Chapter Text
"No, listen,” Lestat said, leaning back in his chair, one ankle hooked over his knee. "She’s absolutely a jewel thief.”
Louis snorted, rubbing his hands together for warmth. "She’s eighty.”
"Exactly,” Lestat replied. "No one suspects her. That scarf? Stolen in the sixties from some exiled king. Those earrings? Smuggled out of Monaco in the seventies.”
Louis glanced toward the woman in question, a tiny grandmotherly figure with perfectly set white hair, dozing with her purse clutched to her chest. "She’s wearing orthopedic shoes.”
"A clever disguise”
Louis shook his head, smiling despite himself. "You’ve watched too many movies.”
"And you,” Lestat said, pointing at him, "lack imagination.”
They were seated at gate K17, surrounded by the soft chaos of delayed travel. The overhead lights had dimmed slightly, as if the airport had decided to bring night inside. Outside the windows, snow pressed against the glass in a steady white blur.
Louis shifted in his seat, his coat pulled tight around him. He was tired in that strange, buzzy way where sleep felt possible but never quite arrived. His phone said it was well past midnight. His body felt like it existed in a different time zone entirely.
"Okay. Then explain him.”
He nodded toward a man a few seats down, in his early thirties maybe, immaculately dressed despite the circumstances, typing furiously on a laptop balanced on his knees.
Lestat followed his gaze, considering. "Corporate spy.”
Louis laughed. "Of course.”
"Absolutely,” Lestat continued. "He’s not actually flying anywhere. He just uses airports because the Wi-Fi is anonymous and no one asks questions.”
"That’s not how Wi-Fi works.”
"Doesn’t matter,” Lestat waved off. "He’s transmitting sensitive information as we speak.”
Louis leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. "I think he’s just trying to meet a deadline.”
"That’s what they want you to think.”
Louis grinned, eyes warm. "Alright, my turn.” He glanced around, taking in the scattered figures nearby. "See that couple?”
A man and a woman sat close together, sharing earbuds, heads tilted toward each other. They looked comfortable in a way that suggested years rather than months.
"They’re pretending this is a spontaneous trip,” Louis declared. "But really, they’re running away from a dinner with his parents that went catastrophically wrong.”
Lestat hummed. "What happened?”
"She corrected his mother’s pronunciation of a French word,” Louis said. "It escalated.”
Lestat winced appreciatively. "Legitimate. I would have done the same.”
"They’ll survive,” Louis added. "But they’ll never spend Christmas Eve Eve with his family again.”
Lestat smiled. "A happy ending, then.”
"Exactly.”
They sat in silence for a moment, watching the snow, listening to the low murmur of voices and the occasional crackle of announcements that never quite said anything useful.
Lestat leaned closer. "What about them?”
He gestured subtly toward a group of college-aged kids sprawled across three rows of chairs, laughing too loudly, surrounded by snacks and half-empty coffee cups and Coke cans.
Louis watched them fondly. "First time traveling without supervision,” he said. "They’re convinced this is an adventure.”
"And is it?” Lestat asked.
Louis thought about it. About the night, the piano, the dinner, the strange warmth of sitting next to someone who felt increasingly familiar.
"Yes,” he said. "It is.”
Lestat looked at him, something unreadable flickering across his face, then smiled.
They kept going, spinning increasingly ridiculous backstories. A man asleep with his mouth open was a disgraced former weatherman fleeing a lawsuit. A woman pacing near the window was secretly rehearsing a confession she would never make to her best friend. A child building a tower out of empty cups was destined for architectural greatness around the world.
Louis laughed so hard at one point that he had to press his knuckles to his lips to keep quiet.
"You’re insane,” he said.
"You love it,” Lestat replied. Louis didn’t argue.
Eventually, the game slowed, their energy softening as the night deepened. Louis shifted again, stifling a yawn he didn’t quite manage to hide.
Lestat noticed immediately. "Tired?”
"Just a little,” Louis said, though his eyelids felt heavy. "I worked this morning. Had to close a project. And then there was this whole existential odyssey.”
"Well, it didn’t turn out that bad.”
Louis smiled faintly, then reached into his bag, fingers brushing against something crinkly. He pulled out the paperback they’d bought earlier, its glossy cover catching the overhead light.
"Oh no,” Lestat was delighted. "I forgot about that.”
"It’s only your fault,” Louis replied.
