vik?” Lestat’s voice softened further. “Yeah, we just finished dinner. We'll be out for a bit longer. You two okay?” A pause. Lestat smiled faintly. “Good. Tell Claudia to get whatever she wants. And don’t stay out too late.” Another pause. “Yes, I know you’re technically an adult. Humour me.”

He hung up and turned back toward Louis. “All set.”

“Claudia’s okay then?” Louis fell into step beside him as they headed toward the bar. Louis wondered who’d pick up the car, if they were going to drink now. “You worry about Viktor.”

Lestat exhaled a stream of smoke. “Every day.”

Louis didn’t respond, but the words sat between them, heavy and understood. At the corner, Lestat glanced over, a teasing smile curving his lips. “You ready for a night out with a bunch of degenerate musicians, Louis?”

“I’ve survived worse.”

“We'll see.” Lestat flicked his cigarette into the gutter. “They're going to love tearing into you.”

“Why?”

“Because I do.” Lestat grinned, sharp and wolfish. “And they think that’s funny.”

Louis shook his head and muttered, “This was a mistake.”

But when Lestat laughed, warm and unrestrained, Louis couldn't help the reluctant smile that followed.

The bar that band had chosen wasn’t one of those velvet-rope, exclusive clubs Louis had expected by now. It was smaller, tucked down an alleyway lined with graffiti and uneven cobblestones. Inside, the walls were cracked brick, and the tables mismatched. A live band played in the corner—jazz, though sloppy enough that even Louis winced when the saxophonist missed a note. The bartender served drinks fast and cheap, and the place was already crowed enough to make moving a challenge.

Lestat loved it immediately.

The bandmates were already at a round table near the back. Cookie spotted them first, raising her glass in greeting. “Ah, finally! The vampire prince and his mysterious friend.”

“Careful,” Louis said as he pulled out a chair. “You’re gonna hurt Lestat’s feelings. He’s the mysterious one.”

“True.” Cookie grinned. “But you’ve got that whole broody aura going for you. Like someone stole your puppy twenty years ago and you're still pissed about it.”

Louis blinked, surprised by the accuracy. “I don't have a puppy.”

“See? You sound mad about it.”

The others laughed as Lestat slid into the seat beside Louis, already reaching for the half-empty bottle of whiskey in the middle of the table. He poured a generous glass without hesitation, fingers steady, smile easy. He was in performance mode already. Louis recognized the slight shift: the brighter smile, the casual slouch, the way his eyes stayed just sharp enough to track the room.

Larry passed him a shot next. Lestat took it without question. Then another. The first hit fast; Louis could tell by the slight wobble of his fingers when he set the glass down. Louis thought it was a bad idea. History had proven Lestat got wasted as fast as he managed to inhale a pack of Marlboro red.

"Should I be concerned?" Louis asked, voice pitched low.

Lestat shrugged, smile widening. "Nah. It's tradition."

"Tradition to get wasted before a show?"

"Tradition to get wasted after rehearsal," Lestat corrected, dragging a hand through his curls. He turned to Alex. "Play that fucking disaster chord from practice one more time, I swear I'll—"

"Hey, that was artistic expression," Alex shot back. He handed Lestat a cigarette, then flicked the lighter for him. Lestat inhaled deeply, eyes fluttering shut.

Louis shifted in his chair. The others weren’t paying attention. Cookie was ordering another round; Larry was halfway through a story about some chaotic night in Amsterdam. The whiskey bottle was nearly empty already, and someone passed Lestat another glass. An hour passed like that. Louis sipped his beer and watched. Lestat laughed too loud, his words flowing more with each drink. He leaned against Larry at one point, the other man had an arm slung over his shoulders, voice thick as he drawled something that had them all in hysterics.

Louis leaned toward Cookie. "He always drink like this?"

She barely glanced at Lestat, who was now himself trying to convince Alex to order shots. "Yeah, pretty much."

"And you just let him?"

Cookie gave him a sharp look. "What, you think we should babysit him? He's a grown man."

"Yeah, well." Louis clenched his jaw. "Doesn't look like it's doing him much good."

"Relax, he's fine," she said, turning back to her drink.

Louis didn’t relax. Lestat’s laughter had turned brittle, his eyes glassy, his movements more careless. When Alex handed him another shot, Louis reached out and grabbed it first. Lestat blinked at him. "Hey," he said. "That's mine."

"No, it's not." Louis set the shot back on the table. "You're done."

"Louis—"

"I said you're done, Lestat."

Lestat's eyes narrowed, a familiar stubborn glint there. For a second, Louis thought he might make a scene. Instead, Lestat leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. "Fine. Whatever."

The table went awkwardly silent. Alex and Larry exchanged a look. Cookie raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.

Louis stood abruptly. "Come on."

Lestat didn’t argue. He stood, swaying slightly, and let Louis guide him toward the door with a hand on the small of his back. The cold night air hit hard, making Lestat stumble. Louis steadied him against the wall. This was the second time they did this, and Louis thought it should have remained at the first.

Lestat lit a cigarette with unsteady fingers. "God, you're a fucking killjoy."

"Yeah," Louis said. "And you're a fucking idiot."

Lestat chuckled softly; eyes half-lidded. "Probably."

They stood like that for a moment in the cool air, smoke curling between them. Louis rubbed a hand over his face. "Why do they let you get like that?"

Lestat's smile faltered. He looked away, toward the blinking neon sign across the street. "It's easier if they don't care."

Louis felt the answer like a punch to the chest. "You should go to bed," he said finally, voice quieter.

"Yeah." Lestat dropped the cigarette, grinding it out beneath his heel. He didn’t move, though. His eyes flicked to Louis. "You stayed."

Louis frowned. "What?"

"You stayed tonight. Usually, people leave when I get like that."

Louis held his gaze. "I'm not people."

Something shifted in Lestat’s expression—something fragile, quickly masked with a crooked smile. "Yeah. You're not."

The tension sat between them, sharp-edged but not unwelcome. Finally, Louis reached into his pocket, hesitating over his phone. "Come on," he said, then shook his head. "Actually… let’s walk."

Lestat blinked at him, swaying slightly. "Walk? It’s cold."

"No it’s not, and you could use the air."

Lestat laughed under his breath, a low, raspy sound. "You're bossy tonight."

"Yeah, well," Louis said, slipping his phone back into his coat pocket. "Somebody's gotta be."

They started down the sidewalk. Vienna at night was quieter here, away from the tourist streets—just the sound of their footsteps on the cobblestones, distant music bleeding from bars they passed. Lestat wanted to light another cigarette but failed it, then opted for walking with his hands shoved into his pockets.

"You really think I need air?" Lestat asked after a few minutes.

Louis shot him a sidelong glance. "I think you need better friends."

The blonde laughed again. "They're not that bad."

"They let you drink yourself into the ground every time you’re with them," Louis said, voice flat. "And they think it’s funny."

Lestat shrugged. "They're kids."

"They're adults."

"Legally, maybe. Mentally? Not so much." Lestat rubbed at his temple, his movements a little uncoordinated. "They're like stray dogs. No one's ever taught them better." Louis frowned. "And you're the one teaching them?"

"More like… letting them run loose." Lestat smirked. "I’m not really the responsible type."

Louis didn’t reply to that. They reached the edge of the park near their hotel after ten minutes and cut through it. The path was slick with rain, and Lestat nearly lost his footing once. Louis caught his elbow without comment.

After a moment, Lestat said, voice softer, "You really think they're idiots?"

"I think they don't give a shit what happens to you," Louis said. "That doesn't make them great company."

Lestat hummed thoughtfully. "Well. You're here. You can take care."

"Yeah," Louis said near bitterly. "Because I want nothing more."

They reached the hotel a few minutes later. Lestat fumbled with his keycard in the elevator, cursing under his breath when it didn’t scan right the first time. Louis took it from him, swiped it, and handed it back. He didn’t really think about using his own. Lestat's eyes lingered on his fingers.

The suite smelled like cigarette smoke and expensive cologne when they entered, or maybe that was just Lestat himself. Lestat dropped his coat over the back of a chair and turned to Louis, swaying slightly where he stood. His smile softened; eyes half-lidded.

"You know," Lestat said, voice dropping low, "you could stay with me."

Louis stilled. The room seemed to tighten around them.

"Don't do this," he said quietly.

"I'm just saying." Lestat stepped closer, the haze of alcohol making him clumsier than usual. His gaze dragged over Louis’s face, searching. "You could."

Louis’s mind flashed to the last time Lestat had looked at him like this: eyes heavy-lidded, mouth parted. The way he’d been offering himself up like he was some piece of meat, barely worth more than that. And Louis, he didn’t want any of this, and even if he did, certainly not like that.

So this time again, he shook his head. "You're drunk."

Lestat huffed a laugh, but it sounded brittle. "I'm always drunk."

"Yeah, and I’m not taking advantage of that."

“Why not?” Lestat's smile faltered. He took a step back, running a hand through his hair. "Right. Of course. God forbid you ever do something reckless."

Louis swallowed the retort on his tongue. He stepped forward, caught Lestat’s arm, and gently guided him toward the bedroom. "Come on. Bed."

Lestat didn’t fight him. He let Louis steer him into the room, pull the covers back, and push him down onto the mattress. He landed with a soft grunt and lay there, one arm flung across his forehead.

Louis hovered for a moment, then bent to untie Lestat's shoes.

"You're fussing," Lestat mumbled, eyes closed.

"Yeah, well. I'm good at it."

He got the shoes off and straightened. Lestat's breathing had already deepened, the tension in his shoulders melting into the mattress. Louis lingered another moment, then switched off the bedside lamp and left the room.

Out in the hallway, he exhaled slowly. His own room was right next to Lestat’s, but instead of going there, he walked further and knocked on Claudia’s door.

There was no answer at first. Then footsteps, and she opened the door halfway, already in pyjamas, her hair a wild mess from being towel-dried.

"You okay?" Louis asked.

Claudia frowned. "Yeah. Viktor dropped me off an hour ago."

"Good. Just checking."

Claudia studied him, eyes sharp. "You look weird."

"Thanks." He forced a smile. "Go to bed. I’ll see you in the morning."

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

Louis went back to his own room then. He sat on the edge of the bed and ran his hands through his hair. Through the wall, faintly, he could hear Lestat moving in his sleep.

The sound kept him awake for a long time.

Chapter Text

Louis, Claudia, and Viktor sat at the breakfast table, sunlight streaming through the tall windows. The clink of cutlery on plates mingled with the soft murmur of their conversation; Claudia was still describing the movie Viktor had taken her to the night before, gesturing with half a croissant as she talked, going on for too many minutes, at some point just repeating the same complaints, making Louis smile into his breakfast. It was oddly comforting sitting there, listening to the two of them.

“It was supposed to be scary,” Claudia said, rolling her eyes. “But the effects were so bad, we just laughed through most of it.”

“Hey, I warned you,” Viktor threw in, shrugging. He sat in his chair in a manner that reminded much of his father – casual, with an arm flung over the back of it, his feet far under the table as he shrugged the girl’s words off. “A low-budget Austrian horror movie isn’t exactly The Exorcist. Not to say that that was peak horror. You knew what you were getting yourself into. But with only one screening in a language you can understand we didn’t have many options.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Claudia clapped back. “Still, I don’t know why I was expecting more than ketchup for blood.”

Louis smiled faintly, half-listening. His coffee sat untouched in front of him, the aroma sharp but inviting after last night. He still didn’t have the stomach for the bitterness of it, even when he usually wouldn’t have cared about how strong it was. His attention shifted to his phone for a moment, scrolling absently, when the sound of footsteps nearing made them all glance toward the entrance.

Finally, Lestat walked in, polished to perfection despite the hour. Louis knew that look by now.

"Morning," the blonde greeted, voice just a little rough. He dropped into the empty chair beside Louis with a soft, pained exhale. "Jesus. Qui a allumé le soleil comme ça?"

"Rough night?" Viktor asked his father, amused. He seemed unsurprised by the state that his father was in, likely used to seeing him like this every now and then. Louis thought that it was wrong, but he still didn’t yet get behind the dynamic of their relationship. It had to be different, and not only because one of them was famous. Viktor was older than his own daughter, Louis had to remind himself, and he wasn’t, despite his occasional behaviour, some teenager barely clinging to adulthood. It simply had to be different.

"Just a bit," Lestat said, waving a hand vaguely. “You know how this goes.” He leaned forward to reach for the coffee pot, the motion making him wince. Louis shifted the pot toward him without a word, even when he had a couple of remarks just right on his tongue.

“You did it to yourself,” Claudia said what her father didn’t, arching a brow. Smart girl.

"Thank you for the insight," Lestat muttered, pouring himself a cup. He took a cautious sip and sighed. Then another. Until he’s had half of it, and reached for the milk standing between them. He filled his cup again. "Mon Dieu, that’s better. Don’t know how anyone can stand coffee black. Makes me sick."

Louis watched him over the rim of his own drink. So many confusing emotions, all swirling in his head. But the children were present, and he figured neither of them all would appreciate it if he tried that conversation now. "Feel like eating?" Louis asked, and while not waiting for an answer, he pushed the plate he’d prepared towards the blonde rockstar.

Lestat only gave a faint hint of acknowledgment but said nothing.

Across the table, Claudia and Viktor exchanged glances that didn’t go unnoticed by either of them. Louis looked away, not to see his daughter smirk. "So, what time did you get back?"

"Late," Lestat answered for both of them, stretching his legs under the table. His foot knocked into Louis's, and he didn’t move it away, although bothered that Lestat couldn’t keep his limbs to himself. Why was he always doing that, invading his space like he depended on it? Like he couldn’t stand being on his own for just a minute. "We walked."

"Walked?" Viktor frowned. "From where? I could have picked you up."

"It wasn’t that far," Louis threw in, before the complaining began again.

"It was far enough," Lestat disagreed with a soft laugh. "He was lecturing me the whole way."

"I wasn’t lecturing," Louis said, voice flat.

"You were definitely lecturing," Lestat said. "You called my bandmates idiots."

"Well, they are," Louis said without missing a beat. Viktor snorted into his coffee, looking like he wasn’t overly surprised by that statement. Claudia covered her mouth to hide a grin. Lestat gave Louis a sideways glance, mouth quirking into a small smile. "You're lucky I'm too hungover to argue," he said, leaning back into his chair. “Very so.”

"Yeah," Louis said, still forcing down a smile of his own. "Lucky me."

A beat passed. Viktor cleared his throat:” Well then. I think we have to go. And you, father, have to get ready. I don’t want your manager to call me again. Consider this a warning. Claudia, you coming?”

She followed him standing up with a groan; Viktor slinging his backpack over one shoulder and Claudia complaining about having to sit indoors with the tutor when she could be exploring Vienna. Their voices echoed through the hall before fading away, leaving the two men in sudden silence.

Louis stood too then, hands in his pockets, and watched them go. Lestat, still sitting, rubbed a hand over his face and groaned. His toast sat mostly untouched; his coffee half-drained. He looked up to Louis as if waiting for a clue to get moving as well. When the blonde pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly, Louis fell into step behind him. He didn't plan to, not consciously, but when Lestat turned toward the elevators, Louis followed without a word.

He told himself it was, because he currently had nothing else to do.

They rode up quietly. Lestat leaned against the mirrored wall, head tipped back, eyes closed beneath his sunglasses again. He was wearing them too often lately, shielding his eyes as if looking at them was some sort of crime.

Louis studied their reflection in the mirror, thinking about how he looked too sharp, too awake next to the dishevelled man beside him. The elevator dinged, and Lestat pushed off the wall with a muttered curse.

When they reached the suite, Louis caught the door with his hand before it swung shut behind Lestat.

The rockstar didn’t turn around. He went straight to the window, pressing his forehead against the cool glass in a motion that was worth capturing. A mess he was, and overly too much of it. He truly was cover-worthy like this, even when one should advise him to have some ibuprofen and a couple glasses of water. Louis stood awkwardly for a moment. "Are you doing this on purpose?" He then asked, the words coming even when he had wanted to preserve that energy, instead of wasting it in some useless argument.

Lestat stiffened and turned his head to him. "Doing what?"

"Drinking like you did last night. Like you always do. Is that necessary to celebrate?”

Lestat’s laugh was a brittle thing. Suddenly gone seemed that happiness Louis has come to observe. Has come to like observing. Has come, to wish seeing whenever he looked at him, because it meant their strange friendship had any worth. Because it meant, that Lestat wasn’t entirely unhappy beneath the fame, and the many people, who surrounded him, but wouldn’t bother to care for him. "What, am I not allowed to enjoy myself now?"

"That wasn’t enjoying yourself. Enjoying yourself is when you’re actually having fun. Not whatever yesterday was." Louis stepped farther into the room, gesturing vaguely. “What you do has a name. It begins with substance and ends with abuse.” He swallowed, throat as dry as his tone.

"You're so concerned about me now, mon cher?" Lestat asked, voice light but strained. He sounded like he didn’t know the answer already, as if it wasn’t clear how much Louis tried, and how very clearly he expressed the things he wished he didn’t have to ever let come to the surface.

So, Louis exhaled through his nose, getting himself to answer calmly:” You're here with your son. And with my daughter. You have to keep it together. And yeah, I am concerned, in case you blonde idiot of a man haven’t noticed. Or is that a problem?"

For a second, Lestat said nothing. His jaw tightened. Then he sagged against the window with a soft, tired huff. "No," he said it like the words burned. "It's not a problem."

Louis rubbed the back of his neck and glanced toward the half-open bedroom door. Clothes were draped across the bed, suitcases half-zipped. A silk shirt dangled from a chair; sleeves twisted. The bed wasn’t made, and clearly, Lestat didn’t bother trying to get comfortable in hotels anymore. Otherwise he’d have unpacked, and like Louis, tried to make the white walls, and emptiness of the room seem filled, lived-in.

"You're supposed to do some interviews later, right? Before the show." Louis asked, tone just a bit kinder now. He pretended not to listen when Lestat spoke about these things, but he did. Unconsciously, he memorized his plans, like it was important for himself.

Lestat groaned. "Oui. Time has to be in my phone. You can check the calendar if you want. It has to be somewhere here…" He looked to the little table standing in some corner, but his phone wasn’t on it.

"Okay," Louis said. He looked around, but he didn’t spot the phone either. He didn’t really think about it, before going on:" Then let’s get you ready before you’ll get any more negative feedback you pretend to not care about."

The other man didn't protest as Louis moved past him, into the bedroom. He heard the rustle of fabric as Louis picked up clothes, the soft thud of a suitcase being shifted.

"Shirt," Louis said, holding up a crisp white button-down. By whatever miracle, it wasn’t all crumbled up. Even if – Lestat owned only a couple of clothes that could be described as respectable. And Louis, no, he wouldn’t dress him in just a centimetre of fabric. If Lestat wanted that, he’d have to pick something himself, which he currently seemed unable to with the way he wobbled into the bedroom.

Louis noted to feed him some water, before he’d send him off.

Wordlessly, Lestat wandered over, shrugging off the shirt he wore with sluggish movements. Louis looked away as he did, keeping his eyes trained on his own hands, careful not to see what he didn’t want to see. He handed Lestat the shirt in silence, who he then heard fumbling with the buttons. Louis watched him for a moment, then sighed and stepped in, brushing Lestat’s hands aside to do it himself. His fingers worked quickly, knuckles grazing Lestat's chest now and then. Neither of them spoke. Lestat's breath hitched once, but Louis pretended not to notice. When he finished, he smoothed the collar with both hands and stepped back. "There," he said, voice low. Then:“ Good.” Because anything else his voice didn’t support.

Lestat flexed his fingers at his sides, then lifted his head, blonde hair catching on the collar. "Thank you."

Louis shrugged. "I'm just making sure you don't look like shit for your interviews."

The other smiled faintly. "You just know how to make a man feel special." Louis shook his head but didn’t respond. He turned to the dresser, adjusting the small tray of watches and rings scattered there. Behind him, Lestat ran a hand through his hair. "You do remember time and place for later, don’t you? I’d hate for you to miss it."

“I’m more concerned you miss it.” Louis hesitated, thumb brushing the cool metal of a silver ring. "Yes, sure," he answered finally. "I remember. Don’t worry."

When he glanced up into the mirror, he caught the flicker of relief on Lestat's face before the other man turned away.

***

"So, you’re actually going to the concert tonight?" Grace asked Louis through the speaker, who currently stood in the middle of his room, torn between one pair of trousers and the other, amusement clear in her tone. "I thought you weren’t the biggest fan of loud music and blond egomaniacs. Then again…"

“Blue jeans, or... blue jeans? Grace, remind me why no one ever taught me how to pack for a trip.” Louis sighed, rubbing his temple. "He invited me. And Claudia wants to go. Figured I couldn’t say no when that’s kind of the reason he wanted me to join."

“Just wear your cleanest pair.” Grace hummed. "The reason he wanted you to join," she repeated, mocking. "You’re stupid. Really stupid. Claudia can’t be your daughter. My god-“ Grace laughed. “He didn’t invite you to watch his stupid show. He invited you for, well, you.” She seemed to shake her head through the phone. Louis picked up the jeans and slid them on. “Well then, and how is your obsession with Blondie going? Don’t give me details, I really don’t care about my brother’s sex life, but, anything worth telling me?"

Louis scoffed. "Obsessed is a strong word."

"Not the way you say it."

He exhaled sharply, but there was no real annoyance behind it. "Things are… fine."

"Right. No news then." Louis didn’t answer, and Grace just laughed. "You’ll figure it out," she said, voice softer now. "You will tell me about the concert, though. No excuses.”

They said their goodbyes, and Louis hung up, staring at his phone for a second before tapping out a quick text to Claudia. How’s school? You ready for later?

It took only a minute before she replied. Ah. So they’d have to talk about her being on her phone all day again. The tutor left. But I’m finishing my stuff. You want proof? She attached a picture. There she was, sitting over her books, and behind her, Viktor who held up a thumb. Okay, so Lestat had spoken the truth when he said he made sure she would do her things. Louis hadn’t known it meant Viktor would be the one assuring it. Then again, wouldn’t hurt if by it they were both forced to work on their education.

Louis shook his head, smiling slightly. He sent a final reminder about the time to meet for later, then tossed his phone aside and leaned back, exhaling. Tonight would be… something. He just wasn’t sure what yet.

***

"I don’t give a damn what the schedule says—fix it! I’m not walking on stage with the sound screwed up again. You had one job, and I expect it done before the next run-through! If you can’t handle it, I’ll find someone who can."

Lestat was yelling at someone when Louis and Claudia arrived; his voice rang sharp and impatient through the hall, carrying over the whir of soundchecks and shifting equipment. He stood among tangled cables and black cases, arms crossed over the fuzzy robe he wore, blonde hair damp and combed back, his expression one of barely restrained irritation.

Louis sighed. Of course. Suddenly, he was glad he’s not seen him all day since breakfast, and instead, has spent most of it in his room, brooding over his thoughts. Lestat has vanished just after getting ready for his interview, his day packed with preparations for the pending concert. Over lunch, they’ve briefly texted, Lestat letting Louis know that ‘by some miracle his hangover disappeared, but just so Louis knew, he’s not taken any drugs’, but that’s been about it.

Now, Louis wondered if the blonde has been like that all day – visibly tired, easily angered, clearly unhappy about everyone and everything. Louis wanted to tell him, that he’s brought all of it upon himself, and, that he wished he knew a way to make it better.

There was something about it, making Louis feel like something was going unsaid here, like he missed something, he should have done. But when he tried to find whatever it was, he failed, and kept going over the same couple of things. Last night, and how he hated to see Lestat overplaying, by acting the way he did. Lestat, and how he acted like Louis wanted to play his game. Lestat, who was so eager, and so hurt, and apparently didn’t see that himself. And in it all Louis, who was just as lost, and knew no way of helping either of them.

Claudia, standing beside him, leaned in. “What’s up with him? Didn’t sleep or something?”

“Doubt it.” Louis knew it, for a fact. He’s been unable to sleep himself, kept awake by Lestat’s restlessness. He remembered worrying, because he’s heard him through the wall, muttering at some point, then getting up, and walking around. It’s been six in the morning, when Lestat had finally stopped making sounds, and Louis had closed his eyes to a silence that felt louder than everything that’s been before.

The blonde rockstar finally turned mid-sentence, catching sight of them, and immediately as if both of them were some sort of cure to his misery, his expression shifted. The frustration smoothed out, replaced with something looser, easier. Not happy, far from it, but like he suddenly saw some reason to continue the evening. He dismissed whoever he had been talking to with a flick of his fingers and started toward them.

“There you are,” Lestat called, voice already warmer, as if he hadn’t been cursing someone out just a second ago. “I was about to send someone to grab you. Thought you forgot.”

“Forgot the reason you wanted us here? Can’t tour with you without – well, the tour.” Louis raised an eyebrow, but Lestat waved it off, before his attention landed on Claudia. “I see you dressed for the occasion,” he said with approval, taking in her outfit. Black dress, something Louis accepted her in without feeling like he had to be overly-protective and annoying. “Nice dress, ma petite.”

Claudia pointed at him. “Better than you. What’s that robe supposed to be?”

Lestat barked a laugh, slinging an arm briefly around her shoulders, which Claudia let happen, to Louis surprise. “Come on,” Lestat said, leading them toward the back of the venue.

The halls smelled of hairspray and warm stage lights, the air buzzing with movement as crew members passed by, carrying makeup kits, costumes, and equipment. It was hard pushing through them; only Lestat seemed to glide easily through the people, while Louis and Claudia had to wait a couple of times, letting others pass before they went about their way. Only when they reached the dressing rooms, Claudia slowed, her gaze drifting toward a nearby mirror where Tough-Cookie was getting her makeup done. The woman’s eyeshadow shimmered under the light, her lips painted a deep red. Louis didn’t want to say hi to her, so he didn’t.

Lestat noticed Claudia looking at her. “You like it?”

Claudia hesitated, then nodded.

“Well, that settles it,” he said easily, then turned toward a nearby assistant of some sort. “Show her around a bit. Let them get her fixed up if she wants.”

Louis tensed immediately. “Lestat, she’s fourteen—”

“Exactly,” Lestat said smoothly, glancing between them. His hand brushed against Louis’ shoulder, the skin heating beneath his touch. “Don’t worry. No one’s taking her anywhere she doesn’t want to go. Trust me.”

Claudia looked at Louis, then at Lestat, before ultimately deciding, “Fine. But if it’s ugly, I’m wiping it off.”

Lestat grinned. “Fair deal.”

The assistant led her away, and Louis exhaled, shaking his head as he watched his daughter walk away. “You just love making decisions for people, don’t you?” Lestat ignored him, nudging open the door to his own dressing room. “Come on.”

Inside, the space smelled of cologne, powder, and of course, it was Lestat’s room, like the days’ worth stench of cigarettes, hidden beneath everything else. A team was already waiting for the blonde rockstar, the chair by the mirror perfectly set up, ready for him to sit. He did so easily, leaning back with the casual air of someone who had done this a thousand times and who enjoyed it above everything else.

Louis leaned wordlessly against the wall, watching as the team started working—powder dusting across Lestat’s sharp cheekbones, fingers combing through his hair. The movements were practiced, effortless. Lestat, for his part, seemed entirely at ease, eyes fluttering shut as the brush traced his skin. Then, a woman took Lestat’s face into her hands and turned his head to one side, tilting him upwards just enough for him to gaze at the ceiling. With parted lips, he sat there, staring absently as she picked up a light red shade of lip-gloss, her fingers quick and practiced as she painted his lips.

It made Lestat look feminine. Made him pretty, drawing a nice contrast to the dark eyeshadow.

“You look like a spoiled house cat,” Louis said.

Lestat cracked an eye open, looking at his reflection in the mirror. “I take that as a compliment.” Louis huffed, smiling. After a beat, Lestat said, “We should go shopping tomorrow.”

Louis glanced at him. “Shopping? What are we, teenage girls?”

“And the gardens,” Lestat added, ignoring the stab. “Schönbrunn. You’ve not gone there yet, have you?”

“No. Claudia and I didn’t get that far. By the way, have I told you we got lost on our way back to the hotel because we were too incompetent to use google translate?” Louis considered Lestat’s offer for a moment, then nodded, not giving the other the chance to say something before he did:“ Alright. Shopping, then.”

Lestat’s grin was immediate, lazy and pleased. “Good.” Then, Lestat dismissed the last of the crew with a flick of his fingers. “Allez, dehors. Five minutes.” His tone was light, but it left no room for argument. The room emptied quickly, the door clicking shut behind the last assistant. Louis hadn’t moved from his spot near the vanity, though he wasn’t sure why. He picked up one of Lestat’s rings from the table, rolling it between his fingers, studying the weight of it. Behind him, fabric rustled—Lestat undoing his robe, shrugging it off his shoulders like it was nothing.

Louis turned slightly, then stopped himself. “Do you always just undress in front of people? I know you think so, but not everyone wants to see you naked.”

Lestat let out a low laugh. "Do you always ask questions you already know the answer to?"

"You know what I mean," Louis said, setting the ring back down. His face grew hot, even as he did everything but turn around. He suddenly wished he’d left the room as well, as wandered far off, maybe even as far as to leave the building, walk as far as he could until there were oceans between them again.

"Do I?" Lestat mused, drawing out the moment. "If I recall correctly, there’s never been one to not enjoy me."

Louis exhaled sharply, tilting his head to the ceiling as if asking for patience. Why, did Lestat have to do this? Behind him, Lestat smiled like a little devil, dragging a fresh shirt off the back of a chair. "Go on, then. Tell me what’s on your mind, since you’re clearly holding something back.”

Louis glanced at him—just briefly, before looking away again. “I think you don’t know how not to sexualize yourself.”

That made Lestat laugh, quick and delighted. He sounded fake, when he did that. “Ah, mon cœur, what a thing to say.”

“Am I wrong?”

Lestat buttoned his shirt slowly, clearly savouring the moment, how uncomfortable Louis was. “It’s called showmanship, Louis. Look, I learned English for all these great words.”

“You could have been alone in here, to get changed,” Louis pointed out.

“Mm.” Lestat smirked, rolling his sleeves up. “What’s your theory, then? That I seduce everything with a pulse? I don’t. You’d be surprised. Now, why don’t you stop talking about it? See, I’m dressed. Nothing indecent about me anymore.”

Louis pinched the bridge of his nose. “I think you like the attention. Even when there’s no one left to give it.”

Lestat’s looked like he had something to say to that, before he shook his head. “Peut-être.” He picked up a ring from the table, the one Louis had been playing with, and slipped it onto his right ring finger. “Or perhaps I just don’t care. Besides, why all of this effort without someone seeing it?”

Louis finally looked at him then, properly. Lestat met his gaze through the reflection, the smile gone, even when his eyes were warm and nearly kind. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Lestat clapped his hands together, all tension diffused. “Anyway! I have to look good for the stage, non?” He turned, flashing a grin. “Do I pass your inspection?”

Louis sighed, shaking his head as he stepped away from the vanity. "Let's just go, Lestat. Before your fans lose it."

The noise was sweeling, outside. Louis hadn’t given it a thought until now.

Following Lestat through the winding backstage halls, the low hum of last-minute preparations was still filling the air. The other dressing room they entered was lively, laughter and chatter bouncing off the walls. A few women were gathered around Claudia, fussing over her like she was some young starlet about to take the stage herself.

The girl sat before a large mirror, dressed in something glittering under the vanity lights. Her dark curls had been partially braided back in a couple of chunky strands, her makeup applied with a careful hand—soft enough to not make her look older than she was, but just dramatic enough to make her happy.

Louis leaned against the doorway, watching as she turned in her chair, her expression somewhere between pleased and self-conscious. “You like it, Daddy Lou?”

“Yeah.” He smiled. “You look great.”

One of the women beamed. “She’s an absolute doll, really. So polite.”

Louis raised a brow at that, smirking. “You sure we’re talking about the same person?”

Claudia rolled her eyes but laughed, hopping off the chair. “You look lovely, Claudia.” Lestat swept in then, ushering them both toward the door. “Come, come, it’s almost time. I don’t have all night for this.”

They were led through the halls once more, out to the VIP section just before the stage. The venue was already filling, the crowd a loud mess of teenagers, and some – to Louis – very dubious young adults. A little more clothing wouldn’t have hurt, and, maybe less of that ‘date at the graveyard’ vibe. Louis scanned the space, then turned to Lestat, who’s stopped following just a bit away, standing shielded from the crowd where the hall met the stage. Louis took a step back to be closer to him. “Where’s Viktor?”

Lestat shrugged, adjusting one of his rings. “Didn’t want to come. He’s seen it a million times.”

Louis frowned slightly, but before he could ask more, Lestat was already moving to get away. “I have to finish a few things before we start,” he said, glancing between them. “Enjoy the show.”

He squeezed Claudia’s shoulder lightly, then threw Louis one last look before disappearing backstage. It left Louis and Claudia to make their way into the little mass of people just before the stage, find a place to stand and wait for it all to begin. Louis could feel himself getting more nervous, as the minutes passed, and more worried, as he looked down at his daughter, who apparently had the time of her life. Here, in this inner circle, things seemed less dangerous to him than outside of it, but he still needed to keep his eyes on her, just in case.

There was no pre-band, and not knowing when the thing was supposed to start, Louis glanced at his phone. By some miracle, the connection was good enough. Worry not about little missy. Security is nearby. – The overly sexy blonde, who’s just realized he’s forgotten his favourite shoes at hotel. What am I paying people for?

Louis laughed. If it weren’t for Lestat’s remark about himself, he’d shown the message to Claudia. Mon cher, will you take grainy videos of me and put them on YouTube? Just so I know when I have to lean forward and flash my non-existent boobs. Okay, definitely not showing Claudia that chat now!

Only what felt like a minute later, the lights dimmed, and the collective energy of the crowd tightened, a held breath before the plunge. A moment later, the stage exploded into colour—blue and gold and deep crimson, flashing in time with the first sharp crack of drums. Louis tightened his hold on Claudia’s hand, meeting her smile as she looked up to him by returning it with a wink. The guitars wailed, a sound both sharp and smooth, and then—Lestat. The Vampire Lestat, as the glowing letters in the back reminded him.

Louis stood still; looking up on the stage in hopes to spot him first. Hidden behind smoke he was, but the outline in the light, clearly him.

When finally visible, Lestat moved like someone who had been born for only this and nothing else, prowling across the stage, his voice spilling over the music, the sound higher than Louis had expected. He’d unbuttoned most of his shirt again, golden hair wet at the temples from the stage heat. And his eyes—sharp, shining, moving across the people and then unmistakably turned to him. A toothy smile was flashed, sharp teeth, and a wink as Louis rolled his eyes.

He told himself he had only imagined it, but then again, Lestat looked nowhere else for the whole of the first song.

The music thrummed under his skin.

He had tried not to enjoy it every time he heard it. That first rehearsal he sat through, watching from the wings, he had told himself he was only tolerating it. An improvement to what he’s thought while watching his music videos, but still not warmed up to it. But now, in the middle of the crowd—this wasn’t tolerating anything. This was something else entirely.

The crowd moved around Claudia and him, swaying, reaching, caught up in the pull of the performance, and Louis could not look away, even as he pressed Claudia’s hand a little harder, making sure she was there, safe. But Claudia, she moved happily, enjoying the moment as much as he did.

And Louis, he thought he was used to Lestat’s dramatics, the way he lived to command attention, to take up space, but now, there was something different here. Something that felt less desperate. This wasn’t performance for the sake of being noticed. This was something natural, something that had always lived inside him, waiting for a stage big enough to hold it.

And still, his eyes kept coming back to Louis.

Each glance, each smirk, the way he drawled into the mic, voice dipping low and suggestive—it was deliberate. A show, certainly, but one played directly to him.

Louis’ jaw tensed.

It shouldn’t have mattered. It shouldn’t have affected him at all. But his throat felt tight, his hands restless. He forced himself to glance sideways, where Claudia was watching with open delight, mouthing some of the lyrics under her breath. Good. She was still enjoying herself. That was what mattered. Louis thought vaguely about her, saying just months ago she didn’t care about this, and she was like him, not going to listen to that music, just because it was getting popular. And now there both of them were, and even Louis, he mouthed the words along, not really singing them, but knowing them by heart.

He might pretend to not care, but Lestat, he did no such thing. Not by the way he looked, not by the way he sounded, not with how Louis felt like something had taken root in his chest, twisting tighter with every song.

The set moved in waves, some songs fast and rather electric, others slow and aching. Louis stood through all of it, motionless except for when he was looking around, or trying to follow Lestat and his movements over the stage. And then, just before the next song, Lestat lifted a hand, silencing the band.

The crowd hushed, eager, even when at first some shouted words echoed through. Louis wanted to tell all of them to shut it, because Lestat was going to say something.

On the stage, the blonde grinned, slightly breathless, pushing his damp hair from his face as he brought the mic to his lips. He has sat down on Alex’ lap. And right – the rest of the band was there as well, of course they were. Louis hadn’t really looked at them, and he wasn’t ashamed of it.

“You’ve been wonderful tonight,” Lestat panted into the crowd, his voice warm, intimate despite the size of the venue. Cheers answered him, laughter and whistles breaking across the space. Lestat waited for them to quiet before continuing. “I always say I do this for myself, but—” a slow smile, eyes scanning the audience, locking on Louis for just a fraction too long—“there are people I’m glad to share it with.”

Louis’ stomach turned.

“I have my band, who put up with me,” Lestat went on, motioning toward them as he stood up from the lap he sat on, earning playful gestures in return. Then, more deliberately, he said, “I also have some good friends with me tonight. Very special people. And they know who they are. I rather hope one of them is enjoying this, even when he pretends he doesn’t. I see you, mon cher.”

Louis wanted to sink into the ground, or just vanish right on the spot. Claudia glanced up at him, grinning slightly, nudging him with her elbow, and he gestured for her to look back on the stage, before he’d say something embarrassing, just to cope with not being able to cope.

Lestat tilted his head, his hair catching the light from behind him. Then, with a flash of his fake teeth, he added, “This one’s for him.”

And the music hit again.

Louis exhaled sharply, shaking his head. As if the whole thing weren’t already humiliating enough. Then the song started, and he nearly laughed, humourless, captivated. Lestat had picked the biggest insult of it all. Another of his beloved Madonna covers. Figures. He should have expected something like this. The fact, that Lestat nearly swallowed the microphone as he made ‘Deeper and Deeper’ sound nearly depressing, yearning, didn’t make it better. He sang it like he did everything else—without hesitation, without shame. He let the words wrap around him, his body moving in ways that Louis should not have been paying attention to, and yet—

More heat crept up his neck.

He kept his face neutral.

Lestat was playing with him. That much was obvious. This wasn’t just a performance, wasn’t just some casual stage flirtation—this was a push. A test. Louis could feel the weight of his attention pressing against him even when he looked away. The audience, of course, was eating it up.

Louis, on the other hand, he would not look at him. He would not give him the satisfaction.

At least, not yet.

It was the last song Lestat played, before the stage darkened, and the people left the hall in a never-ending stream of black, and glitter, and loud conversations. Louis and Claudia stood there for a while, until she turned to him, and giggled about one thing or the other, all while Louis thought about nothing, but how infuriating Lestat was, and how un-child-friendly that had just been.

Backstage was chaotic.

Crew members moved between cables and equipment, shouting over each other as they tore things down or adjusted whatever needed adjusting before everyone left for the night. Laughter, stray notes from a guitar being tested, and the occasional burst of chatter filled the air. The energy from the performance still buzzed through the space, though the stage itself was already completely dark, the main lights now focused behind the scenes.

Louis and Claudia waited near the dressing rooms, away from the worst of the noise. It had been over twenty minutes since the show ended, and still, Lestat hadn’t appeared.

Claudia was bouncing on her heels, her excitement still palpable. “God,” she said, stretching the word out. “That was incredible.” She looked up at Louis, eyes shining. “You have to admit it, you liked it. I liked it. It’s not my kind of music, but it’s good. We will go to the next show too, won’t we Daddy Lou? You liked it too, right?”

Louis exhaled, shaking his head with a quiet, amused sound. “You act like I’ve never seen him perform before.”

“Yeah, but not like that. And I haven’t seen it yet.”

Louis didn’t respond. He watched his daughter turn around, look at everything around them.

And then, finally after another while, Lestat appeared.

He was still glistening with sweat, his shirt unbuttoned at the top, sticking slightly to his skin. His hair, dishevelled, clung to his temples. He had changed his jacket but hadn’t bothered with much else, and the effect was—

Louis forced himself to look at his face.

Lestat’s eyes swept over both of them, taking them in. Then, a slow grin spread across his lips. “So?” he asked, still slightly breathless, still riding the high of the performance. Someone handed him a bottle of water in passing, and he opened it, chugged most of it fast, then put the bottle down on a nearby pile of boxes.

Claudia launched herself forward first, grabbing his wrist. “That was amazing,” she told him. “Like, insane. I mean, this was really good! I can come to the next show too, right?” Lestat laughed, eyes crinkling. “Merci, ma chérie.” He touched her shoulder lightly. “And you didn’t get bored halfway through?”

She scoffed. “No, obviously. I was watching the whole time.”

“Good.” He beamed at her. “Glad I didn’t disappoint.”

Louis said nothing.

Lestat turned toward him.

“Well?” the blonde prompted. “Nothing to say?” He sounded like a little devil, saying that. Coaxing the words from his lips, knowing how little he wanted to say them. Louis held his gaze for a moment, then tilted his head slightly. “You’ve performed in front of thousands of people before, and yet you need my approval?”

Lestat smirked, stepping closer. “Évidemment.”

Louis’ throat felt tight.

He wasn’t doing this. Not here, not now.

Instead he shrugged, forcing something casual into his expression. “You were fine.” Oh, it sounded like a lie. To him, to Lestat, to Claudia, who was silent the whole time, watching them without shame, as if she couldn’t at least pretend to be busy. Why, she was on her phone all the time, couldn’t she text someone? It’s been days since she updated Madeleine – she could be doing that now, instead of leaning in as they talked.

“Fine?” Lestat repeated, mock offense lacing his voice. “I gave the performance of my life, and you say fine?”

Louis exhaled through his nose. “What do you want me to say?”

 “Say you liked it.” Lestat pushed a golden curl behind his ear, his voice a deep, demanding purr.

Louis arched a brow. “You seemed like you already know I liked it.” At that, Lestat grinned again, slow, self-satisfied. The blonde was blushing, if it wasn’t the heat, reddening his face beautifully. “I just wanted to hear you say it, mon cher.”

Lestat was still looking at him. Still waiting.

Louis felt it like heat against his skin. Finally, he sighed, shaking his head. “You were good,” he admitted, quiet, begrudging. Lestat’s smile widened. “Très bien.” Louis ignored the way his stomach twisted.

Claudia, still watching the exchange, folded her arms with an exaggerated sigh. “Okay. Ew. Are you done? I’m hungry and tired.”

Lestat only laughed.

The noise of the venue was thinning out even more now—techs tearing down equipment, roadies packing cases, and the murmur of the approaching bandmates. As expected, they were the first to call over, demanding their singer’s attention. "Lestat!"

Lestat turned toward Louis; eyebrows raised in a silent question.

Louis, arms crossed, shook his head. "Not tonight. Besides, we need to get Claudia to bed." Claudia protested next to them, but she was ignored.

"Oh, come on—" Lestat whined near miserably.

"No," Louis said flatly.

"It happened once” Lestat protested, clearly knowing what Louis was on about, opening his lips to say more, but Louis interrupted:” Twice, you mean. The answer is no.”

In the back, the bandmates said something that Louis didn’t properly understand. Somewhere nearby more equipment was being shifted, the place getting louder by the minute. "Don’t mind Louis," Lestat said to the lingering others. "He just likes to feel in control."

"I do like control," Louis agreed easily, tone kept very carefully easy. "Which is why you and I are gonna go have celebratory drinks somewhere I can manage it."

Lestat blinked. "You and me?"

"Unless you’d rather go with them." Louis cocked his head toward the guitarist, who immediately grinned and gave an exaggerated thumbs-up. Lestat’s eyes gleamed:" I think I’ll take my chances with you."

"Thought so." Louis gestured toward the side door. "Come on. I’ll even let you buy the first round before I start complaining.”

The car ride back to the hotel was quiet, in the way tension was quiet—something felt but not spoken.

Lestat had taken the window seat in the back, lounging in that way only he could, one arm resting against the door, the other draped across his lap. He looked utterly at ease, but Louis knew better. He could feel the glances, the way Lestat’s gaze kept flicking toward him, brief but weighted, like he was waiting for something.

Louis sat in the middle, silent, arms folded as he stared straight ahead, jaw tight.

Claudia was next to him, scrolling through her phone, humming absently under her breath, looking like she’d fall asleep soon. It was getting late, and usually, he would have already sent her off to bed. But Louis, he could hardly focus on anything but the blonde to his left, and now, in the dim glow of the car’s interior, Louis felt his presence like static, like heat. Every time he turned slightly, the air between them pulled tight, like a thread wound too taut.

He wasn’t looking at him. He wasn’t.

And yet, out of the corner of his eye, he caught it—Lestat, watching him, the edge of a smirk curling his lips. Louis exhaled through his nose, barely resisting the urge to shake his head. Lestat chuckled, almost like he knew.

When they arrived, Claudia barely said goodnight before disappearing toward her room, muttering something about wanting to wash off the makeup.

That left them.

Louis turned back toward Lestat, expecting him to move, to say something flippant and be on his way, but instead, he lingered. Somehow they’ve forgotten their plan to pay the hotel’s bar a visit.

They stood in the dimly lit hallway, just close enough for the space between them to feel like a deliberate thing. Lestat’s shirt was still undone at the collar, his hair still tousled from the stage, from the night. The aftermath of performance clung to him, this reckless, electric energy.

Louis swallowed.

The other’s gaze dropped briefly before flicking back up, unreadable. "You coming in?" Lestat asked, voice low, casual. He expected an answer, and he’d get that answer. Louis should say no. A clear no, one that made sure a line was drawn. Instead, he hesitated. And Lestat knew it.

A slow smile crept onto his face, not cocky, but something softer. Almost fond. Louis exhaled, rolling his shoulders like it might shake something off. “Just for one drink,” he said finally.

Lestat’s smile deepened, pleased. "Of course," he said, like it had been Louis’ idea all along.

Inside, Lestat poured himself a drink, then another for Louis, though Louis hadn’t really asked for one. The ice clinked as it settled in the glass, and Louis watched the movement of Lestat’s hands—graceful, familiar. Too familiar. He shouldn’t know them so well.

He took the glass when it was offered, but he didn’t drink. Instead, he looked around the room, at the discarded clothes draped over a chair, then back to Lestat, at the faint smudge of black liner beneath his eyes, remnants of the night refusing to be washed away.

Lestat sat down on the couch, sprawling, and gestured for Louis to do the same.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. There was nothing to say that would make this feel easier, or less like it would crush Louis under its weight. His heart, it was a heavily pounding thing, hammering, as if to tell him something with every beat against his ribcage.

Then—

“You were watching me.”

Louis inhaled sharply, turning to him. “What?”

Lestat smirked, tilting his head back against the couch. “At the show. I felt it.” Louis huffed a short, incredulous breath. “You were performing. Of course I was watching.” Lestat made a low, pleased noise, tapping his fingers against his glass:“ I like when you do.”

Louis shifted in his seat, tightening his grip on the drink he hadn’t touched. “You make a show of it.”

“Of course I do,” Lestat murmured, amused. He turned his head then, looking at Louis fully, his eyes sharp in the dim light. “What do you think, Louis?”

The question hung between them, and Louis had the distinct feeling Lestat already knew the answer, had always known it. Louis exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "I think you think too much of yourself."

"Maybe." Lestat smiled.

They talked about the show. Nothing serious, just little things—the energy of the crowd, the setlist, the way Claudia had practically vibrated with excitement the entire night. Lestat, as always, was smug about it, stretching like a cat under praise, but Louis could hear the genuine satisfaction beneath the performance of it.

It was easy, almost too easy. Louis found himself sinking into it, letting the tension of the night melt away. Talking to Lestat, it really was the easiest thing in the world. Even, when he thought of him arrogant, or eccentric, or sometimes, a little blinded by himself. Impulsive, and reckless, and beautiful, especially when the light hit him like that, and he was a mess, but he was being handsome at it, and he was rambling on in words that were lulling Louis in, with that deep, velvet like accent.

Louis moved before he even thought about it.

His hand shot out, knocking Lestat’s glass from his fingers, sending it clattering to the floor, ice and whiskey spilling over the carpet. Lestat barely had time to react before Louis was on him, pressing forward, kissing him.

It wasn’t careful, wasn’t measured—it was all force, all urgency, as if something in him had finally snapped.

Lestat made a startled sound against his mouth but recovered quickly, hands finding Louis’ waist, fingers digging in, pulling him closer, kissing him back with something almost feverish.

It was too much.

Maybe even too little. He was soft, and warm, and tasted of coffee, and cigarettes, and chewing gum. He tasted, like Louis had subconsciously imagined him tasting.

But Louis jerked away suddenly, breathless, his heart slamming against his ribs like it was trying to break free.

And Lestat stared at him, wide-eyed, lips parted. He reached for him instinctively, but Louis was already pulling back, putting space between them. He watched Lestat lifting himself up, breathing so heavily his chest rose and fell in noticeable shudders.

"Shit," Lestat muttered. He ran a hand through his hair. "Shit, Louis, I—sorry. I thought—"

"It’s fine." Louis’ voice was rough, uneven. He swallowed hard, shaking his head. "Forget it." He didn’t understand why it was Lestat who apologized. As if he had begun it. And maybe, he had, that night in the concert hall, or even before, when he’s first flirted with him in his little bookshop – or it wasn’t him, and it was Louis after all, meeting him with the same, damned desperation, even when it was burning slower, and he was pouring water into the flames. Water, that could just as well have been fuel, because nothing changed, and nothing ever had, even when all he’s been thinking about were these pretty lies, telling him it had worked out just like he wanted it to.

"I wasn’t trying to—"

"I know." Louis exhaled slowly, willing himself to settle. "It’s okay."

Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Lestat’s knuckles were white where he gripped his knee, his other hand curling into the couch. His lipstick has been smeared form his lips to his cheekbone.

Then, quietly—

"Why can’t we?" Lestat asked, voice cracking. "What are you so scared of?"

Louis didn’t answer at first. His throat was tight. He stared into his abandoned glass like it might offer something more than whiskey and regret. Then he looked to where Lestat’s drink had landed, the shards of glass sticking from the carpet. He made sure to remember he would pick them up, because he couldn’t really stand the idea of having someone else cleaning this mess, or even leaving Lestat alone with it.

"I’m not scared," Louis said finally, when he managed to stop his thoughts. His voice was almost too low to hear, a flat, emotionless thing. "I just…" He trailed off, jaw tight. Lestat didn’t push, just waited. Louis exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. "I had a complicated relationship with it." He gestured vaguely, then dropped his hand. "With this."

Lestat’s brows pulled together, his expression shifting from something hesitant to something softer. He understood. Even more confident than him, than most people, or at least, pretending to be that, he understood.

Louis looked away, just so he wouldn’t see those clear blue eyes. "I don’t even know why I’m telling you this."

"Because I asked," Lestat answered. He’d crossed his arms, putting them to his chest like to shield himself. Shield himself from Louis? Louis wanted to reach out, touch him again, just to let him know this wasn’t his fault. He saw how much he tried. Saw, even when he deliberately turned blind to it all. The gestures, the looks, the words, the subtle begging that always occurred.

Louis shook his head slightly. "Maybe." He sighed, tilting his head back against the couch. He could feel Lestat watching him, waiting. "My father," he started, then corrected himself. "My whole family—they were religious. I told you that. My brother, especially." He let the words settle before continuing. "And they hated it. Hated me for it. Made sure I knew. Threatened me with therapy. My Mama, she was gentler but… and Grace, she really didn’t care, but…"

Lestat's gaze was steady. "What happened?"

Louis' mouth twisted. "Nothing." His tone was bitter, slicing through the air. Lestat frowned slightly, but Louis cut him off before he could say anything. "Why does it always have to be something traumatic?" His voice was sharp. "They hated me. They ridiculed me. That was enough. So no, nothing happened. But that doesn’t change what it did to me."

Lestat was quiet. Louis exhaled, pressing his fingers against his temple. "I learned to hate it, too. And every time I didn’t hate it for just a couple of nights, it just came back worse. And it’s gotten better, but I can’t-“

The words sat between them, raw and unspoken for too long. Lestat looked at him carefully, then murmured, "Do you still?"

Louis opened his mouth, then closed it. He swallowed hard, turning his face away. "I don’t know." Louis shook his head. “How are you doing this? Be so confident?”

Lestat let out a slow breath, leaning back against the couch. His feet pushed against Louis’ as he moved, trying to get more comfortable in the cramped space. They both weren’t exactly small, and the couch wasn’t made to fit them both sprawling on it like they did.

"The first time my father caught me kissing a boy, he beat me so hard I didn’t sit for days. I don’t know how old I was." Lestat’s voice was light, like he was reciting something distant, something that had long stopped hurting. "Taught me only to not give a fuck about what anyone says. The more I didn’t listen, the more he hit. The more I kept doing it." Louis glanced at him, but Lestat only shrugged, a wry, knowing smile on his lips. A smile that had no right being there, by the things he just said. "Why change yourself so much, just to please someone whose heart is as cold as ice?"

Louis looked away.

Lestat exhaled sharply, pushing himself up from the couch. "Come on."

Louis frowned. "What—"

"Come have a smoke with me."

He didn’t wait for an answer, just walked towards the balcony door and pulled it open, stepping out into the fresh night air.

Louis hesitated only a second before following.

Outside, the city stretched below them, golden lights shimmering in the dark. The hum of Vienna at night was distant, muffled by their height, by the glass and concrete of the hotel. Lestat lit a cigarette, took a slow drag, then passed it to Louis without a word. The nicotine hit like a blessing, dulling whatever he thought about right now, easing the nervous shaking of his hands.

They stood in silence for a moment, the night air cool against their skin, the faint scent of smoke curling between them. Then, softly—"Am I trying for nothing?" Lestat asked.

Louis glanced at him. "What?"

"Will you keep rejecting me?"

Louis swallowed, looking away. "I don’t know."

"You don’t know?"

"No." He took another slow drag, letting the smoke fill his lungs before exhaling. "I’m confused."

Lestat made a quiet noise, something between amusement and frustration. "You’re always confused, Louis."

“Only with you.” Louis said. He didn’t want to say it, but he was starting to feel like he couldn’t keep up pretending anymore. Louis exhaled. His grip on the cigarette tightened. He didn’t say more. He didn’t have to.

Lestat smiled, a soft, knowing thing. "Can I kiss you again?"

Louis turned to him then. He looked at his lips, and how stained they were from the makeup, and how heavily Louis has clung to them. He gazed at them, and he imagined how Lestat would taste like, if he’d kiss him here against the wall, feeling the warmth of him in contrast to the cold wind, and taste the smoke directly from his lips. He could do it, and he could have him, and he could push his guilt away, if only he said the word. Lestat, he wasn’t selfless, but he’d do whatever he asked, even when he was pretending to be in control of it. Louis really wanted to say yes.

"Ask me again, after your next concert. After you sing for me."

Lestat blinked. He looked disappointed and somehow sated at the same time, and then, he let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Mon dieu. You really are full of surprises, aren’t you? My Louis.”

Louis stood there for a moment, the warmth of Lestat’s gaze lingering on him like one of these soft touches. Barely there, grazing his skin gently.

How easy it would be, he thought. To stay. To close the small space between them and let himself have this, just once, just tonight. He could already imagine it—Lestat’s hands on him, his mouth, the press of his body against his own. The thought alone sent a shiver through him, something deep and aching, and he knew, even when he pretended he didn’t feel any of it, that he’d be touching himself later, thinking about nothing else, only to regret so much later on.

But he knew himself. Knew the way his mind worked, the way doubt would sink its teeth into him the moment it was over. So instead, he stepped back, because if he stayed, he’d do something he didn’t want done like this.

Louis inhaled the last of the cigarette. He breathed the smoke out, and Lestat closed his eyes, breathing in deep. "Good night, Lestat," he said, voice steady. Lestat tilted his head, studying him, but didn’t try to stop him.

Louis turned, walked inside, and left the room before he could change his mind.

Chapter Text

It was their last day in Vienna, and the morning had started with Louis making sure Claudia had finished packing. She had groaned about it, dragging her feet, but eventually, their suitcases were neatly stacked by the door, waiting to be taken by someone from Lestat’s team. Afterwards, they all met downstairs for breakfast, the atmosphere lighter than one would expect for a farewell to the city. Lestat, as usual, had breezed in last, stretching luxuriously as he sat down, declaring with a self-satisfied smile, “One more day to squeeze everything we can out of Vienna.”

With most of the major sights already visited, they were left to decide what to do with their final hours. Lestat had booked a flight for the early evening, not wanting to make them fly at night again.

“I want to go back to that park,” Claudia said between bites of her sandwich. “And we still need to get souvenirs. Madeleine will kill me if I come back empty-handed. I promised her.”

Viktor hummed in agreement, stirring his coffee. “I wouldn’t mind stopping by a record store. There's one I read about that has some rare vinyl’s. Might be worth a visit.”

Louis glanced at Lestat, who, wasn’t really doing anything but stare at him. It was starting to get uncomfortable; that blue-eyed stare, as if nothing else in the room was worthy looking at. Pointedly, Louis returned that stare, until Lestat seemed to notice what he was doing.

“And you?” Louis asked, not looking away.

Lestat leaned back, tilting his head, breaking the contact. “There are still a few bookshops I’d like to take you to. Something to remember Vienna by.”

Louis scoffed. “A bookshop? You mean another bookshop? I can’t fly home with my suitcase full of books. You know how this ends.” Yes, last time he’s spent convincing himself not to overdo it with his purchases. Louis had a bad habit of ignoring his own advises.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Lestat said, dramatically placing a hand on his chest. “I was only trying to make this nice for you. But if you really think that more books are a bad idea…”

“No, no. I didn’t say that”, Louis interrupted, clearly loosing this conversation, “You can stop that act now, Lestat. Of course I’m not saying no to that.”

Lestat beamed, victorious.

They rode mostly in silence, Vienna gliding past the windows like a city caught mid-breath. Narrow streets, elegant facades, and coffee shops on every corner. The driver dropped Viktor and Claudia off at the record store, then drove Louis and Lestat a couple of streets further, leaving them near the city centre, where cobblestone streets replaced asphalt, and the scent of what could only be described as late summer air filled the streets.

“This is the one,” Lestat said, gesturing toward a shop tucked beneath an arched entryway. Its sign was carved wood, worn around the edges: Antiquariat Steiner. The front window displayed a chaotic array of leather-bound books and delicate maps curled at the corners. Louis only thought, that Lestat knew him too well, and was really tempting his ability to keep himself in check.

They stepped inside, the bell above the door chiming softly, reminding Louis of his own little store. The scent of old paper and dust hit Louis immediately, grounding and familiar. The walls were lined with shelves that stretched up to the ceiling, some tilted with age, others polished to a quiet shine. He hadn’t really given home a thought in days; how much he missed it, and how glad he’d be to be there again. It was nice, having a break, but it wasn’t nice feeling like he left something behind. Something, that was now closed, darkened, ready for him to be unlocked and become part of his usual routine again.

Lestat whistled lowly. “Told you it was your kind of place. Look at that.”

“You were right.” Louis ran his fingers along a shelf of worn spines. The books didn’t match in height or style; they looked gathered rather than curated. “How’d you find this one?”

“I asked around. After the last was a flop.” Lestat strolled deeper into the store, leaving Louis behind near the entrance. “One of the sound guys is from here. Asked him to suggest a few.”

“You actually listened to someone else for once? Impressive.” Louis picked up a book, turned it around to try and read the back of it. Of course, not much to understand, but he liked the worn leather, the fact that this collection wasn’t all new, dull, repetitive paperbacks. The kind of books he rarely sold, because most of his costumers weren’t choosing the books the way he did.

Lestat shot him an amused look but didn’t respond. Instead, he crouched to examine a shelf near the floor. Louis wandered toward the back, where a narrow staircase spiralled upward. The place seemed deserted aside from the faint sound of a radio somewhere behind the counter.

Louis thumbed through a stack of old postcards. Half were blank; the others bore faded scrawls in German and French, and others, but those he didn’t recognize. He wasn’t good with languages. His French was alright, he knew how to order something in Italian, and he used to have some Latin courses, but that knowledge was long forgotten. He picked one up, reading the looping script on the back, showing it to Lestat.

“What’s that saying?”

The blonde furrowed his brows. He didn’t read it aloud for him, and he didn’t translate. Louis wanted to make a joke about Lestat’s eyesight, by the way he was squinting at the letters from afar. He didn’t. He only set the card down again.

“You find anything?” Lestat’s voice drifted from the next aisle, after a moment.

“Maybe. Not sure.” Louis rounded the corner and found him sitting cross-legged on the floor, flipping through a thin volume. “What’s that?”

“A book of poems.” Lestat held it up: pale green cover, gold lettering. “Rilke. In German. Thought it might make me look cultured.”

Louis huffed a laugh. “You don’t need the book for that. Not how it works.”

Lestat’s smile softened for half a second before he dropped his gaze back to the page. He turned it slowly, more thoughtful than Louis expected. Louis crossed his arms and leaned against the bookshelf next to him. “You actually like poetry?”

“When it’s good.” Lestat tapped the page with one finger. “This one… it’s all about wanting to live everything at once. To feel all of it.” He hesitated. “I get that.”

Louis wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he knelt beside him instead, glancing at the open page. Again, he couldn’t read the German, but something about the way Lestat held the book made the words feel heavy. After a moment, Lestat shut it and stood. “I’m buying it.”

“Of course you are.” Louis smiled as he stood, too. “How else would you impress me?”

“Oh, I gave up on impressing you ages ago.” Lestat shot him a lopsided grin. “Now I just hope to confuse you.”

“Mission accomplished.”

They brought their selections to the counter: Lestat’s poetry and a slim book of essays Louis had picked up last minute. The cashier, a middle-aged woman with round glasses, smiled politely as she rang them up.

“Zwanzig Euro, bitte,” she said.

Lestat fumbled through his pockets. “Moment,” he muttered, then handed over a few crumpled bills. The woman counted the money, then tilted her head. “Sie brauchen noch drei Euro.”

Lestat blinked. “Ah.” He patted his jacket again. “Trois… drei… damn.” He looked helplessly at Louis. “I forgot the word for ‘one second.’”

“Wait,” Louis said, smothering a laugh. “You got this.”

Lestat groaned. “I do not have this.” He turned back to the cashier and gave a sheepish smile. “Einen… moment?”

The woman chuckled softly. She was putting up politely with them. “Ja. Einen Moment.” Louis crossed his arms, watching the exchange. Lestat exhaled with exaggerated relief while Louis handed over the extra euros, not wanting to wait for him to further embarrass himself with this. They left the store with the bag dangling from Louis’s hand and Lestat muttering, “Einen moment. I’m writing that down.”

“I’m impressed you tried.”

“I live to impress you.”

Louis didn’t answer. He just walked beside Lestat as they made their way back through the cobblestone streets, both of them weighed down by the small, fragile warmth of a morning well spent. He smiled to himself, as Lestat reached for the bag, but he didn’t allow him to take it. Instead, he held it tighter, and looked at him. Louis and Lestat made their way through the narrow streets to the record store where Claudia and Viktor were waiting. Louis had his hands tucked into his coat pockets, while Lestat walked beside him with an easy, unbothered stride.

“How many languages do you speak, Lestat?” Louis asked suddenly, glancing at him. “Just asking because you’re handling this way better than me. I gave up after I tried to order a coffee, and the barista gave me a frown before switching to English.”

Lestat chuckled, tilting his head. “A couple.”

Louis gave him a dry look. “A couple?”

“Fine, a few,” Lestat corrected. “French, obviously. English. German, to some degree, as that last incident has proven. Italian. Enough Spanish to charm my way into trouble. My Latin’s fine, and I can manage some Greek, but no promises, because it’s been a while.” He smirked. “Why, are you impressed?”

“No.”

Lestat let out an exaggerated sigh. “Liar.”

Before Louis could respond, they reached the record store, where Claudia and Viktor were already stepping out, bags in hand.

Viktor was the first to speak, holding up a small stack of records. “They had some interesting finds. Look at this one, Papa—” He flipped through them, showing Lestat some obscure cover art, and Lestat hummed in approval, nodding along.

Claudia, on the other hand, barely acknowledged the music, instead waving a set of postcards in Louis’ direction. “Got these for Madeleine and Grace,” she announced. “And a few for myself.”

Louis took one from her, glancing at the faded print of Vienna’s skyline. “Nice.”

Claudia grinned. “They better appreciate them. I had to pick through a million ugly ones first.”

Lestat clapped his hands together. “Well then, if we’re all satisfied with our treasures, let’s move on. A final visit to the park, yes?”

They all agreed, and together, they set off, walking down the lively streets of Vienna one last time.

The park stretched out wide and green beneath the late afternoon sun. The air was crisp, the warmth of the day mellowed by a cool breeze. The four of them strolled along a gravel path lined with benches and statues, Claudia and Viktor a few steps ahead, already deep in conversation about the best place to find some more souvenirs that weren’t, as Claudia put it, ugly tourist crap.

Ahead, an ice cream stand came into view. Claudia spotted it first. "Ice cream," she announced, pointing. She sounded younger than her fourteen years, and Louis smiled at that, glad for a second that she wasn’t slipping away from him too soon. There were still so many things they’ve never done, never talked about, and it seemed that there were not many years left to catch up on it all.

They veered toward the stand. "My treat," Lestat declared, after hearing everyone’s order, and repeating it in some broken German-English mixture to the salesman. Louis gave him a flat look, the urge to slap his wallet away growing:" You've paid for everything else. My turn."

Lestat clutched his chest as though shot. "Mon dieu! You want me to let you pay for ice cream? What kind of man would that make me?"

"One with more money than sense."

The vendor behind the cart blinked between them, clearly unsure whose money to accept. Viktor’s muttering was audible in the back – Louis didn’t have to speak a perfect French to understand how annoyed he was with them, and their repetitive bickering over something so useless.

Louis crossed his arms. "I’m paying."

"No, I'm paying," Lestat shot back, already brandishing some money. Louis shook his head, fished out a few euros, and slid them across the counter before Lestat could react. "Too slow," he said, deadpan.

Lestat let out an exaggerated gasp. "The betrayal. After all I've done for you."

"Yeah, yeah. Go cry about it in your strawberry cone."

Viktor snorted. He leaned down to whisper something to Claudia, who nearly dropped her cone while bending over, laughing at whatever he’s said. Lestat opened his mouth, probably to argue some more, but Louis steered him away from the stand with a hand on his shoulder, not wanting to say the pained expression of the young man behind it anymore, who clearly hadn’t signed up for costumers as annoying as them. They found a bench beneath a massive oak tree and settled down, the kids plopping onto the grass in front of them.

"So," Louis said after a moment, licking his cone, "that interview yesterday."

Lestat groaned. "Non. Not again. I knew you weren’t going to stop bring that up."

"I'm just saying, when they asked if you'd settled down lately, maybe you shouldn’t have said, ‘Define settled’ and made some sarcastic remarks about that poor woman’s hair."

Lestat removed the sunglasses he’s put on just a couple minutes ago, and waved them at Louis with his free hand. "I was being charming." The way he bit into his cone was apparently supposed to some act of underlining his words, but the way the sugary thing clung to his nose, made the act only more amusing to Louis:" You sounded like a man trying to explain away a midlife crisis."

"Please. I was charismatic."

"You said, 'I’m allergic to commitment, but it looks good on me.'"

Claudia laughed outright, and turned her head to look at them. "Seriously? You said that?"

"Out of context, it sounds worse," Lestat argued. "The journalist laughed."

"She laughed because she didn’t know what else to do, after you insulted her, and rambled on about whatever it was that you were trying to make a point of," Louis said. “If that’s how you always act, then I don’t understand how anyone can be your fan. You were acting like some spoiled brat.”

Lestat looked genuinely offended for a second before a grin broke across his face. "Brat, huh? You're just mad because she called me a 'rock icon.'"

Louis rolled his eyes. "Yeah. So iconic. Next time, just as well let me do the interview. I can pretend to be you. Would work better than whatever that was.”

"Absolutely not. You’d glare the whole time. They’d think I kidnapped you."

Louis opened his mouth to retort but paused as Lestat reached out and swiped his ice cream, taking a bite without anything hinting remorse. "Hey—"

"What? You paid for it. Sharing is caring."

Louis shook his head, but the corner of his mouth twitched. He only reached out, getting back his cone. He looked at the mark Lestat has left on it. Thought about his lips on it, and how he now licked them, grinning as bright as the sun.

Claudia gave Viktor a smug nudge. "Told you they were weird," she whispered.

"Totally weird," Viktor agreed, mimicking her tone. Neither of the adults noticed. They were too busy arguing about the superiority of vanilla over strawberry, after Lestat declared Louis had no taste, and the other called him a child.

***

The airport terminal was bright, all artificial lighting and polished floors, the low sound of hushed voices blending with the occasional announcement over the speakers. Neither time nor a certain sense of place seemed to be around them; there was only the stale airport air, and the tiredness, and the fact that one city was going to be left behind for another.

They sat at a table near the large windows overlooking the tarmac, trays of unimpressive airport fast food in front of them. Louis had picked up burgers and fries, nothing fancy, but it would do, especially with how whiney and easy to complain everyone’s gotten. The day felt longer than it had been, and hours seemingly stretched endless, the day an endless thing that just wouldn’t end.

Claudia sat cross-legged in her chair, unwrapping her food with a frown. “I thought European airports would have better food.”

“Lower your expectations,” Louis said, taking a bite of his own. “It’s an airport.”

Lestat, meanwhile, absently peeled the wrapper off, his face turned towards the windows, and the darkening sky past it. He turned them, sat back in his chair, watching people pass by. The famous rockstar looked even more out of place than all of them together; he belonged in some golden sun, or the light of a stage, Louis thought, and not under this cruel light that made him seem to be tired of it all.

Louis glanced at him. “Why aren’t we flying with your whole crew, anyway?”

Lestat turned his gaze to him, slow and amused, even with the tired eyes. “You’d really want to sit through that chaos?”

Viktor snorted, picking at his fries. “Because it always ends up messy,” he said dryly, gesturing with one of the fries. “Last time, someone was doing coke in the toilet. And when I say someone, we all know who I mean.”

Claudia, mid-bite, froze. Her eyes widened. “Wait—what?”

Louis turned sharply to Viktor, jaw tightening. “Jesus, Vik.”

“What?” Viktor raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “I’m not lying.”

“Yeah, well, maybe don’t talk about shit like that in front of my fourteen-year-old daughter.”

Claudia, still looking vaguely horrified, turned to Lestat. “Is that true?”

Lestat, unbothered, waved a dismissive hand. “Of course not,” he said smoothly. “It was a joke.” Viktor just gave his father a long, knowing look. Lestat ignored him, and instead, reached over the table to grab his Coca-Cola paper cup. Louis sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Unbelievable.” It wasn’t. He didn’t say that.

The tension in the air lingered for a moment longer, before Lestat leaned over, plucking a single fry from Louis’ tray. “So touchy, mon cœur,” he murmured, popping it into his mouth.

Louis rolled his eyes but didn’t swat him away. He was too glad to do that. “You know I’m right.”

“I know you’re always looking for something to be annoyed about,” Lestat countered, then yawned. “I didn’t do it”, he muttered, and Louis wasn’t sure if he should believe him.

Claudia, seeing the mood shift, relaxed again, refocusing on her food.

They sat there for a while, the four of them in their little bubble, waiting out the minutes until their flight. Luckily, the conversation drifted, turning lighter—Lestat making snide comments about the quality of airport food, picking up on Claudia’s earlier words, and Louis arguing back, Claudia laughing at both of them.

It was easy. Familiar.

And as much as Louis has come to hate airports, he found he didn’t mind the waiting as much by the end of it.

Eventually, their flight was called, and they gathered their things, heading toward the gate. Louis glanced at Claudia, who was still thumbing through the postcards she’d bought for Madeleine and Grace. She’d been keeping them in her hands for most of the day, every now and then asking what she should write on them, what she should tell them. Viktor walked ahead, his hands stuffed into his pockets, while Lestat lingered beside Louis, nudging their elbows together every so often in some absent-minded attempt to steal his attention.

They boarded without issue, settling into their seats. Viktor took the aisle, headphones already slipping over his ears, scrolling through his music without much acknowledgment of the others. Claudia sat next to him by the window, resting her cheek against the frame, looking out at the night lights on the tarmac. She had barely fastened her seatbelt before her eyes started drooping, exhaustion catching up with her.

Louis sat with Lestat, turning slightly as the other leaned in. “Are you excited for Prague?”

Lestat hummed, tilting his head. “I’ve been before, of course, but—yes. It’s a beautiful city. And the concert. Well, that too.”

Louis nodded. “Never been.”

“Then I’ll show you around.” Lestat’s lips curled into something pleased, before he shifted, drumming his fingers on the armrest between them. “And maybe, if you’re nice, I’ll take you to the best wine bar in the city.”

Louis gave him a dry look. “I’ve yet to see you pace yourself when it comes to alcohol.”

Lestat smirked. “You wound me.”

“Not enough,” Louis muttered, but there was no real bite to it. Lestat smiled, and he could see his lips moving, like he was about to say something, but then he didn’t.

They kept their voices low as the flight took off, words exchanged in quiet murmurs, their conversation drifting from Prague to books, to some offhand remark Lestat made about their last day in Vienna, which Louis challenged immediately. It was easy like this—just the two of them speaking softly while the cabin lights dimmed, all as Viktor was absorbed in his music and Claudia already slipped into sleep.

Eventually, Louis pulled out his book, letting the conversation lull. Lestat didn’t seem to mind. He sat there, watching him for a while, before slowly tilting his head against Louis’ shoulder, exhaling deeply. Louis stiffened at first, his fingers caught around the pages, but Lestat didn’t move, didn’t say anything—just breathed, his body warm against Louis’ side.

He could push him off. And he probably should.

Logically, he didn’t. He let Lestat stay there, let the unfamiliar weight settle against him, and turned another page, eyes scanning the words that suddenly felt harder to focus on.

By the time the plane began its descent into Prague, Louis had barely read anything at all, the words just a bunch of letters before his eyes, unimportant, and not worthy of his attention.

He sighed, closing the book and pressing it into the seat pocket in front of him, then turned to Lestat, whose breathing was still even, still deep.

“Lestat,” he murmured.

Nothing.

Louis huffed, reaching out, tapping his shoulder. “Wake up. We’re landing.”

Lestat made a quiet, irritated noise but slowly blinked awake, lifting his head and stretching slightly. He looked at Louis for a moment, a lazy, lopsided smile forming before he ran a hand through his hair.

“Hey.”

Louis rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched slightly. “Come on. We need to go. We’ve landed.”

And just like that, the moment was gone again.

They gathered their things, stepping off the plane and into Prague. Another hour stretched, but it passed quick, all of them slow, and exhausted, and ready to settle into something that didn’t move and shake around them. The hotel lobby was quiet at this hour, their footsteps muffled against the thick carpet as they made their way inside. The check-in process was smooth—Lestat had everything arranged in advance—so within minutes, their keys were in hand, and they were stepping into the elevator.

Claudia barely mumbled a good night before disappearing into her room, visibly too tired for anything else. Viktor, ever the same, gave them both a short nod before going into his own. That left Louis and Lestat alone in the hallway, standing outside their respective doors.

Lestat turned to Louis, key between his fingers. “Are you going to bed, too?”

Louis exhaled, rolling his shoulders. “I should.”

Lestat made a quiet sound, something close to amusement but not quite. He only offered a small, knowing look before stepping inside his own room.

Louis followed suit, pushing into his, letting the door shut behind him. He stripped off his jacket, kicked off his shoes, and climbed into bed, stretching out against the cool sheets. But as much as he tried, sleep wouldn’t come. His mind was still too wired from the flight, the way his shoulder was now cold where Lestat had leaned against him, warming him, the way Lestat had looked at him just before saying good night.

Louis sighed, running a hand down his face before sitting up. He glanced toward the clock—too late for this, but still, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, padding barefoot back across the floor. Before he could talk himself out of it, he opened his door, stepped into the hallway, and knocked lightly on Lestat’s.

