Louis de Pointe du Lac

Louis is solid in his arms and he smells like Louis should smell, under the smell of travel and confinement. He's the same. It's been four years but he's still the same. He feels the same and sounds the same and Lestat's eyes remain closed as Louis kisses his temple and that voice, the one he played over and over again in his mind, is exactly how it should be. His memory did not do it justice. The words he speaks next are more reassuring yet, and as he pulls back, only far enough to see Louis' face, the spell breaks and he can hear the cars in the street, the pedestrians walking and chatting. The lights flicker and remain, casting shadows on the street.

In the midst of this busy street in New York, they are two people reuniting for the first time, even as the world goes on around them. Just like it had for four years. Life always finds a way to continue but until this moment, for Lestat, it has been in some state of stasis. He could not move on, he could not let it go, even as he did not expect Louis to return. He doesn't want to break their embrace, as if Louis might vanish. He can feel Louis' fingers curled in the back of his shirt, and he knows Louis feels the same way. He swallows hard and shakes his head, eyes widening slightly in sudden alarm. "Claudia, where is she?"

He must ask, he must know. Fear grips his heart again as it occurs to him Louis is alone. He was with her when they left. Did they find vampires in Europe? Did something terrible happen? His face pales, the streaks of red stark against the skin, and he lets Louis go only long enough to bring his hands to either side of his neck, holding him there, his expression imploring. "Did something happen, Louis?" His voice is small. He should invite him inside. They shouldn't have this conversation there, on the stoop. But he's frozen there, blue eyes fixed on Louis'. He's very nearly holding his breath in anticipation, and his thumbs brush just below Louis' ear, skin on skin for the first time in what feels like an eternity.

Claudia  is  what  brings  him  back  to  the  world  around  them.  New  York  city  was  loud  and  never  seemed  to  stop  moving  even  in  the  dead  of  night.  He  could  understand  why  Lestat  had  made  his  home  here.  With  some  reluctance  at  his  end,  he  pulls  his  head  back  as  Lestat  does.  Hands  moving  to  hold  the  other  forearms,  thumbs  moving  in  a  circular  motion  into  his  shirt  sleeves.  “Breath,  she's  good,  better  than  good  Lestat.”  He  gave  him  a  tired  smile.  “She  is  the  happiest  I’ve  seen  her  in  years.”  He  pulled  one  his  hand  away  to  pull  a  photo  that  he  had  taken  of  her  out  of  his  packet,  knowing  Lestat  would  need  to  see  proof.  It  was  in  their  apartment  back  in  France  as  she  was  doing  her  make  up.  Not  that  the  photo  looked  the  best  any  more  after  his  journey. 

But  it  was  better  than  nothing.  Hopefully  that  would  be  enough  to  get  them  off  the  streets.As  much  as  the  skin  to  skin  was  welcomed  He  was  tried  definitely  weak  on  his  feet.  Even  Lestat’s  warm  touch  couldn’t  do  much  to  ease  off  the  exhausted.  He  couldn’t  recall  the  last  time  he  had  slept  properly  before  he  left  Paris?  His  body  felt  heavy,  his  knees  still  shaking.  “I’ll  tell  you  everything  inside.”  He  offered  hoping  that  Lestat  could  see  that  he  really  shouldn’t  be  on  his  feet  for  much  longer. 

“She’ll  hate  me  for  saying  this  but  she  made  you  proud.  Kept  us  both  alive.”  He  smiled  small  but  soft  all  the  same.  Claudia  was  a  force  to  be  reckoned  with.  She  reminded  him  of  Lestat  in  a  lot  of  ways  which  was  always  one  of  their  issues.  They  were  too  similar  but  also  too  stubborn  to  see  it  but  he  did.  “We  taught  her  well.” 

"My tutors were similarly barbaric. They did not abide my struggles in learning anything, and once warned my mother I might simply be too stupid to catch up to my peers." He chuckles, shrugging. "But look at me now! I can play a great variety of instruments and contribute to scholarly debates, if I so choose." He can read and write and keep up with most people, even if he doesn't find the same passion for reading his mother had, nor that Louis seemed to cultivate.

That is fine too; he has other things that bring him joy and now Louis is attempting to engage with them. Once they're sitting, Lestat lays out the sheet music and lifts his chin, turning to look at Louis at the same time that Louis reaches out for him, a mischievous smile on his face. "Oh, it's very romantic. As gestures go, I'm quite impressed. I only say that so you're not upset if you're not some kind of prodigy. Anything worth learning takes time."

This of course coming from a man who loathed to be anything other than magnificent on his first try. "That is helpful. Have you played before? Or perhaps another instrument?" He's not qualified to teach anyone anything, but Louis' asked him, and so he'll oblige. Hopefully he'll have enough patience himself, knowing full well how easily he succumbs to irritation. The things we do for love! He thinks he could do anything for Louis, as long as it was Louis.

