Daniel pulls and Louis goes, folds in against him. A brief moment leaning bonelessly into Daniel before Louis' arms tighten around him. Holds him, clutched close, palm flattening across Daniel's back, sliding up to his nape. Breathing against Daniel's neck, where the scarring from Louis' teeth still rests after all this time.

Had Daniel tasted despair? Guilt? What had lingered in Louis' blood, what pieces of the long, frantic chase had been there for Daniel to taste?

A passing concern. Dispelled, momentarily, by Daniel's offering. (Louis wouldn't not remain, but—) It sparks up some deep tenderness in him, undeserving as he is. Daniel, taking care of him still.

"Don't rush," Louis tells him. "I don't mind waiting on you."

It makes him feel itchy with anxiety being even a room away. But Daniel deserves privacy. A closed door. A chance to gather himself without an audience.