A moment. Then, movement inside.

The door opened, and there was Lestat, barefoot as well, dressed in loose pyjama pants and an old band t-shirt, hair slightly mussed like he’d been lying down but hadn’t quite managed to fall asleep yet either. His gaze ran over Louis, something blank there before he leaned against the frame.

“You couldn’t sleep either, mon cher?”

Louis swallowed. “Something like that.”

Lestat didn’t hesitate, just stepped aside and let him in.

The room was dimly lit, the only glow coming from a lamp near the bed. Lestat had been reading, a book lying open on the nightstand, but it didn’t seem like he’d gotten far. He shut the door behind Louis, watching him as he hovered near the centre of the room, like he wasn’t sure why he was here.

Lestat smirked slightly in the dark. “I should be honoured, you know.”

Louis frowned. “Honoured?”

“That you chose to be restless in my room instead of your own.”

Louis chuckled, shaking his head. “I just figured you’d still be awake.”

Lestat hummed. “Of course.” He walked past Louis, picking up his book, idly flipping a page before setting it down again. “Well? Do I need to entertain you now?”

Louis sighed, sitting down at the edge of the couch. “Can you be quiet for once?” The blonde did so. He sat down on the opposite end of the couch, watching Louis with a lazy sort of amusement. For a moment, they just sat there. The air between them was heavy, charged in the way it always was these days, something thick beneath the surface.

Louis glanced toward the balcony doors, at the dark sky beyond. “I guess I just didn’t want to be alone,” he admitted. “Not a good sleeper, usually.”

Lestat didn’t say anything for a long moment, only shifted slightly, the cushions dipping as he did. Then, softer, “I know some of that. Don’t worry, you don’t have to be alone.”

Louis looked at him. And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

Because he knew Lestat meant it.

Louis shot him a look, but before he could say anything, Lestat stretched and stood. “I’m going to brush my teeth.”

Louis nodded, watching him disappear into the bathroom before standing himself. He hesitated for a moment before slipping out the door and crossing the hallway back to his own room. His suitcase was half-unpacked on the stand near the window, and he dug through it until he found the book he’d brought. Something to keep his hands busy. Something to make this—whatever this was—feel a little less strange.

By the time he returned to Lestat’s room, the other man was still in the bathroom, the sink running. Louis shut the door softly behind him and wandered over to the couch again, flipping open the book, letting his eyes skim the page without really reading it.

The sink turned off, and a moment later, Lestat emerged, rubbing a towel over his face. He glanced at Louis, at the book in his hands, and smirked. “Oh, good. You’ve come prepared.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “I figured if I’m going to be stuck listening to you talk, I might as well have something to block it out.”

Lestat clutched his chest in mock offense. “Cruel, cruel man.”

Louis shook his head, settling back against the couch as Lestat wandered toward the bed. Without a word, Lestat reached over and grabbed something from the side table, then walked back over to Louis and wordlessly draped a blanket over him.

Louis froze. Not because of the gesture itself—Lestat was prone to small, casual affections like that—but because of the ease with which it happened, the thoughtlessness of it. Like it was second nature.

Louis cleared his throat. “Thanks.”

The other man just hummed, climbing into his bed, settling under the covers with a quiet sigh. Within minutes, his breathing evened out, slow and deep, and Louis realized, with some surprise, that Lestat had fallen asleep almost instantly.

Louis turned a page in his book. He wasn’t reading. Not really. But he sat there, listening to the soft sounds of Lestat breathing, the distant hum of the city outside, and at some point, without meaning to—he fell asleep, too.

The next morning, Louis woke with a start, blinking blearily at the unfamiliar ceiling.

It took him a second to realize where he was.

Lestat’s hotel room.

He was still curled up on the couch, the blanket bunched around his waist. He sat up abruptly, looking toward the bed, but Lestat wasn’t there. The sound of the shower running from the bathroom told him everything he needed to know.

Shit.

Louis stood quickly. He needed to leave before Lestat came out. He wasn’t sure why, exactly—it wasn’t like anything had happened—but still, there was something about waking up here that made his stomach twist.

He grabbed his book, folded the blanket back neatly, and slipped out the door.

He ran into Viktor in the hallway.

The young man raised an eyebrow, pausing mid-step on his way down the corridor. He was already dressed in gym clothes, earbuds slung around his neck. His gaze flicked from Louis to the door he’d just stepped out of, and a slow smirk pulled at his lips. “Well, well,” he said dryly. “Morning, Louis.”

Louis sighed. “Don’t.”

Viktor held up his hands, expression innocent. “Didn’t say anything.”

Louis levelled him with a look. “You were about to.”

Viktor hummed, starting to walk again. “Just interesting, that’s all. Coming out of my father’s room first thing in the morning.”

Louis groaned, rubbing his temples as Viktor shot him a parting glance over his shoulder, snorting before disappearing down the hall.

When they all met again later, the midday sun was gentle, diffused by thin clouds, casting a golden light over the terrace of the hotel’s restaurant. A soft breeze stirred the white tablecloths, carrying with it the scent of freshly baked bread and the faint hum of city life beyond the terrace railing.

Louis and Claudia were the first to arrive, settling at a table near the edge, where they had a view of the quiet street below. Claudia had her elbows on the table, tapping her fingers absently as she skimmed the menu.

“Ohh, that pasta sounds good,” she mused, eyes flicking up to Louis. “But I should probably try something else. What are people eating here?”

Louis smirked. “Since when do you care about variety?”

“Since we’re leaving again in a couple days,” she shot back, leaning back in her chair. “Gotta make the most of it.”

Next to arrive was Lestat, slipping into the chair beside him. “And what riveting conversation have I missed?”

“Food,” Claudia said.

“A worthy topic.”

A waiter appeared, pouring sparkling water into their glasses. Louis caught Lestat’s fingers drumming restlessly on the tabletop, his eyes scanning the menu without really looking. A few minutes later, Viktor showed up, sliding into the seat across from Lestat. He set his phone down beside his plate and sighed.

“Sorry, was on the phone,” he said. “Had to catch up with some friends.”

Lestat took a sip of his water. “When are they arriving?”

Viktor shrugged, unconcerned. “In a couple of days, before we leave.”

Louis, curious, tilted his head. “Who’s that?”

Viktor rested his arms on the table, glancing at him. “Best friend. We grew up together.” He shot Lestat a wry look. “He’s the son of Lestat’s old manager.”

Louis raised an eyebrow at that, but before he could ask anything else, the waiter returned, taking their orders.

As they ate, conversation drifted easily from one thing to another – travel plans, what they had left to see before leaving, something about the concert, one single evening in this city, Lestat mentioning something about overbooked venues and concert halls. It was all while the blonde sat somewhere between half-heartedly pushing his food around his plate and indulging Claudia’s questions about some historical site, offered to take them both around later.

Claudia, finished first, sat back, stretching her arms above her head. “Sounds good.” Viktor, having cleaned his plate as well, stood not much later, nudging Claudia’s shoulder. “Come on, we need to check in with the tutor.”

Claudia groaned. “Now?”

“You want to keep getting school credit for this trip or not?” Viktor said dryly.

She grumbled but stood anyway, following him as he led her toward the hotel lobby. With them gone, the terrace was quieter. Louis glanced at Lestat’s plate, then to his face, and he tried it nice and gentle. “You need to stop playing with your food,” he said, his voice quiet, but firm. He knew that wasn’t what Lestat was doing. He didn’t know how to say it without making it worse.

Lestat, who had just prodded at a piece of grilled fish, blinked and looked up at him. Louis gestured toward the now-empty seats. “It’s reflecting on your son, I think.”

Lestat frowned, his posture stiffening. “Excuse me?”

Louis exhaled, keeping his voice measured. “I’m just saying—he notices when you do things like that. And I don’t want Claudia doing that too. She’s a teenage girl. Have to be careful with that.”

Lestat leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “So, what? You think I’m setting some poor example?”

Louis sighed. “I’m not trying to lecture you.”

“Sure sounds like it.”

Louis held his gaze, patient even when he generally wasn’t. “I’m just saying it because I care.”

Lestat’s mouth twitched at that, some of the defensiveness ebbing away. He let out a breath and flicked his gaze down to his plate. A beat passed, then he picked up his fork again and took a bite, chewing slowly.

Louis shook his head, smiling slightly. “There you go.”

Lestat shot him a look, swallowing. “Don’t. It doesn’t make it better.”

***

The evening had settled softly over Prague, the city lights flickering beyond the hotel windows. Louis knocked twice on Claudia’s door before letting himself in, the sound of her voice filling the room before he had even stepped inside.

She was curled up on the small sofa near the window, her phone propped up on her knee as she spoke, her tone lighter than usual—Madeleine, then. Louis closed the door behind him and leaned against the wall, waiting.

“I’ll send you pictures,” Claudia was saying. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You’ll get your postcards too—no, I’m not just saying that. I already bought them, okay?” A pause, then a short laugh. “No, I won’t forget the stamps. Jesus.”

Louis smirked slightly, crossing his arms. He didn’t mind waiting. It was rare, hearing her like this. Open. A little softer.

“Fine, okay,” Claudia muttered, but there was no irritation in it, only quiet affection. Louis frowned at that, unsure what he thought of it. “I’ll call again soon. Bye.”

She ended the call and set her phone aside before glancing up at Louis. “You could’ve knocked harder if you were gonna stand there like some looming ghost.”

“I did knock,” Louis said, pushing off the wall.

Claudia rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. What do you want?”

He sat down on the armrest of the chair across from her. “How are things at home?”

Claudia shrugged. “Same as always. We didn’t talk much about it.”

Louis nodded. He had no real reason to worry, but he still did. Claudia tilted her head at him. “You’re going somewhere, huh?”

Louis raised an eyebrow. “How do you—”

“You’re wearing cologne,” she interrupted, smirking. She inhaled, as if to prove that she smelled it. “Fancy, Daddy Lou.”

Louis exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “I’m going to a bar with Lestat.”

Claudia nodded, as if unsurprised. “Don’t drink too much.”

Louis huffed. “Shouldn’t I be the one telling you that?”

She grinned. “Probably. But you’ve got some years left ‘till that happens.”

His expression softened. “If anything happens, call me.”

“Obviously,” she said. “But I think we’ll be fine. I convinced Viktor to play mini golf with me. The hotel has a whole setup for it somewhere.”

Louis blinked at her. “Mini golf?” His daughter shrugged:“ Seemed like a good way to kill time.”

Louis almost laughed. The thought of Viktor tolerating an entire round of mini golf with Claudia was amusing in itself. He was thankful the young man put up with it, clearly tried hard to be nice, and become friendly with Claudia, despite the difference in their age. “Well,” he said, standing. “Have fun with that.”

“Oh, I will,” she said, stretching her legs out.

He turned for the door, pausing briefly before glancing back at her. “Goodnight, Claudia.”

She waved him off. “Yeah, yeah. Have fun on your little date, Daddy Lou.”

Louis sighed and left the room before she could see the way his ears burned at that. Out in the hallway, he adjusted his cuffs and took a breath before heading toward the elevators. Lestat was already there, leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone. When he saw Louis approaching, he smiled wide and happy. “About time. Thought you stood me up.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Let’s go.”

Lestat pushed off the wall, slipping his phone into his pocket. “Eager, non?”

Louis gave him a look, but Lestat only laughed as they walked toward the exit.

The bar was dimly lit, the warm glow of hanging lights casting long shadows against the dark wooden walls. It wasn’t crowded, not yet, but there was already a low buzz of conversation, the occasional burst of laughter cutting through the quiet music playing overhead. Louis and Lestat stepped inside, shaking off the lingering chill of the evening.

Louis wrinkled his nose almost immediately. “Jesus, this city reeks of weed.”

The other man laughed as they made their way toward the bar. “You act as though it’s the worst thing in the world.”

“I didn’t say that” Louis muttered, sliding onto a barstool. “It’s just everywhere.”

Lestat turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve never smoked anything, have you?”

Louis scoffed. “Of course I have.”

That only seemed to amuse Lestat more. “Oh? When?”

Louis shot him a look. “I wasn’t always the behaving man I am now. You know, I used to be young too.” Lestat hummed, clearly picturing it:“ And?”

“And what?”

“Did you like it?”

Louis shrugged. “Didn’t hate it. But I don’t remember much of that night.”

The blonde’s laugh was as warm as a hug, making Louis smile like a fool, having him shake his head and look around the room, just so he wouldn’t meet his eyes with the look he knew he had on his face. Still turned away, he said:“ I don’t even want to ask what substances you’ve taken in your lifetime.”

“Mon cher, I am deeply offended. Tu me prends pour un inconscient?”

Louis gave him a long, dry stare.

Lestat only grinned.

The bartender came over, and they ordered their drinks. By their order it was clear neither of them intended to drink too much that night.

For a while, they sat in conversation, the alcohol warming their veins just enough to keep the world pleasantly slow. But eventually, Lestat shifted in his seat, pulling his cigarette case from his pocket. “I’m going for a smoke,” he said, tapping one out, not asking Louis if he wanted one as well. It made him smile, even when for a second he felt rejected, then concluding that Lestat was only trying not to make him stick to the habit.

Louis waved him off, watching as he slipped through the crowd and out the front door. He took another sip of his drink, resting his elbow against the counter.

That’s when a voice beside him spoke up.

“Hey,” the man said, gesturing toward the door where Lestat had just disappeared. “Is that your friend? The famous ‘Vampire Lestat’?”

Louis stiffened slightly. His gaze flickered toward the man—a stranger, young, maybe in his mid-twenties, eyes sharp with curiosity. He’s been listening to them for a while, but until then, Louis hadn’t really thought much of it. Many people liked to look at Lestat for longer than usually acceptable.

Louis exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

The man frowned slightly, looking toward the door again, but he didn’t push it. Louis turned back to his drink, finishing the last sip before setting the glass down.

With that, he slid off the barstool and headed outside.

Lestat was there, leaning against the wall, cigarette between his fingers, eyes half-lidded as he exhaled a slow curl of smoke into the night air. He glanced up when Louis stepped outside. “Already bored without me?” he teased. “Or that addicted you couldn’t say no?”

Louis ignored that. “Someone recognized you.”

Lestat let out a soft hum, taking another drag. “Happens.”

“We should leave before you end up taking pictures with fans all night.”

Lestat sighed dramatically. “Fine, fine. Let’s go.”

He flicked the cigarette to the ground, crushing it under his heel before following Louis down the street.

The second bar they found was livelier, music pulsing just loud enough to seep into their bones, but not so loud they couldn’t hear each other speak. It had an old-world charm to it—dark wooden floors, gold-rimmed mirrors, a small dance floor near the back where a few couples swayed in the dim light.

Louis had barely settled at the bar when Lestat turned to him, eyes glinting. “Dance with me.” He sounded like he was demanding, rather than asking. No shame, to the way he spoke, and reached out, visibly holding himself back, as to not just take Louis’ hand and pull him closer.

“No. Told you that wasn’t going to happen.”

But that conversation, it felt years ago. So long in the past, that the words were only a faint echo of Louis’ thoughts and feelings. Now, they belonged to another life, or even to another person. They weren’t all his anymore, and that felt so strange, it made his face tingle.

Lestat leaned closer. “Come on. Just one song.”

“No.” Louis huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

Lestat watched him for a moment, then tried again, but softer this time. “Please?”

Louis exhaled slowly. It had been a long day. He was tired, but not in a way that made him want to leave. And Lestat, damn him, was nothing if not persistent. He wished he were a bit stronger, and less likely to break under those blue eyes. “Fine.”

Lestat brightened immediately.

“But” Louis added, pointing at him, “I’m leading.”

Lestat blinked. Then he grinned. “Oh, mon cher. How straight-forward you are. But darling, you don’t trust me not to step on your feet?” His words really were a daring thing. Louis wanted to tell him that.

“Not even a little.”

Lestat laughed, taking Louis’ hand and pulling him toward the dance floor. The music played on, the night stretching around them, warm and unhurried. And it started off fine. Louis was determined, focused, leading them both with careful steps through the slow, swaying rhythm of the song. Lestat was amused at first, smirking as he let Louis take control. But then—Louis miscalculated a step, and his foot landed straight on Lestat’s.

Lestat yelped, jerking slightly.

Louis stiffened. “Shit. Sorry.”

Lestat grinned, biting his lip. “You talk so much, mon cher, and yet—”

“Shut up,” Louis muttered. They kept going, but not for long—Louis did it again, this time a little harder. Lestat actually winced. Louis ended up pulling back with a frustrated sigh, but before he could say anything, Lestat laughed—loud, full, the kind of laugh that made Louis want to shove him. “I am never dancing with you again,” Lestat declared.

Louis shook his head, his own laughter bubbling up despite himself. “You’re insufferable.”

“You’re worse. You wouldn’t let me lead, and for what? Now my feet hurt.”

Louis scoffed, shoving at his shoulder lightly. Lestat caught his wrist before he could pull away. For a moment, they just stood there, the music moving around them. Then Lestat smirked, eyes flicking down to Louis’ mouth before glancing back up. “Another round of drinks?”

Louis exhaled, stepping back. “Yeah. Why not.”

At the bar was talking a lot suddenly, but Lestat wasn’t really listening.

He was pretending, of course. He made all the right sounds of acknowledgment at all the right moments, nodding slightly, responding just enough that Louis wouldn’t notice. But mostly, he was watching Louis’ lips move, and Louis watched him do it without a word. It was criminal, really, how much he wanted to kiss him.

Louis, pretending to be completely unaware, kept going, talking about something—Lestat wasn’t even sure what anymore. Maybe the architecture of the city, or a shop they’d passed earlier, or something about how Prague reminded him of home in ways he couldn’t quite put into words. Lestat barely heard a word of it.

“You’re not listening,” Louis accused suddenly, narrowing his eyes.

Lestat blinked, caught. “I am. You were talking about—” He grinned.

Louis raised an eyebrow, waiting. Lestat clicked his tongue, then leaned in slightly. His words were no surprise, really, and Louis had seen them coming long before they were actually said. “I want to kiss you again.”

He inhaled, then exhaled slowly. Then:“ You’re impatient.” He could say a lot more, really. About how much it bothered, the way Lestat always had to shamelessly get what he wanted. The way Lestat wouldn’t stop, until it happened, and he could smirk about it, happy and satisfied.

“Mm. Maybe.” Lestat tilted his head. “Or maybe you’re just making me wait too long.”

Louis gave him a look, but his lips twitched slightly, as if he were holding back a smile. He’s spent the last days carefully not thinking about this, about the possibility of it. Had he done that, he’d not be smiling now, he’d be making excuses, and he’d find something to say, something that wasn’t the silence he let stretch between them now.

Lestat broke it, knocking back the last sip of his drink. “Smoke break?”

Louis nodded. They slipped outside, the cool night air washing over them as they stepped into the quieter streets. Then Lestat spoke, voice low, teasing, as he lit the cigarette and looked up to the sky. “Waiting, it really is a cruel thing, when you’re so handsome, and I’m so desperate.”

Louis huffed, shaking his head. “You’re really pushing it tonight.”

Lestat shrugged, stepping a little closer. “Can you blame me?”

He couldn’t. He could say that he did, and he could say that he wasn’t thinking the same, that he hasn’t thought the same all this time, and that he was glad Lestat was the one to beg, because he couldn’t have done that. He could say, that he really meant it, when he told Lestat to wait. He had wanted to put meaning to it – something that was beyond the strange pull, and the quiet burning under his skin. “You really can’t wait?”

Lestat held his gaze. “No.”

Louis’ pulse thrummed. He swallowed. His own words from before felt distant now, almost irrelevant in the way Lestat looked at him—like he was something to be devoured, something worth waiting for, but not something to be denied forever. Louis could argue. He could step back. He could say, “Not yet,” and mean it. But for that, he had to mean it. He had to believe in the words he said.

He flicked the shared cigarette away, barely thinking. And then, he grabbed Lestat by the front of his jacket, knocking him back these last centimetres against the nearest wall. Lestat barely had time to react before Louis’ mouth was on his. Not soft, or hesitant, like Louis suddenly wished it was. It was messy, heated, full of something Louis wasn’t sure he wanted to name just yet.

Lestat made a sound—half surprise, half something darker—and then he was kissing back, hands fisting into the back of Louis’ shirt, pulling him in.

It was dizzying, the way Lestat moved against him, pressing closer, his mouth eager, unrelenting. Louis felt the edge of his self-control slip, and for once—just this once—he let it.

But then—

Too much again.

Louis wrenched himself back, breathing hard. The blonde blinked at him, lips slightly swollen, eyes dark with unmistakable lust that made Louis’ head fell dizzy. He breathed heavy, and deep, and ran a hand down his face. “Shit.”

Lestat licked his lips, gaze still without a break on him. He tilted his head slightly. “I thought I was impatient.”

Louis groaned, stepping back further. “Shut up.”

Lestat smirked. Louis sighed, rubbing his temples. He was going to regret this. Probably.

But not yet. Hopefully not yet. He wanted to say something like that. And he wanted to tell Lestat, that this wasn’t what he’d hoped for it to be. He’d hoped he’d be less stormy, and exciting, and too much to bear without getting lost in it. Louis only shook his head, and said:” Fucking kiss me again, Lestat. Before I come up with fifty reasons why I can’t do this.”

Lestat did just that. He kissed him again, softer this time, as if he understood that Louis wasn’t running right now. His hands cradled Louis’ face, thumbs brushing gently over his cheekbones, his touch reverent, careful.

Louis wasn’t sure what to do with that.

He let himself lean into it for a moment longer, let himself take in the warmth, the sheer happiness radiating off of Lestat. It was unbearable. It was perfect. It made his ribs feel too tight around his heart.

He pulled back before he drowned in it completely.

Lestat let him go easily, though his hands lingered a second longer, his gaze searching. Louis exhaled slowly, stepping away.

“I’d like to go home,” Louis murmured. His voice was steadier than he felt. He hoped Lestat was understanding him. That he wanted to get back to his room, to put some sort of distance between them, if he wanted to do this without saying something he’d possibly regret.

The blonde blinked, as if coming back to himself, then nodded. “Alright.”

They walked in silence, the night settling around them, the city lights reflecting off the wet pavement. Louis shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to collect himself, trying to push back the storm brewing in his chest.

He didn’t know what he was doing.

He didn’t know why he was doing this.

But he wanted it.

That was the worst part. The part he couldn’t reason away anymore.

Back at the hotel, they stood once again in the dimly lit hallway, an awkwardness settling between them now that the rush of the night had passed. Louis swallowed. He felt Lestat watching him, waiting.

“I’m not coming into your room,” Louis said finally. His voice was quiet but firm.

Lestat’s lips twitched, something playful flickering in his expression, but he caught himself before he could tease. “I wasn’t going to ask.”

Louis gave him a look. “And I don’t want you begging for it.” What he was saying was, that he didn’t want to hear those words Lestat spoke, in a manner, that was nearly dehumanising him, in this playful way, that Louis found nearly sad to hear. He didn’t wish to witness it now, because it was out of place, and wrong, and so far from what Louis really wanted from Lestat.

The other sobered at that, his amusement dimming slightly. He tilted his head. “Am I doing something wrong?”

Louis hesitated. He wanted to say yes, but only because Lestat was making it so easy. Too easy. “No,” Louis admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re not.”

Lestat looked at him for a long moment. Then, softer: “Then what is it?”

Louis opened his mouth, then closed it again. He couldn’t answer that—not in a way that wouldn’t tear him open in ways he wasn’t ready for. Instead, he stepped forward and kissed him again. It was slow, deliberate, lingering just long enough to feel like a promise. Lestat responded immediately, hands ghosting over Louis’ sides like he wanted to pull him closer but knew he couldn’t.

Louis broke away before it could turn into something else. He took a shaky breath, met Lestat’s gaze one last time, and then—

He slipped into his own room, closing the door softly behind him.

Only then, in the quiet darkness, did he let himself feel the full weight of what had just happened.

Chapter Text

Dear Auntie Grace,

I wanted to text you, but Daddy Lou said that would be rude and insisted I write a proper letter instead. Something about learning how to do things the right way—though, honestly, I already know how to write letters. Everyone acts like kids don’t know how these things work, but we do. See? I’m proving it right now. Still, I’ll send you pictures by text, because I have no idea where to print them here! Did you get the postcards? I sent them after we left Vienna. Now we’re in Prague, but we won’t be here much longer!

Papa keeps worrying that I’m not enjoying myself, but I am. It’s been so much fun. As soon as I finish my schoolwork each day, I can do whatever I want! I’m seeing so many places I probably never would have if we hadn’t left. And the shows—Auntie, I didn’t know if I’d like them at first, but they’re incredible! Lestat lets me hang around backstage whenever I want, and that makes them even better. He’s nice, even if he is a bit much sometimes. And Daddy Lou… I think he’s happy. Or at least, he’s not as grumpy as usual. I think they’re kissing, but I haven’t caught them yet. Viktor (Lestat’s son—he’s eighteen and nice, when he’s not sulking) swears they are, but he won’t give me details, no matter how much I ask.

Oh! Speaking of Viktor, he’s been showing me around the cities when no one else wants to go out. It’s fun, but sometimes he’s in a mood, and then I get a little lonely. But mostly, it’s exciting because we’re always on the move! We were supposed to go to Warsaw next, but the show got cancelled, and Lestat decided there was no point in going just to sit around. So now, I have no idea where we’re heading after the concert. It’s all very spontaneous—Lestat’s style, I guess.

You know, I just realized—I never asked Daddy Lou how he got us passports so quickly. I think Lestat might just be buying our way through everywhere we go. Can you do that? If you’re famous enough, I suppose anything’s possible.

Oh! Another thing—Lestat’s team lets me get my hair done by his stylists! I’m not really a makeup girl, but I do feel very pretty all the time.

Anyway, I really am having the best time. Even when I miss home, even when I miss you. I miss my friends, too. Is the store doing okay? It must be, since it’s closed, but I hope Madeleine isn’t bored without work. Have I told you about her? I must have.

I should go now—we’re heading to the theatre. I’ve never been! Daddy Lou hasn’t either I think, but he keeps doing all these new things now, just because of Lestat. It’s disgusting. They must be kissing.

Love you! Tell my cousins I said hi!

Claudia

***

Lestat’s first and only concert in Prague had been a triumph—or so they said. Louis wouldn’t know. He hadn’t been there to see it. Maybe because he was afraid of what would come after, because he was still making Lestat wait. Not exactly in the way he had originally planned, but still. And he knew it was unfair, but the thought of standing in front of that stage again, watching Lestat perform with that raw desperation in his voice, unsettled him. As if the music itself was a plea, an unspoken confession of everything even Lestat refused to say aloud.

Where Louis lacked admiration, Claudia more than made up for it. His daughter had become something of a devoted fan, speaking of the concert nonstop for three days after it ended. And of course, Lestat had been insufferably smug about it. Louis could hardly blame him.

For the moment, he wished he could summon the same kind of devotion—toward Lestat, toward anything at all. Their relationship felt unsteady, shifting beneath him like uneven ground. Too much he wanted to say, too much he wanted to do, and yet, he acted on so little. He had broken his own vow—to keep Lestat at arm’s length until he was ready—only to fall back into familiar patterns, pulling away, then failing at the very first step.

The concert in Warsaw had been cancelled. So instead of lingering in Prague, they moved on, making their way directly to Budapest. The days blurred. Before Louis had time to process it all, they were already in another city, another hotel, another sleepless night.

He remembered watching Lestat sleep beside him on the plane, golden even in the dim cabin lights, and thinking—if he had already lost himself to this sin, what was the point in pretending he hadn’t? It was too late. His hands were already stained it seemed.

And Lestat, radiant as ever, was too beautiful not to be the reason for his ruin.

The lobby was quiet, the early hour muting the usual bustle of the hotel. Claudia and Viktor had gone ahead to settle into their rooms, leaving Louis lingering near the reception, watching with his bags in hand as Lestat argued with the receptionist in a sharp, clipped tone that carried through the room.

It had started the moment they arrived. Lestat, with his usual flair for dramatics, had taken one look at the arrangement and immediately declared it unacceptable. Louis wasn’t sure what the problem was, exactly – he had been too tired to care – but as the volume of Lestat’s voice rose slightly, and the receptionist’s expression tightened, Louis sighed and made his way over.

“What’s the issue?” he asked, rubbing his temple. He couldn’t wait to get some rest, eat, and hopefully sleep soon.

Lestat turned to him with an exasperated huff, switching into French as he ranted. "C’est un désastre, Louis. Une honte. Ils t’ont mis dans une chambre ridicule, minuscule, à l’autre bout de l’étage!"

Louis blinked, catching up with the words. He was getting better at that, his French improving with Lestat, even when it was mostly his curse word vocabulary, and a bunch of complains he understood better by now. That, and a complete collections for words of endearment. “Wait. This is about my room?”

“Yes! And it’s atrocious,” Lestat declared, throwing up a hand. “I refuse to let them put you in some – some broom closet while the rest of us stay in decent rooms.”

Louis resisted the urge to groan. “Lestat, I don’t care where I sleep.”

“Well, I do. This isn’t okay.”

Lestat turned back to the receptionist and fired off something quick in English, his words so dramatically accented it made Louis smile to himself, even as he began feeling sorry for the poor woman behind the desk. The receptionist’s response to the rockstar was polite but visibly tired, and Louis got the distinct impression that Lestat had been exhausting her patience long before he even walked over.

“Fine,” Louis sighed, willing to do anything to stop this. “What do you want to do, then?”

Lestat made a sound, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “We’ll share.” His tired smile was as bright as the sun:” Talking about bad book tropes.”

Louis hesitated, his fingers tensing slightly where they rested on the edge of the reception desk. “We could also just—accept what they gave me—”

“No. Absolutely not.” Lestat didn’t even entertain the idea, reaching instead for the key card the receptionist reluctantly slid across the desk. He snatched it up with a satisfied nod and turned to Louis expectantly. “Come along, mon cher. You’re not sleeping in that placard. I’m not allowing it.”

Louis clenched his jaw but didn’t argue further. He should have. But he was tired, and he knew how Lestat could get—when he had made up his mind about something, there was very little point in fighting him.

So he followed.

On the way up to their room, Lestat kept muttering under his breath, voice still edged with irritation, and at some point, Louis was certain he kept repeating the same phrases and would go on doing so, until he exploded.

"C’est insensé… Comment osent– ils… Ce n’est pas comme si je ne payais pas une fortune pour ces hôtels stupides…"

Yeah, there was no stopping it. Louis exhaled through his nose, and walked a bit slower. If he feel behind, maybe the other would change his mind. Or he’d stop having to listen to that ramble. “You do know I’ve slept in worse places, right? Well, you don’t, but that’s not the point. I’d survive.”

“That doesn’t mean you should.”

Louis didn’t respond to that, only glanced down at the carpeted hallway as they walked. The situation was already uncomfortable, and it wasn’t just because of Lestat’s theatrics over hotel rooms. It was the fact that they had kissed, and nothing more. It was the fact that Louis had been holding himself at a careful distance, and yet here they were, now thrown into an intimacy he wasn’t sure he was ready for. Like he was suddenly part of one of the novels he hated, and Lestat, he wouldn’t listen, and really, they could have avoided this situation if only he did.

The door clicked open.

Inside, the room was large, spacious—the kind Lestat would insist on for himself, of course—but Louis’ focus homed in on the one obvious problem at hand: one bed.

He didn’t say anything about it. Not yet. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to keep quiet, even when he already knew this situation couldn’t really be changed for now, because Lestat wasn’t letting that happen.

The blonde rockstar tossed his bag to the side with little care, rolling his shoulders, still muttering something about incompetence, but there was a slight smile curling at the edges of his mouth. He thinks this is funny, Louis realized, and it made him sigh, because nothing about this was entertaining in the slightest. This was going to be difficult.

Louis stood just inside the doorway, arms crossed, eyes moving between the bed and the man already making himself far too comfortable in the room. Lestat, who had barely wasted a second before tossing his coat over a chair and undoing the top buttons of his shirt, glanced back at Louis with a smug tilt of his head.

“So,” he said. “Which side do you want?”

Louis exhaled and closed the door behind himself. “I should ask you that. Since I clearly had no say in this arrangement.”

The blonde rolled his eyes. “Louis, would you stop sulking? I’m not forcing you into my bed like some desperate seducer.” He playfully bit his lip. “Though if you’d like me to—”

“I could’ve taken the other room.” His voice was dry, and he dropped his bags next to the door, where he also left his shoes before crossing the room. Meanwhile Lestat flopped onto the bed dramatically, arms stretched out, like he was trying to claim all of it for himself alone. Louis wouldn’t mind. For a second he considered sleeping on the floor. He wasn’t going to be that dramatic.

“Accept your fate, Louis.”

“You didn’t really give me a choice.”

“If you truly mind, I’ll have another room arranged for you tomorrow. Now, I really just want to lay down for a second.” Lestat propped himself up on an elbow, looking far too pleased with himself as he looked him up and down. “But that would be such a hassle, wouldn’t it? I’ll do it. If it makes you happy.”

Louis said nothing.

Lestat grinned. “Left side.”

“What?”

“I prefer the left side.” Lestat elaborated. It caused Louis to frown, and cross his arms:” I sleep on the left side. No chance you’re getting it.”

“Well, I sleep on the left side too. Also, I asked you, and you didn’t answer, so I’m deciding now. You’re getting the right side. Hey, Louis, is this some kind of symbolism, because I’m happy to elaborate on my preferences if you’d-”

“Lestat—”

Lestat dropped it together with his exaggerated act, and simply shrugged. “You’re welcome to fight me for it.” Louis groaned, running a hand down his face. “I’m not doing this with you.”

“Then we’ll switch.” Lestat stretched his arms above his head, smugly. “How intimate.”

Louis pinched the bridge of his nose. “I hate you.”

“Non, non you don’t.”

Louis didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he sat heavily on the bed, sighing through his nose as he closed his eyes, trying to push away the exhaustion creeping at the edges of his mind. At the same time, Lestat had started unpacking—or rather, tossing clothes haphazardly across the room, draping jackets over chairs, throwing his shoes into the corner like he had no intention of ever wearing them again. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he wore every item once, and then got it replaced. Louis thought so for a second, but he didn’t really believe it. While yes, the blonde had more money than sense, and he liked to throw around with it, he didn’t strike him as someone to not know the value of it.

Louis cracked one eye open. “You know, for someone who was ready to kill over hotel standards, you’re not very organized.”

Lestat ignored him, muttering something in French as he sifted through his suitcase. Something about idiots and incompetence and how dare they. The complaining never seemed to stop. Louis sighed. “Would you drop it? We’ll survive.”

Silence.

Then, quiet footsteps.

Louis barely had time to open his eyes before Lestat was in front of him, bending down, one hand pressing into the mattress beside him. And then—warm lips, soft and deliberate, against his own. Louis froze for half a second before instinct took over, before the exhaustion melted away into something entirely different, and he responded, his mouth parting against Lestat’s just slightly, enough to deepen it—but not enough to lose himself. He reached up, and his hand found the curve of Lestat’s waist, settling against his warm skin.

When they pulled back, Louis let out a slow breath, eyes flickering up to meet Lestat’s.

“Why’d you do that?” he asked, not accusing, just curious.

Lestat’s expression was unreadable for a moment. Then, slowly, he smiled, fingers briefly ghosting along Louis’ jaw before pulling away. “Because I wanted to.” At that, Louis searched his face but didn’t push further. There was something between them now, something fragile but inevitable, a thread tightening with every moment spent in each other’s space. He wanted to cut it, and he really wanted to put some kind of fence around it, just to keep himself from doing just that.

Lestat straightened, then, as if nothing had happened, turned back to his unpacking, whistling one of his own songs to himself. Louis huffed, shaking his head, and let himself fall back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. He considered sleeping. But it wouldn’t happen even if he tried. And the room was too light anyways, with all that sunshine falling through the windows.

It wasn’t long before a knock at the door interrupted the silence.

“Father, want breakfast?” Viktor’s voice called. “I’m going downstairs now. Claudia went ahead already.”

Lestat turned, throwing another shirt over a chair. “Enfin,” he called through the closed door, dramatically placing a hand over his chest. Louis chuckled. “I thought we’d starve before someone remembered to feed us.”

With a yawn, Louis pushed himself off the bed, ignoring the way Lestat’s fingers brushed against his lower back as they headed for the door. He didn’t really think about staying behind, even pretending he wasn’t in there with him. He regretted that, the second he stepped into the hallway, but there was no going back now. Outside their room, Viktor gave them a long, knowing look before crossing his arms. “Sharing a room already? My god. Before marriage? Scandalous.”

Lestat opened his mouth, clearly prepared to launch into a grand tirade about the absolute incompetence of the hotel staff, but Louis cut him off before he could get a single word out. “There was an issue with my room,” he said flatly. “Lestat insisted.”

Viktor hummed, unimpressed. “Sounds about right.”

Lestat scoffed and turned away from his son, facing Louis. He raised a finger, wildly gesturing as he began again:“ Excuse– moi, but I did you a favour, Louis. The place they put you in was insulting. You would have hated it, and then you would have complained, and I wouldn’t have been able to stand that, because I only want what’s best and-”

“Let’s just get breakfast.” Louis said, and as if reading his mind, Viktor grabbed his father by the sleep to pull him towards the elevator.

They made their way downstairs to the hotel’s restaurant, where the breakfast buffet stretched across one side of the room, gleaming under soft lighting. Claudia was already there as said, enthusiastically piling food onto her plate like she was preparing for a week– long trek through the desert. Lestat chuckled as he spotted her:“ Well, at least someone’s making good use of this place.”

Louis smirked and followed Lestat as they moved toward the buffet, taking their time surveying the options. Well, he didn’t. He was doing it like his daughter, picking whatever sounded good. He’d been dying for some breakfast since they left the airport, but until now, exhaustion has been his bigger problem.

“Would you look at this,” Lestat mused, picking up a plate and scanning the spread. “Finally, a hotel that knows how to make a proper breakfast. Viennoiseries, fresh fruit, eggs, charcuterie—” He sighed dramatically. “This is what we should have had in Prague.”

Louis raised a brow, picking up a croissant, putting it onto his pile. “Didn’t stop you from complaining about that place too. Besides, you were too busy having some coffee and like a pack of cigarettes.”

Lestat placed a few slices of smoked salmon onto his plate with an air of sophistication. “That’s different. I had artistic grievances.”

“Uh– huh.” Louis reached for some scrambled eggs, eyeing him. “Just take your food, Lestat.”

“Oh, I plan to.” He smirked wickedly, plucking a pain au chocolate from the basket. “I fully intend to eat decadently this morning. Before this long, and so very tiring day starts. Don’t worry, I’ll complain about it in a second.”

“I just can’t wait”, Louis shot back, and listened to the blonde chuckle.

They made their way back to the table, where Claudia was happily munching away, barely looking up from her plate. Viktor sat across from her, sipping coffee and scrolling through his phone with the casual detachment of someone who had mastered the art of ignoring morning conversation. Louis took a seat beside Claudia, Lestat opposite him and next to his son. The quiet hum of other hotel guests filled the space, blending with the clinking of cutlery and the faint background music playing overhead.

“So,” Viktor finally spoke, setting his phone down. “What’s the plan for today?”

“I’m going to soundcheck after getting my hair done,” Lestat said, cutting into a piece of toast. “Louis is coming with me.” He wanted to disagree on that, because they’ve never talked about him joining, but his daughter was faster. Claudia perked up at the mention of it, setting down her fork:“ Can I come too?”

Lestat tilted his head, then gave her an apologetic smile. “Non, not today, ma petite. But next time, if Louis doesn’t mind, I’ll bring you along. ”

She sighed but nodded. “Fine. I’ll find something else to do.”

“I can take you into the city,” Viktor offered, stirring his coffee. “I need to finish up some studying first, but after that, I’ll be free. We can meet back here around lunchtime.”

Claudia perked up at that, then turned back to her plate, satisfied with the new plan. Now knowing his daughter wouldn’t be alone while he was gone, Louis turned back to Lestat, eying him before, nudging his elbow. “Stop playing with your food.”

Lestat blinked. “What?” Louis gestured with his fork:“ Stop that, dear.” The word slipped before he realized. When he did, he tried to pretend he hadn’t said anything at all. Viktor looked up, raising a brow, clearly amused, and his father exhaled heavily, obeyed, and Louis nodded to himself like the happy man he was that moment.

Shortly after, Lestat and Viktor finished up their breakfast, the latter mumbling something about needing to make a few calls while Lestat dramatically announced his departure for the salon, making it sound like some grand ordeal instead of something he consciously chose to do. That left Louis and Claudia alone at the table. She was still picking at the last bits of her food, but she seemed content. Louis took a sip of his coffee, watching her for a moment before speaking.

“So,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “How are you liking it so far?” Was he doing that enough, asking how his daughter liked it here? Louis always worried about her, but now, where they were surrounded by foreign cities, people, he worried even more. This wasn’t home, and it showed. But Claudia shrugged with a smile, pushing a blueberry around her plate with her fork before eating it. “It’s nice and the city’s pretty. Hotel’s good too.”

Louis raised a brow. “That’s it?”

She grinned. “What do you want me to say? I’m having a life– changing experience? I do, but that’s something for my diary. And I’m tired. I don’t want to talk right now.”

He let out a quiet laugh. “Okay. Just want to make sure you’re enjoying yourself.” She hesitated, then nodded:“ I am. And I like all the company we have. Makes things feel more…” She trailed off, looking for the word.

“Normal?” Louis offered.

“Yeah.” She gave him a look. “Not that things are normal, obviously. But… you know what I mean.”

Louis nodded, sipping his coffee. He did know what she meant. They were surrounded by people who liked them, and who they liked. Well, mostly. But things were comfortable, and natural, Louis didn’t feel like he had to pretend being someone he wasn’t, and he was certain his daughter felt the same.

Later that morning, after having a shower and fruitlessly trying to get some sleep in, Louis stretched out on the bed, and settled on absentmindedly scrolling through his phone before deciding to text Lestat. He didn’t have anyone else to talk to. His sister must be sleeping or working back at home, and Claudia was watching tv in her room, saying she’d try to sleep. How’s the salon? You still alive? Didn’t hear anything from you in hours.

It took less than a minute for a reply to come in. Barely. Some lunatic thought it would be a great idea to bleach my hair and add highlights. As if I don’t already have blonde hair. How blonde do they want me to be? People already think I’ve got no brain.

Louis smirked, picturing Lestat sulking in a salon chair, with a bunch of foils in his hair. He typed in his reply. Shouldn’t you be used to this by now?

That doesn’t mean I have to like it, mon cher.

Louis chuckled, shaking his head. How much longer? I’ll come pick you up.

Lestat’s response was immediate. Oh, that eager man. 50 minutes, maybe? Bring me coffee. This is unbearable.

Louis rolled his eyes but got up anyway, pulling on his coat before heading out after asking for the address. At the salon, he was immediately overwhelmed by the strong smell of hair products and chemicals. He hated these places. Maybe, because the rare experience he’s gotten as a kid didn’t leave the kindest impression on him. Maybe because once, a hairstylist butchered his hair, and he’d to wait ages until it was long enough for him to like it again.

Inside, he spotted the blonde rockstar immediately—reclined in a chair, a cape draped over him, his hair wrapped in foil while a stylist worked around him. Lestat caught sight of him in the mirror and made a dramatic show of suffering, tilting his head back with a sigh. “Louis!” he said. “My saviour has arrived.”

Louis smiled at him, holding up the coffee cup as he approached. “Brought you this. Caramel-something. Figured you’d need it.” He put it down like it was something toxic. Lestat reached for it like a man dying of thirst:” You are the only good thing about this entire experience. Oh, and you too Louis.”

Louis chuckled, leaning against the counter nearby. “That bad?”

“You have no idea,” Lestat muttered before taking a sip of his coffee, eyes closing in contentment. “Mm. At least one thing is going right today.”

Louis shook his head, watching as the stylist continued working. He had to admit, the whole thing was entertaining. And much to his own dismay, he was getting far too comfortable with moments like these—with Lestat, with their strange routine, with this thing between them that neither of them had fully acknowledged.

But that was a thought for another time. For now, he’d just sip his own coffee and wait.

Louis settled into the chair next to Lestat, stretching out his legs as he watched the rest of the process unfold. It was strangely captivating—the way Lestat still sulked, exaggerated every minor inconvenience, and then immediately preened when the stylist flattered him. Louis didn’t usually linger in salons, but he found himself comfortable here, sipping his coffee as Lestat grumbled about foil placement and how long everything took.

When the stylist finally unwrapped the foil and started drying Lestat’s hair after rinsing it, Louis had to admit once again how good he looked. There were subtle, lighter streaks through the blonde, catching in the light just enough to add texture. Plus, they’ve done something to his curls. Or, someone has styled them properly. Because Lestat didn’t, when he wasn’t on stage. They were usually a frizzy golden halo.

Lestat studied himself in the mirror, tilting his head this way and that, before nodding. “Fine. It’s decent.”

The stylist sighed, and removed the cape. Lestat seemed to have found his manners again, because he thanked her, and the tip he gave her later really made up for the inconvenience he’d been throughout the entire process. Afterwards he still kept running his fingers through his hair, even as he turned to Louis on their way out:

“We’re going shopping before rehearsal.”

Louis raised a brow. “Oh, we are?”

“Yes.” Lestat smirked. “Unless you have better plans? I don’t want to sit around all day.”

Louis agreed anyway, stuffing his hands into his pockets as they left the salon and stepped out into the city.

The streets of Budapest were lively, the air crisp but not unpleasant. Louis had expected Lestat to drag him into some high– end designer store, the kind that had security guards at the doors and barely anything on the racks, but instead, they ended up somewhere normal. Boutiques with big windows, stores with racks full of actual clothes instead of just ‘statements’ that cost thousands. Louis blinked. “Not what I expected.”

Lestat smiled to himself, rifling through a rack of skirts. Actual skirts. Long ones, short ones. He picked one of these, looked at it, put it against his own hips as if to test if he’d fit into it. “And what exactly did you expect?”

“I don’t know. Gold– threaded coats? Silk imported from France?”

The blonde chuckled. “I like nice things, mon cœur, but I’m not as withdrawn from reality as you think I am.” He held up a jacket, studying it for a moment before putting it back. “Besides, not everything needs to be extravagant. Sometimes, I just want something comfortable. And I didn’t bring any of that. Kind of forgot I was doing things aside from performing.”

Louis hummed, trailing after him.

They picked out a few things as they moved through the store – Lestat, naturally, was the more enthusiastic shopper, but Louis found himself enjoying it more than expected. Maybe because it wasn’t rushed. Maybe because Lestat actually listened when Louis said something looked ridiculous. At one point, Lestat dragged him into the fitting rooms, insisting he needed opinions. Louis, who usually hated this kind of thing, found himself happy with sitting on one of the provided couches, waiting for the curtain to open.

“Alright, rate this,” Lestat said, stepping out in a deep purple sweater.

Louis tilted his head, considering. “Eight.”

Lestat pouted. “Only an eight?”

“Would’ve been a nine if you didn’t make that face. Also, it’s boring.”

Lestat scoffed, disappearing back inside the stall. The next few outfits went similarly—Lestat modelling, Louis rating, and the occasional bickering over what actually suited him. Louis thought he looked best in warm colours, Lestat insisted he only wore black and the occasional spark of something that didn’t say ‘I want to die’. Louis also insisted, there really wasn’t anything he couldn’t wear, but for some reason Lestat was convinced there were many cuts not suiting him. It was bullshit, really, because he looked stunning even in the most ridiculous pieces.

But all summed up, to Louis’ surprise, he was having fun. By the end of it, Lestat had a manageable pile of purchases, and just as Louis thought they were done, Lestat plucked a shirt from one of the racks he’s made and tossed it at him.

“What’s this?” Louis asked.

“You liked it”, Lestat said. Louis nodded:” I said I liked it, not that I wanted to buy it.”

“Same thing.”

Louis narrowed his eyes. “Lestat—”

“Shut it.”

“Stop trying to be my sugar daddy.”

Lestat burst out laughing. “You act like I’m buying you diamonds.”

Louis grumbled, but Lestat bought the shirt anyway. As they walked out, bags in hand, Louis glanced at Lestat, shaking his head.

They arrived at the rehearsal venue in the early afternoon, the towering concert hall looming over them with its sleek, modern architecture. It was different from the last city—larger, almost intimidating in its sheer scale. Louis glanced up at it, shifting the shopping bags in his hand as Lestat strode forward like he had any idea where they were going.

Inside, the venue was mostly empty. The band wouldn’t be arriving for another couple of days, but the technical crew was already at work, setting up rigs, adjusting lighting, and running sound checks. The faint hum of activity filled the space, but it wasn’t too chaotic.

“Where do you need to be?” Louis asked as they walked through the backstage corridors.

“Everywhere.” The blonde sighed dramatically. “I told them to change something with the acoustics in the last show, and I know they didn’t do it properly. I need to make sure it’s actually fixed.”

Louis smiled. “You really don’t trust anyone, do you?”

Lestat threw him an exasperated look. “I trust them when they prove themselves competent.”

Louis just shook his head. They reached the main hall, stepping onto the massive stage. The space stretched out in front of them—rows upon rows of empty seats, all waiting to be filled. Louis had been here before, not literally of course, standing in the wings, watching from VIP sections, but there was something different about being on stage itself. It was almost surreal. Behind him Lestat turned in a slow circle, taking in the space, already calculating. “It’s good,” he murmured, almost to himself. “It’ll be better when they actually finish setting up.”

Louis tucked his hands into his pockets and turned slightly to study him. “You always like to check it out beforehand?”

“Of course. I have to feel it.” Lestat’s fingers twitched at his sides. “Some places, they have energy, you know? Some make you feel like the performance will be electric before you even start.” He exhaled, rolling his shoulders. “And some…” His nose scrunched in distaste. “Some feel like damp basements, no matter how many lights you put up.”

Louis huffed a quiet laugh. “And this one?”

The other man tilted his head, considering. “Somewhere in between. But it’ll be better when the people are here.” He glanced at Louis then, a lazy grin curving his lips. “And when you’re watching.”

Louis rolled his eyes, ignoring the warmth in his chest. Before he could reply, one of the sound engineers approached, looking slightly wary—as if bracing for whatever new demand Lestat was about to make. “Good, you’re here,” Lestat said, already moving toward the mixing console. “Now tell me—did you actually fix what I told you to fix, or do I have to do everything myself?”

Louis sighed and found himself a spot at the edge of the stage, settling in for what would likely be an hour of Lestat scrutinizing every soundwave and acoustical nuance in the building.

At some point, the sound check had been going on for longer than Louis had expected. At first, he had been paying attention, watching Lestat talk to the sound engineers, pacing around the empty concert hall and testing some microphones. He gestured wildly as he spoke, pointing at the speakers, the stage, the seats, seemingly unsatisfied with every small detail. It was impressive, really—Lestat in his element, commanding, precise, his passion unmistakable.

But after a while, the monotony of it started to sink in. The echo of voices, the low hum of instruments being tuned, the distant noise of workers moving equipment—it all became a soft, indistinct backdrop. Louis sat down in one of the auditorium seats, arms crossed, eyes flickering closed just for a second.

It didn’t feel like long before a voice pulled him from the haze of sleep.

“Mon cher, wake up,” Lestat murmured, tapping his knee. Louis blinked his eyes open, disoriented for a moment. The stage lights were dimmed now, and the crew had mostly cleared out. Lestat was crouched beside him, smiling in that way that told Louis he had been watching him for a while.

“I called the kids,” Lestat said. “We’re meeting for dinner soon. Then bed. It’s been a long day.”

It has been. The flight, then all day long on their feet. Louis rubbed his face. “What time is it?”

“Late enough that you might as well have gone to bed,” Lestat teased. He offered him a hand, but Louis didn’t take it because he was too busy sitting up straighter, stretching his arms over his head:“ And our bags?”

“Already back at the hotel. Had someone deliver them.”

Louis gave the blonde a sceptical look once he was done waking himself up. “I thought you were down to earth?”

Lestat chirped:“ I am.”

“Yeah? Because that sounds an awful lot like something a spoiled rockstar would do.” Lestat’s lips opened, but he wasn’t really offended:“ Would you rather have carried them back yourself, mon Louis?”

Louis stood, brushing off his jacket. “That’s not the point.”

 “Sounds like the point to me.”

Louis shook his head but let it drop, following Lestat out of the venue and back toward the city.

The evening air was warm, carrying the smell of grilled meat and spices from the street vendors they passed. They arrived at a small but lively restaurant tucked into a side street, the outdoor seating area bustling with people. Claudia and Viktor were already outside at a table, Viktor smoking lazily, leaning back in his chair, feet stretched far under the table. Across from him sat a young man Louis had never seen before. Dark-haired, sharp-featured, dressed in a way that made it clear he cared about appearances but didn’t want to seem like he did. He must have been a bit older than the other, but not much.

Lestat grinned when he spotted him. “Laurent!” He approached easily, clapping a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Had a good flight?” Laurent exhaled through his nose, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. He stood up, and he briefly hugged Lestat, making clear they knew each other well. “It was fine. I don’t mind.”

Viktor, flicking the ash from his cigarette, shot him an unimpressed look. “You hate it. Stop lying. We all know you are.”

Lestat laughed and turned to Louis. “Louis, this is Laurent. He and Vik have known each other since they were kids.”

Louis nodded, sitting down. “Nice to meet you.”

Laurent tilted his head slightly, looking at him with an unreadable expression before offering a small nod in return. “Likewise.”

Lestat sat beside Louis, already reaching for the menu. “So, what are we drinking?”

The restaurant was cozy, its terrace lit by strings of warm lights overhead. The air was filled with the scent of grilled meats, fresh bread, and a hint of something sweet—maybe cinnamon, maybe honey. Their table was tucked into a quiet corner, away from the main street, but close enough that they could still hear the hum of the city around them.

A bit later, the waiter had brought them a bottle of wine, and by now, glasses were filled—except for Claudia’s, of course. She sat opposite of Viktor and his friend, idly pushing her fork through her food while Viktor and Laurent talked.

“I still can’t believe you actually finished your second semester,” Viktor said, shaking his head. “Feels like a personal betrayal.”

Laurent sneered, twirling his glass between his fingers. “Just because you never had the attention span to sit through a full class doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t.”

Viktor inhaled dramatically. “I hate school. But I’m doing my stuff.”

“Sleeping through doesn’t count.”

Louis watched as Claudia’s eyes darted between them, her fingers drumming lightly against the table. She had that look—the one she got when she was interested but felt out of place. He tried twice to talk to her over dinner, but he’s got the feeling she was still busy trying to get Viktor to talk to her again. He got that feeling. He remembered the day his sister had gotten too old to like playing with him anymore, and the day she stopped being home, spending all of her time outside. It clearly wasn’t the exact same with Viktor and Claudia, but he understood how it must be like to have someone spending time with you, only to realize they were in fact much older, and didn’t really have the same interests and plans.

“Do you know how often he’d to repeat the same maths course because he was too lazy to study?” Laurent asked, glancing at Claudia, like he was trying to include her. Ah. So that didn’t go unnoticed. She blinked, then shrugged:“ No. How long?”

Laurent turned back to Viktor, raising an eyebrow. Viktor groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “A year—”

“A year and a half,” Laurent corrected, grinning. Claudia snorted at that, covering her mouth with her hand. “That’s embarrassing.”

“Thank you,” Laurent said, raising his glass slightly in her direction before taking a sip. Viktor pointed at him. “I don’t need both of you judging me. I tried my best.” Now Lestat too joined the conversation, chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Oh, come on, Vik. You never wanted to study. You just wanted an excuse to be lazy for another year. That’s why that summer; you were busy studying inside instead of going out. Luckily, you learned from it.”

“Yeah, well,” Viktor muttered. “Maybe. Worst summer of my life.”

While the other three were busy discussing whether or not that punishment had been fair, Louis tilted his head toward Claudia. “You doing okay?”

She shrugged again. “Yeah. Just listening.”

She was being polite. Louis could tell she was a still left out—Viktor and Laurent had a shorthand between them, years of shared history. And Louis knew this wasn’t exactly her scene anyways. They were different than her, and so even if it weren’t for the age difference it would have been weird. He turned to Lestat, lowering his voice just slightly. “She’s too young for this. They won’t include her for long.”

Lestat sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know. We’ll take her out somewhere tomorrow. Don’t worry. She won’t feel left out long. I’ll talk to Viktor about it.”

Louis nodded, satisfied with that answer.

Eventually, plates emptied, wine glasses refilled and then abandoned. Lestat checked his phone and then looked at the table. “I called a cab. It’ll be here in ten minutes.”

Viktor groaned, stretching his arms over his head. “Me and Laurent are staying out.”

Claudia perked up at that:“ Where are you going?”

Viktor shook his head. “Somewhere you’re not allowed. Sorry Claudia.”

The girl sighed dramatically. “You’re not that cool.”

Laurent agreed:“ He really isn’t.” Then, he added:” We’ll think about something for tomorrow, right Vik? Surely there’s something we can do together.” Louis shot the young man a thankful glance, because suddenly, Claudia seemed much happier again.

The group stood, heading toward the street. The cab was waiting, and as Claudia, Louis and Lestat slipped inside, Viktor and Laurent waved them off before disappearing back into the city.

Back at the hotel, Claudia yawned as they stepped into the elevator, blinking slowly as she leaned against Louis’ side. Lestat tapped his fingers against the railing absentmindedly while Louis checked his phone. When they reached their floor, Louis walked Claudia to her door while Lestat trailed behind, stretching his arms over his head.

“You need anything?” Louis asked as Claudia fumbled with her keycard.

She shook her head. “Nah.” She swiped the card, pushing the door open. Then, glancing between the two of them, she raised an eyebrow. “You two have fun with your weird arrangement.”

Louis sighed. “Go to sleep, Claudia.”

She grinned and waved him with both hands. “Night Daddy Lou! Night Lestat!”

“Good night, ma petite,” Lestat said, waving back as she disappeared into her room.

Then, it was just them again.

They walked to their door in silence, and as soon as Lestat swiped the keycard, Louis could already feel the awkwardness settling in his bones. The room was dimly lit, their luggage still placed how they left it, but the bed was made up. One large, neatly tucked-in blanket, two pillows. No divider, no couch to flee to.

Lestat shrugged off his jacket and threw it over a chair before heading first to the bathroom. Louis sat down on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face with both hands. He was fine. This was fine.

When the other man came back out, Louis glanced at him and blinked.

Lestat, who had absolutely no shame about undressing in any given scenario, was now in full-length pyjamas. Long-sleeved shirt, long pants. He ran a hand through his combed through hair, playing with the ends of it.

Louis raised an eyebrow at what he wore. “Not gonna get warm in that?”

Lestat looked down at himself, then at Louis. “What? I like sleeping like this.”

“You take your shirt off at every opportunity, but now, of all times, you’re covered like a nun?”

Lestat grinned. “Would you prefer me naked, mon cher?”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

Lestat chuckled and grabbed his phone before slipping into bed. Louis sighed and went to the bathroom to brush his teeth, changing into a simple T-shirt and sweatpants before hesitantly climbing in beside him. It was a large bed, plenty of space between them. But still, it was Lestat. And no matter how much space Louis put between them, he still felt him there.

They lay in silence, both on their sides, facing away from each other. Louis stared at the ceiling for a moment before closing his eyes, willing himself to sleep.

It didn’t work.

The room was too quiet. Or maybe it was too loud. His own thoughts rang in his ears, keeping him restless. Then, he heard a small sigh. A rustling of sheets.

Louis turned onto his back.

A moment later, Lestat did the same.

In the dim light from the streetlamp outside, their eyes met. Neither of them said anything for a second. Until softly, Lestat asked, “Are you awake?”

Louis laughed quietly. “No.” Lestat shifted onto his side to face him:“ Can’t sleep?”

Louis hesitated, then sighed. “Guess not.”

Softer, lower, the blonde answered. “Me neither.”

For a while, they just looked at each other. Louis wasn’t sure how they kept doing this—walking a line, getting closer, then stepping back before either of them could fall. It was dangerous. But it was also weirdly nice. A little dance that was starting to become a near comfortable thing.

After a while, Lestat let out a breath and smiled lazily. “This is ridiculous.”

Louis hummed. “What is?”

“You. Me. Lying here like idiots, pretending this isn’t strange.”

Louis snorted. “Maybe I was hoping we’d just fall asleep and not deal with it.” Lestat raised an eyebrow:“ You really think that’s possible?”

Louis didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure of many things these days, not when it came to how he thought to behave and think around Lestat. The other sighed and turned onto his back again, staring at the ceiling. “It’s been a long day. We should try.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of them moved. After another pause, Louis sighed and forced himself to close his eyes. “Good night, Lestat.” A beat.

Then, kindly, “Good night, Louis.”

***

Louis woke up first.

For a moment, he just lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to get his thoughts together. Then, as his mind settled, his gaze drifted to the man beside him. Lestat was still deep in sleep, lips slightly parted, one arm tucked under the pillow, his blonde hair a mess over the sheets. He looked different like this—unguarded, calm. Louis knew it was strange, watching him like this. But he didn’t stop.

His eyes traced over the soft curve of his mouth, down to the sharp angles of his jaw. He thought about kissing him awake. The thought was ridiculous, far too intimate. Too much.

So, he didn’t.

Instead he watched, and when Lestat’s alarm began buzzing against the nightstand, breaking the quiet, Louis reached out before the blonde could stir and turned it off. But after a while Lestat shifted, making a quiet, contented sound before rolling onto his side. Then, without hesitation, he threw an arm over Louis’ waist, tucking himself close.

Louis’ breath caught.

He could push him off. Should push him off. Didn’t. He let himself relax into the warmth of it, even lifting a hand to Lestat’s hair, combing his fingers through the soft strands. He let himself have that much. Just that much.

Lestat made another sleepy noise and pressed his face into Louis’ shoulder. Then, slowly, his eyes opened. At first, he just blinked, dazed, like he wasn’t quite sure what was happening. Then, a slow, satisfied smile spread across his face. “Well, good morning,” he murmured, voice still thick with sleep.

Louis swallowed. “Morning.”

Lestat’s fingers brushed against Louis’ waist—soft, absentminded. Just enough to make Louis aware of how close they were.

"You're still here," Lestat mused, eyes glinting.

"Obviously," Louis said, clearing his throat. “Of course I could have slept in the lobby but between that and a proper bed…”

Lestat hummed. “So… should I still have the hotel fix your own room, or…?”

Louis narrowed his eyes. “You planned this.” Lestat smirked, shifting up onto an elbow:“ Not really. Though, if I’d known this would work, I would’ve tried it sooner.”

Louis huffed, rolling his eyes. “Blonde idiot.” The other man only grinned, then leaned in to kiss him. Louis let him.

It was easy—so easy—falling into this. Lestat’s mouth was warm, insistent but unhurried. One of his hands drifted to Louis’ hip, thumb tracing a slow circle. Then he shifted, pressing in closer, half hovering over him now, one knee between Louis’ legs.

It was good.

Too good.

Too good, because suddenly Louis was very aware of the way his body was reacting to all of this, and—fuck.

He broke the kiss and turned his head away, exhaling sharply, thinking about anything to say just to flee from this moment. “I need to shower.” It was stupid what he said. He knew it, Lestat knew it. But before Lestat could even open his mouth, Louis was already pushing him off and sliding out of bed, disappearing into the bathroom. The blonde didn’t comment it.

He turned the water on before even looking at himself in the mirror.

Fucking ridiculous.

Through the door, he could faintly hear Lestat talking. Not to him—on the phone with someone. Louis frowned, focusing on the sound of his voice as he undressed. He couldn't make out the words, but Lestat’s tone was lighter, casual.

By the time Louis emerged, fuzzy robe around his shoulders, Lestat was sitting on the bed, grinning up at him. “Perfect timing. My bandmates just arrived. We’re meeting them for lunch.” Ah. So they weren’t going to talk about it. Well, Louis was glad about that. Embarrassed as he was, he was glad to forget it again.

Then, standing, Lestat walked over, leaning in like he might kiss him again. Louis placed a hand against his chest, stopping him. “No.”

Lestat only smiled, stepping back. “Rude.”

Louis gripped Lestat’s shirt, tugging him in with a deliberate pull. As their lips met, he bit down lightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to make a point. This is mine to decide, not yours. Lestat only grinned into the kiss, unfazed, like the victory had been his all along.

***

Dear Auntie Grace,

We got to Budapest yesterday, and I’m writing this before we head out again, so Daddy Lou doesn’t start lecturing me AGAIN about the “lost art of letter writing” or whatever. (I swear, it’s like he thinks I live in the 1800s.) I’ll still text you pictures, obviously. I would’ve just texted everything, but apparently, that’s still “rude”, even after I already sent a letter.

So—Budapest. It’s nice. Bigger than I thought it’d be. A lot of old buildings, but also a lot of new ones. We walked around a bit yesterday, and Daddy Lou liked it, which means it’s really nice. (You know how he is.) Lestat, on the other hand, was mostly interested in the stores. He dragged Daddy Lou into some, and I don’t know how, but he actually got him to shop.

Viktor’s been studying most of the time, but he still showed me around a little. He introduced me to his friend, Laurent, who’s been traveling with us since yesterday. They’ve known each other forever. I think he’s nice, but he and Viktor mostly talk about things I don’t care about, so I’m still deciding. I’m not that much younger than them, but they talk to me like I am. It’s annoying.

Oh, the bandmates are now here too. They met up with us for lunch, and I thought they were going to be awful again, but they weren’t. They were actually nice to Lestat. Maybe because they weren’t drinking. Or maybe because they’re finally starting to appreciate him. (Doubt it.) Daddy Lou still doesn’t like them, though. I could tell. After lunch, he made Lestat go for a walk just so they could talk about them behind their backs. They think I don’t notice these things, but I do.

I think we’re staying a few more days after the concert. I like it here, but I think I liked Prague better. I can’t explain why. Maybe because we were there longer. Or maybe because I’m just getting tired. Not of traveling—of not knowing where we’re going next. I ask, and no one gives me a straight answer. Lestat just smirks, Daddy Lou tells me to pack my bag, and Viktor shrugs. Apparently, I don’t get a say. Maybe I should just start following random people in the airport and see if they notice.

Anyway, I should go. I’ll text you later—don’t tell Daddy Lou.

Love,

Claudia

Chapter Text

The sound of a microphone being tested rang sharp in his ears. Louis sat on some equipment box, arms crossed, watching as Lestat got his makeup done. The hum of conversation, the distant tuning of instruments, the occasional burst of laughter from a tech—it all blurred into a background he barely registered. Lestat, on the other hand, was completely impossible to ignore. A beam of gold he was; sitting under the shine of his mirror, seemingly reflecting all the room’s light.

Right now he was talking to the makeup artist, gesturing too much, making her pause every few seconds. Louis could tell she was trying to focus, but the rockstar’s restlessness wasn’t making it easy. Eventually, she sighed and gave up, handing him the eyeliner pencil with a muttered “Fine, do it yourself.” Louis watched her go, only to be replaced by Tough-Cookie who walked over then, stopping near Louis. “You look like a man forced to sit through an experimental art film,” she said, lighting a cigarette.

Louis glanced briefly at her. His desire when it came to talking to her was mostly non-existent. He could bear it, if he had to, and when she wasn’t acting like some spoiled brat he even liked it. That applied to all of Lestat’s band. Sometimes, these past days, they’ve been nearly entertaining, when going out with them. A bunch of chatty musicians, always going somewhere, always excited by everything. But they were too much. Not in a good way.

“That’s generous.” Louis answered. “At least an art film ends.”

She smirked, exhaling smoke. “You getting used to this yet?”

Louis didn’t answer right away. He wasn’t sure if he was. There were parts of it he found fascinating—watching the show come together, seeing the way Lestat moved through it all. Then there were the parts that made him itch, the ones that felt too loud, too chaotic, too foreign. When he got the impression that he was only tolerated, only waiting until he was useful enough to be turned to.

“Some of it,” he admitted.

Tough-Cookie nodded, taking another drag. “Could be worse. He’s not making you sit in on rehearsals.”

Louis huffed. “He tried.”

The woman snorted. “Of course he did.” She flicked the cigarette away, nodding toward Lestat, who was currently leaning so close to the mirror he was practically inside it. “Well. See you later, lovebird.”

Louis wanted to give her some dirty looks, but she was already walking away.

He turned back to the other man, who was still working on his eyeliner, lips pursed in concentration. It was almost funny, how precise he was with this, but then so careless about everything else. His eyeshadow was smudged; his cheeks a bright pink. There was intention behind it, obviously, but still. Louis stood and walked over.

“You’re finished soon?” he asked.

Lestat barely spared him a glance. “Perfection takes time.”

Louis hummed. His fingers twitched slightly before he reached forward, brushing a thin strand of the blonde’s hair between his fingers. He didn’t know if he ever touched his hair before, but he suddenly found himself rolling it between his fingers, watching as he turned it into the light. “You should braid this,” he said.

Lestat barely glanced back. “Do it, then.”

Louis hesitated—just a beat—before his fingers moved on their own, twisting the strand slowly, methodically. It was something to focus on, something to do with his hands while his mind caught up with the fact that he was here, that this kind of closeness didn’t make him want to step back anymore. He didn’t mind the warmth of Lestat’s skin so near; didn’t mind the way he smelled of cologne and hairspray and just Lestat.

Near desperately, he wanted to bend down, and melt into what was the warmth of him. It was comfortable, even when frightening. It was so good, he really wanted to take it all.

He was still finishing the braid when Lestat’s phone rang. At first, the rockstar ignored it, but when it kept buzzing, he sighed dramatically and grabbed it. "Oui?" His tone was sharp at first, but then his brows furrowed. "Quoi? Quand?"

Louis watched as his entire body tensed. He let go of his hair and stepped back.

"Non, non, c’est une blague—putain, Viktor, tu plaisantes?" The blonde exhaled hard, then pressed his fist to his forehead and closed his eyes. The white shade that his face was turned a faint red. He breathed so deeply, Louis worried he might explode.

“What’s wrong?”

Lestat barely looked at him as he kept listening, nodding as he did. He muttered something else to himself before hanging up and slamming his phone down on the desk. It sounded like he broke glass as he did. “The kids” he said, voice clipped. “Apparently, they got into some trouble.”

“The kids?” Alarmed, Louis patted his own pants. His phone. He needed his phone if something was wrong with Claudia. But Lestat, he reached up, and slowed his movements:” Non. My son and his friend. Don’t worry, Claudia’s at home. They said she’s watching a movie or something.”

Louis nodded. His relief didn’t last long. “What kind of trouble are they in?”

“Something about drinking in the wrong place, maybe trespassing. I don’t know, they weren’t clear. But the police were involved.” Lestat clenched his jaw. He looked around, as if there was anything in the room helping the situation. He opened and closed his left hand, then said:“ I can’t leave. Not right now. I’d do anything for my son, but if I go now, then all of this will become a huge mess, and I don’t know if-”

Louis nodded once. “I’ll handle it.” There was nothing to think about here. He could leave, and Lestat could not, without making matters worse. If Lestat left, he’d have to cancel the show, and he’d be all over the news with it, and then someone would find out about what happened, and that would mean publicly dragging Viktor further into this. Louis knew this was the only option.

Lestat turned to him fully then, surprised. “You—?”

“Do you have a better option?” Louis asked simply.

Lestat stared at him, then exhaled, something easing in his expression. He handed Louis his wallet and keys, then pressed his other hand briefly against Louis’ wrist. “Merci.”

Louis briefly brushed a hand along his shoulder. It would be okay, he wanted to say, because this was just two young men doing stupid things, and far from the end of the world, even when the blonde’s expression has said otherwise. He left quickly, stepping out of the warm glow of backstage and into the night, shaking his head as he pulled out his phone and text his daughter, just to be sure. But Claudia, she was alright, just like Lestat had said.

In her hotel room, watching a movie, texting her friends. Louis hated the idea of her being alone there – and Viktor and Laurent, who’ve broken their promise about staying nearby. There really was a difference, between going down the street, visiting a bar, and having yourself end up in some over-night cell.

Louis drove through the quiet streets of Budapest, his grip on the wheel of Lestat’s rented car tight, irritation simmering low in his chest. He hadn’t rushed—he wasn’t about to get himself pulled over while on his way to deal with two idiots who had apparently decided to act like reckless teenagers.

But now, stepping into the police station, the annoyance grew sharper.

The place was clean, efficient, the kind of government building that functioned just well enough. A few officers stood behind a desk, speaking in Hungarian, and Louis approached, bracing himself for the inevitable hassle of being a foreigner in a situation like this.

“Good evening,” he started, keeping his tone steady. “I’m here for Viktor de Lioncourt and…” He hesitated, realizing he didn’t even know Laurent’s last name. “Laurent.”

The officer at the desk raised a brow. “And you are?”

“Louis du Lac.”

Nothing. The officer only tilted his head, waiting. Louis sighed:” I’m here on behalf of Lestat de Lioncourt.”

Still, nothing. And then—Hungarian. A string of words Louis could not even begin to place, the officer speaking with an expectant tone as if he should understand. Louis closed his eyes briefly. “English?”

The officer hesitated, then switched:” And what is your relation to them?” Louis took a deep breath. He hadn’t really prepared this. “I—look. I’m Viktor’s…” He hesitated. No. That wasn’t right. No. He settled on, “His father sent me. I’m a friend.”

“His father will have to come himself.”

Louis had seen that coming. It would have been too easy otherwise. “He’s working. He’s in the middle of a concert. He can’t leave, so he sent me to take them home.”

The officer didn’t seem to care. “Are you his legal guardian?”

“No.” Louis admitted after considering to lie. He wasn’t sure that would have done him any good. He wanted to get out of this place as fast as possible anyways.

“Then I cannot release them to you.”

Louis inhaled deeply, counted to three. He could just wait. Let them sit here and stew in it, see how much fun they thought it was now. He cast a glance over to the bench where the two culprits sat—Viktor with his arms crossed, looking more annoyed than concerned, and Laurent, who at least had the decency to look mildly embarrassed. The two looked like they’ve gone beyond themselves to get drunk as fast and efficient as possible. Louis wanted to slap the back of both their heads and remind them how old they are.

He had to settled on simply approaching them, and lecturing. “What the hell did you two do?”

Viktor scoffed at him. He looked up, blonde curtain falling into his eyes. “It’s not that bad.”

Louis folded his arms. “Really. Explain it to me, then.”

Laurent spoke up instead, quiet:“ We had drinks. Outside, near the river.”

“And?”

“We may have climbed onto a boat.” He cringed at his own words. Smart boy. Louis would have definitely wanted to yell if he hadn’t looked like he knew how stupid this was. He closed his eyes:“ You may have?”

“It was empty,” Viktor cut in, as if that excused anything. “No one was using it.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s yours.”

“It was just sitting there.”

“Jesus Christ.” Louis pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you have any idea how much of a headache this is?”

Laurent at least looked somewhat remorseful, but Viktor only shrugged. “We didn’t steal it. We just—sat there for a while. And then someone called the cops.”

Louis shook his head. He pulled out his phone, dialling quickly. It rang. And rang. And then—

"Oui?"

Lestat’s voice was breathless, slightly distorted by noise. Louis could hear the faint echo of the concert still happening, the distant roar of a crowd. Lestat must be standing somewhere just behind the stage right now, pressed into the most silent corner he could find. He knew he had to make this quick.

“They’re fine,” Louis started. “But I need you to talk to the officer here so we can take them home.”

A pause. Then— “Putain. Tu te fous de moi?”

“Just talk to him.” He passed the phone to the officer, who hesitated before taking it. Louis couldn’t hear all of it, but he caught enough to know the blonde was annoyed, demanding, probably charming in that way he could be when he needed to be. The officer still didn’t look pleased, but eventually, he handed the phone back to Louis. Whatever Lestat has said seemed to have worked.

“He is their father?” Louis didn’t correct him. No reason in making this any harder.

“Yes.”

“And you will be responsible for them tonight?”

“Yes.”

A beat. Then, a sigh. “Take them. Before I change my mind.”

Louis took in some air; relief laced with lingering frustration. He turned to Viktor and Laurent, giving them a look. “Let’s go.”

They stood, Laurent mumbling a quiet merci, Viktor just shoving his hands in his pockets.

