Daniel doesn't need a promise of togetherness, it's not really about him. He'll figure it out. He survived this long, drug addiction and his life being upended in divorce, kids when he didn't really want any, being fired over and fire. Being tortured for a fucking week. Armand. Louis, though, he worries about. Worries about feeling him, seeing his wrist like that. It shocks too close for him in this new and uneasy state, he feels too intensely.

But he can sense Louis' relief, and finds his own in how tightly they're clinging to each other. Louis doesn't feel like he's about to slip away over guilt. Fuck, this is ... a lot.

"This is—"

What is it? C'mon, Daniel, you're a writer.

"Fucking crazy," is what he ends up saying, teary laughter in his voice.