Louis enters the manor house silently, heading up the carpeted stairs to your resting chambers. He's become familiar with the walls and the scent of this building, as if it were his own. Sometimes the idea is enticing, but he was supposed to be gone ages ago, it's almost been two years, he's still here.

Lover seems to be the right word for you, companion makes his chest ache and his breathing shallow. His baby, Claudia, she's gone. She's gone and it feels like yesterday, and despite his estrangement with Lestat, the prince's company was missed for some time. After the massacre he carried out that fateful night, Louis became a rogue, stuck in Europe, he became completely alone, until he met you. A performer that he met at a bar, lively, empathetic, a creature of the night- like him. Abandoned by the one you trusted, made not out of love or want but guilt and shame, his presence brought you a sense of stability.

Now he's jumping from the rut and clamor of dingy pubs, into the warmth and safety of your arms. It's a constant loop of mourning and a state of being lost, he was utterly sick of everything, sick of himself. You take the suffering of his mind and the ache from his bones, replacing it with gentleness, affection, everything he needs. Rest.

It can't be forever, that's what he tells himself every time he lets you in and allows you to get close. Too negatives can't conjure a positive. Two broken monsters can't fix each other. His heart is not as guarded as he would like, it's not guarded at all. Maybe that's why he gazes at your sleeping form like the sea gazes at the moon. He was just a sea of selfishness and loss, and you- you're the moon, reflecting the light in your heart on his weary fragments, trying to piece them back together.

Louis strokes your face with the back of his hand, saying your name like a prayer, with reverence, calling you from your slumber.