Louis drove them back to the venue in silence, knuckles tight around the steering wheel. The city lights blurred past, a haze of neon and streetlamps streaking across the windshield. In the passenger seat, Viktor slumped against the door, the alcohol on his breath faint but unmistakable. Laurent sat in the back, silent, watching the road. At some point it sounded like he wanted to say something, but then he didn’t.

Louis sent Lestat a quick text after they arrived – Got them. We’re backstage.

The noise of the concert still throbbed through the walls, but by now the show was in its final stretch, the distant echo of the band carrying from the main hall. They sat in a quiet corner of some hallway, a space tucked away from the main chaos. Louis crossed his arms, leaning forward slightly.

“So,” he said, voice even but firm. “Is this just about getting attention, or do you actually have something going on?”

Viktor snarled, head tipping back against the wall. “What do you care?” His words were a little slow, his irritation softened by the alcohol but still sharp. “You’re not my father. You’re barely anything. Just some guy he’s entertaining himself with until he gets bored.”

Louis’ jaw clenched. “You need to stop acting like a spoiled brat,” he said, his patience thinning. “Like when we first met, when you thought sulking through entire conversations would get you somewhere. Sure, be rude, but I’m only trying to help you here.”

Laurent, who had been sitting quietly, exhaled through his nose. “You overdo this, Vik,” he murmured. “Just apologize.”

Viktor closed his eyes, as if debating it. Then:” You’re right. Sorry Louis.”

The door swung open abruptly, the handle hitting the wall with a loud crack.

Lestat stormed towards them, still dressed in the clothes from the show, his makeup smudged across his cheeks, hair sticking to his damp forehead. He was still breathless, sweat shining at his temples, the adrenaline from the stage bleeding into his fury. “Tu te fous de moi?” His voice was sharp, slicing through the room. In a single stride, he reached Viktor, grabbing him roughly by the arm. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

Viktor tensed. “I—”

“I just let you off the hook for last time, and now this?” Lestat didn’t let go, didn’t loosen his grip as he shoved him toward the exit. “Get moving.”

Louis stood, watching the scene unfold. He considered stepping in, saying something, but knew it would only make things worse. Lestat turned on Laurent next. “And you,” he snapped, voice cold. “You should know better. I’m disappointed.”

Laurent nodded, gaze dropping. He didn’t argue. “I’m sorry, Les.”

Lestat made some frustrated sound, running a hand through his curls. Then, without another word, he stormed out. Louis figured he’d just follow.

The drive back to the hotel was tense. Lestat gripped the wheel too tightly, took turns too fast. Louis sat stiffly in the passenger seat, stealing quick glances at him, wary but silent. The boys sat in the back, quiet now, all the earlier defiance drained out of them.

The city blurred by, night pressing in around them.

Lestat barely gave them time to step into their hotel room before he slammed the door shut behind them, the sharp of it ringing out like a gunshot. The tension was immediate, pressing, a heat in the air that came not just from anger but exhaustion, frustration, and something that’s been brewing between father nor son for what had to be years.

"You think this is funny?" Lestat snapped, rounding on Viktor so fast the young man instinctively took a step back. It didn’t look like he was frightened by what Lestat would do, but rather, considering just leaving the room. "You think I don't have enough to deal with without you pulling this shit? Do you ever think about the fact that I do everything to keep your name out of the fucking media? Or do you just assume it happens by magic?"

Viktor crossed his arms, trying to hold his ground, but his jaw tightened. "I didn't ask you to."

Lestat let out a sharp, humourless laugh. "Ah, bien sûr! And when the headlines say 'Lestat de Lioncourt’s Son Caught Pissing in an Alley'—"

"That’s not even what happened!" Viktor snapped, his voice rising.

Lestat ignored him, pacing now, running a hand through his still-damp curls. "And what if they'd recognized you? What if you ended up in some gossip rag? You don’t think, Viktor. You never think. This isn’t just about the media. Do you have any idea what could have happened if some crazy freak-"

"I think just fine," Viktor shot back. "I think I want you to stop pretending I’m you."

That landed. The room went momentarily still, Lestat’s expression flickering between confusion and something more wounded before his frustration took over again. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Viktor’s mouth pressed into a line, like he hadn’t actually meant to say it out loud, but it was too late now. "This wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t so busy all the time."

Lestat stared at him, then scoffed, shaking his head. "That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. My tour has nothing to do with you acting like you’re some dumb teenager again! You get everything you want, Viktor. Every opportunity, every luxury. You don’t want for anything. If you needed me here with you, you’d only have to ask. I’ve dropped things for you before, and I’ll do it again! But if you don’t speak to me, how am I supposed to know?"

"Yeah? And when am I supposed to do that, exactly?" Viktor threw his hands up. "Between soundchecks? Backstage? While you're too busy yelling at everyone about how your name needs to be bigger on the fucking posters?"

Lestat’s eyes darkened.

Laurent, who had been silent so far, shifted slightly where he stood, like he was debating stepping in. Louis, meanwhile, sat on the bed, awkward as hell. He felt out of place, like he was intruding on something he wasn’t supposed to see. But he couldn’t leave either—he was already in it.

Viktor exhaled sharply, glancing away like he’d said too much. the blonde was staring at him now. The anger hadn’t disappeared, but it had changed, shifted into something more brittle.

"You think I don’t care," Lestat said, quieter now. "You think I don’t notice."

Viktor didn’t answer.

Lestat let out a slow breath, rubbing his temple. The room stayed thick with unspoken words, the weight of things neither of them had the energy to unpack.

Louis sighed, leaning forward, finally speaking up. "Look," he said, voice calm but firm. "None of this is gonna get solved tonight. You’re both tired, you’re both pissed off. Maybe take a break before you say something you don’t mean."

Lestat didn’t look at him, but he let out another breath, stepping back. "Fine," he muttered. "I’m done for tonight."

Viktor glanced at Laurent, then at the door. "We going or what?"

Lestat waved a hand at them dismissively, and Viktor was out the door without another word, Laurent giving Louis a brief look—something almost apologetic—before following.

The door shut behind them. The silence left in their wake was thick, and for a long moment, Lestat just stood there, staring at nothing. Then, he let out a dry, humourless laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. "Gods. Viktor getting himself into trouble is nothing new. But Laurent? The boy usually behaves.” His laughter faded. “Teenagers," he muttered. "I should’ve just gotten a dog."

Louis snorted despite himself. "You’d end up with a spoiled poodle."

Lestat dropped onto the bed beside him and let himself fall onto his back, sighing heavily. "Kill me if you like me at least a little, mon cher." In reply, Louis shook his head and reached out to shortly comb a hand through his messy hair. Help him calm down.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Louis glanced over Lestat, watching the way he pressed his finger against his temple like he could physically push the frustration out of his skull. Louis hesitated, then asked, “Why’d you have him?”

Lestat’s hand stilled. He lowered it slowly, looking ahead instead of at Louis. His hesitation was brief, but it was there, like he was debating whether to answer at all.

Louis turned his body slightly, resting an arm on the back of the bed, waiting. He didn’t repeat the question.

The other man snorted. “It’s complicated,” he said finally. “It really wasn’t a decision I made. I don’t regret it but-” He stopped, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter now.”

Louis frowned, but before he could press further, he asked instead, “When?”

“I was eighteen,” Lestat said. His voice was quieter now, less of the sharp bravado he usually carried, more something else—something careful. “But I turned nineteen soon after.”

Would make Lestat thirty-six now, if he didn’t have his birthday yet. Louis absorbed that. And eighteen. Practically a child himself. He looked at Lestat, really looked at him, wondering what kind of boy he’d been back then. Wondering what had driven him to take on something as monumental as raising another life. It didn’t seem, like he’s had much help at that.

“And his mother?” Louis asked next, just as carefully.

Lestat’s mouth twitched slightly, something near sad passing over his face before he looked away again. “I don’t really want to talk about her,” he admitted. “And she’d probably prefer not to be named.”

Louis nodded. He wasn’t surprised, but it told him enough.

The silence between them shifted. The blonde was still laying stiffly beside him, but there was something almost fragile in the air now. Louis could feel it in the way Lestat’s hands rested on his thighs, in the way he was avoiding eye contact just slightly too much.

Louis could have left it there. But he didn’t. “You were young,” he said simply. He wanted to ask more. About the mother, and why they made that decision, and if it had been a simple accident, and how they’ve managed it. He didn’t ask any of it, because Lestat was letting out a short, breathy laugh, shaking his head:” That’s one way to put it.”

Louis didn’t push further. He just sat there, close enough for the warmth between them to be noticeable, but not touching.

Lestat tilted his head back against the headboard. “You must have been young too when you had Claudia.”

Louis glanced at him, brow twitching slightly. He hadn’t expected the question, though it made sense. He supposed, to Lestat, it must look the same—two men who had no business being fathers, raising children anyway.

“How old are you, anyway?” Lestat asked, turning to him now, gaze sharp even through his obvious exhaustion.

“Thirty-three,” Louis answered. Lestat blinked, clearly thinking that over. Then Louis added, “I adopted Claudia.”

Lestat shifted, straightening a little. “Oh,” he said, slow. “You never told me that.”

“No.”

Louis didn’t elaborate immediately. He wasn’t sure why he’d even brought it up just now. It wasn’t a secret, but it was personal. He rubbed his hands over his thighs, watching Lestat watch him, waiting. “Why?” Lestat finally asked, voice quieter now. Not demanding, just curious.

Louis hesitated. “It’s personal,” he admitted. Lestat didn’t push, but his expression flickered, like he was considering whether to anyway. Louis sighed, glancing down before speaking. “She needed help. And she chose me for it.” He paused. “I felt responsible enough to do it.”

Lestat watched him for a moment longer, then hummed softly, thoughtful. His eyes flicked over Louis’ face, and then he leaned his head back again. “Then I guess that makes two of us.”

***

She knocked once. Then twice. Viktor opened the door with a sluggish motion, ruffling through his blonde curls. His hair was a mess, and his shirt was wrinkled, like he’d only just gotten out of bed. Claudia raised an eyebrow at it, and gestured. "It’s the afternoon," she pointed out. She’d been bored all day, and until now, she’d been too proud to go over to his room and see if he’s even there, after he’s ditched their shared lesson with the tutor.

Viktor leaned against the doorframe, hovering over her. "Your point?" Oh, he was in a mood today! Claudia frowned at him:” You weren’t in the study session today. You were supposed to be there."

"I had a long night."

Claudia crossed her arms. She didn’t accept that excuse. She didn’t accept his behaviour anymore too. For a couple of days now, he’s been less of a friend, and more of an idiot she wanted to smack. "Oh yeah? What, did you break into someone’s house? Get arrested?"

Viktor didn’t answer right away.

Claudia’s mouth dropped open. "Oh my god. Did you actually—"

"Can you not?" Viktor muttered, rubbing his temples. "I have a headache."

"Self-inflicted," Claudia said, unimpressed. She didn’t get why people did that – drink a lot, and then complain about it the next day. She had enough, and pushed past him into the room and plopped down on his bed. She looked around, and noticed his collection of stuffed animals. Cute. "I had way more fun than you, anyway. I spent all night watching TV and calling my friends. No police station involved." She said.

Viktor groaned, closing the door behind him before flopping into the chair by the window. "Yeah, well. I didn’t plan on that part."

"Obviously," she pointed out.

Viktor looked like he wasn’t really sure what to say next. Luckily, his tone shifted. He sounded nicer again. "I just— I was pissed off. And drunk. And I don’t know, maybe I wanted attention. I get stupid ideas when I drink."

"Attention from whom?" She knew the answer, but she wanted him to say it.

Viktor was silent for a moment, then shrugged. "My dad, I guess."

Claudia wrinkled her nose. "Couldn’t you have just asked him? That’s what I do when I’m unhappy. Well, most of the time. Sometimes not, but then I don’t go complaining about it."

Viktor let out a dry laugh. "Yeah, well. It kind of sucks sometimes." She thought he sounded very American when he said that. Viktor lacked his father’s accent, even when he seemed to easily slip between the languages. She never asked about it, but she would, she thought. Claudia watched him, her expression shifting slightly. She knew what that felt like, the thing he talked about. Maybe not from Lestat, but— She looked down, picking at the hem of her sleeve.

"You know," she said, voice quieter now. "I’ve felt left out too."

Viktor looked over at her.

She hesitated before speaking again. "Not by my dad. By you."

Viktor blinked. "By me?" He sounded genuinely surprised.

"You and Laurent," she clarified, frowning slightly. "You’re always together now. These past days. And I’m alone here. And my dad and Lestat, they try to take me with them wherever they go, but I can tell they’re busy and-"

Viktor sat up a little. "Wait– Claudia, you’re not- "

"It’s fine," she cut in, voice quick, like she hadn’t meant to say it out loud. "I get it. You have someone else to talk to now."

Viktor exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "You could’ve just said something about that too."

"I don’t want to sound pathetic," she admitted. Viktor shook his head at that. "You’re not pathetic, okay? And I’m not ignoring you. I—" He sighed. "I’ll do better. Sorry. I never was around someone younger. I didn’t know."

Claudia gave him a look. "You better. Otherwise, I might have to get myself arrested just to keep you as my friend."

After talking to Viktor, she made her way back across the hallway, towards the room she knew to find her father in. Claudia knocked once before letting herself in. Her father was sitting on the couch, reading something on his phone. He immediately glanced up when she entered.

"Where’s Lestat?" she asked, flopping down onto the armchair across from him. She liked this. The hotel rooms, and finding everyone nearby, and getting to decide where she’d go next without restrictions. She felt like a princess or something. If it weren’t for the lack of friends she’d never want this to end.

"In the lobby," Louis replied, setting his phone aside. "Talking to someone about something."

Claudia snorted. "That’s vague."

Louis just shrugged. She hesitated for a moment before asking, "What happened yesterday?"

He looked like he didn’t really want to tell her, but she knew her father wouldn’t really keep quiet about it unless it was actually important to do so. He told her everything, especially when she asked. "What do you already know?"

"That Viktor and Laurent got into trouble," she said. "That you had to pick them up. That Lestat lost his mind after the show. Well. Vik didn’t say that, but I heard the yelling."

"That about sums it up."

Claudia frowned. "Viktor told me a bit. About why he did it. I don’t know, Lou, I think he’s really messed up about everything. But I also think he’s not speaking about it, so it’s hard to help him here."

Louis nodded. "I know. That’s what I think too. I tried to talk to Lestat about it, but he’s too angry to listen right now.”

Claudia hummed. She didn’t say more. After a beat, Louis asked, "Did you call your therapist?"

Claudia scowled at the obviousness of this. She should have seen it coming. She knew how her father was with that. "Yeah."

"And?"

"And I hate it," she said flatly. "I hate doing it over the phone. It’s awkward and stupid, and I don’t think she gets me."

"It’s just the third session, Claudia."

"I know, but—" She groaned, slumping back against the chair. "I don’t like her."

"You barely know her."

"I don’t want to know her." She insisted. She was only trying to win this argument.

Louis gave her a look. "We agreed on this. You need someone to talk to," he said, voice softer now. "Not just me."

Claudia crossed her arms but didn’t argue. Her father was right. Okay, she lost that argument. After a moment, Louis leaned back. "Let’s talk about something else," he suggested. She nodded, and they let the conversation shift to easier topics—places they’d been, things she wanted to do before they left Budapest. Louis listened, offering his thoughts here and there, watching as some of the tension in her shoulders eased.

When the door opened again, and Lestat stepped inside, he gave them both a short nod. Claudia used to think it was strange that her father and the rockstar now shared a room, but she’d accepted it quickly. Maybe it wasn’t that strange after all. She still didn’t dare to say anything about it, because she was scared to be the reason the two stopped talking again. She knew how her father was – best not acknowledge this, then, or he’d be frightened off. Lestat barely had time to acknowledge Louis before Claudia stood.

"See you later," she said, brushing past him towards the door.

Lestat arched a brow at her. "What, you’re not even going to let me speak?"

Claudia turned back just long enough to roll her eyes. "Whatever it is, I probably don’t care." She smiled at him. Lestat breathed:" Be ready by six, ma petite. We’re eating out."

She waved a hand over her shoulder in vague acknowledgment before disappearing down the hall. That left Louis and Lestat alone again in their room.

In the sudden silence, Lestat sighed, tossing himself onto the couch beside Louis with a dramatic sprawl. Today, he was wearing a low-cut shirt with long, sheer sleeves and nicely ironed trousers. Louis watched the way his shirt untucked slightly, as he slouched, and he smiled when the blonde followed his eyes to fix it. "She loves me, I’m sure of it."

Louis shook his head, amused despite himself. "You do make it difficult sometimes."

"It’s part of my charm, mon cher," Lestat said, stretching out, nudging Louis’ feet with his own. "You started liking me after a couple of weeks. That’s proof enough."

Louis just hummed, leaning back against the couch. He didn’t disagree.

“How was the call with your band?”

Lestat stretched his arms above his head before letting them drop dramatically onto his lap. “Fine. We’re meeting later tonight. Just to go over things, drink a little. The usual. But I promise no excesses.” Louis nodded but didn’t comment further. His thoughts were elsewhere. Lestat must have noticed, because he tilted his head, watching Louis carefully. “You look pensive.”

“It’s Claudia,” Louis admitted. “She called her therapist, like we agreed, but she hates it. She doesn’t want to do it over the phone.”

Lestat hummed in thought. “I could lend her my old therapist.” Louis blinked. That wasn’t an answer he’d expected. “You… had a therapist? Why?”

Lestat made a face. “Guess.”

Louis stared at him. Lestat just raised his brows expectantly, but Louis wasn’t about to play his game. “Well, I never really went through with it, so it doesn’t matter”, Lestat shrugged. “But I still have the contact. I could make an appointment for her. Plane tickets are easily acquired.”

Louis hesitated. He didn’t know what he thought on that. “I’ll think about it.”

“Or I could ask Claudia myself,” Lestat offered.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” Louis sighed, rubbing his jaw. “She barely listens to me about it as is. You asking her might make her dig in her heels just to be difficult.”

Lestat chuckled. “True. She is a stubborn little thing.”

Louis exhaled through his nose. “I just want her to be okay.”

Lestat leaned in; voice softer now. “I know.”

They sat there for a moment, quiet. The hotel room was dim in the afternoon light, warm despite the soft hum of the AC. Louis picked up his phone again, started to read again. He watched Lestat shift over the edge of his phone; the blonde was restless, not easy to just stay quiet and do nothing. Louis saw it coming – Lestat reaching for him, tilting his face up for a kiss. Louis let him. Their lips met softly at first, then firmer as Louis accepted it and leaned in.

It was easy, natural. Like something inevitable. Lestat’s hands found their way to Louis’ waist, tugging him closer. Louis let himself be pulled in, parting his lips slightly as Lestat deepened the kiss.

Lestat murmured against his mouth, “You never asked me to kiss you after the concert, like you promised.” Louis huffed a quiet laugh, pressing a kiss to the corner of Lestat’s lips before pulling back slightly. “We had better things to do last night.”

Lestat gestured. “Viktor has terrible timing.”

Louis smirked. “That’s your son.”

“Unfortunately.”

Louis just shook his head, lips quirking in amusement. Lestat was still close, warm, his hands settled against Louis’ waist like he wasn’t planning to let go just yet. Louis didn’t mind.

Lestat kissed him again, and Louis didn’t complain, let himself fall into it, his hands finding Lestat’s jaw, his fingers tracing along sharp cheekbones. Lestat sighed into his mouth, tilting his head just right, deepening the kiss as his hands roamed lower, skimming over Louis’ back, pressing in. He tugged at the fabric of Louis’ shirt, fingertips teasing against skin, and Louis felt his breath hitch.

It was easy to let him—too easy. And Lestat knew it, too, the way he grinned into the kiss, his fingers slipping lower still, pulling Louis closer, urging him forward. But Louis wasn’t going to let him do this this time. With a quiet hum, he shifted, pushing Lestat back until the blonde found himself pressed against the couch.

Lestat let out a surprised little huff as he landed, sprawled beneath Louis, but his grin didn’t falter. If anything, it widened. “Well, well,” he murmured, his hands still settled firmly against Louis’ hips. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Louis just rolled his eyes and kissed him again, silencing whatever else he was about to say. Lestat laughed against his lips, but the sound melted into something softer, something breathier as Louis pressed him down against the cushions.

But then, before it could go further, Louis pulled back. Lestat blinked up at him, dazed, his lips red and kiss-swollen. “You’re stopping?”

Louis’ breath came hard, as he shifted away. “We need to get ready for dinner.”

Lestat groaned dramatically, throwing an arm over his face as if to hide the blush. “Dinner can wait.”

Louis huffed a quiet laugh as he stood, straightening his shirt. “I’m going to wash my hair. Can’t go out like this.”

Lestat peeked at him from beneath his arm, smirking. “I’ll wait for you.”

Louis just shook his head and disappeared into the bathroom.

The hot water helped clear his mind, but as soon as he stepped out of the shower, another problem presented itself—his hair. He struggled with the towel, trying to get it dry enough to manage, but it was always too thick, too stubborn. He sighed, raking a hand through it in frustration. Then, a knock on the bathroom door and he heard himself muttering a:” Go away, Lestat.”

Lestat’s voice, teasing, “Need help in there?”

“Go away.” Louis didn’t mean it. He sighed and checked in the mirror that everything important was covered by his towel. “If you must. But if I see you grinning, I’m throwing you out again.”

The door cracked open, and Lestat stepped inside, already grinning. “Oh I must, mon cher.”

Louis handed him the second towel for his hair, watching in the mirror as Lestat took it with a certain smugness, stepping closer, rubbing the fabric through Louis’ curls. His hands were gentler than Louis expected, threading through damp strands, drying them with practiced ease.

“You do this often?” Louis murmured, closing his eyes. Lestat’s hands felt nice against his scalp.

Lestat smirked. “I’m very experienced with hair.”

Louis sighed, but he let him continue, watching as Lestat fussed over his curls, smoothing them out, fixing stray strands with an almost ridiculous level of focus. What he did wasn’t perfect, Louis didn’t expect him to know perfectly how to handle his type of hair, but the blonde did well, and he did it so kindly there was no being upset with him.

They got ready together after that, standing shoulder to shoulder in front of the mirror, brushing their teeth, fixing their clothes. It felt strangely domestic, intimate in a way Louis wasn’t used to. He wasn’t sure if he minded.

And then, before they could step out of the bathroom, Lestat turned to him, and Louis didn’t catch himself before pulling him in, letting himself be crowded him against the damp wall. “Since you cut us short earlier,” Lestat murmured, hands slipping to Louis’ waist.

Louis barely had time to react before Lestat kissed him again, slower this time, deeper. Louis sighed into it, gripping at the fabric of Lestat’s shirt, pressing him in closer. Lestat hummed approvingly, his hands warm against Louis’ hips, thumbs tracing idle circles over fabric.

It was nice. Too nice. Which is why Louis forced himself to stop again, to push lightly at Lestat’s chest. Lestat exhaled sharply but stepped back, albeit reluctantly. “Fine, fine.”

Louis ran a hand through his curls, collecting himself. “We should go.”

Lestat looked like he wanted to complain, but he followed Louis out of the room. Louis pretended not to notice as Lestat adjusted his trousers.

Downstairs, they found the others already waiting, arms crossed, looking unimpressed. The boys hung together on some chair that was too small to fit both of them, and Claudia had chosen a couch for herself, deciding all of it was hers. They didn’t talk, but Louis had seen them grinning at each other. So, things were better again. He was glad about that.

“You’re late,” Claudia said, squinting at them.

“Let’s go, my misbehaving children,” Lestat said, clapping his son and Laurent on the shoulder as he passed, heading for the door.

***

The park was quiet at this hour, the last of the evening light fading into a deep blue sky, street lamps flickering on one by one. It wasn’t where they had planned to meet, but bringing Claudia to a bar wasn’t an option, so they settled for this instead—a few benches near a fountain, a casual gathering under the soft hum of the city.

The band was already there when they arrived, sitting around in a loose circle, drinks in hand, laughter coming easy between them. Claudia sat beside Laurent, but it didn’t take long before she nudged him and whispered something in his ear before the two of them wandered off toward an ice cream stand further down the path.

Ah, she’s found a victim for her newest obsession then. Louis watched them go with a smile, then turned back to the others, catching the way Alex greeted Lestat with a playful clap to his ass, how Tough-Cookie smirked at him over the rim of her drink and how Larry only waved, asking Lestat something Louis didn’t understand. The band had a strange way of showing affection, but it was there, even if it was rough around the edges.

Lestat leaned against the bench, legs stretched out, relaxed in a way Louis had rarely seen him around them. Maybe it was the open air, maybe it was the fact that they were between cities, but for once, there wasn’t that usual undercurrent of tension. Maybe it was the lack of binge-drinking. But it wasn’t for long; Louis watched him look less happy the second Larry began asking about Viktor.

“By the way,” he said, casual but pointed, “we heard about Viktor.”

Viktor, who had been quiet up until now, barely reacted, just shifted where he sat, arms crossed. He looked away; Louis followed his eyes, seeing Claudia and Laurent approaching, both of them happily eating their ice cream.

Larry leaned forward now, resting his elbows on his knees. “You should be careful, kid. People know who you are now. The wrong kind of people can get ideas.”

There was a pause after he said that subtle but noticeable. Louis glanced toward Lestat, who had gone still, his fingers curling slightly against his knee. It wasn’t much, but Louis saw it—the sharp focus in his eyes, the way his jaw tensed, how he suddenly wasn’t quite here anymore.

Tough-Cookie clicked her tongue and smacked Larry’s arm. “Real smooth,” she muttered, shooting him a look.

Larry frowned, confused at first, but then something shifted in his face. “Shit, sorry Les, I didn’t mean-“

But before he could even finish, Viktor cut in. “Shut the fuck up,” he snapped, looking up for the first time, his voice sharp, more serious than before. Everyone stilled.

Viktor’s hands clenched into fists. He didn’t look at Lestat, but his whole posture was tense now, guarded, as if he could feel something heavier lingering beneath the surface.

Larry held up his hands. “I wasn’t—”

“Just drop it,” Viktor bit out, eyes dark, voice cold. “My god. Talk about the weather if that’s the only way to keep you from saying stupid shit.”

A silence stretched between them, uncomfortable and heavy, and then, finally, Tough-Cookie cleared her throat. “So,” she said, a bit forced, but effective enough, “when are we doing that soundcheck tomorrow?”

And just like that, the conversation shifted, an easy out that everyone took, though the weight of what had just passed still hung there, thin but present.

Louis stole a glance at Lestat.

He was watching Viktor now, his expression soft, something quiet and tired and grateful, even if he didn’t say a word. Louis watched Viktor nod at him, and then turn to the conversation as well. It all lightened after that, shifting back to easy banter. Alex teased Tough-Cookie about some old tour story, and she rolled her eyes, shoving him lightly. Larry cracked a joke about their disastrous first rehearsal back in the day, and even Lestat smirked at that, shaking his head as he leaned back against the bench. People were explaining stories to Louis – and he caught himself participating willingly, laughing at the things they told him.

It was clear, despite everything, that Lestat still liked working with them. He wouldn’t say it outright, and there was still that subtle distance—Lestat never fully letting his guard down—but Louis could see it in the way he engaged, the way his sarcasm softened at the edges.

At some point, Viktor stretched and said, “We should head back.”

Claudia, sitting on the armrest of the bench, nodded. “Yeah, I’m tired.”

Laurent hummed in agreement. “Same.”

That settled it. The night air had cooled considerably, and they all started to move, tossing out goodbyes, Lestat giving a last nod to the band before they all parted ways.

The walk back to the hotel was quiet, the city winding down around them. Louis glanced at Lestat as they stepped into the elevator, noticing the way the other ran a hand through his hair, thoughtful, still carrying some of the tension from earlier. But when they reached their room, when the door clicked shut behind them, the weight of the night seemed to slip away.

Louis barely had time to turn before Lestat was on him, pulling him into a kiss, heavy and heated. He should have seen that one coming.

It was easy to fall into, to let himself be pressed back toward the bed, but Louis shifted, flipping them so the blonde was beneath him. He kissed him again, deeper now, bracing himself with a hand against the mattress. Lestat made a sound against his mouth, fingers twisting in Louis' shirt, pulling him closer, but just as the kiss deepened further, he suddenly let ouz a short laugh and mumbled against his lips, “Sleep.”

Louis blinked, breathless, confused for a second. “What?”

“We have to be up early, mon cœur.”

Louis huffed, dropping his head against Lestat’s shoulder, his pulse still racing. For a beat he just breathed heavily against him, listening to his heartbeat. “You’re unfair.”

Lestat only chuckled, stroking a hand down his back. “I know.”

Louis sighed, but he didn’t move right away, still hovering, still feeling the weight of Lestat beneath him. Eventually, though, he shifted off, settling onto his side. He didn’t bother changing clothes just yet. Instead, he watched Lestat turn to face him, eyes lidded with exhaustion now, softer in the dim light.

“Ask me after my next concert”, Lestat mimicked.

Louis smiled at him, didn’t answer, reached out to touch his fingertips to his lips.

***

Louis was sitting on the edge of the bed, rolling his shoulders as he woke up properly, when Lestat emerged from the bathroom, already dressed, eyes bright with some barely contained energy. He was in a good mood this morning – that much was obvious. “We should leave soon,” Lestat said, running a brush through his hair. “We’ll buy Claudia something on the way.”

Louis frowned slightly. “I didn’t bring swimwear either.”

Lestat gave him a look like he should have known better. “I did.”

Louis blinked. “You brought something for me?”

“Non, mon cher. I packed for the hotel pool.” Lestat went to his suitcase, digging through it with the ease of someone who barely needed to look. A moment later, he tossed a pair of green swim trunks onto the bed beside Louis. “These should fit.”

Louis picked them up, unfolding them. He looked from the trunks to Lestat, suspicious. “Why do you have two pairs in there? You little shit. You planned this.”

Lestat smiled smugly, not bothering to deny it. “Would it have made a difference?”

Louis sighed, but there was no real exasperation in it. “You could have told me.”

“And ruin the surprise?” Lestat grinned, then pulled out his phone and tapped a quick message before bringing it to his ear.

While it rang, Louis finished getting dressed, stepping into the bathroom to splash some water on his face. He could still hear Lestat talking.

“Vik, we’re heading out for the baths,” he said in French. “Try not to get yourself arrested while we’re gone.”

Louis laughed quietly.

Lestat rolled his eyes at something Viktor said on the other end of the line. “Just behave,” he warned. “Or I will treat you like a child again.”

A pause.

“Good,” Lestat said. “See you later.”

Louis leaned in the bathroom doorway. “He promised?”

Lestat sighed dramatically. “He said ‘sure.’ Which, in Viktor terms, is as good as I’m going to get.”

Louis shook his head, but let it go. “Claudia’s waiting.”

“Then let’s go.”

The air smelled like minerals and steam as they entered the grand bathhouse, the architecture breathtaking even in its slightly aged state. High ceilings, detailed mosaics, the soft sound of water lapping against tiled edges—it was beautiful.

It had Claudia looking around with big eyes. “This is way fancier than I thought.”

Lestat grinned, clearly pleased with her reaction. “Only the best.”

They found a small shop inside selling swimwear, and after a few rounds of Claudia wrinkling her nose at different options, she finally picked something she deemed acceptable. And something Louis deemed acceptable. Lestat’s opinion was ignored – for the better. Louis didn’t allow his daughter to listen to someone who’d most likely stand completely bare on his stage, if he wouldn’t get sued if he did that. (Although. Maybe his fans would like that. Louis ignored this line of thoughts.)

Then, they got changed.

Louis emerged from the dressing rooms, pulling his towel around his shoulders, feeling slightly self-conscious in the unfamiliar trunks Lestat had packed for him. They fit alright. Nice on the hips, a bit too tight on the thighs. He would have worn them a bit bigger, less clinging to him. He half-expected Lestat to make some comment, but when he stepped out, Lestat—already barefoot, his own towel slung over one shoulder—just looked him up and down and smirked in quiet approval.

It was good to know the blonde didn’t mind what he saw. Louis certainly didn’t. He wouldn’t have chosen an activity featuring that much of Lestat’s bare skin, but he also wouldn’t complain now. He still tried not looking too much, though, and in the end decided it was okay if he allowed his eyes to skim down his back and shoulders once in a while. That was safe enough.

They made their way toward the pools, choosing one of the grand thermal ones first. The water was warm, almost hot, the kind of heat that melted tension from muscles within seconds. Louis exhaled as he sank in.

Claudia, already waist-deep, stretched her arms out. “Oh, I love this.”

Louis had to admit—so did he.

Lestat, of course, was fully in his element, lounging back against the edge of the pool like he owned the place, watching the people around them. He’d put on sunglasses. Louis didn’t know why he did that. He was starting to worry about some kind of secret drug addiction – but then Lestat slid them down, and no, he was sober, just a bit of a show-off.

“There’s a lot of pools here,” Louis noted. “Thirty, apparently.”

Lestat hummed. “Which means we have options.”

And so they moved through them, experiencing different temperatures, different styles—one grand and ornate, one tucked away like a hidden sanctuary, one entirely outside where the late summer air met the steaming water in a haze.

At one point, Lestat, ever the dramatist, floated on his back, arms stretched out, eyes closed, looking blissfully relaxed. “I could stay here forever.”

Louis, beside him, just chuckled, tilting his head back against the edge of the pool. Maybe Lestat had been right to insist on this after all.

They spent the next hours drifting between different pools, each one with its own charm. The grandest had vaulted ceilings and light filtering in through arched windows, casting golden reflections over the water. Another was tucked away, a quieter, more secluded pool where the air smelled faintly of minerals and warm stone.

Outside, the largest bath stretched beneath the sky, steam rising from the surface like mist over a lake. It was here that Claudia lingered the longest, letting the cool air bite at her face while the water kept the rest of her comfortably warm.

Lestat kept doing that thing, where he was floating lazily on his back, his golden hair fanned out in the water.

“Are you trying to look divine on purpose, or is that just a side effect of your existence?” Louis asked dryly.

Lestat grinned without opening his eyes. “Oh, mon cher, if I were trying, you’d know.”

Claudia snorted. “Gross.”

Lestat let himself sink beneath the surface before reemerging, shaking his hair like some sea creature. “We’re adorable,” he declared.

Claudia made gagging noises. “Nope.”

Louis chuckled, letting himself relax again. The warmth of the water, the ancient beauty of the place—it was hard not to be affected by it. After another round of soaking and moving through the different baths, they finally stepped out, wrapping themselves in towels as they made their way back to the dressing rooms.

Claudia wrung out her hair as they walked. “We should do this again before we leave.”

Lestat beamed at her, clearly delighted. “I told you you'd like it.”

By the time they returned to the hotel, it was already late evening. The building was comfortably warm after the chill of outside, and Louis had barely dropped his bag by the door when Viktor, who had been sprawled on Lestat’s bed, stretched lazily and looked up at his father.

“Do you want to go out?” he asked, his tone casual but his gaze expectant.

Lestat paused, glancing at him. “Out where?”

Viktor shrugged. “Just out. Maybe a bar, maybe just a walk. Doesn’t really matter.”

Louis watched the exchange, noting the unspoken weight behind it. This wasn’t just an offer to go out—it was Viktor reaching out. Lestat nodded. “Alright,” he said. “Give me a few minutes.”

Viktor seemed relieved, even if he didn’t say it outright. He stood up, and made his way out the room. Lestat turned to Claudia and Louis who hovered there as well, offering a quick smile. “I’ll see you both later.”

Claudia waved him off, already making herself comfortable with the television remote, apparently deciding she’d spend the rest of the evening with her father. Lestat watched her, how she sat down on the bed he shared with Louis, and snuggled into one of the blankets.

Louis, still standing near the door, met Lestat’s gaze when he turned. “Have fun,” he said, and meant it.

Lestat nodded. “I’ll try.”

A while later, father and son wandered through the dimly lit streets; the breeze of the wind making both regret to not have brough a jacket. They hadn’t picked a destination, only moving where the streets took them, passing old buildings and storefronts glowing in the night. Eventually, they settled on a quiet bar tucked into a side alley, the kind with soft lighting and dark wood interiors, where the music wasn’t too loud, and no one cared enough to stare.

Viktor ordered a beer, Lestat a glass of wine. They sat by a window, watching the city move outside, neither speaking for a while.

“You know, I am sorry for yesterday,” Viktor said eventually, tracing his finger over the condensation on his glass. “I was drunk and stupid.”

Lestat sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Yes, you were.” But he wasn’t angry anymore, just tired.

Viktor breathed sharply, almost a laugh. “I just—” He hesitated, searching for the words. “It’s not easy. Being around you sometimes.”

Lestat’s lips curled wryly. “You don’t say.”

Viktor rolled his eyes but continued. “You’re busy. And I know, I know, that’s just who you are, that’s your life now, and I shouldn’t expect anything else. But sometimes it feels like I’m just… there.” He tapped his glass absently. “Like I’m some afterthought, and that’s frustrating.”

Lestat tilted his head, watching him. “Is that why you got yourself in trouble? Why you keep doing that every few weeks? To get my attention?”

Viktor’s jaw tensed. “No. Maybe. I don’t know.” He took a sip of beer. “I just—I don’t want to feel like I’m some mistake you made when you were a teenager.”

Lestat’s expression flickered, something unreadable crossing his face. “You’re not a mistake,” he said quietly. “When have I ever made you feel like that? I know I’m not perfect. But I’ve never let it out on you.”

Viktor glanced away. “I know.”

Lestat sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Vik, you know this. I didn’t have you because I wanted a child, and I’m not going to pretend I did. I never lied about this, and I never will. I didn’t even think I’d be around to raise you.” He hesitated. “But you are here, and I’ve tried to do right by you, even if I fail at it constantly. I know your childhood wasn’t perfect. I know for a long time you didn’t get all you deserve. But I did the best with what I had. And never once did I regret you.”

Viktor didn’t respond immediately. He just sat with that, turning the words over in his head. It didn’t look like he wanted to say something to that. He sighed, then shifted, his forehead briefly resting against his father’s shoulder. Lestat reached up, and patted his head, muttering that he loved him. His son sat up again, and after a moment, he changed the subject. “So. You and Louis. I’ve wanted to ask, but didn’t get the chance.”

Lestat blinked, then let out a short laugh. “That’s a transition.”

Viktor chuckled, taking another drink. “It’s weird, is all. I didn’t think you’d—” He waved a vague hand. “I mean, I thought you were hopeless about all that. Didn’t you say you’d never date again?”

Lestat shook his head. “I did, I am, and we didn’t talk about what this is it yet.”

“But it’s working?”

Lestat considered it, then smiled, small but genuine. “I think so.” Viktor studied him for a moment, as if trying to decide whether or not he was lying to himself:“ He’s good for you.”

Lestat’s brow raised slightly, amused. “Are you saying you like him?”

“I’m saying he’s very tolerable,” Viktor corrected. “And that you’re slightly less insufferable around him.”

Lestat chuckled, shaking his head. “High praise.”

They lapsed into silence again, but this time it was easier. More comfortable. Then Viktor set his glass down and said, without looking at Lestat, “I’ve been calling my mother.”

Lestat stilled. He wasn’t shocked—he’d expected they’d talk about this at some point. And yet, it still hit him like a punch to the ribs. He had known his son sometimes talked to her. But it hurt when she was mentioned, and it hurt remembering the boy still hoped for some sort of relationship with her, even when Lestat knew it was impossible, and would only hurt him. So for a moment, he didn’t say anything. He only nodded, slow and measured. “I see.”

Viktor glanced at him, trying to gauge his reaction. “She wanted to talk.”

Lestat gave a short, humourless laugh. “Did she?”

Viktor sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look. I know things between you two were… complicated.”

Lestat suck in a sharp breath. “Right.”

“But I just—I needed to hear her side of things, too,” Viktor admitted. “I wanted to understand.”

Lestat took another slow sip of his wine, setting the glass down carefully because his hand was beginning to shake. He kept his voice even when he finally said, “And what did you understand?”

Viktor hesitated, then shook his head. “That whatever happened, it’s not my fault.”

Lestat met his gaze at that, something in his expression softening. “No, it isn’t.”

Viktor nodded. “And it’s not yours either.”

Lestat’s lips pressed together, but he didn’t argue. He wouldn’t, not with his son, and not about this. He understood Viktor and his desire to see and hear his mother, and the hope, that one day, she’d come back to him. He didn’t have the heart to tell Viktor it wouldn’t happen, not in the way he wanted it, and that it was for the best. He also didn’t go into telling him, why it was like this, and why he’d rather die than have her come back. But he didn’t. He had enough self-respect to just accept what his son thought, and to let him try if it made him happy.

When Lestat got back to the hotel room, the lights were dimmed, the space quiet except for the soft sound of Louis’ breathing. He had already fallen asleep, curled on his side, the sheets pulled loosely over him.

Lestat undressed, the night’s exhaustion settling into his bones. He pulled on his pyjamas—soft cotton pants and an old shirt—then climbed into bed beside Louis.

For a moment, he only watched him, the rise and fall of his chest, the way his curls rested against the pillow. Then he moved closer, wrapping an arm around Louis’ waist, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his shoulder blade. Louis stirred, humming softly as he turned. Sleep-heavy eyes met Lestat’s, and without a word, he reached for Lestat’s hand, pulling it to his lips, pressing a kiss against his knuckles.

"You're late," Louis murmured, voice rough with sleep.

Lestat laughed. "You're just early, mon cher."

Louis exhaled, his grip on Lestat’s hand tightening slightly before loosening again. "Was it a good night?"

Lestat hesitated, then nodded. "Better than expected."

Louis didn’t ask more, only made a quiet sound of acknowledgment. He shifted, pressing closer, and Lestat tucked him against his chest.

“Go back to sleep,” Lestat said, his voice low. Louis didn’t reply, but his breathing evened out again soon enough. Lestat closed his eyes, following him into rest.

Chapter Text

Lestat’s hands trembled as he smoothed down his son’s jacket, telling him for the sixth time to call should something happen. Viktor only rolled his eyes at his father, but he let him fuss with a small smile he visibly tried to hold back, even though he was standing stiffly under his father’s touch. From a few steps away, Louis watched the exchange—father and son saying goodbye for now.

It was just past three in the morning, and the airport was nearly empty at this hour, silent but for the occasional announcement crackling through the speakers. A couple of people stood waiting near them; their conversation carrying faintly over to them. Louis’ eyes travelled from them to father and son, then to Laurent, who stood off to the side, scrolling through his phone, his bag slung over his shoulder. He gave them their space, but his eyes flickered toward them now and then as well, like he wasn’t quite sure if he should say something or simply wait.

“Papa,” Viktor sighed then, patience wearing thin. “I promise, I’ll call.”

Lestat breathed out unhappily, smoothing down Viktor’s lapel one last time before pulling him into a tight hug. Viktor, who was pulled down, tensed for a moment, as if instinctively resisting. But then, slowly, he softened, his arms circling his father’s back. He let Lestat hold him.

“Be safe,” Lestat murmured into his son’s hair. “Ne te mets pas dans les ennuis. Pas quand je ne suis pas là.”

Viktor gave a short, dry laugh. “No promises.” Lestat pulled back just enough to cup his son’s face, studying him like he wanted to commit every detail to memory, as if the young man would be lost to him once he entered that plane:” I mean it.”

His son looked away, huffing, but his hands tightened on Lestat’s arms. “I know.”

Louis glanced toward Laurent, who had stopped pretending not to watch. The boy shifted on his feet as Viktor finally pulled away, rubbing a hand over his face as if to shake off the lingering weight of the moment. Then, Lestat turned to him and pulled him into a hug as well. Laurent startled, stiffened—but then, just as quickly, he leaned into it. “I appreciate you, mon petit,” Lestat murmured, just loud enough for Louis to catch. “Take care of each other, hmm?”

Laurent smiled and gave a small nod. “Okay.”

When they pulled apart, Viktor adjusted his bag on his shoulder. “We should go.”

Lestat nodded; lips pressed into a thin line. “Alright. Have fun.”

Viktor hesitated—just for a second—before turning to leave, Laurent following. They walked through the terminal, their figures growing smaller beneath the sterile white lights. Just before they disappeared around the corner, Viktor turned his head, met his father’s gaze one last time, and lifted a hand in a short, casual wave.

Lestat stayed standing there long after they were gone and Louis let him.

The drive back to the hotel was quiet. Lestat barely spoke; eyes fixed on the dark road ahead. Louis didn’t push, just sat beside him and let the radio fill the silence with low, murmuring static. By the time they reached the hotel, exhaustion should have settled in. But after trying to sleep for nearly an hour, Lestat gave up, tossing aside the blankets with a frustrated sigh. Louis, who had been lying beside him in the dark, watching the slow rise and fall of his breath, turned his head.

“Can’t sleep?”

“Brilliant deduction, Sherlock.” Lestat sounded bitter when he answered him.

Louis considered him for a moment before sitting up. “Come on. You’re not sleeping anyway,” Louis said, swinging his legs off the bed. “Might as well stay up together.”

For a second, Lestat just stared at him. Then, to Louis’ silent relief, because he himself was too tired to argue and only did this because he wanted Lestat to feel better, he sighed and followed. They made their way to the small sitting area, Lestat collapsing onto the couch, stretching his legs across the cushions. Louis settled beside him, and for a long while, they simply sat there in the dim glow of the city outside.

“You think he’ll be alright?” Lestat finally murmured the expected words. Louis has been waiting for him to say something. He hadn’t, not since his son declared he’d venture off on his own, and he’d been forced to nod and just accept that, because the boy was an adult, and he didn’t need his approval for that.

Louis glanced at him. “Viktor? Yes. And if not, he has his famous man of a father who can get him out of anything.” He tried it with jokes, but Lestat seemed too far away to pick up on that. He only nodded, staring at the ceiling:“ He’s so much like me. I don’t know if that’s a good thing.”

Louis hesitated. “He’s also not you.”

Lestat made a sound under his breath, shaking his head. “You say that like it means something.”

“It does.”

Lestat looked at him then, eyes searching his face. “Sometimes I’m worried he won’t come back to me.”

Louis exhaled slowly, thinking back to the way Viktor had hugged his father before leaving. The way he had turned back at the last second. “No,” he said. “don’t think that. He will.” Lestat didn’t answer right away, just tilted his head back against the couch, still staring at the ceiling as if lost in thought. Louis just sat beside him, listening to the hum of the city, waiting. Then, the other man let out a slow breath, rubbing at his face before letting his hand drop limply onto his stomach. His head tilted against the couch, eyes fixed somewhere past Louis, past the dim glow of the city outside.

“I hate being alone,” he said suddenly, voice quiet, as if the words had slipped out before he could stop them.

Louis glanced at him, waiting.

Lestat made a sound like a laugh, but it was an unhappy, miserable thing. “I don’t think I’ve ever been alone, not truly. Not for long. No matter the circumstances, no matter how they treated me, I was always with people. I was used to it, used to always having someone there—family, friends, lovers, colleagues. But somehow, in the end, they always either left me or didn’t care about me. Not really. And it’s my biggest worry, really. I can’t be alone, that’s why I always…”

Louis watched as Lestat’s fingers curled into the fabric of his own shirt, as if grasping onto something unseen. “Is this about your family?” Louis asked after a moment. “Or Nicki?”

Lestat shrugged, lips pressing into a thin line. “Yes. And no.” He didn’t elaborate. Instead, he turned his head, looking at Louis now as if searching for something. Then, without another word, he shifted, pressing himself against Louis’ side, curling into him as if they’d done this a thousand times before. And because he didn’t say anything else, Louis just settled on petting his hair, and then after a moment, reaching for the remote. He turned on the TV, letting the flickering images and low hum of late-night programming fill the room. Some mindless sitcom played, the kind with too-loud laughter and exaggerated expressions. It wasn’t what either of them would have chosen under normal circumstances, but it required no thought, no engagement—just something to fill the quiet.

Lestat sighed against him; his breath warm where it brushed over Louis’ skin.

And eventually, slowly, they both drifted off.

Louis woke up first; the couch making his back ache, a simple reminder that he wasn’t twenty anymore, and the bed would have been a better choice. The TV was still playing, muted now, casting dim flashes of colour over the walls. Lestat was still pressed against him, his breath slow and steady, the weight of him grounding.

For a brief moment, Louis simply watched him, the way his lashes fluttered slightly in sleep, the way his lips parted just barely with each breath. Then, carefully, he shifted, pressing a small kiss to Lestat’s temple. The blonde stirred at that, mumbling something incoherent before blinking up at him with sleep-heavy eyes. He stretched, catlike, before instantly breaking into a grin. “Oh. Good morning.”

Louis hummed, brushing his fingers through Lestat’s hair, untangling a few knots. “We should get ready before breakfast. Claudia will complain if we don’t.” Lestat made a sound of protest, burrowing against him for just a moment longer before finally sitting up.

They shuffled toward the bathroom together, and for a moment, there was an odd sort of domesticity to it—the two of them brushing their teeth side by side, bumping shoulders, Lestat making some stupid joke around the foam in his mouth and nearly choking on it.

Louis rolled his eyes but laughed, nudging him with an elbow.

After rinsing his mouth, Louis reached for one of the many hair ties Lestat had scattered around the bathroom, glancing at him through the mirror. “Sit,” he said, gesturing toward the closed toilet lid. The other man raised a brow at him but obeyed, letting Louis move behind him. Louis carded his fingers through Lestat’s hair, separating it into sections before beginning to weave a slow, practiced French braid. He smoothed down some frizzy strands; watched as Lestat nearly purred, closing his eyes. “Mhm. Don’t stop. You’re good at this.”

Louis laughed lowly, as he for a second scratched his scalp, watching Lestat wiggle under his touch. When he finished, he tied it off, smoothing a hand over Lestat’s shoulder. Lestat reached up to touch the braid, smiling lazily.

Without saying something Lestat stood, and he wandered over to his suitcase, rummaging through it before returning and tossing a shirt at Louis.

Louis caught it, lifting a brow. “What’s this?”

“You’re running out of things to wear,” Lestat grinned. “Might as well take one of mine.”

Wicked man, Louis thought, and turned around to pull off the tee he wore. The one he put on was soft, slightly oversized, smelling faintly of Lestat’s cologne. The green of it didn’t compliment him as well as it would have the other, but it suddenly seemed like a small victory, that simple exchange they’ve just done.

Lestat looked him up and down. “Looks good on you.”

It had him shaking his head, something that left the other’s grin wider, happier. As they finished getting dressed, Louis glanced at him. He considered what he’d said earlier, and he had to agree, even in some sense of laziness he’s put that task ahead off. “We should probably find a laundromat later. I packed for some weeks, but you’re right. Claudia said she needs to wash some things too.”

Lestat blinked. “We have to find a what?”

 “A laundromat. You know, a place where people wash their clothes? That’s the thing peasants like us do, when our clothes start to smell.” Lestat gave him an affronted look:” I know what a washing machine is, Louis. Laundromat.” He rolled that word, as if memorizing it for later.

“Do you?” Louis teased. “I half-expected you to have a personal laundry service on speed dial.”

Lestat scowled at him. “Excuse you, I am perfectly capable of washing my own clothes. What do you think of me?”

Louis gave him a pointed look.

“…I just don’t usually have to.”

That’s what he wanted to hear. Louis chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, Prince.”

Lestat rolled his eyes but grabbed Louis’ hand, tugging him toward the door. They knocked on Claudia’s door before going downstairs, but she was already awake and dressed, just waiting for them.

Over breakfast, Louis told her about taking Viktor and Laurent to the airport in the middle of the night. Claudia shrugged. “Yeah, I said goodbye last evening. I knew they’d be gone when I woke up.” She stabbed at her food with her fork, ate it like a shark or something. “Where are they going again?”

“Athens,” Lestat answered. “Laurent’s father is working on a film there right now. Viktor will meet us again soon.”

Claudia nodded, not particularly interested in the details. She was looking at them with those big brown eyes, determined to share a masterplan. “Well, I know what I want to do today.”

Louis raised a brow. “Oh?”

“There’s a place I saw online,” she said, pulling out her phone, scrolling until she found something to show them. “A café. It looks cute, and apparently, it has the best hot chocolate.” She looked up at them expectantly. In no world would they have been able to say no. Lestat grinned, apparently having the same thought as Louis:” Say no more.”

And so, after finishing breakfast, they set off into the city.

The day was a bit cool but bright, the city alive with people. They wandered first through the more tourist-heavy areas, Claudia leading the way, pointing out things she recognized from videos she’d seen. She certainly didn’t have Louis’ sense of direction; he’d get lost if it weren’t for his daughter or Lestat, dragging him around. At one point before making it to the café, they stopped by a small bookstore tucked into an old building, the kind with narrow aisles and the scent of paper thick in the air. Obviously, that one had to be visited. Louis and Claudia browsed while Lestat amused himself by flipping through a book of Hungarian curses, testing out pronunciations under his breath.

It had people looking into his direction, and Louis taking the book from him, telling him to grow up. Lestat had laughed at him, waltzing around him like some big, blonde fool, but a loveable one at that.

Then, Louis and Claudia dragged Lestat along to get their laundry done, figuring best do it here, before the tour continued and they had to quickly navigate a new, even more unfamiliar city to find a place to do it. It looked messy; getting everything from the car, dragging it over to the store.

Louis was throwing their underwear into one machines, when his eyes fell on the sulking rockstar, who’s eyed the buttons and all like they were something alien . “You’re enduring this very well.”

“I’m suffering,” Lestat said dramatically, but he wasn’t really, and he helped Louis get in the rest of their things. Claudia ignored them both, setting her things down and pulling out her phone while the machines started.

They stayed there for a while, Lestat lounging against a counter, Louis leaning beside him, Claudia scrolling mindlessly. It was a strange kind of peace, a moment of normalcy. When their clothes were finally done after washing, drying, and too many minutes wasted in silence, they packed up and set off toward the café Claudia had insisted on.

And, to her credit, it was a good choice.

Tucked away on a quiet street, the café had an old-world charm, with warm lighting and walls lined with books and framed photographs. They took a table near the window, and true to the internet’s promise, the hot chocolate was rich and velvety, the kind that coated the tongue with warmth.

After convincing Lestat to try, the blonde took a sip out of Louis’ cup and hummed. “I’ll admit, this is good.”

Claudia shot him a smug look. “Told you.”

Louis shook his head, but he looked content and didn’t complain as he let Lestat have the rest of his drink. They stayed for a while, chatting idly, letting the afternoon stretch in an easy, unhurried way. When the sun started to dip lower, Louis walked with Claudia to the post office. She had another letter for Grace, and she was particular about sending them properly.

While they did their thing, Lestat stayed outside, leaning against the wall, cigarette between his fingers. As Louis and Claudia emerged again, he waved at them like an idiot, grinning.

Claudia laughed at him. It was a kind sound. “You’re so stupid.”

Louis chuckled too, shaking his head. Lestat only smirked, taking another drag of his cigarette as they started back toward the hotel.

***

The airport was busy when they arrived, the steady hum of voices and the rolling of suitcases filling the air as they made their way through. Louis hate towards airports grew with every time he went – the fluorescent lights, the endless waiting, the impersonal efficiency of it all. Lestat, on the other hand, moved through it with an ease that suggested he was either used to it or simply above the inconvenience of mundane travel. Claudia, somewhere in between, was excited to get where they were going but visibly growing bored with the process.

As they settled into their seats on the plane, Lestat leaned toward Louis. “You’re quiet.”

Louis glanced at him. He didn’t share Lestat’s habit of having to fill every single second with words, just because he couldn’t bear to sit in silence. “What’s there to say? We’re on a plane.”

“You could say something poetic about it. The weight of steel defying gravity, man soaring against nature’s intent…”

“Write a song about it. I’ll listen to it.”

Claudia, across the aisle, looked up from her phone. “You guys are weird. That’s why I don’t want to sit with you.”

Lestat only grinned.

The flight wasn’t long, and before they knew it, they were descending into Rome. The moment they stepped out of the airport, the city greeted them with its golden light, the air still warm even as summer threatened to give way to autumn.

Claudia took a deep breath once outside, the sun reflecting warm on her skin and hair. She sniffed the air, and looked up to her father. “It smells different.”

Louis tilted his head, inhaling. His grip on their luggage tightening. “Different how?”

“I don’t know. Like… stone and sun. And food.”

Lestat chuckled. “That’s Rome for you.”

Their rental car was already waiting, and the drive through the city was both exhilarating and mildly chaotic, as Rome’s traffic had its own rules. Louis drove to everyone’s surprise, Lestat in the passenger seat, looking like he’d fall asleep right then and there, Claudia in the back, pointing out things she recognized from movies or history books. A simple reminder, that this has been a good decision after all. Having her see the world like she did now.

Eventually, they arrived at their home for the stay—a rented house, not some impersonal hotel. A welcome change, and a choice Louis appreciated the second they stepped in. No empty lobby, no arguments with the staff, no impersonal atmosphere making them feel like they had to leave as fast as possible. The villa was a beautiful building, all warm stone and ivy, tucked away enough to feel private but still close enough to the city, and Louis longed for a second to stay forever.

Inside, it was spacious and elegant without being overwhelming, all wooden furniture and parquet and stone floors. Claudia was given the honour of choosing her room first, which she did with careful deliberation before finally settling on one of the two with a balcony. Louis didn’t blame her; he chose the other for him and Lestat. He enjoyed the idea of sitting under the night sky, watching the stars before going to bed.

Lestat carried Claudia’s suitcase inside for her. “Happy?”

She nodded, looking around. “Yeah. This one’s mine.” The room was simply designed; the bed, a desk, a wardrobe. Of course, the balcony behind a big glass door. Claudia still spun around, as if not believing their luck. Louis and Lestat watched it for a beat, then they went off to claim their own room, and soon enough, they all unpacked, settling into the space.

Lestat sprawled onto the bed in his room once he was done dropping his things by the door, exhaling dramatically. “I could get used to this.”

Louis, passing by the bed on his way to the closet, shook his head. “You get used to everything.”

Outside, the sun was bright, casting warm hues over the city. They had time to breathe, to exist here for a little while. Lunchtime came, and Louis decided to send Lestat out for groceries. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust him entirely – Lestat had been on this earth long enough to know how to buy food – but Louis wanted to make sure they had the right things, not just a bag full of indulgences and whatever Lestat happened to find aesthetically pleasing. So, he wrote a list.

“You can do that, can’t you?” he asked as he handed it over.

Lestat pressed a hand to his forehead. “You think I can’t shop for groceries?”

“I think you’ll come back with too many bottles of wine and none of the actual food I asked for.”

Lestat smiled, plucking the list from Louis’ fingers. “I accept this challenge.”

With that, he was off, and Louis got busy unpacking again.

It didn’t take long for him to finish with his own things – he had packed a little too light after all, which he regretted every day – but when he moved on to Lestat’s suitcase, he hesitated for a moment. He wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like Lestat would mind him going through his things. Still, there was something oddly intimate about it.

He shook his head and started unpacking.

As he folded Lestat’s clothes and placed them into the dresser, he found himself thinking about how neither of them had even entertained the idea of separate rooms. There had been no conversation about it, no second thought. It had been natural – expected, even – that they would share. It struck Louis as funny, how much had changed in such a short time. Just few weeks ago, he would’ve balked at the idea. Now, the thought of sleeping apart felt almost… absurd. He was getting used to Lestat’s hand in his face when he woke up. And he would miss Lestat complaining about his snoring, and the gentle shove that always followed.

Lestat’s wardrobe was, as expected, the usual mix of expensive and dramatic. Silk shirts, tailored trousers, jewellery tucked into small pouches – pieces that looked like they belonged in the suitcase of a rockstar who had too much money and not enough restraint. And then, mixed in, were the simpler things: worn-in t-shirts, a few hoodies (one of which Louis recognized as his own, apparently stolen at some point), and a ridiculously soft sweater that he suspected Lestat only wore when no one was watching. The things weren’t all he had with him, Louis noted, some where left behind by the rest of his crew’s things, some seemingly forgotten somewhere.

He smiled to himself, shaking his head as he put everything away.

By the time Lestat returned, arms full of grocery bags, Louis had finished and was trying to get the Wi-Fi working for Claudia. Somehow, the password didn’t work, and he had to fix it, before she’d get an excuse to stop working on her school work. She would have to do it on her own for now; the tutor not here for now, but Lestat had said he’d organize some zoom meetings. Louis would have to check himself, if his daughter actually studied while they were in Rome.

“I am victorious,” Lestat announced with that accent of his, setting the bags down on the kitchen counter. “You doubted me, but I got everything on your list.”

Louis looked through the bags. “And?”

“…And maybe a few extras. But you will approve.”

Of course. Still, it was mostly acceptable, so Louis got started on cooking. He moved around the kitchen, spending a little to find a cutting board, the cutlery, some pots and pans, glancing at Lestat every now and then, making sure he was pulling his weight.

“Cut the vegetables,” Louis instructed when he caught the blonde inspecting some potted plant for a little too long to have been genuine interest, handing Lestat a knife.

Lestat raised an eyebrow. “You’re putting me to work?”

“Yes.”

Lestat sighed dramatically but took the knife. “I suppose I’ll suffer through it.” He still poured them both a glass of wine first as he worked, taking occasional sips and humming to himself. Louis was focused, hands moving with precision as he cooked, but he still felt it when Lestat came up behind him, slipping his arms around his waist.

“You’re in the way,” Louis murmured, clearly not actually complaining.

“I’m exactly where I should be.” Lestat pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, then another, his hands resting on Louis’ hips. Louis exhaled, letting himself lean into the touch, just slightly.

When he turned his head, Lestat was already there, lips brushing against his in a slow, deliberate kiss. It deepened, hands gripping, warmth spreading. Louis didn’t completely turn around to meet him, but he was twisting, reaching up to grab a handful of blonde curls.

“I’m not looking, don’t worry,” Claudia’s voice rang out, separating them. They pulled apart instantly, Louis stepping away as Lestat sighed.

Claudia stood in the doorway, unimpressed, not looking into their direction as she searched for something. “You don’t have to stop whatever you’re doing. I don’t care. Just need your iPad, Lestat.”

Lestat ran a hand through his hair. “It’s in the David Bowie tote bag, next to my shoes.”

Claudia nodded, and walked past them. “Thanks.” She disappeared down the hall, leaving them standing there, looking caught like some fumbling teenagers.

Lestat turned to Louis. “I believe that was an endorsement.” Louis rolled his eyes but didn’t disagree. He turned back to the stove, stirring the food:” Cut the rest of those vegetables.”

“Oui, mon cher.”

The three of them ate outside, the warm afternoon light filtering through the trees that lined the garden. The little table they had claimed for their meal was old, slightly weathered, but sturdy, nestled among wild greenery that made it feel private, secluded. Claudia sat across from them, iPad propped up against a bottle of the fancy juice Lestat had insisted on buying, her attention flickering between the screen and her plate. Louis didn’t like when she did that, but the day’s been long, and so he let her.

Lestat had made a show of pouring more wine for himself and Louis, swirling it in the glass like they were dining at some fine restaurant rather than at a rental house’s backyard table.

“Fancy,” Claudia remarked, putting the iPad down to sip on her juice.

“Only the best,” Lestat said, tilting his glass toward her in a toast. She put the plastic bottle against it.

They ate, the conversation light at first—small talk, jokes at Lestat’s expense. Louis let himself relax, enjoying the food, the fresh air. It was domestic and easy, something that’s never seemed to be a problem between them. The past weeks have made it swifter, yes, but Louis had never found it hard navigating through it, and he’s never seen Claudia interact anything but openly with Lestat. The two of them matched; their directness, their sarcasm, their little way of knowing what they wanted and how to get it. They didn’t exactly have the same interests, but they seemed to know how to talk to another as if they’ve known each other for ever. It was the same feeling Louis had by now.

And Claudia, she only proved that ability, when she asked, not glancing up from whatever she watched. “So, what’s the state of your thing? I’m asking because you’ve stopped with the separate rooms.”

Louis nearly choked on his wine. Lestat, to his credit, only blinked, setting his glass down with an amused smirk. “Our thing?”

“You know,” Claudia said, gesturing vaguely between them. “Whatever this is. The not-relationship-but-still-relationship.”

Louis felt his entire body stiffen. He didn’t look at Lestat. He wasn’t sure he could. This was foreign territory. One he didn’t want to cross just yet, because he could tolerate it all easier, if it was just a vagueness hanging in the air. But Lestat, of course, had no such reservations. He knew how to handle this, and he did it so easily. Leaning back in his chair, tapping a finger against his glass, he began. “It’s…” He trailed off, glancing at Louis, waiting.

Louis pressed his lips together. He could feel the weight of both their eyes on him, expectant. “It’s uh, complicated,” he finally said.

Claudia snorted. “Ah.”

They finished eating, the air settling back into something more comfortable. Afterward, Claudia nudged Louis. “Come check out the garden with me.”

He agreed easily enough. Anything to move. Anything to step away from the moment that had just passed. As he stood, he caught sight of Lestat, still seated at the table, the post-eating cigarette already between his fingers. The flame of his lighter flickered, and when he brought it to his lips, Louis noticed – just for a second – his hands trembled.

It was slight, barely noticeable. But Louis saw it. Worry tugged at him, something instinctive and sharp, but before he could say anything, Lestat glanced up and winked at him, as if to say, Don’t fuss. So, he didn’t.

He let Claudia pull him away, stepping into the overgrown beauty of the garden, leaving Lestat behind with his wine, his cigarette, and whatever thoughts had just settled onto his shoulders.

The afternoon heat settled over the garden in a golden haze. The world had grown serene  –  Claudia had slipped inside to nap, the distant hum of the city beyond their walls reduced to nothing but a murmur. Louis sat in a shaded spot, book in hand, but his attention had long since drifted from the page.

His eyes rested on Lestat, stretched out in the sun like some lazy, spoiled thing. He’d thrown himself onto one of the loungers, legs sprawled, arms tucked behind his head. A wide-brimmed hat covered his face, shielding his eyes, though the rest of him was fully exposed to the light.

He’d dressed for the heat; just a pair of black swim trunks and a cropped t-shirt, the loose fabric rising slightly with each slow, steady breath. Louis caught himself staring, gaze tracing the lines of his body, the way his stomach tensed when he shifted, the light sheen of sweat over his skin. The expanse of pale thigh, the jut of his hipbones over the low hanging pants. Ridiculous, Louis thought, and yet he couldn’t look away.

This was the Lestat people didn’t often see – the one at ease, silent, content. No grand performances, no dramatics. Just him, stretched out in the afternoon light, utterly unguarded. This version, that apparently, only Louis saw.

It was a strange thing, watching him like this. It made something turn in Louis’ chest, something he didn’t want to examine too closely. Still, he didn’t look away, and maybe it was the wine, and the heat, and the place, but he wanted many things that moment, and most of them, he didn’t think he wanted to not want. In fact, he indulged in the thought, and his guilt, it was near silent, just an unwelcome idea somewhere in his heart.

Eventually, Lestat stirred. A long stretch, arms overhead, back arching off the lounger. He pushed the hat off his face, blinking up at the sky before lazily turning his head toward Louis.

“You’re staring,” he murmured with his eyes closed, voice rougher with sleep. He let his head fall back again, hair spilling onto his white shoulders, opening his eyes to look at Louis. His blue eyes were piercing, looking right through him.

Louis only raised his glass of water in offering. “You need to reapply your sunscreen.”

Lestat ignored that, padding over to him, flopping down beside him on the cushioned seat. He took the glass from Louis, sipping leisurely before setting it aside. Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to the corner of Louis’ mouth.

Louis hummed, tilting his head slightly to meet him properly. The kiss was lazy, like Lestat himself in this moment – unrushed, comfortable. Louis shivered as the blonde reached down to cradle his face, and at that moment, he really wanted nothing more but to have him there forever.

After a moment, Lestat pulled back just enough to murmur, “Come upstairs with me.”

Louis arched a brow. “For a nap?”

Lestat grinned against his skin, lips brushing over his jaw. “Non.”

Louis huffed a quiet, nervous laugh. The decision would have been harder, if Lestat hadn’t offered so casually, as if it had happened before. Still, when Lestat took his hand and tugged gently, Louis didn’t resist. He decided to stop doing that for now, and to stop lying to himself. He’s spent weeks at that. Months. Years. Too long to have any worth now.

The door to their room clicked shut behind them, sealing them away from the rest of the world. The afternoon heat had seeped into the walls, making the air thick, the sunlight spilling in through the curtains casting the room in a golden glow.

Lestat barely gave Louis a second to think.

He pressed forward, hands finding his waist, lips slanting against his in a slow, deep kiss. Louis let himself be led, backing up until his legs hit the edge of the bed. Lestat’s hands splayed over his ribs, warm even through the fabric of his shirt, and then they were sinking down together, the mattress dipping beneath them. It was heated and then it was not; somewhere between the passion of the moment, and the idea of doing this right, doing this slow.

Louis’ head hit the pillow, Lestat hovering over him, mouth dragging from his lips to the line of his jaw. His hands moved over Louis like he had every right to – pushing up his shirt, palms skimming over his skin, feeling his way down. He was pressing on his chest, on the firm skin there, on the slight softness lower. Louis let out a shaky breath, his own hands hesitating before finally gripping at Lestat’s sides, fingertips pressing lightly into his ribs.

Lestat kissed him again, deeper this time, his thigh pressing between Louis’ legs. It made something in Louis’ stomach twist, a sharp kind of want curling in his chest. He knew this feeling well, the anticipation, the heat – but this was different. This wasn’t some rushed, desperate thing in the dark. There was nothing hidden about it, nothing to excuse it away. Just them, just this, in the light of the room, bared open.

Lestat pulled back slightly, eyes searching Louis’ face. He must have seen something there, the hesitation or the warring thoughts, because his hands slowed where they touched him, gentling.

“I won’t push you, mon cher,” he murmured, voice low, steady. “But tell me if you don’t want this.”

Louis swallowed; breath unsteady. He exhaled, eyes flickering away for a second, but Lestat was right there, waiting, patient. He was warm, his hands grounding. Louis met his gaze again. “I do.”

That was all Lestat needed. He kissed him again, lingering and deliberate, as if proving something with every press of his lips. He trailed lower, down the column of Louis’ throat, the hollow of his collarbone, hands working to fully push his shirt up and over his head. Louis let him, barely aware of his own movements as he helped shrug it off.

Fingers traced his stomach, dipping lower. Lestat’s mouth followed. He kissed his way down, slow, unhurried, as if savouring the moment, as if savouring him. His tongue was wet on his skin, cooling him.

Louis' breath hitched when he felt Lestat’s hands on his waistband, tugging at the fabric, releasing his aching cock. His own hand moved, almost reflexively, tangling in Lestat’s hair, keeping his head there. The blonde hummed against his skin, pressing a kiss just below his navel before glancing up at him.

Louis’ chest rose and fell, his grip tightening for a second, not pulling away but not guiding him further either. Lestat watched him, waiting. His cheek was pressing against Louis’ length, his chest rising and falling as he breathed heavily.

He didn’t think about stopping this.

Lestat wanted this. He wanted this. Louis exhaled, his fingers flexing in Lestat’s hair, still keeping him in place, then guiding him where he wanted him. Lestat’s mouth was warm on him, swallowing him down with a groan that told Louis he enjoyed it as much as he did. The sound sent a sharp, almost unbearable pleasure curling in Louis’ spine. His fingers tightened in Lestat’s hair, not pushing him away, but holding—grounding himself against the overwhelming sensation.

Lestat moved slow at first, deliberate, his tongue tracing over sensitive skin, learning him. Louis’ breath stuttered, a choked-off sound leaving him as Lestat took him deeper, and Louis suddenly did push, guiding his head. The heat, the wetness of it—it was almost too much. His thighs tensed, his head falling back against the pillow.

Lestat hummed in satisfaction, his hands firm where they pressed against Louis’ hips, holding him steady, keeping him where he wanted him. Louis let himself sink into it, into the pleasure curling through him, drowning him. The wet slide of Lestat’s mouth, the pressure of his tongue, the obscene sound of it—he could barely breathe around it all.

It built fast, pleasure coiling tight, his body tensing. Lestat must have felt it, because he pulled back just enough to look up at him, lips red and slick, spit glistening on his chin. The sight alone nearly undid him.

Lestat didn’t stop. If anything, he doubled down, sucking just a little harder, dragging him over the edge.

Louis came with a broken sound, his hand still in Lestat’s hair, his whole body going taut before he finally slumped back against the sheets, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.

Lestat swallowed and pulled off him with a satisfied hum, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. He was still fully dressed, not seeking anything for himself, as if he had been content just to do that, to reduce Louis to this.

Louis, however, wasn’t.

Before Lestat could move away, Louis surged up, flipping them so Lestat was beneath him, sprawled out against the sheets. He kissed him, deep, swallowing the surprised sound Lestat made. He tasted the salty bitterness of himself on Lestat’s tongue, but he didn’t care—would never care.

Lestat made a pleased noise against his lips, but when Louis pulled at his shirt, he only laughed against his mouth, shaking his head.

Fine. Louis could take this instead. He shifted, pressing Lestat into the mattress, one hand threading into golden hair, tugging just hard enough to make him gasp. Lestat arched under him, his hips rolling up instinctively. He wasn’t asking for more, not exactly, just this, just the friction.

Louis gave it to him.

He pressed down, kissing him like he meant to take something from him, like he had to prove something. Maybe he did, in that fight the held between them and their actions. He felt Lestat’s breath hitch, his hands gripping at Louis’ waist, anchoring himself against the movement.

It didn’t take long. Lestat chased it, grinding up into him, panting into his mouth. He gasped Louis’ name against his lips when he finally fell apart, body shuddering beneath him, and he came in his pants.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then Lestat laughed quietly, his eyes still half-lidded as he reached over to the bedside table. He fumbled, realizing what he searched wasn’t there. He reached into his pockets next, grabbed a cigarette, lit it with a flick of his lighter, and brought it to his lips. Louis didn’t stop him. He just watched as Lestat exhaled slow, the smoke curling around him in the warm light. The rooms air was stale, heavy, and now slightly clouded.

Lestat turned his head, met his gaze, and smiled lopsided. “Now that,” he murmured, voice low and satisfied, “was a good nap.”

Louis shook his head against the pillow. “A good nap?” he repeated, voice still a little breathless. He didn’t know what else to say. He knew if he thought too much about it he’d end up running, and so he chose not to as far as he could. Still, he felt a little exposed next to Lestat, and he was glad for the other intertwining their legs; shielding him, the steady brush of his blonde hairs against his skin.

Lestat exhaled another slow drag of smoke, his lips curving. “Very refreshing.”

Louis rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at his mouth. He shifted onto his side, head propped against his hand as he watched Lestat, who lay sprawled in all his lazy satisfaction, his skin still warm with it. After a moment, Louis let out a breath, his fingers brushing absently over the sheets.

“It’s been a long time,” he admitted.

Lestat glanced over, raising a brow. He’d pressed the cigarette against his case, stubbing until the fire burned low, and stopped. He put the case away. “Since?”

Louis hesitated, but then shrugged. Why not say it? “Since I slept with a man.”

Lestat’s brows lifted slightly in interest. Louis had never talked about this before, beyond some vague remarks, and the bits he told Lestat about how his family had impacted his relationship with it all. But the post-orgasm haze, it made talking easier. Made his tongue loose. “How long are we talking?”

“A while,” Louis said imprecisely, but Lestat only gave him a look that made him sigh. “Years, I think. I mean, there were incidences… you know, the floating on vodka type of encounters, the one-night stands, but all things I did before Claudia. Long before Claudia.”

Lestat hummed, rolling onto his side to face him properly. “And?”

Louis let out a breath of laughter, looking up at the ceiling. “And what?”

“You regretting it yet?”

Louis shook his head, gaze falling back to him. “Not even a little.”

The look in Lestat’s eyes was… not just relief, but sober, like he’d been afraid to hear the answer. Louis knew he was bad at showing it, but he hoped Lestat knew how genuine he was. “Who was the last?”

“Someone I met in a bar,” Louis said. “He was there for work, I think. It wasn’t much. Just one night.”

Lestat nodded, as if filing that away, and then asked, “And you? Do you consider yourself gay?”

Louis thought about it for only a second before nodding. “Yes,” he said simply, even when it faintly stung somehow. “I’ve slept with women before, but it’s never… It’s just not my thing.”

