[He mumbles appreciatively, beginning to unwind with the familiar touches to his hair. It reminds him, idly, of the peace and quiet he'd felt that time Adrian had him wearing a collar, trotting around like a dog. That sort of thing is the last thing he wants to get into at a time like this, he decides, but the effects of it — the calm — now that was nice.

Slowly, he sags further and further down, abandoning Adrian's shoulder only so that he can shift to having his head outright in his lap, curled on his side while his breathing slows.]

Do you think I was born to kill him?

[Something he's wondered about before, in his uglier moments, but he's rarely dared to put it into words.]

I mean...without me. Do you think that would've just been it? If it'd been someone else, he would've won?