He hasn't considered that, Daniel touching him. The question strikes him as, somehow, ridiculous, but that sensation, like a chime, feels like it is struck from somewhere far away, or long ago, resonates oddly. Like, of course Daniel can touch him. Anyone can do anything, except for Armand.

The moment passes. He decides: yes, Daniel can, he would like it very much, and wonders if he would smear apart beneath him instead.

"Can we," he starts, and then looks to Deana, who is no longer Deana, but a garden, compost, ready to sprout. If he looks at her much longer, he will convince himself that the odd unfurling shapes that have begin to grow past her lips are real. Armand looks back to Daniel, casts him a smile.

White teeth. Blunt, human. "A change of scenery?"