Distracting himself is nothing close to as effective as Louis' hands working through his hair. Slowly, the impulse to cry abates, worked away with gentle fingers. In exchange, he feels a little swoony instead, but at least he is fairly certain he can stay on his feet as he drags the cloth down his body. Over his belly, his abdomen, thighs. The worst of it all washing away.

Closes his eyes when his back is touched, gently scrubbed. Little twitches. Goes still, soaking up this continued sensation, the tickle of soap and water running down his legs.

Opens his eyes again at that question. Swallows. His voice is steady when he speaks, not so thick as it could be, lapsing into hush tones. "Stayed in Paris a little while," he says. "Some months, maybe. I was the only vampire there, for the first time in many centuries. A good opportunity to say my goodbyes without interruption."

Pauses. This feels like admission, even if he feels like Louis already knows. "And then I went back to New Orleans. Keeping a low profile, you know, after everything. But it's home."

Again, a little flicker of defensiveness.