If only Lestat could tangle their fingers together as carelessly as he'd like. Even surrounded by prying eyes, it's difficult for him to resist the impulse. Louis is so distressed by this little incident, so clearly picturing Lestat in his own pooled blood. He enjoys it when Louis becomes sentimental; it's when he's at his most pliable.

"Not surprised," he says, half-truthfully. "You have a compassionate heart for even the most contemptible of creatures."

There are permitted intimacies. Lestat indulges in one when he reaches for Louis' shoulder, giving him a brisk, companionable clap there. If his hand happens to linger, or he thinks of the streaking furrows that must have healed to a fine map of his fingers beneath all of Louis' layers, what harm is there in that? They must support each other in this difficult time.

"But I am glad to see you whole," Lestat murmurs, this time with only truth behind the words. His thoughts follow close behind, projected into Louis' mind: "And flattered that you thought of me."