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Chapter Text

“Well, look who it is,” Daniel taunted, a mocking smirk tugging at his lips. “Peace and quiet’s sworn enemy.” Armand let out a silent giggle at his fiancé’s sarcastic jab, giving his chest a light swat with the back of his hand.

Louis looked up from the watch in his lap, leg bouncing restlessly, eyes combing through the rows of audience members for the one person who still hadn’t shown. Lestat was always late. Always had to make an entrance—preferably one with as many eyes on him as possible. But Louis, clinging to the last scrap of hope he still reserved for the man, had thought—maybe just this once—he’d show up on time.

At least for her.

Not another recital. Not another conference or teacher’s meeting. Not another milestone missed.

He spotted that infuriatingly familiar tousle of blonde hair sliding past other audience members in their row just as Lestat slipped into the seat beside him, jacket half-done like he’d dressed mid-sprint. He flashed that maddeningly boyish smile—once a thing Louis had found irresistible, now just a knot in his stomach.

“I apologize for being fashionably late,” Lestat whispered with mock sincerity, smoothing his lapel with a flourish.
“I was a bit preoccupied with a student of mine.”

Louis rolled his eyes as Lestat caught his gaze and flashed that falsely awkward, apologetic smile. He didn’t dignify it with a response. He barely turned his head. Beside him, Daniel scoffed under his breath.

A family behind them shushed pointedly as the principal took the podium. Louis shifted in his seat, jaw clenched, refusing to acknowledge the weak excuse. A student. Of course. Always someone or something more important than his own daughter.

Out on the field, their little Claudia stood proud amidst a sea of blue caps and gowns. Her hair poofed up around her head like a halo, soft curls frizzing under the weight of Louisiana’s early summer humidity. Her eyes searched the crowd. The moment she found them, her entire face lit up.

She waved with excited fervor, and both her fathers instinctively responded—Louis with a gentle wiggle of his fingers, Lestat with a kiss blown to her. They both spared a glance at each other, their smiles and eyes meeting in the middle, lingering in the shared pride for the girl they’d raised.

As the ceremony pressed on through the other students, they kept their eyes trained on Claudia. Lestat leaned closer, voice low and warm so as to not disturb the other families in the audience.

“Did she pick out that dress?”

Louis nodded, glancing over. “She loves chiffon. You know this.”

A fondness softened his voice before he caught himself. He suddenly felt too close to the other man. Clearing his throat, he straightened his spine and busied himself by smoothing invisible creases from his shirt. “She said it ‘flows nicely.’”

Lestat hummed, a quiet note of agreement. “Good taste,” he said, but his gaze never left Louis’ face.

“Claudia du Lac de Lioncourt,” the principal announced.

The name was mangled beyond recognition, and their row chuckled in unison. Claudia had made a last-minute special request to add Lestat’s family name in the program. Though, it wasn’t official— they weren’t tied by paperwork or law. She still wanted her graduation to reflect who she truly belonged to. Both of them.

They stood, clapping as Claudia crossed the stage with unmatched confidence, curls bouncing, eyes gleaming. Daniel hollered like she’d just won an Oscar. Armand clapped with measured grace, but pride seeped through every inch of his face. Louis and Lestat clapped with full hearts, their gazes fixed only on her.

By the end of the ceremony, Claudia was glowing—radiant with joy, diploma in hand, her whole future ahead of her. She didn’t hesitate. She spotted them instantly and ran, arms flung wide.

She crashed between them with a choked laugh, practically jumping between Lestat and Louis, pulling them by their necks into the distantly familiar family group hug. Two pairs of arms wrapped around her, cradling her in a knot of love and safety, pressing kisses into the curls at the top of her head.

Louis could feel Lestat’s shoulder pressing against his, an arm slung loosely behind him. Claudia nestled close, breathless with tears and laughter. For a moment, Louis didn’t pull away.

The warmth of her, the scent of Lestat’s too-strong cologne rubbing off on both of them, the way her arms were thrown around their backs—it all came rushing back in vivid, aching waves. Christmas mornings. Lazy Sunday naps. The thunderstorms she was too old to be scared of, but crawled into their bed anyway, searching for the only source of safety she’d ever known.

It lingered. Claudia didn’t let go. Neither did Lestat. Or Louis.

And they let it.

Just for a minute longer.

The dim lights, soft ambient jazz, and quiet buzz of conversation in the restaurant were enough to keep Louis away from his reserved seat next to Lestat for the night. They stood at opposite ends of the private room they reserved for all the guests celebrating Claudia’s achievement. Louis was trying to busy himself in a conversation with Claudia’s old babysitter, Miss Lily and ignore the feeling of Lestat’s gaze tickling the back of his neck. 

Daniel stands, clinking his fork against a champagne glass dramatically and receiving laughs and eye rolls from the whole table. They quiet down as he sets the glass down and Louis begrudgingly makes his way to the seat in the middle of the table, where his daughter and former lover were sat across from each other.

“Well,” Daniel begins, looking over at Claudia with a fond smile. “I’ve been told to say something ‘meaningful’ about our girl here. Apparently, a god-father can’t just show up, eat and leave anymore.” Another round of quiet chuckles emerges from the table. Daniel motions for Claudia to join him at his side, and when she does, she wraps an arm around his waist in a loose side hug. “I’ve known this kid since Lou first got her,” he begins, his voice already wavering. “She was a tiny, little thing. Big eyes and never stopped questioning everything.” He tightened his hand on her shoulder. “I’ve seen every piano recital, every crappy middle school play.” Claudia giggles into his shoulder. 

“I’ll always see her as the wonderful, curious kid she was,” he said, looking down at his goddaughter, “the brilliant, confident young woman she is— and the unstoppable, powerful writer she will become.”

The table was full of sniffles now. Louis smiles sadly at Daniel as he clears his throat of the emotions crawling their way out. “Congratulations to our Claudia,” the table sounds in agreement and celebration. “And a very special congratulations to Louis for raising such a fantastic kid.”

Claudia’s smile falters for a moment, looking over to her other father. Louis hears Lestat quietly scoff under his breath. “Yes, let’s all praise our Saint Louis , the ever-patient, ever-perfect parent,” He mutters to himself. 

Louis’ head snaps around, face twisting into annoyance. “‘Scuse me? You got somethin’ ‘a say to me?” Louis aggressively whispers, his accent peeking through his angered words. Lestat stares back at him with a smug look, knowing he hit a nerve. “No, not at all,” Lestat mocks, sarcasm lacing into his voice. “I’m just glad we all agree that you were so obviously the better parent to our daughter.”

Louis rolls his eyes. Lestat was always so immature, always finding a way to make everything about himself. “Well, I was the one here everyday,” He seethed. Lestat’s jaw tightened in aggravation. “When she got sick with the flu, I took care of her. When she failed her driver’s test, I picked her up from the DMV. When she didn’t wanna talk to you for two months ‘cause you was off on vacation without her, I took her all the way down to Disney. So yea, ‘ Saint Louis’ won the perfect parent award.” 

Louis nearly laughed in Lestat’s face as he watched him back down. Louis looked back over to Daniel and Claudia with a prideful smirk, only to be met with Claudia’s narrowed eyes and Daniel’s fed-up look. The table had gone silent in the time Louis was berating Lestat and the air was thick with tension. 

Armand stood and awkwardly chuckled, looking for a way to ease the tension gracefully. “Congratulations, Claudia!” He said as he gave her a hug, patting her on the back. The rest of the table slowly started standing and forming a mass of twenty people congratulating Claudia, giving her quick hugs and various pats on the back. Claudia went through the motions, trying to keep her composure and stay polite with everyone. Every time she looked over to her fathers, their arms crossed and looking away from each other— practically pouting like children— her heart dropped further into frustration and heartbreak.

The tension between Louis and Lestat only grew throughout the dinner. Halfway through the appetizers, Lestat received a call from one of his students’ parents. He stepped outside the room for a moment. The call was nothing more than a question about payment for that morning’s lesson. When he returned to his seat at the table, Louis was practically red in the face with petty anger. 

Lestat sighed as he sank into his seat. “What is it this time, mon Louis?” 

Louis scoffed at him. “Can’t even give her one night without pullin’ yourself away.” 

Lestat used to love when Louis’ accent slipped. What was once a beautiful quirk of his Louis now served as a reminder of the anger within his former lover.

“ Putain de merde, ” He hissed, in disbelief at Louis picking a fight with him. “It was two minutes—”

 “Oh, it’s always ‘just two minutes’ with you. That’s why you weren’t there when she broke her arm, or got her first period, or her first breakup—”

“Are you really going to recount every moment of my failures tonight—” 

“Dad! Papa !” 

Both men fell silent and looked to their daughter, who was standing across from where they were sitting and shooting them a warning with her eyes. They called a silent truce as Louis stood from his seat and went over to where Daniel and his fiancé sat.

Lestat’s eyes traced over Louis’ figure as he bent at the hip to speak with the two. Claudia sat down and looked at her father watching the other. “Are you guys just gonna fight the whole night like this?”

Lestat looked back to her. She had this awful, hurt look in her eyes that pulled his heart into guilt. She looked nothing more than a little girl to him— the same little 5-year-old girl that sat in his lap and sobbed wet splotches all over his shirt while he cradled and rocked her, sitting in the police station the night he and his Louis found her.

“I’m sorry, mon coeur ,” He whispered and her face softened at the nickname as he reached his hand out to her. She placed her hand into his. “I’ll leave him alone the rest of the night. My presence here provokes him. Spare him some patience, hm?” 

Claudia nodded. She looked over at her other father where he was with Daniel. “Did you hear that Armand is moving in with Daniel now?” Lestat smiled at the mention of the couple. Claudia continued, “One time Dad said they were a ‘real couple’,” She laughed and rolled her eyes.

Lestat softly chuckled. They went silent as Lestat thought of what to say next.

“ We were. Once,” He sighed, Claudia watching him tentatively and pitifully. She knew Lestat still loved him— more than anything, really. 

“He says that you always forget you’re a disaster together,” she says, looking away from her Papa but still holding his hand across the table. “But, I think he’s the one pretending he doesn’t still feel it.”

Lestat’s eyes soften on his daughter. When did she get so wise? He rubs her hand with his thumb gently. She meets his eyes again. “Be patient with him, too?” She quietly asks. Lestat squeezed her hand in a silent ‘yes’. 

Unfortunately, Lestat makes all kinds of promises he can’t keep. By the end of the night, the room feels like they’re walking on needles around the two men. 

Lestat made the mistake of speaking before thinking. He made one small, distasteful comment to his daughter and former lover about Louis’ mother, who was giving him nasty looks from across the room all night. Claudia’s face fell, eyes darting to her Dad in uncomfortable fear. The air instantly thickened like fog. Lestat sat in silence for a moment. 

“Ah, pardon , I did not mean to—” 

Louis pushed himself out of his chair and slowly walked in the direction of the door. Lestat threw a hand up in frustrated disbelief, muttering, “You always walk away—”

“You never give me a reason to stay.” Then Louis was out the door.

Claudia had enough of this. She shot up, grabbed her father by his sleeve and pulled him along with her outside. She stomped to the exit of the restaurant, where Louis was standing outside smoking. She all but shoved Lestat forward to stand beside Louis in front of her, ripped the cigarette from Louis’ hand and threw it into the ashtray on top of the trash can. 

