Chapter Text
༻✦༺
San Francisco, present time.
Seven years, it's been over seven years since the last time Lestat ever laid eyes on Louis.
The first few years apart from him were agonizing, a constant heartache that didn't allow him to eat, to breathe—to live.
Drowning in a bottomless ocean of sorrow and shame. He managed to convince himself along the way that it meant nothing, that their relationship had been meaningless and most nights that lie tasted sweet on his tongue. That the deceit and frequency of his own fabrications would be taken as gospel.
And some days the facade would falter at the mere mention of the past.
People eventually stopped asking and he found comfort in the solitude given to him.
Over time, the memories had become bearable, only memories were left. And yet, he found himself once again stranded in the eye of the storm that was Louis de Pointe du Lac.
"You're Lestat, correct?"
He clenched his jaw tightly, smoothing out the invisible lint off his coat as he spoke. "Yes."
"You are his emergency contact, there's no mistake."
The woman adjusted the curtains, revealing a man lying on a dreadful hospital bed. Not just a man—it was Louis. He couldn't take his eyes off of him, he's never seen him so fragile and wounded, several machines at the side, a heart monitor on his right. Lestat never imagined in a million years he'd meet him under these circumstances.
"His belongings will be brought to you soon."
"Is he—" Is he alright? What a bizarre question. Of course he's not alright.
The nurse must've read his mind regardless of the sudden pause in his words, "He's stable at the moment, we will keep vigilant for the next twenty four hours. The doctor will be here soon to fill you in."
"Are you absolutely sure I was his emergency contact?" He had to be sure. Why did Louis keep his number saved after seven years?
When he received the call earlier that afternoon he was adamant in believing the call was anything but a distasteful prank only when he heard the stiff voice on the other line he understood it was anything but that.
"Like I said, sir, there's no mistake." She remained resolute on her statement.
Perhaps it was true. Perhaps Louis kept his number all this time for no apparent reason. There was no point in dwelling on the motive or the million questions he had.
"I will be back shortly, if you need anything please let me know."
He made no movement to shift closer towards the bed, the room was relatively quiet aside from the monitor beeping without pause and the people outside the room passing by back and forth, hushed conversations he could not decipher but none of it mattered when Louis was immobile and unresponsive in a hospital bed a few feet away from him.
Nobody else but him.
He inspected his face from where he stood near the doorway, as if stepping any further inside would disturb Louis' rest, there were visible bruises on the left side of his cheek, a busted lip, lacerations all across his arms.
Lestat was beyond unsettled, an unnerving dread fixed in the pit of his stomach, every rational thought that crossed his mind was invaded by the desperate need to find a solution—mend the broken pieces of Louis body and put him back together, he could not sit back and watch as the anguish burnt him alive.
And yet, he knew he was completely powerless, unable to do anything but dwell upon the incompetent staff and the abhorrent grim box they called a room; how could they contact a complete stranger but not his family at that crucial moment?
What would’ve happened if Louis–No. He could not begin to imagine that disturbing scenario.
He crossed his arms against his chest, sitting apprehensively on a chair next to window in an attempt to collect himself, he had to settle his own personal feelings aside and remain focused. It was maddening, sitting in that room, glancing down at his watch it had only been thirteen minutes since he arrived, a phantom feeling clutched at the reigns of his heart.
He shouldn't be here—there was no place in Louis' life for him. Lestat had been ready to flee the moment he walked inside the hospital but he owed Louis the decency to stay and assess the situation before he could finally disappear for good.
Contemplating for a second he gazed at Louis frail figure, he had to stay and make sure he'd be alright. There was no point in feigning the altruistic act, he was doing it all for himself, not for Louis.
He chuckled humorless, threading a hand through his hair he fixed his eyes on the ground, not for Louis? It was always for Louis.
It could never not be about him.
—
Italy, 11 years ago.
Beginning a brand new life in a place where nobody knows your name, your identity—or your past, is nothing but liberating.
