Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was a beautiful night, not too hot, not too cold, the perfect temperature for a city known for her unforgivable heat. The air smelled like frangipani and the galleries of the old houses in the Garden District shone with elegant lights that never went to sleep. Talking about sleep, no one was around and the silence was comforting. There were only he and the driver on the streetcar and Lestat was lulled by the clatter of the rails.

He closed his eyes and sighed. He was so, so tired. His eyes had been bloodshot when he left the house hours prior, and they felt like sandpaper had been glued to the insides of his eyelids. Every time he closed them Lestat flinched at the burning sensation. If only he could sleep, just a few hours, he begged whoever was out there to listen. 

The wind from the open windows carded through his hair as he leaned his head against the side of the car and closed his eyes, willing himself to fall asleep, and for a time, his effort was in vain. But somewhere around the end of the line, when the car would turn back around and continue its journey, he finally drifted off into a fitful sleep.

However, like always in life, a little thing like sleeping demanded the highest price Lestat had to pay. For someone who had lost everything more than once, it looked life the universe still hadn’t lost its will to fuck with him even more. 

That night the nightmare that visited Lestat was one he hated the most. 

The silence greeting him made Lestat’s blood run cold. The house was never silent. Claudia knew how distraught the lack of any sound made him. She knew his triggers like no other, like no child should. He was supposed to be her protector, the knight in shining armor keeping the monsters away from under her bed, and yet, Claudia had been his anchor when Lestat was too weak to fight and the light who always brought him back home. 

Even when she was mad at him, she never forgot to keep some kind of noise in the background… 

“Claudia? Claudia are you home?” 

No answer. 

Fear grabbed his heart with its icy claws and it was impossible to swallow as Lestat tried to call her name again. 

With unsteady steps he climbed the stairs to the upper floor, where Claudia’s room was. The door of her room was slightly open, like she had forgotten to lock it, but Claudia never forgot to lock her room. It was their golden rule, when a room was closed, the other had to knock and wait for permission before entering. 

The doors to their rooms were either locked or open, that was their deal. There was nothing in between, and now Lestat’s breath came in shallow gasps as air couldn’t reach his lungs. 

Lestat knew fear in every form. He knew pain in every nuance and shade, or at least he thought, for nothing he survived prepared him for what he saw when he stepped into Claudia’s room, her name frozen on his lips. 

He woke up at the unconscious slap of his hands over his mouth as a scream fought to leave his chest and tears clouded his sight. Blindly he grasped at the cord to request a stop and when the car stopped he ran out into the night, unaware of where he was.

The streetcar left the stop without him as Lestat ran, the image of Claudia’s blue lips and pale skin haunting his mind. He stumbled unsteadily onward, vaguely in the same direction as the streetcar, but found himself in the dimly lit streets near the Lafayette Cemetery. He stopped dead in front of the old gates, unaware of the tears that had begun to run down his cheeks. 

It was as though his breath was stolen by the dead that slept within as he stared inside. A sob escaped his chest and he finally looked away, the spell broken as he began to pace up and down the block, periodically looking past the gates that guarded the bodies within.

Finally, with the sky just beginning to show the faintest hint of gray, he came to a decision and strode along to the other side of the cemetery walls, to where there was less potential to be seen, and pulled himself up and over the enormous iron gate. Though his hands shook and he almost slipped several times, he finally managed to make it inside.

A cut on his hand dripped blood onto the sacred ground, but he was unaware of it as he wove through the tombs like a phantom of himself. He only stopped when he came to the old monument that marked the de Pointe du Lac family mausoleum. It was one of the few that was well-tended, the family within not forgotten or neglected. There were even somewhat fresh yellow roses left on the step before the gate leading inside.

Lestat finally felt as though everything left him in a rush - his fear, his stress, even his grief - as he fell to his knees outside of the monument. He was wracked with sobs that he couldn’t stop, but it didn’t matter. He knew someone would have noticed his entry into the cemetery, so his time was limited. It didn’t matter though. The longer he cried, the more it wrung out of him, leaving the heavy weight of near apathetic sorrow in its place. 

What did it matter if someone found him? None of his tears would bring Claudia back to him. Not then, and not now.

By the time his sobs quieted and his tears began to slow, a light shone upon him, but he didn’t move. 

“Sir, you are trespassing upon private property,” a voice called out from some distance away, but Lestat didn’t respond. Cautious footsteps approached and the light drew in closer until finally the police officer stopped a few steps away and Lestat looked up. In spite of his dishevelled appearance, the officer seemed to recognize him. “M-mister de Lioncourt, I-”

Lestat clenched his jaw and looked away, back at the wilted yellow roses he’d left there this morning. “Do you want my autograph, officer,” he asked, voice broken.

There was a long silence as the police officer seemed to be processing what was happening. “I - I’m sorry, but the cemetery is closed, sir. I have to ask that you leave.” When Lestat didn’t respond again, the officer took another hesitant step closer.

“I shouldn’t be the one leaving,” Lestat mumbled, “she should be the one going home.”

The officer opened his mouth to speak, but then the light shifted slightly as he turned his attention to the gravesite. For a moment, he seemed not to understand, but realization dawned on him. 

“I - I am sorry, Sir.” The man said, and he even sounded genuine, like Lestat’s words hit something inside him. For a moment Lestat wondered if he had a daughter at home. He looked to be of the age a man would have created a family of his own, if that was what he wanted. Then he taught about Daniel and the way he loved his daughters, and yet that love wasn’t enough to keep his family together. He wanted to tell the officer to cherish every moment with his children, if they were real and not just in Lestat’s head, to make sure to be there for them, always.

But what right did he have to say anything? He had a chance to make things right for Claudia, to keep her from the life that destroyed him, and look how it had ended, with his precious daughter, his Claudia, six feet under and he a mess of a worthless man. 

“But still, you need to go home. Is there anyone waiting for you?” The officer asked, concerned by his state. 

Lestat didn’t need a mirror to know he was probably a pitiful show, pale and shaking and with his eyes puffy and red. 

He had someone at home, after so long there was once again someone who perhaps would worry if he didn’t come back tonight, but their relationship was strained and so, so fragile, Lestat still didn’t really believe Louis was back. 

He was too much after all. He always was, and now he was even a bigger mess than he was before, unable to sleep without nightmares, unable to function, keeping him at arm's distance even if that was killing him. 

Lestat needed Louis like he needed air to breathe, but he wasn’t sure Louis wanted to be his anchor. 

“I - I do, yes. I think so at least.”

“Then let’s go, Sir.” The officer offered him a hand to help Lestat to get up, not trusting his legs to support him. “Cemeteries aren’t good places at night. The spirits tend to be restless, and whoever is waiting for you will be worried at this point.” 

Lestat stood with the help of the officer and with no further conversation, though his tears continued to occasionally track down his cheeks. The back of the police car was unyielding and uncomfortable, but Lestat didn’t complain as he stared out the darkly tinted windows at the deserted streets outside.

The officer kept checking in his rearview mirror, as though he wasn’t sure if Lestat would still be there, that perhaps the former rockstar himself was one of the spirits haunting the cemetery. By the time they arrived outside of the house on Rue Royale, Lestat had already started to feel the heavy weight of his exhaustion weighing on him, but the sight of the lights on inside sent a jolt of anxiety through him.

He had half a mind to ask to be taken back to the French Quarter streetcar stop so that he could perhaps get a few hours of sleep, but the police officer was already at his door, opening it with silent meaning for him to get out. After a few seconds of hesitating, Lestat did finally get out, though he was a little unsteady on his feet.

Before he could take a single step toward the house, however, the door behind the wrought iron gate swung open to reveal Louis, pale and dishevelled.

“Lestat, what the hell is all this,” he demanded, though there was no venom in his voice just yet - only the grating anxiety and exhaustion of someone who had been up all night with worry.

Lestat turned toward the officer, who looked on in mild concern, “Perhaps you should just take me back. I will wait outside until it’s open for visitation,” he muttered, though he was already stepping up the curb toward the house.

“Visiting hours, Lestat - where have you been,” Louis demanded once again.

As though sensing Lestat’s reluctance to give a straight answer, the officer shut the car door and approached the front gate, “There was a report of a break in to Lafayette Cemetery,” he responded uncertainly, and Louis’ expression turned to one of concern as he looked between the officer and Lestat. “Mister de Lioncourt was found inside and I have escorted him home. No charges will be placed, however,” he turned to Lestat, addressing him directly, “you would do well to stick to visiting hours, Sir.” 

Lestat only wiped his eyes on his sleeve and nodded without answer. He tried to open the front gate himself, only to realize that he had left his keys in the house, but Louis was already unlocking and opening it for him. 

Once Lestat was inside the gate, Louis closed it behind them, but Lestat turned before going inside to watch the officer get back into his car and drive off.

From inside, Louis’ voice got his attention once again, “Lestat, are you going to tell me what happened? Where the hell were you? I’ve been up all night, but you didn’t bother to bring your phone, keys - nothing!”

Lestat silently shut the door, the dark circles under his eyes evident in the dim lighting of the foyer. “I went out,” he snapped, “Is that a crime? Am I not allowed to leave my own house?”

Louis looked as though Lestat had slapped him, but moved closer, “Apparently yes, if the police had to escort you home.” He rolled his eyes, searching for words to express his frustration, “Lestat, you have to tell me when you leave - it’s four in the morning! You, of all people, should know that it’s not safe to be wandering alone!”

Lestat only gave a humorless laugh and tried to move around Louis to get to the stairs, but Louis stopped him, moving directly in his way, and finally the tiredness in Lestat’s eyes was outweighed by something else - anger. “Are you continuing the investigation then, officer ,” Lestat demanded, crossing his arms over his chest, but before he could continue, Louis took hold of his injured hand upon seeing the dried blood on his fingers.

“What is this? What the hell were you doing out there, Lestat? You could’ve gotten yourself killed!”

Lestat jerked his hand away, “And would you have cried for me? Played the part of the inconsolable widower? Sadness suits you so well, after all.”

Louis’ fingers flexed at his sides and a muscle fluttered in his jaw, but he didn’t move for several seconds. “I cried for you enough before, Lestat,” he finally snapped. “Is nothing enough for you, or must you always need more, more, more? More grief because evidently normal visitation hours weren’t enough, more useless shit because you don’t know how else to spend your money - when will it just be enough?”

Lestat took half a step back, like Louis’ words had hit him. A slap would have been less painful than the reminder of how he was too much, but they decided to leave that side of them in their past when they decided to try again. 

“If I am such a handful, such a pain you have to endure, why are you here, Louis? Why are we here?” He asked, and for a moment the need to hit where he knew it would hurt was overwhelming. 

His tongue was sharper than his nails. He had caused fight after fight between them the first time, just to see Louis react, just to convince himself that Louis was still there, even just to hurt him. How much they had hurt each other before, more than he could even understand now. Like that his fire died, and all that was left was a kind of cold Lestat knew all too well, the one that roots inside one’s soul and never really leaves. 

However, he never walked away from a fight, and just because he wasn’t going to use his fists, it didn’t mean he would concede without another kind of fight. Just to prove himself he was right from the beginning and this, whatever it was that they were trying to build between them, couldn’t last. 

“If you don’t want me here, Lestat,” Louis paused, raising his hands in defeat, “Fine. Go. Wander the fucking streets all night, for all I care. Do whatever you want because clearly you seem to think that I don’t care.”

For a moment Lestat remained frozen where he was standing, his treacherous mind spiraling down into the abyss of despair. Suddenly he was back in the night everything came to an end between them, when Louis threw him away like he was yesterday’s garbage, destroying him and his heart as he burned his music papers and every single gift Lestat ever gave him. 

He remembered the venom in his words, how Louis had voiced his hate before leaving Lestat with only the ashes of what they had. 

Even now, for a moment he was sure Louis would walk away and disappear in the night, perhaps back in Armand’s arms, perhaps with someone else, leaving him alone all over again, like he was woerth of nothing, proving them all right. 

Instead Louis walked further into their house, while Lestat remained there, motionless like the statue in his study that he needed to finish. The only reason why he didn’t fall to his knees, screaming in the night was because he heard Louis’ bedroom door lock behind him. 

He’s still here, Lestat thought. He’s not leaving, not tonight at least. There was still time for him to delude himself that Louis would stay this time. 

Lestat was in a daze as he made his way, not to his bedroom, but his studio. He barely remembered to shut the door behind him before he began working on something new. The old project held no comfort in this moment, but as he surveyed the chaotic landscape of his studio, his eyes landed on a work in progress that had been cast aside for many weeks now.

It was half buried in a stand of other canvases that also remained unfinished, but the gray and black blocks of color that hadn’t totally taken form yet seemed to call to him to finally finish what he’d started.

As the sun rose and began to shine through the windows of his studio, Lestat took no notice as the paint began to take form on the canvas. He took no notice of the droplets of paint that now adorned his clothes from the previous day, but it didn’t matter. The image in his mind finally sought a way out.

At some point, he’d put on his headphones to listen to music, so when the door swung open on the other side of the room, he took no notice until the muffled sound of Louis’ voice could be heard over the noise cancelling headphones.

Startled, he dropped his brush and almost knocked the canvas aside, but he steadied it before turning to see Louis standing in the doorway. His expression was somewhat unreadable, but the stiffness in his posture indicated his anxiety.

Lestat slipped his headphones around his neck, not bothering to pause the music, “What is it now, have I run too far again,” he asked in a clipped tone.

Louis seemed unable to answer for several seconds, simply looking between Lestat and the painting, as though shocked to see him there. “Where were you last night, Lestat? I mean really?”

“Did you not understand the kind officer who brought me home last night,” Lestat huffed, though Louis didn’t respond, so he continued, “I went to the cemetery. I had to visit -” her name hung on his tongue, still not yet ready to be spoken.

“You’re telling me you were in the cemetery all night? And somehow the kind officer only found you at the end of your long stay? That’s bullshit Lestat, and you know it.” 

This time when Lestat looked up again, Louis was closing the distance between them with long, nervous steps. He was a sight to behold, his thundering expression made his green eyes spark, but his attention was focused on his hands, his long finger curled into fists. Louis was using all his willpower to stop himself from launching at him and for a moment Lestat remembered other rooms he was forbidden to lock, other men approaching him with rage, or lust, or any other kind of perversion shining in their eyes.  

Louis had a way of being intimidating, even if Lestat had a few inches over him. He stopped so close to Lestat their chests almost touched. “Where have you been? And don’t bullshit me this time.” He demanded to his face. 

It was the most passion Lestat had seen from Louis in weeks, and part of him was excited by Louis’ anger. “Where do you think I was, if not in the cemetery?”

Louis’ eyes flashed, his rage nearing its boiling point already, but what he said was the last thing Lestat expected to hear: “You were with him again, weren’t you? Antoine?” The name was an accusation, a stab in the gut that twisted the knife, and in his silence, Louis continued, “Come on, Lestat, you haven’t slept all night. I thought you were clean!”

“I am! Mon dieu, Louis,” Lestat shook his head, finally the one to concede as he ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “I’m not on anything!”

“Then why-”

“Why don’t I sleep? Why don’t I eat? Come on, Louis,” he scoffed, tossing his paint palette aside on his work table.

“What else am I supposed to think? You’re out all night and wall yourself in here all day, I never even see you anymore!”

“Have you ever thought, even once, that I miss my daughter? That I can’t sleep because all I see is her,” his voice broke and tears began to cloud his eyes, but he continued with a humorless laugh. “Follow me then, come with me tonight. See where I go if you are so afraid that I have brought Antoine back from the grave to demand that he supplies me again.”

Too much information hit Louis’ ears and brain, so much that at the end he only registered the last thing he said. 

“Antoine is dead?” He asked, too stunned to form a longer sentence. “When? What happened?” For years, since he first heard his name, Antoine was a thorne in Louis’ side, even when he told himself, time and time and time, that he hated Lestat, that name remained like a blade in his heart. He was one of the many reasons why it was over between him and Lestat, the last nail on the coffin of their relationship, or so Louis had thought.  

Only after those words were out of his mouth Louis realized the most important thing he should have asked about Claudia, that that should have been the priority, but truth was, he couldn’t think about her. 

He had loved her like a daughter, cherished her like the precious treasure she had been, when she died, a piece of Louis’ heart died with her, and he never even could mourn her with Lestat. 

Lestat could see the words Louis wanted to add in his eyes, his thoughts of Claudia were obvious, but he didn’t give him a chance to speak them. Not if someone else was more of a concern to him than Lestat’s daughter. “Yes. He has been dead for years now. Since I lost Claudia.” Saying her name aloud hurt, and hearing it evidently also hurt Louis, however Lestat carried on, not caring for Louis’ pain in this moment. “Why do you think I spent months in rehab, to throw it all away? For what, you?”

For a moment, Louis looked confused, and silence hung between them as he tried to process what Lestat now told him. “When were you in rehab? I never - I never even realized you quit.”

“Where do you think I was, Louis?” He asked in the face of his silence and stuttered words. “Where do you think I was that I couldn’t even be bothered to arrange for my baby to be buried?” He really wanted to know how low Louis thought of him back then and if the same thoughts stayed with him even now. 

“He told me that you were with Antoine again, like you were the night she - when it happened.” 

“With Antoine? I was drooling all over myself, medicated out of my head just to make sure I wouldn’t do everything in my power to join her. It is good to know how little you think of me, mon cher.” 

“But,” Louis began, but cut himself off. After a few seconds, he finally sighed under his breath, “Fuck.”

They both knew that Armand had lied to him. More than anything just to save his own skin, yet somehow this felt worse to Lestat. Knowing that Armand would lie about this. “I couldn’t save her because I was with Antoine,” Lestat said finally. The admission had only been spoken aloud to a precious few people, and stating it aloud once more felt like every word was made of jagged glass, cutting its way out of his throat. “I… only used once more after that.”

For a moment, Louis didn’t understand, but when the realization came to him, Lestat continued before Louis could, “You didn’t know? What did he tell you then, when I fell off the face of the earth?”

Tears filled Louis’ eyes at the memories of those days. “He - he didn’t tell me anything. We didn’t talk about you after the funeral.” 

Louis hadn’t even wanted to hear Lestat’s name, he did everything in his power to forget about his existence, and now his behavior came back to bite him in the ass. 

“Nothing? At all? So I guess he didn’t tell you I made a fool of myself, out of my mind with grief and regrets, when I begged him - the man who took everything from me - to tell you that I loved you? Didn’t he tell you how pathetic I was that I had tried to call you that night, that all I wanted was to hear your voice one last time before I finally joined her?” 

Louis’ brows knitted together and he began to shake his head slowly in confusion. “But I-”

“Had me blocked, yes, I know. Why do you think I tried to call him?” Finally, before Louis could respond, Lestat picked his palette back up from the table, “I’m not in the mood for this conversation, Louis.” There was a note of exhaustion in his voice, the hint of tears that wanted to spill once again, “It’s all in my book - if you care to know what happened.”

With that said, Lestat picked his brush up off the floor and Louis knew that was the cue that this conversation was over. He wanted to ask questions - to demand what the hell else he hadn’t known, but he swallowed them down.

The copy of Lestat’s book had been on their shelf since Louis moved back into this house. It seemed to be a permanent fixture there. Untouched, yet enticing him to look inside, but somehow it never felt right to read. Not living with Lestat again. It felt like prying into his life without permission, but now, with Lestat’s dismissal, and now that he had turned back to his painting without another word, Louis did finally pull it down from the shelf when he went downstairs. His mind was a mix of confusion, yet as he began to read it, he had no idea how much these words would shake him to his core.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

Louis took the book to his room; something told him he needed to be as comfortable as he could for this. He tried not to think about what the book could contain, but after what Lestat said, he knew it wasn’t going to be a walk in the park. 

With a heavy heart, Louis locked the door behind himself and chose to lay on his bed, still tired after the few hours of sleep he got, unconsciously looking for comfort as the book felt like lead in his hands. 

From the hardcover Lestat, dressed in one of his flamboyant costumes from the time he was still a rockstar, stared back at him, daring him to read the words Daniel had surely picked to compose what Louis knew would be a captivating piece of art. 

Daniel always had a way with words, and now Louis regretted using them to hurt Lestat, but back then, when he did, he felt entitled to his rage as his heart was still bleeding and he convinced himself it was all Lestat’s fault. 

Well, now he knew he didn’t really do anything by his own advice, he allowed someone else to twist and turn every thought he ever had, every dark emotions towards Lestat, to paint an even darker and more cruel picture of the man he loved, that became his reality and his truth, until the moment the cards castle crumbled at Armand’s feet under the weight of his lies. 

My thoughts are a mess, and my dear Daniel is staring at me with his kin and at the same time strict eyes, reining me back to order. He wants me to tell this story in a way others would understand, so I apologize to him and to my possible readers, and I promise you, I will try to behave. 

You may know me as Monsieur Rockstar, if you’re old enough to remember the 20th century, and yes, if you still don’t know, I’m really French, and a natural blond, I'm not faking my accent like some little shit with auburn hair loves to imply.

Forgive him, he was always jealous of me, even when we were boys. Then things became worse as we became older and we chose two different paths in life. Mine and his, two worlds rooted in the same past that will never meet again.  

I was brought to America on what my family was told would be a scholarship to an exclusive boarding school in the performing arts, and they were all too eager to get rid of me. You may have heard of it - The Cherubini School of the Performing Arts: a pretentious school to send your gifted children to guarantee them a foothold in the performing arts in this economy.

Bullshit.

We were Headmaster de Angelis’ property to be bought and sold to the highest bidder - no matter what their intentions were. But with as much pain as he brought me, with his punishments and pleasures alike, I did find one thing that made my life worth living because of him.

The first time I held my daughter, she became my world. I never thought I wanted to be a father, especially not as young as I was. I wasn’t even able to take care of myself. What did I have to offer to an innocent child, a newborn who only had innocence and love to offer to the world? Nothing. 

However, when she looked at me with her big, deep blue eyes and offered me the most beautiful toothless yawn something so little and fragile had to offer, I knew I was forever under her spell. Akasha, no matter how much I hate her, offered me my freedom and gave me the most precious thing this world could ever hold. 

She gave me a reason to live, not because she was a good person, but because she still hoped she could manipulate her husband into keeping her by his side. 

She didn’t want the baby that ruined her perfect life, like she wasn’t the one who chose to be in my bed when I couldn’t even remember my name, but she also couldn’t risk to get rid of her, for her older son was already a rising name in the medical field, and her husband had eyes and ears everywhere. 

She dumped the baby on me and walked away without turning back. She didn’t even have a name the first time I met her. She was nothing to her mother, but everything to me. I named her Claudia and for a long time it was just the two of us against the world.

I have loved Claudia more than anything else in the world, but that doesn’t mean I could change myself for her. I tried to become a better person, a better version of the monster I was, but since I stopped believing in God, I also stopped believing in miracles. 

I made so many mistakes with her, like in every other aspect of my life, but I tried. I swear on her grave that I tried, for her.

She deserved better. The universe wasn’t kind to her. Maybe, if she was born in a loving family, away from the craziness that was my life, with parents who weren’t as broken as I am she would be still here. I don’t know, and some friends, the few I have, told me not to walk that path, not to let my fears and pain downgrade my love for her, but what good did that love do? What does it matter how much I loved her if I couldn’t save her? 

After she was born I gave up everything, but strangely enough, I didn’t care. It wasn’t the first time my life was thrown upside down, the only difference was that this time I had something to live for. As I already said, I met her mother through Santino, but this time both of them, so used to having power over others, to control and own what they thought were just objects for their perverted pleasure, backfired on both. 

Her name was Akasha. Some of you know her. Socialite, powerful, angry for wealth and control. She was a force on her own, but she married into crime in a game that at the end was bigger than she was. 

She was Enkil’s trophy wife. Beautiful as a Canova’s statue and twice as cold, she loved to abuse those she deemed weaker, probably because in her household she couldn’t. 

For her we were just toys, too drunk in the rush that dominating us gave her, she forgot that while she thought herself a goddess, she was a woman, and nature was more powerful than she could ever hope to be. 

She got pregnant when I still belonged to Santino, my debt unpaid no matter what he allowed others to do to me, and that was the moment everything changed. 

Enkil had ears and eyes in the city. The damn city belonged to him. He didn’t care if she cheated, theirs wasn’t an union of love, and whatever attraction was between them, it was long gone before she even met me, but getting an abortion? Unthinkable. Everyone would have known and her life would have been ruined, even more than a pregnancy would. She offered me the option to run away together, leaving everything behind, but I refused, and now I had both reasons and meanings to take back the life that was stolen from me. 

Neither she nor Santino could afford to have Enkil as an enemy, and finally I had a way out and leverage to stay out. 

From one I got my freedom, from the other, well, you know by now that I got my Claudia.     

I was too young and too stupid to know how to be a good father, but we had each other. I couldn’t have asked for more. I always kept her safe from the public eye, and I will continue to do so, even now that she has been gone for so long.

When she died, she was the same age as I was when I died inside. Like father, like daughter.

The book tipped back in Louis’ hands and rested open on the bed next to him. He had known some of Lestat’s story just from what little he spoke about when they were together, but Louis had the feeling that this would only get worse from here.

He lay there, curled on his side, with the book resting beside him as he considered whether or not he was ready to continue. Lestat had told him to go read this, yet it still felt intrusive, like the occasional paparazzi who still peeked through the windows, pressing their lenses against the tinted glass, as though their cameras could peer into Lestat’s life.

There had once been the announcement of a book prior to Lestat going off-grid once again, but the hype quickly died when he bought his way out of the contract, extending the publication date indefinitely. When fans of his became over eager to learn about their favorite washed up celebrity, as various tabloids so tactfully put it, Lestat retreated even further into himself. No longer able to stand even to go to the grocery store if there were too many people.

Now, except for his mysterious late night excursions, he never left.

With a sigh, Louis glanced at the page number and closed the book, deciding that if he was going to continue, he would need coffee, in the very least.

As he left his bedroom, he glanced down the hall towards Lestat’s still closed and silent studio, wondering if he had given up on the painting he had been working on again. He abandoned more works than he finished these days, and now that Louis thought about it, it was a worrying trend. It’s not like Lestat needed the money, but Louis knew that he needed to perform - somehow, Lestat always needed to perform to feel fulfilled. Or at least, he had when they knew each other years ago.

