Lestat is an habitually early riser, waking before the pink and orange sky has fully made its retreat behind the horizon, bringing forth the dark velvet evening, dotted with stars. His eyes open in the dark of the coffin, though he can see Louis perfectly, feel his breath on his skin, feel the weight of his body against his own. Neither of them move much during the deathsleep, aptly named for its depth and duration. In those hours after sunrise there is nothing that could wake them, perhaps to their own detriment. But they're safe there, together in Lestat's townhouse, one of the few in the neighborhood they didn't convert into apartments during the war and so when he does wake, he feels no urgency.
His own fingers skim across Louis' wrist at his waist, their skin the same temperature. He does watch him sleep, even as he stirs and mumbles something. Lestat smiles when he realizes a second later where he is, and those gorgeous green eyes gaze at him, raising his head to see him. "Wouldn't you? My memory does not do you justice," Lestat replies. "I yearned to look upon you every day for four years. I doubt I will ever stop now that you have returned to me." Louis cracks the lid and the light floods in before, to his surprise, Louis does not move to stand or exit their mahogany cocoon. Instead, he rests his head on Lestat's chest and Lestat moves his chin to settle atop it, while Louis gently traces his scars. He is commiting every moment of this to his deep memory, to be recalled when necessary.
Perhaps it never will be because Louis will be with him and memory is a poor subsistute for living. He wishes for a memory that might remember every detail of their lives together in full, but he'll have to do with what he can recall. And these moments Louis in his arms, their reunion, it is more than he allowed himself to hope for. "We could, yes. But I did promise to take you to see some of the city. At least this borough. I think I could live here for the rest of my life and never know her entirely. I can think of worse things to do with eternity." His hand come to cradle the back of Louis' head, nails against his scalp. He can feel their hearts beating, but they sound like one.
"New York is beautiful at night," he continues, "But it has been lonely. Without you, I felt incomplete. It did not matter where I was or who I was with." He pauses his fingers in Louis' hair. "I haven't ventured as far and as deep as I might have liked. Perhaps we can do that together. Discover all she has to offer. Music, art, dance, theater... good hunting, I think. But I'm getting ahead of myself. First we need to leave coffin. And then you'll need to pick someone of mine to wear, if we are to go out." He looks down at Louis, or more accurately the top of his head, and hesitates before speaking again. "Are you still....the animals...I want to be sensitive to your preferences." He'd taken the blood last night but that hadn't included a kill and it had been urgently necessary.
