Chapter Text
“...And the next thing I know, this guy shoves me into his closet, like I'm his fucking mistress and he heard his fiancée's footsteps in the apartment or whatever, and I'm sitting there, a guy who had already won his first Pulitzer, with a wife and kid somewhere out there rapidly losing faith in me, and I'm in this closet while this dude tries to convince his dealer that he'll get him the money if he gives him just one more week. And then these guys start tearing his room apart, trying to scare him or find some stash they were convinced he was hiding, and I had, like, about a minute to unbutton my shirt before they opened the closet. I had to pretend I was there just to fuck him. They took my money, left me only a photo of my wife and daughter, pulling it out of my wallet and dropping it at my feet, because in their eyes I was a fag, a junkie, and a cheater. Even though I was only two of those things!”
They are in his bedroom. Daniel, fresh out of the shower in a robe, is drinking his second martini, sitting on the bed, while Armand, in pajamas, listens to him, lying at the foot of the bed, admiring him with a smile on his face.
They’ve been at this for a couple of hours, and Daniel doesn’t ask about it, but suspects Armand is somehow keeping Louis in the dark using his vampiric abilities. It doesn't seem to bother him too much, as he looks incredibly, comfortably relaxed, listening to story after story.
“You never cheated on anyone?” Armand asks, clearly not buying it.
“Oh, fuck off, I was a bad husband, but I was a faithful one,” Daniel winces, taking a sip of his martini. “...Well, I slept with other people during my second marriage, but so did she, and it doesn't count, because we opened our marriage when our kid was born. So fuck off”.
Armand smiles, highly amused. He has neither shoes nor socks on, swinging his feet in the air as he lies on his stomach.
“Your second wife doesn't look like me,” he remarks out of the blue, accidentally making Daniel choke and cough.
“So what?” the man asks, clearing his throat, still in shock that this topic was even brought up. “Was I supposed to only date people who look like you? Was that in the contract I signed? You know, most of the people I've slept with in my life weren't dark-skinned angels from Renaissance paintings. They were white guys in their thirties or early forties. So... don't make me look crazy and obsessed with you because I am not”.
“That wasn't my intention, Daniel,” Armand replies with a smile, rolling onto his side and propping his cheek on his hand. “I just got curious whether your taste has changed over time, or if Alice was just an exception that didn't set a rule”.
“I didn't choose my wives based on how much they resembled my vampire ex-boyfriend,” Daniel snaps without any real bite. “And I didn't cheat on them. Emotional infidelity was enough - and yes, I am talking about you, asshole. Do you have any idea what a piece of shit I felt like all those years every time I thought about you? Or how many times I was a hair's breadth away from Alice filing for divorce because I called out your name while we were having sex, again? You can't imagine the story I had to make up. And we didn't have sex for three months after that, which is surprisingly short amount of time after this huge of a fuck-up, if you ask me! Alice was a fucking saint!”
Armand poorly attempts to contain his amusement and smugness. “Daniel Molloy. Fag, junkie, faithful husband,” he says, then shrugs. “Third being debatable,” he adds, and Daniel rolls his eyes, snorting and giving him a slight nudge with his foot.
He takes a sip of his martini, draining the glass. “I'm not going to listen to lectures about cheating from you, asshole,” he says, setting the glass on the nightstand. “What's your boyfriend doing right now? Playing video games? Watching cat videos in the home theater?”
“He's sleeping,” Armand answers calmly. “It's already morning. Your sleep schedule is catastrophic”.
“Always been a creature of the night anyway,” Daniel says nonchalantly, settling more comfortably in bed and grabbing his phone to confirm that it really is dawn now. With these blackout windows, you really can't tell. “Can you be a dear and hand me my laptop?”
Armand sighs, but gets up to grab the laptop from the desk and hand it to the man.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” Daniel says, opening it and waking it from sleep mode. Armand decides to sit next to him this time, but the man rolls his eyes. “Hey, turn away, I'm not giving you my laptop password. I wasn't born last night. Go back to your spot”.
