[ Lestat feels that dull, satisfying ache of peace surround his heart again as he lets this moment with Louis breathe. It's so staggering to feel on such even ground with someone, and not only that but to feel strangely at east with it. It's always been so much easier to pretend that his bruised little heart craves control, the dominance of any situation in order to withstand the fear of feeling too much, to not risk the heartbreak of rejection, that a shackle is better than an open door.
But here Louis is, the one who has broken his heart a thousand times in so many small little ways and who he has punished for it tenfold, and somehow Louis still wants to be at his side. It isn't perfect, he would be an idiot to assume such a thing because Lestat's ego still feels wounded, and his heart is still on guard and desperate to cling despite it all... but at the very least he has this, and isn't it what he's always wanted? ]
It is. [ He agrees, because he remembers going into the ground just as vividly as he recalls waking up from it. ] That desire is what keeps us connected to the world, to.. [ To being human? He isn't sure he's willing to say something like that out loud just now, because he'd rather not weep in the middle of a furniture store. ] To who we are.
[ He presses his forehead to Louis' then, with a soft hum of comfortable thought. ]
Oh, I don't want to move. [ His voice is a gentle whine, his eyes shut. He basks in the feeling of Louis' hand in his hair, shifting his head just slightly this way and that as he reminisces over the feeling of it petting through his locks, and nuzzling his nose with Louis' in the process. ] Perhaps we should just move in here. Think of it, a new couch every day, plenty of drawers to squirrel away your scribblings, there's even an imitation fireplace toward the back of the store.
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But here Louis is, the one who has broken his heart a thousand times in so many small little ways and who he has punished for it tenfold, and somehow Louis still wants to be at his side. It isn't perfect, he would be an idiot to assume such a thing because Lestat's ego still feels wounded, and his heart is still on guard and desperate to cling despite it all... but at the very least he has this, and isn't it what he's always wanted? ]
It is. [ He agrees, because he remembers going into the ground just as vividly as he recalls waking up from it. ] That desire is what keeps us connected to the world, to.. [ To being human? He isn't sure he's willing to say something like that out loud just now, because he'd rather not weep in the middle of a furniture store. ] To who we are.
[ He presses his forehead to Louis' then, with a soft hum of comfortable thought. ]
Oh, I don't want to move. [ His voice is a gentle whine, his eyes shut. He basks in the feeling of Louis' hand in his hair, shifting his head just slightly this way and that as he reminisces over the feeling of it petting through his locks, and nuzzling his nose with Louis' in the process. ] Perhaps we should just move in here. Think of it, a new couch every day, plenty of drawers to squirrel away your scribblings, there's even an imitation fireplace toward the back of the store.