Lestat circles the display, a hand on the glass, languid motion that comes to a stop.

A deep head tip as he listens to Molloy, leaning there. And listens, too, and either he doesn't give a fuck what Daniel thinks about it or there is some amount of deliberately showing his hand. Daniel can feel him in there. Daniel can also feel that he's not rifling around messily through his brain—as Lestat had, a little, when they first met.

Here, Lestat finds that old ache. Very delicately, as if between two fingers, he tugs at it like it's a thread, measuring it's distance. Sees it spanning back far, into shadowy depths. Releases it. A breath out of him carries a hummed vocalisation.

"I'm not going to kill you, Daniel," has a hint of a for fuck's sake about it.

A shimmer of thought, a spare amount of humour: you said I could use your phone plan. We have fun here. He is very glad Daniel did not try to lie to him.

"I can tell he is fond of you too. It was in his voice."