The moment passes. The impulse to step into the fire, slipping through his fingers. Dissipates as Lestat's presence fills the room, draws Louis back into the present. To their room, to his own body.

A long moment passes where Louis searches Lestat's face. Maybe for tears, maybe for regret. For any sign that Lestat has taken the time to assess the wreckage, and reconsidered. That all their circling argument and tenuous dreams for the future have been weighed against what Louis took from him and were found wanting.

Whatever he finds, Louis' shoulder loosens. Turns further towards Lestat, back to the fire.

"Okay."

As Louis reaches out a hand. Invitation without forward momentum, beckoning Lestat from the doorwar.