Will it ever be enough? It seems impossible, a future where he has to consume less. Where he might not want enough to drown an appetite. Louis, calm and collected, spooning blood or chewing on small animals, never seems more alien than when Daniel is draining a mortal straight over the threshold into death. (Notes of respect, too. Daniel has never been any good at denying an indulgence.)

When will he stop drawing comparisons? Is it because he took Vampirism 101 for two weeks before a 500 year old demon slithered across a penthouse the second the door shut and bit him like a deranged alley cat?

Probably.

Daniel sways back up to his knees, looks down at the lovebirds, together forever. This is pretty fucked up, he thinks, but it feels far away. He touches his face and the blood there, savoring the last of it, its euphoria and chemical kick. The barest hint in Mr Relax, who had deliberately accepted the least amount he could get away with. Still. Enough to put a nice bow on the buzz in Daniel's system. He sighs, letting the feeling sweep over him, resting his hands on his head with fingers looped around his own wrist.

Finally, he clues in to the silence, punctuated by quick-paced French. He cocks his head, eyes shining, glinting.

"All good?"