“First of all, ew, you haven’t smoked in like 4 years. Stop pouting like some grungy teenage boy.” Louis twisted his face into confusion. He would be amused by Claudia’s outburst if he wasn’t seething at the presence of his former lover next to him.

“Second of all,” she sighs, placing her hands on her hips, “enough of the petty fighting.”

The scene was quite comical. A girl too emotionally mature for her age reprimanding her fathers that towered over her, like two overgrown toddlers in trouble with their babysitter.

“I only have 2 months before I start my summer classes,” she said as she frowned at her feet. Both men felt their whole bodies soften. “I’d prefer to actually enjoy the time I spend with you guys.”

Louis sighed, his jaw tightening at the sight of Claudia trying not to cry. He saw Lestat reach down to grab one of Claudia’s hands, and Louis placed a hand on her opposite shoulder. She smiled sadly at the two of them. “You guys are gonna have to learn how to put up with each other— talk like normal people do. ‘Cause I’m not doing this whole college thing alone, even though you both pride yourselves on raising such an independent child.”

Louis glanced at Lestat, only to find the other already looking at him. They spared each other falsely kind smiles, and moved to group hug their daughter once again.

Chapter Text

The week after the graduation dinner, Louis was trying his best to avoid any conversation about Lestat. Claudia was in the process of taking stock of her whole room, occasionally pulling out an old doll or dress and smiling softly as she recounted the day Lestat had bought it for her. Louis would silently nod his head and busy himself with folding the clothes into boxes for the attic. His hands moved automatically, precisely— anything to keep them from trembling with the old ache of memory.

The night Louis pulled his car into his driveway to see Lestat’s sitting on the curb, a familiar weight settled in his gut. Not angry. Not quite dreadful, either. Just the thick, worn-out ache of something unfinished. He’d been hoping— foolishly— to avoid speaking to the other man unless absolutely necessary. They would figure out a way to manage this whole college thing without actually having to do this together.

And yet here he was, sitting at Claudia’s desk, idly sifting through a handful of trinkets and forgotten keepsakes like he belonged there. Like no time had passed at all. Louis paused in the doorway, knocking on the frame to announce his presence before stepping in. He kept his face neutral, controlled. 

Claudia rummaged through her drawer for a notebook and turned to face them both. “Okay,” she starts, eyes flicking between them, “I know that things are… kind of tense right now.”

 Lestat huffed a quiet, amused breath— half chuckle, half exhale. Louis didn’t look at him. He knew that sound all too well, always the prelude to deflection.

“But I don’t need you guys to be best buds again,” Claudia continued. “For now, I just need to get through one weekend of shopping without you wanting to kill each other.”

Louis felt his shoulders stiffen against his will. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to amend things with Lestat— of course he did, at the very least, for Claudia’s sake. But every time he looked at Lestat, he was reminded of how things fell apart. Unkept promises. Even now, after three years, being near him made the air feel thinner.  He just wasn’t convinced they were even capable of putting aside their issues. They hadn’t been able to before— why would now be any different?

Lestat tentatively turned in the office chair toward him, elbows resting on the arms and fingers loosely intertwined. A knowing look hung between them for a moment. Louis noted the absence of the typical smugness in Lestat’s face, no biting remark written across his brow. Just something tired and sincere flickering behind his eyes.

A silent apology for their behavior towards each other, an equally quiet forgiveness for their wrongs, maybe even a fragile truce held together by the only thing that still bound them. Lestat goes to respond to their daughter, his eyes never leaving Louis’. 

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” he said, voice soft— careful. Just loud enough to be heard.

Clearing his throat, Lestat stood and crossed to her. “And, mon ange ,” He said gently, “you know I’m here for anything you need.” He takes her hands into his and brushes his thumbs over her knuckles with that old instinctive tenderness, smiling softly. “Even if that means watching your father spend his Saturday debating mattress toppers.”

Louis huffed out a laugh, unamused but not unkind. “Well someone’s gotta make sure you don’t walk outta there with sequin throw pillows and a disco ball instead of dishes and towels,” he retaliates dryly, the familiar feeling of their affectionate banter settling back into place. Lestat turns, tossing a look over his shoulder— a teasing, crooked smile, topped with the crinkle of a scar in the corner of his mouth.

“I was going to suggest mood lighting, but a disco ball doesn’t sound so bad.”

Claudia beams, looking between the two— hopeful once again. “Well,” she said, flipping open her notebook and sitting cross-legged on the bed, “I’d love to start off with going over everything I’ll need.”

Louis had never claimed to be the strongest of the three. In fact, he’d always considered himself the weaker one, especially compared to his former lover. Lestat had a natural strength about him—one that didn’t need much visible muscle to show for it. He’d been a gracefully athletic kid, the kind who excelled at ballet from a young age, right up until his father pulled him out. Louis, on the other hand, had never even run the mile in school— always preferring to hide in the locker room with a book until the period was over.

So when he was left to try and haul the awkward-shaped mini fridge onto the moving cart while Lestat busied himself with discussing color palettes with Claudia, the truce felt increasingly hard to uphold

Louis grunted under the weight, arms wrapped around the clunky appliance as he shuffled a few steps forward. His grip slipped slightly, forcing him to readjust with a sharp exhale. “Some help would be nice, ya know,” he huffed, irritation bleeding through the crack in his tone.

Lestat’s head whipped around, taking in the sight of Louis struggling. In an instant, he closed the gap and lifted the fridge from Louis’ arms with annoying ease. His movement was fluid and infuriatingly graceful. 

“Ah— mon dieu , I’m so sorry, mon cherie ,” Lestat said quickly, a sheepish chuckle escaping his throat. “I didn’t realize we were grabbing it already.”

The word hung in the air like smoke. Cherie . Said so casually, thoughtlessly. Lestat’s smile faltered, realization dawning on his face— too late to take it back. 

Louis stiffened. The name caught him off guard, slicing through his frustration like a soft blade. The weight in his arms suddenly didn’t seem as heavy as the one that had landed in his chest. Cherie . God, it had been years. Years since he’d heard it spoken in that distinct, lingering accent. It was like he had been swept off his feet all over again, not knowing what to do with the warmth that bloomed behind his ribs, unwelcome and disarming. His facade of indifference melted in a haze of sudden affection and fondness for Lestat. 

Lestat’s expression shifted. His lips pressed into a thin, uncertain line, his gaze glossing over in shame. “Sorry,” he muttered, quiet this time, as he turned and walked the fridge to the moving cart.

Louis stood motionless for a second too long, feeling the echo of the word nipping at his ears. He blinked it away.

Claudia let out a breath beside him, her brows furrowing as she watched Lestat retreat. She glanced back at her dad, her voice gentle. “You okay?”

Louis swallowed thickly, the corners of his mouth twitched up just enough to pass as a smile. He gave a small nod. “Yea… yea I’m good.” 

Claudia watched him with tentative eyes, unsure and unconvinced, but she didn’t press. She turned as Lestat approached again, quieter this time, more subdued. Without a word, he took hold of the heavier cart’s handle and pushed it forward past Louis without meeting his eyes. 

Louis followed behind them in silence, sighing as he pushed the other cart forward. He watched as Claudia looped her arm through Lestat’s with the ease of someone slipping back into rhythm. The two of them laughed at something he didn’t hear, their steps falling in sync like muscle memory.

A small, involuntary smile tugged at the corner of Louis’ mouth— soft and fond, tinted with something that hurt a little to feel. As he pushed further into the store, all he could hear was the calming, familiar giggles of his family and the annoying squeaky wheel.

“Dad! Papa ! Look what I found!”

Claudia came bounding down the aisle, her shoes squeaking against the polished floor as she clutched something close to her chest. She skidded to a stop beside the cart, holding up a small wall-plug night light like it was a treasure.

It was simple— a little LED light nestled in curved glass, patterned in the style of stained glass, a hummingbird mid-hover etched in vibrant blues and greens. The kind of thing you’d glace past if you weren’t looking for it. 

“It looks just like the one you got me when I was little, Papa ,” she said, her voice warm with nostalgia as she glanced between them, searching for shared memory in their eyes.

Both Louis and Lestat leaned in to see, soft 'aww's escaping under their breath like they hadn’t meant to say anything at all. Their smiles curved gently, and Claudia’s matched theirs, trembling just slightly. Her fingers lingered a moment on the smooth edge of the light before she delicately set it into the cart. She sniffled quietly, blinking up at the ceiling as if that would keep the tears at bay, then turned with a wistful sigh and walked off toward the next aisle, her arms wrapping loosely around herself. 

Louis and Lestat stood side by side, both watching her retreat with identical pained smiles that pulled more from memory than present joy. The warmth of the moment settled into a familiar, heavy quiet between them.

Lestat reached over the side of Louis’ cart, carefully picking up the night light and brushing his fingertips over the surface. He turned it slowly in his hands, the glass catching reflections of the overhead fluorescents. 

“Do you remember,” he began, his voice low and thoughtful, “The first few years after we got her? How she would have nightmares… terrified of the dark.” 

A small, nostalgic smile tugged at his lips as he ran his thumb over the seam where the glass joined the plastic base.

Louis turned slightly to watch Lestat’s expression, seeing the faraway look in his eyes, the memory softening the lines in his face. “She used to climb in between us in bed,” Louis said with a short laugh, “actin’ all tough like we couldn’t tell she’d been crying.”

Lestat looked up at him, his eyes wide for a split second— as though surprised Louis had said it out loud. There was something like relief in his face. Not joy, not grief, but the rare middle ground of remembering something important together. He nodded, gaze dropping back down to the light in his hands.

 “Even after I installed the nightlight,” he murmured, “she would still come into our room in the middle of the night.”

Louis grew quiet, his mind already replaying the image. Claudia, so small and trembling, her face blotchy and wet with tears, appearing in the doorway without knocking. The way she’d push apart their cuddle, wedging herself between them like it was her birthright, Her cold toes pressing against Louis’ shins. Her face pressing into the crook of Lestat’s neck and her back pressing into Louis’ chest. Lestat’s arm automatically reaching across the both of them and pulling them close, his palm resting at the small of Louis’ back. Louis’ fingers tracing shapes onto Lestat’s forearm, their arms forming a cocoon around her— a promise of love and safety. Claudia would fall asleep almost instantly, her breath evening out, her fingers clinging to Lestat’s shirt, her eyes flitting around in a dream behind closed eyelids. 

He remembered Lestat pushing himself up to plant gentle kisses on their foreheads before laying back down and retiring back into sleep. He remembered whispering a prayer he no longer believed in— one of gratitude, of fear, of love— thanking a God he couldn’t name for giving him this family. A daughter. A man he once believed he’d spend forever with. A feeling of safety, however fleeting. 

Louis circled the cart and came to stand beside Lestat, his hands brushing against the other’s as he gently took the light from him. He turned it over once, staring at it now with the weight of that memory pulling quietly at his chest. 

“I don’t think she was still scared of the dark by then.”

He looked up, meeting Lestat’s eyes as he slid the light back into his fingers. His voice was soft, sure. “I think she just liked having us there.”

