[As much as Lestat wants to be more stoic, he can't, not with the wash of shame and sadness and relief that have roiled through him. Bloody tears blot the collar of Louis' collar where he's buried into his neck, his fingers gripping tight to the fabric of his shirt.]

I didn't even know where you'd gone, just that you'd left and something was wrong.

I can't -- I cannot keep watching you storm away.