citylogs | [open] a birthday celebration

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[open] a birthday celebration

WHO: lestat & all of you~
WHAT: lestat is hosting a party for a certain someone's birthday!
WHERE: a bistro in district 3
WHEN: october 4th
WARNINGS: N/A so far. will update as needed!

[ In the early morning hours of the 4th of October, a photograph of a handwritten notice goes up on the network. It’s in flowery but surprisingly legible script, as if he’s learnt to create letters purely by reading them and has jumbled together an amalgamation of different typefaces to make each letter he writes as interesting as possible. The details are as follows: ]

This is an invitation to any and all, to attend a soirée this evening, in celebration of my companion’s birthday.

I’ve attached a photograph of the location; a fashionable little bistro highly recommended to me by someone who clearly knows a thing or two about style. Festivities start at 6 o’clock this evening, though you are more than welcome to be fashionably late. We will go until sunrise. The dress code is: eye-catching.

There will be food, there will be wine, there will be merriment. Games, dancing, live music. Who amongst you could turn their nose up at a free bar and the chance to boogie? I know that technically this entire place is a free bar, what with the distinct lack of economy, but I’ve acquired the assistance of a bartender, just to tempt you…

And, failing all else, there’s the certainty of stunning conversation - and isn’t that something that we all can enjoy, even those of us who don’t groove with the party scene?

Be there, or be square.

xoxo

[ Some of you might remember him posting asking for help planning this little get together, and it’s going ahead with all of Lestat’s best intentions for a night to remember. Whether you know him or don’t (and haven’t been put off by his hip use of old slang he still thinks makes him sound cool) you’ll be welcomed to the festivities with open arms and a warm, sharp smile.

Come on down, don’t be shy. Have a little dance with the devil. ]

The Bar

[ Gleaming in hard wood painted a stunning chic black, the bar is the first thing to delight your eyes with upon entering the bistro. Bottles line the back wall, shining in the low amber lights, and so too the bottles lined up in front as your gracious bartender for the evening, Daan, sets up shop. Perhaps you have a drink in mind, or would like him to surprise you (with varying results), or maybe you’re here for the crowd gathered around and chatting amicably as they nurse their chosen poison.

Lestat himself has taken up prime position there, often with a rather steadfast arm around Louis, whose expression isn’t exactly dour but isn’t particularly placid, either. He gives off the very clear expression of someone who’s been tricked into coming here under false pretences. Probably because Lestat had been positively evasive of even mentioning the B word (birthday) all evening, even going as far as to ignore completely any mention of Louis discovering his plotting before tonight… though whether that be from embarrassment over failing to make his post private despite Armand’s very clear instructions, or simply down to his impish nature, isn’t clear.

What is clear, is that Lestat is having a lovely time in wonderful company, and is a veritable font of energy. He’s usually pretty upbeat, of course, but tonight there’s a particular vigour about him that is clearly different, though not in a strictly bad way. When he’s not hanging off Louis’ side or parading him around to introduce him to people he hasn't met yet, Lestat is leaning over the bar to watch Daan work, or perhaps butting into a nearby conversation or starting a fresh one up with someone looking a little too quiet. ]

The Stage & Dancefloor

[ Great care and attention has been made to stagger the assortment of tables in the room so that each one has a perfect view of the man-made stage and its attached square of space serving as a dance floor. It’s nothing more than a few flat platforms on which the players can stand along with a wall of lined up instruments and some speakers Lestat found at the music store in the mall, but it’s unmistakably the intended highlight of the evening's entertainment.

A dark blue electric guitar beside an acoustic one, a simple spruce violin, a small drum set, a standing keyboard and three microphones is his haul, and they are left available for anyone who'd like to jam. If Lestat sees you looking with the barest hint of interest, even if there is not a single musical bone in your body, if he will pull you over to try something out - what better way to learn than in a room full of people watching you? :)

Toward the middle of the evening, Lestat will take Louis' hands in his own and kiss them, and then kiss him, and leave to climb up onto the stage himself. He’s dressed in a burgundy corduroy jacket over a crisp black shirt; the collar undone to reveal a host of twisted chains at his throat, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his wrists and fingers adorned with similar finery. Tight leather pants, and black boots with a red sole. His nails are painted black, and there’s a smudge of dark red around his eyes, which makes the pale silver-blue of them look almost eerie in the spotlight. (Well, he did say eye-catching was the dress code.)

