To Love Again

Hungover {Pt.2}

The night crawls onward at an agonizingly slow pace. For Lestat, stuck inside the too bright, too hot cafe, the night is endless. Time drags on, carrying with it irritability and anger. A headache that pounds, pain making teeth grind.

For Louis, who watches from the cold, brick wall of a lifeless club, the night is filled with a silent debate. An internal conflict between mind and heart.

The morning is drawing forth when they return. Motorcycles gleaming in the fading moonlight, drunken bodies stumbling forth to the lit cafe. The look on Lestat's face as they enter is enough to make Louis push himself from the wall. He stands straight and crosses his arms, waiting for the scene to unfold. Minutes tick by, every second lasting a lifetime. Voices, loud, threatening; yelling from inside the cafe followed by an object being thrown. It is sudden, but not unexpected. Lestat has managed to remove the rodents from the cafe, but has thrown himself out with them. The group stands outside the doors, hungry eyes circling Lestat. Although his instinct tells him to interrupt, Louis does not. This is not his fight.

Compared to the stifling air inside, the night is a welcomed escape. Lestat eyes the men circling about him, ready for action. It is the leader who strikes first, lunging towards Lestat, who narrowly dodges. A chain reaction is set off, every member pounces. Fists are flying, hands clawing. Lestat manages to take down five before it all becomes too much. His vision blurs, fuzzy blackness creeping in. Legs collapse, body numb to the pain- unable to feel the harsh pavement beneath. There comes pressure, bursts of it, voices echoing through a sharp ringing. Then it is gone. No more pressure, no more voices: only the ear splitting ringing and inability to feel. Crimson trickles down alabaster flesh, the black peripheral fading away.

A shadow stands over Lestat. A dark outline, a brooding figure with visible brown hair. Lestat releases a long breath, dim eyes staring up at the other man. The ones that peer back are hard, a wall to hold back emotion. There comes an outstretched hand, a hand in which Lestat grasps, allowing his body to be pulled up. He stands shakily, knees buckling, unable to support himself. He is caught before the ground can meet him again. Louis does not speak. Although his vision is hazy and his nerves numb, Lestat gets the vague sensation that he is moving, or rather being pulled along.

Consciousness is lost, only to be momentarily regained. Flashes, noises, the world becomes a kaleidoscope- then it ends. There is no sound, not a thing to be seen, to be felt. Floating in an endless expanse of nothing, drifting further from reality... softness. Gentle. Cold, yet relieving. Light touches, delicate and careful. And then eyes are flickering open. Louis, beautiful, perfect Louis looms over him. Silky hair is tucked behind one ear and a mask of concentration covers his face. In his hands is a damp cloth, in which he is using to clean the blood that trails down Lestat's pale face. Eyes meet, but still Louis does not speak.

"You've been watching me," Lestat says, voice quiet and hoarse. It feels as though he's been screaming, and yet he's hardly said a thing. There is no response. Louis' eyes flick back to the stained cloth. A few seconds pass before he straightens his back, leaving the room. As he walks away, Lestat slowly sits, hands grasping the sides of his coffin. And once again he is left alone. The world blurs and he blinks harshly against the liquid crimson. A single red drop escapes.

"Are you bleeding again?" The voice comes from the doorway. It is soft, deep and melodic. It causes Lestat to turn his head, wishing his hair was a veil he could hide behind, so Louis wouldn't see him crying, so he wouldn't look back, so he wouldn't see Louis standing there and wish that he would stay, that he would hold Lestat and never leave. No, he couldn't turn his head, he couldn't face the truth. He couldn't face Louis. The red had invaded his vision now and he forced his eyes closed.

"Are you alright?" Louis' steps are muffled by the carpet.

"I'm fine!" Lestat snaps, voice dripping with venom. Though he opens his eyes, they focus on the floor.

"Lestat." The tone is so gentle, so quiet. It breaks him.

"I said I'm fi-ine." Though he tries to make his voice harsh, it cracks; a thin, long break in the facade. Louis stands in front of him. "The sun is coming up, you should go."

And then Louis is kneeling, eyes steely and expression void.

"What happened to you?" He whispers, "you used to always be so composed."

"Fuck off." Lestat growls in return, glaring over at the other man.

"I cannot. As you stated before, the sun is rising. Due to construction on the lower floor of this building I am unable to leave."

"So formal with your words," Lestat's tone is vicious, every word bathed in malice. He is hurt, but he will not let Louis see that, he will use his words, project his pain through anger. He shakily pushes himself to his feet, ignoring the ant race that creeps around the edges of his eyes.

"Where are you going?" Louis asks, looking up at him as he steps out of the velvet tomb.

"You take it," he murmurs, wobbling away. And somehow Lestat finds himself staring at the closed curtains, shakily walking towards them as his voice becomes quiet, "you need the sleep."

Vaguely he can hear his name being called, but it is muddled, as if the voice comes from high above and Lestat is willingly trapped beneath the water. The substance fills his lungs, yet it does not choke him, everything is murky, yet his mind is clear. His fingers are curling around the thick material of the charcoal curtains. There is no longer air in his lungs, only the rolling water. An arm is around his waist, pulling up, out of the dark depths; a hand grasps his own, removing shaky fingers from the veil. His name is clear now, it comes from Louis.

"-stat please."

"Louis?" His tone is confused, eyebrows drawn together.

"Just get into the coffin," the walls have come down, giving way to distress, to worry. As Louis guides Lestat back to the coffin he gives the other man a very concerned look. But Lestat does not lay down, he simply sits, staring up at Louis with an unreadable expression.

"If you don't move over, then I will not be able to get in." And so Lestat moves over and Louis in. The lid is closed and breath mingles, legs tangling in an attempt at comfort. Time passes, but neither is able to sleep.

"Louis?" Although it is just them, Lestat finds himself whispering.

"Yes?"

"Are you real?"

"Of course I am." Lestat carefully places a hand on Louis cheek. Fingers trace the flesh- down, over slightly parted lips, caressing a soft skinned neck and over clothed collarbones. He lets out a weary sigh, hand splayed over an unbeating heart. If he closes his eyes, then it is easier. Easier to pretend that everything is alright, easier to pretend that Louis will stay.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, barely audible, as the in-between coerces his mind.