It takes Lestat a little while to sleep, even as the sun rises, pulls at him. Laying there in the dark, hand finding a place to rest over his heart, listening keenly to Louis settling, Louis sleeping. The movement of the hotel in the morning, cleaners passing through the hallways, guests stirring, some filtering out to brave the post-hurricane outside. He finally lapses into unconsciousness, making these observations.

Wakes early. The sun barely gone, likely still staining the sky. The coffin is well made and does not creak as he presses the lid open and silently climbs out.

Watches Louis sleep for a moment before deciding that it's alright, maybe, to sit on the edge of the bed, and then to come to settle in the empty space beside Louis on top of the covers. It's a generous and expensive mattress, barely dipping as Lestat settles on his side, inches of space between them carefully preserved.

He can observe Louis' profile like this. Take this opportunity to stare, to reconcile the fact that Louis is here again, where he can be viewed and heard, even touched. Perhaps Louis will go away soon. Perhaps he won't get to for another eighty years.