Armand rolls his eyes, clicking his tongue, but still returns to the foot of the bed with a huff and grabs one of Daniel's legs, just to have some physical contact, and starts massaging it. “As if it could be anything complicated. I’m confident I could figure it out in a matter of minutes if I tried”.
Daniel quickly types in the numbers and smirks. “Believe me, buddy, it's something no one will ever guess, not even you”.
Armand looks at him again, curious. “What is it?”
“Your birthday,” Daniel declares.
The vampire rolls his eyes again, unimpressed. “Very funny”.
Daniel shrugs. “It's true”.
“Daniel,” Armand sighs. “Even I don't know the exact date of my birth, so don't expect me to believe that you somehow know it,” he says, sounding like he's talking to a teenager trying to pull a fast one on him.
“Let me tell you a story about one of my trips abroad back in the '94,” Daniel starts. “That year I went to India to interview a local historian, and, well, a couple of other guys… spent countless nights in the archives, and then spent the rest of the trip studying ancient ruins dating from the fourteenth to the sixteenth century,” Daniel says.
Armand stares at him with an unreadable expression.
The man, however, doesn't even look up, instead opening various files on his computer in search of the right one. “Fun fact, by the way: you'd be surprised how few Aruns were born between 1490 and 1520”.
Armand stops massaging his leg and just stares at his face. “You didn’t,” he says, finding everything the man is spouting right now to be absolute stupidity and madness.
Daniel smirks. “Oh, I did,” he says. “Spent over a month there, slept in strangers' houses in exchange for chores, then in dens and temples, smoked suspicious herbs with a guy named Rohit, and got as much food poisoning as humanly possible. Also ruined my eyesight, hence the glasses”.
Armand stares. “And?”
Daniel finally looks at him, a faint smirk playing on his lips, holding the pause for a beat longer. “And I didn’t find shit,” he deadpans, and Armand sighs, rolling his eyes. “Yeah. But, I mean, it was still worth it. Learned a lot of interesting stuff about the country and the culture, which always comes in handy. Anyway, I came back to the States and decided, fuck it, since I found nothing, I should just make up your birthday myself. So that's exactly what I did”.
Armand bites his lip, lowering his gaze, and continues to massage his foot. “So, when is my birthday?”
Daniel smirks. “Nice try. I can't tell you. You'll hack my laptop!” he says, looking back at the screen. “And my email. And my LinkedIn. And... well, a lot of things, to be honest. I'm terrible with cybersecurity”.
“You made up a birthday for me just to use it as your password for everything?” Armand asks, unsure whether he should feel a surge of warmth for this charming boy or laugh at him. He could do both, he thinks.
“No,” Daniel snorts, not looking at him. “I did it for another, more pathetic reason, which I'm not going to tell you about, because I know you - you’ll ruin it with your undying curiosity and it will be a mess".
He wrote letters. Forced himself to do it only once a year, because otherwise it would be pure madness. He kept them in a separate, secret place and planned to leave them all to Armand in his will. Because he is disgustingly pathetic like that.
Armand chews on his lip, massaging his foot. “I could torture this information out of you,” he says.
Daniel doesn't even look up from the laptop. “I know you could, baby, but I'm already a little tired, if I’m being honest. I'm going to jot down a few thoughts here, and then I think it's time for me to hit the sack. You can stay if you want, though, I don’t mind. Didn’t have sleep paralysis in a while, kinda miss the thrill”.
The vampire strokes his skin thoughtfully. “Alright...” he says. “I'll stay”.
It's a little strange, after all these years, falling asleep with Armand nearby, watching him in the dark with those big, glowing orange eyes. But it isn't uncomfortable. Well, it is at first, when the vampire just sits at the foot of the bed doing nothing, not even breathing, merely existing as a presence in the dark. But then Daniel tells him to stop acting like a demon, and he moves closer, sitting on the edge of the bed and stroking his boy's gray curls, lulling him to sleep.
