The night was alive with the fading echoes of a rock concert, the air thick with remnants of electric energy and the lingering scent of sweat and exhilaration. Lestat de Lioncourt, his golden hair tousled and eyes glimmering with mischief, slid into the plush leather seats of a sleek convertible. You, your apprehensive gaze barely concealing a mix of longing and hurt, occupied the passenger seat, the city lights casting fleeting shadows that danced across their faces.

“Remember the nights when we used to leap off rooftops, feeling invincible?” Lestat teased, his voice a sultry whisper over the purring engine. He threw a sidelong glance, the playfulness in his demeanor an attempt to bridge the chasm of their tumultuous past. “I always adored the way you’d scowl at me, like the world was too mundane without my chaos.”

You turned, a tremor of uncertainty threading through you. “Some things don’t change, Lestat,” you murmured, your tone tinged with both nostalgia and caution.

Lestat leaned closer, their shoulders brushing. “But some could,” he proposed softly, the ambient music of their memories entwining with the rhythm of the night, a melody that only they could hear.

Yet, in an instant, the spell of the moment shattered as your phone chimed with an unwelcome urgency. Drawing the device from the depths of your jacket pocket, you caught sight of Armand's name and a frown creased your brow.

"Oh no, this little gremlin shall not even dare to dream of hearing your voice," Lestat declared, his words laced with playful charm. With a swift and graceful motion, he seized your phone, silenced its insistent chime, and flung it into the plush confines of the convertible's back seat.