( Things Dorian doesn't know: 8 PM is still early for Louis, even in the long dark of wintertime. Ordinarily, with no particular urgency toward rousing himself, he might still be lazing around in the clothes he'd worn to bed last night. He isn't, as they say, a morning person. But this is important.

He's dressed warmly against the damp chill that seems to hang in the air this month: a black wool coat over a thick green sweater, soft leather gloves and a matching newsboy cap. The hat he removes when he enters, but the gloves stay on.

Louis shakes his head slightly side to side, politely dismissing Dorian's thanks as he takes the seat across from him. The truth is that he feels he owes it to him in some inexplicable way, in spite of any misgivings he might have about the man. But admitting to that sense of debt is more than Louis wants to give him. )

I only ask that you temper your expectations. I lack true talent when it comes to reading minds. There are those rare vampires among us who can reach out and pluck a thought from your head just as easily as you might flip to a passage in a book.

( A small shrug. )

I myself am the opposite.