He flipped it open at random, scanning a page. "Okay, listen to this.” He cleared his throat theatrically. "‘His gaze burned like freshly fallen snow under a full moon.’”
Lestat burst out laughing. "That doesn’t even make sense.”
"It gets worse,” Louis said. "‘She felt her pulse skitter like a frightened rabbit.’”
"I’m offended on behalf of rabbits everywhere.”
Louis grinned, turning another page. "Oh. Oh, this is good. ‘Their proximity was both a comfort and a torment.’”
Lestat leaned over, shoulder brushing Louis’. "Read that again.”
Louis shot him a look. "Don’t.”
"I’m serious,” Lestat murmured.
Louis sighed but complied, trying not to fix his gaze on the other’s slightly disclosed lips. He reread the line, his voice lower this time, slower. He was suddenly very aware of how close they were, of the warmth radiating from Lestat’s side.
"Hm,” Lestat said thoughtfully. "I see what they were going for.”
"You would,” Louis muttered. Then: "What would you do? I mean, in that situation. If you were stuck in a cabin in the woods with… someone.” He was glad to confirm that there was still no connection between his brain and his mouth.
Lestat shrugged, but seemed to really be thinking about it, with a little frown and all. "It depends,” he started. "If we’re strangers, we get along, and we’re okay with it… there isn’t much else to do, right?” He tilted his head, voice low, watching Louis intently. "What’s their relationship?”
Louis stared. "We’re strangers.”
Lestat pressed his lips to hold back a smile. "In the book.”
"Oh!” Louis rushed to flip the book over and search for any clue on the cover. "Hm, they’re exes… yes, exes.” He cleared his throat. "Sounds -”
"Sounds good!” The blond exclaimed. "I guess they’re not on good terms.” He frowned. "Must be steamy down there…”
"It’s either very bad or very productive.”
"What do you mean?”
"Well,” Louis was more than willing to divert the conversation from the implications of steamy, "it depends on the ex. I wouldn’t be glad to find myself in that situation with all my exes.”
Lestat pondered about it, then nodded. "Like?”
"Like Jonah. We were together for four years. It was good, but you know, that kind of good that is just…”
"Just okay?” Lestat suggested.
"Yes, just okay. In the end, breaking up was just admitting that things were just… okay. No tears, no drama. From time to time we meet and talk, but I wouldn’t be so glad to be stuck in a cabin with him.” After a moment of silence, he looked at Lestat. The other man had a light frown on his face, a small crease between his eyebrows.
"What’s wrong?” Louis asked.
"Nothing,” Lestat said. "I was wondering… is ‘just okay’ so bad? Is that a deal-breaker in a relationship?”
Louis hesitated, considering the question more seriously than he’d expected to. He closed the book partway, thumb keeping the page as if that might help him think.
"I don’t think it’s bad,” he said finally. "I think it’s… insufficient. Like eating the same meal every day. You won’t starve, but you also won’t look forward to dinner.”
Lestat’s mouth curved slightly at that, not quite a smile. "You want anticipation.”
"I want to feel awake,” Louis replied. "I want something that pulls at me a little and makes me choose it, not just slide into it because it’s comfortable and safe.”
Lestat nodded slowly, eyes drifting somewhere past Louis’ shoulder, as if he were lining up old memories and testing them against that standard. "Nicki wasn’t just okay,” he said after a moment. "He was… too much. Everything was always burning. It was wonderful at first, exciting, because we were young and fresh out of art school and nothing was enough. We wanted more and more and more, until one morning we woke up and we were both exhausted.”
“Is he the one who got married?”
“Yes. He invited me, of course. Some grand, lavish thing in Paris. The whole orchestra he works with was invited.”
That detail made a bell sound in Louis’ brain, but he couldn’t place it. Someone had been at a wedding in Paris, maybe? At a -
“Is he a pianist, too?” Louis asked.
“A violinist. Incredibly talented, but too much.”
"That sounds like the opposite problem compared to ‘just okay’.”
"It is,” Lestat agreed. "But sometimes I wonder if I wouldn’t prefer ‘just okay’ to something that leaves scorch marks.”
“Maybe that’s the reason why your friend Antoine started to introduce you to new people. So that you could find your ‘just okay’.”
Something flickered over Lestat’s face, as if his eyes narrowed for a second and that crease between his eyebrows appeared again. It was just a moment, however, and then he smiled again.
“Sure. That’s exactly what Antoine wants.”
