Why did Armand save him, in San Francisco? Why didn't Armand just kill him at any point those times when Louis couldn't get up? Why did Armand restrain Louis from fucking with his Parkinson's, why didn't Armand kill him after Louis left?

Why did you make me?

He can't get the question out. He's tried to talk himself into it. Been trying for some time now, awkwardly gathering up courage like a passive system running in the background. It fails to manifest now, as the car is parked in a dirt 'lot' in front of a small farm store. No Gas Here, reads a sign propped on the patio. 20 Miles South.

The cloudy night sky is like a silver blanket that bright colors of foliage decorate; the gentle illumination of the older-than-Daniel store is like a beacon, pouring light out over this corner of woods. Footpaths between dormant apple trees suggest frequent stops from roadtrippers who check in for kitsch and fresh eggs and the ability to wander and pick some fruit, should the season permit. Maples tower over those, some already red, bright like fireworks.

Sleeping birds. A distant raccoon. Cricket nightsongs.

"Figure drawing."

It fucking scares him. And yet: agreed.