Unless Louis wants to try very hard to reignite it tomorrow, it's probably defused— Daniel didn't want to talk anyway, he'll shelve it, compartmentalize, move on. Who knows what move on will entail. Maybe find a new game plan, maybe nothing. Tomorrow is a new night.

"Yeah, yeah." Fine!! "Goodnight, Louis. You too, Blondie."

Sulking but not forgotten.

Bedtime. Sure. He can pretend. Daniel does a last sweep to make sure he has the right phone charging brick (and to double-check curtains and screens), and then closes himself away in his coffin, sufficiently cowed into giving up the appearance of anything else, today. Into the casket, and the daytime world of anxiety texting, since he's never actually going to be able to get any fucking sleep.