"Maybe he knows that the trick is wanting something that’s more than okay without setting your life on fire.”
Lestat let out a quiet laugh. "If you ever figure out how to do that, you should teach a class.”
"I’ll add it to my résumé,” Louis said. "Right under ‘financial analyst’ and ‘excellent airport survival companion.’”
"That one I can personally endorse,” Lestat replied.
They shared a look then, easy and lingering, and only in that moment Louis seemed to notice how blue Lestat’s eyes were and how the waves of his hair fell as he tilted his head and -
“So,” Lestat started, tapping the edge of the book, “do they hate each other yet?”
Louis glanced back down at the page. “Oh, deeply. It seems there’s a lot of glaring and internal monologues about unresolved feelings.” He flipped another page. "And - look at this - the chapter title is Only One Bed.”
Lestat perked up immediately. “Promising.”
Louis read aloud, deadpan. "‘He removed his gloves slowly, deliberately, as she watched him biting her lip -’ why are there always gloves?”
"It’s symbolism,” Lestat said. "She clearly has repressed desire. Possibly cold hands, and wants his… gloves.”
Louis shot him a look. "You’re enjoying this far too much.”
Lestat grinned.
Louis turned another page, then stopped, frowning slightly as a sudden thought seemed to ambush him.
"You know,” he said, distracted, "we probably could’ve checked if there’s a hotel inside the airport.”
Lestat blinked. "A hotel,” he repeated slowly.
"Yes,” Louis continued, entirely earnest. "We could’ve gotten a room. To…” he gestured vaguely at the book, "A few hours. In bed, like humans do.”
He realized, a second too late, that he had not actually finished the sentence.
Lestat didn’t say anything at first. He just tilted his head slightly, eyes flicking up and down Louis’ face with sudden, sharp interest, like his brain had latched onto a very specific interpretation and was refusing to let go.
"Oh,” he whispered.
Louis immediately shook his head. "No. No, that’s not - I mean -”
"Mhm,” Lestat hummed, still watching him.
"I mean sleeping,” Louis added quickly, heat creeping up his neck, "because it’s late. And the chairs are terrible. And we’re not going anywhere until morning.”
Lestat’s mouth twitched. "Of course.”
"Pragmatic,” Louis went on, absolutely digging his own grave now, "purely logistical. Very… practical.”
"Sure,” Lestat said, nodding slowly. "Practical.”
Louis narrowed his eyes. "Don’t do that.”
"Do what?”
"That,” Louis said. "That look.”
Lestat smiled, an unashamed grin widening on his face. "You can’t bring up a hotel room at midnight during a snowstorm while we’re reading a romance novel about people trapped together who will almost certainly end up fucking each other’s brains out and expect me not to react.”
"I can and I will,” Louis insisted. "Because I’m thinking about resting. And spinal support.”
"And I,” Lestat replied, "am thinking about the narrative implications.”
Louis peeked at him. "You’re really enjoying this.”
"A little,” Lestat admitted. "Mostly because you turned pink.”
"I did not.”
"You absolutely did. You’re cute.”
Louis groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. "Forget I said anything.”
"Too late,” Lestat said lightly. "It’s canon now.”
Louis sighed, then cracked a reluctant smile. "Anyway,” he said, reopening the book, "it’s probably fully booked. Everyone else here had the same brilliant idea.”
"Probably. Also, for the record, if you want to give it a try and check now, I wouldn’t be opposed to this very practical plan.”
Louis risked another look at him. "You wouldn’t?”
"No,” Lestat shook his head. "I have a pair of gloves I can take off slowly while you look at me and bite your lip.”
Louis swallowed. "It’s tempting.”
Lestat leaned impossibly closer, one arm on the backrest of Louis’ chair. "So, Louis, do you want to check?”
Louis couldn’t breathe. He could only sit there and watch Lestat’s face, Lestat’s eyes, the little scar next to Lestat’s mouth, Lestat’s lips. It was like his brain had shut down every vital function except one looping thought.
Kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss k-
"Let’s just keep reading,” he managed, somehow steady.
Lestat held still for a moment, then broke into a soft, wide smile and nodded. "As you wish.”
Louis scanned the page, then read aloud again, pointedly. "‘They lay side by side, acutely aware of the space between them.’” He paused. "Rude.”
Lestat laughed softly, the sound warm and low, close enough that Louis could feel it in his chest. “I wouldn’t leave all that space.”