After a full day of emotionally exhausting shopping, Louis and Lestat stood side by side in the parking lot, popping open the trunks of their cars. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the asphalt as they began sorting through the clutter of bags and boxes—mini appliances, storage bins, linens, a small mountain of decorative pillows, and entirely too many novelty mugs.

Louis was growing increasingly irritated with every passing minute. His trunk was already half full, and half the stuff they’d bought was, in his opinion, useless decor—knickknacks and fluff that would only make the actual move harder. He shifted a lamp shade aside, trying to wedge in a large bag filled to bursting with throw pillows. It wouldn’t fit. He huffed in frustration, wiping the back of his hand across his brow and glancing toward Lestat, just as the other man was gently closing his trunk.

“Yours’s full already?” Louis asked, brows furrowed, the question edged with disbelief.

Lestat shook his head casually. “ Non, but I don’t want to pack it too tight with the delicates,” he replied with a slight grin. “You know I’m not always the safest driver,” he added, like it was some charming, self-aware joke.

Louis blinked. His expression darkened.

“Are you kidding me?”

Lestat straightened slightly, sensing the shift. “What?”

“You don’t wanna take more stuff in your car because you’re a bad driver ?” Louis repeated, his tone sharper now.

Lestat offered a hesitant nod, clearly unsure of what he was stepping into.

Louis let out a dry, incredulous laugh—half hysterical, half bitter. He threw his hands up, gesturing wildly toward the cart. “That’s the best excuse you could come up with? You’re ridiculous, Lestat.”

“I don’t understand what the issue is here, Louis,” Lestat said, his voice growing more clipped.

“The issue,” Louis snapped, stepping closer, “is that if you’re gonna buy her a bunch of useless shit she doesn’t need—”

“Here we go again—”

“—then you could at least be the one to store them instead of leaving it for us to deal with!”

Lestat scoffed, eyes rolling as he muttered under his breath, “Right, because heaven forbid your daughter has some fun under your watch.”

Louis lunged a step forward, jabbing a finger at Lestat’s chest. “Yeah? Well, at least I watched! Every fuckin’ day!” His voice cracked with rage. “I was here! Where the fuck were you, huh? Off fuckin’ your otha’ bitch while your kid and fiancé waited for you to get on home!”

The words sliced through the air like glass, and Lestat recoiled slightly, stunned.

Claudia had already jumped out of the car, slamming the passenger door shut as she ran toward them. She wedged herself between her dads, palms flat against Louis’s chest as she pushed him back.

“Enough! Cool it, Dad!” she shouted, her face tight with frustration, eyes wide and glassy.

Louis froze, breath still heaving, but he let himself be pushed back a step. His jaw clenched as he looked down at her.

Claudia turned on him, voice shaking with exhaustion. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you,” she snapped, her eyes wet but burning with fire. “You’ve been picking fights with Papa every time we see him—for years now! I get it, okay? I get it. You’re mad, and yeah, you have your reasons. But would it kill you to just lay off for once?!”

Louis stared at her in silence, all the fury leaking out of him like air from a slashed tire. His gaze lingered on her face—red around the edges, jaw trembling, her shoulders squared like she was holding herself together by sheer will.

“I said I wanted you both here to help me,” she said, softer now, her voice cracking. “Not give a reenactment of your shitty breakup.”

Her words landed heavily onto his heart.

Louis slowly turned his head toward Lestat, eyes sharp and cold. Then, without a word, he reached up and slammed his trunk shut with a metallic clang that echoed through the lot. He stormed around the car, yanked open the driver’s side door, and hurled one final line over his shoulder:

“She’s your kid. Drive her home.”

He didn’t wait for a response. The car door slammed, the engine growled to life, and within seconds, he peeled out of the parking space— leaving behind a half-unpacked cart, Claudia’s stunned silence, and Lestat blinking after the fading trail of exhaust.

Chapter Text

Claudia remembers the night she asked how they found her. 

She was 9 years old, sitting on the floor in between Louis' knees, her back against the couch as he gently braided her hair before bed. His fingers moved in a quiet rhythm—until they stopped. She couldn’t see his face from where she sat, but the pause was long enough to sense he was looking over at Lestat, who sat across the room in his usual armchair, watching the news in low volume.

“Well, uh,” Louis began, clearing his throat as he searched for the gentlest way to tell the story, “Papa and I were driving home from a friend's house one night.”

There weren’t many cars around, just a big semi a few yards ahead of us. Then, all of a sudden, the truck started honking—laying on it like crazy—and we watched it slam into something. The car it hit flipped five, maybe six times, before landing in a ditch. The truck never even stopped. It just kept going. Gone before the dust even settled.”

Louis’s voice softened as he returned to braiding. “I told your papa to pull over while I called the police. We both got out and ran to the wreck to check for survivors. The car was crushed and the door was stuck. We could hear crying from inside, so your papa started kicking the door—over and over—until it finally gave way. When we saw you... it was like everything shifted. Our whole lives changed in an instant.”

He tied off the braid with a small elastic. Claudia shifted to rest her chin on his knee, peering up at him. Lestat stood, crossed the room, and stepped carefully over her legs to sit beside Louis. One arm wrapped around Louis’ shoulders; the other came to rest atop Claudia’s head, warm and steady. Louis glanced at him, and for a brief moment, they exchanged a quiet, knowing smile. Then Louis looked back down at Claudia, who waited patiently for more.

“You were in the middle seat of the back row, crying—screaming, really. You were so scared, and it broke our hearts. But somehow, you didn’t have a single scratch on you. Not one.” He gave a small laugh of disbelief. “I ran back to the car to grab your Papa’s pocket knife from the glovebox. When I came back, you’d already stopped crying. Your papa was holding your hand and singing to you, trying to keep you calm. He kept singing while I cut you out of the seatbelt. And the moment we pulled you out, you latched onto him like you’d known him forever. He carried you back to our car while I stayed behind to wait for the cops.”

Lestat twirled one of her finished braids gently between his fingers. “The officers called you a little miracle,” he said with a warm smile. “Our petite ange, maybe.”

Claudia scrunched her nose and giggled. She got up from the floor and climbed onto the couch between them, settling her head on Louis’ shoulder as Lestat’s arms wrapped around them both.

“What happened after that, Papa?” 

Lestat pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head. “The police took you to the station to check on you, make sure you were okay after… everything. We followed because we’d been witnesses, but as soon as we walked in, you ran right to us. You clung to our legs like we were the only people in the world. Your face was all puffy, like you’d been crying the whole time. The officers tried to coax you back, but you wouldn’t let go.”

He smiled at the memory, almost in disbelief.

“They let us stay with you while they asked us questions and started filing your information. Eventually, you fell asleep, and they took you to stay with a social worker for the night. Afterward, they told us you’d likely go into foster care for a while.”

Lestat paused, his voice quieter now. “But I couldn’t let that happen. I asked if we could register into the foster system too—so we could be considered. They rushed the process because they could already tell; you were attached to us, and we were already in love with you. Within a month, we were interviewed, cleared, and given the incredible honor of taking home a very special girl.”

Louis smiled and nestled his face into Claudia’s hair. “And then, the next year, I adopted you. You became my daughter, officially.”

Lestat beamed at the sight. “And once your father and I finally have our wedding, I’ll be able to adopt you too. Then we’ll officially be a real family.”

Claudia’s eyes were getting droopier by the minute. “We already are a real family, Papa.” Her eyes fluttered, half-lidded as she yawned. Louis and Lestat met eyes over her head—proud, content, and full of quiet gratitude.

Throughout her childhood, Claudia watched her parents love each other like no other couple she knew.

She remembered doing her homework at the living room coffee table, stealing glances through the kitchen window where Louis stood with his back pressed to Lestat’s chest, wrapped securely in his arms. Lestat would kiss his cheek, his shoulder, murmuring something only Louis could hear as they swayed together to music that wasn’t really playing—just something imagined, something shared. They would whisper about the future, about how excited they were to finally be wed one day.

She remembered the nights they all fell asleep on the couch, a movie forgotten on the screen, with Lestat and Claudia piled on either side of Louis, curled into him like two halves of the same heart. The days when both of her parents were off work, and they’d take her to the park, the museum, or the local children’s playhouse—always watching from a little distance as her eyes lit up with joy. Lestat would push her on the swing from behind, while Louis stood in front, catching the seat each time she swung forward, their laughter carried by the wind. At the museum, her dads would take dozens of photos of her as she pointed, asked questions, soaked everything in with wonder.

She remembered evenings at the dining table, where Louis and Lestat would sit shoulder to shoulder, notebooks and catalogues spread out before them, planning for a wedding they promised would come once they had the money. Claudia would butt in with wild suggestions—like a ball pit or a pool party—and they would giggle, indulging her every time, promising they’d find a way to make her ideas part of the day.

Before Armand came into the picture, Uncle Daniel would sometimes show up in the middle of the night. Claudia never fully understood it then—how deep in his addiction he was, or how desperate someone had to be to knock on a friend’s door at two in the morning. All she knew was that neither of her parents ever turned him away. And when she crept into the living room long past bedtime and wrapped her arms around her uncle’s waist, no one scolded her. She didn’t know then how much that hug meant to him.

She remembered, too, how Uncle Daniel sat beside her dads in the audience during her first middle school play. All three of them were the loudest ones clapping, cheering her name, standing with open arms as she rushed into them after the final bow.

These were the memories Claudia cherished. The quiet ones, the joyful ones. The moments that made up her family.

One night, a fourteen-year-old Claudia came home from rehearsal to find her Dad curled up on the floor against the couch, crying.

Lestat sat beside him on the rug, silent, gently stroking his hair in an effort to soothe him. Neither of them noticed her at first, and Claudia didn’t say a word. She didn’t want to interrupt. She didn’t know what had happened—but she knew they would tell her when the time was right.

Quietly, she made her way upstairs and sat on her bed, waiting for any sign that her Dad was okay.

Later that night, there was a soft knock at her door. It creaked open just a little, and Lestat peeked his head in.

She placed her book on the nightstand and gave him a small, expectant look as he stepped inside, gently closing the door behind him.

He offered her a tired smile and settled on the edge of her bed near her feet, resting a hand on her shin. “How was your day, mon petite ?”

Claudia kept it brief—a quick summary of school and rehearsal. Nothing important.

Then, after a pause, she spoke slowly.  “Papa… is Dad okay?”

Lestat clenched his jaw uncomfortably and looked down into his lap. 

“You remember your father’s brother? Uncle Paul?” he asked gently.

Claudia nodded. It wasn’t like they saw either side of the family often, but she remembered Uncle Paul—birthdays, uncomfortable Christmas dinners. Her Dad’s family was around a few times a year. They never spent much time at Mama du Lac’s house, even though she lived just a few blocks away. Her Dad once told her that his family didn’t really understand the kind of life he and Lestat built. Still, she liked Uncle Paul. He was strange, a little intense sometimes, but when he was doing well, he was funny; warm, even. He told her the best stories— the games he and her dad played growing up, the pranks they pulled on Auntie Grace, the times all three siblings got in trouble with Mama du Lac and laughed their way through punishment.

Lestat watched her eyes drift, lingering in memory.

“Your uncle… he…” he began, voice soft. He paused, searching for the words.

“He hurt himself. And… he passed away.”

Claudia didn’t flinch. She wasn’t a little kid anymore, and she wasn’t stupid. Lestat’s soft wording wasn’t fooling her—she knew exactly what he meant. And she knew that he knew that, too.

