The sight of Louis maiming himself that way makes Daniel flinch — he's talked so much of all the times he's wanted to kill himself, the imagery is profound — and at the same time, it inspires hunger to reach up and choke him. Like yanking the steering wheel out of his own hands and putting it firmly into an instinct he's never known before.

Holding Louis' wrist in his hands, simultaneously cradling him carefully and clutching with ravenous desire. Reality moves too fast for Daniel to think about. Consciousness is buried away somewhere behind a brand new monster's wild desperation. Blood, in his mouth, around fangs he doesn't know how to use. It's like light painting his insides. He doesn't have the presence of mind to compare it to Armand's (different, insane, an incident he will spend years unpacking), too wrapped up in it.

Not just food. Life, pleasure, connection. Does he feel Louis? Too much, for right now. He drinks, and loses himself.