After that, Daniel - though he would never admit it to anyone - fell asleep in a couple of minutes like a child, drooling on the pillow and everything. Armand finds it terribly charming and sweet, and stays with him through the day.
Daniel wakes up alone, of course. But he feels good. Stretching until his back cracks, he sighs, sleepily looking around. He notices his laptop has been put back on the desk, his slippers are placed exactly where he usually puts his feet when getting out of bed, and, on the nightstand, there is already a glass of water, his medication, and his glasses, wiped clean of any smudges. Armand took the martini glass with him, too. Daniel smirks, so horribly fond of him.
He freshens up, putting on his black trousers and a gray shirt, rolling the sleeves up to his elbows because he knew Armand liked it, and had caught his glances at his forearms far too often for it to be a coincidence.
He works for a while before breakfast - which is actually dinner - and then, after eating in the dining room in proud solitude, he finally heads to the living room when Louis invites him to continue the interview.
Armand is there too, of course. He talks about the period when the play spilled beyond the theater stage and instead became his entire life. How Santiago and his coven plotted against them all, while he played the patient director, soothing the fragile ego of the lead actor with his elegant hand.
There was something confusing about this story, so Daniel listens to him carefully, with obvious skepticism in his stare, until at some point he loses patience and voices the glaringly obvious detail that's been bothering him:
“You were an ancient vampire, you could read any mind you wanted,” he says.
Armand shrugs, lowering his gaze for a brief moment. “I was in love,” he answers.
This makes Louis smirk, sitting in a separate armchair from him now.
That's interesting. Daniel looks at him, a shark smelling blood seeping from the wound of someone else's relationship. “You buy that?”
Louis leans back in his armchair, crossing his arms over his chest. “I buy that he'd been in power a long time. You can get lazy,” he shrugs.
Armand looks at him, wounded. “It was love”.
Another shrug. “Okay. And love. He was loving in those days, sure,” Louis agrees, almost indifferent.
Daniel snorts, his scrutinizing gaze sweeping over the couple. Doesn't look like the BDSM session helped, apparently. Well, no one can blame Armand for giving it a try.
The man lowers his gaze to Claudia's diary, which he holds in his hands, and decides to read the last page aloud. “Diaries are friends of last resort. I have found one not made of paper and glue. Fuck these vampires,” he quotes, smirking slightly as he raises his gaze to the couple. He closes the diary. “That’s her last entry. Unless you’re sitting on more of those ripped-out pages”.
“You have everything we have,” Armand says, crossing his legs, settling more comfortably in his seat and mirroring Louis's posture, surely fully aware of it. “Unless you’re sitting on something. Behind your… encrypted laptop”.
This makes him smirk. And perhaps get a little nervous, so he quickly takes a sip from the martini glass Rashid brought and changes the subject. “A little more vermouth next time, Rashid,” he offers his critique, pursing his lips slightly, mostly for theatrical effect.
“I can make another,” Rashid says, calm, looking like an unflappable soldier on a mission.
“No, it's good,” Daniel waves him off, setting the glass on the table and looking at Armand with a smirk. “Just his were better”.
The look he gets from Armand in response reminds him of a cat twitching its whiskers, holding back its fangs from baring them. It's too good, and he is thoroughly pleased with himself, ready to listen to the rest of the story as Louis continues.
Madeleine. Claudia's immortal lover, not yet immortal. There is something about her. Well, there was. Daniel tries not to let associations and memories from his own past cling to this story, because it's wrong, weird, and of course he's just seeing parallels where there are none, it’s natural for a human, happens all the time. But he doesn't want to delude himself into thinking he understands her, that they think the same way about vampirism.
And yet, their attitudes toward it aren't all that different, he has to point it out mentally and in his notes on the interview. The girl was just lucky enough to encounter a vampire who didn't spend fifty years telling her what a curse it is to be immortal and drink blood.
He doesn't go so far as to think about envy. Of course not. He already sees where this is going. Claudia is going to die, and it seems that it will happen soon enough, so... yeah, he wouldn't wish such a fate on his worst enemy. Losing your loved one. Losing your maker. Losing… well.
