Of course Daniel jumps: Lestat was across the room and now he's here with a capital H, like he'd been before when that claw-like finger had ghosted across his neck, reminding them both that Louis had drank from him. He swallows, lump thick in his throat, realizing it's a miracle that he hadn't dropped or spilled the contents of his glass with how quickly the other's shifted over.

Daniel doesn't laugh this time, despite his startled surprise. He's still half-grinning, finding it surprisingly easy to move back to being still: the natural reaction to the euphoric effect of shooting up.

"I care, man." Lestat is close. Beautiful, more so out of the dingy bar where it's difficult to cut through the noise. Now that he's up close, now that Daniel's not jonesing or pissed off about how his night with Louis had ended. The Frenchman's eyes are hauntingly beautiful and his blonde hair seems to genuinely shimmer in the light; picturesque and locked into the visage of a stunning young man despite years beyond Daniel's comprehension. Daniel briefly forgets what he's saying with the other's like this, with the other smiling in a way that denotes a sultry kind of danger. The vampire doesn't blink but Daniel has to in order to clear his head, doing so rapidly for a brief moment.

"I guess I care about learning about you more. One person's story, one person's version of a relationship ending... There's another side, dig?" That smile is back, curious eyes sharp. He leans up, facing Lestat head on, reckless. Alive.

I'm not scared of you. This is the most interesting thing that's ever going to happen to me. I have to write. I have to know.

"I don't think you're a monster, either. Not in the way that he thinks."