She also knew how close her Dad had been to his siblings before meeting Lestat. The three of them had been inseparable their whole lives—especially Louis and Paul. Her Dad had practically raised him. After their father passed, Louis gave up college plans and teenage freedom to support the family. He got a job his freshman year to help Mama with bills. After high school, he took on two, sometimes three jobs, saving until he could open his own café by twenty-one. He poured everything he had into helping the people he loved. Every bit of profit went into savings accounts for Grace and Paul—Grace used hers to get into her dream college, and Paul used his to go to seminary school.

Their family had always known that Paul was ‘special’, but of course, no one bothered to get him checked for anything. They just did their best to accommodate for things he was particular about— like his closet being organized a certain way, or everyone having assigned seats at the dining table. When their father passed, Louis promised him that he would do everything in his power to take care of Paul. And for a while, he was happy, healthy— despite his peculiarities.

No one saw this coming. No warning signs. No notes. No cries for help.

“Is Dad asleep now?” she finally asked.

Lestat nodded, letting out a slow, exhausted sigh. He ran a hand through his long hair and leaned back slightly, as if gravity had grown heavier in the last few hours.

Claudia gave him a soft, sympathetic smile. “You should get some rest too, Papa.”

Lestat nodded again, then stood and leaned in to kiss her forehead.

“Goodnight. You let me know if you need anything, mon coeur .”

The five months following Paul’s death were silent. 

Claudia would come home to her Dad curled up in the living room chair, staring out the window. She would talk about her day like nothing changed, filling the quiet with her voice, as if she wasn’t being met with silence. She would do her homework on the coffee table, periodically getting up to grab a glass of water for her Dad which he would reluctantly sip on— his tired eyes never leaving the window. 

After her homework was done, she’d rummage through the fridge and cabinets, throwing together whatever she could for dinner. Most nights, it was nothing fancy—just enough to keep them fed. Lestat would get home from running Louis’ cafe for him, and kiss both of them on the forehead. They’d eat in the living room in silence, only the distant hum of the air conditioning and the faint muttering of the television filling the room. 

Like clockwork, Louis would rise from his chair at almost exactly 8:30, robotically kiss the other two on the cheek and retreat into the bedroom he shared with Lestat—closing the door behind him.

One night, Claudia turned to her Papa. 

“Does he actually go to sleep?”

Lestat shrugged, still absentmindedly picking at the pasta on his plate. “ Je ne sais pas ,” he murmured. “He just locks the door until morning.”

Claudia’s face twisted into a frown. “Wait, then where have you been sleeping?”

Lestat’s face remained pensive. “Here,” he said simply, gesturing around the room.

She looked toward the bedroom door, her heart heavy. Setting her plate aside, she padded over and gently knocked. “Dad?”

Silence. She knocked again, just a little louder. “Dad, can I talk to you about something?”

There was a long pause before she heard the faint click of the door unlocking.

She glanced over her shoulder toward the living room and caught a glimpse of Lestat on the couch. His shoulders were sagged, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. He looked worn down— his messy ponytail loosened, hair slipping out from the hair tie, his shirt wrinkled and his pants stained with brown splotches from whatever coffee he prepared that day. 

She gently turned the doorknob and stepped into the room, scanning the room for him. She found him sitting on the floor with his back against the bed frame, knees pulled up to his chest. Without a word, she crossed the room and sat beside him, gently resting her head on his shoulder. They stayed that way in silence, until Louis finally spoke. His voice was raw and hoarse from disuse.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. He didn’t say what for, but he didn’t have to. 

Claudia knew that he knew. Knew he’d been absent, lost inside his grief, and that she and Lestat had been carrying things in his place. Neither of them ever tried to force him out of it. They just waited—watching, caring, holding the pieces until he was ready to take them back. Claudia reached her arms around her father’s shoulders, pulling his head on top of her own. She held him quietly, breathing with him.

A few moments later, Lestat poked his head into the room.

Claudia felt Louis shift at the sound, lifting his head to look at his fiancé. “Hey, you,” Louis said softly. His voice cracked, but it carried a hint of life—enough to make Claudia’s chest ache.

She didn’t have to look to know that Lestat felt something crack open with that simple greeting. Relief. Hope.

She heard him pad over to them, and from the corner of her eye, saw him sit down on Louis’ other side. Slowly, carefully, Lestat reached out and took Louis’ hand in his, lifting it to his lips. He pressed a tender kiss to the knuckles.

“I’m sorry,” Louis whispered again. 

Claudia lifted her head to look at her parents, watching them gaze at each other. No words needed to be spoken— the two of them spoke with their eyes, their souls. A language that had built over years of love.

Lestat offered him a soft, pained smile, the crinkle of eyes softening over the sight of Louis’ eyes shining slightly with tears. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Louis’ temple. “ c'est bon, ma chère ,” he whispered against the other’s skin. “You’re here. That’s all that matters.” 

Claudia tucked herself back against Louis’ shoulder, curling into his side. “And we’re here too, Dad,” she whispered. “Always.”

The three of them stayed there on the floor, tangled in a quiet embrace, unwilling to break the stillness. For the first time in a long time, the silence didn’t feel so empty.

Things slowly returned to normal over the next few months.

They had moved from their apartment complex to an old suburban neighborhood on the outskirts of the city—Louis didn’t want to live so close to his family anymore. Claudia never asked why, but she had a feeling it had something to do with Uncle Paul’s passing. And maybe Mama du Lac.

Louis went back to working at the café, while Lestat resumed his schedule— private piano lessons during the day, and performances at a handful of restaurants on weekend nights.

On those nights, Louis would pull Claudia out of her room and make her cook with him while waiting for Lestat to get home. Louis implemented this mandatory ‘father-daughter time’ after her first highschool break-up, saying that ‘ spending time with others is necessary for healing ’. Claudia jokingly called him a hypocrite, and he just rolled his eyes.

One night, while Claudia stood at the kitchen counter chopping vegetables for stir-fry, she found her mind wandering. She thought about her parents—about the quiet way they loved each other. All she’d ever wanted was to have a love like theirs. Something consuming, gentle, and sacrificial— and so evidently rare.

“Dad,” she asked, eyes still focused on the cutting board, “how did you and Papa meet?”

Louis snorted, a quiet chuckle escaping his chest. “You know, when you were younger, you used to ask me that all the time, and I never knew what to say. But—” He paused, setting down the wooden spoon. “I think you’re old enough now.”

He wiped his hands on the black apron around his hips and leaned against the counter as Claudia kept chopping. 

“Well, I was 22 at the time. I had just opened the cafe and it was doin’ pretty well on business. One morning, your father came bursting through the door— pushed it so hard he almost knocked the damn doorbell off.” Louis chuckled, shaking his head at the memory.

“He looked like a total mess. Hair sticking out everywhere, shirt only half-buttoned, and slacks with... a certain stain all over the front.”

Claudia scrunched her nose. “Ew.”

“Now you know why I waited until high school to tell you the real story,” Louis said with a grin.

“He came up to the counter, completely winded, and rattled off his order so fast I couldn’t even understand him. He looked like some kind of frazzled damsel in distress, I swear. I was worried about him, so I had one of the other employees take over and brought him to a corner table. Made him a hot cocoa while he sat there looking kinda stupid.”

Claudia snorted, picturing her father—dazed and sipping cocoa like a toddler after a tantrum.

“I asked if he was okay, and he just stared at me for a minute like an idiot. Then he started rambling about this girl he met at a jazz club he’d been playing at—”

“Wait,” Claudia interrupted, glancing up. “Papa? The classical music puritan? Played at a jazz club ?”

“Yeah,” Louis said, smirking. “Until they kicked him out for being drunk all the time and not keeping up with the drummer.”

He returned to the stove and gave the stir-fry a stir before continuing. “Anyway, he tells me he got dumped by this girl because he told her he liked men too. So he ended up at a gay bar, got blackout drunk, and woke up in some guy’s apartment. No clue who the guy was. He panicked, ran out, and the first place he saw across the street was my cafe.”

Claudia blinked, dumbfounded. The knife and vegetables on the counter were long forgotten. “What the hell—”

“Language, missy , ” came Lestat’s voice, drifting in from the front door with that familiar French accent.

Louis turned to her, scrunching his nose and whispering, “He’s right,” just as Lestat entered the kitchen through the archway.

He wrapped an arm around Louis’ waist and kissed his cheek, then crossed over to Claudia and kissed her forehead. “What are we ‘what the hell’-ing about now?” he asked with a light laugh, tying his hair back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. He nudged Claudia aside and took the knife from her hand to continue chopping vegetables. Claudia moved across the room and hopped onto the counter.

“I was telling her about the day we met,” Louis said, returning to the stove.

Lestat dropped the knife.

“Why would you tell her that?” he asked, voice low but sharp.

Claudia glanced between them. Louis looked stunned, like he hadn’t expected that reaction. Lestat’s face was stern—confused and hurt all at once.

“Well—I mean, she asked. And it’s not like she doesn’t already know about that kind of stuff, she’s old enough—”

But Lestat didn’t let him finish. He turned on his heel and stormed out of the kitchen.

That night, Claudia could hear their voices behind closed doors—low and tense. Lestat was upset that Louis would share something so humiliating without asking first. Louis was upset that Lestat didn’t just say that instead of walking away. Neither of them listened. Both of them talked over each other. The argument ended unresolved.

Lestat slept on the couch that night. He started sleeping on the couch at least once a week after that night.

Eventually, Lestat began to come home later and later. 

At first, Louis didn’t mind. But then Lestat started stumbling through the door drunk—slurring his words, tripping over furniture, blubbering nonsense in his mother tongue. Louis would steady him by the shoulders and guide him into one of the living room chairs, a quiet sigh in his chest. Without fail, he would turn to Claudia and say, ‘ Go get ready for bed, sweetheart. ’

And she would. She always went without protest.

Seeing her father like that was uncomfortable. Painful. Hearing him mutter curses under his breath, rambling about his childhood, his family, his mother—it unsettled something deep inside her.

Claudia didn’t know much about Lestat’s family. He avoided the topic like the plague. Once a year, they’d get a brief visit from his mother in the spring. She’d pop into their lives for an afternoon—say hello to her granddaughter, make crude jokes at her son’s expense, exchange stiff pleasantries with Louis, then disappear just as quickly.

Lestat had always been emotional and short-tempered, but Louis used to praise him for learning to manage it—for changing after they adopted Claudia. She never doubted how much he loved her. He never even raised his voice at her. Except for two things, his mother’s visits and when he was drunk.

Louis would say he just gets ‘weird’ about his mother. He would say he just ‘feels things stronger’ when he drinks. 

But Claudia didn’t like seeing him like that— completely incapacitated and unable to control his snake of a tongue under the influence of a drink. She hated the way alcohol made Lestat mean. Made him unpredictable. Unrecognizable. She would sit in her room and listen to him yell at Louis until his voice went raw. She’d hear the scrape of furniture against the hardwood, the thud of chairs shoved aside as he stormed from room to room, dragging his rage through the house.

Some nights he wouldn’t come home at all. 

Claudia knew what that meant. She wasn’t as innocent as her parents would like to believe. 

