A/N: Thanks to all who reviewed! I'll keep it short this time and let you all get to reading. This is a longer chapter, so hope you all enjoy!

Guest: Yup, the Unmelting Snow is real ingredient, kind of. It's specifically used in The White Phial quest and can't be used at an alchemy station. So I guess that means it's somewhere in between. And yes, semi-awkwardness is always fun to write when in concerns these two lol!

Shamash-ub: I wasn't too happy with the Blades during my first playthrough either. I only finished their quest line once just to see what happens, but I hated every minute of it lol. Delphine kind of pisses me off tbh I'm thinking that's a normal reaction, she isn't very likable

msyendor: Yeah you pretty much summed Paarthurnax up! Your review made me laugh, so thanks for that ;)

Legerdemain

Chapter Twenty Six | Dartwing

It was difficult to believe that the trip home was such a fast journey. The quest had taken close to a month. They had traversed the wilderness and visited many places that Quintus never thought he would see. That it would take only three days to return to Windhelm left him very shocked indeed, and certainly a little upset too, though he did not show it.

"Imagine!" he exclaimed as they came within sight of the massive gates. "Sleeping in an actual bed and not having to worry about being stabbed in the night!" And there was a great many other things he was excited for too. Like being able to open his shop up again and return to his alchemy. And eating late breakfasts and seeing his master again. And of course getting the Phial ready. That was something he'd spent much time thinking about.

Wyn chuckled and responded with an amused, "Yes, those certainly are things to look forward to. I'm surprised you lasted as long as you did out in the wilds, to be honest."

At this, Quintus sent her a glowering look that told her just what he thought about her baited words. He huffed and shifted in his saddle, "I was perfectly fine, thank you very much. Though I had a rough start, I'll admit. And I still haven't gotten used to riding all day in a saddle."

He cringed at that, because it was so very true. His rear end hurt like no tomorrow, and he wouldn't bother thinking about the other overly sensitive parts of his anatomy that had to put up with being chafed and mistreated during the lengthy journey. Yes, he was looking forward to being back in his shop. And yet…

What would become of them? It had been something he'd thought about for many days now. She was the Dragonborn and no doubt had many things to keep her busy…and away from him. And what if she decided that she wasn't all that interested in him after all? When they settled back into mundane life, what if she realized he had no place in her grand, warrior life? He kept silent on these worries, but he could not deny that they had grown substantially the closer they got to Windhelm. And by the time they reached the stables and dismounted at last, he could hardly think of anything else.

Ulundil wasn't around to stable their horses, but Wyn knew what she was doing as she led the mounts into the enclosed area. Quintus followed, having learned at least a little bit about horse tack and bridles and the like. He had a basic understanding of many things he never thought he'd have, such as fighting and other warrior-things. And so he was able to pull the saddle off his horse and remove the bridle and even begin to brush the beast down. Together, he and Wyn worked in quiet, companionable silence as they dealt with the horses and made sure they were comfortable for the night. When they were at last finished, Wyn gathered all the brushes and tools and put them back.

"Should we go to your shop? I'm sure you're eager to start working on the Phial," she said, and he chuckled.

"I think I'm more eager for a good night's sleep first," he told her with a cheeky smile, and as they began walking up towards the gates of the city, he wondered how long it would be before the course of their friendship changed. They were no longer in the wilds, where heady romance could be cultivated without worry. They both had reputations to look after, and separate lives to live. This, surely, had to be the end. Right?

But Wyn, tranquil as ever, merely smiled and told him, "I'll come by your shop tomorrow morning. Make some of those sausages, hmm?"

And it felt so natural that Quintus could only stare, and laugh, and nod, and say, "Make it late morning. I plan on sleeping in tomorrow."

She caught his eye and said, "Have a good sleep, alchemist." And before he could wonder at the look in her eye and at the strange yearning that overcame him, Wyn was stepping away and leaving him standing by the gates and the inn and the evening people who seemed to stroll along like ghosts among this haunted city.

He turned and started walking back to his shop, feeling very much changed compared to the man he'd been before, the last time he'd made this walk. And as he stepped through the quiet, empty market and saw his shop waiting earnestly at the end of it, he wondered just what, exactly, he felt. Happiness? Familiarity? Certainly. But also a deep welling sense of frightening grief tunneled through the entirety of him and made him very afraid.