Lestat studied him for a moment, then smiled softly. “Okay. Good.”

Louis raised a brow. “Why’s that good?”

Lestat exhaled. “Because you know what you want.” It sounded, like he hadn’t expected him to. Louis scoffed but let it go. Instead, he turned the question around. “What about you? I already know the answer, but.” Lestat gave him an amused look:“ Then why ask?”

Louis shrugged.

Lestat made a thoughtful noise. “I’ve always preferred men. Especially romantically. Physically, it depends. I like women, but not in the same way. There are things I like about them, but then again, I don’t care much about it. It’s more…” He gestured. Not very eloquently, and he didn’t finish that thought. Louis nodded, watching him. He already knew, they’ve talked about this, but hearing Lestat put it into words like that still made something settle inside him. Lestat added:” I don’t care about the label. Maybe I’m bisexual. Maybe not. I like things, then I don’t, and then something entirely different again. I like you, if that’s worth something.”

Louis looked at him. Really looked at him. His eyes, the scar at the corner of his lips. The slight stubble on his chin, and his throat. The peak of collarbones under his shirt. A moment of quiet passed between them. Then, Louis asked, “When was the last time for you?”

Lestat’s lips twitched, as if amused by the sudden interrogation, but he answered easily, “Before the tour started. But I did get my dick groped by some guy in a bar if that counts as something-”

Louis swallowed. Turned his head to look at him properly. He watched Lestat’s smirk become a line, then something blank, like waiting for whatever he had to say next. He came up with several things, and none of them felt like they were right for now. He settled on:“ So not since me?”

Lestat met his gaze, and there was something quieter in his expression now. “Non,” he said simply.

Louis searched his face for a moment, then nodded. He wasn’t sure why it made something settle in his chest, but it did. Neither of them spoke after that, but the silence wasn’t heavy. Lestat he rolled over, reaching for Louis, and Louis let himself be pulled into another slow, lazy kiss. He could still taste the smoke on Lestat’s tongue, but underneath it was something warmer, something that made him press closer, his fingers threading into golden hair.

Lestat made a small, pleased sound, his hands sliding over Louis’ back. They kissed for a while, slow and easy, neither of them in any rush to move. Louis pulled the blanket up despite the heat, and he chuckled as he felt the rustling of fabric; Lestat sliding off his stained pants under the shield. He smiled into the kiss that followed.

***

Later, outside, the night air was warm, and the terrace lights cast long shadows over the patio. Upstairs, Claudia lay in bed, curled up in the fresh sheets of the rented house. The glow from her bedside lamp softened the edges of the room, making it feel smaller, cozier. Louis sat on the edge of the mattress, watching as she yawned, pressing her face into her pillow.

"Excited for tomorrow?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

She peeked at him, lips quirking up in a tired smile. "Duh. It’s not every day I turn fifteen."

"Good." He reached over, tucking the blanket more securely around her. She let him, though she rolled her eyes slightly. "You guys are planning something," she muttered, her voice already slipping toward sleep.

"Of course we are. It’s your birthday."

Claudia didn't reply, just hummed lightly in acknowledgment, eyes slipping shut.

Louis watched her for a moment longer before smoothing a hand over her curls, whispering a soft bonne nuit, mimicking Lestat’s tone, before turning off the lamp and stepping out of the room.

Louis sat with Lestat at the small table outside, a half-full wine glass in front of each of them. It was quiet now. Cars in the distance. The wind when it went through the leaves of the trees. A few birds, fading. The rests of dinner were in front of them; three plates, now stacked. A couple pieces of grilled vegetables on the table, not cleaned up yet.

“She’s onto us, you know,” Louis murmured, swirling his wine idly.

Lestat chuckled:“ She’s too smart for her own good.”

They both knew Claudia wouldn’t be entirely surprised by anything they planned, but that didn’t stop them from trying.

“I’ll get up early,” Lestat said, stretching his legs out under the table. “Pick up some pastries. Neither of us are skilled enough to attempt a cake, and I refuse to traumatize her with whatever disaster we’d create.”

“Agreed.”

“And maybe a shopping trip?” Lestat continued. “So she can pick out a few things she likes. I didn’t buy her something yet.”

“Neither.” Louis nodded. It wasn’t a grand plan, but it was simple and thoughtful – something Claudia would appreciate more than anything extravagant. And anything else he would have come up with. Louis loved his daughter more than anything, but he wasn’t the best gift-giver. He always preferred just letting her pick. Last year, she’d chosen a diary. Nothing else. Of course, he’d made her pick something more, but she’d promised she would have been happy with just that. She could be sweet, so very sweet.

A pause settled between them before Louis asked, “Heard from Viktor yet?”

Lestat sighed, rolling his head to the side to look at him. “He sent a text earlier. Said Athens is fine, and that he’ll let me know soon when he’s coming. They’re staying in some shady Airbnb though. I’m scared they’ll get murdered.” By his tone it was clear he didn’t mean that.

“Did he say how long he’ll stay?”

Lestat shook his head. “No, but I get the feeling he won’t stay too long.” He looked down, tapping his fingers lightly against his glass. “I don’t think he likes being too far for too long. Even if he’d never admit it.”

Louis nodded, sensing the weight in Lestat’s voice. He let it sit between them, unspoken but understood.

Then, after a while, Lestat pushed his chair back slightly, reaching for Louis’ wrist and tugging him closer. “Enough about that,” he murmured.

Louis raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t resist as Lestat pulled him into a slow kiss. The taste of wine lingered between them, warm and deep. Lestat’s hands slid up his arms, over his shoulders, fingers pressing lightly at the nape of his neck.

Louis hummed against his lips, shifting forward until their bodies aligned. His hands found Lestat’s waist, then slipped under his shirt, palms warm against his skin. He felt Lestat inhale sharply, his stomach tensing beneath his touch.

The kiss deepened, Lestat tilting his head to chase more of him, but then—he pulled back just enough to press their foreheads together, breath uneven.

“Not here,” Lestat murmured, voice rough with restraint.

Louis chuckled, but he didn’t push. Instead, he smoothed his hands over Lestat’s sides once more before letting go. They lingered like that for a moment—close, but not crossing the line. Then, with an exhale, Lestat leaned back, reaching for his wine glass again, and Louis did the same.

Louis took a slow sip of it, then glanced at Lestat over the rim of his glass. The man was relaxed against his chair, watching the night sky, but Louis could still feel the tension in him—coiled somewhere beneath the surface, even when he smiled.

After a pause, Louis set his glass down and asked, “So, why didn’t you let me earlier?”

Lestat turned his head, blinking at him in confusion.

Louis raised an eyebrow. “In bed. Why didn’t you let me go down on you?”

For a moment, Lestat just stared, and then he let out a sudden, sharp laugh. He tilted his head back, shaking it. “Mon dieu, Louis. You avoided letting me close for so long, and now you’re so eager?”

Louis huffed. “It’s a fair question.”

Lestat smirked, but there was something guarded in his expression. He swirled his wine in his glass, eyes flickering over Louis’ face before he answered, “Maybe I just like teasing you.”

Louis gave him a flat look. “Lestat.”

Lestat sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. He looked away, toward the dark stretch of the garden, and for a second, Louis thought he wouldn’t actually answer. But then, he said, “I don’t know. I guess… I want to do this right.”

Louis frowned slightly. “Right?”

Lestat gave a small shrug. “Before it’s ruined.” He exhaled a laugh, shaking his head at himself. “I don’t know. I’ve rarely—when it actually means something, I don’t want to rush it.”

Louis studied him, something clicking into place. He had always known Lestat was loud, dramatic, openly flirtatious—especially about sex. He joked about it constantly, filled the silences with innuendo, acted as if it was nothing. Hells, he’s been drunk before, begging for Louis to just fuck him, no matter how out he’s been. But the moment things slowed down, when there was nothing left between them but quiet and want, he hesitated. “You make jokes about it all the time,” Louis murmured. “And yet, you hold back.”

“That’s the thing about jokes, Louis. You’re not supposed to take them so seriously.”

Louis didn’t buy that for a second. He leaned forward slightly, watching the way Lestat’s fingers tightened subtly around his glass. “You struggle with this, don’t you?”

Lestat went still. It was only for a moment, but Louis caught it.

Then, Lestat exhaled through his nose, tipping his head to the side, expression caught somewhere between amused and resigned. “You’re very annoying sometimes, you know that?”

Louis smirked. “You bring it out in me.”

Lestat sighed again, quieter this time. He looked down at his wine, turning the stem of the glass between his fingers. “I’ve always been… hypersexual, I suppose, that’s what you called it, didn’t you? It’s easier that way. If I make the joke first, no one else can.”

Louis’ chest tightened.

Lestat continued, his voice almost thoughtful. “It’s not that I don’t want things. Far from it. I just…” He trailed off, frowning slightly, as if struggling to find the right words. Then, with a small shake of his head, he finished, “I don’t know. I just want this to be different.”

Louis swallowed, letting that sit between them for a moment. Then, calmly, he asked, “Is that why you didn’t have a proper relationship in some time?”

Lestat scoffed. “Who said I didn’t?”

Louis gave him a knowing look. Lestat held his gaze for a beat before sighing, slumping back against his chair. “Fine.”

Then, Louis shifted, leaning forward just slightly, his voice softer now. “You know you don’t have to perform for me, right?”

Lestat’s gaze flickered to his.

Louis continued, “You don’t have to joke, or act like it’s nothing. You can just—be with me. That’s enough.”

Lestat looked at him for a long time. Then, without a word, he reached for Louis’ hand, lacing their fingers together on the table.

Louis squeezed lightly.

The blonde gave him a small, tired smile. “I’m still going to make jokes. I make good jokes. In fact, all I do is good.” Louis breathed out. He smiled. He didn’t actually think it was funny:“ I know.”

They sat like that for a while, hands entwined, the night stretching out around them. Lestat tugged gently on his hand, and Louis let himself be pulled to his feet. He smiled to himself as Lestat drew him closer, arms slipping around his waist with a familiar ease.

There was no music, only the soft sounds of the night—the distant hum of the city, the rustling of leaves in the garden. But still, Lestat swayed, guiding them into a slow, lazy rhythm.

Louis huffed a quiet laugh against his neck. “There’s no music.”

Tilting his head, the other considered him for a moment. Then, with a smirk, he said, “Should I sing for you?”

Louis rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Please don’t.”

Lestat gasped in mock offense. “Mon amour, you wound me.”

“You’d wake Claudia.”

Lestat let out a thoughtful hum, but his hold didn’t loosen. Instead, he pressed in a little closer, resting his chin down against Louis’ shoulder as they continued to move. Louis hadn’t noticed before, but Lestat wasn’t actually taller than him. He was just wearing heels all the time. Now he wasn’t. He was barefoot, and he was feeling so free in his arms.

Chapter Text

Dear Auntie Grace,

We made it! We landed in Rome this morning, and I’m writing this from my new room in the house we rented. It’s nearly evening now! Oh, and when I say house, I mean house. It’s huge. Way bigger than the hotels we stayed in, and I finally feel like I have my own room again. Not like I had to share before, but it’s just different! Reminds me of home. The bed is massive, and there’s a little desk by the window where I’m sitting now. If I look outside, I can see the garden – there’s this stone path and all these plants I don’t know the names of. Daddy Lou says it’s a nice place to read, so I’ll test that out tomorrow. By the way, I can see him and Lestat right now; they’re kissing there, under some tree where they think no one sees them. It’s disgusting, auntie! I wouldn’t mind, but it’s all the time. Ugh.

Anyways. I’m so excited for my birthday! It’s my first time celebrating it somewhere like this, and I don’t know what we’re doing yet, but I hope they’ve planned something good. Not that they’d tell me. When I asked, Lestat just replied like he was keeping the world’s biggest secret, and Daddy Lou told me to be patient. But you know me – I hate waiting.

Oh, and the flight was fine, boring but fine. We said goodbye to Viktor and his friend before we took the flight, they flew to Athens, I think because Laurent’s father works there or something. Vik promised he’d meet us again soon, but who knows when. I hope he’ll text me. I don’t want to get bored while Daddy Lou and Lestat do whatever.

Anyway, I hope things are good back home. Tell everyone hi from me. I’ll write again soon. I’m starting to like this.

Love,
Claudia

***

Lestat starred at the ceiling as the first pale light of morning filtered through the curtains. He’s been awake for a while now. The house was silent, save for the steady rhythm of Louis’ breathing beside him.

He knew he should get up – he’d promised to buy pastries before Claudia woke after all – but for now, he allowed himself another moment. Just one more, while everything was so quiet, and the only noise remained whatever nonsense floated through his mind. And there was a lot of it, right now. Busy, that’s what he called all of it, and relentless. Thoughts over thoughts, and worries, those even he would call unnecessary, because they were persistent, and leading nowhere. Most of them, they were about Viktor, and he knew it was only, because he felt guilty, and he couldn’t shake the regret, the one that never quite went away.

His phone was on the nightstand, and after a hesitation he didn’t quite understand, he reached for it. Lestat wasn’t sure what he was looking for, not at first, but muscle memory guided him. A few taps, and there they were, those old photos, scanned from an actual camera, stored away in a folder he opened rarely, but fondly.

One of the first images that loaded was Viktor at four years old, grinning wide with cake smeared across his face. Lestat exhaled sharply. That had been the year he’d ruined everything. Well, one of the years. He’s had a good run at that; being the worst father to ever exist, never really giving his son what he needed. Lestat remembered that year; the party that’s been ruined, the one that had been too much – too many people, too much noise, too much pressure. He’d tried, he really had, but the weight of it all had tipped, and in the end, it had been his son who had suffered for it. He could still, after so many years, recall how little Viktor had sat on the floor of their tiny living room, crying, not letting him comfort him.

Lestat remembered how his chest had felt tight, and how he’s cried too, because he’d never figured out what to do, how to help the child he didn’t know how to care for.

He’d been so clueless. Never knowing what to say, or how to offer him what would have been needed. He remembered, how he’d nearly hit the boy once, because he’d been so frustrated. Gods, he never had – but he’s been close, and he hated himself for it. Still did. But then Lestat told himself, promised himself, he’d never ever become his father. Or his other parent.

The blonde’s thumb hovered over the screen, swiping through moments frozen in time. There was Viktor at six, missing a front tooth; at ten, building something in playground sand, then another, Lestat caught mid-laugh, his arms around Viktor, the boy already up to his chest. It felt like another lifetime. Maybe it was. Lestat was drinking in the memories.

He’d always enjoyed being a father. He hadn’t enjoyed doing it alone.

Beside him, Louis stirred, a soft inhale before his voice came, rough with sleep. „What are you looking at?“ The other man moved, until his chin was on his chest, and Lestat glanced over, finding him blinking up at him, eyes still heavy with drowsiness. He was a beautiful man, his Louis, and he was sweet, when he didn’t pretend being something else.

„Just old photos,“ Lestat offered. He hesitated, then tilted the screen toward Louis who propped himself up on one elbow, his gaze flicking over the pictures, taking them in. „Oh, your son”, Louis said with a smile. „it’s terrifying how much alike you looked even then.”

Lestat just nodded. Yes, his son had always resembled him more than his mother. Not just in the hair or the shape of his face, but in the way he carried himself, the way he moved. The freckles and the hint of green in his eyes were hers, but everything else, unmistakably, was him. A perfect mirror, even now, even after he’d outgrown him three years ago.

Louis studied the images a moment longer, then looked up at him. „You okay?“

Lestat forced a smile, something wry, something easy. „Nostalgic, maybe. Or just getting old.“

„Old? You’re not even forty.” Louis huffed softly, but didn’t press. He only glanced at the time on the phone screen and muttered, „You should go if you’re getting those pastries. Please. I’m starving.“

„Of course you are.” Lestat sighed, rolling onto his back again. He smiled. But he didn’t move just yet. Instead, he reached out, brushing his fingers over Louis' arm, tracing absent patterns against his skin. Another moment. Just one more.

Louis took the phone from Lestat’s hand, his fingers brushing against his as he pulled it closer. The screen was still lit, displaying a grainy photo of Viktor at some childhood milestone. Louis swiped slowly, moving through the pictures again, his eyes careful and searching.

„There aren’t a lot,“ Lestat murmured beside him. „Didn’t have a good camera back then. Didn’t have a lot actually. But I transferred whatever pictures I could save.“

Louis hummed, his thumb pausing over a picture where Viktor looked around five or six, standing on a beach, the wind tugging at his curls. Louis imagined Lestat behind the camera. How he must have looked like, then. How he must have dressed. He wondered once again, what kind of man that younger version of Lestat has been. Not famous, not rich. What kind of job he must have had, where he must have lived. What friends he’s had. What lovers.

What live that must have been.

He swiped again. A few more moments in time, the pictures all without any order, then – Louis stilled.

A picture of Lestat holding Viktor as an infant in a bathroom, his arms careful, cradling the tiny bundle close to his chest in a way that expressed how uncertain he’d been, as if fearing to crush or drop him. It should have been a happy image, but it wasn’t. Lestat looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, his mouth set in a way that looked almost… lost. The kind of look someone wore when they weren’t sure they were meant to be where they were. And Lestat couldn’t have been, as young as he looked there. He looked like his son did now, and Louis, he immediately pictured Claudia, a few years from now in that kind of situation, and he disliked it. It wasn’t just age, it was maturity, and stability, and especially, the responsibility. And truthfully, Lestat looked like a teenager in that picture. Awkward, and overly skinny, making the version of him from today look rather broad in comparison, and while surprisingly well-dressed, so young.

Louis exhaled through his nose.

„Where was his mother?“ he asked. „She isn’t in any of them.”

Lestat didn’t hesitate. „Non. She wasn’t there.“

Louis glanced over, but Lestat didn’t elaborate. He only blinked slowly, like the weight of the past was pressing in on him, but he wasn’t ready to let it spill.

Louis swiped again.

This time, Lestat was in it, but it was different. Suddenly, the other picture made Lestat look good. Here, he looked… rough. The image was dimly lit, probably taken inside, bit it was hard to tell where it had been. There was a cut on his cheekbone, a bruise forming along his jaw. His lower lip was slightly swollen, split in the corner. Viktor sat on his lap, small hands grasping at his father’s fingers, oblivious. Lestat smiled brightly. Louis wanted to ask why someone had taken that picture. Why, when it seemed like taking a picture should have been the least of anyone’s concern.

Louis frowned, his grip on the phone tightening slightly. „What happened here?“

The blonde didn’t answer. Louis turned his head, studying him, waiting. But Lestat only reached out and took the phone back, locking it with a quick tap of his thumb before setting it aside on the nightstand.

„Pastries, mon cher,“ The blonde reminded with a yawn. „You’re hungry. And we have a birthday girl to feed.”

„You’re stalling, Lestat.“

Lestat blinked exaggeratedly. „Stalling? I don’t stall, I simply…” He gestured vaguely. „What’s the rush? Life is short, but pastries… well, they should never be rushed.”

„What’s that supposed to mean?” Louis laughed despite himself. „Is this some kind of saying you’re translating wrongly?”

„Excusez-moi ? Mon anglais est tout à fait impeccable.”

„Right”, Louis snorted, and breathed a kiss to his cheek. Lestat only hummed at that, and before Louis could argue further, he curled into him, pressing his face against the crook of Louis’ neck, his arm draped lazily over his waist. He breathed warmly against him, his hand a wicked little thing that dipped just a little too low. Louis ignored it, and ran his own hand gently through Lestat’s hair before tilting his head and pressing a slow kiss to his temple. Then another to his cheek, then lower, one to his jaw. They were soft. Kind reminders. He tried to resist Lestat, who had an uncanny way of turning every serious moment into an excuse to be handsy, to seduce.

Lestat sighed against him, moving slightly closer, and then – he lifted his head, finding Louis’ lips with his own.

Just soft. Slow. Louis tilted his head, and his resistance was weak, barely-existent.

Louis’ hand slid down, over Lestat’s bare back, fingers tracing lightly as their mouths met again, and again, until the world outside the bed felt too far away to bother with. He wouldn’t have started this, if it hadn’t been for Lestat shifting slightly, deepening the kiss for a moment before pulling back, just enough to mutter against Louis' lips, „I have to go.“

Louis hummed in response but didn’t let him move, his fingers curling around Lestat’s wrist, keeping him close. „Mmm. Do you?“

Lestat smirked, but before he could answer, Louis pulled him back down, rolling over him with ease. Lestat let him, exhaling a nearly too-loud laugh as his back hit the mattress again. „So demanding, mon cher,“ he teased, but his hands found their way to Louis’ waist anyway, fingers warm and easy against his skin.

Louis chuckled. Lestat looked happier again. Lighter. Satisfied, Louis dipped his head, pressing a kiss just beneath the blonde ’s jaw, then lower, down the column of his throat. He felt Lestat swallow beneath his lips, the slight catch in his breath.

Encouraged, Louis continued, trailing down to his collarbone. He reached up, pushing Lestat’s shirt aside, baring more of his chest. Lestat let him. His breathing had slowed, but his hands hadn’t moved, still resting lazily against Louis’ waist as he let him explore.

Louis pressed another kiss against his skin, and then another, lingering as if committing him to memory. It felt rare, such a moment – where things weren’t rushed, weren’t frantic. Where Lestat let himself be seen, let himself be looked at without turning it into something else.

But then, the blonde rockstar sighed dramatically and pushed himself up. „If you keep this up, mon cœur, your daughter won’t have a birthday breakfast.“

Louis huffed against his skin, smiling despite himself. With one last kiss to his chest, he relented, shifting back just enough to let Lestat move. The other man grinned, tilting Louis’ chin up and stealing another kiss before finally slipping out of bed. „Try not to miss me too much, mon cher,“ he teased as he stood, stretching before heading for his clothes. Louis watched him steal a white shirt, and his deodorant.

Once Lestat had left, the room felt oddly quiet. Louis sighed, running a hand through his hair before finally dragging himself out of bed and padding toward the kitchen. If Lestat was handling the pastries, then at least he could get the rest ready.

The house was still dim, the early morning light barely filtering through the windows as he moved through the space. Carefully, he started setting the table, making sure it felt like something special. He used the house’s fancier plates and cups, and he went into the garden to gather some of the flowers growing there. Little details, which made the morning feel like a celebration rather than just another day.

He paused, looking at it all for a moment. Just months ago, he wouldn’t have imagined this. But now, standing in a quiet kitchen in Rome, waiting for Lestat to return with breakfast so they could celebrate his daughter's birthday–

Louis exhaled, a breath that felt light, and fresh, and comforting.

Maybe he could get used to this.

When Lestat returned and entered the house, he carried that bag of pastries in one hand and a stack of newspapers in the other. Louis smiled at him. He looked like some old-school husband, or something.

„Your saviour has returned!“ Lestat announced, setting the bag down on the counter with unnecessary dramatics, and throwing the papers over to the kitchen counter. „I’ve come with the finest pastries Rome has to offer, asking for your hand in exchange!“

Louis only gave him a look, amused but unconvinced. Still, he kissed Lestat’s cheek. „Let’s see if they live up to the reputation.”

Lestat scoffed, but instead of responding, he reached for Louis’ waist, pulling him in before he could move to finish setting the table. Louis let himself be drawn in, grinning against Lestat’s lips as they kissed again. It was ridiculous, how easily they kept falling into it – this constant, quiet pull toward each other. Like they couldn’t help themselves, like they’d spent too much time apart, too much time pushing and pulling, and now their bodies were making up for lost time.

Louis felt Lestat too grin against his lips. He didn’t need to say anything.

„You started it.“ Louis exhaled a soft laugh. Life was too good right now. He tried to think of nothing but Lestat, and the breakfast ahead, and seeing his daughter celebrate.

„Mmm.“ Lestat kissed him again, slower this time, as if savouring the moment. When he pulled back, his hands still firm on Louis' waist, his voice was lower. „Claudia won’t be up for a little while yet.“ Louis knew of course what he was suggesting, felt the way Lestat’s fingers toyed with the hem of his shirt, his touch warm against his skin. He was tempted – God, he was tempted – but he remembered Lestat’s own words, the way he’d spoken about doing things right, about not ruining them before they even had the chance to be something real. And he remembered, how sad earlier has felt. He didn’t know if this was right.

So instead, Louis caught the blonde’s wrist, stopping him gently. „Didn’t you say you wanted to take it slow?”

The other man blinked at him, and for a second, Louis thought he might argue – but then something shifted, and a slow, pleased smile tugged at his lips. „So you were listening.“

Louis nodded. „When am I not?“

Lestat huffed a laugh, but he didn’t protest when Louis kissed him again, pressing him back against the edge of the counter. And maybe they weren’t going to fuck, but they weren’t exactly behaving either – because Lestat still groaned when Louis slipped a hand down his pants, palming him through his briefs, his breath hitching, a response to Lestat digging his hands just a bit too much into the skin of his ass.

Louis felt the way Lestat ground against him, the way he pressed forward, hips moving into his touch like he couldn’t help himself. The sound he made, half-muffled against Louis’ mouth, was enough to make Louis’ own breath catch, enough to make his pulse quicken.

Eventually, Lestat broke away with a curse, pressing his forehead to Louis’ shoulder, breathing heavy. „If we keep this up, mon cher, we’re going to get caught. Stop.“

Louis pressed a lingering kiss to the side of Lestat’s neck before pulling back, withdrawing his hand. He straightened Lestat’s waistband, smoothing a hand over his shirt as if that would somehow make them look less debauched.

„Later,“ Louis murmured, voice still a little thick. He didn’t know if he meant it, or he just said that.  Lestat exhaled sharply, looking at him like he wanted to say more, like he wanted to drag him back in, but then he smirked, brushing a thumb over Louis’ bottom lip before stepping back. „Later,“ he simply agreed. He didn’t sound convinced either.

Louis turned on the sink, letting the cool water run over his hands. He could still feel the warmth of Lestat’s skin against his fingertips, the ghost of his touch lingering even as he scrubbed his palms. He sighed, shaking his head at himself.

Behind him, Lestat stretched, rolling his shoulders. „I’m going outside,” he said, already heading toward the door. „Might as well have a smoke before the festivities begin.”

Louis gave him a look over his shoulder, brows raised. „You should smoke less. It’ll kill you. Or ruin your voice.”

The blonde only scoffed, waving him off dramatically. „Yes, yes. And you should loosen up. We all have our little vices.” He winked before stepping out into the morning air.

Louis rolled his eyes, but once his hands were feeling clean, he took his time making them both coffee. He lingered over the motions; pouring the water, watching the steam curl in the light spilling through the kitchen window. Outside, Lestat was leaning against the railing, the cigarette glowing faintly against the blue-grey morning.

Louis carried the mugs outside, handing one to Lestat before settling onto the bench beside him. Lestat hummed in appreciation, taking a sip before exhaling another drag of smoke, sitting down as well. For a moment, they just sat there. The garden was still, the trees casting long shadows over the dewy grass. Birds flitted between branches, the city beyond the walls just beginning to wake. It was strangely nostalgic. That warm, but grey morning.

Lestat took another pull of his cigarette, tilting his head back, exhaling the smoke toward the sky. „She’ll like today,” he said eventually, voice softer now.

Louis glanced at him over the rim of his cup. „You think?”

Lestat nodded, a small smile playing at his lips. „She’s a child. And children like being celebrated. I imagine she’ll milk it for all it’s worth.”

„That’s true.” Louis smirked slightly, shaking his head. A comfortable silence settled between them. Lestat tapped the ash from his cigarette, watching the way it scattered in the breeze.

Then, quieter, almost absentmindedly, he said, „You have been good at this. Are, I mean.”

Louis frowned slightly. „At what?”

Lestat didn’t look at him, but there was something knowing in his expression. Or at least, Louis thought so. „Being a father.”

He didn’t answer right away. He just looked down at his coffee, letting the words settle between them. What should he even say to that? Finally, he murmured, „You don’t know that, Lestat. You don’t know how I’ve done so far.”

Lestat turned to him then, giving him a slow, deliberate look. „I think I do.”

Louis held his gaze for a moment, but before he could find a way to respond, Lestat smirked, breaking the tension with a teasing lilt to his voice. „Though, I must say, I pity Claudia, who has to deal with you as a strict and brooding patriarch.”

„Ass.”

Lestat grinned, taking another sip of his coffee. „Takes one to know one, mon cher.”

Louis only sighed, leaning back into the seat, feeling the warmth of the morning settle over them.

When Claudia stepped outside with a yawn, rubbing at her eyes, her curls still mussed from sleep, she blinked at the sight of Louis and Lestat sitting together, sipping coffee on the garden bench. Lestat was the first to notice her, his face splitting into a grin. „Ah, the birthday girl emerges!” He stood, setting his cup down, and opened his arms wide. „Come here, ma petite.”

Claudia snorted but didn’t resist when he pulled her into a warm hug, lifting her slightly off the ground. She groaned dramatically. „Ugh, you smell like smoke. It’s eight in the morning!”

Lestat only laughed, setting her down but keeping his hands on her shoulders. „It adds to my charm.”

Louis was more subdued, watching them, but when Claudia turned to him, his smile was softer, fond. „Happy birthday, daughter.” He tugged her into his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, lingering just a second longer than usual. She really was the best thing in his life. And she was getting older. He didn’t like that, and so he held on. At least, until Claudia freed herself. „Okay, okay, okay, Daddy Lou” she muttered. „It’s not that big of a deal. I’m just older now.”

Lestat scoffed. „Nonsense. Birthdays are a grand occasion. And we have plans.”

At that, her eyes sparked with interest. „Plans?”

Louis nodded toward the house. „Come inside first. Breakfast.”

She was drawn in quickly by the promise of food. Inside, Claudia’s eyes widened slightly as she slid into her seat. „Oh! This looks nice! Thank you.”

„Fresh from this morning,” Lestat announced, pouring her a cup of hot chocolate before flopping into his chair with a dramatic sigh. „A grand sacrifice on my part, braving the morning streets of Rome while you two lazed in bed. I should be properly compensated. I’ll let you know my pay rate.”

Louis snorted. „You were the one who insisted. I would have tried baking.”

„And thank God I did.” Lestat gestured toward the pastries with a flourish. „Behold, the fruits of my labour.”

Claudia laughed loudly, snorting as she did, while grabbing a croissant and then tearing off a piece. „Well, I guess I am worth the effort. And thank you, Lestat, we’re all glad my father didn’t bake.”

“I’ll cut you out of my will”, Louis shot back, earing another round of laughter. Then, he reached for his coffee. Afterwards he said:” But you are. Worth the effort. Even when you dare to insult my baking skills. Who made you those muffins, an hour before school? Huh?”

She beamed at his praise and ignored the rest, and as they settled in, the morning light streaming through the windows, it was easy, warm, and exactly how a birthday breakfast should be. It was perfect. Louis couldn’t have wished for the morning to go any better.

After breakfast, the three of them set off into the city, letting Claudia take her time picking out her birthday gifts. She was quick to find a few things she liked. A shirt, a couple of books, and a new pair of shoes that she at once declared her new favourites. By some small miracle, or perhaps divine intervention, Louis and Lestat managed to come to an unspoken agreement about splitting the purchases.

It was an ongoing battle. Louis hated how easily Lestat threw money around, the way he spoiled them without a second thought. And Lestat, for all his theatrics, simply despised letting anyone else pay when he could cover everything himself. It’s not about the money, Louis would argue – because logically, it wasn’t an issue for Lestat, but it irritated him deeply to feel like he couldn’t even buy his daughter a proper gift without Lestat trying to take over.

But for now, at least, a balance was struck, and Claudia seemed more than pleased as they made their way back home, her arms full of her new things.

By the afternoon, they were back in the garden.

Claudia was stretched out on a lounge chair, flipping through one of her new books, her face turned toward the sun. Louis sat nearby, one knee bent, watching as Lestat tilted forward, resting his forearms on his thighs while Louis smoothed sunscreen over his bare shoulders. The heat of the afternoon clung to them, and Lestat let out a pleased hum as Louis' hands moved over his upper arms, working the lotion in slow, methodical strokes.

„You’re too smug about this,” Louis muttered quietly, shaking his head.

„I simply enjoy being taken care of. And I don’t intend to burn this time. I’ve had a sunburn only once, and I don’t wish to repeat it.”

Louis huffed but didn’t argue, pressing his thumbs into Lestat’s neck before moving down his spine, the bits of skin he had access to under the cropped shirt. He knew the blonde was grinning, even when he looked everywhere but his direction. Louis placed a kiss on his shoulder, immediately regretting that decision, the lotion bitter on his tongue.

Claudia, still engrossed in her book, didn’t look up as she spoke. „So, what’s the plan for tonight?”

Lestat glanced at her. „That depends. Where does the birthday girl want to go for dinner?”

She hummed, tapping her fingers against the pages. „Somewhere nice.”

„You’ll have to be more specific than that,” Louis said, wiping his hands off with a towel. Now Lestat did turn, and he smiled at him, then tapped his nose. Claudia sat up, considering:” I don’t know. Somewhere Italian, obviously. Fancy, but not too fancy. And good desserts. Birthdays are for eating my bodyweight in desserts.”

Lestat grinned. „I think I can organize that. Fancy, not too fancy, with good sweets. Understood.”

„Good.” She laid back down, turning a page. „I trust you.”

Lestat pressed a hand to his chest, mockingly touched, before turning back to Louis with a quiet chuckle.

For a while, the only sounds around them were the birds in the trees and the occasional turn of Claudia’s pages filling the air. They were all busy doing their thing, enjoying the warmth of the sun, the seemingly endless summer of Italy. It was warm, for late September, even when the evenings were colder, and the mornings felt just a bit too grey.

„You remember you have a concert in four days, right? Don’t you need to rehearse or something?” Louis said suddenly. He’d been reading too, but suddenly, he’s thought about it. Lestat blinked at him, like the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind:” Oh. Right.”

Louis frowned. „You forgot?”

The blonde stretched; the movement lazy. „Not forgot. Just… haven’t thought about it.”

That wasn’t like him. Lestat, for all his dramatics, was meticulous about his performances, his schedule, everything. To hear him sound so indifferent about it–

Louis raised an eyebrow. “That’s not like you.”

Lestat looked at him, and for once, he didn’t have some quick, clever response. He just shrugged. “It’s been a year.”

And with that, Louis could see it clearly—Lestat was tired.

Not just physically, though that was probably true, too. But more than that, there was a kind of weariness in him now, something settling in behind his eyes, in the way he let his head tip back, in the way he suddenly seemed more present here than he did when talking about the tour.

He had loved it, once. Maybe he still did. But there was something about the way he had forgotten—about the way it had slipped his mind entirely—that made Louis wonder if, deep down, Lestat was finally getting sick of it.

Lestat exhaled through his nose, tilting his head back against the chair. „It’s been a year,” he repeated. „I knew it would be long, but I suppose I didn’t expect to—” He gestured vaguely, searching for the words. „Grow bored of it?”

Louis studied him. „You’re bored?”

Lestat shook his head. „Non. Not exactly.” He ran a hand through his curls. „I love it. I always will. But there’s… other things now. Other things I’d rather do.”

Louis didn’t press, but he understood.

After a pause, Lestat turned to him, tilting his head. „You want me to keep going?”

Louis thought about it. He thought about the way Lestat came alive on stage, how he thrived in the spotlight, in the music. But he also thought about this—sitting here, in the garden, easy, quiet. And the way Lestat had almost forgotten about his next show.

„It’s not my decision to make,” Louis said a little too sharply. “Don’t ask me that.”

They sat in silence for a while longer, until the sun began to dip lower in the sky, and eventually, Claudia marked her place in her book and stretched her arms overhead.

„So,” she said, standing. „Are we going to dinner or what? I’m going to starve. Do you want that?”

They let Claudia choose the restaurant, and after some consideration, and a lot of scrolling through her phone, she settled on a place near the river, one that had good reviews and, as she put it, looked cool. Lestat made the reservation, smoothly switching into Italian over the phone, and by the time the sun began to set, they were walking through the warmly lit streets of Rome.

The restaurant was small, with soft golden lighting and tables set outside beneath a canopy of vines. It wasn’t overly fancy, but it had an undeniable charm, the kind that made it feel special without being too formal. The warm air carried the scent of fresh herbs and grilled meats, and from where they sat, they could hear the gentle murmur of the Tiber flowing nearby.

Claudia, in her new shirt and shoes, looked pleased as she skimmed the menu. Louis watched as Lestat leaned back in his chair, one arm draped over the back of Louis’ own, entirely at ease as he flipped through the wine list. The waiter came by, and once again, Lestat handled the ordering in good, but rarely used Italian, with Claudia making a point to add her own request in careful, determined pronunciation, after having him teach some of it.

The food was good, conversation light. Claudia, clearly enjoying herself, teased them both- Louis for how much he loved his pasta, enough to then have half of Lestat’s as well, and Lestat himself, for the way he always managed to find the most expensive wine on the menu, and then drink it like water. Louis, despite himself, had to admit it was a good bottle, but he still rolled his eyes when Lestat, ever the performer, made a show of describing the notes of it. As if the thing didn’t taste too dry, and bitter.

As the meal wound down, the waiter appeared again, setting down a small dessert in front of Claudia. It even had a single candle in the centre. They wished her a happy birthday – properly, like she deserved it, but when they offered to sing she told them to not embarrass her and so they didn’t. Still, there was no hiding her delight as she leaned forward and blew out the candle. Lestat applauded dramatically, earning a look from the other diners, but he didn't seem to care. Not when Louis laughed at him as happily as he did.

They lingered after that, sipping the last of their drinks, the night air cooler now but pleasant after the days heat.

Claudia leaned her chin on her hand, looking out toward the river with a content expression, and Louis, watching her, felt something settle in his chest. The day had been good. She’d enjoyed herself. That was all that mattered.

Eventually, they paid the bill and got up to leave. Lestat stretched as they stepped back onto the street, and Claudia immediately linked arms with her father and him, tugging them forward. „Can we walk a bit before heading back?“

Noone argued. The three of them moved through the city streets, past glowing storefronts and the hum of nightlife, wrapped in the kind of warmth that only came from an evening well spent.

Later, they found themselves curled up in the living room, a movie playing softly on the screen. Claudia sat cross-legged in the armchair, occasionally throwing in commentary. Louis and Lestat shared the couch, Louis half-reclined, his arm stretched along the back, Lestat leaning into him, one leg tucked under himself. He had been falling asleep since they’ve turned on the tv, and now he was fighting it.

By the time the credits rolled, Claudia stretched, covering a yawn herself. She got up and turned to them. „I’m going to bed.”

Louis nodded. „Sleep well, Claudia.”

„You too,” she smiled. Then, after a pause, „Today was nice. Thank you.”

Lestat sat up slightly. „Oh?”

„I mean it. Thanks, both of you.”

Louis softened. „You’re welcome.”

She gave them both one last look, then disappeared down the hall, her steps fading as she climbed the stairs. Louis and Lestat remained on the couch, the only light now coming from the dim glow of the tv still running in the back. Louis watched the hallway where Claudia had disappeared, her words still lingering in the air. He ran a hand over his face, exhaling softly:” You think she really enjoyed the day?”

Lestat, still slouched against him on the couch, yawned. „Of course she did.”

„You don’t think she just said that to be nice?”

Lestat scoffed. „She’s Claudia. When has she ever felt the need to spare anyone’s feelings? She clearly is your child.”

Louis laughed quietly at that, conceding. „True.” He let his head tip back against the couch, eyes flicking toward Lestat, whose gaze was still on him, suddenly sharp and amused. „You’re awfully sentimental tonight,” Lestat murmured.

“Says you.” Louis shrugged. „It was a good day. I’m happy.”

Lestat watched Louis for a long moment, the glow from the television casting flickering shadows over his face. Then, with a small smirk, he shifted, pushing himself closer, letting his hand slide up Louis’ chest, fingertips tracing lightly over his collarbone. „I like when you’re like this,” Lestat murmured.

Louis arched an eyebrow. „Like what?”

Lestat’s smirk widened. „Soft. Pour être honnête, c'est carrément excitant.”

Louis rolled his eyes at him, but before he could reply, Lestat kissed him. It was slow, deliberate, none of the teasing from before, just warm pressure and the quiet hum of satisfaction between them. Louis let himself sink into it, shifting to cup the back of Lestat’s neck, fingers slipping into his hair.

By the time they pulled apart, the blonde seemed to have lost any interest in sleeping. „Come to bed with me,” he murmured.

Louis didn’t argue. He didn’t feel like pretending to want anything else.

They left the half-empty glasses, the wrappers of snacks, on the coffee table, the quiet hum of the city filtering in through the windows as they moved through the house. In the dim glow of their room, Louis turned to Lestat, watching him, the way he was already tugging at his own shirt.

„Let me,” Louis said.

Lestat’s hands stilled. He studied Louis for a moment, then exhaled, allowing it. He let his arms drop to his sides, watching as Louis stepped forward, fingers slipping under the hem of his shirt, pushing it up slowly.

Louis’ hands were careful, sliding over his ribs, his stomach, feeling the warmth of him beneath his touch. Lestat was never really showing how shy he could be, never hesitant, but there was something in the way he stood still now, something almost vulnerable about it. About him letting it happen. Louis took his time, pulling the shirt over Lestat’s head, fingers brushing along his sides as he did.

Lestat’s breath hitched slightly, but he covered it quickly, his lips curling. „Enjoying yourself?”

Louis hummed, letting his hands skim down Lestat’s back. Drinking in the sensation. „Maybe.”

Lestat made a pleased sound before pulling him into another kiss, deeper this time, slower, heat building between them in an unhurried way. Eventually, Louis pushed him back toward the bed, hands working at the button of his pants.

Lestat let himself be guided, sinking down onto the mattress as Louis stripped him further.

Louis took his time. He let his hands roam over the other man’s bare skin, fingertips dragging slow, reverent paths along his chest, his ribs, the sharp lines of his hips. He was warm beneath him, shifting under his touch, breath catching when Louis pressed his palm flat against his stomach before sliding lower. His own desire simmered steadily in the background, but he ignored it for now, more caught up in the feeling of Lestat beneath him: laid out, watching him through half-lidded eyes, his mouth curved into something satisfied, something that made heat curl low in Louis’ stomach.

His hands drifted down, fingertips tracing the dips of his thighs before moving back up, brushing over his sides. Louis’ thumbs skimmed along Lestat’s ribs, feeling the way his chest rose and fell beneath his touch.

There was something delicate and strange between them, and Louis couldn’t shake the feeling that Lestat was letting him have this. Letting himself be looked at, touched, known in a way that didn’t feel purely physical.

Lestat made another pleased sound when Louis kissed him again, the sensation of skin against skin making his pulse quicken. At some point, Louis shifted back onto his knees, tugging his own shirt over his head, letting it drop to the floor. Then his hands moved to his belt, undoing it with deliberate slowness before stripping down to his boxers. His own arousal pressed insistently against the fabric, but still, he took his time.

A sharp breath left the blonde when Louis bent down, pressing slow kisses to his stomach, his hips, his thighs. His fingers curled into the sheets as Louis mapped him out with his mouth, tongue flicking out to taste him, lips dragging along heated skin.

When Louis finally took him into his mouth, Lestat let out a quiet, broken sound, fingers twisting into the fabric beneath him. Louis swallowed him down slowly, sinking lower, feeling the way Lestat tensed beneath him, how his thighs trembled just slightly. He took his time, let it be something slow, something meant to undo Lestat bit by bit.

Eventually, he moved back up, pressing kisses along Lestat’s stomach, his chest, his throat. Their mouths met again, Lestat’s hands sliding down Louis’ back, resting just above the waistband of his boxers, fingers splaying wide. When he shifted, pressing himself up against Louis, there was no mistaking his intent.

Louis hummed, their foreheads briefly touching. His hands smoothed down Lestat’s sides before settling at his waist.

“We don’t have lube,” he murmured, voice low, lips brushing against Lestat’s. “Or condoms.”

Lestat shrugged, pressing a slow kiss to his shoulder. „You can just… I wouldn’t mind.”

Louis did.

He thought, briefly, of the two times before, when Lestat has been drunk, when he’s been saying things like that, as if it was nothing. As if it wasn’t something intimate, something that needed more thought, more care. Louis had never taken him up on it. Not then. For many reasons. But for this one too.

And now, here they were.

He pressed a kiss to Lestat’s throat, murmuring against his skin, „No. I’m not going to do anything like that. That’s nothing I like.”

Lestat exhaled, then he simply pulled Louis down again, rolling his hips up against him, dragging him into another slow kiss. They didn’t rush anything. Instead, they let the moment stretch out between them, touching, teasing, shifting against each other in a slow, maddening rhythm. Louis’ hands slid over Lestat’s sides, down his back, pressing their bodies closer.

And yet, despite the heat, the ease of it, something in Louis' mind refused to let go completely.

He pulled back, letting his forehead rest against Lestat’s, his breath still heavy. „What do you want?” he asked, voice quieter now, more deliberate. Lestat huffed a soft laugh, tilting his head, his hands skimming up Louis’ back:” You’re asking now?”

„Yes.” Louis studied him, searching his face in the dim light of the room. „What do you really want right now?”

Lestat smirked, slipping a hand between them, fingers brushing against the waistband of Louis’ pants. „I could list a few things-“ Louis gave him a flat look, unimpressed, and Lestat sighed, shaking his head with a small, crooked smile. „You’re overthinking again, mon cher.”

Louis didn’t deny it.

Lestat’s smirk faded into something softer. He let his head fall back against the pillow, fingers still tracing along Louis’ spine.

Louis watched him, considering, before leaning down to kiss him again. Slower, softer this time. They stayed like that, pressed together, trading lazy kisses, hands still wandering but suddenly not in any hurry to take things further. Eventually, the heat between them settled into something quieter, more comfortable. Lestat exhaled, letting his body relax fully beneath him.

Louis brushed a final kiss over his jaw before shifting off him, letting Lestat pull the blankets up over them both.

***

Stopping a few steps away from them, Lestat lifted a paper map with a look of deep concentration on his face, as if deciphering some ancient text. He turned it this way and that, lips pursed, occasionally glancing up at the street signs like he was confirming his theories with the universe itself. Claudia, standing next to Louis, crossed her arms and stared at the rockstar in disbelief. „Why are we not using Google Maps like normal people?”

Louis, who was still half-asleep and downing the last of his coffee like it was a lifeline, barely looked up. „Don’t question him. He’s in his element.”

Claudia scoffed, shaking her head. „It’s a map, not some divine revelation.”

Lestat finally turned back to them, ignoring Claudia’s comment entirely. „Alright, I have determined the best route—”

„By wasting ten minutes instead of just checking your phone?”

Lestat placed a dramatic hand on his chest. „Where is your sense of adventure, ma petite? Where is your appreciation for the lost art of navigation?”

Claudia groaned. „My appreciation for not getting lost is right here in my phone.” Louis chuckled, finishing his coffee and tossing the cup in a nearby trash can:” Just let him have this. It’s either this or he starts leading us by ‘instinct.’”

Lestat grinned at them. „Which has never failed me.”

Louis raised an eyebrow. „Except every single time it has.”

Claudia rolled her eyes, but clearly, she’s given up. Lestat, victorious, tucked the map under his arm like some grand explorer and led the way down the cobblestone street. They spent the next few hours doing the usual tourist things – walking through historic streets, visiting old landmarks, stopping by little shops that caught Claudia’s interest.

Louis found himself enjoying it despite the early wake-up call. The way Claudia lit up when she found something she liked, the way Lestat would go off on enthusiastic tangents about history and architecture, even the occasional banter between them—it all felt easy. Almost normal.

„Did you know,” The blonde began, in that voice that made it clear they were about to be subjected to one of his performances, „that in the days of old, the Tiber River was once said to be the resting place of a lost god? Some believed that when Rome was founded, the god Tiberinus guided Romulus and Remus to safety, blessing the land.”

Claudia sighed, already regretting not walking ahead. „Oh, here we go.”

Louis adjusted his sunglasses and let out a slow breath. „You could just let us look at the sights in peace, you know. We all can read. No reason to do it for us.”

But Lestat was undeterred. „And then, some stories say that beneath the river, his spirit still lingers, waiting to rise again should Rome ever be in peril.” He gestured grandly toward the water. „Imagine, an ancient deity, forgotten by time, sleeping beneath our very feet.”

Claudia gave him a deadpan look. „That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Lestat looked wounded. „You don’t believe in the power of myth?”

„I don’t believe in the power of you not talking for five minutes.”

„She has a point.”

Lestat scoffed, muttering something in French under his breath. But he let it drop, and they moved on, Claudia leading the way with purpose now, determined to find more souvenirs for Madeleine and Grace. „This is important,” she told them. „I can’t just bring them any cheap tourist crap.”

Lestat quirked an eyebrow. „And yet, you made us stop at a stand selling keychains shaped like the Colosseum.”

„That was research.”

Louis exchanged a knowing look with Lestat but let her do her thing. They followed her from shop to shop, watching as she carefully selected a few things – a delicate silver pendant for Madeleine, and an elegant fountain pen for Grace. Just as they were about to leave the latest store, Lestat’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw Viktor’s name flashing on the screen, showing them. „Vik’s calling,” he told them, already swiping to accept the video call.

Viktor’s face appeared, and he looked into the camera with a bright smile, seemingly happier than anyone has ever seen him. „Hey!”

Claudia leaned over to see the screen. „Where are you?”

„Were I’m staying at.” He turned his camera around briefly to show them a sunlit balcony with a view of the city. „Laurent’s dad took us to some museum earlier. They are still out, but I needed a break.” He turned the camera again, showing a cup of coffee and an ashtray in front of him. Claudia made a disapproving sound, but before the two could settle into a discussion, Lestat spoke up:” You’re doing alright there?”

Viktor nodded wildly. „Yeah. It’s nice here, actually.” He paused. „What about you? Rome treating you well?”

Louis smirked. „Your father’s been annoying us with stories about ancient river gods.”

Viktor let out a small laugh. „Sounds about right.”

Claudia added, „We’re also on a quest for the perfect souvenirs.”

„Should I be expecting one?” Viktor made a face.

Lestat grinned at his son. „I’m sure we can find something suitably ridiculous for you.”

They talked a little longer, updating each other on their plans, before finally saying their goodbyes. „Don’t get into trouble,” Lestat told him before they hung up. „Not when I’m not there.”

Viktor shook his head but smiled. „Yeah, yeah. See you soon.” The call ended, and they stood there for a moment before Claudia stretched and turned back toward the street. „Alright, I think I’m done shopping.”

„Thank God,” Louis muttered, making her elbow him playfully.

Lestat tucked his hands into his pockets. „Shall we head home, then?”

Claudia nodded, satisfied with her haul, and the three of them made their way back toward the car, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows over the cobbled streets.

***

The sun hung lazily in the sky, golden light spilling over the garden where Claudia lay stretched out on a lounge chair, reading. She had kicked off her shoes, her feet tucked under her as she flipped through her book with slow, deliberate turns of the page.

Originally, Louis had intended to do the same – find a comfortable spot, read something, enjoy the quiet – but he found himself too preoccupied with Lestat. Lestat, who sat a few feet away, his chair tipped back on two legs, lazily shuffling a deck of cards between his fingers. Lestat, who kept glancing at Louis as if waiting for him to say something, do something, give him some kind of attention.

It was distracting.

Eventually, Louis gave up on the idea of reading and stood. „I’m getting something to drink,” he announced. „Either of you want anything?”

„Wine,” Lestat answered immediately.

„It’s two in the afternoon.”

„And?”

Louis rolled his eyes but turned to Claudia, who barely looked up from her book. „Lemonade, if there’s any left,” she murmured. Louis nodded and disappeared inside. When he returned a few minutes later, balancing three glasses; water for himself, lemonade for Claudia, and yes, a glass of wine for Lestat, he found them both hunched over the small table, deep in a card game.

Claudia glanced up at him briefly, looking pleased. „Your ridiculous boyfriend is teaching me something new.”

Lestat smirked. „I thought it was time she learned a real game instead of whatever nonsense you two usually play.”

Louis set their drinks down and sat, watching as Lestat deftly shuffled and dealt the cards with practiced ease. „I don’t know if I trust your definition of a real game,” he said, sipping his water.

“Don’t be bitter just because you’re bad at them.”

Louis chuckled, watching as the two of them continued, Lestat gesturing grandly as he explained the rules with exaggerated theatrics, while Claudia mostly ignored him, eyes narrowed in concentration as she focused on figuring out how to win.

They bickered playfully, Claudia calling Lestat a liar at least twice, and Lestat feigning deep offense, pressing a hand to his chest like she had wounded him. It was familiar, warm, and absurd in a way Louis had grown used to. Like watching a pair of mismatched siblings squabble over something inconsequential, knowing neither of them really meant it.

Eventually, he shook his head, pushing away from the doorway. “You two have fun with that,” he murmured, heading for the kitchen.

Soon, the gentle sizzle of onions in a pan filled the silence, joined by the steady rhythm of a knife against the cutting board as Louis started chopping vegetables.

A moment later, Claudia joined him, rolling up her sleeves. She didn’t ask what needed doing, just picked up a knife and started helping, their movements settling into something effortless, something practiced. They worked around each other easily, they always did. Claudia reaching past him for the salt without a word, Louis nudging a bowl closer to her before she could ask for it. The occasional clang of a spoon against a pot punctuated the quiet, broken only by the soft murmur of conversation as they worked together.

It was domestic in a way Louis hadn’t expected Rome to feel so quickly, but it settled into his bones easily, a steady kind of comfort.

Outside, Lestat leaned against the terrace railing, watching them through the open doors. The golden light of the setting sun stretched long over the garden, bathing everything in a soft, honeyed glow. From where he stood, he could hear them; Claudia’s teasing jabs, Louis’ occasional dry remarks, the easy rhythm of their conversation weaving through the quiet sounds of cooking.

His gaze lingered on them, on the way Louis nudged Claudia’s hand to correct her grip on the knife, his touch brief but assured. The way Claudia grinned when Louis stole a taste of the sauce, only to immediately feign deep consideration before declaring it needed more salt just to mess with her. She rolled her eyes but added a pinch anyway, muttering something Lestat couldn’t quite hear, though he was certain it was sharp.

It was a scene so effortlessly theirs. Unspoken, familiar, a rhythm built over years. And despite himself, Lestat found he was smiling. It made something deep in his chest ache, something he couldn’t quite name.

He pulled out his phone and dialled Viktor.

The line rang twice before his son picked up. „Hey,” Viktor said, his voice warm.

„Bonsoir, mon fils,” Lestat greeted, a smile tugging at his lips. „I wasn’t sure if you’d be free.”

„I always have time for you, father. You know that.” There was a teasing lilt to Viktor’s voice, but Lestat could hear the sincerity beneath it. They talked for a bit—about Athens, about what Viktor did so far, about the food and the people. Lestat listened, nodding along, laughing when Viktor described an old couple who had tried to bribe him for a private museum tour despite him not working there.

Then, after a brief pause, Viktor added, softer, „I miss you.”

Lestat exhaled, glancing toward the house again, watching the way Louis leaned down to listen as Claudia said something, her hands gesturing animatedly. „Moi aussi,” he said to his son, voice quiet. „Je pense à toi tous les jours.”

Viktor hummed in acknowledgment. “Are you still enjoying it? You sound a bit distant.”

Lestat hesitated for a beat. “Yes,” he answered, because it was true. Then, after a moment, a little more honestly, “But I’m also tired.”

Viktor seemed to understand. “Hm. It’ll be over soon. And I’ll take a flight home in a couple of days.”

“Okay,” Lestat said, his voice softer now. “Let me know when you have the details.”

Before Viktor could respond, a warm touch settled on Lestat’s shoulders—Louis, standing behind him. His fingers squeezed gently, grounding. Then Louis leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Lestat’s head, his lips warm against his hair. “Dinner’s ready,” Louis murmured, his voice low. A quiet invitation.

Lestat smiled, tilting his head slightly to glance up at him. „I suppose I should come inside before Claudia declares me an ungrateful guest in my own home?”

Louis smirked. „It’s already been discussed.”

Lestat let out a soft laugh, then turned back to the phone. „Vik, I have to go before I’m force-fed.”

Viktor chuckled. „I’ll let you go, then. Love you.”

„Je t’aime aussi, mon fils,” Lestat said, then hung up. Louis was still standing close, his hands warm where they rested on Lestat’s shoulders. Lestat glanced at him, his smile smaller now, softer. „Come on, dear,” Louis murmured, squeezing his shoulders gently. „Eat.”

And with that, Lestat let himself be pulled inside.

After dinner, Claudia had disappeared to her room, leaving Louis and Lestat alone in the living room. The lamps cast a dim, golden glow over the space, the kind of light that made everything feel softer, more intimate.

Louis sat with his legs stretched out on the couch, a book resting against his knee, while Lestat reclined at the other end, lazily scrolling through his phone. The silence between them was comfortable. It had been a good day.

Louis turned a page, glancing over at Lestat. The blonde was distracted, absorbed in whatever he was looking at, his brows furrowed slightly in thought. Maybe a text from Viktor. Maybe a stupid news article. Louis hesitated for a moment before speaking:” You told me to ask you.”

Lestat didn’t look up. „Hmm?”

„A while ago,” Louis clarified, closing his book but keeping a finger between the pages. „You told me I could ask. If I wanted to know things.”

That made the other man pause. His fingers stilled over his screen, though he still didn’t meet Louis’ eyes. Instead, he tilted his head back against the couch, exhaling as if the weight of the question had already settled over him. „Did I?” he murmured.

Louis huffed. “You did. And I never do. Ask.”

Lestat’s smile was faint, barely there, and it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And now you are?”

Louis held his gaze and nodded. “Yeah.”

Silence settled between them, not uncomfortable, but weighted. The blonde tapped his fingers idly against his phone, his expression unreadable as he considered. “What is it you really want to know?” he asked at last, voice smooth, careful, guarded.

Louis studied him for a moment, letting the question linger between them before answering. He chose his words deliberately. “Your father.” Lestat’s expression barely changed at that, but something in his posture did. It was subtle—the way his shoulders tensed, the way his fingers curled slightly against the couch fabric.

„My father,” Lestat echoed, like he was tasting the words, deciding whether he wanted to spit them out or swallow them whole.

Louis nodded.

Lestat exhaled through his nose, tilting his head back again, staring at the ceiling like it might have answers written across it. „I don’t know what to tell you,” he admitted. „He was a miserable bastard. Violent. Drunk. Thought it was his God-given right to remind me of my place.”

Louis stayed quiet, letting Lestat take his time.

„I was the youngest,” Lestat went on, voice quieter now. „Did I ever tell you that? Two older brothers, although my parents had four other boys and one girl. They didn’t survive long, but… well. I have two older brothers. I was the one who got the worst of it. My other parent-” He stopped, shook his head. „They tried, I suppose, in their own way. But they couldn’t change him. Or maybe they just didn’t care enough to.”

Louis felt something twist in his chest. Lestat had rarely spoke of his family so far, and when he did, it was in fragments – half-truths wrapped in sarcasm, bitter remarks that never quite revealed anything real. But this – this was real. The blonde rockstar let out a quiet laugh, humourless. „I think he hated that I looked like them. My other parent. My mother. That I was hers more than his. Maybe that’s why he…” He trailed off, shaking his head again. „Doesn’t matter.”

Louis’ fingers tightened around the book in his lap. „It does matter,” he said. “You wouldn’t tell me if it didn’t. Wouldn’t try to justify it.”

Lestat gave him a sideways look, apparently amused by something Louis had said. „Why do you care?”

„Because I do,” Louis said simply.

Lestat scoffed, shifting like he wanted to shrug the whole conversation off, but Louis caught the way his fingers clenched slightly against his knee. Louis hesitated, then sighed:” You’re not the only one who had a father who thought he could make someone into something.” He knew it wasn’t the same. He knew, they didn’t share a story – but he was telling it, to let Lestat know that he was trying to return the trust. The other’s gaze flicked to him, curious now.

Looking down at his book, Louis ran his hand along the edge of the pages. „Mine thought he could make me holy, you know? ”

That earned a quiet hum from the blonde, like he was considering the words. „I take it that didn’t go as planned.”

Louis let out a soft, bitter chuckle. „No. It did not.” He exhaled, shifting slightly. „It wasn’t like yours. I’m not trying to say it was. It wasn’t- No. But he knew how to make me afraid. Knew how to make me ashamed.” He paused, then added, „You ever hear something so many times, you start to believe it?”

Lestat’s expression darkened slightly, something flashing behind his eyes. „Yeah,” he told him. „I have.”

Louis nodded, not needing to explain further.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The weight of the conversation hung between them, heavy but not unbearable. Louis hadn’t meant to say so much, but it felt strangely easy in the quiet of the evening, with Lestat there, listening.

Eventually, Lestat exhaled and leaned back, stretching an arm over the couch. „Well,” he said, voice lighter now, „aren’t we a pair.”

Louis huffed a small laugh. „Yeah. Guess so.”

Lestat turned his head to look at him fully now, his expression unreadable for a moment before he smirked. „You still gonna pretend you don’t want to read my biography?”

„I don’t need to read it. You’ll tell me. When you want to.” His voice was firm. He really believed it. And the other man blinked at that; whatever quip he had ready dying on his lips. Instead, after a beat, he just hummed, thoughtful. Next, Louis reached for his book again, flipping it open but not really reading. Lestat watched him for a moment longer, then turned back to his phone, settling into the couch like the conversation had never happened.

Chapter Text

Lestat lay sprawled on the floor, his arms folded behind his head, one knee bent as he stared up at the ceiling. Music sheets were scattered around him in a mess only he could make sense of, some resting on his stomach, others crumpled beside him. The gym clothes he wore looked more like something from a high-fashion editorial than actual workout gear: black shorts that barely reached mid-thigh, lace-trimmed at the hem, and a fitted tank top that left little to the imagination.

Louis wasn’t quite sure how anyone could look so ridiculous and so attractive at the same time.

Right now he sat a few feet away, perched on a crate, taking slow bites of the sandwich he’d been provided with. Lestat had insisted on it, after telling him he got rude when he was hungry. He’s got a point there.

Now, he wasn’t sure why he was watching Lestat so intently. Maybe it was the quiet, the way Lestat, for once, wasn’t moving, wasn’t performing for anyone, just existing in his own world, humming something under his breath as he shuffled through his papers – or it was the fact that Louis had nothing else to do right now. He was alone with the blonde rockstar; Claudia had ventured of somewhere further backstage, with one of the costume designers, getting fitted for a dress she’d been promised by Lestat, who had declared it a necessity for the afterparty. In teenage-fashion, she’d rolled her eyes at him, but he’d only laughed and told her to just let him fuss over her.

Louis hadn’t said anything at the time, but he’d caught the flicker of something pleased in Claudia’s face before she let herself be dragged away.

Lestat exhaled, tearing Louis’ thoughts back to reality, stretched his arms over his head before sitting up, rolling his shoulders. He shuffled the papers together in one hand, staring at them with a frown before getting to his feet in one smooth motion. The blonde didn’t say anything as he wandered over to the grand piano in the corner, sitting down and resting his fingers lightly over the keys.

He pressed down what seemed to be experimentally, adjusting the bench beneath him before easing into some slow melody.

Louis paused mid-bite.

He’d actually never heard Lestat play any instrument before. And certainly, not like this. The contrast, between his either loud, or saddening music, and then this – this slow rhythm, the near loving way the notes wrapped around another… for all his theatrics, all his showmanship, this was something else entirely. It wasn’t loud, wasn’t demanding attention. It was something private, it seemed, something that felt quite honest.

"You never told me you played," Louis said after swallowing. “I mean, I guess, I knew you can play but…”

The other man glanced at him, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. It was pretty; that dim light, casting shadows, swallowing his white skin and blonde waves. But his eyes, even in the darkness, they were bright blue things, piercing in the darkness. "You never asked."

Louis huffed, setting his sandwich down on his lap. "How many instruments can you play?" Lestat considered his question, his fingers still moving over the keys:” Properly? Piano, violin, guitar. I can fake my way through a few others, but those are the ones I actually learned."

He studied him, leaning back. "Learned how?" It might be a silly question. It had to be, because Lestat let out a quiet chuckle, tilting his head more towards him:" Are you asking if I had lessons like a good little boy?"

"Something like that." He felt his face grow hotter.

Lestat’s fingers danced over the keys, shifting into something livelier again. Lively enough, to make Louis feel it. Incredible, what music could do with one. "I learned them on my own. Music comes quite easy to me."

Louis frowned slightly. "So, you learned piano alone?"

The blonde nodded. "Theatre I used to work at had one. I’d sneak in after rehearsals." He shrugged. "No one cared, as long as I didn’t break anything. Took me a couple of weeks, but then I learned it."

Louis watched him, something settling in his chest. He could picture it clearly, now that he knew how the other used to look like. Lestat, younger, stubborn, refusing to let the lack of proper lessons stop him from figuring it out. He thought about that young man, standing in some dark living room, holding his child. Had he been younger than that? Once again, Louis realized he didn’t know much about him. Didn’t know about when he left home, where he went, what he did. Where he worked, what kind of people he’d met – how it all ended up where it has.

"You’re good," he told Lestat.

“I know, mon cher.” Lestat turned fully toward him now, resting his elbow on the piano. "But you saying that because you mean it, or because you like watching me?"

"If I wanted to watch you pose, I’d just wait for you to start stretching again. Or just ask you."

Lestat grinned at him. "Would you now?"

"Just keep playing something."

Lestat didn’t argue. He turned back to the keys, and Louis sat back, listening, watching Lestat’s fingers move easily over the keys, something light and playful this time. Louis, still watching him, let the music settle in his chest before speaking again. "Do you have perfect pitch? That’s what it’s called, right?"

Lestat arched an eyebrow, amused. He stopped playing and turned to him. "You’ve been wondering that?"

Louis shrugged. "Yeah. You’ve got that annoying thing where you can pick up any song by ear. And you hear every time someone fucks up. Just curious."

Lestat let out a dramatic sigh, tilting his head. "I do. Curse and blessing." He struck a few discordant notes in quick succession and winced theatrically. "Means I suffer every time someone plays a song slightly off-key."

"Sounds like a personal problem."

Lestat grinned, shaking his head as he transitioned back into something smoother. "And you? Any hidden musical talents?"

"Not really. I picked up some chords on guitar when I was younger, but never stuck with it. I wasn’t blessed with much talent.”

Lestat made a thoughtful noise. "Shame. Could’ve had you as my rhythm guitarist. Picture it, mon cher – Louis de Pointe du Lac, on stage, spotlight on you, fingers against the strings – and I wouldn’t have to deal with anyone’s hands on my ass on stage anymore. Could use you for that.”

Louis cut him off with an unimpressed look. "Not happening."

Lestat chuckled. "Your loss."

“But if you have a problem with people touching you-“

The other gestured. “Non. But I’d still prefer you being the one to touch me.” He shifted back to the music sheets, picking up a pencil from the piano and making a few notes, humming to himself as he did. After a moment, he glanced up at Louis again. "I’ve been thinking about switching the order of some songs for the next show," he mused. "And maybe swapping a couple out."

Louis nodded, watching as Lestat flipped through the sheets. "Like what?"

Lestat tapped his fingers against the piano, considering. "I wrote something new," he admitted. "Been toying with the idea of performing it as a teaser for the next album. If there is one, that is. Sometimes… Non. Nevermind."

Louis raised a brow. "You sure you wanna test something new in front of thousands of people?"

"I thrive on chaos."

Before Louis could reply, the sound of approaching footsteps pulled their attention. The costume designer appeared in the doorway, clipboard in hand. She was tall, brunette, and her face told him she had as little interest in the following task as Lestat – whose face turned sour the second she appeared. "Lestat, I need to take your measurements. Your stage outfits need some adjustments."

Behind her, Claudia followed, looking vaguely entertained as she rejoined Louis. “Daddy Lou! You won’t believe how pretty it is! It’s perfect!”

Lestat sighed, standing up with exaggerated reluctance from his seat at the piano. He bowed for the costume woman. "Oh, joy. My favourite part of the day."

Louis wanted to smack him for his lack of manners. Poor woman was just doing her job. "Just get it over with."

Lestat shot him a look but didn’t argue as the costume designer led him over to a standing mirror, a couple rooms away. For a lack of something better to do, Louis followed, telling his daughter to do so too. In front of the mirror, Lestat spread his arms out dramatically as she got to work, first draping him in some show outfit, then running the measuring tape over his shoulders, down his arms, around his waist. He made a show of fidgeting, sighing loudly, shifting on his feet.

Claudia smirked up at her father. "You’d think they were asking him to get his limbs sawed off."

"Truly, the greatest suffering known to man," Lestat threw in dryly. "Reduced to a mannequin."

Louis, leaning against the wall, shook his head. Lestat pointed at him without moving too much, looking like he wanted to say something – but he was being grabbed by the wrist, turned back around so he faced the mirror again. Otherwise, the costume designer ignored them both, adjusting the tape measure. Lestat held still just long enough for her to work, but Louis didn’t miss the way his expression dimmed slightly when she reached certain areas – the brief flicker of discomfort, the way his jaw tensed, the way his shoulders dropped just slightly, like he was bracing for something.

Louis, keeping his voice light, said, "Looks good to me." He gestured. “The way she pins your clothes.”

Lestat glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Louis met his gaze evenly. "Yeah. Stop fidgeting. You’ll be fine."

The blonde rockstar exhaled, rolling his eyes, but some of the tension in his posture eased. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Louis. With me, at least.”

Claudia made a gagging noise. "I’m going to the snack table before I lose my appetite. You both are… ew."

Lestat flashed her a smile. "Bring me something, ma petite." She only waved him off as she walked away. Louis watched her go, then turned back to Lestat, who gave him a knowing look. Louis smiled, but he still said:" Just let her do her job, Lestat. Stop moving."

Lestat sighed. "Yes, yes. But I reserve the right to complain." He looked down at the costume designer:” Apologies. I’ll be on my best behaviour from now on.” The woman rolled her eyes, told him, he always said that.

Louis chuckled, shaking his head as the measuring continued. As the minutes passed, he lingered nearby; arms crossed as he watched Lestat endure the rest of his fitting with all the patience of a man being forced into a straitjacket. Every now and then, Louis fidgeted with something in the room, but he always turned his attention back to the suffering man. The designer adjusted the fabric at his sides, muttering about how the previous measurements were slightly off.

Lestat scoffed. "Maybe I multiplied. Maybe I just overcompensate with food from the sheer misery of all this."

“I doubt. If anything, it’s the opposite.” Louis shifted. "Might be the cigarettes. The wine."

Lestat clicked his tongue. “Or it’s probably the fact that I used to barely eat before a show."

Louis’ smirk faded slightly. He kept his voice light:” Or in general, Lestat."

Lestat only hummed, lifting his chin as the designer checked the fit of his collar. "I could do without this part," the blonde said, voice carefully casual but pointed. "What’s the point of all this? No one's going to notice if the waist is an inch tighter or looser."

The designer shot him a sharp look. "They will, actually. Now stop moving."

Lestat groaned, dropping his arms dramatically. "Ugh. What a tragedy."

Louis, still watching, shifted on his feet. "Stop that. You’re fine. It’s okay." Lestat looked away. Louis huffed, shaking his head, but he didn’t say more. Instead, he stepped closer, pressing a hand against Lestat’s lower back briefly as the designer finished the final adjustments. Lestat’s expression twitched, just slightly.

"Done," the designer finally announced, stepping back. She seemed happy with her work. "Try not to do anything drastic to your weight in the next few weeks, or I’ll have to redo everything."

Lestat gave a lazy salute. "No promises."

She sighed, muttered something about difficult clients, then walked off with her clipboard. Lestat, freed from his brief torment, rolled his shoulders before striding back into the previous hall, towards the piano. Claudia, done hovering by the snack table, joined him.

“Hey”, Claudia said, “so you survived.”

"Want to press some keys?" Lestat asked, smirking. She raised a brow:” I know how a piano works."

"Then impress me."

Claudia sat onto the bench beside him, placing her hands on the keys. The sound that came out was… chaotic. Lestat cringed playfully:" Ah, my ears."

Claudia smacked his arm lightly. "Then tell me what I have to do!"

Louis watched them with quiet amusement. Lestat guided his daughter’s hands slightly, showing her how to strike certain keys more cleanly. He was surprisingly patient, despite his usual lack of patience. After a few minutes, Lestat finally stood, gathering some scattered costume pieces and handing them off to one of the stagehands, before taking the music sheets he’d used earlier and stuffing them in some tote bag.

"Make sure these are ready for the next show," he instructed someone, and the worker nodded before disappearing with the garments.

Louis stretched, exhaling. "Let’s get out of here. Don’t know how you can stand it. It’s so dark in here and-"

“Depressing!” Claudia declared.

Lestat arched a brow:” And where are we being whisked away to now?"

"Grocery store," Louis replied simply. “I’ve had enough of pasta. We’re staying at home for dinner today.”

Lestat groaned. "How tragically domestic."

"You’ll survive."

The grocery store was unexpectedly crowded when they arrived, and Lestat navigated through the aisles like he was trying to escape a battlefield. His sunglasses were on again, despite them being indoors, and it seemed like he had a tendency to pick up items, glance at them once, and then dramatically place them back as if they were burning his hands. Louis, pushing the cart, watched him with barely concealed amusement. It was strange – seeing Lestat like this, bickering over brands with Claudia, moving with ease through something so mundane. Strangely domestic, yes, and strangely funny.

“I’ll never do this with you again,” Louis muttered, clearly not meaning it, watching as Lestat tossed a bottle of wine into the cart without even looking. The blonde, without missing a beat, scoffed:” I used to be poor too, mon cœur. I know how to shop.”

Louis’ amusement dimmed. “You call everyone poor, or just me?”

Lestat stopped mid-step, turning to face him with a dramatic sigh:” You are so sensitive. Clairement, ce n'est pas ce que je voulais dire.”

Louis narrowed his eyes. “You’re so goddamn condescending.”

They stared at each other, tension simmering. Claudia, from behind them, groaned:” You’re being too loud. People are looking.” She grabbed something from a shelf:” Can I have this, Daddy Lou?”

Louis glanced around, realizing that, yes, people were looking. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Fine.” Then:” Yes. Take whatever you need.”

Lestat smirked, clearly thinking to have won whatever this was. He turned back to the shelves, tossing in more items with careless ease. Louis watched him for a moment before saying, “You know, I’ve only been vaguely aware that you haven’t always been rich.” He continued to push the cart. “You never talk much about the past.”

Lestat let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “That’s because I don’t like to talk about it.”

Louis raised a brow. “Why not?”

Lestat glanced at him, considering. Then, he shrugged, reaching for a pack of makeup remover or something and turning it over in his hands before tossing it into the cart. “I have my reasons.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Hm. Do we have to have this conversation here, in the middle of a store, non?” Lestat hummed, stepping around him to grab another bottle of wine. How many wine shelves were in this damn store? “Alright, then. But to be clear, I don’t care about money as much as you always seem to think I do.”

Louis gave him a flat look:“ You’ve literally bought a bottle of wine that costs as much as a plane ticket over dinner before.”

“And?”

Louis exhaled, rubbing his temple. “You really don’t hear yourself.”

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m rather generous.” Lestat said, as he walked ahead. He wordlessly helped Claudia getting something from a higher shelf. The girl thanked him, then went a few metres ahead. She seemed to have her own mission. Lestat turned back around. Louis had stilled at his previous words, looking at him properly now:“ What do you mean?”

Lestat’s fingers drummed against his legs. “I mean, I compensate. I don’t like feeling guilty. So, I give. It makes it easier. And it makes me happy. I don’t expect things in return, and I do it because I care. About my friends. Family.”

Louis studied him, but Lestat had already turned away, moving down the aisle like the conversation was over. It wasn’t, Louis thought, but it explained one thing or the other. Back at the house, Louis placed the grocery bags on the counter and started sorting through them.

“Alright,” he said, glancing over his shoulder, “you two set the table.”

Lestat raised a brow:” Ordering me around now?”

Louis turned, smiling overly sweet. “Yes.”

Claudia was already halfway to the dining area, clearly knowing better than to argue. Lestat, however, lingered for a moment, watching Louis with a smirk. “You’re very bossy in the kitchen, aren’t you?”

“Mhm.” Louis rolled up his sleeves. “How else would things get done?”

