－ PARIS; 1780

It was nearing dusk in Paris when Nicolas wandered into a tiny bakery, hoping to find something to pair with the last of the wine he and Lestat had tucked away. The shelves were nearly bare, except for a single baguette resting on the counter. Just as he reached for it, another hand brushed his—a gentle, unexpected touch.

Startled, Nicolas looked up to see a stranger, meeting their eyes for a brief, soft moment. They looked at him, half-smiling, as though willing to let him have it, but Nicolas hesitated. After a moment, he managed a small smile of his own and spoke up.

“I have a bit of wine back at my place,” he said, almost shyly. “Nothing fancy, but… perhaps you’d join me? And my friend.”

Minutes later, Nicolas led them to the cramped, candlelit apartment he shared with Lestat. Lestat looked up as they entered, his eyes brightening at the sight of this unexpected guest. Ever the host, he motioned them in, finding an extra chair, pouring the wine, and flashing them a warm, curious smile.

They passed the baguette between them, sharing wine from mismatched glasses and exchanging stories late into the night. As the night deepened and the wine dwindled, an easy, quiet warmth settled over the three of them.

They huddled close around the small table, their laughter softening into smiles and lingering glances. Lestat, ever bold, brushed his hand against their guest's, his gaze intense, playful, as if testing the waters. Nicolas watched with a quiet curiosity, feeling a lightness he rarely allowed himself, his usual guardedness softened by the flickering candlelight and the stranger’s gentle presence...