But then again, did he really know Lestat? Or did he meet the persona Lestat showed to the public and never cared to dig more, to know the man he was with? It wasn’t the first time that he wondered about those things, but in the past it was easier to shut down the voice in his mind that doubted him and criticized his behavior towards Lestat. Nowadays the voice was stronger and Louis was less inclined to deny it. Without the silvertongue by his side, whispering beautiful lies to his ears, Louis knew he had failed Lestat as much as Lestat had failed him the first time they were together. 

As Louis made his coffee, thoughts of what the book did or did not contain haunted him. He almost didn’t realize when the machine had finished and the cup under it was close to overflow. The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the room, making Louis salivate but also awakening his stomach that took the opportunity to rumble, demanding food, right now. 

In the commotion of the past hours, Louis forgot to eat the night before, too worried about Lestat and his absence. Then this morning he crashed in bed as soon as he walked into his room, furious and hurt by Lestat’s behavior. 

He had hated how much power Lestat still held over him, how his words and actions still were able to sneak under his skin, even if his skin was now thicker and he learned how to close off his heart, or at last he thought. Now those thoughts sounded cruel and petty to his own ears, like they were dictated by Armand and his poison all over again. 

Louis felt like his own mind wasn’t only his anymore. How many of his memories of the past were his own, and how much had Armand’s hate towards Lestat tainted them? Louis knew, deep down, that they had been happy together, a long time ago. 

When their relationship was still young and they weren’t hardened by life and its curve balls, they had been in love. Louis knew that, he just refused to think about that for a very long time and allowed another narrative to override what really happened. Now he was paying the price of his coping mechanism. 

The truth was, it had hurt to think about Lestat and what they had, so Louis allowed himself to remember only the worst moments, the worst fights, the worst betrayal. He needed Lestat to be the monster in their story, so he turned him into it, with Armand’s eager help. 

Lost in his spiralling thoughts, Louis fished some leftovers from the fridge and ate them cold over the sink. He was too tired and stuck in his own mind to bother with cooking. When the food hit his stomach, however, it just felt like eating lead at this point. It was a necessity, and little more than that. 

It was then that he realized Lestat too, probably, if what he claimed the night before was the truth, didn’t have anything to eat since the meager lunch they shared the previous day. So, armed with this knowledge, Louis busied himself to make a toast for Lestat. 

Not just plain bread with a little bit of butter on both sides, no, because you could take everything from Lestat but not his Frenchness, and Lestat was also spoiled, like only a Parisien could be, even if he was from Paris. 

In a little less than half an hour Louis managed to make a Croque Monsieur, a little revised, and a mug of coffee, ready for Lestat. All he needed to do now was to bring it into his studio and hope that Lestat wouldn’t pick a fight with him. 

He tossed the rest of his leftovers and headed back upstairs, mugs of coffee and plates in hand. For a moment, he struggled with the door, but once he got it open and stepped inside, he paused. For a heartbeat before the door opened, Louis was almost worried that Lestat would’ve disappeared again, but he was still there, unfinished painting still on the easel with his palette and brush beside him on the table.

He had his head in his arms and for once, his breath was slow and even, and even though Louis couldn’t see Lestat’s face, he knew he was asleep. He had half a mind to just close the door and save this for later in the fridge, but instead, Louis stepped carefully inside. He tried to be as quiet as possible as he set the mug of coffee and plate on the work table opposite him, far enough away that he wasn’t likely to spill it if he lashed out in his sleep.

With how little Lestat slept, Louis knew he needed it desperately, if he hadn’t so much as stirred at the commotion at the door before he entered, but after thinking for a moment, he returned to his bedroom, leaving his own coffee on the nightstand, and brought a spare blanket back to Lestat’s studio.

He carefully covered him, trying to avoid waking him up, and when Lestat didn’t even flinch, Louis was tempted to brush a strand of hair from his cheek, but he didn’t. He only left the room and closed the door as quietly as he could before returning to his own bed to continue. Though it felt wrong in some ways, he kept reading anyway, picking up on the page where he had left off.

Her body was too cold and too small when I found her. There was nothing I could do, but I tried. I couldn’t let them take her away in a bag, when the paramedics arrived. I wouldn’t let them take her.

And it was my fault.

I had tried to protect her, to keep her out of this life that I had once lived, but I couldn’t be the father she needed. I still have her voice saved - the last thing she ever tried to say to me, that she was afraid, but I didn’t hear it until after they had taken her and I had been admitted.

It was on the insistence of a dear friend. I resented him for it. For years after, I thought I couldn’t look at him again, but even though he was right to do it, I knew I could tell no one that I hadn’t moved on, or else they might prevent me from paying my penance to my daughter.

It should have been me, and I intended it to be. Even if it wouldn’t bring her back, it was the only thing I could do at the time.

The second time I was admitted, I stayed. I couldn’t run anymore, even if I wanted to. What was there to run to, a God that ignored me for my whole life? My child, who was gone from me? An ex-husband who left me for the lies my so-called brother would tell about me?

There were only two people in this world who gave a shit about me, and I couldn’t leave them, not when one of them was going through the same pain that I barely survived. I stayed for them. I had nothing else - no one else - but it was enough. 

If any of you dear readers have been through rehab, I’ll spare you the recap. For the rest of you, I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Well, almost anyone. 

My friend saved my life that day that he found me, and both of them continued doing so in the months that followed of getting clean and finding a reason to stay. I realize that I had the best resources that money could buy, and for that I am grateful. It felt like an impossible task, and I didn’t make it easy on the ones helping me, but only the impossible can do the impossible.

So I am still here, as you can all see from this book, but I am now even more messed up than I was before, at least according to my friend, who said this with a small smile on his lips and tears in his eyes. 

I think he really was worried about me. So we became close, physically and emotionally. Neither of us could sleep alone for a long time, and even now I can’t. I fall asleep and all I can see is Claudia and nightmares eat me alive. But that, dear readers, is a story for another chapter.  

By the time Louis realized that Lestat was standing in his doorway, Louis had reread the last paragraph a few times, his mind beginning to spiral once again on the topic of what Armand had lied about - which, it was turning out, was everything. He blinked when he glanced up at the silhouette in the dimly lit hall, and had he not remembered Lestat was there, he would’ve been startled.

But he stood silently, Louis’ blanket still wrapped around his shoulders and mug of cooling coffee in his hands, as if waiting to be noticed, rather than intruding. “I hope I’m not interrupting,” he said finally, his voice still somewhat hoarse with sleep.

Louis blinked again, still processing what he’d read, his mind trying to catch up with the fact that it had, indeed, been Lestat who had written those words. “No, I -” Louis stopped. What could he say to Lestat, when he was still trying to comprehend all of this?

“I can leave you to your reading. I just wanted to thank you for this,” he lifted the coffee mug slightly and began to turn around, when Louis stopped him.

“No, please stay.” He realized he’d used the same word that Lestat had in his book and cringed internally. Was that a loaded word? Did it hold too much weight over him?

But Lestat stopped, biting the inside of his cheek, but he didn’t move back into the room, as though waiting for Louis to give him a reason to stay.

“Did you have another nightmare,” Louis asked abruptly, trying to come up with anything to keep him from leaving straight away.

There was a short silence as Lestat nodded before, “Yes. I’m sorry if it disturbed your reading.”

“It didn’t, I just…” Louis swallowed. They had been together for a few months now, and yet, even in spite of their brief marriage before this, somehow it felt like they had only just met. “If it would help you sleep, you can stay here.”

Louis could still see Lestat’s jaw working as he bit the inside of his cheek again. He sipped his coffee to fill the silence, before finally nodding, “Yes, I think it would.” But he still didn’t start back into the room.

It wasn’t until Louis picked up the book, set it facedown on the nightstand beside his own coffee cup, and began to make room for him in the bed. As he was shifting the covers and pillows, Lestat spoke again, “Don’t let me wake up alone.” And after a long pause, “I can’t wake up alone.”

Louis blinked at him, surprised, but just nodded, “I won’t leave. I’ll be here.”

As Lestat turned to enter the room, blanket trailing on the floor behind him, it was the first crack in the wall that separated them. The first acquiescence since their messy divorce over half a decade ago that had nearly sent both of them over the edge and left Claudia dangerously vulnerable in the middle.

After setting his half full mug beside the alarm clock on the other nightstand on the other side of the bed, Lestat kicked off his slippers and made his way under the covers, which Louis held up for him. Once he was in the bed, Louis’ heart skipped a beat at the closeness that they hadn’t had in years. Even at the end of their divorce, they hadn’t been so close.

He’d forgotten how warm Lestat was - he’d always complained about it then, but as Lestat settled in, blond hair a mess on the pillow, and his weight sinking against Louis’ side, he realized how much he’d missed it.

Louis was unsure of how close Lestat was comfortable getting on this first night all over again, but he didn’t flinch when Louis’ arm brushed his and settled against his ribs. He’d grown thinner, Louis realized. He’d always been slim, but he could feel the slow expansion of his ribs more than he ever remembered before, and the knobs of his spine pressed against Louis’ chest when he turned to face him.

His throat felt tight when he reached up to tuck Lestat’s hair away from his own face, before hesitantly slipping his arm back around Lestat’s chest. After a moment, Lestat’s hand found his under the covers, and Louis felt a tear slip down his cheek as their fingers intertwined and Lestat pulled their hands up over his chest. Louis could feel the beat of his heart under his palm, and was grateful that Lestat faced away from him as another tear slid down his cheek and into his pillow.

They both remained awake, but in silence for some time, getting reacquainted with one another’s presence, until finally, Lestat’s breath began to slow again. Louis watched the faint twitch of his muscles as he relaxed into sleep once again.

Though Louis couldn’t fall asleep himself for a few hours, Lestat didn’t stir even once while they lay together, unbothered by nightmares for the first time in a very long time.

Chapter Text

This time emerging from the realm of Morpheus wasn’t a traumatic jolt into reality caused by a nightmare, but a slow motion, like swimming in a sea of cotton that didn’t want to let Lestat go. It was so long since he slept so soundly that for a long moment he was confused, unable to understand why things were so different. 

His body, stiff and aching, didn’t want to move, too comfortable in the gentle circle of the arms that were holding him like he was something precious, like only Louis did, so long ago.

But this wasn’t a memory of a time long gone, when he had hoped he could be happy, that he did something good enough that he finally was rewarded with something more than just loneliness. This was real, Lestat’s mind reminded him, this was here and now, and that alone forced his eyes open, no matter how much they burned with exhaustion. 

Louis’ breathing was slow and steady behind him, and Lestat could feel the warmth of it against his neck. Tears pricked at Lestat’s eyes, but he didn’t let them fall. He only lay in front of Louis, doing his best to stay still enough not to disturb him. Eventually though, tears did fall, and it was the hitch of his breath that made Louis stir.

Lestat stilled immediately, holding his breath until Louis drifted again, and for a moment, he began to feel trapped, though nothing was keeping him here beyond his own desire not to wake Louis. How many times had he been forced to stay in someone else’s bed?

Before the panic could creep into his chest, however, Lestat tried to ground himself. Turning his head, he breathed in the scent of Louis’ pillow, reminding himself where he was. He was safe. He didn’t even have a nightmare while he slept for god only knows how many hours, of course he was safe.

He stayed like that, drifting in and out of half sleep, until he heard the soft grumble of Louis beginning to wake. A small smile turned up the corners of his lips. Louis was always so reluctant to wake - they had always joked before that he was trying to tell off the sun for waking him when he grumbled out of sleep like that. 

Slowly, Louis came to with a long sigh, but seemed to catch himself before he could stretch, but Lestat moved then, to indicate that he was awake also.

Louis moved his hand and Lestat gave it a little squeeze before allowing him to stretch. He didn’t quite want to move yet himself, but when Louis settled back down and asked, “Did you get some sleep,” Lestat shifted to turn onto his back so he could look at Louis.

He wiped the tears from his eyes, as though just wiping the sleep out of them, but nodded, “Yeah,” he mumbled, “I finally did.”

Louis hummed in a satisfied way, nodding into his pillow, though he hadn’t yet decided to open his eyes. 

It was when Lestat spoke again that Louis couldn’t postpone that any longer. “You stayed.” He said, his voice full of marvel, like he didn’t think Louis would keep his words, like he didn’t expect not even that small gesture from him. 

Then, before hurtful words could reach his mouth, as quick as he was at building walls around himself, to protect the heart that still didn’t recover from their first breakup, Louis looked at his companion and saw the truth. 

It was like he saw Lestat for the first time or worse, this felt like the first time he allowed himself to really see Lestat, not the rockstar everyone wanted, not the artist admired by many and envied by more, but the man behind the many masks he wore all day. 

The silly and vulnerable one, the man who behaved like a child, because no one taught him any better, and because he was never allowed to really be a child in the first place. The sensitive poet who never wrote verses, but songs that reached the hearts of millions. 

Louis felt like a fool now, looking into those eyes he fell for so long ago, when he finally saw what he had ignored for so long. 

Lestat’s words weren’t an accusation towards him, but a reminder that he didn’t believe he was worth the effort. He didn’t doubt Louis, but himself and his ability to ask for help, when obviously in the past no one offered it. 

“I’ve missed holding you.” 

Words escaped his mouth before his brain could stop them, but once they were out, a non answer to Lestat’s surprise, Louis didn’t regret them. It was the truth. He had missed holding Lestat and now that his arms remembered what it really felt like embracing him, he knew he couldn’t give this up again. 

“I’ve missed many things of you, Lestat.” He admitted once again. “Not your unnerving habit of waking up at the most ungodly hours, but many other things I did miss.” 

Though he was reluctant to let himself be hurt again, Lestat couldn’t stop the small smile from forming, “I could say the same of you, staying up reading to some ungodly hour. What time is it, anyway?”

Louis rolled his eyes, and though the keeping of opposite hours was an old complaint of both of theirs, it was familiar. Maybe familiar was what they needed now, when trying to deal with all of this new and often painful territory for both of them.

He lifted his head to glance at the alarm clock, “A little after 9,” he answered, before dropping back down.

“ After 9?” Lestat turned over to look at the clock himself, and was silent for a minute as he tried to comprehend how he’d slept for nearly twelve consecutive hours. Finally, he too dropped back to the bed with a huff. “I can’t believe I slept through sunrise.”

Louis reached out then, pushing a strand of hair out of Lestat’s face, “Do you ever sleep more than a few hours?” There was concern in his tone, but also something else that Lestat couldn’t place.

Even when he dared to glance at Louis, his expression was unreadable. “Not in a long time,” he answered hesitantly. Louis’ jaw clenched briefly, and though it was just a flicker of movement, the flutter of a muscle, it set Lestat on edge. “Why does it matter?”

Louis looked at first like he had a lot to say about why it mattered, but eventually settled for, “I guess it doesn’t.” And after a pause, he added, “If it helps, you can always stay, Lestat.”

It was a small phrase, but the implication of the gesture was far more vast. An olive branch in a sea of thorns keeping them apart. Lestat finally had to look away from the cautiously hopeful gaze of his ex-husband. “I’ll think about it. But I’m not becoming a night owl.” Though he joked, his small smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, and neither did Louis’. Not just yet.

“Do you want breakfast,” Louis asked, trying to defuse the tension that had once again come between them. Perhaps being apart after such vulnerability would be wise, after all. “I can get something for both of us, unless you want to cook.”

Lestat hummed, but didn’t seem interested until Louis added, “I could bring back some beignets?” 

Even when they had their worst fights, Louis knew Lestat couldn’t resist beignets, and some things never changed, though even now, Lestat didn’t respond right away. “Just a few - only if it’s not too much.”

“Cafe du Monde is just down the street,” he responded with a little shrug, “and besides, I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to go.”

Lestat bit the inside of his cheek again, but nodded, “Alright. I’ll be in my studio then.” Though as Louis started getting out of bed, Lestat sighed, “Or maybe I’ll stay here for a while.” 

Louis answered with a small smile and a nod. “That could work with my plans.” He said, a secretive gaze in his eyes. “Just relax and please don’t do anything crazy while I am gone.” 

Lestat eyed Louis from the bed and rolled over to watch him undress from yesterday’s clothes and pick out something new from his closet. “I can’t make any promises, but I’ll try.”

When Louis was dressed, he turned back to Lestat and looked like he wanted to say something more, but only offered a faint smile, “I’ll be back shortly then.”

“See you soon,” Lestat replied a little awkwardly. The memory of their past together was fresh in his mind, and it seemed to be also in Louis’, so with that, Louis gave a slight nod and made his way out of the house. After the jingle of keys, creak of a door, and click of a lock, Lestat was alone with the sounds of the house once more.

As he lay in the bed, still in yesterday’s clothes, he stared up at the plain ceiling of Louis’ bedroom. He was tempted to go snooping, not to expose his secrets, but simply out of curiosity. They had been together again for a few months, and it was clear that in the time spent apart after their divorce that both of them had changed. But from the bed, he could see Louis’ old selection of muted toned clothes, what looked like at least seven of the same pants, and only two other pairs of shoes, he hadn’t changed all that much.

“Pitiful,” Lestat sighed, propping his cheek on his hand and peering into the closet, as though more fashionable clothes would somehow appear. When none did, he huffed in dismay, but slowly made his way out of the bed to at least make sure he was presentable - and more comfortable.

After taking care of his immediate physical needs - and detangling the rat’s nest that had somehow formed in his hair overnight - he made his way back to his own bedroom to retrieve something more comfortable for a morning in bed.

As he was shrugging off his shirt and pulling on a well-loved t-shirt and trading his jeans for leggings, the muffled sound of his phone echoed out from somewhere. After some searching and two missed calls, he finally found it in a pile of dirty clothes, still in the pocket of a pair of pants he’d recently worn.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d charged it, but when it rang for a third time, he could see that the battery was dangerously low, but he answered it anyway when he saw Daniel’s name flash on the screen.

“Hello Darling.” Lestat answered with a cheerful voice, always happy to hear from Daniel. He was, after all, one of his favorite people in the world, and it felt like it was too long since they called each other. “How are you doing?” 

Apparently, Daniel didn’t share the same chill that Lestat was showing for the first words he said were filled with anxious energy. “Oh for fuck’s sake Lestat. I called you three times already. I was worried you - fuck. Are you okay? Are you home?” 

Lestat was bombed by a river of words he didn’t have time to register, much less to answer Daniel’s fire of questions. 

“Darling, of course I am home. You know I don’t like to leave.” Daniel was one of the two people who knew about his night adventures, and he also knew that leaving the house during the day was harder and harder for Lestat. Where was he supposed to go after all? 

“Sure. Sorry. But are you okay?” Daniel inquired again, pushing for an answer. 

“I am okay, I - I slept with Louis.” 

The intake of breath that came from the other side of the phone told him that wasn’t the right thing to say. Daniel liked Louis, he just didn’t like him with Lestat, not yet at least. 

“I mean we slept in the same bed. I slept through the night.” Lestat buried to clarify, feeling a bit silly. He lived with the man. He was married to the man before, why did he feel the need to justify himself with Daniel? 

“Good. I am glad you slept, and that you are taking things slow with your paramour.” 

At that Lestat couldn’t keep a small laugh from escaping his mouth. 

“Really, darling?” 

“Shut up Lestat. I will call him whatever I like at least until I trust him enough with you.” 

Daniel was the one who saved his life. He saw Lestat at his worst because of Claudia, sure, but also because of the whole situation with Armand and Louis, so he was allowed to have his doubts. Lestat knew that well, and never held this against his friend. It felt nice to know that someone really cared, someone who wasn’t interested in finding a way into his pants. 

“You are too fucking calm.” 

“Now that’s a strange thing to say. Why shouldn’t I be calm?” 

People usually didn’t like how hyper sometimes he was. They never understood his need to always move, to always create something, but for a long time it had been the only way Lestat had to deal with things without hurting himself. So to hear someone questioning his calmness was unsettling. 

“Oh fuck. You don’t know. For once you slept and of course this is when shit hits the fan.” 

“You are worrying me. What the hell happened Daniel?” 

It was unusual for Lestat to use his first name. Since they grew close he always preferred to use affectionate names that showed how much he cared, but now he wasn’t the playful and careless Lestat. He was the Lestat who demanded an answer and who hated to be lied to, even if it was for his own good sometimes. 

“Listen, can you do something for me Lestat?” 

But it was already too late. Lestat had opened his laptop, looking for the news. He knew Daniel well enough to know that only his job had the power to charm him into writing for days at no end, and turn him into a sailor cursing the seven seas at the same time.

“Lestat please, I can hear you typing. Please stop. I can be there in two minutes, or call Louis. You don’t need to know this while alone.” 

Daniel’s voice sounded frantic now and from the phone came the noises of someone in a rush to grab things, like his car keys and the leather bag he carried with him everywhere. 

“Lestat, are you still there?” He begged, but for a long time there was no answer. 

“Who is Denis?”

Lestat’s voice was cold and detached, like when Lestat retreated behind the walls he used to hide and turn himself into the untouchable persona everyone loved to hate. 

“Lestat, please.”

“I asked you a question, and you know I hate liars.” 

There was a loud sigh from Daniel’s side of the phone, like the man needed to center himself before he finally answered. 

“He is - he was a student of the Cherubini.” He admitted. “They say this time Santino won’t be able to sweep this under the carpet. There is evidence this time. DNA.” 

Daniel didn’t need to specify where it was found, or why. Lestat knew all too well. 

“Santino’s” Lestat asked, but his voice sounded small, afraid even. 

“I don’t - no. My source said it’s more like the person he was with when he died, someone important.” 

“Then nothing will change. Santino will protect him, and he won’t rat Santino out. That’s how it works.”

Lestat felt empty, devoid of any will to even stand anymore. Nothing will ever change. Those who destroyed him and with him many others would never pay. They were too powerful to be stopped, and everyone was either their accomplice or too afraid of them to do anything. 

It was easier to turn on the other side and behave like they didn’t know, like they didn’t see what was happening in plain sight. 

“It could be time.” It was tentative, a way to open another path this conversation could go. Daniel needed to distract Lestat from the darkest corners of his mind, those places he knew Lestat would go when in distress, while at the same time, asking for what needed to be done. 

“This could be the moment they will pay for everything –” 

“They will never pay.” Lestat almost screamed in the phone, his distress so deep he couldn’t even breathe properly as his throat constricted, squeezing out the little air that was still in his lungs. “They will never pay, Daniel.” 

“It could happen, baby, if a stronger voice would speak.” Daniel’s voice switched from the one that had comforted Lestat in his darkest moments, to the one Daniel used to make a point. His journalist vice, Lestat had joked more than once, the one that would make even the most hardened politician do whatever Daniel wanted.  “If you publish the book, if you speak for those who don’t have a voice, they could finally face the justice they escaped for too long.” 

Lestat felt like his heart would explode in his chest. It was beating so fast all he could hear was the rush of the blood in his veins. Black dots began to dance in front of him, like dark confetti at the end of a deadly pantomime. 

“No. No - I - I can’t Daniel. Don’t ask –” 

“There is more.” 

“More? What -” 

“My source, they claim this person - fuck this.” Daniel cursed. “Baby, it’s Magnus.” 

When Lestat’s only answer was total silence, the sound of Daniel’s front door slamming could be heard through the phone. “Baby, please just - just wait until I get there, or Louis. Don’t do anything –”

“Fine,” Lestat breathes. The answer is impulsive, and he doesn’t know if Daniel would even take it as a yes, so he adds, “fine, just… tell the publisher to print it. I…”

But before he can go back on his word, Lestat hangs up the phone. He feels the need to scream, and he can’t hold it back. Wrenching sobs hurt his chest, but he can’t stop once he starts. Every time he closes his eyes, images of Magnus’ face taunt him. The phone rings again, but Lestat only stands up, pushing his laptop aside. He wants to throw it across the room, but instead, it’s his bookshelf that crashes down.

He doesn’t even remember pushing it.

The only thoughts he is aware of are memories of pain. Too close to the surface. They need to be silenced. He needs to silence them. He can’t even drown them out with his sobs or screams. It’s all a blur as his bedroom is seemingly destroyed around him.

There is blood on his tongue, but he doesn’t know where it came from. His clothes, fine, and expensive things that he never deserved, are ripped from his closet. Glass cuts his foot, but he is unaware of the tracks of blood he leaves behind, let alone the pain of the injury.

The sound of banging at the front door coupled with the continued ringing of his phone only serve to push him further, and as he starts for his studio, he wants to claw his face off, rip his own skin to erase the reasons why anyone found him beautiful enough to buy, like some toy to be used and discarded.

***

Louis’ trip to the Cafe du Monde was uneventful, as expected. He dodged the tourists, waited in line, and hurried home to make sure that the beignets were still fresh for them to share. It was difficult not to dig in and sneak one for himself on the way, but it was a sacrifice he was willing to make. It wasn’t until he made it back to Rue Royale that a police car sped past on the street, no sirens, only the flashing lights, and his steps faltered.

For a moment, he paused to watch, but as it screeched to a stop in front of their house, just down the block, Louis became aware of the sound of Lestat’s screams from inside. His chest clenched, and it felt as though the breath had been driven from his lungs, but he took off running anyway. He closed the distance just as the police were beginning to bang on the door through the iron gate.

“Police, open up,” one of them called, but before he could call out again, Louis ran to the gate, “Stop! Are you the one who reported the –”

“I live here,” Louis shouted, using the moment of surprise to shove his way to the gate and unlock it with shaking hands.

Though the officer tried to stop him from entering, Louis pushed past and inside. “Lestat,” he called out, dropping the bag of beignets just inside the door. “Lestat, what’s –”

Another broken sob, followed by the sound of a door slamming open were the only greeting he received, and Louis ran up the stairs to find books, papers, and clothing strewn through the hall leading from Lestat’s room, but a loud crash from the studio caught his attention as the police officer followed inside.

Before the officer could stop him, Louis rushed to the studio, only to find Lestat, surrounded by his art supplies, standing behind the upturned work table, eyes distraught, and his chest heaving. When he looked up at Louis, he didn’t seem to recognize him, only shouting, “Get the fuck out!” And when Louis didn’t, Lestat rushed him.