Lestat chuckled, then turned on his heel, following Claudia with a dramatic sigh, calling after her about how they should use the ‘fancy’ plates, just to be difficult. Louis exhaled, shaking his head, before turning his focus back to cooking.

***

Louis stood on the small balcony, the warm evening air wrapping around him as he spoke quietly into his phone. Grace was on the other end, her voice familiar and grounding despite the miles between them. They talked about home, about the store, about Claudia. And then, inevitably, about Lestat.

Grace hummed knowingly. “So… you and the blonde headache. That’s a thing now?”

Louis sighed, running a hand over the railing. “I don’t know if I’d call it that. But… yeah. We’re something.”

Grace let out a short laugh. “That’s vague as hell.”

Louis huffed. “We’ve kissed. A lot.”

“Oh?” She dragged the word out, teasing. “And?”

Louis frowned. “And what?”

“Have you—”

“Grace.” His voice flattened in warning.

“What? It’s a valid question.” His sister sounded far too amused. “You’re adults. You can have sex, you know. It’s not illegal.”

Louis pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ.”

Grace laughed outright now. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“You’ll take it as me hanging up if you don’t change the subject.”

“Fine, fine.” She relented, still clearly enjoying herself. “Kids are good, if you want to know. They’re currently obsessed with dinosaurs. All three of them. The house is covered in plastic raptors. You’d love it.”

Louis smiled, tension easing. “Sounds like them.”

Grace softened. “And you? You doing okay?”

He hesitated, glancing back toward the open door where the light spilled onto the balcony. Inside, he could hear Lestat moving around. “I think so.”

“Well, that’s a start.” Grace’s voice was warm. “Don’t let him drive you crazy.”

Louis exhaled a laugh. “Bit late for that.”

Grace chuckled. “Call me again soon, alright?”

“Yeah. I will.”

They said their goodbyes, and Louis ended the call, lingering outside for a moment longer before stepping back inside. As he stepped back into the bedroom, he was greeted by the sight of Lestat sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing nothing but his underwear, fingers idly tracing patterns against the sheets. Suddenly, his throat felt tight. He swallowed hardly, his mouth dry, and he shut the door behind himself, turning away from Lestat.

The blonde looked up when Louis entered, tilting his head. “Everything alright?” His curls fell into his face. He looked again like that golden, illumined angel Louis has come to adore. Biblical, but maybe not in the way of a saint. He was too pretty for that.

Louis didn’t answer – not with words, at least. Instead, he walked over, placed his hands on Lestat’s broad shoulders, and kissed him. Kissed him, like this was the last chance, and Lestat was a warm fire in the middle of a harsh, dark and lonely night. Lestat’s response came immediately; his hands skimming down Louis’ back as he pulled him closer. Demanded him closer. Pulled him in, and didn’t allow him to retreat. Both of them fell into it easily, the kiss deepening, growing hungrier by the second. Louis nudged Lestat back against the bed, pressing into him, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath his palms.

Lestat pulled back just enough to murmur against his lips, “I bought something today.”

Louis barely processed the words at first, too lost in the press of Lestat’s body, in the way his fingers toyed with the hem of his shirt. “What?”

The other man smirked at him, a smug little thing, running a slow hand down Louis’ side before reaching over to the bedside drawer. He pulled it open, revealing a small bag from a pharmacy.

Louis blinked at it. Then at Lestat.

“You bought lube and condoms.” His voice was flat. Tense, suddenly. Not in excitement. Not entirely.

“I did,” Lestat confirmed, amusement flickering in his eyes as he set the bag aside.

A strange mix of nerves and anticipation coiled in Louis’ stomach. He shifted, suddenly hyper-aware of how close they were, how easily this could tip into something more. He was aware of how casual it seemed, and how much he appreciated that. He was aware of how unnecessarily long the waiting has dragged. Of how unnecessarily long he’s been like some wild thing, baring his teeth at something he wanted as much as anyone. And this, this was the closest he’d ever get to feeling free, maybe. Lestat there, in front of him, prepared for something he’s wanted to demand himself before. Probably knowing, that this was the only way. And yet-

Lestat just watched him, reading the hesitance on his face before he could say anything. And then, before Louis could stop himself, he muttered, a little too sharply, “I’m not gonna bottom for you.”

Lestat stilled for half a beat. Then, slowly, a smirk curled at his lips, teasing but not unkind. “It’s okay,” he said, voice a low purr, amusement laced through it. “You can be on top.”

Louis exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “That’s not-”

Lestat tugged him back down into another kiss before he could finish, effectively cutting off whatever half-formed thought had been there.

Beautiful devil, so much braver than him.

Louis’ breath was warm against Lestat’s jaw, his lips brushing over the stubble there before moving lower. His fingers trailed over Lestat’s bare skin, tracing the curve of his ribs, the dip of his waist, the lines of him that he was only now fully allowing himself to touch like this. Before, he’d been delighted, yes, but he hadn’t been- what, properly accepting the idea?

Lestat exhaled, tilting his head back just slightly, offering himself up in a way that Louis wasn’t sure he even realized. “You’re taking your time,” he murmured, voice dipping into something teasing, something breathless. “Didn’t think you’d be so hesitant.”

Louis hummed, running his palm down the length of Lestat’s side. “I thought you wanted me to do this right.”

Lestat’s eyebrows twitched. “I do. But right doesn’t have to mean slow.”

He guided Louis’ mouth back to his own by grabbing the back of his head, kissing him deeply, nipping at his bottom lip until Louis pressed him down into the mattress again, until he felt the shift in control, the heat of Lestat’s skin against his own. His hands found purchase at Lestat’s hips, fingers pressing into soft flesh, feeling the tension beneath.

Lestat let out a pleased sound at that, his fingers threading into Louis’ hair, tugging him down for another kiss. “Enfin,” he murmured against his lips, laughing softly when Louis rolled his eyes but didn’t pull away.

“Bossy,” Louis muttered, dragging his lips down the column of Lestat’s throat.

Lestat arched under him, a low gasp falling from his lips. “You like it.”

Louis didn’t answer – just bit down lightly at the spot where Lestat’s pulse should be, making the blonde gasp, making him shudder. He wasn’t wrong.

His hands moved lower, skimming over Lestat’s thighs, spreading them apart. Lestat let him, watching him with heavy-lidded eyes, mouth parted, pink and swollen from kissing. His eyes were glued on him, even as he pulled down his own pants, and watched Louis reach for the bag in the drawer.

Louis’ fingers dipped between them, sliding in slick warmth, pressing inside slowly, after some first awkward and harsh fumbling.

Lestat’s breath hitched, and for a moment, he tensed. Louis stilled.

“Are you-”

“I’m fine,” Lestat cut in quickly, voice tight. Then softer, “It’s just been a while. Je vais m'y habituer. Ça fait mal, mais j’aime bien. ”

Louis studied him, fingers curling inside him just slightly, testing.

Lestat swallowed hard but didn’t pull away. “Ne t'arrête pas. Keep going,” he murmured, the French lilt to his voice deepening, softening, making something twist low in Louis’ stomach.

He did.

It was slow at first, patient. Louis let his hands roam, let himself touch, let himself feel the way Lestat moved beneath him, the way he exhaled so quietly when Louis’ fingers pressed deeper, the way he whispered his name against his shoulder. Then, when Lestat’s hips began rolling into it, when he was ready, Louis moved over him again, after sliding down his own underwear, tossing them aside. He reached again for the lube, then the pack of condoms. He tore one open, looked at it briefly. Swallowed hard, because this, this wasn’t just something, and it meant more than he could put to words.

Lestat’s eyes fluttered open, and for the first time in the entire build-up to this, there was something almost hesitant in them. He reached up, cupping Louis’ face, pulling him close. “You can,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, accent thick and heavy. “I want you to.”

Louis kissed him instead of answering, pushing inside in the same movement, swallowing the quiet gasp Lestat let out against his lips. He stilled for a moment, his forehead pressed to Lestat’s, giving him time. Both of them were breathing heavily; and Louis, he nearly lost himself, at the tight heat of it, and the way he felt every the other around himself.

Lestat let out a slow breath, his grip tightening on Louis’ arms. “Don’t stop,” he murmured, tilting his hips up, guiding Louis deeper.

Louis groaned, pressing his mouth to Lestat’s shoulder in an attempt to stay quiet and control himself, his fingers digging into the blonde’s hips.

It didn’t stay slow for long.

Lestat met him every step of the way, nails dragging down Louis’ back, his lips parting against his throat as he gasped – sharp, breathless. Louis stilled, just for a moment, searching his face, brushing damp curls from his forehead.

“You good?” he murmured, voice rough. He wasn’t quite sure how he could have survived without this for so long.

Lestat exhaled a shaky laugh, tightening his legs around Louis’ waist, pressing his heels into the backs of his thighs to pull him deeper inside again. “Oui,” he breathed, his fingers curling at the nape of Louis’ neck. Then, more desperate now- "Harder, Louis."

Louis groaned, adjusting his grip, sliding one hand between their bodies, wrapping around Lestat. The blonde choked on a curse, his head tipping back against the pillows.

“Putain-” Lestat’s voice broke as Louis worked him in time with his thrusts, each movement drawing out a sharper gasp, a low, shaking moan.

Louis pressed his mouth to Lestat’s shoulder, his breath warm against his skin. He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, tangled together in sweat and heat and too much feeling, only that it built and built until neither of them could hold on much longer.

Lestat came first, shuddering under Louis, his fingers clutching at his back, his thighs trembling. His breath hitched on Louis’ name, half-gasped, half-moan, spilling against his ear.

It was enough to send Louis after him, burying himself deep, muffling his own groan against Lestat’s skin as he let go.

Afterwards, neither of them moved, their bodies slick and spent, hearts pounding in unison. Then, with a quiet sigh, Louis finally pulled back, slipping off the condom, tying it off, and tossing it into next to the bed. He vaguely thought about the mess of having to clean up after.

He collapsed onto the mattress beside Lestat, exhaling slow, running a hand over his face. He wanted to laugh, but he didn’t manage it yet. Lestat turned his head, watching him through heavy-lidded eyes, his lips still parted, swollen from kisses. Slowly, a smirk pulled at his mouth, unbearably pleased.

Only then did Louis let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head before rolling onto his side to face him. Lestat hummed, reaching out, dragging a lazy hand over Louis’ stomach, tracing light patterns against his skin.

Lestat chuckled, reaching for him, pulling him into his arms, letting them tangle together on the sheets.

Louis let out a slow breath, his fingers tracing absentminded circles against Lestat’s side, where their bodies were still tangled together in the sheets. The blonde hummed, shifting closer, pressing his face against Louis’ shoulder for a moment before pulling back just enough to look at him. His fingers trailed lazily down Louis’ chest, over his stomach. “Mm,” he murmured. “That was fun.”

Louis huffed, amusement tugging at his lips. “Yeah. It was.” He wasn’t quite sure ‘fun’ was the right word for it.

For a moment, neither of them spoke again. The quiet between them wasn’t heavy, wasn’t suffocating. It was comfortable, wrapped in the dim glow of the bedside lamp, in the lingering heat of their bodies, within the warmth of their bedroom. Then, Lestat tilted his head, considering. Of course he was. Who would he be, if he didn’t have to speak constantly, have to share every single thought he had?

“So,” he said, voice low, still a little breathless, “do you always top?”

Louis scoffed, shaking his head. “I’ve done both,” he admitted, stretching slightly against the pillows. “I like it more. I’d say I don’t mind either but… hm. I just like it more, I guess.”

Lestat propped himself up on one elbow. “Oh? You like it more?” He smiled. “Should’ve known you’d be a control freak about it.”

Louis rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.

Lestat let out a pleased sigh, rolling onto his back, arms stretching above his head. “I usually top too,” he said. Then, he hesitated. What he added didn’t sound entirely convincing:“ But I don’t mind the alternative.” He cast a teasing glance toward Louis, before settling again. “But if that’s how you prefer it, we don’t have to change anything. It’s okay.”

Louis didn’t answer at first, just watched him. After a heartbeat, he shifted, pressing a hand lightly against Lestat’s stomach, just feeling him breathe. The slow rise and fall, the steady intake of air, not ending. “You okay?”

Lestat blinked. “Comment?”

“If anything hurts,” Louis clarified. “If you’re sore.”

Lestat stilled. Next, he laughed. A breathy, loud laugh. “No one ever asked that before.”

Louis frowned at that, lips pressing into a thin line. He didn’t say anything, just moved closer, wrapping an arm around him, pulling him in. Lestat, still grinning, still trying to turn it into nothing, buried his face against Louis’ neck, his shoulders shaking lightly with laughter. “Don’t make that face,” he teased against his skin.

Louis only held him tighter.

A few minutes passed before Lestat finally untangled himself, slipping out of bed with a groan. He stretched, then padded toward the bathroom, completely unbothered by his own nakedness.

Louis stayed where he was, watching him disappear into the other room. He let his head tip back against the pillows, exhaling slow.

When Lestat returned, Louis was already sitting up, pulling on his underwear. Lestat did the same, then grabbed his cigarette case from the nightstand before making his way toward the balcony.

Louis watched him go, then grabbed a thin blanket, wrapping it around his shoulders before following him outside.

There, the blonde leaned against the balcony railing, cigarette between his fingers, a faint glow against the deepening darkness of the sky. The air was still warm, but cooler out here, a light breeze rolling over the city, carrying the muted sounds of distant traffic and late-night wanderers.

Louis stepped up behind him, the blanket still draped over his shoulders. Without thinking, he slid his arms around Lestat’s waist, pressing his chest lightly against his back. He felt the way Lestat sighed under his touch, the tension in his shoulders easing as he leaned back into him.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, lazily, Lestat took another drag, exhaling the smoke in a slow curl into the night air. “Mm,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly. “If you hold me like that any longer, mon cœur, I might think you like me.”

Louis scoffed, shifting against him, his fingers pressing idly into Lestat’s ribs. “Don’t get used to it,” he said, voice low, amused. He didn’t mean it. He hoped Lestat knew it.

Lestat grinned, turning his head just enough to glance at him over his shoulder. Then, wordlessly, he lifted the cigarette between two fingers and held it up to Louis’ lips. He hesitated only briefly before leaning in, wrapping his lips around the filter, taking a slow pull. The smoke burned warm in his lungs before he exhaled it softly to the side, watching it disappear into the air.

Lestat hummed approvingly, plucking the cigarette back and taking another drag himself. “See?” he mused. “You’re starting to pick up all my bad habits.”

Louis just hummed, resting his chin against Lestat’s shoulder, letting his eyes slip shut for a moment. The weight of exhaustion was starting to creep in now, pulling at his limbs, sinking into his muscles. Lestat must have felt it, too, because he flicked the cigarette over the railing, watching the tiny ember disappear below before turning in Louis’ arms. He slid his hands lazily over his waist, pressing a kiss to his jaw before murmuring, “Come on, let’s go to bed.”

Louis didn’t argue.

They slipped back inside, the sheets welcoming them as they climbed into bed. Lestat curled up against him without hesitation, pressing his face into the crook of Louis’ neck, his breath warm against his skin as he put his arms around him. Louis too let out a slow breath, hugging him, drawing him closer.

They fell asleep like that, tangled together, the night settling heavy and warm around them.

In the morning, Louis stirred awake to the feeling of eyes on him. Even before he opened his own, he knew. He felt it in the quiet weight of the gaze, in the steady warmth of another body so close. The breath against his skin, warm and a bit damp.

When he finally blinked himself into consciousness, his suspicions were confirmed. Lestat lay beside him, propped up on one elbow, watching him with that soft, kind expression that made something inside Louis twist.

“Morning,” Lestat murmured, voice low, already thick with something familiar. Louis swallowed, because he’d never experienced something quite like this before. Something he could reach for, and let himself reach for. Something, that would reach for him. Something that wasn’t all alcohol, and brief, and a thing that happened once, only so he could convince himself it stayed at that. This was something he could repeat, and he could make himself belief he could do again, without feeling all that shame gnawing at him. This was something, that waited for him.

And so, Louis reached for him, dragging him down into a kiss, slow and deep, like he was still trying to wake up through the feel of Lestat’s lips. He did it, because he could. Because he could decide to do what he wanted more than anything right now. Even if it seemed greedy. Even if it seemed wasteful. But Lestat, he wasn’t complaining. He was melting into him, sighing softly against his mouth as Louis rolled them over, settling himself on top of him, pressing him down into the mattress.

Their bodies slotted together easily, naturally. Louis trailed a hand down Lestat’s side, over his stomach, fingers slipping lower with clear intent. He told himself, that he didn’t need to feel the guilt for doing it, even when he’s already been greedy enough to take it last night.

He wanted it. That had to be justification enough.

Lestat tensed slightly beneath him, his own hand coming to wrap gently around Louis’ wrist, halting him. “Mon cher,” he murmured, his breath warm against Louis’ lips, “I’m not-” He hesitated, eyes flicking away briefly before meeting Louis’ again. Again:“ I’m not-”

Louis only hummed against his skin, pressing a kiss to the sharp line of Lestat’s jaw. “It’s okay,” he murmured, voice soft, sure. His fingers traced over Lestat’s hip before pressing forward again, slipping between his legs. Lestat opened them, his name moaned on his lips. “I’ll take care of you”, Louis whispered.

Lestat exhaled slowly, nodding once, allowing himself to relax under Louis' touch.

Louis took his time, fingers moving carefully, deliberately, stretching him open with gentle precision. His other hand roamed up, fingers brushing over Lestat’s ribs, feeling the slow rise and fall of his breathing.

Lestat moaned softly, pressing his head back against the pillows, fingers gripping loosely at Louis’ shoulder.

When Louis leaned down, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his throat, he sucked lightly at the skin, letting his teeth drag there just enough to leave a mark. The blonde gasped at that, tilting his head to the side, baring his throat further. Louis’ breath ghosted over the fresh bruise before he pulled back, watching the way Lestat’s chest rose and fell, the way his lips were parted, pink and swollen.

It was tender, drawn out, their fingers tangling between the sheets, their breaths mingling in quiet moans and whispered names. Louis took his time, and he did it slow, where he’s been eager last night, and he did it knowing, he didn’t have to say anything for Lestat to understand. And when they finally came, it was together, Louis pressing deep inside him, Lestat arching against him, their hands locked tight.

Afterward, Louis didn’t pull away immediately. He stayed, pressing gentle kisses to Lestat’s shoulder, to the mark he’d left on his neck, to the corner of his mouth, right where the little scar was. Lestat sighed against him, breathless, sated.

Louis finally pulled out, rolling onto his side beside him, letting his hand settle over Lestat’s chest.

The other turned his head, meeting his gaze, a small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips.

Louis only smiled, running a lazy hand over his side, his thumb tracing light circles against his skin. He stopped at one of Lestat’s nipples. He touched it, watched Lestat’s breath hitch. When he didn’t stop for a few seconds, the blonde chuckled, still breathless, shifting onto his side to face Louis and stop the teasing.

"So much for your grand insistence on condoms," he said, running a lazy hand over Louis’ chest. "Why did I even bother buying them if you were going to abandon the plan so soon?"

Louis stilled, his fingers pausing where they now traced over Lestat’s hip.

Lestat frowned, then sighed, reaching up to brush Louis' hair from his forehead where it had been pressed flat last night. “I’m clean,” he said, softer this time. “Promise.”

Louis met his gaze, searching, then gave a small nod. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Me too.”

The blonde relaxed again, his fingers tapping absently against Louis’ shoulder before he opened his mouth again:“ Well then, next time, we’ll-”

Louis rolled onto his back with a huff, cutting him off. “Eat. We’ll eat,” he muttered, pushing himself up, reaching blindly for some clothes. The other man laughed, watching as Louis stretched, his muscles shifting under golden morning light. “I meant next time we fuck,” he clarified needlessly, shameless as ever. “But sure, let’s eat first.”

Louis shot him a pointed look before fully rolling out of bed, reaching for the rest of his clothes. Lestat followed.

They moved around each other easily as they got dressed, brushing teeth side by side in the bathroom, exchanging lazy glances in the mirror. Louis reached for his comb, more tearing than running it through his hair, and after a second, Lestat helped him. It was easy, natural, the quiet domesticity of it settling over them like something they'd been doing forever.

When they finally made their way downstairs, they found the door to the garden wide open. Claudia was already outside, her legs kicked up onto a chair, scrolling through her phone. She barely looked up as Louis and Lestat stepped onto the terrace after making some coffee, though she did reach for the cup of juice in front of her as they both took their seats.

Lestat stretched out, rolling his shoulders before reaching for the coffee pot. “I’ll be leaving before lunch,” he said, pouring himself a cup. “Soundcheck, rehearsals—” He waved a hand vaguely. “All that.”

Claudia took a sip of her juice. “Concert’s at eight, right?”

Lestat nodded. “You two can join whenever you want, but I’ll be busy until then.” He glanced at Louis. “What’s your plan?”

Louis hummed, tapping his fingers against his mug. “We’ll come by an hour or so before it starts. You’ll be backstage?”

“Obviously.”

Claudia looked smiled sweetly at Lestat. “Do I get to go on stage this time?”

Lestat chuckled. “Maybe next tour, ma petite.”

***

The venue was packed. From where he stood, Louis could see the sea of people stretching toward the stage, their faces illuminated by flashing lights and the occasional glow of a phone screen. Beside him, Claudia was pressed against the railing of the VIP section, watching intently as the stage lights flared, casting dramatic shadows as the music swelled. The show wasn’t different to others; Lestat, a beam of light, powerful. The fake-teeth, and the dramatic music, loud to a maximum. But Louis, he liked it more as time passed, and he found himself watching more than just listening, caught in the way Lestat gave himself to the crowd, how he fed off their energy and gave it back tenfold.

He also watched Lestat sit on his bandmember’s laps, and he frowned at the way they touched him, and at the way he leaned into them. Still, the concert passed in a blur of lights and sound, the final note ringing through the air before the crowd erupted into cheers. Lestat stood in the spotlight for just a second longer, his head tilted back, eyes closed, breathing it in – before he stepped back, disappearing off stage.

Louis and Claudia made their way backstage too, manoeuvring past crew members and equipment until they reached Lestat’s dressing room. He was already there to their surprise, a towel draped around his shoulders, still shaking slightly with leftover adrenaline.

“Did you enjoy the show?” he asked the second they entered.

Claudia nodded; her eyes still alight with excitement. Lestat gestured toward one of the makeup artists standing nearby. “Go with her,” he told Claudia. “Your dress is ready.”

The girl hesitated for only a second before following, disappearing down the hall.

Louis, still standing by the doorway, watched her go before turning to Lestat. “Promise me it’s safe.”

The blonde rockstar blinked at him. “What?”

“The party,” Louis clarified, arms crossed. “If she’s coming, it better be safe. No drunk idiots, no problems.”

Lestat huffed, rolling his eyes. “It’s a gathering. Just the band. And some crew. Little alcohol, no trouble. I told everyone to behave.” Louis studied him for a moment before nodding, but he didn’t look entirely convinced.

Lestat leaned closer, his voice dropping slightly. “You don’t trust me?”

“I trust you.” He paused. “I don’t trust your band.”

“Fair enough.” He patted Louis’ chest as he moved past him again, leaving him standing there alone, in that dressing room. “I’ll go change into something nice, mon coeur. I’ll see you in a minute.”

The gathering was a more relaxed affair than Louis had anticipated. The band, a handful of crew members, and a few other distantly familiar faces filled the space, drinks in hand, voices mingling over the low hum of music. It wasn’t loud, it wasn’t chaotic – it was exactly what Lestat had promised. Just some people together, talking about the show and having small talk, eating and enjoying a bit of drinks. Louis found himself standing near the bar, first observing Claudia who played cards with someone from Lestat’s marketing team, then sipping at his wine while watching Lestat move through the room, effortlessly slipping in and out of conversations. He had a way of commanding attention even when he wasn’t trying, his presence magnetic.

He watched Alex and Lestat laughing, talking about something. Then, Lestat mimicking a part of the show, where he’s been slipping on the stage, catching himself barely. Louis smiled into his drink. At least, until when Larry gestured toward his neck, and Louis, he stopped being able to look away, dreading hearing what came next.

“Christ, mate,” Alex chuckled, pointing, after he’s followed the other man’s eyes. “Who left their mark on you? Looks like someone loves you.”

Lestat blinked, then smirked, feigning innocence as he touched the faint bruise just below his jaw. “Oh, this?” His voice was mockingly scandalized. “Who’s to say?”

Tough-Cookie snorted, nudging Larry. “Please. Stop it. We all know. Don’t embarrass them.”

Louis took another sip of his drink, choosing to ignore the way several pairs of eyes flicked toward him. The teasing didn’t stop there. At some point, Larry leaned toward Lestat, raising his glass. “So, are we getting the full display tonight, or is your boy gonna keep us waiting?”

Lestat grinned; the challenge evident in his expression as he glanced at Louis. “Ask him”, he said to his bandmember, “I’m sure he’d be happy to.” Then he looked over again:” Isn’t that so, mon cher? Kiss me in front of everyone, hm?”

Louis swallowed. “Not happening.”

A chorus of groans and laughter followed, Alex throwing a dramatic arm over his chest. “Breaking our hearts, man.”

Louis shook his head. Even Claudia looked now, and usually, his daughter wouldn’t really have cared for it. Feeling a twinge of embarrassment, and then heavy discomfort, he turned away from the laughing mess that was Lestat and his friends, and went to join his daughter and her card game. After playing for a moment, he asked if she’d like to go outside for a moment, and when she declined, he went alone. Louis stepped outside, the cooler night air a welcome contrast to the warmth of the party. He wasn’t angry, not really. He’d expected this sort of thing – Lestat’s people weren’t exactly subtle. But he wasn’t in the mood to be the centre of their amusement, and he needed a moment.

When he finally stepped back inside, the atmosphere hadn’t changed, but something had.

Lestat wasn’t looking at him.

It was small, subtle, but Louis noticed. The shift in energy, the deliberate avoidance. Lestat had a talent for making himself the brightest thing in the room, for pulling people toward him – but now, even as he spoke, as he laughed, there was a distance. Towards Louis, that was. And with Louis, to Claudia. It was cruel, watching Lestat suddenly being so far away, not interacting with them, where he usually would have for an instant left everyone else behind just to talk to them.

And so Louis ignored him too.

It wasn’t until much later, after making the quiet drive back to the house, when things finally boiled over. Inside, Claudia excused herself quickly, disappearing down the hall to her room. Louis hated to watch her excitement burn down to nothing. His daughter, in her glittery dress, suddenly so sad, after being at her happiest all day long. And Louis barely had time to take off his jacket before he felt the tension thickening between him and Lestat.

They stood in the kitchen, the faint glow of the under-cabinet lights casting long shadows.

And then, finally, it snapped.

“You’re angry,” Louis stated needlessly, setting down the glass of water he’d grabbed with more force than necessary.

Lestat scoffed. “Oh, do I seem angry to you?” He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, his expression deceptively neutral. Louis exhaled through his nose, his jaw tightening:” What do you want me to say, Lestat? That I’m sorry? I’m not.”

Lestat’s eyes flashed. “I want you to explain why you can take me to bed, but you can’t stand to kiss me in front of a few people who already know exactly what we are.”

Louis felt his stomach twist. “You know why.”

“Do I?” Lestat laughed, bitter and sharp. “Because what I know is that I’m always the one left looking like a fool. You don’t mind touching me when it’s just us, you don’t mind putting your damn cock up my ass – for that your internalized homophobia isn’t strong enough! But kissing me in front of a handful people? Right. That’s too much.”

Louis’ shoulders tensed. “It’s not about that.”

“Then what is it about?” Lestat snapped, pushing off the counter, closing the distance between them. “Tell me, Louis, what exactly about me is so damn shameful?”

Louis clenched his jaw. “You’re twisting this.”

Lestat threw his hands up, letting out a frustrated string of curses in French before switching back. “If you’re so ashamed of this, if you can’t even look at me without second-guessing everything, then what the fuck are we even doing?”

“Fuck you, Lestat!”

“Va te faire foutre aussi!“

Louis’ anger flared, and without thinking, he grabbed Lestat by the collar and kissed him.

To prove a point, maybe. To silence him. To make him understand that this wasn’t shame, wasn’t regret – it was something else entirely. And Lestat should know it. Damn, he’s told Lestat all of this. At first, the blonde resisted, hands pressed against Louis’ chest, shoving weakly. Louis just kept kissing him, knowing somewhat distantly that this wasn’t okay, but then Lestat did shove him off, pushing him back with enough force to make Louis stumble a step.

“Fuck you,” Lestat spat again, wiping at his mouth as if Louis had put something vile there. “You don’t get to prove a point with me.” His voice was low now, venomous. “Don’t touch me.”

Louis stared at him, chest rising and falling, breath uneven.

Lestat’s glare was unwavering.

So, Louis turned away. Went outside, to get some air.

They didn’t speak again until later, when they lay in the same bed, backs turned to each other.

The silence stretched, heavy and thick. Then, after what felt like hours, Lestat sighed, voice barely above a whisper.

“I can’t sleep angry.”

Louis stared into the darkness, his fingers twitching slightly against the sheets. Yes, he’s been thinking the same. Especially, because this was unnecessary. They could have both managed to get their point across without being so violent.

Still, for what felt like a long time, he said nothing.

Then, finally, in a voice just as quiet, he replied, “Me neither.”

Louis turned first. Slowly, deliberately, until he was facing Lestat’s back. He hesitated before reaching out, fingers brushing lightly against Lestat’s shoulder. “I’m not ashamed,” he said, voice quiet, but firm.

Lestat didn’t move.

“I just…” Louis swallowed, searching for the right words. “I don’t know how to deal with it. With any of it. Not when it’s somewhat public.”

A long exhale. Then, Lestat shifted, rolling onto his back, looking up at the ceiling. “And I don’t know how to deal with you.” His voice wasn’t angry anymore.

Louis studied his face, the tension still holding tight around his mouth, the exhaustion pooling in his eyes. “I’m okay with Claudia knowing,” he admitted. “I’m okay with her seeing us together. But stepping near something official… making it real in front of others…” He trailed off, running a hand down his face. “It makes me feel incredibly guilty. Not guilty. Ashamed. Not because of you but…”

Lestat’s brows furrowed slightly at his words.

“I don’t even know why,” Louis continued, shaking his head. “It’s not like I haven’t done this before. I’ve had, not relationships, no, but… with men… and you, you’re just different. Us, is different to anything I’ve ever-” He stopped himself. Looked away.

“But me what?” Lestat prompted, eyes narrowing.

Louis sighed. “You make it different.”

Lestat let out a small, slightly bitter chuckle. “That’s what you’re struggling with? That it’s real?”

Louis didn’t answer, but that was answer enough.

Lestat sighed, shifting so he was on his side now, facing Louis fully. “You know,” Lestat said after a moment, “you and I have had this conversation before. Not in words. But in the way you flinch from it, in the way I lash out because of it.” His gaze softened just slightly. “You try to get away from your emotions. I can’t handle feeling like I have to hide mine.”

Louis’ throat tightened. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to.”

Lestat let out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “Then what is it, Louis?” His voice wasn’t accusatory.

Louis hesitated. “I don’t know.”

Lestat gave him a long look before shifting even closer, pressing their foreheads together briefly. “I get angry when I feel like I don’t matter,” he admitted, voice softer now. “When I feel like I’m being left behind. When I think something is slipping away from me.”

Louis closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling. “You’re not unimportant.”

Lestat pulled back slightly, watching him. “I feel it, sometimes.”

Louis opened his eyes again. “I don’t mean for you to.”

Lestat sighed. “I know.”

Another pause. Then, Louis reached out, tracing his fingers lightly along Lestat’s arm. “I’ll try,” he murmured. “To be better. I will.”

Lestat studied him for a long moment before finally, finally leaning in, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Good,” he whispered. “And I’ll remember what you said.”

***

Lestat stood just outside the terminal, sunglasses perched on his nose despite the early hour, arms crossed as he leaned against the car. The airport bustled around him, travellers weaving in and out of doors, rolling suitcases clattering against the pavement. When he spotted his son emerging from the crowd, he pushed off the car with a smirk, waving him over.

Vik walked toward him at an easy pace, one hand at his suitcase, the other in the pocket of his pants. He looked tired from the flight but otherwise just the same as he had when their ways have parted last. The same sharp blue eyes, the same ever-present hint of a frown.

“You look like shit,” Lestat greeted.

Viktor huffed. “Thanks. Long flights tend to do that to people.” He stopped in front of Lestat, studying him for a second before reaching out and hugging him tightly. “Hi, Dad.” For a second, Lestat rested his head against the young man’s shoulder, then, he squeezed him one last time before stepping back and opening the car door for him. “Come on, let’s get you home. They’re making breakfast for you.”

At home, Louis and Claudia were in the middle of setting the table when they heard the car pull into the driveway.

Claudia barely looked up as she arranged the cutlery. “Think he’s tired?”

Louis shrugged, setting down a fresh pot of coffee. “We’ll find out soon.”

The door opened, and Lestat walked in first, Viktor following behind with his bag slung over his shoulder. “Bonjour, mes anges,” Lestat greeted as he stepped into the kitchen, dropping his keys onto the counter. “I’ve brought back your other favourite blonde.”

Viktor rolled his eyes. “You say that like you’re not ranking yourself first.” He walked over to Claudia first, greeted her, then said hello to Louis, before dropping into a seat at the table. He wasn’t even pretending not being happy they’ve already prepared something to eat. “You didn’t have to make breakfast. But great. I’m starving.”

“Yeah, well,” Claudia said, sitting across from him. “We’re the best.”

Lestat barked out a laugh as he poured himself a cup of coffee, while Louis merely sighed and slid a plate in front of Viktor. “Eat before I regret letting you back in.“ He winked at the young man. Viktor grinned and reached for his knife.

The meal passed in comfortable conversation – light teasing, a few stories about Athens, Claudia filling Viktor in on what he missed. Afterward, while Louis and Claudia cleaned up inside, Lestat and Viktor stepped out into the garden. The sun had risen fully now, casting a warm glow over the space. Lestat pulled out a cigarette, offering one to Viktor, who took it without hesitation.

They smoked in silence for a moment, exhaling wisps of smoke into the crisp morning air.

Then, Viktor glanced over. “You okay?”

Lestat turned to look at him, brows raised slightly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Viktor shrugged. “I don’t know. You just seem…” He hesitated. “A little off.”

Lestat took another slow drag, considering. Then he gave a small smile, exhaling smoke as he said, “I’m fine.” Viktor wasn’t convinced, but he let it go for now. Instead, he smirked, looking down at his cigarette:” Met a girl in Athens.”

Lestat’s brows lifted higher, a genuine grin spreading across his face. “Oh?”

Viktor nodded, looking amused at his father’s interest. “Yeah. I like her.”

Lestat blew out a breath, nudging Viktor lightly with his elbow. “Well, well. My son, a romantic.”

Viktor snorted. “Hardly.”

Lestat smirked, taking another drag before murmuring, “You’ll have to tell me more.”

Viktor only smiled, exhaling smoke as the morning stretched on.

Chapter Text

The rhythm of the tour had changed. Before, they lingered; weeks in a city, time to settle, to learn its streets, to carve out a temporary life before moving on. Especially, since they’ve begun renting proper houses, instead of staying in hotels. Now, they barely had time to grow familiar with a place before they were packing their bags again. Milan had come and gone in a blur of grand facades and the hum of Vespas, Amsterdam even swifter, in a swirl of canals and crisp autumn air. It couldn’t have been more than a week, and Louis, he was used as little to this as his daughter, who had begun complaining a couple days ago.

And now – London.

Sweet London, a place where people finally spoke their language, and cold replaced the heat. It was a welcome change, and one that came just at the right time.

Behind them, Lestat shut the door as he let out a long breath. Unlike Louis, he remained standing there for a second. “Finally,” the blonde sighed, rolling his shoulders. “I was beginning to think we’d never get here. That traffic!”

Louis, already tugging off his jacket, didn’t respond, just toed off his shoes and fell onto the bed, face-first, exhaling into the pillows. He’d been dying for a second of rest since the morning begun. It’s been a long day already, these kind of days always were, and it seemed the second he woke up, he wanted to sleep again. It was all heavy bags, waiting, trying to keep each other amused and awake, just so everyone survived the travelling. Beside him, the mattress dipped as Lestat settled next to him, one hand slipping right into his hair, fingers threading through it in slow, absent strokes.

“You always do that,” Lestat told him.

Louis turned his head, just enough to glance at him. “Do what?”

“Collapse the second you’re somewhere comfortable,” Lestat said, amused. “It’s endearing.”

Louis hummed, eyes falling shut. He could stay like this, just breathing, just sinking into the warmth of Lestat’s hand in his hair. But the blonde wasn’t one to sit in silence for long, never was. “So,” Lestat said, voice shifting, a little too casual. Louis knew this tone. “What do you want to do today?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Because that – his birthday – was what Lestat was really asking about. But to him, it really was just another day. He didn’t mind celebrating it, but he also didn’t mind if they just kept on living like usual. It was just a reminder of him getting older, and not much else. At least, that’s what he’d told his sister when she’d called, wishing him a good day. He’d appreciated it – her, and her children, all of them shouting into the phone. But now, he didn’t feel much like doing anything at all. Not in some sad kind of way; he only wanted quiet, and well, Lestat, close to him.

Louis shifted onto his side, facing him properly. “I don’t know. Haven’t thought about it.”

Lestat scoffed. “You’re lying.”

Louis smirked faintly:” Maybe.”

Leaning in, the blonde nudged his nose against Louis’ temple, making him smile like a fool to himself. “Let me take you somewhere nice,” he said, quieter now. “Just us. Claudia will survive a few hours without you. Let me spoil you, just a bit.”

“She’ll complain.” Louis exhaled. “And you spoil me enough.”

Lestat laughed.

A pause.

Then, softer, “So?”

Louis watched him, considered. “Alright,” he said finally. At that, Lestat’s smile widened, something bright in his expression. “Good. It’s your birthday, mon cher. Let’s make it worth it.” Louis stretched out on the bed at that, shifting onto his back as Lestat made a move to get up. Without thinking much about it he reached out lazily, catching his wrist. “Wait,” he yawned.

Lestat turned back, raising an eyebrow:” Wait for what?”

Louis tugged, just enough to make his intent clear. “C’mere.”

Lestat huffed, but his smirk softened as he let himself be pulled down, settling against Louis’ side. He curled into him without resistance, one arm draped over his waist, his head tucked against his shoulder.

“You’re so needy sometimes,” Lestat murmured against his collarbone. As if he wasn’t the personification of it himself; always clinging, always seeking some kind of reassurance, even when he’d be caught dead before actually saying it. They weren’t alike in many aspects, but in this, they might be. Louis wouldn’t say any of this either, if he had the choice.  Humming, running a slow hand down Lestat’s back. “You like it.”

“Unfortunately.”

They lay there for a while, pressed close, the room quiet except for their breathing. It was easy like this. Comfortable. Eventually, Lestat stirred, pressing a kiss to Louis’ shoulder before pushing himself up. “Alright,” he said, stretching. “If you want to do something today, I should at least start looking presentable. My hair’s a mess.”

Louis hummed in acknowledgment, letting him go this time. He watched as Lestat disappeared into the bathroom, listened to the sound of running water, of quiet movements. He just laid there, waiting for him to come back.

When Lestat returned, still towelling off his hair, Louis was still sprawled across the bed, smiling to himself. He was happy. Just happy. He realized, that despite the constant moving, and the strangeness of these unfamiliar cities, people, places, he didn’t feel as lonely, as stressed. He didn’t feel like, he was pushing from one chore to another, always just going on. A strange feeling, really, because back at home – he’s had everything he wanted, more or less. His dream job. A daughter. A stable life. More or less, that was. But he’s had reason enough to be satisfied. And yet, some days, most days that was, he’d been like shell of himself, starting his days, and ending them, like he had to do it fast, and without spending any time on thinking about it. He’d been, not dreamless, but without more ambition than seeing his daughter do well in life.

Now… well. Things have changed quickly. Not easily, but quickly.

“So,” Lestat said, making him look up to him “where shall I take you?”

Louis thought about it. Then, finally, he sighed and shook his head. “Nowhere.”

Lestat frowned, sitting down on the edge of the bed:” What?”

“I’d rather stay in,” Louis told him with a smile. “I don’t like birthdays much. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to spend my day with you. I do. But we could do it here.”

Lestat tilted his head, considering him. “You could have told me that before I got wet for nothing.”

Louis chuckled. “You’ll live, you big cat. Now come here.”

“Calling me big now? I’m offended. Careful, or this cat will scratch you.” Lestat climbed back into bed, shrugging off his jeans as he did so, as if admitting after all that his outfits were good, but uncomfortable. He settled under the sheets. “So what do you want to do?”

Louis reached for the remote, flicking on the TV. “This,” he said simply. “Just stay in. Lay around. Watch something mindless.”

Lestat studied him for a moment, then nodded. “If that’s what you want,” he said, softer now. “I’ll do whatever makes you feel at home.”

Louis’ lips quirked slightly. He patted the space between them. “Closer, dear.”

Lestat didn’t need to be asked twice. He shifted close, an arm draping over Louis’ stomach as the screen flickered to life.

They kissed, slowly, lazily, nothing urgent about it. Just warmth, just comfort. Just the quiet understanding between them, wrapped in the soft glow of morning light. Louis sighed into it, closing his eyes. When Lestat broke away, Louis put a hand into his hair, made him rest his head on his chest. He felt Lestat smile against him, even when it seemed to take a moment, until he fully relaxed against him.

A knock at the door pulled Louis from the haze of half-sleep. He blinked at the screen in front of him – some documentary, that evidently neither he nor Lestat had been paying attention to – before glancing toward the door. Lestat, stretched lazily half beside him, half on top of him, made no move to answer it. He even pretended to sleep still.

With a sigh, Louis lifted him to the side, then ran a hand over his face before making his way over to the door. He opened to find Claudia standing there, arms crossed, Viktor leaning casually beside her. Both of them peered into the room.

"Get up," Claudia said, barely giving him time to process her presence. "We’re taking you out to eat."

Louis blinked at her, then looked at Viktor, who just shrugged.

"You didn’t think we’d let you waste your entire birthday in bed, did you?" Claudia added.

Lestat scoffed from where he still lay, finally making a move to admit he’s been awake all this time. He sat up, the blanket pooling around his waist, and he began rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. "I was happy to let him."

Claudia rolled her eyes. She stepped from one foot to the other, as if she couldn’t wait to get going:” Yeah, well, you’re biased."

Louis glanced back at Lestat, who looked far too pleased with himself. He sighed, shaking his head as he turned back to his daughter, and Lestat’s son. "Fine. Give us a minute."

Claudia nodded, satisfied. "Hurry up. We’re picking the place." With that, she and Viktor left, the door clicking shut behind them.

Louis turned back toward the bed, giving Lestat a pointed look. "You heard her. Get up."

Lestat groaned dramatically, rolling onto his stomach. "Do I have to?"

Grabbing a pillow, Louis smacked him lightly with it against the back of his head. "Yes." Lestat laughed, sitting up again with a stretch. As if it hadn’t originally been his idea to go out:” Fine, fine. But only because it’s your birthday."

Once they were ready, they headed downstairs, where Claudia and Viktor were already waiting outside by the car. They’ve seen them waving through the windows, smiling brightly like they couldn’t wait to get out with them.

"You two take forever," Claudia complained, sliding into the passenger seat. For some reason she’s apparently decided it was her God-given right to sit there, and have her father slide into the backseat. "Perfection takes time, ma chérie," Lestat replied smoothly, settling into the driver’s seat. He reached up, turning the mirror. Louis caught him winking at him. It made him smile in return.

When they arrived at the restaurant – one Claudia and Viktor had clearly picked without any consultation – they found a cozy corner table and settled in. Lestat, after glancing over the menu, sighed dramatically. "And here I thought you would take him somewhere nice. Viktor, I’ve raised you better than this."

The young man snorted. "You’d complain no matter where we took him."

"And anyway, this place has great food. That’s what matters." Claudia said, pointing at something on the card. “I’ll take that, Daddy Lou!”

Louis, amused, simply shook his head. "It’s fine, Lestat. Let them pick. I’m happy."

Their orders were placed, and soon enough, their table was filled with steaming plates of food. Conversation ebbed and flowed easily, laughter mixing in with the clinking of silverware. For all of Lestat’s earlier complaints, he looked comfortable, leaning back in his seat, wine glass in hand, indulging in whatever teasing remarks Claudia and Viktor threw at him now.

For most of the time, Louis only watched them, taking it all in. He still wasn’t a fan of birthdays. But this? This wasn’t so bad. Nothing was.

***

The hallway was quiet at this hour, the dim glow of wall sconces casting long shadows against the hotel carpet. Lestat, dressed in gym clothes that looked more suited for a magazine spread than actual exercise, stepped slowly out of his room, adjusting the sleeves of his fitted top. Just as he locked the door quietly behind him, another one clicked open down the hall. He looked into the direction of it, and observed with a frown as Viktor emerged, already dressed in workout gear, his hair still a mess from sleep. He rubbed a hand over his face, clearly still waking up.

They both eyed each other for a moment.

“You?” Viktor asked, sceptical.

Lestat looked at his son. “Quoi? Tu crois que je reste assis toute la journée?”

“Nah.” Viktor sighed, yawned, shaking his head as he fell into step beside him. He shoved his set of fresh clothes into the bag Lestat was carrying. “I just assumed you considered existing enough of a workout.”

“D'accord, charmant.”

Together, they made their way to the hotel gym downstairs, swiping in and stepping inside the cool, mirrored space. It was empty at this hour, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning and the soft music playing over the speakers. Lestat went straight to the treadmill, setting it to a brisk pace. Viktor, meanwhile, claimed a nearby bench and started stretching.

"Still, cardio?" Viktor asked after a moment, watching his father with a dubious expression. “What is this supposed to do?”

Lestat, already picking up speed, scoffed. "Unlike you, I prefer not to drop dead after climbing a flight of stairs."

Viktor snorted, rolling his shoulders. "Yeah, but you run like you're being chased."

Lestat flashed him a grin. "Good habit to have."

Viktor just shook his head and started his own routine, lifting weights while Lestat pushed himself through a run that made Viktor exhausted just watching.

When they were done, both of them grabbed towels and headed toward the locker room, the air thick with the scent of fresh sweat and clean linen. They went into separate stalls, the sound of water rushing filling the silence between them. Lestat was the first to speak.

"So, will I get to meet this mysterious girl of yours?"

Viktor groaned; the sound muffled through the thin wall. "Mon dieu, you don't let anything go, do you? First chance, you ask about it. It’s not that deep."

"Of course I’m not letting go," Lestat said smugly, as he rinsed shampoo from his hair. He blinked, when some of it ran into his eyes, making him pause for a second. Then:" What’s her name?"

Viktor made another annoyed sound. "Rose."

Lestat grinned to himself. "Pretty." A beat of silence. Then- "Are you still talking to her?"

Viktor huffed. "Can you not?"

"Come on, do you at least text her?"

"You don’t know how to be quiet, do you?"

"Absolutely not."

Another pause. Then, softer- “But… yeah. We talk."

Lestat smiled. "Good."

Neither of them said much after that, finishing their showers in the comfortable quiet that only existed between people who understood each other. When they finally stepped out, both refreshed and towelling off their hair, Viktor nudged his father with his elbow. "You’re annoying. Anyone ever told you that?"

"I know. People love me for it."

To that, Viktor didn’t reply. As they got ready, Lestat began talking to his son about one thing or the other, most about the upcoming show, and some worries he had about an interview he agreed with. Then, he told him about some conflict he had, with the booked venue in Paris. Originally, he’d been not looking forward to performing there anyways – but he’d been outvoted, and now, it was bothering him, because the dates weren’t lining up with their schedule, and nothing seemed to work out the way he wanted it to.

Lestat was still talking as he adjusted the cuffs of his jacket, going on about something that had happened at rehearsal a couple of nights ago. Viktor, towel-drying his hair, made the occasional noise of acknowledgment, but his mind was elsewhere.

"You’re not even listening," Lestat accused, buttoning the last of his sleeves.

Viktor blinked, dragging a hand through his damp hair. "Hm?"

Lestat narrowed his eyes.

"I was just thinking about breakfast," Viktor chuckled. “I haven’t planned on spending so much time here. I wanted a quick workout and then eat.”

Lestat laughed, shaking his head. "Ah, I see. I’m sorry for interrupting your grand plan." He grabbed his phone and tossed his bag over his shoulder. "I'll wake Louis and Claudia. We’ll eat before you collapse from starvation."

Viktor yawned again. "Just don’t get too distracted in the process."

"Moi?" Lestat gasped, mock-offended. Then:” Haven’t I taught you to not talk to your father like that? Mon dieu, children these days…”

Viktor only rolled his eyes as they left the locker room.

***

The crisp October air settled over London, the kind of autumn chill that wasn’t biting yet, but still had them wrapped in coats and scarves. The streets bustled with late afternoon activity – tourists weaving through locals, the occasional gust of wind sending golden leaves tumbling across the pavement.

Lestat walked slightly ahead with Claudia, their voices drifting back toward Louis and Viktor, who were keeping a more leisurely pace behind them. They’ve been talking about some book the young man has begun reading, seeking Louis’ opinion on it. Louis hadn’t read it yet, and so the boy has settled into spoiling it for him, explaining the plot like he had any idea what he was talking about.

At some point, Viktor pulled out a cigarette, lighting it quickly, one hand against the wind to shield the flame.

Louis gave him a look. He debated whether to say something or not. In the end, he couldn’t keep it to himself, and so he commented:" You know that’s not good for you."

Viktor exhaled a slow stream of smoke. "You sound like my father. But he usually shares his with me while saying it."

"You should listen," Louis said, half-playful, half-serious. He knew he didn’t actually have any right to lecture him, and so he tried to keep it light. "I’m just surprised Lestat lets you uh, as uncommented as he does."

Viktor tucked one hand into his coat pocket. "He didn’t at first. But he knows he can’t stop me."

Louis raised an eyebrow.

Viktor shrugged. "Started at sixteen. First time he caught me; he made me throw the pack away. Second, the same. By the third, he told me to at least smoke a good brand. Don’t even know why I started, think I did it to prove a point. He gave up a few months before my eighteenth birthday and just said if I wanted to die early, that was my problem."

Louis snorted. Not quite amused. "Sounds like him."

They continued walking, the wind stirring the edges of their coats. Ahead of them, Claudia suddenly grabbed Lestat’s sleeve, tugging him toward the entrance of a shop. "I want to check this place out," she said.

Lestat smiled at her, following. "D’accord, ma petite."

Louis and Viktor lingered outside, the latter finishing his cigarette. Louis watched as his daughter disappeared, still grabbing Lestat, making him fall into step with her. Then, Louis turned to look at Viktor take another slow drag of his cigarette, exhaling the smoke into the chilly London air.

"You really should quit," Louis said, shaking his head.

Viktor gave him a sideways glance, unimpressed. "I’m not taking advice on smoking from my father’s… well. Whatever it is."

Louis raised an eyebrow.

Viktor huffed out a quiet laugh, flicking ash onto the pavement. "You know he smoked like a chimney for years, right? When I was little, he’d pretend he didn’t, wouldn’t do it around me, but I wasn’t stupid. And then suddenly, when I turned sixteen, it was all ‘oh, mon fils, it is a disgusting habit, you’ll ruin your voice’ – like he had any moral high ground."

Louis laughed slightly at the young man’s impression of his father, accent suddenly thickening as he mimicked. "That does sound like him.”

"Exactly," Viktor muttered, taking one last drag before flicking the cigarette away. "So if he didn’t listen to his own advice for two decades, why the hell should I?"

Louis hummed. "Maybe because you are smarter than him?"

Viktor snorted. "Doubtful.” He shrugged. “Dad’s pretty smart. Just a bit reckless.”

"You did just admit he hid it from you when you were a kid," Louis pointed out. "Which means he at least knew it was bad. You think he’d be doing that if he didn’t care?" Viktor didn’t answer right away. He shoved his hands into his pockets, rolling his shoulders like he was brushing something off:” I’m still not quitting. Nice try though."

Louis nodded, unconcerned. "No, but maybe you’ll quit when you want to."

Viktor side-eyed him, unimpressed but mildly amused. "You’re worse than him, you know that?"

Louis shrugged. "I’ll take that as a compliment."

They stood there for a moment, letting the conversation settle between them. The occasional passerby moved along the sidewalk, but neither of them made to join the flow of foot traffic just yet. Louis glanced at Viktor, studying him for a beat before asking, "How come you speak mostly English? You don’t even have much of an accent. Unlike your father."

Viktor shifted his weight onto one leg. "Grew up around a bunch of theatre people," he said simply. "Dad figured it made sense to raise me bilingual. French was mostly for home. Or when he was yelling."

Louis hummed, considering that. The mention of theatre had now come up a couple of times before, slipping in at odd moments, and now curiosity got the better of him. "So," he started, tilting his head slightly. "Was he… an actor or something?"

Viktor let out a short laugh. "You really don’t know?"

Louis raised an eyebrow. "Should I?"

Viktor smirked, shaking his head. "He never shuts up about himself, but I guess that’s one thing he doesn’t talk about much anymore."

Louis waited, expectant.

Viktor sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, he was in theatre. Pretty good too, from what I heard. He loved it. But if you wanna hear about it, you should interrogate him yourself instead of making me do it just because it's easier."

Louis smirked slightly at that, glancing toward the shop where Claudia and Lestat had disappeared into. "Easier and more entertaining."

Viktor rolled his eyes. "Sure." Then, nodding toward the door, he added, "Speaking of, they’ve been in there too long. You think he’s buying her the whole store?"

Louis sighed:” Wouldn’t be surprised."

Just a few minutes later, Claudia and Lestat emerged, Claudia carrying a small bag. She turned to Louis, looking particularly pleased with herself. "Lestat bought me something," she said.

Louis frowned at the blonde rockstar. "You’re spoiling her."

Lestat, ever dramatic, pressed a hand to his chest. “What can I say? I have a weakness for charming young protégés.”

Claudia grinned:“ And I don’t mind that at all!”

Louis just sighed, rubbing his temple. “God help us.”

Later, Louis sat alone in the hotel room, freshly showered, the scent of his aftershave lingering in the warm air. He’d taken his time – shaving, dressing in something comfortable, stretching out across the couch while he waited for Lestat to come back from his rehearsal for one of the two shows in London. The city hummed outside, but inside, everything was still. He scrolled idly through his phone, but his mind wasn’t on whatever was on the screen.

When the door finally opened, Lestat stepped in looking rather dishevelled, the usual post-rehearsal mess of tousled hair and a half-unbuttoned shirt. He was already shrugging off his jacket when he spotted Louis, a smile immediately curving his lips.

"Bonsoir, mon cher," he greeted, crossing the space between them easily.

Louis barely had time to answer before Lestat leaned down, pressing a brief but warm kiss to his lips. Louis hummed against his mouth, but before he could pull him in for something deeper, Lestat was already pulling back.

"I need a shower," he announced, toeing off his shoes. "Give me five minutes."

Louis made un unhappy sound, watching as Lestat disappeared into the bathroom, already shedding his shirt on the way. It landed on the floor, carelessly, and Louis waited only a beat before following, picking it up on his way, before stepping inside the bathroom to find Lestat adjusting the water.

Settling himself onto the closed toilet lid, Louis leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. "You say five minutes, but we both know it’ll be longer." He said it, like he had to justify following. As if the blonde minded.

Lestat laughed as he stepped under the spray, pushing his hair back:” What, you keeping track of my showers now?"

Louis smiled. "I just know you."

Lestat hummed in amusement, reaching for the soap. "So, are you going to sit there and stare, not like I blame you, I’m quite perfect, or do you actually have something to say?"

"Had a chat with your son today."

That got Lestat’s attention. He tilted his head back under the water, then glanced at Louis through the steam. His hand twitched at his side, nervously, it seemed. "Oh? And what was the occasion?"

Louis shrugged. "We were waiting for you and Claudia. He mentioned you raised him bilingual. Said you were in theatre for some time."

Lestat made a vague noise of acknowledgment as he lathered shampoo into his hair. "Mhm."

Louis leaned forward slightly:” Why don’t you talk about that more? Your career, before all of this?"

Lestat rinsed the suds from his hair before answering. "What’s there to talk about?"

Louis gave him a dry look, one the other most likely couldn’t see through the steam. "I don’t know, maybe the fact that you apparently loved it? You talk about everything else. But not that.”

Lestat turned the water off abruptly, squeezing his hair out before reaching for a towel:" It’s not that I don’t talk about it," he said as he wrapped the towel around his waist, stepping out onto the cold tile. "I just don’t see the point. It was another life. Many years ago.”

When the blonde walked out, Louis followed him back into the main room, where Lestat ran another towel over his hair before dropping both of them, reaching for a fresh set of underwear. He now wore one of Louis’ favourite tees, and he had to admit, it looked better on him. Lestat settled onto the couch. Louis took the seat across from him on a chair, studying him.

"Another life," Louis echoed. He wasn’t satisfied yet. "You don’t miss it?"

Lestat shrugged, stretching his legs out. Louis looked at them for a moment. "I miss parts of it. The stage, the lights, the feeling of becoming someone else for a little while. But I was never meant to just play someone else. I wanted more."

Louis watched him carefully. He wasn’t the artistic kind; he didn’t know if he fully grasp what the other was on about. He figured, it had to make sense to someone like Lestat – someone with that kind of energy, and ambition, someone who seemed to get whatever he wanted. "And music gave you that?"

Lestat’s lips curled; a bit smug. "Music gave me everything." He leaned back against the cushions, letting out a long breath as Louis got up to settled beside him. Without thinking much of it, he pulled Lestat’s feet into his lap, pressing his thumbs into the arches and kneading at the tension there. Lestat hummed in approval, tipping his head back rather shamelessly:” Oui. Don’t stop. I might tell you everything.”

Louis smirked faintly, fingers working firm and slow. “That was the plan.”

Lestat let his eyes drift shut for a moment, enjoying the attention before exhaling. “Paris,” he started. “That’s where we ran to. Nicki and I.”

Louis nodded, encouraging. He knew this much already, pierced it together by the bits he’s been fed with so far.

“We were barely more than children,” Lestat continued, “but we were stupid enough to think we could make it work. We didn’t have much. Not a plan, not a cent to our name. Some days, we starved. Most days, that was. Other days, we had enough to pretend we were kings.” He laughed, but it wasn’t entirely amused. Still, he had that look in his eyes. He always did, when he mentioned Nicki. When he talked about that first love of his. “It was never stable. We slept where we could, on the streets more than I care to admit.”

Louis’ hands never stopped their steady movement, kneading gently. He thought about Claudia, briefly, and how alike she seemed suddenly to Lestat. Her past, that was. Sounded, like it made sense the two of them were so alike. “And the theatre?”

Lestat let out a breath, opening his eyes again, gaze unfocused. “That came later. Someone noticed me. Said I had presence, a voice worth listening to. They gave me a chance.” He shifted slightly. “I took it.”

Louis tilted his head. “Just like that?”

Lestat’s lips curled. “You think I hesitated? I threw myself at it. Worked harder than I’d ever worked for anything. And when I was in, I made them take Nicki, too. He played the violin. He was good. More than good – he was brilliant. Not born with much talent, but he worked just as much as I did for it. If not more.”

There was something in Lestat’s voice when he said it. A deep, lingering reverence that hadn’t faded with time. Louis pressed his thumbs a little deeper into the arch of his foot, grounding him. Still, he wondered what kind of man that Nicki has been. And where it has ended, and why, and how.

“So, you were actors,” Louis said. “Performing, making music. And for a while, that was enough?”

Lestat gave a quiet laugh, one that wasn’t sharp at all. “For a while,” he agreed. “We thought we’d made it. Thought we were free. It was perfect, Louis. It was just us. And for once no one… It was just us. Safe. And I was happy to have him, you know? Only him. Nicki… he was passionate, and gentle, and he was... I thought to have found heaven, you know? For the first time in my life.”

Louis studied him carefully. “But it didn’t last.”

Lestat shook his head, a small, cruel smile at his lips. “No. It never does.”

Shifting slightly, he adjusted Lestat’s foot in his lap, his fingers still kneading along the arch, slow and deliberate. He could feel the way Lestat was holding himself now. Tense, guarded, the way he always got when something too personal crept into the conversation.

"How did it end?" Louis asked, voice quiet but steady.

Lestat let out a sharp breath through his nose, his fingers drumming restlessly against his stomach where he lay sprawled. “You don’t want to know,” he muttered, shaking his head as if that was the final word on the matter.

Louis held his gaze, but he didn’t press. Instead, after a moment, he said, “That means after a while, you must have met Viktor’s mother.”

Lestat’s jaw twitched slightly. “Yes,” he admitted, glancing away. “We worked together.”

A pause. Nothing more. Louis could hear how final Lestat wanted it to be.

“Did your family never come looking for you?”

Lestat let out a laugh, short and humourless. He tipped his head back against the cushions, staring up at the ceiling. “Once.”

Louis frowned, watching him.

“Before Paris,” Lestat said. “I tried to run. Didn’t get far before my brothers dragged me back.” He scoffed. “They gave me to him. To our father.”

Hearing the tremble in his voice, Louis’ hands stilled against his skin. Lestat glanced at him, lips curling into something that barely counted as a smile:” You can imagine how that went.”

Louis didn’t need to imagine. He swallowed; his throat tight. “How did no one notice?” he asked, his voice quieter now. “That much abuse? That much-”

Lestat cut him off with a look, something sharp and tired. “Do you know what kind of family we were?” he asked, voice deceptively light. “Old. Proud. Names carved into stone before my parents were even born. Men who didn’t need to lift a finger to be powerful, because the world had already told them they were. It didn’t matter what reality said, because people believed.” He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “My father could have done anything, and no one would have cared. No one would have dared to look.”

Louis felt something curl tight in his chest, something furious and helpless and aching all at once. He looked down at Lestat’s ankle in his hands, traced his thumb absently along the ridge of bone there, grounding himself in the touch.

Louis exhaled, considering him. “So your family,” he started carefully. “What were they, exactly?”

Lestat let out a quiet chuckle, rubbing a hand over his face. “A name,” he said, tilting his head back against the couch. “That’s all we had in the end. An old name with nothing left behind it. My father’s father had gambled away the last of it, and my brothers, well, they knew what we were supposed to be. What we used to be.” His fingers now drummed idly against his knee. “They made sure I knew it, too.”

Louis frowned slightly. “What does that mean?”

Lestat gave him a sidelong glance, then shook his head. “It means there was nothing left. No wealth, no influence. Just a ruined house with a family too proud to admit they were starving. And after everyone else died or went away, it all went to me.” He huffed a quiet laugh, something bitter curling at the edges of it. “The title, the land, the debts, the crumbling walls. All mine now. It’s still out there, crumbling more with every day, until eventually there’s nothing left but the name.”

Louis let that settle between them. “I don’t really understand,” he admitted after a moment. “My father was religious, yes. But no one ever hit me. No one made me go hungry. Emotional stuff… I get that. But this. This is hard to understand. Why would they do that? Or just accept it all?”

Lestat scoffed faintly, but not at Louis. At the memory, maybe, at something distant and sharp-edged. “My father,” he said, “believed in discipline.” He didn’t elaborate at first, only rolling his shoulders like he could shake it off, like it had settled deep in his bones and refused to leave. “He was blind and bitter and old, but that didn’t stop him. Not when he had my brothers hold me for him. Or someone else.”

Louis watched him, quiet. “How far did it go?”

Lestat inhaled, exhaled, his mouth parting slightly as if he might answer, but the words never quite came. He trailed off instead, his gaze flickering toward the window, his fingers pressing into the fabric of the couch.

Louis didn’t need to make him talk, not when Lestat’s throat bobbed with a swallowed breath, not when his fingers twitched against the cushion like he wanted to tear the fabric apart, like he wanted to claw his way out of this moment.

“I-” Lestat started, then cut himself off. His mouth pressed into a thin line. His hands curled into fists against his thighs.

A breath. A slow, sharp inhale.

“He was careful,” Lestat muttered, voice so low Louis almost didn’t catch it. “No bruises where they’d show.” A dry laugh, humourless. “Not unless I deserved them. I deserved it often.”

Louis felt something cold in his stomach, but he stayed still, watching, waiting.

Lestat ran a hand through his hair, breathing deep. “He liked control,” he said, his voice distant, like he wasn’t really talking to Louis at all. “Liked knowing I couldn’t stop him. That no one would stop him.” His fingers twitched. “Not my mother. Well, my other parent. They’d be unhappy if I called them that... Well. Doesn’t matter. Not my brothers. They all looked away. Maybe they were just happy it wasn’t them.” Suddenly, Lestat smiled. Smiled at Louis, like this conversation didn’t happen. “Everyone called me pretty, you know? Said I looked like maman. Said it was my hair, and my eyes, and that I could have passed as a girl if I’d just dressed right-“

Louis’ chest tightened. “Lestat. Hey, it’s okay you don’t have to-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Lestat interrupted, shaking his head sharply, pushing himself up from the couch like he needed to move, like sitting still too long would suffocate him. He forced a smirk, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Not like it’s relevant now, is it? It’s been twenty years. More.” He made some movement with his hand. Dismissive. “I get all sentimental when I talk. But I’m perfectly fine. Trust me.”

Louis wanted to tell him that it was neither fine, nor irrelevant. That it always would be, even when the other decided two decades were enough to forget what clearly hasn’t been forgotten. But Lestat was already turning away, the conversation slipping through his fingers like sand, and Louis knew, he couldn’t demand more of that right now.

Instead, he asked, “Is anyone left?”

Lestat blinked at that, as if he had to think about it. “My parents are dead. One of my brothers, too. I think.” A pause. Then, with a shrug, “I don’t know about the other. I never heard from him again.”

Louis nodded slowly. He watched as Lestat took a couple steps, then just faced him again. He pushed some hair out of his face, and even though he smiled again, Louis caught himself wanting to ramble on, give him something to feel better. “I’m sorry”, he managed to actually get out, weakly and unnecessarily.

Lestat huffed something amused, shaking his head:” Don’t be, mon cher.”

But Louis was, anyway.

Lestat smirked faintly. “Nothing to say now?”

Louis met his gaze. “Nothing that would change anything.”

The blonde hummed, sat down. Dipped his head back against the cushions again, closing his eyes:” Then don’t waste your breath.” It sounded kind. Like he wanted to make it easier for Louis, who had no idea what to do with what he’s been told. So, Louis didn’t speak. Instead, he reached out, put his hands to Lestat’s legs again, and just kept touching him, working the tension from his body in the only way he could right now.

***

The bar wasn’t loud, but there was still the faint hum of conversation all around them, the occasional burst of laughter from another table. Leaning back in his chair, Lestat loosely curled his fingers around his glass, watching his son over the rim of it. Currently, Viktor was swiping lazily through his phone, taking a drag from his cigarette before finally glancing up, noting after a couple of minutes that he was being watched. “You’re staring.”

Lestat smiled. “I’m allowed to stare. I made you.”

“Okay. Ew.” Viktor frowned. Then, he flicked his phone screen toward Lestat. “Look. That’s her,” he said. “I’ve been looking for a picture of her. Didn’t remember her Insta, so it took a bit. But I wanted to show you, before you start asking me again.”

Lestat tilted his head, taking in the picture. A girl – no, a young woman, red-haired, with a sharp but kind face, eyes bright even in the dim lighting of whatever café the picture had been taken in. She wasn’t overly posed, just caught mid-laugh, her head tilted slightly.

“Pretty girl,” Lestat mused, glancing up at his son. “Athens, you said?”

Viktor nodded, setting his phone down. “Yeah. She works in a café near the library I went to a couple times. I’d seen her before, but we only really talked a day or so before I left.” He picked at the label of his beer bottle, shrugged. “She’s smart. Easy to talk to.”

“Easy to talk to? Mon dieu, that almost sounds like admiration.”

Viktor rolled his eyes, taking a sip of his drink. “You’re unbearable. Can’t even talk to you without you making a joke.”

“I’m a delight,” Lestat corrected. Then, a little too casually, he added, “You know how to use a condom, yes? Making sure, because-”

Viktor choked, nearly spilling his beer. “What the fuck?”

Lestat just laughed, taking a slow sip of his drink. “What? I’m just making sure.”

Viktor groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Jesus, dad. How old do you think I am? I know how-”

“Mm, not what you’ll be saying if you come to me in a year telling me I’m going to be a grandfather at thirty-seven. Can you imagine that?”

Viktor grimaced. “That’s disgusting.”

Lestat smirked. “Isn’t it?”

Viktor exhaled sharply, setting his drink down with a little more force than necessary. “It’s not gonna happen. I promise. I can do without your advice on safe sex. No offence, but you failed at it.”

“Careful” Lestat said. He leaned back in his seat, looked around the room. Then, he took another slow sip of his drink, letting the warmth of it settle in his chest. He decided to change the subject. “You should come to the next couple of shows,” he said after a moment, tilting his head at Viktor. “You’ve been slacking on your groupie duties.”

Viktor snorted. “You mean my job as your unpaid personal assistant?”

Lestat smirked. “That too.”

Viktor sighed, but there was amusement in his voice. “Yeah, I’ll be at the next one. Laurent wants to come too, but I don’t think he’ll make it until Paris.”

Lestat hummed, satisfied. “Good. I’ll have someone sort out passes.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a beat, the noise of the bar washing over them. Then, casually, like he wasn’t putting weight on it, Viktor asked, “You and Louis, you’re – what, serious now?”

Lestat raised an eyebrow, glancing at him over the rim of his glass. “What kind of question is that?”

Viktor shrugged. “A normal one? Just asking. All the secret-not-secret kissing, room sharing… we all know, dad. You’re not subtle at all.”

Lestat set his drink down, fingers drumming lightly against the table. “If you’re fishing for details, I’m not telling you.”

Viktor made a face. “Jesus, no. That’s not what I meant.” He exhaled, expression shifting slightly. “I just. Hm.” He hesitated, rolling his beer bottle between his hands. “You always go all in with things. You don’t do things halfway. So, I just want to know if you’re-”

Lestat was quiet for a beat, his expression unreadable, before he reached out, pressing his hand briefly on Viktor’s arm. “You’re trying to be clever. Stop that, Viktor.” He reached out, pressing his hand against Viktor’s arm, just briefly. “I want you to stop worrying.”

Viktor just raised an eyebrow. “I’m an adult. I can worry as much as I want.”

Lestat huffed a laugh:” You are my son, not my father.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t get to care.”

Lestat shook his head, exasperated but fond. That got a small chuckle out of Viktor, who added:” Okay. So, you’re in a proper relationship, or what?”

Later, the hotel room was quiet when Lestat returned, the soft hum of the city muffled by the heavy curtains drawn against the threat of light. He stumbled only slightly as he entered, his steps slow and a little unsteady. The door clicked shut behind him, and for a moment, he stood there, gathering himself.

Louis, half-asleep in bed, stirred at the sound of movement. His eyes cracked open just enough to catch the sight of Lestat’s silhouette against the dim light filtering through the curtains. He watched as Lestat made his way toward the bed, leaning slightly to one side as though the night had taken more out of him than usual.

“Have a good time with your son?” Louis’s voice was quiet, warm, still wrapped in the haze of sleep.

Lestat didn’t respond immediately. He just dropped onto the bed with a soft thud, letting out a quiet sigh as he stretched out, his limbs heavy. He was still dressed in his leather jacket, though it was askew now, and his hair, usually carefully styled, was falling messily around his face.

“Too drunk for sex, in case you were hoping for that,” Lestat muttered, his voice indicating his smile, as he glanced toward Louis with a lazy grin. And still, there was no real playfulness in it, not beyond the simple happiness of being back where his Louis was.

Louis propped himself up on one elbow, his gaze softening as he studied the other man. He could tell that Lestat’s bravado was mostly a cover for whatever else beneath it.

Louis leaned over, his lips brushing the top of Lestat’s head in a kiss so gentle it almost seemed reverent. “You’re fine,” Louis whispered, fingers tangling in Lestat’s dishevelled hair as he settled back against the pillows. “Just sleep. Don’t worry about anything.”

Lestat sighed, his body relaxing beneath the weight of Louis’s touch. For a moment, the tension seemed to seep out of him, leaving only the quiet between them. Louis’s hand slid down to rest on Lestat’s shoulder, a grounding presence that Lestat didn’t have to ask for.

“Louis,” Lestat murmured after a moment, his eyes closed, the alcohol thick in his voice. “I’m not... I don’t... want you to think I’m…” He trailed off, the words slipping from his mind.

Louis kissed his forehead softly, cutting off whatever else Lestat was trying to say. “I know,” he said simply. “I know.”

Lestat gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, his body sagging further into the bed, the weight of the night finally catching up with him. He wasn’t sure if he’d made any sense at all, but it didn’t matter. Louis was here.

Chapter Text

Dear Auntie Grace,

I’m sorry I haven’t written in a while. We’ve been moving around a lot again – first Milan, then Amsterdam, and now we’re in London. I wanted to write sooner, but I guess I just never found the time.

Tour is getting… a lot. I like seeing new places, but it’s exhausting sometimes, because it’s not just going out and watching the shows right now. It’s very busy, and sometimes I’m bored in my room all day, when I’m not getting tutored or go out with anyone. I don’t know how Lestat has done this for so long. And how Daddy Lou does it. He’s even less social than me.

Speaking of them, they argued a bit the other day. It wasn’t like, bad bad, but it scared me for a second. I thought maybe things were going to get worse, but they didn’t. They’re fine now. Better, I think. I just… I don’t know. I hate it when people fight. But it’s okay.

I’ve been spending a lot of time with Viktor again, now that he’s back. He makes fun of me a lot, but I think that’s just how he is. I make fun of him back, so it’s fair. I think he’s becoming somewhat of a friend. One who has to babysit me, when Daddy Lou and Lestat are somewhere.

Anyways, I hope you’re doing well. Tell me what’s going on with you, and don’t leave anything out just because I’m not there!

Love,
Claudia

***

The article was nasty.

Not in the obvious, scandalous way tabloids could be, but in the quiet, insidious way that gnawed at something just beneath the skin. The headline was innocuous enough, something about Lestat’s upcoming London show, about his book, about the inevitable intersections between the two. But it wasn’t long before the tone shifted – criticism wrapped in faux-objectivity.

For someone who claims to lay himself bare in his latest memoir, there’s an awful lot left unsaid. Lestat de Lioncourt, more known as ‘The Vampire Lestat’, has built an empire on spectacle, but spectacle is only a distraction. His book is an impressive exercise in mythmaking, carefully curated and controlled. And at its centre, still, the same beautiful, untouchable man – a man who wears every bit of excess like armour, who disappears into his own legend every time he steps on stage. But strip away the aesthetic, and what’s left?

The author didn’t seem particularly interested in answering that question. Instead, the article drifted into a critique of Lestat’s latest appearances, his performances, his looks. It made Louis angry, reading these words, but for whatever reason, he simply didn’t stop there, even when he could have closed the tab, could have went on with his life as if he hadn’t read all of this.

One has to wonder whether the persona is finally outgrowing the man. He’s always been larger than life, but lately, one gets the impression he’s merely keeping up. The sharpness remains, but there’s something else beneath it now – faint but visible. A crack in the lacquered perfection. No one stays untouchable forever.

Louis’ grip tightened around his phone.

The next article was worse.

If the first one had been subtle, this one was blunt – cruel in the way only celebrity gossip could be, fixated on the body like it was public property, something meant to be picked apart under flashing lights and camera lenses.

Louis’ tensed.

The article wasn’t outright accusatory, but the language was insidious. It picked at details, at whatever someone seemed to have say on Lestat’s appearance. It compared old photographs, drawing circles around the slight changes – a collarbone, the cut of his jaw, the way his hands looked more prominent when he played guitar. One journalist had even gone so far as to call him "sinewy in a way that speaks of dedication – or deprivation."

And then the speculation started. Was it the pressures of tour? The demands of performance? A desire to maintain his ever-youthful aesthetic?

Louis didn’t need speculation. He already knew.

He could still hear Lestat’s voice, months ago, dismissive but telling, he could still remember the nights when Lestat would pick at expensive meals with practiced disinterest, only drinking wine, claiming he "wasn’t hungry" while his hands trembled slightly from exhaustion.

