To Love Again

Morning.

He expects Louis to be gone- to have left with the sun, disappeared into the dark and out of his life once again. To an extent he is correct, but not in the way he had thought. The coffin is void of Louis, and Lestat feels his throat close; his hands grasp at the crimson velvet encasing his weary existence and he does not want to get up. How long will they go on like this? Two lines, intertwining, twisting together only to be broken apart over and over again. A cycle: Louis always leaving, and Lestat never making him stay, never saying the words he so desperately wants to shout until his throat is raw, until his lungs no longer inhale, and his voice no longer falls victim to the silence that seems to embody the both of them. As he lets his mind wander down the dark path, he does not feel the warm liquid trickling from his tightly shut eyes, or hear the subtle sound of muffled steps. And when the coffin lid is opened, and there stands Louis, beautiful, brooding Louis, Lestat is filled with confusion.

"I was going to leave," Louis begins, only to fall silent.

"Why didn't you?" Lestat whispers, sad eyes gazing up at him.

"That, I do not know." Neither speaks, nor moves, nor breaks eye contact.

"You're still going to leave." It is a fact, a small detail that Lestat knows to be true. For a moment Louis' eyes flick away, his voice is quieter than it had been before.

"Yes, eventually," he straightens up, brooding mood and fatal face returning once again, "I have no reason to stay."

Lestat knows that if his heart were not still, it would have skipped a beat, or maybe slowed altogether until the rushing blood turned to sludgy mud and all functions ceased. But he is numb, and the tears that traced through worn trails no longer fill the lonely void; there is nothing to fill the hollow space. He wants to break, to fall apart and scream and cry and shout, to curse the world and time, and existence, and Louis, and love- and yet, he cannot. There is a bone chilling, uneasy numbness that encompasses all he is. He lets out a sharp laugh, hatred dripping from his tongue,

"Then go, I do not need you," in a sweeping gesture he is signaling to the door. His harsh eyes are cast away, for he knows that if he looks at Louis he will lose his composure. And so he doesn't see the look on Louis' face, see the morose expression crumble away; he doesn't see the Louis that wants Lestat to give him a reason to stay. There is a silence that settles in the space between- it is as if time itself is stood still, frozen in the moment of decision. And so he does. Without so much as a breath, Louis has carried himself from the room. And Lestat, sitting there in the coffin, feels his anger growing. He cannot let Louis leave him again.

"You absolute fucking asshole," he says, too quiet for the ears of a human to hear. But Louis is not human and the pure anger behind the words causes him to falter. It is the next words that make him turn, face Lestat with an eyebrow raised,

"I hate you Louis, I hate you," pure anger, nothing except a venomous glare to accompany the words. Louis looms in the doorway, staring across at the other man, who swiftly stands from the coffin. "You fucker. You storm into my life all brooding and negative, unnecessarily might I add, and be all goddamn nice and kind and it's all wonder-fucking-ful. Then like that," his fingers snap, albeit a little dramatically, "you're up leaving once again. Can't possibly stay with Ol' Lestat, lest you actually become something other than a moody, bitchy ass who spends his nights brooding with the fucking rats, while I'm up here trying to live whatever life this hell is."

Louis can't help it, irritation wells up and the fingers pinching the bridge of his nose cannot stop him. Flinging his hand from his face, Louis takes a few steps forward, "For once in your life would you stop being such a pompous ass! Drop the insults, stop belittling others, and stop making yourself seem so high and mighty," his voice falters, quieting, "be honest with me, for once just be honest. Tell me how you really feel."

"Oh, me, a pompous ass? Well at least I didn't set someone on fire, and LEAVE them to BURN." He matches Louis' steps with his own; if he were to reach out, he could grasp the fabric of Louis' shirt.

"Lestat, your being petty."

"Well it's fucking better than being y-" Like his words, his forward march is cut off by Louis.

"Lestat, just stop. I swear if you don't than I'm just going to-"

"Your going to what? Leave, well why not? It's what you're good at isn't it. Just walk away." He no longer sounds angry- just empty, done. Standing straight, he lets his hands rest at his sides, no grand gestures, no dramatic flare. The eyes that stare over at Louis are hard, once rampant emotion forced back by walls.

"Lestat...." His voice is soft. It is what finally breaks Lestat.

"You left me Louis. You left me alone, I have spent so many years terribly, utterly, fucking alone. I just wanted you to stay, I wanted a family, but she- she was taking you away from me. And I don't care if that's selfish. You: moody, broody, grumpy you, that was all that I wanted. I want you with me, I don't want to be alone, I-" Unlike before his voice is laced with emotion, lip quivering and hands shaking. It is Lestat who cuts himself off, eyes widened, and stumbles backwards.

"Lestat?" Louis' voice is impossibly quiet, he stretches out a hand and Lestat freezes. And now is it Lestat who turns his back, facing away from Louis.

"Lestat, take my hand," at the words Lestat's hand twitches, but he does not move. "Lestat, please."

The movements are slow, unsure, but Lestat stretches his hand out behind himself. His fingers lace with Louis and for a second everything is alright. He feels his arm being tugged and body tumbling back, but Louis, still holding his hand, wraps his arms under Lestat's own. Over a still chest they rest, clasped around the hand they still hold. Louis sets his chin on Lestat's shoulder, dark locks mixing with light. Cool lips press against Lestat's jaw and he can't help but close his eyes, the smallest smile finding way to his mouth, quickly followed by Louis' own lips. It is a gentle kiss, chaste almost. But the two mouths fit together perfectly.