He’ll take the microphone, lift the electric guitar into his arms and begins to play, and to sing. It’s a cover arrangement, of course, as anyone who enjoys 70s rock music will be able to tell.. but he sings it well, with a practised and enchanting stage presence that is hard to look away from; snaking hips, spectacular crowd work. No, it’s not his vampiric thrall (probably), it’s just that Lestat really was born to perform and he knows it.

He also picks out another song to play a little later on, assuring the crowd very loudly that they must keep this song's existence a complete secret and then "accidentally" name-dropping Steve Tyler as the guy he was jamming with when the song was created. ]

Party Games

[ Lestat has assigned a little space toward the back of the room and has littered the tables with a handful of silly party games, packages of cards, even a small set of plastic chips for gambling (though what exactly the ante will be is entirely up to you). It looks very much like he’s raided the toy aisle in a supermarket which… isn’t untrue, but he’s done so with at least a little care and attention for what kind of party he’d like this to be. There’s no board games, put it that way.

Who Am I?: Take a sticky-note and ask someone to write the name of a famous figure on it, and stick it on your back. You must walk around and ask the other patrons of the party yes/no questions in order to figure out who you are.
Treasure Hunt: Take a paper from the table; on it you'll find a series of descriptions such as "Someone who's favourite colour is blue" or "Someone who has siblings", "someone who's broken someone's heart" etc. Talk to party goers until you find a person who matches each prompt. You may only use one person once. The winner gets a prize!

Bulla has graciously offered to host a round or two of games for all in attendance; the assortment will be varied and both she and Lestat will be no doubt open to any suggestions of things to play. If you aren’t the type to get involved in such things, it’s quite unfortunate because oh, it looks like this one needs a partner and here is Lestat without one! ]

The Veranda

[The way outside through the large glass doors at the back of the bistro is lit in an almost storybook manner, with lights pinned from the doorway to the exterior fence in loose criss-crosses. The furniture has been moved to accommodate a large table running down the centre of the floor, full to bursting with plates of food. It seems the intention here is similar to a “pot-luck” - a concept that has Lestat gleeful as a child over the absurdity of such a thing - only as this place has no real necessity for cooking and as Lestat has no idea what kind of food typically is seen at parties, the guidance is simply to go into the kitchen and take advantage of its seemingly unending capabilities in order to emerge with a bowl, plate or tray of whatever you deem appropriate for a party such as this.

Obviously, this has resulted in the table being full of an incredibly disorganised array of treats in all shapes and colour - which naturally has attracted Lesat into staring at it all like a magpie, asking questions of every meal that people pick at, questioning the flavour and the method of preparation, all the while twisting a glass bottle of some thick scarlet substance around and around in his hands. ]

--
[ happy birthday louis!!! feel free to mingle, thread-hop, eavesdrop, do whatever you'd like. go wild. it's a party!

lestat is down for anything, so if you want to assume your character has made a playlist, brought a game along, has suggested a party game and is bullying people into playing it, or even if you want to assume that lestat saw you in the street nearby and whisked you in to the bistro against your will, please go for it. literally anything goes, i am SO easy and so is lestat. :) ]

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( This party is so much smaller than the concert had been, and instead of blending invisibly into the shadows backstage, Louis has a front row seat — and he is the primary object of focus, at least for Lestat. It's electrifying. That's the only word for it. The air feels the way it does before a thunderstorm; Louis' skin tingles, and the fine hair at the back of his neck stands on end, and the music moves through him like the insistent beckoning throb of a heartbeat. He's captivated, caught up completely in the sway of Lestat's body, the way the light catches his hair, the purr of his voice.

And yes, his heart beats faster when he catches Lestat's blue eyes.

Time stops when Lestat kisses him, and Louis can't remember where he is or that anyone else might be watching. It's like something divine, a visitation from an angel, all else rendered utterly unimportant.

