Well, Daniel got him there. Armand considers that for a few fleeting moments, those spiraling days as an interview of a different kind. An unsatisfying one, he never really did get the answers he was seeking. All that came of the mess was a broken companionship and doing puzzles with the man who spearheaded its destruction.

Cuddled up, even, to the man who heralded his divorce. Slotted into his side and enjoying it more than he wishes he realized.

"I directed, I did not create," he answers after a beat, hands moving a little faster with the satisfying work of organizing and sorting. Despite the deflection he cannot help a sliver of surprised pride at the animations being considered at all. "Self effacement- you do not consider writing creation? Your damnable book and all it's kohl caked admirers with chipped black nail polish and mournful sighs are not proof?

"What do you consider yourself then, a taxidermist? A curator? A nosy neighbor peeking through the windows, jotting notes?"