An internal flinch of shame (does Louis feel it? he hopes not) about that touch. He knows what he looks like. That's the trade off, he supposes. Daniel has no angst about his mortal life being stolen from him, because he's already lived a mortal life. But he gets to be undesirable by anyone but weird fetish chasers forever.

More than fair. He'd sworn off longterm companionship before he ever knew the c-word had special vampiric connotations. Weirdos are fine, and Daniel doesn't need another divorce. But it must be particularly strange for someone eternally young and beautiful to look at and think about.

"You say that," is wry, with a touch of humor. About disappointment. Maybe they shouldn't spend more than a week at a time together. Minimize the risk of Louis realizing what a catastrophe Daniel is capable of being.

"You don't have to worry about that. Not with me."

Not even Armand could talk him into wanting the end, all his hypnotic powers pressed pedal to the metal, when Daniel was twenty years old and psychologically terrorized and on death's door from exhaustion. I like my life. I have a thing in the city. He didn't ask for the Gift because he wanted to die. He wanted to feel better.