The door would quietly open while Claudia ate her breakfast. Louis would wordlessly grab a disheveled, hungover Lestat by the arm and drag him to their bedroom, slamming the door behind them. As Claudia rinsed her bowl, she’d listen to her dad scream. She’d lace up her shoes as Lestat screamed back. And she’d quietly lock the front door behind her just as Louis emerged from the bedroom, fuming and defeated.

She came home to icy silences. Louis and Lestat wouldn’t speak. They’d snipe at each other over dinner or make sharp, backhanded remarks while Claudia brushed her teeth. Sometimes, they’d raise their voices while she sat at her desk doing homework—arguing loud enough to pierce through the walls of her room.

Her fifteenth birthday was a mess that year. 

They hosted it in the backyard. A simple movie night on the projector with a few family friends. But Louis and Lestat had already been fighting inside the house. By the time the film had started, their shouting had grown loud enough to cut through the sliding glass doors and over the movie dialogue.

Guests began to whisper. Claudia wanted to vanish.

Daniel and Armand tried to salvage the night, awkwardly announcing that the party was over and gently ushering people through the side gate toward the driveway. Claudia sat alone at the edge of the deck, chin resting in her palms. Daniel turned on soft background music to mask the yelling and crying inside while he and Armand quietly cleaned up the yard. No one said anything. No one had to.

Claudia stared out into the night, trying not to cry as her parents tore each other apart inside— liar, cheater, bastard from one side, unfeeling, cold, manipulative from the other. And then the voices stopped. Daniel crouched beside her.

“Come on,” he said gently. “We’re gonna get ice cream, alright?”

She nodded and followed.

When she got home later that night, Louis was sitting alone on the couch, his head in his hands, breathing slow and deep—like he was trying to hold himself together.

Lestat tore open their bedroom door, storming out with a duffle bag slung over his shoulder, halfway to the front door before stopping in his tracks. He froze when he saw his daughter in the foyer.

Claudia just numbly blinked at him. No expression. No questions.

She slipped off her shoes and walked into the kitchen without a word, reaching for a glass and filling it with water. Her elbows rested on the counter as she sighed into the rim of the glass.

She turned her head to look at him, her voice low, almost a whisper. “Are you leaving?”

He didn’t answer right away. His jaw flexed as he swallowed hard, eyes glassy with regret. Slowly, he closed the distance between them and placed a hand on the back of her head, drawing her in. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, his breath trembling into her hair. Then he pulled back and looked her in the eye.

“I’ll be back soon, mon cœur ,” he whispered.

But Claudia knew he was lying. She watched him go, the front door shutting softly behind him.

And when she passed Louis on the stairs that night, she didn’t look at him.

In the two years following her parents’ breakup, Claudia learned one thing very quickly— it was easier to do things on her own than wait for either of them to man up, swallow their pride, and face each other for her sake.

She handled her first period alone. She handled becoming the president of the school newspaper alone. She handled getting her driver’s license alone. She handled her all-As report card alone. She handled being stood up at prom alone. She handled taking the SATs alone. She handled applying to college alone.

She knew they were both trying—but not together. And that made parenting hard.

They’d show up for her separately, always asking why she hadn’t called, always acting like they would’ve moved heaven and earth to help her. And maybe they would have—if only they could bear to be in the same room.

Both wanted to be the better parent, but neither tried hard enough to actually parent.

By law, Claudia stayed with Louis in the house they used to share, though it barely felt like a home anymore. Louis was quiet—always quiet—and so was the house. There were no more piano notes drifting from the living room, no echoing laughter between the kitchen and the hallway. Just the low hum of the fridge and the creak of the floorboards when he moved around. He tried—he really did. He made her breakfast. Left notes on the counter reminding her to eat lunch. Watched movies with her if she asked. But he had retreated into himself, into his grief and guilt and lingering silence. The house was neat, still warm in color, but cold in feeling.

Some nights, Claudia would fall asleep listening to him pacing in the kitchen or hear the floor groan under him as he sat awake in the living room long after she’d gone to bed. On those nights, it felt like they were both ghosts—coexisting in the shell of a family that used to feel so full.

Weekends were different. On Saturday mornings, Claudia would drive into the city and unlock the front door of Lestat’s townhouse with the key he’d given her. She’d head straight for the piano, idly pressing keys and playing little melodies from her childhood while she waited for him to come home from work. That townhouse wasn’t much, but it felt alive. There were music books everywhere, mismatched throw pillows on the couch, notes scribbled and stuck to the fridge. A room had been set up for her—not just for appearances, but with intention. A real bed. Her favorite lotion. Books stacked on the nightstand he thought she’d like.

Every Saturday night, without fail, Lestat would come home balancing a greasy pizza box and a carton of wings. He’d put music on—usually something from his teenage years that he said reminded him of being ‘young and stupid’—and they’d eat on the couch, sometimes talking for hours, sometimes not saying much at all. He let her vent. He let her cry. He let her be mad at him.

He had stopped drinking by then. Fully sober— a big contrast to the life he lived before Claudia came into his life.

Claudia knew what her papa had done. She knew he had cheated on Louis—probably more than once—and that Louis had known. Had known and stayed. And for a long time, she hated Lestat for it. For ruining everything. For making Louis small. For breaking the thing that had made her feel safest.

But with time, her anger softened into understanding. Her parents were broken people—always had been.

Louis had grown up in a strict, emotionally cold home, where faith and duty left little room for vulnerability. He never learned how to talk about his feelings, only how to bury them. After Paul died, Claudia watched him disappear into himself for half a year, and even when he came back, he always seemed hesitant to fully return. Like he was afraid to let himself be known again.

Lestat, on the other hand, drowned his stress in alcohol and impulse—running from his pain straight into the arms of more pain; Louis, his mother, his father, everything. He was loud, messy, and bleeding from too many old wounds. Claudia knew that, for a long time, Louis was the only love her Papa ever knew. When that was lost, he spiraled. She understood that now. They were flawed. They were complicated. And somehow, that made it easier to forgive them.

So when Claudia got her NYU acceptance letter—admitted to the creative writing program she’d wanted for years—it hit her all at once: these were her last few months with both of them under the same sky. After this, it would be holidays and visits. Texts and phone calls. She would no longer live in the same space as the people who raised her.

And what broke her heart even more was realizing that she'd never again have the kind of moments she used to live for. The three of them curled up on the couch laughing over a dumb board game. Summers spent road-tripping to Georgia so Lestat could try to force his love of camping onto them. Or those vacations to Florida when Louis would point out beaches his dad used to take him and his siblings to, smiling softly at the memory. She missed that version of them. The one where they were still a family.

That’s when she decided that she’d make it her mission to bring them back together.

Not as lovers—she knew Louis wouldn’t be able to forgive that much, and she didn’t blame him. But maybe, just maybe, they could be friends again.

For her.

Because no matter how much they’d broken apart, she still believed in them.

Chapter Text

The next weekend after their shopping trip came around quietly. That Saturday night, Lestat came home early, opening the door to hear his daughter plucking a familiar tune on the brown-stained upright piano in his living room.

 A soft smile pulled at his lips as he quietly slipped off his shoes and padded into the house. 

He spotted Claudia, curled on the bench in a soft pink sweater, her tight curls billowing down her back. She was playing an old song he had taught her— fingers moving with endearing clumsiness as her longer nails clicked against the ivory. Lestat came up behind her and gently placed his hands on her shoulders, bending at the hip to plant a kiss into the crown of her head. She startled, then relaxed and turned toward him with a laugh.

“You’re earlier than usual,” she said, watching as he tied his hair into a tangled bun at the nape of his neck and sank onto the bench beside her. He placed his hands onto the piano and began a familiar song. She grinned and quickly caught on and started playing the second hands of the song as if they’d never stopped playing together. 

“I quit the restaurant gig,” he said casually with a lazy shrug. Claudia’s eyebrows pinched together in confusion. “Why? I thought it was pretty good money.”

Lestat gave a soft, humorless laugh and shook his head. “It was, but—” he paused, jaw tight. “They’re turning it into a bar and you know I don’t do well around… stuff like that.” 

Claudia nodded slowly. She couldn’t be happier that her father is taking precaution and taking sobriety seriously, but it’s still always awkward when it’s brought up. “That’s good then. That you quit.”

Lestat only gave a small nod, busying himself with the notes he coaxed from the piano. 

After a beat of silence, Claudia said, “Do you want to come with me and Dad to New York next weekend?” 

Lestat’s hands stuttered, stumbling over a pair of notes before recovering. They stayed silent for a moment, letting the music fill the silence that hung between them. After a moment, Lestat spoke, his voice meager and almost fragile. “Is he okay with me being there?”

They hadn’t spoken since the day Louis left them in the parking lot. 

Lestat had driven Claudia home and loaded his car with the stacks of random stuff from their shopping trip that Louis left on the porch. He came inside the house just to help Claudia fix up dinner, even though he knew she was capable of feeding herself. Louis sat outside on the deck, curling himself into the patio chair with a mug cradled in his hands— unmoving and silent— and stayed there until Lestat left.

Claudia shrugged her shoulders, exhaling. “Honestly, when is he ever?” 

That earned a soft huff of laughter from Lestat.

Claudia let her hands fall from the keys and into her lap. “I know it doesn’t seem like it but,” she smiled sadly, “he’s trying. It’s just hard for him because of… you know.”

Lestat absent-mindedly nodded, his hands now switching to a slower, simpler tune. “I know. I don’t blame him.” His tone warmed, “You know I could never be mad at him.” That made Claudia smile, just a little.

 “But I also know,” he added, softer now, “that there’s nothing I could possibly do to atone for what I did to him.”

Claudia pressed her lips together into a thin line. She leaned in and rested her head against his shoulder, her eyes fluttering shut as she listened to his playing. It was just like when she was younger— when Louis would sit on the couch behind them with a book opened in his lap, barely turning the pages because he was too busy watching the two of them at the piano.

“I want you to come with us, Papa,” Claudia whispered through her frown. “I promise I’ll try my best to keep Dad from picking fights with you.”

The melody came to a stop. Lestat pulled away slightly, hands resting gently on her shoulders, pushing her back to arm’s length so he could look at her. Her face was quiet but weary— more tired than a girl her age should ever look. His chest ached.

“I am so sorry, mon petit .” He said, voice thick, as his eyes scanned over her face. Her eyes widened a little, as if startled by the apology. “I’m sorry. No child should have to worry about this. You shouldn’t have to play mediator between your parents.” 

Her mouth trembled before she could stop it. He watched as her face crumpled into something he’d never seen before— a different type of grief, of heartbreak. Her tears spilled over as she charged forward, crashing her face into his shoulder as she wrapped her arms around his torso. She clung to him like an infant.

And he held her, softly rocking them to keep her grounded. His hand cradled the back of her head as he began to hum, the same way he used to when she was small and inconsolable, wailing her tantrums that bounced echoed through the walls of that old house.

He held her like that for as long as she needed.

A week later, Lestat pulled into Louis’ driveway, a duffel bag slumped in the passenger seat. He sat there for a moment, picking at the skin around his thumb, debating whether he still had time to back out. 

But he couldn’t. He’d been gone long enough— absent through the wreckage of his own breakdown— and this, at least, was something he could do. Not just for Claudia, but for himself too. 