Louis barely had a second to respond before Lestat’s hands were on him, pinning him against the wall, and the officer now was trying to get into the fray, to pull Lestat off of him, but that only made the situation worse. “Stop, stop,” Louis shouted at the officer, trying to redirect Lestat away from his intrusion. “Just get the fuck out!”

The officer didn’t listen, not until it was Louis who pulled Lestat closer, in spite of his struggling to free himself. Between Lestat’s sobs and the police officer’s barely intelligible commands, Louis barely understood what was happening, but when he felt Lestat’s face press into his neck and the hot tears run down his neck, he knew he had to get the officer out.

“Everything is fine, just get the hell out!”

“But –”

“Get out,” Louis demanded.

The officer looked taken aback, hand on his belt, as though about to draw his weapon, but in spite of Lestat’s broken sobs, he clung to Louis like a lifeboat in a storm, and the officer seemed unsure of what to do. “We got a call for a domestic –”

“I have everything under control. If you must check the house for intruders, do so, if not, please just leave,” Louis pleaded. With Lestat’s hands fisted in his shirt, Louis tried to comfort him, stroking his hair and whispering, “I’m here, Lestat, I’m here.”

The officer, still standing, dumbstruck, finally spoke into his radio, but Louis didn’t pay attention as the man left them alone for the time being, peering into the rooms, as though he was certain such utter chaos must have come from a life or death struggle. But when there were no signs of anyone else, he lingered, unsure as Louis tried to calm Lestat enough to take him to the bed.

Lestat’s voice was muffled as he sobbed unintelligibly into Louis’ shirt. Variations of, “He’s back,” and, “I can’t,” and other jumbled phrases that Louis wasn’t entirely sure of, but he knew it had to be because of something that happened - something that had nothing to do with them here and now, for there was nothing here and now to be worried about.

Had they not just passed a few comfortable moments together less than an hour ago? Whatever it was that set Lestat off, Louis knew it had nothing to do with him, but he could assume it had something to do with his past. He never talked about it much when they were together before, but what else could it be? Who else could be back, but someone from Lestat’s past?

It didn’t matter now, however. He’d only seen Lestat like this a handful of times, but he knew he had to somehow get him to calm down enough to explain exactly what the hell had happened. If he could just figure out what had happened, maybe there was something he could do.

The sound of conversation from downstairs distracted Louis for a moment, but one voice is all too familiar. Daniel? What the hell was Daniel doing here? Had Lestat called Daniel instead of him for help, or was Daniel somehow involved with this?

“Look, man, it’s all a big misunderstanding,” Daniel’s voice drifted up the stairs as the cop muttered something in response. “His mom died, okay? It’s just - it’s a lot to deal with. I just got the news and had a feeling this shit would happen.” After a pause, “It’s fine, we’re here, we’ll take care of it.”

When the front door finally closed, Lestat’s sobbing finally began to quiet down, though tears still flooded down the front of Louis’ shirt, soaking both of them, but it didn’t matter. He just held Lestat tightly, hoping that Daniel would have some insight into what the hell was going on here, but he didn’t come up the stairs. Louis didn’t bother trying to figure out what he was doing when he heard clanking and cabinets slamming, he just tried to guide Lestat back to his bedroom, where it was at least quiet.

At first, Lestat seemed afraid to move, standing stiffly in Louis’ arms, but eventually Louis coaxed him to leave his studio, rubbing his back in soothing circles. No words were exchanged between them - what could Louis say at a time like this anyway, sorry your mother died again? Unlikely.

When Louis got Lestat into his room and under the blankets, he was unable to leave, to find out what Daniel was doing, as Lestat pulled him into the bed, half on top of him. He didn’t fight it, but he did mumble a soft, “Lestat, what - you have to talk to me, love.”

But Lestat only clung to him, wordlessly burying his face against Louis’ chest again.

“Don’t bother,” Daniel’s voice said softly from the doorway, “just let him cry it out. He’ll talk when he’s able to.” His tone was sympathetic, but his eyes were still suspicious as he watched Louis. He set the bag of beignets and a couple mugs of coffee on the nightstand. One black, and one with cream and sugar. The last one he kept in his own hands - only sugar.

“What the hell happened, Daniel,” Louis demanded, but he softened his voice when Lestat’s breath hitched. “What are you doing here, did you do this?”

Daniel rolled his eyes and sipped his piping hot coffee without flinching, “I didn’t do shit - for once.” He offered no more explanation, and as Louis looked at him expectantly, he didn’t give anything else away either.

“Well,” Louis muttered, glaring at the reporter, “then what did happen and how did you know to come here?”

“I am going to New York, to follow a case.” He said, before gulping down another mouthful of hot coffee, something that never failed to leave Louis shocked. “It’s about the Cherubini school.” He specified after Louis kept looking at him like his words didn’t make any sense. “Shit will hit the fan, Du Lac. It’s time to put on your big boy pants and fucking step up if you are here to stay.” 

With his words he made clear he didn’t believe Louis was going to stay by Lestat’s side the moment the truth would come out, and he did it without even offending the man openly. Lestat would have been proud of him if he was in a better state. Daniel would make sure to tell him when Lestat would come back to himself.  

“If you aren’t going to help, just go then. You’ve done enough,” he didn’t believe for a second Daniel didn’t have something to do with what happened here - even if he wasn’t involved in the shit that was about to hit the fan, in the very least, he knew Daniel wasn’t telling him something big.

Daniel just shrugged, “Alright, but just don’t go far. This shit is…” Daniel shook his head, “it’s going to be bad.”

Louis didn’t respond, but Lestat finally peeked up from the covers. Daniel’s expression softened when he saw a blue eye peering out from the mess of hair and fabric. “See you later. I’ve got a flight to catch.” The words clearly weren’t directed at Louis, but Lestat didn’t respond as Daniel left.

There were only the sounds of his footsteps and the door shutting behind him to announce Daniel’s departure, and then they were alone again. In the silence of the house, Louis became aware that a window must have been broken, because the sounds of the outside world seemed louder than usual. With a sigh, he decided he would deal with that later, once Lestat was safe.

Lestat’s tears slowed as the quiet fell over them like a weighted blanket. The coffee and beignets grew cold on the nightstand, but neither of them paid it any mind. Lestat’s thoughts were elsewhere while Louis’ began to spiral to every possibility of what could’ve set Lestat off like this. In the end, he decided that didn’t matter now either, as long as he was safe.

Chapter Text

As Lestat fought the exhaustion that kept forcing his eyes close, Louis sat on the bed as close as possible without sliding under the blankets with him. His mind miles away, to when Lestat re-entered his life, without glamorous fanfares and crowds of paparazzi and fans following him, but in silence, not to attract any attention, anonymously for he thought Louis wouldn’t have accepted the help he brought. 

Now, as Lestat shifted to rest his head in Louis’ lap, still trying to calm his torrent of emotions,  Louis thought about those days with regret again, because Lestat had been right. He had always known Louis better than Louis had known Lestat, and that thought hurts more than anything else. 

***

The gallery was close to bankruptcy and there was nothing Louis could do about it. He had tried, but things simply weren’t working. Next month’s auction would be the last if things didn’t change, and Louis was pragmatic enough to know that nothing shorter than a miracle could save what he worked so hard to get. 

Things with Armand had reached a point he became a burden more than a companion. Whatever passion had been between them, fueled by his need to forget Lestat and erase every memory of his existence, was long gone and that was the last of his problems right now. 

He knew he didn’t love him, he had told himself he did just to keep the charade going, but the truth was, Armand had been an exciting novelty that soon enough had lost his shining appeal, and now, with his life’s work on the verge of annihilation, Louis didn’t have the mental energy to keep lying to himself. 

It was in the middle of this chaos that something happened that Louis didn’t see coming. It was just another phone call, and nothing let him predict it wouldn’t end like the many others he got that very same day, with fruitless talks with banks and investors that had lost any trust in his ability to generate funds. 

However when he answered Louis was shocked to hear a very polite voice on the other side, characterized by a subtle accent that made him think of Europe. The call came from England, a law firm specialized in art dealings for being precise. The woman had something to say that changed everything for Louis. 

Vastator, one of the most influential artists of the decade, offered one of his latest paintings to the gallery, to do what Louis wanted with it. 

The woman, matter of factly, told him the canvas had already been shipped and that he should expect it for that very same day. 

When it had arrived, there was something about the painting that gave Louis pause. Once it was on the wall in its simple white frame, the image of the shattered halo on a bed of yellow roses should have been too much yellow, too common a subject, and yet somehow it wasn’t. Louis didn’t know what made the piece so captivating, but he stood back to take in the details of it.

“How did you acquire that,” Armand asked from a little ways from behind Louis, startling him.

Armand’s expression had been one of barely disguised loathing unlike anything Louis had seen before. “What does it matter how I acquired it, what matters is how we’re going to sell it, right?”

“How, indeed,” with one last look at the painting, he turned away from it, “Vastator is a fraud. How anyone gives a fuck about his art is beyond me.”

Louis was taken aback, but stood his ground by the art piece as Armand wandered to the other side of the gallery to look at the other pieces that hadn’t sold in months. “If people buy his art, does it matter that he’s a fraud? Armand, all we need is –”

“One more sale, one more, yes I know,” Armand snapped, and Louis watched him with barely disguised fury, “And then what? Next month it will be one more this, one more that. We are in the French Quarter, on your suggestion, and we cannot draw a single visitor. I told you –”

“You know what, go then. If you hate it here so much, then go.”

Armand turned slightly, raising a brow at him. “This again?”

“Well, what would we discuss if not the same argument over and over?” Louis folded his arms over his chest, “If you love New York so much, then go, but don’t expect a welcome home if you decide to come back.”

“Louis,” Armand began, but stopped. It was a well-worn argument. One that began when their relationship had. Louis refused to leave, but Armand didn’t want to stay. “You know that a gallery would –”

“How many galleries are there here,” Louis demanded, gesturing to the front door, “How many of them are in New York? You expect that if we can’t cut it here, we’d be able to somehow get by there? What’s so good about New York, anyway? You never did bother to tell me.”

Finally, Armand began to approach, hands out in a placating gesture, but Louis swatted them away, “Tell me, Armand, what’s out there that you can’t get here? It sure as hell isn’t me.”

Armand recoiled as though he’d been slapped, looking at Louis like he was a puzzle with no solution, “It’s just - you know that I grew up there. I just thought that you would want to see where I grew up.”

Louis rolled his eyes in disgust, “You and I both know that’s not why you want to uproot our entire life here and move out there. If you gave me a good reason, I would go, but you never do! So tell me why or we stay here and sell one more painting.”

Armand seemed to be searching for the words to respond, but when none came, he simply shook his head, “I’m not doing this again now. I’m going out and when I come home, we can have a conversation like adults.”

As he turned to walk away, Louis simply responded, “You walk out those doors, Armand, and you’re not coming back.” It was a threat that had been stated many times before, yet somehow this time it felt more true than ever before.

“I’ll be home for dinner, Louis. We need to talk about this, but I’m not talking with you if you’re just going to argue.” And with that, he left. God only knows where Armand went when he left, but Louis was done. When Armand came home, he would find his bags packed and Louis waiting for him to leave.

Just as he was about to close the gallery early to take care of just that, the bell on the door jingled cheerily to announce someone’s arrival.

Louis peered around the corner, half expecting Armand to have returned just to say one more thing to twist the knife, but when he saw a tall, blond man that he’d never seen before, he blinked in surprise. The man was facing away from Louis, seeming to politely observe what art was on the walls, and in the lighting of the room, his crimson shirt looked blood-red.

Louis cleared his throat softly then and stepped into the foyer of the gallery, “Welcome to the St. Louis Gallery, please take your time to look around,” as he greeted the man, he turned to acknowledge him with a slight nod, “If there are any pieces you wish to know more about, don’t hesitate to ask.”

When the man turned Louis noticed the sunglasses he was wearing, and how a long curtain of blond hair covered the right side of his face. Even with those eccentricities, Louis could still appreciate how stunning he was. His whole attire and demeanor spoke of someone who was born into wealth and privilege but he politely nodded, a small smile on his lips. 

“Actually, I think you can help me.” He said without lowering his gaze. “I am looking for a Vastator, and someone I know told me you could have just acquired one.”  

Louis was silent for a moment, a little too stunned to answer, “I - yes, we did, actually. Just today. It’s going to be featured in this weekend’s auction, but if you’d like, I can show it to you ahead of time,” he gestured to the room in which he and Armand had just been arguing, where the packing material still lay, discarded upon the floor near the painting. “Excuse me, I’ve only just put it on display.”

The same enigmatic smile was the only answer he got as the newcomer slowly followed Louis, his steps controlled if not slightly unsure. Only when they stood in front of the painting did he speak again. 

“Please don’t apologize. As a collector myself I know well how quickly a mass can form. My husband is not too keen about that, but he survives every time.” 

Then his attention shifted from Louis to the painting and the intake of his breath was the only noise in the room. 

“This is - splendid.” He commented moving closer. “The use of the yellow as a sign of broken happiness, with the halo laying there, destroyed by a judging society, the shattered innocence of the victim, blamed by the faceless mob of society. The pain the artist feels is so real it’s actually tangible.” He said, and Louis couldn’t miss the tears that made his eyes shine in the dim lights of the gallery, tears that were never shed. 

“Do you know the artist?” He asked, curious and surprised by the stark difference in reaction this man was having to the painting from the way Armand reacted. 

“I know his works. I own many of his pieces, and he never fails to touch my soul.” He told Louis. “How much do you ask for this?” 

“As I said I intended to sell it via auction.” Louis confirmed. “If you would wait until tomorrow -” 

“I won’t be here tomorrow.” The man cut Louis off, like someone who was used to getting what he wanted. 

“Would six million dollars fix the inconvenience of selling the painting today?” He asked like it was the most normal thing to say.  

Louis snapped his mouth shut the moment the words left the man’s lips. Six million dollars was almost as much as they made in a good year, let alone at one auction. “I –” Louis couldn’t formulate the words. That painting had been the one he was betting on pulling in enough money to scrape by for the rent and taxes on this property, but this was more than he’d ever seen a painting go for from his own gallery - and even Armand’s under the table deals.

“Y-yes. I… Yes, that is an acceptable amount,” he stammered, trying to think of anything to say through his shock. “Will you require a delivery?”

“If you would be so kind as to give me your bank coordinates, I will have money moved to your account.”  

Before Louis could even find the words, the man already had his phone out and was calling his bank to have the amount moved, as it was something he did daily. 

“I don’t need a delivery, but if you would be so kind as to pack it back up for me, my car is waiting.”

Louis had to focus on remaining upright in order to continue assisting this man, and by the time the transaction was finished and the art was packed, Louis had the sinking feeling that he would have to tell Armand about this. They owned the gallery together, and split the profits, but a large part of him simply wanted to set this aside to keep the gallery afloat in the long term. Save the rest in a long term investment account, and they would be set for a good long while.

But as he closed the gallery early and made his way back to their house in the Garden District, the sun was midway its late afternoon journey to the horizon. Armand, when he did leave like this, almost never returned before sunset, so he knew he had plenty of time to pack for him.

First, he shoved all of Armand’s clothes into garbage bags, tying them up and piling them by the door, then came the artwork that decorated their home. Half of it was Louis’ but all of Armand’s pieces were leaned against the wall by the door, or otherwise placed near the front of the house, and by that time, it was nearly evening.

The last thing Louis would do was to remove all of Armand’s documents and other belongings as he came across them. When he reached the closet, to make sure to bring the safe out of the room, he found that it was already slightly ajar. Without a second thought, Louis opened it. He found what he’d expected to see - a few important legal documents, a contract or two, identification paperwork - but then at the very bottom of the safe was a stack of small cigar boxes.

Frowning, Louis reached in and took them out. Armand didn’t smoke, so he was unsure of why he would have such things or how he would’ve gotten them - he didn’t even smoke with the more upper class clients at parties, let alone by himself.

When he opened the first box, there were only a few things inside. Violin rosin, sheet music, a half empty pack of cigarettes, a bundle of letters, a gold ring, and a small stack of pictures of a teenager that Louis didn’t know. The sickly sweet tobacco smell of the cigars clung to every object and it turned Louis’ stomach when it occurred to him to wonder why Armand had these things.

The second box was more worn than the others, and when Louis opened it, the first thing on the top of the box was a picture of Lestat. A younger, clearly drunk or high, Lestat at what looked like some kind of party. Armand was there, and so was the other boy from the other box, as well as a group of older men in the background. Though Lestat was grinning, Louis could see the fear in his eyes, and the edge of a bruise under the edge of his shirt sleeve, and one of the men in the background seemed to stare at him from right out of the photo.

Louis’ hand shook as he picked up the photo and turned it over ‘95 was written on the back of it in pen, along with a name: Cherubini . He swallowed, though it felt like his throat was constricting as he turned the picture back over. Louis set it aside before it could haunt him anymore, but the other things in the box were just as harrowing.

Scraps of lyrics, music, and notes all written in Lestat’s scrawling hand that Louis couldn’t bring himself to read, a small brass key, several more pictures including one taken from afar of Lestat in Lafayette Cemetery. Louis looked more closely, only to realize that he was leaving a bouquet of yellow roses at the du Lac family mausoleum. The picture was taken from behind, so his face wasn’t visible, but Louis knew this had to be recent - taken after Claudia was buried there.

“What the fuck,” he mumbled, turning it over, but getting no further hints as to why this photo was here. Under the stack of photos, there was also a lace garter, a dry yellow rose, several pieces of costume jewelry, and at the bottom, a diary. One that Louis knew well and had belonged to Claudia. It was a present he gave her for her fourteenth birthday. 

Going against his better judgment, with a knot in his throat that made it hard for him to swallow, Louis reached the last page. He knew what he was doing was unforgivable, but he had missed Claudia so much, he needed to know if perhaps, he could have done something to avoid the horrific demise she met by her own hands.  

His hands shook like leaves in winter when he reached the last page, her last entry. 

‘Dear Diary,’ 

Tears caught him by surprise as they clouded his sight. She always opened her entries like that, like she was talking to an old friend. 

‘I am so nervous. Today something happened and I’m not sure if it is a good thing or a bad one. As you know I am staying at daddy Louis’ place for a bit. Dad and I had a bad fight, but I miss him so much. 

‘So today Armand approached me. It’s strange. He doesn’t like me, and in truth I don’t like him much. He always looks at me like I am an inconvenience, an obstacle even, but I don’t know to what. 

‘He approached me, and he was gentle. Armand is never gentle with me. He tends to avoid me, and I am okay with that. 

‘He asked me how I was doing and spoke to me like I am an actual adult, and not a spoiled child. He asked me how my studies were going, and told me he too attended a prestigious school in the arts field. I never knew about that. 

‘He told me a bit of his past, and perhaps I was wrong about him. He seems like an interesting person, and he attended the same school my dada attended. They were friends. I never knew that, so I asked him to tell me more about my dad as he was young. 

‘Armand looked reticent at first, but he told me some things, told me stories of how mischievous my dad was as a student, and how much the teachers despaired to tame him. He told me they were close, them and Nicki, who I never heard about from my dad. 

‘Armand knows I want to audition for the Cherubini school. That’s why me and dad fought. He forbade me to even try. 

‘Armand claimed that it’s because my dad was one of the best students there - and I think it cost him a lot to say that - and he doesn’t want me to try because he doesn’t believe I am good enough to get in. 

‘Dad is very strict with me. He doesn’t want me to try the same path he took, and after Armand’s words, I am afraid he could be right. What if dad doesn’t believe in me? He never said so of course, but I am just so confused. Armand’s words made me doubt everything. 

‘I don’t want to disappoint my dad, but I also don’t want to miss out if I have a chance to follow my dream. I want to be an artist, like my dad, but he doesn’t want to. 

‘So Armand told me he still has contacts with the school, and he’s in speaking terms with Headmaster De Angelis. He told me he could give me a chance to meet him, but it should be a secret between us, not even daddy Louis should know…’ 

Louis felt acid run from his stomach to his throat, burning its way out of his body as he closed the diary with a smack and barely reached the garbage can before he threw up. 

Santino De Angelis. Armand allowed Claudia to meet him, the man who had abused Lestat as a boy. He didn’t know much of what happened when he was in New York, but the little he knew, it was bad. 

Armand had allowed Lestat’s daughter to meet him. 

Armand had… 

The front door being opened and closed distracted Louis from his spiraling thoughts, but when Armand’s voice called his name, frantic, Louis saw red. He took the diary and stalked down the stairs, making no effort to hide his presence.

“Louis, what’s all this,” Armand called, evidently having noticed the pile of his belongings, but when he saw Louis - and what he was holding, his eyes went wide. “Where did you find that?”

Louis didn’t stop as Armand backtracked, and shoved him into the wall with his free hand, holding the diary up in his face, “Where the fuck did you get this,” he snarled, “why do you have it and why does she say that YOU let her meet Santino?”

Armand paled, his skin whiter than the paint on the walls as he tried to scramble for any answer, any way out of this situation, but Louis’ presence alone was enough to keep him pinned, let alone the arm pushing into his chest. “I - Lestat –”

“Don’t you dare tell me that Lestat gave this to you!”

“Louis, please, we can –”

“Tell me. Now! Why do you have this?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Armand finally shouted back, shoving Louis away from him, but he didn’t make it far before Louis grabbed him by the arm and jerked him back.

“You’re not leaving here until you tell me what the fuck this is doing in your safe!”

Armand slapped him then, struggling to get free. “Get your hands off of me!”

Louis didn’t let go of Armand’s arm in spite of the pain, and while he ordinarily was able to keep his temper in check, this situation had gone too far before it had even begun. “Tell me, Armand, tell me and you can fucking run back to your master like the dog you are - that’s why you’re always wanting to go back to New York, isn’t it? To be with him , to fuck Santino again?”

At that, Armand snapped, clawing and kicking to free himself from Louis’ grasp, and when he felt fingers dangerously close to his eyes, Louis finally had to let go, shoving Armand back, but putting himself between Armand and the door. Both of them were breathing heavily, but only Armand’s eyes darted this way and that, seeking an easy exit, but there was none.

“Just answer one question, Armand, one . Did you do this?” After a pause, emerald eyes boring into Armand, “Did you set Claudia up for the same thing - for whatever Lestat went through at that school?”

There was a long hesitation, and then finally, Armand answered with one simple word, “Yes.”

Tears came to Louis’ eyes, but they didn’t fall. He only closed his eyes and clutched the diary to his chest, as though it were Claudia herself. For several seconds, the only sounds in the room were the sounds of their breath, out of sync - Armand’s shallow and quick, a rabbit seeking an escape, and Louis’ slow and deep, as though to swallow down the emotions that threatened to devour him.

Wordlessly, Louis walked away.

***

“You are miles away,” Lestat’s hoarse voice said, calling Louis back to the present. “Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” 

He didn’t remember what happened in detail. Lestat only knew he had lost it after talking to Daniel, so all he could do was to hope he didn’t fuck everything up withing them all over again. It was the last thing he wanted, but sadly he knew himself and his episodes all too well. “Please, tell me I didn’t hurt you, Louis.” He begged as panic threatened to swallow him again. 

Louis awkwardly cupped his cheek, his hands colder than what he thought, as the bitter taste of memories lingered in his mouth. 

“You didn’t do anything like that, but you scared me, Lestat. I don’t think - this was one of the worst episodes you had, at least for what I know.” 

Or at least one of the worst he witnessed. After what Daniel said, it wasn’t hard to believe Daniel knew more of Lestat’s past than what Louis ever did, and once again, jealousy’s ugly head rose in his chest. 

However he was man enough to understand that he should be glad Lestat had at least someone close after he failed him so spectacularly, but that didn’t make things hurt any less. 

“For a moment I was afraid I was going to lose you to your pain, and I didn’t know how to reach for you.” He admitted, tired to hide behind his wall and to behave like everything was okay. 

“I know I don’t deserve your trust, not yet, but I need you to tell me how I can help you, how I can be by your side when you need me.” 

This time tears were freely running on his face, for Louis didn’t feel the need to hide his emotions from Lestat anymore. It was exhausting. 

“You are here.” Lestat said. “You are here, don’t you see? That’s already enough. You are already helping me.” 

How could this person be the same man he had married before? Was it really that simple, all that took was really to just be present? 

“There must be more, anything…” 

Lestat moved slightly, to look at Louis in the eyes with his unnerving and mesmerizing violet irises searching his soul for any trace of lie. 

“Read the book, Louis. If you still want to be here after that, we can find an answer together, I promise.” Lestat conceded, defeated by Louis’ determination, but also suspicious of his intentions. “No one ever knew that part of me. No one has ever cared. If you can stomach me after knowing the truth, we can find a way together.”

As Lestat moved to sit up in the bed, Louis shifted so that there was room at his side, and rested his arms around Lestat’s shoulders. This soft intimacy was something that had been a rarity, even when they were married before, but they fit perfectly together like this.

“I think the coffee and beignets are cold, but if you want breakfast for lunch, that could be arranged,” Louis murmured into Lestat’s hair. 

“Well, we shouldn’t let them go to waste - even if they have gone cold,” Lestat tipped his head up to offer a tired smile, “and then I can clean up my mess –”

“We,” Louis interjected, “we can clean it up.”

Lestat only nodded, before reaching across Louis to grab the paper bag and mug of cold coffee, unbothered by the strange mix. 

Coffee was coffee after all, and the beignets were the best in the world, but before he could dig into the bag Louis took it from his hands. When Lestat looked at him alarmed, Louis only shook his head, but the corners of his lips were turned up in a smile, so it was unlikely he was mad. 

“Let me.” 

Lestat tilted his head, like he always did when he was confused about something important, but still waited for Louis to keep going. 

Louis took one of the fluffy pastries and carefully broke it in half, paying particular attention to keep the cream from falling on the sheets. 

He offered one piece to Lestat. “Open.” And when Lestat did, he gently fed him. It had been something they had shared previously. Lestat loved to be spoiled and Louis needed to know he could provide for him. It came naturally to them, and even now, after years, that at least hadn’t changed. 

Lestat closed his eyes in a bliss the moment the sugar hit his tongue, and moaned in that sinful way that made Louis’ blood boil. Yes, this felt right. This felt like them as they should have been since the beginning. 

