it's not quite the morning after lestat's encounter with kit, rather a few busy evenings after. the life of a rockstar is a hectic one crammed full of near constant interviews, rehearsals, photoshoots, & any collaborations he deems worth his involvement ; he hadn't had the time until now to fulfill his written promise to see the man with the kind eyes in his shop full of tangible stories again. the sex had not been planned, dashing as kit was, merely a chat between two souls with a love for the unloved objects on display, turned an hours long conversation on old photographs when they'd been moments in motion, stories told in the most insignificant little knick knacks, the way memories smell of must on every shelf . . . but lestat wasn't about to complain about it. how can he when he's greeted with a sunbeam of a smile upon entering the little shop ? it doesn't burn in the slightest, all gentle warmth.
sensing the relief in kit, lestat returns his smile – truly endeared. ❝ ah, i know, i know – all my sincerest apologies, kit, je suis desole. it is not you, it is this vigorous schedule of mine. ❞ he'd purposefully not written down his cell phone number, chalked up to another one - night stand, though he's beginning to think he may scribble it on the next pillowside note left behind . . . this one hadn't ended with their partner becoming prey – not even a nibble. it'd be a lie, however, to say they had no interest in a taste. ❝ if it's any consolation, you've crossed my mind many times since that night. back and forth, forth and back . . . ❞ touch of a smirk, accompanied by a chuckle in his chest. ❝ difficult to get a face like that out of one's head. ❞
