"You're nervous," Daniel hedges — projecting, maybe. Not that he's nervous, or if he is it's for different reasons. Covers one of Armand's twitching hands with his own steady one. He's found out his hands still shake when he's really worked up about something, psychosomatic Parkinsons, but not here and now, the broad flat of his thumb up the elegant bones in the back of Armand's hand.

"This wouldn't be any more official and legally binding than you and Louis calling each other husband. Cute and ultimately meaningless," he says, lightly cruel the way Daniel can sometimes be. Especially when he feels cornered.

He lifts his other hand to Armand's jaw, touches there. "I don't think either of us are good at being husbands, is the other impediment."