In silence Louis kept feeding him small bites of sweets that tasted like kisses on their lips, until the whole bag was empty. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 5 

Though their late breakfast was cold, the pair enjoyed it all the more for one another’s quiet presence. No words were exchanged between them until the beignets and coffee were gone and Lestat had gone to the bathroom to clean up. When he came out, Louis was already in Lestat’s bedroom, inspecting the damage to the broken window.

He turned when he heard Lestat enter, and there was a small, but worried smile on his lips, “Feeling better?” 

Lestat couldn’t bring himself to smile, though his expression softened when he saw Louis, “I’m not feeling worse, at least.” After a pause, he added, “I don’t remember breaking that window, but I can have it fixed -”

“Don’t worry about the window, Lestat. There was blood over here, did you get a bandage?”

Lestat raised his forearm, on which there was a fresh piece of gauze taped onto his skin and a bandage on his elbow, “I don’t know how I did it, but I assume it was the window.”

Louis only sighed, but nodded toward the overturned bookshelf, “I can get that back up if you want to put the books back on.”

Without waiting for Lestat’s response, Louis hefted the heavy bookshelf back up, wordlessly chastising Lestat when he tried to help. And after much grunting and groaning, Louis finally had the shelf back in its place against the wall while Lestat picked up the loose shelves that had fallen out.

As he caught his breath, Louis glanced down to the large pile of books and decorations that had fallen off the shelves, spotting a curious pile of letters that had been set loose from their box in the fray. Before he could ask, Lestat noticed his gaze and immediately scooped the letters back up into the box, seeming not to care about the disorganized mess it caused as he shoved the box under his bedframe.

Louis gave him a strange look, but didn’t mention it as Lestat tried to wrestle the mattress back in place on top of the bed. “Let me,” he muttered, lifting up half of the mattress while Lestat pushed it back on.

The rest of the cleaning was tedious and mostly spent organizing the small things that had gotten thrown off of various surfaces. The nightstand was unsalvageable, and, sitting in the middle of the mess on the floor, Lestat groaned at the sight of it. He vaguely remembered throwing it to the side when it had gotten in his way, but with the drawer across the room and half of the top caved in, he wasn’t about to learn carpentry to fix it.

He didn’t look up at Louis when he finally spoke, seeming instead to speak to the pile of books he was attempting to sort. “Should I bother trying to find a new nightstand?”

Louis looked over at him from where he was righting a picture frame on the wall, confused.

“I mean,” Lestat sighed, meeting Louis’ gaze, “Am I… Are we going to share your bed from now on?”

Louis felt something in his chest twist and his stomach felt like it was liable to jump from inside him if he opened his mouth. But he answered anyway, “If that’s what you want,” he started, and upon seeing anxiety creeping into Lestat’s expression, he finished quickly, “I would like that.”

Lestat bit the inside of his cheek, but nodded, seeming unable to speak just yet.

“I missed having you around to steal all the blankets,” Louis started to say when he was interrupted by Lestat who looked at him with wide eyes and grabbed the shirt over his heart like he was clutching at it. 

“Lies. Lies and slandering, that’s all I hear, and under my roof.” He shook his head, as a grin finally spread over his face. 

Louis laughed sarcastically, but went back to straightening, “Mmhm, and tell that to me again when I wake up shivering and you’re wrapped up in my blankets again.”

Lestat chuckled. “I guess you will have to wrap yourself around me, just to prevent the thieving from happening.” It wasn’t like he would admit that the previous night had been the first time in years he had felt safe in his own house. 

Louis only rolled his eyes, “All this to say that you missed me too, huh?” Though it hadn’t always been like this between them, it was a welcome change to feel this ease once again after so long.

“Now, now, I never said that. I could have implied it, but aloud, I never did…” God Lestat had missed Louis like he had missed a part of his very soul, the only one that wasn’t irreparably damaged. 

Lestat had given it to Louis the first time they met, even if Louis didn’t know about that strange gift, and he never got it back, not even after they broke up and Louis began to hate him. That had hurt, but the truth was, nothing Louis could do would be worse than what he felt about himself. His hate was nothing compared with how much Lestat hated everything he was. 

When Louis looked at him with a raised eyebrow, daring him to keep going, Lestat grumbled a very grumpy “Fine. You won. I missed you too, and now you are not allowed to sleep in any other way but holding me. Happy now?” 

Louis paused, pretending to consider his options, but internally, he felt a warmth cut through everything else that he hadn’t felt in years. “Only if I can read past your bedtime,” he replied, smile finally reaching his eyes.

Lestat snorted. “I guess, as long as you won’t fire the light straight into my eyes.” He was always a light sleeper, and any outside source of distraction, be that a light, or a noise, or anything and everything in truth, would never fail to wake him up. “But you will have to stroke my hair if I have to endure such blatant mistreatment.”  

Louis hummed, hanging another picture on the wall, “Not if I blindfold you first,” he quipped, taking a risk.

Lestat stopped in his tracks, one of his books dangling precariously from his fingers that went slack because of the way Louis’ words, spoken as a joke, hit him. When he felt a strange kind of warmth creep over his face, he looked away quickly, unaware that Louis already saw how his words affected him. 

After he cleared his throat Lestat spoke again, and this time his accent was slightly more marked, like it usually was when he was nervous. “Now, that is plainly cruel. You would do everything to keep reading, even threatening me with a good time.” However there was a slight tremor in his voice, that Louis only caught because he, for once, was paying close attention to what Lestat was saying.  

The flush on Lestat’s cheeks hadn’t faded, and Louis knew he’d pushed his luck a little too far. But rather than pushing his luck or apologizing, he merely answered, “Only if it’s what you want - perhaps I can find night vision goggles instead.”

“You will never bring those unfashionable things in this house, mon cher.” Lestat claimed, and his words were final. He was going to throw into the garbage anything that resembled those bug eyed things. 

“They invented those little lights you can clip on top of your page, and read without bothering anyone else, or ruining your eyes. You should try one sometime.” He offered, a reasonable solution for something that had been an issue between them in the past, one of the many, but this one hit close to home. 

Back then Lestat didn’t know why, but now he knew better. Both of them had their own issues and the things that made them feel better. Sometimes those things and the passion burning in their heart didn’t align, and that had been the cause of some of the worst fights between them in the past. 

Now Lestat swore he would try his best to keep those mistakes from polluting their new relationship, or wherever they would call the path in front of them. 

Louis hummed dubiously, but settled with, “I’ll think about it,” though now, with almost everything on his kindle, he didn’t even need a spare hand to turn the pages - except for Lestat’s book of course.

They settled back into a comfortable enough silence, the crisis having been averted for now, as they refocused on organizing the mess that had become Lestat’s bedroom. At some point, Lestat started playing music from his phone, and though Louis preferred the quiet, he didn’t mind this, so long as Lestat was still here with him.

It was like a switch had been turned when Louis came back after his fruitless hunt for a bag big enough to contain everything broken that Lestat decided to get rid of. When he stepped back into the room, he knew immediately that something had changed. 

Lestat was now subdued and even quieter than before.

“Lestat? Is everything okay?” 

His mind was racing. He wasn’t sure what could have happened while he was away. It couldn’t have been more than a couple of minutes, five maximum, it wasn’t enough for Lestat to be triggered, right? 

The truth was, that Louis didn’t know. He wasn’t attuned to Lestat like in the past, and now he realized, he didn’t even know what Lestat’s triggers were. 

“I - no. No, it’not. Nothing is okay.” Lestat whispered, his voice barely audible.

“He looked so young.” He kept going, and it was like he was talking to himself, and not Louis.  “They published a picture of him. He looked happy.” 

“Lestat, who are you talking about?” 

“Denis. The boy that was found dead. They killed him, Louis. Both Magnus and Santino, and they will try to make it disappear, no matter what Daniel says. People like them never stop.” 

Louis frowned, surprised by the sudden shift of topic, but he sat next to Lestat on the now mostly clean floor, unsure if he should touch him. “I… you’re safe from that now, Lestat. You’re here, at home.” He knew it probably wasn’t the right thing to say, but he didn’t know what he could say to help. It seemed to be a dead end no matter how he looked at the situation. “They might… If it’s enough this time.” 

Louis didn’t know what all had happened in that school, but if a boy had ended up dead now, he knew that it must have been much worse. This was only the surface, that much was clear. “Maybe it’s best to,” but he stopped himself. Louis didn’t know what was best - how could he? After so long apart, and realizing how little he really knew about who Lestat was, Louis knew there was nothing he could say to fix any of this. 

“I was him once. We all have been him once upon a time. He just - God it is awful to say this, but Louis, he was lucky. He got a way out.” Lestat said, and what should have been sounded as callous and petty, sounded instead like the confession of someone who had seen hell on earth and would never wish it on his worst enemy. 

“You know when people lie in the face of someone else’s pain? When they tell the people grieving that their loved ones are in a better place, and everyone knows it is a lie?” Lestat asked Louis. It was too late now. It was like opening a dam. 

All the pain he never faced in years was pouring in his words, but there were no tears to cry tonight. Not for Denis, who was just a boy, and not for all those boys who had been children once, kids with no one but Santino, and who paid an atrocious price to atone the sins of being born. 

“I think Denis is in a better place, because nothing can be worse than what we had to endure, Louis. Nothing on this earth, or even in hell, can be worse than that.” 

Louis felt as though the air in the room had evaporated as Lestat spoke. He hadn’t gone through a fraction of the pain Lestat had, and couldn’t even fathom how deep the well of it was within Lestat. It was simply something that they had never discussed. They never had a reason to, and Lestat…

The realization that Lestat had never felt safe around him hit Louis like a freight train, and he remained utterly silent. What did it mean now that Lestat was speaking to him about this? Did Lestat ever trust him before this moment? He turned his attention to the stack of books near Lestat, unable to look at him as he struggled to comprehend the death of a boy he never knew.

“He looked young in the picture.” Lestat kept going, unaware of the turmoil that was shaking Louis’ mind. “Younger than many of us were during the end of our stay. That means he was relatively new to the world Santino introduced him to.” 

Nothing happened to the school without Santino’s permission. He was the one who decided what boys were good enough to become his toys. His decision sealed the fate of those who would be sold inside and outside the institute.

“Santino was the one who had the final decision about everything. The board to keep happy? He had boys for that. Outside investors he wanted to bring in? Again he knew who to send to them. He was - he’s a monster, Louis. A demon wearing a human face.” 

Lestat went silent after that, but his eyes looked lost. His body was there, with Louis, in the safety of their house, and yet his mind was where Lestat never wanted to wander again. 

The sigh he let go was full of pain and confusion, and never before he had looked so young and lost, like the child he once was. 

“He never allowed for his favorites to be marked. Not even by his second. He went so mad once, because I came back with a bruise on my chest. I - If things went so far with Denis, I am afraid things are even more unhinged now.” 

As Lestat spoke, Louis’ heart pounded in his chest. He didn’t know what to do, what to say - what does one say to someone who lost everything? Let alone the one he loved, who now trusted him with this, after so many years.

Louis swallowed, trying to parse the amorphous thoughts in his mind - for once his constant internal monologue was silent. “Something will come out of this,” he started, finally looking back upon Lestat’s despondent face, “it has to. He was just a child –” But it occurred to him then that so was Lestat. Lestat had only been a child when he was in the same position. Older, yes, but still a child.

Claudia’s voice drifted into his mind, and his breath caught in his chest. She had been part of what drove them apart. They both loved her, and yet Lestat’s protectiveness had been what drove her closer to Louis. Had that been what ultimately sent her into Armand’s arms? When neither of her fathers were willing or able to give her the validation and attention she needed, she had run to someone who would.

Claudia had been a child too, and yet nothing had come of it.

Louis tried to take a breath, but it felt like his chest had caved in. When he finally spoke again, his voice cracked, “Are you going to publish your book?” Someone had to speak. Even if it wasn’t Lestat, someone had to speak out, or else this would go nowhere. It didn’t matter that Denis was a child. It hadn’t mattered when Lestat or Claudia, or god only knew how many others were just children.

“I - I never meant to,” Lestat’s answer was just a whisper, so low that Louis had trouble hearing his voice. “But Daniel is right. Unlike all the other past and present children, I have a voice people listen to.” Lestat had never regretted his fame, sure he was a hermit now, but before he had enjoyed the lights and the attention, and the noises. The screams of his fans were among the few things that overwhelmed even the voices nagging at his mind. Voices from the past. Santino and Magnus whispering into his ears how unworthy he was, how at the end of the day he would always be their good boy. Nothing more, nothing less. 

“I have to publish it for Denis and for every other child who was lost because of them.” 

Louis nodded in silence, feeling a strange sort of unreality in all of this. How long had he known Lestat but never knew even the surface of what he had gone through? How long had they spent together and he never bothered to ask? He was effectively a child star, of course he had been mistreated, but Louis hadn’t bothered to ask because Lestat never volunteered any information. 

Lestat walked closer to where Louis was, his body instinctively looking for closeness now that he thought he wouldn’t be denied. Then he stopped again and Louis watched as he bit his lower lip, tormenting it between his teeth for a long time before he kept going. 

“This is going to be a mess, Louis, and I understand if you don’t want to stay for it.” His voice lacked any accusation, but it also dripped with regret and pain. “You didn’t sign up for this, and the journalists - they are jackals. They will sniff the blood and will come for the kill.” He knew that. When he was a star they crucified him for everything. Not that they were wrong, he was a nightmare back then, but this would be even worse. 

“They - there are things in my past… God Louis, I did horrible things, and my past it’s not an excuse for that. But they will go for the dirt, and they will find it. I - I was a whore and whores are always to be blamed.”  

Louis pulled Lestat in close to his chest without hesitation, “Stop,” he whispered, “I’m not going anywhere.” Though the idea of journalists coming for them certainly wasn’t something Louis enjoyed, he had always been an intensely private person anyway. He hadn’t always done the best things, but no matter what they dug up, they wouldn’t find anything Louis regretted - except that he left Lestat in the first place.

“You’re not a whore, and you’re none of the things they told you you are. You’re my husband - once removed.” He smiled faintly and kissed Lestat’s forehead. The sense of looming dread was impossible to shake, and he knew none of this would be easy, but as Lestat sank against him, Louis felt himself relax slightly.

“We can just stay in until all of this passes. You don’t like going out, and I would rather read anyway. What does it matter if journalists swarm the house if we never leave?”

“And we could have Daniel as our errand boy. You know how much he would love that.” For the first time the slightest hint of amusement entered Lestat’s voice and Louis couldn’t keep his mind from thinking how familiar this felt, how right. 

“That would be another perk of the whole situation, indeed.” 

Before Lestat could answer, or Louis could add some more sarcasm to his words, Lestat’s stomach rumbled, calling them back to the here and now. Only then Louis realized the light in the room had changed. They had spent hours cleaning and their bodies needed food. 

“Let me feed you, before you turn into a brat monster.” 

Lestat was never good at being hungry. He became grumpy and showed what Louis had thought was the behavior of a spoiled child. Now, he didn’t know what to think. Was Lestat really spoiled, or was it just a reaction to his past? The answer to that question he couldn’t reach yet, but he could order take out, for there was no way either of them would cook tonight.

Lestat’s eyes shone with interest when he looked at Louis, but when he opened his mouth his excitement dropped instantly and not a single word came out.

“What?” Louis encouraged him. 

“Can we have Chinese?” Lestat asked at the end, his voice once again a whisper. 

Louis thought about their past again. He tried to remember if there had been other times Lestat had looked so shy, unsure he could even ask, and what he realized broke his heart. 

Lestat was brash and arrogant, even rude in his demands, but when food was discussed, he became quiet. With the exception of beignets, Louis couldn’t remember but a bunch of times in which Lestat simply asked for what he wanted, always okay with what the others were having. 

“Lestat? Did Santino ever deny you food?” A part of him didn’t want to know, but Louis was an adult and he made the conscious decision to be there for Lestat. It was time he showed his weren’t just empty promises. 

Lestat looked at Louis in surprise, unused to such forward questions from him. Even when they had been married, he just ignored issues until they became impossible to ignore any longer. But this time was different. They were different. “All the time,” he answered, looking away. Something about confronting the truth made it difficult to stay present. “But it’s different now,” he added, seeming to shrug off the memory of hunger, but of course it lingered.

Louis cupped Lestat’s face in his hands and waited for the moment Lestat’s eyes were on him again before he smiled in the gentle way that he knew always had an effect on Lestat. “Of course we can have Chinese. Why don’t you refresh yourself while I put an order in?” 

“You remember what I like,” Lestat asked, looking dubiously at Louis.

“Of course. Same thing every time, right?”

If Lestat was surprised Louis still remembered, he didn’t show, he simply nodded and left the room before his face could become even redder. He would see if Louis remembered or if he was just bluffing.

While Louis called in the order for delivery, Lestat took his time in the bathroom, scrubbing his face with cold water, as though that could scrub away the tears that wanted to continue falling. When he looked at himself in the mirror, water dripped down his chin and he wanted to break the glass.

How had he survived Santino, but Denis did not? Why did he deserve to keep going when he was the reason his own daughter was dead? He gritted his teeth, clenching his hands on the marble countertop. He didn’t deserve any of this - except perhaps the shitstorm that would come when his book was published.

He dropped his head, covering his mouth to hold in a sob that almost escaped his chest. He couldn’t breathe, so he didn’t. He rubbed his eyes, holding back the continuation of his earlier meltdown. Finally, when his vision began to darken along the edges, he inhaled sharply through his nose, breathing hard. 

It was a soft knock at the bathroom door that brought Lestat to his senses, and he jerked his head up in alarm. “I’ll be right there,” he called out before Louis could have a chance to say anything.

“Are you alright? Dinner is here.”

Lestat frowned then, looking at his watch. Had he really been in here for that long? “I’ll be there in a minute, I’m fine.” He hurried then to wash his hands, looking at his puffy eyed reflection in the mirror with distaste. He was weak, just like Santino had always said, and just how Magnus liked him.

He turned the taps off roughly, biting the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood as he dried his hands.

By the time Lestat made it downstairs, Louis was visibly concerned, but didn’t ask what had happened in the bathroom. “Yours is here,” he gestured to the takeout boxes on the table, but didn’t take his eyes off of Lestat, as though if he did, he would simply disappear into himself again.

When Lestat opened the takeout boxes to find that Louis had, in fact, remembered his favorite, he had to hold his breath to hold down another sob in his chest. He just nodded, “Thank you.” His voice was tight, and Louis reached out tentatively to tuck Lestat’s hair behind his ear, brushing a thumb across his cheek. 

As Lestat leaned in, Louis kissed the top of his head, “Chopsticks or spoon,” he asked softly, making Lestat smile faintly.

“You know I can’t use chopsticks - you think I took the time to learn while we were apart,” Lestat quipped, taking a plastic spoon and a fortune cookie from the bag.

“You never know,” Louis chuckled, picking up his own dinner - with chopsticks. “Come on, let’s see if there’s something to watch before bed.”

Lestat frowned at him, arching a brow, “You want to go to bed at 6pm?”

“You should go to bed at 6pm,” Louis chastised, leading the way into the living room. 

“Says who,” Lestat couldn’t hold back the yawn that followed, and Louis shot him a pointed look over his shoulder that Lestat promptly ignored.

“Says me.”

Lestat rolled his eyes at that, but settled into the couch beside Louis, sitting upright, as if to prove how not tired he was, but as they put on a baking show to watch and finish their dinner, Lestat slowly melted against Louis as the episodes played. Eventually, he was lying on his side, head in Louis’ lap while Louis stroked his hair.

His eyes were heavy, but he was not quite ready to call it a night yet. Louis said something that he didn’t quite catch, and he turned his head slightly to look up at him, humming sleepily, “What did you say?”

Louis, looking as though he’d proved his point, repeated himself, “I said we should go to bed.”

Lestat shot him a dirty look, but shook his head, “I’m not that tired yet.”

“Mmhm,” Louis hummed, going back to stroking Lestat’s hair as the end of the episode played.

When it was over, Louis turned off the TV, much to Lestat’s irritation, “I said I wasn’t tired!” 

As Lestat yawned once again, Louis muttered, “Yes, so awake I’d trust you to do the driving on a road trip.” Before Lestat could protest, Louis pulled him into his lap, kissing his cheek as Lestat pouted.

After the events of the day, they were both exhausted, but not so much that Louis couldn’t lift Lestat into his arms and carry him to bed. Lestat gave a surprised sound as he was lifted, looping his arms around Louis’ neck, but he couldn’t stop the laugh from escaping. “What are you -” But as Louis started up the stairs, still carrying Lestat, he stopped complaining, impressed.

“That’s what I thought,” Louis huffed when he reached the top of the stairs and brought Lestat to his bedroom. 

“What can I say? I like my husband - once removed, strong.” He said as his feet touched the ground again. “My pajamas are in my room, I need a moment to get dressed, then, you brute, I will go to bed at this ungodly hour, but watch me bother you while you try to read.” The whole speech was interrupted by at least three more yawns and a fourth almost dislocated his jaw as he ran to his room. 

In the time Lestat was gone, Louis chose to use the bathroom to refresh and change, that was how he missed Lestat’s return. When he left the bathroom, wearing red silk pajamas that he hadn't worn in a very long time, Louis was surprised to see that Lestat was already in bed, so deep under the blanket that only his nose and his hair, spread on the pillow like a halo, were visible. 

“Not tired at all, I see.” He chuckled as he slipped under the blanket to join Lestat, then he froze. 

“Lestat?” He asked, unsure, as his eyes took in what Lestat was wearing. Gone were the eccentric pajamas he used to wear, silk and satin and other sinfully soft material. Lestat was wearing a pair of leggings, but it was the top that caught his attention. 

It was a well loved and worn out sweater that didn’t even fit him properly. Too large around the neck and the hem, its color fading because of the many washes it got, but above all, it was one of the sweaters he had owned years ago, before he left. 

Lestat looked down at the sweater and then back up at Louis somewhat guiltily, “You never asked for it back,” he responded sheepishly. “And you left it behind when you went to New York.”

Louis tried to swallow past the heat in his throat, but nodded, “It looks good on you.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes as he got into bed beside Lestat, though he sat back against the headboard so that he could read.

Wordlessly, Lestat shuffled close, resting his head on Louis’ chest and hugging him close. And with Louis stroking his hair, Lestat was hard-pressed to stay awake. After a few more yawns, he finally drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6 

It was with a heavy heart that Louis grabbed the book after listening to Lestat’s quiet and deep breath. He needed the closeness of his body and the warmth that came from Lestat, as an anchor for what he knew was going to destroy his heart. 

For years, after their divorce, he had secretly missed Lestat’s presence. With time he had learned how to lock away the memories of the good times they spent together, the happiness they shared, and led by Armand’s sweet words, he had focused only on the worst moments, the fights that looked neverending in his mind, the betrayals and at the end the cheating too. 

That was why for a long time, the love he always felt for Lestat, the love that was never extinguished in his heart and mind, turned into loathing and even hate. 

Now he had Lestat back, and he could openly soak his presence into his whole being, so that Lestat would never be anyone else’s but his. Finally Louis didn’t need to hide his true desires and act like they weren’t true, and he would never lose him again, no if he had anything to say about that. 

Only after a long time spent stroking distractedly stroking Lestat’s hair and watching him sleep, he decided it was time to keep reading the book.

Hello again darling readers, my dear Daniel told me I should start this story from the beginning, but I think this time he’s wrong. Why would you be interested in the beginning of my story, when I was a child in a small village in France, where my father still thought he was important, even if no one cared about him at all? 

Why would you care about my brothers and a mother who never wanted to be married to the horrible man my father was and who wasn’t even interested in the children she gave him? My brothers were the mirror of my father and I was the last one, the one she loved to turn against the other members of my family. 

I could be the man she wanted to be, and I was starved for affection enough that I didn’t care if she didn’t love me for myself, but because I was a malleable weapon she could use against them. 

The only members of my family I really loved where my niece and nephew, and when they passed I cried for them. They had a life in front of them and suddenly everything was gone, because my brother couldn’t keep himself from following our father’s steps and began to drink as a way to fix all of his problems. 

I should know that alcohol is never the answer, nor a fix for anything, but back then, when it happened, I was just a child and soon to be shipped to New York, where my nightmare began. 

However my dearest Daniel wants me to tell you a bit of my early life, so here I am. 

I was born in Auvergne, and if you don’t know where it is, don’t worry, I wouldn’t know myself if I wasn’t born there. It’s not Paris, so it’s not really important. I was the last of seven children, but only three of my older brothers survived. 

My mother’s name was Gabrielle, and for a long time she was the only source of love and affection I had in my life. It didn’t matter if it was because she saw me as a way to rebel against my father, she was there for me, at least in the beginning. 

For a long time I dreamed of escaping my reality, of devoting my life to God and living in peace in a monastery, away from my father and his belts and from my brothers and their harsh words. They weren’t as terrible as my father, however they hated me, because Gabrielle apparently loved me more than she ever loved them. 

My father never allowed me to purchase that innocent dream of peace. His son couldn’t possibly want that for a life. He never cared that I really wanted nothing to do with him and his old title that wasn’t worth any shit, and my brothers would never go against him, not even to get rid of me. 

Nature, or fate, or whatever you want to call it, gave me a gift that my family hated. It had been my saving grace and my ruin at the same time. 

Music became my safe haven after everything else was taken from me. After my father threatened the priest who came to take me away, music was everything I had left. 

Gabrielle used some of her family’s jewels to allow me to study, in secret, and those hours spent away from home were the few happy memories I have of my childhood. I never knew I wouldn’t be a child much longer. 

I studied composition and piano with a private tutor. The first person who ever believed in me. Together we prepared the admission exam for the conservatory in Paris, but I never got to study there. Because of my voice, I ended up catching the attention of someone I will always regret meeting. 

Santino De Angelis. A name that was unknown to me, but apparently my father had heard of him before. That was why, one evening, when I came back from one of the best days of my life, the man was sitting in our lying room, talking to my father like they were old friends. 

Gabrielle was there too, a novelty since she loved to spend her time in her rooms, without interacting with others. Even my older brother was there. That alone should have told me something bad would happen, soon, but I was too naive to think my whole family would betray me. 

How foolish I was. 

Louis had known that Lestat’s relationship with his family was less than ideal - given that he never spoke of any of them, except once or twice in passing, it was more than clear. And as he read on, with Lestat’s weight against his side, he couldn’t help but pause on occasion to look down, as though to make sure he was still there.

