Nicolas feels it before he sees it— that prickle at the base of the skull, that soft pressure behind the ribs, that pull. The same one he has felt in a hundred lives, in a hundred bodies, in a hundred cities. The one that always meant him.

The evening air in Paris is damp, heavy with the smell of rain that hasn’t yet fallen. The narrow street glistens under the jaundiced glow of the streetlamps, puddles reflecting the blur of passing headlights. Nicolas stands beneath the awning of a shuttered café, violin tucked beneath his chin, bow moving in slow, deliberate strokes. The music is soft, intimate—meant for himself, not the crowd. A private confession disguised as busking.His coat is thin. His fingers are cold. But the melody warms him, as it always has.

People pass without listening. They always do. Except tonight, something shifts.A presence settles at the edge of his awareness—familiar in a way that makes his breath catch. It feels like déjà vu sharpened into a blade, like a memory he should not have, like a name whispered through centuries. His pulse stutters. The bow trembles.

He lifts his eyes.

Across the street, half‑hidden in the shadow of a crumbling archway, a man watches him. Tall, pale, dressed too finely for this neighbourhood. His posture is still, unnaturally still, as if he is carved from the night itself. And though Nicolas has never seen him—not in this life, not with these eyes—something inside him remembers.

A hundred lifetimes of dying beside the same soul. A hundred rebirths spent searching for the same warmth. A hundred endings that always led back to him.Except the last time. Except the one life where the cycle broke.

The music falters. Nicolas’s breath fogs in the cold air. His heart pounds with a strange, aching recognition he cannot explain. He doesn’t know this man. He shouldn’t know this man. And yet—

He feels as though he has been found.

The stranger steps closer, into the lamplight, and the world seems to narrow around him. His eyes are bright, cold grey-violet, unbearably familiar. They carry centuries. They carry longing. They carry grief.

Nicolas’s bow slips from his fingers and clatters onto the pavement.

A pact, an oath. Live together and die together. The same time, the same place, and then find one another again. Somehow, always able to find one another. Different names and faces, but always the same souls, bound together by an invisible chord, impossible to sever. Until it has been. Lestat, abducted from their bedroom, turned into some kind of monster. That alone would have been fine. The end of it would have been a fresh start. Live together and die together. Only this time, Lestat can't die.

Nicki does, and Lestat can do nothing to stop it. His maker, gone. Lestat has no teacher and by the time he considers making Nicki like himself, it's too late. Two hundred years now, and the chord is frayed and broken. No pull to anyone or anything. And Nicki is born again and again, alone. Nicki dies again and again, alone. Perhaps not all his lives are awful. Perhaps in some of them, he is even happy. Lestat can't tell. He can't know. The connection, severed. No matter how hard he looks. A different face, a different name, a different place.

It feels impossible. Eventually, he succumbs. He stops looking. He moves on. A man named Louis, a daughter named Claudia. He remembers and he carries Nicki but he loves another. And when that all falls apart, he cannot wonder if it's because the man he is meant to be with is gone. Almost another century, and he has returned to Paris. The trial that sees his daughter executed and himself abandoned. He could go back to America but for some reason he stays. It's 1952 and Europe is still recovering from the war and he bears violin music in the street.

Innocuous on it's own, but that's his song. Composed and played only for him. He is drawn from his apartment in Paris down to the streets. It can't be. Not after all this time. And there is a man, whose face he does not recognize, but whose soul is reaching out from the moment he lays eyes on him. The pull, the chord renewed. His beloved. His heart hammers like a hummingbird in his chest. He approaches slowly as the world around them seems to stop. Maybe it does. He is careful, slow.

He cannot fight the feeling of recognition, even with how long it's been. He drops his bow and Lestat dips low to retrieve it, gently holding it out for him. "You know me?" Tentative, cautious. It's impossible. It can't be. It's been too long. What were the odds? But it was always like that, wasn't it? If this is Nicki, his Nicki, then the universe has conspired to bring them back together. For a moment, Lestat forgets his all consuming grief and there is nothing else.

❝Very true though.❞ ‬ WARM gaze flickers down to her bright pink tee cropped to show the soft expanse of her stomach, exposing the swooping HOURGLASS of her waist.

The apples of her cheeks FLUSH a BEAMING pink at his comment on her mind, a soft TWINKLING laugh bubbling from her lips. ‪

❝Busy and pink?❞ Her tone is a SIREN’S TEASE, bleached strands of hair curling to frame her pretty face at the tilting of her head.

❝Lucy Marie,❞ ‬she murmurs. SOFT AND SOUTHERN CHARM.

THE COMMENT ON DINNER ISN’T LOST ON HER. The mere idea of it making her delicate hands shaky — she hadn’t considered the other side of this. THAT HE MIGHT NOT BE AS MORALLY INCLINED AS SHE. ‪

❝Oh, I’m alright, I have a type, ❞ ‬she CRINGES as the words leave her. A bit stilted and EMBARRASSED to have to drawl that out in front of him.

