There's a nerve that runs along the outside side of the thigh. Daniel had a pinched one, in his forties. He presses his fingers along where it would be, in Armand. Who likes plants. Daniel smiles a little to himself; he knows that, he thinks. He remembers his tree and its unfortunate, symbolic immolation. He wonders if his maker would like to do any gardening here.

"It's not that kind of a thought." Still touching him. He sees painted stars, even though there aren't any on the ceiling, drift down to illuminate them here on the floor. "It doesn't come with any expectations. You just are, and that's what I think."

Finally, Daniel glances up, and sees Armand's face.

He wishes he had some endearment for him. He can't think of any that wouldn't sound patronizing, though. Babe? Honey? Boss? The free hand that's been used just for grounding slides up a bit, settling over the center of his chest.

"We're still right here."