Then you should let go of him. Let go and come to me. I'm not saying I'm better but hell, I can at least help you get drunk and commiserate. You know I'm not exactly good at all of this flowery bollocks so just bloody well come to me, would you?

He didn't care where, when or how, he'd get there. He was already pulling on his jeans and grabbed his shirt, ready to meet Nicolas if he had to. If he wanted to. He knew he did but Nicolas? He wasn't so sure. He just knew that Lestat was a bastard who needed dumping and dumping fast.