Louis fixed his gaze on the other's iridescently beautiful eyes, utterly transfixed by the hypnotic way in which they seemed to absorb the light of the full moon and reflect it back, making them shimmer with a celestial majesty that made his heart flutter the way it had when they'd first met. Though he had only known a fragment of his eternity, in over a century, he had never encountered a creature as magnificent to behold as Lestat. From the musical lilt of his voice, to the effortless grace with which he seemed to carry himself, Lestat was as near to an angel as Louis had yet known.

Which made his perpetually shitty, impetuous attitude all the more frustrating.

"Lucia is maddened by an idealized version of the past," Louis raised a finger, affecting the irritation plain on his chiseled features. "I can see why you might idolize her."

In earlier times, Lestat had been able to weaponize his comprehensive knowledge of art and culture as means by which to place himself above Louis and Claudia; to be able to look down upon them as a means of self-aggrandizement. But Louis had spent the years that had separated them wisely, immersing himself in a rich tapestry of art, music, and literature spanning centuries so that he would never again be used in such a manner.

The vampire stood there, frozen, fighting the urge to break. He looked despondent, his mouth trembling, as they stood there motionless in the silver light of the moon. Every part of him screamed to get away while he still could.

Lestat is poison, Louis reminded himself; a mantra he'd told himself each and every time he'd thought fondly of his maker.

He will hurt you.

But he couldn't move. For the most fleeting of moments, he'd seen the faint but unmistakable flicker of humanity in Lestat's icy blue gaze. Not the powerful and mysterious vampire he pretended to be, but the vulnerable man that he was. Just like the night they had consummated their love in the church in Storyville. And in that brief eternity as they held one another's gaze, he did not feel sorrow, but desperate. Desperate to hold him, and be held by him. Desperate to press his lips against Lestat's and put behind them a half a century of anguish. Desperate to begin again.

'I love you, Louis. You are loved.'

Words he often replayed in his mind, seesawing between if he believed them to have been spoken truly or if they had been said deliberately as a means of manipulating him. Perhaps they had begun as the latter, and ended up the former. Louis wasn't sure what he believed any more. Did it even matter? They were a century removed from that day, had already forgiven one another for the transgressions of the past. It was, perhaps, finally time to allow old wounds to heal. To focus, not on the pain he'd left behind him, but the infinite possibilities of a future yet unwritten that lay before him.

After a moment of contemplative silence, he finally looked up. "You're right. I do understand flawed perfection. I stare at it now. I see it every night when I close my eyes. I've yearned for it for days uncountable."

Louis stopped walking, fixing his gaze to Lestat's. "There are no more churches for us, mon cher. No purpose in declaring eternal love for one another..." The vampire drew closer, closer than he'd wanted, and touched a hand to the the face he'd spent half a century dreaming of. "We already did that a long time ago..."

Louis approached the other, his footsteps slow, their distance measured precisely. He didn't dare draw too near. Not for fear that Lestat might have lashed out at him. Louis believed they were beyond reprisals, both parties having agreed that the past should remain where it had been left. But rather, as though they were celestial bodies, Louis knew that if they drew too close to one another, they may never be able to separate from one another's orbit again.

So, although it pained him greatly; Louis fought the need - the urgency - to be close to Lestat, resolved to maintain a distance between them.