Being left alone in a smelly garage with his meal is the opposite of what Lestat was proposing.

Irritation and hurt feelings flicker together as he drains this offering dry, barely cognizant to the flow of bewildered, muted fear, little shards of memory of a mediocre life lived. A flash of seeing a handsome man in a bar, the hope for a fun evening. Lestat lets him crumple to the floor, and considers his mood. The various ways he might express it.

The impossible exhaustion that blankets it. He cleans his mouth with delicate fingers as he turns, and makes his careful way along Louis' path. Balances himself with a hand on the wall, here and there. There, Louis is taking out his phone. A sweep of perception notes the fledgling on the patio. That's fine.

He comes nearer, reaches out. Brushes his fingertips between Louis' shoulderblades.