How much of his mother and father did he see in himself when he looked in the mirror? Was that part of why he struggled so much to look at old pictures of himself?

Absently, after turning the page, one of Louis’ hands returned to gently stroking Lestat’s hair, and though Louis was unaware of it, Lestat’s breathing deepened as tension he held even in sleep dissipated little by little.

He had known vague details about Magnus, but next to nothing about Santino - except that he was the current headmaster of the school Lestat had attended. There had been a handful of minor scandals he’d heard about in the news, but all of them were quickly overlooked in favor of something more interesting to gawk at. What did this school matter if it didn’t even stay in the news cycle for more than a day or two every few years?

Clearly, there was more to it than that.

For someone with true love for any form of performative art, like me, the school was a dream come true. 

Art was a way to express what I didn’t know how to say with words. It was something I craved as much as I craved attention, in any form. As a child who was overlooked by his whole family, I would beg for attention anywhere else. 

That was also true for many other boys in that school, and our vulnerability was easy prey for those who were controlling the school both in plain sight and behind the curtains. 

I am sure that many of you, at this point, already guessed what I’m going to tell you about the school, so let me tell you something else. 

The tuition for that school costs more than the average house and headmaster De Angelis and his associates were generous enough to offer full grants to students who had the potential to become something in life. But that was just another lie. The cost became a debt we had to repay, and I’ll let you guess how children with big dreams but without the means to realize them, could pay him back. 

My primary benefactor was Magnus Cherubini, the founder of the school itself and former headmaster. He was the one who formed Santino, his mentor, the one who taught him everything he knew… and believe me none of those things was good. 

If some of you, too naive and innocent, still don’t know what I am talking about, I have a question for you: why are you even reading this book? Why are you here? You should be somewhere else, doing anything else, but if you still want to know the ugly truth behind the beautiful facade of the Cherubini school, let me spell it out for you. 

The benefactors were our owners. Our abusers if you prefer. Our bodies belonged to them and to the school. 

If you were unlucky enough to catch their attention, you became their toy and their whore. 

To have a benefactor didn’t mean others weren’t allowed to have you too, their lust simply had to be approved by Magnus and Santino. There was nothing they weren’t allowed to do to us, as long as we were left in conditions good enough to be of use the next day, and the next, and the next.

I was thirteen when I was raped for the first time. 

Louis’ chest clenched, and he had to set the book aside briefly to collect himself. The more he read, the harder it became to read on, and he hadn’t even been the one to suffer through this. He looked down at Lestat, who still slept on beside him, one arm draped over Louis’ stomach while the other had wormed under his pillow behind Louis’ back.

There was something so innocent about his barely visible face, which was half buried in the blankets, with only the golden crown of hair, that Louis knew would somehow become a rat’s nest by morning. He had known about his father’s abuse - Lestat had several scars as the proof of that, old and faded, but still an ever present reminder written into his skin. But what had happened to him at the school had left no marks, none that he had ever spoken of to Louis.

Louis stroked his hand down Lestat’s back over the top of the blanket, rubbing in gentle circles over the soft fabric. Lestat only shifted in his sleep, and grumbled softly. As Louis rubbed Lestat’s back, he picked up the book once again, though he was loathe to carry on reading, but he did.

As the pages turned, bile rose in Louis’ throat as Lestat wrote of what was done to him and some of the others. Minutes passed and the brief chapters of the book went on, and though not all of Lestat’s experiences at the school were horrific, and he seemed to have found some level of enjoyment in parts of it, the undercurrent of fear was clear in his words. He was right to be afraid.

Even after all this time, Louis understood why he had been so utterly distraught earlier. He couldn’t imagine what it would’ve been like for Lestat to hear about the honors and accolades the Cherubini Academy received, let alone the handful of stories like that of Denis.

In spite of all of the fear Santino, himself caused, it was Magnus who was the worst. He was the cause of Lestat’s rise to fame but also his ruin.

My introduction to drugs happened long before I was even old enough to drink. It was one of the few escapes I had. I don’t want your pity dear reader. I am simply telling you why I began to use. Judge me if you want, but if you didn’t walk in my shoes, keep the comments to yourself. I can promise you, your words wouldn’t be new for me. I have heard them time and time again. There is nothing you can say that I don’t know already, so do both of us a favor and keep your opinion to yourself. 

I found refuge in drugs early on in my personal hell. At first it was just weed, to help my mind relax. I learned the right amount I could have without too many ill consequences, and after a while it even helped me to write my music.  

For a bit it was enough. I was too young to be trusted outside the school too often, and that meant the only person I had to fear when I was there was Magnus. Santino didn’t really have any use for me back then, so I was somehow safe for a time. 

I was introduced to the infamous parties only after a few years. When Magnus had me trained to be the perfect pet for him, and I was too scared to look for help. Where was I supposed to go? Even if they didn’t watch me like eagles, and believe me they did, I didn’t know anyone in the city who wasn’t somehow related to the school. 

Was I supposed to trust anyone who had any connection to that place? I don’t think so, and even my dear Daniel agrees with me. Believe me when I tell you, this doesn’t happen very often. 

Nicki, my dearest Nicki. He was the one friend I treasured and my first love, I guess. He was the light in my darkness, my confident when no one else would listen- He knew everything about me and I had no secrets for him. 

He knew every single dirty thing they did to me. He knew what they taught me to do, and he knew how much I hated them and myself. I wasn’t even fifteen and I already knew I was dirty, damaged goods that no one could ever love. 

I wasn’t even fifteen when Nicki gave me a way to survive. At first it was just a few pills, now and then, when things became too much and I couldn’t cope with everything at once. They helped my mind to quiet down, for it had become a place that I feared. My thoughts were scary and I didn’t want to be me. 

I never asked where he would find those pills, but I gladly accepted them, and I paid him back in the only way I knew, and yet to be with him was nothing like to be with Magnus and the others. He was gentle, and cared for me, maybe even as much as I cared for him. 

Then the parties began. They were bad. They were among the worst things that happened to me, or so I thought. 

Nicki always knew when I needed his help the most. He never denied me. More than once I saw tears in his eyes as he watched me getting ready. 

I had learned, by then, to never trust anyone else to prepare me, like I had learned to always to make sure my body was always ready. They didn’t care how much it hurt me. All that mattered was their pleasure. My safety was my own business. 

Nicki had asked me, at some point, to be the one helping me, and I accepted. Since then he was with me when I got ready. His fingers were never cruel, the attention he paid to make sure I was ready for others was heartbreaking, but it was something we shared, something that made me feel safe. 

One night he gave me something different. I still remember that night. I was wearing dark pants that looked like they were painted on me, and a dark shirt that made my eyes stand out.     

He kissed me like his life depended on how much air he could steal from my lungs, and then he gave me two different pills. 

“Take them, and whatever it happens tonight, think of me. Think that you will be back in my arms.” 

I still live that night in my nightmares. It is one of the many reasons why I don’t sleep. Not when I am alone. 

The car that took me away from the school had dark windows and even the driver lowered his eyes when he saw me. It was like everyone knew, everyone but me. 

I was taken to Magnus’ place, but unlike the other times I was there, something was different, and I wanted to run. I think I begged the driver to take me away, somewhere else, anywhere else, but not there. The man couldn’t even look at me when he opened the door and let me out. 

All the cars had doors that would only open from the outside, in case we decided that to jump was better than whatever was waiting for us in their hands. 

Magnus wasn’t alone that night, and neither was I. He had guests, and they were laughing when I arrived. They looked at me like I was just a piece of meat they wanted to buy, and Magnus the butcher who would sell me to them. 

When I saw the others, all boys who looked at me with my blue eyes, my fair skin, my golden hair, I couldn’t breathe. Magnus and his guests enjoyed my shock and fear, though the other boys only looked at me with dead eyes that knew what would become of me.

Magnus forced me to watch as they were passed from guest to guest like playthings, forced to endure whatever pain would bring the distinguished guests the most pleasure. I looked at them and I saw myself reflected in a dozen near identical mirrors, each fracturing under the hands of Magnus’ guests.

They were the appetizers, but I was the main course of that banquet of depravity and pain. It was only when every one of them had taken their little pleasures out on the boys that I was thrown to the wolves to be devoured.

I remember their hands. I remember their scent, expensive colognes that were nauseating to me. I remember their mouths and how they tasted like alcohol and smoke. 

“One simple rule, don’t mark him.” I can still hear Magnus speak those words.  

And yet they marked me. They marked what was left of my soul. They marked my body with their cum. 

I was lifted from the ground and carried to Magnus’ room. I fought. I swear to God I fought them, but they were many and I was easy to overpower. They laughed in my face, like my struggling amused them. 

I spent the night with all of them. I was their sacrificial lamb, and they all had a piece of me. It hurt. There wasn’t a single part of my body that didn’t hurt. One after the other after the other, they used me like I was a toy for their pleasure and nothing more. 

Magnus smiled as they took turns with me. As they destroyed my body with their greed and their lust. He smiled, and his erection was the ugliest reminder of what my pain did to him. 

Louis had to swallow hard as his stomach churned and he was forced to set the book aside again, wishing that he could burn the pages and have that action undo what had been done to Lestat. He wasn’t aware of the tears rolling down his cheeks until one of them landed like a drop of dew in Lestat’s hair. He stared at it for several seconds, as though trying to make sense of what he was seeing, unsure of how Lestat was still here.

Though he wasn’t tired, and Louis was certain he wouldn’t sleep much, if at all after what he’d read already of Lestat’s yet unpublished memoir. He couldn’t hold it for another moment. It was as though the weight of the memories on the page had turned it to lead. Louis pushed the book onto his nightstand, almost knocking over a glass of water, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t look at that book for another moment, let alone hold it, without feeling his rage burning up within him.

It took a great effort to unclench his jaw as Louis closed his eyes and tried to level out his breathing, all the while Lestat slept on, peaceful for once in his slumber, while Louis took on his pain.

He leaned his head back on the headboard, feeling hot tears running down his neck, but he couldn’t stop them. He understood now why Lestat never slept, though it was beyond him how it was easier to sleep in the same bed as someone at all. He knew he had Daniel to thank for that, but how it was possible for Lestat to allow anyone to touch him after that was beyond Louis’ ability to comprehend.

His mind raced for hours, unable to stop the barrage of anxious thoughts about Lestat, Denis, and the school, but even in spite of that, as the sun finally rose hours later, he managed to fall into a fitful sleep.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7 

Lestat loved to wake up early. It was one of the perks of going to bed earlier than any other artist he met in his life. He blamed Claudia for that, and all in a good way. As soon as she settled down and slept through the night - or as long as a baby could go without food, that was really a short amount of time for something so small, she became an early riser, and Lestat never left that habit. 

Now he opened his eyes to a room he wasn’t familiar with, and for a moment, he panicked, before his senses were filled with Louis’ presence. His unique scent, his warmth, his calming essence, all those things breached the fog of fear that trapped his mind, and as fast as the terror settled inside him, it passed. 

Louis was wrapped around him like a heavy blanket, anchoring Lestat to the present. Slowly, not to wake his night owl up, Lestat turned his head to look at him, and what he saw cut the breath in his lungs. 

Louis was beautiful, like those angels Vastator loved to paint. In sleep he was relaxed, like it rarely happened when he was awake. Not many knew this about him, but Louis was a ball of bottled up emotions and energy. Looking at him composed self when he was at work, people would be tricked into believing he was tame, but Lestat knew better, 

Louis was a force of nature when he wanted to be, a maelstrom that would destroy any sailor stupid enough to underestimate him. Lestat loved all of him, the parts that were there for everyone to see, and the parts that were only for those who were allowed to know the real him. 

A tenderness that Lestat thought he had lost for good when Claudia passed, aroused in his chest with such force Lestat thought his heart would burst out of it to find its way back inside Louis’ chest, where it was always supposed to be, safe and protected even from Lestat himself. 

He wanted to touch Louis, needed it even, to convince his mind that this wasn’t a dream, but a  second chance to happiness he got.

However, with his fingers already trembling with the need to lose themselves in his majestic locks, when Lestat’s eyes, now free of the lingering threads of sleep that tempted him into stay in Morpehus’ realm, focused on Louis’ face, he saw the remaining traces of sorrow wrinkling his forehead. His long lashes, which gently brushed against his skin when Louis slept, were still slightly damp, and Lestat knew, instantly, that Louis had cried himself to sleep. 

The book abandoned on the nightstand, dangerously close to the glass of water still full, mocked Lestat with its mere presence. 

See? See what you have done? It seemed to say, and even if Lestat knew, logically, that a book couldn’t possibly have a personality, he was also sure that all the horrible things he wrote in it had still a certain power over those who read it. 

All Lestat could do was to hope that once the book was out, it could work like an exorcism, and take all the powers from those who had had it for too long. 

Now awake, and with no hope to go back to sleep, while regret and doubts threatened to invade the peace he had found for himself in Louis’ arms, and between the walls of the house that now was his golden prison, Lestat left the bed and the room. 

Thanks to Daniel he had learned that to focus his mind on something manual was a good thing in the morning, so armed with this knowledge, Lestat marched into the kitchen, ready to make breakfast for Louis. 

Louis had remembered what Lestat loved to eat when Chinese food was the main course, but Lestat had a good memory too, and he knew what Louis loved to wake up to. 

With a small smile on his face he gathered all the ingredients he needed, and began to work. Even if they forever stained singing for him, even if he dirtied the purest thing he ever had for himself, Lestat couldn’t stop himself from softly singing to himself, a tune he wrote a long time ago and that they never touched. 

Even back then when he was basically a slave to their will, Lestat managed to keep things for himself, it was his personal kind of break the laws they settled for them to lose everything they were before their nightmare began. 

That was why Santino had made his own mission to break Lestat, for he was the only one who challenged his authority, who denied him the pleasure of being broken into a shape that would satisfy Santino and his friends. 

Banning those thoughts, Lestat kept singing as he cracked eggs and whipped them to perfection. Then he added some finely chopped chives, just a splash of milk, and grated cheese, the good stuff, not those things Americans love to call cheese, and set everything on a side while the butter in the pan melted. 

In no time the kitchen was filled with the aroma of a perfectly made omelette and freshly brewed coffee from the darkest roast beans money could buy. Even if Lestat refused to leave the house most of the time, it didn’t mean he couldn’t still have some luxuries in his life.  

When everything was ready he put the plate and cup on a tray, and for a moment wondered if he should go all out and add a freshly cut flower in a small vase, but decided otherwise, just because he realized he didn’t have flowers in the house. Then he walked back into their room. 

Theirs. The word sent a sparkle of unadulterated joy to his heart. Their room, for they wouldn’t sleep apart again, if Lestat could avoid it. Who knew that something so little could be so precious, he wondered as he closed the door and a smile plastered to his face as soon as his eyes landed on Louis. 

Louis, still asleep, didn’t stir when Lestat entered the room, and he’d barely moved from how he’d fallen asleep, only now he had moved closer to Lestat’s side of the bed, one arm draped across Lestat’s pillow. Even when Lestat started setting the tray down on the nightstand, nearly dropping the coffee, Louis slept on.

It wasn’t until Lestat slipped into bed again beside him that he began to stir, grumbling softly for a moment before slowly blinking awake. He was confused for a few seconds when Lestat wasn’t in his arms, but rather sneaking back into bed beside him, but then he smelled the breakfast Lestat had prepared for him.

“Morning,” he mumbled sleepily, yawning wide as he tried to wake up fully. “What time is it?”

“A little after ten,” Lestat answered, bringing the tray to the bed in the hopes of tantalizing Louis enough to sit up. “I made breakfast.”

Louis hummed, shuffling under the covers to sit up a little more, “Did you already eat,” he asked, looking between the single omelet on the plate and Lestat. He knew that his suspicion was correct that Lestat had foregone breakfast, but he wasn’t about to let that happen.

“I’m - I’m still full from last night. I don’t really eat that much.” Anymore was left hanging in the air between them. Not that Lestat ever overate, but since he had lost everything food slipped lower and lower in his list of priorities. 

Louis gave Lestat a tired look, but leaned over to press a kiss to his shoulder. “We’ll split it,” he said, without giving room for an alternative.

Though Lestat tried to protest, Louis took the plate and began to cut pieces bit by bit, eating one himself, and then offering the next to Lestat. Though he was reluctant, once he started to eat, Lestat’s stomach growled, betraying his hunger. Louis didn’t comment on it, but once the plate was empty, he leaned against Lestat and sighed, “I’ll have to call to get the window replaced today.”

Lestat’s cheeks went pink, but he didn’t comment on it, “And I have a painting to finish,” but before he could continue, his phone rang on the nightstand. There were only two people who ever called him, and somehow Lestat knew who it would be before he picked up.

“Hello, Darling,” he answered, without even looking at the caller ID.

Louis looked up as Daniel’s barely audible voice came through the phone, but ignored the conversation for the most part, choosing instead to focus on the bitter, dark coffee - just how he likes it.

“Hey, Baby,” Daniel answers, the smile audible in his voice, “good to hear your voice - I was worried after yesterday. Is everything…”

“I’m better, much better. Louis and I just had breakfast.”

There was a brief, surprised silence on the other end of the call, “ You ate breakfast?”

Lestat rolled his eyes, “Yes, Daniel, I ate breakfast.”

“Without a fight?”

A sigh, and then, “Yes, Daniel, without a fight.”

“Huh,” Daniel replied, pausing, “I knew you loved him, but…”

“Did you call to ask something, or have you just come to goad me,” Lestat asked in mock irritation.

“Yeah, actually, but you know - you never fail to surprise me.” Across the line came the soft shuffle of papers before Daniel continued, “I just wanted to check in - I uh… I know yesterday wasn’t the best situation, and it’s probably not the best time, but what are you thinking about that book? Do you still want to publish it?”

This time, it was Lestat who paused, his chest even stilling as he stopped breathing for a few seconds. “I…” When Louis looked up at him in concern, Lestat forced himself to continue, “Yes. Yes, I still want to publish it.” His voice cracked as he spoke, and Louis reached out to take his hand. Lestat squeezed and Louis squeezed back, brushing his thumb over the back of his hand.

“Good ‘cause I’ve already sent the notice to the publisher.” That got a soft laugh from Lestat, at least, and Daniel continued, “Since they’ve already got the Advanced Readers Copies all set, there isn’t much for them to do besides finalizing the edits and cover. It’ll probably be on the presses in a month or two, but then they have to set the release date again. Given the situation,” Daniel paused, humming, “I dunno, they’ll probably publish within the year, if not sooner.”

Lestat’s breath felt caught in his throat as he imagined what would happen when it was finally on shelves. What would Santino do - and even worse, what would Magnus do? “Good,” he replied shortly, unable to muster more enthusiasm than that. “And you know I don’t want to do signings or –”

“No, no,” Daniel interrupted, “absolutely not. Not with this.” A long sigh, and then, “An interview or two after publication would probably be wise, but it’s in the contract that no signings will be booked through the publisher.”

Finally, Lestat let out the breath he felt he had been holding, and nodded, though Daniel couldn’t see him, “Okay, that’s okay. I can do an interview, as long as I can stay here.”

“I don’t see not leaving the house as such a bad thing,” there was a note of worry in Daniel’s tone, but he didn’t need to expand upon that for Lestat to understand. Both were concerned about what would come after this. The almost inevitable lawsuit, the danger of Santino tracking Lestat down again - neither of them needed the biggest imagination to figure those dangers out. “And I know you won’t be coming to New York anytime soon, but I’m going to say it anyway - don’t come here, Lestat. It’s an absolute shitshow.”

Lestat frowned, though it wasn’t difficult to imagine what that looked like, “As long as you keep yourself safe, that’s what matters, Darling.”

Daniel mmhmm s into the phone, but when he continues, his voice is tentative, “And there’s one more thing that I wanted to talk to you about,” he paused and Lestat’s heart clenched in the silence, “I… my editor wants me to run an interview with someone from the school –”

“No.” Lestat’s voice is abrupt and loud, cutting Daniel off and getting Louis’ attention. Louis gently slips his arm around Lestat’s waist and starts absently rubbing his back, trying to comfort him, but Lestat’s heart raced anyway, “No, you can’t go there, Daniel. You can’t.”

“Baby, I –”

“Daniel, you don’t understand –”

“I understand well enough, Lestat,” Daniel says firmly, and finally Lestat seems to give in, “I can handle myself, you know that. Remember when I interviewed Muammar Gaddafi? Can’t get much worse than that.”

Just when Lestat was opening his mouth to protest again, Daniel continued, “And I know what you’re going to say, that it’s not that kind of danger, but you forget, we’re not who Santino wants anymore.” There was a long pause as Daniel let that sink in, “He won’t touch me and he won’t even look at me because I’m not a child.”

The bluntness of Daniel’s statement caught Lestat off guard, and though it was something Daniel had told him before, in an attempt to comfort him, it never did sink in that even now, Santino would probably be disgusted by Lestat. Not Magnus, but certainly Santino.

“I’ll be okay, Lestat,” Daniel added. “I don’t even know who I’ll be interviewing - it could be some uninvolved teacher, for all I know.”

“No one was uninvolved there,” Lestat cut in, reaching behind Louis to pull him closer. Louis obliged, resting his head on Lestat’s chest. “Everyone is guilty.”

“Then whomever I interview, it will be strictly business. No accusations, no wheedling, just the facts.”

There was another stretch of silence in which Lestat struggled to form words, feeling the panic bubbling up in his chest, but finally, “Okay… alright, just… please be careful.”

Though Daniel would usually have joked that he was never careful, this time, he only said, “Yeah, yeah I will. Don’t worry too much, alright? I only wanted to tell you so that you wouldn’t be surprised when this comes out. But listen, I’ve got to go. I’ve got fires to put out and people to track down.”

“Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Lestat replied in an all too familiar way.

The smile was audible in Daniel’s voice as he responded in their usual refrain, “Doesn’t eliminate much, but I’ll do my best to find a karaoke bar.”

Lestat rolled his eyes, but finally smiled, “Be sure to sing Hotel California while you’re there then.”

“I will, don’t worry. Take care, Baby.”

“You too, Darling.”

There was a beat of silence before Lestat ended the call and dropped the phone into his lap. He let out a long breath and tipped his head back against the headboard. Louis only squeezed Lestat’s hand, reminding him of his presence, and closed his eyes briefly as Lestat decompressed.

“I need to work on my painting,” Lestat sighed, still not moving from the bed.

Louis looked up at him placidly, “If you want to. We could just lie in bed all day instead.”

A faint smile crossed Lestat’s expression, but he finally looked down to Louis, “Not today - but I won’t stop you, if that’s what you want to do.”

Louis looked pensive for a long moment, like the idea of staying in bed and leaving the outside world to keep rotating without him for a day was too tantalizing to let it go, but then he decided otherwise. 

In the room there was the book he couldn’t stomach to look at but that he still needed to finish. He just didn’t want to face the truths inside it alone.

“Would you mind if I sat with you in your studio?” Louis asked, hesitant. He knew the studio was Lestat’s sanctuary, and he wouldn’t ask to invade it otherwise. 

“I won’t bother you, I will be there, reading, but I just - I guess I just need to be with you.” 

Like he always did, even before, when he would deny the truth to himself and hide his head as deep as possible in Armand’s ass, something he wasn’t really proud of now. 

“You don’t have to ask.” Lestat admitted in the smallest voice Louis ever heard coming from him, like to show vulnerability was still painful for him. 

You should know. You are the only one who got to see him vulnerable before, and what have you done with it? 

Louis’ inner voice was never kind to him, and lately it became even more stinging, hitting him where it knew it would hurt the most. 

“I - I just need to be with you too.” Lestat added and without knowing it, those words felt like a knife in Louis’ heart. 

“It is a date, then, my once removed husband.” 

Louis tried to dissipate the tension that was growing between them, and even if those words stole a smile from Lestat’s face, it never erased the worry in his eyes. 

This became their routine for the next few days. They would wake up in each other’s arms, eat breakfast - for Lestat’s neverending scorn, unless beignet were involved, then they would change into comfortable clothes that could be dirtied by color, in Lestat’s case, and that would keep him warm in Louis’, and then they would move to Lestta’s studio, where the couch was now Louis’ property, and soak each other’s warmth while they were going on with their tasks. 

It was in one of those days that Louis reached the third part of Lestat’s book. The one he dreaded the most, if that was even possible. The one dedicated to him and Antoine. 

Well, I see you are still here, dear readers, and I wonder why. 

This book should have scared you away already. My words made my dear Daniel cry, and you know shit is real if that happens. 

I only saw Daniel cry a few times before, and the last was when he had lost part of his world. No, I won’t tell you what happened. This is not my story to tell, and honestly I wouldn’t share it with you, even if you asked nicely. 

Daniel is one of the few people who always protected me. Now it’s my turn to protect him, even if I’m not doing a good job with that. 

So, let me lead you into another chapter of my life, one that hurts in a totally different way. My body was now safe, but my heart, well whatever is left of it will be shuttered. It is because of my own weakness and vices that I have lost my husband, so let me tell you how. 

To tell you this story properly, I need to go back in time once again. It is the last time I will mention the Cherubini in this book, I promise you. 

So you already know of Nicki. My gentle violinist, the one friend I cherished and never wanted to lose, and you already know how I ended up losing him no matter how much I fought to keep that from happening. 

I loved Nicki but my tainted love wasn’t enough to save him from himself and those who destroyed us. 

What you don’t know is that with Nicki I have cherished another person I met at the school. I have loved him dearly, but not like I loved Nicki. No, we were never meant to be lovers, and yet I loved him with all my heart. He was my brother, the one soul that I knew was close to mine. We knew what the other went through and we were there for each other. 

Words were never required between us, because we could understand each other simply with our eyes. 

He was part of my soul. My friend, my brother. His name was Armand and his betrayal the one that finally destroyed me like neither Santino or Magnus could. 

The mention of Armand in this book caught Louis off guard. Given all that had happened to Lestat, and from what precious little he knew of Armand’s past, he only knew that they had met, and that neither was fond of the other. Louis snuck a glance up at Lestat, who was lost in his own world, finishing the painting with his headphones on.

When he began reading again, Louis was reluctant to learn more, but he knew he had to understand what Armand had done - the depth of the betrayal he had been a part of.