He paused, swallowed, then reached out and opened the door of the shop he'd lived in for the better half of his life. Inside, nothing had changed, and he wasn't sure if he was pleased or very much unhappy about it. Perhaps he'd never be happy living this dull life anymore, for Wyn had done the impossible: made the merchant into an adventurer. Made him long for stars and quests rather than cotton mattresses and routines. Made him long for her.

The next time Quintus Navale saw the Dragonborn, he was utterly prepared for it, and yet also so completely unprepared that he could hardly function. He couldn't sleep either. Perhaps it was simply the strange feeling of finally being home again. He'd dreamt of returning ever since he started the quest, but now that he was safe and comfortable it felt wrong, like he almost didn't belong behind his counter or beside his alchemy station. Like he was just a tenant in the building, a ghost wandering a borrowed imprinted home. He didn't feel like Quintus Navale. Something had changed within him and there was no going back to the man he once was. He could scarcely imagine the simplicity in which he had lived only weeks before.

And yet here he was again, rolling out of bed and padding over the worn floorboards to where the coals blazed dully in the hearth. He built the fire back up before going upstairs to check on his master, who was still bedridden and barely conscious, as he'd been all month. The man who Quintus had hired to look after the Altmer was gone now, and the house was quiet and empty and deadened. He lingered near the bedside for a while, pressed a cool, damp rag over his master's forehead, and watched over him. When his stomach began to grumble he moved back downstairs.

Wyn was not there yet and he had no idea when she would arrive, but Quintus began to prepare breakfast anyway. He was hungry and there was a case of Imperial sausages ready to open. Soon they were laid out over a frying pan on the coals, and Quintus was riffling around for some eggs and tomatoes to go with it. He was in the middle of slicing the tomatoes for frying when the door suddenly swung open and in stepped the woman he was waiting for. He never would have thought he'd have the Dragonborn over for breakfast.

Wyn cast one look at him and raised an eyebrow, giving him a rather dry expression that made him pause. She shut the door with her heel and slung her knapsack onto the counter. He was vaguely wondering why she felt the need to bring that everywhere she went when she drawled, "Looks like you've settled right back into things." He chuckled.

"Hardly," he told her, sprinkling some spice onto the tomatoes. "I couldn't sleep a wink last night. The mattress was too comfortable." He threw her a crooked smile that made her stare, and then turned to slide the tomatoes onto the frying pan beside the sausages.

While his back was turned, Wyn tilted her head and examined him thoroughly. Wispy, unkempt hair. Rumpled clothes. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows despite the chill. He looked…well, oddly enough he looked rather fierce. Not quite as fierce as a warrior, but passable perhaps as someone more ferocious than a mere city alchemist.

"I hope you're hungry," he said lightly, turning the sausages with a fork. "I made extra." Let it not be said that Imperials were ungracious hosts.

"I guess so," Wyn shrugged, dropping herself into the chair near the door and putting her feet up onto the table. As for Nords…well, they didn't exactly make for the most well-mannered guests, but he'd gotten used to Wyn's brusque nature.

He took one look at her mud caked boots and exclaimed, "Off the table, now! That's polished mahogany, Wyn. Really. Warriors." He muttered some other things that sounded like thinly veiled insults and Wyn smirked. She watched in amusement but made sure to put her feet down onto the floor.

Something struck her then, about how easily they got along together now. How simple it was to be themselves around each other, to a point where it was perfectly natural to show their annoyance at another's actions. The first few months of their acquaintanceship, Quintus had been overly polite even when Wyn knew he didn't want to be. She quite liked the changes between them, especially the intimacy behind every gaze.

Wyn leaned back as Quintus approached her, carefully setting the tiny round table with two plates, two embroidered napkins, and two mugs of what looked like -

"Is this milk?" Wyn asked in surprise, peering over the edge of the mug with a strange look on her face.

Quintus, on his way back to the hearth, turned around with a shrug, "Do you not like milk?"

He considered it a treat, personally. Back home in the Imperial City, such luxuries were so easy to come by. Milk was a common normality. Everyone drank it. For some reason though, up here in Skyrim the drink wasn't as normal. Perhaps it was the breed of cows? He stared over at Wyn, waiting for her explanation, but all he received from her was that strange, half-amused half-annoyed expression.