Louis didn’t know how much time passed after that. At some point, he leaned back, his head tipping against the hard plastic of the chair. His eyes drifted closed without his permission.
He startled slightly when he felt movement beside him.
"I’m just -” Lestat said softly. "Don’t move.”
Louis cracked one eye open. "What?”
"I’ll be right back,” Lestat said. "I promise.”
Before Louis could protest, Lestat stood and disappeared into the terminal, swallowed by the dim light and rows of seats.
Louis frowned, suddenly aware of the cold again. He hugged his coat tighter around himself, telling his body to stay awake, then flipped the book closed, resting it on his lap, and stared out at the snow.
He wasn’t sure how much time passed. Minutes, maybe. He might have drifted again, just a little.
Then Lestat was back, cheeks flushed from the cold, triumph written all over his face.
"Don’t ask,” he said, already unfolding something metallic.
Louis blinked. "Is that -”
"A thermal blanket,” Lestat confirmed. "They’re handing them out near security. Very exclusive, we couldn’t miss it.”
He draped it carefully over Louis’ shoulders before he could object, tucking it around him with surprising gentleness. The material crinkled softly, trapping warmth.
"Oh,” Louis said quietly. "That’s actually really nice.”
Lestat smiled, clearly pleased. "You were freezing.”
"You didn’t have to.”
"I wanted to.”
They settled back into their seats, the blanket wide enough to cover them both. Louis hesitated only a second before shifting slightly.
Lestat didn’t move. Instead, he slid an arm around Louis’ shoulders, Louis feeling too tired to move away. Not that he thought about doing it. Why should he?
The airport hummed around them, now distant and muted. An announcement crackled overhead, something about continued delays, but Louis barely registered it.
His eyes grew heavy again.
"Louis?” Lestat murmured.
"Mmh?”
"If you fall asleep,” Lestat said, voice low, "I promise I won’t draw on your face.”
Louis smiled, eyes still closed. "I don’t believe you.”
"Okay,” Lestat admitted. "I promise I’ll consider it.”
Louis laughed softly, the sound fading as sleep finally claimed him.
He didn’t remember when his head tipped fully against Lestat’s shoulder. He only knew that it felt natural, that the warmth beside him was steady and reassuring, that for the first time all night, his body truly relaxed.
Lestat stayed still, watching the snow, listening to the slow rhythm of Louis’ breathing, the world paused around them.
For now, there was nowhere else to be.
***
"Louis.”
The voice filtered into his sleep slowly, gently, like it had been there for a while already, waiting for him to surface.
"Louis,” Lestat repeated, softer now.
Louis shifted, a vague protest forming somewhere in his chest. He was warm, too warm to move. His head felt heavy in the best possible way, supported by something solid and reassuring. He frowned, eyes still closed.
"Five more minutes,” he murmured.
Lestat smiled, though Louis couldn’t see it. "I would love to,” he said, "but if you don’t wake up now, we’re going to miss our flight.”
That did it.
Louis jerked awake, blinking blearily, the airport rushing back into focus in fragments: plastic chairs, dimmed lights, snow pressed against the windows. He straightened too fast and immediately regretted it. He realized in the back of his mind that the solid, warm and reassuring thing he had felt was in fact Lestat’s chest.
"What?” he croaked.
"Our flight,” Lestat said, still close, still warm. "They just announced it. Boarding in about forty minutes.”
Louis stared at him, brain scrambling to catch up. "No,” he said. "You’re lying.”
"I never lie before coffee,” Lestat replied.
Louis fumbled for his phone, nearly dropping it. The screen lit up, painfully bright, confirming the time and - miraculously - a notification from the airline.
Flight to New Orleans now boarding soon. Please proceed to gate K17.
Louis let out a sound that was half laugh, half disbelieving exhale. "Holy shit.”
Lestat watched his face, clearly enjoying the delayed reaction. "You slept very peacefully, by the way.”
"I drooled, didn’t I,” Louis said immediately.
"Just a little.”
"I knew it.”
Lestat laughed quietly. "You also snored.”
"I absolutely did not.”
"You did,” Lestat insisted. "Once. But it was all very dignified, don’t worry.”
Louis rubbed his face with both hands, trying to reboot his brain. "I can’t believe we’re actually leaving.”
"I can,” Lestat said. "But if you want to stay, I’ve already planned what we’d do on our second night together.”
"In a hotel, maybe,” Louis said, the words escaping before he could stop them.
