Windows can be cracked; it's nice out, and the cold doesn't bother Daniel as much, it's all just pleasant, with no chills and no insulting geriatric joint pain protesting temperature changes. The console blips a little blip, pairing with his phone in case he'd like to engage Spotify, but Daniel leaves it alone.

"Busy," he says, of why not, because he is fully swerving away from that and into—

"Do you?"

He stares at Armand, while hitching one knee up with a foot pressed to the glove compartment so he can fix the tongue of his shoe.

"Yeah, any conversation with either of them is going to fucking suck, but it's way worse that we don't even know what we're doing."