Why do you apologize to me?

[It isn't sarcastic or smarmy. He genuinely wants to know. Setting aside the comb, Gilgamesh lies with Adra and rests arms upon his chest. In another world away, Gilgamesh could tear him apart. Maybe he still could. But he wouldn't, not simply for the thrill of it. Gilgamesh would chastise the harlot, but never beat them; punish the criminal, but never unfairly so. Tyrants were very different beasts than madmen, a distinction Gilgamesh always drew for himself.

He cups a cheek and wonders what overthinking things means for an elf.]

You've done nothing to displease me. You speak your mind freely, and not once have you acted like some simpering mongrel, licking my boots to earn my favor. But nor are you too bold, ever ready with a kind word or helpful spell. You are just enough. You are you, and I have always liked you.

[And that is the long and the short of the matter. Though he adds, just to clarify:]

I am afraid I will need more of a reason to discard you other than just because. I am far too fond for that.