Forgiven? Louis blinks, and for a moment he looks like a spellbound mortal might — only the spell is pure affection, plain and simple. He remembers where they are, and yes, that this party is all for him, and he's supposed to be annoyed with Lestat about it.

He gives Lestat a look, pretending at considering the question, but there's a teasing glint in his eye. )

That depends how the rest of the evening goes.

( Louis lies smoothly, but he doesn't really mean it — he'd forgiven Lestat the moment it became clear how happy all this was making him. That was quite enough public attention for just right now, though, he thinks, so he leans into Lestat and lets himself hopefully be whisked away to somewhere slightly quieter. He's still a bit flustered by all of it, now that he's come back to himself. )

You should perform more often. You have such a gift, Lestat.

[ Lestat's laugh is warm and loud as his hands guide Louis into his seat. Normally he'd sit across from him out of the vague memory of decorum, perhaps take his hand over the table, maybe even slide a long leg playfully between Louis' ankles-- but tonight is different. Tonight Lestat impulsively ushers Louis into a booth off to the side of the room, and slides in beside him. ]

Oh, I find it very hard to believe you're still annoyed with me when you're saying things like that. You know how much I love it when you stroke my ego.

[ He's shining faintly from the heat of the lamps, but it was only one song and so nowhere near enough to make him sweat-- but he does go to the trouble of tying his hair back with one of the straps that had been wound around his wrist. Once complete, he settles into the seat with an arm arching casually over Louis' shoulders. The scene they paint is like the rock star and his girlfriend in the back of the limo, and the similarity certainly isn't lost on Lestat. ]

I didn't realise how much I'd missed it. I thought it had to be a stage in a stadium, and that it had to be built up into something big and loud… But it reminds me of the theatre.

[ His voice goes soft, his fingers trailing over Louis' shoulder and through the tumble of his hair like he's playing at piano keys. ]

I have to admit, I want to do it again.

Oh?

( Lestat has never spoken of his time in the theatre to Louis. Like so much in Lestat's past, everything Louis knows of it was gathered from reading and rereading the pages of his book, analyzing every sentence and each choice of word to better understand this man he had long been so desperate to know. He'd fallen rather in love with the mortal Lestat, though he had never truly met him; he wishes he could have seen him on that rickety little wooden stage that made him so blissfully happy.

Louis settles against Lestat, making himself comfortable, blissfully unaware of how fawning their positions must make him look. The arm around him is nice, actually, and Louis manages to find a posture that lets him lean against Lestat while still seeing enough of his handsome face. )

We ought to bring one of these instruments back to our place.

( "Our place," he says — such a casually modern turn of phrase, but Louis likes the way it sounds. He sets his hand on Lestat's knee. )

A keyboard? Or perhaps a guitar. Or why not both? I'm only one person, hardly much of an audience, but I've always loved to listen to you play.

( Always. Louis' most treasured memories are so often accompanied by the music of the harpsichord, and somehow Louis knows that it's Lestat's clever fingers dancing across the keys. )

[ Lestat knows he's been pushing it all night - touching the small of Louis' back, brushing his hair off his shoulders idly during conversation, draping his arm over him like he's some fine cape made of chains and velvet - so he's understandably delighted that Louis doesn't refuse him this moment or admonish him for the contact.

The thrill had goes through him hearing Louis not only use such modern but also such intimate language is like a rush of energy through him, though he knows in practicality that he shouldn't be surprised; he's right, after all, their apartment is theirs and they often call it home, but our place just feels different somehow. In the same way that Lestat can't seem to leave Louis alone and can't resist touching him, he supposes it might have something to do with the wonderful mood he's in and the development of their relationship over the past few days. But who's to know, really. ]

The guitars I already keep in the apartment next door with my clothes -- but we could definitely bring the keyboard in. I wanted a Grand, but the stairs definitely won't allow it, and these modern apartments are so damn small..

[ He smiles, finding a lock of Louis' hair by his ear and twisting it in his fingers. ]

Perhaps I could teach you, give you another hobby. They say music helps plants grow, you know. Something about the vibrations.