A sense of freedom long forgotten, Lestat left oceans of memories and troubles behind him. Commencing a new journey abroad where the troubles of his old life no longer held him accountable.
That's where he found himself in a small town in the southeast coastline of Italy. His mother’s hometown.
An old acquaintance of hers had offered him a temporary job down at a winery decades old and fairly known in the area. He was more than inclined to accept it with enthusiasm as it had the perfect view to the small harbor and village from there.
As the seasons shifted, the summer haze washed away with the withering leaves that welcomed autumn. Lestat had been leisurely spending most of the summer adapting to the likes of the townsfolk in the village. Learning every bit of Italian he could from hearing the music and conversations he picked up from the clients that would come and go.
His mother's friend and owner of the winery, Martina. An old woman with a thick English accent and short blonde hair—would often encourage him to have full conversations with her when the days were short and quiet.
Most times he gave up and cursed in French out loud when he wasn't in the mood to dwell on the pronunciation of fork for the hundredth time—to his pleasant surprise Martina spoke fairly decent amount of French it put most people he knew to shame.
They discussed about almost anything, her unbinding passion for Helen Ward, his own personal interest for classic films, anything but Gabrielle, never about her.
America had been dull, he never wanted to return, not when he had this sense of tranquility for the very first time in his life. The temper of his father was miles away and although his mother wasn’t as present in his life as he desired, Lestat found himself missing her less and less the more time he spent there.
He could not miss her when every inch of the town felt like he was accompanied by her presence, like a warmth spreading inside his chest.
That day was unlike any other, whilst the insomnia was not uncommon—he's been having trouble getting a blink of sleep through the night, tossing and turning restlessly for hours until the faintest of the sunlight rays peeked through the skylight of the storage room that had become his bedroom since the start of the summer, just then he could finally catch a wink of sleep.
It was also a thrill that kept him up the following nights.
He’d been expecting to cross paths again with a breathtakingly handsome man he met two nights ago at a local tavern. The man's posture and confident demeanor were the things that had caught his attention in an instant, he had a pair of alluring brown eyes and a charming smile that rendered him speechless as he made his way towards him through the crowd.
Like a fish caught in a rod, Lestat was completely enthralled by him.
He asked for his name, Louis. American, his accent was endearing and for a moment he forgot that he spoke English at all. And the longer he watched the man stumble his way with words the more Lestat wanted to devour him.
“Louis. My good friend, no need to fret. I can speak to you like this just fine.”
“You—You spoke English this whole time?”
“Sì. I apologize I should’ve told you sooner.”
Louis took another sip of his dry gin—or perhaps it had been beer, the details of the drink didn't matter. A small frown formed on the crease of Louis' forehead. “So you watched me make a fool of myself.”
Lestat grinned unapologetically, “I merely let you dive in the complete tourist experience, speaking with the locals, all that.”
“That’s so low. I thought I’d have to pull out my dictionary if I wanted to keep this up all night."
“Oh?" Lestat tilted his head, a predatory smile plastered on his lips. "You wanted to keep me all night?”
Louis flushed, feeling mortified that he slipped up something he shouldn't of had, as if he'd been caught red handed, but Lestat was more than delighted to comply with his request.
“No! I mean—like… you know,"
“I do not.” Lestat said softly.
“I meant—you know what? Never mind.”
The direction where the conversation had headed was amusing to Lestat. He could tell that Louis was distraught at his own honesty, he could not fathom why he seemed genuinely flabbergasted but he wasn't going to corner him.
“You’re fascinating. So much that I’m a little bit confused. I mean that in a good way, of course.”
Louis scoffed in an attempt to hide his own amusement, “How's that a good thing?”
“Because you’ve got my full attention.” He said in awe, resting his chin on the palm of his hand as his eyes scanned Louis’ expression, perhaps they’d both drank far too much in that short amount of time together or it was possibly their knees brushing against each other every time one of them moved ever so slightly in their seats.
