[ 'I don't want to get rid of you' has an instant effect, his whole body visibly relaxing. It's a comfort: as long as Iorveth wants him to stay, surely nothing too bad can ever happen.

His face contorts as he listens to Iorveth continue, though, first out of confusion and then disbelief. ]

If I left, [ he repeats as he turns to look at Iorveth again, the words sounding ridiculous even in his own voice. Again—where would he go, and what would he do? If Iorveth cut him loose now, he wouldn't land on his feet. He'd probably find himself in much the same sort of situation he was in before, aimlessly roaming the city streets at night and draining alley cats and pigeons of their blood.

Incredulously: ] Is your skull really so thick that I can't beat it into you that I love you?

[ Mean, but true. All day—or all night, as it may be—he tells Iorveth that he's handsome, sweet, wonderful; he calls him 'darling', 'my sweet', 'my love'. Sure, maybe he shouldn't expect to heal Iorveth's deep-seated insecurities in such a short time when his own neuroses are still alive and well, but— he crosses his arms, irritated. ]

Understandable, of course. I only said that I wanted to keep you forever and offered to buy you a ring. Honestly, I've been very unclear in my intentions.