( Louis doesn't know why it comes as such a surprise to hear Lestat make the offer. It shouldn't be, and yet Louis still stares for a moment as if he's waiting, somehow, to be teased for suddenly wanting it so badly. But it doesn't come — of course it doesn't — and Louis feels a flush of guilt for having reflexively assumed Lestat would do something so unkind.

It's irritating, in fact, that this ghost should be lingering still. No, not a ghost, hardly even a memory, only Louis' mind cruelly giving Lestat's voice to his own worst thoughts, like some demonic puppeteer.

Louis pushes the treacherous thought from his mind, refusing to give it the podium it demands. Instead he leans into Lestat's touch with a small wiggle of his head, encouraging his fingers into his hair. )

You would do that? You'd teach me to play?

( Oh, he's almost embarrassed of how hopeful he sounds. )

[ Lestat's fingers meet the encouraging steps of Louis' head pushing into his touch, and he spreads his chilled fingertips across his scalp, wonderfully captivated by the way his body seems to react with the same kind of pleasure as though he himself were having his hair played with - just the slightest little shiver across his skin.

His heart constricts with the earnestness in Louis' voice, so it's no surprise that he leans in the barest amount it takes to put his forehead to his temple and press a kiss to his cheek. ]

Of course I would, my heart. You really think I wouldn't love to see your beautiful hands play the piano, or pluck something sombre and haunting from a guitar?

[ He looks to those hands now, because of course he does, and can perfectly picture them expertly sounding out each note with the care and precision Louis applies to most things. Just the mental image alone is enough to make him smile. ]

I know I haven't done much in the way of teaching when it comes to you, but I'm sure you'll be a better student than I ever was.

( Louis smiles, a slow, subtle thing like a flower softly opening its petals into bloom. )

I would like that.

( He gives Lestat's knee a light squeeze, and then his nails move back and forth in aimless little shapes there, just for the sake of touching him. He's quiet for a moment, but in the way he falls quiet when he's considering his next words. It feels like a rather personal thing to admit to somehow. )

I've always wondered whether I could learn, you know, the way we sometimes find that we have a talent for new skills without ever putting in the effort? But... ah... I don't know. Perhaps I've never had the confidence to try.

( As much as Louis had railed against Lestat for failing him in those early days, Louis always quietly admired the care he'd taken with Claudia and her lessons. He was encouraging and instructive and as proud as any mortal father ever was. Prouder, certainly, than Louis' own had been of him. Perhaps it was an instinctive kindness toward children that made him behave so, but Louis suspects that it was more to do with the lack of bad blood between them. )

I'm sure you'll be a fine teacher.

[ Lestat can't help but think back to the amount of times under the thumb of the blood that he's been able to do things simply because he wanted to - read and write, scale buildings, read minds, more recently fly - but the most poignant of them all right now is, of course, the violin. It had come to him in that shrine simply from watching Nicki play, from watching his hands fly over the strings and the way he held his body taut against the instrument as though he were willing the sounds from it with his heart alone.

Lestat pushes his head toward Louis', his forehead nuzzling his temple slightly, eking out the comfort it brings without really knowing why he's craving it so. ]

I'll stretch out my thin patience as far as it will go for you, mon coeur, though I'm sure you won't test it.

[ Playfully, he slides himself a little closer to Louis and then lifts his arms around him into a position like he's playing the guitar against his chest; one hand taking the one that isn't toying with his knee (because Lestat would never force Louis' hand away from touching him) and holding it in his like he's holding the neck of the instrument, while Lestat's painted fingernails mime strumming across Louis' stomach where the mouth of the guitar would sit. ]

You're studious and frustratingly precise. [ He says, tucking his chin over his shoulder as he continues his little charade. ] Both are things you need to play music, if you didn't have my blood in you, of course. I'm sure if you put your mind to it now, you could play a song back to me. Perhaps I could teach you one of mine. There's a few I never got the chance to release.

( Louis' pulse quickens as Lestat's arms come around him in this pantomime that's merely an excuse for an embrace. He can feel the buzzing in his cheeks that heralds a blush, and he's sure Lestat knows exactly the effect this is having upon him, which only flusters him more. A part of him wants to squirm away, tell Lestat they're in public and this is ridiculous... but he doesn't. Even he doesn't know why. Perhaps beneath all of his shyness, he enjoys the way it so clearly marks him as Lestat's.

