Alright. Well, that's good, probably. He does wonder, slightly hysterically as he otherwise very calmly begins to salvage notes, papers, photographs, if Louis left Armand alive out of affection, or because he's simply not capable of killing him. But as soon as he thinks it, he lets it leave him— none of it matters.

Strange. He doesn't know what to feel. After an interview it's just over, usually. Each party awkwardly says their goodbyes and packs it in. Daniel can't leave under his own power, here. He's been managed carefully for the entire stay, and Louis, apparently, is going to call a car for him. Eventually.

—Are you sure?

No, no. Don't ask that. Don't poke him, you've poked him enough. You left holes, man.

"Alright."

Armand may not deserve the courtesy of avoiding any further antagonizing while he's down, but Daniel can't think of a great reason to carry on, either. He won. A stylish end. No need to cringe it up with a childish victory lap.

—What was dinner about?

Don't ask that, either. Interview is done. Just try to turn your fucking reporter brain off.

"We're both packing. Anything I can help you put together?"

Okay, too much brain was turned off. Bad. Overkill. At some point (this point, here) courtesy becomes a little mocking.