I don’t know when he began to hate me, maybe it happened when we had lost contact with each other, after I walked away from everything with Claudia in my arms and Santino’s brand on me still aching as the fresh burn rubbed against the clothes I wore, the only thing I was allowed to take with me. 

Or maybe it happened before that and I was too blind to see that the brother I loved was distancing himself from me when I failed to fall in line with what Santino wanted from us. 

Or maybe it was when I rejected him one night, when we were both drunk and our bodies red and hot from the scorching shower we took after another party, another night in hell. 

He was beautiful, a fallen angel, and I loved him fervently. I looked at him as a light in my darkness, but once again I was wrong. 

We were both broken, both damaged, but I loved him and I could have never let lust and twisted desire come between us. He was the one pure thing I had in my life, the one that was never tainted by sex between us, and I wanted to keep that love pure. 

Well, I guess I was wrong all over again. 

For years I didn’t hear anything of him. It was like he disappeared from the face of Earth, or maybe it was me who was too busy trying not to mess up with Claudia’s life to care for the people I left behind. 

Then he appeared again, and he took everything I loved. He took the love of my life from me, the one man I was ready to live for after years spent wondering if ending my own life wouldn’t have been a relief for everyone, my daughter included. 

I met Louis when I was still a showman. Only this time I was the owner of my own life and my career was in my hands. 

He was this beacon of light as bright as I ever saw anyone to be. A man who surrounded himself with beauty, as an art dealer he knew the true meaning of the word, and yet he looked at me with the same eyes he looked at Caravaggio's work. He made me feel seen. 

Everyone around me knew the singer, the transgressive showman, the drug addict, the whore, but Louis, since the first time, saw Lestat, the man. 

Not only that. At first I was reluctant to accept that I was falling for him, hard. Oh yes, it happened the first time I saw him. I felt a pull towards this reserved man who hated to be in the spotlight. 

God, I really ruined his life, didn’t I? I’m sure I did, even if Daniel is shaking his head at me. But back to what I was trying to say before I got distracted by how much I have wronged him, the reason why I couldn’t stay away from him, even if I tried, was because he loved Claudia. 

Before meeting Louis I have had many one night stands. Are you even surprised? I was trained to be a whore and I shouldn’t be the one telling you that whores sleep around. If you didn’t know that you are too young to read this book, if you knew from personal experience, I hope you used protection and didn’t bring anything nasty home where someone is waiting for you. 

Even those I slept with who had intended they wanted something more with Monsieur Le Rockstar, failed to see Claudia as anything but a burden. They didn’t want to care for a kid, but to live a lavish life of parties, sex and drugs, without even realizing what they were asking for. 

Louis was different. When he looked at Claudia for the first time I knew he would have loved her as if she was his. 

Louis’ heart clenched at the mention of Claudia, and finally he closed the book, unable to read on today. How could he, when he knew what was coming - or at least he knew his side of the story - and what Armand told him. 

Lestat’s heart was in New Orleans, and it always would be, and yet even when Louis considered moving to New York for more opportunities, Lestat said that he would go. Even after all that had happened to him in New York, he said he would go.

Louis felt a hot lump forming in his throat as he tried to swallow down the tears that threatened to fall. He couldn’t cry in front of Lestat like this. Not over his own book.

With a deep breath, Louis set it aside and offered a wan smile when Lestat gave him a questioning look. He didn’t have to know what Louis was feeling, though surely, he understood. But it was what Louis deserved after all this, wasn’t it? He deserved to know the truth and to feel it twist in his gut like he swallowed a razor blade.

Chapter Text

New York

Daniel was mad. It wasn’t the first time he got his lists of questions vetoed from people, but this felt more and more like a set up. 

First of all he still didn’t know who he was going to interview, but probably the dean, or a member of the board, then his editor came back to him with a very edulcorated version of the questions he wanted to ask, and when he tried to call him, the bastard decided it was the perfect time to be busy with back to back meetings that made him unreachable for the rest of the day. 

Even his secretary sounded ashamed when he answered Daniel’s tenth call. It was all bullshit and it pissed Daniel off like it only happened a bunch of times before. He almost called the whole charade off, before he remembered that he was a fucking journalist and he had a duty towards the public and towards Lestat. 

If the man was brave enough to publish his book, knowing all too well of the backlash he was going to face, then Daniel could handle his bad mood and face the music of this bad day. 

However, when he entered the school and the secretary took it upon herself to led him towards the offices on the third floor, his blood ran cold when, after she knocked at the door, he was let in in what was Santino’s office, and he came face to face with the man who destroyed Lestat. 

When Daniel stepped inside, Santino’s smile was unsettling, and showing far too many teeth than seemed necessary. Though his heart pounded in his chest at the sight of him, Daniel didn’t hesitate to approach the desk behind which the man himself now stood to greet him.

“Welcome, Mr. Molloy,” Santino’s voice was the smooth voice of a practiced liar, and when Daniel took his hand to shake, it was the hand of someone who never worked a day in their life, not with art at least. 

Daniel knew Lestat’s hands, and as he took such good care of them, he had small scars on his fingertips caused by the violin strings and small cuts for how long he had spent doing art, and Daniel wouldn’t even start with the state of Lestat’s feet. Not that he was going to ask Santino to show him his, Daniel knew the man didn’t have a single artistic bone in his body. 

The only art he excelled in was in torturing children who had no one to protect them, after all.  

“Santino de Angelis,” Daniel greeted in return, though his voice was tight with barely repressed anger, “what a pleasant surprise this is. You didn’t want your assistant headmaster or deans to give me all the dirt, huh?”

Santino’s black eyes glinted unsettlingly, but Daniel didn’t back down or look away. “Well, who better to give all the facts than the one in charge?”

“Yeah, about that - actually I had a question. What exactly does being in charge entail here,” Daniel shot back immediately, taking the seat opposite Santino at his desk without being invited to do so.

Santino sat, and his smile seemed to become fixed on his expression, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I manage the school,” he began, gesturing absently to the neat stack of paperwork on one side of his desk, “handle the paperwork, hiring -”

“Uh-huh,” Daniel interrupted, “So that means you manage the PR too?”

“Actually, we have an administrative assistant who typically handles outside requests for information, as well as conferences with potential families.”

“Then why are you here,” Daniel crossed his legs and took out his notepad. His recorder had already been on from the time he arrived, but it looked better to at least pretend to take important notes. “If you have someone else who handles PR, what makes me so important that the headmaster himself wanted to handle it?”

Santino’s expression hardened and his smile faltered only slightly, “I thought it the more professional option, given the circumstances - and, considering your relation to one of my finest pupils, I wished to meet you for myself.”

“And who would that be?” Daniel asked, suddenly alert but ready to play this game with Santino, for he wasn’t a scared child, but a seasoned journalist and this wasn’t the first time someone threatened him and those he loved using sweetly coated words of poison.

“That is of no consequence for the purpose of this interview,” Santino responded coolly, “but suffice it to say that I would like to answer any questions you might have that are pertinent to the situation at hand.”

Daniel’s mind buzzed with thoughts of who Santino was referring to. It couldn’t have been his ex wife - she was about as un-artistic as an accountant could be - and Marius was absolutely not involved with Santino. But he only had been in two other serious relationships, and he very much doubted that Santino would still refer to Lestat as his star pupil, after he’d abandoned the school and its teachings .

That left only one, but Armand had never spoken a word of the academy to him.

“Then would it be pertinent enough to ask about - what was his name,” he pauses pretending to look through his notebook. “Denis? What was his time here like at the school until he was found dead in a bathroom stall?”

Santino suddenly became pensive, like the name had brought back sorrowful memories, but Daniel could see behind the acting, and knew that not a single one of the emotions the man was showing were real. 

“That’s a tragedy I will never forgive myself for. Such a young, promising man, taken from us by vices we were too blind to see.” Santino said, and even his voice sounded so convincing. If Daniel hadn’t been in this field all his life long, he would have believed this man. 

“You see, Daniel - I can call you Daniel, right? When those young men come to us, they are pushed beyond their limits.” He kept talking without giving Daniel the possibility to answer. 

“This is why it is so hard to enter this school. There are many gifted boys out there, but not everyone is able to handle the pressure required to become the best.” 

“And what do you offer, as a support system, to these gifted young men?” Daniel was curious to know what Santino would answer. He wanted to know how far he would go with his bullshit. 

“We have counselors at the school, available to the students whenever they need someone to talk to.” 

Daniel was barely able to keep his rage in check. Oh he knew about those people Santino was talking about. Lestat told him. He couldn’t even include them in the book, for the mere thought of writing about what they did was too upsetting for both Lestat and himself. 

“Did Denis look for their help?” 

“Not that I am aware of,” was Santino’s simple answer. Too simple. 

“I thought you knew everything that happened in the school. After all it is your pride and joy, right?” He knew he was pushing his luck, but he couldn’t stop himself now. 

“No, sorry, I think that would be Magnus’ role. The proud founder of this renewed establishment that gifted the world with many amazing artists.” Daniel didn’t fail to see how Magnus’ name made Santino lose his cool for a moment. It was just a little tension in his jaws, that Daniel would have missed if he wasn’t looking at the man with very close attention. 

“Magnus is a name we all respect in the school. He’s our founder and one of our most generous donors. I don’t see how draggin his name in this sad occasion could help with the interview.” 

It was clear Santino didn’t want to talk about Magnus, but Daniel was like a dog with a bone, and he just realized he was on the right path. Magnus was involved with what happened, his source was right. 

“But is he still involved with the students, and with Denis in particular?” He pushed for an answer and waited for Santino’s reaction. 

“As I said, he's our founder, Daniel, but you don’t seem to be very well informed of his other role he still has in the school. He teaches advanced art history. One class that only the best of the best can attend.” 

“Does that mean that Denis was one of the best?” Daniel could see the tension raising and yet he couldn’t step down. He needed to know more about Magnus, something that he could use in his article to link Magnus to Denis. 

“He was a very promising young man, as I already told you, but one who allowed his demons to swallow him.” 

Santino cut his answer short. With any word he was declaring the interview over, but Daniel wasn’t going to allow that to happen. Santino thought he was the one in charge here, but Daniel was the one with a pen and a tongue to rival a sword. 

“His demons huh?” He mused, like he was talking to himself more than Santino. “Are we talking about drugs? How was he able to find them? I read the statute of the school, and it says here you have zero tolerance of substances of any kind.” 

The accusation hung in the air, but Santino looked unfazed. 

“You should know, better than anyone else, how easy it is to find drugs when you really want them, no matter the price.” 

Santino pronounced those words while he looked Daniel straight in the eyes. Sure it wasn’t a mystery that he had used drugs in his life, however it was information that wasn’t that easy to find around. The only reason Santino could know about his addictions was if someone had told him. 

Could his editor be so in deep with the school’s shit to rat him out? The only other option was one that Daniel didn’t want to contemplate. He couldn’t. 

“Sure it is.” He said between his teeth, breathing deeply to calm himself, for he knew it would be a lethal mistake to show weakness in front of Santino. “But it is also easy to see the effects. How could you have missed them if Denis was one of your best students? Someone should have noticed that something was really off.” 

“That’s why I said I will never be able to forgive myself. We missed something that, as you said, should have been clear. I couldn’t protect Denis from himself.” 

“Sure, from himself and his demons, right? Because that’s what strangled him to death, right?” 

Santino’s eyes darkened and he steepled his fingers in front of his chest, but Daniel could see the pressure with which he pressed them together, so he pushed harder, “That is the cause of death, right? Manual strangulation? I’ve never seen drugs do that, and I’ve tried almost all of them.”

“That question was not on the list of approved topics, so I am afraid I am not at liberty to discuss that, nor am I willing to continue this conversation, if that is how you will treat this interview - as some shock value piece to add to your resume.”

Daniel opened his mouth to interject, but Santino continued, “I would consider continuing this conversation, as a favor to my most beloved pupil, if you would be willing to behave, however this interview is over, Mr. Molloy. Good day.”

Daniel rolled his eyes, but snapped his notebook shut. “Yeah, you too,” Daniel muttered, and stood from his chair. “You tell me if this favorite boy of yours ever gets back to you.” He didn’t even want to think about what it took to be one of this man’s favorites , but he had a sneaking suspicion that Armand never had outgrown those tendencies.

“He always comes back to me, Mr. Molloy, unlike some of my other boys.”

The urge to lunge across the desk and strangle Santino himself was almost irresistible, but Daniel only let out a humorless laugh as he started toward the carved oak door of the office, “Well you tell me when he does and I’ll ask you the rest of these approved questions.”

As Daniel bustled out of the office, the secretary who had let him in blinked, shocked, at how quickly he was leaving, and rushed to follow him. “Mr. Molloy, I - the exit is this way.”

Daniel only waved her off and beelined for the front doors.

As he pushed through them, he couldn’t help but wonder how many of these students saw them as prison bars - how often had Lestat thought of running through them and never looking back?

When he got outside, Daniel walked far enough to be off of the school grounds before reaching into his pocket to turn off the recorder and then call an Uber. He could really go for a stiff drink about now, but he had more important things to deal with, and he would need a clear head to write up what he had learned so far.

The ride was quick to arrive and in no time, he was on his way back to his hotel, and once he was settled back in his room, Daniel pulled out his phone to make a call. As the phone rang, he took a deep breath, preparing for what could be one of the most difficult calls of his life. 

He didn’t have long before the call was picked up, and before anyone could say a word, he demanded, “Was Armand one of Santino’s boys?”

On the other side, the person who picked up was totally unprepared, that was the reason why only one word, whispered, left his mouth. “Yes…” Then realization had to hit him because he rushed to ask more. “Wait, you didn’t know? And why the hell are you asking me this, now?” 

Daniel let out a groan, “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He rubbed his eyes with the hand that wasn’t holding his phone and was silent for a long time as he tried to collect his thoughts, “Of course I didn’t know - he never told me shit. I just… fuck .”

“Daniel, what’s going on?” The voice asked, full of concern. “Why are you asking me about this?” 

Daniel sighed heavily and began to pace across the small room, “ Because ,” he began, saying the word more forcefully than he intended to, “I had an interview.” And after a pause, he added, “At the school.”

“An interview with who?” The voice inquired. 

It was like words were pulled from Daniel’s mouth with dentist’s pincers, and when Daniel failed to answer, the voice asked again. “With who, Daniel?”

“Who do you think?”

The silence between them was ice cold. “No. Fuck no. What were you thinking?” 

Daniel was so startled to hear a curse from the other side that laughed, hysterically. “Do you think it was my idea? Do you really believe I would have done that to Lestat, after everything?” 

“Then explain to me what the hell just happened.” 

Daniel heard rushing noises of open and closed doors, and even a zip in the distance. 

“Answer me, before I march into your room, Daniel. You know better than many that my patience is thin.” 

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m packing, and you are smart enough to know that already. Now, your answer, if you don’t mind. Tell me what I’m walking into.” 

“I’ll tell you when you get here,” Daniel muttered, exhaustion creeping into his voice, “Nothing is on fire - though I’m strongly considering burning that place down myself.” 

“Really, Daniel?” The voice turned cold and sharp like a blade. 

After a moment, Daniel seemed to forget to breathe, “I’m sorry, I just - I would kill that bastard myself, if I could get away with it. But we need you here. Both Lestat and I need you. I won’t send anything to my editor until your eyes are on it, but I only have a day, tops, before he’ll start to ask questions.”

“I will be there as soon as I can,” the voice cut him off. “Please stay safe until I arrive.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice. I’m not leaving this hotel room, if I can help it.”

After the call between them ended, Daniel continued pacing for several minutes, toying with the recorder in his hand, but not pressing play to listen to it again just yet.

///

It was the middle of the night, and Daniel had gone outside for a smoke, pacing up and down outside the building while his cigarette burned to ash. He crushed it on the sidewalk when only the filter remained, and his eyes landed upon a figure on the other side of the street. Their eyes weren’t visible in the dark, but it gave him an uneasy feeling, so he hurried inside without lighting another cigarette, like he wanted to do.

Once back inside his room, he locked the door and continued his pacing across the floor, peering at his notebook or writing something down every so often. The moment there was a knock at the door, he tripped over his own feet and he jerked his head up.

Someone coming to his room at this hour could mean nothing good, so he approached the door hesitantly and peered out the peephole from a distance. Even from the unclear image through the lens, he knew exactly who it was, and immediately flung open the door, only for it to get stuck on the chain. 

He muttered a curse and shut the door halfway again so that he could remove the chain before opening it further again. The sight of the man just outside of the doorway was such a relief that he rushed out and pulled him into a tight hug without so much as greeting him.

Without hesitation the man’s arms closed around his shaking frame and for a long moment they stayed like that, happy in each other’s arms, like nothing could touch them in those precious moments. 

Then they had to let go and reality invaded the bubble that was created around them, shattering it with its cruelty. 

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he mumbled, finally drawing back enough to look at his guest, “I wish it was under better circumstances, but it’s bad, Marius. It’s…” but through his exhaustion, Daniel couldn’t find the words. It was just a relief that the one person who might have a chance of helping the situation had finally arrived.

Before Daniel could add more Marius gently pushed him properly into the room and after locking the door he led the younger man towards the bed. 

“You are exhausted, dear one. Sleep for a few hours, and then you will tell me.” 

Those words were spoken in a way that left no room for arguing, and Daniel was too tired to complain. 

“But you…” 

“I will watch over you until you wake up.” He promised as Daniel slid under the blankets, barely shaking off his shoes before he curled up in a ball, dead to the world. 

Marius sat on the bed, careful not to disturb him, and shot a quick text from his phone. 

In the night, the eyes that were keeping track of Daniel retreated, like they were never there.  

Chapter Text

New Orleans 

As Lestat was looking at Louis, a bit confused by the emotions he could read in his eyes, and put off by the fact that Louis was trying to hid them, he couldn’t know that Daniel was meeting Santino for the first time, and he would remain in the dark about that for a few more precious hours. 

“Are you okay, mon cher?” Lestat couldn’t stop himself from asking. “Do you need a break? Maybe a coffee, or a cup of tea? I should have jasmine somewhere.” He knew he was mumbling now, but Lestat never handled tension well. 

Emotions were still a minefield for him, and the thought of Louis being distressed for something he wrote almost threw him into a panic attack. 

Louis looked at Lestat as though he didn’t recognize him for a moment, his mind trying to come to terms with the events of Lestat’s book compared to the man he knew now. But when his mind caught up with what Lestat was asking him, he just shook his head, “Don’t worry, it’s just –” he shrugged one shoulder, as though to shrug off the pain in his heart, “Claudia. I… miss her too. A lot.”

Lestat’s expression fell and he could only manage a soft, “Oh.”

Louis got up from the chair he had made himself comfortable in and went to Lestat, taking him into his arms and pressing a kiss to his forehead. When Lestat’s arms wrapped around his waist, Louis swayed a little in the hug, gently rubbing Lestat’s back. He had missed this. He had missed having someone to hold in times like this, when both of them needed one another. No words needed to be exchanged, only the weight of one another’s presence in each other’s arms was enough.

“She’s the reason for most of my paintings,” Lestat murmured, resting his chin on Louis’ shoulder and closing his eyes. He had cried enough times that this time, all he felt was the crushing weight of the grief in his heart without needing to release it, but tears came anyway when Louis spoke.

“I thought it was you who saved the gallery.” Lestat’s hands tightened, gripping Louis’ shirt, but he continued, “Why did you do it? Why with that painting? I almost couldn’t sell it. I - it reminded me so much of her.”

Lestat sniffed, trying to blink away his tears, but when Louis drew back, Lestat had to look at him. He leaned into the hand that rose to brush away his tears and in truth, he didn’t have a complicated answer. Not some greater plan or ulterior motive. “Because it was you.”

Though Louis’ expression only showed the smallest of changes, Lestat knew he was trying to hold back tears. He brought one of his hands up between them to rest over Louis’ heart, keeping it there for several seconds before murmuring, “She was mine by blood, but she was just as much yours.”

Louis’ eyes teared up, and he couldn’t bring himself to speak. He and Claudia had always had a close relationship, even when Louis first came into their lives when she was just a small child. He’d loved her like he never thought possible. Children had never been something he particularly wanted, but Claudia changed that, and in return, he had been the cause of her death.

The comfort of one another’s presence was enough, and though Claudia’s absence felt like a black hole between them, it felt, for the first time for either of them, as though they could begin to bear it together.

As Lestat’s tears dried, Louis kissed him again, and without needing to speak, Lestat returned to the painting he was working on and Louis returned to his chair to watch him slip back into the flow of it. He couldn’t see the canvas from this angle, but he didn’t need to in order to see that Lestat was likely painting something of Claudia again. His emotions were clear on his expression, even as Louis watched the world seem to fade out from his mind.

Occasionally, Lestat’s eyes would flick to his and Louis could all but feel the weight of what he was creating reflected in them. His grief, even after all these years, was still so visceral, while Louis had done his best to compartmentalize it. 

Once Louis was sure Lestat was there, safe in this room and in his world, he knew he needed to read more of Lestat’s book, now that he was reassured in his place by his side and in his life. The path in front of us was long, and Louis wasn’t naive enough to think everything would be easy from now on, the difference was that this time he was ready to be the man Lestat needed by his side, the one he deserves, as Lestat was working on his own flaws for a long time now. 

This time Louis needed to really know the man he never stopped to love, and his role in their separation, for he was finally ready to admit that the fault couldn’t lay only on lestat’s feet. 

With those thoughts in his mind and the determination he always put in what he loved, Louis grabbed the book and after a last glance at Lestat, he once again began to read. 

We were a family for a long time - married even. I got clean, after many unsuccessful attempts, Claudia was happy, and Louis was able to work on starting his business. Maybe not the nuclear family everyone dreams of, but for a long time, we had all that we needed.

It was when Claudia was in middle school that it all started to fall apart. The day I relapsed was when Louis was out for a gallery opening and Claudia was left at school. They called and called, but I didn’t pick up. I couldn’t. And neither did Louis. By the time I realized what had happened, there were police banging down my door with Claudia in tow.

It was only a few pills that I had taken, but they knew I was good for nothing the second they saw me, they just had no right to remove Claudia from my care then and there. Maybe they should have. If they had, she could still have had a life.

It all failed from there - one thing after another. Louis spent more time at the galleries than he did with either Claudia or myself and I replaced his presence in the only way I knew how. At some point, I began to see my dealer, Antoine, more than I ever saw Louis. He at least would listen to me cry, as long as I paid him for what he gave me.

Maybe it was because I was his best customer, or maybe somehow, Antoine couldn’t bring himself to detest me too, but he felt present when I was with him, while Louis was not. Nothing ever happened between us - unless my bitching and crying while he nodded and pretended to listen constituted a relationship, but it wasn’t right that I sought him out before Louis, at a certain point.

All the while, it was Claudia who paid the price for all of our wrongs.

The bitter taste of bile assaulted Louis’ mouth, as he tried not to gag. He wanted to scream, at his old self and how stupid he had been, at Lestat for not reaching for him, for not forcing him to listen even when he was hellbent to put himself and his career in front of his marriage. 

For that was the truth. For a long time he had felt inferior to Lestat, unequal to the man he had married and he still resented. That was the ugly truth, Louis had resented his success, his fame, his ability to wear masks that would make everyone believe they were important to Lestat, a part of his life. 

Sure, before he didn’t know why Lestat had learned to camouflage himself so well, but that didn’t change how much, at some point, he had resented the man for the apparent easiness he walked through life, without a care in this world. 

But above all he was mad at the silver tongue who disguised himself as a friend, who approached him when Louis was looking for a way to realize his dream. The cultured and charming man who approached him one evening, when he was at a gallery opening without Lestat, because they had a huge fight that very same morning, and Louis had told him not to bother to come. 

Armand had been a business partner on a silver platter, a man who knew his way around investors and art, who knew the moving beauty behind the Penitent Magdalene Donatello created in his adulthood. A man who managed to make Louis feel important and seen, when with Lestat he always thought he was living in his shadow, that what he had to offer to the world could never be compared with what Lestat already did. 

Armand began to insert himself in his life more and more. Always ready to listen when Louis had a fight with Lestat, always the first to offer him the comfort of true and sincere friendship. Then the advice came, the subtle way Armand had to undermine Lestat’s achievements and value. 

The way he would always subtly intend that Louis deserved better than, someone who knew how to listen and who wouldn’t turn every argument about himself, like Lestat always did, and little by little, Louis had started to believe those words. 

Even when the truth was distorted under his eyes, Louis didn’t see the lies that were beautifully offered to him, poisonous flowers among innocent roses. 

The first time Louis told him about Armand, exhausted after a night spent waiting for Lestat to come back home, high and almost incoherent, Armand had offered him a shoulder and a friendly ear ready to listen. 

Louis didn’t suspect anything when Armand quietly began to inquire if Lestat had seen Antoine after that night. He thought it was concern for his well being, but now, reading Lestat words, he realized that too was just another lie. 

He didn’t even realize it was Armand who put in his mind the idea that Lestat was cheating on him with Antoine. For a long time he had thought it was his mind connecting the dots and discovering the truth of his own husband's infidelity, but now, when he looked back to that moment of his past, he finally realized there was no proof, just Armand’s sweetened poison. 

When the divorce papers came, I couldn’t find it in myself to even be surprised. Even when all was said and done and Claudia chose to spend most of her time with Louis, I was hurt, but why would she want to stay with me, when she idolized Louis and I had given her nothing to look up to? 

The longer I spent alone, the more everything made sense. I never deserved the life we had, and I only remember one of those nights after that. The night it all ended. Antoine had given me more than what I needed to forget, and while I was riding the high of heroin, Claudia called me again and again and again.

I never even noticed that my own daughter was dying until it was too late.

By the time I heard her voice, crying that she had made a mistake and that she was afraid, she was already gone.

She never said where she was in her messages, but the calls had stopped an hour before I noticed. She spent most of her time with Louis, so I ran to the gallery, half dressed and out of my mind. When I arrived though, it wasn’t Louis who greeted me, it was Armand.

I couldn’t find the words then to explain what was happening, but the moment I arrived, he wouldn’t allow me inside. I wasn’t wanted there anymore, couldn’t I see? Even Louis, when he came to see what the commotion was, only told me to get out, that he couldn’t have a junkie ruining his event.