Lestat pulled himself from the seat, grabbing his bag and making his way up the path to the front door. Through the window, he caught a glimpse of Claudia’s curls bouncing past the hallway, and he huffed out a nervous laugh. Before he even raised a hand to knock, the door swung open.

Claudia grinned up at him. “Daaaad! Papa’s here!” she yelled over her shoulder as she stepped aside to let him in. He was still slipping off his shoes when Louis appeared in the hallway. He barely glanced in Lestat’s direction before disappearing into the kitchen.

Still icy, then.

But even so, Lestat couldn’t stop his eyes from following Louis— watching the way he flitted around the kitchen, pulling snacks from cupboards and filling water bottles at the sink. His Louis— even in simple jeans and a t-shirt, he was magnetic, as always.

Lestat drifted into the kitchen and sat at the bar, elbows on the counter, eyes silently trained on him.

Louis turned after a beat, his eyes catching Lestat in the act.. “You gonna say something, or are you just keep starin’ like a creep?” 

Lestat looked away quickly, clearing his throat and shifting in his seat.. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

 Louis stood in the middle of the kitchen, watching him. He threw his head back and heaved out a sigh. 

“Look,” Louis started, shuffling over and leaning onto the bar across from him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have blown up at you like that the other day.” Lestat met his gaze, surprised. They studied each other for a long moment— two men measuring years in seconds.

Lestat spoke, his voice sounding weaker than he meant for it to be. “ C’est bon ,” he croaked out. “You were right, it was a silly excuse. I understand your frustration, so… I apologize, too.” 

Louis’ expression shifted— something unreadable flickering there. Maybe relief. Maybe regret. Maybe both. “I knew you didn’t mean it how I took it,” he said, voice low.

Silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t cold. It was weighty, watchful. They lingered in it, eyes skimming each other’s faces like they were trying to memorize what time had changed.

Lestat swallowed. “Truce?” he offered, smiling a little. 

Louis snorted, then laughed, real and bright. It cracked open something in Lestat’s chest. “Truce,” Louis said back, still chuckling, fingers tapping a light rhythm against the counter. There was a softness in his smile that hadn’t been there in a long time.

This was nice, Lestat concluded. It was nice to have these moments with each other again. To fondly laugh together at their awkwardness as if they were in their twenties and falling in love all over again.

Claudia appeared at the bottom of the stairs, her suitcase rattling behind her as she rolled it toward them. “Dad?” She called, peeking around the corner before spotting them. She blinked, then raised a brow, clearly trying to decode whatever moment she’d just walked into.

Louis let out a quiet laugh, stepping back into motion as he packed the snacks into a grocery bag.

“Huh,” Claudia said, amused and suspicious as she plopped into the stool beside Lestat. “Anyway. What time is the flight tonight?”

“Around seven,” Louis replied, tying off the bag and setting it down next to three filled water bottles. “It’s only noon, we’ve got plenty of time.”

Claudia slouched, resting her head in her hands. “Can we watch a movie?”

“I was about to make lunch,” Louis said, pulling out a pan. “But yeah, go pick something out to watch while we eat.” She nodded and padded into the living room.

Lestat stood, following Louis to the kitchen. “Need help?” he asked, already reaching for a glass. Louis nodded silently and set a pile of vegetables in front of him.

It felt natural— familiar, almost startlingly so. Louis sauteed garlic, the scent curling warmly through the air. Lestat hummed as he chopped, glancing up every so often to watch Louis sprinkle various herbs and spices into whatever he was cooking. There was ease in how they moved around each other, almost like muscle memory settling into their bodies— aware of the comforting presence of the other.

They both knew Claudia was watching them from the couch, silent and still.

Something weighed heavily in his heart as Lestat brought the chopping board to Louis, balancing the several vegetables he had chopped. Lestat carefully stepped into the narrow space beside Louis, holding the board out for him to take. Louis turned, smiling faintly down at the board as he took it, saying “thanks, love,” without thought,  and slowly dumped them into the pan. 

Lestat stood for a moment, unsure of how to react. “ Bien sûr ,” he started. His other hand hovered for a moment, then rested gently on the small of Louis’ back. He carefully tapped his fingers against the warmth of his skin shielded by his shirt. Just a quick pat that was familiar and cautious. Louis' head turned to meet his gaze. “Anytime,” Lestat added, voice nearly a whisper. He held his gaze just a beat longer before stepping away and stealing himself to the living room.

He could feel Louis’ eyes tracing his figure, watching him go.

Lestat could feel his gaze ghosting over his shoulder as he went into the living room to sit on the couch with Claudia. She gave him a cheeky, knowing look before giggling silently and directing her attention back to the TV. 

Claudia gave him a smug little smirk as he sat beside her on the couch, barely suppressing a giggle. She didn’t say anything— didn’t need to. 

They ate together in the living room, Claudia sitting cross-legged on the floor between them, leaning back against the couch, shoulders framed by her fathers’ knees. The TV played, but no one was really watching. They laughed anyway, letting the quiet joy of it all settle in the air. And, for now, that was enough.

Claudia loved this. 

The three of them sat in the living room, the movie long forgotten. A board game now stretched across the coffee table, its scattered pieces surrounded by snacks and the echoing of laughter. They were happy, her dads were laughing. The house was full of warmth and noise again— playful jabs, old stories, inside jokes tossed back and forth like a ball neither wanted to drop.

She didn’t know why it made her want to cry. Maybe because being with the two of them like this— happy again— made her feel small. Not in a bad way— just young. Safe. For once, she didn’t have to hold the future in her lap or manage the weight of two parents who couldn’t look each other in the eye. Here, she was just their daughter. And they were just her parents. That was all they needed to be.

Eventually, the three piled their bags into Louis’s car. Lestat rushed to the driver’s side, dramatically insisting, “I should drive, mon ami — you cooked, let me give you the luxury of a stress-free ride, non ?” Louis barked a laugh and playfully shoved him away from the door. “Hell no, I’d actually like to survive the drive.” 

Claudia smiled to herself as she slid into the backseat. She loved this .

They laughed again when she revealed that she’d seated them next to each other on the plane. From across the aisle, she watched them whispering and grinning, pointing out movies on the seat screens that they’d seen together, and trying to one-up each other’s bad jokes. They laughed again when Claudia nearly toppled over her suitcase at baggage claim, waving away offers of help with a stubborn glare. 

It felt perfect. Right up until they got to the hotel.

The mood shifted as soon as the clerk handed over two key cards for the same room. Louis blinked at the woman behind the desk. “Sorry, uh— just one double?”

She nodded politely. “Yes, sir. Two beds— checked under your name.”

Louis turned slowly to Claudia, rubbing a hand over his face. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you book everything.” Claudia’s jaw dropped dramatically, throwing her hands up in defense. “It was an accident! I thought I added the single— swear.”

The woman gave a small, apologetic shrug. “Unfortunately, we’re fully booked this weekend. Louis sighed but didn’t argue. “That’s alright. Thank you, though, ma’am.”

As they walked down the hall to the room, Claudia’s eyes flicked anxiously between her parents. It really was an accident— but the way they silently processed it made her stomach twist.

Inside the room, she and Louis dropped their bags onto the two beds while Lestat hovered awkwardly, as if waiting for instruction. Louis sat down and looked up at him, then sighed and patted the spot beside him “It’s okay. It’s just three nights.”

He offered a thin, crooked smile that made Claudia’s heart ache.

Lestat let out a nervous laugh and nodded. “ Oui . Three nights of your freezing feet, mon dieu .” Louis snorted. “Better than gettin’ your hair all up in my face.”

They laughed, soft and shared. Claudia flopped down on the second bed, her head buried in the pillow, watching them through her lashes.

“I promise I didn’t do it on purpose,” she mumbled into the fabric, hands covering her face. Her parents exchanged a look. Louis nudged her foot hanging off the bed gently. “It’s alright, he said. “We worked it out, didn’t we?”

Lestat stood from the bed and crossed over, sitting on the edge of hers as he patted her shin. Claudia peeked at them through her fingers and gave them a sheepish smile. “I like it when we’re all together,” she said softly as if she was afraid to say it aloud. 

That quiet pulled at something in both of them.

Louis stood and gave her leg a pat. “Alright, come on,” he said, voice lighter now. “Get ready for bed. We’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

The first night sleeping next to Louis was, somehow, both the most uncomfortable and the most comforting night of Lestat’s life.

He laid stiff as a board on his side, hands clasped beneath his head, ankles hooked together like he could physically anchor himself in place. His entire back buzzed with the awareness of Louis behind him— warm, breathing, there . No way in hell was he going to risk an accidental nudge or brush in the light, He wasn’t going to ruin this.

And yet, his mind— so often noisy and self-critical— was quiet. Steady. His felt his breath fall in rhythm with Louis’, and his heart thudded not with panic, but with the quiet hum of old fondness.

In the morning, he woke up on his back. One hand rested lightly on his stomach, the other splayed at his side— so close to Louis’ arm, just barely not touching. Louis laid the same way, face slack with sleep. And Lestat just watched him for a moment; his eyes flick beneath his eyelids, the sharp slope of his nose, the gentle curve of his lip. He let himself cherish it for a moment before he eased himself to his feet.

And while getting ready for the day, the three of them stood at the bathroom mirror, brushing their teeth in sleepy silence. It stirred something deep in Lestat’s chest— a quiet warmth, a memory of when Claudia was small.

He could see her in his mind again. Five years old, perched on the counter, kicking her legs, giggling with a mouth full of foam. He remembers holding her chin in one hand while brushing her teeth with the other, Louis sitting beside them with his phone open to a Youtube video titled ‘ How To Teach Your Kid to Brush Their Own Teeth ’.

And at breakfast, as they sat around a tiny hotel table eating dry scrambled eggs and soggy toast, more memories returned. Short weekend trips to random Florida resorts. Claudia stuffing her cheeks with Fruit Loops from a plastic cereal dispenser, then darting toward the splash pad. Louis and Lestat would take turns splashing around with her in the pool, then coax her out in tears when it was time to rinse off. They’d wrap her in a towel, promise movies and bedtime snacks, and stay up too late watching princess musicals in their hotel bed.

And later, when Louis flagged down a taxi outside the hotel, Lestat remembered even further back—before Claudia. Nights when they’d stumble out of clubs, laughing and breathless, clutching each other like anchors in the dark. Fighting to stay upright long enough to hail a cab. Kissing through the ride home. Fumbling with keys at the apartment door. Tearing off jackets and shoes and falling into each other like gravity. Lost in a stupor of lust and affection.

Now, Lestat stood beside Louis in the morning sun, the air cool and quiet, their daughter a few steps ahead, and all he could think was ‘I want to keep this’ . Not just Louis. Not the version of him from their twenties, or even the one he left. 

This . This version of them, tentative but steady. Careful, but kind. Changed. Still familiar, but softened, grown, Lestat didn’t know what had shifted— if Claudia had spoken to Louis, or if Louis had simply started to see the ways he was trying, truly trying— but something had opened. And whatever unknown force had granted him this fragile second chance, Lestat was grateful beyond words.

He sat beside Louis in the taxi, their thighs pressed close, shoulders bumping gently with every turn. Their knuckles brushed now and then. Neither of them pulled away. And at that moment, Lestat made a vow. 