Or just maybe, it was the tantalizing effect Louis’ coy and tender smile gave him whenever Lestat dropped an inebriated pun that would’ve been unamusing to anybody else but Louis. He was impulsed to invite him out of the tavern and into the serene streets of the town.
They had walked away from the scene, in spurts of drunken laughter and wobbly steps, making their way down the stairs towards the beachfront, the people passing by ignored them as if it were the most common thing in the world seeing two drunken fools walking their way towards the harbor.
It most certainly was a common occurrence.
“Where are you staying now?” He grabbed Louis steadily by his arm as they paced lazily in no particular direction.
“In… Santa—Santa something.”
“Santa Margherita.”
“Yes." Louis paused briefly, "Your accent is really nice.”
Lestat gripped him tighter when Louis would stumble his way around rocks, between the two it was clear as day who had a higher tolerance with the liquor.
“I’m flattered. Italian isn’t my mother tongue.”
Louis turned to look at him. "It’s not?”
“No, so keep the compliments coming. I feel like I could pass by a true local in no time.”
"You do look like a local."
"It's rude to assume, Louis."
"What did you say earlier? I mean it in a good way." He mocked his previous words at the bar. Lestat would've been annoyed had it been anybody else but he was quite content with Louis' cheekiness and their playful banter.
"You look really happy with yourself—I would've thought you were having a horrible night earlier with that frown on your face when I arrived."
Louis' laughter was rich and pleasant, “Well my sister sort of ditched me and I thought, this is the worst night ever but,” he stopped on his tracks, watching Lestat with an inexplicable expression on his face. “I am having a great time right now."
Lestat felt warm all over, an ardent buzzing that engulfed his whole body, he took a deep breath, breaking eye contact—he had to compose himself and not be rendered a complete fool in front of Louis.
“We should go back. Your sister could be looking for you, no?”
Louis shrugged, “Maybe, maybe not. What about you, Lestat?”
“What about me?”
“Is anyone looking for you?” The question could easily be interpreted, are you here with someone? Lestat couldn’t contain the grin that easily slipped on his lips, for somebody that was throwing a fit about not wanting to spend the night with him, like that—or any way at all for that matter, Louis was contradicting his own words.
“Not at all.” Lestat directed them far down the beach, telling Louis to take his shoes off so they could freely dip their feet and ankles inside the water.
“Fuck, that’s cold!” Louis jumped slightly.
“I thought it would help us sober up a little.”
Louis groaned, “Well, it’s working. Isn’t there something against cold water and being drunk?”
“Ah, yes. I’ve endangered our lives by soaking our feet.”
“You could’ve just said—I didn't know—maybe you’re right.”
Lestat smiled, “I didn't know.”
“You’re impossible.” Louis says, “Okay, this is too cold, let's go back.”
He follows Louis back as they lose themselves once again in a conversation neither of them will remember with exactitude in the morning but nonetheless it’s the most enjoyable chat he’s had with somebody in quite a long time.
He doesn’t press about the possibility of meeting him again despite every fiber of his being telling him to simply ask.
He can’t bring himself to do it in case it was simply the alcohol and the circumstances between them that made them cross paths that night. Louis doesn’t say anything either and he’s content with keeping the memory in his heart.
When he’s laying on the small mattress in the storage floor he begrudgingly wonders what would’ve happened if he’d brought Louis with him, he could almost picture the look of disappointment on his face upon seeing the place he lives in.
He's living that way entirely by choice, his mother gave him plenty of money a while back before she disappeared one stormy day—as if the money could easily replace her absence. Lestat hadn't touched it, not until he decided to leave the country for a while.
He could use it to find better accommodations but he’s stubborn—although the idea of having a place he can call home for himself sounded appealing he’s also unsure how much longer he’ll stay.
How long he can keep running away.