Nothing I said changed their minds, and when Louis threatened to call the police, I dared him to, but I was gone before either of them could dial. By the time I arrived at home, it was like a physical weight had fallen upon the house. I didn’t want to go in, because I knew deep down what I would find.

When I did, I called out for her, but no one answered. Again and again I called out from the doorway.

Nothing.

By the time I found her body in her bed, she was already cold.

Louis couldn’t read anymore. The book fell from his hands as he launched himself off the chair that toppled on the floor, loudly, scaring Lestat that immediately turned, but he didn’t have time to open his mouth that Louis was already emptying his stomach in the trash can he barely reached in time. 

His face burned in shame as he did nothing to hide the tears falling from his eyes. He remembered that night. He remembered the cruelty he reserved to Lestat. He couldn’t listen to his voice, couldn’t look at him, or he knew he would fall for him all over again. Even in that disgraceful state Lestat had kept the beauty of a creature that wasn’t of this world, and Louis had feared he would have fallen for his spell again. 

When his stomach was empty he began to cry like he never had before. He sobbed and sobbed, and among half formed words and unspeakable pain he cursed Armand’s name until black dots began to dance in front of him and his lungs felt heavy and empty in his chest. He didn’t even realize that Lestat was begging him to breathe, and even if he could hear him, Louis wasn’t sure he remembered how to. 

But it wasn’t darkness that welcomed him in his numb embrace, but strong arms that wrapped around him, protective and delicate at the same time. It was Lestat’s voice that led him back home. It was Lestat's fear that calmed him down enough to be able to see again. 

He had promised himself he would be Lestat’s protector, after everything he did to the man, it was the least he could do. He promised on those cursed words he read that no one else, ever again, would hurt Lestat like he and Armand did. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He mumbled. “For everything we did to you. For everything he took from you. For everything.” He kept saying, like apologies could mean anything to the one he wronged so deeply, like his apologizes would mean anything to Lestat. 

Lestat only guided Louis to their bedroom, pulled him into bed, and let him cry. Louis clung to him like he was the last thing to anchor him to this earth, and as he sobbed, he realized that this was the first time he had ever really let himself cry since being with Armand. How long had it been that he had never truly felt the grief that hollowed him out for years?

By the time Louis’ tears slowed enough for him to mumble another, “I’m sorry, Lestat, I’m sorry,” the sun was already getting low in the sky.

“I’m here,” Lestat whispered, “I love you.” He knew he forgave far too easily. He always had. It was how Armand was allowed to do what he had done when they were boys - they would have a falling out, and then ten minutes later, all would be well again. But this was different. Louis was different.

After a quiet evening, in which, for once, it was Lestat who encouraged Louis to eat, before they both settled into the couch to watch a baking show until they fell asleep there together. Few words were exchanged, but they didn’t need to be. Louis was finally feeling what Lestat had felt for years, and for once, Lestat knew how to handle something that Louis did not.

The next morning, after they both made their way up to the bed halfway through the night, backs aching from falling asleep together on the couch, it was Lestat’s phone that woke them up. The ringer was muffled from being in his pocket, but he groggily pulled out his phone the third time a call came through. He knew from the ringtone that it was Daniel, but neither one of them were keen to take a call just now.

“Daniel,” Lestat mumbled tiredly into the phone, “is everything alright, darling?”

“Are you still asleep,” Daniel asked, incredulously.

Lestat grumbled as Louis turned over to shoot the phone a poisonous look for waking them up. “Well yes, that is what one does every night, for the most part, right?”

“Lestat, it’s almost eleven in the morning, since when did you sleep past six? I told you Louis was a bad influence on you.”

Lestat’s eyes snapped open and he turned over quickly to see that yes, indeed, the midday sun was cheerfully streaming through the windows of their bedroom. He looked back at Louis in surprise, who only gave the alarm clock an unconcerned glance and flopped back down onto the pillow. “I didn’t - I don’t usually. Things have been –” but he stopped, unsure of how much he wanted to say.

“Things have been what,” Daniel asked, suddenly suspicious, “Has Louis done something I should know about?”

“No, no,” Lestat replied quickly, “it’s nothing like that, it’s just - it’s nothing. Just tell me why you called me three times in a row. What’s wrong?”

There was a brief hesitation and a muffled voice in the background that he couldn’t quite hear before Daniel sighed, “It was the interview, Lestat.” Another pause. The reluctance was clear in his tone, but he continued, “It wasn’t just some overpaid PR person, it was with Santino himself. It went about as you would expect, and everything is fine. I just… Marius and I thought you should know before you hear it from somewhere else.”

Lestat’s heart stopped in his chest at the mention of Santino, and he almost interrupted Daniel before he continued, but when he did, Lestat felt like he was being spun in all different directions. The first thing he could think of to say was, “Marius is with you? When did he come back here?” And then, “And what do you mean, it went as I would expect? Daniel, I don’t - are you safe? He didn’t do anything, did he?”

“Yes, Marius is here, he came in at stupid o’clock this morning to bang on my hotel room door. Yes, I’m safe. No, he didn’t do anything. And I mean he was a conceited prick the whole time and cut it short when I started getting too close to anything important. But he did tell me that Armand was his star pupil apparently.”

Lestat hissed through his teeth at that, clenching his jaw, “Of course he would. Of course Armand was his favorite. Armand was the one who brought half of the boys he fucked right to him.” Lestat closed his eyes, already feeling like he could explode and he only just woke up.

Daniel was quiet for several seconds. “You never told me that,” he finally responded, his voice sounding distant.

“And how would it have looked for me to bad talk the one who took everything from me? Would you even have believed me?”

“Yeah,” Daniel blurted, “Yeah, I would have!” But they both knew that wasn’t entirely true. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I just… I just wanted to tell you about this interview before my editor sends it out.” There was another brief pause, before he added, “Marius wants to talk to you, alright? I’ve got to go anyway, this article won’t write itself.”

“Take care, darling. I don’t like this, so please just don’t get yourself into trouble.”

“Yeah, yeah, you know me, baby, I live for the danger.” Lestat rolled his eyes at that, before Daniel added, “See you later. Here’s Marius.”

Marius’ voice was smooth and without any accent, not even a hint, but Lestat knew the moment he heard it, this was the serious Marius, the one man who was his mentor and his saviour when Lestat had nothing, but a crying baby in his arms. 

When Marius sounded like this, Lestat knew better to listen and not waste time arguing against someone he couldn’t defeat. 

“You do know, right, that you are declaring war to Santino? The moment the book will be out, you will be a target.” He asked, even if he already knew the answer.

“It is the only way. You taught me how to fight, I can’t - I am tired of running, Marius. I am tired of that man still having such power over me. I want this over, I want him gone, and I want justice for those who perished because of him.” 

“Then, you will allow me to make sure you are protected. I don’t care how much you treasure your freedom, I won’t accept a no as an answer. If you do this, you will be protected 24/7. I won’t lose you too. He won’t take anyone else from me.” 

 Lestat let out an incredulous laugh, “What, are you going to fly here yourself to protect me?”

Marius laughed, but there wasn’t any amusement in the sound. “Oh my boy, you really don’t know half of the things I will do to keep those I love safe.” He said, and his voice gained a dark tone that made him sound dangerous. “Don’t worry your pretty head about the how and when and where, just know that I have my ways.” 

Lestat shot Louis an odd look, and Louis only shrugged, having only been able to hear bits of the exchange. “Well now I am worried about those things. Marius, I don’t understand, the book won’t be published for months, if not a year from now-”

Marius cut him off mid sentence. “Lestat, do you really believe he doesn’t know where you are? That he didn’t threaten Daniel because he knew how close you are? Don’t underestimate Santino. I did it once, and you know what I have lost.” 

Lestat let out the breath he had been planning to use to shoot back another response. He knew exactly what Santino had taken from Marius, and he knew that Marius was right. He always was. “I just don’t understand - since when can you just have me protected whenever you want to? Have you been watching me ?”

“There are many things you and Daniel don’t know, things I will explain to you at some point, but for now, yes, I can have you protected, Lestat. That’s what I did for years, since you tricked me and Daniel into believing you were doing better, before we almost lost you.” The emotions leaked into his words and made it hard for Lestat not to feel the love Marius carried for him. 

“I have risked it once, and I won’t go through the fear I could lose you at any moment.” He concluded, like those words could explain what words couldn’t translate. 

“Well then tell me, Marius! I’m allowed to be worried about you too, am I not?” Lestat sighed and rubbed his eyes with his free hand, “I just don’t understand. Louis should have a say in this too, it’s our house. If you’re going to have it watched -”

“What,” Louis interjected, looking confused.

“The same Louis who threw you away like you were garbage? Forgive me if I don’t give a damn about his opinion. But because I love you, put me on speaker and let me hear from him that he cares about his privacy more than he cares about your safety,” he dared Lestat. 

Lestat scoffed, growing more irate by the second, but without a word, he aggressively tapped the button that would put the call on speaker and held the phone out to Louis.

“What - Lestat,” Louis muttered, fumbling for the phone, but he rolled his eyes and spoke, “Marius I - I don’t care about having the house watched - but Lestat deserves to know what the hell that entails - I deserve to know too, but seeing as you don’t give a fuck about me, how about giving one about Lestat?”

Marius could appreciate that Louis finally seemed to have grown a pair and stood his ground for Lestat. Too little too late in his book, but it was something given that he knew Louis was the true love for Lestat, the one he could never live without. 

“I don’t plan to disturb your life, or your privacy. People will look out for those who aren’t supposed to be in New Orleans. Santino is like a snake hiding in the tall grass, but snakes have weak eyesight, and Santino relates too much on the web of connections and people who owe him favors.” 

He was like a miasma that slowly would poison the air and everything he touched. “As long as nothing happens, you won’t even know who is protecting you both. How is this for me caring about Lestat?” 

Louis and Lestat both looked at each other. They both knew that there was no arguing their way out of this, however neither of them liked the situation. It was Lestat who spoke first, and Louis moved the phone closer to him, “I’ll only agree to it if you swear to explain how the hell you have connections in New Orleans to do this.” He paused, gave Louis a nervous look, and continued, “If Santino has manpower to have us followed, then how is it that you do too?”

“I know I owe you an explanation, and I promise I will give you the answers you are seeking.” Marius relented now that he knew he won this round. 

“This is not something that should be spoken by phone. Next time we meet, I will tell you how I can do this, for now what is important is that I can use this kind of power to protect those I love.”

Lestat bit the inside of his cheek as he thought, and as he did, it was Louis who spoke up, “Fine, but how will we know that they’re your people spying on us, and not Santino’s?”

“Because you will never see them. If they act it’s because Santino’s men made a move.” 

Louis and Lestat frowned at one another, looking apprehensive, but Lestat answered, “Fine, but you owe us one hell of an explanation when you come to New Orleans.”

///

The days were slow and full of apprehension on both Louis and Lestat’s part. Neither of them fully understood what Marius’ protection would entail, but true to his word, they never saw anything unusual - which only made it all the more creepy.

Neither of them were keen to leave the house, so they ordered their groceries to be delivered and a few meals. The only time either of them was seen outside of their house was when Louis retrieved the mail in the afternoons.

Only this time, when he retrieved the mail, there was a blood red envelope slotted in among the rest. He flipped through the junk mail as he closed and locked the door, to see what that odd envelope could be, and stopped dead when he saw the crest on the outside of the envelope. Louis had half a mind to rip it to shreds, but before he could decide to ignore or act upon that urge, Lestat looked up from the book he was reading on the couch.

It was as though he knew there was something there that Louis didn’t want him to see, so before he could ask, Louis shakily held up the envelope, and Lestat went white.

“Is that…” Louis stopped. He didn’t have to ask. He only moved across the room to sit beside Lestat, casting the other mail aside on the coffee table. “If you don’t want to open it, I can just throw it away. You don’t have to -”

Before he could finish, Lestat impulsively snatched the envelope and violently ripped it open, almost tearing the folded paper inside.

When he opened it and smoothed out the crisp, ivory paper, a soft sound escaped his throat at the sight of the signature at the bottom. The signature that had signed off on his cruelest punishments and most lucrative opportunities. His eyes finally scanned up to see that it was a handwritten invitation addressed directly to himself and Louis, as though Santino somehow knew everything about them.

My Dear Misters de Lioncourt & de Pointe du Lac,

You are cordially invited to the annual Cherubini Gala

celebrating the 50th anniversary of our fine institution

with old and new friends.

Yours Always,

Santino de Angelis

Chapter Text

After sobbing his eyes out, completely out of his mind with fear, Lestat hugged Louis for dear life before he went silent. He was still crying, tears were still running on his face and he was hyperventilating, but he was doing all of that without making a sound. 

All Louis could do was hold him, while his heart broke for his lover, and fear grew inside him. He hadn’t believed that Marius was right about Santino knowing where they were, but now, with the proof right under his eyes, Louis wondered what else that monster knew about them. 

Sadly he didn’t need to stain his mind to find out how he knew. They were still in New Orleans after all, and even if Armand disappeared the night of their fight, when the truth of what he did to Claudia went out, Louis now knew he had always known where Lestat was. 

Then something else he didn’t realize before came to his mind. He could finally connect all the dots and the picture that appeared in front of his eyes was shocking in its clearness. 

Armand knew Lestat was Vastator. That was why he had hated the painting so much, why he tried to undermine the artist’s value. How he had known was a mystery to Louis, one that right now he didn’t have time to solve, for there was someone more important than Armand ever was, who needed his whole attention. 

Without a word, he took Lestat in his arms and once again he carried him upstairs, where their room was. If he had learned something about this new Lestat, it was that their room became his new safe space, his shelter when emotions became too much, and not even his study felt safe enough to stay there. 

Louis was his anchor to reality, and as he had promised himself, Lestat’s protector, and now more than ever Lestat needed and deserved one. 

Once the door was locked behind them, not without some difficulties, as Louis couldn’t risk to drop his precious once removed husband, it was like the world was locked outside the room, with all the terrible things that it held. 

For a moment the silence between them wasn’t heavy with pain and horrors from the past, but peaceful. For just a moment it was like both of them knew they were safe. 

Louis laid Lestat on the covers before he reverently began to undress him. It wasn’t sexual, and yet that simple gesture held a level of intimacy they never shared before in this new chance at love they gave themselves. 

The first thing to go was the shoes, followed by his socks. Lestat hated to wear socks in bed, even in the dead of winter, no matter where he was, so Louis made sure they wouldn’t bother him. 

To remove his pants was harder. Lestat lay there, motionless, and Louis’ mind went back to their past, when he would undress a passed out Lestat, however this time it wasn’t rage that raised in his chest, but tenderness. 

He knew Lestat hated to be so vulnerable, and yet he was allowing Louis to see him defenseless and so easy to hurt all over again. 

He knew, as he lifted Lestat enough to slip the pants under him, that he wouldn’t be able to help him into his leggings, and yet, it didn’t seem important now. For some reasons he couldn’t explain, not even to himself, Louis knew that the most important part was to put his old sweater on Lestat. 

After Lestat was only covered by that sweater, it looked like he calmed down, but he still curled up in a ball like he was trying to take as little space as possible. Louis knew he wanted to disappear so he made a quick job of disrobing himself and putting on his own pajamas before making sure both of them were under the warm blankets, offering Lestat one more layer of protection. 

For a time, it looked like it worked. Lestat lay there, as close as possible to Louis, and Louis thought he could finally breathe a little bit easier, but then Lestat began to move, restless. He was trying to scoot closer to Louis, even if there was no space between them, and he began to panic when he couldn’t get closer. 

Louis didn’t know what to do, confused by his behavior. “What is it, love? What do you need?” He asked, even if he knew Lestat wouldn’t answer. 

Lestat didn’t move, he just continued to quietly cry for several seconds. When Louis reached out to gently rub his back, Lestat flinched, but didn’t protest. “I’m here, but you have to tell me what you need,” Louis continued softly. He didn’t know if he was helping or hurting Lestat, and not knowing was killing him inside. This wasn’t his fault of course - it was neither of their fault, but that didn’t matter. Louis simply didn’t want to make a terrible situation worse.

Finally, a tearful blue eye peeked up at Louis, as if to make sure he was still there, before disappearing again under the tangle of hair that covered his face. Louis reached out and ran his fingers through Lestat’s hair, tucking it behind his ear, and Lestat shakily reached up to take his hand.

As Lestat took his hand, Louis let himself be pulled until he was mostly on top of Lestat, as though his weight could crush the broken parts of him back together. After a moment, Louis wrapped his arms around Lestat as best as he could and just let him cry. There was nothing more that he could do, even though acknowledging that only made Louis hurt more. What good was he, if he couldn’t even help when Lestat needed him?

You are here, you are already helping… Lestat’s words echoed in his mind, as he remembered what he said just a few days prior. All Louis could do now, was to believe Lestat knew what he needed and those words weren’t said just to appease him. 

In the past Louis would have been quick to think Lestat lied. He would have been quick to think the worst of him, especially towards the end of their failing marriage, now he was shocked to realize his mind didn’t work like that anymore. 

It was amazing, he thought, how his own perspective changed now that no one was whispering into his ears. 

Louis took care of Lestat, making sure he was hidden from the world, comforted, and fed, and it was like that they fell asleep, and how they woke up the next morning. 

Louis was the first to wake in the morning, his back aching dully from how he had fallen asleep, but Lestat didn’t stir underneath him, so he did his best not to wake him for the time being. He didn’t have to wait long, though. Minutes later, Lestat seemed to notice Louis’ subtle movement to alleviate the ache in his back, and he gave a soft grumble as he shifted below Louis.

“Sorry,” Louis mumbled sheepishly as Lestat sighed, but he only smiled tiredly up at Louis.

“It’s fine,” he mumbled, and both of them moved so that they were lying beside one another, still touching, but a little more comfortably. “Did I fall asleep?”

Louis laughed softly, glancing out the sunny window opposite them, “Yeah, I think you may have. It’s morning.”

It seemed to take a moment for Lestat to fully process that, and when he did, he turned enough that he could see the alarm clock. He hmm ed softly at the time and turned back to Louis. “Thank you,” and after a pause, he added, “for staying.”

“There is no other place where I would rather be,” He said, with a small, sad smile curving the corners of his lips. The pain he was feeling was nothing like he felt before. It was a new kind he was glad he never experienced before, one that went straight to his heart. 

Listening Lestat admitting without too many words, that he didn’t believe anyone would stay, even when it was Louis with him, the man who has loved him for years, made Louis aware of how much Lestat’s bravado and erratic behavior was born from the terror of being alone and unworthy of love. 

The knowledge that he helped, with his behavior, to cement those thoughts, made him sick to his stomach, but this wasn’t about him and his issues, this was about Lestat and how Louis needed to find a way to make sure he knew he was loved. 

“I love you, you know right? There is no other place where I belong.”

For a moment, it seemed like Lestat would speak, but the seconds ticked by and he still didn’t say anything. He didn’t even move as Louis’ concern began to grow. “Lestat,” Louis asked softly, pulling away a little bit so that he could see Lestat’s expression better, but it was Lestat who turned over straight away.

It didn’t even seem like he was breathing as he curled in on himself, only this time when Louis reached out to touch him, Lestat flinched away and finally got out of bed. As he straightened the sweater around his waist, Louis could see his hands trembling. “Lestat,” he asked, sitting up, “What’s going on?”

Lestat only shook his head, holding up a trembling hand for silence before putting on his pajama pants and leaving the room in a rush. He stopped for a moment at the door, hesitating in the doorframe. “Don’t say something you don’t mean,” Lestat whispered, and Louis wasn’t entirely sure he’d heard him right.

“What - Lestat I –” but before Louis could finish, the door to Lestat’s studio slammed shut across the hallway.

Louis blinked, sitting in the bed, alone now and confused. What could Lestat possibly have meant by that? Of course he meant what he said. He had half a mind to follow Lestat, to defend himself or ask what his problem was, but after debating for several minutes, he just lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He could hear Lestat’s music from the studio, and he knew he only listened to music that loudly on a speaker when he was upset, but Louis didn’t understand what had upset him so much.

Finally, Louis just sighed and got out of bed and ready for the day. The hot shower was a brief, but much needed distraction, but the second he turned off the water, his thoughts began to race once again. Lestat’s music seemed to have gotten even louder than before, and Louis knew for a fact that something was wrong. Clearly he had done something, but he had no idea what. Either that or somehow Lestat was reminded of the gala invitation.

As he made breakfast downstairs for both of them, Louis decided to admit to himself he needed help to solve the mystery in front of his eyes. Alone he would be locked in a circle of questions without answers that would lead him to just be more upset, something he couldn’t afford right now. He needed his mind clear and there was only one person he could think about who knew Lestat enough to help.

His treacherous mind even suggested that at this point Daniel knew Lestat better than Louis himself, but he decided not to listen to that voice, or the ugly face of his jealousy would be the only thing Louis could think about. 

Without wasting any more time, and before doubts and stubbornness could stop him, he grabbed his phone and dialed Daniel’s Skype number. 

///

New York

Daniel was half asleep, sipping his second cup of coffee, the god stuff that Marius ordered for them, after he changed the reservation of his room into a suite, where both of them had their own bedroom. 

The living area was comfortable and bigger than the last few apartments he owned, not that Daniel was bitching about the luxuries, he loved to be pampered, even if he would die before he admitted it, and Marius always pampered those he loved. 

Looking around, he wondered why Marius wasn’t up and perfectly dressed yet, when he got his answer in the form of Marius’ voice, calling out for him. It was stained that morning, by what Daniel knew to be pain. 

He rushed, as fast as his half asleep brain allowed him, towards the bathroom connected to Marius’ room and knocked at the door before entering. 

Marius was naked from the waist up, as a towel was the only thing that hid his ass and parts of his legs, and the state of his back hit Daniel, hard, like any other time he saw the mess of burn scars and skin grafts that would make it impossible to hide what happened to him. 

“Could you help me with my cream?” He asked through the pain. “It seems like today my shoulder won’t take the strain.” He tried to sound like nothing bothered him, but Daniel, better than anyone else, knew how much Marius hated to ask for help. 

However, when he properly stepped into the bathroom, ready to grab the cream, he noticed some marks on the back of his neck that had nothing to do with the fire and what it left behind. 

When he leaned closer to see the marks properly, Daniel saw that they were bruises. Bite marks . “What, did someone try to eat you or something, Jesus,” he muttered, picking up the cream and beginning to rub it over Marius’ scars.

“Well,” He started, trying to sound cheerful. “It’s not like I can see what you are talking about.” He kept going with what was supposed to be a light tone, but that was filled with barely contained discomfort. “But I would go with or something as an answer.” 

Daniel’s hand slowed as he moved further down Marius’ back, and he couldn’t move his eyes away from the bite marks that marred his already damaged skin. As Marius spoke, Daniel’s jaw clenched at the sight of a wedding ring sitting on the edge of the sink, “And would this or something have anything to do with that ring you never bothered to tell me about?”

Marius had the decency to look down for a moment, or so Daniel could see from the mirror in front of them. 

“As I promised Lestat, I’m going to tell you both everything. For now, yes, my or something has everything to do with that ring, and the fact that I kept a few huge secrets from you both. Well, honestly it is one secret, strictly related to the fact that I am married.” 

The silence on Daniel’s part told Marius all he needed to know of his opinion of that answer, but as his fingers rubbed the cream over one of the bite marks, he finally was irritated enough to speak, “And can your spouse see that they’re biting scar tissue here, or do they just not give a fuck? You have a hard enough time dealing with the pain of these scars and you let your partner make it worse?”

“I am the blind one.” Marius simply said, answering Daniel’s question better than if he had written a whole essay on why his husband kept marking him.  

“Who the fuck are you married to, Marius? Hannibal Lecter?” 

Marius couldn’t keep a serious expression in the face of Daniel’s explosion. He knew the man was worried, he would have been too if Daniel or Lestat ended up in a relationship like his own, but the point was, he knew what he was doing, and it was his role to protect, not to be protected. He never learned how to really let people in, after all. 

His laugh only pissed Daniel off more. “I promise you, he’s not a cannibal.” 

“Then have you married a damn vampire?”

“I thought we decided, a long ago, that Lestat is our resident vampire.” Marius retorted, still amused by the direction the morning was taking. Then, all of a sudden, he became serious again. “As I told Lestat, I owe both of you an explanation, and I will answer whatever question you have, but not here or now.” He finished his sentence with the tone he used during business transactions, when a new Vastator would come out, and Marius would do everything in his power to buy it. 

That was a Marius that Daniel wasn’t ready to challenge, though he did have half a mind to tell him to shove it and tell him now. “I see you’re the only one allowed to keep secrets then,” he responded coolly, finishing rubbing the cream onto Marius’ scarred skin. “If I don’t get answers, I’ll start digging,” he added after a moment, “and you know that I publish what I dig for.”

Marius reached for his hand and squeezed it slightly. The movement sparked pain in his nerves and he flinched but held Daniel’s hand for a long time. “And I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, my dear boy.” He said and the affection in his voice was as clear as the sun streaming into the room. 

The moment was broken when Daniel’s Skype went off. He looked at Marius’ reflection in the mirror as his phone rang again, “We’re not done here,” he muttered irritably. He turned and left the bathroom, rubbing the excess cream into his own hands before pulling out his phone and seeing Louis’ name on the screen.

He stared at it for a few seconds in utter confusion. Why the hell would Louis, of all people, be calling him? Unless he’d gone and done something stupid and hurt Lestat…

“Yeah,” he answered the call, “I’m a little busy. This article won’t write itself. What do you need?”

The silence on the other side made Daniel stop for a few seconds before he fell on the chair, defeated. He just wanted to write the damn article, but it looked like for once in their damn lives Marius and Louis agreed on something - and that something was to make his day even worse.

“What have you done, Du Lac?” He asked, resigned. This day was going to hell already and he only had three cups of coffee since he woke up. 

“I - I gave Lestat a panic attack, I think,” Louis paused, and Daniel could hear the uncertainty in his voice. “I didn’t mean to. Fuck. I - I upset him Daniel, and I don’t why.” 

Now it was Daniel’s turn for silence, but after a few seconds, he finally asked, “You did what ?” He groaned into the phone, “How - what the hell did you do now?”

