Odd, hearing Lestat say content rating.

Head tilting, watching Lestat handle the remote, tip his face up to Louis with such clear intention and desire there, Louis entertains a retreat back to the window. Yes, he agreed to sit, yes. But there is some gathering momentum in his body, held there along with the turmoil caged in his chest, and the need to nurture it remains.

Maybe he'll need it. Maybe.

So it takes time for Louis to consider the chairs around the room, the window, and Lestat.

Louis feels coaxed and doesn't necessarily like it. Stubborn, always.

But the desire to avoid more explicit invitation guides him to the sofa. Hands occupied with the retrieval of a cigarette, no complaints for choice of programming.

The look he slants across the sofa cushions is assessing. Takes in the shadows of injury on Lestat's skin. All the hurt that remains, written on him. (Daniel, a splintering presence in the back of his head. The endless murmuring call out into the Many, a stubborn, seeking Armand, Armand, Armand.) Sets his cigarettes on the arm of the sofa beside him.

"I watched some," comes a little stiffly. Dug in heels. Lifting the cigarette. "Not lately."

A chosen way to pass the time, in Dubai.