It is only Louis, so locked in his own building fury, that keeps them from collapsing here in the street.

There is a not insignificant part of Louis that desperately wants just that. To collapse. To be crushed under the weight of his grief.

Claudia is dead. (A refrain that he cannot shake. That feels as if it will follow him for the rest of his life.)

Lestat is holding him again.

Something in Louis snaps. Breaks.

Lestat clutches him and for a moment Louis cannot move at all. His breath rasps in Lestat's ear, tremors held in check by the force of their embrace. Says something. Maybe no, again.

It doesn't matter.

Slowly, clumsy as if Louis cannot recall how, his arms come up in return. And then it is a bruising, clinging thing, holding Lestat desperately tight in return.

Is he broken? He feels broken, or near to it. As if the only thing keeping him from spiraling into absolute insanity is Lestat, holding on to him.