There is no one else who walks this earth that Louis trusts more. If they must be apart, with Lestat as unsteady as Louis had perceived him, there is no better person than Daniel to shepherd him through his re-emergence.
So it is absurd, to feel even a flicker of jealousy. Louis reminds himself of this, listening to Lestat's voice come through the speaker.
"Yes."
To the tune of of course.
"I bought a painting I think you'd like," Louis tells him. "I've had it hung in my guest room."
A presumption, isn't it? Or worse, a pressure.
Louis, companion enough for himself. Louis, who had not stayed in America. Louis, who needs this space, he knows, and yet—
If Lestat had any capacity for shame, he might experience a lick of it now at how pleased he sounds, particularly with Daniel several feet away from him, pretending not to listen. Like he could perhaps transmit himself through the phone instead of just his voice.
And then, a twinge of something rare: reservation. There are reasons they aren't in the same room, and it's not a simple matter of Louis' home being in Dubai, in Lestat lacking interest in leaving America. A hesitation in place of the natural instinct to insist himself.
Instead, "I shall have to see sometime," as he turns his cigarette he has neglected to pull from in the last minute. More wry humour, lightening, "I want to know what paintings I like."
What does reservation look like on Lestat de Lioncourt? Louis, miles and miles away in Dubai, cannot see it. Does not pry into Daniel's mind to view through him.
But Louis is aware of it. They have drawn such a balance between them. Extending past it is a delicate matter.
"When you've finished your meetings," Louis murmurs. "Perhaps then."
An invitation. Not prying. Inviting. Lestat will conduct his business. He will visit, if it pleases him.
All far in the future. Louis will be in America before anyone has to consider traveling to Dubai.
Lestat takes a last drag of his cigarette instead of answer that out loud, turning his head to unnecessarily watch himself stub out the cigarette into the dry dirt of the potted plant. Abandoning the butt there. These rooms could really use some ashtrays.
But no, he doesn't really want to distract himself. "Yes?" he says, at the sound of his name, queried. "I'm here."
Night and day, at least in the past twenty seconds, this version of himself—calmer, gentle, restrained—than most of what Daniel has been dealing with. Maybe it'll last.
The hand he has resting over his knee curls into a fist, the gentle pinprick of nails setting into his palm. A bruising amount of fondness.
"I will. And you will."
His goodbye, for now. And is it too late at night to purchase a cellphone? With Daniel's money? It's America, so possibly not, but who knows, not Lestat.
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There is no one else who walks this earth that Louis trusts more. If they must be apart, with Lestat as unsteady as Louis had perceived him, there is no better person than Daniel to shepherd him through his re-emergence.
So it is absurd, to feel even a flicker of jealousy. Louis reminds himself of this, listening to Lestat's voice come through the speaker.
"Yes."
To the tune of of course.
"I bought a painting I think you'd like," Louis tells him. "I've had it hung in my guest room."
A presumption, isn't it? Or worse, a pressure.
Louis, companion enough for himself. Louis, who had not stayed in America. Louis, who needs this space, he knows, and yet—
no subject
If Lestat had any capacity for shame, he might experience a lick of it now at how pleased he sounds, particularly with Daniel several feet away from him, pretending not to listen. Like he could perhaps transmit himself through the phone instead of just his voice.
And then, a twinge of something rare: reservation. There are reasons they aren't in the same room, and it's not a simple matter of Louis' home being in Dubai, in Lestat lacking interest in leaving America. A hesitation in place of the natural instinct to insist himself.
Instead, "I shall have to see sometime," as he turns his cigarette he has neglected to pull from in the last minute. More wry humour, lightening, "I want to know what paintings I like."
no subject
But Louis is aware of it. They have drawn such a balance between them. Extending past it is a delicate matter.
"When you've finished your meetings," Louis murmurs. "Perhaps then."
An invitation. Not prying. Inviting. Lestat will conduct his business. He will visit, if it pleases him.
All far in the future. Louis will be in America before anyone has to consider traveling to Dubai.
"Lestat?"
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Lestat takes a last drag of his cigarette instead of answer that out loud, turning his head to unnecessarily watch himself stub out the cigarette into the dry dirt of the potted plant. Abandoning the butt there. These rooms could really use some ashtrays.
But no, he doesn't really want to distract himself. "Yes?" he says, at the sound of his name, queried. "I'm here."
Night and day, at least in the past twenty seconds, this version of himself—calmer, gentle, restrained—than most of what Daniel has been dealing with. Maybe it'll last.
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Incentive to hold on to his next cell phone? Perhaps.
Or simply that Louis wishes to continue speaking to him. Conversations that Daniel needn't pretend he isn't listening to.
"And I'll see you soon. In New York."
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"I will. And you will."
His goodbye, for now. And is it too late at night to purchase a cellphone? With Daniel's money? It's America, so possibly not, but who knows, not Lestat.
no subject
"Do you ever go to the dentist?"
«Take care of yourself, please. See you soon.»