He doesn’t like where his mind’s going.
Then comes the part of the story where Louis says that Claudia wanted Armand to turn Madeleine, and oh boy, Daniel already knows where this is going. He keeps his words to himself for now, though, because he has to remind himself that Louis has no idea he already knows everything about Armand's stance on this topic. He just bites his lip and studies Armand while Louis speaks.
Armand recounts the conversation with Madeleine then, avoiding Daniel's gaze. It's too much for him, he supposes. Well, he doesn’t blame him, not for this, at least.
From what the journalist hears, the woman gave all the right answers, and if Armand were being honest about allowing the possibility of turning her, by all logic, he should have. A smart, confident woman, not shaking at the idea of murder, not planning to feed on rats and cats. She wasn't afraid of him, wasn't afraid to give sharp and candid answers, didn't lie, and didn't pretend to be someone else.
And yet, Armand remained unyielding.
“He said no!” Louis says, in a tone that implies, how dare he?
Armand keeps his arms crossed over his chest, refusing to look at either of them. “I said I would not do it”.
Daniel smirks without any humor, looking at him. “Maître in the bedroom, maître only when it's hot or convenient”.
“That’s how I took it,” Louis agrees.
“I had my reasons,” Armand says reservedly, finally looking at Daniel.
Daniel, casually resting his arm on the back of the sofa, turns his gaze to him. “Yeah?” he asks. “What was it?”
Armand stares him down, as if summoning every ounce of divine patience he possesses just to keep from calling him an unbearable brat asking stupid questions to which he already knows all the possible answers.
Louis has to answer for him. “He had never made one”.
Daniel can’t fake surprise and doesn’t see much point in it; he only raises his eyebrows briefly, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the back of the sofa as he looks at Armand, before finally smirking.
“Ah-ha... okay, um, let me guess,” he says, shifting his position on the sofa. Looking up at the ceiling, he begins to rattle off options, actually just recalling the incomplete list of excuses he’d gotten from the vampire back in the day. “Um... oh, you think being a vampire is a curse, and all vampires will go to hell, and you’re just a good, kind-hearted soul who doesn’t want to doom another poor human to eternal torment in a cauldron on one of the nine circles? No, wait... um, maybe it has something to do with the fact that the maker-fledgling bond fills you with disgust and/or fear? Like... it’s a deep attachment, and - oh, how could I forget - it’s a vulnerability, because a maker can’t read their fledgling’s thoughts. And you hate that, don’t you, Armand? Am I right? Or, wait a minute - maybe you were brainwashed when they took you from Marius and made you the leader of a cult? A vampire’s sacred mission is to serve God by serving Satan, all that crap. Or maybe you’ve just lived so long that you forgot being human sucks, and started viewing mortal life as a gift, and death as a long-awaited prize you’ll never get to claim in this endless rat race? Or maybe-”
“I made a vow to my maker,” Armand interrupts, his tone cold and firm, staring straight at Daniel as he tries to keep his cool and not tear him apart for being like this.
The man purses his lips, his gaze fixed solely on Armand, almost forgetting that Louis is still in the room.
Unlike Armand, Louis clearly found Daniel’s little speech amusing, as he looks at his boyfriend with a light smile.
The journalist stays silent for a couple of seconds, but he’s already fanned the flames, and there’s no way he can shut up now. “To your maker?” he asks, pulling the laptop onto his lap. “Okay, let’s see… Maker, maker, maker...” he pretends to search for something on it. “Ah, yes! Here he is. Marius de Romanus, a pedo- oh, sorry, a vampire over a millennium and a half old, who bought a fifteen-year-old boy out of a brothel and lent him out to his friends whenever they came to town to party,” he says, lifting his gaze from the screen back to Armand. “Who turned you only because you were sick, or, well, maybe because you were getting a little too old for his taste, who can say for sure now, right - I mean, he’s dead, isn’t he? And this is the guy you made a vow to, one you can’t bring yourself to break even half a millennium later, Armand? Really?”
