[He could have, at one time. All it would have taken is a word, a sign that he wasn't as dismissive of it as he seemed, and Zevran happily could have been his. Gladly have laid down with him and him alone for the rest of their time here. Hold and be held, take and be taken. But he had done no such thing. Had made no such gesture. And then there had been their separation, the argument, and Jack and Eugene. Warm and loving and present.

It's an odd feeling, to have someone care, to know they do as they stand before you, and to be unable to say anything about how you feel for them.

There's a swell of affection for Isaac whenever he thinks of the man. Even with the fight, with the possession, with all that came after. With the attack of Jack that wasn't at all in Isaac's nature- at least not in such a way. He should hold it against the man. Should spurn him and spit at him, rebuke and revile him for the remainder of his days.

He should hate him.

And yet he cannot. He cannot do to Isaac what so many have in his life. Cannot make the oath and turn around on it so very quickly. He is an elf of his word.]

...some have died for it.

[It's as close to an admission for the man as he could make. Was it as strong, as certain and pure as what he felt for Jack and Eugene? No. But it was something beyond friendship, something beyond what might be acceptable. And yet it was how he felt all the same.

He reaches out for the pouch, squeezing it a moment before tucking it away. Secret and safe.]

It matters enough. Were I a wiser elf, were I unwed-

[Now that was unkind and he knew it. Zev cuts himself off with a soft sigh and steps forward, leaning up with all the daring he had in him to brush his lips against that steel'd jaw.]

You are worth much to me, Rosso. More than you know. I regret that I cannot be what you want me to be.