Whatever he had to do— whatever part of himself he had to unlearn or rebuild— he would do it. To prove he could change, to keep Louis trust again. To keep him.

Chapter Text

The night before their flight, Claudia came into the kitchen while Louis was silently preparing dinner. She watched him for a moment in the doorway, watched the stress that plagued his forehead and a mix of sadness and fear that cast into his frown. He was deep in thought, eyes glazed over as he hunched over a sauce pot on the stove. 

Claudia said nothing as she pulled out her phone, pressing play on a playlist of old jazz. She watched her father straighten and turn to her, a look of confusion and grief flashing on his face— the remnants of memories of dancing with Lestat in the kitchen to the jazz playing on the radio when they were young. 

Claudia came over and placed her hands on her father’s shoulder, watching how his face fought back any emotion. “Can you teach me how to dance?” She softly questioned. “The way you and Papa used to?”

He just silently nodded and stole her into a tight hug, softly swaying left and right as he leaned down to rest his chin on her shoulder. He sighed into the warmth of her, his daughter— the not-so-little little girl he’d loved and failed time and time again. 

Claudia’s face was buried in his shoulder, her breath breezing right over his neck, grounding him and reminding him to stay strong. Eventually, after a moment, her voice piped up, meager and nervous. 

“Dad,” she muttered. “I know Papa hurt you— I’m not trying to deny that.” She took a deep, nervous breath in. “I’m not trying to deny your feelings, or say that you’re wrong in being angry at him.” The arms around his neck tightened as she hooked her chin over his shoulder. “But he’s really trying to fix things.” 

Louis took a deep breath, slowly tearing himself from Claudia’s grip to lean against the counter. He bit his lip, fighting back the lump in his throat and the tears threatening to spill over. 

The melodies floating from Claudia’s phone pulled his heart towards memories he wanted to forget— the feeling of Lestat’s head on his shoulder, hands roaming over the synchronized beating of their hearts, eyelashes kissing as they held their faces together, noses brushing, cheeks warm with ripe color, the rumble of Lestat humming along to the music, his eyes watching Louis’ fond smile while listening.

Claudia stepped close again, her lips pressed into a thin line as she took his hands in hers.

“Did you know he’s been sober for over two years now?”

Louis’ jaw tightened, his lip trembling slightly.

“He’s picking up extra private lessons— twice as many— to help save up for my tuition.”

He stared down at the floor.

“He quit the restaurant job when they started converting it into a bar.”

She squeezed his hands. “He keeps all the little habits you built into our lives. He still cooks with jazz on, still makes the bed the way you used to. Still mops the floor every Sunday morning. Still uses the dishwasher as a drying rack.”

Louis’ chest tightened.

“He still leaves his shoes on the rack by the door. Still drinks tea the way you made it for him, even though he used to joke about hating it. Still takes the same vitamins you bought him every morning. Still folds his laundry your weird way. Still opens the blinds first thing in the morning, even though he hates how bright it is.”

And at those words, Louis crumpled into himself. Claudia released his hands as he brought them to his eyes, pressing the heels of his hands into them. Claudia wrapped her arms around him as he broke down in the middle of the kitchen. The pasta sauce he was cooking and the music were long forgotten. Claudia gently ushered him to his bedroom after his sobs subsided, settling into hiccupping breaths and glassy eyes. Claudia, knowing how Louis would become paralyzed in his grief, helped him sit up in bed. She left, then reappeared a moment later with two bowls of pasta in her hands. They silently ate, the quiet mumbling of whatever sit-com played on the TV filling the room.

Louis picked at his food with his fork. “I love him.” He muttered. Claudia paused, watching him tentatively. “Still do. Always did. Even while all that was happening, I never stopped. No matter how bad it hurt me.”

Claudia looked back down to her bowl, silently shoveling a forkful into her mouth. “Do you want him to know that?” she asked through a mouthful of pasta. She watched as Louis pondered the question, seemingly taking it more as a prompt of action.

Louis never gave her an answer. They just ate and watched TV until they both fell asleep on top of the duvet. Come the morning, Louis’ thought about what Claudia had told him about Lestat.

Even after all they’ve been through, the two of them could never cover up the mark they’ve left on each other. Their love is evident in every little corner of their lives. Louis felt the shell of his grudge against Lestat melt away, leaving behind a warm seedling of love reserved only for one man. 

Maybe he couldn’t forgive Lestat to his face, yet. But Louis decided to let himself forgive Lestat in his heart— not because it was earned by any revelation of reason, but simply because the love he felt can overwrite any betrayal and foster it into something new and beautiful.

Louis couldn’t quite name the feeling rising in his chest. As Claudia gazed around the campus during the tour, he found his eyes drifting— not to the buildings, but to Lestat behind her, gazing in quiet awe at her instead, There was a fond smile tugging at Lestat’s lips, the little scar by his mouth crinkling with joy. Louis felt something tighten in his chest at the sight.

It was nice to think of her as their daughter again, To be parents, together, again.

He loved watching Letstat hang onto the tour guide’s every word. At every new building, Lestat’s head would subtly swivel to find the exits, He kept edging closer to the guide, softly interjecting questions about safety and campus crime statistics.

When the tour moved toward the parts of campus that bled into the city, Lestat visibly tensed, his whole body radiating anxiety, while Claudia gazed up at the sky scrapers with wonder. Louis just chuckled to himself, sliding closer to Lestat until their arms brushed. 

He placed a gentle hand on the small of Lestat’s back, leaning in to murmur, “relax.”

Lestat offered a sheepish smile, “ Je sais, c’est juste — it’s a big city, with all kinds of people, all kinds of dangers, non ?”

Louis smiled fondly. He loved when Lestat slipped into French around him— it meant he was overwhelmed with emotion. He used to love pressing kisses into those worry lines on Lestat’s face, back when things were simpler. He rubbed his thumb slowly against Lestat’s back, the warmth of him radiating through the sweat dampening his shirt. “I know you’re worried,” he whispered. “But she’s gonna be okay.”

Lestat pressed his lips into a tight line. “I just want to make sure it stays that way.”

They both turned to look at Claudia, her head buried in the tour pamphlet as she soaked in the buildings around her, joy written plainly on her face.

“She knows how to take care of herself pretty well— no thanks to us, but…” Louis trailed off. He glanced at Lestat again, their eyes meeting, sharing a soft, quiet smile.

Claudia quickly hit it off with another girl in the tour group— a redhead exchange student from France. Claudia lit up at the chance to practice the sparse French she’d learned at home. The other girl giggled whenever Claudia stumbled over a vowel or used the wrong word, and Claudia would just laugh, bashfully asking her what she had said wrong. Louis and Lestat stood behind them, exchanging amused glances each time the girl flushed pink while correcting Claudia.

When the tour ended in the late afternoon, the girls exchanged numbers. Claudia giggled at her phone the whole taxi ride back to the hotel.

While Louis was pulling out the hotel keycard from his wallet, Claudia started rocking on her heels. “So…” she began, tentative, as the three of them shuffled into the room. “Madeline said she has a couple friends who are starting in the summer term, too.” 

Louis and Lestat had just finished unloading their pockets onto the desk in the corner— still so similar in motion, as always. Lestat raised a suspicious brow. “Where is this going, mon ange ?”

Claudia clasped her hands behind her back. “Could I maybe go out to dinner with them tonight?” 

“ Non ,” Lestat answered instantly, “the city isn’t safe at night.”

“‘Course,” Louis said at the same time, “just don’t be stupid.”

Lestat snapped his head toward Louis, disbelief written across his face. “Louis—”

Louis placed a hand on his arm, giving him a firm look. “Les. She’s eighteen. I’m just as worried as you are but,” he sighed, looking over his shoulder at her before turning back to Lestat,  “we gotta trust her. She’s gonna be okay.”

The touch, the look— it softened Lestat almost instantly. He hesitated, casting another look over at Claudia.

She really wasn’t just a child anymore. She was a young woman now, practically vibrating with excitement at the idea of a night out in the city with her new friends. His chest lurched at the realization. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “ Oui , okay. Just—” Claudia squealed in delight— “just make sure your phone is charged and your location is on, compris ?”

Claudia laughed and darted over, throwing her arms around both of their necks and pulling them down into a smothering hug. “Thankyouthankyouthankyou—” she said between kisses to their cheeks. Louis and Lestat just laughed, breathless, as she ran off to the bathroom to start on her hair.

Louis felt his heart squeeze. Claudia didn’t act like this at home anymore. For years, grief and tension floated throughout their home like a fog. But here in New York, she seemed happy— free. Louis always knew she would end up shooting for the farthest star. Ever since she was a child, she had dreams bigger than he and Lestat could ever comprehend. And he knew that, right now, one of those dreams was to reunite the three of them as a family. So having the three of them together, watching him and Lestat comfort each other or joke with each other— this was heaven to her. He watched her regress into the child they had once held together.

He sat on the bed, idly flipping through TV channels while listening to Claudia hum from the bathroom. Lestat stood at the window, arms wrapped tightly around himself, staring out at the skyline like he was bracing for something.

Louis nudged him gently with his foot. Lestat startled, pulled from his thoughts. “Penny for your thoughts?” 

Lestat huffed out an empty chuckle, looking back to the skyline. “It’s all… really settling in, tu sais ?” 

Louis rose from the bed, swinging his legs off the edge to stand beside Lestat— close enough for their shoulders to brush. Lestat glanced at him, an unreadable expression flickering in his eyes, then turned back to the window and lowered his arms to his slides.

“ Elle n’est plus notre petite fille .” 

Louis spared him a soft, sad smile. He tentatively reached out, slipping his hand into Lestat’s, petting his thumb against the other’s knuckles. Lestat didn’t look at him, but he felt the tension bleed from his body at the foreign yet familiar touch.

They stood in silence, not addressing their fingers slowly threading together, or the looming reality that Claudia would soon fly free of the cage they’d built around her from the wreckage of their broken home.

“Dad!” Claudia’s voice echoed from the bathroom. Louis turned his head, fingers still loosely laced with Lestat’s. 

She called again, louder, “So, I was doing the math, and—” Her voice drew closer as she stepped out of the bathroom, fingers flying through her ponytail as she wove it into a braid. “ — renting an apartment nearby would actually be cheaper per semester than dorm housing. And, I mean, we’ve been kinda talking about moving me here permanently so I don’t have to fly back so oft—”

“ Attente — moving?”

Lestat’s fingers slipped from Louis’ as he turned sharply to look at him. 

Claudia froze mid-braid, eyes darting between them,  a flash of panic adorning her face. Louis stood dumbfounded, lips parted as if he’d forgotten how to speak.

“Well,” Louis tried to recover the situation. “It was just a suggestion I made a while back—”

“Yes, one where I obviously wasn’t considered.” Lestat’s voice was cold, suddenly.

Claudia dropped her hands from her hair, the braid falling apart as she took a step closer. “Papa I was gonna talk to you about it—”

“Oh really?” His voice cracked with disbelief, his eyes burning with threatening tears. “Just like you said you were ‘going to talk to me’ about applying to a school states away? Or were you really just that desperate to leave?” 

Claudia’s face hardened. “No, that’s not fair, Papa! You left home, too! It’s not like I’m fleeing the fucking country!”

