Chapter Text
Louis Du Lac was never late for anything. This fact was one that he was known for and proud of. The good southern boy, who lost his only male role model and was raised by his widowed mother, who helped to take care of his younger and mentally challenged brother and his beautiful sister, always remembering important dates and making a monthly schedule for everyone in the house. Louis, who has worked since he was sixteen and tried everything – barista, waiter, motel receptionist, babysitter, delivery driver, office assistant – to make money for his family, always finding a gap between shifts to study for college, to read in a mostly quiet restaurant or on a packed bus.
That same Louis was now a 26-year-old man, a full-grown adult with an almost flawless suit, if it weren’t for the enormous blue stain on his white dress shirt that he was currently vigorously scrubbing. After trying everything he could find to clean it, which was not much in a minimalist bathroom, Louis gave up and stared at his defeated reflection in the mirror. The unnaturally bright lights were hurting his eyes, the lavender-scented hand soap was making his nose itch, and the last straw was his phone vibrating with the alarm he set to go off ten minutes before his interview.
He wasn’t late yet, of course, but at that moment he quietly accepted the fact that in less than ten minutes he would either arrive with a horrible paint-stained shirt in a room full of pretentious buyers or break his life streak and never show up to the meeting in the first place. The second option was somehow less bad than the first, because who would want to come up with an explanation for that blue disaster? Or worse, tell the truth, Good morning, I’m sorry for my state of dress, my sister made me take care of my niece while she went to the bathroom and I didn’t notice she was using my shirt to try her new crayon. Where may I sit?
While Louis contemplated his life choices, he heard the door open and footsteps coming closer. It sounded like high heels or boots, which was weird because he was pretty sure there were urinals in here, so he wasn’t the one who entered the wrong bathroom. While he opened his mouth to politely warn the blonde she was in the men’s restroom, the stranger tossed her hair and gave Louis a better view of her face. Or better, his face.
He was the most gorgeous person Louis ever saw. Upon closer inspection, the man had a very masculine face, with a strong jawline and thick eyebrows, but also feminine features, like long lashes and pink lips. He was wearing a white suit that wasn’t particularly lady-like, but the colorful scarf he had covering his large shoulders caught Louis’ attention. Suddenly, something much more important than the person’s gender popped into his head.
“Uh, excuse me, sir,” Louis tapped the stranger lightly, and he stopped fixing his long hair to give him his full attention. “Would you mind lending me that scarf?”
Great social skills, Louis. The stranger had a strong French accent when he spoke. “And why would I do that?”
Louis laughed awkwardly. “See, I’m almost late for a job interview, I’m trying to get the gallery assistant position, but this big stain doesn’t want to come off. And your scarf is big enough to cover it. Give me your contact information and I swear I’ll give it back to you! It would be a great help, really.”
He was ready to beg more, to explain how bad he needed this job, how his family was big and his sister was already pregnant again, but before he could come up with more pleading sentences, Mr. Jawline took off his scarf and gave it to him without complaining. He washed his hands while Louis thanked him and turned to him when he was finished. “Good luck on your interview.” and that was it. He was gone, his strong perfume the only thing remaining in the bathroom.
The handsome stranger didn’t leave any means of contacting him, not a telephone or email, but Louis had a more urgent problem to take care of. He mentally thanked his sister for making him learn how to tie a bow, because in less than thirty seconds the scarf was covering the stain, tied in a bow more beautiful than the stranger’s, even.
He took a deep breath and inspected himself one final time in the huge mirror in front of him. Nice smile, cute doe eyes, good posture, and a stylish scarf around his delicate neck. Louis got out of the restroom and went to the waiting room while other people, mostly women, were also in line to enter the interview room. Well, do your best, competition!
After a few minutes, a red-headed woman appeared in the doorway and called out his name. Louis stood quickly, too quickly, before slowing down and following her to a long corridor full of paintings and sculptures. She opened the last glass door and nodded for him to enter, which he did quietly. There was a table with a chair for him to sit in, surely, and three other people, two men and one woman, all beautifully dressed, on the other side of the table.
Something caught his attention as he approached them. It wasn’t the long curly dark hair one of the men had, nor the fierce expression the lady had either, but the third person, a man with a familiar jawline and striking blue eyes.
Oh, fuck me.
It was the scarf guy. Of course it was him interviewing him, and of course he was the first one to address him. “Please, have a seat.”
Louis did, and the interview began. After he introduced himself, the woman spoke. “I saw that you studied at Pratt Institute. But the address on your resume is at Louisiana State University. Why is that?”
“That’s my home address.” He explained. “My late father was a teacher there. My family is from New Orleans.”
“You’re far away from home,” Mr. Blue Eyes spoke. He noticed his name tag read Lestat de Lioncourt. That was his name then. The other two were Claudia Éparvier and Armand de Romanus. Jesus, these people were rich.
Claudia continued as if Lestat had never spoken. “You’re from Louisiana. Why didn’t you choose to further your studies there?”
