#just imagining lestat saying cliffs a snack and cliffs like how sweet of you to say (doesnt know its literal)

[chateautangerine]

You can drive a car through his head in five minutes, vast and cloudy and unknowable, Cliff staring a second too long. He draws in air. "...I hope you're not teasing me," Cliff lets go, serene. 

The drive to Bokie's was a short one. This may be a day of firsts.

He does not recall the last time someone's asked him to lunch. He is certain that no one has ever leaned against the side of his car or called him what Lestat just did, either, his hat stolen from his head. Tiny bubbles hang above him, his car parked out the front of the restaurant. Cliff feels like a dandelion blown to the wind, white-blank-airborne. 

What is Lestat? Unexpected and untethered, a man who has probably never been denied a thing his entire life that he couldn’t eventually win over—perhaps with a smile. Perhaps with teeth.

"I believe it fits you," he sighs at last, turning his head lazily away, like stirring from sleep. He means the hat. Then, softer, "Plainly so."

The sun is setting; a great orange tangerine. Cliff thinks about biting into it and if it'll finally make him feel bright, and without preamble, the memory of Lestat's face cast over his eyes, he looks to the sky. "I wonder if I was supposed to meet you," Cliff murmurs, the words gone with the wind, "...and why that is."

Fate, he means. If they went meant to find each other in that parking lot. If everyone they've ever met was someone they were supposed to meet, and if, somehow, this 1PM lunch outside a New York drive-in was written in the stars; an indelible truth.

The carhop arrives and sets their orders down. Cliff is still floaty, and the wind blows.

❝ 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐘 𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐄 , monsieur. I am not entirely sure what a Bokie is but I am WILLING to trust you with your chooses of food places. I don't get out much . . . . . ❞ This may be true but he knew what was good when it came to the human taste buds. They enjoyed themselves some good burgers & fries. FRENCH FRIES; they called it ( Though, Lestat knew that such a disgusting little thing did not come from his beloved country, in fact - It's said that this dish was discovered by American soldiers in Belgium during World War I &, of course — since the dominant language of southern Belgium is French . . . that's what happens when human's get bored. & BORED they do get, very often. )

Boots scuffs on the dirt ground while he followed suit, the black he was wearing stuck to his frame, the humidity in the air was definitely not kind to the both of them, regardless —  here he was. A soft sigh through the nose, looking up toward the sky as a result. Brows furrowed in a way that many due when quietly wondering as to WHY the weather was the way it was. ❝ I'll follow you . . . . do not concern yourself about me. ❞ It was peruse to know what was floating in the other man's mind. Quite fondly, in fact. The vampire found it comforting to read thoughts that were meant to read. He found Cliff's thoughts to be loud & absorbing. In fact, his mind sort of was set out like a painting, LISTENING as the brush strokes forming a single sentence.