Still here. Alive-but-not. Daniel finally, properly, understands what's happening, and manages to get a grasp on it. Wrangle it down. He's so used to paying attention to everything and everyone around him, picking up on details and patterns and tells. He will have to do all of that differently, learn to calibrate his passive observation so that it isn't this.

The prospect is as daunting as it is interesting.

Puking up his liver (or whatever) was much easier.

A shaky breath, then another, steadier one. So close to Louis, closer than he's been to anyone in... years, definitely. That thought is there, in the shelter of Louis' mind, and it's somewhat of a marvel until Daniel realizes what they must look like, Louis cradling some decrepit old man out in public in a fucking tourist hot spot, and he winces. Embarrassment colors his relief, and Daniel withdraws with a wry feeling of apology.

"I'm okay," he says, straightening up. Convincing himself that it's the truth, that he's okay. Repeats it. "I'm okay."

Maybe. Crosses his arms, self-soothing.

"If we could just. I dunno, get the fuck outta here, I guess."