“Daniel Molloy: a moralist, a saint, a self-proclaimed therapist," Armand says sarcastically, giving him a stern, biting smile that lasts only a moment before his expression turns serious again. “Is this that famous point of view the not-so-young, bright journalist has settled on? Is this how you plan to paint me on the pages of your tacky book? An unfairly wronged child with a stolen childhood, or perhaps the Mary Magdalene of this story, not yet repentant of her sins?”
“I think you're full of shit, Armand. I mean, a vow to your maker? Yeah, that’s not it. No, I'm not buying it,” Daniel says. “I think you only have two honest reasons for not bestowing your dark gift on anyone. The first is the loss of control, dependence on another creature, which you can't allow yourself, because in the end, this is all about survival for you, not love, am I right? And the second? You're simply afraid that you'll forge a bond with someone, place too much hope in it, and then be disappointed, breaking your own heart over shattered expectations, again. You can't bear the thought of being hated the way you eventually came to hate him. Deep down, where no one can notice it, where no one can judge you... or, well, perhaps I’m wrong and it's much simpler than that, and it's just that you haven't found anyone you deem worthy of being your one and only fledgling?” he keeps shooting in the dark, knowing he’s really close to hit the bullseye.
“That's not true,” and oh, is Armand's voice actually trembling? Daniel smells blood in the water. His instincts tell him to keep pushing.
“What happened after your maker made you?” he presses. “Everything changed, didn't it? He didn't shower you with his mercy anymore?”
“This is irrelevant to the story, and you are straying from the point, Mr. Molloy,” Armand says, the color of his eyes shifting, his irises almost visibly vibrating.
“My readers will want to know about this, Armand. I'm just digging for information so they get the full picture; that's the whole point of the book, the whole point of my job,” Daniel doesn't back down, continuing to stare, not afraid of him. “I can't just tell them, 'Oh, he didn't turn anyone his whole life because of a vow he made to his maker,' because that would be a fucking smelling pile of bullshit!”
“From the way you sound, I assume you've already decided for yourself why I chose this path, Mr. Molloy, so why don't you just write about it yourself, saving all of us from this useless play?” Armand asks bitterly, hurt and irritation boiling inside him, nearing a breaking point.
“Yeah, I think you just never cared about anyone enough to want to gift them eternal life,” Daniel says defiantly, smirking as he looks at him. “Not a single person in the whole existence of the big, bad vampire Armand who was worth his precious ancient blood”.
“That is not true!” Armand snaps to his feet, and Daniel sees blood welling up in the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill down his cheeks. “Don’t you dare saying this, Mr. Molloy, you know I-”
“So many people have hated you over the centuries, you're terrified of making another one with your own fangs,” Daniel, of course, doesn’t stop. “Because everybody eventually begins to hate their makers, right? Who told you that, by the way? Marius? Or wait, no one ever told you this, did they? It was just much more convenient and easy for you to accept this unshakable truth than to admit that your own hatred for your dear and beloved maker stems not from the fact that he turned you into a vampire, but from what he did to you before-”
“Daniel-” Louis tries to interject, but the man doesn't even glance his way, continuing to sit on the sofa and look up at his lover with defiance, smugness, and cruelty:
“I thought I had to look for the reasons behind it in your worldview, in your views on mortality and immortality, but that's secondary, isn't it, Armand?” Daniel asks. “A fledgling always hates their maker, so your hatred for Marius is just a consequence of something inevitable, nothing personal, huh? Well, I mean, I kinda get it. No one likes to admit that something was done to them against their will, and they did nothing to save themselves, etcetera, etcetera. It's much easier to build a cage for yourself and live in it for the next half a millennium. 'I'm not a victim, Mr. Molloy, this is just what it means to be a vampire!'”
The next thing he knows, Armand is lunging at him, fangs bared, moving with preternatural speed.
With a violent, effortless jerk, the vampire yanks him up from the sofa and hurls his body across the room.
