A breath that's like a laugh, around obviously bonkers. A warm furling feeling in his chest.

"You weren't meant to notice me," Armand says, and he can sound amused at himself, now, the kind of fucked up innocence of smiling fondly about the young human men Louis had flirted with his Paris, that Armand hunted for sport. But worse, probably. Insisting Daniel onto his back, kneeling between his legs. A hand, sliding up his thigh.

Looking at him as he adds, "I couldn't leave well enough alone, I know," and yes, they're talking about the strange happenings beneath the even stranger circumstance of him hovering over the interview i a bid to continue his long term control over his husband—

It's fine. Digs a thumb into the meat of inner thigh as he retrieves the bottle with his other hand.