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Summary
Daniel allows himself to really take him in, now that the sharp edges of his mind have been sufficiently smoothed over with the hazy cloud of yes, finally, need, and want. The contrast of the purple dress on Armand’s brown skin is striking. Daniel’s good with words; hell, he’s made a whole career out of it, but right now the words are failing him. He’s no good at flowery language but god he’s half inspired to get up and write a poem right about now.
“Pretty,” he says instead. Armand laughs, light and airy, and shifts in his lap.
1985. After nearly a year apart, Armand returns to Daniel in the middle of the night, dressed in only a purple slip.