Daniel believes that Armand wants to be seen. He wants to be seen, but he doesn't want to expose himself. Daniel has had to do quite a lot of meditating on him— like he has on Louis, and Lestat, and Claudia, dissecting them like fictional characters, like a psychologist. In the pages of the book, ones censored and edited, ones he omitted himself, is the portrait of a man who was jealously, bitterly waiting to be seen, who couldn't figure out why no one was seeing him or understanding him, who was behaving like an alien visiting from another planet, forever out of step, and lonely, and angry.

But that's just a theory. a GaMe tHeOrY

If any of it's true, Daniel gets it. Sort of. Armand was born so long ago that today must seem like an alien planet. If Daniel lives for five hundred years, and they end up living in a nice place in a little space station by Lagrange Point 2, it'll probably still bear more resemblance to 2022 than 2022 does to 1500. Armand's brain is cooked. It's soup. Fucked up, cult soup.

One of many reasons Daniel should ditch him, instead of give him a brilliant smile that's a little too toothy. Blood-warm, pleased, not too impressed with his meal on a personal level, but happy to be fed regardless.

"Fuck 'em," he says magnanimously, and then he does what he didn't do back in the book store, and leans over and kisses Armand. Right here in the shitty corner store, over a pair of cheap sunglasses, in front of the clerk and god and everybody.