The record is shattered, all in pieces across Antoinette's bedroom floor. (Along with the splinters of her bed, the shattered planks of her door. All the other detritus left behind after their reunion.) Louis hadn't had a moment to think fully about what he was doing, only furious impulse. Of knowing the record contained the mingling of their voices and wanting to break it apart.

But now, it is easier to soften to the idea. Acquiesce, lean closer to kiss the corner of Lestat's mouth.

"Alright," Louis says. "Tomorrow."

As he lays another kiss to Lestat's mouth.

"Or you could sing it now. Without the piano. Just us."