The true horror of what has happened to him is starting to settle on Louis like a lead weight. He can feel pieces of himself starting to splinter. He died. He was dead and he very, very clearly turned. Jesus, did he kill anyone? Did he bite anyone? He doesn't know- there's a big empty void of nothing when he tries to think about it. Seems James was wrong after all.

Those splintered parts threaten to crack, grow bigger- but Clementine starts to cry and he tries to pull them back together. He doesn't quite do it right- the pieces don't settle properly and everything feels jagged and wrong, but he tries to ignore it. He tries to press it all down into as tight a ball as he can, to focus on her. To try to lessen her pain, somehow, even a fraction.

While one arm stays around her back, the other moves to the back of her head, moving in soft, soothing strokes. He wants to reassure her, to tell her that he's okay- but he's not- and he knows he can't slide that lie past her. She'll know. He shifts, resting his chin on top of her head- for once finding it difficult to find words. He just holds her tight, letting her cry.