Daniel winces from the pain the impact brings, but it isn't something he hadn't expected or wasn't used to. Yes, his glasses have fallen off somewhere nearby, and it will be harder for him to get up on his own at this age now than in their better days, but at least he hasn't hit his head on any corners, so that isn't too bad. There’s also no blood! He thinks… He hopes. He's kinda dizzy with adrenaline right now to think about it.
"Armand!" Louis is on his feet instantly, appearing between them. His hands come up to grip Armand’s shoulders, his voice sharp with shock and command. "Enough! Are you out of your mind? You could’ve killed him! Go somewhere else, right now, and cool off before you do something you’ll regret!"
Armand stands frozen, his chest heaving, his fangs still bared as he stares down at the crumpled figure on the floor behind Louis’ shoulder.
For a single, terrifying second, the mask of the ancient, untouchable vampire shatters completely. Pure, unadulterated panic flashes through his ancient eyes. Did I break him? The thought is a cold, paralyzing spike in his chest. No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no. He couldn’t. After all these years. All these years of loving this infuriating, brilliant, fragile man, of holding him in his loving embrace, of memorizing the exact rhythm of his aging heart - and he just threw him across the room like a ragdoll, so recklessly, so emotionally! Is he out of his mind? Daniel isn't twenty-seven anymore; he can't afford to be this rough with him!
He instantly forgets everything that was said between them and just stares at the man, afraid to even move, listening intently to the beating of his heart, the tempo of his breathing. His lips are quivering, his mouth slightly open.
On the floor, Daniel lets out a sharp groan. He pushes himself up on his elbows, wincing as he rolls his shoulder. His short grey curls are messed up, and his grey shirt is wrinkled and pulled taut where Armand had grabbed it.
He is fine - no bones broken, no blood spilled - but the sheer, brutal force of the vampire is still surely a stark, sobering reality check. His heart is hammering a frantic, elevated rhythm against his ribs. Like good old times, he thinks.
And then he laughs.
Armand's fangs retract, but his gaze remains fixed on Daniel. He realizes the man is probably fine right now, judging by all the signs - the heartbeat, the breathing, the laughter. But his mind fills with horrific images of what could have happened if he had miscalculated his strength, or thrown him in the wrong direction. Did he subconsciously throw him exactly there and in this exact way so as not to kill him, or was it a happy accident? God, the sheer horror he feels right now! And Daniel is laughing. He could have killed him, and Daniel is laughing!
Armand straightens his spine, pulling his shoulders back with aristocratic rigidity, and gently but firmly removes Louis’s hands from his arms.
He cannot let Louis see the violent tremor in his hands. He cannot let his husband see the desperate, agonizing urge to drop to his knees, gather Daniel into his arms, and check him for any hidden injuries. He must be the calm monster, the rock against which waves crash and ships shatter.
"You are a reckless, insolent child, Mr. Molloy," Armand says. His voice is dangerously quiet, stripped of all warmth, a perfect, chilling imitation of the cold creature Louis expects him to be at the moment. His jaw is clenched so tight it aches, and Daniel looks up at him from the floor. "You mistake my patience for weakness. Do not test it again".
Louis looks between them, his brow furrowed with deep concern and confusion. "Armand, that was excessive. He was just asking questions. He was doing his job, for God’s sake!"
"He is baiting me, Louis," Armand replies smoothly, though his gaze flicks to Daniel with calculated, icy disdain. "And I will not be baited in my own home. Especially not by a mortal who thinks he understands the weight of centuries he has not lived yet".
The man almost starts rolling his eyes at him, but then it clicks and he frowns instead.
“...Yet?” Daniel repeats. “The hell do you mean ‘yet’?”
Silence.
Armand, realizing his mistake, blinks and freezes like a statue in a museum.
Louis looks at the man before letting out a calm sigh and shrugging.
“Well…” Louis starts. “I'm not taking back my words. What I offered you back then, the Dark Gift. I'm ready to give it to you, if you still want it when the interview is over. When you have the whole story in front of you so that you could… make your own decision”.
Armand doesn't look at him.
