Lestat withdraws this touch, folding his hands together.

"Your people can take care of the body," he says. His tone is soft, the whispery way he can make it. "I would prefer it if you sat with me."

He drops his gaze to his hands, smudges away the little smears of blood there. "We could watch something on the television. Listen to music."

No talking, at least not as a standing invitation. Perhaps it would be enough to listen to one another's beating heart.