Even in this moment, half-consumed with the revelation of what came before, what Armand took, what it is to recover it now, Louis' breath catches when Daniel leans in.

A kiss pressed to his forehead. Louis feels the strain of self-control, containing the impulse to lean up to catch Daniel's mouth as if he has any right to it at all. Daniel kisses his forehead. Louis shudders out a breath.

Says, "No."

Not crazy. No. Crazy is all the rest. The choices Louis made before. Daniel was something else entirely.

Or if it's crazy, it simply manifests the same in them both. Mirrored instincts, a choice that was so simple it was hardly a choice at all.

"Not crazy. It was crazy to spend fifty years away from you."

To say nothing of what else Louis had locked himself away from. What he had made of almost eighty years.