The town is all he’s ever dreamed of but he had to keep his feet on the ground and his own desires realistic. He’ll have to go back to his family eventually. Back home where he swore he wouldn’t return.
At the end of the day, as much as he loathes his family, he’s got nothing else, he's nobody without them.
He blinks away the tears gathering on the corner of his eyes and pulls the blankets over his head.
“Buonanotte.” He whispers to himself.
—
Two nights later, he's blinking away the drowsiness that crept on his body the minute he woke up, terrible way to begin his day, he was feeling exhausted and hungry but overjoyed nonetheless. Lestat had the rest of the weekend to himself when Martina announced that morning she'd be visiting some relatives in a distant town.
He could, for instance, find his old friend Nicolas who'd returned from his little trip to Paris the day before. He had ignored his arrival at the beginning—the dread of seeing him again sat heavy against his chest but he wanted to see with his own eyes that Nicki was in fact back in the village.
They met at a restaurant they both frequented at the beginning of summer. When things were easier between them.
By the terrace, sitting opposite to Nicki, he was asking all types of questions to maintain the conversation smooth; engaging in any detail he got in response. Lestat knew if he stopped talking for a minute; Nicki wouldn't have much to say in return.
He would not ask, Lestat how's your day? What have you been doing lately?
That's simply not who Nicolas was and he long ago resigned himself to think that this relationship would course through a lifetime, there was a fine line between them that neither would touch, perhaps fear on his part of tearing everything apart.
The one thing they both had most in common, was their equal love and knowledge for music.
He took a small breath, the salty breeze caressing his face—he's momentarily absent from the scene, his mind taking him back to the night he met the beautiful Louis, with his rich laughter and his quick responses.
And as if in cue with his thoughts he heard that voice again, distant and not all completely clear but Lestat could distinguish it from the crowd. He snapped his head towards the sound and saw Louis, sitting at the opposite side with two other people, their glasses full of wine and carte in their hands.
Nicki cleared his throat, "Is something the matter?"
"No," He sighed. "perdonami, just saw somebody I know."
"Of course, there's always someone you know."
Lestat shrugged, "It is a small town."
It was the wrong thing to say but nothing he said was ever right with Nicolas, not an explanation, not an apology, nothing.
"You're so fucking cynical, Lestat! Again I have to sit back and watch you focus on everyone but me!"
Lestat pinched the bridge of his nose, "You just got back."
"And what's with the Italian? Are you Italian now Lestat? Did you really think that it would help you fit in? News flash you are just another foreigner like everyone else in this fucking place!" He was yelling now in French, his words meant to cut and hurt but Lestat was detached from the conversation the minute Nicki hysterically raised his voice.
He could've apologized again but what was Lestat really sorry for?
"Do you think it's late for me to ask the waiter to bring us some wine instead?"
Nicki's face reddened "I would like you to take this seriously for once"
"And I would like you to stop acting like a child and get to the point already."
"The point? The point is you make me feel miserable!"
Lestat hummed pensively, "Is this about Paris?"
Nicholas slammed his palms on the table, he was completely enraged.
"You always do this—you always have to act like you're better than everybody else! Look at me! I am Lestat I'm above everyone else! Nobody else matters but me!" he waved his hands around as he shouted.
"So, it is about Paris." Lestat said, boredom seeping from his face.
"It's not about that!"
Lestat's lips curled, eyes wandering down to the menu, "Nicki, you haven't told me what you're ordering yet."
"Go fuck yourself." Nicki yelled, abruptly standing from the chair, silverware clattering onto the floor as he left the terrace, all eyes that followed Nicolas landed on him when his figure disappeared down the stairs.
Inevitable, he should've known the evening would turn that direction when Nicki had been quieter than usual, when he took their surroundings with disdain and wore that blank expression on his face as they strolled along main square.
If Nicolas hated anything more than Lestat it was Italy. He almost wanted to laugh and say "You should've never come back then." It was pointless now, he was not there to hear it.