The last person to ask her a question like that got a face full of wood. She stared at Quintus and felt laughter bubble up within her. Of course she knew that Quintus hadn't meant to offer insult, but he'd lived in Skyrim for twelve whole years! Didn't he know by then about warriors and milk-drinker insults? She found it more amusing than annoying, but the look on his face was just too funny to pass up. He looked like a cornered rabbit. Perhaps he finally remembered, then.

"A-ah…I have tea, as well," Quintus jumped up, darting around to riffle through a nearby cabinet. He was only able to take a peek into the contents of it, however, before a hand clasped around his forearm and shoved him backwards. Before he even knew what was happening, Quintus was being pressed rather diligently against the wall, covered by Wyn's lethal figure as she pushed him back.

It was the stuff of Quintus's dreams, at least of late. He had fallen for this Nord hard and fast. Dreaming of her was hardly surprising. But the manner of her hold was perhaps not as seductive as he had pictured in the sanctuary of his bedroll. This Wyn was not soft, not purring with pleasure, not leaning forward to kiss him. No. This Wyn looked dangerous.

She was a terrible actor, but then again she wasn't so much as acting as she was proving a point. Quintus took one look in those golden glowing eyes and turned his head. She fought off a smile, fought off the desire that curdled through her at having their bodies so entwined. And then she murmured very softly, "Do you think me a milk-drinker, Quintus?"

There was danger in her voice, but most especially in the way she whispered his name with that rough-tumbled grace.

He could only stare at her. He was taller than her by at least four inches – not such an impressive fact considering the stocky frame of most Nords – and yet she always appeared to be so much taller than him. It was the weight of her titles that gave her the extra airs. It was the power of her every movement and the lethal purr of her voice. But today it was another thing too: the simple fact that he was so very fascinated by her. Almost, though perhaps not yet, to the point of him being in love. His heart certainly twisted off into a quick betrayal of pattering beats. Beats that he was positive her sharp hearing could plainly hear.

He breathed out, an exhalation of slow shaky desire. Here he was, pressed against the wall by this gorgeous, powerful woman. What man wouldn't go crazy? And Quintus was a man, even though he often tried his hardest to discern the differences between males of the different races. A Nord man would not hesitate to kiss her right then. A Nord man would probably have already ripped her armor off and would be dragging her into the throes of passion.

But an Imperial? No, he could not kiss her. He could only stand there and stare down at her, weighing the situation in his head and wondering what she would do next. And as for a response to her question, forget it: Quintus could hardly even remember what she had said, let alone form actual words through the thick layer of his own murky desire.

Wyn raised an eyebrow at him. Her fingers drifted over the thin tunic he was wearing. It was old, worn - one of his master's hand-me-downs that fit him. It was wrinkled from sleep and probably needed a good wash, too, but Wyn hardly seemed to care. Her eyes beckoned him. Her fingers rose further to tangle into his messy hair. And then her lips barely brushed against his, and Quintus's eyes fluttered because Divines, how was she so good at this? She had seduced him before he even realized it, and all he could think about was her armor and how he'd like to unbuckle every piece and lavish attention on every revelation of her skin.

"I haven't had milk since I was a babe at my mother's breast," she told him then, suddenly ripping from him the fierce desire that had taken hold of his thoughts. Yet still it circled like an ever-present hawk clawing at the footholds of his mind.

He hummed, eyes half lidded, staring down at her mouth. She was so close that he could smell the salt of the White River on her skin, the iron-and-leather scent of her gear, the musk of her freshly washed hair… And somehow he was not an Imperial any longer, and surged forward with all the brashness of a Nord. His hands clenched down on her shoulders and his mouth fiercely molded to hers, heaving her almost backwards at the unexpected force of his ardent need.

To Wyn, though, it was not as unexpected as it was to Quintus, who was indeed taken aback at his own actions even as he kissed her. Wyn had almost anticipated it, in a way that intuition festers into gut reactions and rough premonitions. She had seen the darkening of his eyes, the desire building within them. She had sensed the subtle shift of his energy as it focused on one thing and one thing only. And so she met him with equal fervor, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him back with all the ferocity of a wildcat attacking its prey.

Yet Quintus was not prey, not this time, and neither was he the weak Imperial he had always known himself to be. He met her challenge head-on, hands drifting over her armor despite the fact that it rather covered her curves. Didn't matter. He was kissing her and touching her and for once in his life, Quintus was not afraid.

