( Louis had vaguely expected some terribly romantic answer, with the way Lestat was leading him to it... and yet it still hits him like something physical, his heartbeat stuttering and speeding up inside his chest. He turns just a little, enough to look at Lestat — their noses brush for a moment before he puts enough inches between them, his expression soft and open and wondering. )
 
I should have known. When I listen to that one, I can almost feel your fingers wrapped around my heart.

( Louis squeezes Lestat's hand where it rests against his ribs, and thinks about the cassette tape tucked safely away in a drawer. He takes a breath, feeling oddly shy about what he's preparing himself to admit. Or perhaps it isn't shyness, but some other kind of hesitation, something more superstitious — it had happened in such an unnatural way, and despite the comfort it had given him, there was some greater force at work that had brought it to him. )

I have a copy of your album. It came to me while I was here, in the first month, before you arrived. It was suspicious, of course, but I was too grateful to ask how or why. I listened to it every single night.

( His words gain momentum as they come, quiet but urgent. )

It felt like a part of you was still with me.