That moment, Lestat looking away from him, makes Louis' fingers itch to touch him. Touch him more intentionally than they are now, fingers to his cheek, to the long locks of his hair, draw his attention back.
How long it's been, since Louis felt desperately, clumsily in need of Lestat's intention. Louis shouldn't feel surprise, finding that need still somewhere inside of him.
But Lestat looks back, and smiles. Offers a respite.
"Yes," Louis answers. "I'd like to."
Was that in the book? Louis dreaming their walks? He'd missed them, among all the other parts of Lestat he couldn't shake from his mind.
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How long it's been, since Louis felt desperately, clumsily in need of Lestat's intention. Louis shouldn't feel surprise, finding that need still somewhere inside of him.
But Lestat looks back, and smiles. Offers a respite.
"Yes," Louis answers. "I'd like to."
Was that in the book? Louis dreaming their walks? He'd missed them, among all the other parts of Lestat he couldn't shake from his mind.