"My body has been dying," he says, sharp and brittle in response to the sledgehammer reminder that now he's cursed like this, some fucking old man, being tended to by an impossibly handsome 200 year old who could have been a supermodel if he were a youthful millennial. What a fucking joke, being seventy and suddenly becoming frozen in time.

Maybe more complaining would come, layers on layers of reality sinking in, but as he sits down he hears Months and it shocks him.

Months? He thought weeks. Nobody caught him in customs on any of these airports, nobody noticed he was gone, huh. Well that's. Kind of fucked, but not surprising. Louis only noticed because he called him.

Louis. Daniel looks at him, and his own face falls, seeing how sad the other man looks. He gets a hold of him again.

"Don't do that. Just don't. I shouldn't have called, I should have just let you move on. It's okay, alright? I'm okay."