Louis had noticed, of course he has. He just hadn’t pushed verbally, even when he’s tried to help. He wasn’t exactly good with it, hadn’t properly understood why a grown man would be like that; at least, until he’s read this article, and all of a sudden it all has made sense. Of course, a man, who’s so busy being in the spotlight, being commented by everyone at everything he did, would be pressured into something like this. What kind of person wouldn’t be?

And now, some stranger with a blog and a mean streak had noticed too.

The article ended with a question, one meant to be provocative –  At what point does the devotion to beauty start to eat you alive?

Louis locked his phone, exhaling through his nose.

He needed to say something. He just didn’t know how.

Across the room, Lestat – entirely naked, entirely unbothered, now that there wasn’t anything Louis hadn’t seen before – was going through their suitcases, humming something under his breath. He stood there, with his back to Louis, bent in a way that would have left him breathless, if he weren’t thinking about the article still.

Eventually, the blonde pulled out a pair of underwear from Louis’ bag and held it up with a considering expression. They haven’t unpacked yet. They hadn’t unpacked since Rome, the last place they stayed at longer than what felt like a beat. “These aren’t mine, are they?” Lestat waved the boxers at him.

Louis blinked. Looked. “No.”

“Hm.” Lestat dropped them back into the suitcase and pulled out another pair. He tossed them onto the bed beside Louis before straightening, stretching, apparently entirely unconcerned with his lack of clothing, even when Louis had to look away eventually, before he’d get ideas.

He glanced back at his phone. The article was still there, still waiting for him to say something about it.

He didn’t.

Instead, he looked up at Lestat again, who was now combing through their things with the kind of focus that suggested he’d already lost track of whatever he was looking for.

“You need to start getting ready too, mon cher,” Lestat said, not looking up. “We can’t be late. I promised I’d be on time for once, and if you come with me, we have to make a good impression. I don’t want any negative…” He trailed off.

Louis exhaled slowly, locking his phone and setting it aside. Yes. The event. And he’d agreed on coming with Lestat, vaguely accepting the thought, that if he did, the possibility of someone picking up on the fact that he was always there, would rise. Until now, he’s gone unmentioned, except for one time he’d been called ‘Lestat’s new friend’ in some article, way back in New Orleans. But now? Someone would notice. He didn’t know how that made him feel.

So, whatever he’s just read could wait, at least a couple hours longer, until he’s handled what came next.

Reluctantly, Louis sighed and pushed himself off the bed, padding over to where Lestat was still rummaging through the suitcase. He placed a hand on his back, smoothing his palm over warm skin before peering down at the mess of clothing. “What are you even looking for?”

Lestat made a vague gesture toward the chaos:” Something to wear. Évidemment.”

Louis picked up a black silk shirt that sat on top of the rest, held it up for consideration. Lestat made a face. “Not that.”

Louis rolled his eyes and set it aside, reaching for another option. He paused when Lestat pulled out a skirt – black, sharp pleats, expensive fabric that caught the light just right.

“What do you think?” Lestat asked, holding it against his small waist. He smiled. It seemed, that Grace had been right in the past, telling him Lestat liked that kind of thing, by the outfits he wore in his music videos.

Louis tilted his head:” Wouldn’t it be too much?”

At that, Lestat’s lips curled, amused. “Too much for who?”

Louis hesitated. He didn’t mind, really. Or he tried to. He was past that. But still, it wasn’t exactly something he was used to. “I just think it’s… a bit weird.”

The blonde gasped, and put a hand to his chest. “Mon dieu, the internalized homophobia again, Louis. The tragedy.”

Louis scoffed, shoving him lightly:” Shut up.”

Lestat laughed, turning back to the suitcase, but then – just as Louis started to reach for something else – he glanced over his shoulder with a rather sultry smirk:” If you’re worried about how it looks, you really shouldn’t be. I promise you won’t be the one in this relationship getting fucked in it.”

Louis groaned. “Jesus, Lestat.”

“What?” Lestat grinned, entirely unrepentant. “I’m just saying.”

“You really don’t have to say everything that comes into your head.”

“That’s where we disagree.”

Louis shook his head, grabbing a pair of tailored trousers instead and shoving them at Lestat. “Wear these. And put on some underwear, will you?”

Lestat pouted but took them anyway, and started to get dressed. Louis buttoned the shirt for him, smoothing the fabric over his chest as Lestat tilted his head, watching him. There was something strangely heartwarming at helping the blonde get ready, feeling like he’s contributed something to how handsome he looked right now.  “You’re so good at this,” Lestat purred. “Such skilled hands…”

“I used to help my brother dress for church.” Louis said soberly, not giving in.

Lestat snorted, unhappy about just that. “I doubt that required quite as much finesse.” He gestured, trying to swat Louis’ hands away, but he just hummed, moving on to fix Lestat’s collar. When he was done, he took a step back, studying him. “You need help with your hair?”

Lestat smiled. “No. You need to get ready yourself. You can’t spend the whole night staring at me.”

“I think I’ll survive.”

Lestat made a sound, clearly pleased, before reaching for his jewellery.

Louis shook his head, heading toward rummaging through his own suitcase. He needed to change, and fast. The event – a literary thing, a press event for authors, book critics, and anyone orbiting that world – wasn’t exactly something he was looking forward to, but Lestat had insisted.

Reminded him, why he’d started googling Lestat in the first place. He had wanted to read something about his book, ending up elsewhere, evidently. And now, he had more questions than before.

Later, Lestat’s driver pulled up to the curb, the car humming quietly as the city stretched out around them. Louis leaned against the window; phone pressed to his ear. “You’re still with Viktor?” he asked, voice low.

“Yes,” Claudia replied, exasperated. “I told you we were going to the cinema. How often do you want to ask, Daddy Lou? I’m not ten. I can handle going out.”

“Just making sure.”

“We’re literally standing in line for popcorn. You want me to send a picture?”

Louis sighed. “No. I trust you.”

“Then hang up. Enjoy your pretentious little book thing. Bye.” The call ended with a click. Louis slid his phone back into his pocket, glancing at Lestat, who was watching him with an amused tilt of his head.

“Checking in on your baby?”

Louis rolled his eyes:” She’s with your baby.”

Lestat smiled, and put a warm hand to Louis’ knee. “Then our babies will be fine.”

By the time they left the event, it was late, the streets slick with the remnants of a light drizzle, neon reflections stretching across the pavement. It’s been long two hours, and Louis head swam with names and faces, and ideas. Him, in a room full of authors and books, had been the best idea Lestat has had so far. And while nervous and unsure first, he’s found to enjoy it quiet fast, and to the very last second, while Lestat himself, had more or less only powered through at some point, the only motivation being getting out again.

Now, Louis’ hand was firm around Lestat’s wrist as he pulled him forward, dragging him toward the glowing sign of a McDonald's down the street.

“This is unacceptable,” Lestat grumbled, trying to dig his heels into the ground. “I just spent hours surrounded by literary minds and insufferable critics, and now you’re forcing me into-” he gestured vaguely- “a grease-stained nightmare?”

Louis barely spared him a glance. He had a mission, after all. “I want nuggets. Not all of us can survive on cracker and cheese buffets.”

“I could take you somewhere nice,” Lestat continued, undeterred. “A real restaurant. With wine. Proper food. Not…” He gestured again, this time at the inside of the McDonald's, where the fluorescent lights flickered slightly. “This.”

Louis only hummed, stepping up to the counter and placing an order. Lestat huffed, crossing his arms but followed him to a booth, nonetheless. As soon as they got their food, Louis wasted no time digging in, unbothered by Lestat’s judging stare.

“I don’t know why I bother,” Lestat muttered, propping his chin up with one hand. “You could have had steak.”

Louis shoved a stray fry into the blonde’s mouth. “Eat and shut up.” Lestat made a face but chewed anyway, swallowing with exaggerated suffering. Then, he reached for another one, looked at it, ate it like it burned his tongue. When he took another handful, Louis chuckled. “You’re so dramatic,” Louis said, “you should just trust me. There’s nothing better than these bad fries, and nuggets.”

“I have standards,” Lestat corrected. “You just have an alarming lack of shame.”

Louis shrugged, picking up another fry and holding it up. He inspected it, before saying:“ You want to gossip about your fans or what?”

Lestat leaned in slightly, plucking the fry from Louis’ fingers with his teeth. “Yes please,” he nodded, chewing quickly. He could be such a gossip. “Did you see the one who asked me to sign her thigh? I don’t know where they all came from, suddenly. One moment, I was discussing literature, next, I was swallowed by some crazy mob.”

Louis snorted. “You mean the one who called you ‘Vampire Daddy’? Yeah, you made it worse by asking if you should bite her.”

Lestat groaned, letting his head fall back against the booth. “I should start screening people.”

Louis laughed, shaking his head as he reached for the food. “You love the attention.”

Lestat sighed dramatically, but his smirk gave him away. “Non. Well yes. But who would love that?”

They lingered there, half-empty cartons between them, city sounds muffled by the thick glass windows. Lestat stole more fries, and Louis let him. It was comfortable, easy – ridiculous in a way that made the evening feel lighter than it had any right to be.

They left McDonald’s with Louis still eating, the box of nuggets in one hand, the other reaching for Lestat’s, when he wasn’t busy shoving some into his mouth.

Rather than calling a cab, they decided to walk back, taking a longer route through the city. The air was cool, the streets quieter now, a gentle hush settling over London as they cut through a small park. It was mostly empty at this hour, just a few stragglers – someone walking a dog, another pair of night owls murmuring near a fountain. They found a bench beneath the glow of a streetlamp, and Lestat pulled Louis down beside him. For a while, they just sat there, shoulders brushing, content in the silence. Then Lestat turned to him, eyes flickering in the dim light, and Louis sighed before Lestat even said anything.

“What?”

Lestat grinned. “Nothing.”

Louis gave him a look. “You’re staring.”

Lestat tilted his head, clearly unbothered. “I enjoy looking at beautiful things.”

Louis exhaled through his nose, but he didn’t fight it when Lestat leaned in, capturing his mouth in a slow, lazy kiss. He tasted like salt, like cheap wine from the event, like something distinctly him. Louis sighed into it, hands settling on his thighs, warmth curling low in his stomach.

Then–

"Fucking fags."

It wasn’t shouted, wasn’t even particularly loud, but it cut through the night like a blade, sharp and deliberate.

Louis went still. He turned his head just in time to catch the figure walking past them, hoodie drawn up, eyes flicking away as soon as Louis met them. He didn’t stop, just kept walking, his shoulders hunched, like he hadn’t even cared enough to linger.

Lestat scoffed, loud and derisive, shifting to stand, but Louis grabbed his wrist, shaking his head. "Let it go."

Lestat was bristling, his whole body tense. "Coward!" He called after the man, voice carrying through the empty space. "You don’t even have the guts to say it to my face?"

The man didn’t turn around.

Louis tugged him back down. "Leave it, Lestat."

The other let himself be pulled, but he was still vibrating with irritation. A kind of fury Louis has never seen on his face before. He wasn’t quite sure what it made him feel, but it left him shaking. "Do you want me to find him?" Lestat asked. "I can beat the shit out of him."

Louis let out a quiet laugh, but it was humourless. "What, you gonna beat him up in your silk shirt?"

Lestat tsked. "You underestimate me, mon cœur."

Louis just shook his head, still staring at the path where the man had disappeared. The moment sat heavy between them, uncomfortable and sour, and after a second, he stood. The moment was ruined. "Come on. Let’s go home."

They walked in silence for a while, the city stretching out before them. Louis kept his hands in his pockets, his jaw tight. He had much to say. And too much he wanted to do with it, now too busy keeping himself from acting upon any of it. Still, when Lestat walked closer, he only took a step away.

Lestat broke the quiet first. "You’re upset."

Louis exhaled, sharp:” No shit."

"Oh, come on, Louis. He was nothing. Some idiot with no balls to even look us in the face. That really scared you?"

"That’s not the point."

"Then what is?"

Louis stopped walking. Lestat turned to him; eyebrows raised. "You think it’s just about some random guy calling us fags?" Louis asked, voice low, rough around the edges. "You don’t get it, Lestat."

Lestat blinked at him, caught off guard. "I get it fine. You think this is the worst thing anyone’s ever said to me? Mon amour, please. The word ‘faggot’ coexists nearly every time someone mentions me."

Louis shook his head, biting back frustration. "This isn’t about just you. This isn’t about some asshole in a park. It’s different for me. Not only because, opposite to you, I have a hard time with this."

Lestat frowned, tilting his head. "Because?"

"Because I’m Black. In case you forgot." Louis let it hang there, watching as Lestat’s expression barely shifted. "Because it’s not just homophobia I have to worry about, it’s everything. It’s people seeing me with you and thinking – thinking whatever the fuck they want to think. You get called a slur, and you laugh, you brush it off. I can’t do that. Yes, it does scare me.”

Lestat was quiet.

"I don’t get to just not care. For many reasons.”

Lestat’s jaw clenched. He looked away, toward the street, running a hand through his hair. When he spoke, his voice was measured. It sounded like he didn’t want to say it, but he still did:" You’re right" He said. "I don’t get it. I’m sorry.”

Louis raised an eyebrow. "That easy?"

Lestat gave a short, dry laugh. "Would you prefer I argue with you?"

Louis shook his head. "No."

Lestat reached out then, brushing his fingers along Louis’ wrist. Not quite holding, but grounding. "I hear you," he said. "I can’t fix it. But I hear you."

Louis swallowed, nodding once. "Okay."

They started walking again, slower this time. The tension was still there, but it wasn’t as sharp. After a while, Lestat nudged him lightly. "You could have let me punch him, though. I can hit hard."

Louis scoffed. "Right. That would’ve solved everything."

"You don’t know my strength, mon cher."

For whatever reason that made Louis chuckle, but still shake his head:” Imagine you’d worn that skirt. In hindsight, I would have paid to see you getting into a fight, wearing that."

Lestat smirked. "Wouldn’t that have been hot?"

Louis sighed, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he let himself be pulled closer, let Lestat bump their shoulders together, let the night settle around them as they made their way to the hotel.

There, the hotel lobby was dimly lit, quiet aside from the occasional guest passing through and the low sound of music from the open bar. Louis and Lestat slipped inside the building, shaking off the night air, and without a word, Lestat steered them toward one of the plush seating areas. "Drink?" Lestat asked, already reaching for the attention of a server.

Louis exhaled, considering. It really couldn’t make the evening worse. "Yes. One.”

Lestat ordered for both of them, then stretched out in his seat, eyes drifting toward the glass doors of the entrance. “They’re still at the cinema?”

Louis checked his phone. “Should be back soon.”

Lestat hummed, tapping his fingers against the armrest. “Did they say what they were watching?”

“No. But knowing Claudia, it’s either something wildly inappropriate for her age or something she’ll make fun of the entire time. You can’t watch a movie without her doing that.”

Lestat grinned. “I’m proud.”

Louis nodded:” Of course you are. Can’t watch a movie with you either, without your comments.”

Their drinks arrived, and for a while, they sat in silence, sipping quietly, letting the weight of the night ease off them. Louis’ thoughts still lingered on what had happened outside, but he didn’t bring it up again. If he did, he’d spiral, and then he’d be too busy thinking about all the things he’s been taught and made to believe for so, so many years. It would be unfair to Lestat, and unfair to himself. Right now, he was at the happiest he’d ever been, and he’d be damned if he let someone ruin that.

After some time, the glass doors swung open, and Viktor and Claudia stepped inside. Claudia was mid-sentence, gesturing as she spoke, and Viktor was shaking his head, clearly amused.

“I’m just saying,” the girl insisted, “it was predictable. You saw that twist coming a mile away.”

“You were gasping in the theatre like everyone else.”

“Only to be polite.”

“Right,” Viktor drawled. He glanced toward the seating area, spotting his father and Louis. “Hey. You two look cozy.”

Louis just raised an eyebrow, finishing the last of his drink as Claudia dropped into the seat across from them. She had her smile on her face, looking like she’s enjoyed the last hours.

“Good movie?” Lestat asked.

Claudia shrugged:” Good enough. Well, I liked it. Viktor fell asleep, but he says he only closed his eyes for a minute.”

“I didn’t sleep. I enjoyed the movie.” Viktor insisted, then tilted his head. “Did you guys just get back?”

Louis nodded. “Stopped for food.”

Claudia perked up. “What kind?”

“McDonald’s,” Lestat said, like it was a crime against humanity. Claudia snorted:” Ohhh nice. We had pizza on the way back.”

Lestat tsked. “See Louis? Even that would have been better.”

Viktor yawned. It was clear, he had enough. “Come on. I need sleep.”

They stood, making their way toward the elevators, their conversation light, easy. Whatever had lingered from earlier had been left outside. By the time they reached their floor, Claudia was already yawning, muttering a half-hearted goodnight before disappearing into her room, while Viktor hesitated, looking at his father. “Night, then.”

Lestat smiled at the young man. “Night, mon fils. See you tomorrow.”

And then, it was just the two of them. Louis and Lestat, looking at each other.

Lestat smirking slightly. “So. You coming in? Or should I book you a separate room because-“

Louis huffed, shaking his head:” Move, you blonde idiot.”

Lestat grinned, slipping the keycard into the door.

The first thing Louis registered upon waking was the weight of Lestat’s arm draped over his waist; the warmth of his body pressed close. The second was the sharp trill of a ringtone splitting the quiet of their hotel room. He barely had time to shift before Lestat groaned, reaching blindly for his phone on the nightstand. “Merde,” Lestat muttered, squinting at the screen before answering. His voice was thick with sleep. “Allô?”

Louis lay still, listening as much to the conversation as the slow, deliberate way Lestat’s fingers traced over his hip absentmindedly. He didn’t move away.

“Mhmm…” A pause. “Of course.”

Louis exhaled slowly, glancing at the clock. Not too early, but early enough that his body protested being awake. Still, he shifted to sit up, rubbing at his face as Lestat wrapped up the call. “Work?” Louis asked, voice still rough.

Lestat hummed, tossing his phone onto the mattress before stretching his arms over his head. “Something from rehearsal, apparently. Nothing dramatic. Glad Cookie reminded me, would have forgotten otherwise.”

Louis made a soft sound of acknowledgment but didn’t immediately move. He was still watching Lestat – his arms stretched taut above his head, his stomach tensing slightly with the motion. His shirt had ridden up, exposing a strip of pale skin, and Louis could see the faint shadow of his ribs, the lean muscle beneath.

Lestat noticed, of course. He always did.

A slow smirk curled at the corner of his mouth as he lowered his arms, tilting his head in that way he did when he wanted something. "Admiring me, mon cœur?"

Louis exhaled, shaking his head. "You're so full of yourself."

"Évidemment," Lestat murmured, shifting onto his side. He propped himself up on one elbow, watching Louis with heavy-lidded eyes, fingers tapping idly against the mattress. "But you like it."

Louis didn't answer. Not verbally. Instead, he moved closer, bracing one hand against the bed as he leaned down. Lestat's smirk widened, but whatever quip he was about to make died on his tongue the second Louis kissed him. A press of lips, firm and sure, before Louis tilted his head and deepened it. Lestat sighed against his mouth, fingers curling into the sheets as he arched slightly, pressing closer. He seemed to like when Louis took control, when he moved with quiet confidence rather than force, just as much as he liked doing all of this himself.

Louis’ hand slid up, fingers curling around Lestat’s throat; not to squeeze, just to hold, to feel the warmth of him beneath his palm. Lestat shuddered, his smirk faltering into something breathless, something eager.

Louis pulled back just enough to murmur, “You’re being good for once.”

Lestat huffed a quiet laugh, eyes flickering with something sharp. "Don't get used to it. I’m doing this when I decide that I want to be good. Be happy I let you do this."

Louis smirked, but instead of replying, he shifted lower, pressing an open-mouthed kiss just below Lestat’s jaw. Then another, lower still, his hand drifting down over the slope of his stomach, fingers grazing the waistband of his pyjama pants. It had Lestat inhaling sharply, anticipation curling in his spine. “Louis,” he started, half a warning, half an invitation.

Louis didn’t answer. He just slid his hand lower, fingers dipping beneath the fabric, past his erection, teasing, not quite giving Lestat what he wanted.

Lestat exhaled sharply, hips shifting impatiently. “Ne fais pas ça,” he muttered.

Louis smiled against his skin. “Do what?”

“Pretend you’re not about to-" Lestat’s breath caught as Louis’ fingers pressed in just enough to make him feel it. He let his head tip back, a quiet sound escaping his throat before he clenched his jaw, forcing himself to regain some composure. "Tease," he accused, voice rougher now.

Louis made an amused sound. "You deserve it."

Lestat growled, but there was no real bite behind it. Instead, he shifted, pressing his forehead against Louis’ shoulder, his body taut with tension. "I’ll kill you if you don’t-”

Louis cut him off with another kiss, swallowing whatever demand was about to spill from his lips. His finger moved slowly inside, keeping Lestat exactly where he wanted him right now – on the edge, aching for more but unable to demand it without sounding desperate.

Lestat clenched his teeth, his nails digging into Louis' bicep. "You… fuck, Louis. Yes. A bit more… yes. There."

And then Louis stopped.

He pulled his hand away just as Lestat was starting to unravel, just as his breaths had gone uneven, just as his body had gone pliant beneath him. Lestat went still. His lashes fluttered, his pupils blown wide as he blinked up at Louis, utterly betrayed. “You did not just do that. You cruel, cruel man.”

Louis smirked, pressing one last kiss to his lips before murmuring, "You need to start getting ready. You have to meet your band."

Lestat made a sound that was almost a growl, his fingers tightening around Louis’ wrist like he was going to make him finish what he started. But Louis just leaned away, already about to get out of bed. “I could meet my band after you finish this. You act, as if it takes you longer than five minutes to fuck me.”

“And you’re usually happy with that”, Louis shot back, “besides. It’s you who comes after just a few seconds, so don’t go comparing anything here.”

The blonde sighed, and sat up. “You’re a menace,” he muttered, running a hand through his blonde hair, trying, and failing, to steady his breathing.

Louis chuckled, unbothered. “Are we done here?”

Lestat huffed, throwing himself back against the pillows, arms flung out dramatically. He stayed there for a moment, catching his breath, before turning his head to glare at Louis with narrowed eyes.

“This isn’t over,” he promised.

“I never said it was.” Louis smirked as he buttoned his shirt. “Claudia and I are going out for breakfast. Just the two of us.”

Lestat made a sound that was neither approval nor protest, just acknowledgment. Louis didn’t expect more than that. The air was comfortable as Louis dressed and Lestat began doing the same; the ease of familiarity settled between them like an old habit. When he was ready, he left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him, after kissing the blonde goodbye.

Claudia’s room was just a few doors down. He knocked, rocking on his heels while he waited. A moment later, the door swung open, revealing her already dressed, phone in hand. “Finally,” she said, stepping out and closing the door behind her. “I’ve been up for hours. Thought you forgot.”

Louis huffed a quiet laugh. “Not even a ‘good morning’ first? And what do you mean, hours? I usually have to wake you.”

“Good morning,” Claudia said, already walking ahead. “Come on, I’m starving!”

Louis fell into step beside her, the chill of the London morning greeting them as they stepped out onto the street. The city was awake, humming with movement, but for now, it was just the two of them heading to a quiet café down the block. It was a small store, tucked into a quiet corner of the city, warm and dim despite the morning light filtering through its wide windows. The hum of conversation surrounded them, a low murmur beneath the clatter of cups and silverware.

Louis stirred his coffee, watching Claudia across the table as she picked at her croissant, tearing off small pieces but not really eating them. She was in a mood, then. “You good?” Louis asked his daughter after a moment, keeping his voice easy, casual.

Claudia glanced up at him, brows slightly furrowed. “Yeah.”

Louis raised an eyebrow.

The girl sighed, dropping a piece of the pastry onto her plate. “I’m fine, Daddy Lou.”

“How’s the tour been for you?” He took a sip of coffee. He tried it with the first thing that came to mind, when he thought about what could bother her right now. “It’s a lot, I know.”

Claudia leaned back in her chair, arms crossing loosely over her chest. “It’s fine. Still like the shows. Still hate school work. It’s all very much the same.”

Louis exhaled softly, setting his cup down. “You’d tell me if it wasn’t, right?”

She hesitated. “I guess.”

A silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable but not exactly light either. Louis let it sit for a moment before tilting his head. “You wanna talk about anything? Anything at all?”

Claudia huffed a laugh, shaking her head. “You always ask me that.”

“And one day, you’ll say yes.”

“Maybe.” She smirked a little but didn’t push back further.

Louis nodded, then steered the conversation gently. “You’re still talking to your therapist?”

Claudia made a face. “Yeah.”

He didn’t say anything, waiting. She rolled her eyes:” I still don’t like her. Called her twice, since last time, and I think she doesn’t like me. Or thinks I’m stupid. And then she wants me to tell her stuff, but it’s still so weird over the phone. You can’t expect me to do that.”

Louis wasn’t surprised. He had seen this coming, and suddenly, he was glad for the offer Lestat had made, just a while ago. It hadn’t been brought up again, but now, the moment seemed right enough to do it. “Lestat mentioned he knows someone,” Louis said, watching the girl’s reaction carefully. “Someone who might be a better fit for you. Someone he can arrange to actually meet you, while we’re on tour with him.”

Claudia stiffened just a little:” What, like another therapist?”

“I think so.”

She pressed her lips together, thinking, then frowned. “Why was Lestat even talking about that?”

Louis hesitated. “He just… I told him you weren’t too happy with the one you have now. Don’t worry. I didn’t say more.”

Claudia shifted in her seat. “I don’t know,” she muttered, looking down at her plate. “I don’t like people picking stuff for me.”

Louis nodded. “That’s fair.”

A beat of silence. Then, after a moment, Claudia said, “I’ll think about it.”

Louis raised an eyebrow. She sighed:” But only if I can ask Lestat myself.”

That caught him off guard. “You wanna ask him?”

“I don’t know,” she mumbled, poking at her food again. “If he’s the one who knows the guy, I wanna hear what he says.”

Louis hesitated. He wasn’t sure Lestat would be great at handling that conversation, but he also didn’t want to shut her down. “Alright,” he said finally. “I’ll talk to him.” Claudia gave a small nod, still not looking up. Louis let the conversation settle, reaching for his coffee again. Then, Claudia began eating too, and as if nothing had been, she finally began rambling about the movie she’s seen last night.

***

Louis lay back against the pillows, one arm propped behind his head, phone in hand. The article on the screen was old – years old – but still detailed enough to paint a picture.

‘Lestat de Lioncourt: From Stage to Stadium’

He exhaled slowly, scrolling through. He hadn’t meant to look him up. Not really. But after everything curiosity had gnawed at him, too strong to entirely resist.

There were photos: grainy production stills, press shots. Lestat was young, barely more than a teenager, but already striking. One image showed him mid-performance, eyes dark with intensity, expression raw with emotion. Another was of him in some period drama, his blond hair curled and tousled, dressed in elaborate 18^th-century garb.

Louis skimmed through the text. He didn’t know what exactly he was looking for. The article stated, that Lestat had started acting regularly when he was seventeen, worked steadily in local productions, then landed a few bigger roles, even a short run in a French film. The article framed him as a rising star, calling him “ferociously charismatic” and “impossible to ignore.”

And then, nothing.

Louis scrolled further, finding only brief mentions after that. No major productions, no breakout role. Just a quiet departure from the stage, followed by nearly a decade of silence. No explanations, no interviews, nothing to suggest why he had walked away. It was as if he had stepped into the spotlight only to vanish just as abruptly, reemerging years later as if those missing years had never happened.

The hotel door opened, and Louis quickly locked his phone, setting it down as Lestat strode in, shaking out his hair like a dog drying off.

“Bonjour, mon cher,” The blonde said, dropping his bag by the dresser.

Louis huffed. “That bad?”

Lestat groaned, kicking off his boots. “Rehearsal was a nightmare. You would’ve hated it. All of us disagree on everything. Larry doesn’t like the changes I’ve made, Alex wants to change even more, and for some reason, Cookie couldn’t stick to her own ideas, after she made me consider all of them. It was a mess. Don’t ask me how it’s supposed to work in just a few days. I don’t know. But at this point, it’s not my problem anymore.”

He climbed onto the bed without hesitation, straddling Louis’s hips, hands bracing on either side of his head. Louis had barely a second to react before Lestat’s mouth was on his, warm and insistent.

Louis let himself sink into it, the weight of Lestat against him grounding. But when Lestat’s hands started wandering, fingers dipping beneath his shirt, he exhaled sharply and turned his head away.

“I’m not in the mood.”

Lestat stilled, hovering just above him. “Non?”

Louis shook his head:” Been thinking too much.”

Lestat pulled back slightly, his gaze flicking over Louis’s face. “About what?”

“Claudia.”

That got Lestat’s attention. He rolled off, lying beside Louis instead. “What about her?”

“I told you she doesn’t like the therapist.” He answered, looked first at the blonde, then at the ceiling. He could have waited with this, but he thought it would be best to settle this now, before he’d draw out the conversation.

Lestat hummed. “Not surprising.”

“She-” Louis exhaled. “She said she’d try talking to someone else. But only if she can ask you about it first.”

Lestat blinked. “Me?”

“She wants to hear it from you.”

Lestat frowned slightly, then softened. “Alright.”

“You’re okay with that?”

A small shrug. “Of course. If it helps her.”

Louis searched his face, then nodded. Some of the tension in his chest eased. Lestat reached out, brushing his fingers over Louis’s cheek before pressing a softer, slower kiss to his lips. “Thank you,” Louis murmured against his mouth.

“Anything for you,” Lestat said, and it sounded quite genuine.

***

‘THE VANISHING ACT OF LESTAT DE LIONCOURT: WHY DID THEATRE’S BRIGHTEST STAR DISAPPEAR?

For a time, Lestat de Lioncourt was impossible to ignore.

The young French actor stormed onto the theatre scene in the mid ‘90s with the kind of raw charisma critics dream of writing about. With his sharp, striking looks and a stage presence that could fill a room with effortless arrogance, he was quickly labelled one to watch. His turns in Hamlet, Les Liaisons Dangereuses, and Faust were met with breathless praise, his performances balancing on that delicate line between brilliance and recklessness – like a man performing without a safety net, constantly on the verge of falling but never quite touching the ground.

Then, just a few years later, he vanished.

No farewell tour, no final bow. One moment, he was taking over, poised for an inevitable jump to film, and the next – gone. His name was scrubbed from upcoming productions, agents declined to comment, and the theatre world moved on, filing him away as just another rising star who burned too fast, too bright.

But what really happened?

Nicolas de Lenfent’s death cast a long shadow over the rumours. Some speculated that whatever had happened between them had driven de Lenfent to his breaking point. Others claimed Lestat had tried to return – there were murmurs of a private audition for a film that never happened, whispers that he had reached out to old directors only to change his mind before signing anything.

But if de Lioncourt mourned his friend and secret lover, he did so quietly. There were no statements, no public acknowledgments. His whereabouts during those years remain largely unknown.

Now, nearly a decade after his last appearance, his name has begun to surface again – this time, in connection with music. A handful of insiders claim he’s been seen in recording studios, lingering at the back of industry events, speaking to producers. If the rumours are true, Lestat de Lioncourt may be preparing for a second act.

The question remains: will the world still be watching? Or did the stage lose its grip on him forever?

Only time will tell.‘

***

Lestat knocked twice, then stepped back, shoving his hands into his pockets as he waited. He wasn’t nervous, not really, but he wasn’t sure how this would go. Claudia was a sharp, guarded girl, and he knew better than to expect an easy conversation. So, he stood there, waiting, until finally, the door cracked open, and she peered out of her room. It was late, but not too late, and she wasn’t yet dressed for sleep. She held his iPad to her chest, and most likely, she’d either been drawing again, or maybe even doing some of her homework.

“Hello Lestat,” she greeted, sounding like she was putting distance between them on purpose. It stung a bit. Lestat thought she liked him more than that.

“Hello, ma petite. Would you mind…?”

She stared at him for a moment, then sighed and opened the door wider. He stepped inside, glancing around. The hotel room was lived-in, her bag open on the chair, a hoodie draped over the bed. A book sat face down on the nightstand. Claudia flopped onto the bed, crossing her arms. “So? What’s this guy like?”

Lestat leaned against the dresser, tilting his head:” You’re direct. I respect that.”

“Yeah. Don’t know why we should waste time on this. How’s the guy like?”

“He’s good. I wouldn’t suggest him otherwise. And he’s not like the one you have now, I promise you.”

Claudia studied him, chewing on the inside of her cheek. It looked like the girl was thinking about something. She must have questions, Lestat knew, and he’d prepared enough to trust himself that he could answer them. While waiting for Claudia to go on, he pulled out the chair by the desk, and sat down. Crossed his legs, tried to be patient. Tapped a slow beat with his fingertips on the wooden surface of the table. “Why’d you need a therapist?”, Claudia settled on.

Lestat huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Knew you’d ask that.”

“So?”

He smiled:” Shitty childhood. Shitty choices I made in my youth. I’ll tell you more when you’re older.”

Claudia scowled. “That’s so stupid.”

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But it’s the answer you’re getting, or your father will kill me. I don’t care, really, ma petite, but it’s best. You don’t need to know why I know him, only that he can help, and that it would be good if you agreed. And if you don’t like it, that’s okay. Don’t you think it’s worth the try?”

She let out an exaggerated groan, flopping onto her back. For a long moment, there was just the sound of the city outside, muffled through the windows. Then, quietly, she said, “I don’t really know you.”

Lestat blinked, looking at her.

Claudia kept her gaze on the ceiling. “Like, you and Daddy Lou – whatever that is – I get that. But I don’t know you. Not really. I mean, I know who you are, and what you do, and I like spending time with you, but it’s like, we’re just together all the time and that’s it.”

He let that sit for a second. “I suppose we should fix that, then.”

She turned her head toward him. “You say that like it’s easy.”

“It doesn’t have to be hard.” Lestat shrugged. “Your father and I… well.” He gestured. Then:” You’re his daughter. And I think you have a right to know me, if that’s what you want and need. We can be friends, and I think we should be. So if there’s anything I can do to make this better, just tell me.”

She hesitated. Then, after a moment, she said, “You know, it’s weird. I don’t know you, but I feel like I can tell you some of it. Maybe because you’re not my father.”

Lestat straightened slightly. “Some of what?”

She chewed on her lip, fingers fiddling with the hem of her sleeve. “Stuff.” A beat of silence. “Stuff I don’t talk about.”

He didn’t push, didn’t move, just let the moment be. Eventually, she said, “Daddy Lou doesn’t get it.”

Lestat nodded slowly. He knew the barest details – how she’d been alone, how Louis had taken her in – but he had never pried when Louis spoke about it. That wasn’t his to take. Because he thought, if it were him, he wouldn’t appreciate it either. “I get that,” Lestat said simply. “And I know it’s hard when people want to understand but just can’t.”

Claudia let out a slow breath, like she hadn’t expected him to get it at all. “Yeah.”

Lestat watched her for a moment, then leaned forward slightly, elbows braced on his knees. “Listen,” he said, voice quieter now. “I’m not going to sit here and act like I know exactly what you’ve been through. But I do know what it’s like to carry something alone.”

She looked at him, wary.

He held her gaze. “And if there are things you’ve never told anyone, things you don’t want to say out loud, just know I’ll be here. If you ever want to say them. It’s okay if that’s not now. As you said, you don’t know me.”

Claudia swallowed, looking away. “I don’t talk about it.”

“You don’t have to.”

A pause. Then she nodded, just once:” Okay.” It seemed like she was done. At least, until she asked:” Do you know that feeling when you just want to forget some things? Because they make you feel bad, and you don’t want that, because you’re okay when you don’t think about them?”

For a second, he wasn’t sure how to answer that. What to say, without saying too much. Something he could answer a teenager to that, even when evidently, that teenager had already been through some things, and was well, like Claudia just was. He hesitated:” Non. Not forget. But I understand what you’re telling me. The idea of forgetting… I don’t know if it works like that. But I know what it’s like wanting to change something I can’t change.”

The girl tilted her head:” But that’s impossible.”

“I fear that’s the point, ma petite.”

“Hm. That’s stupid.”

Lestat chuckled. He didn’t really know what else to do. “It is, isn’t it?” Sensing that it was enough, he stood up. He pretended to yawn, and said:” Well then. It’s late. I might go to bed.”

Claudia grinned:” Late? You’re just old.”

“Oui. That might just be it, little one.” He winked at her, and headed for the door. “Sleep well, Claudia.”

Lestat stepped out of the hotel, lighting a cigarette the second cold air hit his face. It was a cool night, damp from the earlier rain, the streets slick under the glow of streetlights. He exhaled, watching the smoke curl into the air, letting the quiet settle over him.

He should go upstairs. Back to Louis. But instead, he lingered. Claudia’s words still sat with him, pressing at something he didn’t want to name.

After a while the revolving door behind him spun, and Vik stepped out to his surprise, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. Lestat didn’t have to look at him to know – there was an unevenness to his steps, the way he adjusted his stance on the pavement. A little drunk, then.

Vik spotted him and huffed a laugh. “What, you waiting for me?”

Lestat smiled, taking another drag. “You wish. Why are you out here?”

Vik came to stand beside him, rocking back on his heels. He smelled faintly of a bar, but not like he’d been drowning in it. Just enough. He must have gotten back just a while ago. “Wanted a smoke. Now that I’m thinking about it… better not. I think I’d get sick.”

“Where have you been?” Lestat asked. “It’s early. Getting drunk before nine, are we?”

“Happens.” Vik yawned, stretching his arms over his head. “With a friend. He moved here after finishing school.”

Lestat raised an eyebrow at his son. “Oh?”

Vik snorted. “No, not everything’s about that.” He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. “Just catching up. Haven’t seen him in a while.”

Lestat nodded, tapping ash from his cigarette. He eyed Vik, taking him in – slightly flushed, blinking slower than usual, but still sharp. “You alright?”

Vik glanced at him, eyes narrowing slightly:” What’s with the sudden check-in?”

“Just making sure.”

Vik huffed, shaking his head. “You get like this sometimes.”

“Like what?”

Vik gestured vaguely. “All… fatherly.”

Lestat smiled to himself. “Horrifying. A father who cares.”

“Deeply.” Vik grinned, then eyed him again. “You good?”

Lestat let the question hang for a second before shrugging. “Go to bed, Vik. If you want to function as my, what did you call it, ‘unpaid personal assistant’ tomorrow, you need to sleep now.”

Vik rolled his eyes but didn’t push. “Yeah, yeah. Bonne nuit.” He turned toward the doors, giving Lestat one last look before heading inside. Lestat smiled.

He lingered a moment longer, finishing his cigarette, then sighed and flicked it into the street. He turned and made his way back inside, back upstairs, back to Louis.

He found him, still in bed, where he’d been sitting most of the day by what he could tell, leaning against the headboard with his laptop beside him, phone in hand. He glanced up when Lestat entered, watching him cross the room and shrug off his jacket.

“How’d it go?” Louis asked.

Lestat ran a hand through his hair. “Better than expected.” He sat on the edge of the bed, kicking off his boots. “She asked about the therapist. And then she asked why I had one.”

Louis’s brow lifted slightly. “And?”

“I told her I’d tell her when she’s older,” Lestat said. “She didn’t like that.”

Louis made a quiet sound of amusement, setting his phone aside. “She wouldn’t.”

Lestat leaned back on his hands. “She also said she doesn’t really know me.” His smirk faded slightly. “That she feels like she could tell me some things, though.”

Louis studied him, thoughtful:” That’s something.”

Lestat nodded. “I told her she didn’t have to talk. But if she ever needed to-” He exhaled. “Well. You know.”

Louis watched him for a long moment, then said, “You asked about her past, didn’t you?”

Lestat hesitated. “Not outright.”

Louis rubbed his jaw, exhaling slowly. It sounded like he wanted to answer, like the words were right there, but in the end, he decided against it. "I can't-" He paused, inhaling sharply. "I shouldn't talk about it. You have to ask her, if you insist, and I can’t promise she’ll tell you anything. She barely told me.”

Lestat held his gaze. "I get that," he said, quieter now. "I don’t need to know more than you think I should hear. It’s her story. I don’t need to know."

Louis studied him for a long moment, as if measuring the weight of those words. Eventually, he gave a small nod, satisfied. The air between them settled. Lestat stretched, dragging a hand down his face before tilting his head toward Louis’ laptop. "And what about you?"

Louis blinked. "What about me?"

Lestat nudged the device with two fingers. "You’ve been busy all day. What, testing out Grindr or something, checking out the locals?"

A pause in Louis’ movements. It was barely half a second, but just long enough for Lestat to notice. Then, Louis sighed. "I was online."

Lestat narrowed his eyes. Louis made it sound like something serious. He didn’t even reply to his joke. "Oh?"

Louis tilted his head slightly. "I read about you."

That got a reaction. It was subtle, the barest shift, the flicker of something in Lestat’s expression before he smoothed it over, but Louis caught it. A beat of silence followed. "Your time in theatre," Louis clarified, because Lestat wasn’t saying anything.

The blonde barely moved, but his posture changed. Less fluid, more careful, like he was suddenly aware of the space he took up in the room. "Things change," he said with a shrug, voice light. Too light.

Louis waited.

Lestat sighed, raking a hand through his hair, like he could shake the thought loose. "Someone stalked me," he said at last, casual in a way that wasn’t casual at all. "Back then. I was afraid for Viktor."

Louis frowned. "What kind of-"

"It doesn’t matter." Lestat cut him off with a small shake of his head. "I handled it."

Louis searched his face, gaze steady, pulling at the thread Lestat clearly wanted left alone. "That’s it?"

Lestat’s jaw tightened. But he met Louis' eyes, and when he spoke, it was firm. "Yes."

Louis didn’t look convinced, but he let it go. For now. Instead, he exhaled, reaching for Lestat’s wrist, fingers brushing against warm skin. Lestat let him.

His fingers curled around Lestat’s wrist, his thumb pressing lightly against the bone. His gaze was steady, unreadable in the dim light of the room. Louis held Lestat's wrist, his fingers curling around it with a quiet intensity. He studied the blonde’s face, eyes searching for something more than just the surface. "You know," he offered, "you don’t always have to handle everything on your own, Lestat. Even if all I can offer is listening."

Lestat’s made some unhappy sound. "I don’t need your pity, Louis."

Louis let out a breath, a little laugh escaping him despite the seriousness of the moment. "I’m not offering pity," he replied, his tone a touch lighter. "Just… sharing the weight. You don’t have to carry it all."

For a long moment, Lestat said nothing, his gaze unwavering. But then, he finally spoke again, voice softer than before. “I think I’ve just had this exact same conversation with your daughter.”

“Then you might consider listening to your own advises, dear”, Louis said with a smile. “You don’t have to make everything harder than it already is."

Lestat seemed to think about that, his eyes flicking down to where Louis' hand held him. His lips quirked, though it was more of a half-smile than anything else. "You make everything harder, Louis," he teased, a glimmer of mischief returning to his gaze.

Louis raised an eyebrow, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Is that so?" he asked, his voice quiet but tinged with amusement.

Lestat didn't answer immediately, instead leaning in slightly, his face just inches from Louis’. The change in atmosphere was subtle but palpable – something between them shifting in the space of a heartbeat. Without breaking eye contact, Lestat reached up, brushing his fingers gently along Louis' jaw, the touch softer than it had any right to be. "You know," he said quietly, voice low, "I think you're right. But sometimes, it’s easier to let you do the hard work."

“Oh?”

Lestat opened his mouth to say something, but Louis tugged him closer. Not rough, but firm, like he’d already decided. Lestat let himself be pulled between Louis’s legs, bracing his hands on the mattress. Louis’s voice was kind:” Come here, pretty boy.”

Lestat exhaled sharply as Louis kissed him, slow and deep, fingers sliding up his back, pressing against his spine. He let Louis guide him, his body already responding to the shift in energy between them. Louis’s hands moved lower, gripping Lestat’s hips, pulling him flush against him.

Lestat broke the kiss, sucking in a breath:” Tu veux encore que je sois en dessous?”

“We can do other things if you don’t want to. We have hands.”

Lestat licked his lips, considering. There was a part of him, a stubborn, prideful part, that wanted to say no. To push back to challenge Louis for trying to take control so effortlessly. The fact that another part of him, an undeniably possessive, greedy part, liked it, only complicated things further. But if Louis wanted to dictate the pace, then Lestat was going to take something for himself in return.

"Non. Let me ride you, then," he said, his voice low.

Louis paused, eyes narrowing just a fraction. The flicker of hesitation, annoyance, maybe, was barely noticeable, but Lestat saw it, and it made something inside him stir. The challenge was on. He didn't want Louis to just hand him control; he wanted to see him wrestle with it.

There was a beat of silence before Louis exhaled sharply, a tension tightening his jaw. His hands tightened on Lestat’s hips in response. "Fine. Okay. Sure."

Lestat couldn’t help the grin that pulled at his lips. Triumph, sweet and dangerous. He shifted, straddling Louis more fully, rolling his hips down slowly, just enough to tease, just enough to make Louis feel it. Louis groaned, fingers digging into Lestat’s skin, his face hardening, his expression sharp and intense – something that made Lestat’s blood hum with satisfaction.

A bit later, Lestat revelled in the moment, in the feeling of being above him for once. The way Louis’ eyes followed his every movement, the subtle loss of control in his gaze, the way his body stiffened just the slightest. Lestat liked it; liked that it wasn’t easy. But even as he relished the power, Louis wasn’t about to give him an inch. His hands gripped tighter, his pace rougher, pushing Lestat hard into the mattress at some point.

It wasn’t painful – not exactly – but it was relentless. A steady pressure, almost punishing in its force, enough to make Lestat hiss, his thighs trembling from the effort of keeping up. Louis wasn’t easing up. Not even close. Lestat almost liked it more that way. It wasn’t meant to be comfortable, wasn’t meant to be easy. It was a game of wills, and neither of them was willing to break. Louis wanted him to feel it, to remember who had the power here. But Lestat wasn’t backing down. He wanted to fight for every inch, every moment, because that was what made it worth it. That was the game, after all. Neither of them gave in easily.

Afterward, when the air between them was heavy, their bodies tangled and slick with sweat, Lestat let out a low, breathless laugh.

Louis raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Lestat smirked; lips swollen. “Nothing.” A pause. “Just wondering how long you’re going to hold out before you let me fuck you.”

Louis scoffed, rolling onto his back, exhaling hard at the ceiling.

Lestat chuckled, curling against him, pressing a lazy kiss to his shoulder.

***

‘THE GHOST OF LESTAT DE LIONCOURT: WHAT REALLY HAPPENED OUTSIDE THE POLICE STATION?

Lestat de Lioncourt’s name once commanded attention from every corner of the theatre world. The French actor, with his trademark smirk and impeccable performances, was destined for greatness. From his dramatic take on Macbeth to his brooding portrayal in the theatre version of The Picture of Dorian Gray, Lestat didn’t just act – he embodied characters, creating moments so vivid they felt alive even after the curtain fell. Critics couldn’t get enough of him, and audiences were just as captivated. He was, in every sense, the theatre’s brightest star.

But it hasn’t been all champagne and standing ovations. Photographs, taken a few months ago and published by someone unknown, have shown a different side of Lestat, one that raises more questions than answers.

A paparazzi snapshot taken outside a police station last winter, captured the actor looking dishevelled, battered, and alone. His face was bruised, his shirt torn, his once flawless image shattered in an instant. It was a stark contrast to the glamorous public persona he had once carefully crafted, leaving many to speculate on what had transpired behind the scenes.

Theories have ranged from the mundane to the darkly sensational. Some have suggested that Lestat was involved in an altercation of some kind – perhaps a disagreement turned violent, though details remain scarce. Others have pointed to the lingering mystery surrounding the so-called Magnus case, a name that has whispered through the darker corners of the industry since early last year, and now brought to court.

Magnus, a former acquaintance of de Lioncourt, used to have a reputation for being trouble – an enigmatic figure who had been involved in several disturbing incidents, including alleged assaults on other young actors, all of whom bore a certain similarity. It was even speculated that Lestat himself had been a victim in this twisted series of events, though no one could confirm what exactly transpired behind closed doors. Magnus, it seems, took his secrets with him to the grave after dying under mysterious circumstances, an apparent suicide that only added to the lingering cloud of questions surrounding his death.

What is certain, however, is that Lestat did not take the stage for several months following these events. While some fans initially assumed he was simply taking a break – maybe retreating from the spotlight to recover from whatever personal or professional losses had shaken him – his absence became more prolonged and more pronounced. Despite the whispers and rumours, no official statements were made, and no one knew for sure where Lestat had disappeared to. There were no new projects, no announcements, and certainly no public appearances.

For now, it remains unclear whether the events surrounding Magnus, and that police station photograph are connected. What is undeniable, however, is the fact that the man who once commanded the city’s attention has become something of a ghost.

Will Lestat de Lioncourt return to the stage, or has he disappeared for good? Only time will tell, but one thing is certain – whatever happened behind closed doors, Lestat has left us all with more questions than answers.‘

***

It took a long time before Grace finally answered his calls. Louis stood by the window, staring out at the darkening sky, his phone pressed to his ear. He had been trying to reach her all day, but each time, her phone went straight to voicemail. Now, finally, her voice came through, warm yet cautious, as though she wasn’t sure what kind of conversation this would be. “Louis?”

“Hey,” he said, his throat tight as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “You busy?”

“Not really. What’s up?”

Louis hesitated, trying to gather his thoughts. “I, uh… I’ve been reading some things.”

Grace hummed on the other end of the line. “What things?” He ran a hand over his face, rubbing at the tension building between his eyes:” About Lestat.”

There was a brief silence before she spoke again, her tone unreadable. “Oh.”

“His time in theatre,” Louis clarified, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I didn’t know he used to act. Did you know he was a pretty big deal in the nineties? I’ve never heard of him. And then I watched some clips from a movie he was in, and he was really good, you know?”

“You’ve been googling him?” she asked, the scepticism evident in her voice. Louis ignored her tone, his fingers drumming lightly against the side of his phone:” He was in some good productions, actually.” Louis repeated. “A lot written about it.”

Grace made a small, noncommittal sound, and Louis could hear the quiet judgment in it, though he wasn’t sure if it was for his research or for him at all. He exhaled slowly, rubbing his forehead. “But I’ve also found some… nastier things.”

She sighed, the sound heavy, as though she’d been expecting this. “Louis…”

“I wasn’t looking for it,” he quickly defended. “It just came up. The deeper I went… the worse it got. And I don’t know what to think about it. Most of it sounds like bullshit, and it’s mostly speculating, and I have no idea what half of it is about. I stopped reading most of it after a few sentences, but the stuff I’ve read… I don’t know how to bring it up, now that I’ve done this for like. Two days.”

“That’s what happens when you start digging into someone’s past,” Grace said flatly. “You’re gonna find things you don’t like.”

Louis frowned, shifting his weight. “I didn’t expect it to be all good. But-”

“But what?” Grace interrupted; her voice quiet but pointed. “You think you can piece together a person from articles and gossip?”

He clenched his jaw, staring down at the floor. “I wanted to understand him better. Because when I ask him, he’s not answering.” Louis sighed. “It’s like talking to a wall. Or Claudia.”

She clicked her tongue, unimpressed. “You don’t get to understand someone by reading about them. If you’re not careful, this whole thing – you, him – it’s gonna get ruined. Reading up on someone’s past, piecing together rumours, it doesn’t help. It just messes things up. Your whole relationship.”

Louis’s grip on the phone tightened. His voice dropped to a low murmur. “We never called it that.”

Grace’s silence was heavier this time, as if she was carefully weighing her words. When she finally spoke, her voice was softer. “Then what are you doing, Louis?”

He swallowed hard, his heart clenching at the weight of her question. It was so simple, so direct, and for the first time, it made him feel exposed, like something he hadn’t even known he was hiding had been laid bare. “It’s complicated,” he said quietly, repeating the same phrase he’s used for weeks, months, maybe, his eyes tracing the familiar patterns on the floorboards, as though the answer could be found there.

Grace’s voice softened, the judgment gone, replaced with a kind of understanding. “I get it. Curiosity. But if you really want to know about his past, you need to wait for him to tell you. Or you stop looking altogether, because right now? It’s not doing you any good.”

Louis stood still for a moment, the words sinking in, heavy and undeniable. He had known she was right, but hearing her say it made something inside him shift, made him feel almost foolish for not seeing it sooner. “Yeah,” he murmured, more to himself than to her. “Maybe.”

Grace’s voice broke the quiet again, softer this time. “Just talk to him, Lou. That’s all I’m saying.”

He closed his eyes, nodding even though she couldn’t see him. “Yeah. I will.”

They let the silence linger for a few moments, before Grace shifted the conversation, asking about the tour, about Claudia, about anything else. Louis let her. Anything to push the conversation forward, away from what it had been.

But even after they hung up, her words stayed with him.

Later, Louis adjusted the cuffs of his shirt, smoothing out the fabric as he checked himself in the mirror. The conversation with Grace still lingered in his mind, but he pushed it aside as he grabbed his jacket. He wasn’t about to sit in the hotel room all night, overthinking things, while Lestat was out with the band somewhere.  Louis had made the decision to spend time with Claudia and Viktor. Spending time with Viktor, seemed like an opportunity. They had spoken before, sure, but Louis hadn’t really gotten a sense of him yet, hadn’t seen who he was beyond being his father’s son. And he wanted to.

He knocked on Claudia’s door first, and she opened it with her brows already raised.

“You’re ready,” she said, eyeing him like it was suspicious.

Louis smirked. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

She shut the door behind her, stuffing her phone into her pocket. “Because you take forever. Always.”

Louis let that slide as they made their way down the hall to Viktor’s room. He knocked, and after a few moments, Viktor opened the door, looking a little surprised to see them both standing there. “Oh,” the young man said, blinking. “Are we doing something?”

“Dinner,” Louis said. “Unless you’ve got plans.”

Viktor tilted his head, considering. “I could eat.”

Claudia rolled her eyes. “Then come.”

Viktor shot her a look before shortly disappearing inside again, grabbing his jacket. “Where we going?”

Louis shrugged:“ Haven’t decided yet.”

Viktor smirked. “So we’re just wandering until we find a place?”

“Pretty much,” Louis admitted.

Viktor huffed a quiet laugh but didn’t argue. The three of them made their way downstairs and into the London evening, the air crisp but not too cold. The city was alive, busy even at this hour, lights flickering in windows, the sound of traffic and conversation filling the streets. Eventually, they found a restaurant everyone could agree on, something warm and inviting. They got a booth in the back, the glow of dim lights casting a soft ambiance over their table.

Claudia leaned back against the cushioned seat, flipping idly through the menu. “Where did you say Lestat was again? Something with his band?” She glanced up. “Do you think he’s drunk by now?”

“Without question,” Viktor said, not even looking up from the menu. “Oh – look, Claudia, that actually sounds decent.” He tapped a dish, as if redirecting her attention might change the subject.

Louis lowered his own menu, giving them a flat look. “He’s not that bad.”

Viktor snorted. “You say that, but you haven’t had to drag him out of a bar at four in the morning yet.”

Louis raised an eyebrow. “And you have?”

Viktor sighed, long-suffering, as if just remembering the ordeal exhausted him all over again. “More than once.”

Louis glanced at him, then back down at his menu, though he wasn’t really reading anymore. More than once. There was something familiar about the way Viktor said it – exasperation, yes, but not without affection. It was the kind of complaint that came from knowing someone too well, from picking up the pieces they left behind without ever really being asked.

It was strange, sometimes, seeing them together. Lestat and Viktor. Lestat had never exactly struck Louis as the fatherly type, not in the expected sense, and yet, there Viktor was. Grown, independent, yet still tethered to him in ways he probably didn’t even realize. They had the same sharpness, the same way of tilting their heads when amused. But Viktor had an ease to him, something more grounded. He was steady in a way Lestat wasn’t, or maybe had never been allowed to be.

Louis wondered if that steadiness had been because of Lestat or in spite of him.

Maybe both.

He exhaled quietly, picking his menu back up. “Well,” he said, glancing at Viktor. “I’m sure he deserved it.”

Viktor smirked. “Oh, he did.”

Claudia rolled her eyes. “Can we order now?”

Louis hummed in agreement, but his mind was still on Lestat – on what it meant to have a son like Viktor, and what it meant that Viktor had stayed. Or in contrast, what it meant to have a father like Lestat, and then again, that Lestat had done it all, alone from what Louis knew. And truth be told, Lestat clearly hadn’t done all of it right, but he’s done as good as anyone under the circumstances, and Louis thought that Viktor knew just enough about to not blame him for it.

“What was that like?” Louis asked, studying Viktor over the rim of his glass. “Growing up with him?”

Viktor looked up, caught off guard by the question. He blinked once, then smirked faintly. “You mean with Lestat de Lioncourt as my father?”

Louis nodded. “Yeah. He doesn’t talk about it much.”

Viktor exhaled, setting his menu aside. “It was… interesting.” He leaned back against the booth, fingers drumming absently against the table. “I mean, he was younger than most dads. And a lot – but you already know that.” A pause, then, with a half-shrug, “But he tried, I guess. I mean, it was just us. And without my mother… But I liked it. I had a good childhood, and I know he did everything to make sure I had what I needed. Obviously, I don’t remember much from my early childhood, but I remember the rest, and I know that I loved it.” He shrugged. “Even if he was kind of a mess sometimes. But he’s a good father, Louis.”

Claudia snorted. “You’re saying was like he’s not still a mess.”

Viktor huffed a laugh. “Fair point.”

Louis listened, watching the way Viktor spoke about Lestat – not resentful, not bitter, just… fond. There was no hesitation in his words, no sharp edges, just the easy acceptance of someone who had long since given up trying to make sense of the man who raised him and had decided, instead, to love him as he was.

It was strange, in a way. Louis had spent time thinking about the contradictions of Lestat, with the way he could be both reckless and tender, cruel and desperate to be loved. But Viktor had grown up inside that contradiction, with it.

“He ever tell you why he stopped acting?” Louis asked casually. He just couldn’t help it.

Viktor frowned slightly, thinking. “Not really. Just said it wasn’t the life he wanted anymore.” He paused, then added, “I think something happened, though. He never said it, but I could tell.”

Louis nodded slowly, filing that away.

Their food arrived, and the conversation drifted to other things – music, the tour, how Claudia had started learning a bit of guitar backstage. Viktor gave her shit for it, claiming she’d never stick with it, and she threw a fry at him in retaliation.

Louis let their bickering fade into the background for a moment, watching Viktor as he picked at his food, casual and unbothered. He was comfortable here; in a way Louis hadn’t quite expected. He’s at ease, Louis realized. Not just with Claudia, but with me.

That wasn’t something Lestat had ever properly managed, Louis thought sometimes. Being at ease with him. Lestat lived in extremes, in grand gestures and sharp emotions. But Viktor, for all his similarities to his father, didn’t seem to carry that same weight. He was lighter. Grounded.

Louis sipped his drink, then tilted his head. “I never asked you. You’re nearly done with school, right? What do you want to do after?”

Viktor blinked at him. “Oh. Well, I’m not sure. I figured, something with music. I’m better at that, and art, than anything else. If this fails, I might do something with people. But nothing in an office, or something.”

“You always wanted to do music?”

Viktor nodded. “Yeah. I mean, it was always there. I grew up with it, Papa’s music, classical stuff, whatever was playing around the house. But I didn’t really take it seriously until my teens.” He smirked. “I think I wanted to be a writer for a while, actually.”

Claudia raised an eyebrow. “What happened?”

Viktor huffed a laugh. “Turns out, I suck at sitting still long enough to write a novel. Whatever ADHD stuff or whatever my dad has, he passed it on to me.” He twirled his fork between his fingers. “Music made more sense. You can get up, move, play. I like that better.”

Louis nodded. “So your father never pushed you toward it?”

Viktor shook his head. “Not really. He wanted me to figure things out on my own.” He smirked. “Which, knowing him, was probably more about him not wanting to be responsible if I hated it.”

Louis chuckled. “That sounds about right.”

Viktor leaned back against the booth, considering. “But he always encouraged me. Not in a weird, obsessive way, just, if I wanted to try something, he made sure I could. I think he was scared of limiting me. The summer I was, I don’t know, ten maybe, he paid for like twelve different activities, just because I wanted to try all of them. By the end of it I begged him to let me drop all but one.”

Louis studied him, thoughtful. “You think because he felt limited?”

Viktor’s smirk faded slightly. He toyed with the edge of his napkin. “Maybe. He never really said it like that, but yeah. He had all these stories about his past, but they never quite lined up. Like he was trying to make sense of it for himself while telling me.”

Louis understood that better than he liked.

Claudia, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, finally spoke. “What’s the worst thing he’s ever done?”

Viktor snorted. “How much time do you have?”

Claudia rolled her eyes. “I mean to you.”

Viktor hesitated, tapping his fingers against the table. “Honestly? Probably the time he bailed on my first graduation.”

Louis raised an eyebrow.

“He didn’t mean to,” Viktor added quickly. “He was supposed to fly in that morning, but there was a storm, and everything got delayed. He called, freaked out about it, apologized a million times, but yeah. He missed the whole thing.”

Claudia frowned. “That’s it?”

Viktor smirked. “What, were you expecting some deep childhood trauma?”

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

Viktor chuckled. “Nah. He screws up a lot, but he never really hurt me. Not like that.”

Louis wasn’t sure why that answer unsettled him. Maybe because it confirmed something he hadn’t fully put into words yet – Lestat, for all his flaws, had been different with Viktor than everyone apparently had ever been to him. Louis knew enough about Lestat’s childhood to know it hadn’t been kind. Anything but. The father who saw him as nothing more than an inconvenience, and did things to him Louis would rather not try to picture, a mother – or whatever it was – who was distant in ways that left marks. He had never given details, but Louis had seen the shape of it, the way it haunted him in the way he could lash out, in the way he clung too tightly, in the way he made everything too much, too bright, too loud, too desperate.

He had never learned what to do with love when he had it, only how to fight to keep it from slipping through his fingers.

And yet, somehow, he had managed to raise a son who sat across from Louis now, calm and self-assured, teasing and easy in a way that reminded of Lestat, but wasn’t Lestat.

Louis wasn’t sure what to do with that knowledge.

Still, by the time they left, Louis felt like he had succeeded, with his mission.

As they stepped out of the restaurant, the night was cooler but not unpleasant, the streets still alive with movement. Louis pulled his phone from his pocket, thumb hovering over his messages. You still out? Want us to pick you up?

A moment passed before the reply came in.

You offering me a ride, cher? How romantic.

Louis rolled his eyes, but there was warmth in it. That’s a yes or no, Lestat?

Yes, mon cher. We’re at some place near Trafalgar Square. I’ll send the address.

When they arrived, they found Lestat leaning against the side of a building, still laughing at something one of the band members had said. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top, his hair slightly messier than usual, and there was the faintest flush to his cheeks. So tipsy, but not wasted.

“Your chariot awaits,” Louis called, and Lestat turned, lighting up at the sight of them.

He pushed off the wall, saying quick goodbyes before making his way over. Louis wondered if he’d drop everything like that, just to be with them. “All three of you came?” The blonde called; his smile brighter than the sun.

Viktor gave his father a look. “Someone’s got to make sure you get back in one piece.”

Lestat grinned. “Mon fils, my protector.”

Viktor groaned, shoving him in a playful manner towards Louis. “Don’t start. Go bother him.” Lestat shot him a playful glare, but Louis nudged him lightly before taking his hand:” Come on, sunshine. You feel like walking for a bit?”

Lestat tilted his head, considering. “That depends. Where are we going?”

“No idea,” Louis admitted.

Lestat hummed. “A mystery, then.” He gestured ahead. “Lead the way, mon amour.”

Viktor and Claudia ended up walking ahead, talking about something – Claudia trying to convince Viktor she would get better at guitar, Viktor laughing about how she didn’t even own one yet. Louis and Lestat just followed, mostly listening to them. At some point, Louis glanced at Lestat. “You have a good night?”

Lestat hummed. “Not bad. Though I’d rather have spent it with you.”

Louis snorted. “You’re drunk.”

“Only a little.” Lestat bumped their shoulders together, then grinned. “Did you miss me?”

Louis rolled his eyes but didn’t answer. Lestat took that as a yes.

***

Hey M,

We’re in London now. Before that, Milan and Amsterdam. I think I liked Amsterdam the most, but I barely had time to see anything. Everything moves so fast on tour.

I miss the bookstore. I miss slow days and the smell of old paper and tea. I miss you, too, but don’t let that go to your head.

I’ve been spending a lot of time with Lestat’s son, Viktor. He’s annoying but in a tolerable way. I guess he’s kind of my friend now, which is weird to say. I don’t know. Maybe I just like having someone around who’s closer to my age and not my father, or his boyfriend. Well, I don’t think I should say boyfriend. But trust me, they are.

Anyway, tell me what’s going on back home. Anything exciting? Write back soon. (text is fine. I’m only sending a letter because it’s starting to become a habit.)

Claudia

P.S.: I put a couple pictures in the envelope for you. See that? That’s me. Obviously. But I’m talking about the garden in the background. Fancy, right? That’s the house we had in Rome. I think I have to either marry rich or make a lot of money someday, because I want to be able to afford something like that.

What do you say, we save together, and buy it? I think we should.

Chapter Text

Lestat going out with only Claudia had been Louis’ idea. He’d understood his reasons well enough, but it still felt strange, sitting there with her in a quiet café, the air between them filled with something hesitant, something unfamiliar, despite the time they’ve already spent together. The first few minutes, on their way over – not far from the hotel – they’d talked like they always did. Easily, because their life was busy, and there were things that came easily to mind. Not about anything important, but enough to fill the space.

Now, though…

Now, Claudia sat with her fingers curled around a cup of hot chocolate, watching the steam curl up from the surface, while Lestat stirred his coffee, gaze flickering between her and the street outside.

It wasn’t uncomfortable. Not exactly. But there was a weight to it, the kind of silence that sat between people who should know each other better than they did.

She was right, Lestat thought. She’d been right to say that, despite travelling together, despite existing in the same spaces for months, they didn’t really know each other. Not beyond what they’d picked up in passing. Not enough, to cover what he now realized he should know about her, about the daughter of Louis.

And now, sitting here, that realization felt sharper.

What was he supposed to ask her?

He knew what people were meant to ask in situations like this. How’s school? Do you have any friends? What do you like to do?

But where did he start?

From the moment she’d been adopted? Before that? Would she think he was prying?

He was never careful with people. It wasn’t his nature. But with her, there was something in him that hesitated, because something in the way she held herself made him wonder if he was allowed to ask at all. Because Claudia, she seemed to be a lot like him, just as she seemed different. She wasn’t Louis, he knew that, and she was difficult, in what he thought to be comparison to other people her age.

So instead, he stalled.

He tapped his spoon against the rim of his coffee cup, then set it down. He watched a couple walk past the window, talking, laughing. He ran his thumb idly along the side of his mug, feeling the porcelain against his skin.

Then, finally, the girl said something.

„You’re quiet,” Claudia muttered, breaking the silence first.

Lestat blinked, glancing at her. „Am I?”

She smirked slightly. „Painfully.”

Lestat huffed, shaking his head. „Well, forgive me, ma petite, I wasn’t aware I was meant to be entertaining you.”

Claudia sipped her hot chocolate. „I just figured you’d have something to say. You always do.”

Lestat arched a brow. „And yet, you don’t seem to be saying much either.”

Claudia shrugged, tapping her fingers against her cup. „It’s weird.”

He tilted his head. „How so?”

She sighed, setting her cup down. „We’re sitting here because we’re supposed to be bonding. It’s weird, that’s all, because we kinda know each other, but we don’t. Does that make sense?”

„It does.” Lestat smiled at her. „And it can be fixed. Ask me anything.”

Claudia gave him a flat look. „I feel like you should be the one asking me things.”

Lestat leaned back, considering her. „Alright,” he said, tilting his head. „How’s school?” He couldn’t have helped it, and he chuckled at the face she made, when she rolled her eyes at him. „Predictable”, Claudia replied, but he went on again:” Do you have any friends?”

„Why do you sound like an old man trying to understand teenagers?”

Lestat chuckled again, shaking his head. „Because I am an old man trying to understand teenagers.”

Claudia huffed, crossing her arms. „Well, I do have friends. Sort of. Not many, though.”

Lestat nodded, watching her carefully. „Because you don’t like people, or because they don’t like you?”

„Bit of both.” Claudia smirked. „I don’t know a lot of people. When I started school at home, most people had friends already. I mostly hang out with Daddy Lou, or Grace. Or I’m at his store, and there’s Madeleine, and we get along well.”

Lestat grinned, tapping a finger against the table. „Okay. So we survived the painfully obvious questions.” Claudia snorted, shaking her head. The tension seemed to loosen, and the silence that followed felt not too bad. Lestat exhaled, tilting his head again. „What do you actually like? I mean, hobbies or something.”

Claudia frowned. „What?”

He shrugged. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked. He simply thought about what he usually talked to his son about, and maybe, the same could have worked with Claudia. „What interests you? What do you do when you’re not in school or loitering your father’s bookstore?”

„I read.” Claudia shrugged.

„Predictable,” Lestat teased, and he thought about how Louis had given him the same answer in the past, as if it hadn’t been entirely obvious. She gave him a flat look, but he could see her little smile:” I write too.”

That caught his interest. „Do you?”

Claudia shrugged, stirring her hot chocolate. „Yeah. Not much. Just stories. I like making things up. And since Daddy Lou had made me start writing letters, I think I improved a bit, because I’m doing it more often.”

Lestat leaned forward slightly. „And what do you write about?”

She hesitated. „Nothing special.”

Lestat arched a brow. „That’s a lie. Come on, tell me.”

Claudia sighed, but there was no real annoyance behind it, because she started to answer quickly, in that tone people had, when they really liked something. „Mostly history stuff. But not, like, school history. I like imagining how people lived. What their lives were like.” She tapped her cup, thinking. „Like… what a girl my age would’ve been doing a hundred years ago. Or two hundred. Or even just fifty.”

Lestat tilted his head:” What a romantic way of saying you like making things miserable.”

Claudia smirked. „That’s rich, coming from you.”

He laughed. Not because it was funny what she said, but because she had the same attitude her father displayed, that same disregard, talking to him like they thought he was the most annoying thing in this world, in a manner, that could have been offensive, if he didn’t get the feeling they did it only because they liked him and they pretended not to. And how sweet it was, having people accept him in that way, to play down how much he could be, in a way that was as charming as it was offending.

She took another sip, then glanced at him. „What about you? When you’re not prancing around half-naked on stage?”

Lestat gasped, putting a hand to his chest:” Mon Dieu, I do not prance. What a rude thing to say!”

Claudia raised an eyebrow.

Setting his coffee down, he nodded, his lips twitching until he couldn’t help the grin anymore. „Fine. Maybe a little prancing. Every now and then, you see.”

Claudia grinned. „So?”

He considered. He ended up mimicking her obviousness. „I like theatre. I like stories too, you know. But ones with music.”

„Like musicals?”

Lestat made a face. „Only the good ones. And I prefer the opera, because most lack the simplicity of modern pieces. Unless of course, we’re talking about Mamma Mia. Could watch that movie a hundred times and not get sick of it.”

Claudia laughed. „You sound like Daddy Lou.”

Pleased with that, he nodded. „A compliment. He has fine taste.”

The girl hummed, tapping her nails against her cup. She seemed to think for a moment, before she went on:“ So, if you weren’t doing music, what would you be doing?”

Lestat blinked, like he hadn’t considered the question in a long time. And he hadn’t. His life had always been linear, even when messy. He’s always had something to archive, and when it changed, he didn’t look back, because an opportunity he took was better than thinking about the past, seeing he’s missed one. And in all the years, he’s rarely taken the time to dwell on it, and think about what could have been – because if he did, he’d spiral, and he liked to avoid feeling like he’s failed in the past. So, slower, „I don’t know.”

Claudia narrowed her eyes. „That’s a lie too.”

Lestat exhaled, shaking his head. „You might be right with that.” So this time, he thought about it. About the last ten years, and before. „I’d still be acting, I assume. Maybe I’d own a theatre somewhere. Maybe I’d be some poor actor, trying to land films. Or maybe I’d be a kept man living off Louis’ money.”

Claudia laughed. „He doesn’t have enough money for that.”

Lestat smirked. „Tragic. Would have been a fine plan, if you ask me. I could have played the part just fine.” The girl shook her head, sipping her drink. Once she sat the cup down, she probed her chin on her hands:“ Alright. Weirdo question. If you could live in any time period, other than now, when would it be?”

Lestat arched a brow. „Oh, so we are making things miserable.”

„Answer the question.”

„Maybe the 18th century. I’d like the outfits.”

Claudia scoffed. „You would hate it. They’d burn you or something. Did they do that still in that century? And you’re a man, so probably not. Still, don’t think you would have survived it.”

„You’re probably right, little one.”

She tilted her head. „Maybe you’d like the ‘90s.”

Lestat grinned with his teeth. „I thrived in the ‘90s. Should have seen me.”

Claudia snorted. „You’re so old.”

Lestat made some dramatic gesture. „How dare you. Calling me old, ma petite? I’m not even forty, yet. See, my hair is all blonde still.” He ruffled through it, knowing he destroyed the curls his stylist has created that morning for some photos, chuckling at the face Claudia made. „Say that again, when I’m all grey and wrinkly. And thank god, there’s hair dye and Botox!”

She laughed, shaking her head. Lestat took the moment to drink some of his coffee, and then just before the silence could stretch on too long, he tapped his spoon against his cup, and asked:” You like history, you like writing. What else?”

Claudia shrugged. „I don’t know.”

„Come on. You must have some ambition. What do you want?”

Claudia hesitated, looking down at her drink like the answer might be written somewhere in the foam. „I don’t know,” she repeated. „I think I just want… options.”

„Not a bad answer. You’re young. You have time to figure out.”

Claudia traced a finger along the rim of her cup. „Daddy Lou wants me to go to college.”

He nodded shortly. „And do you?”

She exhaled. „I mean, yeah. I think so. But I don’t know for what yet. Nothing seems to be right.”

Lestat nodded, swirling his coffee absentmindedly. „That’s fair. Most people don’t know at first.”

„You didn’t go, did you?”

Lestat scoffed. „Absolutely not.” He smiled, but he thought about how sweet life had to be, because she had the option, and she could and should take it, even if just to try it for a while. One of the many reasons, he wanted his own son to go. He wanted him to do something, before he settled, and it was too late, and he ended where Lestat had ended. Lestat, who didn’t even finish school, yet ever really started it, because his life hadn’t given him that opportunity, or even the chance to take. He thought back about that brief period of time in his childhood, when he’d actually gotten some sort of education, and how fast it had been over again. And how difficult it has made his youth, and how long it had taken to erase that mistake.

Unaware of all this, Claudia huffed a small laugh, shaking her head. „Yeah, that checks out.”

Lestat made himself smile brightly, then leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand as well, mirroring her. „Well. If not writing, then what? Have you ever thought about doing something else? Something more outrageous?”

Claudia raised an eyebrow:” Like what?”

Lestat’s lips curled. „I don’t know. Running away to join the circus? Becoming an art thief? Starting a cult?”

„You’d start a cult.”

He laughed. „True. But I think you’d make an excellent criminal mastermind.”

Claudia snorted. „I’ll keep that in mind in case everything else fails.”

Lestat sat back, stretching. Somewhere between talking, they’ve finished their drinks. „So, what now? Do you want to do something else? Or should we text your father to see what he’s up to?”

Claudia sighed dramatically. „If we must. But you text him.”

Lestat smiled, already pulling out his phone. The bonding went well. Any ideas for where to take her next, or shall we simply abandon you and run away to live our best lives? I’m very close to setting up her career as a vagabond.

Louis took his time responding. Lestat could imagine the flat, unimpressed expression he was making as he read the message. I should have known better than to let you go on your own with her. The next part took a moment. Then: I don’t know. You’re the one taking her out. Figure it out.

Lestat rolled his eyes, showing the message to Claudia. „See? This is what I deal with.”

Claudia smirked. „He’s right, though.”

Lestat scoffed. „Traîtresse.”

Claudia shrugged, finishing off the last of her hot chocolate. „Maybe we should just go back and force him to entertain us.”

Lestat considered. „Tempting.”

