Words meant as a comfort, Louis knows. To make him smile, crack the shell hardening over him.
It does touch him, this assertion. Louis knows it to be true. And feels it as he did once in New Orleans: a weight, a guilt. A sense of something wanted and hoped for and beyond Louis' ability to give.
His palm closes around the fire, extinguishing it as Lestat says this thing and Louis feels it twist in his chest.
"I don't got one for you tonight, Lestat."
Dull, tired tones flattening the words. A turn of his own hand, flame reappearing in miniature, caught between his fingers. Enough to light his own cigarette, and vanish.
"You shouldn't be worrying about me anyway."
Given the givens. The injuries still standing out stark on his body. Lestat should be resting. Louis knows a little about it. Recovering after such extensive injury.
no subject
It does touch him, this assertion. Louis knows it to be true. And feels it as he did once in New Orleans: a weight, a guilt. A sense of something wanted and hoped for and beyond Louis' ability to give.
His palm closes around the fire, extinguishing it as Lestat says this thing and Louis feels it twist in his chest.
"I don't got one for you tonight, Lestat."
Dull, tired tones flattening the words. A turn of his own hand, flame reappearing in miniature, caught between his fingers. Enough to light his own cigarette, and vanish.
"You shouldn't be worrying about me anyway."
Given the givens. The injuries still standing out stark on his body. Lestat should be resting. Louis knows a little about it. Recovering after such extensive injury.