Lestat raised his eyebrows.
Louis did not dignify him with a response.
They stood slowly, stiff and half-asleep, joints protesting. Somehow Lestat still looked unfairly put together, too relaxed for someone who’d just spent hours in a plastic chair with a man sleeping and drooling on him.
They gathered their things. Louis slung his bag over his shoulder, checking automatically that his phone, wallet, and passport were where they should be.
"You good?” Lestat asked.
"Yeah,” Louis said. He caught his reflection in the dark window and winced.
Lestat watched him with open amusement. "You look like you survived some life-changing event.”
"I did,” Louis replied. "You.”
Lestat placed a hand over his heart. "I’ll take that as a compliment. Anyway, you look wonderful.”
Louis dropped his gaze to the ground.
The gate area had shifted from exhausted stillness to cautious movement. People were waking up, stretching, and checking screens. The collective mood edged from resignation to wary hope.
They joined the short line forming near the desk. The same grandmother from earlier - the jewel thief, according to Lestat - stood a few people ahead, leaning on her cane and looking remarkably alert for someone who’d been asleep not long ago.
"See?” Lestat murmured. "She knows.”
Louis nudged him with his elbow.
When it was their turn, they handed over boarding passes. The agent scanned them with the practiced indifference of someone who’d seen worse nights.
"Have a good flight,” she said, sounding like she meant good luck.
Inside the aircraft, a flight attendant gestured them forward. Lestat glanced at his boarding pass, then down the aisle to the left. His eyebrows lifted.
"Well,” he said.
"What?” Louis asked.
"First class,” Lestat replied. "Apparently.”
Louis stopped walking. "Excuse me?”
Lestat held up the boarding pass. "I collect miles because I travel a lot. Nothing special.”
Louis stared at him, then scoffed. "Of course you do.”
"What’s that supposed to mean?”
Louis resumed walking, shaking his head. "Nothing. Just that of course the seventh son of a French marquis is in first class.”
Lestat laughed. "I assure you, it’s mostly a matter of legroom and bad champagne.”
Louis eyed the sign marking the separate lines. "Enjoy your silk pillows and emotional distance from the rest of us.”
"I’ll try not to let it change me,” Lestat said solemnly.
They reached the point where the aisle split. Economy stretched back, narrow and utilitarian. First class curved forward, all wider seats and soft lighting.
"Well,” Louis said, stopping. "This is where we finally part ways.”
Lestat hesitated. "Yes.”
A strange pause settled between them, heavier than it needed to be. Louis didn’t like how quickly the thought of sitting alone landed.
"Guess I’ll see you in New Orleans,” Louis said lightly, too lightly to seem natural.
"See you there,” Lestat replied. He opened his mouth, as if to add something else, then didn’t. He turned toward first class.
Louis nodded and moved down the aisle with the rest of economy, found his seat - middle, of course - and stowed his bag under the seat in front of him with the resignation of someone who knew too well the universe played games and had fun doing that.
He buckled in, exhaled, stared straight ahead.
This was it, then. End of the odd, accidental bubble. Back to strangers and distance and what-ifs. Back to his friends planning blind dates for him, after he had the best date-not-date of his entire life.
It felt strange, even if he told himself not to be dramatic. They’d had a night, yes. A very strange, very specific night, with very specific vibes. He supposed airports did that to people. By tomorrow, it would soften into something fond and unreal, a story you told friends with a laugh.
He glanced up the aisle once more, then leaned back with a sigh.
Airport magic had an expiration date, after all.
The alleged jewel thief reached his row, checked the numbers overhead, and beamed.
"Oh, dear, looks like I’m in good company! And a window seat, how lucky.”
Louis smiled automatically and helped her with her bag - despite his misery, his mother’s teachings were stronger than anything else.
She had been talking to him about her grandson in New Orleans - her single, real estate agent grandson with a high monthly income living in New Orleans - for about five minutes, when a voice came from the aisle.
"Excuse me.”
"Sir, could you please return to your seat?”
Louis blinked, suddenly alert. He glanced up, just to see Lestat coming up the aisle holding his boarding pass and wearing the expression of a man about to do something deeply unnecessary. He looked fondly at Louis, ignored the flight attendant behind him and bent toward the old lady.
"I’m so sorry to bother you,” Lestat started, all charm and earnestness. "But would you, by any chance, enjoy sitting in first class tonight?”
The woman blinked, suspicious. "First class?”