He flicked back to his phone, typing: Fine. We’re coming to bother you. You must miss us. Unless of course, you’re still busy doing your research. In case you’ll soon stumble upon my nudes online, be warned, they’re bad. Not really much to see there.

Louis seemed to ignore that last bit, and only answered to the first. Great. See you.

„Alright, ma petite. Let’s go ruin his peace.”

Claudia grabbed her coat. „Finally, a good idea.”

Lestat and Claudia stepped back into the hotel not much later, taking the elevator up to the suite. Lestat had expected to find Louis alone, maybe reading or half-heartedly working on something he didn’t need to be doing. The kind of things he did, when he was sitting there, usually waiting for Lestat to finish whatever he was doing. Mostly getting ready for one thing or another, that was. But instead, to his surprise, Louis and Viktor were sitting across from each other at the small table in the hotel room, a deck of cards spread between them.

His son looked rather frustrated; his brow furrowed in deep concentration, biting his lips. Louis, on the other hand, was completely at ease, one hand resting against his chin as he studied his cards. Usually, he won, and Lestat, being a terrible loser himself, completely understood his son’s irritation at losing against that man for probably the fifth time in a row.

„Merde,” Viktor muttered under his breath, narrowing his eyes at the table. „Mes cartes sont pourries.”

The two of them didn’t acknowledge that they’ve entered the room.

Louis looked up to smirk at the young man, his eyes betraying how happy he was with his own hand of cards. „You gonna play, or just sit there cursing? I’ve been waiting for ages. Come on, play a card.”

Viktor let out a dramatic sigh, throwing down his next card with a bit too much force. „Je déteste ce jeu.”

Louis arched a brow. „I think you just hate losing.”

Viktor groaned, leaning back in his chair. He grabbed some of his hair, cursing under his breath. He looked, like he’s just failed at something more important than just some game between him and Louis. „C'est pas possible! J’ai vraiment la poisse, putain!”

Louis, unbothered, picked up a card and played his move, still smirking happily. „T’as vraiment la poisse? That’s how you say it?”

Viktor snorted. „Non, c’est pas ça. You sound like a textbook.”

Louis rolled his eyes, chuckling:“ Merde.”

Viktor pointed at him. „That you said correctly.”

„Yeah. You’ve been saying it a couple hundred times these past twenty minutes. And it’s basic vocabulary of your father.”

From the doorway, Lestat decided to call over. „Are you trying to improve your French for me, mon amour? How sweet.”

Louis didn’t even look up. „Nope.” He was studying his cards, drew one from the deck, disregarded another. Lestat had no idea what exactly the game they’re playing was supposed to be, but he could tell that Viktor had a few too little on his hand, and whatever he did next, would result in him losing completely.

Sighing, Lestat, walking further inside, shedding his coat. Claudia had already sat down on the bed, reading something on her phone. „Quelle déception.”

Viktor leaned toward Louis. „It means he’s dramatic.”

Louis hummed, playing another card. „I understand him just fine, Viktor.”

Lestat scoffed, settling onto the couch. „Un homme passionné.”

Louis gave him a dry look. „Yes. Dramatic.” Viktor snickered, in the background, finally dropping the rest of his cards. He’s given up completely now, and Louis didn’t bother laying down the rest of his, and instead shuffled the deck together again.

Claudia, arms crossed, exhaled loudly. „Okay, can we talk in a language I actually understand now?”

Viktor grinned, leaning back in his chair. „We were just discussing how much of a pain in the ass my father is.”

Claudia smirked. „I didn’t need that translated.”

Lestat frowned at them. „Traitors, all of you. Is this the thanks I get?”

„Thanks for what, Papa?” Viktor stretched, then stood, shoving his hands into his pockets. „Come on,” he said, glancing at Claudia. „You wanna go downstairs, grab some snacks, maybe watch something? I need to recover from this.”

„From losing?”, Louis threw in, laughing a second after Lestat began. Claudia blinked at Viktor:“ A movie?”

Viktor smirked. „Or something stupid. Whatever’s on.”

She considered for half a second before shrugging. „Yeah, alright.” The girl followed him to the door, and just like that, Louis and Lestat were left alone in their room, eyes following as the door shut close. Lestat, now stretched out on the couch, watching as Louis still shuffled the deck of cards Viktor had abandoned. His fingers moved slowly, aimlessly, like he was only half paying attention to what he was doing.

„So,” Louis said, glancing at him, „how did it go?”

„With Claudia?”

Louis nodded. The blonde smirked slightly, stretching his arms over his head before relaxing back against the cushions. He hadn’t yet taken off his shoes, but now he kicked them off, watching as they landed a metre from him. „Surprisingly tolerable. I think she had fun.”

Louis huffed a quiet laugh. „That’s it?”

„She didn’t try to kill me,” Lestat said, shrugging. „She made fun of me, of course. Said I prance on stage. Can you imagine?”

„Hate to break it to you, but you do prance.”

„I command the stage, mon cher. That’s far from pran-cing.”

Louis rolled his eyes, finally placing the deck down. „Sure thing, sunshine.”

Lestat grinned but didn’t push it. He tilted his head, musing. „She’s interesting. But of course, I knew that already” he said. „Sharp girl. Doesn’t waste words, unless she’s really into something. She’s passionate about the right things.” He smirked slightly. „She reminds me of me.”

Louis smiled. „Should I be concerned?”

„Only if she starts winning at cards,” Lestat said, sighing dramatically. „Apparently, you’re terrifying to play against.”

Louis smirked:” Your son’s just mad he lost.”

Lestat huffed, shifting where he sat. For a moment, he seemed content to stay there, sprawled across the couch, but then he moved.

With the kind of smooth, unhurried confidence that always got him exactly what he wanted, Lestat got up and crawled into Louis’ lap, straddling him with a small smile. His hands slid up Louis’ shoulders, fingers curling slightly in his shirt as he leaned in. Louis exhaled, and muttered:” You’re in a good mood.”

The blonde’s lips brushing over Louis’ jaw. „Oui.”

Louis hummed, his hands settling at Lestat’s waist before trailing lower, fingers curling around his ass, pressing him closer. „And the photoshoot?” he murmured, his voice lower now. „We haven’t talked about that yet.”

Lestat let out a dramatic sigh, pressing a kiss to Louis’ cheek. „I suffered.”

„Right. The eternal suffering of Lestat de Lioncourt.”

Lestat nipped at his jaw. „It was a tragedy, truly. Forced to look devastatingly attractive for hours. Dreadful.”

Louis’ grip tightened slightly, fingers pressing into the curve of Lestat’s hips. „Mm.” Humming too, Lestat dragged his lips down, pressing slow, deliberate kisses against the side of Louis’ neck. He inhaled:“ You have a lot of energy for someone who ‘suffered’ all morning.”

Lestat grinned against his skin. „I recover quickly.”

Louis’ hands roamed lower. „Clearly.” Lestat chuckled, nipping at his pulse. His breath was warm, teasing, curling against Louis’ skin in a way that made it clear exactly where this was going. Smiling, Louis tilted his head, giving him more space. „Go on, then. Show me.”

Lestat didn’t need to be told twice.

***

The rehearsal space was cramped, alive with the buzz of too many voices and not enough room to move. Cables sprawled across the floor, coffee cups stacked haphazardly on amps, and the air was thick with the mingling scents of – what was it, Louis thought – leather and cigarette smoke, trailing behind Tough Cookie like some sort of personal perfume she carried around. Louis sat off to the side, out of the way but still watching the group, listening to their bickering, and counting the amount of coffee that’s been drowned in the last hour.

He didn’t have anything to do, but sitting here, eyes on Lestat and mind on him too, has turned out to be better than the alternative. Now, the blonde rockstar stood in the centre of it all, sleeves pushed up, pacing slightly as he gestured toward the others, his frustration thinly veiled but not yet sharp enough to be cruel. Louis smiled at the way his hair curled, half of it around his shoulders, the rest pinned up with a big bow.

„Look, it’s too much,” Lestat said, exasperated, playing with the sleeves of his blouse. „We don’t need that extra backing vocal in the chorus. I’m not saying it’s bad, Cookie, you know I like the bits you sing, and I know I’m the one who wanted it in the first place, but we need to take it out. Someone said they couldn’t hear anything last time we did it like that, and-“

Tough Cookie, seated behind her drum kit, rolled her eyes, and ‘accidentally’ made some loud noise with it to interrupt him. „Oh, we don’t need it? Because you say so? Look, this sounds much better than before-“

Lestat scoffed. „I know what I’m talking about. It does sound better on tape. But live, with the playback-“

Larry, sitting on one of the amps, strummed a lazy chord on some nearby guitar. „Do you know better? Unlike you, some of us have some proper musical education.“ Lestat turned to him, eyes narrowing:” Can you do it better? Go ahead. I play the instruments, and you sing live.“

Larry grinned. „Not particularly. But I have ears.”

Alex, who had been silent so far, sighed:” We’ve been arguing about this for twenty minutes. Someone just make a call. I have places to be, and we’re not even finished with the first act.“

Lestat groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. „We’d be done by now if you all just listened to me.“

„Right, because that always works out.“ Cookie snorted. “You do know we’re a group, right? Let us have some say too, you French egomaniac.” Louis looked up, and while Cookie sounded annoyed, she also smiled, and while he wasn’t sure for a second if she actually meant that, he watched Lestat role his eyes at her, a small smile on his lips, at least, before the blonde turned sharply toward her, looking ready to retort, but then-

All at once, every pair of eyes in the room flicked toward Louis.

Louis, who had been very content to sit quietly and not get involved in whatever chaos this was. He raised a brow. „What?“

Cookie smirked. „You’ve been watching this whole time.“

„I have.“

Larry grinned:” So?“

Louis glanced between them. „So what?“

Alex, now leaning against the wall, smirked. „So you settle it.“

Louis huffed. „ I have no idea what you’re talking about. This has nothing to do with me.”

Lestat, who had up until this point been gesturing wildly in the middle of the room, crossed his arms. „It does now,“ he said. „I order you to give your opinion.“

“Order me?“

Lestat smirked. „Yes. Now, go on.“ Louis exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. He glanced between them, considering. „Fine,“ he muttered. „The backing vocal is a bit much. The melody’s already strong. It just distracts. I mean, you should put it in, but later. At the end of it.“

Lestat’s smirk widened. „Thank you.“

Cookie groaned. „You’re so fucking annoying. And of course he takes your side, after all you’re fucking him, Lestat.“

Larry shrugged. „I mean, he’s got a point. It would fix our issue.”

Alex nodded. „Okay nice, one thing settled. Can we please go on now?“ Sighing, Cookie tossed a drumstick into the air before catching it again:” Fine. Whatever.“

Lestat beamed, triumphant. „See? Louis should make all the decisions.“

“You really don’t want that. I have no idea what I’m talking about.“ Lestat only chuckled at him, moving toward him, pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head:” Maybe not. But you do look good when you tell people what to do.“

„Go back to work, Lestat.“

Lestat grinned, turning back toward the band. „Alright! Now, let’s finally get this right.“

And just like that, the chaos continued. But at least now, they had a decision. At least, for one song, in one act. There were like, twelve, and Louis couldn’t tell by the end of it, why the four of them kept doing that nearly every week, as if they couldn’t just stick to what they’ve originally settled on.

Eventually, after the last run-through with the band, Lestat and Louis made their way back to the hotel to change, and for a quick check-in with Claudia and Viktor before heading out for a proper dinner. Just the two of them, for once. It’s been some time, after all.

Claudia barely looked up from the couch, where she was curled up with Lestat’s iPad, while Viktor sat sprawled in an armchair, flipping through TV channels with the kind of idle boredom that suggested he could be doing something else but simply didn’t feel like it. Not for the last time did Louis think about that at least, he and Lestat must have done something right with them, because the two were using their room as some communal living room whenever they weren’t around. „We’re going out,” Lestat announced, shrugging on his coat. “Vik, there’s money on the nightstand, if you two want to order something.”

Viktor smirked. „Romantic.”

„Finally, someone gets it.”

Claudia shot them a dry look:” Try not to embarrass yourselves.”

Lestat gasped. „Embarrass? Us?” Louis sighed, already steering the blonde toward the door:” We’ll be back later.” Then, as the door clicked shut behind them, Lestat smiled, putting an arm around Louis’ waist. „Do you realize how rare this is?”

„What?”

Lestat spread his arms dramatically. „A proper date.”

“We’re past that part, aren’t we?” Louis laughed.

„Are we? Because mon cher, I don’t recall us ever settling anything here. You and me…”

Louis’ jaw tightened slightly. Right. Another thing to address, in the near future, when he felt like thinking about it again. Unless of course, Lestat would take that decision from him. Lestat had a small smile playing around his lips, watching him closely:” See? Even you don’t know how to answer that.”

Louis exhaled, glancing away. „Let’s just get dinner, Lestat.”

Lestat kissed his cheek, and took his hand, pulling him toward the elevator.

It was a little later that night; the knock on Viktor’s door unexpected, after the young man has said goodnight to everyone, and retreated to his room half an hour ago. Outside, Lestat didn’t wait for an answer, the lack of a ‘go away’ good enough for him, before pushing it open. He wasn’t one for waiting, especially when it came to his own son, and he smiled, when he saw him sitting on the bed, legs stretched out in front of him, flipping through something on his phone. He barely looked up when Lestat entered, which wasn’t too unusual.

Lestat clicked his tongue, glancing around the room. „Merde, you keep this place like a monk.”

Viktor smirked slightly but didn’t respond.

Lestat stepped further inside, hands in his pockets. „What are you doing?”

„Existing,” Viktor said. “It’s late.”

Lestat hummed, tilting his head. „Mind if I join you?”

Viktor raised a brow, laughing. „You want to ‘exist’ with me? Go ahead then, father.” He gestured towards the empty space next to him. Lestat closed the door behind himself, then sat down at the edge of the bed, tapping his fingers against his knee. „You know, I was thinking-”

„Oh, God,” Viktor deadpanned.

Lestat huffed. „So rude. I was thinking that I haven’t met this girl you’ve been talking to yet. And I thought-”

That made Viktor pause, his grip tightening on his phone. „What?”

Lestat smirked. „Rose, wasn’t it?”

„Jesus Christ.” Viktor groaned, tilting his head back. “Tell me you didn’t decide to come into my room late at night, just to annoy me with that. Didn’t you and Louis just get back? Mon Dieu, don’t you have anything better to do? I’m not sixty, don’t worry, you won’t die without your son bringing home a partner.”

„Don’t invoke the Lord’s name in vain, mon fils,” Lestat teased. “I just wanted to talk. That not okay? Unless you tell me on your own, I just have to dig. Now, tell me, are you still talking? What’s she like?”

Viktor hesitated, then sighed. „She’s cool.”

Lestat arched a brow. „Such a detailed answer.”

Viktor rolled his eyes but didn’t seem as irritated as he pretended to be. „She’s smart. Funny.” He smirked slightly. „Thinks I’m annoying, but tolerates me. I mean, we didn’t actually spend much time together. We’re just texting. But she likes me, and I like her. Obviously.”

Lestat nodded. „Ah. A perfect match, then.”

Viktor threw a pillow at him. Lestat caught it easily, laughing:” I assume you haven’t introduced her yet to me because you’re afraid I’ll embarrass you? You could book her a flight. Have her be here with you, if she’d like.”

„Obviously.” Viktor gave him a flat look. “You know, not everyone likes that. You telling people to just hop into an airplane and go somewhere.”

Lestat scoffed. „I’ll have you know I’m extremely charming.”

„That’s the problem,” Viktor muttered. Lestat tossed the pillow back onto the bed. „Well, whenever you decide to introduce me, I promise to be on my best behaviour.”

Viktor arched a brow. „That means nothing coming from you.”

Lestat chuckled. Then, after a pause, „I’m glad you seem have someone. Even if it’s still… fresh.”

Viktor glanced at him, something flickering in his expression. „Yeah?”

Lestat nodded. „It’s good. To have people.”

The words felt heavier than they should have. Viktor didn’t call attention to it, but he didn’t look away either. For a moment, it was quiet. Not an awkward silence, not one filled with unsaid things… simply just a quiet that wasn’t uncomfortable.

Then Viktor scoffed, shaking his head. „This is weird. Are you dying?”

Lestat barked out a laugh. „Non, not yet.”

„Good.” Viktor smirked, leaning back against the headboard. „Because that’d be embarrassing. Dying right before the tour ends? You’d never live it down. I’d never live it down. I’m already cursed to forever be stuck in your shadow.”

At his son’s words, Lestat frowned. He shook his head:” That’s not true. And you know it. You’re creative, and you have your whole life to figure something out. You know, this isn’t about… well. This.”

The young man sighed. “Yeah. I know Papa.”

Lestat hummed, standing up. He wanted to say something else, but he figured, he’d just drop it. „Fine, I’ll leave you in peace.”

„Appreciate it,” Viktor muttered, already half-distracted by his phone again. “You know, if you want to talk you can do it during the day, when I’m not in bed.”

Lestat walked to the door but hesitated before opening it. He glanced back, something unspoken again on his tongue, but then he just nodded to himself. „Sleep well, mon fils.”

Viktor didn’t look up, but his voice was softer when he answered. „Yeah. You too.”

Lestat stepped out, shutting the door behind him.

***

The hotel room was dark, the only light coming from the faint glow of the city outside, seeping in through the curtains. The night had settled quietly into morning, heavy now, the warmth of sleep thick between the sheets, the sound of breathing echoing through the otherwise silent room. Louis barely registered the first ring of his phone, turning to the side, smiling at the familiar weight of Lestat next to him, one arm moving to pull him closer even in sleep.

The second one stirred him, a faint sound breaking through the fog of sleep, but he didn’t move again.

It wasn’t until Lestat groaned beside him, shifting to reach over him and grab at the buzzing device on the nightstand, that Louis finally blinked awake.

„Qui diable-" Lestat muttered, his voice rough with sleep as he squinted at the screen. "Mon amour, pourquoi quelqu’un t’appelle à une heure pareille?” Louis exhaled, dragging a hand over his face:” Hm… What?”

Lestat, still blinking against the light of the phone screen, frowned. „It’s a New Orleans number.”

That woke Louis up fully. Before he could reach for the phone, Lestat – apparently deciding to handle this himself – answered. „Hello?” Louis pushed up onto one elbow, watching as Lestat sat up slightly, his frown deepening. „Quoi?” Lestat said, voice sharper now. „Slow down.”

Louis didn’t wait. He reached out and plucked the phone from Lestat’s hand, bringing it to his own ear. „This is Louis.”

The voice was tight on the other end. Hurried. It took Louis longer than he wanted to register, that this was his sister, calling her from his own store. At the realization, Louis sat up fully. „What?” Louis was already out of bed as he listened, rubbing a hand down his face as the weight of it settled in his chest. „Did you call the police?”

„Yes. They’re here now, but I thought you should know. I can handle this, Louis, if you just tell me-” Louis exhaled, steadying himself:” I’ll handle it, Grace, as soon as I’m there.”

Lestat was watching him now, fully awake, brow furrowed. „What happened?”

Louis lowered the phone, running a hand over his jaw. „The store. It was closed too long, someone decided to break in. Nothing’s missing – it’s all in the safe, and they didn’t get that open, but the windows are smashed and…” A beat. “Fuck. I have to go back home. I can’t let my sister handle this for me.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, phone still in his hand, staring at the floor like the weight of it had just settled in his chest. The store wasn’t just a business. It was home. It was years of work, of carefully curated shelves, of something that belonged to him in a way few things ever had. And now, some stranger had smashed their way inside like it was nothing. Like all of it – his work, his history – was just glass to be broken.

His fingers curled around the phone. He needed to be there. To see it himself. To fix it.

Lestat was watching him, still half-sitting in bed, his expression unreadable. "Louis-"

Louis shook his head, already moving, already pulling open drawers, reaching for his suitcase. Packing first? Getting dressed first? Waking up Claudia? His mind was already spiralling ahead of him, trying to arrange the next twelve hours into something manageable.

Lestat sat up properly, eyes still adjusting to the dim light, his expression tightening. „There’s no other way to handle it?”

Louis shot him a look. „What do you mean?”

Lestat shifted, rubbing his temple. „I mean, can’t it be dealt with from here? I can-”

„No.” The word came too sharp, cutting through whatever Lestat had been about to say. Louis didn’t regret it. And he knew it was his frustration speaking, and the uncertainty of what would happen next, but this, it was what he couldn’t stand about Lestat sometimes. When he wanted to control something, that wasn’t his to control, even when the intention was good – because it felt like he made it about him, and about not letting anything change, and while Louis would do everything too to stay where he was right now, he didn’t feel like he had much of a choice.

And Lestat too would have to simply accept it.

“Louis-”

Louis turned away, already moving, already getting out of bed, pulling open drawers, reaching for his suitcase, despite not knowing where to start. Packing first? Getting dressed first? Waking up Claudia, despite the hour, telling her what’s been going on at home, and that they have to leave all of this, this great new thing in their life, behind, for however long? „I need to be there, Lestat. It’s my store.”

Lestat’s jaw tensed. „I didn’t say it wasn’t.”

Louis’ hands curled into fists against the dresser. „Then stop acting like I don’t have to go.”

Lestat’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t lash out. Not fully. He just exhaled sharply through his nose and looked away, his fingers drumming against the sheets like they were itching for something to hold onto. "You don’t even know the full damage yet. You don’t know if you need to go."

Louis turned; eyes sharp. "And what? Wait around for someone else to tell me how bad it is?"

Lestat’s lips parted like he had more to say, something sharp and selfish, but he stopped himself. He swallowed it down, let his head tip back against the headboard. "Fine," he muttered. "I’ll book the flights."

But there was something clipped about the way he said it. Something bitter. And Louis knew, even before he turned away, that this wasn’t over.

Silence.

Lestat exhaled, tipping his head back against the headboard, his fingers tapping against his thigh before he sighed. „I’ll book the flights.” Okay. That really was happening. And Louis, he wished he could do something else, but right now, he couldn’t think of anything. So he just nodded, and with his back still to Lestat, said:” I’ll wake Claudia.”

He heard Lestat move, the rustle of fabric as he reached for his phone.

It was clear how sudden this was. How it broke through the careful rhythm they had found, how it pulled them back into something real – away from the dreamlike haze of the tour, from the strange, suspended time they had been living in.

And worse – to the fact that Lestat had to stay, wouldn’t follow them, because schedule was too tight for a quick dip across the globe, even when it sometimes seemed like the rockstar had all the time in the world.

Louis didn’t let himself dwell on it and got dressed.

Ten minutes later, he knocked lightly on Claudia’s door before pushing it open. She was sleeping, and his heart clenched having to wake her, tell her she had to pack her things and be ready for a flight home. A little while later, she was sitting cross-legged on the bed, hoodie pulled up over her head, her suitcase half-packed beside her. She wasn’t in a hurry. If anything, she looked like she was dragging her feet about it, taking her time to slow down what would have been a swift and painful exit otherwise.

Claudia didn’t answer right away. She just sat there, still half-tangled in sleep, staring at him like she was waiting for him to say it was a joke. Like this wasn’t real. Then she blinked hard and pulled her hoodie tighter around herself.

"That’s it, then?" she muttered. "Just like that, we’re leaving?"

Louis exhaled, rubbing his face. "Yeah. Just like that."

Claudia let out a small, humourless laugh. "Jesus. No warning. Just – bam, your life changes overnight."

Louis looked at her, something heavy settling between them. "Yeah," he said quietly. "That’s how it happens sometimes."

She didn’t answer, just nodded stiffly and reached for her suitcase.

„How bad is it?” She’s asked that before.

Louis leaned against the doorframe, not having a different answer than the last time she asked. „I don’t know yet. Grace didn’t say much, but she said police was already there, and she’s handling everything until we arrive.”

Claudia fiddled with the sleeve of her hoodie. „They break anything important?”

Louis exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. „Probably. But it’ll be okay. Thinks like this happen.”

She nodded, like she’d expected that.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint shuffle of her packing. Then, without looking at him, she asked, „Do we have to go?”

Louis frowned. „Claudia.”

„I know,” she muttered. „I know, I know. The store’s your thing. I just…” She trailed off, shaking her head. He got it. He felt the same. It would have been one thing, having a couple of days to prepare for a flight home, after such a while… but having only half a morning to? He felt like he was still trapped inside some bad dream. He wished he were. Things felt final right now.

He sat down at the edge of the bed, watching her carefully. „You don’t want to leave?”

Claudia hesitated. „I don’t know.” She pulled at a loose thread on her sleeve. „I miss home. I miss Grace, and Madeleine, and… I don’t know. Normal stuff. But this was good, too. And it’s not over yet. And this has started to feel like a life, and it’s not like we’re just joining anymore, you know? Feels like we’re part of it.”

Louis nodded, understanding. Claudia exhaled, resting her chin on her knees. „It’s just-everything’s been a certain way for weeks, and now suddenly it’s not.”

Louis reached out, nudging her knee gently. „That’s how it goes.”

Claudia huffed. „Yeah, I hate that.”

„You’re not alone in that.” He said. Then shrugged. “We can come back, and if not, they’ll come back to us in a few weeks, when this is over. They have a house back at home, and I’m sure they’ll…” He trailed off. There was no certainty in it, he thought. They could go anywhere, really. For a man like Lestat, a house had to mean nothing. Just a place, one of many he could choose.

The girl was quiet for a moment, then glanced at her father. „You think they’re gonna be okay?”

Louis’ fingers curled slightly where they rested on his lap. „Yeah.”

Claudia didn’t look convinced.

„They’ve been on tour without us before.”

„Yeah, but…” She frowned. „That was before.”

Louis exhaled slowly. She wasn’t wrong. Claudia played with the hem of her hoodie, then muttered, „They should just come with us.” He glanced at his daughter, but she was still staring at her hands, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to say that out loud. And so, he didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached over, brushing a hand over her hair. „Come on,” he said. „Finish packing.”

Claudia sighed but nodded, shoving a pair of socks into her bag.

Louis watched her for a second longer before standing. As he left the room, the weight of what she’d said settled somewhere deep in his chest. Because she was right. And that little, beating thing in his chest told him, that Lestat should just come with them, because that would have felt right. He would have been less uncertain, if he knew, he’d soon sit in that plane next to his blonde idiot of a rockstar, and he’d have him there, when he had to fix the mess at home.

Now, the tour was over.

At least, for them.

Back in their room, Lestat hadn’t gone back to sleep.

After booking the flights, after watching Louis move through the hotel room with sharp, efficient movements – packing, making calls, handling everything like he wasn’t unravelling – Lestat had stretched out on the bed, shut his eyes, and waited.

But his body wouldn’t settle. His mind kept turning over itself, like a dog chasing its own tail.

So, he gave up.

Now, he was standing by the open hotel window, a cigarette burning between his fingers, the city still dark outside. He didn’t care about the ash falling to the floor, and the mess he was making, and the mess he’d have to clean up as to not insult the cleaning staff. London at this hour was quiet, but not entirely still – cars moving along wet streets, streetlights buzzing dimly, a few people drifting in and out of shadow.

It felt distant. Removed.

Lestat exhaled, watching the smoke curl in front of him.

It shouldn’t feel like this.

Louis wasn’t leaving him. He was just going back to New Orleans. Handling something important. He would come back. That was the plan. That was what made sense. Louis wouldn’t forget this, and he wouldn’t return to the state of mind he used to be in. And soon enough, things wouldn’t feel like this anymore.

So why did this feel like something breaking?

Lestat tapped ash into a glass, jaw tight. He knew he struggled with abandonment. Irrational, even. He knew he took the slightest change as offense, knew he twisted things to be something they weren’t, just to justify the emptiness within him. He tried not thinking about it as that. As Louis leaving him. Because he wasn’t.

He’d known the tour wouldn’t last forever.

That eventually, Louis would stop following him from city to city, that Claudia would get tired of bouncing between hotels, that things would settle somewhere else. He’d known it, but he hadn’t thought about it. Hadn’t wanted to.

He rubbed his fingers over his lips, restless.

This wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

Not suddenly. Not with them waking up at such an hour, with bad news, forcing an end to whatever this was. He could feel something shifting under his feet, like the ground was no longer solid. He glanced over his shoulder.

Louis was in their room again, pacing while he spoke into his phone, voice low and steady, but his shoulders were tense. His bag was already packed. He wasn’t hesitating. Lestat turned back to the window, inhaling another drag.

He should just go back to bed. Lay down, close his eyes, let the hours slip away until it was time to drive them to the airport.

But he wouldn’t.

He was wide awake now.

And he didn’t like what that meant.

Still that morning, Louis found himself in the passenger seat next to Lestat, the city a little brighter than when they’ve woken, as they drove toward the airport. Claudia sat in the back, curled against the window, her hoodie pulled up, eyes flickering between wakefulness and exhaustion. She wasn’t saying much. None of them were.

The car was too quiet.

Lestat’s fingers tapped against the wheel; the only sound other than the soft hum of the engine. His gaze stayed forward, sharp and unreadable, but Louis could feel the tension rolling off him, the tightness in his jaw, the way his grip on the wheel kept shifting like he needed something to do with his hands.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. A repetitive thought, that was.

Not in some rushed, early-morning drive, not in the heavy silence of things left unsaid. Louis exhaled, staring out the window as London blurred past.

Claudia shifted in the back, stretching her legs out slightly. „Feels weird.”

Lestat’s knuckles tightened slightly against the wheel. „It is weird.”

Louis didn’t disagree.

There had been no proper ending to any of this – no natural conclusion, no slow descent into goodbye. Just an abrupt stop. Like the film reel had been cut mid-scene, and now they were hurtling toward something they hadn’t planned for.

Lestat cleared his throat. „You two have everything?”

Louis nodded. „Yeah.”

Claudia mumbled something in confirmation, not looking up.

Lestat inhaled through his nose. „Right.”

Silence.

Louis glanced at him, at the way his fingers flexed against the wheel before tightening again. This wasn’t a conversation they could fix now. It wasn’t something they could settle before the plane took off. So they sat in it.

The city lights faded behind them, the road stretching forward, pulling them toward the inevitable.

The airport was as airports always were – too bright, too sterile, full of movement but devoid of anything that felt real. Louis stood with his hands in his pockets, his suitcase at his side. His daughter shifted beside him, adjusting the strap of her bag, her tired eyes flicking between Lestat and the security checkpoint ahead.

They had gone through the motions – checking in, handing over their bags, standing in the inevitable lull that came before the part where they left.

Lestat was still there, standing in front of them, his coat draped over one arm, his expression carefully unreadable.

For the first time since the night before, Louis wasn’t sure what to say.

Claudia broke the silence first. She stepped forward, crossing her arms. „Guess this is it.” At the girl’s words, Lestat smirked slightly, tilting his head:” For now, ma petite.”

She narrowed her eyes. „You better not disappear.”

Lestat chuckled, shaking his head. „As if I could.”

Claudia hesitated for half a second, then stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. Lestat blinked, clearly surprised, but he recovered quickly, squeezing her once. „Take care of Vik,” she muttered against his shoulder.

Lestat exhaled, softer now:” Of course. And you of your father.” She pulled back, giving him a look that said she’d hold him to that, before stepping back to Louis’ side. Lestat turned his gaze to Louis then, something flickering behind his expression.

Louis nodded at him. „Take care of yourself.”

Lestat huffed a quiet laugh:” Always, mon cher.”

And then, with nothing else to say, Louis and Claudia turned and headed for the security line.

It wasn’t until they were through – until they had passed the final checkpoint, until the reality of it settled – that Louis realized.

They hadn’t kissed goodbye.

Hadn’t even touched.

Had just… left.

Claudia glanced at him, catching the look on his face. „What?”

Louis exhaled, shaking his head. „Nothing.”

But the feeling sat with him, heavy and lingering, long after they boarded the plane.

At the same time, Lestat walked through the airport in a daze, the polished floors gleaming under artificial light, the sound of distant voices blending into nothing. His steps felt too steady for how everything had just unravelled. By the time he reached his car, the early morning chill had settled into his bones. He slid into the driver’s seat, shutting the door with more force than necessary before exhaling, running a hand through his hair.

His fingers were already reaching for his cigarettes before he had fully processed the movement. The familiar weight of the pack in his palm, the soft crinkle of the paper as he pulled one out, the flick of his lighter – all of it was muscle memory.

He took a slow drag, letting the smoke curl through his lungs, grounding him, filling the inside of the car. He’d have to get it cleaned, before he returned it. Should have just smoked outside, but he thought if he didn’t sit down, he’d have done something he shouldn’t have. What that was, he didn’t really know.

Then his phone rang.

Lestat exhaled sharply through his nose, checking the screen. He answered, bringing the phone to his ear. „Oui?”

Viktor’s voice was groggy, still thick with sleep. „Where are you? Thought we were getting breakfast.”

Lestat hesitated for half a second, running his tongue over his teeth before flicking ash out of the window. „They’re gone.”

A pause. Viktor was more awake now, when he answered:” What?”

Lestat inhaled another drag, tipping his head back against the seat. „Louis and Claudia. They left. The store got broken into. He had to go.”

Another pause, longer this time.

Then, Viktor sighed. „You alright?”

Lestat let out a sharp, breathy laugh, shaking his head. „Of course, mon fils. Why wouldn’t I be? It’s not the end of the world.”

Viktor hummed, unconvinced. „You coming back, then?”

Lestat tapped his fingers once again against the wheel. He was tired. Bone-tired. The kind that had nothing to do with sleep.

It wasn’t like Louis was gone forever. It wasn’t like he’d walked out of his life.

But the absence already felt like something gnawing at the edges of him.

"Yeah," he muttered finally, starting the car. "I’m coming back."

But it didn’t feel like he was going back to anything. Lestat exhaled, flicking the cigarette out into the damp morning air before starting the car.

By the time he pulled into the hotel parking lot, Viktor was already waiting for him in the lobby, arms crossed, leaning against the front desk. His expression wasn’t pitying, not exactly, but it wasn’t far from it, either. Lestat stepped inside, rubbing the back of his neck. „You didn’t have to wait.”

Viktor shrugged. „Didn’t feel like sitting around.”

Lestat nodded, swallowing down whatever bitter thing was creeping up his throat.

„Still want breakfast?” Viktor asked.

Lestat hesitated. Then, finally he sighed, rolling his shoulders. „Yeah.”

Viktor put a hand on the back. „Then let’s go eat, Papa.”

Chapter Text

The bell above the door chimed, a sound as familiar as it was foreign.

Louis, seated behind the counter, looked up at the entrance, his gaze flickering briefly over the once-shattered windows – now replaced with pristine glass. Untouched. Spotless. The winter light streamed through, thin and pale, carrying no warmth. Just a quiet, creeping chill, the kind that settled into the bones and stayed there.

In that moment, it properly hit him how long he had been gone.

Far away in Europe with Lestat, he had watched summer bleed into fall, then into winter. But it hadn’t felt like this. The cold had been different there – lively, brimming with movement, dulled by Lestat’s presence. Here, it was sharper. Lonelier. And the past week had dragged by, agonizingly slow. A blur of endless phone calls, paperwork, insurance headaches. Arranging for repairs, settling Claudia back into school, reopening the store, calling Madeleine to tell her they were back. A return to normalcy – except nothing about it felt normal anymore.

And then, of course, there had been Lestat.

Or rather, the space he had left behind.

Louis hadn’t called him – not at first. But then he had checked his bank account. And there, sitting bold and unapologetic, was a deposit so obscene that he had nearly dropped his phone. Lestat. Always extravagant, always excessive. The money had been sent weeks ago, back when they first left for tour, and originally, Lestat must have done it to cover the cost for how long he’s had to close his store for him.

That evening, Louis had finally picked up the phone.

He hadn’t known what he expected. A fight? A smug, teasing remark? Something. Instead, Lestat had only laughed when Louis snapped at him, asking him what he thought he make in a week, because clearly, Lestat had no idea what normal people earned. But Lestat, always unbothered, had just chuckled. It’s yours, he’d said. Use it for the store, or put it toward Claudia’s education. American universities, mon cher – daylight robbery.

And then, too quickly, too easily, they had run out of things to say.

Louis had told him the store was fine. That Claudia was fine. And Lestat had murmured something in return, something carefully neutral.

Then they had hung up.

And since then, nothing.

Not because Louis had nothing left to say. Far from it. Every single day, he had wanted to call. To tell Lestat about the store, about the mundane parts of his day, about how the barista at his usual café had remembered his order after months, about how the apartment felt too big, too empty, despite how small it was, and how filled with the life he’s left, the little things that made it his and Claudia’s. More than that, he had wanted to hear him. Hear Lestat’s laugh, hear him curse in rapid French, hear him fill the silence that had crept into Louis' life like an unwanted guest.

And worst of all – he had wanted to kiss him.

Every second of every day since the airport, since that final moment when they had stood before each other and let it slip away.

And Lestat? He hadn’t texted him. Hadn’t called.

That, more than anything, was what unsettled Louis the most. Lestat, who always pushed, always demanded, always made himself impossible to ignore was silent. It left a hole in Louis’ chest he didn’t quite know how to fill.

And with that silence, came a realization. One he had been avoiding for too long. One that settled now, unshakable, undeniable, heavy as stone.

He was in love with this man.

Painfully. Stupidly. Hopelessly.

And not for any of the reasons he used to fear. Not because of guilt. Not because of obligation.

But because he simply was.

And nothing not distance, not silence, not even time itself could change that.

It unsettled him as much as it frightened him, and there was nothing Louis could do against the feeling. He’d lie in bed, close his eyes, tell himself he was tired enough to sleep; but the silence would stretch long and endless, pressing against his skin. And always, inevitably, his thoughts circled back to him.

He’d turn onto his side, and his hand would brush against nothing. Just cold sheets, an empty mattress where Lestat had once slept. Not here, not his, but it didn’t matter. The absence was there all the same. Twice, he had tried to chase it away. A poor attempt at distraction, something desperate and mechanical, a hollow fix for something that went far deeper. Twice, he had stopped. Laughing, bitterly, at his own stupidity. What the hell was he doing? What kind of pathetic man thought he could out-touch loneliness? What was he trying to prove?

And so, instead, he would pick up his phone. A worse habit, but at least it made sense.

He would open his texts, scrolling to the last message Lestat had sent him. Still back in London. Still there, still waiting, a frozen moment in time. He never responded, but he always looked. And then, because he couldn’t help himself, he would tap on Lestat’s profile.

That grainy photo. Lestat – years younger, but unmistakably him – holding a small Viktor against his hip. The kind of picture that meant something. The kind of picture you didn’t put as your contact image unless you were sure it wouldn’t matter. Unless you didn’t expect anyone to see it but the people who already knew.

Proof that not many people had Lestat de Lioncourt’s number.

Proof that Louis did.

And yet, he still didn’t call.

So he would set his phone aside. Turn it face-down on the nightstand. Roll onto his back and stare at the ceiling, feeling nothing but more heartsick.

It went on like that for days.

Pulled back into reality, Louis exhaled sharply, straightening the stack of books in front of him. His hands were too still otherwise, and it made the ache worse. Work helped. Not much, but enough.

He glanced up just as Grace stepped inside, shaking off the cold as she tucked her purse under her arm. She didn’t bother announcing herself, never had to. She had always been the one person in his life who acted as though she belonged in his space, at least for the years she was part of his life that was, and Louis, for all his frustration, never really argued, because he loved her as much as he loved all of his family.

"You look like shit," she greeted, peeling off her gloves as she wandered toward the counter.

Louis sighed, rubbing at his temple. "Hello to you too."

Grace smirked. "You sleep at all last night?"

He hesitated. A second too long.

Grace snorted. "Didn’t think so." She leaned against the counter, studying him, too perceptive for his liking. She always had been. She had a way of pulling the truth out of him without forcing it, just by looking at him long enough that silence wasn’t an option. Louis tapped his fingers against the counter, looking past her toward the street outside. Anything to avoid the conversation he could feel brewing. "What do you want, Grace?"

She hummed, feigning thoughtfulness. "I don’t know. Maybe to check on my little brother, who has been acting like a ghost since he got back?"

"I haven’t-"

"You have." She raised a brow. "And don’t give me that ‘I’ve been busy with the store’ excuse. I know you, Louis. I know when you’re actually working and when you’re just keeping your hands moving so you don’t have to think."

Louis wanted to roll his eyes at Grace. Too direct, even for her.

She let that sit between them for a moment before switching tactics, tilting her head slightly. "Claudia says you’ve been distracted."

That got his attention. His expression twitched. "She told you that?"

"Not in so many words. But she’s not stupid." Grace shrugged, smoothing out the sleeves of her coat. "She said she caught you staring at your phone a lot. Like you’re waiting for something. Well, Blondie, that is."

Louis exhaled sharply through his nose, but she was already rolling her eyes. "Jesus, you’re exhausting. It’s not that deep, Louis. If you want to talk to him, just call him. Swallow your pride, get it over with. What, you’ve done something bad and have to apologize for it or something? If not, then just do it. Kiss and make up, or whatever.”

Louis glanced at her sharply. "I never said this was about—"

Grace groaned, shoving a hand through her hair. "Please. Everyone knows. You think you’re subtle? God, even Madeleine asked me yesterday, when I picked Claudia up. Asked if you and that French rockstar finally stopped ‘dancing around it like a bunch of idiots.’"

Louis blinked. "She said that?"

Grace grinned. "Oh, yeah. Word for word. She even threw in some dramatic sigh for effect."

He almost laughed. Almost. Instead, he turned his attention to the register, pretending to check something. Anything to keep his hands busy. Grace watched him for a long moment. Then, softer, "Why haven’t you?"

Louis swallowed. "Haven’t what?"

She gave him a look. He knew better than to pretend not to understand. His fingers curled slightly where they rested against the counter. There were too many answers to that. Because it wouldn’t change anything. Because it was easier this way. Because Lestat hadn’t called him either. Because there was too much distance, and closing it would mean acknowledging that it hurt.

Because he didn’t know how to be with him and not lose himself in the process.

But instead of saying any of that, Louis simply exhaled and said, "I miss him."

“That’s the worst explanation ever.”

He huffed a small laugh. "Yeah."

She pushed off the counter, pulling her coat tighter around herself. "Well. When you’re done making yourself miserable, maybe actually do something about it."

And with that, she left, the bell chiming softly behind her.

Louis stood there for a long moment, staring at the door even after it closed.

Then, slowly, he reached for his phone. He tapped his thumb against the edge of his phone. Before he could change his mind, he dialled. The ringing stretched on too long. Long enough for doubt to creep in, for him to start second-guessing, for him to almost hang up.

And then, a click.

A beat of silence. Then-

"Louis?"

Lestat’s voice came through, slightly rough, like he hadn’t expected the call. Like he had been half-asleep or distracted or waiting. Louis swallowed; his throat felt tight. "Hey."

A pause. Afterwards, less of a greeting, more of an exhale. Like relief. "Hey."

Louis sat down behind the counter, dragging a hand over his face. He didn’t know where to start. He had spent days thinking about this, rehearsing what he might say, what excuse he might give for not reaching out. Now, with Lestat actually on the line, his mind was blank.

Lestat filled the silence first. "I was starting to think you lost my number, mon cher."

Louis huffed a quiet laugh:” That’d be easier, wouldn’t it?" He didn’t tell Lestat that he could have called as well. It wasn’t that easy, apparently, and who was he to judge about something he did as well? Lestat didn’t laugh. Instead, there was a soft rustling on his end, like he was shifting, sitting up. "Are you okay?"

A simple question. And yet, Louis found himself hesitating again. Was he? "I…" He exhaled. "Yeah. I’m fine."

Lestat made a quiet sound in the back of his throat. Not quite believing it. After a pause, lighter, teasing, but with something real beneath it:" Did you call just to hear my voice, or did you finally accept my generous donation?"

"You mean the absurd amount of money you shoved into my account?"

Lestat gasped, dramatically offended. "Shoved? Mon dieu, I was being thoughtful. A selfless act of love, and yet you make me sound like a corporate banker."

Act of love? Louis almost smiled. The familiarity of it, the ease. It should have made this easier. But it didn’t. If anything, it only reminded him of how much he had missed this. "Lestat," he murmured. Then he repeated it. He didn’t know why he said his name twice, like some sort of prayer on his tongue.

"Oui, mon cœur?"

Louis exhaled. "I didn’t call about the money. Of course I didn’t."

A pause.

Lestat, uncharacteristically quiet. Louis could almost picture him – leaning back against some hotel headboard, phone pressed to his ear, waiting. Then, finally, Lestat spoke. Softer again this time. Like he was careful with the moment. "Then why did you?"

Louis closed his eyes. Fuck. He didn’t know. Or rather, he did, but he wasn’t ready to say it. Because I miss you. Because I think about you every night. Because I should have kissed you at the airport, and I’ve been regretting it ever since. Instead, he settled for the safer answer. "I don’t know."

"You always know. Even when you pretend you don’t." Lestat hummed. “What’s this, Louis? Why like this, after so many weeks?”

Louis let out a slow breath. He was right. They’re too close for this carefully structured dance, these steps he took, to make room for him to overthink and decide wrong.

Another silence. Not tense, not uncomfortable, just waiting. Then, Lestat sighed, breaking it once again. "Well, since you called, I suppose I should entertain you. Let me guess – you’ve been terribly bored without me. Life in New Orleans, so dull, so grey-"

Louis shook his head. "Lestat."

"-you’ve been lying awake at night, pining for me, perhaps staring at my photos, and if you masturbated to them, I can’t really blame you. I know the real thing is way better, and trust me, I wouldn’t say no to you in me again, but-"

Louis actually laughed. Short, exasperated. "Christ, shut up."

Lestat grinned on the other end. Louis could hear it, could feel it. "You’re smiling," Lestat murmured. "I can hear it."

“I can hear it too.” Louis exhaled through his nose, tipping his head back against the counter. Damn him. Even now, Lestat still knew how to pull something out of him.

"I’ve missed you, you know."

Louis' throat tightened.

It was a simple thing. A small thing. But it landed. A confession, dropped lightly, easily, but with the weight of something much heavier beneath it. Louis pressed his fingers against his temple, bracing. "Don’t say things like that."

"Why not?"

Because it made everything worse.

Because it made Louis want things he shouldn’t.

Because he was already in too deep.

He swallowed his pride. “Because then I miss you even more than I already do, and I feel like crying, and trust me, it’s not good for business if I sit here and cry.”

At that, Lestat laughed. A sweet sound. “Okay. Then I won’t say it again. But believe me, it’s what I feel.” Then, Lestat said:” Alright, mon cher. I assume, I should hang up now.” A beat. Then, quieter, like an afterthought, like something he wasn’t sure Louis was meant to hear:" Call me again."

He nodded eagerly, even though Lestat couldn’t see it:” Yes. I will, sunshine.”

He could hear Lestat chuckle, as he ended the call. Afterwards, he stared at the phone in his hands, feeling no less lost than before. A happier lost, than before, at least. Still, Louis sat there, unmoving, the phone remaining in his hand. The screen dimmed, then went dark, but he didn’t set it down. He exhaled, pressing his thumb to the bridge of his nose. He had expected the conversation to be awkward. What he hadn’t expected was how much worse it would feel now that it was over.

Lestat had sounded the same, but Louis could hear it, underneath. That same strain, that same careful avoidance. It had been there in his voice, curling around the edges of his words.

Louis tipped his head back, staring up at the ceiling, thinking where to go from here, with this void, and how to get Lestat back at his side, to complete him again.

The next evening, life continued. Or at least, it pretended to.

Louis stood once again behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, fingers idly sorting through a shipment of books. The familiar weight of them, the quiet shuffle of pages, the scent of ink and paper should have been grounding. But his mind felt unfocused.

Across from him, Claudia sat perched at the edge of a table, a textbook open in front of her. Not that she was actually studying. Every few minutes, she’d glance up and throw a remark at Madeleine, who was leaning against a nearby shelf, sorting through a pile of newly arrived paperbacks with all the urgency of someone who had nowhere better to be.

"Okay, but you know what’s actually criminal?" Claudia said, tapping her pencil against the page. "This math problem. Look at this. Why is it always trains? What’s that obsession? Does my teacher have some weird kink there?” Louis wanted to tell her to stop using that kind of language, but she just went on:” Who even needs to calculate the speed of two trains coming at each other? If they’re on the same track, the answer’s obvious – collision. Dead people. Tragic. End of story."

Madeleine smirked, not looking up from the book in her hands. "Maybe they just want you to embrace inevitability."

"Inevitability is me failing this class."

Louis didn’t look up, but he could feel Claudia’s gaze flick toward him, expectant. He sighed, turning a page in the ledger. "You’re not failing."

"Yet," she corrected. "But you don’t know that. I could be one bad test away from complete academic ruin."

Madeleine snorted. "It’s algebra, not life or death."

"You say that because you don’t have to do it anymore."

“Not entirely true. I did fail last year. That was complete ruin.”

Louis shook his head, half-listening as he counted the books in the box, letting their voices settle into the background. It was easy, slipping back into this – this rhythm, this ordinary part of his life. He had done it for years before leaving. Work. The store. Claudia’s schooling. Madeleine lingering past her shift. It was all the same.

Or at least, it should have been.

His gaze drifted, absently, toward the front display. There, among the newly arranged releases, sat a familiar book, its spine slightly worn from handling. Lestat’s biography. It wasn’t unusual to see it there. It had been selling more than well all this time after all. Lestat had known exactly what he was doing when he wrote it.

Still, Louis wasn’t sure why he hadn’t moved it yet.

It wasn’t that he was avoiding it. If he wanted, he could pick it up right now, flip through the pages, remind himself of the ridiculous, self-indulgent way Lestat wrote about himself.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he looked away, back to the books in front of him.

"Hey," Madeleine’s voice cut through his thoughts. "This new shipment – are we putting these in the front or keeping them in the back?"

Louis blinked, grounding himself again. "Back. We’ll rotate them in later."

She nodded, stacking the paperbacks into a crate. Claudia stretched her arms above her head, groaning. "Okay, I give up. Madeleine, do my homework for me."

Madeleine grinned. "Tempting, but I have a policy against aiding and abetting. If anyone notices, we’ll both end up failing. I won’t do this a third time." She winked. Then muttered, most likely in an attempt to not have Louis hearing it:” Your father will kill me. I’ll help you when he’s not around to see it.”

"You’re the worst," Claudia muttered, snapping the book shut, clearly not meaning it.

Louis shook his head. "Finish it before you go to bed."

"Yeah, yeah," she said, already hopping off the counter. She grabbed her things, shoving papers into her bag with all the grace of someone who would definitely complain about losing them later. "I’m going home. Madeleine, entertain my father."

"Not my job," Madeleine said.

Louis sighed, rubbing his temple. "Go. Text me when you’re home. It’s dark outside.”

Claudia nodded, and then she was gone, disappearing through the door, leaving Louis and Madeleine alone in the quiet of the shop.

Madeleine went back to sorting the shipment.

Louis did the same.

And the biography stayed exactly where it was.

Later that evening, Louis opened his messages without thinking, the muscle memory of it automatic. His chat with Lestat sat there, untouched since the last time they spoke. But when he tapped on it, he saw that Lestat had sent him something earlier – a handful of texts, a few photos.

There were shots from earlier in the day, rehearsal. One of the venue, empty seats stretching out toward the stage. One of the dressing room mirror, lights bright, Lestat in the reflection adjusting his collar. A blurry one of Viktor, mid-laugh, the kind of candid photo someone takes quickly just to capture the moment.

I’ll send you more stuff once the show’s over, the last message read.

But that never happened.

Louis stared at it for a moment before typing. How was the show? It must have been the second show in London, if he remembered it correctly. He sent the message, then set his phone down on the table beside him, exhaling as he leaned back into the couch. He didn’t expect a reply right away. It was late in London.

Still, he felt restless. After a moment, he reached for his laptop, opening it to check if there were already clips from the show. Fans were fast – there was usually something posted within the hour.

But when the screen lit up, his browser opened to something else. Louis exhaled sharply through his nose. The still-open tabs from his research.

He clicked through them slowly. Articles. Old interviews. News segments. Things he had started looking into. He hadn’t realized he still had them open. Hadn’t realized he was still doing this – digging, searching, trying to know things without asking. Grace’s voice echoed in his head.

Louis closed the tabs.

He sat there for a moment, fingers resting against the trackpad. He knew he should probably go to bed. But the quiet felt heavier than usual.

His phone vibrated against the table.

He glanced over. Lestat.

A photo.

It was a dimly lit shot, taken at the airport. Lestat sitting in one of those uncomfortable waiting area chairs, Viktor asleep against his shoulder, his head tucked beneath Lestat’s chin. There was something oddly still about it, something quieter than usual.

Then, a message. You’re awake, mon cher?

Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that? He answered.

Ah, but that would require you to call me first, mon amour. Which you never do.

Rolling his eyes, Louis typed in: I texted you, didn’t I?

Mmh. I suppose that counts. Barely.

Louis huffed a small breath, shaking his head. Where are you headed? Didn’t think you’d leave right after show.

Lestat took a moment with his answer. Then: We didn’t want to, at first. But I couldn’t stand the hotel room anymore.

Louis hesitated for a second, then typed his question. Tired?

A pause before Lestat replied. Exhausted. But you’d be proud, I even took a nap earlier.

Miraculous.

He could picture the blonde’s grin. I know. I should get an award.

Louis ran a hand over his jaw, the smallest of smiles tugging at the corner of his mouth. Get some rest.

Are you telling me what to do, mon cher?

Yes.

The expected answer came fast. I think I like it.

Louis shook his head, rolling his eyes. Of course you do, you little brat prince. Goodnight, Lestat.

Bonne nuit, mon Louis.

Louis stared at the screen for a moment before locking his phone. He set it aside, shifted on the couch, exhaled slowly. Then, finally, he got up and went to bed.

***

The school smelled just how Louis remembered it. Stale air, old books, and floor polish. Louis had never liked that smell, but Claudia seemed unbothered, sitting beside him in the waiting area outside the teacher’s office, her leg bouncing impatiently.

"Can we get this over with?" she muttered, arms crossed. "We both know how this is gonna go. I get a lecture, you look disappointed, and then I have to study more."

Louis sighed. "Claudia."

She huffed, rolling her eyes. "What? You know I wasn’t exactly prioritizing school while on tour."

Before Louis could respond, the door opened, and her teacher, Mrs. Fontaine, or something, stepped out. She was a sharp-looking woman in her late forties, with an air of permanent scepticism, the kind of person who expected students to disappoint her.

"Mr. du Lac," she greeted, nodding. "Come in."

Claudia stayed put, throwing him a look before slouching back against the chair.

Inside, Mrs. Fontaine sat at her desk, scanning a few papers before folding her hands together. "I’ll be honest, Mr. du Lac, I wasn’t sure how this would go. Most students fall behind when they’re away from structured schooling, especially when it’s something as unorthodox as private tutoring during travel."

Louis nodded, waiting for the inevitable criticism.

"But" she continued, adjusting her glasses, "Claudia has done remarkably well."

Louis blinked. "She has?"

Mrs. Fontaine hummed. "Her coursework is all up to date, to my surprise. Her writing is strong, her historical analysis is impressive, and while she’s still careless with math, that’s nothing new. I suggest getting her some tutoring for that. It apparently worked with the rest."

Louis exhaled, tension leaving his shoulders.

"Of course, I’d still advise her to get back into a classroom routine as soon as possible, but academically, I have no concerns."

He nodded. "Thank you. I’ll make sure she stays on track."

Mrs. Fontaine’s expression softened, just slightly. "She’s bright. Difficult, but bright."

Louis allowed himself the smallest of smiles. He decided not to question that statement. "That she is."

When he stepped back into the hallway, Claudia was already standing, bored but trying not to look nervous. "Well?" she asked.

Louis gave her a look. "Apparently, you’re not failing."

Claudia’s eyes widened. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

She blinked, then scoffed, flipping her braids over her shoulder like she had never doubted it. "Obviously."

Louis shook his head, placing a hand on her back to guide her toward the exit. "Come on, let’s go."

"Wait," she said, glancing up at him. "Since I’m so remarkably ahead, does that mean I get a reward?"

“You get groceries. Not starving should be reward enough.”

She groaned.

They stopped at the store on the way home, weaving through the aisles as Claudia trailed behind him, half-heartedly tossing things into the cart. "You’re not even looking at the expiration dates," Louis said, glancing down at the pack of cheese she had just thrown in.

"Doesn’t matter," Claudia said. "We’ll eat it before then anyway. I will, if you don’t.”

Louis sighed, taking it out and checking himself.

She wandered off toward the snack aisle while he finished picking out ingredients, but when he caught up to her, she was staring blankly at a shelf of cereal, arms crossed. "You good?" he asked.

She frowned. "I forgot what kind Madeleine likes."

Louis arched a brow. "You’re getting her cereal?"

Claudia shrugged. "We’re hanging out this weekend."

Louis didn’t say anything, just waited until his daughter picked something. He still wasn’t overly convinced about that friendship, but he trusted Madeleine, and even more, his own daughter. And so what did it matter, as long as she made some friends?

Back at the apartment, they started unpacking the groceries, Claudia tossing items onto the counter while Louis sorted them away.

"So, what are we making?" she asked, hopping up onto the counter, ignoring the fact that she wasn’t supposed to sit there. Louis pulled out the ingredients, and swatted her down again. "You wanted pasta, didn’t you?"

Claudia grinned, climbing down again. "You’re actually letting me cook?"

"You’re cutting vegetables," Louis corrected.

"Ugh. Manual labour."

Despite her complaints, she took the cutting board and knife, starting to chop while Louis set a pot of water to boil. They worked in comfortable rhythm, moving around each other easily, and at some point, the radio played a song too familiar, something from the tour, and Louis' hands hesitated on the spoon he was stirring with.

Claudia didn’t look up, but after a moment, she said, "You should just call him, you know."

Louis sighed. "Not this again."

"I’m just saying."

"You're always just saying."

"And I’m always right, Daddy Lou."

Louis shook his head, turning the heat down on the stove. He didn’t answer. He glanced at his daughter as she cut the vegetables, her movements a little too careless, like she was trying not to care as well. "You doing okay?" he asked.

Claudia raised a brow. "In general? Or are you gonna ask me about school again?"

Louis sighed. "I mean in general."

She hesitated. Then shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

"That’s convincing."

She let out a breath, rolling her eyes. "I am fine. I mean, I missed it here. But-" She paused, knife hovering over the cutting board. "It’s kinda weird, too."

Louis frowned. "Weird how?"

Claudia shrugged again, but her voice was quieter now. "It’s just different. I got used to the tour, I guess. Being around them all the time. And now it’s just... back to normal."

Louis understood that feeling a little too well. "You can still call them," he said.

"Look who’s talking."

They finished cooking, set the table, and ate.

And later, when the apartment was quiet again and Claudia had gone to bed, Louis found himself sitting on the couch, his phone in his hand, staring again at Lestat’s last message.

He wanted to call.

The problem was, he had no idea where Lestat was right now. He hadn’t kept track of the tour schedule past some point, and he didn’t know what city, what country, or what time zone Lestat was even in right now. So, Louis exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. It was late here, but that didn’t mean anything. Lestat’s schedule was unpredictable – he could be wide awake, out drinking, or dead asleep.

Just take the risk.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he hit the call button.

The phone rang. Once. Twice. A third, then fourth time.

A click. A slow inhale, a familiar voice, low and heavy with sleep. "Louis?" Oh, that sweet tone when he said his name like that. Pronounced properly, like little people did. Louis closed his eyes briefly, because fuck, he had woken him up.

"It’s not even six," Lestat grumbled. His voice was hoarse, rough around the edges in a way that meant he had definitely been asleep.

Louis huffed a quiet laugh:" Where are you?"

Lestat made a small, tired sound in the back of his throat, like he was stretching, shifting beneath the covers. "Athens."

Louis raised a brow. "Athens?"

"Mhmm."

"Are you visiting Viktor’s mysterious girl?"

There was a beat of silence before Lestat groaned dramatically. "You remember that?"

Louis smirked. "Of course."

Lestat sighed, clearly still half-asleep. "She’s real, you know. I doubted, but she’s real."

"So you are visiting her."

"Not exactly. Viktor texted her, but she’s apparently far too busy to meet us. Well, me. Viktor’s been out with her yesterday. Which is probably for the best, since I would have had to scare her away to protect my son’s virtue."

Louis rolled his eyes:” I’m sure he’d appreciate that.”

"He’ll thank me one day." Then, more serious:” I’m getting to meet her later.”

Louis shook his head, amusement tugging at his lips. Before he could say anything else, his phone buzzed again – Lestat was starting a video call.

Louis accepted it quickly.

Lestat’s face appeared on screen, framed by the dim glow of a hotel lamp. His hair was an absolute mess, pushed in different directions from sleep, and he squinted at the screen like the brightness offended him. "Mon dieu," he muttered, rubbing at his eyes. "Why must you call at ungodly hours?"

Louis laughed. "I told you – I didn’t know what time it was."

Lestat hummed, clearly still waking up. Then he shifted, grabbing the phone and moving. The view blurred, tilting as he walked. A door opened, and suddenly, the screen was facing the ceiling, white tiles coming into focus.

Louis blinked. "Did you just take me into the bathroom?"

"You called me," Lestat muttered. "I have needs."

Louis raised a brow. "Are you seriously peeing while on call?"

"You cannot see me."

"Still."

Lestat chuckled; his voice still thick with sleep. "Relax, mon cher, I have some dignity. Little, as we all know, but it exists."

Louis scoffed. "Debatable."

Lestat laughed, a lazy, unbothered sound, before the camera view shifted again. The phone was picked back up, and Lestat came back into view, now standing at the sink, running water over his hands. "Better?" he asked, smiling on the screen.

Louis shook his head. "What a pleasure."

"Oui." Lestat grabbed a towel, drying his hands before running them through his hair, trying to tame the mess but failing. He didn’t seem to care. He leaned against the counter, tilting his head slightly. "So," he murmured, voice softer again. "Have you been thinking about me, mon Louis?"

Louis exhaled. "What do you think?"

Lestat’s smirk softened, something quieter settling in his expression. He took the phone, carried it back into the bedroom. Then, he reached for something out of view. "I think you wouldn’t have called if you didn’t," he said simply.

Louis didn’t argue.

Lestat glanced toward the door, then back at the screen. "I’m going outside for a smoke. You coming with me?"

Louis rolled his eyes but obviously, didn’t hang up.

The camera view shifted again as he moved, walking through the hotel room and out onto a balcony. The night sky behind him was deep and endless, city lights stretching in the distance. He set the phone down on the railing, propping it up against something before lighting his cigarette.

For a moment, they just existed like that. Lestat taking slow drags, Louis watching.

"So," Lestat murmured finally. "What’s new in the thrilling, glamorous life of Louis du Lac?"

"Claudia’s doing fine in school."

Lestat exhaled smoke, looking pleased. "Of course she is. She’s brilliant."

Louis nodded:” She also wants a reward for doing well."

"I hope you’re giving her one. She deserves something for tolerating algebra."

Louis shook his head. "She’ll survive."

Lestat chuckled, then tilted his head. "And you? How are you surviving, mon cher?"

Louis didn’t answer right away. He looked at Lestat through the screen, taking in the tired eyes, the familiar curve of his mouth, the way he leaned easily against the railing. Like he had all the time in the world.

"Louis?" Lestat prompted, voice quieter now.

Louis exhaled. "I miss you."

Lestat blinked, just for a second. Then he smiled. "I know," he said. "I miss you too."

Louis leaned back into the couch, letting out a slow breath. “How have you been?”

Lestat smirked around his cigarette. He could see that, even from the angle he was placed at. “Do you want the honest answer, or the charmingly fabricated one?”

Louis gave him a look. One that went unnoticed, because Lestat was looking away from the screen, facing the night. “The honest one.”

Lestat hummed, tapping ash over the balcony railing. “I’ve struggled,” he admitted. “But I’m doing okay. Better now.” His gaze flickered toward the screen, something unguarded there for just a second before he looked away. “Talking to you helps.”

Louis’ fingers tightened slightly around his phone. He exhaled, shaking his head.

“I know.” Lestat said, without Louis having to explain himself, and he smiled, tilting his head. “And you?”

Louis hesitated, but there was no point in lying. “I’ve been… adjusting.” He ran a hand over his hair, sighing. “The store’s back to normal. Claudia’s back in school. Madeleine still lingers in the shop even when she’s not working. Grace still tells me what to do. Everything’s the same.” He paused. “And yet, it’s not.”

Lestat watched him, quiet for a moment. Then he took another drag from his cigarette, exhaling slowly.

“I wanted to stop the tour,” the blonde admitted. “Just leave. Get on a plane. Come to you.”

Louis blinked. “Lestat-”

“I didn’t,” he continued, cutting him off. “Obviously. It would’ve been nonsense. There’s only one city left. But I wanted to.” He let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head at himself. “I even thought about flying over in between, just for a night. But it wouldn’t have worked. The schedule barely allows time to breathe. Athens is a treat, for Viktor, who’s been putting up with me. I-“ Lestat stopped for a moment. Then, softly:” I wouldn’t know what to do without him. As much as he’s complicated my life, he’s also saved me. I would have thrown myself out of a window years ago, if it weren’t for that boy.”

Louis didn’t know what to say to that. Lestat sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw before murmuring, “Can’t you come to me?”

Louis' breath hitched.

But before he could answer, Lestat was already shaking his head. “Never mind,” he said, “I know I can’t ask that of you.” Louis looked at him, the way he leaned against the railing, the way his fingers toyed absently with his lighter.

“You didn’t ask,” Louis murmured.

“Didn’t I?” Lestat’s lips twitched. “Would it have changed anything?”

Louis exhaled. “I can’t just leave, Lestat. Not again.”

“I know.” Lestat flicked his cigarette over the railing, watching the ember die out as it dropped into the darkness below. Then he turned back to the screen, tilting his head slightly. “Would you have, though?”

Louis frowned. “Would I have what?”

“Come to me.” Lestat's voice was careful, measured in a way that meant he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer. “If you could.”

Louis exhaled, running a hand down his face. “Lestat-”

“Just answer.”

Louis looked at him. Even through the screen, even with thousands of miles between them, Lestat’s presence was still too much. The way he leaned in slightly, the way his expression flickered between confidence and something hesitant, the way he always made it feel like the rest of the world was background noise.

Louis sighed, shaking his head. “You already know.”

Lestat’s lips curled. “Say it.”

Louis rolled his eyes, glancing away for a moment before murmuring, “Yes. Of course I would have.”

Lestat hummed in satisfaction, but there was something almost gentle in the way he accepted the answer. He didn’t tease, just leaned his arms on the railing and looked out at the city lights for a long moment. “I don’t like missing people,” the blonde admitted. “It doesn’t suit me.”

Louis made a low sound. “No, I imagine not.”

“It’s a useless emotion,” Lestat continued, speaking more to the city than to Louis. “You can’t do anything with it. It doesn’t fix anything. It just sits there, unresolved.”

Louis studied him for a second. “You think emotions need to be useful?”

Lestat smirked, shaking his head slightly. “No. I just think I hate waiting.” He turned back to the screen, eyes sharp but too open, too raw in a way Louis knew was unintentional. “And waiting for you is worse than anything else.”

Louis swallowed, something thick settling in his throat.

Lestat sighed, straightening. “But it’s fine. We’re almost done. One more city, then I figure out where to go next.”

Louis hesitated. “Where are you going next?”

“Where do you think?”

Louis’ breath caught again. He had known, of course. Had felt it before Lestat even said it. But hearing it out loud, knowing that Lestat’s next destination wasn’t some tour venue or some elaborate escape but him, that was different. It became different now.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Louis murmured.

Lestat grinned:“ Then I’ll make sure you see it.”

They sat in silence for another moment, both of them hovering at the edge of something just out of reach. But neither of them stepped over it. Not yet. Louis sighed. “You should get some more sleep, if you can.”

“And you should go to bed before Claudia starts lecturing you about your terrible habits.” Lestat’s smiled at him through the screen. “Goodnight, Louis.”

Louis exhaled, pressing his lips together for a moment before finally saying, “Goodnight, Lestat.”

Twenty minutes later, Louis lay in bed, staring at the wall next to him. Now, the apartment was utterly quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the city outside, distant and muted. His phone rested on the nightstand, the call long ended, but Lestat’s voice still lingered in his mind, unshakable.

Louis let out a slow breath, rolling onto his side. His body felt tense, restless in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion.

He knew what it was, and this time, he didn’t stop himself.

He let his hand drift lower, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of his sleep pants. His breath hitched as he exhaled, slow and measured, his movements deliberate. He didn’t rush, didn’t try to drown it out like before.

Instead, he let himself sink into it.

He let himself think about him.

The way Lestat looked, standing on that balcony, hair still mussed from sleep, cigarette balanced between his fingers. The lazy rasp of his voice, the way he had smirked, eyes too knowing, too soft. The way he had said mon cher like it was effortless, like it still belonged to him.

Louis’ fingers tightened around himself, breath coming sharper now.

He thought about Lestat’s hands – long, elegant fingers pressing against the railing, running through his hair, dragging over his face as he sighed. He thought about how easy it was for him, how he never held back, how he always said what he wanted. What he felt.

Louis exhaled, his other hand gripping the sheets. He bit down on his lip, stifling a sound as heat coiled low in his stomach.

Lestat would tease him if he knew. Would smirk and lean in close, whisper something just to hear his breath hitch. Louis let the thought carry him over, body tensing as pleasure unravelled through him, leaving him warm, loose, aching in a way that had nothing to do with desire.

He lay there afterward, chest rising and falling steadily, eyes slipping shut.

And this time, he didn’t dream.

The next morning, Louis woke to the soft vibration of his phone against the nightstand. He blinked awake against the light filtering through the curtains, exhaling slowly as he reached for it. His screen was filled with new messages from Lestat.

A handful of photos – blurry shots of the city, a mirror selfie in the hotel room, Lestat’s hair up in that half-bun, secured by the bow Louis has come to like, a close-up of Lestat’s hand holding a coffee cup. Pointless things, small things. But they felt intentional.

Then, a text. I tried to sleep, but you’ve ruined me.

Louis huffed a quiet breath, rubbing a hand over his face. He didn’t have to ask how, and he wanted to tell him the same. Then, another message. A file attachment.

This is for you. Don’t play it while thinking about me too much, or you’ll combust, mon cher.

Louis rolled his eyes, but his pulse kicked up slightly as he opened the file.

A song.

He set the phone down, got out of bed, and made his way to the kitchen. It was too early for this. Still, as he started making breakfast, he connected his phone to the speaker and let the song play.

The melody was low and intimate, built on soft piano and raspy vocals beneath it. Lestat’s voice came through, a lazy drawl, a teasing lilt, but the lyrics-

Louis swallowed. It felt like a confession. A taunt. A promise.

The melody filled the apartment, low and slow, curling into the quiet like something meant to be heard in private. The lyrics weren’t subtle. Not even close. If anything, they were blatant. The kind of song that wasn’t written for a general audience, but for one person alone.

His fingers drummed against the counter. He should stop it. Shouldn’t let it affect him..

Louis just closed his eyes, exhaling slowly, letting the song wash over him like the inevitable little thing that it was. He flipped the eggs in the pan, pretending his hands weren’t shaking.

By the time Claudia walked in, hair a mess, still in her sleep shirt, he’d listened to it three times already. She stopped mid-step, glancing at the speaker before raising an eyebrow at him. "Seriously?" she muttered, grabbing a glass from the cupboard. "You’re just casually playing his love song for you like it’s nothing?"

Louis didn’t look at her. "It’s just a song."

Claudia scoffed. "It’s not just a song." She gestured vaguely toward the speaker. "He might as well have written Louis, come back to me on your wall in blood."

"Do you want breakfast or not?"

Claudia smirked, hopping up onto the counter. "Yeah. But I also want you to admit that you’re pathetically down bad for Blondie."

Louis shook his head, flipping the eggs onto a plate.

Claudia grinned, stealing a piece of toast. "Don’t worry," she said, biting into it. “He’s just as bad.“

Chapter Text

The day after Louis left him, Lestat lay in bed, staring at nothing.

The hotel room was dim, curtains pulled shut against the afternoon light. The sheets were a mess beneath him, twisted around his legs, but he hadn’t bothered to move. Hadn’t bothered to do much of anything since waking up.

If waking up was even the right term. It wasn’t like he’d really slept.

He could pack. He could get up, pull himself together, do something useful.

Instead, he stayed where he was.

All, because Louis was gone, and he couldn’t pull himself together because of it.

He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling, exhaling through his nose. His phone was on the nightstand, half-buried beneath a couple of clothes. He could reach for it. Text someone. Scroll through nothing just to pass the time.

Slowly, he sat up, running a hand down his face, fingers pressing against his eyes like he could force himself to wake up properly. His body felt too heavy, too slow, like he was moving through water. Still, he forced himself upright, pushing his legs over the side of the bed, feet planted on the floor.

He just needed to move.

He sat there for a moment, elbows on his knees, staring at his hands. They looked foreign somehow, like they didn’t belong to him. Maybe if he just…

But the words, they sat heavy in his mind, dull and unchanging, repeating in a way that felt almost mechanical. He hadn’t expected it to hit like this. Hadn’t expected the silence to feel so loud, the space beside him to feel so empty.

It was pathetic. He knew that. It wasn’t like Louis had left forever.

But logic didn’t matter right now, not when the bed was cold and Lestat felt all those things he felt too sharp, and too relentless. It was keeping him on edge, torn between this seemingly endless sadness, and the rage, and the knowledge that he had to pack, had to get ready, had to simply continue until the point where he knew this would get better again. But when it happened, then things felt useless, and everything seemed like it was lost, and will be lost, and has always been just that. At least, Lestat knew himself enough to be aware of it. Aware, of the fact he should pack his things, and should shower, and brush his teeth, and talk to his son, who he had abandoned at some point last afternoon.

How could he though, when he had spent weeks falling asleep with Louis somewhere nearby, just to be alone once again? Even before Louis had shared his bed, he had been there, existing in the same space, in reach. And now, there was nothing. Just the hum of the hotel air conditioning and the occasional sound of traffic far below.

It used to be bearable, in the past. The terrifying emotion that was loneliness. He’d been lonely all the time. And when he hadn’t been, he’d chosen for a night, prepared for it to be simply that. Now though…

At some point, he sat up again, after just letting himself fall back once more. Reached for his phone. Stared at it for too long. Maybe he’d text someone. Maybe he’d get up. Maybe-

He sighed, letting himself sink back into the mattress instead.

Lestat shifted, curling onto his side, burying his face in the pillow. Maybe he could just stay like this. Just let himself sink into it. Let the world keep moving without him for a while. He had all the right in the world, didn’t he? Let the globe spin, let himself lay here, pretending to be made out of stone.

At first, the knock that broke through the room was quiet soft. Lestat ignored it.

Then it came again. Louder. Lestat ignored it again, but the door opened, nonetheless.

Lestat exhaled, dragging a hand over his face. “Go away.” He didn’t look up. Didn’t move as Viktor stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind him. His steps, unmistakably him. And for a moment, his son didn’t say anything. He just stood there, probably taking in the disaster of a hotel room – the half-empty water bottles, the clothes left in a pile, the unopened room service tray sitting untouched by the window.

Then, finally, he spoke. “Seriously? What, you’re fourteen?”

Lestat sighed; eyes still shut. “What do you want, mon fils?”

“What do I want?” Viktor echoed. “I want to know why you’re still in bed at four in the afternoon. Don’t you have anywhere to be? You know, big stage, lights and all, getting ready for tomorrow?”

Lestat hummed, shifting slightly. “Maybe I’ve decided to retire. Let someone else deal with the whole ‘being Lestat’ thing for a while.” Viktor let out a sharp breath. "Jesus Christ," the young man muttered, and Lestat opened his eyes to see him ruffle through his hair, and turn around, taking the room in once again. "Have you been smoking in here? Reeks like a fucking ashtray, father."

Lestat hummed lazily, finally shifting slightly, blinking up at him. “Thought you appreciate it.”

Viktor was not amused. He now stood at the edge of the bed, arms crossed, expression set somewhere between irritation and exasperation. "You haven’t moved," Viktor said, kindly even, gesturing at the mess of sheets, at the barely touched room service tray from yesterday. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Existing."

"That’s debatable." Viktor took in some air. Then, he said:” I get it, dad. I know you. But if I don’t do something now, you’ll do this for days, and then you’ll be all weird and take ages to recover. So get up. Please.”