He scoffs at "frustratingly precise," but when Lestat's chin comes to rest on his shoulder, Louis tilts his head to nuzzle back against him. )

I would love to hear them. I want to know what more you wrote about, all the things you didn't have the chance to say.

( Even if Lestat no longer has the whole world for an audience, Louis will still hang on his every word, written, spoken, or sung. )

And if you're right, and it comes to me as easily as you seem so confident it will... You'll play with me, won't you?

[ Lestat is honestly surprised that he isn't pushed away, and in sheer delight he treats himself by pressing a fleeting kiss to Louis' cheek as he speaks. His words are strangely alluring like this, the two of them pressed so close together and whispering sweet nothings to one another.

Lestat can't quite unsee the mental image of the limo still, even now, but there's also the stark memory of Louis' blood against his tongue from a few days ago.. and he has to try very meaningfully to not think of it, especially given how he'd reacted at the time, and their current proximity and.. location. Anyway. ]

I would love nothing more than to play alongside you. The perfect musical components are made in duos, you know; a frontman and a lead guitarist to keep him on the melody, or his drummer to keep him on the beat…

[ He nuzzles his nose in the hair that curls over Louis' ear, eyes trained on him even from this closeness, his smile only a little sly because.. well, despite his teasing, being so close to Louis in a place where everyone has told him all evening that he and Louis seem like an item in some way or another, is quite nice. ]

Do you hope I've written songs for you that I never had the heart to release?

( Louis lets out a quick, slightly trembling breath, as much from Lestat's sweet insistent closeness as from the question and the feelings that it stirs in him. Memories gather around him, and he presses back against Lestat, solid and real, to fend them off. Thoughts of that vampire bar in San Francisco where he'd sat for hours watching Lestat's videos, all the undead world abuzz in rumors and threats. He had been thankful that no one knew his face. )

Oh, I listened over and over, wondering whether any of them were about me in any way, whether I had left enough of a mark on your heart for that. I was rather obsessed.

( He hesitates, tensing a little, fingers twitching on Lestat's knee. )

... Did you actually write songs for me?

[ Lestat's smile doesn't necessarily fall as much as it goes softer, blurred, less defined as his thoughts go much the same way and become slightly out of focus. Like Louis, he is taken back to that uncertain time when he had scribbled notes on sheet music and strung lyrics together from the pit of his soul, everything he'd longed to say, everything he wanted to put into place, every taunt and every feeling so much easier to put into words when he didn't have to look anyone in the eyes to form them.

He's always found it hard to be vulnerable, and naturally he thinks of their recent argument, the floods of tears, the precise feeling of his heart splintering... It hasn't got easier. Yet he still somehow wants to do it. Like a madman falling for the one holding the whip, perhaps it's masochism, or perhaps he's simply sick of hiding the truth from Louis. ]

Yes. I wrote plenty. Love songs lend themselves so well to that type of music, I'd say better than any other.

[ He slides his fingers through the gaps between Louis', letting their hands drop as he foregoes the guise of playing an imaginary guitar and instead simply wraps his arms around him. ]

.. The fourth song on my album, I wrote while thinking of you. [ He tucks his head in Louis' shoulder a little, voice against his skin. He isn't shy, but there's a certain tension to his frame as he confesses this great secret. ] It was the only one I'd give them. I had more from that time, but I never intended for anyone to hear those.

( 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.

[ Lestat's expression goes a little pained at the quiet admittance, and the hand squeezing his like that. He tries to think back to the time of recording and wonders if he ever imagined Louis listening to it, hearing his words, listening to his truth as clear-cut as it could be while still making the song sound good. It had been his intention for other vampires to hear, of course, but Louis? He supposes that he might have, would have recognised his name and sampled the album, for certain.. but perhaps that he'd not allowed himself to hope that Louis might find meaning in it, let alone comfort. ]

[ He opens his mouth before he's formed a thought to make into words, and then Louis speaks again, and Lestat finds himself uncharacteristically speechless. The laugh he eventually lets out is almost a sound of relief, but his eyebrows twitch as if he's confused. ]

What a strange thing to give to you. This place must have intended to torture you with it, and I suppose it served its purpose, in a way. [ He smiles, leans in to press their foreheads together oh so briefly. ] They never took into consideration how dearly you love to suffer, my beautiful one.

