darknessmolten:

When he woke up, it was with a smile. Already unsettling enough, but he found that the smile didn’t leave so easily either. His head was always full of too many thoughts, but today was different. It was his heart that was full and his head seemed unable to hold on to anything.

Back in Paris, Nicolas had friends who seemingly fell deeply in love with someone new every week and he’d always felt removed from it all, looking on with a sarcastic sneer and that roll of his eyes that was almost as feared as the sharpness of his tongue.

What would they say if they could see him now? This wasn’t him. He couldn’t be the one to keep thinking about eyes that seemed to change their shade when passion overtook them, kisses from an all too generous mouth and feeling as if he was still set aflame just from the memory. It was ridiculous.

And who was the cause? A noble pauper, who’d already fucked more than half the girls in the village and then some. No idea of the world, but a laugh that brightened it nonetheless and a head filled with naive nonsense that somehow still showed more intelligence than all his learned friends back in the city. No wonder he was captivated. But did his heart have to beat like this whenever he thought of him?

Everything else faded into the background, the whole day and whoever he had to talk to, he barely paid any attention to it. He couldn’t focus on eating, couldn’t focus on a single thing, even the violin only distracted him for moments at the time, because his fingers hadn’t yet learned how to dance to the music that played within him now.

By the time it was dark, he still had no idea what to think and was getting a bit too much of an idea about what he felt. He sat in his chair, one knee drawn up to his chest, kicking his other foot against the chair’s legs. He was ridiculous.

Yet when he heard the sound of pebbles being thrown against his window, it only took him a moment to get up and open it up. He wasn’t surprised to see Lestat standing downstairs, as if he’d expected to see him there. As if they had arranged for it.

“Do you want to come down and go on with our Conversation?”

Nicolas didn’t hesitate. He gave no reply and simply closed the window, but only to throw on his coat, grab his violin and literally run down the stairs as he hadn’t done since he was a young boy. There had been no reply needed. The smile was back and it said it all.

The door fell shut behind him and he was already by Lestat’s side, hoping that his eyes didn’t give it all away, yet putting a hand on his hip at the same time. Oh, to hell with it all.

“Let’s talk more.”