[ Louis looks a sight, as always. When Lestat is away Louis of course lingers in his mind like a beautiful, haunting spectre; elegant, ethereal, something like a dream. When he sees him before him with his very own eyes, the world seems to burst into unimaginable colour. The magnetism he has over Lestat draws him in like a gravitational pull. In moments like this Lestat wonders if he has ever truly appreciated how expertly crafted Louis is. But, in honesty, he does this every time. Always with the same answer.

There is a wonderful little burst of energy to Louis' movements when he enters. Excitement, Lestat thinks. Eagerness. Some of his favourite words. And the small kiss he presses to his cheek that Lestat so easily returns - will this rapture ever cease to amaze him? Circling one another like planets naturally progressing to these touches here and there. It drives him wild. He almost forgets about the package. Almost.]

I did. The air is so different here, I still can't quite believe how so.

[ He lays the package down on a nearby vanity, the magazines on top, and puts his hands to his hips as he looks around at the room. ]

Have you been reading all this time? Really, Louis, there are more things to life, you know.

[ He teases. There is a glitter to his eyes. He knows exactly what he's doing. ]