“I said I don’t know,” Louis snapped, but before Daniel could speak, he added, “He got an invitation to the Cherubini Gala yesterday, so we spent the day in bed, and this morning, all I said was that I wanted to help him and that I loved him. Then he just,” Louis huffed, “I just don’t understand, is it because of the Gala?”

A dropped pin could have been heard in the silence that invaded Daniel’s space. The man’s hands, usually fast on the keyboard, were frozen and the words that came to him so easily couldn’t find their way out of his open mouth. 

“No, you bastard.” He hissed, furious. “It’s because he hates when the people he loves the most lie to him.” 

“What do you mean, lie to him,” Louis retorted, instantly defensive, “Why would I lie to him? I just told him I loved him, since when was that a lie?”

“Since when?” Daniel threw back, shaking in his powerless rage. Oh if only he could reach through the phone and strangle Louis he would do that without a single regret. 

“I don’t know, Louis,” and his name sounded like a cursed word on Daniel’s lips. “Maybe since you called Armand the love of your life, in the fucking interview that sent Lestat spiraling back into a crippling depression from which he never really recovered?” He asked in a mockingly light tone that ended with a bitter laugh. “Yes, I think that’s exactly when I realized you are a pathetic bastard who was always unworthy of Lestat.” 

If Daniel didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought Louis hung up on him, but he could still hear the soft sound of whatever was going on in the background. The sound of Louis’ sigh finally broke the silence, and finally he responded, “I didn’t…”

Daniel didn’t give him a chance to finish the thought, “Yeah, just like you didn’t think that he was even worth it for the sex. Where was that interview again, the one where you talked about your fucking sex life after fucking a rockstar?”

“Then what the fuck do I do, Daniel? If you love him so much, then maybe you’re better for him,” Louis gave a humorless laugh, “if you’re just going to tell me how much of a piece of shit I am, I’m sorry I ever called. I’m just trying to figure out what to do to help Lestat. I get it. I don’t deserve him, but I’m here and where the fuck did you go?”

Daniel couldn’t believe the audacity of that bastard. For years he had bottled up all the words he wanted to throw in his face, all the rage he felt when he held Lestat’s head when he was so exhausted he would have fallen unconscious on the toilet otherwise, while his body shook for yet another wave of choking nausea. 

“Where was I? I was holding him as he cried for you, fucking bastard. I was with him when he was so fragile it looked like a gust of wind could have broken him, and yet there he was, walking to me as I was unwelcome to my own daughter's funeral,” Daniel spat. 

Now that the words left his mouth, he couldn’t stop, and he didn’t even try. “I was with him when they admitted him after he overdosed on pills. When we lost him twice before the doctors stabilized him. I spent days by his side, as he laid there, unconscious and so small the hospital bed swallowed him.” He was screaming now, and he didn’t care if the whole hotel would hear him. 

“I was with him when you were fucking Armand, of all people. So don’t you dare to ask me where I was when you were the one who abandoned him.”

“Yeah, and why didn’t you stay, if you want him so badly,” Louis snapped, trying to keep his voice down, so that Lestat didn’t hear this argument, “I fucked up. I know I did, and I haven’t once said that I didn’t. I called you to ask what to do because I didn’t know how to help and all you’ve done is tell me how much of a piece of shit I am.”

Daniel’s rage evaporated like snow under the sun when he realized this wouldn’t help anyone. Yes, he had wanted to give Louis a piece of his mind for years, but in doing so now, when Louis reached for him for help, Daniel passed on the wrong side without even realizing it. He had allowed his emotions to take control of his logic, and he had lost focus on what was really important. 

“And I don’t regret telling you, Louis. I won’t apologize for what I think, but this wasn’t the right time.” He admitted, and that hurt his pride more than he realized before. He felt like a deflated balloon, and more tired than he had been in years as the reality of the past few days crashed into him. 

“Tell me something, when you were married to him, have you told him that you loved him?” 

Maybe he did, Daniel would allow Louis the benefit of the doubt, or maybe he didn’t back then, that was something Daniel knew he would never be able to really find out, and now it didn’t matter, what was important was how Louis would answer his question. 

“I-I don’t remember, I mean we were married, I thought he knew. What does saying it have to do with anything when I was there?”

Louis’ tone sounded genuinely confused, and for a moment Daniel let the words hang between them, “So no.”

“I don’t really say it to anyone,” Louis admitted, “it’s just words.”

“Words that you didn’t have any trouble to tell Armand,” Daniel pointed out, only to stop mid sentence. “Because you didn’t mean it. Because you don’t tell that to the people that you really love.” 

Daniel passed his hands in his hair, pulling at it in order to calm himself down. “Because you and Lestat are two peas from the same damn pod, as bad with emotions as only Marius could be.”  

He sighed, searching in his mind for the right words to explain to a grown up man why he was an idiot without exacerbating an already tense situation. 

“The only person who ever told Lestat she loved him, without a second end and really meaning it was Claudia.” 

Daniel’s voice softened when he pronounced her name. He was a bastard and as rabid as a dog with his bone when he wanted to be, but he was also a father, and he knew Louis had loved Claudia as much as Lestat did. 

“Lestat craves love like he needs air to breathe.” He kept going after a bit. “He craves the love he never had. But love is a word that has been used to hurt him. It’s a double edged sword for him, and you swirled it until you destroyed him.” 

Daniel didn’t want to accuse Louis more than he already did, but he had to understand what his behavior did to Lestat, it was the only way Daniel knew to offer him advice to help Lestat, like Louis seemed intent on doing. 

“Magnus used the word love to manipulate him. Lestat was conditioned to believe that to be loved he needs to suffer in the hands of his partners. You never told him the only word he desperately wanted to hear. In totally different and opposite ways, both of you hurt him, but only one of you really loved him.”

“He never told me,” Louis said, sounding distant, “he never told me anything when we were married. That’s part of why I was upset with him before the divorce.” Daniel knew that this was something Louis had never said aloud to anyone by the way Louis said the words, and he didn’t interrupt, “He wouldn’t let me in and I wanted -”

Louis sighed, interrupting himself. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I was with Armand at first because I knew it would make him hurt. We weren’t together because we loved each other, but he convinced me that he loved me, so I stayed.”

After seeming to think about it for a moment, he continued, “I was upset about the addiction, about Claudia, and not being allowed to know my own husband. Anyone would’ve been upset. But it doesn’t matter now. We’re all fucked up, so what does it matter?” 

His tone was defeated, and Daniel knew that Louis was at his breaking point. He didn’t have to be a brain surgeon - or a journalist to figure that one out. “You can be a cruel man, Louis,” he sighed, “but you’ve always been the one he chooses to live for.”

Chapter Text

Daniel’s last words hit Louis, hard, and where they hurt the most. It wasn’t the first time he heard about this strange concept, that Lestat chose to live for him. Once he read it in the horrific book he still couldn’t finish, and once, from Daniel’s mouth. 

His hands shook so hard the phone fell on the marble bar as Louis tried to wrap his mind around this crazy maelstrom of emotions that shook his very core. For once he didn’t even doubt both Daniel and the book were claiming the truth. He simply knew, deep down, in his blood, in the soul he had sold to the devil a long time ago - according to his mother and sister, that it was the truth. 

The fact was that no one ever loved him like that, so much that he decided to keep living when everything was against him, when to give up would have been the easiest thing to do. 

The mere thought of Lestat losing the battle with life made him sick, and yet he knew Lestat had tried, more than once, to end himself. 

We have lost him twice before the doctors could stabilize him. When? When had that happened, Louis wondered. A part of him desperately wanted to believe that Daniel’s words weren’t true, that it didn’t happen after that interview. 

Lestat told him, in the book at least, that he overdosed on pills only once after Claudia’s death, but Louis had been so caught in his own rightful rage that now he couldn’t bring the timeline to his mind to check the facts. He didn’t care back there, he wanted Lestat to suffer like he did. He wanted to punish Lestat for everything, and so he did everything in his power to make that happen while at the same time he didn’t care enough to even check if his words had had the effect he wanted. 

The bitter taste of regret and frustration filled his mouth and he was so distracted his nose failed to notice that there was something off with the food he was trying to cook. 

Absently he touched the pan and a second later his yelp pierced the silence of the room. Louis didn’t even realize when Lestat, who apparently was closer than Louis figured, pushed him towards the sink from behind, forcing his hand under the running cold water. 

Lestat didn’t notice Louis’ surprise as he tutted under his breath, but as the cold water soothed Louis’ skin, he looked sadder than Louis had ever seen him. There was something in his eyes that seemed beyond tears as he watched the water run over Louis’ burned fingers, “You should be more careful, mon cher,” Lestat murmured, “did no one ever teach you that a hot pan looks the same as a cold one?” But there was next to no humor in his voice, even when he smiled, it wasn’t genuine.

“Were you here the whole time,” Louis asked him, and Lestat stilled.

He bit the inside of his cheek and Louis interjected before Lestat could answer, “I’m not upset I just –”

“I heard most of it, yes.” He paused to dry his hands, but left the tap on for Louis. “You aren’t the villain in this, Louis. No matter what Daniel told you, none of this is your fault.”

“I just didn’t know what I did to upset you and I didn’t want to make it worse again.” It seemed like that was all he was good for at this point.

“Santino always accused me of one thing, a crime in his eyes.” Lestat began and Louis stilled, his eyes fixed on the still running water, like the perpetual movement held the secrets of the universe, because never, not even once, Lestat mentioned Santino so freely. 

“He mocked me, because according to him I can’t lie to anyone but myself. I am so bad at it, he punished me countless times for it.” His voice shook, but it didn’t look like Lestat would stop this time, even if he was tenser than a violin string. 

“I told you, my love, that you simply being here, with me, is helping. You aren’t making things worse.” He finished, craving the warmth that Louis’ body always gave him, even when Lestat felt like he was covered in ice, but he fought hard not to get too close, not to make Louis feel trapped. “Please, believe me.” 

It was Louis who moved closer, turning off the tap and drying his hand on the edge of his shirt with a wince. He closed the distance between them to press a kiss to Lestat’s forehead, and then his lips, “I do, I do believe you, but please tell me what you need. I can’t - I don’t know how to help.”

“I know that a sin of omission is still to lie in a way. I know that, I promise.” Lestat wanted to inhale Louis, to breathe him in and be one with him. Or even better, he wanted to disappear beneath Louis’ skin and stay there, hidden and warm, forever. Instead he looked at him in the eyes, where tears shone and his expression was mirrored by the emptiness Lestat felt inside. 

“I know I led you to hate me before. We wronged each other, so many times it’s hard to believe we even could find our way back to each other.” Lestat was exhausted, physically and emotionally. With every word an ounce more of his energy was sucked away, and the intrusive thoughts that always kept him company raised their ugly heads. 

“That was Armand.” Louis used the moment of pause to add something of his own, for Lestat’s emotions were starting to affect him, and that truth needed to be heard. 

“I never hated you before. I was upset. I was confused and mad, yes.” Oh he remembered long nights spent awake, on the couch after he refused to share his bed with Lestat, even if Lestat had begged to allow him to stay. Even when he offered to sleep at the end of the bed, just close enough to know he wasn’t alone, and Louis had refused, annoyed that Lestat could be so needy after yet another fight. Now he knew why Lestat had begged, but there was nothing he could do to change the past, so it was useless to focus on that. 

“I didn’t understand why you were getting more and more lost on a path that took you further away from me. But I never hated you, until - I allowed someone else to think for me.” He admitted. 

“I liked what he said, he validated my feelings so well, it was like he knew what I was going through, and how to talk to me, in the perfect way to allow him in.” 

As Louis spoke Lestat desperately wanted to comfort him. He hated to see Louis fighting with his own emotions, but to spare Louis from that was impossible. All he could do was to offer his presence and hope it would be enough. 

“Don’t be too harsh on yourself, mon cher.” Lestat adeed. “His tongue can feed the most hardened man the sweetest honey, everything they ever wanted to hear, and they would believe him.” He admitted, having witnessed this many times when they were younger. 

“It is his gift. Persuasion in the purest and yet untrustworthy form. Everyone ends up believing what Armand wants them to believe. It is the way he always got what he wanted.” After a pause, he added softly, “That’s why Santino chose him. He was always Santino’s favorite.”

It was one of the biggest differences between them. Armand never dirtied his hands. Even when things went to hell, he always had a plausible excuse, a way to always come out smelling as roses, even when in their wake, many innocents were left in the dust. 

He was never the guilty one, never the one to be punished, never the one people wanted to hate. How could he be evil, if his face belonged to the angels? How could he manipulate, when he never did anything wrong in his life? Armand was the mastermind behind some of the shadiest things that happened in New York, when they were older, almost too old to still be of use, and in New Orleans. 

“Just - You are not the first person who fell for his words.” Lestat finished with a loud sigh. 

Even Daniel, smart and sass and petty as hell, had failed to see the truth about him, or maybe, he even knew, but Armand had been one of the few people Daniel had loved. That was one of the many reasons why he never told Daniel about his past and what he did. That and the fear to lose even Daniel, to watch him walk away from him like Louis did. 

He never thought that given the choice between himself and Armand, people would pick him, so out of cowardly he kept his mouth shut, and waited, being there when Daniel had needed him. 

Louis never knew that Lestat had known Armand until he began spending time with Armand himself, and evidently, he still didn’t know a lot of things about the man he spent the past several years with. The more he learned, the more he grew to detest Armand - and himself, for staying with him for so long.

“I don’t doubt that,” Louis sighed, feeling suddenly exhausted, “and I’m sure I won’t be the last, but I won’t be falling for a word he says, never again.”

Lestat lifted one of his hands, and it shook even so slightly, for someone with impeccable control over his body, even when he was high, when he cupped Louis’ face and let his thumb stroke the soft skin. 

“Don’t make that kind of promise, my love. I know one man who has lost everything because of Santino, who knows Armand better than anyone else, and he would still fall for his words.” Lestat couldn’t bear the thought that Armand could wrap his net of lies and hidden truths around Louis’ mind again, but he wasn’t naive enough to believe he wouldn’t at least try to take Louis away again, just for the mere joy of destroying Lestat. 

“He’s one of the most rational men I know. God, sometimes he’s so strict I think he could even be a robot.” 

He tried to make the atmosphere lighter with his words, but wasn’t sure he was succeeding, or failing in a very miserable way.

“I will make that kind of promise because I know it’s one I can keep,” Louis responded, “If he has anything to do with Santino, I… I can’t even imagine the things he’s done.” 

Lestat took a big breath, before he locked his eyes with Louis’. “You know I will be the last person to ever try to redeem him, but I think, at first at least, he did what he did to survive. It was what Santino wanted, for us to be alone and to devour each other.” 

In his mind there were two Armands. One he had loved like a brother, when they were younger, and one who turned into a monster, shaped by Santino and the horror he forced Armand to endure. 

Then he discovered he loved the power that being what Santino wanted gave him, and he became the person you met.”

“He won’t be redeemed by me, and if anything comes of this situation in the news, if we’re lucky, he won’t have a chance at any kind of redemption after this.” Louis had thought he could love Armand. He devoted years to him, thinking that even if they weren’t in love , they could at least have something like love in one another. He allowed himself to be deluded into believing that whatever they had - love or otherwise - was real, and that wouldn’t be happening again.

“Enough talking of him.” Louis said in an authoritative voice that Lestat couldn’t ignore, and so he jumped a bit when he heard that tone in his voice, like his body answered to it before his brain could. “He stole enough time from us, and he’s not important. He doesn’t have any place between us, not anymore.” 

Lestat was trying to remember when, and if, Louis had ever used that voice when they were together, what he didn’t have to wonder about was the reason why he reacted like this. Lestat knew he was a freak. 

A mix of things he always had felt, and some that had been forced inside him by the years spent in their hands. But this part of him, the one that so desperately wanted for Louis to keep talking to him with that voice, the one that wanted to be good for Louis, was one hundred percent him. 

“Tell me what you need, Lestat. Tell me how I can show you that I am here to stay, and I’m not running away this time.”  

“Just don’t leave. I can’t be without you.” Lestat admitted and it felt both like a defeat and a victory, like he could finally speak freely about what he went through but at the same time he was offering one more ammunition to the only person who could end him.

“I tried. I tried to tell myself that as long as you were happy, it didn’t matter if you weren’t with me, but that was a lie, like Santino said, a lie, because I can’t be without you no matter what I told myself.” Even now, when emotions colored his words and the long silences between them, not a single tear appeared in his eyes. His pain was beyond tears and the freedom they gave was forbidden to him now. “Hurt me if you will, but just don’t leave me again.”

Louis was taken aback by Lestat’s words, unsure of how to respond. He couldn’t deny that he’d hurt Lestat - he’d done so with specific intent, and perhaps that made him no better than Armand in some respects. Yet even when they were apart, hadn’t he stayed with Armand because he missed Lestat so much? “I can’t be without you, Lestat,” Louis responded, “Even though there are times when we both want to kill each other,” he added with a sheepish smile, “I think I stayed with him because he had been close to you.”

After a pause, Louis added, “But now that I’m back, I don’t intend on leaving again. Not even if the gallery fails.”

“About the gallery, would it help,” Lestat began, only to stop, his eyes darting everywhere but failing to look at Louis, suddenly unsure if he was going to cause another fight between them, so soon after they found their renewed balance. “Would it help to have a portrait painted by Vastator?” He inquired at the end. 

Vastator was a mystery, an artist that appeared out of nowhere and who wanted to stay anonymous. His paintings carried the pain of a broken soul and little by little his art began to circulate in the right places. 

Sure with fame also came the questions Lestat wasn’t going to answer. Vastator was his freedom and at the same time he was the artist that killed the singer. 

Vastator only painted one other portrait, one of Marius, and God, he still couldn’t believe how much people had wanted it. Maybe it was because of who Marius was, or because it was the first time Vastator actually proved he knew other people and he didn’t spent his whole life talking to himself in a mirror, or maybe it was because in the portrait Marius still had his beautiful blue eyes and a smile that alone would have driven people on their knees for a moment of his attention, but the portrait was sold for a disgusting amount of money, and Lestat didn’t even know who bought it. 

“Because - You know, I could… I mean -” Why was it so difficult to ask Louis a simple question, and since when was he so shy that his tongue felt like it was made of lead in his mouth? Sometimes Lestat really hated the strange reaction of his body in Louis’ presence, and no, he wasn’t even talking about the way he was always craving him, intimately. 

“Lestat?” Louis called for his attention. “Why don’t you try again?” 

Louis didn’t look mad, and his voice calmed Lestat down enough to give him back the use of the two brain cells he still owned. Now, if only they could rub against each other the right way, perhaps words coming out of his mouth would make sense once again. 

“I am working on a portrait,” he said and when Louis looked at him with a small smile and a raised eyebrow, Lestat rushed to finish the sentence before the spell of those beautiful green eyes could make him lose his thoughts again. “Of you. I am working on a portrait of you, and I would love for you to pose for me, and if you think it could help the gallery, you can have it there.” He finished in only one breath, leaving himself with burning lungs when he finished. 

Louis softly kissed Lestat then, nodding as he drew away, “I think I could manage that.”

///

Over the following week, things proceeded with a suspicious level of normalcy between them, so much so that Lestat found himself worrying that something bad was coming - something worse than what had already happened, that is. But with each passing day, it never did.

Then there were the odd phone calls that Louis began to take.

They didn’t come in often, but every now and then, at odd hours, there would come a call that he felt the need to leave the house to take. No matter what they were doing, if Louis received one of these calls, he would insist upon taking a walk while he talked, and while Lestat did enjoy walking around the quarter when there weren’t so many tourists, he wasn’t keen to stalk Louis.

He tried to convince himself that it was nothing, but as the days passed, Lestat felt his nerves wearing thin, but the fear to ask was too great, because what if he couldn’t handle the answer? So he stayed silent and forced himself to enjoy the time and attention Louis gave him, not knowing how long this blissful peace would last. 

However, if Lestat was good at something, it was to allow his paranoia and his trauma to scare the shit out of him, and when that happened, there was only one person who could sass his fear back where they belonged, and that persona was Daniel. 

So it didn’t surprise anyone when, during one of Louis’ impromptu walks, he messaged Daniel close to a full panic attack. 

///

New York

When Daniel’s phone chimed, he was waiting for a call back from his editor, so he finished the sentence he had been writing - it was some article on politics that he had next to no interest in anyway, so he was grateful for the reprieve. But when he saw that the message was from Lestat, his heart sank. The only reason Lestat would be texting him now was if something was wrong.

10:03pm

Baby: How do you know when your life is going to be
shattered all over again?

Darling: What the fuck did he do, Lestat?

Darling: Do I need to come back there to kick his ass?

Baby: It’s not like that.

Darling: Then what is it like? What happened?

…

10:06pm

Darling: Lestat, what happened? Tell me you’re okay or I’m
going to buy the next ticket out of here.

Baby: He takes walks to answer the phone at strange hours.
He won’t tell me why or who he’s talking to.
Sometimes he looks satisfied after the calls… 

Baby: Sometimes he’s pissed, but he tries not to show that.
I don’t know what to do, I can’t lose him again.  

Daniel gave a long sigh after reading Lestat’s messages, closing his eyes and letting his phone drop a little in his grasp. He knew Louis wouldn’t be smart enough to pull this off without scaring the hell out of Lestat. What had he told him? Lestat wasn’t stupid! Of course he would catch on!

After a moment, he exits that message screen and opens another, this time to Louis.

10:07pm

Daniel: What did I tell you? You better be almost done with this
shit, he’s losing his mind. Figure your shit out or I’ll do it for you.

Dirtbag: Everything is under wraps. Still a surprise.

Daniel: Yeah, no shit.

Daniel: He’s freaking out over here.

Dirtbag: I’m on my way back home now. Just made payment.

Dirtbag: Don’t tell him what’s happening.

Daniel: Well I’ve got to tell him something.

Dirtbag: Just tell him you know. It’s nothing bad.

Daniel cursed under his breath, groaning in exasperation. This idiot would be the death of Lestat. Daniel knew that much. Louis was going to give him a heart attack.

The soft voice from the other end of the room startled Daniel when Marius spoke, “Should we be preparing to dispose of another body?”

Daniel rubbed his eyes in frustration, “He’s not as bad as Antoine - yet. Maybe worse before all this,” he shook his head, at a loss, “I’ll leave that up to your judgment.”

10:09pm

Baby: You don’t think I’m losing him again, do you 😥

Baby: I know I’m too much, I just don’t know how to stop.

Baby: Maybe I should just leave.

Darling: If you’re going anywhere, you’re going to come to
New York. Marius and I both would be glad to see you.

Darling: But just trust me, ok? It’s nothing bad.

Darling: He told me about this before. He’s just an idiot.

…

10:12pm

Baby: How do you know?

Baby: Daniel, did you talk to him?

Baby: Is it you he’s getting calls from??

Darling: It’s not me, baby, but I promise it’s nothing bad.
I know too much about your sex life with him to know that
he really cares about his nuts when you’re involved.

Darling: And he swore to me over his nuts that he’s not
up to anything.

Baby: but he doesn’t use his nuts anywhere near me, Daniel 😩
Fuck, I don’t even remember how he tastes. I don’t think you
should trust his words about his nuts

Darling: I think I’ve thought about Louis’ nuts more than
enough for the next century. But I know it’s nothing bad.

Darling: If he breaks his word to me, he knows I’ll break
his knees.

Darling: And probably his nuts too.

Baby: But he has nice nuts… 

Darling: If you make me think about Louis’ nuts one more
time I swear

Baby: What are you going to do about it? You’re in NY 🥜

Darling: I hate you, you know that?

Baby: Do you really 🥺

Darling: Yes.

Darling: But do you trust me at least?

…

10:18

Baby: Fine

Baby: I trust you.

Baby: For a week.

Darling: If he doesn’t come clean in a week, baby,
I’m going to steal you for myself, never to be seen again!!!

Baby: 😱 what would Marius say?

Darling: Give me his blessing??? And probably tell me to treat
you well. He loves me, he wouldn’t threaten violence over
my sweet person.

Baby: You know he wouldn’t betray me like that.

When Daniel looked up from his phone, he found Marius unsettling gaze upon him. Even if he couldn’t see well enough to see where Daniel was across the room, he always seemed to know. “Well,” he asked patiently.

Daniel waited, as patiently as he could, for Marius to keep going, but something told him he wasn’t going to like what would soon follow. 

“Oh my dear boy,” Marius said, and Daniel could see the moment sadness and understanding  entered his mind. “After so long, you are still in love with him.”  

“You’re one to talk,” Daniel muttered irritably.

“That’s exactly why I know how it feels, to love someone you can’t have. To know that your heart will never be free to be given to another.” 

“Well it fucking sucks.” Daniel turned off the screen of his phone and set it face down on the hotel desk. “But at least we have each other, right? Stuck in whatever circle of hell this is together.”

Marius moved with grace but attention in the still foreign space, and he reached for Daniel. “Always. You will always have me, my dear boy.” 

Marius turned, sharp, and soon after strange noises, of hurried steps and padded voices, came from the corridor. Then the door of their suite was open and the director, almost bent in half in a bow appeared. 

“... I’m so sorry, this, this never happened before. Our hotel…” 

“Enough.” An heavily accented voice ordered, and the man all but ran away as soon as he was dismissed. 

Inside the room Marius tensed at the sound of that voice, but his body was still making it impossible for Daniel to see who just invaded their privacy. 

“This is nice, dear husband of mine, but would you like to tell me, why do I find you in a hotel room with a rent boy?” 

“Who the fuck are you calling a rent boy,” Daniel snapped, standing up instantly, “and what the fuck do you mean husband ?” But the moment he caught a glimpse of the man in front of Marius, he paled instantly, but didn’t back down. “ This is who you married, Marius? Oh fuck that. I could have the interview of the century, but no way in hell do I want it if this is how he’s going to treat you.”

The whole rant was spilled in the face of Enkil, businessman, billionaire, and above all, head of the most vicious crime empires on the planet, but that last part only a few knew for sure, and not a single one of them was brave enough to say it aloud. 

He looked at Daniel with an amused expression on his face and a smirk that promised nothing good. Lesser men had probably shit their pants for less under his black eyes’ scrutiny. 

“ You are Daniel Molloy?” Enkil asked, and his amusement grew. “Now that’s something I didn’t see coming, but I’m afraid I now need to talk to my husband, privately.”