I'll try twinges a little at despair, the part of him that yearns for all to be as it was without any effort at all—but is also very sweet and dear, this offer. Miles more than what he is owed, this he knows on some difficult to access level that knows he is owed nothing at all, really.

So. Lestat says, "Good," more of a breath than a word, and the balance between despair and gratitude resolves itself a little when he sees Louis smile, and his heart warms.

Ah, that's right, he is nothing of his best, composed self. This latest argument is nearly nothing compared to the one that broke them forever, although it had carried its echoes, as all of their arguments will, he thinks—so, some memories of carefully choosing his outfits with which to present his apologies, whether finely tailored and expensive or modest(-ish) and humbled, but always purposeful.

Instead, he is asking Louis to trust him with his inner demons again while looking like one of them. He draws some hair behind his ear as he says, "I was going to acquire a new camera for you, but they all look different now," so. No gifts, this time.