He had let Louis go. Offered his apology and accepted its decline.

And then dragged him out of his grave, letting him go. And brought him people to kill, and a place to sleep where they shared the same intimate space in the dark, and shadowed his path of vengeance to ensure he made it through to the other side, letting him go. He is here, in this apartment, explaining his role in the monstrous thing that consumed their family, letting him go.

Lestat sits for a moment, watching Louis wilt, miserable with a dozen different emotions and one of them being a kind of loathing for his own selfishness—but.

He moves. He also discards his cigarette into the little ceramic tray, and then kneels down before the other man. His hands, one on Louis' knee, another reaching up to his shoulder. "I love you," he says. Not wheedling, not trying to provoke something, but stated as fact. The sky is blue, the earth is round, Lestat de Lioncourt loves Louis du Lac. "I love you with everything I have in me. There is no part of me that isn't devoted to that task, Louis, loving you. That's your curse to bear."

His hands tighten. "Look at me, please."