Lestat sighed, turning onto his back, staring at the ceiling. "Why are you here?" Why was he asking? Hadn’t his son made it clear?

"Because," Viktor said dryly, "I thought maybe you’d do something instead of rotting in bed all day. If you don’t want to go to your rehearsal thing, then at least spend your time with your favourite person in the world. Me.”

Lestat smirked despite himself, voice low, "I am a tragic figure, mon fils. Let me waste away in peace."

Viktor made a chocked sound, something that sounded both like a swallowed laughter and annoyance. "Non. Get the fuck up." Then, because he didn’t, Lestat felt the bed dip slightly as his son sat at the edge. “Come on,” Viktor said, nudging his leg. “Get up. I know you’re being stubborn right now, just because I caught you doing that-” He gestured. Lestat could hear him starting to smile. “-and because I’m not supporting it. Remember when I was a depressed teen, and you forced me out to sit in the sun? Yeah, that’s what I’m gonna do for you. And then we’re gonna have a long talk, and you’ll pull yourself together. And as a thank you, you might get me a new phone, ‘cause my screen’s still broken and I can’t use it anymore.”

“Non.”

Viktor groaned. “Jesus Christ. You’re being ridiculous.”

“I am ridiculous.”

“Yeah, well, it’s annoying.” Viktor nudged him again, harder this time. “You have soundcheck this evening. I don’t want your mess of a band to complain to me again. And you really should get up. You know, brush your hair, change clothes, might shower ‘cause not only the room reeks like some stoner bar.”

Lestat let out a slow breath, pressing his face deeper into the pillow. “I’m not going.” Viktor didn’t answer right away. Then, instead of arguing, Lestat felt the mattress shift further. A second later, Viktor climbed into bed with him.

Lestat cracked an eye open as Viktor pulled the covers over himself, settling in. “What are you doing?” He couldn’t help the short laugh that escaped his lips.

Viktor shrugged, propping a pillow under his head. “If you’re going to rot in bed, I might as well join you. Father-son bonding.”

Lestat let out another tired laugh, shaking his head. “Viktor...”

“Non,” Viktor said. “If you’re doing this, then I’m doing it too. Show you how stupid you’re behaving.”

Silence settled between them. It wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it was familiar. Lestat closed his eyes again, letting the warmth of another presence ease some of the sharpness in his chest. After a while, Viktor spoke again, softer this time:“ You really miss him, huh? Usually it’s more serious stuff getting you… hm. Not depressed. Self-destructive, maybe.”

Lestat swallowed, staring at the folds of the blanket in front of him. He could have laughed it off, turned it into a joke, but he didn’t have the energy. “Oui,” he admitted, voice quieter than he meant it to be.

Viktor didn’t answer right away. He just lay there, staring at the ceiling, fingers drumming idly against the fabric. Then, after a pause, he said, “I don’t need to tell you that it was only logic he went home. And that you’ll see each other again.” Viktor chuckled. “And then you’ll marry, and make hundreds of babies, and-“

Lestat exhaled sharply through his nose. He wasn’t in the mood for his son’s jokes. “Mhm.”

“Then why are you acting like someone died?”

Lestat rolled onto his back, pressing his hands against his face. “Because I’m miserable,” he muttered. “Because I let myself get used to something I should have known wouldn’t last.”

Viktor frowned, shifting to look at him. “What do you mean, ‘wouldn’t last’? He didn’t break up with you.”

Lestat let out a slow breath, dragging his hands away from his face. “I mean this. Having him there. Waking up to him. Walking off stage and knowing he was somewhere nearby. I spent years without it, I survived perfectly fine. But then I had it again, and now-” He gestured vaguely around them. “Now, I’m this.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow. “Rotting in a hotel bed at four in the afternoon?”

Lestat gave his son a dry look:” Exactly.”

Viktor huffed, shaking his head. “So what, you’re just gonna mope until the tour’s over?”

“Whatever that is, I think I’ve earned it.”

“Means you’re a depressed bitch.” Viktor sighed, tilting his head against the pillow. Then, he inched a bit closer, and pressed his forehead against Lestat’s shoulder. He inhaled, and it reminded Lestat of a much smaller version of his son, who used to never be able to sleep alone. “You could at least pretend to be a functional human being. You only have a few more shows left. Get it together.”

Lestat let out a slow breath. He knew Viktor was right, but that didn’t make it easier.

Viktor watched him for a moment, then sighed. “Look, I’m not going to give you some big speech or whatever. But if you’re not going to get up for yourself, get up for me. Or at least for the rest of the band, who are probably wondering if you’ve died in here.”

In reply, he made some unhappy sound. "I hate when you get like this," the young man muttered. “Reminds me of how you used to be, for a while. And I don’t blame you, ‘cause I know, okay? But…”

"You mean you don’t like it when I have emotions?"

"No," Viktor said flatly. "I mean when you act like the world is ending just because something didn’t go your way. You know, there are names for what your problems are, but since I don’t wanna get taken out of your will I’m not going to say it. But… hm.” Viktor sighed. “You’ve taught me how to handle my feelings better than you handle yours.”

Lestat chuckled. A bit too bitterly. “You had a better father than I did. Even if not the best, apparently.”

Once he said it, Viktor raised a hand and slapped the back of his head. He didn’t react to it, other than with a tired chuckle, and moving away. Viktor frowned at him, then:” Did you just compare yourself to that asshole of a man? Better not. And now shut up. You didn’t ruin anything, and you didn’t fuck up. But that doesn’t change the fact you have to move.”

There was a long stretch of silence. Viktor stared at the floor, Lestat at the ceiling.

Viktor sighed, shoving Lestat’s shoulder lightly. "Well," he said, standing, "you’re not doing it like this."

Lestat groaned as Viktor yanked the blankets off him. "Viktor-"

"Nope," Viktor cut in. "I draw the line at babysitting my own father. You will get up, and you will shower, and you will go outside. I don’t care where, but you’re leaving this fucking room. And then you’ll be happy again, and you’ll tell me what a great person I am."

Lestat sighed dramatically, then finally, sat up. “Fine. I’m up.”

Viktor sat up either, as Lestat swung his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing at his face like he could wipe away the exhaustion settling deep in his bones. “See?” Viktor said. “Was that so hard?”

Lestat shot him a tired glare. “You are my son. Lucky me I saved my money on that paternity test.”

Viktor grinned. “Damn right.”

Lestat shook his head, pushing himself to his feet. His body protested, muscles stiff from spending too many hours lying still, but he ignored it. He grabbed a half-empty water bottle from the nightstand, took a long sip, then stretched his arms over his head with a sigh. Viktor watched him carefully, as if making sure he wouldn’t just collapse back into bed the second he left.

Lestat rolled his eyes. “I’m not that pathetic, mon fils.”

Viktor shrugged. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Lestat smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair, then sighed. “Guess I should shower, then.”

“Yeah,” Viktor said. “Please do.”

Lestat flicked him on the forehead as he passed.

Viktor swatted at him, but the way his expression softened just slightly told Lestat he wasn’t really annoyed.

Lestat stepped into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him, and exhaled.

One step at a time, then.

And later, he’d have to apologize for being the way he was.

***

The car pulled up outside the venue a few minutes before Lestat was stepping out into the night air, the warmth of stage lights still clinging to his skin. The street was quiet, empty save for the occasional passerby and the distant hum of traffic. Viktor leaned against the driver’s side door, arms crossed, watching as Lestat approached. “And, had fun?”

“Yes. Totally.” Lestat smiled, wiping a hand over his face. “And you, remembered you have a license and don’t need me driving you around all the time?”

“Mhm.” Viktor rolled his eyes and nodded toward the car. “Get in.”

Lestat raised a brow. “Are you kidnapping me?”

“Sure. If that’s what gets you in the car.”

Lestat chuckled, shaking his head as he slid into the passenger seat. The car smelled faintly of leather and something vaguely sweet, like candy tucked into the centre console. He opened it, inspected the stack of snacks Viktor had stored there. Then, as Viktor got in, shutting the door behind him, he fiddled with the radio, switching the channel.

“Where do you want to eat?”

Lestat sighed, tilting his head back against the seat. “I’m not hungry.” Viktor turned the key in the ignition, the engine humming to life:” Yeah, well. I am.”

“Didn’t you eat?”

Viktor shook his head:” Of course I did. I’m not running on your rockstar diet. But I waited with dinner for you.”

Lestat stilled, just for a second. Then, “You didn’t have to do that.”

Viktor gave him a look. “Just pick a place.”

Lestat sighed but didn’t fight him. He listed a few places he had passed earlier, nothing fancy, nothing that required more effort than necessary. Viktor picked one without much thought, and soon enough, they were pulling up outside, ordering food to go. The scent filled the car as they drove, something warm and savoury, comforting in a way Lestat didn’t want to think about too much.

Instead of heading back to the hotel, Viktor pulled off somewhere in the city, parking near a small park with old stone pathways and trees that swayed lazily under the streetlights. He grabbed the food, nodded toward the path. “Come on.”

“What’s that attitude today? Now you’ve decided we’re walking?”

“You look like you need air.”

“What an observant son I have.”

Viktor didn’t dignify that with a response. He just started walking, and after a moment, Lestat followed.

The night was cool, a bit cold even, the city still awake in the distance, but here, in the park, everything felt slower, quieter. They ate as they walked, plastic forks scraping against takeout containers, conversation drifting between small things – Lestat talking about the rehearsal, something funny one of the band members had done.

Lestat stretched his arms above his head. “I’d forgotten how exhausting all of this is.”

Viktor glanced at him. “Didn’t stop you from throwing yourself right back into it.”

Lestat smirked. “I do love a grand return.”

Viktor hummed, not entirely convinced. He finished his food, tossing the empty container into a nearby trash bin, then stuck his hands into his pockets, slowing his pace. After a moment, he gave him a long look. “So, are you done rotting now, or should I give you a few more days?”

Lestat scoffed, stretching out his legs as they walked. “Mon dieu, the concern in your voice is overwhelming.”

Viktor rolled his eyes. “You’re still breathing, aren’t you?”

Lestat huffed, flicking a glance at him. “Unfortunately.”

Viktor didn’t react, just shoved his hands into his pockets. “You used to be worse.”

Lestat blinked, then tilted his head slightly. “Oh?”

“Not an insult,” Viktor muttered. “Just a fact.”

They walked a little longer, the streetlights casting stretched-out shadows ahead of them. Viktor’s gaze flickered toward the pavement, like he was debating whether to keep talking. Then, finally-

“I mean, when I was a kid. I didn’t get it at the time, but looking back…” He exhaled, shaking his head. “You disappeared sometimes. Not physically, but – you weren’t there.”

Lestat flexed his fingers slightly, exhaling through his nose. “And yet, you survived.”

Viktor huffed a small laugh. “Yeah. Somehow.”

Lestat sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “This is embarrassing. You’re supposed to be the reckless one, and I’m supposed to be the disaster you look up to.”

Viktor raised a brow. “That’s not how parenting works.”

Lestat smirked faintly. “Maybe that’s why I was never particularly good at it.”

Viktor didn’t argue, didn’t reassure him, just shrugged. “You did enough.”

Lestat’s smirk faltered slightly, something unreadable flickering in his expression. “I know I fucked up,” he muttered.

Viktor exhaled. “You don’t have to—”

“A father should be there for his child,” Lestat continued, voice quieter now, not self-pitying, just honest. “Not the other way around.”

Viktor sighed, rubbing at his temple. “You were there.”

Lestat hummed, unconvinced.

They walked a little longer, the city buzzing softly in the distance, the quiet between them not uncomfortable, just lingering. Then Viktor huffed, shaking his head. “Look, if it helps, you really used to be worse.”

Lestat snorted, glancing at him. “Thank you, mon fils, that’s so comforting.”

Viktor shrugged. “Just keeping you humble.”

Lestat exhaled, some of the weight in his chest easing, just a little.

“I know you tried,” Viktor said quietly. “After Uncle Nick.” For a second, the young man trailed off:” I don’t really remember him, you know? But the pictures, and I know he was there for a while. And when I see the pictures, I think I remember.”

Lestat’s chest tightened, breath catching for half a second. He felt sick, hearing his son say that. Viktor didn’t elaborate at first, didn’t look at him, just let the words sit there.

Lestat swallowed. “That’s-”

“You don’t have to explain,” Viktor exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t like thinking about it. But sometimes… I do.” He hesitated, his gaze flickering – just briefly – toward Lestat’s hands, before he looked away again. “It’s not like you ever talked about it.”

Lestat followed his glance, flexing his fingers slightly, like he could shake off the weight of the conversation. He huffed a quiet breath, tilting his head. “Would it have made a difference?”

Viktor didn’t answer right away.

“You didn’t. And that’s good, obviously. My life would have been terrible without you, dad.”

Lestat let out a breath, something in his chest easing and tightening all at once. “No,” he chuckled. He didn’t know how he managed that. “Obviously I didn’t.”

Viktor nodded slightly, stuffing his hands back into his jacket pockets. “Yeah.”

“You know, mon fils, you really know how to kill the mood.”

Viktor snorted, shaking his head. “You asked.” Lestat huffed a quiet laugh, the tension breaking just slightly:” I did, didn’t I?”

Viktor kept going – not out of cruelty, not to hurt him, just because it was the truth. And Lestat didn’t mind much. Some conversations just had to happen. “I never doubted that you loved me,” he said, like he could sense the thoughts creeping in. “You just… weren’t always capable of showing up the same way.”

Lestat exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I’m sorry.”

Viktor sighed. “I’m not telling you this, so you’ll apologize.” He hesitated, then shrugged. “You think you’re failing me now, but the truth is, I already know how you are. And it’s okay. Because you never have failed me.”

Lestat stilled slightly at that. He wasn’t sure what to do with it; with the sheer acceptance of it.

“You really are better now, you know,” Viktor said.

Lestat let out a slow breath, a small, self-deprecating smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Well. I certainly hope so.”

Viktor shook his head. “No, I mean it.”

Lestat didn’t answer right away. He just kept walking, something quiet settling in his chest. Then, finally, he nodded. “Thank you.”

Viktor huffed, glancing away. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get sentimental on me.”

But he was. And quickly so, when he looked at his son, and thought about how small Viktor had been once. Lestat sighed, rolling his shoulders, the weight of the conversation settling but not crushing. He glanced over at Viktor, still walking beside him, hands in his pockets, gaze fixed on the path ahead. It felt too heavy still. He didn’t want to leave things there, didn’t want Viktor walking away with the past pressing down on him.

“Tell me something good, then.”

Viktor shot him a look. “Sorry?”

“Something from when you were little,” Lestat said, tilting his head. “A good memory.”

Viktor exhaled, huffing a small laugh. “You really want me to reach that far back?” The smile on the young man’s face was small, but he did seem to think about it. “You remember when I used to make you read to me?” Viktor asked. “All those stupid stories I liked?”

Lestat blinked. Of course he remembered.

He remembered sitting in that shitty apartment, the dim glow of a lamp in the corner of their living room barely enough to read by. He remembered the nights when that little human, barely speaking or walking, curled up beside him, pressing a book into his hands, expecting his father to know the words, because apparently they were soothing enough.

And he remembered, too, how he hadn’t.

Not at first.

How he’d struggled through those first years, how he’d had to teach himself before he could teach Viktor. How he’d forced himself to learn, late at night, long after Viktor had gone to sleep – stumbling through pages, through letters that blurred together when his patience ran thin, through the sheer humiliation of it, because what kind of father was he if he couldn’t even do this?

He exhaled slowly, shaking off the weight of the memory before it could settle too deep.

“I had all those picture books, but I always wanted you to read something else instead. Made you read literature I didn’t understand.”

Lestat laughed. “You had terrible taste.”

“You still read The Count of Monte Cristo to me, though.”

Lestat grinned. “That was your one redeeming choice. A classic.”

They laughed. It felt good, laughing. Felt like the world moved around him again, this time, without him staying still, watching it all. But then they ran out of words, and it left him thinking again. About the future. Coming days. “Alright,” he said. “Enough reminiscing. I have a question for you.”

“Should I be worried?”

Lestat smirked. “Not at all.”

Viktor didn’t look convinced. Lestat let the night settle for a moment before saying, “I don’t think I want to go to Paris just yet.”

Viktor frowned. “What?”

Lestat slid his hands into his pockets, watching him. “How do you feel about a short stop in Athens?”

Viktor blinked. “Athens?”

Lestat hummed. “Just for a few days.”

Viktor studied him, eyes sharp, searching his face like he was trying to figure out what this was about. After a beat, he exhaled, rubbing his temple. “I know what you’re doing. Careful, or I’ll pick the worst retirement home I can find for you, should the day come.”

“Great. So?”

“Yes, please. Athens sounds perfect.”

***

The airport was nearly empty at this hour, the kind of stillness that only came in the dead of night. The artificial lighting buzzed faintly, casting everything in a strange, sterile glow. Lestat and Viktor settled into a pair of seats near their gate, the exhaustion of the past few hours finally catching up to them. The show had ended barely an hour ago, and now they were here – waiting for the next thing, the next city, the next moment to fill the sudden emptiness.

Viktor yawned, stretching his legs out in front of him. “I can’t believe you booked a flight right after the show. Are you trying to kill us?”

“Oh, mon fils, you’ll survive.”

Viktor hummed, rubbing his face. “Barely.” He glanced toward the windows, where the dark runway stretched endlessly beyond the glass. “At least we’re almost done, though. Only Paris, after this.”

“Oui.” Lestat nodded, tapping his fingers against his knee. “One more.”

A minute passed. Then another.

By the time Lestat glanced down, Viktor’s breathing had evened out. He was asleep on his shoulder. Lestat sighed, shifting slightly to get comfortable, but he didn’t move him away. He never did.

There was something about it, something grounding, feeling Viktor’s weight against him. He had spent so many years building a life around him – giving everything, sacrificing everything, even when he had nothing to give. He thought of Viktor as a child, small and fragile in his arms, his entire world condensed into that one responsibility. He had been so young, stumbling through fatherhood with no map, no guidance, just the unshakable need to keep him safe, keep him fed, keep him happy.

He had done things he wasn’t proud of. Questionable things. Desperate things. Anything to make sure Viktor had enough – more than enough. He thought of those early years, the nights spent pacing with him in his arms, whispering lullabies through exhaustion. The days scraping by, doing whatever it took to make sure Viktor never felt the weight of their struggles. That he never saw how hard it really was.

And he had done it. Somehow, he had done it. Viktor had grown up safe. Loved. Unbroken by the world.

Lestat had given everything to make sure of that. And luckily, Viktor had always turned out so much better than Lestat. Even, when he sometimes did stupid things, just to get his attention, or whatever it was he needed.

Lestat brushed a hand lightly over Viktor’s sleeve, his gaze flickering toward the floor.

And then, just for a second, his mind drifted further. To her.

It happened rarely. He never let it linger.

She had given him Viktor. That was all that mattered. That was all that would ever matter. And he’d never forgive her, never accept her excuses, or her reasoning, because it was weak, and she had protected only herself, never once caring for what has become of them. But Lestat shut it down before it could go anywhere else. Before it could become anything more.

Instead, his thoughts shifted somewhere, not safer, but something he allowed himself to think, once in every while, when his heart was weak, and he was too tired to be angry anymore.

His own parent.

He had never had a mother. Not in the way most people did. Not in the way Louis had. He had been raised by someone who had never quite fit into words, never quite belonged to a definition. Parent had always been enough. And yet, they had still been a ghost in his life, still absent in ways that had shaped him. The ache of their distance had faded, but it had never really disappeared. And thinking about them was safer, than thinking about him. His father, that was. This ugly little thing in his past, not forgotten, but remembered with that same sickening feeling in his stomach.

Lestat sighed, shaking his head slightly. He was too tired for this.

He tilted his head back against the seat, staring up at the ceiling, forcing himself back into the present. His phone buzzed in his pocket, barely audible. He didn’t check it, but he already knew it was Louis. No one else texted him regularly.

And just like that, the ache in his ribs didn’t feel quite so heavy.

***

A few days later, Lestat stood in front of the hotel mirror, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. For once, he hadn’t overdone it. No dramatic outfits, no overwhelming cologne, no unnecessary jewellery. Just a simple black shirt, slightly unbuttoned at the top, and white trousers. He was keeping it simple. For Viktor’s sake.

Not that it mattered. No matter what he wore, no matter how he behaved, he would still be himself. Or rather, that version of himself he’s created. That alone was enough to intimidate most people – and apparently, Rose was no exception. The café they met in was busy, the kind of place that drew in both locals and tourists, where the scent of strong coffee and baked goods settled deep into the walls, and people talked loud over the music that was played.

Lestat liked it instantly.

Viktor had spotted Rose first, and as soon as she caught sight of him, her face lit up.

It was subtle – just the smallest change in her posture, the quiet shift in her expression – but it was undeniable. The kind of reaction that wasn’t conscious, just instinct. The kind that only happened when someone already belonged to you, even if they didn’t realize it yet. And Viktor? He looked at her like she was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Lestat let out a slow breath. Well. That was something.

He let Viktor lead the way, watching as Rose stood from the table, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear as Viktor kissed her cheek in greeting. She was pretty – not in a way that demanded attention, but in a way that settled into you over time. Warm, composed, sharp-eyed.

Then, after a moment, her gaze flickered to Lestat.

She didn’t look frightened, exactly. But she was definitely bracing herself. Lestat offered his most charming smile, stepping forward and extending a hand. “So. You must be the famous Rose.”

Rose hesitated, just barely, just for a second, before taking his hand and shaking it. “And you must be the infamous father.” It sounded lovely, her English. Lestat laughed. “Oh, I like her,” he said, glancing at Viktor.

Rose arched a brow. “We’ll see if that lasts.”

Viktor groaned, rubbing his face, like he needed to pretend this was embarrassing, or annoying. “God. You two are either going to get along way too well or immediately hate each other.”

Lestat grinned, slipping into the seat across from them. “Oh, don’t worry, mon fils. I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

Rose muttered something under her breath in Greek, taking a sip of her coffee. Lestat smirked:” I understood that, you know.”

Rose gave him a dry look. “That’s fine.”

“This was a mistake.” Viktor laughed. Lestat ignored him, turning his attention back to Rose:” Tell me, what exactly did my son do to earn your affections?”

“Mon dieu, father-“

Lestat listened with a smile, as the young woman talked. Eagerly, so. And when possibly, her’s and Viktor’s hands brushed under the table, and Rose barely leaned into him, and Viktor barely leaned back, he might have smiled only a little more. The conversation went well, and light. Not as uncomfortable as one would have expected. Lestat asked about her studies, her life, got a sense of her. She was sharp, perceptive, talked a lot but used her words wisely. Lestat respected that.

She wasn’t entirely what he had expected – but he could see it now. Could see why Viktor had been drawn to her, why he had stayed. And once the conversation had went on for long enough, he decided to come up with some excuse to leave. He didn’t want to take too much of their time; he could tell Viktor was getting more nervous with every passing minute.

Lestat glanced at his watch and made a show of sighing. “Well, as delightful as this has been, I think I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it.”

Viktor looked at him with big eyes. Funny to see, really. Lestat smirked:” I do have things to do, mon fils.”

“Right. And what exactly are you doing?”

For that, Lestat had the urge to gently smack his son. Why make it harder for him to come up with something? “Oh, I thought I’d take a stroll through Monastiraki. Maybe see what treasures the market has to offer.”

Viktor gave him a sceptical look. “You just made that up on the spot, didn’t you?”

Stupid boy. Lestat winked. “Perhaps.”

He clapped a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Text me when you’re back at the hotel. Or whatever.”

Viktor nodded. “Yeah, yeah.”

He offered Rose his hand again. “It was a pleasure, ma chère.”

She took it. “Likewise, Lestat.” Ah, and she wasn’t afraid to just use his name. Another good quality. Lestat tilted his head slightly, then he gave them a small wave and turned toward the door, stepping out into the streets of Athens alone.

The city seemed to stretch golden before him, filled loudly with life. These places always were, and Lestat felt at home in it as much as he disliked the constant stream of input. At his destination, the market was more than simply alive, and between the people, the scent of warm spices and warm pastries lingering in the air, just above a smell that simply had to be this city. It wasn’t completely pleasant, but it was what reminded him of being somewhere foreign, and the thrill of it.

Lestat walked without urgency, letting himself blend into the crowd. He rarely had moments like this.

Right now, he was just someone passing through.

He stopped at a small stall, fingers ghosting over a collection of silver rings before moving to something more interesting. A hand-stitched leather notebook, the kind Claudia would maybe appreciate. He picked it up, testing the weight of it in his palm, flipping briefly through the pages. Yes, this would do.

He paid, then tucked it into the bag he was carrying. Next, he checked his phone, and it buzzed when it was still in his hand. “You miss me already?”

“Not particularly,” came Cookie’s dry reply. “Just checking when you’re actually landing in Paris. If that even happens. Please don’t tell me you’re at the other end of the world right now. ”

Lestat hummed, dodging a passing group of tourists. “Ah, well. Slight change of plans.”

A pause. Then, flatly, “I don’t like the sound of that.”

Lestat grinned. “It’s nothing scandalous. I’ve simply arranged a little trip for Viktor. He’s staying in Athens for a few days. I thought he deserved a distraction.”

Another pause. Then, suspiciously, “And you’re staying in Athens too? Why that?”

“Only for a little while.”

“Define ‘a little while.’”

Lestat exhaled, pulling his cigarette case from his pocket as he stepped out of the more crowded streets. “A few days, Cookie. Then I’ll be back in Paris, ready to grace you with my presence. It’ll be fine, don’t worry. I won’t cause any lawsuits.”

“Great,” she said. “Well, try not behave and all. And if you don’t make it in time, I’ll kill you.”

“Oh that’s hot. Say that again.” Lestat laughed, lighting his cigarette. “I promise.”

She huffed a breath. “Text me when you book the flight.”

“Non, because I’ll forget.”

“You better not.” The woman hung up, and he slipped his phone back into his pocket as he took a long drag. The air felt just a touch cooler by now, the air crisp with the remnants of a sea breeze. He leaned against the edge of a low stone wall, exhaling smoke slowly, watching it disappear into the city. Then, before he could second-guess himself, he pulled out his phone again.

He scrolled to Louis’ name. Tapped the call button. It’s been just a few hours too long.

The phone rang. A click. A pause. Then, Louis’ voice. "Lestat?"

Lestat smirked, flicking ash from his cigarette. "Bonsoir, mon cher. Everything alright?"

A sigh, but not an annoyed one. Just tired. Familiar. "It’s early."

"Not for me." Lestat smiled into the phone. “Are you still in bed? Thought you lived in your store. What, are we getting lazy there? Not working at eight in the morning?”

A yawn, then a quiet huff on the other end:” Mhmm no. I’ve decided no one cares if I don’t open at six. Don’t know why I used to do that. Tortured myself for nothing. Most people come in around lunch and evening.” Louis seemed to shift; the phone rang loud with the sound of shifting fabric and limbs moving. Lestat moved the phone away from his ear. “You’re still in Athens, right?"

Lestat hummed at the rhetorical question. "And what an observant man you are."

Louis didn’t entertain that:” How did meeting Rose go?"

Lestat exhaled smoke, tilting his head. It might have been the second or third, he wasn’t sure how long he’s been standing there already, talking as he watched the stream of people around him. Somewhere, in the street that stretched, two men argued. He didn’t catch what it was about. "She was delightful. Sharp. A little wary of me, which is always fun."

"And Viktor?"

"Absolutely smitten. It’s sweet.”

A pause. Then, softer, "Yeah?"

"Utterly. It’s rather tragic to witness, honestly." Lestat gestured, even though Louis couldn’t see. “First time I catch the boy in love. I only had the pleasure-not-pleasure of meeting some of his one night stands before, but never someone he actually likes.”

Louis made a sound – something quietly amused, almost fond. "And you didn’t scare her off?"

"Louis. What do you think of me?" Lestat smiled to himself at the sound Louis made once he said that, taking another slow drag. There was a stretch of quiet, not awkward, just lingering. Then Louis spoke:” I listened to the song.”

Lestat’s fingers paused around the cigarette for half a second before he flicked the ash away. “Did you?”

Louis hummed. “Yeah. Over breakfast.”

“And? Did you swoon? Feel faint? Perhaps clutch at your heart in overwhelming emotion?”

Louis let out a slow breath, not quite a laugh:” It was good.”

“Good?” Lestat clutched at his chest in mock horror, even though Louis couldn’t see him. “Mon dieu, I pour my heart and soul into a song, and all I get is good? Do you know how long it took me to write that? I played the instruments myself. And I had a sore throat after all those high notes.”

A second then- “It was beautiful, Lestat. Very beautiful.”

Lestat stilled slightly, the teasing edge of his smirk softening. Louis continued. “I-” He hesitated, then exhaled into the speaker. “I don’t know what to say to something like that. You never make small gifts.”

Lestat flicked the cigarette away, watching the ember fade out against the concrete. He didn’t answer immediately, just let the words sit between them.

“You don’t have to say anything. I’m happy if you are.”

Louis didn’t respond right away, but Lestat could feel him there, could hear the faint shift of fabric, the steady inhale of breath. They didn’t hang up for a while.

It was dark, when Lestat made his way back to the small hotel.

That last full day of staying in Athens, Viktor has breakfast with him, before venturing off to spend the day with Rose. By the time Lestat made it downstairs, Viktor was already awake, sitting at the small table by the window, flipping absently through something on his phone as he sipped from a steaming cup. A second cup sat untouched beside him.

Lestat smiled at his son, pushing himself up. “What’s this?”

Viktor glanced up. “I got your ‘breakfast’. Figured you’d wake up eventually.” He pushed the cup towards him, and he took it thankfully.

“Such a good son.”

“Don’t push it.” Viktor took another bite of his pastry, then glanced at Lestat. “So. Last full day here. Any grand plans?”

Lestat hummed, reaching over the table to tear a piece off the warm bread in front of Viktor. “None at all. I plan to wander, look pretty, and perhaps charm a few locals. The usual.”

“Sounds… erm, productive.”

“And what about you, mon fils?” Lestat asked, propping his chin in his hand. “Off to see your Rose?”

“Yeah. We’re spending the day together.”

He smiled into his coffee. “Good. You deserve a proper distraction.”

They finished eating in comfortable silence, the kind Lestat had learned to appreciate with him. No rush, no expectations, simple existing together. Then he was gone, leaving Lestat alone with the rest of the day.

He spent the afternoon wandering.

He visited the markets again, but more to watch than to buy. Listened to vendors call out in Greek, watched people haggle over prices, watched life unfold around him. For a couple of minutes, he had some sudden creative flow, coming up with a couple ideas for a melody. He took some notes, knowing he’d scrap that idea, the music not properly fitting into the kind of things he usually published. Then, at some point, he stopped at a small café, ordered something sweet, and let himself enjoy the simplicity of it, trying to chase the guilt away for just a heartbeat.

Later, the hotel room dimly lit, the heavy curtains drawn shut against the city lights outside. Lestat lay stretched across the bed, phone balanced against his ear, fingers idly tracing the stitching of the pillow beneath him.

Louis’ voice was a quiet hum on the other end of the line, low and familiar.

“Lestat.”

It wasn’t a question. Just his name, spoken softly, knowingly. Lestat smiled softly, letting his eyes fall shut. There was a pause, before Louis exhaled, and Lestat could hear it – the way his breath dragged, the slight shift of fabric in the background, the simple desperation of it. He felt it too. He just didn’t know how to say it without sounding overly desperate.

“Where are you?” He simply asked.

“At home”, Louis said, and it sounded like a confession, one that made Lestat chuckled:” So we are getting lazy. It’s what, lunchtime?”

“Kinda. I have Madeleine at the store. I originally went home to make lunch. Then you called.”

“I see.” Lestat said. Louis continued:” Would it be, I don’t know, embarrassing?”

Lestat’s fingers curled slightly against the sheets. “Non. Not at all.”

The other man sounded relived, when he breathed into the phone. “Thank God. Fuck, I miss you so much. I don’t know how to tell you how much I miss you. I can’t stop thinking about you and it drives me crazy.” A low chuckle. “Sorry. Couldn’t help it.”

“Is that so?” Lestat’s voice dropped lower, teasing but expectant, his smile widening at that lovely confession. Louis hummed, and Lestat could almost see him – laid out in his bed, half-dressed, flushed, already a little undone. “Tell me what you were thinking about,” Lestat prompted, slipping a hand down his stomach, resting just above his waistband.

There was a brief silence, charged and heavy, before Louis spoke again, quieter this time. “Your hands.” A pause. Then, softer, after a short, nearly insecure chuckle:“ How you touch me.”

Lestat’s breath hitched. His pulse kicked up, slow and deliberate, warmth pooling low in his stomach. “Mon dieu,” he muttered. “And here I thought you were the responsible one. How often have you thought about this?”

“A couple of times.” Louis huffed a quiet laugh. “You’re a bad influence.”

More silence, stretched between them like a drawn-out breath. When Louis spoke again it sounded steady, a bit more certain:“ Touch yourself, Lestat.”

He stilled. His fingers twitched against his waistband, anticipation curling down his spine. “You first,” he decided. A soft chuckle:” I already started. Go on, dear.”

Lestat’s lips parted slightly, his chest rising and falling slow and measured. He exhaled. Slipped his fingers lower, after pushing down his pants. “Tell me,” Louis murmured, breathier now. “Tell me what you’re doing.”

Lestat shivered, his own breath coming slower now. “Anything you want, mon amour.” But he didn’t say it. It seemed to be enough, because Louis made a small sound in response – not quite a sigh, not quite a moan, something in between. Something that made Lestat get a bit noisier as well. “Imagine it’s me,” Louis said, voice lower now, rougher.

Lestat swallowed hard, closing his eyes. “I always do.”

He heard the sharp inhale on the other end of the line, and something about it made him bolder, despite him knowing how to do this. Lestat wasn’t exactly inexperienced, but Louis, he simply meant so much more to him than anything else could. “I’d have you beneath me, mon cher,” he murmured, eyes fluttering shut. “Kissing you, pressing you down-” He exhaled, hand moving slow, teasing. “Do you miss me, Louis?”

Louis let out a slow, shaky breath. “Yes.”

Lestat groaned, rolling onto his side, cradling the phone closer like he could pull Louis through it. Louis’ voice dropped even lower, thicker now, heavy with something dangerous, intoxicating. “Put your fingers inside yourself.”

Lestat stilled. “Louis-“ A slow burn crawled up his spine, spreading through him like something heady and warm. His chest rose and fell in slow, measured drags, warmth creeping up his spine. He knew what Louis was doing. What he was saying.

“You like it.” Louis’ voice was steady, low, dragging over his skin like silk. “We both know you do.” A beat. “Do it, Lestat.”

He swallowed, breath catching in his throat, tilting his head back against the pillows. His fingers trembled slightly as they moved lower, searching, before pressing just barely inside. He let out a quiet, shuddering sigh. The stretch was nice. Burning, but nice. Louis groaned softly at the sound, and Lestat felt his whole-body tense.

“Lestat,” Louis murmured.

It wasn’t a question. Just his name, spoken like a prayer. Lestat moaned, voice catching, body tightening under his own touch. His fingers pressed deeper; his breath ragged, uneven. He imagined Louis, and that felt good, safe even.

“Tell me how it feels,” Louis demanded, and it had him sighing happily, biting down on his lip, barely holding back another sound. “Good,” he admitted, whispered. “Too good.”

Louis let out a slow, approving hum. Lestat’s breath hitched, pleasure curling tight in his stomach. “Louis, I-”

“I know,” Louis murmured, and strangely, that was enough to do the trick. His back arched, a sharp, shaking gasp spilling from his lips, pleasure crashing through him, pulling him under, drowning him in the sound of Louis breathing just as heavy on the other end of the line.

His fingers stilled, his body shivering, overwhelmed, spent. He didn’t need to say anything more, because a second later, Louis chuckled into the phone, telling him how ridiculous this has been, and that he’s never done something more embarrassing in his life. Lestat joined the laugher, but he didn’t quite think of it the same as the other did.

“Good?” Louis asked.

Lestat let out a breathless, satisfied laugh. “Perfect. Not the real thing, but good enough.” Louis chuckled softly, warm and familiar. Lestat smiled, rolling onto his back, phone still clutched against his ear. “Louis,” he murmured.

“Mm?”

“Nothing.”

“Yes, sunshine.”

***

The last lunch they had together was near the hotel, right between the city’s noise. The air smelled of grilled meat and warm bread, of olive oil and something sweet baking in an oven somewhere. Lestat sat across from Viktor, one elbow resting on the table, idly twirling his fork between his fingers as he half-listened to the hum of conversation around them. His plate was mostly untouched, but he made an effort; small bites, slow. He wasn’t not eating, but he wasn’t really thinking about it either.

Viktor, for his part, didn’t seem to notice, or at least, didn’t say anything. He was too busy finishing off his own meal, checking his phone between bites, looking tired but not unhappy.

It entertained Lestat.

“So,” he said, drawing the word out as he finally stabbed a piece of food from his plate, rolling it idly against the tines of his fork. “I assume, given your rather well-rested and slightly smug demeanour, that you did not come home alone last night. And, you know, that bruise on your neck. Unless the simple explanation is she’s a vampire, then never mind what I said.”

Viktor froze mid-bite, blinking.

Then, in a way that was so painfully obvious, it was almost endearing, he scowled and muttered, “Not prying would be nice.”

“Ah, but what kind of father would I be if I didn’t pry just a little?”

Viktor groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “A normal one. ”

Lestat took an exaggerated sip of wine:” Where would the fun be in that?”

Viktor shook his head, clearly debating whether to engage or ignore him entirely. Lestat gave him about three seconds before deciding for him. Lestat smirked, tapping his fingers against the cup. “You did practice safety, yes? You’re well-stocked with protection, I assume?”

Viktor groaned, shoving his chair back slightly. “Oh my God, no. I’m leaving.”

“-and consent, of course. I assume I’ve taught you what that is, and I hope she knows she has an open door to flee from you at any time?” Lestat grinned, delighted.

“Finish eating, Papa, and stop annoying me.”

“Ah, young love. So sensitive.”

After that lunch, they went back to the hotel, Viktor still shaking his head but not really angry. He knew how Lestat was. Knew he wouldn’t let anything go easily. And Lestat? He watched him out of the corner of his eye – the way he carried himself, the ease in his steps, the lightness in his mood. Lestat had never been particularly good at parenting, never perfect, never conventional, but he had tried. Had done his best, even when his best wasn’t much.

And in the end, Viktor had turned out good.

That was good enough.

They grabbed their bags, checked out of the hotel, and headed for the airport. Lestat and Viktor moved through it all without urgency, weaving past slow-moving travellers, checking their tickets, making their way toward their gate.

Paris was waiting for them.

They were too early, though, so they found a café near their terminal – one of those places that overcharged for bad coffee, but still managed to be somehow comforting. The smell of espresso, of cinnamon, of something sweet baking in the back drifted lazily through the air.

Viktor ordered something that sounded more of a dessert, than coffee. Lestat, after dramatically sighing about how tragic airport coffee was, decided on trying the same, after his son mansplained to him that no, coffee wasn’t just coffee, and he’d insist on his father having the full experience of what that sugary-espresso-milk mixture would be. To say the least, it wasn’t quite the experience Lestat had hoped for, and he ended up drinking it only out of spite, as to not waste the money he paid for it.

They sat by the window, watching the world move past them, watching the sky shift outside as planes landed and took off again, slipping into the air like it was nothing. They lingered there, talking about nothing and everything, in that way you only did when you had nowhere to be just yet.

They had time to kill.

It was rather sudden, when Lestat spoke up. Leaning back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head, eyes flickering toward the airport departures board like he wasn’t entirely sure he was supposed to be there. Then, as if the thought had only just occurred to him, he exhaled slowly and said, “You know, we don’t have to go straight to Paris.”

Viktor, who had been idly stirring the last of his coffee, barely glanced up. “What?”

Lestat tilted his head, considering. “New Orleans.”

That got Viktor’s attention. His stirring stopped, his gaze sharpening. “What about New Orleans?”

“Why not stop there first? Just for a little while.”

Viktor stared at him, expression blank for a moment before letting out a short, sharp laugh. “You’re kidding.”

Lestat lifted a shoulder. “I have four days before the last show. Plenty of time.”

Viktor’s fingers curled around his coffee cup. He wasn’t laughing anymore. “That’s- no, that’s stupid. You’ll be jetlagged, and you’ll be cranky, and if you do that there’s a chance you’ll simply not fly back again.”

Lestat arched a brow. “Ah?”

“Yes.” Viktor set his coffee down with an unnecessary amount of force, rubbing his temple. “Because you have a show,” Viktor continued, like it was obvious. “A sold-out one. With people actually waiting for you.”

Lestat drummed his fingers against the table, not quite looking at him. “And yet.”

Viktor let out a slow, measured breath. “Father.”

Lestat waved a dismissive hand. “Ah, details.”

Viktor groaned, shaking his head. “You’re being childish.”

Lestat’s smirk widened. “Oh, I’m being childish? Mon fils, we just spent days in Athens for your new flame, played at romance on your behalf, and I was perfectly well-behaved, I might add.”

Viktor gave him an incredulous look. “That is not the same thing.”

Lestat hummed, swirling the last of his coffee lazily in his cup. “Isn’t it?”

Viktor exhaled sharply, pressing his fingers against his temple like he could physically push away the conversation. He looked like he was weighing whether or not it was even worth trying to argue. Then, after a long pause- “You’re actually serious.”

Lestat tilted his head. “What’s stopping me?”

“Common sense?”

Lestat smirked. “My dear son, I abandoned that years ago.”

Viktor sighed, rubbing at his temple. “Your band is going to kill you.”

Lestat hummed, unfazed. “They’ll understand.”

Viktor narrowed his eyes. “Will they?”

Lestat didn’t answer right away.

He sat there, turning the thought over, letting it settle. He could just go. Buy a ticket, board a plane, land in New Orleans before the night was over. He could walk into Louis’ life again like it was nothing, let him look up from whatever book he was cataloguing, let that familiar pause stretch between them, the moment of recognition, the breath before everything shifted.

He could.

So easily.

“I could just go,” he muttered. “Four days is enough.”

“It’s really not.” Viktor scoffed. “Then go,” he said, flatly. “You don’t need my permission.”

“It’s not about permission.”

“Then what is it about?”

Lestat didn’t answer. He just sat there, still, turning the thought over, letting it sit between them. Because, as much as he wanted to, as much as every single instinct in him was telling him to go, he knew he wouldn’t. Because the show was still there. Because he was still Lestat de Lioncourt, and for all his selfishness, he had never actually been the kind of man to leave something unfinished.

Paris, then.

Chapter Text

LESTAT DE LIONCOURT CLOSES OUT TOUR WITH A SPECTACULAR PARIS FINALE - BUT WHAT'S NEXT FOR THE ROCKSTAR?

PARIS, FRANCE – It was a night of raw energy, haunting melodies, and an electrified crowd as Lestat de Lioncourt took to the stage in Paris for the final show of his latest tour. The legendary frontman, known for his theatrical performances and magnetic stage presence, delivered what some are calling one of his best shows to date.

The sold-out concert at Accor Arena was nothing short of a spectacle. With a setlist spanning his entire career – from early cult-favourite tracks to his more polished, anthemic rock ballads – the performance proved exactly why Lestat remains one of the most enigmatic figures in the industry. Fans sang along to every word, and the night culminated in an extended encore, with Lestat returning to the stage to perform a stripped-down, emotionally charged rendition of “Sanctified”, a song that had fans speculating about its deeply personal lyrics.

But as the final notes faded and Lestat took his last bow under the golden stage lights, questions about his future began to swirl.

While the show itself was a triumphant ending to the tour, backstage sources suggest tensions behind the scenes. Lestat has always been known for his impulsive decision-making, and recent events have only fuelled speculation about what comes next for the rockstar.

This isn’t the first time rumours of a breakup have surfaced, but sources close to the band suggest this time might be different. While no official statement has been made, Lestat’s solo departure from Paris immediately following the tour finale has fuelled speculation that he may be stepping away from the band – or even the music industry entirely.

His departure raises one major question: Where is he going?

Fans and insiders alike are watching closely for any signs of what comes next. Is this just another impulsive move from the ever-unpredictable rockstar, or is Lestat de Lioncourt about to change everything once again?

One thing is certain – Lestat never stays quiet for long.

***

The afternoon light filtered in through the bookstore windows, casting long shadows across the wooden floor. The air smelled like it always did, old pages, ink, and the lingering trace of the terribly bitter coffee Louis had barely touched. The shop was quiet. Too quiet. Has been for the last hour, the busiest time of the day slowed down into a silence that made him overly restless.

It had been like this all day – Louis alone with it, alone with his thoughts, alone with the weight of waiting.

And God, was he waiting.

He told himself he wasn’t. Told himself he was simply checking his phone occasionally, like anyone would. But the reality was in the way his fingers twitched toward it every few minutes, in the way he had opened and closed his messages too many times to count.

Nothing.

He knew Lestat had landed last night. He knew that much. He had seen the news, had read the articles speculating on why Lestat had been spotted alone at the airport, why he had seemingly vanished into the city without a word. But Louis hadn’t heard from him. Not last night. Not this morning. Not all afternoon. And with every hour that passed, the gnawing feeling in his chest only grew.

Maybe he was overthinking. He most likely was. And maybe Lestat was just resting, or handling something, or doing whatever he did when he wasn’t doing anything too important. Surely, it had to be nice being done with the tour, after a full year. Having the chance to sit around, doing nothing. Nothing, just like Louis did, for the next twenty minutes. At least, until finally, his phone buzzed, and Louis grabbed it so fast, he nearly knocked over his coffee.

On my way, mon cher. Not more than that. But the words hit him like something tangible, something electric. Louis stared for a second, heart hammering, reading it again just to make sure it was real. He barely hesitated before immediately typing back. Why pretend he hadn’t been waiting for this?

How long?

The reply came a couple seconds later. Five minutes. Maybe ten, if traffic is terrible. And I don’t know where to park.

Louis huffed a quiet laugh, biting down on a smile, the tension that had been sitting heavy in his chest since last night unravelling all at once. The next minutes stretched again, but Louis didn’t sit still. He moved – fixing books that didn’t need fixing, reorganizing a shelf he had just organized yesterday, checking the door every time a car passed, every time the bell didn’t ring.

And then, finally, the door swung open.

Louis didn’t even pretend he hadn’t been waiting.

Lestat stood just inside, shaking off the cold, his coat trailing open, hair unmade, his sunglasses hooked carelessly into the collar of his shirt. He was a mess of exhaustion and effortless extravagance, and Louis barely let him get a word in before he crossed the space between them.

Hands at his collar, pulling him in, a kiss pressed hard against his mouth. Doing what he hadn’t done last time they parted.

And the blonde sighed into it, the sound half a laugh, half relief. He tasted like ash and coffee and something undeniably him, and Louis could feel the way his body eased into it, like he had been waiting for this just as much as him. He kissed him long enough to grow dizzy, and only then did he pull away, smiling at the man like the lovesick fool he was.

“I should’ve done this at the airport,” Louis murmured against his lips.

Lestat only hummed, his hands settling against Louis’ waist, holding him there. “You absolutely should have.”

He let out a small, breathless laugh, pressing his forehead against Lestat’s for just a second longer before pulling away. They were in the middle of the store after all, and they’ve already gone past his limit for public displays of affection. Yet still, he let his hands slip down, fingers catching briefly on the edges of Lestat’s coat before letting go completely.

“You look awful,” Louis muttered.

Lestat grinned. “Charming as ever. Keep talking, and I might start blushing.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Sit before you collapse.”

The other didn’t argue. He dropped into the chair with a sigh, stretching his long legs out in front of him, his entire body exhaling as he finally let himself stop moving. Louis sat across from him, tucking one foot beneath the other, watching him in the soft afternoon light.

“How was the last show?”

Lestat tilted his head back slightly, considering. “Loud. Unreasonably so.” Ah. Today was one of these; filled with short replies, not giving away too much, in fear of sharing things that shouldn’t be shared. Louis smiled:” And the flight?”

Lestat groaned at that, as if remembering made him relive the moment. “Too long. I swear, Viktor fell asleep ten minutes in and didn’t wake up until we landed.” He stretched his arms above his head, muscles shifting beneath his shirt. “Meanwhile, I was heroically suffering in complete silence.”

“Suffering? That bad?”

Lestat smirked, lazy, slow. “They were out of champagne.”

Louis rolled his eyes at the obviousness of his untrue reply, but his chest felt light, warm in a way he hadn’t let himself feel in days. He let himself sink into the moment, into the simple fact of Lestat being here, in front of him, close enough to touch. And Lestat too watched him for a second longer, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees:“ You really did miss me, didn’t you?”

Louis swallowed, eyes flickering away for half a second, before meeting his gaze again. “Of course I did, Lestat.”

Lestat smiled, slow and knowing.

“Good,” he murmured. “So,” he said then, tilting his head. “How was the last week? You and Claudia manage to survive without me?”

Louis exhaled a quiet laugh, leaning back slightly. “Barely.”

“I knew it. Life without me would be even more unbearable.” Then:” Claudia?”

Louis rolled his eyes. “She’s settling back into school. It’s been fine, just – busy. Meetings, getting everything in order. She was already causing trouble by day two, I think. Such a smart girl. But a big mouth she has sometimes.”

Lestat grinned, looking far too proud. “That’s my girl.” Louis shook his head, but there was no real exasperation behind it. He could feel Lestat watching him, waiting for him to say more, but before he could, the bell above the door chimed.

A few customers walked in; a couple of older women, chatting softly to each other, followed by a young girl, maybe fifteen or sixteen, dark braids pulled over her shoulder, clutching a book in one hand. She stepped inside, glancing up once, then froze.

Louis could see the realization happen in real time, the way her eyes widened, mouth parting slightly, looking between Lestat and the book in her hands as if trying to confirm he was real.

Lestat, ever the performer, noticed immediately. He offered her a small, knowing smile, like he was sharing some secret with her.

She hesitated, clutching the book tighter, then took a step closer.

“Are you-?”

Lestat grinned:” I suppose that depends. Who am I supposed to be?”

She blinked, flustered, then let out something between a laugh and a breathless sound of disbelief. “The Vampire Lestat!”

Lestat tilted his head. “Correct.” And he smiled again, wide, and Louis was glad he didn’t see those fake-teeth again. He’d hated when they’d been disrupting that toothy smile in the past. The girl beamed, her nerves melting into something brighter:” Oh my God. You’re actually here.”

Lestat pressed a hand to his chest. “In the flesh.”

Louis, watching from the counter, felt something strange settle in his chest. Months ago, he would have rolled his eyes at this, at the dramatics, at the self-satisfaction that radiated from Lestat whenever he was recognized. But now, it just felt… different.

How had he ever mistaken this for arrogance?

The way Lestat spoke to her – genuine, patient, playful but never dismissive. Maybe Louis only thought so now, because the man was interacting with a child, rather than his usual groupies, but he seemed so soft again, so nice. Simple and plain. Nice. An adjective that could be just as positive, as it could be negative. But Louis took in the way the blonde rockstar leaned in slightly when she started rambling about her favourite song, the way he actually listened, actually asked her about herself instead of making it all about him.

The way he posed for a picture when she nervously pulled out her phone, and even told her to take another, just in case the first one wasn’t good enough.

Louis could see it in her face – the kind of happiness that felt unreal, like something she would still be thinking about months from now.

Afterwards, the girl walked out practically glowing, texting furiously as she stepped outside, probably telling every friend she had what had just happened.

When they were alone again, Lestat turned back, brushing off his coat like this was just another ordinary moment. “Well, that was delightful.” Louis exhaled, shaking his head. He could never say it out loud, never tell Lestat that in moments like this, it almost physically hurt how much he loved him.

“Now. Can I help?” Lestat had gotten up, taking off his coat and throwing it over the back of the chair. Louis raised a brow:” With what?”

Lestat gestured vaguely at the shop. “The books. The customers. The work.”

“Do you not have anything better to do?”

Lestat grinned:” I could, but then I wouldn’t be here.”

Louis hesitated. He wasn’t used to this – Lestat staying, lingering, just wanting to exist in his space without expecting anything in return. “…Fine,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Sort some of those boxes over there. Put things where they belong. I assume you’re smart enough manage on your own.”

Lestat beamed. “Gladly.”

He watched Lestat step over to the stack of books like he had just been given the most important task of his life. “I’ll be in the back,” Louis said, turning toward the small storage room. “Making us coffee.”

Lestat perked up, even as he was elbows deep into one of the boxes, trying to pull out a stack of books. “Oh, mon dieu, really? This is a rare honour.”

“Don’t expect much,” Louis warned. “It’s instant.”

“It’ll do.”

Louis smirked, disappearing into the back before Lestat could keep going.

It took a few minutes, finding the old tin of instant coffee, pouring the water, waiting as it dissolved. He could still hear Lestat in the other room – the occasional hum of amusement when he commented something to himself, the sound of books shifting, the murmur of quiet conversation.

And then, a voice that wasn’t his.

Louis frowned slightly, stepping back into the main room, two cups in hand – only to find Lestat leaning over the counter, handing a book to an elderly man, nodding along as the customer spoke. Lestat, who had somehow, within the last five minutes, decided he now worked here, for the next minutes to follow.

Louis paused in the doorway, watching it, ready to step in, only to find, that Lestat slipped into the role as if it were something he did every day.

The blonde glanced up, catching his eye and smiled. Louis sighed, shaking his head as he made his way over. “You’re supposed to be sorting, not selling.”

Lestat took one of the coffee cups, raising a brow. “I’m multi-talented, mon cher.”

Warmth spread in his chest.

Again the realisation: Lestat was here.

And he wasn’t in any hurry to leave.

Louis set the coffee cups down on the counter, watching as Lestat effortlessly charmed yet another customer, slipping between roles like it was second nature. When the customer was gone, without really thinking, Louis stepped forward, slipping an arm around Lestat’s waist from behind, resting his chin lightly against his shoulder.

Lestat stilled for just a second, then let out a quiet, pleased hum.

“Have you given up your career that fast?” Louis murmured, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. Lestat smirked, turning his head slightly toward him:“ What can I say? The rockstar life was fleeting. Bookselling is my true calling.”

Louis laughed his shoulder, the warmth of Lestat so easy to sink into, so familiar despite the, admittedly rather short, time apart.

The next customer – a middle-aged woman clutching an old edition of some French poetry – raised a brow at them, clearly entertained. Louis hadn’t noticed her before, and he felt his face heating, stepping away from Lestat to pretend being busy with something. “I was wondering why you looked familiar”, then woman said.

Lestat grinned that big idiotic smile again, completely unbothered. “I get that a lot.”

The woman hummed amused. She paid for her book. Louis hid his laughter behind a hand, as she winked at Lestat, and at Lestat winking back, as if they’d just shared some secret he wasn’t part of. As the bell chimed behind her, Louis exhaled, arms back to being loosely around Lestat.

“You know, I’m sure you can touch me in public, without getting locked up for being gay”, Lestat said, and Louis didn’t bother getting annoyed at it:” Yeah, but I doubt it’s good for business.”

“Being gay?”

“No. Fumbling while I’m trying to sell books.”

“Ah”, Lestat made, then:” Might have a point there.”

“I’m impressed,” Louis said, after a second. “You managed to last almost fifteen minutes without making a scene.”

Lestat tilted his head slightly. “Don’t count me out just yet. I’m planning on scaring your next costumer away.” Louis smirked, but before he could respond, Lestat sighed, shifting slightly in his hold. “I should go,” Lestat murmured, voice softer now. “Let you work. Try to find some purpose at home, before my lack of responsibilities makes me do something stupid.”

Louis hesitated, fingers curling slightly where they rested against Lestat’s stomach.

He didn’t want him to go. Not yet.

Lestat must have felt it, because he reached down, covering Louis’ hand with his own, squeezing gently.

Louis swallowed, then cleared his throat. “Come over later.”

The blonde stilled.

Louis could feel his breathing, the way it hitched – just slightly – before settling again. “For dinner,” Louis added, quieter. “If you want.”

Lestat turned fully then, shifting in Louis’ hold until they were facing each other again. His gaze flickered over Louis’ face, like he was searching for something.

Then, slowly, he smiled.

“I’d love to.”

Louis nodded, swallowing down something warm, something too big for the moment. Lestat stepped back, picking up his coat from where he had draped it over the chair. “Seven?” he asked.

Louis nodded. “Seven.”

Lestat smirked, leaning in to press a brief kiss to the corner of his mouth before heading toward the door, the bell ringing behind him.

***

The kitchen smelled nearly overwhelming of too much garlic and simmering tomatoes, the warmth from the stove fogging up the windows slightly, trapping the late evening light inside. Louis stood next to the stove, sleeves pushed up, chopping fresh basil while Claudia leaned against the opposite side, half helping, half stealing slices of bell pepper when she thought he wasn’t looking.

Louis caught her hand before she could snatch another. “That’s for the sauce.”

Claudia huffed, dramatically dropping the piece back onto the cutting board. “I’m starving.”

“You look perfectly fine. Stop eating the ingredients.” He watched her put on a pout, and cross her arms. Next, his gaze flickered onto the screen of his phone, at the recipe he’d chosen earlier. “So,” Louis said, flicking the basil into the pan, ignoring the directions he just read. “How was school?”

“Fine.”

“Claudia.”

She sighed, crossing her arms. “We had a debate in history class, and I may have-” She hesitated. “-corrected the teacher a little.”

“How much is ‘a little’?” He asked. “We’ve had this conversation before, young lady.”

Claudia waved a hand. “Enough that I had to stay after class to ‘discuss appropriate participation.’ But she did say I had a point. So it’s not bad. But she could have admitted it during class.”

Louis exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Claudia.”

She smirked, utterly unrepentant. “What? You should be proud. I won.”

The doorbell rang.

Claudia immediately perked up, dropping her wooden spoon onto the counter. “I’ll get it.”

Louis barely had time to protest before she was already out of the kitchen, her footsteps quick and deliberate down the hallway. He exhaled, stirring the sauce absently as voices drifted from the front door. Claudia’s sharp, teasing tone, followed by a lower one; familiar, warm, unmistakable.

A moment later, Lestat stepped into the kitchen, Claudia at his side.

Louis glanced up, and it hit him all over again. Lestat standing there, in his home, in his space, coat draped over one arm, eyes scanning the kitchen like he was trying to commit it to memory. Like he had been waiting for an invitation for longer than he’d admit.

Louis felt the air shift between them, something settling deep in his chest that hadn’t quite rested since Lestat left.

He remembered himself a beat later. Gestured vaguely around the room, at the barely organized chaos of half-prepared ingredients, open spice jars, an already overflowing sink. “Sorry for the mess.”

Lestat tilted his head slightly, unimpressed. “Stop doing that. I don’t care. You’ve seen how I keep my room, non? So stop.”

Louis blinked. “Hm?” Lestat smirked, stepping further inside, rolling up his sleeves as he passed:” You apologize for things that don’t matter.”

Louis swallowed, gaze flickering down as Lestat moved easily into his space, brushing past him like he had always belonged there. It reminded of him the days spent in Rome, that house, where they’ve lived together as if they always have and always will. The nights they’ve cooked, the mornings, they’ve stood there together, making coffee as they stole kisses while waiting.

“I can set the table,” Lestat offered, already reaching for the plates stacked on the counter.

Louis hesitated. It was such a simple thing. An everyday thing. Something that felt dangerously close to normal.

“…Yeah,” he said finally, clearing his throat. “That’d be good.”

Lestat hummed in approval, balancing the plates on one arm. Louis shook his head, half-smiling, turning back to the stove. “There’s wine in the cabinet, if you want some.”

“Now you’re speaking my language.”

He just kept stirring the sauce, Lestat not going far. Even as he moved back and forth, setting plates down, pouring wine, he stayed close; one hand drifting lightly against the small of Louis’ back whenever he passed. Not enough to distract, not enough to pull him away from cooking, just… there.

When he was done, the blonde leaned next to him against the counter, watching him with the kind of focus that should have felt ridiculous but instead pooled in Louis' chest like something warm. “So,” Lestat said, arms crossed, smirking just slightly. “What else did I miss this week? Beyond Claudia terrorizing the education system.”

Ah, and where was she, Louis thought, looking around. She must have slipped away at some earlier point.

“Not much. It’s been quiet.”

“That a good thing?”

Louis hesitated, stirring the sauce slowly. Was it? “I don’t know,” he admitted. “It was a little too quiet, I guess.”

Lestat didn’t tease him for it. Didn’t smirk, didn’t make a dramatic declaration. He just exhaled softly, watching Louis like he knew exactly what he meant.

For a second, Louis kept his focus on the stove, fingers tightening slightly around the wooden spoon.

Until Lestat’s hands were at his waist again, pulling him back just enough to turn him slightly. And he was kissing him slowly, taking his time; Louis sighed into it, the heat of the stove warming one side of him, Lestat's body warming the other. When they pulled apart, Lestat didn’t move far, keeping his forehead lightly against Louis’ temple.

“I missed you,” Lestat murmured, his breath warm against his skin.

Louis swallowed. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I know.”

When it was time to eat, Claudia declared she would have her meal in front of the tv, watching something that was on. A poor excuse, but an appreciated one; kind to give them time alone, having a quiet dinner after the time apart. And Lestat sat back in his chair, glass of wine balanced between two fingers, watching Louis as if he still couldn't quite believe he was here.

“So, because you didn’t tell me this afternoon. The last show. How was it?”

Lestat exhaled, swirling the wine in his glass. “Loud. Overwhelming. Perfect.”

“Sounds about right.”

Lestat huffed a quiet laugh. “I hadn’t been to Paris in a while. Not really. And I didn’t expect it to feel like-“ He hesitated, twirling the stem of his glass between his fingers. “Like that.”

Louis frowned slightly, setting his fork down. “Like what?”

The other shook his head, taking a sip of wine instead of answering. Louis watched it for a moment before trying again:” Being back in France, it wasn’t good for you?”

Lestat let out a slow breath, gaze flickering down for half a second before meeting Louis' again. “France was never really a home, mon cœur. Just a place I came from.”

Louis didn’t press. He could see it in Lestat’s face; the way his expression flickered, the way his fingers tapped absently against the table. There was something there, something unsaid, but Louis knew better than to ask for it now, risking this sweet little moment they had there. It was a difficult thing, getting things out of Lestat. Much more difficult, than getting himself to talk. Maybe because Louis’ answers, they were direct and simple, and they didn’t need five different backstories, and re-opened wounds.

Lestat leaned forward slightly, changing the subject before Louis could say anything else. “The show itself was… strange. Good, but strange. I think I knew the moment I stepped onstage that it was the last one for a while.”

“Not just the last one of the tour?”

Lestat shrugged. “Maybe longer.” He reached for his wine again, pausing just before taking another sip. “The band stayed behind, you know. Cookie, Alex, Larry. All of them.”

Louis blinked. “They’re still in Paris?”

Lestat nodded. “They deserve a break. We all do. But honestly… I’ve been thinking this might be the last time we perform together for a while.”

Louis frowned slightly. “You’re splitting up?”

Lestat considered that for a moment, then shrugged. “Not officially. But Cookie’s been approached by someone from the label. They’re interested in making a solo artist out of her.”

Louis hummed. “I’ve heard her sing. She’s got the voice for it.”

There was a near proud tilt to Lestat’s smile. “She does. And I’d be an idiot not to support it.” He set his glass down. “Alex wants to travel for a bit. He’s been talking about taking a year off, going across Europe, maybe heading to Japan. I’m not sure what Larry wanted to do, but it seemed like he has something on mind. I don’t know if or when we’ll team up again. I think they need time to do their own thing.”

Louis watched him carefully. “And you?”

Lestat exhaled, dragging a hand through his curls. “I’ll work on the next album alone. I’ve got ideas, and honestly, it’ll be easier to create without worrying about how it fits into a band. I can play the instruments myself, if I don’t want to hire someone.”

Louis studied him for a moment, the way his voice was steady, but his fingers still tapped lightly against the table, like there was something unfinished in what he was saying. “You sound like you’ve already made up your mind,” Louis commented.

“I usually have.”

There was something about this moment, about the ease of it, the way Lestat looked here, in his kitchen, with a half-empty glass of wine and no rush to leave. It felt steady. Settled.

Like Lestat had stopped running, and Louis finally got the chance, now that he allowed himself to, to properly claim him in his life, and hold him where he was. When they were done eating, they worked together in silence, clearing the table, rinsing dishes, stacking them in the drying rack.

Louis wiped down the counter, and Lestat dried a plate with all the enthusiasm of someone performing an exhausting, physically demanding task.

“This is cruel,” Lestat muttered, placing the plate onto the stack. “I came here for dinner, not manual labour.”

“You volunteered.”

“I was feeling generous.”

Louis hummed, tossing the dish towel over Lestat’s shoulder. “Oh, how tragic for you.”

Lestat rolled his eyes, but before he could keep up the act, Louis was in front of him again, slipping a hand against the small of his back and pulling him in. Their mouths met, slow and tender, Lestat leaning into it immediately, sighing softly against Louis’ lips. His hands settled against Louis’ waist, fingers slipping beneath the hem of his sweater, just enough to feel the warmth of his skin.

When they pulled apart, Louis smirked, eyes flickering over Lestat’s face. “You wanna stay?” Lestat hesitated. It was barely a second, but Louis caught it. He grinned, tilting his head. “Are you getting shy?”

Lestat huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “I’m asking if it’s wise. Because of Claudia.”

Louis snorted. “She knows we’re together. And she’s not five.”

“Yes, but-”

“What, do you plan on doing something that will traumatize her?”

Lestat laughed, shaking his head. “Mon dieu, no.”

“Then you’re fine, Lestat.”

Lestat exhaled, watching him for a second longer, then nodded. “Okay. If you’re sure.”

Louis squeezed his waist lightly before stepping back, reaching for the wine glasses still on the table. Lestat stretched, running a hand through his curls. “I’m stepping out for a cigarette. Can’t go too long without ruining my lungs further.”

Louis glanced at the clock. “Of course you are.” Then:” You really need to stop.”

“Non. Leave me one bad habit, at least.” Lestat said, already reaching for his coat. “Come with me.”

Louis sighed, but he was already following. He poked his head into the living room, where Claudia was still curled up on the couch, watching something. “We’ll be back in a second,” he said.

Claudia barely looked away from the screen. “Don’t get lost.”

A bit later, Louis pulled open his closet, shifting through folded shirts and sweaters, searching for something Lestat could wear. Something comfortable, something that wouldn’t have Lestat whining about fabric texture or fit. Behind him, Lestat sat on the edge of the bed, watching with thinly veiled amusement.

“You know,” Lestat murmured, voice warm with quiet teasing, “you could just let me sleep naked.”

Louis didn’t dignify that with a response, pulling out an old T-shirt and tossing it at him. “Put that on.”

Lestat caught it, shaking it out with one hand. “You are no fun.”

Louis moved to the bathroom to dig out a spare toothbrush. He knew he had one somewhere. “You act like you don’t have a drawer full of my shirts already,” Lestat called after him, getting up to follow.

“And you say that like you didn’t begin stealing my clothes from the beginning on.”

He found the toothbrush at the back of the cabinet, still in its packaging, and put it next to the sink for Lestat to take when he needed it. Just as he stepped out of the bathroom, Claudia appeared from the other direction, sneaking some snacks from the kitchen into her room. She paused when she saw them, raising a brow.

“Well, look at that.” Lestat said.

Louis sighed, nodding at the handful of chips and candy she was balancing against her chest. “Don’t stay up too long. You’ll regret it in the morning.” He was not going to lecture her more; with her fifteen years she could decide on her own if she wanted to be sleepy all day long. She’d learn her lesson better like this, rather than if he just directed her to sleep now.

Claudia shrugged. “That sounds like a problem for Future Me.”

Louis shook his head, stepping past her. Lestat shot her a playful salute before following. “I’m serious, Claudia,” Louis called over his shoulder.

Claudia waved a hand, already heading back toward the couch. “Yeah, yeah. Good night, Daddy Lou. Good night Lestat!”

Louis sighed as he closed the bedroom door behind Lestat.

The exhaustion of the day was finally settling in, heavy and slow, but it felt… good. Lestat climbed into the bed, stretching out with a sigh. Louis followed, despite wanting to finish getting ready for bed first. The blonde curled slightly toward Louis, propping himself up on an elbow as he watched him.

The sheets were warm, the quiet of the apartment pressing in around them, soft and familiar. Louis shifted closer, letting a hand drift into Lestat’s hair, scratching lightly against his scalp. At that, Lestat made a sound so content, so pleased, that Louis almost laughed. Instead, he let his fingers trace slow circles at the nape of his neck, and Lestat leaned into it, eyes half-lidded, sighing softly against his throat.

Louis hummed, tilting his head slightly as Lestat pressed a lazy kiss just beneath his jaw, then another, softer this time.

They kissed for a while, slow, unhurried, lips parting only to breathe, to smile against each other’s mouths.

Louis let his fingers drift down the length of Lestat’s spine, feeling the way his body melted into his touch, like he had been waiting for this for longer than he’d admit. Lestat exhaled, pressing his forehead against Louis’ shoulder. “I should stay over more often.”

Louis laughed quietly, pulling him in closer. “You could.”

Lestat’s lips curved against his skin. “Is that an invitation?”

“Yeah,” he replied softly. “It is.”

Lestat pulled back just enough to look at him. There was something expectant in his gaze, something waiting. Louis hesitated for only a second, convincing himself to say it, before exhaling. “I want this. I want us.”

Lestat’s expression shifted – something flickering behind his eyes, something that looked dangerously close to relief. “Well,” Lestat murmured, shifting even closer. “Took you long enough.”

Louis rolled his eyes, but before he could respond, Lestat kissed him again, deep and warm, fingers slipping beneath the fabric of his shirt just to rest there, just to feel. Eventually, they settled, Louis curling around Lestat, holding him close, feeling the steady weight of him beneath the blankets.

Lestat exhaled, sighing like he had finally let go of something.

Louis pressed his lips against the crown of his head.

And, for the first time in too long, they slept.

The alarm pulled Louis from sleep, the soft chime breaking through the warmth of the sheets, the slow rise and fall of steady breathing beside him. He exhaled, eyes barely open, feeling the familiar weight of Lestat against him. Warm, solid, still tucked against his chest.

For a moment, he just stayed there. Let himself feel it. The way Lestat’s body curled so easily against his own, the way his hair smelled like something faintly floral, like whatever shampoo he had used.

Then, slowly, he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Lestat’s forehead. Lestat hummed sleepily, barely stirring, pressing closer like he wasn’t ready to let go of the warmth just yet. Louis smiled softly, brushing his fingers briefly through Lestat’s curls before slipping out of bed.

The kitchen was quiet, the apartment still settled in the early morning. Louis moved through the familiar routine; making coffee, setting out toast and eggs for Claudia, waiting for her inevitable shuffle into the kitchen with sleep-mussed hair and a barely concealed grimace at the early hour.

She blinked at him, dropping into her usual seat. “Where’s your other half?”

Louis raised a brow, setting a cup of tea in front of her. “Sleeping.”

When she was done eating, she grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder, heading for the door. Louis followed, leaning against the frame as she slipped on her shoes. “Be good,” he said.

She sighed. “No promises.”

“Try to stay out of trouble.” He repeated. “I mean it.”

“Again. No promises. Bye Daddy Lou!”

He shook his head, watching as she disappeared down the street. Then, finally, he returned to the kitchen, pouring two cups of coffee, taking his time as he carried them back into the bedroom where Lestat was still sprawled out on his stomach, one arm stretched across Louis’ pillow, hair a mess of golden curls against the sheets.

Louis set the coffee down on the nightstand, then sat beside him, running gentle fingers over his back.

“Wake up,” he murmured.

Lestat groaned softly, stirring just enough to bury his face into the pillow. He leaned down, pressing his lips lightly to Lestat’s shoulder, then his cheek, then his jaw, watching as Lestat exhaled slowly, turning toward him, eyes still heavy with sleep. At first, Louis kissed him softly, and Lestat sighed into it, reaching up to tangle a hand into Louis’ hair, pulling him closer.

The coffee was forgotten.

Next, Lestat’s fingers curled at the back of Louis’ neck, deepening the kiss. Again, there was no rush, no urgency – just the warmth of the sheets, the lazy slide of mouths meeting, the soft hum of morning settling in around them. Near instinct, Louis shifted over him, pressing him gently into the mattress, bodies aligning easily, naturally.

The blonde exhaled, breaking the kiss just enough to murmur against his lips. “Good morning to you too.”

Louis chuckled, pressing his forehead against Lestat’s. Lestat kissed him again, even slower this time, and Louis melted into it.

Hands roamed, lips grazed skin, sighs filled the quiet room.

Louis' hands slipping lower, trailing over Lestat’s thighs, teasing, exploring the skin beneath the loose fabric of his boxers. Lestat; arching into him, breath hitching, fingers tightening in his hair. Then, a pause that followed, because Louis had thought about something. He swallowed; he hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t planned for this.

Lestat noticed immediately, eyes flickering open, searching his face.

Louis exhaled. “I don’t—” He hesitated. Laughed. “I don’t have anything.”

Lestat blinked. “Anything?”

Louis flushed slightly. “Lube.”

Lestat stilled. When he laughed, it was warm and breathless and delighted. “You know, you can say the word.” He grinned, pulling Louis back down against him. “Mon amour, you worry too much.”

Louis groaned, pressing his face into Lestat’s shoulder. “I just-”

“You’ll be careful,” Lestat murmured, turning his head to brush his lips against Louis’ temple. “You always are. And there’s spit and body lotion.”

Now, Louis laughed. Maybe because of the way Lestat said it, or because he was so terribly soft and pretty beneath him. So real, after days of longing for him. He didn’t have much time dwelling on the thought, because Lestat pulled him in for another kiss, deeper now, more certain.

What followed, was slow.

So slow. Gentle. More, than ever before.

Everything was so careful; tender hands and murmured words, soft gasps and slow movements, the warmth of bodies pressed together, the light from the window spilling golden across the sheets, even when its glow was cold.

Lestat sighed in French, the words slipping between kisses, between touches. Louis couldn’t even pretend to understand all of it. But the tone was unmistakable: pure, unfiltered happiness.

Somewhere in the middle of it, Louis pressed a kiss to his throat, soft and lingering. “You’re okay?”

Lestat hummed, fingers trailing along Louis’ spine. “Mmm.”

“Are you sure, dear?”

Lestat let out a breathless laugh, pulling him closer, deeper. “If you ask me again, I might start to think you regret it.”

Louis exhaled, tucking his face into the curve of Lestat’s neck. “Never.”

Afterwards, the quiet settled again.

The morning stretched ahead of them, even when for a while, they stayed exactly where they were.

At some point, Lestat stretches as he sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, looking entirely at home in Louis’ bed. Louis, meanwhile, is already halfway dressed, sitting at the edge of the mattress, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.

“You’re really getting up,” Lestat observes, voice a bit rough.

“I have a store to open,” Louis reminds him. He stands, crossing the room to his closet. “You need something to wear?”

Lestat glances down at himself – boxers, yesterday’s shirt wrinkled on the floor. “I’d appreciate it. Unless you’d rather I do the walk of shame in last night’s clothes.”

Louis starts flipping through his wardrobe. “You might have to. You and I aren’t exactly built the same.”

He pulls out a pair of jeans, eyes them sceptically, then tosses them onto the bed. Lestat picks them up and stretches the waistband between his hands. “These will never fit,” he declares. “You’ve got all your length in your torso. I have my height where it matters.”

Louis turns, raising a brow. “Oh? You measuring? Careful, I’ll win this competition.”

Lestat grins, shameless. “Just an observation.” He stands and holds the too short jeans up against himself. Louis snorts, pulling out a shirt instead. “Try this.” Lestat tugs it over his head, but the shoulders strain slightly while the fabric hangs loose around his waist. He holds out his arms, looking down at himself. “I look like a child playing dress-up.”

Louis bit back a smile, watching him struggle. “Take it off. Let’s try something else.” He could have just given Lestat something he stole, but then he’d have to risk not getting it back again. So, after a few more attempts – pants too short, shirts too wide, a sweater that makes Lestat complain about feeling suffocated – Louis finally hands him a plain black tee that fits well enough.