"Yes,” Lestat said. "More space, better snacks, bad champagne that pretends to be glorious. You’d be doing me a tremendous favor.”
"Oh, dear,” she said, "why?”
"I have a very important reason to sit here.”
Louis stared at him, brain refusing to cooperate.
The woman followed his gaze to Louis, then back to Lestat. Her smile turned knowing. "Oh,” she said. "I see.”
Louis flushed. "I’m sorry, you don’t have to -” You have to, he thought. Now go away and let him sit.
"I’d love to,” she said, already unbuckling. She had considered it for a grand total of two seconds. She looked up at Lestat. "I’ve never flown first class.”
Lestat chuckled. "Then tonight is your night.”
He took her arm gently, helping her up with her bag. She patted his cheek on the way past.
"You’re a sweet, good boy,” she said.
Lestat was pretty much glowing. "I know.”
Within seconds it was done. The woman swept away toward luxury, delighted. Lestat slid into the seat beside Louis as if this had been the plan all along.
"You are unbelievable,” Louis said.
"Thank you.”
"You just gave up first class.”
"Yes.”
"On purpose.”
"Yes.”
"For me.”
Lestat tilted his head. "As you noticed last night, I don’t like sitting alone.”
Louis stared at him, something warm and ridiculous blooming in his chest. "I don’t know what to say.”
"Then don’t say anything.”
Louis buckled his seatbelt. "You know this is wildly impractical.”
"This whole night was wildly impractical,” Lestat replied, settling in. "We slept on airport chairs, under a thermal blanket. We had dinner in a luxury airport restaurant. You’ve seen my shopping habits. I played piano in an airport, at night, while people were trying to sleep. We even met a geriatric jewel thief and a corporate spy using airport wi-fi. This night was unforgettable.”
Louis laughed softly, then leaned his head back against the seat, suddenly very aware of how close Lestat was again. When their arms touched, neither moved away.
The cabin lights dimmed slightly as the last passengers boarded. Overhead bins slammed shut. The low murmur of voices faded into something expectant.
A flight attendant’s voice came over the speakers, calm and rehearsed. Louis half-listened, lulled by the familiarity of it.
"You did that very casually,” he said after a moment.
"What?”
"The whole seat-switching thing.”
Lestat shrugged. "She looked like she deserved it, and I really wanted to sit here.”
"You know you have to pay for food in economy, don’t you?”
The other gasped. "Then I’ll go back to first class immediately.”
Louis chuckled. "You don’t even know me.”
"I know enough.”
Louis swallowed.
Later, the flight itself passed in a way that felt both impossibly fast and strangely suspended.
As the plane taxied, slowed, then paused, engines humming with restrained impatience, Louis felt that familiar click inside his chest, the one he always felt when he was going back home. He mentioned it to Lestat without thinking, explaining his feelings about seeing his forever home again, while the blonde listened to him in silence.
And so Louis talked. About New Orleans, because it felt necessary now, because keeping it to himself suddenly seemed wrong. He told him about walking down Royal Street early in the morning, before the tourists woke up, when the light was still soft and the air still smelled faintly like yesterday’s rain. About how the city never really slept and how alive it always was it just changed its mind about what kind of day it wanted to be. About Café du Monde at obscene hours and the collective agreement that eating beignets buried under powdered sugar at three in the morning wasn’t absurd at all. In fact, it was one of Louis’ favourite things to do. He talked about the cemeteries, too - how peaceful they were, how the tombs rose above ground like miniature houses, as if the dead had simply decided to stay close.
He even mentioned the house on Royal Street that had been for sale for years, the one he’d fallen in love with without ever stepping inside. The one he still thought about on mornings when he woke up at five, half-asleep and already tired, living in a city that wasn’t supposed to be temporary anymore.
"Bad thing you live and work in Chicago,” Lestat commented.
"Yes,” Louis replied, his voice drifting. "Bad thing.” It was exactly what he’d been thinking for the past year.
Bad thing I live in Chicago.
"You’d like Frenchmen Street,” he went on, picking the thread back up. "There’s music everywhere. Even the bad bands sound good because they’re playing like it matters.”
"Everything matters if you pay attention,” Lestat replied. He listened with his whole body turned slightly toward him, attentive without looking like he was trying too hard to… pay attention. "I want to see all of it. Everything the city has to offer.”
"You will,” Louis said without thinking. A pause. "I mean - if you have time.”
