[He has a feeling he understands those almost tears. It wasn't so long ago he had his moment. His hand trails from his hair to his cheek, but not in a way to call attention to what he sees. Not directly.]

I've told you. I want all of you. It's part of you. How could I love it any less than your care and kindness? Your mocking? Your teasing? There's no picking apart the threads without unraveling the entire package. Why would I want to?