Daniel shifts his gaze to Louis, skeptical, but then looks back at Armand, because this all looks and sounds a bit strange and very suspicious. “And you're okay with this?” he asks him, the lack of trust evident in his voice.
The vampire looks at him then, his face trying to maintain as neutral an expression as possible. “I am not a part of this equation, am I? That is your decision. And Louis’s. Not mine”.
Yeah, right. Sure thing, boss. And I am the lost and abandoned child of Lady Gaga.
Daniel looks up at him, skepticism and uncertainty written all over his face, and then sighs. “Armand... A contradiction that is your mind,” he mockingly repeats the vampire’s words with a slight smile. “Maybe you should ask Dr. Fareed for recommendations, see if he knows any vampire therapists. Someone with sturdier bones. Or, you know, maybe just hold all the sessions in a padded room right from the beginning, that’s not a bad idea either. I think you left a bruise on my shoulder, pal...”
“And I think you've crossed a line,” Armand remarks coldly.
“And I think we need to take a break,” Louis insists, giving Armand a pointed look.
Armand just sighs and, without looking at anyone, sharply turns and leaves the room.
His hands are still shaking, his thoughts spiraling more and more the further he goes away from the living room, and he doesn’t even realize where he’s going until he’s alone, in his little room with his coffin and memories, shutting the door behind himself and closing his eyes as he rubs at his own face with his claws. The image of Daniel the moment he hit the floor is everything he sees behind his eyelids, and he feels scared.
Louis stays in the living room and sighs too, looking back at the man and stepping over to help him up, but Daniel waves off the help, hating being treated like he's weaker than he is. “I'm sorry, Daniel. He's usually more composed and less... reactive, than this,” he apologizes.
Daniel rubs his shoulder, heading back to the sofa to grab his martini glass. “Relax, pal. When you're a top-tier journalist, this happens. I've had my ass kicked during the interviews more times than... well, more times than you've had your ass kicked in all your years. So I'm fine,” he snorts, taking a sip. He looks at the laptop, which is still recording. Sighs. “Anyway, I think we should pick this up tomorrow, when the queen cools off,” and after he has his private conversation with him. One of them should apologize. He's not sure who exactly, though. But oh well. He'll figure it out.
“Of course… But are you sure you’re feeling alright, Daniel?” Louis asks, still looking at him uncertainly, like he might be broken. Which, well, fair, but at the same time, fuck off.
“I’m fine!” Daniel says irritably, shutting off the recording on his laptop and rubbing his shoulder.
“We have medical staff here, they can-” Louis starts, but sighs when Daniel glares at him like he’s about to punch him in his fangs. “Alright. My apologies,” he says. “I’m just worried, that’s all. And I am terribly sorry. I really didn’t think Armand would resort to violence”.
Daniel cracks a laugh, turning to look at him and raising an eyebrow. “Really? I did”.
“What?” Louis looks at him, bewildered. He tilts his head. Blinks. “Wait. You orchestrated this just so he would lash out at you?”
“Well, “orchestrated” is a big word for it, but, I mean, yeah”.
Louis looks at him like Daniel has done something crazy. “...Why?”
“Are you kidding?” Daniel chuckles. “I poked his hive with a stick and he cracked on the truth. Now I’ve got my answers, man, and he didn’t even break a bone in my body! That’s fucking awesome”.
“...He could have killed you, Daniel,” Louis points out, like he’s talking to a child or a senile old man.
“And yet here I am, still alive and kicking,” Daniel replies.
At this point he’s realizing as last that he’d better end this conversation now before he blurts out something he shouldn't to Louis, like, of course I wasn't afraid he might kill me, it's Armand, that idiot just last night admitted he's thinking of offing himself when I kick the bucket. There's no way he'd kill my ass.
Yeah.
“Anyway, it worked, didn't it?” he notices instead. “Get some rest now, Louis, cause I'm gonna come back tomorrow for more, and you're not safe either," he tosses out with a slight smile, before turning around and heading to his room.
He leaves Louis alone, confused and uncertain.