Expressive as he has always been, Lestat. Louis can read everything on his face, all this hurt.
It brings chilly anger flaring up in his chest. Louis doesn't smother it. Something to be kept, this anger. Cultivated, tended to. Held until the right moment, when it can be returned to Armand in kind.
"Armand," he says, and stops. The name. His name. Louis breathes out, starts again.
"He put all this in your head, yeah? Hurt you, here?"
Fingers sliding up into his hair, working carefully into blood-stiff locks. His thumb runs along Lestat's forehead. Imagines he can feel the damage done, like a fever beneath his palms.
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It brings chilly anger flaring up in his chest. Louis doesn't smother it. Something to be kept, this anger. Cultivated, tended to. Held until the right moment, when it can be returned to Armand in kind.
"Armand," he says, and stops. The name. His name. Louis breathes out, starts again.
"He put all this in your head, yeah? Hurt you, here?"
Fingers sliding up into his hair, working carefully into blood-stiff locks. His thumb runs along Lestat's forehead. Imagines he can feel the damage done, like a fever beneath his palms.