( Louis frowns in protest, shaking his head side to side and pressing his forehead back against Lestat's in a firm nuzzle. It's a surprise to hear Lestat misunderstand so terribly, to think that having a reminder of him would have felt like a taunt and not the only scrap of comfort Louis had. He had worshipped that little tape like a condemned man clinging to his bible. )

No. No, not at all. Torture was being here without you, not knowing whether I would ever see you again.

( He doesn't like to speak of it, afraid that digging too deeply into painful memories might jeopardize the strange, tenuous peace they've found here. Louis closes his eyes, exhaling, listening to the sounds of the party around them, and his fingers tighten around Lestat's. )

It was a precious gift.

[ Lestat is so wildly touched by the idea of Louis listening to his music every night, treasuring the tape like he once treasured his poetry books, that he can feel the very slightest flush of warmth creeping up his face. It's heartbreaking, of course, to think of Louis in that state where all he had to keep him from misery was the tinny recording of a cassette tape given to him by the very place making him so miserable... but there's an element of hope in it, too. It's the first time he's heard of the City being kind, at the very least.

Consideration of those matters is for a later time; for right now, all Lestat wants to do is kiss Louis, so he does. ]

I'm glad there are no painful memories attached to it. For all my mistakes and all my reckless ideas, releasing that music certainly served its purpose. And it brought the two of us together again.

[ It snowballed quite spectacularly out of control, but ultimately Lestat got what he wanted out of it, and more. He gives Louis' middle another squeeze, still basking in how comfortable it is to be so close, so familiar. ]

( Louis exhales, a soft, warm hum, leaning his weight against Lestat as Lestat's arms tighten around him. )

It did. If it took everything else for that to happen, well... ( Louis gives him a kiss on the lips, brief but full of emotion. ) For me, it was worth it.

( Did thousands of people die? Yes. Was most of their kind obliterated from the face of the earth? Also yes. But Louis is exactly selfish enough that he wouldn't think of undoing it if it meant losing Lestat again. Not unless Lestat wished for that, at least.

He doesn't want to linger there, though, doesn't want to get sucked down into it when everything is so lovely here. )

We can make copies, if you'd like. People should hear you. ( The smallest of smiles, a little self-conscious. ) I would prefer not to lend mine out. I would be devastated if it were damaged in any way.

Copies...

[ Lestat murmurs the word as if it's the first time he's heard of such a concept. It isn't, of course; he'd watched every step of the process when Alex had copied a tape of their music so that it could be sent to the radio stations and the music review publications, in the early days when their fame was but a distant goal. But imagining copying his music so that it could be distributed here sets off a whole different aspect to it. Before his music had served a purpose, to set up the challenge to his kind, to start that strange war he'd been so fixated upon at one point.. and quietly, to charm the world, to entertain and to delight.

The latter had been drowned out by the bigger things at hand, but in this City with so few things at their disposal for sources of entertainment, such a thing would be ideal. Welcome, even.

It's easy to tell he's excited about the idea, as his fingers start drumming idle little patterns on Louis' body where he has his arms wrapped around him, eyes a little unfocused somewhere off to the side as he thinks. Then, as sudden as the crack of a whip, he looks back to Louis. ]

Yes, we should do that, make copies. You should keep yours - the original - safe, but I want enough copies that we never run out. I'll start carrying one in my pocket wherever I go. You know, just in case.

( Louis lets out a laugh, clear and bright and delighted by Lestat's audacity. )

Just in case.

( He repeats it, reassuring, as if Lestat carrying tapes of his own music isn't a wildly vain thing to do. It is, of course, but Louis loves him all the more for that vanity, no matter how much trouble it might get him into. He turns at the waist, just looking at Lestat for a moment, smiling at him, adoring every inch of him, even if he has made Louis suffer through a party. )

Monsieur le Rock Star.

( And, forgetting they're in public, Louis leans close to kiss the corner of his lips. )

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[open] a birthday celebration

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