#sufferingregret

   He can’t believe it. He simply can’t believe it. The once proud plantation owner of Pointe du Lac, now reduced to standing with his hands on his hips as a big, blond, fanged infant lays burrowed in comforters, duvets, blankets abound. How, exactly, did this become his afterlife? What universal fates conspired to bring him to this point? Louis doesn’t know, can’t begin to fathom the answers, so he merely lets out at a sigh and glances towards the ground, trying to keep an even temper. “You cannot hide beneath down and cotton hoping that all of your problems simply disappear, Lestat.”

One hand moves to pinch the bridge of his nose, eyes now closing as he releases another long breath. “If I must endure the consequences of your most recent escapade, then so, my friend, must you.”

“I can’t?” Lestat parrots, incredulous. As if “you can’t” has ever stopped him before. He takes it as a challenge really, and Lestat de Lioncourt’s never been one to back down from a challenge. “Watch me! I’m doing it right now.” There! Take that, you big no-fun-allowed-ever grump. A fun-sucker, even! He just snuggles deeper into the blankets, defiantly, as if to prove his point.

“You know, I get it enough from Marius. I don’t need to catch it from you, too, my handsome friend. He’s perfected the condescending lecture, and I don’t listen to him either, so really your follow up is just redundant at this point. Give up the dream.”

Look, he’ll deal with it. He always does, eventually. It’ll work out, just let him be pathetic for a moment. He looks up at Louis from his spot on the bed, and decides to drop the swaggering prick act and be genuine for once.

“I’ll take care of it, Louis. I promise. But for right now, just join me?”

“Thank…. you?”

“For once, you didn’t open your mouth. I’m pleasantly surprised.”

      THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT HEARING the words you’ve always craved to hear. Something so wonderfully overwhelming that you aren’t entirely sure what to do with yourself once it finally happens. No celebration, no dancing around and rejoicing. No. All you can do is sit and gape like an eternal idiot. 

For a long while all Lestat could think to do was blink in pleasant surprise at Louis’ admission, head tilted into his fledgling’s soft (and apparently caring) hand as it made his words ever the more sweeter with gentle affections. But when he finally he shook free from shock’s icy grasp Lestat smiled. No-- he didn’t smile. He BEAMED. Usually when Lestat would roll over and expose his vulnerable underbelly, he’d get stabbed-- but this? Oh, this was nice. He’d have to be careful. This was exactly the sort of thing he’d classify as addicting.

“Mon ami, you’ve done it.” Lestat breathed, awestruck. He turned his head to fix Louis with an affectionate look. If he could have literal stars in his eyes, he would. “You’ve become unpredictable again-- and so deliciously so, mon dieu. Where were you hiding THIS, hm?”

       “When I was a child, I heard voices… Some would sing and some would scream.”

 “My brother suffered the same… affliction.” Louis looks down, lost in thought as memories of his long ago mortal life return to him. He isn’t plagued by the same sorrow and guilt he felt upon Paul’s death those centuries ago, but he still regards them with an air of regret. “He claimed that the Lord and His angels came to him in visions and directed his path in life, told him of what he was to become and what he must do to achieve such things.” Pausing, eyes glued to a fixed spot, it’s a good moment before he moves again, looking up at her with a soft expression. “Perhaps he did have visions of angels; who am I to say?” Then, leaning forward, sympathy and curiosity in his tone, “These voices… did they ever leave you?”

   •☾ Aғғʟɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ. Wᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇʀ? Wᴀꜱ ꜱʜᴇ ɪʟʟ? These voices that came to her in the night like the whispers of the wind were not angels. This was not god speaking to her for she was unsure if she believed in god or the devil. Her own gaze had been lost, looking in his direction but not focused on anything in her sight. No her thoughts were elsewhere, his voice a soft echo in the distance. The shifting of limbs brought her sight back, his pale skin and dark hair coming into view. Had the voices left her? 

In the past Lestat would have probably just made fun of Louis for daring to express a genuine feeling, but he likes to think he’s moved past that by now. Sure, he still maintains a certain facade to mask his true sensitivity around others, but he doesn’t have to do that with Louis. Not anymore.

“I do know,” Lestat admits, and his voice is laced with affection even to his own ears. There’s nothing quite like being loved and wanted by someone who’s known him at his absolute worst. And to think he spent decades convinced Louis would leave him if he ever got to know the real Lestat.

In the moment all he wants to do is kiss his beloved, but he doesn’t want Louis to feel dismissed. That doesn’t stop him from closing the little remaining distance left between them, though, cradling Louis’ face with both hands as he rests their foreheads together.