“Postgraduate is a challenge for many people,” He defended himself. How dare these people even think he wasn’t a bookworm? Wasn’t it written on the lines of his face how much he studied to obtain a scholarship? How many jobs he had to lose to be able to study and come live in New York, looking for a place that would give him an actual job, with actual fair wage? “But I’m pretty good at studying. So, postgraduate studies aren’t a challenge for me, it’s my comfort zone. I want to see if I have any other abilities besides studying.”
What a joke. Having to pretend he isn’t talented in multiple areas, due to the many jobs he had before he could even drink. He doubted any of these assholes had seen as much as he had during his night shifts back home, but he had to pretend humbleness.
“You studied arts,” Lestat spoke and Louis nodded, a little afraid. “Talk about the application of art in life from an aesthetic point of view. For instance, what made you pick that scarf today? Is it because of the brand or the design?”
It was hard to keep the smile off his face. This Lioncourt had a good sense of humor, he could give him that. Trying to humiliate Louis, to catch him in the lie. Really, this interview was doomed from the start. Surely, they were not going to hire him because he had the misfortune of asking the wrong pretentious guy for a scarf, but what the hell, he was going to give them a good interview anyway.
Louis stared at Lestat for a few seconds and played with the end of the scarf. “This scarf is probably from a niche brand from Northern Europe. I’m not very familiar with it, but it’s designed with bright geometric shapes. I think they referred to it as Malevich’s design. A designer’s aesthetic is important because they determine the positioning and price of a product. The consumer’s aesthetic is also important, of course, because everyone contributes to determine our society’s temperament.”
The three of them stared at him, all clearly impressed, and Louis waited for the next question, but to his surprise, Lestat only nodded and dismissed him. “Thank you, that was all. We’ll call you tomorrow with more details.”
Louis couldn’t remember what he said as he stepped out of the room, something along the lines of ‘Thank you for your time and the opportunity’, because his heart was hammering in his ears. All the hours he spent practicing possible questions, fixing his hair, smiling in front of the mirror, all useless. In less than three minutes, his fate was decided by a man he barely spoke with.
He tried to calm his breathing, but it was useless. Thankfully, before the interview, he passed by a small convenience store and bought a pack of cigarettes. It wasn’t his fault, he originally went there to buy something to chew, maybe a pack of gum, but one thing led to another and... There he was again, going to the rooftop of the building to fall into another old ugly habit.
He took one from the package, it wasn’t the brand he usually buys, but it’ll do.
Or it won’t. He forgot to buy a lighter.
“It isn’t going to light itself, is it?”
He was so distracted staring at the cigarette hanging from his lips that it took a few seconds to realize the voice wasn’t coming from his mind, but from beside him. A deep, European-tinged voice that he recognized as Lestat’s without turning to confirm it. It was embarrassing enough that he was caught trying to smoke an unlit cigarette, there was no reason to add salt to the wound and turn to stare at the blond man with teary eyes. Why was he almost crying anyway? He couldn’t tell. He barely ever cried, never one to show his emotions so freely. What a weird day.
“Here,” Lestat said, in Louis’ field of vision now, touching something to the tip of his cigarette. It wasn’t a lighter, but another smoke, with a glowing end that met his and then there was the warm feeling, slightly abrasive, moving over his tongue and down the throat. He coughed, surprised, and took it out of his mouth to breathe properly while Lestat laughed loudly. “I’m sorry, I thought you were used to it. Feeling experimental today, Louis?”
What a weird day, indeed.
“Thanks,” Louis finally spoke, quietly, still not looking directly at the man’s face. “I’m just having a rough day. Shit, your scarf is probably going to smell bad now, I’m sorry. I’ll dry clean it and hand it back to you tomorrow, just give me your email or something.”
Lestat laughed again. He really liked laughing, didn’t he? It was pissing Louis off. “Oh, you can have it. It suits you better anyway. Or are you trying to ask for my number?”
That was it. Louis turned and fixed his eyes on Lestat’s lighter eyes, rolled his shoulders in a straighter position that made him look a little taller, not enough to intimidate the man but enough to show he wanted to be taken seriously. “Listen, I’m sorry if it was rude of me to take this, but I’m done with you. Either take your scarf and leave me alone, or I’ll throw it in your face and find a place where I can smoke in peace. I just lost one of the best job opportunities of my life and I don’t deserve this petty treatment from a guy who doesn’t even know me, alright?”
Lestat’s smile disappeared from his mouth – what a huge mouth it was – and another expression took over his features, one he couldn’t quite name. “Lost it? What made you think that?”
Now he was just being straight up cruel. What did this rich asshole have to win giving him false hope? “That was the shortest job interview I have ever participated. They asked me more questions in a motel I worked when I was nineteen. I know when I’m dismissed, something you clearly have trouble getting.”
Lestat stayed silent then, finally, but his staring was somehow worse than his laughter. It lasted so long Louis was ready to do as he told and throw the silk on that stupidly shiny hair, but then he spoke again. “You’re hired Louis. If you truly want to make it up to me, you can give me my scarf back on Monday morning. And let me buy you lunch, too.” He winked at him, and that was it. He was gone from the rooftop, once again leaving his expensive cologne behind, mixed with tobacco.
And suddenly, Louis realized this strange day was the first of many.