Lestat’s smile widened. "I can make time.”
Louis frowned slightly, a new thought pushing its way forward. "How long are you staying?” It was important. It was crucial.
"Until mid-January. I need some time… like you said.”
"Oh, okay. I have to go back to Chicago on January 5th. We can…”
"Sure.”
It was enough.
The smile that spread across Louis’ face was totally natural, also the thoughts in his mind.
At some point, Lestat insisted on buying drinks, and Louis - who desired a hot, over-sugared cappuccino like a water-greedy explorer lost in a desert - let him. He came back balancing two tiny boxes that Louis recognized as boxed wine as the blonde came closer. Louis stared at them, incredulous.
"They’re serving that?” he asked.
"They serve everything at six in the morning if you look confident or miserable enough,” Lestat said. "I think it was both. Also, you looked like you needed something celebratory. And the hostess said to wave at her when you want a cappuccino.”
Suddenly the wine was okay.
Louis laughed and reached out for it. It was mediocre, predictably, but it didn’t matter. They clinked the little boxes together quietly, like they had done a few hours earlier in the restaurant, then interlaced their arms to drink.
“Wine at not even seven a.m. isn’t something I expected to find in my Christmas bucket list,” Louis noted.
“You know, Germans often kiss after drinking like this.”
Oh.
Eventually, the conversation thinned out. The plane hummed around them, steady and constant. At some point Louis realized he’d been watching Lestat for longer than was reasonable.
The blond was turned toward the window, forehead resting lightly against the glass, eyes fixed on the horizon. The sky was beginning to change, the dark giving way to something pale and tentative. Bands of color stretched slowly upward, soft pinks and diluted gold, precious things in the now light blue sky.
Louis felt something twist as realization hit.
There was nothing dramatic about the moment. It was just the quiet awareness that he liked this - watching someone else he was suddenly aware he cared about witnessing something beautiful, knowing he’d remember it. Lestat’s face, softened by the early light, looked somehow younger.
Louis looked away, suddenly self-conscious, and focused on the seatback in front of him. He told himself this was normal, that this was just what happened when you spent an entire unforgettable night talking to someone in a place where life stopped behaving properly.
When the captain announced their descent, Louis felt a strange pang of resistance. Too soon, it was too soon. A few hours before he had been desperate for this odyssey to end, and now he didn’t want it to.
New Orleans hit him immediately. Even the airport felt warmer, louder, more alive. The air itself carried something familiar that loosened Louis’ shoulders the moment he stepped off the plane.
He was home.
So why did his chest feel so heavy?
They moved through the airport together, following signs, reclaiming their bags from the carousel. Louis’ suitcase appeared quickly - black, scuffed, reassuringly ordinary. Lestat’s followed moments later, impossibly pristine, like him.
Louis could’ve hated him for that.
They stepped aside once they had everything, letting the flow of passengers split around them. People were already greeting family, calling rides, moving on toward lives that were clearly continuing without pause.
This was it, then. The real end of the strange little world they’d built between snowstorms and delayed flights and bad romance novels and airport pianos, now that the real world was pressing back in.
Louis shifted his bag on his shoulder, suddenly unsure what to do with his hands. In his pockets? Gesturing? Behind his back? What did actors do in movies?
"So,” he said, because someone had to break the stillness, "this is where I officially stop being useful.”
Lestat smiled at him. "You’ve been extremely useful. I would’ve died of boredom somewhere over Kansas without you.”
"Sure,” Louis replied, but he was smiling too.
They stood there, just a little too close to be casual, just far enough apart that it still counted as polite. Close enough that he could smell Lestat’s cologne again. Louis was acutely aware of how many ways this could go wrong if he overthought it. So he didn’t. And then he did.
"I’ll text you,” he said, decisively. "I mean- if you want. I can show you around. The parts that aren’t in guidebooks.”
"I want that,” Lestat said immediately. "Very much.”
"I’m serious,” Louis added, momentum carrying him forward. "I can take you places. There are walks, cafés, shops. Some of my favourite places seem like nothing special but they’re absolutely worth it, I swear. You know, not just postcard places. We can start with food, my aunt cooks the best gumbo in my family and you have to -”
Lestat chuckled. "Louis.”
"Ah, sorry.” Louis snorted and looked down for a moment, a little embarrassed. "Planning too much.”
"No, I mean…” The other’s eyes were warm. "It’s a good plan. I want to see it all. I want to… take it in properly.”
