#idws

Louis can feel the presence of someone else in his bed before he opens his eyes.

It’s easy to make out, to feel the extra weight in the bed, after sleeping alone for so long.

The mere idea of having someone next to him makes his heart race. Because he knows it’s not Armand, it can’t be — this wasn’t New York. There was no body curled into his.

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“I am not done talking to you,” Lestat says, almost exasperated, but his voice is much softer now, which makes Louis look up.

A silence consumes the air that, strangely enough, forces the thoughts in his mind to come to a halt. All Louis grows aware of is the feeling of Lestat’s grip on him, the way each finger digs into his arm until it’s the only thing he can think about. He doesn’t understand it — doesn’t know if he even wants to.

And yet, he’s forced to look into Lestat’s eyes. He sees the worry hidden under all the anger. But then Louis blinks, and he wonders if he imagined it. After all, there was no trusting Lestat anymore.

That’s why the last thing Louis wanted to do was talk to Lestat, but — if he were honest, he didn’t want Lestat to let go of him, either.