[ Lestat's eyebrows crease at that, and he snaps his focus back to Louis, fingers pressing insistently into the ones in his hold. ]

Louis, don't say such things. An inch or so above where you were hurt and it would have been your heart.

[ It kind of falls from him, to the point where even he's surprised to hear the harrowing reality fall into the air between them, and he presses his lips together as if doing so will reel it back in, will take them back to something quieter, calmer. He squeezes Louis' hand again. ]

I had to explain how the blood is slower. He was worried to hear you were hurt too. Perhaps I should have let him know.