Intimacy usually frightened him, especially up here in this cold region. At least back home in Cyrodiil, affairs were kept quiet and were elegant and full of subtle innuendos and careful looks. Here sex was just sex, and anyone who wanted it just went and got it. There were no quiet, elegant looks, no subtleties…unless those subtleties included ostentatiously meeting in the local inn for a bedroom scuffle and some cheap wine afterwards.

Nordic intimacy had always seemed so brash and careless to him. Marriage, too. How could you just meet someone and automatically decide that you wanted them for a spouse? And how could you just pick up a person and invite them into your bed for the night, only to leave them there come morning? It was cold and careless, but this…this was neither.

Wyn was warm in his arms. She was real. And the way she was kissing him made his entire body ache as if it was a drum of beating pleasure. Did she always kiss men like this? Her lips moved in such a gentle but dominant, I-can't-live-without-you way. And in that moment he could believe it, he could believe that she needed him in order to survive, simply because of the way she kissed him now.

They stumbled back, away from the wall. He pushed her against the edge of the counter and pressed his hips into hers. They were locked together in such a way that his heat was hers; his breath was hers; his pleasure, hers. All hers, everything was hers. He would surrender anything she wanted just to keep this bliss alive between them.

Yet it was not meant to be. Even as Wyn was tugging at his shirt, slipping her hands beneath it to tear it away – even as Quintus was roughly grappling at the buckles at her sides – a knock on the door halted every whisper of passion that passed between the pleasure of their kiss.

They stopped with a gasp. Quintus heaved, panting against her, clenching his hands tightly into her armor as he tried to regain his control, which was utterly swept away into the murky parts of his brain. Wyn didn't even bother. She merely took a deep breath and smirked up at him, like she was intensely proud that she had successfully pushed him so far and made him want her so very much. He huffed at her and ducked in for one last kiss, which he administered with a quick nip that was meant as punishment but only made Wyn that much crazier. He didn't seem like the biting type, after all.

The knock came again, more impatiently, and Quintus groaned.

"You should probably answer that, lest you want to lose a precious customer," Wyn whispered at him with a twinkle in her eye and a teasing lilt to her voice.

He glowered at her and said rather imperiously, proud that there was no trace of scratchy passion in his words, "The shop doesn't open for another hour. I'm sure it isn't a customer." The information made Wyn shrug and push off of the counter, sauntering back to her chair as if the entire kiss hadn't even happened.

Oh, she was so very good at shutting those parts of her away. Quintus was almost jealous. His chest was still heaving and his face was probably flushed. He reached up to pat his hair down and straighten his tunic, and then marched as fearlessly as he could to the door to see who on earth interrupted the best kiss of his damned life. He would be giving whoever it was an earful on timing.

But when he opened the door and saw a guard waiting in the snowy streets beyond, the annoyed words died on Quintus's lips. He raised his eyebrows and asked, "Um. Can I help you?"

Did something happen at the shop while he and Wyn were off traipsing through Skyrim? Was he in trouble? Had his Imperial registration expired and he was going to be shipped back to Cyrodiil? His hands began to sweat as worries rankled him, but they were quickly put to rest when the guard narrowed his eyes in confusion and glanced around behind Quintus, looking for someone else.

"I was told that the Lady Dragonborn was seen entering your shop, alchemist," the guardsman said in an authoritative yet seemingly bored voice. "The Jarl would like to speak with her."

Wyn, who was still sitting at the little round table, rolled her eyes and pulled herself up. She doubted she looked very much like a Lady Dragonborn at this moment. Her cheeks were still flushed red and she felt giddier than all the maidens in Skyrim put together. But hiding those emotions was simple, and as she slid up to the door, Wyn's expression was blanketed into a carefully bored stare. She ducked beneath Quintus's arm to rest against the threshold and gave the guard a very solemn, very serious look.

"What could the Jarl have to say to me?" she asked, eyes shifting into the guard's. The man looked rather surprised to suddenly see her there, standing underneath Quintus's outstretched arm as the Imperial shopkeeper leaned against the threshold over her. The two of them looked almost like they fit together there in that shop, as if the Dragonborn and the alchemist were equals in some grandiose way that the guard couldn't figure out.