She's pretty, in a kind of MTV glamour way. Nothing about her speaks to grunge. He can see the appeal. Petite and glittery and syrup sweet, he's enchanted by her every moment and word. "Lucy Marie," he says like he's tasting it. "A pleasure to meet you." She clearly isn't interested in blending in and not being seen and he finds that interesting. Perhaps that's something they have in common. When she politely declined his offer of a meal, he can't help but raise an eyebrow.

A little psychic poke tells him she doesn't want to kill anyone, and he could tell her that the donor will walk away from their encounter, but he doesn't push. "Well, Lucy Marie," he purrs. "I think I like you. And you seem to like me. As I said, a few others like us have turned up for the show but they didn't stay long. I was invited to join a coven once. Well, less of an invitation and more of a decree. Vampire rules. Are you familiar? Do you come from a coven, or are you on your own?" He sits down in an armchair, crossing one leg over the other as he leans back, sinks into it, and regards her.

"I'd love for you to stay for a while. Do you smoke?" He gestures to the pack on cigarettes on the table. "Or if there is something else you enjoy." He winks. "We don't judge. It's supposed to be a party. I have a little VIP thing in a while that you're welcome to join. You seem like you'd enjoy a good time, unless you're also morally opposed to that," he chuckles, eyebrows raised, his tone teasing.

His  father  had  all  but  ruined  their  business  before  he  died;  they  were  just  barely  scrapping  by  money  wise  before  Louis  had  to  change  career  plans.  Now  he  never  set  out  to  be  a  pimp  but  was  the  only  option  he  had  after  selling  the  mess  his  father  left  and  it  wasn't  like  he  got  much  from  it.  He  took  to  well  and  knew  how  to  play  the  game  and  he  did  well  for  himself  for  sure  and  kept  his  working  life  away  from  home  the  best  he  could.  Paul  didn't  help  with  that  in  later  years  as  Lestat  himself  saw.

"Someone  had  to  step  up,  take  care  of  them."  He  shrugs  his  shoulders  because  in  truth  none  of  them  knew  what  it  took  to  keep  that  roof  over  their  head  and  keep  all  the  needs  met.  Happy  mama  happy  life  that  he  learnt  and  she  had  always  been  a  kept  woman  never  seeing  just  how  bad  things  were.  "Get  me  drunk  enough  and  I'll  sing  for  you  some  time  and  you  can  tell  me  if  it  is  good  enough."  He  moves  his  fingers  to  the  keys  like  he  was  told.

"You  gonna  explain  the  different  keys?  Isn't  there  something  about  different  notes  too?"  He  asked  because  confusion  is  written  all  over  his  face  since  yeah  he  could  sing  the  notes  but  trying  to  work  them  on  for  the  piano  that  was  new.  “I  know  the  notes  go  A  to  G  with  A  being  higher  and  G  being  lower.” 

"Yes, of course. Who is the teacher here, hm? I need to see your form and how well you follow instructions." He nudges him playfully, gently, with his elbow. "Humor me, and copy what I do," he says, before he plays a few notes of scale and waits for Louis do to the same. It's easy, and Louis copies it as well as expected. "Did you know vampires have mimicry? It's how I learned to play the violin. Watching others do it." Nicki. His style is identical to Nicki's, flaws and all. He had spent hours and hours, days and days as a human watching Nicki play and as a vampire, picked it up in a matter of days.

Music connects him to Nicki and always will, and it is nice to be sharing it with another. Even if Louis doesn't turn out to be a musical genius, the time spent together is what mattered. Lestat instructs Louis to follow a few more note patterns and then he does in fact begin to teach him the individual notes and keys. "As a vampire, you have better hearing than any human. Music will be different now, instruments will sound...more. The deep notes deeper and the high notes higher. You can learn to hear into the sound and take it apart, a composition or song."

He turns slightly, facing Louis better, letting his hands fall into his lap. "Are you bored yet?" He teases, smiling at him. "It's almost impossible for you to be bad at this if you watch me. Like I said, it's mimicry. The secret is...finding the soul. Giving the music life. Anyone can play dispassionately, make noise. But some of us are blessed enough to make it come alive. If piano isn't for you, we could try something else. You come to life in other ways, my Louis. We have eternity to find all the things you love. Your reading for instance. I do so love to listen to you read for me."

Thumbs  trace  along  the  soft  warm  skin  of  Lestat's  hands.  This  was  real,  this  wasn't  a  cruel  trick  his  mind  had  made  up.  Maybe  this  moment  wasn't  the  best  to  explain  how  he  had  been  haunted  by  the  other  the  whole  time  that  he  was  away.  The  kisses  make  his  smile  pull  into  a  slight  smirk.  The  older  vampire  had  always  had  a  way  of  calming  him  down.

The  temperature  was  something  he  was  more  used  to  closer  to  winter  in  New  Orleans.  Paris  had  been  dull  cold  and  rained  on  and  off  for  days  at  a  time.  No  he  much  preferred  the  warmer  temperatures.  Lestat  has  to  know  that  he  wasn't  about  to  walk  out  on  him  right?  He  sat  there  watching  the  other  wondering  how  he  could  get  him  to  believe  that.  He  hadn't  lied  when  he  said  he  just  wanted  to  come  home.

