To Love Again

That Night.

Gentle swirls of feather light flurries drift amongst the darkened air. Through parting masses of grey, dim rays illuminate the powdery sidewalk. Pale hands are shoved deep within the recesses of black, wool pockets; brown locks tied back in a loose ponytail. Something causes the downcast emerald eyes to shift upward, scan across the frozen ground to the warmth of a lit up cafe. Shuffling feet stop, eyes squinting and brows furrowing. Through the clear glass a figure can be seen leaning on their elbow atop a black counter. They chat idly with another, curly blonde hair pulled loosely into a messy bun. Stray hairs frame the pale, smiling face- from across the sleek counter a hand reaches, tucking the golden ringlets behind an ear. A twisting feeling churns within the cold stomach of the loitering man across the cafe's street. He takes a few steps forward, contemplating what to do. Halting no more than halfway across the abandoned street, he makes up his mind. Staring at the calm scene he stands for a moment, then disappears as the snow during a warm spring evening.

Surrounded by the warmth and wafting smells of caffeine, the blonde one glances outside. For a second they swear there stands a figure in the road, but it is gone too quickly-too soon. A fleeting image disrupting the subtle flow of the night. The man across from them notices the distracted look clouding blue eyes and the slight frown that crosses otherwise light features.

"Lestat?" The man asks, hand tapping lightly against the counter top.

"Hmm?" Lestat hums, returning his attention once again to the man across from him.

"You seemed distracted..." he trails off, unsure of what to say.

"Yes, I thought I saw some...one, but I must have been mistaken." He gives a smile, tongue flicking across sharp teeth. Though he portrays the illusion of attention, Lestat's mind is elsewhere. The dark haired one takes note of this, ceasing all attempts at conversation. For a moment they stand in silence, Lestat watching the snow drift drearily down the darkness, the other watching Lestat- scanning his features.

"Tomorrow, you're off from work, right?" The question draws back Lestat, who cocks his head ever so slightly to the side.

"I am."

"Come with me, to the club right across the street."

Lestat gives a quiet sigh, "we've been over this before mon chéri. You know I cannot."

"Just once. I won't pull anything, I promise. And I'm sure it's a good spot to find..." he leans in, voice lowering, "some friends."

Lestat lets his eyes wander, moving down the man's face, traveling to his lips, then to his neck.

"Fine," he then repeats his response, quieter this time and making eye contact, "fine. I need to be going now, I shall see you tomorrow." With that Lestat straightens himself, walking around the counter.

"Tomorrow." The man calls out, eyeing Lestat as he gathers his things and goes.

"Au revoir." Is the response he gets.

The outside air is brisk, a gentle wind sending chills throughout Lestat. An uneasy feeling stirs within him- it wouldn't be the first time he was followed and jumped. It never ended well, not for the jumpers that is. But this time is different. Lestat doesn't feel threatened, so much as.... it is difficult to explain; the feeling familiar, yet just out of reach.

He gives a weary head shake, the trek home almost complete. The apartment he enters is a decent size- with a small kitchen space and living room separated by a red topped counter. There are three doors that branch off from across the kitchen: a bathroom, Lestat's bedroom, and a guest room. It is in the bathroom that Lestat finds himself.

Clear droplets of warm crystalline water cascade into an alabaster tub. The raining drops create a semi-loud patter that drones out most other sound. Watching the water fall, Lestat gradually unbuttons his white shirt, pulling the fabric free from the waistband of his light grey, high waisted jeans. The material is dropped to the floor, pants following in suit. The small pile of fabric is left for the warmth of the shower. As he steps beneath the drops he runs his hands through tangled hair, a gentle sigh escaping his lips. Though the feeling of being watched has left, there still remains an uneasiness, an itch at the back of the mind. But for now, it cannot be scratched.
~•~
Sleep does not come easy, and when Lestat finally manages to grasp it, it is a struggle to hold on. Restlessness fills the coffin, a stirring that will not leave. For hours upon hours Lestat lay awake, staring at the velveteen material surrounding him. It is unbearable. Everything is suddenly too compact, too tight; Lestat feels as if he is suffocating. Unable to calm down in the closing in space, the coffin is violently flung open. Wide eyes dart around the darkened room, all light blocked off by the thick curtains adorning the windows. From a near empty desk pale red numbers show the time to be 9:17. He had been so caught up in attempting to sleep that he hadn't realized the day was past.

A gentle yawn leaves pink lips as Lestat makes his way across the dark room. From out of a closet he grabs a pair of high waisted black jeans, pulling them on. For a shirt he wears a loose royal purple tank top that falls just above the jeans waistband. Whilst walking from the room he runs his fingers through his hair, weaving the strands together in the form of a braid. For shoes, a pair of short, black boots with small buckles on the outward facing side.

The air outside is cold, much colder than the previous night. As he makes his way down the street, the only people Lestat passes are the late-night creeps, homeless, and small groups out to party; the watched feeling claws its way back, settling in once again. Crossing his bare arms, Lestat continues on, glad for the short walk, but not-so-glad for the mistake of forgetting a jacket. By the time the flashing sign signaling the entrance to the club is within sight, a slight shiver has taken residence within Lestat. As he approaches the small line already forming, his eyes land on Draven- his friend from the cafe.

"We have to wait a bit before we can go in, something to do with the speakers or mic not working. I dunno, wasn't really paying much attention," the words are spoken as Lestat takes his place beside Draven.

"So we have to wait out here for an undefined amount of time, because either the speakers or microphones are not working?" Lestat clarifies, raising an eyebrow.

"Correct," Draven responds with a slight head nod.

"Great," Lestat mumbles, shifting his stance as to project annoyance, "fucking perfect."

The feeling of being watched does not leave, if anything it only persists, growing stronger and more unsettling.
~~~~
End.
This took much longer to type than it should have. Because I'm so horrible at updating stories, and midterms are this week, I have no idea when chapter two will be up, but hopefully soon. Just as a heads up of sorts, some things for characters may be a bit ooc and I wanted to apologize for that, this is my first time writing using these characters, so I'm getting used to them. Also Draven is an oc. The way I write Lestat, he will have much more sweating and hopefully more French, but as I am terrible at anything having to do with the French language, I dunno how it'll turn out. (Maybe I can get my French teacher to help without her knowing why). Sorry for the long ending note, I promise others won't be this long.
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