Lestat was resigned to leave and spend the rest of his scandalous evening back home, perhaps he could pass by the winery and steal a couple of bottles back with him.
Martina wouldn't mind.
Lestat raised from his chair when a deep gentle voice stopped him in his tracks.
"Hey Lestat,"
"Hello Louis." he said carefully. Right, Louis had witnessed all of that.
"How… are you alright?" He sounded genuinely concerned for him in a way that he hadn't heard from anybody in quite a while.
"Perfect," he sunk his weight back on the chair.
Louis stared at him, he could almost hear the gears turning inside his head as he watched him drag the chair Nicki had been sitting on, taking a seat right next to him.
"So…"
Lestat huffed, "Just ask."
"I was trynna to be nice and let you tell me yourself."
"Tell you what?"
"Lestat,"
"I'm fine Louis," He waved his hand around the place, "See everyone forgot all about it, everything is back to normal."
Louis pressed his lips together, "It's none of my business but that guy sounded like an asshole,"
"What if I started it?"
"Did you?"
"I don't know—" Lestat exhaled shakily. "He was mad I didn't pay attention to him."
Louis was quiet, waiting for him to continue talking. But he had no explanation that would suffice when their tumultuous relationship expanded further than that single evening.
"I didn't expect to see you again." He changed the subject, aiming for a carefree smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, Louis seemed to take the hint, he didn't want to talk about it anymore.
"I was dining with my sister and her fiancé, they're sitting over there, do you want to join us?"
"Oh no Louis how could I—"
"I'm offering and they don't really mind."
Lestat grimaced, "I must've caused a wonderful first impression."
"Wasn't bad," Louis said calmly, "believe me back home that happens all the time."
"How comforting."
"It wasn't trying to be, I'm just saying that people argue all the time everywhere you go, it's pretty normal."
Lestat resigned himself to the idea of being around Louis and his family strayed far from the worst possible outcome he had in mind that night.
"You just always know what to say don't you?" He purred, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, tracking Louis' eyes that followed the movement of his fingers.
"I don't know what I'm saying half the time lately."
Lestat's brows furrowed.
"That's not true, our chat the other night is a testament to how wrong you are."
Louis gaze wandered away from his hand and settled on Lestat's eyes, "That's because I was drunk,"
"Precisely my point. Drunk you was really honest."
"If you say so," Louis said stiffly, he appeared unfazed on the exterior but Lestat didn't miss the way Louis body betrayed him, noticing how he bit the corner of his lip—the way he avoided his gaze while pulling himself off the chair.
What a delightful way to show he's embarrassed, Lestat thought fondly.
"Are you coming?" he motioned towards the table his family was occupying.
Lestat grinned, "Lead the way."
—
San Francisco, present time.
Four hours had passed in a blink of an eye. They’d given him Louis' phone and despite the cracked screen and the half drained battery it was still functional enough for him to dig through the contacts list and find Grace’s number. He restrained himself from touching anything else that would reveal things he didn’t want to see.
After much deliberation and strenuous effort he also spoke to Claudia.
It was a brief conversation solely focused on Louis; he told her what hospital they were in and she hung up in an instant.
He'd been leaning against the window, the chair was rather uncomfortable and he'd much rather bolt out of the room the minute Claudia or Louis' sister were there.
An hour later and just as he predicted it was Claudia that arrived first.
"Lestat," She heaved, catching her breath as she looked around the room, "Is he—What the hell happened?"
"Hello to you too, Claudia."
"I'm not here for you." She spoke dryly, "Tell me what happened."
Lestat preferred doing this little reunion with a glass of wine on his right and a cigarette on his left hand but unfortunately that option was not on the table. He had plenty of time to drown his sorrows and bitterness back home.
"Car accident, not his fault, other driver fell asleep and hit his car. I don't have the whole story but he's going to be, how did the doctor say it? In observation."
Claudia's nostrils flared, "Fell asleep? That bastard should rot in prison."