Bossy  as  ever  when  it  came  to  taking  care  of  him.  "I  will."  The  words  are  earnest  as  he  does  what  he  is  told  and  finds  the  blanket.  It's  soft  fabric  and  extravagant.  It  was  very  Lestat  like  the  rest  of  the  place  was.  He  wrapped  it  around  his  shoulders  using  one  hand  to  hold  it  closed.  He  lets  his  head  fall  back  so  he  can  at  least  look  at  Lestat  while  he  speaks  to  him  from  the  kitchen  even  dares  to  smile  softly  at  him  as  pokes  his  head  back  into  the  room.

There  was  a  slight  whine  because  yes  Lestat  was  right.  He  had  been  reckless  very  reckless  but  he  hadn't  planed  his  journey  here  out.  "I  remember  everything  you  taught  me."  He  sighs  because  how  does  he  explain  that  he  hadn’t  planned  a  trip  like  Lestat  had  taught  him  it  was  rushed,  not  very  well  planned  and  it  wasn’t  like  him  to  be  so  impulsive.  "I  know  it  was  reckless  but  I'll  admit  I  could  have  planned  the  journey  better."  He  shrugs  on  shoulder.  "I  just   had  this  sense  of  urgency  to  leave."

It  was  more  like  a  compulsion  to  act,  to  get  as  far  away  from  Paris  as  he  could.  He  didn't  feel  welcome,  not  like  they  had  Claudia  she  fit  right  in  with  the  Théâtre  des  Vampires.  He  just  had  this  gut  feeling  that  if  he  had  stayed  that  something  bad  would  happen  to  him.  Then  he  met  Armand  who  was  intense  and  creepy.  No  he  doesn't  need  to  think  about  the  coven  as  long  as  they  were  good  to  Claudia  he  didn't  have  to  care  about  them.

"Thank  you."  He  takes  the  offered  blood,  recalling  to  go  slowly  as  he  takes  his  first  sip  as  he  feels  slightly  warmer.  Naturally  Lestat  had  made  it  perfect  drinking  temperature.  "You  can  ask  questions."  He  offered  because  he  rather  not  just  sit  there  drinking  blood  while  Lestat  watched.  "I  know  you're  probably  curious." 

Curious is an understatement, but he doesn't want to overwhelm Louis who is still tired and weakened from his travels. He waits a beat and the sits down on the armchair adjacent to Louis. Sitting next to him would be nice, but then he can't see him properly and he needs to see him, his expressions and his reactions. Reading Louis can be difficult, especially when he's withholding, but sometimes their are minute tells that give away and betray his thoughts and feelings. Microexpressions that not even he can entirely conceal. While Louis begins to drink, Lestat wets his lips and his gaze falls to his nails, absently studying them for a moment before he brings his thumb to his mouth and traces the outline of his lower lip.

He crosses one leg over the other. His gaze remains on Louis, as he tilts his head. Where to begin? "I couldn't tell from the photo. Where is she? Where did you end up?" He has more questions than Louis will be able to keep up with but he was never a very patient man. His tone is careful but earnest. "What did you see? I was worried. You picked an awful time to traipse across Europe, no? She was on fire. So much destruction. I watched on the tv, but of course, it told me nothing." He frowns, looking thoughtful, before shaking his head. "But you did alright. You're here now and she's there. I'm glad, that you're okay. Both of you. I had nightmares about what might await you. If something awful happened there would be nothing I could do...I would never even have known."

He looks away for a moment, staring off, as if distracted, before he glances back at Louis. A pause, and he finally stops biting his nail. "Did you find them? The vampires you were looking for?" He doesn't know how far they got or who they met or what might have transpired. He hadn't thought he was really keeping secrets but there was a history there he had chosen not to share. Surely some part of himself still belonged to him. Surely it was his choice on when to divulge, if ever. And the demands of a child did not make them entitled to his trauma, or all that had happened. Louis would not have left her alone, no matter where they were, so it makes sense to him that they did find a coven or at least a lone vampire who might stay with her.

And how many could there be? There was nothing to say it couldn't have been England or Poland. Italy or Spain. Maybe there were dozens of them now. It didn't have to be Paris. It didn't have to be Armand. And yet still, the anxiety remains. He swallows hard, trying to offer him a smile, though it falters. "I'm sorry, you're tired. Start from the beginning, Louis. If you can. From the moment you left. That night, when -" When you left me to die on the side of the road like day old trash. But there is no resentment there anymore. He's long forgiven Louis and Claudia for what occurred. It is only hard to speak about in the presence of Louis, and he does not wish to make him feel guilty.

Love drives people to dangerous extremes. He is certainly no stranger to that. "When you left." He sits forward, uncrossing his leg and resting his elbows on his thighs.

Vampires do not live symbiotically with humanity. They do not share in the daily struggle of human life. Instead, they feed, siphoning away our vitality in order to extend their own unnatural existence. But if we are their fuel, are we not also their strength?