"Because fear isn't interesting to any of us," Daniel retorts; it's rare he really let's himself be afraid of anything. "I mean what are you gonna do, kill me? I'm already dying. Torture me? I already have to listen to a rose tinted recollection of some French asshole."

It's not wholly true, he's afraid of getting hurt, of the way old emotional scars threaten to rupture. But sitting here getting dick-teased by some twinky little vampire doesn't match the way it felt to get divorced, to attend the funerals of people he once knew - or worse, to turn down the invitation because there's a goddamn pandemic and he's too sick to safely travel.