This absolution is met with a steady look, a slight dimming of something behind his eyes. Yes, alright, Louis' account, memories, Louis' words. Is now the night to talk about the book? No, thinks Lestat. It's been a nice evening. He has a gift in his hands, and Louis' arm around him, and their hands tangled.

Will there ever be a time? Too good, too bad, just right?

Mercifully, there's no silence to fill. The smile he has for Louis' question is a milder thing than it might have been before, but not disingenuous.

"I would enjoy that indulgence," he says, easy. "But only if it would please you, Louis."

A surrender, giving up the game.