[It's not exactly a shocking confession. Unlike most, Gilgamesh did not see such feelings as all that revolutionary. He gave his love to many; many gave them theirs in return. Gilgamesh gave so freely of himself, in fact, that the words almost seemed a little late. But he doesn't disparage the sentiment, either, smiling in an almost boyish sort of way. For a fleeting moment, he is as he appears: a young man, no older than twenty, who has yet to truly see the world.]

You may have my love, if you wish for it. Did you feel as though you had to ask? To tell me this, to earn it?

[Gilgamesh pulls at a cheek, playfully, sticking his tongue out.]

Oh, my. Certainly you expected some form of drama to come of this, hm? But did you ever wonder what might happen if I let you win?