"Does Louis have insurance?"
"Of course he does… Should I talk to his lawyer?"
"What do you think." Lestat said briskly.
Claudia gritted her teeth, "Lestat, I am very unhappy to see you right now and I'm trying to not freak out about this so can you quit it with the snarky comments?"
He tilted his head, "Can you stop asking obvious questions?"
"Lestat—"
The doctor assigned to Louis walked inside, perfectly timed if you asked him. "Good evening. My name is Meredith, you are?" she turned to ask Claudia.
She extended her hand out to her, "I'm Claudia, I'm Louis' friend."
The doctor shook her hand, smiling politely, "And we've already met mister Lioncourt, but you never quite told me your relationship with my patient."
Lestat stared at Claudia, she was staring at him right back, both stiff and uncomfortable. She clenched her fists, she's mad, he could read her like an open book.
"I am an acq—"
"He's Louis' fiancé." Claudia interrupted him.
Meredith clapped her hands together, "Perfect, well, I should tell you both that his injuries do not require surgery, the results of his CT scan came back, he's got several fractures on his ribs but they're not life threatening."
Claudia nodded along, at one point she was standing next to the bed, carefully eyeing Louis' with grief and a tinge of desperation that Lestat could empathize with.
"He's also suffered a mild contusion and he will remain intubated for the time being. Ortho has been informed already and they'll be here briefly for further examination."
"Do you know when he'll wake up?" Claudia asked flatly.
"It's hard to say, he suffered a traumatic brain injury it could be well in a few hours or days. It all depends on the person."
Lestat absentmindedly played with the rings on his fingers, he had nothing to add to the conversation, anything he had wanted to ask Claudia did on her own, the conversation exchanged back and forth between them and eventually the doctor excused herself out of the room.
Once more, the only sound that filled the room was the monitor latched on Louis' finger, the only indicator that his heart was still beating—still alive.
"Are you staying?" Claudia asked dryly, she wasn't looking at him when she spoke.
"No, I don't think I'll be of much help here."
"You're right," she said snidely, "But you're here, why are you here?"
Lestat exhaled, "Well we should ask Louis here, wait, we can't."
"Why are you here Lestat." She seemed less angry, perhaps frustrated but her question was genuine curiosity. She placed a hand above Louis arm, watching the slow rise and descend of his chest.
"He had my number saved in his phone."
"Seriously?"
"I don't see why I would lie about that."
Claudia turned to him with a grim expression, "You've never been the type to be honest about anything, Lestat."
"Oh my, so you don't believe me."
"I don't want to." She muttered, fixing her gaze back at the bed, she watched Louis' face for a couple of seconds, as if he'd awake and answer for them, but he couldn't in the state he was in. "But I believe that's something he would do."
Lestat wishes he could leave already.
"You should stay." She finally spoke up again.
"I can't."
"Don't leave—" Don't leave Louis, she most likely wanted to say, "I'll have to call him because it's the decent thing to do but not because I want to and I don't want Louis to be alone."
"He won't be alone you're here."
Claudia shook her head, "He'll make me leave. You and I can put aside our personal animosities for Louis' but it doesn't work like that with him.
Lestat let out an exasperated breath, she was circling around this person and he wanted her to spit it out already. "Him, does this him have a name?"
Claudia walked to the chair, dragging it closer towards the bed and sat right where she could see Louis, she was fidgeting with her hands—there was an uneasiness and above all exhaustion written all over her face, they both were, the dreaded reunion was taking a toll on him and he couldn't imagine why she would ask him to stay.
She rubbed her face. "I'm talking about Armand,"
Lestat didn't respond, he felt nauseous, he was never good at concealing his expressions, he couldn't keep up with too many ghosts of his past in one single day, he tilted his face to stare at Claudia's dull eyes who was staring back at him.
His mouth tightened slightly, not waiting for a response he strode towards the door.
"I need a cigarette."