But familiar. Odd, this feeling. It had been important to Lestat, in 1973, for him to convey this information to Louis, and there had been no thought at all to receiving it in return. It hadn't mattered. All that had mattered was trying to will that love to reach him, to take him by the hand, draw him back from something.
Some of that remains. Opening his mouth, knowing he won't hear it back, knowing that saying it is of vital importance. Louis says this instead and Lestat smiles, rueful, lets disappointment well up, and fade.
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But familiar. Odd, this feeling. It had been important to Lestat, in 1973, for him to convey this information to Louis, and there had been no thought at all to receiving it in return. It hadn't mattered. All that had mattered was trying to will that love to reach him, to take him by the hand, draw him back from something.
Some of that remains. Opening his mouth, knowing he won't hear it back, knowing that saying it is of vital importance. Louis says this instead and Lestat smiles, rueful, lets disappointment well up, and fade.
"You will," he says, hush. "Bonne nuit, Louis."