“Ay, watch ya mouth, young lady,” Louis snapped, fully turning and pointing his finger at her like she was a child throwing a fit again. The room was thick with tension— Claudia breathing heavily, Louis still with nerves.

Lestat exploded, red faced and eyes glassy. “I left because I had to survive!” His voice rang out sharp and loud— the first time he’d ever really, soberly yelled at her. His eyes were sharp as knives. The air went still.

His chest rose and fell in a quickened rhythm. His voice softened, but his eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “Not a single word about these plans being made without me. From either of you.”

He turned his gaze between Claudia and Louis— disbelief crumbling into devastation. “ Suis-je une blague pour toi ?”

Louis stepped forward, hand out, gentle. “I was going to talk to you soon. I just… got distracted by everything today, ‘s all—” 

Lestat yanked his hand away as if his touch burned. “ Oui . Just like you were ‘distracted’ the entire time I didn’t know a damn thing about our daughter’s life for practically three years.” 

The silence was deafening. Claudia’s face crumpled with frustration. “ You left us, Papa.” His expression changed— like her words physically struck him in the chest. He said nothing as he turned to the desk in the corner of the room. 

Claudia’s jaw tightened, her eyes welling up with tears but blinking them away furiously. She stormed through the hotel room, gathering her things in a flurry of anger. “I’m going out.”

Louis turned toward her. “Claudia—”

“No. Don’t.” Her voice cracked as she shoved her feet into her shoes. “You two can stop pretending you like each other for me now. I’m done being in the middle of this.” 

Lestat’s back was still to her, unmoving. Claudia glanced at him once more— hoping, maybe, for an apology, or for him to at least look at her. To see the look on her face again. But he didn’t.

“I’ll be with Madeline. I’ll text you when I get there and when I leave.”

The door clicked shut behind her. Louis stood in the sudden silence, still staring at the empty space where his daughter had been. He let out a slow breath, then turned toward Lestat.

Lestat had braced both hands on the dresser, knuckles white, shoulders hunched, head bowed like something heavy had settled across his neck. Louis approached slowly, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“She was just trying to include us. It came out wrong, that’s all.”

Lestat’s voice was hollow. “She didn’t include me .”

“I should’ve said something earlier. I meant to, I just—”

“But you didn’t.” Lestat finally turned to him, his eyes red and glassy. “You didn’t.”

Louis reached out again, careful, like one wrong move might shatter the moment. “Lestat…”

Lestat stepped back, avoiding his touch. He shook his head and moved toward his suitcase on the chair, rummaging through it with stiff, deliberate movement. Louis watched, helpless, as Lestat pulled his polo shirt over his head and replaced it with a loose t-shirt. “Don’t shut down on me now, Les. Not after everything.”

Lestat laughed bitterly, lips curling into something almost like a mocking smile. “You think this is me shutting down?” He zipped the suitcase halfway and sat himself heavily on the edge of the bed, facing away from Louis as his eyes trailed the skyline again. “I’m not you. This is me holding it together, mon cherie .”

Louis took a step closer, his eyes tracing Lestat’s sagged silhouette. The words landed like a punch to the chest. This is what holding it together looked like now— closed-off shoulders, a voice tight with restraint and refusal to meet his eyes. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to reach Lestat anymore without making it worse.

“I don’t wanna fight with you,” he said, quieter than before.

Lestat didn’t turn around, just stayed silent until he felt the strength to speak again. “Then why does it always feel like I’m the one losing?”

Louis didn’t know how to answer him. His jaw clenched as he searched for something— anything— to offer. But what was there to say? No explanation could make up for what Lestat had lost, for the years Louis had spent keeping him on the outskirts of his life, afraid of what it might mean to let him back in. The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. He hated the way it settled in his chest, the way it made everything feel final.

Lestat threw himself backwards to lay across the bed, one arm flung over his eyes— not to block out the sunlight, Louis realized, but to block out the sight of him. A quiet dismissal. 

Louis stood there a moment longer, watching him, the ache behind his ribs pressing inward as if his heart was trying to fold in on itself. He searched for the right words to say, but he knew Lestat didn’t want words right now. So he stayed quiet, and somehow— it felt like losing, too.

The late afternoon light began to shift— soft and golden, casting long and warm shadows across the hotel carpet. It should have felt peaceful, but it pressed down on Louis like a weight. Lestat didn’t move as the beams of light began to shine on his face. His chest continued to rise and fall in a shallow rhythm. 

Louis glanced over at the hotel phone on the bedside table. Without much thought, he picked it up and ordered room service— two servings of a french country-style soup and fresh bread. Something simple, yet something Louis knows is comforting for Lestat— something that will keep them both in the same room for just a little longer.

Louis sat down on the edge of the other bed, his fingers fidgeting in his lap. He didn’t know if Lestat would say something— if he even wanted him to. But after a while, Lestat spoke. His voice was quieter this time. Tired, no longer angry.

“It’s not really about Claudia moving.” Louis looked over his face, unsure if Lestat could even see him frowning down at him from behind his arm. 

“I mean, it is but… ce n'est pas ce qui m'a contrarié.” Lestat finally lowered his arm and stared up at the ceiling. His eyes were red with the ghost of tears, jaw tense. “It’s the fact that—” he swallowed thickly— “it didn’t even cross your mind to tell me. To ask me. To think I might want to be part of a decision like that.” 

Louis swallowed hard. There was no good excuse. He wasn’t wrong. He hadn’t thought about how it might feel from the outside— only how complicated it had been on the inside. And how much easier it felt to leave Lestat out of it. “You’re right,” Louis murmured. 

Lestat shook his head and sat up slowly, hands pressing into his knees. “It’s not about being right. c’est juste,” he exhaled shakily. “I know I don’t have the right to be upset.” Louis’ eyes traced over Lestat’s back, the lines sagging into himself in an effort to make himself smaller. “I know I lost every ounce of trust you ever had in me— Claudia, too. Je sais que j'ai ruiné tout. I was selfish, I broke something sacred.” 

Louis said nothing— didn’t need to. Lestat’s words felt like confessions spoken to a priest who could offer no absolution. 

“But I’ve been trying,” Lestat huffed out, more earnestly now, voice thinning. “I’ve been so good , Louis. Every day, I live like I still have something to lose. And I do it knowing that I probably already lost it all a long time ago.” 

Lestat’s head rested in his hands now, his shoulders threatening to rumble out a sob. Louis looked at him— really looked at him this time. At the man sitting in front of him, so visibly worn down by hope that hadn’t been rewarded. Louis felt his heart tug when he noticed Lestat was beginning to slip in and out of French even more— a tell-tale sign that he was slowly losing himself. 

Lestat’s head peaked up, staring out the window again, at the sun dipping into the skyline. “I know you think shutting me out protects you. Et, oui, peut-être que ça le fait, ” he said, almost laughing at the notion. “But, it’s killing me, Louis.” He hiccupped as he breathed in deep, exhaling with a shudder of his shoulders. “Not because I think I deserve your forgiveness– believe me, I know I don’t— but because… I don’t even know if I deserve the chance to try anymore.”

There it was— that bone-deep vulnerability Louis remembered from years ago, the rare moments when Lestat would cry into his shoulder after small arguments that triggered his fears of being abandoned, or the nights after too much brandy and not enough honesty. It wasn’t just grief in his voice now. It was longing— for connection. For worth.

The knock at the door startled both of them. Room service. Right.

Louis quietly got up, tipped the delivery boy with trembling hands and rolled the small cart into the room. He brought it around to sit in front of the window.

Louis sat himself beside Lestat, silently lifting the covers off the two bowls and watching the liquid gently slosh around. The scent of thyme and garlic swirling with nostalgia. Lestat’s childhood favorite.

He stared down at the spoons laying on the table, gently poking at one of them. He hesitated before speaking. “I don’t know what I want you to do, Les.” His voice sounded meager, small, as if it was hiding from himself. 

He felt Lestat slowly straighten his back, hands in his lap while he picked at the skin around his nails. Lestat sighed, his shoulders hunching once again, as he whispered. “I know. And yet, here I am anyway.” He stared down at the soup on the cart in front of them.

Louis stared down at the spoon twirling between his fingers, then lifted his gaze to study Lestat’s profile. He was blankly staring into the bowls, eyes still glassy with emotion. “I didn’t leave you out to hurt you,” he said, slowly. “I just didn’t know if you wanted the burden of still being in it.”

Lestat’s lips twitched, but there was no humor in it. “It’s not a burden, Louis. It’s the only part of me that ever felt real.”

For a long time, they didn’t speak. The room quieted again, the hum of the city traffic muffled by the thick hotel windows being the only thing saving them from silence. 

Louis finally dipped his spoon into the soup and lifted it to take a sip. He nodded toward the other bowl. “It’s still warm,” he said quietly. “Taste’s the way you used to make it.” 

Lestat picked up his spoon, and they ate together— quietly, like people remembering how to share space after too much time apart. And for the first time in God knows how long, Louis let the silence between them feel like something other than punishment. The kind of silence that wasn’t quite comfortable, but no longer hostile. 

The clinking of spoons against ceramic felt louder than it should’ve, but neither of them filled the space with conversation. There wasn’t anything more to say that hadn’t already been said or swallowed.

When Louis finished, he reached over to the other end of the bed to grab a half- drank water bottle from the side table. He took a sip, and then wordlessly set the open bottle in front of Lestat. Lestat took it with both hands, like it was something delicate. He looked at it for a long moment before lifting it to his lips. Louis watched as his hands trembled faintly.

The sun dipped lower, creating an orange sky that provided the only light into the room. City lights began to flicker on in the distance. Louis shifted himself to lay back on his side of the bed, not bothering to change out of his clothes just yet. He laid his head back into the pillows and counted his own breathing.

 Lestat stood and pushed the cart over towards the door. Louis watched him move— quieter than usual, like he didn’t want to draw too much attention to his own presence. When he was done, he lingered at the edge of the bed. 

The two of them watched each other, no audible words being passed between them, but letters upon letters of unsaid conversations floating in the air between their gaze. Lestat broke the staring first, padding over to his side of the bed and slowly sinking himself onto his back. 

He eventually turned to lay on his side. The back of him was all Louis could see— broad shoulders rising and falling, tawny-blonde hair messy against the pillow. Louis turned his gaze to stare up at the ceiling, one hand resting underneath his head and the other laying just beneath his sternum.

“I do still think about it, you know,” Louis murmured into the dark. “What it was like. When we were good.”

Lestat let out a slow breath, the kind that sounded like he might cry again, but didn’t.

“I never stopped,” he said. “I live there.”

Louis closed his eyes. The bed was warm between them now, the silence softened by breath and memory. He felt Lestat shift beside him, now mirroring Louis and laying on his back. Tentatively— without thinking— he reached out for Lestat’s hand once again.

Lestat didn’t flitch, He shifted, just enough for their hands to finally meet and lace their fingers together again. 

In time, Lestat’s breathing evened out. And Louis— still holding the fragile piece of him— let his own breathing fall into rhythm with the man beside him. Not in forgiveness, yet, but in something close to it. 

They fall asleep like that— quiet, faces turning towards each other in remembered habit, a thread of touch between them. And in that soft, uncertain in-between, Louis allowed himself— for one night— to cherish this. This feeling of them beside each other, just as they were all those years ago.