( Louis exhales quietly, feeling a little bit seen, as they say, as if Lestat has read his mind and discovered intentions that Louis hadn't even recognized in himself yet. But of course the instant Lestat says it, Louis knows it's true. He had done just the same thing with Lestat's album, not just home in San Francisco when he'd first discovered it, but here, when it was all he had of Lestat and he didn't know whether he would ever see him again. He had listened to it every morning as he fell asleep, headphones over his ears or the sound drifting out of the speakers themselves, like a man reciting a prayer.

He smiles softly at Lestat singing, the sound stirring memories of their old townhouse in New Orleans and mingling them with the easy warmth of their little apartment. He loves to hear Lestat's voice ring throughout the house and know just where he is without having to listen for his heartbeat, like a bird singing for its mate in their nest. ) 

I had to listen, before. I wanted to, of course, but I had no other way to hear your voice.

( He threads the ribbon through their linked fingers in a loose weave that ties them together, looking down at his work with an a dreamy-eyed expression. )

I've never had the pleasure of hearing your music this way... with you here to share it with me. The song is a gift, and a beautiful one, and I will treasure it until the world has turned to dust, or I have. But having you here and bright and charming and alive is the greatest gift I could ask for.

Thank you, Lestat.

( He squeezes their joined hands, the gold ribbon glittering and wound around them like a bow. )

How long have you been working on this? Since we talked about it at the party you threw for me?