Wyn crossed her arms and stared into the guard's eyes. Quintus felt it before he saw it – that subtle pulsating shift of her power. The guard hardly even expected the dominion of her gaze. He could only stand there and stare at her in a mindless, eager way, like he wanted her control and her power over him. Curious now, Quintus watched these events carefully, for it was the second time that he had observed Wyn using this power on another person. He wondered if he looked that drone-like when he was captivated by her golden dragon eyes.

"…The war, my Lady," the guard mumbled in belated response to Wyn's question. It sounded odd to have Wyn called such an honorable title. Not that she wasn't honorable in every way (she was the thrice damned Dragonborn for Arkay's sake), but to hear it from a member of the notoriously rude guardsman made Quintus feel almost small. It was a familiar feeling whenever he was side by side with her, but today he refused to let it control him in the same way it often did. After all, he had just kissed her with every ounce of his desire and came out of it unscathed, and that had to count for something.

Wyn didn't seem at all impressed at the mention of the war. She had told him once that she was not loyal to the Stormcloaks or the Legion, but only to herself. She hardly felt that it was her place to turn the tides of the Civil War. She was the Dragonborn and not a pawn piece to be played in a rebellion, but neither Ulfric nor Tullius seemed to agree with that sentiment, and Quintus could see why. She would make a lethal general.

"I'll come and see him when I'm finished with my breakfast," Wyn drawled, and then shattered the contact between her and the guardsman with a single bored shrug.

he turned her eyes away and was about to duck back into the shop when the guard exclaimed, "But the Jarl wants to speak with you now! He is very busy today – "

Quintus would never forget the look that Wyn sent the guard at that moment. It was more of a slicing contemptible sneer than a look, actually, and it cut the guard right into a silence that seemed to drag into forever. What power she had, to instill such respect and fear into a man who was trained not to let such things get to him.

"He will have to make room for me, then," she said, her voice a low warning that sounded almost like the dull growling roar of a dragon. The guard shivered, ducked his head, and bowed very slightly. With that he scuttled away and disappeared into the lightly snowing marketplace, which was still silent in the early morning dawn.

As Quintus shut the door, he couldn't help but worry at her words. That was no way to address a Jarl's direct orders, after all. But he could not imagine that Wyn would act in any other way, and neither could he imagine that she would get punished for her insolence. Wyn never seemed to get punished for that part of her, even though it was such a large aspect of her personality and it baffled him.

"Don't look at me like that," she muttered at him as she stormed back inside. He cleared his throat, shifted his shoulders back, and remained silent. Instead, Quintus merely returned to the hearth to fork the sausages onto a plate. As he did the same to the rest of the food, Wyn sat back down and riffled in her pack. His back was turned to her and he didn't see what she was doing, but when he began to walk toward her with the food, he noticed that she had her journal open and was musing over a page of it.

He set the place down and took a seat in the other chair. "…What are you looking at?" he wondered, though he'd prefer to address the rather large issue of why Ulfric Stormcloak wanted her and why she was trying so hard to annoy the important Jarl.

Wyn made a noncommittal noise and flipped a page, eyes running back and forth as she searched for something. She didn't answer him immediately, and so Quintus just rolled his eyes and started to fill her plate with breakfast like the good host he was. And, like the terrible guest Wyn was, she hardly even noticed.

"Oh nothing," she waved her hand impassively, "just trying to figure out what city I should hide in next. Ulfric can't bother me if he thinks I'm helping someone. There's a smith in Markarth who needs a daedra heart. Know where I can find one?"

The question took him so off guard that Quintus nearly spilled his drink. He peered down into the milk and thought of the recent conversation they just had about milk-drinkers. It seemed like ages ago even though only a simple press of seconds separated that moment from this one.

She wanted to leave already? Just to avoid the Jarl? And to Markarth?! That city was days away, weeks in bad weather, and Quintus couldn't leave his shop. Nor, he sullenly thought, would she welcome his company. Sure, they'd shared some kisses. But that hardly constituted for a lifelong companion. He lifted his eyes to glower at her and she raised a pointed brow, like she had no idea what put him in such a foul mood.

As always, words failed him. Or at least the words that meant something. Instead of telling her to stop running away (from the Jarl and himself), he stumbled upon a topic that was much more familiar.