"I  wish  I  could  say  it  was  better  when  I  was  younger  but  no."  He  chuckles  lightly;  he  hardly  remembers  his  tutor,  just  the  smell  of  his  bad  breath.  "You're  more  of  an  artistic  type,  I  wasn't  allowed  to  learn  anything  creative."  He  shrugged  and  read  enough  books  on  subjects  like  art  history  and  fine  arts  to  have  basic  understanding.

He  thanked  his  lucky  star  that  he  managed  to  talk  his  mother  into  letting  him  go  to  the  library  somewhere  he  likes  to  go  and  just  be  still.  Now  that  caused  him  to  snort  before  it  turned  into  a  chuckle.  That  smile  was  not  to  be  completely  trusted.  "I  might  surprise  you  again."  He  shrugs  his  shoulders  as  he  looks  over  the  sheet  music  quickly;  he  still  can't  place  the  song.  "You  have  a  way  of  making  me  believe  anything  is  possible."

He  looked  away  from  Lestat  and  he  was  sure  a  faint  rose  colour  came  to  his  cheeks.  "You're  not  allowed  to  laugh."  He  sighs  as  he  shakes  his  head  fondly.  "When  I  was  ten  Paul  wanted  to  join  the  church  choir  but  didn't  want  to  go  alone."  He  let  out  an  amused  breath  because  even  to  this  day  he  is  not  sure  why  he  said  yes.  "He  begged  me  for  a  week  straight  till  I  gave  in  and  of  course  mama  felt  better  knowing  I  was  in  case  something  happened  and  I  was  forced  to  learn  to  sing  and  how  to  read  sheet  music. The rode and collar was horrible.”   He  cleared  his  throat  a  little  and  then  looked  back  at  others.  “That  was  before  the  voices  started,  the  last  thing  we  did  together  where  Paul  was  just  Paul." 

Dirty, rumpled, disheveled. A far cry from Louis as Lestat knew him, fastidious and carefully put together. A man who had travelled some time and not in comfort. Lestat has a thousand questions, not least among them wariness. A terrible thing to feel upon their reunion and yet the last thing Louis had done was slit his throat and fold his body into a trunk. In anger, in desperation. Was he angry now? And yet nothing about Louis' demeanor or apperance suggests that. He looks tired. And miserable. And then almost imperceptibly, joyful, at the recognition of Lestat and the fact that he is standing before him. A solitary tear wells in his green eyes and Lestat's throat is thick and his mouth dry and he thinks perhaps his own eyes are rimmed red, vision blurring slightly.

If the vampire bond had lessened at all in his absence, it returns like it had never gone. He can feel Louis. Even though he cannot read his mind, he knows somehow that Louis is not angry. He feels his fledgling's relief and most overwhelming of all, his love. Familiar and something he has ached for, and now it comes from Louis full force. A multitude of emotions, but most simply and purely, love. Could Louis feel it too? You send me your love and I send it back 'round again. Lestat remembers to breathe and inhales sharply through his nose and then he lets out a shuddering exhale and opens his mouth to speak but it caught off guard again. Home. Home was New Orleans, home was Rue Royale.

He'd been forced to leave it behind, knowing there was a chance Louis would never been able to find him again, if he ever even tried. Of course, the idea of Louis returning to him had been ridiculous. He'd wanted him dead. It was not some lover's quarrel but irreconcilable differences, made final when the blade slit his throat. And yet, was anything final when you lived forever? Was anything inexcusable or unforgivable when you had nothing but time to reflect and consider? He'd forgiven Louis for it as he'd done the deed. He simply had not expected Louis to forgive him. "I - " He begins, feeling foolish.

And then, because he cannot think of words, he simply steps out onto the stoop and envelopes Louis in a hug, his arms wrapping around him, his face pressed into the crook of his neck. He inhales him, and he knows he is crying now. "I'm so sorry," he whispers, unsure if Louis can hear his muffled words. "Louis, my Louis."

That  heart  beat  was  something  he  longed  to  hear  beating  again;  it  was  like  his  own  heart  had  stopped  after  that  night.  He  had  been  living  with  the  ghost  of  the  man  that  was  everything  to  him.  There  like  some  vision  for  a  god  he  long  stopped  believing  in,  he  was  standing  flesh  and  bone.  He  hadn’t  killed  him,  the  only  other  being  to  see  him  for  all  that  made  him  and  still  chose  to  be  with  him  to  love  him  unconditionally  even  when  he  couldn’t  love  himself.  Maybe  there  was  some  god  out  there  that  listened?  Or  maybe  the  only  god  ever  worth  a  damn  in  loving  was  Lestat.  His  eyes  stung  with  the  tears  that  fell  silently  speak  the  loudest  pain  with  each  droplet. 