Louis nodded. "You will. And I will.”
There was a meaningful pause, like in those romcoms Grace had forced him to watch as a teenager, the kind where the music swelled and the characters leaned in and -
Until Lestat started laughing. It wasn’t a polite laugh - it was a real one, warm and surprised and ridiculously loud, shoulders shaking and all, completely uncontained.
Louis froze, the words replaying in his head with horrifying clarity.
I want to take it in properly.
And I will.
Oh no. No.
"Oh,” he said quickly. "I - that’s not - I meant -” He gestured between them, then toward the terminal, then nowhere useful at all. "I meant you will take it in properly. The city. Not that you will put it in - Oh God, it’s getting worse.” He stopped and took a deep breath. "I will… show you around. You will see the city and I will show you the city.”
Lestat was still smiling, eyes bright with amusement. "Of course,” he said mildly. "That’s exactly how I took it.”
"Good,” Louis muttered. "Great. Fantastic.”
Lestat stepped a little closer. "Though,” he added, voice low and playful, "I do admire your commitment.”
Louis groaned. "Please stop talking. I'm just too tired, I can't think clearly.”
Lestat only smiled wider. "We can still check for that hotel room, if you want.”
"Stop.”
"Okay, okay.” He lifted his hands in surrender, then softened. "Thank you,” he said. "For the night, for staying with me and for not thinking I’m completely unhinged.”
"I absolutely think you’re unhinged,” Louis replied. "Just not in a deal-breaking way. God, you always laugh like that?”
Lestat chuckled, low and fond. "High praise. So… until very soon.”
"Until very soon.”
The other watched him for a moment more, then opened his arms just slightly.
Louis didn’t overthink it. He stepped in.
The hug was warm and solid and lasted longer than polite. Louis’ cheek pressed against Lestat’s shoulder, his hand resting flat against the blond’s back. Lestat’s fingers curled lightly at Louis’ side, then settled between his shoulder blades like they belonged there. Louis turned his head to Lestat’s neck, breathing in his perfume, blonde hair tickling his face. He felt Lestat let out a sigh.
When they pulled apart, it wasn’t all the way. Lestat leaned in before Louis could fully recalibrate, his lips pressing on Louis’ cheek. It was quick, soft, but unmistakably intentional. Louis felt the ghost of it linger even after Lestat pulled back.
"There,” Lestat murmured. "For luck.”
They held each other’s gaze for a beat longer, then Louis turned before he could talk himself into staying. He walked toward the exit, heart thudding a little harder than usual, wondering if Lestat had felt it against his chest, and didn’t look back until he was already halfway across the terminal.
He didn’t see that Lestat was still standing there, watching him go.
Outside, the air was damp and mild, unmistakably New Orleans. Louis slid into the back of a taxi, gave his parents’ house address and leaned back as the car pulled away from the curb.
Only then did Louis let himself grin like the huge idiot he was.
He leaned his head back against the seat, staring up at nothing, replaying everything in quick flashes. The dinner. The piano. The blanket. The wine boxes. The hug and the kiss on the cheek that had absolutely not been nothing. The way Lestat’s hair shone like gold under the soft lights of the restaurant. He had given up First class to sit next to Louis.
Claudia and Armand were going to lose their minds.
He could already see it - Claudia’s smug little smile and Armand’s carefully neutral interest masking intense satisfaction. Take this, Louis thought, almost giddy. Take this the next time you try to introduce me to some perfectly fine man I feel absolutely nothing for.
His head felt light, empty. It was ridiculous.
He felt feral.
Text him.
He’d wait until he was home, and finally text him he had made it. He’d wait and -
Text him text him text him text -
Louis reached for his phone immediately. He’d write something casual, something funny, something that said I’m home and I’m still thinking about you without actually saying that. Something that didn’t sound like his heart was still doing strange things.
Still can’t believe last night.
Thank you.
I’m glad we got stuck.
Chicago wasn’t so bad, after all.
We should’ve kissed properly.
I’d be glad if you got stuck inside me.
Okay, maybe not that.
Louis had to text him. Immediately.
He unlocked his phone and opened his contacts.
Larry.
Levi.
Lily.
He stopped.
Scrolled back up, then down again, slower this time, like the name might appear if he gave it a moment.
It didn’t.
Louis stared at the screen as the realization landed, quiet and brutal all at once.
A disaster.
A catastrophe.
He didn’t have Lestat’s number.