Quintus spluttered for half a second before he blurted angrily, "A daedra heart?! Do you know how hard those are to find? And if you do happen to find one, are you even aware of how difficult it is to keep it from spoiling? The magical essence leaks out of the tissue unless you package it just right – "

He could have gone on to tell her the precise methods of packaging such a delicate ingredient and how long she would have before it spoiled on the road…but Wyn didn't seem all that interested in the information. She only smirked at him, leaned forward, and somehow managed to look seductive even in her armor and messy hair and –

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Quintus scowled, leaning back. Whenever she had that look in her eyes, he felt like prey beneath her. He knew instinctively that she was about to take him off guard. It was one of her favorite hobbies after all, but nothing could prepare him for her next words.

"I want you," she told him simply, but the passion in her eyes off-set the calmness of her words. She wanted him? She wanted him?

He paused, opened his mouth then shut it. Opened it again. Shut it. Then in a halted voice he wondered, "…Erm. For what?" Even though he was quite aware of exactly what she was referring to. Extremely aware, that is, and the rest of his body knew it too. The blood in his veins boiled with desire.

Wyn laughed. For what? How silly her alchemist was. She peered at him and twisted her mouth up into a smile. She couldn't remember ever wanting someone as much as she wanted him. The fire of her passion suddenly surged beneath her skin, making her ache for him. How easy it would be, to drag him to the counter and have her wicked way with him. It was a rather impressive counter, after all. Perfect for love. Wide enough to have him on his back with plenty of room to spare. She would have to move all that alchemy stuff out of the way but what an ideal space.

Wyn leaned back and swung an arm over the back of the chair casually. She lifted the sausage to her lips and bit into it. Quintus swallowed. He watched, captivated, as she ate it. Piece by piece. Bite by bite. Until it was gone and she was licking her fingers and then her lips, and he had to suppress a very stark desire to knock the table away from them and kiss that mouth and those fingers.

He'd never known Nord women to be teases. Usually they just stumbled into things without thinking. The few sexual encounters he'd had with Nord women had been quick and fast, with hardly any foreplay and never any banter. It was as stark as Skyrim itself; an honest exchange of pleasure for pleasure, and then it was over. But Wyn seemed to be forever spinning his expectations out of balance and making him wonder if he even knew Skyrim or its people at all.

"I wonder if all Imperial sausages taste so wonderful," Wyn crassly said, innuendo plain in her voice, and Quintus blushed a rosy hue that made her laugh outright.

She exploded in that laughter and at once the desire turned to lighthearted amusement and delicious smiles. Quintus chuckled too, after he was able to regain some of his original coloring, and muttered, "Do shut up, Wyn."

She thankfully did, at least where innuendoes were concerned.

"I should get to the Palace," she sighed after another moment of chuckling, and stood. She'd only eaten half of her food, but Quintus had a feeling she'd be back later. If she wasn't, there would be certain hell to pay, especially if he found out that she'd left Windhelm without even saying goodbye. But she smiled at him, winked, and turned. Nothing in her countenance hinted at her leaving. He wasn't worried, at least not at that. What he was worried over was something much more…intimate.

He rose to put her plate behind the counter and Wyn threw her cloak around her shoulders. She said something about stopping by later that afternoon and he nodded. Then she opened the door and was halfway out of it when Quintus sighed and mumbled softly to himself, "Do you really want me?"

It was meant for him alone, but he shouldn't have been surprised that she'd heard. Wyn heard everything. Her sharp ears picked up sounds that even the Elves could not hear. She stopped, one foot outside and one inside, fingers curled around the doorknob, and looked back at him.

His back was turned to her but he must've realized that she was staring, because when he didn't hear the door close he turned back to face her. Surprise coated his face, along with a healthy heaping of embarrassment. He had not meant for her to hear that. He'd hardly even realized he was mumbling it to himself until it was already out of his lips.

But Wyn only smiled. Honesty creased her eyes into beautiful shards of gold, like the dawn that blazed just outside the city walls. In a surprisingly gentle voice, she told him, "I want you more than I've ever wanted anyone else, Quintus Navale."

And then, in a dramatic flurry of her cloak, Wyn winked at him and disappeared, shutting the door behind her.

Quintus could only stare, mouth hanging open as he processed the glorious admission that was easily making its way into his heart.