He  takes  a  shaky  breath  and  just  lets  himself  feel  this.  To  be  in  this  moment  with  what  he  was  feeling  was  what  Lestat  wanted  him  to  feel.  Love,  I  love  you  he  would  scream  it  out  till  his  lung  burnt  and  that  feeling  he  knew  well  but  the  words  were  still  too  painful  to  admit  out  loud  but  the  feeling  within  them  he  could  send  that  back.  To  say  those  three  words  now  would  break  the  flood  gates  enough  he  couldn’t  do  that  now  at  their  first  reunion.  He  couldn’t  drown  just  yet  as  selfish  as  that  was.  He  was  shaking  like  a  leaf  and  probably  would  fall  as  easily  as  one.  God  he  hadn’t  realized  just  how  exhausted  he  was. 

Lestat  himself  is  rather  like  New  Orleans,  the  city  he  still  loves.  Or  at  least,the idea of   what   New   Orleans   is.   Vibrant   and   beautiful.   Exotic   and   occult.   Fuelled   by   music,   magic,   and   midsummer   madness.  An   alluring,   inscrutable   mystery   to   him.It's   why   he  loved  him  so  he  felt  like  home.  “Home  is  you.”  He  blinked  away  the  bloodily  tears  and  nodded  his  head  like  he  too  was  only  just  understanding  the  weight  of  his  own  words,  nothing  hurtful  about  them,  just  the  truth. 

He  staggers  back  on  the  impact  as  those  arms  engulf  his  form  and  for  the  first  time  in  a  very  long  time  he  is  not  free  falling  any  more.  He  safely  back  on  the  ground  with  Lestat.  His  own  arms  wrapped  around  Least  holding  him  close.  “There's  nothing  to  forgive.”  He  moved  his  head  so  he  could  press  his  lips  to  the  other  temple.  “It's  on  both  of  us."  He  hand  grip  Lestat's  shirt  he  sure  his  nails  might  just  rip  it.  “Not  just  you.” 

continued with @lpointedu

It is sometime before Lestat pulls his gaze away from the sheet music, as if he cannot play it by feel and sound alone, only to witness the cathedral windows of Louis' green gaze on him, watching. He does not answer immediately, and Lestat tilts his head, curious. Louis rarely does things without intention, rarely gets swept up in a moment. It was the warmth and gentleness of his gaze that catches Lestat off guard, so often under scrutiny and in judgement, rendered fond and affectionate. The request is an equal surprise. Louis has many talents, but music has always been Lestat's passion.

Later, he will share it with Claudia, but that is many years off and even then, Louis, for his part, will simply turn the sheet music. To hear music like Lestat does, one must be a vampire, and luckily, he gave Louis the gift recently. They can both appreciate the sound more than any mortal. He isn't sure if Louis is asking because he genuinely wants to learn, or because it's something Lestat has expressed a deep and abiding love for and he's doing his duty as lover and companion but he finds he doesn't mind either way.

It takes a moment, but his smile broadens as Louis' request hangs in the air. "We should start with something happy, no? No melancholy for you. Beautiful things don't always have to be sad. And not too complicated." He stands from the bench, and moves to shuffle some papers, turning to the bookcase, with a glance over his shoulder. "You're a perfectionist. You should know it took me a long time to be able to play as I do now. It might require patience. I will try to be a better teacher than I had, no?" He turns back to Louis once he's found the song and sheet music he wants. "Sit with me?"

It  is  his  way  of  trying  to  understand  Lestat  and  he  genuinely  wants  to  learn.  He  could  already  sing  not  that  anyone  needed  to  know  that  information,  that  was  between  him  the  church  choir  and   Paul  who   had  begged  him  to  join  with  him  in  his  boyish  youth.   New  Orleans  was  filled  with  musical  melodies  that  he  liked  but  never  fully  understood  their  full  impact  till  now.  Music  really  does  feed  the  soul,  Lestat  was  teaching  him  that  much  at  least.  To  respect  it  more. 

There  was  an  unexplainable  warmth  that  pushed  his  way  from  his  chest  as  Lestatt's  smile  broadened.  He  couldn't  help  the  way  his  own  smile  brightens  as  gets  up  from  his  seat.  “You're  not  going  to  hit  the  back  of  my  hands   with  a  stick?  One  of   Grace's  teachers  did  that  every  time  she  got  a  note  wrong.”  It  asked  in  a  light  teasing  tone  as   he  recalled  the  memory  now  of  walking  past  his  sister's  lesson  once.  Those  lessons  didn't  last  long  after  that. 

Lestat  was  really  in  his  element  here  and  Louis  would  have  this  moment  or  lestat  in  any  other  way.  He  can’t  help  but  to  chuckle  that  makes  his  nose  crinkle  slightly.  “Well  this perfectionist   was  tryin’  their  hand  at  being  romantic.I  have  good  patience  when  I  need  it.”  He  walks  slowly  to  the  bench  and  takes  a  seat  next  to  him  still  feeling  slightly  out  of  place  so  he  reaches  his  hand  out  to  brush  some  of  Lestat's  impossibly  golden  hair  back  behind  his  ear.  “I  know  the  basics  of  reading sheet  music  if  that  helps?” 

we know it's very difficult for louis to be vulnerable like this, to openly admit to another person that he was hurt in some way. but when he finally does admit it, he's often not taken seriously, his feelings are invalidated or dismissed.