It’s after, after the explosive argument and the never ending shouting, after Louis and Lestat have been sitting on this bench for what feels like 5 nights and 5 days straight, when Lestat asks him;
“Are you disgusted with me?”
Louis considers it, locating the queasy feeling right under his ribcage and pokes and prods at it. “No, not at you,” he says, still unable to look at Lestat, at his face rent open with emotion that Louis can’t handle yet.
“But you are disgusted,” Lestat observes. Louis can see Lestat’s stiff posture out of the corner of his eye.
Louis sighs, leaning his head back and squeezing his eyes shut. He sees Lestat there, on the backs of his lids, telling Louis it’s nothing; it’s different for vampires with tears shining unshed in his mirrored blue eyes. Lestat’s laugh, tight and unnatural, when he said Louis is still too Catholic to understand.
“I’m processing,” Louis says, swallowing bile that’s inching up his throat. He should’ve eaten, maybe, before this but he thinks about splashing blood puke over the lush interior of Lestat’s car and decides he made the better choice in waiting.
“How long,” Louis starts and his voice cracks. He clears it, tilting his head upright. “How long after you turned her did she ask you into her bed?”
“I don’t know,” Lestat says with the quickness of a lie. “She lured me in slowly. It was a seduction.”
The word pings in Louis’ brain, and he remembers the book. “Les,” he says thickly, lowly, and reaches for Lestat’s hand before he can overthink it. Lestat jumps slightly but grips it back. “Did you even want it? It’s okay if you didn’t want it.”
He looks at Lestat finally, finding Lestat already looking at him. His waterline is red with tears, and his jaw trembles, the scar of his mouth twitching.
“Les,” Louis repeats. “It’s different. You’re not her; I’m not you. How deep is this in you?”
Lestat shakes his head, the tears now falling. His shoulders shake as he cries, uncharacteristically quiet with it. “I’m sorry,” he says finally. “I don’t—I’m sorry.”
Of all the things for Lestat to apologize for, Louis thinks almost ruefully. He pulls Lestat in, letting him rest his head on Louis’ shoulder. The blood will stain his clothes, but Louis isn’t thinking of that right now.
“I wish you would’ve told me about this,” Louis says quietly, unsure if Lestat can even hear him. “But I know why you didn’t. And we’re gonna have a bigger conversation about this later. You don’t need to apologize.”
Louis feels Lestat shake his head in the crook of Louis’ neck, and he resists the urge to such Lestat like a child. The disgust and the worry and the anxiety all still swirl in his chest, building and building as Louis thinks more and more about it. But he can deal with that later.
